Behind a wood pile, a pair of eyes with night vision goggles was watching the parked car. The black figure moved silently in the direction of the vehicle. The old man lit a cigarette and waited for movement, any movement, so he could take his revenge. He took a drag off the smoke and put his head back on the headrest – the red hot cherry tip of his smoke the only light in the car – when suddenly he heard the passenger side door handle being pulled. He reached for the gun on his right side, but he never got there as suddenly everything went black.
“You came to kill me,” said a disembodied voice out of sight of the old man. His head was foggy, and the voice was being disguised. He tried to look around, but he felt sick. “Are you confused as to where you are?” He tried to move, but he was restrained to a chair. He bent his head forward and threw up. The fog in his head was lifting, and he could see a light in the corner of the room. He felt a hand on his back patting him like a child, and then he felt the restraints being removed from his wrists. He moved to stand up, only to fall on the concrete floor into his own vomit. He moved his feet, but he had leg irons on. He lay for several minutes on the cold floor. It felt good against his body – the smell of his own stomach contents of no concern in the moment. He was now almost fully alert and called out, “Where are you, you sonbitch?” His voice echoed off the walls of what appeared to be an empty room. The voice responded, “I’m right over here, Barry.” He looked in the direction of the voice and saw the silhouette of a person in a doorway. From his vantage point he couldn’t make out any details, just a fuzzy figure with a very bright light behind it.
“How the fuck do you know my name? No one calls me that.” He saw the hulking figure dressed all in black head towards him, no discernible face with the light shining in the old man’s eyes. “Now now, Barry. Is that any way to speak to an old friend? I suppose you would prefer that I call you ‘old man,’ right? If you ask me, it’s just downright disrespectful for a man of your reputation.” The voice kept moving around, and the old man couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. “Your head is getting clearer, correct?” Mullin rolled onto his back and fought to sit up while yelling, “Fuck you, asshole! Where are you, mother fucker?” He felt a strong pair of hands grab him under his arms and start dragging him toward the door. He still couldn’t see his captor, but he could feel his feet dragging on the smooth concrete floor toward the brightly lit doorway. He felt his body being lifted into the air and then gently laid down on a flat, soft surface. “Barry, Barry, please keep the profanity down. I’m a sensitive person. I would never speak to you in such a manner.”
Mullin realized that he was lying on a bed, and he felt the hands as they gently tied each of his wrists to it. “You haven’t answered my question, Barry. I asked if you came here to kill me.” “You’re goddamn right I’m here to kill you, you son-bitch.” He felt the arms release him and watched as the figure walked to the end of the bed. There, in front of him, stood a man dressed all in hospital white. He was wearing a surgeon’s hat and mask with a helmet on with a clear glass eye protector. “Nice disguise, asshole!” There was no response. He just stood there looking at him. He had no way of determining the height, weight or facial features of his captor. He had no idea how high off the floor the bed he was laying on was, and the voice was definitely disguised. “You said I know you, asshole. Who the fuck are you really?” He saw the man move toward a table and pull open the bag that the old man had packed at his office. He began unpacking the contents and laying them on two small steel tables, weapons on one table, tools on another.
“Barry, were you really going to use these things on me?” He didn’t respond. “Cat got your tongue, Barry? I asked you a question.” The old man didn’t say a thing. He could feel his heart beating quickly in his chest, and he was starting to have trouble breathing. “You know who I am, Barry, and if I didn’t know better I would think from the contents of this bag that you were planning to drug and torture me.” There was a bit of a laugh. “Tell me that I’m wrong.” Mullin laid there for a few seconds and then said, “You killed my granddaughter, you son-bitch, and I’m gonna kill you.” The man never turned; he just kept placing the tools on the tray, and once the bag had been emptied he placed it on a chair near the bed and rolled the table over next to him.
“I didn’t know she was your granddaughter when I killed her, Barry. If I had known that at the time, I would never have separated the two of you. She was a bad girl, Barry, and she was trying to cover up for you. You are a very, very bad man, and you have been covering up an even bigger secret for a friend, haven’t you?” “What the hell do you know?” the old man blurted out. “In all honesty, by a slip the three of you made. I know your friend’s depraved, Barry, and I know where to find him. Want to tell me about it? I will make this quick and painless if you will give me more details.” “Go fuck yourself. You don’t know shit. There’s no way you could know shit… I’m not telling you anything.” “Have it your way. I suppose I should allow you some time to think over the things I have asked you about.” The old man started to calm down a little. “You said I know you, but I don’t recognize you or your voice.” The man turned to face him and moved a bright light over him obstructing the view of his face. “You do know me; you know me well. You have been tracking me for several years. As I said, if I had known that Jill Makin was your granddaughter things would have been different; I do deeply apologize for the pain you must have endured. I certainly understand why you would want to kill me. It’s way out of character for you though, Barry. You have always pretended to be a law abiding person; however, pretenses eventually come into the light, don’t they? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Ashamed my ass, you son-bitch. You let me go now, and I will spare you your life.” The man reached behind the old man’s head for something while responding, “Ah, you will let me live, but you would still deny me my freedom. I have to admit, Barry, I don’t believe you. I’m quite certain that if the roles were reversed you would not be letting me go or even listening to any argument that I had in my defense.” “You have no argument in your defense, asshole. You are a murdering son-bitch, and I came to stop you.” “By murdering me?” He resisted the restraints and said, “I’d be doin’ society a favor.” He heard the sound of an electric motor behind his head, and he knew that it was the sound of a saw or a drill. “So you’re apologizing to me for killing my granddaughter, and now you’re going to kill me?” “Ironic, huh?” His heart began to beat fast again, and a sense of fear gripped him that he had never felt before. “Wait… we can work this out. Answer a question for me.” He heard the clink of metal hitting metal on the table next to him. “Of course, Barry, anything.” “Why did you kill my grandbaby?”
There was some rustling around, and he saw the man’s hands come toward him with a pair of scissors, and he begin to cut his shirt open.” “She was hardly a baby. She was a U.S. Marshal just like her grandfather, and she was getting a little too close for my comfort and my cause. She knew my true identity, and she knew that I knew what you’d been doing. She knew about the cover-up that you were assisting your friend with, but this is nothing new. You know all this.” He pulled the shirt open and then cut open his undershirt. “I see you still like to wear those ‘wife beaters.’” Barry started freaking out as the cold steel pressed against the skin of his chest. “Look… even if I know you, I will keep quiet, just let me go. I only know you as The Iron Eagle. I don’t want to see your face. If I know you, I can tell you that you have done a great job of disguising your voice and your appearance. There’s no way I could ever identify you based on what I’ve seen. So, if you do feel bad about my granddaughter, show your remorse and let me go.” He felt something cold being slathered on his chest, and he began to scream.
“Barry, Barry… calm down, calm down. You don’t think that I’m going to make you feel any pain, do you? You finally identified me by that nickname that has followed me for so many years – a nickname
you and Jim O’Brian put on me in the beginning. At least Jim has had the decency to stay bound to his convictions. I bear him no ill will.” The old man was surprised by that response. “No… you’re not going to hurt me. You feel bad about my granddaughter and what you did to her. You’re going to let me go… right?” He felt a prick and then a sting in his right arm and looked down to see that an IV had been put in. He kept talking as The Eagle injected something into the IV, and he started to feel numb. His head was clear, but he couldn’t feel the restraints or the coldness of his chest or the room. The Eagle moved over to look in Barry’s eyes, and he could see that he was feeling no pain, but he wanted to be certain.
“Barry… I need you to focus. Do you see this scalpel in my hand?” He nodded slowly. “I’m going to touch your skin. Tell me if it feels cold, okay?” The old man blurted out some obscenities, but he didn’t feel anything. There were a few minutes of silence between the two, then the sound of the motor started, and he could feel pressure in his chest. Blood and bone fragments were striking him in his face. He couldn’t scream; he was out of breath. The giant hands placed a steel cage over his chest, and he recognized the contraption from many an autopsy as a rib spreader… and it was being pressed into his chest. There were a few more moments of silence between the two men. The old man could feel pressure as if someone were pulling his chest apart, then The Eagle stood to the old man’s side and said, “Barry, I want to show you something.” He saw The Eagle’s hands reach down into his chest and pull out a beating heart. At first, he was so amazed at what he saw that he didn’t realize that the heart he was seeing was his own. He could actually see it beating faster and faster as his anxiety level rose. He felt no pain; he was in shock.
“Barry,” The Eagle said in a calm voice. He looked in the direction of The Eagle’s voice and at his face. He laid the heart on his chest in plain view and moved his hands toward his head. “Barry… I’m truly sorry for the pain I caused you. I hope that you will find it in your heart to forgive me. You have caused a great deal of pain yourself, and you have gone to great pains to make sure that no one knows the truth about you and the others. I’m going to leave public perception of you alone. The truth will come out at some point.” The Eagle lifted Mullin’s heart to show it to him again. He continued, “I wish we could continue our dialogue, but I have a commitment I must keep, so I’m going to kill you now.” He placed the heart on the old man’s chest and then took off the helmet and mask that he had been wearing. The old man’s eyes grew large. “It’s you, son-bitch; it’s you…you been fuckin’ with all of us all along! How could you?” The Eagle threw the head gear on the floor and said, “I would have thought you’d have some more creative last words, but then, look who I’m talking to.” And with a quick sweep, he clamped the old man’s aorta shut, and the blood supply to the brain was cut off. He watched as the old man’s pupils dilated, and in a matter of seconds without a word he was dead.
Chapter Two
‘Steve went back to his house to
shower and dress for the day which
he knew was going to be a long one.’
The buzz of his cell phone roused Steve from sleep. It was still dark outside, and he groped for the flashing phone. “Hoffman,” his voice groggy and sounding like he had been in a deep sleep. His wife, Molly, roused in bed next to him but only for a moment. There were a few seconds of listening while lying back on his pillow in the dark, then he sat straight up in bed and turned on the nightstand light. “Okay. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” He jumped out of bed and threw on the clothes he had been wearing when he met the old man the night before. Molly sat up in bed as he moved around the room but never spoke. Within minutes he was pulling into the same parking lot he had pulled out of just a few short hours earlier at Legion Park. There was yellow crime scene tape in the distance. There were several locals who frequented the park still hanging around. It was four fifteen a.m. when he parked. He jumped out and walked up to one of the officers on crowd control, flashed his FBI ID and asked, “Where’s Jim?” The cop pointed off in the direction of the crime scene tape which he could see was all around the old man’s parked car. He walked toward the car, but he knew what he was going to see.
He saw Jim standing at the back of the car talking to one of his officers. Jim O’Brian was true to his Irish heritage; he was a fourth generation cop. Steve always joked with him because at 5’8” and 240 pounds Jim was a heart attack waiting to happen. He carried the bulk of the weight in his belly. Steve had tried for years to get him on a diet and exercise plan, but he would have nothing to do with it. His red hair and freckles looked like liver spots in the glow of the street lights. His uniform was, as usual, unkempt, and he had a cigarette in his hand as Steve approached.
“We have a hell of a mess here, Steve.” Jim had been a detective in the homicide division of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department for 20 years. He and the old man had been very close friends. They were in the marshal’s office together until Jim was shot arresting a fugitive and had to retire from the force. He had to convalesce for almost a year after which he joined the LA County Sheriff’s Department. He liked dealing with homicides; it kept him on the streets and in a controlled environment. He was also a master at puzzles, and he looked at each crime scene as a puzzle that he needed to put together to catch the killer. Steve took a look around; outside of the crime scene tape, there was little out of the ordinary.
“Who found him?” “Good question. Dispatch received a 911 call about a half hour ago that there was a body in the park. We sent a unit out to take a look around, and they found the old man’s car and him inside.” He looked around at the few people who were not police. “Did anyone see anything?” Jim grabbed an extra pair of blue latex gloves and handed them to Steve. “Not so far. We’ve talked to everyone who was here when the first patrol came in, and they all said the car was just sitting there. No one thought there was anything out of the ordinary. Hell, Steve, if we hadn’t gotten the 911 call we probably wouldn’t have known about it until morning. Even my deputies don’t bother with his car if they see it here ‘cuz he’s here so much.” Steve nodded and put on the gloves. The two men walked over to the car. The driver side door was open, and he could see the old man sitting in the front seat with something on his chest. He asked for a flashlight, and when he shined it on the old man, he just shook his head.
“What?” asked Jim. “I saw him yesterday afternoon and then again here in the park about nine p.m. last night. “What did he say when you saw him?” He looked at the old man’s body in the car. His chest was open, and his heart was resting between his open chest and the steering wheel. “Shit Jim… he was half drunk and in a mood. He said that he had picked up a tip on where to find The Eagle.” Jim shook his head. “I don’t know of any LAPD messages about The Iron Eagle. There haven’t been any killings attributed to him since that U.S. Marshal… What was her name?” Steve interrupted, “Jill Makin.” Jim laughed. “Shit. I can never remember her name. That’s the last killing that we have connected to that case. This case has none of the hallmarks of that killer. What made you bring it up?” Jim shuffled his feet in the dirt and sand next to the car. “You didn’t know Makin. She was his granddaughter.” “WHAT? We never had any connection between Barry and the victim.”
Steve walked back over to the car and took a closer look with the flashlight. Nothing that he saw had any of the earmarks of The Iron Eagle. He called out to Jim and asked, “What do you think the cause of death was?” He walked back to the car, looking in over Steve’s shoulder with the light shining on Barry’s body. “Well, I’m no medical examiner, but I would say the cause of death was having his heart ripped out of his chest. That seems to me like a surefire way to die. What do you think?” Steve wasn’t amused. “Okay, smart ass. Are you done with the jokes? Can we do a little police work, or do you need to work out your standup routine for the coroner?” Jim apologized, and the two men examined the body
more closely.
Jim grabbed a midi recorder from his pocket and began to make notes of the crime scene. Just as he started speaking, the crime scene photographer showed up and started snapping pictures. Steve whirled around and snapped at him. “Get the fuck out of here. We’re trying to process a crime scene.” The photographer snapped back, “What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do? A Victoria’s Secret shoot?” Steve got his composure and said, “Give us a few minutes, okay?” The photographer backed off, and Steve turned back to the car. The two men studied the body. They knew they couldn’t touch it until the coroner was on scene, so they had to do the best they could with their eyes. Jim noted that there was some kind of steel clip on the old man’s chest. Steve looked in closer and knew right away what it was. “You’re right on the money, man, only it’s not just a clip; it’s a surgical clamp, and it’s on his aorta.” They looked at each other and then said what they were thinking simultaneously, “Pre or post-mortem?” Steve looked at the wound and the clip then pulled his head out of the car. “If I had to venture a guess, premortem. The old man was alive when he was cut open.”
Jim pulled out of the car as well and said, “The son of a bitch cut his heart out while he was alive? Jesus Christ… this is a new one for me. This is not the work of The Iron Eagle.” Steve walked to the rear of the car and sat down on a parking block. Jim followed and sat beside him. “Have you put a call in to your team yet?” Jim asked. Steve just sat for a few minutes not saying a word, trying to gather his thoughts. A few moments later he said, “No. I got your call and came right over. You were too cryptic in your message. When you told me your guys found the old man’s car here in the park I figured he passed out or something.” Jim pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and taped the top until one fell into his palm. He lit it and took a couple of hits. “Well, it’s my jurisdiction for now unless you think it’s The Eagle, then you should send in the forensic team from your local field office.” Steve pulled his cell phone from his hip and hit speed dial.
Rise of The Iron Eagle (The Iron Eagle Series Book 1) Page 2