Sabotage: Beginnings (29 page)

Heinrich answered on the first ring. “Is it done?” His question smacked of desperation.

“Change of plans.”

“No. You do as I say, Gray Man. Or else.”

Ben shuffled the encrypted communicator over his lap. “Or else what?”

“Do I have to remind you what the Agency will do to you?”

“Tell me, Hitler. What will the Agency do to me? What did they do to you? Strip your swastika from your cubicle?” Ben growled. He’d been duped. He walked into the living area and paced without purpose.

“Ha. Your mother told me she called you. Gray Man, she’s just trying to manipulate you as she always has. She has her own agenda, and doesn’t give a shit about you.”

“I can’t trust either of you. I’m going back to Sonoma.” Ben grabbed his satchel and snatched at the door latch.

“Gray Man. That’d be a big mistake. You are to do as you are instructed.” He heard Heinrich yell into the screen from across the suite.

“No.” Ben stomped his foot.

“No? Look at the transmission coming through.”

Ben held the phone away from his ear. The screen went black then a paper-thin white line zipped across it. Polychromatic static snapped and exploded until an image appeared. Video burst onto Ben’s screen with picturesque panoramic horizons that looked disturbingly familiar.

Long, thin fingers wrapped around Ben’s pointed chin. Well-manicured fingernails pinched at his bottom lip as he flopped back against the padded chair. The scene was his horizon—his home.

“You did say no, correct?” Heinrich was back in control.

“Are you with the Agency or not?” Ben slurred the question, but mostly dreaded the answer.

Ben jerked deeper into the leather-covered foam. His feet yanked onto the seat as the video feed erupted into a bright white, red and orange spew. In a brilliant display of destructive brutality, his home disintegrated.

Ben bit into his fingertip until he tasted the coppery tang of blood. He quaked, angry at the helplessness of his situation—of his entire life. Devastated, reality became his epiphany. Created as man capable of taking human life, he himself had to live. He was just that—a creation.

Heinrich reappeared on screen. “Any more questions?”

B
atya shuffled her
feet, unable to look fully at him. The early afternoon South Carolina sun blared through the opening. She’d never been in Charleston before. The heat was stifling but she willed herself to remain calm.

She blinked once the lid creaked open. It took a moment for her hazel eyes to focus inside the car trunk but she worked to gain a grasp of where she was and what she was into. The grimace Ben wore, and his unshaven chin looked oddly out of character.

She understood his dilemma. It wasn’t that she sympathized with him, but she saw the sliver of humanity in a once patriotic soldier. He wasn’t so dissimilar from her, or even Justice for that matter. They’d all suffered dysfunctional childhoods. Each were recruited into a cult called federal government service, which was disguised as giving a shit for their warriors for the sake of their killing when ordered.

“Ben, why did you decide to help us?” Batya asked.

“I just couldn’t go through with Hienrich’s orders. I’ve been treated like an animal since the beginning. I see who they really are, but I struggled with who I’d become. Until recently. I’ve decided to make my own decisions about who and when. Oddly enough, you, Justice and me have history. It might be a fucked up one, but it’s more stable than anything else I’ve ever had. I know you two killed the other idiots, so why not team up to rid us all of this last one?”

“So we’re all on the same page, right? Justice is covering us both from a distance and we’ll handle Heinrich?” she asked cautiously. Her effort to establish a connection to him by personalizing their connection was intentional.

His eyes shifted up and to the left. He was thinking. Barely a wrinkle in his forehead, Ben’s olive-complexioned face looked like that of a plastic doll. Also out of the norm, his clothes were rumpled from the non-stop drive from Mississippi back east to South Carolina. He worked to make himself more presentable as he agreed with her question.

Batya, whose hands were still bound, rolled to find the least miserable position atop a tire and metal tools. She grimaced. “So I’m safe right?”

“From me? Yes.” His eyes, unshaded by the sunglasses he slipped into his coat pocket, scanned the area. There was nothing around except saw grass and salt water. Ben reached into the trunk to pull her upright.

“I can’t promise you what Heinrich has in store.” A hint of sadness washed over his face.

“I’ll take care of myself. I’m just glad you and I don’t have to destroy each other.”

Ben twisted his chin. “That’s an odd comment. We’ve done nothing but try to kill each other.”

“No Ben. We did what out governments ordered us to do. Now we’re both fighting them to save our home life and families.”

Ben’s mouth contorted. “You’re wrong. I hate my family.”

“You hate what they’d done to you. There’s a big difference.”

His look softened. “No matter. Today we’re not enemies, but you do understand that I’m doing this to save what life I might have left?” He pulled at Batya until her feet almost touched the sandy ground. “Who knows, maybe I will reconcile with my mother in the future.” He sighed uncomfortably.

Batya rolled her shoulders. The ride had been hell, but she’d been through worse. “I understand, Ben. I’m also doing this for my family. If surrendering myself to Heinrich is the only way to save them, then I do this with the hope that Grace will grow up safe and Justice will speak of me kindly.”

Ben tipped the canteen against her lips.

“I’m glad I was able to help you in Afghanistan. It gave you the chance to bring a beautiful child into this world.”

“Thank you, Ben. I’m not sure I have ever said that to you, but thank you.” Batya let go of the indignant pain of that sexual assault; with that said she had closure.

“As long as it’s just us kids chatting,” Ben pointed back and forth between them, “I’m glad you got rid of Boyd and Dunnigan. They were a-holes. I think they turned my mother away from me.”

Batya nodded. “Glad to do it.”

Ben pressed a hand against her shoulder, she pulled back with a look of fright.

“Sorry,” Ben said and shoved both hands in his pockets. “Heinrich is different. He’s not a government drone—he’s evil. Pure, to the core evil. I’ve no idea what he’ll try to do to you. But, be strong. His neo-Nazi rhetoric is stronger than his desire for anything else.”

“Benjamin, Jews have been persecuted and slaughtered for thousands of years. For the love of my God and family, I’m willing to follow the legacy of so many others.” Her eyes filled with tears. She averted her gaze and wiped her cheeks.

“Heads up. Heinrich at three o’clock.”

Batya spoke into the hidden microphone. “Justice, you out there?”

“Always. I’ve got a good eye on the both of you. Do as we planned, and stand where I told you. I’ll need a clear line of sight to make the shot from out here.” Justice’s strong voice remained low and steady.

“Roger that. I’ll take Heinrich’s ride once this is done and neither of you will ever hear from me again.” Ben seemed tense—but who wouldn’t be.

Batya motioned for Ben to come closer. Her heart carried the deaths and pain she’d caused over the years.

“Ben, try to reclaim the life you want to live before you become the victim.”

Ben looked away. His lip quivered and he wiped the wetness from his cheeks. “Please know I don’t hate Jews. Those men I killed in Tel Aviv were monsters and did horrible things to me. They were not of the proud people you represent.”

“I know. Justice explained that.” Her face brightened as she mentioned her husband’s name.

Their earpieces broke squelch. “Its show time,” Justice said.

“Shoot straight my love.”

“Always.”

The big coal-black Suburban barreled straight toward them, braked at the last moment, and skidded passenger side toward them. Heinrich jumped from the driver’s side.

“Batya, the Jew. Killer of my Christian people.” Heinrich announced as if he were a sports broadcaster.

He was tan, his blond hair brushed back with a hint of gel to contain the natural waves. It gave him the appearance of wearing a golden helmet. His pointed black dress shoes stirred up the sandy dust that settled on the hem of his crisp-creased black trousers. Batya noticed the tailored black jacket fit snug, no sign of a gun bulge beneath it. He wore a blood red tie across his left bicep. Inside the white circle of the design was an unmistakable swastika.

“He looks to be alone. Just stay clear once he crosses the kill zone,” Justice whispered.

Ben nodded to Batya. His black eyes saddened with the grief of a friend’s loss. He turned and hurried away.

“Gray Man, where are you going?” Heinrich called.

“My name is Ben, and this isn’t my affair,” Ben shouted as he marched up and over uneven sand dunes.

“Ben, get your ass back. You’re not supposed to leave until it’s over,” Justice snarled like the angriest of beasts.

Ben’s chin tucked toward his jacket lapel. “Nope, you left me to the Greeks, I leave you to the Nazi. Karma can be a bitch.”

“What did you say?” Heinrich barked.

“He’s a coward,” Batya screamed in an effort to regain Heinrich’s attention and draw him back into Justice’s shooting area.

“Damn it, Ben, go back,” Justice demanded.

Ben just shook his head as he climbed into Heinrich’s SUV. Sandy soil blasted into rooster tails as Ben roared away.

“He is a coward, but so are you. I realize I’ve been set up,” Heinrich said. His eyes shifted back and forth. Batya watched him closely.

“Shoot, baby. Shoot him.” Batya spoke beneath her breath.

“Where’s Justice?” Heinrich demanded. His cheeks had drained pale but his hand was steady.

“It’s over, Heinrich,” Batya said.

“Yes, for you.” He bared his teeth.

In a flash, Heinrich reached behind his jacket and swung a pistol in between them. He pumped four rounds of 9mm ammunition into Batya’s chest.

“Grace,
Slicha li
,” she shouted. Batya collapsed dead into the trunk of the car.

“This is for you, father Adolph,” Heinrich bellowed as he beat his chest.

Heinrich’s head exploded with a single bullet from Justice’s .308 caliber Remington sniper rifle.

And just like that, everyone was gone.

B
ad asses recognize
bad asses. There’s a silent acknowledgment that they coexist in a similar space. Until they don’t. That was the case with heading west.

Justice Boudreaux wheeled the big bike along the hard-packed gravel and dirt path. He lumbered to the locked gate that guarded the rest of the trail to the Old Western Ways Saloon Bed and Breakfast. Shade from the evergreens covered road-worn frame. He took in a deep breath and cast his gaze upward. Light peeked through the canopy, but a calm, cool breeze bathed his bearded face.

Justice gazed back at the line of bikes and pickup trucks. His eyes, wearied by the haul from Chicago, were red with the wind but wet from the memory of his beloved wife.

The Savage Souls Outlaw Motorcycle Club had been through a bloody civil war over the last two and a half years. Those who were committed to life within society’s margins were welcomed to relocate to the new national headquarters in Mystic, Colorado. Those who weren’t would be systematically eliminated from their Chicago strong hold.

Divide and return to conquer was Justice’s tactic. He had a strong crew of loyal renegades. Most were military combat veterans who like him had trouble fitting back into civil society after their tours of duty were exhausted. He looked to those bikers in the front of the caravan, and saluted.

Rage, Mercy, Sue, Fury, and Vengeance Boudreaux all saluted back. His very own family, the blood brothers had joined him once more in a battle the Boudreaux boys couldn’t afford to loose. Only Lawless, the law enforcement task force agent refused, and remained in South Louisiana. This time the Boudreaux brothers wouldn’t become victims to their father or any other bullshit authority figure who used a balled fist or empty, threatening words to strangle power.