The Coalition: A Novel of Suspense

by Samuel Marquis

  But today it was all just an illusion.

  As if they understood this in some ineffable way, Jennifer and Susan Locke were preoccupied with their thoughts as they pulled into the parking lot of the Family Planning Group clinic in Widefield, a suburban enclave a few miles south of the Springs.

  Today Susan was getting an abortion.

  Jennifer parked her Outback in one of the many open spots and turned off the ignition.

  Suddenly, the group of anti-abortion demonstrators near the front entrance stopped milling about and swooped toward them like vultures, quickly encircling the car.

  “Fucking baby killers go home!”

  Jennifer looked over at Susan and saw the panic on her face. “Don’t worry—we’ll get through this.” She forced her way out of the car, fought her way around to the passenger side, and helped Susan from the car.

  But the mob completely engulfed them.

  Jennifer threw out a stiff arm to protect Susan as they started for the front door, cutting a path through the hostile crowd. There was supposed to be a “bubble zone” to shield family planning patients and workers from verbal and physical abuse, but as always with a controversial law, enforcement was severely lacking.

  A crinkle-faced woman shoved a right-to-life pamphlet in Susan’s face, but Jennifer pushed the woman’s hand aside and kept Susan moving forward.

  “Murderer!” a young, vulpine man with a crucifix about his neck shrieked, stepping forward to block them along with two other men.

  Off to the left, a woman held up a placard that read: RESCUE THOSE WHO ARE BEING TAKEN AWAY TO DEATH; HOLD BACK THOSE WHO ARE STUMBLING TO THE SLAUGHTER. PROVERBS 24:11.

  Jennifer looked at Susan and saw the tears in her eyes. The girl was ashamed, which was precisely the reaction sought by the protesters. This was their last chance to dissuade her from her mission and they were giving it all they had.

  “No more selling baby body parts! No more selling baby body parts!”

  Feeling a new wave of anger, Jennifer pushed her way through the men blocking their path. Susan followed in her wake, shaking with trepidation. Their progress was slow and difficult, but finally they were able to press through the gauntlet and make it to the clinic’s front door. A young, physically fit, yet frightened-looking security guard opened the door for them and stepped outside to stem back the protesters.

  Jennifer threw him a glare. Where the hell were you when we needed you?

  The security guard gave a guilty look and, with an exaggerated pretense of authority, warned the crowd to move back to the parking lot. Undaunted, the protesters blared on like a lynch mob. Shaking her head at the insanity of it all, Jennifer closed the door and helped Susan inside. The noise died away to a low rumble.

  Seeing how visibly shaken Susan was, Jennifer went to the front desk and told the female receptionist that they needed a moment before signing in. They sat down in the waiting area, which looked no different than an orthodontist’s office. Susan wiped the tears from her eyes. A young woman in a Colorado College sweatshirt stole a nervous glance at them and ducked back behind her Vanity Fair magazine.

  Once they had taken a deep breath and steeled their jangled nerves, they gathered the necessary forms from the receptionist and filled them out. Jennifer watched Susan closely and could see that the poor girl was having second thoughts. This was not just a routine medical procedure to her, but a time of great moral uncertainty, and the presence of the protesters only amplified the situation. Wracked with guilt and self-doubt, she was struggling to come to grips with her decision.

  When the protesters returned to the parking lot, the guard came back in and grabbed a cup of coffee behind the receptionist’s desk. Though he had managed to turn back the crowd, he was clearly on edge and looked too young and inexperienced for such a demanding job, a job in which he and every one of his co-workers were under constant threat from a fanatical right-wing fringe of antediluvian protestors who saw no middle ground in the abortion debate. He and the receptionist spoke, and though Jennifer couldn’t make out what they were saying, she could tell from the security guard’s body language that he was uneasy about the protesters.

  She brought Susan’s paperwork to the front desk. “Will Doctor Sivy be ready soon?”

  The receptionist smiled efficiently. “Yes, he’ll be with you shortly. We’re sorry about the protesters.”

  “Thanks. Can you tell me where the women’s restroom is?”

  She pointed to her left. “Oh, it’s down the hall and to the right.”

  Jennifer thanked her and went back to Susan. “I need to use the restroom. Will you be all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Susan said, wiping the dampness from her eyes. “You go ahead.”

  Jennifer felt the need to reassure her. “It’s going to work out for the best, Susan. It will take time, but you will heal from this. You’ve got a great future ahead of you. I know that sounds corny, but it’s the truth.”

  “Thanks for being here for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” Jennifer said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  CHAPTER 95

  THE MIDNIGHT BLUE PONTIAC with the unlit siren on top, ostensibly signifying an unmarked police car, passed quietly like a cruising Tiger shark through the drive leading to the rear of the clinic. Turning right, it disappeared behind the single-story building. A few seconds later a man emerged. He closed the car door, leaving it unlocked, and strode briskly along a narrow walkway on the east side of the building.

  From a safe distance, Joseph “Skull Eyes” Truscott watched the Apostle move toward the front entrance. The strides were confident, authoritative. Beneath the commanding and seemingly legitimate physical presence lurked a man who was, quite simply, a killing machine. The former CIA deputy director of operations and current consultant to a host of security firms had seen many a covert act unfold from behind a pair of high-powered binoculars, but he had never known anyone who killed as efficiently as the Apostle.

  The man never fails to rise to the occasion. If we’d only had a thousand more like him during Tet, we would have won that damned war.

  Yes, the Apostle would show these abortionists, nurses, and misguided women a thing or two about violating the sanctity of human life. The same merciless fate that had claimed millions of unborn children now awaited them. In his mind, Benjamin Locke, acting in his role as Chairman of the Executive Committee of the Coalition, had unjustifiably put an end to attacks on national abortion and fertility clinics four years ago when he had taken over as chairman. But now there was a new sheriff in town. Truscott would teach these unholy monsters, who murdered the unborn and sold their body parts, a lesson that they and their misguided supporters would never forget.

  He sat in his silver Mercedes on a small hill overlooking the clinic. Arriving only moments ago to bear witness to what was about to occur, he had the heat on low to take away the chill of the morning air. He adjusted the focus of his binoculars as the Apostle neared the front door. A crowd of picketers milled about in the parking lot outside the clinic, but the Apostle rounded the corner so quickly no one seemed to notice him.

  He looked like the quintessential cop in his Colorado Springs Police sergeants’ uniform: barrel-chest, broad shoulders, Rocky Marciano nose, square chin. He wore Ray Ban sunglasses and a stiff officer’s hat so no one could get a good look at his face. He was outfitted with a Colt semiautomatic, baton, pepper spray, and handcuffs that conferred upon him the requisite law enforcement look. Later, when the interviews of the protesters were conducted, few would remember him, and those that did would have virtually no recall of what he looked like.

  They would remember only a man in a police uniform.

  This was not the first time Skull Eyes had watched secretly while one of his clandestine operations was carried out. What he liked most was the military precision, the mechanical swiftness. It was exhilarating, a war game in miniature.

  Bu
t, most of all, operations like this were absolutely necessary.

  Until the Supreme Court overturned Roe vs. Wade, these Sodomites needed to be taught that abortion was the unjustified killing of unborn children. Life didn’t conveniently begin after the second trimester like the abortion-on-demand activists proclaimed; it began the instant a man’s seed met a woman’s egg. To abort an innocent child was murder, pure and simple, and the purveyors of this unholy commerce, the abortionists and their ilk, needed to be taught a lesson.

  Murdering God’s helpless children would not be tolerated!

  Truscott watched with breathless anticipation as the Apostle opened the front door and stepped inside. A thin smile took root on his face, and his eyes shone harshly.

  Let the lesson begin.

  CHAPTER 96

  BENJAMIN LOCKE sat in his office at American Patriots headquarters, feeling a tide of desperation washing over him. What was he doing ordering the political assassination of yet another human being, even if it was in a patriotic cause to make the country he loved better and stronger? What right did he have to play judge, jury, executioner, and final arbiter of the nation’s fate? The guilt tore him up inside: he couldn’t help but feel like a tragic figure from the Old Testament. Would he be banished to fiery hell and damnation in the afterlife for what he had done? And for what he was about to do?

  And yet, there was really no way out. He had committed himself to America’s return to glory, to her unquestioned exceptionalism in the world—no matter what the cost.

  His cell phone rang. Jerking reflexively in his high-backed leather chair, he quickly scanned the caller ID. He was surprised to see that it was his wife.

  Knowing that she was still angry at him, he was careful to speak to her in a soft, respectful voice. “Hello, dear. I am truly sorry for what happened yesterday.”

  “That’s not why I’m calling, Benjamin.”

  Benjamin? Whenever she called him that he was in serious trouble.

  “It’s about Susan.”

  “Has something happened to her?”

  “She didn’t go to school today. The front desk just called me.”

  “Do you have any idea where she could be?”

  “No, and I haven’t been able to reach her on her cell phone. I’m worried, Benjamin.”

  He thought for a moment. “With everything that’s happened, perhaps she just needed some time to think about things.”

  “No, it’s more than that. She’s not just playing hooky from school.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I just found out she lied to us about staying at Jeanette’s last night.”

  “What?”

  “I called Jeanette’s mother after the school called me and she told me that Susan wasn’t there last night. Our daughter lied to us, Benjamin. I’m worried about her, especially with this whole thing about the abortion.”

  His cell phone vibrated. He quickly looked at the number, recognizing it instantly.

  “What are we going to do, Benjamin? Do you think she’s run away?”

  He continued to study the phone: it was the Apostle on the other end. He had told him not to call—in fact, he had said that he would contact the assassin if and when he found out more information on what Truscott was up to—so Locke knew it had to be important. The ever-loyal Apostle would not violate a direct order without a very good reason.

  Should I answer it or stay on the line with my wife?

  “Benjamin, are you listening to me? I said I’m worried sick about Susan and afraid she may have run away.”

  “Yes, dear, I’m worried sick too.” Quick, should I answer or not?

  Her tone was urgent: “Well, what are we going to do?”

  The phone was still vibrating. “I don’t know yet. I’m trying to think.”

  “My God, she could have been kidnapped. Anything could have happened to her.”

  His cell phone stopped vibrating. He had missed the call and the Apostle was now leaving a message on his voice mail. That settled it: he would first finish up with his wife and then listen to the message and call the Apostle back in a few minutes.

  “I have a bad feeling about this, Benjamin. She’s never done anything like this before.”

  “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll take care of it. I’ll make some calls.”

  “I’m worried sick. What if she’s run away?”

  “I’m sure she just wanted some time to herself.”

  “I’m going to call Todd’s parents. Maybe she’s with Todd.”

  He felt a jolt of anger at the mention of the irresponsible boy who had gotten his daughter in this predicament in the first place. “Please don’t do that. Todd’s parents don’t need to get involved.”

  “Then I’m at least going to call the school and find out if Todd’s missing too.”

  He considered this a moment. If his wife contacted the school, at least they would know for certain whether or not Susan was with Todd. “Okay go ahead and call the school then call me right back. And Mary.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry about losing my temper yesterday.”

  “I know you are, dear. I know you are.”

  “Wait, there’s one more thing.”

  “Yes, dear?”

  He could hear her sniffling now and felt badly for her. “Everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you too.”

  When she hung up, he quickly brought up the voicemail message from the Apostle. The modulated voice in the recording came across in a low, robotic tone.

  “It’s me. I know you said not to contact you, but the situation has changed. Skull Eyes and the colonel moved up the timetable and I’m here at the clinic in Widefield. I know you wanted to handle this matter personally, but I thought you should know what’s happened. I’m turning off my cell now so this is the last you’re going to hear from me until it’s over. It’s going to be bloody, Mr. Chairman, and it’s going to be all over the national news. I just wanted to brief you before I go in. Over and out.”

  Punching off, Locke blew out a heavy sigh. What a disaster? Skull Eyes and the colonel had gone rogue after all and now innocent people were to be slaughtered! Locke may have been deeply opposed to abortion, but he would never sanction the murder of innocent people unless it was to make America great and strong, as was the case with Kieger and now Fowler. It seemed unthinkable that the greedy bastards would try to seize the leadership of the Coalition from him, but now he knew that they were actually going through with it. They had moved up the timetable and were executing the contract—and in the process they were hoping to oust him from his seat as chairman of the Committee!

  But he would stop them. All he had to do was call off the Apostle.

  But there was no way to get in touch with him. The Apostle had turned off his cell. Dear Lord!

  Then he thought of something even worse.

  The Family Planning Center in Widefield was the very same clinic where Susan and Todd had met with Dr. Sivy. What if by chance that’s where Susan was now? What if that was why she hadn’t gone to school today?

  He had a sudden sick feeling inside.

  Could his beloved daughter actually be getting an abortion? He had never thought that Susan would go through with it, but now he had the sinking premonition that that’s precisely what she was doing.

  Feeling his heart fill with desperation, he dialed his daughter’s cell phone. No answer. He tried again. Still no answer. Then he called the Apostle to call him off, hoping he hadn’t turned off his cell quite yet. But as expected there was no answer—he was sent straight into voicemail.

  With panicky fingers, he dialed his wife at home, but the line was busy. He then tried her cell, but still no luck. Good Lord! She was either not answering or didn’t have her cellphone with her.

  He tried all three numbers again. Still no answer from any of them.

  He snatched up his computer mouse a
nd quickly performed an Internet search, pulling up the address and phone number of the Family Planning Center in Widefield, south of Colorado Springs. When he found the phone number, he quickly dialed it to warn everyone to leave the clinic at once.

  But there was no answer there either.

  The breath left him all at once and he thought he would faint. He had a sudden cruel, heartless certainty in his gut that his daughter’s life was in imminent danger. It was as if God was delivering him a clear, unambiguous revelation of Himself and His will.

  He felt his throat go dry as a cement kiln. Dear Lord, please, not my baby girl!

  He grabbed his car keys from his top desk drawer, jumped up from his seat, and flew out the room.

  CHAPTER 97

  THE APOSTLE’S FIRST TASK WAS TO TAKE A QUICK INVENTORY.

  He counted two young women in the waiting area, a security guard, and a receptionist. That left two doctors and four nurses down the hall in the rooms of slaughter, plus however many patients were at this very moment sacrificing the innocent to a cruel and grisly death. Outwardly, he was calm and commanding as he walked toward the reception desk, but inside he throbbed with sexual excitement.

  There were so many victims to choose from. But who will be the one? The receptionist? No. One of the Jezebels in the waiting area? No. How about one of the nurses? Yes, a nurse would do nicely. He would take the most terrified-looking one and throw her onto the abortionist’s table, the sacrificial altar where these unholy women set aside their morality for the quick fix. Then he would spread her legs just like a doctor and watch the fear on her face turn to pure horror as he performed his little routine, careful to hold back at the very end. He could feel himself growing hard at the very thought.

  It was all choreographed in his mind.

  The security guard stepped forward from the edge of the receptionist’s desk and gave the Apostle a once-over. The Apostle took the opportunity to scrutinize his lone adversary, the only person with a remote chance of preventing what was about to happen. He saw nothing to change his initial impression. In his early twenties, pimples still on his face, the guard was too young and inexperienced to be the first and last line of defense for what was about to turn into a bloody war zone. He was armed with a .38, but probably hadn’t fired the weapon since his training, and he had most certainly never pointed it another human being. In watching the young guard make his rounds around the building earlier in the morning, before the clinic had opened, the Apostle had noted that he seemed not only green but a touch skittish. He suspected that the kid was filling in for a regular, more experienced guard.