by S. W. Frank
ARMORED
Copyright © 2013 S.W. Frank
All Rights Reserved
Paperback Edition
First Printing
Printed by Createspace, USA
S.W. Frank Publishing, U.S.A
ISBN-13: 978-1494755485
ISBN-10: 1494755483
No parts of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in any form without prior written permission of the author. Piracy of the book is a crime. Alfonzo detests thieves and liars, he also believes in Karma. Sometimes it is not laws which govern a person, it is what a person does when nobody watches which is the test of a person’s character and the law of self.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and events portrayed in this story are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Graphic images are for illustrative purposes only.
THE ALFONZO SERIES
♠
ALFONZO: Volume I
ASCENSION: Alfonzo Volume II
ANARCHY: Alfonzo Volume III
ATONEMENT: Alfonzo Volume IV
AWAKENING: Alfonzo Volume V
ANNIHILATION: Alfonzo Volume VI
AFTERMATH: Alfonzo Volume VII
AFFIRMATION: Alfonzo Volume VIII
ASSOCIATES: Alfonzo Volume IX
ANIMUS: Alfonzo Volume X
ADVERSARY: Alfonzo Volume XI
AVARICE: Alfonzo Volume XII
AFFLICTION: Alfonzo Volume XIII
ARMORED: Alfonzo Volume XIV
“There is no armor against fate.”
-James Shirley
“Against logic there is no armor like ignorance.”
-Laurence J. Peter
“Fortitude is the marshal of thought, the armor of the will, and the fort of reason.”
-Francis Bacon
Dedication
To the readers who have stayed the course. To my friends and family who everyday don an armor of love, thank you for your invaluable insight and humor about it all. Have a wonderful holiday everyone. And a special birthday greeting to Darlene.
Umwah!
S.W. Frank
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Glossary
Prologue
Professional killers are arrogant.
They have a killer swag; a damn-right cold and mesmerizing stroll. They’re admired by an opponent and take pride in what they do. Most hitmen believe they're the best; it's the elusive ones who usually are. Anybody who’s had the misfortune to look a professional in the eye and survive the encounter wasn’t lucky; the assassin didn’t want the person dead –yet.
Hit-men never advertise their occupation to the public. Not even those in the know really know who's who, but the Big Boss and Underboss often do.
They’re classifications of assassins, the serial killer or psychopath is in an entirely different category; they’re deranged.
Professionals aren't insane; they're rather sane in fact, just highly skilled at their craft. Their victims aren’t random, killed in fits of passion or due to psychological impairment. They’re not J.D’s, Helter Skelter’s or Sons of Sam. If a hit had been put on any of those guys, law enforcement would have received their suspect in a body bag, minus the many victims from their murderous rampages.
Experts are advanced in hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, survival techniques and intelligence gathering. They’re physically and mentally superior in kicking ass. The military does okay in teaching basics but good isn’t great, plus the government compensation sucks. If a soldier becomes disgruntled or craves the adrenalin high when his tour ends, freelancing becomes an option. Thus, you have the contractors with money as an incentive, and excitement the natural drug. Then there are paramilitary groups who are organized armed religious fanatics or political rebels, akin to Kamikaz
es to some degree, they’ll hit a target and sacrifice themselves to do it. But, the crème-de-crème is non-military personnel; the elite assassin or hit-man. He or she often works solo, on occasion in small groups if a job has multiple targets. Every Mafiya has them, loyalty to the family is their pledge and the pay is incidental, but rest assured their salary is a whole lot.
Legends like the Butcher, Vignotti, Seizman and others are what the latest generation aspired to become. They were green and failed to understand, years on the job and surviving the hazards is how one received such distinction. Young people didn’t want to put in the work. Oh, they want a lot of things they haven’t earned. That’s why there are vets and active senior assassins who come out when a job requires their expertise, a person like Nico Serano, the leader smirked and –him.
The hot temperature hadn’t affected the squad leader at all. He worked under worse conditions. Sitting quietly with the younger men, the leader checked his artillery. There was a celebration winding down and he needed to be ready. Another few hours they’d move in on their targets. By then the soon to be deceased were certain to be asleep or have slower reactionary timing due to the copious consumption of liquor.
An inhalation right before dawn appears is when the leader's hand shot up and he signaled the group.
No damn talking.
The young had to learn when to shut the fuck up.
This wasn't a training exercise; death is final.
He pointed northeast and to the west and specialty boots were on the run. Four fingers went in the air. Men fell in step and then sprint like gazelles over the hot terrain to the main house, the place where another leader slept. The security was disabled; the entry took seconds before he led men up stairs.
A step creaked and booted feet stopped. Ears listened for sounds above, and when none came the figures ascended in a hurried rush. The first door was kicked opened and bullets sprayed the figures lying in the bed, and an execution occurred to every person found alive in the house.
The operation took less time than eating breakfast.
A hand rose in the air and then a fist halted the soldiers in their tracks. The leader cocked his head toward the light beneath a door when they were perched to exit in the rear.
Stone features, marked with battle scars, wrinkled near the mouth slightly frowned. He snarled as he gestured toward the laundry room door. Pairs of combat boots were soft thuds on the wooden floor heading in the direction of the nethermost light. Within seconds muzzle flashes lit up the dark area of the hall. The soldiers that were sent stumbled against the wall with bullet holes in their torso clinging to their armored vests. They went down as more gunfire erupted, crawling out of the way but were struck by more rounds as the shooter unleashed rounds to their heads.
The leader grunted.
A lone Protezione.
He gestured for the soldiers to hold in place. He wanted this fight, ah; he craved a battle with a vet. It was what he lived for. He crouched as he moved along the base of the wall straight to the door where the shots emitted. A twist of his wrist and the compression of a finger sent bullets inside. He struck someone; it’s a familiar sound when someone falls. A quick peek inside brought a sinister smile of glee as the guy struggled to his feet with streaks of blood running along his leg and arm. He had dropped his weapon. The leader of the intruders was in the room before he could retrieve it, and kicked the weapon out of his reach.
“You will not need that,” the Leader said, circling around to the front of the man. The smugness of someone experienced dissolved when he came face-to-face with a youth with mahogany skin and eyes so blue, he resembled a panther glaring from trees during a nocturnal safari.
The youth rose to his full height. Impressive was the stature of a teen clad in only dark briefs. It was evident the boy exited the bed at the sound of intruders and sought to defend his house. The leader lifted his arm to shoot but swifter limbs dislodged the gun from his hands. It is then the Leader recognized the young can be apt pupils. The youth fought with such ferocity, a blow to the Leader’s throat and another to his ribs actually brought pain. Even with injuries the boy’s stance was firm, forceful kicks and knee shots to the groin may have inflicted more damage except the attacker’s wounds lessened the impact.
The leader caught the youth’s wrist; twisted, strained muscles were bulging branches in the neck, arms and hands. He slammed the youth on his knees. There wasn’t a flinch, or cry for mercy which may come from weaker opponents afraid to die. This youth sought honor, facing death after fighting bravely was the way.
Sadness, yes, he was actually saddened to take such a promising life. Thus he sliced quickly. The boy would not suffer. The blade severed the jugular; a spurting geyser of potential shot out. The Leader released hold of the strong teen with a sigh of remorse.
He did not hear the soft whimper of the women beneath his feet when the body hit the floor. Below, someone clutched a small child, and another her swollen belly. An elderly man cramped in the underground crawl space pressed his fingers on the worn tome. His eyes closed so tight his head shook from the vibration. Alazar had fought honorably before his death in protection of the family. Wedged beneath the floor, an elder observed from a crack in the boards a battle and his aged heart convulsed in sadness. The last of his great grandsons was a toddler, safely held with his mother right near his feet. He ordered Alazar to go with the women, but the obstinate youth refused to hide. They could not all fit in the space, someone had to stay behind.
“No,” Alazar had said to his elder. “Great Abahago, you are the last of the aged and your wisdom is invaluable. Not all is found within books. Shield the family and our esteemed guest. I join Abo with pride; your time has not come.”
The intruders were heard then and Alazar was determined. An elder lost the battle of words shortened by time. “Tebarek!” he said and then reluctantly joined the women and child. A reinforced plank concealed the family.
An elder had peered up, witnessing bravery. Here is where Alazar lay; bleeding rivers on those he loved. A Wedi would not welcome his twentieth birthday; he died in honor as he was taught.
An inaudible exhalation from an old man joined the wind as the boots marched overhead unaware of silent tears shed for the dead. The boy’s sacrifice would not go unavenged, that he swore.
The leader stood outside of the large modern abode. He rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension. He wiped a wet spot at the corner of his mouth. Blood clung to his fingers.
This was the last house of the elders.
Every adversary was removed. Yet, an injured boy had struck many blows to a veteran’s ego. The blue eyes of an African would forever dance in his thoughts. He could not underestimate the will of the young who are professionally trained and skilled. The ring he removed from the dead youth’s finger would serve as the reminder.
Several hours later, the night assassins stood on the tarmac in formation. Chins and eyes rose as the Big Boss inspected men’s faces for weakness.
None of the soldiers blinked.
Cold eyes satisfied with the emotionless gazes, directed his attention on the leader of the murderous band. The men had gone into Eritrea, conflict there was the perfect cover for their heinous crimes. Sudanese and Eritreans fleeing across the borders to Israel for asylum had opened the gates for this operation unknowingly. Had stability been in place, the slaughtered men would have seen them coming.
The eye glaring at the faces of the soldiers was unreadable. He’d been on the side of Israel, worked to fight against the threat of Muslim extremists seeking to kill his people over territories, but the killings continued and as suspected nothing had changed. In fact, it had become a tiresome undertaking. Demands, and entitlements based on old scriptures, reclaiming soil, and pushing others out. Religious men engaged in these conflicts, indignation over past wrongs made them right in their eyes. There is no reason with men. A select few understood these internal conflicts were ancient squabbles and the
re is a time to put them to rest. But greed and stubbornness persist. Thus, a shrug came from the man who paced. He had tired of the bickering decades ago. If he were to kill, it would not be for nations, but himself, his house and power.
The amendment to the 1954 Prevention of Infiltration Law had been initially passed by the Israeli parliament to prevent the entry of Palestinians as part of emergency legislation. The laws were recently expanded to curtail illegal immigration from Africa. The legal ramifications which granted Israel the power to detain illegal migrants for up to three years came into effect in the wake of widening public controversy over the influx of African migrants who crossed into Israel along its border with Egypt, even those seeking legitimate asylum.
Extreme?
Of course.
The man clucked his tongue as he paced. Times of war had birthed uncompromising leaders, and well intentioned gatekeepers of morality. Human rights organizations viewed the amendment as a harsh step which contradicts the United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. The Hotline for Migrant Workers, says the laws are "born in sin" and is a "dark moment” for Israel. Instead of acting like all civilized countries and verifying requests for asylum and granting refugee status to those who are eligible, which Israel is obligated to do under the UN convention. But, the state sees mass imprisonment of thousands of people, women and children, whose only offense was seeking escape from murderous regimes, as a solution to the problem. This solution will not solve a thing as it is neither humane nor effective.
Who were the extremists and oppressors now?
Nothing had changed.
Countries worsened.
People were sheep and governments the shepherds.
Who is right?
Nobody; the soil, the earth existed first and will remain long after the pettiness of people are gone. These conflicts of nations were cyclical, and he had become bored.
His father, a rabbi had called a scholarly black man a Kushi, which is the Israeli equivalent of a nigger. Why, because the man debated the moral and ethical grounds in which Israel should revisit the law and their continual use of their religion to seek special treatment in America with the police. Although anti-Semitism exists, it is a form of racism which in turn is what Israel is doing to the Africans with this xenophobia based on ethnicity. He reminded his father of the treatment of Jewish refugees seeking asylum in other nations during the Holocaust. Had many nations given protection to those fleeing persecution, the numbers of slaughtered would not have been in the millions. The conflicts in the African nations were bringing people across borders, not for any other purpose other than safety. There is a moral obligation of a country to act without stripping a person’s dignity when seeking refuge. Skin color should not determine whether aid is granted, just as religion or ethnicity. The brotherhood of man shows each has had their brushes with wars and mass exodus to avoid bloodshed of innocents is why many flee to safe harbor.