Bishop's War (Bishop Series Book 1)

by Rafael Hines

  “Special Forces Operator Valdez, it is my honor to be the first to salute you.

  Atten-hut!” The general and Team Razor all came to attention and saluted Chris. He couldn’t raise his right arm at all, but got his left one a little past his chin in return.

  “There is one more piece of business we have to take care of Private.”

  “Sir?”

  The door opened and the distinguished black man in a blue suit and red tie walked in with his secret service detail.

  “Am I dreaming all this?” Chris asked, weakly.

  “I sometimes ask myself the same thing,” the president said.

  “Wow.”

  “Private First Class Valdez, let me first say that there is a clear connection between the war in Afghanistan and the bombing last night. It is the same war, only now we’re fighting it on American soil.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Chris, when I heard your story this morning I simply had to meet you. You know, people often talk about true sacrifice and selflessness, but few actually know what it means and fewer still choose such a difficult path when confronted with it. Last night, your selflessness and sacrifice saved the lives of many others. By your actions, by making the decision that others would not and could not, by instructing Sergeant Bishop to amputate your own leg, you stand amongst the most exalted heroes of this great nation. Young man, it is my great honor and privilege to present you with one of the highest awards for valor that the United States Army can bestow upon one of its members.” The president opened the felt box and placed the bronze star attached to a small red, white and blue ribbon solemnly on Chris’ left breast.

  “The Bronze Star. Wear it with pride young man.” He shook his hand and then stepped back and saluted.”

  “My God… Thank you, sir.”

  “Chris, I’m on my way to give a speech to the United Nations to show the world that we will not be intimated by these cowardly acts of terrorism. If it’s all right with you I would like to share your story. You’re a shining example of the will and strength of good versus evil and of character triumphing over cowardice.”

  “Sure, I mean, of course, Mr. President.”

  “Before I go is there anything I can do for you?”

  “One thing.”

  “Yes, Private?”

  “Can you take a picture with me? Otherwise I won’t believe any of this ever happened.”

  “Of course, son.” The president leaned in and Silvi took several shots with her phone.

  Chris was beaming as he looked around the room. He touched his Green Beret, felt his medal and smiled up at his dad. He saw the love and pride in his father’s eyes. His father who had given up so much for him when his mother died. His father who taught him about love, honor and sacrifice. He felt himself weakening so he beckoned him closer.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Gracías por que?” Macho asked.

  “For everything. I love you so much.”

  “I love you with all my heart, mi hijo. I’m so proud of you.”

  Next he called Silvi over. She had been his surrogate mother since the day he was born when his real mother died. He spoke briefly to her and she turned away laughing and crying at the same time. After a quick exchange with his homies he called over John, Felix and Bunny.

  “John, you and Felix have always been the older brothers I never had. And now with Bunny I have another one. Thanks for looking out for me and for all this. You guys are my heroes.”

  “Chris, we’ve all been around. Between the three of us we’ve seen and done a lot of things, but none of us have ever witnessed anything close to what you did in that basement” John said. “This is for you. I could never wear it again.” He carefully laid a medal on Chris’ chest.

  “Your DSC?”

  “Yours now. You’re the bravest soldier I’ve ever known.”

  Chris held up the medal and waved to his father, Gonzalo, the president, General Palmer, Team Razor, Maria, and all his other family and friends. His eyes were wet and had a mischievous sparkle as they slowly closed. He was still smiling when he took his last breath and the heart monitor flat lined.

  Chapter 23

  Lions

  Trappe, Maryland

  Several hundred miles south of the hospital, two men were having an animated discussion about John Michael Bishop.

  “You sure you want to pursue this, Mike?”

  “I don’t understand the question,” Michael Meecham said.

  “I’m asking if you really want to go after this guy. He’s a fucking war hero for Christ’s sakes,” said Blake Alston, the FBI’s Deputy Director.

  “If we find shit on him he goes in the toilet with the rest of his family before I flush it.”

  Alston adjusted his glasses and picked up his secure Blackberry to re-read Terry Hall’s report on the New York terror attacks and John Bishop’s involvement with both.

  “Says here he cut off his younger cousin’s leg in order to save him. Terry adds that the kid is still in surgery and will more than likely die on the table from his injuries. Seems to me Sergeant Bishop has already been through hell.”

  “Doesn’t change a thing, and means less than nothing to me,” Meecham snapped.

  “You always were a vindictive son of a bitch, Mike.”

  “Lions can be vindictive.”

  “So you’re a lion now?”

  “I’ve been one all my life and yet despite my powerful sense of self I didn’t fully realize it until I went on safari in Kenya last year. We slept in the bush and tracked a pride for five days. It was very enlightening. I strongly recommend it, Blake, especially for someone like you. I believe it would be extremely helpful.”

  “Someone like me?”

  “A man without ambition. You lack the will and the force of nature to strive for more.”

  “What are you talking about, Mike? My father was a house painter and I’m the Deputy Director of the fucking FBI!”

  “My point exactly. You father was content to mindlessly move his brushes up and down, laying on coat after coat of Benjamin Moore, just as you are content in your position. How long have you been deputy?”

  “Eight years.”

  “And two men have been promoted over you during that time.”

  “Yeah, I took a few kicks in the nuts. Anyway, it’s going to happen. I just have to be patient.”

  “A lion would never be so cavalier. He’d fight for what he wants, destroying anyone who stood in his way.”

  “Lion huh? What about you Mike? You were only the Deputy Director of Homeland Security and you got fired. Why’d you take that thankless job anyway?”

  “It was merely a stepping stone.”

  “To what?”

  “The presidency.”

  “Come on. You really thought you were going to be president?”

  “I will be president. I’ve known that for many years now. The unfortunate incident with Mr. Bishop and Mr. Valdez is merely a slight detour. Once I’m vindicated it may even accelerate my timelines.”

  “Vindicated how?”

  “By destroying them and every single person who was present in that room.”

  “So, in addition to John Bishop and his cousin Felix, you’re going after SAC Terry Hall, General Palmer and NSA Director Kolter?”

  “Yes, them and several others. There can be no survivors. I will ruin them all one by one. That’s the only way, although I will add that I’m really going to enjoy doing it.”

  “Yeah sure. Why don’t we get back to your little trip through the jungle.”

  “It was the Savannah, and again I strongly recommend you make an effort to go.”

  “Maybe someday.”

  “Yes, yes of course. Anyway, you do at least know that lions and hyenas are ancient and mortal enemies?”

  “Sure. I’ve seen them fighting it out on TV.”

  “You should stop watching that thing. It stunts your growth. But at least you should have a vague conception
of what I’m about to tell you. Our guide explained that the dominant male lion in the area and the female matriarch of the hyenas had been feuding for years and the feud went far beyond the normal degree of hatred that the two species instinctually engender. The legend was that this lady hyena had bitten off the tip of the king’s tail before he became the king and he never forgot it. For a long time he’d been trying to get even, but the bitch was either too smart or too lucky to get caught.”

  “Isn’t this a Disney movie?”

  “It could be. Walt Disney was a fucking sadist. People always wonder why this country is so violent, meanwhile their children are in the next room watching those homicidal cartoons.”

  “This story keeps derailing, let’s get back to the lion king,” Blake said, shaking his head.

  “We followed the lions on several failed hunts. Three days they ventured out, and three days they failed to make a kill. This was the dry season when prey was scarce. They were exhausted and starving. On the fourth day we saw them take down a cape buffalo. It was an epic struggle for survival. The bull gutted one of the lionesses with his horns before he was finally overwhelmed by their numbers. It was unbelievable. The power. The brutality. The beauty. The whole pride was eating this magnificent beast alive. You could hear the buffalo panting and screaming while fifteen females and their cubs ripped him open. We were close enough to smell it.”

  “Wow. Sounds intense, Mike.”

  “It was. But I kept wondering where the male was. He’s supposed to come down and eat first. I asked our guide and he pointed to some thick bushes nearby and indicated he was in there. I didn’t understand until the hyenas showed up. About forty of them charged in to steal the meal and just when the lions were about to retreat he made his move. It was an explosion. His power, his anger, his determination were all directed at one thing: his lifelong nemesis. He charged through the chaos of the battle, straight at the hyena queen and once he got his jaws around her head you could actually hear her skull cracking. He didn’t eat her and he didn’t even kill her right away. He took his time and slowly ripped her to pieces, raking her with his claws and stripping off flesh with his teeth. Her desperate screams were remarkably human. When the act was complete his joy in triumph was palpable. He roared and strutted, all the while swishing and flicking his bitten off tail.”

  “And in some primal way you identified with the lion?”

  “Blake, you know I find sarcasm very distasteful.”

  “Yes, I know,” Blake said with a smile.

  “What you fail to grasp here is that the lion’s first instinct is to eat. Food is survival and the next meal can be a long way away. Despite his hunger, this lion suppressed his natural instinct and overcame his genetic pre-programming. He sat there in that bush planning, plotting and waiting patiently to take his revenge when every part of him was screaming to go and eat that buffalo before it was gone. I didn’t just identify with him as you so crassly described it. In that moment I saw myself in him and him in me, because like that beautiful beast I place vengeance above all else.”

  “Come on, Mike. We’ve known each other a long time. For most of our lives. I know you’re not a forgive-and-forget type of guy. All I’m saying is be careful. Bishop seems like a good kid.”

  “And why do I need to be wary of this so called good kid?”

  “You don’t. It’s his uncle you should be concerned with. One thing for sure, Gonzalo Valdez is one big, badass lion.”

  “He’s street trash that should have been serving life without parole a long time ago.”

  “Don’t underestimate Valdez, or he’ll be coming out of a bush and cracking your skull.”

  “I find your analogy offensive on two counts. One: that you just compared me to a female hyena and two: that you think a small time gangster would dare to physically attack me.”

  “Okay, enough. I see you’re committed, but my question is just how committed?”

  “Look around you,” Meecham said, spreading his arms wide.

  The two men were sitting on matching sofas that faced each other in Meecham’s massive study. There were eighteenth, nineteenth and twentieth century portraits of Meecham’s forefathers and many more paintings of the frigates that had made the original seafaring family so wealthy. Above the art work the high walls were adorned with the heads of animals that had all been killed by Meecham men.

  “You didn’t kill all these Mike. I remember this jungle scene being here since I was a kid. I used to be scared to death of the gorilla.”

  “You’re right Blake. I’ve only added one to the collection.”

  “Which one?”

  “Behind you.”

  Blake Alston turned and looked up at the magnificent head that was far more regal and ferocious than any other trophy in the room. It looked as if it was still alive and coming through the wall with its beautiful flowing mane and enormous bared fangs.

  “That’s him?”

  “That’s him. And that’s what I do to big, badass lions.”

  “How could you kill him after everything you just told me?”

  “You know Blake, I always envied you for your time in the Army and law enforcement.”

  “Thanks, but with all your money and all you’ve accomplished, I don’t know why you would.”

  “You miss my point as you often do. Your employment allowed you to kill men with impunity. I envy you for that. I’ve always wanted to kill a man.”

  “Come on Mike, even you can’t be that sociopathic.”

  “There is so much beauty in suffering. You know I love destroying people. Taking away everything someone has elicits a powerful reaction, and the more they have, the more profound that reaction becomes. Only three of the men I’ve ruined have actually killed themselves, but I consider them my best work. I only wish I could have had a more direct hand in their deaths. There they are,” he said, pointing to three framed photographs hung on the far wall. “I look forward to adding Bishop’s head to my collection.”

  “I’ve known you for forty years, but until now I’ve never known just how twisted you are, my friend.”

  “Be thankful we are friends, Blake. That’s the only reason I haven’t destroyed you too. I don’t like to envy anyone or anything, as you can see from my lion on the wall. I shot him in the guts so his death would be long and painful. I watched him twist and writhe in his death throws for hours and it was better than sex.”

  Mike Meecham came from old money, as they say. His great, great grandfather was a sea captain, a part-time pirate, and a full-time slave trader who created the family fortune. It had grown as it was passed down from generation to generation and Michael Baskin Meecham had made his ancestors proud by multiplying his inheritance more than twenty times over.

  His hundred-fifty year old home was called “The Castle” and it wasn’t far from it. The beautiful thirty thousand square foot mansion sat high on a hill overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Outside, there were five hundred acres of carefully sculptured landscape with decorative gardens, lush pastures where thoroughbred horses ran free, and a private golf course. Inside, there was a priceless art collection that would make any museum proud, a luxury spa, and full-time chefs hired away from some of the world’s finest restaurants.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Meecham said.

  “Where to?”

  “You asked me about commitment. I want to show you something.”

  They exited the study through a side door and entered what appeared to be the main floor of a working office. They were greeted by a beautiful long legged blond assistant who immediately began updating Meecham while they walked amongst his employees who were either on the phone or typing away on computer keyboards.

  “What is this?” asked Blake.

  “I had my people drop everything else to work on Bishop and the Valdez family full time. There are three working groups so far: military, criminal and corporate.”

  “How much is this costing you?”

  “So far I�
�ve allocated five million towards this project, but we’re still in the early stages. We’ve only been operational for two days. These guys are all top notch investigators who can find dirt on anyone or in any organization.”

  “Mike, this is crazy.”

  “Weren’t you listening before? Money is not a concern. Five, ten, twenty million, whatever it takes. I only want results, and the results can only be one of three things. Death, prolonged incarceration, or my own clearly defined form of total destruction.” Turning to face the room he said, “Okay teams, form a circle. Where are we so far?”

  “Sir, there is clear evidence that Felix Valdez assaulted police officer Louis Johnson during the Union Square Park attack. NYPD is refusing to follow up on the incident, however we can get the story on the front page of the New York papers as well as the Washington Post. After that we start pressuring District Attorney Fishman’s office behind the scenes. We have no doubt Fishman will issue an indictment a few days later.”

  “That’s a good start. Keep digging. He cursed at me in front of NSA Director Kolter. I want that foul-mouthed young man back in prison for a long, long time. Next. The Uncle?”

  “Nothing concrete yet on Gonzalo Valdez, sir. We are following up on some rumors of his personal involvement in murder and kidnapping.”

  “What rumors?”

  “First, we know that Gonzalo’s father Juan Valdez owned a bar in Panama during the 1940s and 50s. When he refused to pay for protection he was immediately killed by the Panamanian police. Five years later, all four policemen that were involved in the shooting were abducted from their homes by masked kidnappers. Their dismembered bodies were laid out in front of the bar’s former location. The chopped up body parts spelled out the name JUAN. The rumor is that Gonzalo and his brothers Sesa and Fiero were responsible, but this will be a hard case to prove forty years later and, of course, the crime did not take place on American soil.”

  “What else?”

  “The youngest Valdez family member, Christina, was accidentally shot to death in New York along with her husband twenty-five years ago. It was a hit aimed at Gonzalo by rival drug dealers, the Davis brothers. The word is that Gonzalo kidnapped both brothers and has kept them alive all this time. It seems he personally removes a body part from each of them on the anniversary of his little sister’s murder.”