Sandstorm Ch. 02

Instead of going to the front gate, Cindy went around the side, pulling up to the Bell AH-1 as close as she could. She opened her door a little bit, the helicopter providing shielding, and dropped the red crowbar, trenchcoat, gun and katana on the ground as gently as she could, the fabric of the trenchcoat protecting the metal objects.

"Two perps, dead ahead, on the roof." Callie said. Cindy looked up, seeing two men clad in military camo on the roof of the building, firing at them with M-4 rifles. She brought up the forward Gatling machine guns, aimed with the dashboard-cam sights, and let rip a couple of bursts. Two men died.

"Let's get the fuck out of here!" said Cindy.

"You're leaving Don?" asked Callie, stunned.

"I have my orders." Cindy said. "Which include getting you out of here, and do not include getting you hurt." The Black Beauty hurtled out the gate and onto the highway. Looking back, Cindy thought she saw a black-clad figure going into the building. She thought about going back, but knew she was responsible for Callie's safety. She kept going south, and soon they were back in their home State, relatively safe...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Sir," said a young, clean-cut, freshly shaven young man to Conrad King's room, where he and Wallace Bedford were watching television. "We've gotten some word from Washington that it's possible the FBI Deputy Director is not dead."

"What?!" snarled Bedford, his head whirling around. "How can that be?"

"Our people there are saying that the FBI is not acting like they just lost their Deputy Director. They've gone into meetings, but there's nothing frantic going on. The White House is not even on elevated alert, and acting like it's business-as-usual."

"Wallace," said Conrad King, "we'll need to verify it."

"Sir, if I may," said the young man, "we've contacted some people in the Lake Amengi-Nunagen area. The two female FBI Agents that were supposedly wounded, they're not at the hospital there. The hospital said the women were life-flighted to University Hospital, and while University Hospital declined comment when we called posing as reporters, our people in that County said that no life-flights came in last night or this morning."

"We... we've got to get word to Mr. C!" shouted Bedford. "He's got to abort Phase 2! We've got to abort 'Chariot Advance'!"

"Calm yourself, Wallace... yes, that's right." said Conrad King, willing Bedford to take a breath and calm down. He then turned to the young man and said "Have you attempted to contact Mr. C.?"

"We've tried, sir, but no response." said the young man. "He may already be at the location... and the Iron Crowbar may already be there, as well."

"Go check." said Conrad King. The man left. King turned to Bedford. "Well, Wallace, I prefer to die in my own home. I'm going back to Florida. I hope your son will be able to recover and be fully well into adulthood."

"You're leaving?" asked Bedford.

"Yes." said Conrad. "I don't have long left, as you know. And it all just fell apart. Farewell, my friend." With that, Conrad King wheeled himself into his bedroom to pack. Wallace Bedford left to find the others...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I feel like I've seen this bad movie before." I said as I looked at the laser dots. There were doors that opened onto the balcony; there must be men hidden behind there, I thought. And there were two doors at the ends of the balcony, darkness beyond the doors, just like Joanne's perch behind me.

"I can assure you this time will be a different outcome." said Mr. C. "And long overdue. I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"When Casey B. Walker was putting me through the wringer." I said.

"Ah, you must've been aware of my presence." said Mr. C. "That is how you knew my voice." I nodded and he continued. "Yes, I was standing there, looking down upon you, you nearly dead as it was. I could have, and should have, reached down and crushed your throat, and strangled the life out of you. But you had not broken, and they wanted the information you have in that red head of yours, so I did not... even though someone else there wanted me to do it... very, very badly. I'm surprised she did not kill you herself."

"Ah yes, the 'old mother', as you call her." I said. "Good thing I didn't die... and that my wife didn't find out she was part of all that."

"Your wife will not be able to save you now." said Mr. C.

"Yeah, but I can figure this one out myself. I'm not liking these odds... let's even them up." I raised my hand and snapped my fingers. Red dots appeared on Mr. C.'s body.

"Indeed." said Mr. C. "What you don't understand is that you're a dead man, Troy. My life is nothing in the balance in the salvation of the superior race... as long as you die with me, today."

"A pity." I said, expertly steering the conversation where I wanted it to go. "They won't know what to put on your gravestone. Like your name."

"My name is a classified secret." said Mr. C., taking the bait. "It is treason to mention it out loud."

"Well, if I'm not going to live to face those charges," I replied, "then I'll just indulge myself. You are William Clyde, longtime operative in the CIA's darkest black ops groups. Once had an honorable career, to the point that your very name had to be erased from the public record to keep you alive, safe, and useful. But then you began getting stupid."

Mr. C. was looking surprised, and I had some more surprises for him. "Yes, I also know that your full name is William Clyde Yarborough, brother of Dr. Yarborough of City University, founder of the Millwakee School. When he began his eugenics program at Millwakee, you were part of it. You began putting together cells within several bureaus of the U.S. Government. And many of your moles were products of your brother's Millwakee experiments, children of the women that were impregnated there, such as Dick Ferrell."

"I am curious how you found all this out." said Clyde. "Your wife?"

"Oh no, she had her own handler that couldn't be named out loud." I said. "She had her own operations. And she never even knew that her handler's name... her old mother's full name... was Diana Louise Paulsen."

I went on, hurling my words at him: "By way of contrast, your operations were much deeper than Diana's or my wife's. Your operations covered more than the CIA. They got too big for that agency, and you spread your influence like a spider casts his web. You're just a junior version of Pastor Westboro, Mr. Clyde... but not nearly as smart as he was."

"But I will do what he failed to do: kill the Iron Crowbar." said Mr. C. darkly, holding up his revolver, which was pointed at the ceiling.

"Vee shall see." I said. "Oh, one last thing... so sorry about your own son's death."

"What's that?" asked Mr. C., looking more surprised than upset.

"Les Craig." I replied. "Your brother had you impregnate a young woman at Millwakee. What's funny is how you guys use first and middle names. Vivian Leigh Towson, who was going to sell her eight-year-old son for a slug's sexual pleasure, went by 'Vivian Leigh' in L.A. She was part of Superior Bloodlines and the 'Polar Bears', and it was coincidence that we captured her in our nets early. Charles Thomas, the sniper who wanted to shoot my daughter.. .first and middle names. And of course, you used your first and middle names, dropping the last name, making it harder to catch you."

I finished: "And Les Craig... his full name, having taken his mother's surname, was Les Craig Paulsen. Nephew of Diana Paulsen's husband, an honorable CIA Agent who died in the service of his country. Les has been your liaison to the Superior Bloodlines groups, and your best mole in the FBI, as well as your very loyal son. He died yesterday. He failed in his duty to you, he failed to kill the Deputy Director and Jack Muscone's team, and he was himself blown away."

I saw the man's eyes wilt inside. If we were going to die together, he would die knowing that his progeny was dead and his life's work lay in the ruins of failure.

"You're lying." snarled Mr. C.

"Am I?" I said. "Check that special cellphone of yours, the one that can get signals despite the jamming routinely employed here."

Keeping his eyes on me, he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. There were text messages, some saying the Muscone team and the DepDirector were still alive, and another confirming that Les Craig Paulsen was indeed dead.

"It's over, Mr. C." I said, relentlessly goading the man. "You've failed. It is I who will go to my grave having defeated you, having destroyed everything you hoped to accomplish. I never broke from your torture, and I subsequently have broken you and everything you have built."

"You son of a bitch." snarled C. "I am going to take great pleasure in killing you." He brought his revolver up to point at me, heedless of the laser dots on both of us.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Joanne Warner had been listening to the Iron Crowbar's story with a mixture of fascination and fear, realizing just how deep and cold these waters ran. She was lying prone, her weapon trained on Mr. C. It was a distant shot for a pistol, but it was downward from height, and she was well trained by...

She felt a hand cover her mouth and jerked her eyes up to see that mentor, Melina Allgood, over her, making a "hush" sign with her finger to her lips. Joanne nodded and Melina released Joanne, then lay prone next to her.

"What are you doing here?" Joanne whispered.

"My job." said Melina. "If you shoot that man, you'll be arrested and charged with murder and treason. You can't kill him..."

With that, Melina aimed her .22WMR auto pistol with the long barrel at Mr. C., using her forearm to steady her aim.

"... but I can."

To be continued.