by Adam J Watts
'To enact your own form of justice.’
'Exactly. A crime cannot go unpunished. Even those misdemeanours that nobody sees.’ Herman stared at his hostage for a moment. 'I saw their crimes... They were all like him... Cowards.’
'Herr Irwin?'
Seb moved away slightly. His back now pressing against the door of the gas chamber.
'My father.’
'I do not understand.’
'I doubt he did either, but I hope he realised in his final seconds. I hope he knew just who had extinguished his sorry excuse for a life.’
Herman swallowed, 'You tampered with your own father's car?'
'The brakes, to be exact,' Seb said with an element of excitement.
'But you were only a boy... What had he done to deserve such a punishment?'
'He was a disgrace! No amount of money or success could atone for his sins... Whenever I went into the village on an errand for my mother, I would pass by the local garage. I got to know the mechanic there quite well and he would occasionally show me things.’
'You killed your own father?' the disbelief in Herman's voice was clear.
Seb grinned, 'Shock you does it? It gets easier with time... So you see, I never needed a special device. Gerald saw something in me he could utilise from the very beginning.’
'No implant?' Herman whispered. To himself more than anyone.
'Nothing in here...' Seb tapped his forehead, 'Except a diseased mind.’
Before he could react, Seb had knocked the gun from the confused Hackbeil's grasp and had one hand on the gas chamber door.
'Nein! What are you doing?'
'Passing sentence!'
The aging German had become weak over the years and Seb figured that this was what must happen when you no longer needed to fight. With one arm up his own back Herman cried out in pain, before tumbling into the open chamber.
'You do not need to do this... We could still work together!'
'I have no desire to work with you. You killed my friend, you practically killed Caitlin and you know too much!'
'I would tell no-one. Who could I speak to? I am wanted for war crimes and the Americans wish to steal my work. What do you think they would do to me once they have what they need?'
'The same as I am about to do, so just accept your fate... I have.’
Chapter Thirty-Two:
The First Cut ~ Autumn 1938
Everything had gone to plan. Locating a worthy target, studying his movements, covering every angle. Sourcing the required items hadn't been too difficult either and he was sure that the tools of his new 'trade' could be reused several times over.
This man was a drunk, so killing him had been relatively simple. It was the staging of the crime scene that required the most attention. When the idea first came to him, the potential for a game of cat and mouse was nowhere to be seen. It was only when he had seen Caitlin's feeble attempts to cover a bruise on her cheek that he decided to make his vendetta personal.
Edward Irwin did not deserve the life he currently had, but Seb would not be the one to take it from him. Oh no. That would be far too easy. Instead he arrived at the appealing conclusion that he would slowly dissemble the coward's life piece by piece.
Caitlin had already left him. She had already betrayed him with another man. The fact that the other man was Seb made no difference. Yes it was an added bonus, but
although the pair had shared a night together after the graduation ceremony, things hadn't happened the way the young publisher had hoped.
Apparently she saw him as more of a brother figure. There was no denying that this hurt him at the time and continued to do so to this very day, but if that was all he could be to her, he could at least keep a watchful eye on her, just like a brother might.
He had no idea why he found this kind of thing so easy. Perhaps it had something to do with his upbringing and the life he experienced as a child. Although he would never seek sympathy from anyone, sometimes Seb wished that people could appreciate how bad things actually were behind his father's smoke screen of success.
Keeping count of the times you have felt powerless and scared when the one thing you long for is the courage and physical presence to intervene is a difficult thing to stomach. You can hear the events unfolding in another room, but there is nothing significant you can do.
Time may not be as great a healer as they say, but it provides you with the opportunity to think. Debts can be repaid in many ways and there are always more sinners in the world. His father had paid the price for his discrepancies and he hoped that the man had suffered.
As blood fell periodically from the tip of his scalpel Seb recalled a past scene. A young man - fifteen to be precise - perched in a distant tree, the flames from his father's upturned car danced in his eyes. Eyes that gave
away nothing. Eyes that had seen it all already and could take everything in their stride.
This particular young man was destined for great things. At least that's what they told him. Little did those believers realise what those, 'things' really were and how they would impact on the lives of others throughout the world.
Epilogue: Rebirth - Winter 1961
'Incursion team Alpha submitted their report about an hour ago, Mr. President.’
'Very good Bob. I trust the results are favourable?'
The room fell silent. The whirring of the projector could be heard in the background.
'God damn it Bob! What went wrong?'
'Well Sir, we believe the original mission was compromised. First-hand accounts from the support units in the sky, detail a standoff inside a military building...'
'And?'
'That's where the report ends, Sir. Our boys had to take evasive action when troops on the ground returned fire.’
It was never good when JFK sighed. Bob knew this.
'So we know absolutely nothing, except what the charred remains tell us!'
'I'm afraid not Sir. The German is almost certainly dead - gassed in his own, sick torture chamber. His research was either destroyed in the fire or stolen; both Beasley and the Russian are missing in action.’
'We should never have trusted him...'
Bob coughed, 'Well, Sir I did...'
'Shut the hell up! I'm well aware of what you said, Secretary.’
'Yes Sir.’
The President took a sip from the glass in front of him.
'There must be some good news... What of Castro?'
'Mixed messages at the moment Sir.’
'And what exactly does that mean?'
'Some of our sources report a shooting several hours after the initial incident. It was at one of the houses we know is linked with the target, but we cannot confirm a kill.’
Without warning the now empty glass made contact with the far wall.
'Nobody double crosses the president of The United States and gets away with it!'
'No Sir.’
'Find this guy, Bob. Find him yesterday... I want that research and I want his head.’
TO BE CONTINUED...
COMING SOON
MORAL DILEMMA The Second Book in the Samuel Beasley Trilogy
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For an intelligence service, the FBI had proven themselves to be denser than he had previously imagined. Did they seriously think he would do the job himself?
Not only was age against him these days, there was simply no need to get his own hands dirty. The game had been changed. The goalposts repositioned. It was now his turn to pull the strings.
Of course, they would never admit it. He watched intently as some poor, unsuspecting halfwit was dusted off and thrust in front of a camera. Lee Harvey Oswald?
A relative nobody. Probably a paranoid loner of some sort. The ideal candidate.
He was merely a scapegoat deployed to hide the truth from the masses. The real assassin was a professional. Not some bumbling amateur with a grudge.
There was a knock at the door. The predetermined signal. Seb ro
se from his chair and headed into the hallway. He had rented the Seattle apartment under yet another pseudonym. He needed to be as far away from the action as possible.
'You'd better come in,' he told his visitor. 'Take a seat.’
Seb flicked off the power switch on the television. The clock on the wall stood at 2pm. He stared at this briefly, as the tube inside the old television set popped.
'Excellent work my friend. The training paid off... He's a natural.’
The midday sun cascaded through the grimy window behind him. It was filtered significantly by several weeks’ worth of dirt, but still strong enough to highlight the scar tissue on the other man's neck. He nodded in acknowledgement.
'Just like old times...' his guest replied flatly. Seb smiled.
'Just like old times Max.’
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Meet The Author
Adam J. Watts is a child of the eighties and currently lives in his hometown of Sheffield, South Yorkshire, England. He has an aspiration to travel one day, but for the time being, there's no place like home!
Just like his fictional protagonist, Adam's journey (towards writing) was a winding one. With two University degrees and a background in design / teaching, the creator of the Samuel Beasley trilogy has certainly kept himself busy.
In what scarce spare time comes his way Adam enjoys acting, sports, going to the cinema and reading the work of other authors. He is also nurturing the notion of world domination, but this may have to wait as the weather forecast for tomorrow looks a little dubious!
***
On a slightly more serious note, it is in this section that he would like to extend a heart-felt thank you to all those absent from the acknowledgement page.
"In my defence, one cannot recite the names of those he is yet to be acquainted to, but the thought of other people reading my work and appreciating it has to be the most gratifying form of payment around. That and the cold, hard cash!"
"I'm kidding. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the story and - similarly - the characters that made it happen. Stay vigilant for the second instalment and I'll try not to disappoint!"
Kind regards, Adam.
Without readers a book cannot be truly appreciated... Without likeminded individuals, a following never forms... Without each other, we can never change the world!
Don't doubt yourself. Life is too short to wonder, 'what if?' Get out there and do the things that make you happy... The opinions of anyone else are merely musings.
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