Green File Crime Thrillers Box Set

by James Kipling

  “It's over. It's really over,” Tom whispered in a trembling voice. “America is destroyed.”

  “Yes, America is destroyed,” a voice spoke.

  Tom swung away from the window and saw Jacob standing, like a creepy monster, in the basement doorway. “I would like to be left alone.”

  Jacob stepped into the kitchen, closed the basement door, and then walked over to a rusted kitchen sink and tried the water. “It's nice when the water turns on, when a person can take a hot shower, and have their pantry filled with food...” Lost in his own thoughts, Jacob began playing with the knob for the cold water. “Before the Europeans arrived in America, the Native Americans understood how to take care of themselves, Pastor. There were no grocery stores, drug stores, power plants, malls, colleges, car lots, doctor offices, hospitals...the land was pure and the people who lived on the land knew how to survive.”

  Tom listened to the rusty knob move back and forth, filling the cold, gray kitchen with the sound of doom and dread.

  “Jacob—”

  “A man depended on himself,” Jacob continue in a distant voice. “It’s not that way today.” Jacob shook his head. “Today, people depend on the government for everything; power, water, food, medicine, entertainment, education, and they're all puppets programmed to be pigs sucking on their momma's gut.”

  Jacob turned away from the sink to face Tom, and then walked over to a rusted refrigerator and opened it. The refrigerator opened, reminding Tom of a coffin opening.

  “Empty,” Jacob spoke, staring into a dark tomb. “Empty like the hearts and minds of most Americans; like most people living on the face of this planet.” Jacob closed the refrigerator but didn't turn to face Tom. “Over two-hundred years ago, brave men fought tyranny and won their independence in a fierce war,” he continued. “That war never ended. The enemies of those men, knowing they would never win militarily, began attacking in a different way.”

  “Jacob—”

  Jacob held up his right hand. “How do you destroy a nation?” he asked Tom. “You destroy the people of that nation by programming them and altering their minds and hearts. You begin the attack while those people are mere children. It's called social programming, Pastor.”

  “Yes, I'm aware of Social Programming,” Tom told Jacob, allowing the man to speak his thoughts.

  “Social Programming, financial control, increase in governmental powers, creation of agencies like the IRS and the FBI, fear and manipulation...” Jacob left the refrigerator, walked over to a heavy wooden door, and rested his hand on a rusted doorknob. “Control the banks, Wall Street, the Federal Reserve. Create wars to control your enemies. It's all there, Pastor, written in black and white.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Pearl Harbor could have been prevented,” Jacob told Tom, keeping his voice low. “Hiroshima and Nagasaki...” Jacob shook his head in disgust. “Has anyone ever asked themselves how we managed to defeat the Germans and the Italians without the bomb, but not the Japanese?”

  “I've often pondered that question,” Tom confessed.

  “Countless innocent people; men, women, and children are dead…and for what?” Jacob turned and locked eyes with Tom. “It was time to end the game. Those in power grew tired of the war and were ready to move on with the next phase of their plan. The Japanese still had fight left in them. The bomb was the answer. It was complete evil. Maybe Roosevelt didn't have the guts, but maybe he did. It was Truman who ordered the bomb. That diseased rodent.”

  “Jacob, why are you telling me these things?” Tom inquired.

  Jacob lifted his right hand and touched his face. “Who am I to believe that America can matter again?” he asked himself, more than Tom. “Who am I to forget the past and hope for a better future?” Jacob closed his eyes. “My old man, he and I believed we could get America back on track, you know?” he asked. “We believed the impossible.”

  “God is not a God of impossibility,” Tom informed Jacob.

  Jacob opened his eyes, looked into Tom's old, wise face and then walked back to the sink. “America is a sinking ship, Pastor. I guess I knew that all along. So did my old man. We arrived on the scene a day late and a dollar short. The moral compass of America had turned south.” Jacob began fiddling with the cold-water knob again. “This land is covered with the blood of millions of innocent Native Americans who had their homes, their lives, their culture, their hearts torn away from them. The rivers and lakes and streams and the land is now poisoned. Power plants, highways, gang-filled neighborhoods, run down cities, waste plants; the hearts and minds of people have murdered this country, Pastor. They’ve laid waste to this land.”

  “I agree.” Tom slowly folded his arms.

  “I thought, you know, it’s like my old car; a little hard work and, who knows, maybe America could get back on track. You know?” Jacob told Tom in a troubled voice. “I wanted to believe our nation wasn't too far gone down the tunnel. I was wrong about America. The bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki; America died that day. Sure, the economy blossomed and people thought they were living the good life, but they were living inside a diseased grave. The men, all those brave men who died in the wars, they died for nothing.” Jacob turned away from the sink and looked at Tom. “You know, Pastor, I've read the Book of Revelation, and I have read the book of Luke. As in the days of Noah and Lot, I...we're in those days, aren't we?”

  “Yes, son, we are,” Tom informed Jacob in a stern but gentle tone.

  “But you still believe there is good in America?” Jacob asked in a confused voice.

  “Not the country son. The people,” Tom explained. “Jacob, there are men and women in this country that still fear God.”

  “But those men and women are under constant attack,” Jacob replied in an angry voice. “Abortion, homosexual marriages, immorality, it's all being rammed down their throats. Boys are being encouraged to think they’re girls. Girls are stating that they’re boys. Why, some people don't even think they’re a boy or a girl, and that's all cool, right? Sure. But let a man or woman stand for Biblical marriage? War begins.”

  “Jesus Christ taught us that, in the last days, it would be this way, son,” Tom told Jacob. “Jesus said the world will hate you because it hated Him first. And the world does hate us, because we stand firmly on the Holy Word of God.”

  “I know that's true,” Jacob nodded his head. “I have a few friends...well...had...who were atheists. I never talked about my belief in Jesus to them, but they were never shy about condemning every Christian they met.” Jacob looked into the cold, gray air with sad eyes. “They were filled with a hate that made my soul cringe. Murder an unborn baby...cool. Homosexuals...cool. Mention the name of Jesus and the fangs came out.”

  “The enemy is strong, son, and fills the hearts of sinners with lies,” Tom explained. “There will come a day when Jesus Christ will judge the world and every man according to their deeds. Right now, we’re living in the days of Noah and Lot; the very last days.”

  “If that's true, then what's the point of all this?” Jacob asked. He pointed at the basement door and let out a heavy breath. “If America is beyond hope…if it all boils down to individual self-accountability, then why continue the fight if America, as a whole, is destroyed?”

  Tom wasn't certain how to answer Jacob's question. Before he could speak, Alvin appeared in the basement doorway.

  “You guys better come take a look at this,” he said in a deep, troubled, voice.

  “What is it, Alvin?” Jacob demanded.

  “Come and see for yourselves.” Alvin motioned for Jacob and Tom to follow him back down into the basement. The two men hurried after Alvin and ended up standing back in front of the laptop.

  “This is a YouTube video that was recently uploaded by a man in Russia. Watch.” Alvin nodded his head at Mandy. “Play it.”

  Jacob glanced over his shoulder, saw Jessica sitting at the kitchen table staring down at a Bible,
and then focused on the video. A heavy-looking Russian, who appeared to be in his mid-sixties, began speaking. Jacob immediately recognized the man as the Russian Ambassador to the United States.

  “This is a warning to all Americans,” the Russian spoke while he was on a private jet that was racing back to Moscow. “I have been informed that my country is going to declare war on America within the next seventy-two hours. This news will not be broadcast on any American news outlet for at least two weeks. By then it will be too late.” The Russian picked up a cigar and placed it into his mouth. “I am sending this warning out to all of my Russian friends and family. You must leave America immediately. YouTube will certainly remove my warning within the next twenty-four hours. Please, for all of your sake, leave America and return to the motherland.” With those words the video ended.

  Jacob looked at Alvin who nodded his head and said in a scared voice, “Man, we're in trouble.”

  Mandy raised her head and focused on Jacob's worried eyes. “Now what?”

  “Yes, now what?” Tom pondered, as Jessica opened the Bible she had been staring at. “Maybe she will be shown the answer.” Tom whispered in a desperate voice, and then began to pray.

  Jacob, Alvin and Mandy heard Tom begin to pray and decided to join in, as Jessica turned the Bible sitting before her to the book of Matthew and began to read about the life of Jesus. If she was going to die and lose everything, so be it. But before death found her, she was going to find Jesus once again. And, this time…never let go.

  Chapter 3

  Awake

  Wendy Cratterson stared at Lionel with hard, cold eyes that matched her stony face. Instead of being grateful that Lionel had saved her from being killed by an agent sent by Roger Alden, she felt fury and resentment.

  “I don't need you,” she nearly spat at Lionel, sitting up in her hospital bed, feeling weak but not entirely helpless.

  Lionel folded his arms and prepared for a battle. “Mr. Petrov will station you where you are most needed,” he explained, keeping his voice calm and easy and allowing his thick British accent to appear. “Dr. Millins has assured Mr. Petrov that you—”

  “I'm alive,” Wendy snapped at Lionel, grabbed a can of apple juice off a metal tray holder that perched across the white sheet covering her healing body, and took a drink. “I'm also remembering...a lot,” she warned, sipping the apple juice the way a careful deer takes a drink of water from a cold stream in the midst of a danger zone. “Roger Alden is my number one threat, but I didn't ask you to step in.”

  “You called me,” Lionel reminded Wendy, keeping his voice easy. “You went R.O.G.U.E, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.” Wendy glanced around the dismal hospital room to study the few pieces of medical equipment that seemed to be watching her with bored eyes. “I also remember Jessica Mayes,” she said through an angry growl. “I remember I was about to kill the woman, and then she kicked me. My gun went off, then everything went black.”

  Lionel studied Wendy's furious eyes and decided it was time to bring the woman up to date. He walked to the door, opened it, and snapped his fingers. Two men dressed in gray suits hurried inside the room. One man was pushing a television cart carrying an old-fashioned television with a VCR attached, and the second man was carrying a metal box holding numerous VCR tapes. The two men quickly set up a viewing area and left without saying a word.

  “Mr. Petrov is still old fashioned,” Lionel explained, as he approached the television stand. “In a world consumed with advanced technology, I'm afraid Mr. Petrov still prefers the old dinosaurs.”

  “What is this?” Wendy demanded.

  Lionel opened the metal box sitting on the television stand and pulled out a VCR tape marked 'Red Day 1', and slipped the tape into the VCR player.

  “Wendy, I will be back in one hour to put in tape two. In the meantime, play smart, and watch how the world has changed.” Lionel turned on the television set, adjusted the volume, and then turned out the light in the room and left Wendy alone.

  Wendy narrowed her eyes and focused on the television set. A lovely newswoman, who was nothing more than a bought puppet, appeared and began spewing lies that were considered to be truth and power by a deceived nation that had turned into piglets sucking on poison bottles. The words 'nuclear attack' immediately struck Wendy's ears, causing the woman to lean up in her bed.

  “What...” she whispered and didn't speak again until a full hour passed. Ten minutes before the first tape ended, she ordered Lionel, “Next tape.”

  Lionel approached Wendy's bed and placed a plate holding a cheeseburger, a baked potato and a side of green beans onto the food tray sitting across Wendy's lap.

  “Eat,” he ordered, tossed in tape two, and left the room.

  Wendy glanced down at the food sitting on her lap with cautious eyes. She was hungry. That was a fact. But could she trust Lionel? Could she trust Boris Petrov?

  “If I'm alive, why would they kill me after going through so much trouble?” she asked, as tape two left off where tape one ended. Wendy quickly grabbed the cheeseburger and took a bite, tested the taste and nodded her head, then focused on the information being shown to her weary mind.

  An hour later, after finishing her meal and devouring every word tape two had to offer, Wendy ordered Lionel to play tape three. Lionel took Wendy's empty plate, handed her a chocolate protein shake, and inserted tape three into the VCR.

  “The play is going to become more intense,” he warned and then left the dark room. Wendy quickly took a sip of the protein shake while focusing on the television set. She watched as Jessica Mayes stepped out from behind a van parked in front of a snowy, run-down motel and began firing at a truck driver. Her eyes grew wide with shock when she saw Jessica gun the truck driver down.

  “Did she play me and lure me into a trap?” Wendy hissed under her breath. “Was I wrong to believe the woman was weak?” Wendy felt her cheeks turn red with fury and rage. “So, the delicate doe isn't so innocent.”

  After tape three ended, Lionel appeared with Dr. Millins. He turned on the room light and ordered Wendy to allow Dr. Millins to check her vitals. Wendy glared at Dr. Millins with cold, deadly eyes. Dr. Millins resembled an icy mortician who slept in freezing morgues.

  “Make it quick,” she ordered.

  Dr. Millins ignored Wendy's acidic tone. He was a fifty-year-old man who was highly addicted to gambling. Boris Petrov paid him well to work as a private doctor. It was against regulations for Dr. Millins to treat anyone other than Boris but, after Lionel had so delicately terminated the last doctor tending to Wendy Cratterson, Boris had decided to see to it that the next doctor was someone Lionel wouldn't dispose of so quickly. Boris wanted Wendy alive. He needed answers. Dr. Millins was the man he put in charge.

  “I assume you are feeling somewhat alive?” he asked in a tone that didn't sit well with Wendy.

  “I'm alive,” Wendy growled.

  Dr. Millins pulled a stethoscope from around his thin neck. “I need to listen to your heart.”

  “Get lost!” Wendy snapped. “I'm alive and that's all you need to know.”

  Dr. Millins stepped close to Wendy's bed and pointed a hard finger at her. “Listen to me and listen carefully,” he said in an icy tone. “Mr. Petrov is in charge, not you. Is that clear? I don't care if you live or die, but I have been put in charge of your care. Until Mr. Petrov reassigns me, you will do as I say or answer to him. Is that clear?”

  Wendy looked up into Dr. Millins’ empty eyes and saw a man she wasn't going to intimidate. “Get it over with,” she ordered in a voice that told Dr. Millins he wasn't dealing with a frightened little girl.

  Dr. Millins glanced back at Lionel, saw the man fold his arms, and then checked Wendy's vitals. “I have removed you from the morphine treatment,” he explained. “I have you taking a very strong Tylenol every four hours for pain.” Dr. Millins grabbed Wendy's left wrist and began taking the woman's pulse. “The last CT scan
was positive,” he continued. “I would prefer to run an MRI, but we are not a hospital. It was difficult enough acquiring a CT machine.”

  “I'm fine,” Wendy stated and tried to yank her wrist away from Dr. Millins. He reinforced his grip and held on to Wendy's wrist.

  “I have decided to try you out on solid foods and protein shakes,” Dr. Millins continued. “It is my opinion that, in a couple of days, you will be able to start functioning at a normal level again...slowly, of course.” Dr. Millins dropped Wendy's wrist. “The pulse is still below normal. Bradycardia can become problematic but, at this moment, I feel Agent Cratterson is in no danger. The amount of morphine that was given is the most likely culprit.”

  “What is it below normal?” Lionel inquired.

  “I told you—” Wendy began to object.

  Lionel shot Wendy a sharp eye that told her to shut her mouth. Dr. Millins pulled the sheet back and checked the color of Wendy's toes.

  “Right now, Agent Cratterson's heart rate is at 40 beats per minute. I'm not overly concerned.” Dr. Millins placed the sheet back over her feet, and then strapped a blood pressure cuff to Wendy's right arm and activated a gray blood pressure machine.

  “81 over 50,” he stated.

  “That's low,” Lionel pointed out.

  “The last doctor was filling Agent Cratterson with outrageously high doses of morphine,” Dr. Millins informed Lionel. “I lowered the dose and have ended the regiment only this morning. In time, as the morphine clears Agent Cratterson's system, I'm certain her pulse and blood pressure will return to normal. In the meantime,” he said, and checked a silver watch on his right wrist, “I would prefer Agent Cratterson remain on bed rest. I will run a new CT scan tomorrow morning, and we will go from there.”