by Henry Hack
“And Jason?”
“Perhaps.”
“Oh, my God,” Ann Willis said, bringing her hand to her mouth.
“Mrs. Willis, you must keep this strictly confidential and you must call one of us immediately if Jason contacts you. Do you have caller ID?”
“No.”
“We’ll put a trap on your phone to capture all incoming numbers. Would that be all right with you?”
“Sure, and now I’m putting two and two together and concluding the money Bob stole was funneled to the Romens through Jason. But why is Bob missing?”
“That’s the big question we’ll all be trying to find the answer to,” Nick said. He didn’t have the heart to tell her what he suspected – that her dear husband was probably already dead – whacked for introducing Pop into the Romens. And maybe Jason was dead, too, or if he was still alive, he was the most likely assassin of both her husband and Pop Hunter.
“We’ll fill the local police in on this,” Alicia said, “but please keep the possible connection to the Romens strictly between us.”
“I will,” she said. “Do you think Bob’s dead already?”
Alicia hugged Ann Willis and whispered, “I hope not.” And a part of Alicia truly hoped Bob Willis was alive – for the sake of this lovely woman and their children. But deep down, she knew better.
14
On Monday morning several members of the Task Force drifted into Gotham Books, one by one, over a fifteen minute period. Ten minutes later it was apparent Jason Morgan, Disciple Number Five, was not on the premises.
“He’s a manager,” Danny Boyland said to John McKee who was outside on the sidewalk. “Maybe he’s in an office somewhere.”
“I’ll go find out.”
John entered the store and went up to an employee at a computer station who was assisting a customer in locating a book. When she finished, she asked John if she could help him find a book. “No,” he replied, “not a book – a person. I’m looking for Jason Morgan. He’s an acquaintance of mine from the New York Public Library. I believe he’s a manager here.”
“Yes he is, but I haven’t seen him yet this morning. Let me call the office and see if I can locate him. After she got the information she hung up the phone and said, “Mr. Morgan has taken a few days off to move. He’s due back here Thursday morning. Perhaps I can help you?”
“No, it’s not a pressing matter, just a renewal of an old friendship. Which department does he manage?”
“Non-fiction, mainly history, geography, travel and the environment. It’s toward the right rear of the store, on the main floor.”
“Is he in an office?”
“No, he’s at a desk in an open area. He loves being near his books.”
“Figures,” John said with a smile. “Just like at the library. I’ll catch him later this week. Thanks for your help.”
Their disappointment was evident as they drove out to Long Island later that day to attend Pop’s wake. They all thought how nice it would have been to tell Vera they had captured the bastard who had killed her husband. On the way out Alicia placed a call from her cell phone to Ann Willis and confirmed Bob had still not returned home. The local police had not turned up anything and she hadn’t received a phone call from him, his cousin Jason, or anyone else.
When the two apostles, Mark and Joseph, had shown up at Jason Morgan’s Manhattan apartment at five a.m., Saturday morning he knew it was time to go kill his cousin, Bob Willis. On the drive over to Jersey he once again tried to convince the apostles letting Bob live was in all their best interests, but his pleas were to no avail.
“Have you found a new place yet?” Joseph asked him.
“Yes, out in Queens as Mark directed. I’ll be moving Monday or Tuesday.”
They drove in silence and parked a half block away from Bob’s house. The plan was to have Jason call Bob and arrange a meeting at an out of the way location where they could grab him up. As Jason began to dial, Joseph said, “Look, someone’s pulling out of the driveway.”
“That’s his van,” Jason said.
“Follow him.”
When Willis parked at a house less than a mile away they watched his two kids leave the van and scamper up the driveway. When the two were safely in the house, the van pulled away.
“We were lucky,” Mark said. “Those two kids would have complicated our plans.”
Jason wondered if Mark and Joseph would have also made him kill his cousin’s two children as well. He wouldn’t put it past these two fanatics.
Bob Willis parked his van in the Home Depot lot and grabbed his shopping list. As he exited his van a familiar voice called out, “Hey, Bob!”
Bob turned and immediately recognized his cousin Jason waving to him to come over to where he had his own van parked. Bob walked over and said, “Hey, cuz, what brings you out to the wilds of New Jersey?”
“Something’s come up about Samuel Charles again,” Jason said, lowering his voice. “His fingerprints didn’t match up. We have to talk. Let’s get in my van where we can have some privacy.”
Jason slid the side door open and Bob started to get inside. He was grabbed by a pair of hands and dragged the rest of the way in with Jason pushing from behind. Jason looked around and got in right after Bob and slid the door closed. A man who Bob did not recognize grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back. He started to say, “What the…?” when a second man, also unknown to him, slapped a ten-inch long piece of duct tape over his mouth. The two men, with the help of his cousin, then thoroughly bound him with rope and tape. Jason then climbed over the seat, got behind the wheel and drove the van out of the parking lot. The kidnapping took no more than three minutes, and was observed by no one.
When the van was far from the shopping center on a stretch of secondary highway, the man seated next to Bob said to Jason, “Tell your idiot cousin what’s going on.”
Jason was as terrified as Bob, but he maintained a calm voice and said, as he had been instructed by Mark and Joseph, “Bob, Samuel Charles was an undercover cop. The guy you introduced to me could have brought all of us down. Now you have to pay the price for your stupidity.”
Bob squirmed and tried to speak, but all that came out was, “Mmmmm…”
Mark, who was sitting next to him, said, “There is nothing you can say to change your fate. You are going to die, and your favorite cousin is going to pull the trigger. Isn’t that right Disciple Number Five?”
“Yes, my apostle,” Jason replied in a shaky voice. And there was no doubt he would so, cousin or not, wife and two children not withstanding. Jason would kill Bob. He had to, for he knew if he did not, he would be dead in the ground beside his cousin.
Jason turned the van onto a dirt road and proceeded about two hundred yards into the woods to the place they had scouted out earlier this morning. They dragged Bob out and into a small clearing and Joseph removed a .38 caliber revolver from his waistband. He handed it to Jason. “Do it,” he said. “Both bullets into his idiot brain.”
Jason looked down at his cousin who was crying and squirming on the ground. For one brief moment he thought of turning on the two apostles and trying to shoot them both, but he immediately dismissed that idea. He knew there were only the two bullets in the gun and he would have to make two perfect kill shots. And even if he succeeded, the Romens would hunt him down and kill him. He pointed the gun at Bob's head, and without a word, pulled the trigger twice. He handed the gun back to Joseph who said, “Well done, Disciple Number Five. Now let’s get the shovels and get him into the ground.”
Pop’s funeral mass was held at St. Brigid’s Church and he was laid to rest in Holy Rood Cemetery not far from his home. It was a quiet, dignified, low-key affair and the members of the Task Force wondered how they would keep Harry’s promise to Vera – a promise to which they had all enthusiastically signed on. The mourners who attended Pop’s funeral believed he had died of a heart attack and they shook their heads in bewilderment that their friend, who was always so hea
lthy and young for his years, could be struck down so suddenly.
“This deception is bothering me a whole lot,” Vera said to Susan as they were standing beside each other at the gravesite.
“I know,” Susan said, patting Vera on the forearm.
“I want to shout out that my husband was killed for them – that he did not die in vain.”
“That will come out when the Romens are taken down. Everyone will know then what a hero Pop was.”
Vera turned toward Susan and in a voice substantially louder said, “And when did Harry say that will be? Tell me – when?”
While the Task Force team members pondered in dejection, the mood was anything but somber in the Savior’s small living room as he smiled and joked with his Apostles Peter, Mark and Joseph. After the initial shock and worry over discovering the possible traitor in their midst, they had realized with each passing day that the mole, if he indeed was a mole, had not passed on any knowledge he may have developed that could be used against them. With the elimination of Bob Willis and a careful re-check of all remaining ninety-five disciples of the Romen Society by Peter, the Savior was now certain of the identity and loyalty of his entire group.
“Who do we target next?” Mark asked. “When will we begin our third campaign?”
“I’m now leaning toward the nuclear power industry.”
“Aren’t they cleaner than burning fossil fuel?” Joseph asked.
“Yes, but the radioactive waste remaining from the process creates a huge problem. The stuff doesn’t decay for years – for decades. It will eventually poison us all.”
“Aren’t the current plants a high security priority?” Mark asked.
“Yes,” Peter said, “Homeland Security has certainly beefed up their protection since we have made our presence felt. But, I don’t think our Savior is considering a frontal assault on them. Am I right?”
“Very perceptive, Peter. We will do it the way we’ve done it so far – intimidation and murder of those politicians and businessmen who support the industry.”
They supported the Savior on his choice and Peter said he would begin his research on potential targets right away. “In the meantime,” the Savior said, “let’s remind the country we are still around. When we contact the other apostles we’ll have them continue to selectively continue our two previous campaigns against the gas-guzzlers and the smokers. We must keep the pressure on, don’t you agree?”
Peter, Mark and Joseph smiled and nodded in assent. The momentary despair that occurred when Samuel Charles was uncovered as a Judas traitor was all but gone. The future looked bright indeed.
Random murders of SUV owners, luxury vehicle owners, cigarette smokers and tobacco dealers had begun again the day of Pop’s burial. Most were attributable to, and acknowledged by the Romen Society. Alarmingly, the number of copycat murders of cigarette smokers increased dramatically and for the first time two luxury car owners were also murdered by copycats.
The media, as expected, ramped up the pressure for the arrest and prosecution of the Romen Society and severely criticized the inability of the law enforcement community to resolve the wave of lawlessness. One editorial in a prominent New York newspaper strongly suggested the political leaders at each level of government – Federal, State and Local – should seriously consider replacing their top law enforcement officers with others deemed more capable of handling and resolving this crisis.
Harry Cassidy was reading this editorial at his desk on the morning of June 9 when Pete Hayes rang him on the intercom and said, “The mayor’s on line one for you.”
Harry picked up the phone and Mayor McDonald said in a deadly calm voice, “Have you read this morning’s papers?”
“Yes, sir, and I’m reading the editorial right now suggesting you fire me. Is that the purpose of your call?”
“No, Harry, but you have to understand the pressure my office is under.”
“I do understand. Would it relieve the pressure on you if I resigned?”
“Probably, but who would I replace you with? Who could get these bastards better than you and the Task Force?”
“If I knew that, I’d put him in my chair right now. You know that, Phil.”
“Is there anything you can tell me? Do we have any leads? I’m desperate here.”
“So are we all. I’m in constant contact with the Task Force, with Washington and with police chiefs around the country. No one is holding anything back. In New York terms we got squat, nada, zilch. We need the proverbial break – a big break.”
“Sounds like we need more like a miracle. I’ll pray for one at mass this Sunday.”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” Harry said, “and whenever you feel my resignation would help you, just say the word.”
“Let’s also pray that won’t be necessary. Keep me informed.”
Harry had chosen to not inform the mayor of the event to occur the next morning at the Gotham Bookstore. If Morgan did not show up, it would only be more bad news. Better to say nothing now, and then if they did capture Disciple Number Five, it would finally be something to ease the pressure a bit on everyone. He reached for the phone.
Carl Petersen hung up the phone and assembled his team. “The commissioner just called. He was talking with the mayor. The pressure is building. The papers are calling for Harry’s head, and by implication, all our heads. Do we have anything new I can pass on to him?”
“All we got, Carl,” Nick said, “is waiting for us tomorrow morning at the bookstore.”
“Suppose this mope doesn’t show? Suppose he’s fucking dead and buried somewhere?”
“Then we need a lucky break.”
15
That afternoon the intercom buzzed and Danny Boyland, who was the closest to the desk phone, picked it up. It was the receptionist in the lobby. She had two walk-ins who wanted to speak with someone on the Task Force. “They say why, Millie?” he asked.
“They say they may have some information on the Savior.”
“Okay give them ID tags and send them up. I’ll meet them at the elevators.”
“What do have, partner?” George Washington asked.
“Couple of walk-ins who say they got some info on the Savior. I’ll talk to them.”
“Want some company?”
“Nah, I’ll call you when they tell me he’s living around the corner. Then we’ll go pick him up, beat the shit out of him and crack this case wide open.”
“And you call me a comedian, Danny Boy?”
Danny watched as the man and woman stepped off the elevator. He shook their hands and introduced himself while noting their obvious physical resemblance to each other.
“Pleased to meet you, Detective Boyland. I’m Joe Gillenbock and this is my sister, Melissa Winters.”
“Nice to meet you both. Now, how can I help you?”
“To be blunt about it,” Joe said, “we believe our brother is the Savior.”
The immediate believability and sincerity in the demeanor of the two people standing before him sent a tremor through his body. Could this be the real thing? Could this be our lucky break?
“Mr. Gillenbock, Mrs. Winters, let me find an office where we can speak further. I am very interested in what you have to say.”
“Thank God,” Melissa said. “We were worried you would think we were just another couple of New York kooks.”
“Not at all,” he said.
By the time Danny had settled Ted and Melissa in an interview room, his confidence in what they were about to tell him had increased, and after ordering coffee for them he excused himself, explaining he wanted his partner to join him for the interview. Danny went into the conference room and motioned to George Washington. “What’s up?” he asked.
“I’ll take you up on your offer for company. I think we may have something here.”
“If you’re that sure, let’s get McKee in on this so they don’t have to repeat their story.”
“Good idea.”
After al
l the introductions were made, Joe Gillenbock said, “I’m impressed you’re taking us seriously.”
“We try to take everything about the Savior and the Romen Society seriously,” John said. “Danny and George wanted me here not because I’m the team’s boss, but because I’ve been on the Task Force from the beginning.”
“Do you see any resemblance between the methods used by the OBL-911 terrorists and the Romen Society?” Joe asked.
Danny almost interrupted by saying, “Hey, we’re the ones supposed to ask the questions here,” but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Joe Gillenbock was obviously a bright, well-educated man and he was not a suspect – this was, after all, an information gathering session.
“Yes,” John answered. “Does that have some significance?”
“My brother once told us the Romens were successful because they seemed to have learned from OBL-911’s mistakes, but I suppose we should get on with our story.”
“Fine,” John said. “and I want you both to understand we are audio-taping this entire interview. This will keep us focused and not divert our attention by having to take a lot of notes. Is that all right with the both of you?”
Joe and Melissa looked at each other and nodded their assent.
“And,” George said, “we will try to not interrupt you with too many questions.”
“Sounds good,” Joe said. “Okay to begin?”
“We’re all ears,” Danny said.
Joe Gillenbock began by giving his background, education, current job and family status. Melissa did likewise. Joe got right to the beginning of the story when he received the phone call from Ted Gillenbock who claimed to be his long lost brother. Joe and Melissa told everything they remembered, both occasionally referring to written notes, up to the time Joe had his epiphany. They concluded with their dilemma as to whether they should confront Ted with their suspicions, but after much agonizing, had decided against it. Joe said, “Although we both believed he was the Savior, we did want to give him a chance to refute it. After all, we just found our brother and we didn’t want to lose him again.”