Green File Crime Thrillers Box Set

by James Kipling

  “No, Sir,” the Colonel answered, as tears began to fall from his own eyes. “Sir, a very ugly snake crawled out of the ground and began wrapping itself around our nation. We had to kill the snake, Sir.”

  “But the millions who will perish, are perishing as we speak, how will I ever be able to forgive myself?” President Green asked, as grief tore his heart in half.

  “Sir, for the millions that will die, how many unborn babies will be saved in the future? Babies that will be born, and taught to grow into men and women who honor the American Constitution, and will keep America honorable? We are a nation of deplorables, Sir, but someday our children will restore our honor.”

  President Green wiped his tears away, drew in a deep breath, and shook the Colonel's hand. “Thank you, John. Now, we must prepare to attack North Korea, and ensure that the world believes the plan Nikolai created. I just wish General Garcia had stayed away from Washington, like I ordered. It was foolish for him to go there, and foolish of him to reveal Nikolai's plans to my son. Let's just hope my son locates the virus.”

  Far away, in Pennsylvania, Jacob cautiously eased through the snowy woods and arrived at the back of Hope Springs Baptist Church. The church, he saw, was lit with glowing candles that had been placed in the windows as a beacon for terrified hearts. Crowds of scared people were gathering at the church, some standing inside and some standing outside in the snow.

  “Pastor?”

  “Back door,” Tom told Jacob, pointing at the back of the church, and then took a set of keys out of his coat pocket. “Son, I'm very cold and very tired. We're going to enter the church and go straight to my office. All four of you will remain in my office while I go speak to my congregation—”

  “No,” Jessica objected. “Pastor Braston, your life is in danger. Please.”

  “Mrs. Mayes, danger or no danger, I have a duty to the Lord, and it is my love for my Savior that will give me the courage to face all dangers,” Tom explained and then, without any warning, left the snowy woods and walked straight to the back of the church, unlocked a door that lead into a dark basement, and motioned for his friends to join him.

  “Let's move,” Alvin ordered, feeling exhaustion overtaking his strength. He picked Mandy up into his arms and walked to the back door, ignoring the bitter cold. If there was a shooter around, waiting to kill him, then so be it. “I’m too tired to care anymore,” he told Mandy, walking through knee deep snow.

  “Me, too,” Mandy whispered, holding Alvin around his neck. “It's all over.”

  Jessica watched Alvin carry Mandy through the snow, and then started to leave the woods. As she did, Jacob gently grabbed her arm. “Mrs. Mayes...Jessica...if we can find the virus, there still is a chance.”

  Jessica stared into Jacob's dark face. All she saw, standing before her, was a shadowy figure begging for hope. “Jacob,” she replied, speaking in a low tone, “how is there hope?”

  “If I know my old man, President Green has a plan,” Jacob answered in a desperate voice. “There is no way President Green would let this happen without a reason. He is a fighter. The only thing that makes sense to me is that he has a plan, and that plan still involves the artificial intelligence virus your husband created.”

  “That may or may not be true,” Jessica told Jacob, and gently pulled her arm free, “but right now, all I care about is going inside of that church and praying. I suggest you do the same.” Jessica turned and left the snowy woods, walking toward a church that was hiding Wendy Cratterson. Even if Jessica had known Wendy Cratterson was hiding inside the church, she would have still entered. The need to pray and rest was more powerful than her fear.

  ((((((((((*))))))))))

  Wendy Cratterson sat down in the back, in a wooden pew that felt rough and unfriendly, even though other people were sitting in the pews as if the pews were recliners. Lionel knew Wendy felt uncomfortable, because she possessed a dead soul and the church represented life in Jesus Christ. As much as it pained Lionel to admit, Wendy was a cursed woman. Was he a cursed man? Probably, Lionel admitted to himself, as he sat down next to Wendy. Loving a dead soul was futile, yet, Lionel could not bring himself to forget Wendy.

  “No gun play,” he warned. “I want the woman alive.”

  Wendy gave Lionel a critical look. “For what?” she hissed under her breath, barely speaking over the crowds that were standing and sitting all around her. “America has fallen. We'll be lucky to get out of this country alive. Jessica Mayes has to die.”

  “No,” Lionel growled. “Wendy, Boris wants Jessica Mayes alive. Now, I can understand your feelings of anger and resentment toward the woman—”

  “Can you?” Wendy asked in a sarcastic tone, glancing at a group of old women standing near a wooden pulpit, that was perched over a wooden altar, that had a cross carved into it; an altar that many men, women and children had kneeled at, and accepted Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. “You don't understand anything. You're blind, just like the rest of these people.”

  Lionel folded his arms and studied the inside of the church. The church was lined with seven stained glass windows on the north and south walls. A clean, but old, brown carpet covered the floor. At the front of the church stood the altar, a wooden pulpit, a small area for the choir, and behind the choir area, a Baptismal pool. To Lionel, the interior of the church resembled every other church he had been in, yet, somehow, the small Baptist Church felt different; powerful, as if the church was somehow closer to the door of Holiness than others. Was it the people? Lionel wasn't sure. His heart told him it was the faith the people who loved the church had.

  “Keep an eye out,” he ordered, looking around the interior, studying burning candles.

  Wendy snapped her arms together and grew silent. A woman named Amy Johnson approached Wendy and Lionel, holding two paper cups full of coffee.

  “Coffee?” she asked in a gentle tone. “My son started a fire behind our home, and is making coffee for everyone. We only live right down the street.”

  Wendy looked up into the face of a sixty-year-old woman who was wearing a pink and white muffler hat. The woman, although kind and generous in nature, reminded Wendy of the enemy; people who were filled with the idea that love and goodness overpowered hate and cruelty. People who believed that the Bible was eternal, and man was merely dust. People who believed they deserved the right to be free, and live as they believed.

  “Get lost, lady.”

  Lionel quickly cleared his throat. “Uh...no thanks, ma’am,” he told Amy, and forced a troubled smile to his lips. “My friend is upset, that's all. She doesn't mean to be rude.”

  Amy looked at Wendy. There was something in the woman's eyes that scared her. “Of course,” she said, and quickly wandered away to a group of old men who were talking about forming a militia group.

  “Knock it off,” Lionel growled.

  “Shut up,” Wendy hissed. She turned her head, look at Lionel, and then stood up. “I'm going to watch the front. You stay here.”

  Lionel wanted to object, but didn't. He let Wendy walk back out into the snow, and then sat very silent. His eyes locked onto the altar, at the carved cross.

  “This is the place,” a voice said.

  “What?” Lionel raised his eyes and saw Pastor Tom Braston standing over him.

  “May I sit?” Tom asked.

  “Uh...sure,” Lionel nodded his head and made room for Tom to sit down.

  Tom took a seat. “We live in troubled times,” he told Lionel, certain that he was speaking to a man who either worked for Roger Alden, or some other agency. Tom knew his people. Lionel was a stranger.

  “Jesus said for us to not be troubled, because He overcame the world.”

  “Are you a pastor?” Lionel asked in a curious voice.

  “Pastor Tom Braston.”

  Lionel stiffened. “I see,” he said, as his hand slowly began easing toward his gun.

  “You don't need a gun, son,” Tom to
ld Lionel in a calm tone, keeping his eyes on the wooden cross. “The damage is done. America has fallen. What more damage do you hunger for?”

  Lionel placed his right hand into the right pocket of his coat. “Nice and easy, we're going to walk away and—”

  “No, we're not,” Tom informed Lionel, remaining calm. “You will have to kill me where I sit, son.” Tom turned his head and studied Lionel's eyes. “The woman that is with you, she is without hope. You still have a chance.”

  Lionel felt a strange fear pierce his heart. It was a fear he had never felt before. There was something strange about Pastor Braston. The man was holy; as much as a man in the flesh could be holy. It was as if the Light of Jesus was shining through Tom and splashing down onto Lionel, revealing his every single evil deed.

  “I don't want to hurt you. My goal is Jessica Mayes. Take me to the woman.”

  “No,” Tom shook his head. “You are in the House of the Lord, and you will respect that. If you cannot respect the House of the Lord, then leave.” Tom focused his eyes back on the wooden cross carved into the altar. “How many people are dying at this very moment, son?” he asked in a low whisper. “How many people are dying in hospitals and nursing homes. I can't comprehend the count.” A tear slid down Tom's cheek, shocking Lionel. “Yet, in this darkness, instead of people seeking the heart of Jesus our Savior, they will continue to seek evil, and become evil.” Tom wiped at his tear. “Son, tomorrow is never promised. A person must repent and allow Jesus Christ into their hearts, while there is still time. Jesus Christ, sweet Jesus. He is the only Savior and Hope. Whatever you are, whoever you work for, whatever your goals are, they are mere dust compared to the hope of Jesus.”

  Lionel could only stare at Tom. The man's words were piercing his heart. “I'm part of the darkness,” he whispered. “I've murdered men in cold blood. I chose my path. I know my end.”

  “Do you?” Tom asked and pointed at the wooden cross. “If you really knew where the condemned go, you would repent, son.”

  “Go?” Lionel asked. “Oh, you mean—”

  “The lake of fire,” Tom nodded his head. “Hell is a prison, not the final end. The lake of fire is the final end.”

  “I don't believe that,” Lionel objected. “I believe when we die, we stop existing all together.”

  “Do you?” Tom asked and locked eyes with Lionel. “I don't know who you are, son,” he stated, “but I'm old enough to read a man's eyes and know what he's hiding. Deep down, you do believe there is more when a man dies. I can see that.” Tom stood up. “If a man dies without Jesus, he truly does stop existing, but not in the way you think.”

  Lionel quickly stood up. “Take me to the woman,” he ordered Tom under his breath. “Please, I don't want to harm you.”

  Tom reached out his right hand and touched Lionel's shoulder. “Son,” he said in a careful voice, “there are men protecting Jessica Mayes that will kill you if you go within ten feet of her. However, it is Jesus Christ that is truly protecting her. If you attempt to steal Jessica Mayes away into this darkness, you will be struck dead by a Hand that is powerful beyond all understanding.” With those words, Tom moved away to the group of old men, greeted them, and began talking, leaving Lionel with shaky hands and a very frightened heart.

  “I need air,” Lionel whispered, and hurried out into the falling snow. He found Wendy across the street, leaning against the passenger door of the SUV, as if the woman was actually expecting the SUV to somehow be able to operate again before the night ended.

  “What are you doing out here?” Wendy snapped at Lionel. “You're supposed to be inside.”

  Lionel studied the falling snow and then looked around. Most of the houses he saw, that were close to the church, had candles burning inside, offering faint but comforting light. “I needed air.”

  “And you'll get air,” a hard voice said.

  Lionel spun around and spotted a dark shadow exploding up from the driver’s side of the SUV. “Don't move,” Tim ordered Lionel, and then pointed at Wendy. “Drop your gun or die.”

  Wendy made a sour face. “Hello, Tim,” she said in a hateful voice. “I should have known Roger Alden would send his best man.”

  “Roger Alden is finished,” Tim informed Wendy, in a hard but careful voice. “He is the cause of all of this. As soon as I get the chance, I will kill him. Now, drop your guns.”

  Something in Tim's voice caught Lionel's attention. He cautiously retrieved his gun and tossed it onto the hood of the SUV.

  “Wendy, your gun,” he ordered. Wendy scowled. Giving up her gun was not an option, but neither was dying. She threw her gun onto the hood of the SUV and snapped her arms together. “What do you want?” Lionel asked. “You could have clearly killed us by now.”

  “An alliance,” Tim explained, as he grabbed the two guns sitting on the snow-covered hood of the SUV. “Roger Alden, by now, has gone underground, and is safely tucked away in the—,”

  “Green Room under the CIA building. Yes, I know,” Wendy informed Tim.

  “If you would have simply obeyed orders,” Tim snapped at Wendy, “Roger Alden wouldn't have been given any doors to open!” Tim glared through the darkness at Wendy, with venom spewing from his cold eyes. “But I digress,” he continued. “What is done, is done. We must focus on the future.”

  “And you want to form an alliance?” Lionel asked in a confused voice. “Surely you know who I work for?”

  “Your name is Lionel Brown, and you work for Boris Petrov,” Tim informed Lionel. “I know exactly who you are.” Tim drew in a deep breath. “R.O.G.U.E,” he stated.

  “What?” Wendy exclaimed. “Lionel, don't believe this man. He's a liar!”

  “Shut up,” Tim warned Wendy, in a voice that shut the woman up. “Mr. Brown, Roger Alden isn't going to give up the fight, but right now he is powerless. In the end, I will kill him for you, if you can assure me that Mr. Petrov will accept my services.”

  “How will you get back to the CIA building?” Lionel asked, and slowly folded his arms.

  “Walk, steal a bicycle. There are ways,” Tim assured Lionel. “Roger will be expecting me.”

  “You're a liar,” Wendy growled. “You will never betray Roger Alden. You've kissed that man's boots for too many years.”

  “You're right,” Tim nodded his head. “Before you disobeyed orders, I would have never dreamed of betraying Roger Alden. I admired the man, and desired to follow in his footsteps. But...” Tim went silent.

  “But what?” Lionel demanded.

  “I saw the true monster lurking inside of Roger Alden's mind,” Tom finished. “The monster I saw sickened me. It was absolute evil. I'm not evil, Mr. Brown. While it may be that I'm not innocent, I'm not the evil that is lurking inside of Roger Alden's heart.”

  Lionel grew silent for a few minutes and listened to the snow fall. As he did, the words that Tom spoke to him began convicting his heart. Lionel felt torn, but finally caved in to his mission rather than to Jesus, at least for the time being. “I have no way to contact Boris. I will need to locate a working phone.”

  “After I kill Roger, I will move into Canada.”

  “I want a confirmed death,” Lionel demanded.

  “You'll have it,” Tim assured Lionel, and then lowered his gun. “I need a contact number.” Lionel hesitated. “Contact number.”

  “There is a hotel called the Deep Woods Inn,” Lionel told Tim, and explained what town in Vermont to travel to, and what road to use in order to enter Canada. “Stay at the Inn and don't leave. I will eventually arrive at your location.”

  “Deal,” Tim said. He looked at Wendy one last time, and then walked away into the darkness.

  “My gun!” Wendy called out in an angry voice. Tim didn't reply. The man simply vanished into the darkness.

  “Forget the guns,” Lionel told Wendy, suddenly feeling very strange inside; feeling as if a powerful Hand had disarmed him. He looked toward the church, studi
ed the glow of candle light, and then bowed his head. “Does it have to be this way?” he whispered.

  “What?” Wendy snapped over the bitter winds.

  “I want a confirmed kill.” Lionel whispered, as Tom's face appeared in his troubled mind. “Am I truly...you?” he asked, and looked at Wendy.

  “What are you talking about?” Wendy demanded.

  “I'm not sure,” Lionel answered, and then walked back toward the church, leaving Wendy standing alone in the snow, walking with a very troubled heart that was feeling the weight of a powerful love tugging at his very soul. “What is happening?” Lionel asked, as he walked back inside the church and sat down in a back pew. He locked his eyes on the wooden cross that was carved into the altar and grew very silent.

  As Lionel stared at the wooden cross, Jessica and Mandy bowed their heads in Tom's office and began to pray. Alvin hesitated and then dropped down onto his knees beside Jessica and formed a prayer circle. Jacob eased back to the office door, and watched the single candle Tom had lit and placed on his desk, cast light onto the prayer circle. Something deep inside of his soul wanted to join the prayer circle, but he held back. Instead, he listened to Jessica, Mandy and Alvin pray. When the prayers ended Jessica stood up, walked over to the office window, and stared out at the dark, freezing night.

  “Mrs. Mayes?” Jacob asked.

  “Pastor Braston knows where my husband's journal is,” Jessica spoke in a low, careful voice. “The fight isn't over, Jacob. No. The fight has just begun. We need to locate my husband's journal.” Jessica stopped talking as a warm, familiar hand touched her shoulder.

  Stay strong a loving voice whispered into her frightened heart. Stay strong and fight.

  Mandy and Alvin looked at each other with worried eyes. Alvin sighed, helped Mandy stand up, and then nodded his head.

  “Yep,” he said in an exhausted voice, “I reckon we better find your husband's journal because this fight is far from over.”