Rise of The Iron Eagle (The Iron Eagle Series Book 1)

by Roy A. Teel Jr.

  John had made the box for her after he had completed basic training at Camp Pendleton in San Diego County. She opened the box and a flood of memories and emotions came back to her. She was against him joining the Marine Corps; she read that in one of her letters to him while he was still in basic. Another letter was from John when he was in Special Forces training. She read the quotes from her in his letter responding to her resistance to his serving in such an elite and dangerous position. She pulled out a file of communications and documents that she received from him and the Department of Defense. She had become John’s family when they started dating. There was a note from some of their friends encouraging what he was doing. She peeled away page after page until she came to a letter dated May 19, 1998 from the Department of Defense addressed to John stating he and his unit were to be activated. She read her hand written note below it, “I begged you to stop this madness, but you insisted it was for the good of a nation. I asked what that eagle had ever done for you, referring to the American Eagle on the Great Seal of The United States of America, and your only response was more than you’ll ever understand.’”

  There was an envelope she had sent to John at an APO while he was on duty that had been returned undeliverable. She looked at the date and knew that it was the ‘Dear John’ letter that she had sent breaking up with him. Her thoughts went back to the gratitude that she felt that he never got that letter because she received a call from Walter Reed Hospital that John was being treated for injuries he received in the line of duty. She remembered the frazzled flight to get to him as fast as possible and her tears at seeing him on a ventilator. He’d been shot in the chest. She remembered the ceremony when he was awarded the Navy Cross. She read the letter from him inviting her out to see him at Camp Pendleton where he was stationed for the last two years of his duty. She remembered the disappointment in his voice when she called to tell him that she wouldn’t be able to come down, that she was under a heavy workload with her internship and couldn’t get away. Then there was ’The Letter!’ It was from Amber, dated January 18, 2001. It was the invitation to her wedding; she was marrying John. She dropped the papers back into the box and broke into tears. “Why Amber? Why? How could you handle John’s risky life when I couldn’t?”

  She put the box down on the floor in front of the hope chest and walked back to the table. She looked over the list and crumpled it up. She took a red marker and wrote in large letters, “‘I WILL NOT BE AFRAID. I WILL NOT LOSE JOHN TO MY FEAR AGAIN!’” She tore the paper out, folded it neatly, and placed it in the envelope with the invitation. “This time I’m going to work harder to make it work; this time it’s going to be my name on that wedding invitation.” She put everything back in its proper place in the hope chest and closed and locked it. She had the key tied to a piece of black yarn, and she placed it on her bedpost and dressed for the evening.

  When The Eagle returned to Parson’s Trail, he checked everything out, and all was fine. He put on his white coveralls and went out to the shed. Francis was clinging to life, taking shallow, fast breaths. “Well, Francis, based on your confession, I have extracted revenge for each of your victims.” Francis didn’t move. “It’s time that I finish you.” He removed the harnesses that had held Francis to the wall of his own container for nearly three weeks. He allowed his body to drop onto the hot steel floor. He pulled four tourniquet kits from a shelf, grabbed Francis’ nude and bloody body, and dragged it over to the steel table. He picked him up and threw him down on the table. “I’m sorry for not being more gentle Francis. I’m a bit pressed for time, plus you don’t deserve it. I’m treating you just the way you treated your ‘Swine.’ The only difference is they were innocent human beings, Francis. You…are the Swine, and it’s time to butcher you.” He grabbed some smelling salts and broke one open beneath Francis’ nose. He convulsed from the odor, and his eyes sprang open. He suddenly realized that he was off the wall and got excited; it was short lived. The Eagle injected him with a drug, and he was suddenly wide awake and in agony.

  The tourniquets were laid on his chest, and the first was being placed on his right foot just above the ankle. “No…Mr. Justice. I’m begging you. Don’t do this to me. I was wrong. I’m a bad man. Take me to prison. I don’t deserve to be free.” He felt the tourniquet cinch so tightly that he lost feeling. He saw The Eagle’s giant hand reach for another one, and he methodically moved from limb to limb until each hand and foot was dark purple from lack of blood flow. Francis heard the sound of the chain saw before he saw it. “Your preferred surgical tool,” The Eagle said with a smile looking Francis in the eye. He never took his eyes away from Francis’ face as he began cutting off his right hand. Francis screamed in agony as his limbs were removed one by one. He screamed the scream of the damned, the screams of hell, knowing he was about to be sent there in pieces.

  When The Eagle finished removing all of Francis’ limbs, there was nothing but a living torso with wide open eyes. The Eagle pulled him by the shoulders to the end of the table allowing his head to fall back off the end. He could see Francis looking around, then Francis said, “I can still feel my hands, feet, arms, and legs. If you untie me now, I can run.” The Eagle moved behind him, looking down at the limbless man. “You are not restrained, Francis. You’re free. Run.” There was some momentary flopping on the blood-soaked table before Francis realized his situation. “So, this is what the Swine felt?” The Eagle shook his head. “No, Francis. They felt every ounce of pain that the chain on this saw inflicted on them. I’ve seen the crime scene photographs and studied the autopsy reports. You kept their pain so well managed that while your victims were in agony, they could feel the knives of this chain saw cutting through their flesh and bone.” He looked up at The Eagle. “Where are you going to dump me?” The Eagle pulled the cord of the chainsaw, and it fired right up, “That’s for me to know and you to never find out.” And with that he lowered the saw to Francis’ neck, and slowly, ever so slowly, began to remove his head, starting from the sides, stopping short of the carotid arteries, and then moving up the back, severing Francis’ spinal cord at C-7. He was now totally paralyzed but still able to breathe. Small amounts of blood poured from the wounds, but the main arteries were intact. He was three quarters of the way to being decapitated when The Eagle looked into his eyes and said, “I bet you have one heck of a neckache. Let me massage that for you.” He raised the saw over Francis’ head, so he could see it lowering toward his throat. He screamed until the screams were drowned out by his own blood and head dropping onto the floor. The Eagle picked it up and held it between his hands. “You’re not dead yet, Francis. I know that from the studies done by Dr. Beaurieux in 1905. You didn’t know that you would still have consciousness for twenty-five to thirty seconds, did you?” “Francis’ eyes fluttered. “Only ten second have gone by, Francis.” He took his fingers and poked them into Francis’ spinal cord; the disembodied face contorted in pain. “Hell of a thing to learn now, huh? You could have tortured your victims for a half a minute more after you removed their heads. Well, that’s how life goes, I guess. And yours is about to go.” He threw Francis’ head against the wall; it rolled back toward him, its eyes open and glazed, pupils fixed and dilated. Francis was dead. The Eagle placed the head onto the torso and then began to stack the body parts on it as well in preparation for transport.

  Walter Cruthers returned to his home in the late afternoon. He parked his Mercedes in the driveway and pressed the remote. He heard the system disarm as he walked up the front walk and through the entrance to the house. The house staff had not yet arrived to prepare his evening meal. He took off his suit coat and grabbed a can of soda on his way to the formal dining room. The table had been set earlier in the morning for two. The dining room was massive, over two thousand square feet, and could comfortably seat up to fifty guests. Walter was well-known for his elaborate parties and celebrity guests, and he spared no expense when entertaining.

  Tonight’s place setti
ngs were at the far end of the enormous table, which was set with the finest crystal, silver, and china. He took a large remote control off one of the buffets in the dining room and pressed a button, raising the window coverings. His home was a “technological marvel,” according to the cover of PC Magazine that was laying on the coffee table in the family room. In all, the house was thirty-five thousand square feet, which included a private gym, indoor and outdoor pools, a recreation room, a media room that seated one hundred with state of the art audio and video equipment, and ten private guest suites. The house graced the cover of Architectural Digest, which was also on the coffee table. Walter recalled with pride the description of his home, its decadent kitchen complete with a sushi bar and dessert center. The article commented on how much Mr. Cruthers enjoyed ice cream and other types of desserts.

  While the house was considered an architectural masterpiece, two areas set the house apart from any other known home. First, the master suite boasted over five thousand square feet of living space with ornate custom made furniture. Every piece had been designed by Mr. Cruthers with the help of his assistant and his interior designer. The walls of the bedroom retracted electronically to reveal the Pacific Ocean. The property was on twenty acres and had a twenty thousand square foot boat house for his private custom-built yacht. It was really more of a ship with over ten thousand square feet of living and sailing space. He also had several smaller watercrafts he used for ocean recreation. The other unique aspect of the home, according to the article, was the fact that it was completely self sustaining. It required no outside services. The property made use of a state of the art desalination plant that provided the home with unlimited fresh water. The article commented on Mr. Cruthers’ eco-friendly environment, and the fact that he had a near zero carbon footprint. The house had both solar and wind power and a first of its kind domestic system for harnessing methane gas that was processed and used for cooking and heating. All systems were redundant, so if any one failed there was another to back the others up. The home could never lose its functionality, no matter what might be happening in the outside world.

  Walter set the magazine down and went into his closet to change clothes. The phone rang, and his system identified the caller as his IT engineer, so Walter accepted the call. “Good afternoon, Gerald. How are you this beautiful day?” “I’m doing well, Walter. Thank you for asking. I was able to set up the remote sensors off the master suite wine cellar that you asked for.” “Excellent, Gerald, just excellent. Was it too difficult?” “Well, it would have been easier if you had allowed me into the wine cellar to run hard-line cables. I installed wireless units, and they are really new technology, Walter, so I can’t vouch for their accuracy. If you start getting false alarms when you use them, let me know, and I’ll try another work around.” “Gerald, I’ve told you, as well as the staff and everyone who comes to my home, that I keep in that cellar the rarest of all of the fine fruits of the vine. The value of the cellar’s contents are without measure. Even I rarely enter my own cellar unless I’m pouring a distinctive vintage for a very, very special guest. That’s why I have the second cellar off the kitchen.” “It’s your money, Walter. I just wanted to make you aware that the sensors are in, and I will activate them remotely upon your request but be prepared for bugs.” “Well, to hell with bugs. I’m certain you will resolve any issues should they arise. Activate them, my boy.” “Yes, sir, I’m doing it now. You don’t need to do anything; they are integrated into your system.” “Great! So I don’t have to fuss with anything else?” “That’s correct. Everything still operates as it always has; the new zones are programmed into your remote. However, you can’t bypass these units when they are on, so they are either armed all the time when you have the system on, or they are off when you have the system off.”

  “Wait. What if I have the house armed to stay like at night when I go to bed and the inner house motion detectors are bypassed? Does this mean that if I have a guest, and I want to enter my cellar, I have to disarm my whole system?” “Yes and no.” “What the hell does that mean?” “It means that if you want to enter your cellar at any point while you’re in the house, you will have to disarm the system but only in the house. All of your exterior security will remain armed, and you can, though I don’t know why you would, reactivate the system from in the wine cellar if you are worried about intruders. I suppose you could also use it as a very cold panic room.” “I already have three panic rooms, Gerald. Why would I need a fourth?” “Just remember to deactivate it when you enter or exit.” “Well, this is most inconvenient; you will need to work out a better system.” “Let me into the wine cellar, Walter. I need ten minutes to patch into the data center in there, and the whole thing will be hard-wire integrated and will be much more reliable.” “I’ll think about it. Thank you for the call and the information.” “Walter, I know I asked you this before, but I have to ask again. Why do you need such a large home and such elaborate internal security measures? I understand wanting to protect your home, but, Walter, you have more security for that one wine cellar than you do for every property and office building that I handle for you. You live alone for God’s sake, and your staff has no access. It baffles me.” “The contents of the cellar are extremely valuable and of huge sentimental, as well as monetary, value. Protecting its contents is my number one priority.” “Well…okay. Will you need me for anything else this evening?” “I hope not. Enjoy your night. We’ll speak again next week. Good night, Gerald.” “Good night to you, Walter, and, as always, thank you for the business.” The line went dead, and Walter paced near the entrance to the cellar. “What a bother. Better safe than sorry, though.” He changed into a pair of sweats and headed for his gym.

  Margarita was at the house at six sharp along with three other cooks and servers. She let herself in and began to prepare the evening’s menu. Walter walked into the kitchen in a robe, drying his hair with a towel, still wet from his shower. “Good evening, Margarita” “Good evening, Mr. Walter. You have a guest for dinner this evening, sir?” “Indeed I do, my dear.” “That is four times this week, Mr. Walter. Don’t tell me that you might be settling down?” He smiled and assured her that this young lady was just a temporary companion whom he had met a few weeks ago. She smiled and instructed everyone on their duties. “Shall we do as in the past week? Prepare and place everything in chafing dishes in the dining room?” He nodded and told her he had to dress for dinner and to call him in his room when dinner was served. It was half past eight when he received her call. He thanked her over the intercom, and then moved to a small closet that housed closed circuit televisions, and he watched as the staff left the premises. Once he knew that he was alone, he armed the outer house and walked down a flight of stairs to the wine cellar. The door to the cellar had both a retinal scanning lock and a fingerprint recognition lock. He placed his right eye over the scope and his right thumb onto the red plate, and the door buzzed open. The cellar was cold, fifty five degrees, perfect for his wines. He walked to the back of the cellar and pulled on a bottle in the left hand corner. When he did, the wine racking moved to expose a secret door with a brightly lit red room behind it. The room was only a few degrees warmer than the wine cellar on the other side of the door, and he walked in humming a snappy tune he had had on his mind all day. The door closed behind him, and he addressed his special guest.

  “Good evening, Lisa. I trust you have had a pleasant day.” In front of him, in the middle of the room, was a torture rack, and restrained to the rack was a beautiful, fully nude redhead. Lisa was gagged with a leather strap and a red ball in her mouth. She tried to speak, but he couldn’t understand her. There were three doors in the room; the bathroom door was open, and Walter walked in and turned on the light. The room almost glowed because of its white porcelain fixtures. It was immaculate. He washed his hands, all the while speaking to the restrained woman. “You are going to love dinner tonight, Lisa. We are having pheasant under glass with all the trimmings.
I hope you’re hungry. Based on the fact that I haven’t fed you in two days, you probably are. I don’t want you to lose that girlish figure of yours.” He laughed as he walked back into the room while drying his hand with a white towel. “Lose your figure. Impossible. You’re still a young girl. A beautiful, young, supple fifteen-year-old girl. Hmm…you are so well developed for your age. I swear the first time I saw you I thought you were in your twenties. Your body lies about your true age. I love the fact that you are a real redhead. Pubic hair doesn’t lie.” He rubbed his hands together and said, “We should have a little treat before dinner, don’t you agree?” He walked over to the door directly adjacent to the bathroom and opened it with his remote, releasing the magnetic lock and turning on the light. In it was every type of torture device known to man.

  “You know, Lisa, that rack is over five hundred years old. I picked it up in Spain, oh, twenty years ago. It was used during the Spanish Inquisition. A masterful system for extracting confessions. I had it completely refurbished and brought back to its original state with a few modern upgrades, of course, so that it would do what it was created to do, inflict PAIN! It may be a medieval device, but the designer understood human anatomy, pain tolerance, and endurance.” He took down a long, black bullwhip and walked back into the room facing the girl. “So, Lisa, are we going to have a nice intimate evening?” She nodded wildly. “Are you excited about serving me and my manhood?” Again, she nodded emphatically. “Oh, that’s just wonderful. He dropped the end of the whip to the ground holding the handle tightly. “What I enjoy about this particular whip is the insulated handle, so I don’t get the sting of the drawback when it strikes your flesh.” She screamed through the gag, and he moved over to her and took it off. He placed his finger over her mouth and said, “Shush…you know the rules. Only speak when spoken to, and I will not tolerate any screaming. Understood?” She nodded. “Also, the felt covering allows me to whip you soundly without leaving any marks. That’s just so excellent; all the pain without the scars. And I get the excitement of meting out punishment, or in this case reinforcing what the punishment will be for your misbehaving. You understand?” She nodded slowly and turned her head, wincing as she waited for the first strike of the whip.