Fury

by Llewellin Jegels

  “Hell yes,” I said. “I’m sure it will make for some interesting reading.”

  “I wouldn’t mind having a look myself,” Shelley said. “Maybe it could give me an idea of what to expect.”

  “I’m pretty sure it will,” Mel replied.

  I grinned then, “The man in the grey suit must have glanced at that picture and moved along, searching for clues in the text of the email. Probably for hours on end.”

  “Exactly,” Mel said. “While the information he so desperately sought sat right in front of him.”

  “Smiling for the camera,” I said, grinning.

  “Smiling for the camera.”

  “Well,” I said. “Our guy in the suit might be able to crack code, but he’s not endowed with nearly as much grey matter as he may think.”

  Mel smiled, giving me a gentle nod by way of thanks.

  “So we have a lead,” Shelley said, realizing suddenly that a way forward loomed ahead of us.

  “More than a lead,” Mel replied with a grin. “We have an address.”

  Don’t ask me how, but I managed to sleep that night, my dreams filled with an admixture of relief, apprehension and hope.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “I am most definitely coming with you two on this,” Mel said from the driver’s seat, in a tone that begged me to argue the point. I sat in the back, reading through Don’s correspondence with his friend on the Darknet with growing unease. This didn’t look good.

  “No you’re not,” I replied automatically, my eyes not leaving the text on the screen, except to look at the image of Shelley and Rachel. They looked so beautiful together.

  So very happy.

  “Yes he is, Tom,” Shelley said firmly from the passenger seat. “It’s decided. Sorry, but it’s the only way.”

  I looked up from the computer’s display, “Oh?”

  “Yeah,” she continued. “Now that we know about Division9 and the guy in the suit, and the CIA, things are a lot more… lively. Anything can happen. We need him. We can’t go in without backup.”

  “We already have a man on the ground in Beirut, Shelley,” I said. “How many more guys are we going to put in harm’s way?”

  “As many as it takes to get Rachel back!” Shelley shot back, and I almost winced. Dumb thing to say, but I read the correspondence between Don and his friend in Lebanon and I didn’t like what I saw. It could turn out to be a difficult situation, and I could not tolerate the idea of losing any more men. Ever again. The colossal screw-up which ended my career with the SEALs put paid to that.

  We had to prioritize Rachel, and I’d need a bit of help if things went wrong. And now, I knew, there was a bigger chance of things going wrong.

  “Yeah,” I replied, looking back down at the display. “Yeah, you’re right. Rachel comes first, and whatever it takes to get the job done. I agree. But Shelley-”

  “Is coming with you!” she snapped with deadly force. “Don’t even think about leaving me behind for my own safety, Tom. Just… don’t.”

  I sighed, not replying, not wanting to go through this all over again. Ah well, Mel and I would deal with the heated stuff. And Shelley could be kept safe with the ex-SEAL Mel had planted in Beirut. She’d be close enough, and she’d be safe.

  Yeah.

  I did not wish to bring it up then, but my plan B consisted of reinforcing plan A.

  We were approaching the airport, and I realized that Mel planned this all along, the sneaky bastard. We’d made a stop at his apartment en route, and he’d said he needed a change of clothes by way of explanation. I thought it a bit odd, so I questioned him about it.

  He mumbled something about not having enough time, buying things on the run. No cards, just cash.

  He came back out about fifteen minutes afterward in a very comfy looking suit and a bigger backpack, and we’d left straight for the airport.

  No doubt he wanted to get into a nice suit, but my carrying just one bag should have made it clear only two people would travel; Shelly and me.

  His backpack more than likely contained everything he would need for a long distance journey. Including a fake ID and passport.

  Well played, Mel.

  Shelley dialled the private air service we’d hired after leaving the inn and confirmed that the plane was ready to go.

  She hung up and looked at Mel.

  “I owe you one,” she said. “A big one.”

  Mel shook his head, “Forget it. It’s not like I only have one safe, babe.”

  Shelley laughed, and I got it. “That extra bag you brought out, the backpack.”

  “Yes?” Mel asked, not taking his eyes off the road, but I noticed the faux innocence in his tone, even if it was just one word.

  “How much is in it?” I cast a sideways glance at him.

  “A couple of million,” Mel replied. “And a few sandwiches for lunch. Pull them out, will you. I think we could all use a bite to eat. Can’t keep going like this on an empty stomach, right?”

  “You’re a sly bastard,” I replied, fishing around the bag for the cling-wrapped sandwiches, finding them, and handing them out.

  “It has been said,” Mel sighed, unwrapping his sandwich with both hands while steering with his knees, something I found a bit unnerving. “But realistically Tom, backup is always a good thing. You can’t do this alone, and even if you can, I don’t bloody want you to. Especially if bullets start flying.”

  “Bullets?” Shelley said, taking a bite out of her own sandwich. “Don’t even say it, Mel. It won’t come to that. We need to make fucking sure it doesn’t.”

  “Agreed,” I replied. “But we need to be prepared.”

  “Yes, so let’s plan for the worst,” Mel said, looking at Shelley. “And don’t worry. We’ll get Rachel back to her mom and maybe kick Don’s ass on principle. What do you say?”

  “Maybe? I think ‘definitely’ sounds better,” I replied.

  “So do I,” Shelley said. “Much better.”

  “It’s sorted then,” Mel said. “We’ll definitely kick his ass.”

  Directly ahead lay the airport’s main entrance. We skirted the entrance and instead turned off onto a side road which led to a private air field, a large Arrival and Departure lounge building with huge hangars lined up beside a wide runway.

  The plane parked on the runway, ready and waiting for us as we pulled up beside the building, its white sheen glinting in the morning sun.

  “She’s a beauty,” I said, admiring the curves of the Gulfstream V like it was a particularly gorgeous woman.

  “Thanks,” Mel replied, and opened the door. “She’s even nicer inside, believe me. Decked out with all the best shit money can buy. A flying five star hotel.”

  “It’s yours?” I asked, shocked despite my knowledge of his wealth.

  “Yup,” he replied with more than a hint of pride.

  “Hmm,” my usual eloquent response to this kind of situation. The one where I don’t know what to say, which I have to admit happened a lot more often than usual.

  “Got to sort something out quickly,” he said. “The clock’s ticking. Be right back. You guys feel free to board in the meantime.”

  “Will do,” I replied, still checking out the plane like I was undressing it with my eyes. Shelley picked up on it, which didn’t surprise me at all. A blind monkey would have picked up on it.

  “You look like a kid in a candy store,” Shelley said, a cute, amused smile on her face. “You never been on a plane before, Tom?”

  “I was a SEAL for the love of God, Shel,” I replied, trying to play the nonchalant card. “What do you think?”

  “So what’s the big deal then?” She asked innocently.

  “Ours never looked like that,” I said, gesturing to the Gulfstream in all its glory.

  “They were a bit more, well, utilitarian. Sort of the basics, a lot of metal and benches. Our planes were sort of like a high school locker room in the sky, only less comfortable in every conceivable way.”<
br />
  She laughed, “Right. So no lounge suites and on board stewardesses then?”

  “Not so much. Unless you count the Sarge, and he wasn’t exactly much to look at, even on his good days. Not that I can recall him ever having one, but you get the idea.”

  “So he would go down the aisle handing out snacks?” she asked innocently. “Helping out with morale, that kind of thing?”

  “No,” I replied slowly. “He was more inclined to go down the aisle handing out insults and attacks on both our character and sexual preference.”

  “I can’t imagine him getting many tips,” she said thoughtfully.

  “I gave him one once.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. Shave your moustache.”

  She laughed again, and it sounded like the gentle tinkle of chimes in the wind. I liked the sound and decided I could live with hearing it for the rest of my life and die a happy man.

  We shouldered our backpacks and made our way over to the plane. A gigantic roar hit us full force as a Lear Jet shot past us, on its way to some obscure destination.

  It represented the decoy Shelley had called in for us. Tom and Shelley were on it, according to the passenger manifest. Same pilot, same deal. Only this time he had just received a heavy cash incentive (courtesy of Mel, of course) instead of a ring.

  Right now the precious cargo he carried resided in a fat manila envelope next to him, which Mel had just handed to him a few minutes ago. He’d take his time on the trip, turning around before the halfway point and coming back to the airport, claiming trouble with the engines as soon as he landed, covering his tracks (and by default, ours) for the inevitable questions which would follow.

  And the amount of money Mel paid him on the side (call it a tip, because bribery has such an ugly sound to it) represented the guarantee that he would never reveal our plans, not if he wanted the other half, which would come after Rachel’s safe return.

  We boarded the plane, and even Shelley looked impressed.

  “Wow,” she said, in a kind of hushed voice. “Just… wow. Even Don’s plane wasn’t decked out like this, and he knew how to lay it on. This is just opulent.”

  “Hmm,” I replied, by way of agreement. “I’m beginning to think I’m the only guy I know who doesn’t own his own damn plane.”

  “I wish I could tell you you’re wrong,” Shelley said with a grin.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “I won’t.”

  We dropped our bags where we stood and walked through the luxurious interior like we were in a trance. Leather couches made up a primary sitting room, placed around a low wooden coffee table, all with a perfect view of the large HD TV which topped off the rest of the ridiculously high tech entertainment system. In fact, I felt convinced that Mel brought someone on board and found a way of fitting the biggest TV he could into the cabin without it sticking out of the window.

  We walked past the lounge area and found ourselves in a nightclub. I sighed, and Shelley laughed out loud. “Getting a bit much?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Getting a bit much.”

  “I see you two found the cocktail lounge,” Mel said from behind us. “Good. That’s where I was headed anyway. You like?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Yes, I do like. Very much. You know, you have even more money than I thought. And I already thought you beat the sheikhs in that department.”

  Shelley nodded slowly, “It’s obscene.”

  “Thanks,” Mel said, moving briskly past us. “Let’s have a drink, shall we? My pilot’s doing final checks, so we’re just about ready to go. Where the hell is the bloody stewardess?”

  “The stewardess,” I said quietly, shaking my head. “Of course there’s a stewardess. Why not?”

  The captain’s voice came over the intercom, letting us know that we needed to be seated.

  We did, and with a roar of its own, the Gulfstream V taxied down the runway and took off into the unknown.

  “I think I’ll have that drink now,” Shelley said, taking a seat at the bar, and looking out of the window at the world below.

  “I think I’ll join you,” I replied, having a seat of my own. “Who knows when we’ll get the chance to relax with a drink again?”

  Mel grinned and called the stewardess.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  An annoying and incredibly insistent chiming tone coming from his laptop alerted the man in the grey to something happening online, a warning system which required his immediate attention. He swivelled in his desk chair, pushing aside the fantasy about catching up with Don Abaid, and what would happen when he did. He opened the computer, inspecting the on-screen contents closely.

  Don Abaid’s email account. Someone was busy accessing it, and since it could not be the man himself (due to his status as a fugitive) it meant one thing only. Hacking. The man in the grey suit watched as someone opened the email regarding the guy’s ‘holiday.’ His interest grew even more as the email attachment of Shelley and her daughter opened up.

  He didn’t want to intervene because he knew the hacker, and he wanted to see if they found anything he might have missed. People never accused the man in the grey suit of humility but it had its place, and sometimes one needed to admit one did not always have all the answers. Humility didn’t come easily to him. A definite weakness in his character, he realized that too, on some deep level of his psyche.

  He truly wanted to attain humility but for some unknown reason it always seemed to be just out of his reach. Still, he wanted to exercise the patience and perseverance it required.

  The human race revelled in their pride and self-centeredness to such an extent, it sickened him. The idea that Man existed as the epicenter of the galaxy, indeed of the universe seemed preposterous to him. The man in the grey suit figured the dinosaurs thought, if indeed they possessed any thinking capability, the very same thing of themselves. And they were nothing compared to the sick, cancerous growth on the planet called mankind. The dinosaurs at least lived within the boundaries set by nature. Man just blundered in and took everything, no matter the cost to the environment. And fucked it up. The trend showed no signs of slowing down. Sure, there were the environmentalist organizations. But they were powerless against the machine of industry.

  Mankind wouldn’t be happy until the Earth became uninhabitable. But he didn’t think it would get to that point. Because the planet wasn’t happy about it, and nature possessed a god-like way of righting wrongs.

  Sometimes he found himself fantasizing about the Day of Judgment, the wonderful impending Armageddon, when finally this wretched species would be wiped off the surface of the Earth once and for all. The image always brought a smile to his face. Fiery hell would rain from the sky, the planet would split at the seams, lava steaming down the streets like a cleansing river, and these pathetic creatures would writhe in agony, covering their melting faces and screaming to the heavens for a salvation that would not come.

  Not for them.

  Never for them.

  The apex predator called the human race lived at the top of the food chain for far too long, and the man in the grey suit knew it was only a matter of time before they paid for their sins, for what they were still doing, every day of their pathetic little lives.

  And they would pay with their blood, and their cooking flesh. Their agonized screams would be the song of a planet about to be reborn after a cleansing by fire.

  They earned their demise through their own sick and loathsome actions over the course of their entire existence on this planet. He did not doubt it for a second. Their genes contained it, the makeup of their very existence felt tainted, damaged, designed to implode. Inferior apes. Self-serving. Short-sighted and careless. They deserved everything coming their way. Evil creatures who relished the opportunity to fall even further into the pit of sin.

  Their greed, their gluttony, their envy, their pride, their sloth, their lust. And as for lucky number seven, well, as fa
r as the seven deadly sins were concerned, the man in the grey suit embraced wrath. Wrath could not be a sin at all since it struck down the other six like a fiery sword of vengeance.

  Ah, what a sweet fantasy…

  But, although he did not know when the Event would occur, other things occupied his mind and body. Things in the here and now.

  Yes, in the meantime he needed to do his work.

  The attached image of Shelley Abaid and her daughter flicked onto the screen and stayed there for a long time. The man in the grey suit did the same thing, staring at the image firstly in a sickened kind of way, staring at the human cattle. Their happiness seemed pathetic.

  Ignorance, the man in the grey suit reflected at the time, truly expressed itself as bliss. Then his attention wandered once again to the text of the message. Nothing of any real use there. The Abaid man clearly wanted to get out of town, the text of the message, and indeed the subtext, said as much. But it didn’t give the man in the grey suit anything to work with.

  So he checked the recipient’s email address instead, tracing the IP in the hopes of finding a location on the off-chance this was where Don Abaid and the girl were headed, but it turned out to be a dead end. The account was deactivated immediately.

  And it was routed through so many countries that it would take the technical and technological resources of the CIA to unravel it.

  And this job did not involve the CIA.

  Still, the email contained nothing suspicious (other than a clear need to get out of town, of course), just friendly correspondence between friends who hadn’t seen each other for a while. He’d let it go reluctantly, and looked again at the picture of Shelley Abaid and her daughter Rachel, before slamming the laptop closed.

  Now he once again sat staring at the damn image, wondering what went through the hacker’s mind. He obviously scanned the text carefully, looking for clues, the same way the man in the grey suit did but his attention must have come back to the image.

  But it had stayed there.

  And then the hacker logged out. The man in the grey suit didn’t bothered to run a trace on the hacker’s IP because of work constraints, and he didn’t want Division9 this close to the end game. No, he would implement his own operation. Those blundering fools would just mess everything up. Sure, they could be useful, but not in this instance.