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

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Bennington shook his head. He’d heard the death in the caller’s voice. Whoever he was, there would be no reasoning with a man like that. He intended to kill Stasia – soon.

  Nagato’s eyes were closed as he willed his mind and body to relax. The space around him went still as the fear began to lessen. His duty was clear – he was the guardian. It was a matter of personal honor that he do what must be done to save the life of another.

  For the first time since his arrival years ago to the T3 clubhouse, Taku Nagato opened the front door and stepped outside.

  23.

  “I don’t condone what you’re doing, Pindar Zavala. If the Elders side against you, there will be no help for you from me.”

  Peter Berg loathed speaking with Zavala. The newly appointed head of the Alexander David Meyer financial empire had far better things to do than waste time playing the games of the Illuminati and T3 Group. Berg had long felt the billionaire’s seeming obsession with the silent war between the two organizations to be little more than a very costly distraction. He intended to remedy those costs by withdrawing from the conflict altogether.

  “I’m not asking for your help, Mr. Berg, but rather acquiring your assurance that you not assist Stasia Wellington or Frank Bennington. I’m certain Mr. Bennington will attempt to reach out to you for help, help that I am personally asking not come. How’s the saying go? Their fate has been…sealed.”

  Berg rolled his eyes while overlooking the twinkling night view of his high rise office. Zavala, as most of his kind within the Illuminati, were prone to dramatics.

  “Fine, whatever, it’s no concern of mine. Do with them whatever you like, Pindar.”

  “And what about your superior, Mr. Meyer, can you give assurance he too will remain uninvolved?”

  Berg’s jaw clenched. As of yesterday, he had no superior, and it angered him that others thought differently.

  “Mr. Meyer is off the grid, likely never to return. I am the one in charge here. My assurance is the only assurance you now require.”

  Berg could hear Zavala’s face widening into a satisfied grin.

  “Excellent, Mr. Berg, excellent! I do hope you will soon reconsider a relationship with the Illuminati. It would likely prove financially beneficial to both entities.”

  “Thank you, Pindar Zavala, and good night.”

  Peter Berg put the phone down and glanced at the shortwave device that sat against the left wall of his office that Alexander Meyer had left for him. Meyer’s paranoia demanded he no longer communicate by phone, or email. Berg was convinced the older man was losing it, having grown increasingly secretive since the death of his daughter.

  Berg frowned as the phone rang again.

  Bennington.

  “Mr. Berg it’s, Frank – Frank Bennington.”

  Berg remained silent, waiting for the other man to continue.

  “It’s Stasia, they took her. The…the Illuminati took her. I was hoping you could send security down here, help us to convince them to give her back. Apparently calling the cops isn’t an option, risk of exposure or some shit like that. Anyways, I know if he was here, Mr. Meyer would be doing what he could to help us, so I figured you’d do the same.”

  Berg could hear the mistrust of him in Bennington’s voice.

  “I was wondering where you and Ms. Wellington disappeared to.”

  The private investigator was struggling to remain calm.

  “Did you hear me? They have Stasia! We need your help!”

  Peter Berg smiled to himself behind his desk.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bennington, there’s nothing I can do. Good luck.”

  Berg put the phone down and rose from his chair and walked the short distance to the wall of windows overlooking the still busy Wall Street district below. He had always preferred New York at night. There was a mystery to it, an unseen power of possibility, and Berg felt himself a part of that possibility more than ever before. With his intellect, and the wealth he now controlled, he would see this city broken open and its mysteries revealed to him.

  “Peter.”

  Alexander David Meyer’s voice caused Berg to whirl around, the muscles of his body tense with disbelief and fear.

  “Peter, are you there?”

  The shortwave!

  The billionaire was communicating from wherever he had gone into hiding. Berg’s lungs let out a rush of air, grateful that Alexander Meyer had not actually returned. He moved quickly to pick up the short wave’s microphone.

  “Yes, sir, I’m here. Very glad to hear you’re safe.”

  “Thank you, Peter. I wanted to make certain your own transition was proceeding smoothly.”

  Berg found himself nodding far too enthusiastically, still nervous at the unexpected arrival of Alexander Meyer’s voice into his office.

  “Everything is fine. Your interests are in good hands, Mr. Meyer.”

  “I’m happy to hear that, Peter, and what of Ms. Wellington and Mr. Bennington?”

  Berg paused as panic once again welled from within him.

  Is he testing me? Does he already know something?

  “I believe they left this morning, sir. I assumed you had given them instructions – an assignment.”

  “They didn’t check in with you before they left?”

  Berg’s grip on the microphone tightened.

  “Uh, no sir, as I said, I believe they left early this morning. It’s been a very busy day for me. I apologize if I was supposed to contact them personally prior to their departure.”

  The billionaire’s tone quickly turned apologetic.

  “No apologies necessary, Peter. I left without notification as well, and you’re right, I know a great deal was left on your plate too. I’m sure they’re fine. No worries, really. Stasia probably had them go to the clubhouse to introduce Mr. Bennington to Guardian Nagato, and if so, they’re in very safe and capable hands there.”

  Peter Berg relaxed. Alexander Meyer knew nothing of what was happening between the T3 Group and the Illuminati. The old fool’s curiosity was just that – curiosity.

  “I can attempt to contact them if you like, sir.”

  “That would be fine, Peter, but it’s not something you need to make a priority of. Will this be a good time to reach you for future communications?”

  With his confidence restored, Berg found himself growing tired of hearing Alexander Meyer’s voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Very good then, Peter, I’ll be in touch. And thank you for your continued help and most important, your loyalty.”

  Berg shut off the microphone and returned to his wall of windows, knowing that just a few blocks away, both Stasia Wellington and Frank Bennington would soon no longer be a concern, and in the not too distant future, he would locate Alexander David Meyer and silence him as well.

  The brightly lit New York skyline seemed to salute Berg’s motivation. It was the kind of motivation the city had been built upon – determined, ruthless motivation.

  Berg returned to his desk and then called down to the front desk.

  “Delroy, I’m ready to call it a day. Have the limo ready to pick me up out front.”

  For Peter Berg, life was very-very good.

  24.

  Just before stepping down the entrance steps of the T3 Clubhouse, Guardian Nagato turned to face both Frank Bennington and Hugh Madsen and began signing as quickly as his hands would allow. Though Frank did not understand Nagato’s hands, the guardian’s eyes communicated the battle between his determination to do his duty, and the fear of finding himself fully exposed to the outside world.

  Madsen nodded his head quickly and then pushed Bennington further into the T3 building and then closed and locked the door.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? We can’t leave him out there alone!”

  Madsen moved quickly to his right and ran his hands along the wall and then pushed a hidden panel open. A second later the bartender turned soldier stood holding an M-16 assault rifle in
his left hand while stuffing several 30-round magazines into the front packet of his dark blue jacket.

  “I’m following the guardian’s orders, Mr. Bennington. You’re safety is now my responsibility. We’re heading to the rooftop – let’s go.”

  Frank shook his head while pointing to the entrance door.

  “The only place I’m going is out there to try and save Stasia and the guardian.”

  Madsen’s eyes indicated there would be no arguing. He had his orders, and appeared intent on following them.

  “If you want the opportunity to do that, Mr. Bennington, I need you with me on the roof. I won’t ask again.”

  While Frank Bennington argued with Madsen, Taku Nagato’s legs were trembling beneath him as he forced his feet forward toward the street and the awaiting Illuminati operatives on the other side. His breath came in short, pained gasps, as if his lungs wanted nothing to do with the outside air. He saw Stasia sitting on her knees to the left of the church’s double doors, her arms bent behind her and her head hanging down against her chest.

  “Thank you for coming out to play, Guardian Nagato. My name is August Hess. I’m in charge of the exchange.”

  Nagato looked to his left and then his right and confirmed what he had already suspected. The Illuminati had closed the street off. Whatever their intentions were, they did not wish to be interrupted.

  “That’s right, Guardian, the street is ours, and so is your life.”

  Something in Hess’s tone infuriated Nagato. It held such arrogance and disregard for human life. It was the voice of a killer. The guardian knew then there would be no exchange. The Illuminati intended to kill them all.

  “Lift your arms out beside you, old man. No tricks or the woman dies.”

  Stasia lifted her head slowly until the back of it pushed against the handgun held by the Illuminati operative who stood behind her. Her eyes locked with Nagato’s, silently pleading with him that her life was not worth his. The guardian’s own eyes appeared both calm and assured. Taku Nagato had cheated death many times before. If this was to be the time death finally found him, he would meet it honorably.

  The honorable life never ends, even in death, and one’s future is already a thing of the past.

  The guardian smiled at the familiar refrain of Master Shiro, who himself died while tending to his beloved garden. The old master’s hands seeded the carefully tilled soil, spending hours every day gently nourishing the bourgeoning vegetables. Shiro collapsed one morning in that same garden, mere days from the intended time of harvest.

  Following his funeral, several of Master Shiro’s students, including Nagato, picked and cleaned the vegetables and took them to the orphanage cooks who then prepared an exquisite meal in the master’s honor. As a young Taku ate from his plate, he looked around the dining hall and saw his fellow students doing the same and only then did he truly realize the wisdom of the master’s words. The work, care, and dedication of Master Shiro was now helping to sustain his students even after his death.

  The honorable life never ends, even in death, and one’s future is already a thing of the past.

  Guardian Nagato was fully prepared for his own future to become a thing of the past.

  The Illuminati operative who approached him with a gun pointing out in front of him was a man of average height and build in his mid-30’s who likely felt little need to be overly cautious in the presence of the unarmed seventy-four year old Nagato.

  That over-confidence was the very thing the guardian needed to momentarily tip the scales of the encounter in his favor. A half second before he moved, his eyes glanced toward Stasia and then looked upward. She gave him a half nod to indicate she understood and then looked toward the rooftop of the T3 building where she saw an armed Hugh Madsen carefully positioning himself to provide them cover.

  Nagato stood very still, awaiting the inevitable opportunity that would present itself to him. The Illuminati operative moved to the guardian’s left, preparing to take a position behind him. From there Nagato knew they intended to march both he and Stasia back into the church complex.

  The extended fingers of the guardian’s left hand struck the middle of the operative’s chest with near-inhuman speed. As a younger man, the blow would have been capable of stopping the operative’s heart. At seventy-four, it still remained capable of momentarily incapacitating him.

  The man fell backward, crying out in pain as his left hand grasped the area of his chest that now pulsed with excruciating pain. At the same moment the guardian reached to grab the gun from the Illuminati operative, Stasia exploded upward from her crouch, turned sharply to her left while wrapping the lower half of her left leg behind the man guarding her, sending him propelling forward to crash face-first onto the pavement below. With her hands bound behind her, she was unable to take the operative’s weapon, so instead moved to keep August Hess from attacking Nagato.

  Hess grunted indifference at how quickly the situation had changed. He aimed his weapon toward the guardian, intending to kill him in the street, despite being ordered by the Pindar to make certain they were dispatched behind the walls of the church where no witnesses could see the act.

  Stasia’s left foot slammed into the middle of Hess’s left thigh, causing him to momentarily lose his balance. He recovered quickly though, snarling like some night beast, his eyes hungry for more violence. Stasia was more than happy to provide it to him, her own snarl matching the ferocity of Hess’s.

  She slammed her right shoulder into his chest and then sent her left knee plunging into Hess’s groin with devastating force. The Illuminati operative cried out, dropped his weapon, though he somehow managed to stay on his feet as he clamped both hands around Stasia’s throat, lifted her off the ground and then threw her violently against the church doors behind them. The back of her head met the steel framed doors with a sickening wet thud followed by her body crumpling to the ground where it lay motionless.

  Hess’s mouth extended into an abnormally wide, wolfish grin as he lifted his right foot in anticipation of crushing Stasia’s exposed throat beneath the heel of his boot.

  The guardian leapt onto Hess’s back, using his arms to encircle the much larger man’s head in a choke hold and clamping down with all his strength. August Hess wheezed his rage, his eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing like a land-locked fish desperate for air.

  He propelled his body backwards onto the same door he had just thrown Stasia, crushing Nagato behind him. The guardian felt the searing pain of a rib fracturing on his left side, but maintained the choke hold. Once again Hess threw himself backwards into the door. Nagato cried out silently, the pain from his broken rib threatening to make him pass out.

  Twice more the guardian found his body pummeled, but the choke hold remained intact until finally Hess stumbled forward, his fingers clawing at Nagato’s forearms, and then the Illuminati operative collapsed.

  “Well I’ll be damned. The little guy really is as tough as the rumors said.”

  Bennington shared Hugh Madsen’s stunned amazement as both men looked down upon the remains of the just concluded battle below them. They watched as Guardian Nagato rose slowly to his feet, wincing in pain as his right hand covered a space over his left ribcage.

  “Thank God.”

  Frank’s words followed seeing Stasia moving to push herself back onto her feet.

  Madsen continued to look down at the street through the sight lens of his M-16. Bennington assumed he was remaining vigilant should other Illuminati operatives arrive before Stasia and the guardian could make their way back to the safety of the T3 clubhouse.

  Taku Nagato looked up and marveled that he no longer feared the vastness of the open skies above him. He closed his eyes and smiled, enjoying the crisp arrival of a breeze as it moved around him. He could hear and smell the life of the great city, and thought how incredible it would be to finally walk its streets.

  When his eyes opened he saw both Frank Bennington and Hugh Madsen on the roof
of the clubhouse. The guardian lifted his right hand to acknowledge them, grateful to see Bennington safe and that Madsen had followed his orders.

  It appears my future is not quite yet my past.

  The first M-16 round tore cleanly through the upper center of Nagato’s chest. The second found its mark in the middle of his forehead.

  Hugh Madsen was an excellent marksman. Both were kill shots.

  Guardian Nagato was dead.

  25.

  “What did you do?”

  Frank Bennington’s eyes reflected his shock and disbelief at having just witnessed the guardian’s murder by one of their own. He backed away from Madsen slowly as he quickly realized the danger his own life was in.