The time was finally here. He had received a call on his international cell phone late last night. “Export likely. Proceed. Funds will be transferred upon completion.”
Everything’s in code with these Department of Defense guys; nothing is what it seems. No wonder I don’t trust them. In this case, “export” meant extradition. As in the extradition of Michael Swenson back to the States. Dennis wasn’t quite sure what the DOD guys were afraid of, but whatever it was, they wanted Swenson eliminated. He intended to find out their reasons before he completed his mission. That kind of information might be valuable.
Dennis had spent days cultivating Swenson’s trust. He arranged to “bump into” Swenson in this very café upon arrival. The man was jumpy and constantly looking over his shoulder. Several cervezas, numerous shots of tequila and two whores later and they were the best of friends.
Michael Swenson was a lonely, frightened man. He was a shadow of the person in the photo Dennis carried in his bag. In the picture, Swenson was slim and handsome, just a touch of gray at the temples. Every inch the successful CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Now he looked bloated and disheveled. His former strong jaw line was fleshy and his eyes were constantly bloodshot with alcohol.
Today would be the end for Swenson. Dennis had rented a car and would suggest that the two of them do a little sightseeing. Once away from prying eyes, the assassin would dispose of his new friend. Dennis possessed the calm of a man with well thought-out plans. And one without a conscience. It had been destroyed by nanochips several weeks ago.
He found that he was good at this new career. His first two kills were with that idiot, Kurt Manning, when they were sent to retrieve the microchip from the ME’s office in Duluth. Murder had not been in the plans. Dennis shrugged his shoulders in a philosophical way. Messy, but in the end, necessary. He had learned a lot that day.
And the money was great. From this job alone, he was looking at a payoff of a quarter of a million dollars. He had no idea how much NeuroDyamics had received for their part in his contract, but he really didn’t care. Just as long as I get my fair share.
The whine of an approaching moped distracted Dennis. A pretty brunette was expertly weaving the scooter around stopped cars, her skirt hiked up to reveal toned, bronzed legs. He was instantly aroused. Before the microchip implant, he had been shy around women. As a teen, constant migraines had forced him to spend hours, even days alone in his darkened room. He had no opportunities to develop social skills. Now that the headaches were gone, he felt powerful. Like he could take any woman he chose. He would satisfy his lust soon.
After his job was completed, of course.
He snapped open the morning’s issue of USA Today. He flipped through the pages until he got to the section for the individual states. Under the Minnesota heading, a small article caught his eye:
CEO wanted for questioning in Department of Defense scandal, involving SolarSource, a highly profitable alternative fuel source company based in Minneapolis. Authorities have tracked Michael Turnbolt Swenson III, to an unnamed country in South America. Sources close to the case have indicated that extradition is imminent.
Dennis whistled softly. No wonder they’re getting antsy. SolarSource had been in the news frequently in recent years, because it had been awarded defense contracts worth billions over the last couple of years. The military wanted lightweight, portable energy sources for their vehicles and camps in Afghanistan and Iraq. Everyone was happy until the solar panels proved faulty and overpriced. There were rumors of bribery at the highest levels of the Pentagon.
Most outrageous of all, there were reports that the DOD was fully aware of the defective solar panels when they signed the purchase orders. Several documented cases had surfaced of soldiers dying as a result of the flawed panels. The case receiving the greatest share of attention occurred at a Marine outpost in the northeastern part of Afghanistan. Eighty-six Marines were killed when their communication links were lost due to failed solar panels. Unable to call for air support, they were overrun by Taliban forces and massacred.
An ambitious Congress woman from Iowa was leading the crusade to investigate the improprieties. Swanson’s testimony would bring down a shitstorm on the heads of the DOD.
Dennis turned back to the front page and scanned the headlines. Beneath the fold, the name “NeuroDynamics” was in bold print. He sat up straight and read quickly, horrified to discover that the man responsible for his release from a lifetime of pain had been killed. Dennis read about the FBI’s investigation into “dangerous neurological experiments.” Special Agent Schwann and the famous neurosurgeon, Dr. John Goodman were featured as heroes that broke the case.
For a moment, Dennis couldn’t breathe. His anger was so intense that his vision dimmed. How dare they interfere with the genius of Charles Candleworth? Not only was the man responsible for curing him, he also provided a new, lucrative career for Dennis.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Calm settled in once again. He would deal with Special Agent Schwann and Dr. Goodman personally when he returned to the States. He owed it to Candleworth.
Dennis looked up in time to see the approach of Swenson. His mind was clear and so was his mission. His work day had begun.
Afterword
Fourth of July
“Knee high by the Fourth of July” is the standard measurement of corn growth, but in Turners Bend the corn was shoulder high this Fourth, making local farmers shamelessly proud. Bingo tables were set under awnings on the lawn of Sacred Heart Church, while the aroma of grilled meat wafted over from the lawn of First Lutheran. Volunteer firemen were busy setting up for the evening’s firework display. Children ran around town with sparklers and squirt guns, shrieking and howling like banshees. Parade units lined up in the park. Flag bearers squeezed their bellies into musty old military uniforms. Teenage baton twirlers with ample bosoms strutted in their sequined costumes. Sven, sporting a beret, was everywhere with his video camera, yelling “Action” and “Cut.”
Iver Ingebretson was the parade’s Grand Marshal. Chip put down the top of his Volvo, and Iver and Mabel perched on the top of the backseat. Mabel wore her wedding suit but traded the pillbox hat for a sun visor. Iver, at Mabel’s urging, had consented to wear a wild Hawaiian shirt with palm leaves and a straw hat with miniature beer cans around the brim. They had a bucket of Tootsie Pops and Jolly Ranchers to toss to the children along the parade route. Runt sat in the passenger seat, his head held high as if he were royalty. Chip slowly motored down Main Street, honking the horn and waving to friends. All of Honey’s first litter and their owners were along the route, even Petunia who had traveled from Des Moines for the event. They barked their greetings to Runt, and he woofed in return.
On the sidewalk in front of the Bun stood Maribelle Collingsworth and Dr. Charles Jr., Chip’s mother and father. Maribelle was dressed in a Donna Karan sundress and a huge floppy-brimmed hat with a gigantic chiffon bow. She was further decked out in three-inch high heels with peek-a-bow toes and a dozen gold bracelets. She was perfectly dressed for the Kentucky Derby or Ascot. The doctor wore white pants and a navy blazer, very nautical. They were quite an attraction. His mother waved a little American flag as Chip passed by. His father, looking uncomfortable and totally out of his element, saluted.
Jane and Ingrid were in front of the veterinary clinic with Honey. The new puppies were in a pen. Ingrid had made a sign, which read “Puppies Free to Good Homes.” By the end of the day all the puppies were spoken for. Chip’s mother had fallen in love with little Colette, who would soon be traveling to her new home in Baltimore.
As he drove along with the sun beating down on his bare head, Chip marveled at his happiness and his deepening sense of belonging to a place. He briefly turned to the backseat and said, “Hey, Iver, this is the good life, isn’t it?”
“God’s in his heaven, and all is right with the world,” replied Iver.
The man never ceased to amaze Chip. Who would have thought Iver
could quote Robert Browning?
Chip scanned the crowd on the left side of the street and spotted two men. They looked like migrant workers. Something was vaguely familiar and strangely unsettling about them, but he couldn’t recall where he had seen them before. He gave them a friendly wave. Neither acknowledged his gesture, but as one of the men reached in his jeans pocket to retrieve a pair of sunglasses, Chip glimpsed a gun holster under his arm.
Book Group Discussion Guide
1. Chip Collingsworth has been married and divorced three times. With a track record like his, do you think it is possible for a person to achieve a healthy, lasting fourth marriage? What are your experiences with multiple marriages?
2. For decades Americans have sheltered money offshore in Swiss and Cayman Island banks, just as Hal Swanson does in this story. Given sufficient funds, would you consider this tax strategy? What are your reasons? Do you know of anyone who is doing this now?
3. The state of Iowa has invested heavily in alternative power with wind farms and corn ethanol. What do you see as the pros and cons of alternative energy efforts? What sacrifices would you be willing to make to reduce America’s reliance on fossil fuels?
4. In Headaches Can Be Murder, Mabel and livestock have been victims of polluted water. How comfortable are you with drinking the water from your household tap? What are the pros and cons of switching to filtered water? Bottled water?
5. Mind control is the theme of Brain Freeze. Behavior can be controlled by conditioning and hypnosis, among other ways. Do you believe a person can be forced to act in a way against his or her moral values? If so, what are some examples? If not, why not?
6. Often there is a fine line between victim and abettor. In Brain Freeze, is Belinda a victim or did she contribute to her own downfall?
7. Cinnamon rolls are so popular in Iowa that there is an annual Cinnamon Roll Contest at the Iowa State Fair. Share with each other where you can find the best cinnamon rolls in your city or state. (Then run right out and treat yourself to one!)
Table of Contents
Copyright © 2012 Marilyn Rausch and Mary Donlon
www.northstarpress.com
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Ninteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Epilogue
Afterword
Book Group Discussion Guide
Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder Page 26