Painless

by Derek Ciccone

  The hallways of the underground caves were full of smoke. They covered their mouths and noses the best they could and fought through it. Chuck followed Miss Rose like a halfback behind his pulling guard. She used her twenty years of experience to guide them through the hazy fumes. In the distance, they could hear medical supplies exploding like fireworks on the Fourth of July. They reached the “security room” and Miss Rose used the key card to open its heavy door.

  What they found was horrifying. It was a pile of death. Bodies on top of bodies. It was Auschwitz.

  “Oh my God—no!” Chuck shouted as he dashed in. He pulled people out—some alive—some he wasn’t sure—some were already gone. He wouldn’t stop until he found Beth.

  He located her, barely conscious, clinging to an older woman. He slung his wife over his shoulder and ran out, stepping on bodies. It might’ve been selfish, but he didn’t care—the only thing he cared about was Beth.

  He laid her on the ground and checked her pulse. It was slight, and her breathing shallow.

  “Stay with me, baby!” he shouted, tapping her cheeks. The ones she passed on to Carolyn.

  Her eyes struggled open and he gave a “thank God” gesture to the sky. Miss Rose continued dragging people out. The woman, the one Beth was clinging to, also tried her best to help between ferocious coughs, but was too weak to make a difference.

  Chuck couldn’t leave Beth. He looked deep into her eyes. The eyes she passed on to Carolyn. “Are you alright?”

  She smiled. “I am now.”

  He always knew when she wasn’t telling the truth.

  Chapter 96

  Mitchell Jones was never one to stay down on the canvas. He tore off a piece of his bloodstained T-shirt and tied it around his wounded forehead, Karate Kid-style. He then maneuvered around the plantation, completing his mission. Nothing remained standing as he eliminated any remaining evidence. Well, not all of it, but he would keep the part about Chuck Whitcomb beating him to a pulp and disappearing with his gun to himself.

  When he finished torching the barn where the stallions were kept, he took care of his own men. Everyone and everything was evidence. One by one he executed all of his men, including his long time confidants, Regan and Poindexter. Survival of the fittest, he proudly thought.

  He then returned to the Plantation Office and prepared it for a torching of biblical proportions. He drenched it with gasoline from a can he found in a rusted tool shed behind the office. He was ready to set the place ablaze when a man in a formal military uniform walked in like he owned the place.

  “Has the mission been completed?” Kerry Rutherford asked in his intimidating voice.

  “All secure,” Jones replied, leaving out the part about Chuck Whitcomb. He probably tried to escape over the wall anyway and was now nothing but charcoal.

  “You got rid of all the evidence?” Rutherford double checked.

  “The place is nothing but a big barbecue,” Jones boasted.

  “So it is safe to bring in Senator LaRoche?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “But I think you missed one piece of evidence, Jones.”

  Did he know about Whitcomb? He didn’t ascend to the head of US intelligence by not knowing stuff.

  “What’s that?” Jones attempted to play dumb.

  Rutherford pulled out a pistol and coldly said, “You.”

  Jones actually smiled with admiration as he stared down the barrel of the gun. This was survival of the fittest in its purest form. He had taken his mind off the quest—seeking credit, just like Stipe—and he knew it. It went against the laws of nature. His last thought was how proud he was to serve under a man like Rutherford, who was a true survivalist like himself.

  Chapter 97

  Billy sat in the back of Senator Oliver LaRoche’s stretch limousine, parked safely outside the gates of Jordan Plantation. LaRoche sat to his right, with Dana and Carolyn on his other side. LaRoche was dressed in what all politicians wear when they want to be filmed looking like the “common man”—the dreaded flannel shirt. Dana and Carolyn were dressed to impress, robbing Kelly and Maddie’s respective closets. Billy was not going for the dapper look. He wore a ragged, scarlet and gray Ohio State sweatshirt that Kelly had stolen from him years ago.

  Before leaving for the plantation, Billy did what he should have done hundreds of times over the past couple years—he kissed his daughters good-bye, hugged them the best he could with the sling on his shoulder, and then went to work. LaRoche called off Wednesday’s Senate hearings due to “important and confidential” information he received last evening concerning the Iran hostage situation. They then drove to Clarksville and waited for the sun to rise over Buggs Island Lake, but it never showed.

  But the gloomy, overcast morning was soon ablaze, a volcano of fire erupting throughout the plantation. They couldn’t help but stare with stunned silence from the safety of the limo. Billy made eye contact with Dana, who communicated back her fear for Chuck and Beth’s safety.

  Billy could tell LaRoche had other things on his mind, perhaps debating a fast getaway as the place went up like Waco. Another government invasion into a cult compound that ended up in disaster, filled with an inferno of death and fire. Billy had to admit that LaRoche was good at his craft. He knew that when potential political fires swirled, you don’t go back in to save people or stop-drop-and-roll, you run like hell in the other direction and never admit you were there.

  Carolyn was mesmerized, as if she were watching Fourth of July fireworks. “That’s a big barbecue,” she said in typical do-ra-mi.

  “It sure is,” Billy said, his distracted thoughts still squarely on Chuck and Beth.

  “Is all that fire because the dragons live there? They shoot fire, ya know.”

  “The fire is because the fireflies have all joined together to make one really-really big firefly that is beating up all the dragons.”

  “Dragons are mean,” Carolyn added. “I’m glad a really-really big firefly is beating them up.”

  So was Billy.

  LaRoche finally received the call they’d been nervously waiting for. Likely wanting witnesses to cover his rear, he allowed everyone in the car to listen to the call through a Bluetooth hands-free device built into the vehicle’s stereo system. Rutherford described an epic battle that confirmed that the plantation was the headquarters of Operation Anesthesia. It had been secured by his men and was now safe to enter.

  The limo drove down the long driveway, trying to avoid the sights, sounds, and smell of what looked like a war-torn nation. They moved under the arch-like entry and pulled right up to the front of the manor house.

  LaRoche walked with hesitance. Politicians like certainty. Not the hero or goat potential of an athlete. Carolyn walked with a similar hesitancy, stating that all the dragons hadn’t been removed. But there was no turning back now. Billy reached his hands out to his “Bonnies,” who grabbed on for safety as they walked through the open front door.

  “In here,” echoed the voice of Kerry Rutherford. It was his “I’m in charge” voice.

  They passed through the empty dining room that smelled charred, but was still intact, including the guillotine-looking fan over the table. The next room was the impressive saloon that contained the grand staircase Carolyn joked she was going to leap off during Billy’s last visit. It was only a few weeks ago, but seemed like a different lifetime.

  Rutherford stood by the staircase. He appeared most ready for the photo op, decked out in a military uniform for the occasion.

  “There were many casualties,” Rutherford grimly informed.

  “How many?” LaRoche asked with concern. Billy figured he was still pondering an escape. Casualties never look good in tomorrow’s newspaper, even if the cause was just.

  “No way to tell right now. We are still searching the grounds,” Rutherford stated with a quiver of emotion in his voice. “We’re dealing with five hundred acres.”

  “What about my sister and her husband?” Dana blurted
out.

  Rutherford ominously lowered his head. “Operation Anesthesia began trying to burn all the evidence and all those who were enslaved here. And when my men tried to stop them, they were fired upon.”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” Billy stated angrily. He was still not getting a good vibe from Rutherford. He looked to Carolyn, who was a savant when it came to vibes, and he could tell she was no fan either.

  “Fireflies didn’t get all the dragons,” she muttered, her eyes searching for an escape route.

  “No, we haven’t found them yet. And I’m going to be straight with you—I fear the worst. We’ve found underground tunnels containing piles of bodies. People were murdered like those in a concentration camp,” Rutherford said.

  Billy put an arm around Dana. She lost all the color in her face and looked on the verge of collapse.

  LaRoche was more pragmatic. “What about the evidence? Were you able to save any?”

  “We are actively searching.”

  “Then how can you be so sure this was Operation Anesthesia?” LaRoche squealed in a high-pitched voice, constricted by the tightening political noose.

  “Because I know it is,” Rutherford barked. “My men just died to find this deadly truth, so don’t you attack my integrity, Senator!”

  “What about your inside source? We need him to validate your claims.”

  “We haven’t located him yet. And my claims don’t need validation.”

  Just as Rutherford’s words vaporized into the air, a rumble could be heard from the top of the stairs. They looked to see a woozy looking man who appeared to have taken a blow to the head. He began to gingerly descend the stairs

  “Dash—you’re alive,” Rutherford exclaimed.

  The man didn’t reply. He appeared dazed, looking around the room like he was trying to get his bearings. So Rutherford spoke for him.

  “This, Senator, is the brave and heroic doctor who was so willing to risk his own life for the greater good. He was able to infiltrate Operation Anesthesia.”

  Chapter 98

  Carolyn looked puzzled. She seemed to be having trouble placing the doctor on the dragon/firefly scale. She usually didn’t have these troubles. “Who are you?” she asked.

  Billy recognized the man, and had no trouble placing him on the scale. “Carolyn, this is Dr. Dash Naqui.”

  “Do I know you?” the man finally spoke.

  “You treated a friend of mine many years ago. Perhaps you remember—it was on Christmas Day in New York,” Billy informed.

  “What was your friend’s name?”

  “Nathan Pennington.”

  Naqui’s eyes shifted away. “I treat a lot of people.”

  LaRoche looked uneasy. This was the direct opposite of certainty.

  “I’m sure you do, doctor, but I would think you would remember the ones you kidnap.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “I’m talking about Nathan Pennington and his parents, Carol Ann and Steve. Did you ever find their daughter Elizabeth, Dr. Naqui?”

  Rutherford erupted, “You are out of line, Mr. Harper. This man is a hero and a patriot.”

  “And a kidnapper.”

  “Takes one to know one, Harper. You need to stand down.”

  Billy stared down the bully. “Were you involved in this also?”

  Rutherford’s face scorched with anger.

  LaRoche squirmed. “I think we all need to calm down. Baseless accusations aren’t helping us solve this. Let’s stick to the facts.”

  They were interrupted by a crash coming from the basement. Loud footsteps then barreled up the creaky stairs.

  A voice called out. “Help—somebody—I need a doctor!”

  It was a voice Billy recognized.

  It was Chuck’s voice.

  “Daddy!” Carolyn shouted out.

  A charred and ashen Chuck Whitcomb entered the room with Beth lying lifelessly in his arms. He softly set her on the ground and kissed her on the forehead. Only a soft cough indicated any sign of life.

  “I’m a doctor,” Naqui offered, moving toward Beth.

  Chuck wouldn’t have it. “You stay away from her.”

  “Your wife is dying—I’m the only one here who can help her.”

  Chuck punched the man in the jaw and he fell to the ground.

  “You know him?” Billy asked.

  “He’s the one who paralyzed us with drugs to bring us here. Then he tried to do it again upstairs.”

  Rutherford spoke over them, “Dr. Naqui was playing a role. You don’t understand what one has to do to infiltrate an organization. You must demonstrate loyalty.”

  Chuck didn’t care. He picked up Naqui by the shirt collar and stuck his gun in his face. “If she dies, you die. Fix her!”

  Naqui kneeled beside Beth and took her pulse. His facial expressions were not giving off confidence.

  Another woman appeared from the basement and called out, “Please help! People are down here—please help!”

  The woman was on the backend of middle age and her face was wrinkled with anguish. Billy couldn’t place her, but was sure he knew her from somewhere.

  When the woman saw Naqui next to Beth, she turned into a pit bull. “You—you son of a bitch!” she exclaimed.

  “I’m trying to help her,” Naqui replied.

  “Like you helped my son by kidnapping him? You get away from my daughter!”

  The words my daughter told Billy everything he needed to know. She was older than the pictures he’d seen, but it was definitely Carol Ann Pennington. Beth’s mom!

  Before he even had time to process this new development, Carolyn let out a loud “uh-oh,” diverting everyone’s attention. Billy turned to see Kerry Rutherford pointing a gun at them. Carolyn was secured in his other arm. She was collateral.

  “You’re behind this?” LaRoche asked Rutherford.

  “I don’t think you heard me earlier, Senator. What was done here was heroic and courageous. It was about sacrificing for the greater good, something you’d know nothing about. Leaving this world in a better place than we got it. That is what Operation Anesthesia was about.”

  Naqui hung his head. “It’s over, Kerry.”

  Rutherford’s eyes flamed. “Operation Anesthesia might be over, but fighting for the greater good will never be over. Until we get to a day when we won’t have to bury any more patriots, like those courageous men who were doing their job in Beirut, this will not be over. Until no more Greg Ponson’s die in your arms, Dash, this will not be over.”

  “Put the gun down,” LaRoche said, practically begging.

  Rutherford looked at him with venom. “You are responsible for this, not me, Senator.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, but please put the gun down and we can discuss your concerns.”

  “Talk? That’s all you want to do in government. Do you know how many 9/11s were averted because of Operation Anesthesia? And all you politicians do is cut my legs out while I’m trying to protect you.”

  He fired his gun twice, startling everyone. He shot a bullet into each of LaRoche’s legs. Now he was symbolically cutting out his legs. LaRoche fell to the ground and screamed like a baby.

  By the time the second shot shattered LaRoche’s kneecap, Chuck was already bull-rushing Rutherford. He was going to save his daughter and ask questions later. Rutherford saw him out of the corner of his eye and raised the gun. He was going to shoot Chuck!

  That’s when Beth, conjuring the last breaths left in her destroyed lungs, somehow found the strength to rise to her feet and ran at Rutherford shouting, “No!”

  He turned and fired a panic shot. It hit Beth directly in the chest and she fell to the ground. Dana screamed, “Oh my God—Beth—no!”

  Carolyn ran to the safety of her father. But Billy saw Chuck’s rage and pulled Carolyn away from him. He hid her head in his sweatshirt, away from what he didn’t want her to witness. Her father was about to kill the U.S. D
irector of National Intelligence!

  Rutherford looked at Naqui, saluted, and then belted out, “I proudly sacrifice my own life for the greater good.”

  Naqui didn’t look so sure.

  Before Chuck could fill him with bullets, Sonny Corleone at the tollbooth style, Rutherford stuck his pistol in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 99

  Rutherford’s body hadn’t even hit the floor, and Chuck’s attention was already on Beth. He pointed his gun at Naqui and reiterated, “She dies, you die.”

  Naqui’s facial expression said he didn’t like his odds. He ripped open her shirt to find nothing but blood. He worked like his life was on the line, which it was. But he was a doctor, and despite what many of his colleagues often thought, they were not miracle workers.

  Chuck fought back tears, urging, “C’mon, Beth, stay with us.”

  Her eyes remained lucid and clear. She was still “with us,” but barely. She looked at Billy and smiled. He smiled back at his kindred in pain. She then pushed Naqui away. Despite Chuck’s threats, he honored her wishes. They both knew the score.

  Naqui looked helplessly at her. “Do you want any pain medication?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, pain means I’m still alive.”

  Her attention turned to Carolyn. Beth was running out of sand in her hourglass, but she was still focused on the future—Carolyn’s future. She looked deep into Carolyn’s scared eyes and urged her to her side. Beth struggled to a sitting position, while Carolyn sat pretzel-style beside her on the floor.

  Carolyn looked at her with amazement. “Mommy—you got shot.”

  Beth nodded her head the best she could between coughs.

  “I got shot too—look,” Carolyn said, pulling down the collar of her shirt for Beth to see. She looked how any parent would look if their child was shot—horrified.