“What’s the main number to this hotel?” Devlin asks the mystery visitor as he pulls out his cell phone.
“The number is one eight-hundred, six two seven, seven four six eight. Is there a problem, Sir?” The waiter asks, raising his voice at the end of the question.
Devlin looks up the number using the Internet on his Smartphone and sees that it matches the main reservation number. His suspicion fades, realizing that the waiter replied too fast for someone who would have been searching for the number on the Internet, or having it relayed to them. He steps up to the door and peers through the peephole. There is a young man standing alone in the hallway next to a white food cart with a bottle of champagne on ice next to a domed, stainless steel serving dish.
After a moment of introspection, Devlin decides to slowly open the door. He looks upon the young waiter with suspicious eyes, inspecting his facial expression and uniform for authenticity. The young man is tall and well-groomed with bright orange hair and pale skin. He sniffles somewhat, indicating that he has a cold or allergies.
Devlin keeps his eyes fixed on the waiter as he opens the door just enough for the cart to enter.
“Stay out there and push it to me,” Devlin orders with a half smile, “I don’t want you getting me sick.”
The young man twists his face somewhat, feeling rejected in a way, but he complies with Devlin’s request, pushing the cart delicately into the room while he waits outside.
From inside the room, Devlin exhibits tension as he oversees the young man making his delivery. After the cart enters through the doorframe, he feels as though he just invited a Trojan Horse into this equation, and it could cost him everything. When the waiter has pushed the cart as far as it will go, Devlin waves him away with his right hand. Then he pulls the cart the rest of the way with his left, and simultaneously swings the door closed with his right foot.
Gloria immediately trots over and sniffs the cart, but does not detect any explosives. He knows better than to eat the food; poison has not only been a useful tool of the CIA for many years, in some cases, it has created foreign policy.
Devlin carefully removes the stainless steel cover from the bowl of strawberries, setting it gently on an empty space of the freshly-cleaned white, linen topper. He steps around the cart slowly in a clockwise circle, watching it as if an evil spirit has just entered the hotel room. After he takes a few steps to the left, Devlin sees a familiar long-range CIA communications transmitter. He picks it up from the cart, inspecting the surface of the headset for any moisture or other possible threats. As a cautious man, he decides to clean the surface with some spit and the corner of the tablecloth.
With a hesitant sigh, he finally mounts the headset to his earlobe, positioning the small microphone in front of his mouth. He then flips the switch at the base of the unit to enable communications.
“Who is this?” Devlin asks with a deep look of betrayal and caution.
“This is Ming. I’ll go ahead and assume that you’re Devlin.” The young woman states in a self-assured manner as she asserts her intention to control the conversation.
“That’s possible.” Devlin replies, feeling suddenly vulnerable as he takes cover between the bed and closet, kneeling on the soft carpet.
“I have been authorized to kill you, and they said I could make this a dirty op.” The young woman conveys in mysterious tone. “But I thought it might be more interesting for us to talk first.”
“I knew that twelve-hour window was bullshit! You think I’m going to surrender?” Devlin inquires through pursed lips, feeling insulted and somewhat intimidated.
“Maybe,” Ming begins with subtle confidence, “but first I want to ensure we’re having the right conversation. Hold on for a moment…” The young woman falls silent, her voice sounding as though she has already captured or killed him.
“Hello? Devlin, are you there?” A familiar voice beckons from the small headset.
“Holy shit!” Devlin answers, putting his head down and closing his eyes. “Jenny, get off the line!”
“Devlin, what’s going on!? This woman says that you’re trying to kill her and that you’ve already killed several people?” Her voice is shaky, almost desperate as she questions him with concern that is bordering on hysteria.
“My fucking sister, Ming!? Are you kidding me?” Devlin responds in a blur of frustration, disgusted by this melee.
“Yes, your sister,” Ming redirects boldly, “I want her to know what you’ve done and what you’re planning to do. She needs to understand that you’re an enemy of The United States Government.”
“I’m the enemy of a man who is perverted; a liar who enjoys touching young, blind women.” Devlin fires back into the headset, rolling his fingers into tight fists. “Jenny, get off the phone, these people are dangerous, and I don’t want you involved!”
“Wasn’t it you though, Devlin,” Ming asks with contempt in her voice, “who touched the young blind woman? Isn’t that why we’re after you?”
“Jenny, you need to get off the phone right now!” Devlin demands with a rush of anger, his spine tingling as he becomes instantly nauseous by what Ming just said. “I have not done anything wrong; this person is using you to distract me...”
“Jenny, please stay on the line,” Ming orders in an official tone, “we are going to break through the door of your brother’s hotel room in less than five minutes. If you stay on the line, his chances of survival are increased by 80%.”
“Oh my God, Devlin, what have you done!?” Jenny begins to cry, feeling immediately afraid for her brother’s life. “I just came into work today and started making calls; now I’m in my office bawling, and I have no idea what’s going to happen to you… All these people are staring at me…” Jenny continues to sob, breathing in panicked gasps, her thoughts dominated by fear as she feels instantly numb with the shock from this situation. “Devlin, please just stop this so that we can get you some help. I love you!”
Devlin feels sick as he stares at the blank, white wall, feeling scorned in the worst way by his former employer. He rubs his eyes like a prisoner who has endured many nights of torture. His hatred is renewed for Henri as the social-engineering tactics from the CIA’s gun control case studies are now being utilized on him and his sister.
“Ming, when you come through that door, I’ll be waiting for you.” Devlin promises as if speaking to a member of his tribe who deserves ancient justice. “Devlin, out!”
“Devlin, please don’t…” Jenny pleads helplessly from her office in Seattle, Washington. “I need to see you this Christmas. Whatever is going on isn’t worth your life. What about Yulia?”
“I’m so sorry, Jenny,” Ming resonates with plastic empathy, “your brother is beyond our reach. We’ll do our best to save him, but we need you to appeal to his sensible side; just as you’re doing now.”
“Devlin, please, think about Mom!” Jenny cries with a voice of deep hurt and helplessness. “I need to know that you’re alright, bro. Nobody needs to die today; no matter what happened…”
“Jenny, your brother is like a cornered animal now,” Ming continues her manipulative rant with careful precision, “we had no idea what the war did to him. Unfortunately, many veterans come back exhibiting antisocial behavior; the toll on their minds is just too much. I need you to be strong for him now so that we can get him some therapy, and help him to recover.”
“Why is all of this happening?” Jenny asks, feeling alienated from the entire event. “I don’t understand why he would do this; Devlin was fine last time he came to visit us… Please don’t do this, Devlin, you’ll break Mom’s heart, and Dad will never forgive you! I need you to be a good man! We need you to be a good man!”
Ming brushes her delicate, black hair aside with her left hand as the elevator doors open on the third floor. She steps out into the hallway with her pistol drawn, moving slowly sideways like a jungle predator stalking a helpless ape. The hallway is empty except for one young woman talking o
n her cell phone en route to her hotel room, oblivious to the gun-toting CIA agent behind her. Ming’s oversized, light blue shirt does its job in concealing the bulletproof vest underneath as she steps forward with vigor. Her muscular legs are hidden by a pair of loose fitting dress pants, and her white running shoes move silently across the soft carpet.
The deadly CIA assassin looks like someone who would be babysitting for a living; young and approachable. Her pulse is elevated as she nears the hotel room where Devlin is hiding. With her left hand she retrieves a Smartphone from her pocket and stares at the tracking data being displayed. A small, white dot on her screen is moving about fifteen feet from her position, showing the location of the headset she sent up with room service a few minutes ago. Ming smiles wide despite the fear, her Japanese features emerging with a look of satisfied anxiety, knowing that she is close to a kill.
“What’s happening?” Jenny asks with desperate concern. “You both stopped talking. Is everyone okay?”
“He’s going to be just fine.” Ming says quietly into the microphone to comfort Devlin’s sister.
She checks her pistol to ensure the safety is disengaged and then takes one last look at the Smartphone screen before placing it back into her pocket. With her pistol held firm at a forty-five degree angle, she retrieves a hotel key card from her pocket and slides it quickly into the reader. As the light turns green, she twists the door handle until it unlatches, then conceals her body behind the doorframe and uses the tip of her foot to push the door open.
The door slides open with ease, and she waits patiently for thirty seconds before moving. After giving Devlin time to react, she gathers that he is not going to take the bait, and points her pistol into the room, wrapping her body around the doorframe, exposing only her right arm and one eye. She waits another few seconds, and then enters the room in a crouched position, keeping her pistol at the ready.
Inside the hotel room, Ming hears the shower running, and glances to her left to see water seeping into the carpet as it moves across the pristine, white tiles. The shower curtain has been positioned with its material draped across the tile floor, allowing water to flow freely all over the bathroom. She realizes that Devlin is trying to distract her with the shower setup, deciding to focus instead on the other side of the bed and closet nearby. Ming’s heart suddenly goes cold as a fast movement catches her eye at the other side of the bed near the windows. She begins to gasp with anxiety, not understanding what could be moving so fast. Her grip tightens on the pistol, and she takes aim, rising up from the carpet slowly.
In an instant of terror, Ming realizes that she is pointing her pistol at a dog. The Golden Labrador is wagging its tail at her, looking up from the other side of the bed, and the headset is dangling from her collar.
“Oh my God!” Ming exclaims in a full panic, looking around the room for Devlin.
She hears the thundering footsteps of a large figure sprinting across the carpet into the entrance of the hotel room behind her. Ming’s body seizes up with terror, realizing that Devlin concealed himself in the stairwell while she was talking to Jenny. As she spins to react, her entire world is shrouded in darkness.
Devlin throws a queen-sized sheet over the young assassin’s head, draping her completely in fabric before she can turn around. He then tackles her without hesitation, forcing her petite body down onto the large bed. When she is down, he delivers three sharp elbows to her head through the sheet, allowing the adrenaline to work in his favor. Although she doesn’t make a sound, a large amount of blood begins to soak through the white fabric, and Devlin wastes no time, knowing that she still has the pistol. Ming begins to struggle wildly as he climbs atop her almost completely wrapped body, pushing his knees into the small of her back, and using his weight to hold her down. He grabs a pillow, and wraps it around the blood soaked portion of the sheet where her nose and mouth are protruding. Devlin closes his eyes, holding the pillow around her face with all of his strength as the young woman writhes inside the sheet for what seems like eternity.
Finally the athletic woman stops moving, and Gloria lets out a disturbing, high-pitched whine, knowing that something is horribly wrong. Devlin slowly climbs out of the bed; his insides are filled with nauseated terror from this sinister deed. The dog walks over to him in a state of fear, hiding her head under his leg between his thigh and calf muscles. He reaches down to comfort her and feels the headset dangling from her collar. Devlin closes his eyes for a moment, placing his hand on his forehead as he recalls that his sister was patched into Ming’s headset, and may still be on the line. He takes a deep breath, the foulness of his crime still a haunting reality. The guilt creeps slowly up the backside of his throat as he removes the headset from Gloria’s collar and reattaches it to his right earlobe.
“Jenny?” Devlin asks, hoping for no response.
“Oh my God, Devlin! What have you done?” Jenny demands with a trembling voice, through tears of intense agony.
“What do you mean?” Devlin asks, pretending that nothing has happened.
“I heard you kill that woman, Devlin…” His sister begins to cry with uncontrolled horror and shame. “I heard her… gasping for breath… I heard the sound of something moving around her face… What did you do to her, Devlin? Is she gone? Please tell me she’s not gone!?”
“She’s not gone!” Devlin says, feeling tears streaming down his face as a sharp pain starts to burn inside his right abdomen.
“Then put her on the phone!” Jenny begs with a sincere desire to believe him. “Just put her on the phone, and let me know that you didn’t hurt her…”
“I can’t, Jenny…” He replies in shock, just now realizing the full weight of what he has done. “I can’t!”
“Oh my God, Devlin!” She cries out as the gruesome finality of what he has done impacts her as well. “That was someone’s daughter; it was someone’s sister or wife… How could you..? How could you!?”
“Jenny, there’s a letter… When I’m gone, make sure they let you read the letter.” He says slowly, closing his eyes in shame as tears spring forth, mourning the woman next to him who didn’t need to die.
“Devlin, please… no…” Jenny cries in hysteria, sounding like the little girl she was long ago.
His insides are shaking as he flips the switch on the headset to end the call. Devlin crawls on his hands and knees across cold water that is soaking the tiles of the bathroom floor, not caring if more CIA agents are en route. He lifts the lid of the toilet seat and vomits, his stomach violently emptying its contents into the clear water below. Every muscle in his body is shaking as he hovers over the toilet seat, staring at a floating mass of regurgitated sustenance that has become the repulsive truth of his life. He shuts his eyes, remembering moments like these from the war, and finally understanding how far removed he has become from his former self. With all of this death, and these dreadful feelings consuming him, he wonders if he is doing the right thing.
VII. The Cases – Lorabell Cardigan
:: Begin Encoded Message ::
H.E.N.A.
Pr2ss5r2 C44k2r Pr4t4c4l
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Maxwell Out.
:: End Encoded Message ::
Professor Lorabell Cardigan stands before her college class of over forty students with a wide smile and pride in her gaze. She pushes her glasses snugly onto her face, showing off her deep brown eyes, and then brushes her sleek, black hair aside, letting it dance lazily behind her shoulders.
“What are the control factors in psychology?” The Japanese professor asks her class, stepping casually to her right, playfully engaging them in this new lesson. Lorabell holds up her fingers one by one as she continues, her white lab coat drowning out most of her short frame, going halfway past her knees to the point where her black slac
ks are barely showing.
“The common control factors are: water, food, sex, pain, emotional bonds, spiritual beliefs, and what I like to call ‘X Factor’ needs.”
Professor Cardigan courts a young man in the second row playfully for a short moment, causing him to grin sheepishly and lower his head. She is holding up five fingers on her right hand and two fingers on her left, representing the seven major control factors for human behavior.
“Now I have an assignment for you,” Professor Cardigan beams, letting her hands drop lazily to her sides as she walks around the podium to the whiteboard at the head of the class. “First, I want you to outline where your life is right now,” she instructs, writing her words almost verbatim on the shiny, white surface in small, neat black letters. “Then I want you to imagine a scenario where you would be tipped over the edge. I want to see what it would take to push you to a state of primal survival.”
“There has been a lot of talk about gun control in the news lately, and you have seen many scenarios where people went ‘off the rails’ or ‘off the chain…’ Whatever your terminology.” The professor states boldly, turning back to face the class. “We need to discover what it takes for a person to get to that point in their lives where they feel they have no choice but to harm others or themselves. So my assignment for you is simple… If you were to go ‘off the rails’ and use a firearm to harm others, how bad would your life have to be at that point? Using these seven control factors that I have outlined; how badly would you need to be affected in each area before you felt the urge to pick up a gun and take action? So your goal in this exercise is to create a scenario that is so severe… by the time you have it all laid out, your only option will be to commit some sort of gun violence.”
She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies) Page 5