The Romen Society: A Harry Cassidy novel

by Henry Hack

  “Right. Thanks for getting this.”

  “No problem.”

  The glass was delivered to Mark later that evening and by 7:30 he was on the Jersey Turnpike heading for Maryland. At 10:30 in the Savior’s kitchen, Peter carefully inspected the water glass. “Looks good,” he said. “A complete thumbprint and some fingers. We could have his whole right hand.”

  Mark and the Savior watched as Peter carefully dusted the latent prints bringing them to full visibility and then lifted each one with individual sticky squares of clear plastic tape. “Got 'em,” he said, laying them on the table. He retrieved the copy of Pop’s fingerprints that had taken him over twenty hours to access from the heavily-protected National Fingerprint Database. Using a four-inch magnifying glass he scanned the lifted prints against Hunter’s prints taken when he first joined the NYMPD. After about thirty seconds he put the glass down and looked at Mark and the Savior.

  “Well, Sherlock, what say you?” Mark asked.

  “You two tell me,” he said, handing the magnifying glass to Mark. “I need a drink.”

  By the time Peter got to the bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter, the Savior said, “Better get two more glasses.”

  “They almost got away with it,” Peter said. “The paper trail they fabricated was a top-notch deception.”

  “But they didn’t count on our Savior’s memory,” Mark said. “Jeez, a fifteen-year old photo! But why in the world did you save that magazine article?”

  “I was researching anything to do with terrorism and how the Task Forces were combating it. There was a reference in the article to Hunter being assigned to the New York Joint Terrorist Task Force during the battles against OBL-911, so I filed it.”

  “Amazing!” Mark said.

  “And someone forgot to purge the database of Hunter’s fingerprints taken so long ago,” the Savior said. “They probably figured no one could hack into that database, but they didn’t know the exquisite skills of the Apostle Peter. It’s now time for damage control. Here’s what we have to do. Mark, you and your disciples have to move locations as soon as you can. When you are ready to leave your place, invite Samuel Charles over and kill him. Put a sign on him that says, Judas – no, let it say, This Is the Fate of All Judases”

  “You want him to be found?” Peter asked.

  “Yes. I want them to know we were smart enough to discover their plant. They’ll think twice before trying again. But to be on the safe side, we’ll add no more new members even if we lose a few in the coming battles.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Mark said.

  “You have to take care of something else, too,” the Savior said.

  “Yes?”

  “The guy who introduced Hunter to your disciple?”

  “Yes, Bob Willis, Disciple Number Five’s cousin.”

  “Kill him, too, for his gullibility.”

  “You know he’s one of our associates diverting a lot of his company’s funds to us.”

  “I know. It’s a shame to give up that source, but we have no money problems now. After you kill him, make him disappear. When they investigate they’ll probably discover the missing money and figure he took it all and split.”

  “Great idea,” Peter said.

  “Let me know when it’s all accomplished. And Mark, make your disciple personally kill his cousin. If he balks, kill him, too. Take Joseph with you.”

  “When Disciple Number Five sees me and Joseph together,” Mark said, “he will get the message and do what’s required of him.”

  “When this is all settled,” the Savior said, “I want to commence discussions of our third campaign right away.”

  After Joe Gillenbock’s epiphany about his brother hit him, his rational, educated mind began to interject doubts. He’s your brother – he can't be the Savior. Did he look like someone who could orchestrate murder and destruction? Why would he come out and spend time with his new family? Wasn’t he just a loving, long lost brother?

  But the rational mind worked both ways. It didn’t matter if he was your brother – he could be the Savior anyway. Who knew what a killer looked like? Ted’s beard was fuller, his eyes more penetrating, and his speech more evangelical. He looked like the Savior – a modern day Jesus with eyeglasses and jeans.

  By the end of the day Joe was totally confused and unable to reach a definite conclusion about who his brother was, or was not, so he decided not to do anything at all at this time. He would not express his thoughts to his sister, or to his wife, and he certainly wouldn’t run to the authorities with such flimsy evidence as his feelings. The authorities, though, could check Ted out. They could ascertain if Ted Gillenbock existed as an employee of the State of Colorado, check if he has a record, check out his whole story. But then Joe could do that himself, couldn’t he? He had a telephone, he had a powerful computer – yes he would do some checking himself and see what popped up. He’d start tomorrow during the long afternoon break between classes. He’d feel terrible checking on his brother, but he knew his sudden revelation would not be quenched unless he knew for sure.

  Joe Gillenbock’s search for the existence of his brother hit a blank wall. The State of Colorado’s Environmental and Conservation agencies had no record of a Ted Gillenbock as either a past or present employee. In fact, no agency in the entire state had such records of employment. Ted Gillenbock did not have a Colorado driver’s license, nor did it appear that he had a license in the other forty-nine states. These results were not good at all. Finally, he called Melissa. “Hi, Joe,” she said. “How are you?”

  “Not good, I need to talk to you.”

  “You sound troubled.”

  “I am. Tomorrow’s Saturday. Can I come out?”

  “Sure, bring the family. We’ll cook out. Can you give me a hint?”

  “It’s about Ted. I’m worried about him.”

  He heard Missy draw in a deep breath. “That’s scary. So am I. I think…”

  “Stop. We’ll talk tomorrow. Bye.”

  They sat in a far corner of Melissa’s backyard sipping lemonade and smoking cigarettes, telling Jim and Diane they didn’t want to bother them with the smoke. With their spouses well out of earshot, Missy said, “What’s the problem with Ted?”

  “You may think I’m crazy for saying this – or even thinking it, but let me ask you anyway. Do you think it’s possible our brother is… could be… ?”

  “The Savior?”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “Joe, I’ve been sick with worry all week. He was so, so…weird on this visit.”

  “You mean, like Messiah weird?”

  “Yes. The beard, the mannerisms, his thoughts on the Romens.”

  “It hit me like a thunderbolt when I was sitting in my office right after I dropped him at LaGuardia.”

  “I didn’t get the bolt,” she said, “it just built up by degrees all week.”

  “Let me tell you what I found out about Ted Gillenbock – rather what I didn’t find out about our dear brother.”

  When he finished, she said, “What should we do?”

  “I thought of going to the police, but we have nothing but our suspicions. What do you think about confronting him?”

  “You mean accusing him of being the Savior to his face?”

  “More like gently asking him to his face.”

  “What if he admits he is the Savior?”

  “We try to save him. Convince him to turn himself in and stop this reign of terror.”

  “What if he denies it and sweet talks us?”

  “We assure him we believe him, apologize for our behavior, come back here and run to the authorities. Are you with me?”

  “I’m with you all the way, but let’s suppose he has another reaction if he is the Savior.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Suppose he kills us?”

  “Wh-a-a-t?”

  “He’s a fanatic. Fanatics stop at nothing to achieve their goals. Killing us, to prevent his discovery,
would not be a problem if he is indeed the Savior.”

  “But we’re his brother and sister.”

  “Newly found, and not yet strongly tied together,” she said.

  “Missy, are you saying we shouldn’t confront Ted at all?”

  “Maybe. Let’s think this over some more.”

  “Okay, we’ll mull it over and talk again in a couple days.”

  They ground out their cigarettes after taking one last deep inhale, put a smile on their faces, and rejoined their families.

  Mark had to figure a way to get the traitor to his rented house in Jersey without him being able to notify his contacts of his whereabouts. On Friday he called “Sam” and told him to meet him at a restaurant in downtown Manhattan for an early dinner after work. When Pop relayed the location of the dinner meeting to John McKee he said, “Mark hinted it was time to discuss the next moves. I told him I was eager to get in on the action.”

  “Good. They’ve been relatively quiet over the past two weeks – only a dozen smokers killed. Maybe you’ll learn of their next target.”

  “I’ll call you when I get back to my apartment and let you know what I found out.”

  “Okay, Pop. Do you want me to send a surveillance team over there?”

  “I‘d like that, but I sure don’t want to spook him now. Talk to you later.”

  Mark had specifically chosen this particular restaurant because the stairs leading down to the PATH subway station were practically right outside its front door. When Pop walked inside the restaurant he was a bit surprised to see Jason, Disciple Number Five, with Mark at the table. After they ordered drinks and dinner, Mark said, “Things are speeding up. The Savior is planning to initiate our third campaign, but he wants input not only from the twelve apostles, but from all the disciples as well.”

  “I take that as a compliment,” Jason said.

  “It is. The Savior is pleased with our successes so far and he has great confidence in all of you going forward. Here are the areas we are considering.”

  Mark ticked off six or seven possible targets and Pop said, “I think we should go after the one that’s the worst polluter of the atmosphere. These goddamn city buses and huge trucks puff their foul exhaust all day. I have a slight case of asthma and those fumes really bother me.”

  Real good, Sam, Mark thought. Sam – Detective Hunter – you are playing your role well. If I hadn’t seen those prints myself I never would have believed it. He said, “I can’t argue with that choice, but we’ll all hash it around later. After I contacted you two, I spoke to the Savior and he wants our input fast-tracked. I managed to get the rest of the disciples to meet us at my place in about an hour. Are you guys up for a trip to Jersey after dinner?”

  “Fine with me,” Jason said.

  “Me too,” Pop said. “The quicker the better.”

  Pop was not at all apprehensive during the subway ride under the Hudson River, but he would have loved to have been able to notify John McKee where he was now heading. With careful surveillance they might have been able to follow, and later identify, a few more disciples in their group. They only knew two so far, Numbers Two and Seven. His recruiter, Jason, was still a mystery, but it seemed he lived in Manhattan. He’d keep a sharp eye out for license plate numbers when he went in and out of Mark’s place. With any luck they would park close to the house because the location was surrounded by dark woods with sparse street lighting.

  Pop hit a home run as they walked toward the front door of the house spotting two sedans with New Jersey plates, and instantly committing their numbers to memory. They entered and Pop looked around the living room. It looked like the whole crew was here, but there was one face he did not recognize. Pop did not see Mark nod as four of the disciples arose and trained their guns on him. “Make sure he’s not wearing a wire,” Mark said, “and take everything out of his pockets.”

  Jason said, “What’s going on? I thought Sam was accepted.”

  “That makes two of us,” Pop said. “What is going on, Mark?”

  “Shut up – Judas.”

  After assuring himself Pop was not wired, Mark said, “Put your clothes back on and sit in that chair.” He pointed to a straight-backed wooden one a disciple placed in the middle of the room.

  As the four disciples began to tape and tie him to the chair Pop said, “What did you mean by calling me Judas?”

  “You’re a traitor – a Judas in our midst.”

  “A traitor? You’re crazy. What the hell makes you think that?” he said, as his heart began to beat faster.

  Mark waited until the four disciples finished securely binding Pop’s arms, legs and torso to the chair. He stood in front of him and said, “You sure had us all fooled – Detective Hunter. An admirable acting job and a convincing identity falsification.”

  “I’m not a detective. I’m Samuel Charles.”

  “No, you’re not. Look at this picture in this magazine.”

  Pop looked at his photo with the team and his heart sank. “That ain’t me. That guy’s twenty years younger.”

  “That’s you, all right. You see there was one little slip-up you and your fellow cops made. You took care of everything, except your fingerprints.”

  Pop’s heart sank further – much further. “What fingerprints?”

  “These,” Mark said triumphantly. “This is the official fingerprint card of Detective Charles E. Hunter. And these are the prints of Samuel Charles taken from your water glass a few days ago.”

  Pop looked at the two sets of prints and knew he was a dead man if he didn’t do some fancy talking – fast. “They don’t look the same to me,” he said. “You got some FBI fingerprint expert in the Romens?”

  “We don’t need an expert in this case,” Mark said. “How many of us do your comrades know about?”

  Pop took a deep breath and said, “Okay, you are right. Those are my prints and my real name is Charles E. Hunter – retired Detective Charles E. Hunter. I am no longer a cop. I retired a couple years ago and now work in the private sector. And, most importantly, I am a committed environmentalist and devoted to the Romens. If I didn’t fabricate a new identity, you would never have let me join.”

  Mark looked at Joseph and there was doubt in both their eyes. Joseph motioned with his head for Mark to join him in the kitchen. “What do you think?” Joseph asked.

  “I don’t know. If he is telling the truth, it would be a shame to kill him after all the trouble we went to check him out. And we know for a fact he is over sixty-three years old and can no longer be a cop.”

  “What if the FBI or Task Force enlisted him for just that reason, to throw us off?”

  “Shit, I’m confused. What the hell should we do?”

  “Let’s call the Savior.” Joseph said.

  When the Savior patiently finished listening to Mark and Joseph he said, “I agree with your concerns, but we cannot afford to take a chance. We must go with the choice that will give the Romens the maximum protection. You must kill Charles Hunter right now.”

  Mark and Joseph walked back into the living room and Mark said, “Number Five, since you brought Samuel Charles into the Romens, you will have the pleasure of taking him out.”

  “So the decision has been made to kill me regardless of what I just said?” Pop asked.

  “Yes, the Savior has deemed it.”

  “And there is nothing I can do or say now that could change your mind?”

  “No – nothing.”

  “Then get on with it, but you are making a terrible mistake. I am a devoted Romen. I am not an undercover traitor.”

  Pop had wanted to say something else, of course. He wanted to say, “Go ahead and kill me you terrorist motherfuckers. I’m only sorry I won’t be here on the big kill – the killing of you crazy bastards when my guys take you down.” But he had to play his role right to the bitter end. He had to pretend he had told no one about the Romens. He smiled thinking of Harry Cassidy, Nick Faliani and most of all, his wife, Vera. Man,
she would be so pissed off at him when she found out…

  Jason, who immediately sensed he was being tested once more, took the gun, walked over to Pop and cut short his thoughts of Vera with two rapid shots into his head. Pop slumped over and Jason handed the gun back to the Apostle Joseph. Mark placed the sign with the wording on it they had decided on, and then snapped several photos.

  “We have to now assume Hunter was an informer,” Mark said. “So I would venture to guess when he fails to phone in later, his friends will find their way here. We still have a few hours before they arrive, so let’s relax a bit. Joseph, would you check outside with your disciples?”

  Joseph's entire group of eight disciples was stationed at various posts around the house and near the street. Joseph returned and gave a thumb's up. “All’s quiet out there.”

  “Good,” Mark said. “We don’t know how many of us have been compromised, so I hope you have all found new locations. Those who haven’t, bunk in with those who have. We must all be out within a couple of hours. I have a lot of my stuff in my van already.”

  “What are we going to do with the traitor?” asked a disciple.

  “Leave him right here. A gift for his fellow officers when they arrive.”

  “Did the Savior mention our next campaign?” asked another disciple.

  “No,” Mark said, “but he assured me we would move as soon as we get resettled and decide on the target. I think we should all get moving now. Number Five, please remain with me and Joseph.”

  After the other disciples left, Mark said, “You did fine, Jason, but you have one more task to perform. You have to kill your cousin. The Savior was extremely displeased with his stupidity in paving the way for Hunter to penetrate our group. And he specified you, personally, must pull the trigger.”

  Jason got the message immediately, but he had to say, “You know, Bob’s got a family – two kids – and he provides a lot of money to us. And Charles’ story sounded legitimate.”

  “The Savior and we are well aware of that,” Mark said. “His decision stands. We will do it as soon as possible, so be ready when we come for you. With his disappearance it will seem as if he took all the money himself and left to start a new life.”