The Case

by Lee Cunningham

  Franky’s eyes flashed with surprise and rage as he thought about Hector and Gabriela setting him up, and he tried to remember their parents. He could not. He had killed too many people, for too long, to recall anyone that long ago. But before he could speak out, another bullet denied him the ability, as it penetrated his skull, forcing its selected path through his enraged, pain-filled brain.

  Franky gasped and finally released the death grip he had held on his knees, as his body relaxed in to the bloody mass of dead monster flesh. He exhaled a lone final breath, and then breathed no more. As if having the last word, his body released all the urine his bladder had held. The yellow liquid immediately soaked through his thin slacks, soiling the virgin ground. Some of it spread to mingle with his spilled champagne, and the fluids were reunited.

  Two men wearing green medical latex gloves, approached Franky and emptied his pockets. They picked up the lifeless monster. They unceremoniously threw his limp corpse in to the pit, that had been pre-dug, to be Franky’s final resting place, in the Valley of Fire. The sand was soft, and the digging had been easy until a rock outcropping was eventually struck some five feet down.

  The assassination detail then destroyed Franky’s phone, by smashing it to pieces. They then placed it in a small vat of acid, covered the acid container with its lid and threw it in to the pit on top of him.

  The gun used to kill Franky had been delivered to the assassination detail by a Committee member, who was also a member of one of the Mexican cartels. It had belonged to an officer in the Mexican Army, who had acquired it from the U.S. government in a program initiated by the ATFE, when they attempted to track guns in Mexico, by providing criminals guns.

  The revolver had been easily smuggled back in to the country through the porous U.S. southern border, at a border crossing where the cartel instructed a Customs agent on their payroll to waive the car that smuggled the gun through the checkpoint. The U.S. Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives Agency that provided the weapon had already destroyed records of some of the guns lost in the failed operation, at the direction of the United States Attorney General, and this was one of those guns.

  The now untraceable gun was placed in another vat of acid and covered. Even if later discovered, its serial number would be useless to any investigator. It was thrown in to the pit on top of Franky’s still bloody immobile corpse.

  Franky’s personal items, and all his jewelry, were placed in yet another vat of acid, covered and thrown in to the pit with him. One of the men then lifted a five-gallon gas can, that contained a mixture of 4 parts diesel and 1 part gasoline, out of the trunk of the second car. He walked to the pit and poured the entire contents on top of Franky, his belongings, the acid vats and the gun. Another man threw a match in to the pit and the fire flashed and began to build.

  Once the fire was good and hot, two 4-foot by 4-foot sections of plywood were lowered in to the pit and placed over the fire. Additional firewood retrieved from the trunk of the second car was placed on top of the plywood. The fire began to build even more.

  A second pair of plywood sheets were lowered in to place, over the fire. Once they rested in the correct position, and had begun to burn through, the two men began to fill the burial pit with the mound of soft sand that had patiently waited to be returned to its hole, and final resting place.

  The oxygen-deprived fire would smolder underground for days, destroying everything identifiable, except possibly partial dental records, should a fragment of skull or a few teeth be found, in any future excavation. No one could be linked to the assassination. Franky’s dental records had already been removed by The Committee.

  Hector and Gabriella’s plan, aligned with The Committee plan, had finally been completed, and everything had gone according to that plan. Franky’s plan had failed miserably and unexpectedly…but unexpectedly, only to him.

  The assassination detail drove back to a swank Hotel in Las Vegas where they all parted company and cleaned up in separate rooms. All the men involved later met for dinner and drinks of celebration. They spoke in hushed tones about their next assignment.

  Even before they had arrived back at the hotel Franky’s FBI handler sent the video text to Franky’s sister who had been waiting in Franky’s new 45-foot “fishing” boat, off the coast of the designated Caribbean island. Hector had provided her the coordinates assigned for her to receive the video, after he had obtained them from The Committee. The boat was still positioned over one of the deepest trenches in the area. The bottom of the ocean floor was some 2,000 feet below the water’s surface, coincidently not far from shore, and near a good strong cell site.

  Hector’s sister sat waiting on the comfortable outside seats of Franky’s shiny new toy. The phone beeped its receipt of the text. She shaded the screen with both her hand and her oversized floppy beach hat, and pushed the play button. She watched the video three times completely through, beginning with Franky exiting the limo door and being immediately shot, all the way through to his burning body lying in the covered pit. She took the phone apart in silence, removing both the battery and the SIM card. She stood up and walked to the stern of the boat, where she dropped the pieces in to the deep blue water one at a time, as the boat moved slowly away from the land.

  Gabriella Alvarez, Hector’s beautiful, sweet sister, walked in silence back to her seat and sat down, leaning all the way back on the overstuffed seat. She looked around, scrutinizing her surroundings, and eventually admired the beautiful boat, the only thing Franky had ever requested and allowed her, to decide on, and pick out, completely on her own. He had wanted a surprise, and she had granted his wish.

  From her reclining positions, she looked down passed her luscious perky, barely-covered breasts, passed her flat and toned small waistline, over her hot pink bikini bottoms, and slowly down her thighs, to her long, beautiful sculpted legs. Her gaze finally rested on her artfully formed sexy feet, each toe adorned with hot pink toenail polish that matched her hand nail polish and lipstick. Each body part called attention to itself, and yet blended harmoniously with the others, to produce a hypnotic, euphoric effect on an admirer.

  She was drop dead gorgeous, and she knew it. And she knew she had used her looks to help her brother exact the revenge they both had desired, on their tormentor. Gabriella now only hoped she could somehow forget Franky making love to her, and touching her with those awful hands…the hands of a monster…the guilty hands that had killed her parents, and so many other good and innocent people.

  But their plan had worked. At long last the monster was dead. She stood and made the call to Hector, with her own phone, and said simply, “It’s done. The monster is dead.” As she ended the call she saw her reflection in a window of the cabin, where the captain and first mate waited for instructions. She said softly to herself staring back in the window as if talking to Franky, “This is my boat now, you rotten son-of-a-bitch!”

  With a hand signal she motioned for the captain to take her back to the compound, and she laid back on the seat to enjoy the ride. Gabriella closed her eyes as the motion of the boat through the calm ocean gently rocked her up and down, back and forth, and side to side. She closed her eyes more tightly and tried to picture Franky…where he was…at that very second. Hopefully he had already completed his special journey to Hell, she mused.

  She also hoped Franky had heard her calling to him from his special place in Hades. She prayed Franky would always be angry, seething with rage, and that he would remain trapped in his customized Hell-cell, just so, nearly mad beyond description. She fancied him experiencing never ending surges of constant incredible pain, raging ferociously, totally unable to act on his unimaginable anger. She saw Franky lamenting his failed devious plans, consumed by hatred and lust, desiring her in every way, yet realizing she was unattainable, for all eternity.

  An hour later, as she arrived at the dock of her new home, Hector’s sister wondered where Hector was at that very moment and what he was doing. She walked slowly to her p
alace-prison fortress.

  Hector in fact had just finished taking his oath of allegiance to The Committee, and was escorted to his own seat in this group. He received his “pin” from the ranking United States Senator from Nevada, who sat next to him at the table, all smiles, patting him on the back a little too often.

  The pin displayed an American flag waving in the wind, suspended from a golden flag pole. The far-right upper corner of the flag had a very perceptible dark black spot located where the top folded red line ended, and the spot design began, signifying the wearer was a member of the secret society. Hector was instructed to wear the pin at all meetings with the group.

  Hector studied the heavy gold pin. He focused on the spot, which revealed a five-pointed star surrounding a cross resting on its side, short end to the left, seemingly suspended in the center of the design and raised from the flat surface, to accentuate its presence. Hector was relieved to see the symbol did not display the pointed lines running from the tips of the star, crossing in its interior, point side down, and surrounded by a circle, like the satanic pentagram displayed.

  Further examination confirmed the pin was fashioned of ceramic material with an 18-carat gold flag pole. The pin was more than twice the size of the average lapel pin, and displayed true artisan workmanship.

  The business portion of the meeting was then called to order by the ranking member of The Committee present, the United States Assistant District Attorney. Hector was formally introduced, as the ranking Senator next to him stood with him, and officially “pinned” him.

  With the brief ceremony complete, the business portion of the meeting was called to order, and Hector sat back in the plush chair, and relaxed. As the man spoke at the podium, Hector tried to imagine what his sister was doing and thinking at the very moment. She had paid a huge price to complete their plan, a plan that had not conformed to their timetable, or unfolded as they had originally intended.

  To ensure the plan succeeded, both he and his sister had pretended to be people they were not, for more than a decade. And along the way, each of them had lost a portion of their self, and their soul, in the process. They were both changed, forever, from who they could have become.

  The plan had changed radically through all those long years, he thought. His first plan had proved useless. But even though the plan had changed repeatedly in substance and form, he realized now that the planning had been indispensable.

  Hector fondled his lapel pin, as he listened to The Committee chairman, and wondered what would become of him, and his beautiful, loving sister. He knew he must make another new plan now…a more complex and convincing plan…and he must do this very quickly. But this plan, he realized, may come together slowly, like a chain, only one link at a time. It would be more difficult, and take more time to construct, and would likely change even more, as it developed. And of course, in the current situation, it would involve much more risk. Hector again prayed silently, for safety for his family.

  The senior Senator sitting next to him tapped him on the hand, leaned over, and said, “Your training will be scheduled soon. It will involve two weeks of isolation at our California headquarters. You’ll learn our history, listen to the Plan of the Prophet, be versed in all aspects of the Primary Objective, and be trained in all pillars of faithfulness and allegiance required for membership in The Committee. Take this very seriously. Always remember what happened to Franky. You too must watch his video before you fly back tonight.” The Senator leaned back in his chair and smiled. Hector prayed harder.

  While Hector continued his silent prayers, Jesse found Shane at the ranch, as Shane checked the grounds around the house, before dinner. Shane recognized the look of concern on Jesse’s face, stopped near a bench, and cocked his head to inquire, as Jesse stopped in front of him.

  Jesse looked as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. He said, “You probably never heard about a group called, ‘The Committee,’ allegedly formed by some politicians from different countries, during the cold war.” Shane shook his head.

  Jesse continued. “I want to tell you a story my grandfather told me, just before he died.” They sat down on the bench together.

  “Granddad was a very quiet man, who served in World War II, and then lived in Europe for about ten years. He met my grandmother there, brought her back to the states, married her, and bought a plumbing business. He was very successful, and eventually had shops in about a dozen different cities. He lived a quiet life, apart from traveling for the business, and making quarterly trips to Europe, to meet with suppliers he dealt with in high-end appliances.”

  “My granddad never spoke about the war, or told us why he stayed in Europe after the war…until he was dying of cancer. My dad and I were there with him, in his room at the hospital one day. He was in incredible pain, but for days, he had refused the pain meds that would help. He said he needed to be lucid, to talk to us, alone. He was a tough old guy!” Jesse looked down, fondly remembering.

  “Anyway, he told dad and I that we could never say a word about this to anyone. And then he told us that when he was in Europe, he worked in Army intelligence after the war ended. The U.S. was preparing to pass the National Security Act, after the war, to make sure we would never be victims of another Pearl Harbor. They were forming the CIA, to ensure we stayed ahead of our enemy’s plans. Eventually, Grandad agreed to be transitioned in to the CIA.”

  “The business, and the Europe trips to meet with appliance suppliers, were all a cover for his work at the CIA. Granddad told us he worked on only one major investigation for decades. It began during the cold war. It was an investigation involving a man known as ‘The Prophet,’ and a group called ‘The Committee,’ who were working toward a ‘Primary Objective.’ He said it was the only thing that ever terrified him.”

  “He told us that the motivation for the group was to manipulate public opinion, to facilitate control over, and direct the public, as the group worked to change how governments interacted. He said that the group was made up of a small number of politicians and officials in various countries. At that time, they were small enough that the group lacked the ability to implement the changes they planned.”

  “He and other Allied intelligence officers tracked the original members of the group, and attempted to acquire information on them and their plans, for years, with limited success. They never learned a great deal about them. Eventually, all the Allied countries terminated their investigations, one country at a time.”

  “He said The Committee’s plans were unconventional, and involved developing alliances between cooperating governments and organized crime. In his last days at the Agency, no one else even knew about the investigation. Grandfather discovered that all records of the investigation had been sealed, or were missing. And then, just before he died, he said he had received credible evidence from a trusted associate, that the group was in place, and operating effectively, within our own government. They were still secretly working toward their goals, and they had grown in number, and in power.”

  Jesse looked at Shane. Shane nodded, encouraging Jesse to continue. Jesse said, “I never gave it much thought, after Grandad died. I was still so young, and my dad never spoke about it again. I don’t think he wanted my grandmother to know anything about all this. But in the limited amount of information we have been able to decipher from your father’s heavily encrypted case files, ‘The Committee’ is referred to multiple times…and now we just found it again, along with a reference to a ‘Primary Objective.’ I don’t think this is a coincidence.”

  Jesse looked more serious than Shane had ever seen him. He said, “I hadn’t put this all together until today. But I think this could be the same people my grandad spoke about. Nothing ever scared him. But he was terrified of this group.”

  The two men sat on the bench in silence, contemplating what they should do next. They now both realized that their long-term plans may have to change. They knew they should prepare, but they just didn’t know
what to prepare for. What they did know for sure, was what they needed. They needed the Beckett Cypher…and they needed it fast. With it, they could unravel the mystery, and put a plan together, one link at a time.

  Acknowledgements

  This book is dedicated to the men and women in law enforcement, and all their families. Millions of these dedicated men and women have served in this profession during my life time. I have had the honor of being trained by, serving with, and training, hundreds of these fine officers, some of who made the ultimate sacrifice of their lives to protect our cherished way of life. These men and women comprise the thin blue line that holds the space between anarchy and lawfulness, terror and security, and subjugation and freedom. These officers and support staff will always have my love and respect, and that of most hard-working good citizens. I stand with them, and salute them.

  This first book in the series could not have been finished as it exists without the encouragement and help of two of my very closest friends in life, Tom and Marilyn Suarez. They were both tireless critics and editors, who offered many good insights, to help keep the story and reading experience on track. I owe them a debt of gratitude that good friends can never truly repay, to good friends.

  I also credit my parents, Alma Juanita Rutherford Holub and George John Holub Jr., the best parents a young man could ask for, and those most responsible for shaping me and my values. I will love you always.

  I wish to thank my loved ones and friends who have supported me this far during my time here on earth. I have learned and grown with our collective triumphs and failures. I hope this book makes you proud, or at least, leaves you entertained.

  And lastly, I thank my biological father, Lee Cunningham, who, along with my mother, gave me the gift of life. I wish I could have known you, and listened to the music you made, with your band. I write these novels in our name.