Cold Blooded Assassin Book 8: Rule of Nightmare (Nick McCarty Assassin)

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  “Excellent,” Grace said. “For good news of that sort, I would have expected more enthusiasm. Did I interrupt the bad news report?”

  “Sort of,” Nick continued. “A wavy white fence borders a driveway approach nearly a hundred yards from the house. If not for the trees lining the road, they would be able to see vehicles coming from a mile away. The area surrounding the farmhouse is completely open terrain with only a couple of small trees. I studied the topographical map in relation to the satellite shots. I found a spot where I have open access to take the shots. If they have a brain though, the windows will be covered. If the windows are covered, all the snipers in the world won’t be able to help. In that case, I’ll begin an approach from the left side of the farmhouse.”

  “Meaning what? You can’t simply walk in on them with the hostages.”

  “Your grasp of the obvious still makes me shudder, Grace. If the windows are covered, I will approach in the dark, secure the hostages in the room they’re in. We will be networked together. Once I have the room secure and the hostages away from the room entrance, everyone arrives outside the house, with sirens and the whole works. They run back to get the hostages. Done deal.”

  “Yes… good one, Muerto,” Johnny said. “You did something similar with the Marines, Chuck and Sal. The approach will be difficult.”

  “I think so too,” Gus agreed. “Chances are, they’ll have the windows covered or even boarded. Like Johnny says, the approach will be the hard part. You’ll need a first-class glass cutter, not one of those tinker toys they sell.”

  “I have one,” Nick replied. “I’m hoping they have a chair or something in the back so I can slip in easier.”

  Tim and Grace remained silent after Nick’s ‘Done deal’. They knew what it meant. There would be no arrests or trials. Nick grinned at the two Marshals.

  “Let’s go save the state of California a lot of money. God knows with that jackass we have as Governor now, we need to save the actual working people some tax money. It takes a lot of money to keep murderers alive in prison. The downside is he’ll probably take it and build a snow-making plant in the middle of the Mojave Desert. When what we need are desalinization plants all along the coast, what we get are bullet trains to bullshit.”

  “Hey… when did you get the piano?”

  “When we found out Muerto’s been holding out on us, Tim,” Rachel said. “Be careful out there. Save the family and come back here to celebrate with our new Muerto entertainment system.”

  “I hope it’s as easy as that,” Grace said.

  “Did you just insult me?”

  * * *

  “Good Lord, Muerto, these idiots don’t have a clue,” Gus jabbed Nick over the network. “Get your cold-blooded killer in gear. You’re wasting time crawling noiselessly over barren ground those tuna you’re targeting can’t see anyway.”

  Nick entered the approach field from the right of the ranch house while Gus, Johnny, and Jian walked along Blackie Road to positions where they could see nearly all of the house. Nick grinned in appreciation of Gus’s disparaging remarks about his approach. Once Nick learned Vince Talbert was a contract killer, along with being a serial house invader and murderer, he took no chances on anything.

  His instincts proved true. While methodically picking his way through the brush leading to the house, he noticed tamped down sections near him: indicators of human passage – broken bushes and flattened leaves. Slipping his night-vision goggles into place, he spotted the thin wire running across the ground. Nick doubted it was hooked to explosives, but he was certain it was put there for show. Looking further, he noted a secondary trip wire. Nick passed over them without disruption or hurry, shielding any glowing sign from his goggles as he moved.

  Gus hummed a humorous ‘Beat the Clock’ tune. Johnny, who had been assigned watcher’s duty for anything near Nick, hushed Gus. “Trip wires, Payaso. Muerto just passed over a primary and secondary, attached to God knows what.”

  “Mothra causes this shit to happen in order to back Muerto’s sloth-like approach.”

  Nick had to stop his approach, stifling amusement with both hands at the mention of his cartoon protector god. He took a deep breath and crawled forward carefully. Nearing his target, he wanted nothing interfering with saving the hostage family. Psychopath or not, Nick’s imagination could conjure reality in the form of the family’s horrifying imprisonment within their own house with ease and empathy. His lips tightened into a disappointing snarl at not being able to end Talbert and Cloverman with a cleaning.

  Nick reached the rear of the ranch house without further barrier, confident Talbert would feel secure knowing he had the grounds wired. A picnic set, complete with table umbrella, supplied Nick with a hard-plastic lawn chair to stand on. He retrieved his glasscutter with vacuum attachment, and stood on the chair at the hostage room window. Without hesitation, Nick cut a large circle in the glass, pulling it free with the suction cup. He unlocked the window as he heard stirring bodies under him.

  Nick made shushing sounds. “I’m here to help. If you’re under the window, try and roll to the sides,” he whispered.

  Nick shed everything except his MP5 and pocketed extra magazines. He slowly and gently positioned the submachine gun against the inner wall. A tied and gagged man moved to hold it in place as Nick slid through the window and down onto the floor. He waved and smiled at the captives while retrieving his MP5 to be placed a few steps away.

  “I am US Marshal Nick McCarty. I have a team outside. We wanted to make sure all of you were safe before we dealt with your captors,” Nick whispered. “I am going to remove your restraints and gags. Please stay quiet.”

  Nick undid the parents’ restraints and gags first. “Take the children over against the far wall. Hide their faces and your own. If the bad guys come in here, I will not give them surrender terms. Do you understand?”

  “I wish I could help,” the man said simply. He and his wife moved their two boys into the corner where they could not be seen from the doorway.

  Nick positioned himself to the right of the doorway, at the opposite wall. “Make some noise, Marshals. We are secure in here.”

  “Understood,” Tim said, signaling Cala to drive them in. He and Grace readied themselves. They knew both Johnny and Jian had M107 sniper rifles trained on the doorway.

  Cala turned on the sirens and lights. She screeched into a tight turn approach toward the ranch house. “Ready, my love?”

  “Anything sticking its head out the door will be unhappy, love,” Johnny answered.

  Inside the house, Vince and Bill panicked out of alcohol aided sleep, with search lights beaming onto the front of the house. Both men ran at the back bedroom, throwing open the door to get at their hostages. Two 9mm bursts pulped their chests and heads. They died before hitting the floor.

  “Talbert and Cloverman have left the building… in a spiritual sense. Black wraiths vomited up from the floor to drag them down into hell. Done deal. Come around to the hostage window so I can hand the kids to you, Payaso, and help the parents exit through the window. Come with him, Johnny. I don’t want to disturb the crime scene at the bedroom door.”

  “On our way, Muerto,” Gus acknowledged.

  “Tim and Grace? Enter through the front carefully. We still have a driver to catch. We need to get this part done and the family safe before waiting for the third member of this crew.”

  “You could have left one of them alive to question about the driver,” Grace said.

  “Sure, Grace, I’ll leave you to use the victims as bait next time. I don’t do that. When you want to pursue that line of thinking, count me out.”

  “And me,” Gus agreed, along with everyone on the network.

  “Statement retracted. Coming in the front now.” Grace sighed while following Tim in combat mode.

  Jian hurried in after Grace and Tim to provide backup. A man streaked around a bedroom door in the hallway, pointing an AK47 at Tim and Grace.

  “
US Mars-”

  Jian shot the man in the head. Both the man and his weapon clattered to the floor. “Third man down.”

  Jian rushed ahead of Tim and Grace. “We need to clear the rest, my friends.”

  “Thanks, Jian,” Tim said.

  “No problem.” Jian continued with the more energized Marshals behind him. It took only minutes to clear the rest of the house. “Clear, Muerto.”

  “We’ve been sitting behind desks too much lately,” Grace said, staring down at the man in the hallway. “I was going to shout a surrender order while we got shot to death.”

  “Same here. That’s why we called Nick,” Tim replied. “Let’s not beat ourselves up when the results could not be better. I’ll gather the cell-phones and electronics. We’ll need to make sure these three were the only ones in this crew.”

  “Good thinking, Tim.” Nick joined the two from the front of the house. “Did you call in for a CSI team, ambulance, and meat wagon?”

  “I just did it,” Grace said. “Thanks for keeping the kill scene untouched. Those two with weapons dropped from their fingers in attack position will corroborate any story the family tells. We won’t be returning to your house. Tim and I will be spending the night elaborating on our calling in a US Marshal’s special operations team to free the hostages. We’ll stick with that and only that for now. Our boss will be beamed in here to get in front of the cameras, so after the family is safe, and Tim learns whether anyone else is involved, your special ops team can leave, Muerto.”

  “Thanks, Grace, I’ll relay your statement. No need for names to be mentioned. Hell, let your boss claim he busted in here and killed all the bad guys if it will make this easier.”

  “Actually, the boss is a she, about five feet tall. Tamara Blassinghill, hold over from the last administration, couldn’t break into a Girl Scout cookie box. Tamara would take credit for the whole thing if she could. The new Attorney General already told her he expects her resignation on his desk by May 1st. I wish we could stay and hear you perform on the deck.”

  “Next time. I’ll help Tim. Gus and Cala are with the family. They’re also watching with Johnny for anything suspicious on the road in front. C’mon, Tim, Jian and I will help you hunt and gather. We won’t touch any of the bodies. They’ll have some gear bags around here, I’m sure. Maybe we can find someone else to kill tonight.”

  Grace bumped her shoulder into Nick and bounced off. “Not funny, Muerto!”

  “Not to you, maybe.”

  Chapter Ten

  Treason and Softball

  “Vince learned they didn’t man all the towers at Atwater,” Tim explained to Nick. “He arranged for his brother, Larry, to be on scene at exactly the right time in a stolen car. It’s in the Ranch’s garage. Talbert and Cloverman overpowered the two guards and killed them. They put on their uniforms, stashed the bodies, and made it through three fences, disabling the lethal one. Their scheme would have worked if not for the girlfriend call.”

  “I think you and Grace tapping all the family and friends’ phones had a lot to do with it. We’ll go, and let you sort things through with your boss. The media shouldn’t get wind of this before tomorrow morning.”

  “What did you give the dad?”

  “I told him the special operations unit has a fund for special cases. I gave him a couple thousand to stay away from the house until I can call in my people to clean the scene.”

  “I didn’t know you did that. Does Grace know?”

  “It’s better to keep it to the smallest number as possible. It buys me and the cartoons anonymity. I give them the money and they promise to keep their interview bland, such as reporting a team of unidentified Marshals rescued us. We get enough notoriety as it is.”

  Tim nodded in agreement. “I saw the bookstore incident with Hardin Travers. I always thought he was Marine Recon. I’ve seen publicity pictures of him with the uniform on. I know I’ve heard him say ‘once a Marine, always a Marine’.”

  “The phrase is true… he’s not. I was ordered to collect the jacket. He’s converting to Islam too. That was a bit hard to swallow, unless he has it in mind to get protected under the Sharia Law pedophilia exemption.”

  “That’s cold, Nick.”

  “We have people in Islam all their lives trying to escape it, and idiot leftists trying to break into it. It’s a mad world, Tim.”

  “I can’t disagree with you there. I’ll call next time Grace and I are in the area. We’ll stop by for your floor show on the deck.”

  “We’ll be glad to have you. Be more careful out there, Tim. Marshal Chen saved your asses tonight.”

  “He sure did. That was a great move bringing him aboard the cartoon express.”

  “Johnny made me recruit him. I shot him before I recruited him.”

  “No shit?”

  “He never lets me hear the end of it either. Any time it rains, he moans his shoulder let him know in advance. See you later, Tim.”

  Nick joined his crew awaiting him. “I think we’ll do our small celebration at the Point tomorrow morning.”

  “Despite Jean’s assertions we’re all on the sauce?”

  “You don’t need to come, Payaso. Johnny, Jian, and I will take care of your portion.”

  “Very funny. Are you bringing Quinn?”

  “I’ll make us some omelet sandwiches too, so we don’t get accused of being complete lushes. Nice shooting tonight, Dragon. You saved our Marshal buddies.”

  “They were actually shouting surrender orders to a guy pointing an AK47 at them. I would have shot him the moment I saw the gun barrel rounding the corner.”

  “Too much riding desks dulls the edge,” Nick replied. “I think tonight was a wakeup call for Tim and Grace. They’ll either stay out of the field or get back to a training facility with a mockup practice field. Remember, tomorrow… I mean this morning… I’ll be walking Deke the long way by the bookstore.”

  “Since we’re on the sauce, a longer walk would be good,” Gus said.

  “You four work out every day.” Cala glanced over at Johnny next to her. “I think Jean was just joking. I don’t know how you can stand to do those workouts. Muerto then works with Jean and Sonny. I hope we can see one of Al’s softball games. I was never allowed to play sports.”

  “That gives me an idea, Cala. Would you like to play? They have adult softball leagues around here I’m sure. We have enough people to get a team. I’ll talk to Joe at the Monte Café. He can sponsor us, although we’ll pay for everything. I bet we can talk Neil and his wife into playing on our team. That would be nine right there. We know a few of the other police on the ‘Grove’ force too.”

  “Do you mean it, Muerto. That would be fun, I think. I need to stay in shape during my pregnancy. I hate exercises.”

  “We’ll get equipment and test it out with Jean, Sonny, and Jay. We can test your enthusiasm. If it’s not quite what you want to do on a regular team, we can always play some ball on our own.”

  “That sounds wonderful. I would still like to see Al’s game with Cruella Deville as the assistant coach.”

  “You and me both,” Nick replied.

  * * *

  Since we don’t work regular hours, we agreed by vote where and when to practice. The parents picked Allendale Field near where all of us softball team parents lived. The field at Allendale afforded us the opportunity to play at nearly anytime we wished during the day. It was far from the safest place around, but it was when the Monster Squad held practice. Oaktown Cartel owned the Allendale District. Our Godfathers of Oaktown arrived in a limousine to attend all practices and games. To say any practice under Oaktown Cartel protection was a gang no-go zone would be an understatement.

  A practice game, scheduled with the Bobcats, coupled both the spring excitement and unusually warm temps in the upper sixties. Lynn and I went out to the pitcher’s mound to meet with the volunteer umpires and Bobcat coaches. It was a fun time. The coach for the Bobcats hated the sight of Lynn and I on the fi
eld. We won the championship last year in a close run against the Bobcats. To say he harbored a grudge would be an understatement. The umpires, a mixture of seasoned parents who loved the game and late teen guys familiar with the sport, met with us at the mound. Hector Torres and his wife Jill, coached the Bobcats. Their daughter, Felisa, was the Bobcat star.

  “I think this year will be the best in a long time and I believe our all-stars will win it all,” the umpire, a rotund veteran of many seasons, Manuel Flores said by way of greeting. “It is good to see coaches I recognize and have worked with.”

  “Let’s get something straight.” Hector pointed at me. “We want the games called legitimately. Just because this guy beats people in the UFC cage doesn’t afford his team special treatment. We will protest any game with his A’s where we believe his UFC status caused the Blue to make errors in judgment on calls.”

  They both avoided our looks of bewilderment. I confess I didn’t figure on being handicapped at the beginning of the season because of the UFC. After the initial shock though, Lynn broke off into loud amusement.

  “John… and I… aren’t playing, Hector,” Lynn said finally. “We have never argued calls on the field. We coach the girls to accept every call without malice. That is what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it, Manny?”

  Flores headed the volunteer umpire crew across the league. “Of course, Lynn. You and John have been excellent at teaching sportsmanship. Why would you start the season with such a thing, Hector?”

  Hector launched into a Spanish tirade. “We will not be hosed by these gangsters and their minions. This is a girls’ softball league. I think they should be banned as coaches.”

  “John and I speak Spanish, Hector,” Lynn replied. “Are you accusing John and I of something in particular?”

  Yep. Lynn had learned the intricacies of girls’ softball politics. We recognized some of the parent coaches were nuts. Hector hawed and hemmed for a moment.

  “You two bully the umpires just by your presence! We know what you bunch do in private life.”