The Iscariot Factor (Half Staff Book 2)

by Rick Mitchell

  The Iscariot Factor

  RICK MITCHELL

  Copyright © 2014 Rick Mitchell

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1500514310

  ISBN-10: 1500514314

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my wife of 36 years, Judy. While many have influenced my life; Judy has fulfilled it.

  Ecclesiastes 9:9 begins with, “Enjoy life with the wife whom you love”

  Judy, I have enjoyed this life with you and I can’t wait for the next chapter to begin.

  CHAPTER ONE

  He would need to wait until the blades stopped rotating before stepping out of the Eurocopter AS365 helicopter. A dust storm had encapsulated his craft, as the pilot attempted to determine his distance from the ground.

  From inside his metal cocoon the world looked as if it had turned a bright red. The dirt particles pounded his craft, and then settled back to the arid ground. He looked across the landscape and thought of the planet Mars. Who in their right mind would choose to live in such a desolate wasteland?

  Two bodyguards exited the craft and took their protective positions. One motioned it was safe for him to step out of the copter. He grimaced, as small clouds of red dust began their rise and fall with each step taken. His shoes and bottom cuffs of his trousers were covered in the fine particles.

  About fifty yards away stood a cabin. The roof of the small structure was covered in solar panels. He gave the area a quick 360 and noted it was void of service poles. He shook his head and slowly made his way toward the house.

  A man exited the house and started towards them. He looked to be about forty years old, drastically in need of a shave, and was smiling as he approached the group. One of the bodyguards moved ahead to intercept the man.

  His visitor stopped and waited until his guard motioned that it was safe to approach. Upon reaching his host, one guard continued toward the cabin.

  The bearded man speaking, “I’m Jim, it is good to finally put a face to the… well, I don’t know your name.”

  “Just call me Don?”

  “Don it is. Why don’t we get out of this sun? At this time of year it’s always freezing in the mornings and hot as hell in the afternoon. Your bird stirred up quite a bit of dust; that crap gets into everything around here.” Pointing toward his cabin, “It really plays hell with my solar system.”

  Looking back toward the house, “I can see where it could certainly be a problem.”

  The second bodyguard appeared at the door of the cabin and gave his partner thumbs up. One positioned himself outside the door, as the other three men entered.

  Jim asking, “Would you gentlemen like a glass of ice water, or perhaps some iced tea?”

  The older man, surprised the home was this well-kept inside, answered they were fine. He asked if he could use the rest room to wash some of the dust from his face. While in the bathroom, the bodyguard stood silently beside Jim until his boss returned.

  Don speaking, “As we discussed earlier, I found you through one of my colleagues. After reading several of your works, I had a sense you might be able to assist me.”

  “I reached out because what I need accomplished is, how should I put it; outside my wheelhouse. In my line of work I only deal in tangibles; seldom veering off into speculation, or in this case; theory. So I thought it best to reach out to someone who plays in the arena of conspiracy theory.”

  Jim replied, “As I mentioned before, I am on board with helping you; as long as I am compensated in a manner sufficient for time spent.”

  Don turned toward his bodyguard, who reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a large envelope, handing it to his boss. The older man opened the envelope revealing a large amount of cash inside.

  “Money is not the problem, but unfortunately time is.” He handed the man a three-page letter, “Take a few minutes to go over this and let me know if you have any questions. I believe I will take you up on your offer for ice water.”

  Jim started to stand but Don told his host that he was quite capable of fending for himself. He motioned for Jim to continue reading. A few minutes later he returned to the living room just as Jim was finishing the last page. Jim was shaking his head, “Don, this is fascinating.”

  “In what way?”

  “For days after President Stephen’s assassination, I was glued to my computer. Every conspiracy theorist in the world was waiting to see if there were signs of a cover up by our government. Some didn’t wait for a sign and began making up stories in hopes something might stick.

  “I read them all, from the asinine to the ones which make you stop a moment, and think. Early on I would have bet you that entire envelope of money the Morgan kid was the fall guy for something much bigger.

  “I read every theory that floated by; a couple were fairly close to what you have here. As much as I wanted to believe there was a smoking gun, nothing seemed legit. If you ask me, the kid just went off his rocker.

  “What I am about to say; please don’t take the wrong way, is that whatever you are expecting this document to accomplish, I’m afraid you are going to be very disappointed.”

  “So you believe neither the theorist community, nor the United States government, will take this paper seriously?”

  “Sorry, but that’s what I am saying. Let me explain it this way, recall how many movies you’ve seen, books you have read, where a secret society controls the government. Presidents are puppets, and the political parties were inept pawns in some larger scheme. Don’t get me wrong, I like your paper, but we’ve been there and done that to death.”

  Don laughed, “Jim, I do see your point; nonetheless, let’s call this an experiment. I would still like to see how much traction this document might be able to gain. You may be one hundred percent correct, and trust me; you would not be the first person to tell me I have more money than sense.”

  “I’m not inferring that at all. Let me ask you, if this is all you needed from me, why didn’t you just get one of your people to place it on the web?”

  “I can’t allow this document to be traced back to me; this is why I came to you. I want you to rewrite it in your own words. If by chance anyone ever questions you about the document, which is unlikely, I need it to be all on you. Now you see why I am not eager to share my identity with you.”

  Jim looking down at the papers, “Not a problem, your secret is safe with me. I should have it streaming across the web by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Don replied, “Jim, I really need it to go out tonight. Unfortunately, I have a deadline.

  “I tell you what I am willing to do. If you don’t mind the company, I will leave David, pointing to his bodyguard, with you for the evening. I am expected in Phoenix for a late business meeting, so I must leave. David is my trusted companion, and once he sees the job is completed, he will pay you our discussed price.

  “David, call the pilot from your Sat Phone, when Jim is finished. I’ll even be nice enough to have the pilot bring you back dinner; how about a couple of thick steaks?”

  David looked over at Jim, and smiled, “I think both of us would be happy with a couple of steaks. As you know boss, I like mine medium rare; Jim, how about you?”

  “Let’s go with medium for me. I don’t like it mooing at me.” Jim said, returning the smile.

  Don standing, he shook hands with Jim, and started walking toward the front door. “So we are golden? You will be able to get it out today?”

  Jim answered assuredly, “It won’t be a problem, Sir. If you ever need anything else, please let me know. Thank you again for considering me, the extra money will come in handy.”

  “No, thank you!”
Don replied. “It’s good to have someone else I can depend on when the need arises. David will get any other contact information from you before he leaves. OK gentlemen, I’m off.”

  Halfway back to the helicopter, Don turns back toward the two men at the doorway of the cabin. He pulls the envelope of money from his pocket, and calls to David.

  “David, I forgot to hand you back the money. Save my shoes and please come get it,” Don yells.

  David reaches his boss and takes the envelope. Don places his arm on David’s shoulder and whispers instructions. “Read it over and once he hits the send button, please kill the man. Bring back all the computers you find in the cabin. And David, bring me back my money.”

  David answered, “Gladly. Do you want me to torch the place?”

  Don smiled and waved at Jim, “Just prop the door open, let the coyotes have a meal on us. Have you ever seen such a horrid place in your entire life? Seriously, who would want to live like this?”

  David went back to the cabin door, and the two men watched as the helicopter began its engine start. The large copter lifted up through the cloud of dust leaving a red vortex behind it.

  Jim looked at David, and said, “I guess we need to get to work. Since your boss is gone; would you like a real drink?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kevin Sands excelled in the art of killing. He began his craft at the age of seven after being gifted his first pellet gun on a cold Christmas morning. When spring began casting its first shadows over the North Carolina woods, Kevin and his weapon had become one. With the spring came a rich target environment, as enemies, bird or four-legged foe dared to cross into his kill zone.

  Someone would later say it was his love for violent video games which fueled his fascination with death; it was not true. For Kevin it was the thrill of the hunt. He loved the power he held over life. He would often hold his dying prey to witness their final breaths. At the age of thirteen his parents discovered he had been responsible for several pet disappearances in their neighborhood.

  That same year he was sent to live with his grandfather, Bill Stoops, in nearby Burke County. His grandfather, now in his sixties, had always enjoyed a strong bond with Kevin. His daughter and reluctantly, his son-in-law, agreed this change was the best hope of getting their son on track. The move was fine with Kevin as he worshiped his grandfather. Kevin loved listening to his grandfather’s stories about his time serving in the Army.

  He and his grandfather communicated at a level he and his father never shared. Over the next few years his grandfather taught Kevin how to control the impulses which had haunted him through his youth. He taught Kevin that while every beating heart has the ability to end a life; it is the human who regularly performs it outside of nature’s boundaries. Animals don’t kill because they can; they kill out of the necessities of self-preservation.

  It had been Kevin’s grandfather who had gifted him with the pellet gun that Christmas morn. He was the first to recognize that Kevin’s ability with a firearm went far beyond the sharpshooter level he achieved while in the military. The two would spend every opportunity at the dirt pit practicing, honing Kevin’s natural gift.

  At eighteen Kevin earned his GED and enlisted in the U.S. Army. During basic combat training in Fort Benning Georgia, his exceptional weapon proficiency, and ease of transition from civilian to soldier, caught the attention of his brigade commander. After his initial nine-week training, Private Sands was assigned to undergo fourteen additional weeks of advanced individual training.

  -----

  Fourteen months had passed since the assassinations of President Stephens and Mexican President Fuentes. Special Agent-in-Charge Pat Drice had finally settled into his role as lead agent in President Ward’s protective detail.

  Soon after the assassinations Pat was assigned by the President to protect the Morgan family from retaliation by the Mexican President’s brother, cartel leader Hector Fuentes.

  That mission morphed into his uncovering the connection between the assassinations and a group of conspirators. Since those findings, the government and the conspirators had been at a stalemate. It was obvious neither group wanted to change the status quo.

  The official report from the Secret Service, FBI, and White House, concluded Airman First Class Douglas Morgan acted alone in the murder of President Robert Stephens. It added the investigation yielded no evidence that the murder of Mexico’s President Fuentes was anything other than collateral damage from this single act of treason.

  Many conspiracy theories centered on the death of Charles King, a partner in the Dallas law firm, Stanfield, McAllister, and King. King was a boss and mentor to Doug Morgan’s brother Reed, who was also a lawyer in the same firm.

  Fueling these theories was that federal agents and Reed Morgan had visited Charles King the morning of his death. While being questioned King jumped from the thirty-fourth floor of his office building.

  The investigation found that Charles King had been responsible for providing Hector Fuentes with key information about the Morgan family. Hector used this information to devise his failed attempt on the Morgan’s. The report went on to state that it was Hector who implicated Charles King, shortly after his arrest on Air Force One.

  Since King’s death, Pat Drice would take a portion of his morning flipping through the current supply of conspiracy theories. He would often come across a theory so off-the-wall it made him laugh. The ones which made him grimace were those that danced a little too close to the truth.

  On this morning one came across his desk that scared the crap out of him. He picked up the phone and dialed the White House extension, “Edna, I need to see the President as soon as possible, please.”

  “Pat, he has a busy morning, can it wait until the afternoon? I can work you in at three.”

  “Three it is. Edna, if his schedule opens before three, can you let me know?”

  “Sure, not a problem, my other lines ringing, I will let you know if anything changes; Bye.”

  -----

  Reed Morgan, aka Daniel Stone, was the identity provided him by the U.S. Marshal Service shortly after his relocation to Colorado. No longer able to serve as a lawyer, Reed’s new profession used little of his previous skillsets. As the postmaster in the small-town of Edgewater, Colorado, Reed’s life had flipped a full three sixty.

  Edgewater, a town of about six thousand residents was located about ten miles from his home in Littleton. It had taken three months for the Marshal Service to provide background support for Daniel Stone.

  If one would read his file they would find this was Daniel’s first postmaster assignment, having worked in various other postal duties for the last eight years in Hattiesburg, Mississippi.

  In the unlikely event someone from Hattiesburg happened to wind up in Edgewater, Daniel also had to learn key tidbits about Hattiesburg and its surrounding area.

  Daniel was considered a loner in Edgewater, never venturing far from the small post office. Regina Davis, one of two letter carriers assigned to Edgewater, had mentioned at the Breakfast on the Edge restaurant that her new boss was so introverted he brought his lunch with him daily.

  Reed worked hard on his transformation into Daniel Stone. He understood that while living under the (WPP) Witness Protection Program, the back story was the key to his families’ continued safety.

  As a whole, he considered his cover as brilliant. He wondered how many times the Marshal Service had enlisted the help of the USPS in their protection program.

  Paid by the government, the Marshal Service was free to adjust his payroll as needed. As postmaster Reed would have firsthand knowledge of anyone who moved into Edgewater. Weekly this information was forwarded to the Marshal Service so they could perform background checks.

  His postmaster salary was $59,575 a year, plus the Marshal Service kicked in another two thousand dollars a month for housing expenses. Reed jokingly had asked his Marshal handler, Henry Hawkins, just how many of the 26,000 U.S. postmasters were in
the Witness Protection Program. Marshal Hawkins just smiled at the question.

  Unusual to the WPP, Reed Morgan was not the only one of his family members under protection in the Denver area. Reed’s parents also lived under aliases just east of Denver.

  Provided a small cottage, they lived off their retirement benefits. Social security payments and Reed’s father’s military benefits were transferred to their new identities.

  Under the agreement laid out to Pat Drice, and approved by the President, Reed made monthly visits to his parent’s home, and called them weekly.

  Less frequent were contacts with his sister, Nicki, niece Rachel, and brother-in-law, Louis. The three were also under WPP protection in Colorado, about three hours west of Denver. Louis was working offshore in Northern Alaska, and his pay was more than enough to allow Nicki to be a stay-at-home mom. She was homeschooling Rachel.

  Reed had spoken with Pat only once since their trip to Dallas. Fourteen months later, Reed still hadn’t come to grips with what happened that day. How could one get over finding out a man he considered a true friend had played a major role in his brother’s death? Charles King had manipulated his brother in assassinating the President.

  His brother’s innocence, through naïve ignorance, would probably never come to light. Any chance of the other conspirators being arrested probably died with Charles King. The true pain was when he had to promise never to tell his family the truth behind the murders. He was going to have to rest on a promise given to him by Drice and President Ward. The conspirators would one day come to justice.

  Reed knew that Doug’s name could never be cleared. Doug had pointed the weapon and pulled the trigger which had killed two presidents that morning on the South Lawn. No matter at what angle you tried to view it; that fact would never change.

  Reed’s last conversation with Agent Drice was the day Lisa Grant left the program. The Marshal Service had reluctantly agreed that Lisa’s protection was not as critical as that of the Morgan family. After gaining final approval from the White House, they signed off on her leaving the program.