Autobiography of an Assassin:: The Family

by M. T. Hallgarth

  “What about the chickens, Major?” he had asked, in excellent English.

  “Free them – or fry them,” had been my succinct reply.

  And, I think that it is fair to say, that this particular Spetsnaz unit might have dined very well on chicken, for several nights to come, after that.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

  The Mil Mi-24 Hind had not taken us back to the Spetsnaz forward base, in Chechnya; instead, it had flown us directly to an air force base in Southern Russia. There, waiting on the tarmac for us, had been a twin prop light aircraft to take us on to Moscow – arranged by Colonel Dmitri K…. However, long before leaving the farmhouse at Grozny – I also had made some arrangements of my own.

  Arriving at Moscow International Airport, just before midnight, our Antonov An-14 Pchelka been ushered to a hanger at the far end of the cargo terminal. Inside a Learjet 55

  British Air Ambulance, fuelled and ready, had been waiting for us. Deborah had arranged the air ambulance – and Colonel Dmitri K…, all necessary authorisation and documentation.

  We had been back in the air within minutes, the air ambulance medical crew attending constantly to Karen throughout the four hour flight; monitoring her vital signs; administering saline drips and other medication; ensuring above all else that she had remained in a stable condition. The sun had just begun to stir in the east as a private ambulance had transported us, from Birmingham International Airport, to a small local hospital well renowned for trauma care – especially head injuries.

  Later on, this same hospital would provide care for injured service men and women from the Iraq conflict and, more recent, those terribly injured in Afghanistan.

  Deborah had made all the arrangements and had also made all the pre-prepayments – so Karen had been admitted straight away. Within minutes of arriving at the hospital, Karen had been placed in a private side room, being examined by a gaggle of triage nurses and doctors. Because of the bullet wound to the head, a neurosurgeon consultant had been summoned from home, arriving into the department with a medical gown thrown hurriedly over his garish electric blue pyjamas. Mind you, Colin and I had still been dressed in our dark and light blue Spetsnaz combats – so we could hardly pass comment, could we?

  Karen had been rushed off for a complete MRI scan, especially a full detailed scan of her skull. But the scan of her brain had been slightly inconclusive in terms of prognosis, though. There had been signs of bleeding, and there had also been extensive swelling present, but no clear indication of radical injury to the delicate brain tissue, itself. But, due the inherent elasticity of human tissue, and its ability to quickly close up over any internal cavity caused by the kinetic shock of a bullet, this could not be taken that there had not been serious lasting damage to the brain. While the exit wound, made in the top of Karen’s head by the bullet, had helped relieve some of the build up of pressure in her brain, the neurosurgeon had decided to operate straight away and to trepan a larger section of skull; further reducing the swelling of the sensitive tissue. He had also decided to keep Karen in a drug induced coma. And, it had been while Karen had been in this drug induced coma that they had removed the truncated shaft of the wooden broom handle for her anus – without the need for invasive surgery. Using a local aesthetic, to further relax the anal sphincter muscles, they had simply extracted the broom handle by carefully pulling it straight out.

  Back in a private side room, as soon as it had been medically safe to do so, Karen had received physiotherapy four times a day, to limit and minimise muscle wastage. Eventually, they had gradually reduced the drugs inducing her coma. And, slowly, over a several days, Karen had begun to regain consciousness – stirring briefly, fitfully, opening and closing her eyes intermittently. Colin and I had taken it in turns to ‘bed-sit’. At first, Karen’s general levels of awareness and cognisance had been extremely limited – as you can well appreciate. But, then, within days, had come longer, sustained periods of consciousness. And, with each of these ever increasing periods of consciousness, had come an ever increasing level of awareness and lucidity in her eyes – well, the one eye actually; as the eyelid covering the right eye had remained stubbornly partially closed. During those early days, when Karen had been awake, Colin and I had taken it turns to talk and to read to her – Colin in Russian and myself in English. Then, after a few weeks, it had been Karen’s turn to talk to us – with great difficulty and tearful frustration, at first. Coordination between her brain and her mouth – and what she had wanted to say, had initially resulted in slobbering incoherent sounds. But then, with a great deal of bloody determination and stubborn perseverance on her part, over the following weeks, her speech had gradually returned – ever so slightly slurred but, with the exception of her pronouncement of her ‘Rs’, almost near perfect diction. Due to the intense regular sessions of physiotherapy, Karen’s coordination of her limbs, especially those on her right hand side, had gradually improved back to near normal – including the lazy eyelid covering her right eye. The neurosurgeon had been extremely delighted with Karen’s progress – indicating that she could soon be released from hospital. He had also given me the results of her latest scans and tests. All good news – but with one surprising development.

  Karen had been sitting up in bed that evening, a smile spreading across her lips as I had entered her private room.

  “Have you bwaught me my hair bwuss?” she had asked, her smile turning into a big broad grin as she had deliberately rubbed the short stubble of hair, growing finely on her once shaved head – the scars from the surgery and trepanning clearly visible.

  From the large plastic bag that I had brought with me, I had taken out a brand new hair brush and had dropped it on the bed in front of her. “There you go, Kidder,” I had joked back.

  “Bastawd!” she had sworn back at me. “What the fuck am I suppose do to with this?”

  “Brush this,” I had replied, taking out of the plastic bag a long blonde wig made from one hundred percent human hair.

  Karen had cried. Instant, instantaneous tears – all those weeks of harboured pent-up emotions and grief, gushing uncontrollably out.

  I had helped her on with the wig. It was full and long, reaching down to the middle of her back. Holding a mirror in front of her, she had adjusted it into position and then, using the brush I had brought, had begun to lovingly brush ‘her’ hair, one again.

  “I have something to tell you, Kidder.” I had said.

  “What?” had come the inquisitive reply.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  Karen had stopped brushing her hair, her blue eyes looking directly into my own. If she was pregnant then Karen had known full well that the father could only have been one of those who had abused her…violated her – brutalised her. But she had seemed to possess an inner calm.

  “It’s not a problem, Kidder,” I had continued, trying to reassure her. “The consultant says that you are physically strong enough to have a chemically induced termination.”

  The smile had come back on her face, again. “But, I don’t want an abowtion.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No.” Her smile had widened, beaming. “It is God’s will. He gave me my life so that I could give life.” She had then taken my hand, squeezed it hard – and then had kissed it. “He put this little life, inside me…this little child – and then he sent you to save us both.” There had been tears in her eyes when she had added, “I will love this child…and I think you will love it, too – as if it was your own.”

  There had been tears in my eyes after that.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

  After her discharge, Nicky and Judy had taken Karen immediately under their wings, insisting that she move straight in with them at the Lake House – girls together, or something like that.

  Over the next few weeks, Karen’s recovery had gone on in leaps and bounds – so much so, that she had been physically strong enough to start using the gym at the Manor. It had also been at the same time tha
t she had started working alongside Nicky and Carl, on interrogations. Initially, just sitting in on these sessions, then actively assisting in them, administering various concoctions of sedatives, hypnotics and barbiturates – and introducing ‘SP-17’; a purpose developed ‘truth drug’, into the process. Karen’s wealth of knowledge and vast experience had proven invaluable – she had known exactly the right drug and the right dosage to administer to obtain the desired results. Karen had gone on working right up to her confinement – she had also been training each morning in the gym, right up to her confinement, too!

  Karen had wanted a ‘home birth’ at the Lake House, her new home – much to the delight of Nicky and Judy, who had immediately elected themselves as her attending nurses and midwives. And, one sunny Saturday morning, in July, Karen had given birth to a gorgeous little girl, born with blue eyes and wisps of fine blond hair – just like her mother. In the August, the little girl had been christened ‘Trish’, at the local Georgian church, close to the Manor – with Nicky, Judy and a very proud Colin standing as Godparents.

  Christian or Muslim, it had made no difference to Karen as long as her daughter Trish was recognised in the eyes of God.

  Unfortunately, because of her slight speech impediment with pronouncing the letter ‘R’, Karen has a habit of calling her daughter ‘Tish’ or ‘Titch’, instead ‘Trish’…but that doesn’t really matter – does it.

  Both mother and daughter had progressed and developed well. Karen’s physical recovery had strengthened each day; and Trish had developed into a gorgeous blue eyed blond haired little girl. Karen had seemed so blissfully happy and content with life. So, the following June, a month before her daughter’s first birthday, it had come as complete surprise to me when, much against my advice, Karen had informed me that she had intended to return back to Chechnya – she had ‘unfinished business to take care of’.

  “I will be back for Tish’s fiwst biwthday.” she had stated emphatically – and she had been, too!

  On her return back to the Manor, just four weeks later, she had informed me that, with the help of Colonel Dmitri K…, she had got herself a job as a cleaner at the Central Municipal Hospital, in Grozny. Dyeing her blond hair dark brown, using contact lenses to hide her blue eyes, and taking drugs to darken the pigmentation of her skin – she had disguised herself sufficiently so as not to be recognised by any of the other staff that she might of known at the hospital. Purposely, she had made herself ‘available’ to the new Hospital Pharmacist; a heavy drug abuser in his late forties…his habit so bad that that he had suffered from complete erectile dysfunction, and had been incapable of having sex with her – or it could have been something that Karen had put in his tea! So, he had to make do with groping her, instead. Like Karen, before him – he had also supplied drugs and medical supplies to the Chechen rebel fighters. Being promoted to his ‘Assistant’; Karen had taken over the task of making up the packages of medical supplies for the various rebel factions – ensuring that, as well as bandages and antibiotics, each package had also been stocked with adrenalin shots.

  Apparently, these shots had not been so much to fire up the rebel fighters, but had been used more as a recreational substitute for speed and amphetamines. Adrenalin, being a natural product of the human body, it had been considered to be an acceptable drug to take, yet still observe and comply with the strict dictates and rigours of their Islamic faith.

  Four weeks after working as an ‘Assistant’ in the Grozny Central Municipal Hospital Pharmacy, Karen had returned home, exactly in time for her daughter’s first birthday.

  Within days of her return, the United Nations World Health Organisation had reported a sharp increase in the reported cases of Sepsis, being admitted to the Central Municipal Hospital, in Grozny – a staggering eight fold increase! These had not been in-patients of the hospital, itself, but Chechen rebels whose minor self treated flesh wounds had gone septic and had begun to putrefy. Without adequate intensive care facilities and medical treatment, the Sepsis had lead directly to septic shock – well over sixty percent of those Chechen rebels, who’s Sepsis had developed into full blown septic shock, had been dead within days from multiple organ failure! At the same time as the sharp increase of reported cases of Sepsis, the World Health Organisation had also reported a similar increase of Gas Gangrene among Chechen rebels, also being admitted into the Grozny Central Municipal Hospital. Again, the majority of the wounds had all been minor in nature and originally self treated by the rebels, themselves. Unlike the Sepsis, which had been totally untreatable at the Hospital and had been invariably fatal, there had been a treatment readily available for Gas Gangrene – amputation! However, severely gangrenous wounds to the body and torso could not be similarly treated with radical surgery – so, again, as well as amputees, there had also been a lot of fatalities! It had been towards the end of August, some weeks after Karen’s return, when the World Health Organisation had reported a severe outbreak of Rabies, in Grozny. But, strangely enough, there had been no evidence of the disease being found in either wild or domestic animals in Grozny, or the surrounding area – or in Chechnya, itself. Animals had not been infected in the Rabies outbreak – just humans! And then, in the main, only men! In all of the Rabies cases admitted to the Grozny Central Municipal Hospital, death had inevitably followed within days…a slow death – a frightening and excruciatingly painful death!

  Karen had clearly taken care of her ‘unfinished business.’

  ***

  As well as actively participating in interrogations, Karen also undertakes regular work assignments – ‘assassinations and contract killings’ – either in her own right, or with other members of the Family, especially the ‘Girls’.

  Since being trained in firearms, from time to time, Karen has developed a mildly annoying habit of borrowing my Russian Stechkin silent revolve: ‘I didn’t want to wake the Candidate up with a sudden loud bang – might have fwightened them to death’ she had once excused herself. However, her main ‘tools of the trade’ are the subtle lethal poisons and toxins, which she has developed over time; and the virulent spores and viruses, which she has so lovingly cultured and nurtured. In the pharmacy of the Grozny Central Municipal Hospital, when she had been making up medical packages to supply the Chechen rebels; Karen had contaminated some of the sterile field dressings with Group B Streptococcus bacteria; leading directly to the rapid onset of Sepsis and Septicaemia. In other dressings, she had infected them with Clostridium perfringens; resulting in Gas Gangrene developing and proliferating throughout the wound and the surrounding tissue. Concerning the Rabies outbreak, Karen had simply introduced concentrates of the rabies virus directly into the vials of adrenalin, with which she had then supplied the rebels. They had then contaminated themselves by shooting the virulent cocktail straight into their blood vessels…fast lining the virus directly to their central nervous systems – leading ultimately to their agonising, protracted deaths!

  When it comes to settling unfinished business, Karen is a poisoner by trade and a poisoner by nature!

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

  With the exception of the three children of Judy, Nicky and Karen, that is the immediate ‘Family’. However, there are our cousins and associates to consider – some of whom you have already met.

  Tina, ex-MI5, and her sister Helen, ex-military, are our London cousins, looking after the ‘London’ House. Veronica and Bridgette, ex-Dutch Special Forces, are our Amsterdam cousins. Our German cousins, based in Koblenz, are Eva and Dagma – both ex-GSG 9 operatives. Chrissie and Bella, former agents with the SISMI, the Servizio per le Informazioni e la Sicurezza Militare – the Italian Military Intelligence and Security Service; are our Venetian cousins. They are based in the two storey ‘Calle Larga’ Apartment. Just seconds from St Marks Square, the apartment’s roof top terrace having clear direct views of St Mark’s Campanile, the symbolic square, fluted brick bell tower of St Mark’s Basilica. Our Prague cousins are mother and son, Ruth and Karel – bot
h ex-Czech Security Information Service, the SIS; operating out of the ‘Clock’ Apartment in the Old Town Square. Their relationship with one another is slightly more unusual than that of some of our other cousins, who have a simple same sex relationship with each other. Ruth and Karel are not just mother and son – they are also lovers.

  But, so what! Each to their own! At the end of the day, they are both very good at what they do – and that is all that matters.