by Frank Klus
“Stevens, check out his parent’s home.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dennis hung up and called Mad Dog. “Commander, he’s not at his home. He may be at his parents’ house. How long do we have before Alt House is ready?”
“Doc McCardell still won’t be here for two more weeks. We have most of the equipment ready.”
“I won’t be able to give you much notice. As soon as we find him we may be forced to bring him in right away.”
“Give me two days to set up a holding cell.”
“I want far fewer guards outside this time: one guy in a car near the driveway, and one in the backyard; one more making rounds around the house, and one in the…no, make that two in the house at each entry door.”
“You got it.”
“Also, I don’t want them in uniform. Put them in overalls and give them…oh, I don’t know…a rake or something.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want them looking like guards. If they look like groundskeepers or something—”
“Oh, I got it. Yeah, good idea.”
Dennis knocked on Casimer’s door. “Come.”
“Sir, Alt House will be ready for interrogation in two weeks. A holding cell will be ready in two days, sir. I don’t know when we’ll be ready for Sulke, but once we find him we’ll have to bring him in right away. We can’t risk escape.”
“Is this Alt House in a secluded area?”
“Absolutely, sir! We have an eight foot fence all around it.”
“Where have you looked?”
“We checked Sulke’s home but he never returned there. My man is checking his parent’s home now. I’m expecting his call back any time now.”
“Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dennis returned to his office and perused all the motels and hotels in the area—thirty-seven of them ranging from B&B’s to large-chain hotels.
“Sir, Mr. Stevens is on Line One,” Faith said.
“Stevens, what do you got for me?”
“I’m at the family home in Countryside. Some goon followed me, so my guess is he’s in there. With a little help we could take him out, break into the house, and get Sulke.”
“Too dangerous. I’ll get you help. We still have two more days before Alt House is ready, anyway. In the meantime I want to know everything that happens in that house. You’ll be relieved every six hours. Got that?”
“Sure, Mr. O’Reilly.”
The trip to Sean’s house was a long one. They weren’t able to convince Bo to come with them. Gene would have to go it alone: start a new life, find a new job, find a new home; and do it all in a place he scarcely knew, without being able to talk to his family; possibly forever.
Traveling down Route 88 toward Iowa, Gene fell asleep. Sean lived in a secluded area just northwest of La Motte, Illinois, down a dirt road off Main Street. Sean stayed behind to watch the Sulkes’ house. Ray arranged for him to be relieved every eight hours. The Sulkes allowed each of the ex-Blues use of their house for food and rest. Pamela was expected to rendezvous at Sean’s house sometime tomorrow, and they would be off toward the New World the following day.
Eugene woke up around the time Ray was on Route 61, heading north. “You know, Ray, when I was telling my mom and dad about Dennis, I held something back.”
“What was that?” Cassandra asked.
“When I was talking to Professor Zinney, he told me to stay away from you two as well.”
“Did he tell you that I talked to him?” Ray said.
“Yeah, he did. He thought you were crazy. He felt that you were using him, and I felt the same way.”
“Gene, it was my fault. I pushed you too far and too fast. I’m really sorry to have put you through all that,” Cassandra said.
“Did you guys know about Hell House?”
“No,” Ray said.
“Ray,” Cassandra said, coyly.
“What?”
“You know.”
“Okay, I knew there was some place where they bring people to change them, usually they were very populist, then they change them into good little conservatives.”
“So why me, Ray? Yeah, okay, so I’m a populist. So are a few million others, and many of them know Zinney.”
“How many of them also know us?” Ray said. “How many of them were in the car with one of us when three Squad guys got shot?”
“Then why not leave me in prison? They were going to execute me, weren’t they?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Ray said. “We called your boss and left a message we hoped your lawyer would get. He must have caused some problems for Casimir and Martinez. I think that’s why they released you. But I also think that the combination of being in prison, your wife’s death, and us probably scared them into thinking you had already become radicalized. Hell House would be their final solution.”
“You guys called my boss?”
“We had to do something,” Cassandra said. “Springing you from jail would have been really difficult.”
“How did you guys know about my being in prison, and then in Hell House?”
“We have some very good people who care about you, Gene,” answered Cassandra. “We also have a spy inside Squad headquarters—Jay Casimir’s secretary. I believe I mentioned that to you.”
“We’re all ex-Blues,” Ray said. “Each of us has special skills we continue to use. Daniel is one of the best hackers, and Jimmy the Fox is an investigator and security guy. They can find out just about anything. Daniel hacked into Dennis’s computer and found out that’s where they brought you. Armstrong and his men are soldiers and sharpshooters. They planned and led the assault on Hell House.”
“How come you and Dennis are so different? You used to do everything together.”
Ray was silent at first. Cassandra looked at him perplexed. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Now something I had wondered about makes sense now,” Eugene said.
Cassandra just looked at Gene, quizzically.
“When I got back to work after Dennis got me out, my boss knew I was in Joliet. He was so worried about me. I didn’t even get a chance to ask him how he knew I was there. I guess I just figured the warden notified him.”
“Not likely,” Ray said.
“Yeah, that’s what I realize now. It must have been your call. Stu would have called up the lawyer, and he probably raised hell with the DA. That’s when Casimir or whomever concocted the scheme to let me out and let Dennis take the credit.” Gene paused and reflected. “Thanks for helping me, guys.”
Cassandra just smiled and wiped a tear from her eye.
“Mr. O’Reilly, Martz here. I just arrived at the Sulke house. Stevens is dead; throat slit. What do you want me to do?”
“Do you see anyone around?”
“A few parked cars on the street. Anyone of them could be occupied with the killer.”
“Wait there till I get some more men over to you. Don’t check for our killer until I get some help over there; then capture that goon who killed Stevens. Look for any sign Sulke is there.”
“I got to tell you, Mr. O’Reilly, I’m kind of nervous—vulnerable, you know.”
“Look, be on the alert. I’ll have somebody there in two hours. Don’t fall asleep or get distracted.”
“Yes, sir,” Martz said. He hung up and took a snort from a paper bag.
Dennis hung up and called Mad Dog. He told him what’d been happening.
“Commander, I need a squadron over to the Sulkes home right away.”
“You got it, Dennis. I’ll have them find and capture the other guy outside the Sulke’s. Then I’ll have them break into the house and get him.”
“Thanks, commander.” As Dennis hung up he was scared. What if more Blues are involved? It may be more than a couple hours before I hear from Martz. I can’t lose Eugene. Do I dare tell the boss? No, I’ll wait to hear from Martz.
More than two hours passed, and there wa
s still no word from Martz. Dennis was frantic with worry. He thought about calling him, but hesitated, afraid he might not answer. Then, suddenly, the phone rang, but it wasn’t Martz on the other end of the line.
“This O’Reilly?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“This is Dean Sulke. You remember me, don’t you? I’m Eugene’s father. I just wanted to tell you that your men are all dead. Jesus Christ, Dennis, what the hell are you trying to do? Your men tried to kidnap my wife and me. They demanded to know where Eugene was. Fortunately, my house was being guarded. What the hell happened to you, Dennis? You and my son used to be best friends. You rescued him from that prison. I invited you inside my house, and I put my trust in you. So did Eugene. You betrayed us!”
There was silence.
“You still there?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Then answer me. What the hell is going on? Talk to me.”
“I’m just trying to help Eugene, sir.”
“By kidnapping him and dragging him against his will to that torture house?”
“By helping him fit into society, sir.”
“He fit in just fine as he was, knucklehead.”
“Sir, I understand how you feel, but I have a job to do—”
“A job to do—oh, you have a job to do. And what would that be? Oh, I know, kidnap my son, torture him—”
“Sir, that was not my intent. We don’t torture—”
“My boy came home emaciated and starving. He had a black eye, split lip, and other cuts and bruises. He told me all about it—”
“I understand how you feel, but I am ordered to bring your son back, and that is just what I’m going to do with or—”
“You bastard! You’ll never get my son. He’s on his way to freedom. I don’t know where he is at, and I don’t expect I’ll ever see him again, thanks to you and your ilk. As for me and my family, I can assure you, Mr. O’Reilly, we are very well-protected. Your brother sent some men to watch our house for us, and the police are watching as well. And by the way, you can pick up the five thugs in the county morgue. Feel free to contact the Du Page County police. They want to talk to you.” With that, Dean hung up.
Dennis pounded his desk and stared. His face appeared contorted and reddened. His breathing deepened until he stood up and went to the boss’s door, knocked three times, entered, and saluted.
Casimir saw the despairing look on his protégé’s face and knew the news was not good. “Just don’t tell me you lost Sulke.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Ray or his men killed five of my men. Eugene is gone.” He filled in his boss with the terrible details from his talk with Dean Sulke, and Casimir just looked downward.
“I have to talk to Martinez. Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dennis walked back to his office, dejectedly. He opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a black pouch and a whiskey glass. Taking the flask out of the pouch, he poured a glass from the Christmas gift from last year, and drank it down. He started to put it away, but decided to take a second snort. Then he went into the bathroom, and gargled to hide the smell of alcohol.
Faith, called him from just outside his opened door. “Sir, Mr. Casimir has left for the day.”
Sean’s House, Seven o’Clock the Next Morning
Ray was up early making breakfast, expecting Pamela at most any time. He had everything on the table when the doorbell rang.
Pamela was in her late sixties with greyish to white hair, wearing business attire and a pair of specs. Her hair appeared to be of moderate length, but coiled so the length was hard to tell. She was all business.
“Hello, Ray.”
“Hello, Pamela. Come on in. Would you like something to eat? I have bacon, eggs, toast—”
“No, thank you,” she said curtly. “Where is Eugene?”
“I guess I should get him and Cass up.”
“I only need to speak with Eugene.”
She sat down in a chair in the parlor. She sat strait up like a schoolmarm, her head up and facing away from Ray. Ray walked past her and up the stairs to Eugene’s room.
Eugene came down and greeted Pamela while Ray spoke with his wife.
“She’s here,” he said.
“I heard. Is she still pissed?”
Ray cast a sarcastic expression. “Oh, yeah. I think she believes we want to steal her secrets and take over her operation.”
Cassandra was smiling. “She’s used to being paid…and paid a lot.”
Ray wore a stern expression. “She’s being paid…just not in dollars. We’ll provide a valuable service…one she’ll need…and not one she’ll have to pay for.”
They came downstairs and Ray shouted, “Breakfast is ready. Everyone in the kitchen…Pamela included.”
Eugene was wearing jogging pants and a tee shirt, when he escorted Pamela into the kitchen. Pamela still refused food, but agreed to a glass of orange juice.
After they ate, Pamela turned to Eugene. “Excited?”
“A little excited and a lot scared.” Eugene was still smarting from his adventure in Hell House, and he still looked like the loser in a prize fight. His left eye was still purplish, although the swelling was almost gone. Cuts and bruises around his mouth and the left side of his face would take longer to heal. “I’m not sure what Ray told you, but there are a lot of bad guys who are going to be after us, and it’s a long drive to New America.”
“Don’t worry, Eugene, we’ll be fine; and I’ve escorted clients to New America who were wanted by thieves, police, paramilitary, and family members. I’ve never lost one yet.”
“Having Ray and Cassandra along makes me feel better.”
Pamela winced at that, but she forced a smile. “Well, to be honest, I don’t think we need them, but if it makes you feel better, then they’re welcome to come along.”
“We’ll be several miles behind you, Gene,” Ray said. “You won’t see us, but we’ve got a special phone for you and Pamela so we can stay in touch.”
“Special phone?” Eugene said.
“Yeah. It’s encrypted so no one can listen in. We’ll be in constant contact, and we can alert you if anything suspicious is happening.”
“Sounds great,” Gene said. Pamela was reticent.
After everyone finished breakfast, Pamela turned to Eugene. “Let’s step out to the porch and talk about what’s going to happen next, and the prep work we need to do.”
Eugene would be in disguise. Pamela called up her friend, Louisa, a Hollywood makeup artist, and arranged to come to La Motte later that day. She then called another guy she worked with who would create their route. He knew where all the RAC and Squad territories were, as well as neutral territories that were really neutral or friendly to one of the other paramilitary territories.
Finally, she had a friend in the government who spied on NOGOV. He’d be able to find out where all the paramilitary forces were.
The plans were finalized and Eugene was made to look ten years older. Pamela bought an older looking car to more easily blend in with the general population. Ray and Cassandra would stay a mile or so behind, but they would be in phone contact, while Sean and the Fox would watch the Sulke household. At six o’clock the following morning the four would-be escapees would be on their way to the New World.
Dennis stood at attention in front of Jaydan Casimir, who busied himself behind his desk. Without looking up, he told Dennis to sit down. Casimir continued to work at his desk, ignoring him. Then he finished what he was doing, reached into a drawer, and pulled something out. Casimir looked up at Dennis and smiled.
“Everything that has happened so far is not entirely unexpected, Dennis. These soldiers of ours are little more than traffic cops. Eugene is protected by an army of ex-Blues—not just your brother, mind you—but a whole army. A few Squad members are not likely to fair too well against them. Do you read much history, Dennis?”
“History, sir? No, I guess not.”
“Have yo
u heard of Genghis Khan?”
“Uh…yeah, I’ve heard of him.”
“He was the leader of the Mongol Empire in the Thirteenth Century. He was one of the most feared leaders in history. He commanded an army of hundreds of thousands of men. You know how he conquered his enemies?”
“No, sir.”
“He’d use his vast superiority of numbers to encircle his enemy from many miles away; too far to be seen. Then, slowly, he’d move in. The more he’d tighten the noose, so to speak, the stronger and thicker it became. By the time his enemy realized what was happening, it was too late.
“Now, you take our situation. Our enemy is strong and powerful, but they lack numbers. We estimate there’s about one hundred of them around the country; maybe two hundred. It’s hard to tell with them. They don’t advertise or brag about themselves. They seem to come out of nowhere, overwhelm their prey, and vanish as quickly as they appear.” Dennis looked on passively.
“They created the Lightning Squad, you know,” Casimir said. “They were all populists, created to fight the RAC. They developed the strategy of appearing quickly; stealthily. They recruited the toughest and best to be Squad members and leaders. The original guys were the generals—came from the elite units in the army, marines, navy—you know, the Seals, Delta force; shit like that. When the government went broke they were released from the military. A lot of them became mercenary soldiers, fighting for anyone who would hire them; but some, like the Blues, became Populists. They wore blue uniforms with brown trim; the opposite of their foot soldiers, like us, who wear brown uniforms with blue trim.
“They introduced the motorcycle as their principle form of transportation. Motorcycles can go anywhere, unlike cars and trucks. They can fit through narrow lanes; can be off-road. They used only electric vehicles or heavily muffled gas vehicles—they didn’t want to be heard. When they went after somebody they’d appear from three different directions, triangulating their prey. They’d be on top of them before their enemy knew what was happening. They were good, Dennis; too damn good.
“When I took over I stopped their attacks on the RAC. I wanted both forces to work together. I’d command the most powerful paramilitary outfit in the world. I’d run the show, Dennis. I’d be the most powerful man in the country—more powerful than Martinez or the President, but those goddamned Blues wouldn’t cooperate. They just wouldn’t cooperate.”