by W. R. Benton
The three were evaluated by a doctor who said the President didn't look good, Cox was expected to live, and Acker would remain deceased. When the President was loaded in the ambulance, May jumped in the back and pulled his pistol, because he was still responsible for the man's security. The ambulance had the two police motorcycles as escorts, with one in front and the other bringing up the rear. The other two ambulances were right behind the President's and when they rounded a corner, they met a road block by an illegal alien group.
May glanced out the front window of the ambulance, which he could see from the back, and yelled, “Go through them! Now!”
The driver began to weave and move slowly. The doctor said, “He's going to die on us, unless we move faster. I don't have what I need to keep him alive here.”
“Driver, plow through these people and do it now.” The agent yelled to be heard. People were banging on the ambulance, hitting it with clubs, and suddenly the windshield shattered from a thrown brick.
The driver floored the vehicle and those inside heard screams as the ambulance ran over protesters as their speed increased. One man was struck straight on and his body rolled up and over the hood, then over the windshield, to lodge on top of the cab. On they continued and when May glanced out the back glass in the doors, injured protesters were scattered all over the ground.
Using an iPad, the doctor sent a message to the hospital staff, so all he needed would be in the operating room. The motorcycle in front went down, the cyclist either shot or struck with a brick. The ambulance didn't stop, not with the President injured. The second motorcycle cop helped the downed cop onto his bike, and then both weaved through the crowd to catch up with the ambulance, with lights flashing.
At the hospital the ambulance was unloaded, the cyclist was brought into the emergency room, and all were seen immediately. Acker's body was sent to the morgue and the President was immediately sent in for surgery. Cox entered surgery as did the motorcycle cop and a physician moved to May and spoke with him. Seeing the agent was still on edge, the doc gave him some meds to relax him, and a small bottle of sleeping pills to allow him to sleep in the coming days. He'd annotate in a chart to have May evaluated for PTSD further down the road.
It was then the southwest regional director of the Secret Service, Robert Holley, arrived and moving to May asked, “What in the hell happened out there? Listening to the radio it sounded like a goat roping to me.”
“A long distance sniper took out Acker, struck Cox at least twice, and while the President was living when we brought him in here, he'll never be normal. Looked to me like a .50 round from a sniper rifle struck his head, almost center of the cerebral cortex and took most of the left lobe of the brain. Since the man is right handed, and the left side of his brain is used most for those who use that hand, he'll be changed, if he survives. Once he's stable, we'll figure out the angle of the bullets flight path and determine where the shots came from. I do know the shooter was up high and had a clear view of the parking lot.”
“Joda, the nearest high buildings are almost a half a mile away. That's a long shot, even for a trained sniper.”
“No, not really, Boss. In Iraq, while in a combat unit, our sniper consistently struck targets a mile away, with most marked as confirmed kills.”
“How do you know this is true?”
“Because I was our sniper. A mile is nothing for most snipers, but it's my limit for accurate shooting. In my twelve months, I killed 301 men, most well within a mile. At distances over a mile, windage, the drop of the bullet, and other variables becomes complex and you almost have to be a math professor figure it out. If we find out our shooter was within a mile, which I think he was, it was easy shooting for a trained killer.”
“Ummm, what concerns me now is we must have a security leak in the agency, because we're the only people who knew the President was coming here this time of night, going to the morgue and not the hospital, and the agents assigned to his security team were all combat veterans.”
“We also know the rifle used had a flash suppressor and a silencer installed. I looked and not once did I see or hear a shot fired.”
A tired doctor with blood splattered on his lab coat neared, gave a weak smile, and said, “The President of the United States is alive and his prognosis for a full recovery is poor. In his current condition he'll be lucky to feed himself, if he recovers, but he is alive. I honestly suspect he'll recover but be unable to speak well, he'd drool a great deal, and he'll be in no condition to lead himself, much less a nation.”
“I think we'd be smart to report him as killed, swear in the Vice-President, place the President into a private institution. Do him just like we did JFK.” It was then Holley's phone rang. He moved away from the group, talked on the phone, and closed it and placed it in his coat pocket.
“Everything okay?” May asked.
“It depends on how you look at things. That was the Boss and he wants the President put down, if there is no hope for a full recovery.”
Boss? I thought you were the boss, May thought and then wondered who the real Boss was.
“No, he'll never be the same man if he survives. However, as a doctor, I refuse to take his life.” The doctor said and then shook his head.
“Give me a syringe filled with morphine and by God, I'll do the job.” Holley said.
Ten minutes later the President was dead and an empty morphine syringe was on the tray beside the dead man's gurney.
“Sir, the press are outside waiting for a comment on what happened and the condition of the President.” an attractive nurse said to the doctor.
Holley said, “We'll not release his death yet. You, doctor, will say he's alive but has taken a serious injury to his head. I, in turn, will give a few details of the assassination attempt. We'll announce his death later this evening. Right now the American people need hope and we'll see they get it.”
They walked from the hospital and the doctor told of the man's wounds, that he was in a stable but critical condition, and his prognosis was poor. He then refused to answer any questions and re-entered the hospital.
Holley stepped to the podium, explained what had happened, spent many minutes building up Cox and his attempts to save the President. He also made it sound as if Acker had positioned himself in front of the President to take any bullets intended for the leader. He was obviously looking for hero status for his fallen agents.
From the press a question was yelled out, “Who is responsible for this?”
“These are difficult times, so we have no idea yet, however over the next few days, we'll follow up on the leads we have. The fact the President just recently installed martial law and threatened to take all guns from gun owners opens up a whole bucket of worms. Right now, anyone and everyone is a potential suspect. No more questions please, we have work to do.”
Holley entered the building and left the press asking each other questions.
Once inside, he moved to May, pulled out his phone and dialed a number. The party must have answered in German, because he said, “Die Torte ist im Ofen, komm nicht zu spät zum Abendessen.” He then closed his phone.
May had seen him dial 011, the United States exit code, then 49, the country code for Germany, and then the area code. He was unable to see any of the other numbers. So, the Boss is in Germany, May thought, and the code used when Holley spoke didn't surprise him at all. They often spoke in code. May spoke fluent German and he knew the Boss had said, “The pie is in the oven, so don't be late for supper.” He assumed he used that code to tell the Boss the President was dead.
“May, I want you to stay in the Houston area, since you live here, but take a few days off and get some rest. All that you've seen and heard here tonight is classified Top Secret and not to be spoken about to anyone now or ever in the future.”
May drove home and since it was in the middle of the night, he decided not to wake his wife, but to shower and go straight to bed after he had something light to eat. He entere
d the house quietly, showered in the guest room bathroom, warmed up supper, ate and then took a sleeping pill the doctor had given him. He then moved to the bed and spooned up against his wife. He was asleep in a few minutes.
At nine, while preparing to go running, his phone rang. Glancing at the number he saw it was from his adopted brother, Frank Wilson. As a youngster, May had been raised by the Wilson family, but he'd retained his own last name. There were many reasons for that, but the biggest was he wanted to show the world that a May could be a productive member of society.
“Yo, big brother, what's up?” he asked.
“We need to talk and it's not about family. When you have some time, meet me at the lodge that James has.”
“Are you okay?”
“I'm fine. I'll tell you more when you get here.”
“Should I come alone?”
“No, it doesn't matter, not really. If Theresa can come, bring her and we'll throw some steaks on the grill and down a few brews.”
“What time?”
“Say 1600, how's that?”
“Good, we'll both be there. Love you man, bye.”
Strange Frank didn't give me a subject about the talk he wants to have. He's a smart man and may want to talk about anything. Well, I'll run, then relax a bit, and go see him. I'll find out what he wants to talk about when I get there.
When May and Theresa arrived, Joda was surprised so many people were there. The last thing he wanted or expected was to be around a bunch of people. The women were sitting outside as the men sat in the living room sipping on cold brews.
“Joda, what do you make of all this violence and disruption going on across the country?” James asked as he handed the agent a beer.
“We've had it all before, except for the dirty bomb, and we are certain that was an act of Muslim extremist, like ISIS. We think it was done to take the President out of the picture.”
Frank said, “We've never as a nation had a First Lady killed and that, along with the dirty bomb makes this year different.”
Donna stuck her head in the door and said, “Turn on the TV, it looks like the President was just killed!”
“I suspected this because the American people will never give up their guns.” Frank said.
The screen was suddenly showing the parking lot behind the morgue and Directory Holley was speaking. “Agent Acker was killed instantly when he moved in front of the President to protect him, and then Agent Cox took two rounds while lying on the President, protecting him with his own body. The weapon that fired the rounds has not been found, nor the brass from the shells, but it was a bullet almost the size of a .50, which is huge. We were able to find one bullet, which our lab identified as a 12.7x108 mm, which is a Russian make. However, that does not mean the killer was Russian.”
“Can you speak on the status of Agent Cox?”
“Agent Cox expired just a few minutes after the President. At a press briefing later today, a doctor will explain his death.”
“Uh, what of the missing Agent, uh, Agent Joda May?”
“We have video footage, from the cameras mounted at the rear of the morgue, of him doing absolutely nothing during the shooting and at this time he is wanted for questioning. The footage even shows him shooting the President in the head. We know Agent May was an active partner in the killing of the President of the United States, but we know little of this conspiracy. Once an autopsy is done, his service pistol may have very well fired the final killing shot. Right now, there is a three million dollar reward for May, dead or alive. Keep in mind, we have actual footage of May firing his pistol and that will be released later today at the press meeting.”
Joda sat there in total shock. Holley was lying his ass off and had obviously killed Cox too, to keep the story unknown. With all witnesses dead, the director could say what he wanted.
The room was quiet as the reporter said, “The images you're seeing now is of the room or apartment where the primary sniper fired the shots that killed Agents Acker and Cox, as well as fatally injured the President of the United States. It is believed the shots were fired from the window you see now, and the apartment has ISIS brochures and a large flag on the wall. The FBI and CIA are treating the President's death as an assassination and Agent Joda May is the primary suspect. If you know this man or where he might be, call the number on your screen and speak with a Special Agent. Remember there is a three million dollar reward for Joda May, alive or dead. This is Robert Wilkinson, reporting live for WDBB, Houston.”
“Now, ain't that some shit?” Frank said, and then looked at his brother.
“My pistol wasn't even fired! I don't understand any of this. Why are they framing me to be the killer? Hell, Holley killed the President with an overdose of morphine.”
“You may know way too much, little brother.”
CHAPTER 7
Agent X1 was with his wife and kids at a park when his phone rang. Answering it, he heard a man he knew well say, “The money for a job well done is in your account. My sources say the man wasn't dead when he arrived at the hospital, but died later of complications. It's a shame when one of our workers dies, but his wife has been taken care of as well.”
“Yes, sir.” X1 said, but thought, His wife was decapitated.
“You have a new task, and it's in the middle drawer of your safe. It will be a simple job and will not take you long. This job must result in the termination of this individual. He can no longer be trusted, so the company no longer needs him. Payment for this job is one million dollars, so you know it's an important task. Let me know when termination is completed.”
“I will let you know.”
“Good. Auf Wiederhören.”
“Yes, goodbye.” X1 closed his phone and began to wonder when the company would grow tired of him as well. The New World Order was the most powerful force on earth, bar none, with unlimited money.
Then the chip in his arm sent a thought to his mind, you are a tool for the company and you'll be kept as long as you work. Then, you'll be retired with respect. Now, go to work and finish the mission you have in the desk drawer.
He took his family home, pulled his wife close and whispered, “When I finish this project I have at work, just the two of us will go to Thailand. I've saved some money and we can afford a good trip, and we can leave the kids with my mom or yours.”
“Oh, I've never been to Asia and I'll love it! It's your old stomping ground though. I know you spent some time there when you were in the army.”
“I didn't have any girlfriends, if that's what you mean. I lived in the woods with the rest of my team. We trained with the Thai police and special forces. Feel like a long trip? Don't forget, I speak the language so we'll really have a good time.'
“Yes, let's plan it.”
As he drove to his office, he didn't like the way his Boss had said, 'My sources say the man wasn't dead when he arrived at the hospital, but died later of complications.' It was almost as if he was warning X1. Do not continue this line of thought, it is wrong and false, the chip sent to his brain. He blew the thought off and concentrated on his driving.
At the office, he removed a plain brown manila envelope, about 10 inches by 12, and opened it. He sipped a good bourbon as he pulled the package from the container. On top was the image of a black man. His face was rugged and long, his eyes clear, nose not as wide as most African Americans and lips that hinted of white blood somewhere in his line. The man was handsome, clean, and neat and reminded X1 of black soldiers he'd seen that were sharp dressers in uniform. Men like them always made a good impression. Then, raising a paper with a bio, the agent thought, Wanted for killing the President of the United States; now isn't that rich?
“Married, no kids, currently not at home and on the run. A GPS check of his phone places him on private land owned by James Walker, an Air Force retired E-8, see map.” he spoke aloud, unknowingly. He pulled up a map, studied it for a moment, and then tossed it aside. “At the time you move against May, the Uni
ted States will enter into combat with the United Nations, without the approval of the new President. Of course, the small detachment of UN troops will be slaughtered, which will start World War Three. The Muslims will rise up, anti-United Nations countries will join the United States, including China. The goal of the NWO is to lower the world population.
You must take May out, because he is the only man alive that knows the New World Order killed the President. While your bullet fatally injured the man, he was helped along by one of our agents. The name of that agent is not important to you. Your mission is to kill May within 24 hours.”
Walking to his safe, he opened the door, pulled out a passport, driver’s license, and biography of a completely new man. He also removed $10,000 for expenses. He placed the information on May in the safe and then locked it. Someone would return in less than 8 hours and removed the data from the safe.
As he walked to his car, his mind suddenly thought, It'd be easy for someone to blow me up or shoot me. But, why would anyone want to kill me?
He suddenly became uncomfortable as the man who killed the President. It made sense to him that the NWO might not want to keep him alive. Dead, he could tell no one who he'd killed but as long as he lived, he was a danger to the organization. Do not think this. The organization needs you and your skills, he thought.
I must think of this later, not right now. I will kill May and then give consideration to all of this, he thought, but another thought came to him quickly, You work for the organization and they need you. He started his car and was soon moving for the lodge.
James was firing up the grill, holding a cold beer in his left hand, when off in the far hill, something flashed in the early morning sun. It was a little early to be drinking beer but they'd brought all they needed except coffee. James needed something to give his morning a lift, because he had a hangover, so he sipped on a beer.