by Jake Devlin
“Can't we use that in some way?”
“Oh, we have, Pam, we have. But not out in public. We've done our own bits of blackmail with them, privately. It's provided – can I tell 'em the number, Jake?”
“Sure; we're all insiders now.”
“It brought in 28 percent of our total revenue last year, 26 percent in 2012, and between 20 and 34 percent since 1988.”
“That much, huh?”
“Yup. Amber knows the numbers by heart.”
“Another photogenic memory?”
“Photographic, Pam.”
“I know, Amber; just pulling your leg back.”
“Ah-ha; got me.”
“At least she's not pulling your back leg. I know, Gordy; it just popped up.”
“It just pooped up?”
“Oh, not bad, Gordy, not bad at all.”
“Made that typo a lot myself.”
“Ah-ha.”
“Guys, guys! Focus, okay?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Okay.
“Now, we can't get involved in the actual battlefields; we're not an army. And we don't want to get in the target zone of the airstrikes on either ISIS or that Khorasan gang. So all of our ops will just be financial, intel sharing when we can, and the occasional hit. Strategic, not tactical.”
“Thanks, Amber. Now, we have no expectations that we can ever wipe out these radicals. It's religious – ree-lig-ee-ous – and they keep raising new generations of radicals, keeping 'em ignorant, teaching them to hate America and Europe and all Western culture. And they are VERY effective at indoctrination, way beyond anything that can be done without a religious basis, and their ritual behavior locks it into their very muscles.”
“Into their muscles, Jake?”
“Right, Pam. Kneeling and bowing in prayer five times a day, for example. Not only does that serve to reinforce their belief at the psychological level, but also physiologically; their muscles develop that as a habit. And that reinforces the psychological.”
“So brain-and-body-washed.”
“Yup, Gordy. And that helps to build in the idea of absolute obedience, following the most brutal parts of sharia law. So they're easily led, and they're fanatic, willing to blow themselves up and martyr themselves in the name of Allah.”
“And that's the frightening thing about this bunch for anyone they call infidels, including Christians, Jews, atheists, Hindus, Buddhists, anyone. And it's not only religious, it's cultural.”
“Right, Amber. Not only that, but they're frightening all the New World Order folks, who are now scrambling not only to impose their own non-religious world order, but also to fight all these radical religious assholes. We've been picking up a lot of chatter from our bugs about how to do that, and they're pretty much at a loss.”
“And they're running scared, Jake.”
“Y'got that right, Amber.”
- 128 -
September 3, 2014
2:38 p.m. local time
Bonita Beach, Florida
“Excuse me. Rosemary, right?”
“Yes?”
“I'm Grace. My husband, Tom, met you and your husband a few months ago.”
“My husband?”
“The writer, Jake?”
“Oh, he's not my husband; we're just friends. And Jake Devlin is his pen name.”
“Ah. And his real name?”
“Gordy.”
“Ah-ha. Is he around?”
“No; he's gone for a while. Why?”
“We've read his first two, and I have something he might want to use in his third one … or his fourth, maybe.”
“He'll be back Sunday, if you want to talk to him.”
“Oh, dear. We're leaving tomorrow for home, grandkids having a big game on Saturday. Can I tell you and you tell him?”
“Um … okay, sure.”
“And you are?”
“Oh, this is our friend, Dallas.”
“Hi, Grace.”
“Nice to meet you, Dallas – oh, the one from 'Defiance'?”
“Yeah, that's me.”
“Oh, wow; I've read most of your other books, the ones you wrote as” –
“Ah-ah, Grace. Shh, okay?”
“Oh, ah. Okay. Top hush, right?”
“Right; top hush.”
“Okay; I understand.”
“So what did you want me to tell Gordy, Grace?”
“Oh, right. Last February, I was parked in the little circle in the middle, the one with three spaces, you know?”
“Okay.”
“I was in the last space, the one to the east, furthest from the beach, right?”
“Okay.”
“The rest of the lot was full and cars were waiting and driving around looking for spaces.”
“Yeah; that happens in season.”
“So I was getting ready to leave, just about to open the door to get in, when this big gray pickup truck pulled up next to me, couple of big tough-looking rednecky guys in it, and the driver honked the horn and yelled at me. 'Hey, lady, you leaving?'”
“In that tone?”
“Yes. Gruff, angry, like he was ordering me around, not asking.”
“Wow. Were you scared?”
“Not really.”
“But you're so tiny and they were big guys, right?”
“Yeah. But that got my Irish up and I” –
“Got your Irish up?”
“Got me mad. So I played the frail little old lady and said, “Not yet, I'm afraid, sonny. I have to use the restroom; it'll be at least ten minutes.”
“In that tone?”
“Yes. I can play it when I want to. Anyhow, I headed up to the bathrooms, took my sweet time, and when I got back, they were gone. A nice young couple took my space when I pulled out, and I went on home.”
“And?”
“And that's it. Maybe he can use it.”
“Maybe he can. I'll pass it on to him when I talk to him.”
“Thank you. And if you would, could you give him this, too?”
“A business card? Yours?”
“Yes, if you would.”
“Okay; no problem”
“Thanks. Nice to meet you, Rosemary. You too, Dallas.”
“And you, Grace. Have a nice day.”
“I like your T-shirt, Grace.”
“Oh, this old thing? Had it for years.”
“'Paddle faster. I hear banjo music.' Kewl.”
“One of my favorite movies. See you another time, maybe.”
“Wow. Did you see her eyes, Rosemary?”
“Yeah, but I didn't notice anything about 'em. Why?”
“Steeliest eyes I've ever seen, a strength in there that I'd love to use for one of my female characters. Like she sees through every facade, every lie, every mask people put on. And that she knows just how to deal with anything that comes along.”
“She's got to be pushing eighty.”
“Yeah, but I'll bet there's a lot of history in those years. Hell, I'd bet she coulda probably taken on those guys in the pickup truck.”
“What? She's like ninety pounds.”
“Mm-hmm. But I'd still bet she could take 'em.”
“Maybe thirty years ago.”
“Okay; maybe then. Okay. Done.
“So now, Rosemary, tell me how you shut that asshole Gaetano down.”
- 129 -
September 3, 2014
2:03 p.m. local time
Aboard the “Dilemma,” off St. Tropez, France
“So, Jake, how do you think that's all going to play out?”
“Well, Gordy, I gotta tell ya, I don't have a crystal ball, but I think the world will go one of two ways: either to worldwide sharia law or to the fascist New World Order police state. We may have a war between the US and Russia before that happens, but the inevitable movement is toward some sort of authoritarian global government, one of those two types, and whichever type wins, the losing side will always be working to break it down.
“So the winners will have to clamp down even harder and harder on dissent and resistance, and the harder they clamp down, the stronger the resistance, and the resistance will resort to terrorism, sabotage and assassinations.”
“But what about the old American ideals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness?”
“You've seen the erosion of those values just over your lifetime, Pam, over there, and it's happening worldwide. And the split between the haves and have nots is widening and will continue to widen, with social unrest to follow, which opens the door to absolutism, some kind of dictatorship, some draconian, micromanaging government, with brutality the likes of which the world has never yet seen, mainly because of the advanced weaponry we now have.”
“That's a pretty dismal outlook, Jake.”
“I know, Gordy, but there's just so much our little organization can do.”
“Little?”
“Relatively, Gordy, just relatively.
“I mean, that email worked for a while back in 2011, and Amber just sent out an updated one, putting the NWO people on notice; maybe it'll work again, maybe not. And a lot of our hits have been on high-level people in that gang. But – and this is just my opinion – it may have been too little, too late.
“Look, I know you all want me to be upbeat and cheery and sorta leaderlike, but for all the time I was stuck lying in that so-called 'coma,' my brain was still running, listening, analyzing, thinking, and none of the possible outcomes of what I heard and saw and had read to me – thank you, Pam, for believing I could hear you when you read me the news – and for keeping me off the skateboard – none of that led me to believe that any of the possible – no, probable outcomes was upbeat and cheery.
“Now, maybe we can help delay the outcome, but sooner or later – and it may be in your lifetime, Pam – sooner or later, there will be a global government, and freedom-loving people are going to be crushed under its wheels. Either sharia or fascist, one or the other.
“One big problem is that dealing with both ISIS and the NWO gang is like playing whack-a-mole. ISIS is not the only group that sees the West as the 'Great Satan' and wants to force their version of sharia on the whole world, and the NWO people are scattered around the world, some in our sights, some not.
“The other problem, more with ISIS and Khorasan than the NWO gang, is that you can't negotiate with 'em, not at all. You can't negotiate with any religious fanatic, any brand, because they truly believe that their god is the only god, but these idiots are so far beyond fanatic that the only way to deal with 'em is to wipe 'em off the face of the earth. And even then, the ideology won't go away.”
“So I guess we won't ever be singing 'Kumbaya' with 'em, huh?”
“Oh, sorry, gang; got a little soapboxy there. Thanks, Pam; I needed that. And no, we won't.”
- 130 -
September 3, 2014
4:27 a.m. local time
Four miles out of Halifax Harbour, Nova Scotia, Canada
“Okay, Jillybean, I'm here. Over.”
“Right behind you, CB. Over.”
“Okay. See anything on board? Over.”
“Nope, no movement, no guards. Over.”
“I'm heading to the back now. Over.”
“To the stern, Carie Berry. Over.”
“Right, JB; that's where I'm going. Over.”
“I mean – never mind. I'll be right behind you. Over.”
“Seems like a terrible place to assemble a bomb. Over.”
“Yeah. One big wave and boom! Over.”
“Maybe he's not assembling it out here. Over.”
“The intel said he's targeting the city center, and he's only got two hours left until dawn. So he's got to be putting it together now. Over.”
“Maybe it's not sensitive to vibration or swaying. Over.”
“The intel said he has mercury switches, CB, and those are only for swaying, tilting or tipping. Over.
“CB? Over.”
“I'm here; you didn't say 'Over.' Over.”
“Yes, I did. Over.”
“No, you said 'tipping over' – oh, okay; got it. Over.”
“Got what? Over.”
“What? Over.”
“You said you got it. What's – oh, okay; got it. Over.”
“That's what I said. Over.”
“Got it. Over.”
“Okay, JB, I'm at the back end. Over.”
“Swim platform down? Over.”
“Yeah. Over.”
“Careful; don't bump it with your scooter. Over.”
“Nope. Over.”
“And don't rock the boat when you climb up. Over.”
“It's a forty-footer, JB; don't think I'll do that. But hold my tank, okay? Over.”
“Okay. Careful! Hook it over your scooter. Over.”
“Okay. Got 'em? Over.”
“Got 'em. Over.”
“Okay. Here we go. Over.”
“Gently, CB. Over.”
“I know, I know. Okay. See any rocking? Over.”
“Nope; you're good. Over.”
“Okay. Peeking. Oh, shit! Oh, over.”
“What? Over.”
“It's like an abattoir on the deck up here. Over.”
“What? Over.”
“Blood and bodies all over the place. And heads. Shit! Over.”
“No wonder I didn't see any guards. Over.”
“Right. C'mon up. Over.”
“Lemme tie off the scooters and my tank and I'll be right up. Over.”
“Keep your face mask on, JB; it's gruesome and stinky. Over.”
“Holy shit! What went on here? Over.”
“Don't know, but they've been here a couple days, at least. Over.”
“Is Ali Whatsisname there? Over.”
“Don't see his head in the pile. Lemme check downstairs. Over.”
“Below, CB, below. Over.”
“Okay; below. Lemme – ah, he's down here. Over.”
“Decapitated, too? Over.”
“Nope; he's been shot – oh, shit! He's still alive. Over.”
“Where's the shooter? Over.”
“No idea. He – uh-oh. Hold it! Drop the gun and turn around, slowly! I said, drop the gun! Oh, shit. No English? Don't – got him. Over.”
“You got him? Over.”
“Yeah; backing out of the front bedroom. Over.”
“Dead? Over.”
“Nope, just winged him. But he's down. Over.”
“Deck's clear. Coming down. Over.”
“Don't you mean below, JB? Over.”
“Okay, okay. Look out! Don't you – ah-ha! Over.”
“What? Over.”
“Ali was reaching for something on the floor. I kicked it away. Over.”
“A gun? Over.”
“Nope. It looks like – oh, shit! Looks like a remote detonator. Over.”
“You see a bomb? Over.”
“Nope. Over.”
“Check the kitchen. Over.”
“Galley. Where is it? Over.”
“I don't know, JB; you're the yachting expert. Over.”
“Now, now, don't get snarky with me, CB. Ah, here it – uh, no, no bomb here. Over.”
“Hey, asshole. Where's the bomb? Where? Is? The? Bomb? We know you're in Khorasan. Yeah, asshole, we know about that group. What's left of Al Qaeda. We know. So where is the bomb?
“He's still pretending he doesn't speaka da English, JB.”
“And I'll bet they're both thinking they're gonna get to Paradise if we kill them, CB.”
“Right, JB. But we know they're never gonna get there, don't we, JB?”
“Yes, we do, CB.”
“And why is that, JB?”
“It's very simple, CB.”
“And why is it simple, JB?”
“Because we've got this little vial, CB.”
“And what's in the vial, JB?”
“Well, let's see, CB. Oh, look at that! It's all red and sticky.”
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“My goodness, JB. It looks like – could it be? I do believe it is – blood!”
“Oh, dear, CB.
“And what animal do you think it might – just might – be from?”
“Oh, geez, JB; I don't know.”
“Take a guess, CB.”
“Well, maybe a bear, JB?”
“Nope. Try again, CB.”
“A deer, JB?”
“Nope. Try again, CB.”
“Elephant, JB?”
“Nope. Try again, CB.”
“Lion, JB?”
“Nope. Try again, CB.”
“Oh, I know this. I know, I know! A monkey, JB?”
“Nope. Try again, CB.”
“Maybe from a – oh, wait a minute; I got this – a pig?”
“I believe you are correct, CB. Bravo.”
“Did you see that, JB?”
“I do believe I did, CB.”
“They understand English, after all, JB.”
“Yes, they do, CB.”
“Now, if I remember right, if we pour this on their faces as we kill them, they don't get to Paradise? Right, JB?”
“I believe you are correct, CB.”
“They wind up in hell, JB?”
“Correct, CB, totally, absolutely, positively correct.”
“Which one do you want to go first, JB?”
“I think Ali should go first, CB; he's the big, tough one. This other one looks like a wussy little raghead, probably just a stupid, ignorant soldier.”
“Okay, Ali. You're first. Where is the bomb? Geez, JB, he's not saying anything. Get the vial ready, I've – oh, wait a minute. Let me use the wussy guy's gun.
“Okay, JB, all set. You want to ask him, give him one more chance?”
“Sure, CB.
“Where? Is? The? Bomb?”
“Still nothing. Okay. Video on?
“Oh, right; give me a second. Okay.”
“Pig's blood ready?”
“Yup.”
“Pour it. Sorry, Ali; you're not going up.”
“Clean shot, CB.”
“Now for the little wussy guy. JB?”
“Where is the bomb? Nothing.”
“Oh, give him one more chance.”
“Where? Is? The? Bomb?”
“Okay, JB. Ready to pour?”
“Ready.”
“No, no, pleeze. Eet eez zere, under zee bed!”
“I'll check it, CB. Yup, here it is. Pretty big one.”