The Suicide Society

by William Brennan Knight

  “The girl. She seemed far more real than the other entity,” said Zach. “I sensed she is connected to him somehow. I tried to contact her.”

  “How?” asked Anston.

  “I touched her mind and asked her to meet us here in Portland.”

  Munoz caught himself rolling his eyes just as his prepaid cell phone began to ring. He recognized the number; it was Yolanda. He looked tentatively at both Anston and Zach before picking up the phone.

  “Jose, where the hell are you?” she whispered without bothering to extend a greeting. “The Feds are crawling all over the place and they’re looking for you. You’re about two minutes from getting your very own APB. Get your ass back to the station—now.”

  “What do they want?”

  “It’s about the FBI shootings. They’re claiming one of the agents was alive when they found him, and apparently he implicated you. There’s something about a banker you roughed up yesterday. He claims you killed his assistant and stole his computer.”

  “Yolanda, I’m in some trouble here. But there’s something going on that’s way beyond me. This may test the boundaries of our friendship, but I’m going to need your help.”

  “Just tell me you didn’t kill anyone.”

  He hesitated. “I can’t because I did. But it was in self-defense. I tell you I’m on to something, but I’m not even sure what it is.”

  She sighed. “Oh Lord… Ok, Jose. I’ll help you. But goddamn it, you better be on the level.”

  “Thank you for believing in me, Yolanda.” he replied. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Munoz returned the phone to his pocket and turned back to his companions. “Well gentlemen, it appears my meeting with Harold Moss has had consequences. I think they’ve tied me to the FBI shootings at Curtis Robert’s trailer. I don’t know what I’m going to say when I get to Seattle, but I better be leaving.” Munoz rose from the table when Zach suddenly grabbed his arm.

  “Jose, I don’t know if you want to go back to the station. Look at this.”

  Munoz followed Zach’s finger as it scrolled through the computer screen. He stopped at a long list directly linked to Harold Moss. Munoz’ jaw tightened as he stared at the names of Arnez Sanchez and Moshe Goldblume, the very FBI agents that Munoz killed in Curtis Robert’s apartment two days ago.

  “My God,” Munoz muttered, “what do I do now?”

  ***

  The room was dark and smelled foul. The pristine silence accommodated a return to harmony within the flow. While everything was rectified, it came at a significant cost. Mr. Cox would have preferred to retire, but an incessant banging at the door finally brought him out of the Network substructure and back to reality. He stood up unsteadily and made his way to the door.

  Xavier Watts walked in and stopped short, seeming to assess the condition of his leader. The light was very dim, but Mr. Cox looked uncharacteristically frail as he walked back to the couch and slumped against the cushion. Even in the darkness, the Benefactor couldn’t hide the trickle of blood that leaked from his left nostril.

  “Uh, sir, are you, uh, all right?”

  Mr. Cox’ breathing was deep and labored. “Your concern is touching, but I assume you didn’t interrupt me for a status report on my health.”

  “Sir, we have a problem in the northwest corridor. There is a serious breach in our control of that area. Several of our most secure loyalists, the suicides in fact, began to disobey orders and act against our will. Do you have any idea why this happened?”

  A slow, almost imperceptible cackling came from the shadows. “Watts, you often irritate me. Your clock-like precision is admirable, yet detestable. Yes, I know exactly what is happening in the northwest. I lost temporary contact with that quadrant. There is someone—something that disrupted the purity of the flow. I sense his power grows. I must find and eliminate him before he has another opportunity to disrupt the plan.”

  “Him? It is an individual Benefactor?”

  “I don’t know if ‘individual’ is the right term. It is a being, or a presence, or simply an intelligence. It has the ability to interfere with my stream of consciousness, which is not an easy thing to do. I was caught off guard; we grappled, and I was forced to draw energy from the immediate area to subdue him. That is where the damage was done.”

  Watts regarded Mr. Cox thoughtfully. “What should we do about this?”

  “Well, there is obviously some serious work to do in the west and northwest. Get Alan on it immediately.”

  “I have already talked to him. He is turning his full attention to the problem.”

  “Good. And the bombs, are they in place?”

  “Soon Benefactor. All six of the weapons are either in place or in transit and will be ready for detonation by at the designated time.”

  “Then by all means, let us not hesitate. Instruct our key people in Istanbul to evacuate. Give them 24 hours to get away from the cities and into the shelters we have built. It will be a glorious day, Xavier. The first bomb will announce my arrival. By the time the third bomb detonates, they will be worshiping me. When the last hominid dies from radiation burns, they will be drinking my urine and eating my feces for communion. We will then emerge, and I will take my place as rightful ruler of the new society.”

  “It will be grand, Benefactor. It will be a grand day indeed.”

  “Fetch me a glass of red wine, Watts. I feel my strength returning, and I need to devise a plan to deal with this intruder.”

  ***

  Temir sat with his head in his hands; a shackle held his legs, and a thick chain was locked securely onto a peg embedded in the concrete wall. He rocked back and forth while chanting and singing praises to the Rasul in Kazakh. The Chicago Police officers were not amused. The interrogation was old style: massive walls, a two-way mirror and a wooden bench. A worn table was the only unsecured furniture in the room.

  The three officers shouted vulgar race-related insults and slapped Temir upside the head while the video recorder was paused. Chicago cops were tough, and they knew the corrupt prosecutor’s office would have their back on this one. It was a brutal murder scene, and the fact that a Central Asian was involved made it all the more troubling.

  “What the hell were you doing in there?” asked Sergeant Walter Michaels as he threw an arrest report on the table. He was met by silence, and the chanting continued. Michaels slapped the alleged murderer in the head yet again, hoping to persuade the suspect to cooperate. The vigorous nature of interrogation left little doubt that he enjoyed this part of his job.

  “I said, I want to know what you were doing in there. Why did you kill the attendant?” Michaels grabbed his service revolver, and in a moment of temporary madness, pulled the plunger back. The sound of a round entering the chamber was unmistakable.

  The chanting grew louder as Temir rocked with greater fervor while two other officers grabbed Michaels and backed him away from the suspect.

  Sergeant Kevin O’Malley grabbed the Muslim by the collar; his face was a mere inch from Temir’s. “Listen to me, you piece of shit. I want to know why you were in the garage and what the attendant saw that made you kill him?”

  O’Malley waited for an answer, but Temir just continued to chant. The cop grabbed the collar of the terrorist and slapped him hard across the face. “Give me answers you son of a bitch, or I swear I’ll let him kill you.”

  Temir looked at the officer directly and spat in his face. O’Malley lurched at the prisoner but drew back as he muttered obscenities under his breath.

  Outside the police station in an alley a few blocks away, Burikhan and Kabanbai stood stoically. Burikhan held a cell phone to his head talking in hushed tones. “I understand Mr. Abernathy. I understand. I am sorry—yes, I know the Benefactor will be displeased, but in a few hours, no one here will be alive to care.”

  “It doesn’t matter that you will die, Burikhan. It’s the least of your worries. I may decide to let you live, and that will be a far worse fate for you,” sai
d Thomas Abernathy. “Since you have broken your agreement with the Benefactor, perhaps we will take the privileges away from your family and instead subject them to the strict interpretation of your local laws.”

  “No—no. Please, Mr. Abernathy, please. I will do anything to correct this mistake.”

  “Then let there be no more words Burikhan. Carry out the appropriate act. I must go. There are many phone calls I have to make; the first is to my boss, Xavier Watts. This will not be fixed easily.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The door to the interrogation room opened, and the deputy commissioner walked in unexpectedly. While he was a commanding figure, all eyes turned to the woman that had followed him into the room. She moved with a sultry seductiveness that instantly radiated among the sweaty men as they shamelessly gawked at her. Her hair was a glistening blonde, and her chic Adrianna Papell business suit hugged her svelte body and accentuated her abundant physical attributes. A few seconds later, a second man entered the room. His gloomy expression and dark single-breasted suit instantly identified him as a federal agent.

  The presence of a deputy commissioner at a prisoner interrogation center was highly unusual, especially in a low level street murder/robbery. Sergeant Kevin O’Malley and Captain Chad Murkell exchanged puzzled glances as the commissioner and FBI man huddled with the woman and Temir. There was much whispering in low tones.

  After some time, the unusual private conference disbanded, and the deputy commissioner turned back to the officers in the room. “Gentlemen, for those of you who don’t know me, I am Deputy Commissioner Paul Trardent. Over there is Agent Krause from the FBI. I would also like to introduce the suspect’s attorney, Kathy Rodgers from Arizona. Ms. Rodgers has arranged for the suspect’s bail and is advising her client to refuse any additional interrogation. Is that right, Ms. Rodgers?”

  Kathy smiled warmly. “Yes, Deputy Commissioner. In fact, bail was set over half an hour ago. I want my client released to my custody immediately. I also need a transcript of the interrogation, which I’ll challenge in court. In light of my client’s nationality, these surroundings seem purposely demeaning. We’ll be filing equal protection and police harassment lawsuits against the attending officers. These behaviors should never be tolerated, especially against a minority.”

  “Ms. Rodgers, the department really doesn’t need any unnecessary embarrassment. Is there anything we could do to, er, address the situation?”

  Kathy paused a moment before bending over and whispering something to Temir. He seemed to ponder whatever she had told him before straightening up and replying softly while cupping his hand over her ear. Rodgers nodded and turned to the officers, a forced smile on her lips that barely hid her contempt.

  “My client will agree to hold the officers harmless if he is released immediately and all charges are dismissed. If we don’t leave this room with a deal, I’ll file the lawsuit in the morning. Of course, by 12 noon, I’ll be on every national news program as well. The press just loves these stories about racism against undocumented foreign immigrants.”

  Walt Michaels sneered and mumbled, “Damn bitch lawyer.”

  O’Malley and Murkell shifted in their chairs uneasily.

  Deputy Commissioner Trardent puffed his cheeks and blew out forcefully. “Well, I don’t think any of us want that kind of scrutiny. What if we agree to release the suspect on his own recognizance while we continue the investigation?”

  “Now wait a minute,” said Murkell. “This is a homicide. There’s a man in the parking garage, and they’re peeling him off the glass walls in the booth, one body part at a time. This ‘suspect’ has the victim’s blood all over him, and he was the only one in the garage at the time of the crime. We’re just gonna let him go? Are you serious?”

  Rodgers looked at the deputy commissioner. “Well, apparently we don’t have a deal.” She stood up and began to close her briefcase.

  “Hold on, please just hold on a minute,” said Trardent. “Captain Murkell, while I admire your sense of duty, your pragmatism leaves something to be desired. Do you really want to endure the internal affairs investigation that will follow? You know your picture will be in the paper and on the internet every day? She will turn you into a racist cop, and the public will verbally lynch you. Is that what you want for your family?”

  Murkell hung his head and didn’t rely. “Good. Then I’m authorizing the immediate release of this suspect into Ms. Rodger’s custody. As for the officers in this room, you are hereby relieved of all responsibility in this matter.”

  “I’m not sure you have the authority to do that,” said Murkell. “This is just wrong. We need to at least hold him until we’re finished processing the crime scene.”

  “Please, Captain, don’t lecture me on procedure. The decision has been made. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a car waiting, and I’m pressed for time.”

  Murkell sighed and turned toward O’Malley. “Sergeant, prepare the suspect for release,” he said with obvious bitterness in his voice.

  Moving slowly, his eyes glued on the Deputy Commissioner, O’Malley undid the handcuffs and removed them from Temir’s wrists. He knew something was very wrong here. The disregard for procedure was outrageous. The suspect rose from the table and grinned ever so slightly as he shuffled toward the door. Just as they were exiting, Kathy turned back and faced O’Malley. “What did you just say?”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Yes you did. I heard you. You said I was a bad mother and you were ashamed.”

  O’Malley raised his hands and shrugged. “What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t say a word to you. Did I say anything to her Captain?”

  “No, of course not. Are you all right, ma’am?”

  Kathy turned around and grasped Temir by the arm and walked back to the door. “I’m not a bad mother,” she said softly. “You should never be ashamed of me. I did all that I could to help you.” O’Malley exchanged puzzled glances with Murkell as the door closed behind her.

  Within minutes, Temir entered an armored transport vehicle with Rodgers at his side. He looked to the back seat and saw Burikhan and Kabanbai, who seemed solemn and troubled. Temir smiled at his friends and shouted, “God is great! We have accomplished the mission for the Rasul. All is good.”

  “All is not good, Temir,” said Burikhan. “The Benefactor is not pleased by the chaos you brought to our most holy mission. Though we successfully completed the task, he has asked us for the ultimate sacrifice.”

  Temir’s eyes widened. “No, no Burikhan. The guard was going to call the police. I saw it in his eyes. After all we have endured to complete this mission, he cannot ask that of us. It is wrong, it is—”

  “Shhhh—you must be silent. The Benefactor is all-knowing. It is not our place to question his decisions. If we are to die and reach paradise, then it is God’s will, and we must do his bidding.”

  Temir slumped into the bench seat and brought his hands up to his head and wept. He knew that his latest indiscretion would cost him his life and the lives of his companions. The transport van moved quietly through destitute tent cities toward its final destination on lower Wacker Drive near the Chicago River.

  As the van pulled to a stop beside a vacant private pier, Temir began to wail and struggle. With the encouragement of the guards, Kabanbai and Burikhan subdued Temir and bound his feet in thick ropes attached to a large lead weight. Burikhan then bound the willing feet of Kabanbai, and a guard attended to Burikhan himself.

  Kathy moved off from the vehicle and lit a cigarette with trembling hands as she watched the local Network agents drag the terrorists to the end of the deserted pier. She looked at the polluted, greenish water and was overcome by the smell of chemicals, algae and rotting fish.

  While Temir continued to wail through an applied gag, Yuusf and Burikhan quietly recited sacred passages from the Holy Book. There was a momentary pause before Deputy Commissioner Paul Trardent pushed each of the three men into the water. Only Temir
screamed as the trio sank slowly out of sight and joined the remains of countless other villains, mobsters, thieves and scoundrels on the murky bottom of the slow moving river.

  Kathy stumbled forward, a look of pain etched across her face. She held out a hand and moaned at the Commissioner. “No, that was my son—pull him out of the water. My son…” She ran toward the end of the pier. Her intent to jump was obvious, but at the last moment, Trardent grabbed her arm. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Let me go, you bastard. Let me go; it’s my son. My son is drowning.”

  Two uniformed offices moved in swiftly, and after some moments, the three men were finally able to subdue her.

  ***

  “Well Mayor, you seem to have created quite a stir, now didn’t you.” Alan Ziminiski looked at the image of the Modesto Mayor splashed across the huge monitor attached to his wall.

  Mayor Blum hung his head and barely looked at the camera directly above his computer. “I—we didn’t think it was in the best interest…” His voice trailed off.

  Alan shot up from his chair and rushed toward the screen. “Best interest? Whose best interest are we talking about here, Blum? Certainly not the best interest of the Benefactor now, was it? You know, the one who pulled your stinking ass out from the gutter and put you in the mayor’s office. What about his best interest?”

  Ricardo Blum buried his head in his hands.

  “See, we give you a little rope, withdraw the Benefactor’s supervision for an instant, and you begin to stray. Now what should we do about that, Mr. Mayor?”

  Sensing imminent dread, Blum dropped to his knees. “Please, Mr. Ziminski, it was just a mistake. I can fix it. I’ll bring the vote up again at the next meeting.”

  “Not good enough,” Alan snapped. “I need more than that.”

  “An emergency meeting. I’ll call one tomorrow. I’ll have the funding pulled by tomorrow night, I swear it.”

  “That’s better but still not enough. You’re a high profile associate, Mayor Blum. Some weak personalities have strayed and encouraged others to do the same. You need to be punished.” Alan fingered his face nervously, grabbing a round pus-filled nodule and squeezing hard. “What I want you to do is pick one of your children and kill them. I’ll leave the means up to you.”