Autobiography of an Assassin:: The Family

by M. T. Hallgarth

  “But you would still have a job if, and when, you returned back to the Section?”

  “Yes – a fucking desk job – and that’s not what I signed up for,” she had spat back. “I signed up for k…, I signed up for ‘Active’,” she had suddenly corrected herself.

  “And you’ll miss ‘Active’ – won’t you, Nicky?” I had begun to pry. “But it’s the killing that you are really going to miss – isn’t it?”

  Nicky had been visibly shocked.

  “You get a total rush from it – you feel on fire…, you feel alive!” I had continued.

  “How…?” she had gasped. “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  “But – how do you know?”

  “Takes one – to know one,” I had smiled back at her.

  “Then you know how I feel – but what can I do?”

  “You can come and join us,” I had replied. “You can come and join our small Family.”

  It was an offer that she didn’t refuse.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  Six months later, in the comfortable secure surroundings of the Manor, Nicky had given birth to a healthy baby boy who she had named Cole…apparently a derivation of the father’s first name – Colin.

  No sooner than she had been able to get up and around, Nicky had immersed herself fully in the IT and Communications business of the Family, working closely with Patrick – Baby Cole nestled contentedly in a carrying cot, placed between the computer terminals. This had effectively provided Baby Cole with two doting mothers…his own birth mother, Nicky; and his surrogate ‘mother’, Patrick – even Deborah had shown a maternal interest. Nicky had proven herself to be something of a computer genius when it had come to IT systems – no database, other than the most secure, had proven impenetrable to her probing. Obviously, she made no attempt to hack into the databases of our clients – after all, there had been no need, we already had free and unrestrained access to most of them. But, other than our clients, she could float in and out of most government and civilian databases, undetected and unhindered – changing, copying, merging and deleting data at will.

  Nicky had also excelled as an interrogator. With a combination of interrogation techniques – from the subtle to the extreme – utilising hallucinating drugs in conjunction with electronic devices and polygraphs, Nicky could extract information from a dead man! And, when teamed up with Karen and Carl, she had been literally undeniable.

  But Nicky had a third string to her bow. As soon as Cole had been of an age where he could be adequately and properly cared for, by a full time nurse, Nicky had made herself available for work. Her preferred weapon of choice is a suppressed 9mm ‘hot loaded’ automatic pistol, an untraceable weapon, modified by Gaj to take a suppressor. Her means of ‘delivery’ – an inconspicuous plastic convenience store bag. Big enough to hold an automatic fitted with a suppressor, and to allow the slide and hammer to operate cleanly, without catching on the plastic material…its material thin enough for her to grasp the pistol grip firmly and place her forefinger easily into the trigger guard – but thick and strong enough to stop the ejected cases tearing through its sides. Nicky’s use of a simple convenience store bag had given rise to a very appropriate nickname for her – the ‘Bag Lady’.

  There is a threefold purpose behind using a plastic bag, in which to carry a gun. Firstly, and obviously, it is a means of carrying and concealing the weapon. Secondly, it is a receptor to catch the ejected cartridge cases. And finally, and not so obviously, most of the gunshot residue from the firearm is retained inside the plastic bag, and not on the hands or clothing of the ‘shooter’ – representing a distinct advantage in avoiding forensic contamination.

  Nicky would approach the Candidate on foot, dressed discreetly and modestly, her long blond hair tied back tightly in a bun and her face veiled by a pair of thick heavy framed spectacles – I am not the only one who hides their eyes! Her whole demeanour had been that of a frumpish looking middle aged woman, out on a shopping expedition, a large plain canvass bag over her left shoulder, and an innocuous convenience plastic store bag in her right hand. Close to an intersection of a street or alleyway, Nicky would approach the Candidate from behind, from the front, or from the side, which ever had best suited her planned escape route. She would then move in – getting up very close and personal. Pointing the plastic store bag directly at the Candidate, she would do two triple ‘taps’ – three shots into the body, followed by three directly into the head. Without pausing, or even breaking step, Nicky would continue on past the body of the Candidate, taking a left or right turn at the next available intersection. Then, like some professional pick pocketing team, she would pass on the plastic bag, containing the weapon, to one of the Family, who would be walking in the opposite direction towards her. Pausing ever so briefly, when and where it had been discreet to do so, Nicky would then undergo a rapid transformation. From the large canvass bag that she had carried on her shoulder, she would take out a pair of tall stiletto heeled shoes. Kicking off the flat court shoes that she had been wearing, she would put these on. A Velcro fastener had enabled her to quickly tear off the drab knee length skirt, exposing a short thigh length dress underneath. Taking off her reversible jacket, she had turned it inside out, exchanging the black material of the outer lining with the brilliant crimson red of the inner. The court shoes, along with the long skirt, she had thrown into the canvass bag – the heavy framed spectacles replaced with a pair of high fashion, ultra dark shaded Gucci sun glasses. Pulling the elastic bands from their tight grip on her hair, she would then shake her long blond tresses free from the constrictive bun, allowing them to cascade freely over her shoulders. Transformation complete, Nicky would then continue on her way, her stiletto heels click clopping nosily on the sidewalk, her hair bouncing in synchronistic rhythm with the graceful swing of her hips.

  As well as providing the Family with invaluable day to day IT systems and communications expertise, and facilitating as an extremely effective interrogator – it should not be forgotten that, in addition to being a mother, Nicky is a also a highly successful assassin, in her own right.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  ‘Judy, Judy, Judy’, as Cary Grant is reputed to have said, had been one of Phil N…Jnr’s ‘Special Pickups’.

  Born and raised in Memphis, Tennessee, her father had been a former Marine Corps Sergeant, who had served three tours in Vietnam. His father had also been a Marine, serving throughout World War Two and the Korean War – so, it could be said that the Marine Corp had been well and truly in her blood – in her genes. On leaving high school, Judy had joined the Metropolitan Nashville Police Department; and, on graduating from the Training Academy, had been assigned to the East Precinct Division, as a Patrol Officer. But her burning ambition had been to follow in her father and grand father’s footsteps – and join the Marine Corp. And, it had been while she had been serving as a Police Officer, that she had joined the Army Reserve Corp. Two years later, and she had been selected to the Army Reserve Officers’ Training Corps, before joining the U.S. Marines as an Officer Candidate, graduating as a Lieutenant.

  These days, there is little, if any, racial prejudice within the US Military – for you never know if the guy you called a ‘Black Bastard’ today, is going to be the same ‘Black Bastard’ who’ll be holding your guts in your belly tomorrow – and Judy is ‘Black’.

  After basic training, at the Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, she had emerged as a Specialist Officer in Intelligence and Communications. Attached to the 1st Marine Division, of the First Marine Expeditionary Force, Judy had seen action with her Unit in Kuwait, during Operation Desert Storm. It had been during Desert Storm, that Judy had been awarded the Bronze Star Medal, for bravery.

  It had been in the late January of ’91. In her role as Intelligence Officer, Judy had been part of a reconnaissance team of the 1st Marine Division, sent in to the small Saudi border town of Al-Khafji. However, because of US policy not to
expose female troops to front line combat situations; while the two six-man reconnaissance teams had entered the city on foot, Judy had to remain some five kilometres outside the city with the Humvees and their drivers. Then, on the 29th of January, Iraqi forces had attacked and moved into the lightly defended town of Al-Khafji. The two Marine reconnaissance teams had been trapped – and had taken refuge in apartment buildings, on the southern edge of the city. Despite being their senior officer, in complete disregard to her orders, two of the Humvee drivers had driven off to rescue their trapped colleagues. They had barely travelled less than two kilometres before they had come under direct Iraqi fire – the Humvees being put out of action. To keep the Iraqis away from the apartment buildings, where the Marine reconnaissance teams had taken cover, Judy had called in artillery fire in and around that southern sector. Ordering one of the remaining Humvees to stay in position and continue to direct artillery fire and airstrikes, Judy had jumped into the roof hatch of the other, taking up position immediately behind the .50 cal Browning Machine Gun. Swinging in a low arc to the west, they had flanked the position where the other two Humvees had been ambushed, coming up on the Iraqi rear. Two Iraqi BMP-1 Armoured Personnel Carriers had stood directly between Judy and the stricken Marines, their rear doors thrown wide open by the Iraqi troops, who had exited the vehicles to engage the Americans. Pulling back the cocking lever on the .50 cal, Judy had chambered an armoured piercing round into the heavy machine guns breach. Aiming through the open rear doors of the Iraqi Armoured Personnel Carrier, to her immediate left, Judy had fired a burst into the interior of the vehicle, aiming directly at the internal fuel tank, housed between the two rows of outward facing seats. Every fifth round that she had fired had been a tracer – effectively an incendiary. It had taken just a three second burst to rupture the tanks and ignite the kerosene fuel that they had contained. The fire had been instantaneous. Even before the remaining Iraqi APC had time to respond, Judy had ‘flamed up’ that up, as well. Within seconds, the flames and intense heat had reached the ammunition being carried within the troop compartment of both Armoured Personnel Carriers and, simultaneously, they had both blown outwards like tin cans, flames shooting out of the rear doors and leaping up through the hatches. That had just left the sixteen Iraqi troops, from the destroyed APC’s, for Judy to contend with. Sixteen 5.45mm AK-74’s, against one .50 cal Browning machine gun – no contest. Those Iraqis, who had not instantly thrown down their weapons and put their hands high up in the air, had been cut down by the .50 cal – quite literally. Judy had been subsequently awarded the Bronze Star Medal, for bravery and meritorious service, but ‘in camera’. She had been on a ‘Black Ops’ mission at the time…spying on the Saudis – and not the Iraqis! Therefore, her involvement at Al-Khafji could never be acknowledged or ever recognised, officially.

  On leaving the Marine Corp in the May of ‘91, Judy had been recruited into the Special Activities Division, of the CIA, by Phil N…Jnr. Later, she would be assigned to The Directorate of Operations – a branch of the CIA that had run covert operations and had recruited foreign agents. It had been while she had been on overseas assignment for the DO, that Judy had received news of her kid brother, Jason – he had been found dead in a squalid Memphis flop house from a suspected drug overdose. Judy had immediately returned home to Memphis, to take care of things. Both of their parents having died a few years earlier, within months of each other. Their mother, from ovarian cancer – their father a few months later, from a broken heart. But Jason had become an addict long before their deaths. Time and time again, Judy had put her younger brother into rehab and, time and time again, within weeks, he would be back out on the streets again, shooting up. However, after his last prolonged visit to rehab, Jason had managed to clean up his act. So much so, that he had turned his life completely around, going to night school – and even becoming a voluntary drug councillor for the local Methodist church. Whether he had been pushed, or whether he had jumped back on to a hypodermic, no one will ever really know. For the dealer who had provided Jason with a wrap of uncut heroin had died strangely in similar circumstances, curled up in the foetal position on the floor of his uptown apartment, a needle of pure uncut heroin stuck deep into his arm – strangely, because this particular dealer didn’t do drugs!

  Shortly after the death of the dealer, Judy had resigned from the Directorate of Operations and the CIA, joining the Drug Enforcement Administration, the DEA, as a Special Agent. As with all recruits to the DEA, Judy had to undertake sixteen weeks of rigorous training, both academic and practical, consisting of: academic studies and examinations, including state and federal law and the classification of drugs; firearms proficiency, including basic marksmanship; weapons training, including tactical shooting; and leadership and decision making scenarios, encompassing the use of deadly force. Judy had attained a ninety-five percent average on her academic syllabus and, with her military background and CIA training; she had easily breezed through all the practical and physical tests that they had thrown at her. Appointed as a DEA Special Agent, Judy had been assigned to the Florida Office, where she had exploited her black ethnicity and broad Tennessee drawl to infiltrate the numerous drug cartels, operating in the State. Some of those who she could not arrest, or successfully prosecute, had become an unfortunate statistic of ‘shots fired – suspect down’ smoking gun incidents – and it had usually been Judy’s Glock that had been smoking. Others, whose proven links to the drug trade had been so tenuous as to make them virtually unprosecutable, had died in unusual circumstances from ‘suspected’ drug overdoses. ‘Suspected’, because the State medical examiner had frequently been unable to determine conclusively if it had been the drug overdose that had caused the asphyxiation – or something else had been a contributory factor! And it had – as far as Judy had been concerned, it was open season on drug dealers.

  Far from being censured by her Director, over the ever increasing body count that she had been leaving behind her, Judy had been given more of these ‘unprosecutable’ assignments that other DEA Agents had been unable to successfully progress, to a judicial indictment. He had been results oriented…and Judy had been providing results – whatever the means. In the spring of ’96, he had asked Judy to go out to Jamaica and infiltrate one of the main Caribbean Yardie gangs, which had been operating out of Kingston Town.

  And, the following year, by special request, I had also visited Kingston Town.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  One mild and pleasant Friday morning, in early March ‘97, I had gone along to the Chelsea Embankment to meet up with an old friend.

  Dressed in the customary mackintosh, that had seemed to be standard issue to all CIA Agents, based in the UK, Phil N…Jnr had been waiting on the Embankment, looking out over the grey swirling waters of the Thames.

  “You called,” I had greeted him as I went and stood alongside of him.

  “Hi, good buddy – good of you to come along at such short call,” he had replied, acknowledging me, but not turning to face me…others may have been watching – listening, even! “I’m in a bit of a bind,” he had added.

  “So, what’s new?” I had remarked.

  Phil had then gone on to tell me all about Judy: her background and her history; his involvement with her, him recruiting her into the CIA; and then her move to the DEA and her current assignment, in Jamaica. He had continued to explain that she had gone really deep undercover; forming a close relationship with the leader of the Yardie gang, that she had infiltrated.

  “She got real close,” Phil had said, his usual smile gone, a tense look on his face. “Too close. Judy has gotten herself pregnant,” he had gone on to tell me.

  “Who’s the father – the subject?” I had asked intuitively.

  “Yep – and what’s worse, she didn’t inform her director. By all accounts, Judy had kept her pregnancy secret from the Florida office she’d been working out of,” Phil had continued. “They hadn’t found out until another DEA agent had seen
her at a swish five star hotel, up on the north coast, ninety or so klicks on the other side of the island from Kingston – all big and pregnant.”

  “I gather her director didn’t take the news of her pregnancy at all well, then?” I had commented.

  “No – he didn’t take the news of one of his agents being butchered, particularly well!”

  “She got butchered?”

  “No – the agent who called in her pregnancy, to the Florida office – he’s the one who got butchered.”

  “Why – what happened?” I had asked.

  “The dumb jerk had used the hotel house phone to call his Florida office. Within minutes, the Yardies had known the exact content and nature of his phone call to his director. Within the hour, they had been performing body sculpture on the agent, using welding torches and pincers,” Phil had elaborated. “And, before the night was over, they knew exactly who Judy was.”

  “And Judy?”

  “She’s still alive and well – for the time being, anyway,” Phil had quickly replied, “But she won’t be in couple of more weeks,” he had added. “She’s close to full term with the pregnancy. They’ll wait until after she’s given birth and done some nursing – then they’ll terminate her.”

  “Aren’t your good buddies in the DEA going to spring her?” I had asked.

  “Nope,” Phil had quickly come back to me. “Her director believes that she’s been ‘turned’. He believes that Judy has changed sides – and that it was her who betrayed the other DEA agent. So he won’t be helping her out, any time soon,” he had added.