“Hi Bob. It’s John. How ya doin’? Are debits still on the left?”
“The last time I checked, but I haven’t read this morning’s newspaper. Maybe someone in Washington has made a new regulation.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. If the United Nations published a study stating that Western colonial powers were imposing their oppressive capitalist system on developing countries by insisting that debits be on the left as a condition of getting a World Bank loan, I’m sure someone in Washington would try to make a rule that any company having a government contract must have debits on the right in order to show sensitivity for local cultural values.”
Paige was pleased by Wellington’s response. It showed that even Commerce Department bureaucrats could have a sense of humor.
“Bob, Sarah and I are having a barbecue on Sunday. Would you and Sveta like to come?”
“Sure. What time?”
“Around 12, give or take. That will give you a chance to get back from church.”
“Yeah, right.” Wellington was busting Paige’s chops. He knew that Paige hadn’t gone to church in years. Wellington usually attended church on Sundays because Sarah insisted.
“What should I bring?”
“Sarah already has all the food. Maybe bring some potato salad. That way I’ll have an alternative to Sarah’s, which is based on her mother’s recipe, which I hate.”
“OK, John. Always glad to help where I can.”
Wellington walked into the next room. He didn’t want Sarah to hear what he was about to say. He lowered his voice as he spoke.
“It will also give you a chance to meet the team. They’re coming with their families. We’ve decided to put the Steinman case on the front burner.”
Paige froze in his seat. The moment he dreaded had arrived. He tried to maintain his composure and act normally.
“Will your Boss be there? I’d like to meet him. What was his name, again?”
“Very funny, Bob. No, he won’t be there. He likes to keep a low profile, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I think I understand. He can’t go outside until after sundown, right? Otherwise he melts or evaporates or something.”
“Something like that. See you then.”
After hanging up, Paige turned to Sveta.
“We’ve been invited to a barbecue at John and Sarah’s this Sunday. Can you make it?”
“Ah, sorry Robert. My sister’s family is expecting me for lunch. Tell John and Sarah I said hello.”
“OK. Will do.” He was glad that Sveta wouldn’t be able to come. He didn’t want her to be in the company of murderers.
One thing he was apprehensive about was meeting the members of the team, since some of them had killed Raul Rodriguez and his girlfriend in cold blood. Anyone who would do that kind of thing was not someone he would feel comfortable having a hamburger with. The fact that they could do it without a second thought sent chills up his spine. He wondered how many other people they had executed, since it probably wasn’t their first time.
He also wondered whether he would be able to take them out, if that was what he needed to do to foil the plan. It was the only option he had been able to come up with to save Steinman, but he couldn’t figure out if or how he could do it. They were all trained killers. Wellington was being closed-mouth about who his Boss was, and Paige was a neophyte when it came to actual violence. Competing in Taekwondo tournaments was one thing. Trying to kill someone who didn’t want to be killed and who could kill you was something else.
He was a fish out of water. Paige wondered whether he would eventually meet the Boss, and under what circumstances.
103
“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil, God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”
Dietrich Bonhoeffer
“Totalitarianism must be stopped, whether it comes from the left or the right. It doesn’t matter whether the jackboot on your throat is a socialist or a fascist jackboot.”
Robert W. McGee
It took Paige a little less than an hour to arrive at the Wellington’s house a few blocks from the edge of the Everglades. It was Sunday and traffic was light. It was a pleasant drive, another sunny day in Florida.
He was more than a little curious to meet the other members of the team, but he was apprehensive as well. He liked hanging around patriots, but this group was misguided. They were actually the enemy because they were shredding the Constitution, all in the name of patriotism and national security. Assassinating radio talk show hosts, journalists and professors merely for exercising their right to free speech and free press could not be justified, although a case could be made for executing politicians and others who were trashing the Constitution and taking away the rights of the citizenry.
He suspected the team he was about to meet had been the ones who were exterminating the vermin that had been reported in the press, although Wellington didn’t quite admit it. The Boss had cut Paige out of the loop. Paige’s view of the team was based mostly on their plan to silence professors and journalists because they decided to exercise their rights of free speech and press in a way that the Boss found offensive.
He continued to think about his options for saving Steinman. The easy way out would be not to save him. Just let them kill him. Choosing that option would not require any effort or action on his part. It would be the safe option. It would allow him to maintain his relative innocence. The problem with that option is that he had ruled it out. Every fiber of his being told him that he must do something.
Another option would be to become a whistle blower. He could tell the authorities. But which authorities? The local police would be one option, but which local police? Each community had its own police force and none of them could be effective against the resources of the CIA, FBI, DHS or any federal agency, for that matter. Besides, he couldn’t prove anything and the police couldn’t do anything until the act had been committed, which would be too late. They probably wouldn’t want to stick their necks out to prevent Steinman’s murder anyway. They would be taking a risk by getting involved.
He could contact the CIA or the FBI and tell them that some of their people were about to start a murder spree, but who would he contact? He didn’t know how far up the chain of command it went. There was a strong possibility that, at some point, either Wellington’s boss or Jim Bennett’s boss would find out about it, and at least one of them might be part of the conspiracy. Paige would be dead.
Which brought him to the last option – executing every member of the team himself. One problem with that option was that he didn’t know if he could do it. He would have to kill them in cold blood, although he could rationalize that it wasn’t really cold blood, but more like a preemptive strike.
Another problem with that option was that he wasn’t sure it would be the right thing to do. He remembered the phrase from Ecclesiastes – a time to kill and a time to heal. But the Bible also said “Thou shalt not kill.” Those passages were both from the Old Testament. The New Testament said to turn the other cheek. The nuns had taught him that where the Old Testament conflicted with the New Testament, the proper choice would be to follow the New Testament rule. But he didn’t want to turn the other cheek. He had to do something.
Retrieving those Biblical passages from his memory banks reminded him of the discussion the nuns had with the class on those points in grade school. One minute they would assert that the Bible was written by God and that it was the only perfect book because it contained no inconsistencies. Then, when one of the students pointed out an inconsistency like the one about the justification for killing, they would reply that where the Old Testament conflicted with the New Testament, we should always choose the New Testament rule, which led to the question, “Why does the New Testament conflict with the Old Testament?”
Their response was that when God looked down on the earth and saw that we were having difficulty keeping the rules He laid out for us in the O
ld Testament, He decided to lighten up on the rules a little bit and give us a set of rules that were easier to follow. That’s why He wrote the New Testament, which led one of the students to ask, “If God is perfect, how could He make such a mistake by giving us a set of rules that were too difficult to follow?” The nuns’ reply was, “To question is to blaspheme.”
Then there was the question of punishment. Would God punish Paige for killing them? One view, which he learned from taking philosophy courses at Gannon University in Erie, Pennsylvania, is that God really doesn’t give a shit. If He did, there wouldn’t have been World War I or II, or Vietnam or disease and starvation. He would have intervened to prevent all those things if He really loved His children. The nuns had dismissed that argument by saying that “God works in mysterious ways,” which Paige had concluded long ago was not an adequate response. You cannot just assume that the Christian position is the correct one, then try to find a justification for it. You must question everything, even the existence of God, according to Thomas Jefferson.
What if God really does give a shit, in spite of the fact that He doesn’t intervene in human affairs? What if He really does punish people for killing other people? Paige couldn’t answer that one. He figured it’s fair to assume that God wouldn’t punish someone for killing in self-defense. Could killing them be considered an act of self defense, or even an act of love, since executing them would prevent further murders of innocent people?
Applying the utilitarian ethical arguments he learned at Gannon University, Paige rationalized that executing them would be the right thing to do if it could prevent more deaths. Antiabortionists have used that argument to justify killing doctors who performed abortions. If killing one doctor who performs abortions could save the lives of hundreds of unborn babies, then it should be – must be – done. Of course, that assumes that abortion is murder. What if abortion isn’t murder?
What if liquidating people who espouse socialist claptrap like Steinman results in a net benefit to society? Socialism leads to suffering, poverty, a lower rate of economic growth and the stifling of human flourishing. It prevents individuals from reaching their full potential. The best must be held back so that the self-esteem of the weak and lazy can be salved. If the world would be a better place without socialism, does exterminating socialists constitute a justifiable act? An act of self-defense? If that is the case, then he must not kill the killers. He must allow them to assassinate Steinman because society would benefit as a result. Does it matter that they plan to execute him for the wrong reason – because he opposed U.S. foreign and domestic policy rather than because he is a socialist?
When Paige applied utilitarian ethics to the question of killing the killers, he concluded that doing it would be an ethical act. Their trashing of the Constitution in the name of patriotism and national security was leading us down the road to a totalitarian state where there would be no free speech or free press or privacy. There would be no property rights, since the state could confiscate a person’s life savings for any reason, or for no reason. The state was becoming the master while the people were becoming slaves. It is why Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German theologian and philosopher, participated in the plot to assassinate Hitler, to save humanity. If killing one big Hitler is the right thing to do, then killing a thousand little Hitlers must also be the right thing to do. The fact that Bonhoeffer was executed in the process upon direct orders from Hitler is irrelevant.
Totalitarianism must be stopped, whether it comes from the left or the right. It doesn’t matter whether the jackboot on your throat is a socialist or a fascist jackboot. In either case it must be removed. Paige had made his decision. Now he had to find a way to make it happen.
104
As Paige approached the house he could see about a dozen cars parked on the lawn and in the driveway. Some of them belonged to the team. Others belonged to civilians. It looked like a typical country barbecue scene.
He pulled in and parked on the lawn, and quickly took photos of the license plates with his cell phone. He could identify the owners later.
He could hear people talking in the back yard and could smell the meat sizzling on the grill – hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken and beef. He brought along some potato salad to add to the collection of food piled up on one of the tables. He didn’t make it himself. He bought it earlier that day at the local Publix in Sunny Isles Beach.
Wellington spotted him as he turned the corner of the house.
“Hi Bob.” He walked up and shook Paige’s hand. Sarah stood at the food table, fumbling and rearranging some of the items. She saw him, smiled and waved. There were a bunch of children running around, playing catch, swinging on the swing set and splashing around in the small pool.
Wellington reached out for the potato salad. “Let me take this.” He grabbed it and walked with Bob to the food table. As they approached the table, he leaned toward Paige’s ear and whispered, “Thanks for bringing this. I really wasn’t looking forward to eating Sarah’s mother’s potato salad.”
“It’s a nice day for a barbecue, don’t you think?” he said as he gave the container to Sarah.
“Yeah. It’s perfect.”
“Bob, I’d like to introduce you to the other members of the team, but be discreet. Don’t talk to them about the job because there are civilians here, too.”
“OK, I’ll be discreet. Can I look at their wives’ cleavage?”
Wellington smiled. “Sure, that will be fine. Just don’t be obvious, and try not to drool. There are a couple of nice pairs here today.” Apparently, he had already checked them out.
John spotted one of the team members standing off to the side, away from the others. He and his wife were having an animated conversation with another couple. John motioned to them.
“You see the guy standing over there with the green bottle of beer, next to the woman with the nice tits? That’s Jim Bennett.”
Paige smiled and looked at Wellington. “Jim Bennett? He doesn’t look like a Jim Bennett,” noting the fact that his features – light brown skin, jet black hair – gave him a Latin look.
“Very observant, you racist pig. Actually, the name on his birth certificate is Jaime Benítez. He anglicized it because he thought it would look better on his resume. His parents are Cuban.”
“Let me give you a little background. Jim works for the FBI in Miami. His main job is to keep us informed of FBI activities, since those bastards usually keep us out of the loop. Sometimes we also use him for assignments involving Latin American drug cartels because of his FBI background and training. He’s familiar with the cartels because the FBI has him assigned to that area.”
They walked over and John started the introductions.
“Hi Jim. I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Bob Paige. He’s an accounting professor at Saint Frances University.”
“Oh, an accounting professor. I didn’t know you hung out with guys that high on the food chain. Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand, pretending not to know anything about Paige and his background. Actually, Wellington had briefed him thoroughly on Paige a few weeks before.
Paige shook his hand and the introductions continued.
“This is his wife, Ana. They have three kids who are running around here somewhere,” gesturing in the direction of the swings and pool.
Ana was holding a plate of food, consisting of rice, beans and barbecued chicken. She was on the short side, a little chubby with short black hair and light brown skin. She was feeding her face when Wellington introduced her. As she put the fork into her mouth she bent forward slightly so that her face was over the plate, which also presented Wellington and Paige with an opportunity to check out her boobs. They were quite nice, a little on the large side, and glistening with sweat. It was a hot day.
“Mucho gusto,” she said, as she tried to talk with a mouthful of rice.
Paige chimed in. “What were you talking about? It looked like you were having a lively discussion a
bout something.”
“Yes,” Jim replied, “We were talking about the differences between Cubans, Argentineans and Colombians. Ana’s father is from Argentina and her mother is from Colombia.”
Paige remembered a Spanish class he had taken at Seton Hall University years ago. His teacher was from Argentina and she told the class that Argentina was really part of Europe and that Argentinean Spanish was the best. Puerto Ricans, Cubans and Dominicans didn’t speak real Spanish. They got their r’s and l’s mixed up, when they bothered to pronounce them at all, and often didn’t pronounce the last syllable of a word because it only slowed them down.
Jim continued, “Yeah, whenever an Argentinean speaks it sounds like they’re giving orders. Jesus was so modest and humble that he was born in Bethlehem instead of Argentina.”
Ana felt compelled to defend her heritage and take a shot at Jim’s Cuban family background. “Si, but if you tie a Cuban’s hands behind his back they won’t be able to speak.” She was referring to the fact that Cubans were known for using their hands when they speak. Everyone laughed, because they knew it was true.
Wellington turned toward the other couple. “This is Tom and his wife, Jeannie. They live down the street. They moved here from Detroit a few years ago.” They looked like a typical white, retired couple from Detroit, in their early to mid-sixties.
Tom reached to shake Paige’s hand. “Yeah, we got tired of the snow.”
“Nice to meet you.”
As they walked away, Wellington whispered into Paige’s ear, “He’s a civilian.” He then led Paige to the next member of the team, who was standing between the swings and the pool. He and his wife were watching the kids play. While walking toward them, Wellington gave Paige a briefing.
“Tomás served in the army in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was mostly a computer guy, but for a few months he was also a sniper. You’re sort of responsible for him being on the team, indirectly, since you recruited me and I recruited him. He’s a systems analyst for Carnival Cruise Lines, which gives him access to the ports of Miami and Fort Lauderdale and also to information that we sometimes find useful. He’s also a firearms specialist. He does free lance work for us sometimes.” When they got about five feet away, Wellington started the introductions.
Justifiable Homicide: A Political Thriller (Robert Paige Thrillers Book 1) Page 34