Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Frank looked up and scowled.

  “I’m fine. Open that damn door and let’s keep moving.”

  Stasia’s left hand rested on the door handle while her right hand held a gun.

  “If I tell you to get down, you make sure to get the hell down, understand?”

  Bennington gave his head a brief shake as he used a sleeve of his jacket to wipe his face.

  “Hey, you never know, it might be me saving your ass out there.”

  Stasia gave Frank a quick smile and then winked.

  “You seem a bit obsessed about my ass, Mr. Bennington.”

  Frank straightened himself, took another deep breath, and then motioned toward the door.

  “Yeah-yeah, let’s get this over with so we can discuss your ass in a more convenient setting.”

  Stasia’s smile vanished, her eyes suddenly expressing nothing more than cold, highly trained determination. Having assured Frank was physically ok, she was all business, her extensive Vatican Intelligence training and experience taking over. She would get Frank Bennington to the clubhouse safely, and kill anyone or anything that attempted to deny her the completion of that simple mission.

  The door was opened.

  Berg’s personal cell phone was ringing. He knew it was Malthus and hesitated picking it up, not wanting to speak to the Illuminati operative, while also knowing he couldn’t ignore the call.

  “I see you looking out your window, Peter Berg. Why do you persist in making me stand out here wasting my time?”

  Lying asshole, he can’t see all the way up here.

  And yet, Berg had to admit that Malthus somehow knew he was in fact looking out his window.

  “I just checked our front desk. Neither Stasia or Frank Bennington have exited the building.”

  Malthus’s voice slithered across Berg’s mind.

  “Is there another way out of the building?”

  Peter Berg paused as he considered the question.

  “There’s the parking garage, but it’s gated, has a guard station, and security cameras. We’d know if anyone came or went from there.”

  “Then there must be another possibility, one that you are overlooking.”

  Berg moved away from the window, sensing, however impossible, that Malthus was staring up at him.

  “You have five minutes, Peter Berg. After that, I will leave here terribly disappointed.”

  Malthus ended the call, leaving Berg to ponder why Stasia would attempt to hide her departure from him. Could she already suspect his loyalties?

  No, I’ve been careful. If I’ve managed to fool Mr. Meyer, I certainly fooled her as well.

  That still left the question of how she left the building without anyone knowing.

  Perhaps she hasn’t left yet!

  Another call was made to the front desk.

  “Delroy, do you know of any way a person might exit the building without it being recorded?”

  Delroy’s tone indicated his concern that something was wrong.

  “This about Ms. Wellington, sir? Is she missing?”

  “Just answer the question Delroy. What other ways are there in and out of the building?”

  “Well there are the fire exits of course, but that would trip an alarm and I’d know exactly what door was used.”

  Berg remained silent, waiting for the deskman to continue.

  “There’s a service access in the parking garage for the power and plumbing. I believe it leads to the alley on the northeast end of the building, but I’m the only one who knows of it besides maintenance of course.”

  “Is that door monitored?”

  Berg could hear the sound of Delroy shaking his head as he responded.

  “No sir, we don’t have cameras on that location. I can send someone there to check it out if you like.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Delroy. Thank you.”

  Berg put the phone down and considered the possibility Stasia and Bennington were making their way to the parking garage. Delroy indicated no-one else knew of the service access, but Stasia was a very capable and clever woman. If Delroy was correct, that was the only possible way they could exit the building without being seen doing so.

  That has to be it.

  Another call to Malthus was made.

  “I had nearly given up hope of hearing from you, Peter Berg. I hope you have some information as to Mr. Bennington and Ms. Wellington’s whereabouts.”

  “There’s an alleyway on the northeast side of the building. If you hurry, I believe you’ll locate them there.”

  The hissing voice of the Illuminati operative expressed his gratitude.

  “Very good…we’ll be in touch.”

  Peter Berg leaned back in his office chair and closed his eyes as he absently began rubbing the stub of his missing right pinky, his mind reeling with the possibilities inherent within his newly acquired position as head of Alexander David Meyer’s empire.

  While Berg considered the possibilities of his own perceived powers, Stasia Wellington carefully pushed open the service door located in the basement parking garage of the Meyer Building and then motioned Frank to follow her outside into the alley, her weapon at the ready.

  The New York morning air was damp, hinting at a coming storm. Stasia looked down each end of the alley, grateful to see it was empty. She then pointed north.

  “Ok, we go out that way and should be to the clubhouse in ten minutes.”

  Bennington nodded and then froze, his eyes spotting an armed, heavy set, bearded man moving toward them from the north. It was the same man he had seen standing on the sidewalk below the Meyer Building earlier.

  Stasia saw the man’s reflection in Frank’s eyes and turned with her gun already pointed out in front of her. Her movement was fluid, lightning-quick, but not panicked. She appeared to be very much in her element.

  Bennington took his own weapon out and pointed it toward the approaching man as well.

  “Frank, is there anyone behind us?”

  The private detective peered toward the opposite entrance to the alleyway.

  “Shit.”

  13.

  Stasia glanced at Frank and then looked at both men approaching from each end of the alley, attempting to calculate the age and physical capabilities of each. She quickly chose the older, heavier set man as her immediate target.

  “Ok, Frank now is the time you need to stay low. Get yourself against the wall and wait for my signal to follow, understand? And if the guy behind us opens fire, I need you to fire back.”

  Bennington nodded, hoping he appeared as calm and assured as Stasia’s tone continued to be. Stasia opened the black backpack and withdrew two military grade M18 smoke grenades.

  “Remember, when I give you the signal, you follow behind me as fast as you can. If they wanted to try and shoot us outright, they would have done so already. That means they want at least one of us alive, and I’m willing to wager that would be you.”

  Stasia pulled the rings from the grenades throwing one behind them and one in front. Within seconds, the alleyway was completely immersed in a dense green smog. Frank watched Stasia move quickly and silently toward the bearded man, crouching low to the ground as she disappeared into the haze.

  An eerie silence enveloped the private detective, the only sound coming from the slow, soft hissing of the smoke grenades.

  Walid Zidane’s eyes narrowed as he attempted to see through the smoke. He couldn’t tell if the two targets were coming toward him, or retreating back toward Jean-Paul. He remembered Malthus’s order that the woman could be killed, but the man was to be taken alive.

  She’s pretty enough. Perhaps I can make some use of her before taking her life.

  The thought brought a smile to Walid’s face. He had no fear of Stasia Wellington. She was a woman playing a man’s game. While there would be no honor in killing something so weak as her, it would provide the Illuminati operative ample opportunity for enjoyment.

  The butt of Stasia’s gu
n struck Walid under his nose, sending him reeling backward as he struggled to remain on his feet. He was shocked at how she was able to approach him so quietly, though that shock transformed quickly into embarrassment and rage over finding himself attacked by a woman.

  With eyes full of tears from the blow to his nose, Walid raised his weapon and searched for Stasia’s location, panicking as he realized she had somehow disappeared again even as the smoke began to dissipate around him.

  What is this she-devil?

  With the smoke lessening, Frank was able to watch as the bearded man’s head moved rapidly from side to side as he searched for Stasia, a sheet of crimson flowing from his nose and covering the man’s black and grey mustache.

  Bennington gasped as the Vatican-trained woman warrior somehow re-emerged behind Walid, and then pressed her gun against the back of his head.

  “Drop your weapon and get on your knees.”

  Walid growled like a rabid beast as his mouth filled with the salty-acrid taste of his own blood.

  “I will enjoy killing you, bitch.”

  Stasia let out an annoyed sigh.

  “Fine, have it your way.”

  Her gun slammed into the back of Walid’s head. As consciousness left him, his body crumpled to the pavement below. Stasia looked back at Bennington, motioning for him to move. She noted the second man was less than thirty feet from Frank’s location.

  “Now, Frank!”

  Bennington grimaced as he stood up and then began running toward Stasia, feeling a painful twinge in his lower back as he did so. He watched as Stasia raised her weapon, seeming to point it directly at him.

  What the hell?

  The sound of a shot being fired reverberated within the confines of the alleyway, causing Frank to careen to his right, his hands instinctively covering each side of his head.

  “Hurry, the other one’s right behind you!”

  Jean-Paul saw Walid motionless on the ground but his attention was focused on catching the man he knew to be Frank Bennington. He was the one Malthus wanted captured alive. Jean Paul had intentionally fired over Bennington’s head to slow him down, and it appeared to have worked.

  Suddenly, Frank Bennington turned around, his weapon pointing at Jean-Paul’s head, bringing the chase to an abrupt halt.

  “Stop right there big man, and back off. I won’t lose a wink of sleep watching you die in this alley.”

  The Illuminati operative suppressed a smile. The older man was clearly trying to sound far tougher than he actually was. Still, he was armed and so could still prove plenty dangerous.

  Stasia turned around at the sound of Frank’s voice, mildly surprised to see him staring down the second of Malthus’s men. She was then doubly surprised to see how attractive the other man was as well. It was a reaction not uncommon to Jean-Paul Bikindi. His mix of French and African heritage lent him a somewhat exotic appearance, with night black hair and dark skin complimented by a pair of striking blue eyes. He had a high forehead, sharp cheekbones, and a full lipped, pouting mouth that resided under an aquiline nose.

  “Where’s Malthus?”

  Jean-Paul shrugged back at Stasia, quietly admiring her appearance as much as she was admiring his.

  What a remarkable woman.

  “I am following orders, Ms. Wellington, nothing more.”

  Stasia moved ahead of Frank, her gun pointed back at Jean-Paul.

  “You know my name, but I don’t know yours. Who are you?”

  The Illuminati gave a subtle half grin that Stasia could not help but fine immensely charming.

  “I am Jean-Paul Bikindi.”

  “Well Jean-Paul, here’s the thing. I am going to take out an explosive device from my backpack and place it inside your friend here’s jacket. I have the detonator with me and it can transmit up to a thousand yards, so if you want your partner to remain in one piece, I suggest you stay put while me and Mr. Bennington continue on our way, understand?”

  Jean-Paul shrugged while the half grin remained on his face.

  “But of course, Ms. Bennington, I understand.”

  “Frank, keep your gun on him.”

  From behind him, Bennington heard Stasia reaching into her backpack. She then leaned over Walid’s still unmoving body before quickly standing back up to face Jean-Paul.

  “Kick your weapon over here.”

  Jean-Paul’s eyes pleaded with Stasia that she allow him to keep his gun.

  “Please, I’ve had this for many years. It has sentimental value.”

  “The lady said kick it over - now do it.”

  Stasia gave Frank a quick glance, impressed by the authoritative tone of his voice.

  At that moment, Jean-Paul considered shooting both Stasia and Bennington, but knew the risk was too great. His orders were clear – Bennington was to be taken alive.

  The gun was kicked across the pavement until it rested at Frank’s feet.

  “Pick it up, Frank, and let’s go.”

  Jean-Paul watched with his arms folded across his chest as both Bennington and Stasia walked backwards down the alley until they reached the adjoining street where they then immediately turned to the left and disappeared.

  Walid began to stir as Jean-Paul reached into the other Illuminati operative’s jacket and withdrew a small, round, mirrored makeup compact. The discovery of Stasia’s successful deception turned Jean-Paul’s half smile into a chuckle.

  A remarkable woman indeed…

  14.

  The New York T3 Clubhouse was a simple three story, red bricked building that appeared as nothing more or less than any of the similar styled buildings found on the same street with the exception that all of the windows appeared to have been darkly tinted to prevent anyone from the outside being able to see in.

  Ten concrete steps led to a white painted door that was original to the building when it was first constructed in 1822.

  “This is it?”

  Bennington’s tone clearly indicated his being underwhelmed by the building’s exterior appearance.

  Stasia moved to the top of the steps and then paused, her face peering into the small lens located above the door.

  “I figured the clubhouse would look more like that place over there.”

  Without following where he was pointing to, Stasia already knew the structure Frank was speaking of. The dark stone building with the tall spire that reached high above the other buildings in the neighborhood had once been a church to some of New York’s most prominent residents. That time had come and gone nearly 120 years ago, the structure abandoned after its resident priest was found hanging from the rafters just above the worship alter. That was the lesser of the horrors investigators found inside the church that day, though. The bodies of six young boys were also discovered recently buried beneath the compacted dirt of the church cellar, their bodies mutilated victims of some dark ritualistic rite.

  The New York neighborhood was shocked, most refusing to mention the atrocities having been committed so near to their own homes. The church was boarded up and remained vacant for nearly thirty years after, until rumors surfaced a company had purchased it as a storage facility. For months no-one was seen coming into or out of the long abandoned building until finally, each night for an entire year, a single light could be seen illuminating the small room at the top of the spire. Then more lights were viewed burning at night, until finally, a man could be seen walking out of the church at 11:00 every evening. This man was soon after joined by others coming and going into the former church. By then, those who had been alive during the priest’s suicide and the gruesome discovery of the children’s bodies, had died away. The building’s ominous presence lessened into a far less foreboding and transitory moment of mystery as people walked or drove past it.

  “You want nothing to do with that place over there, Frank.”

  The private investigator joined Stasia at the top of the steps, his head nodding back toward the dark building across the street.

  “Why’s t
hat?”

  Stasia pointed to three men walking into the former church. A chill ran through Frank as he watched Malthus stop just outside the ten foot high steel framed double entrance doors and turn slowly back around to stare at Stasia and Bennington.