Read The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) Online
Authors: Christopher Metcalf
The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) (22 page)
“You’re serious. You actually believe that you’re going to paradise with 72 virgins and eternal bliss. Unbelievable.” Lance sat back with an incredulous look on his face. After a few moments, he reached down into the satchel on the floor he had brought into the room with him. Out of it he pulled a manila folder and out of the folder he pulled dozens of sheets of paper and photos. One by one, he laid them on the table. As he placed each sheet or photo on the table, Lance said a name and date. After a dozen or so, al-Bakr finally did what was expected and spat on him and on the papers before him. Lance disregarded the warm spittle and continued with the parade of murder and mayhem left in al-Bakr’s wake over the last two decades.
When he finished, more than 40 pieces of paper and photos were spread out on the shiny metal table. It was entirely covered by death, destroyed lives, desolated families. “Paradise. You asshole; you’re going to hell on the angel of death express, no $200 dollars, no passing go, no 72 virgins. Straight into the fire. Burn, baby burn.”
Al-Bakr bowed his head and began to chant silently. He was finished with the conversation and his friend. But Lance wasn’t.
Lance took his arm and swept the assemblage of papers and photos of individuals and families no longer living off the table to the floor. He reached down into the satchel and pulled out another manila folder. And like a few moments earlier, he began laying pieces of paper and photos on the metal table top, this time saying only names, no dates. Al-Bakr stopped his chanting and opened his eyes. After seven, al-Bakr tried his damdest to slam the table with his left hand, but the chains only let him reach so far.
“Bastard. You bastard infidel!” Al-Bakr howled, but Lance kept laying the photos on the table and saying their names. “I will kill you! By Allah, I will slaughter you and take your heart!” Without missing a beat, Lance continued to place the photos on the table one by one until he had laid all 36 down.
When he was done, he sat back and let al-Bakr yell, scream, curse and grow redder with every breath. After a minute of the show, the caged assassin slumped back in his bolted-down chair and began to cry, maybe for the first time in his life. Before him on the table laid photos of all of his children, even those conceived and raised outside his marriages. Also pictured were his brothers, uncles and father.
“I don’t believe in heaven or hell or Allah or the angel of death or paradise. I do believe in payback. And you have earned an amazing amount of payback for what you’ve done.” Lance gestured to the photos, “The Israelis have been given the names, locations and photos of your children. The French and Germans will divide up your brothers and their families. And the British will take those living in England. But I get the very best job.”
Lance lifted his left arm to look at his watch, all for effect. “I will personally pay a visit to your father.” He smiled and waved his hands over the photos. “All of them will be dead by day after tomorrow. No prisoners, that was the rule to play in this game. No one sparred. Then the photos of each of their dead bodies, with all the men decapitated of course, will be brought back to this room and laid before you on this table and you’ll have your eyes pried open so you will be forced to look.
“All except one, because here’s the best part. I am bringing your father back from his village, back to this room to sit him right here and look at all these photos plus those on the floor. And we are going to tell him all the evil you have done. Then I am going to hand him the knife that he will use to slice your throat. Lastly, I’ll hand him a gun with one lonely little bullet so he can blow his own brains out and join you in hell; his retribution for spawning a demon like you. Izrail will come for both your souls and that will be that.”
Al-Bakr burst into tears and full, babbling crying. A broken man. A man now ready to betray the trust of those he had dealt with in Kuwait, Iraq, Saudi Arabia and anywhere else. “No.” It was all he could get out.
“Yes.” Lance looked at his watch, “In 36 hours, most will be gone and I should be sitting down for tea in your father’s tent.”
“No. No. I can give you more information. I will tell you.”
“Sorry, I don’t want information. I want your family dead, all of them. This is where it gets good.” The look in Lance’s eyes was ice, lifeless. He showed al-Bakr the face of evil.
And with that, Lance got up, grabbed his satchel and walked to the door as al-Bakr pleaded with him.
“No! Please no. They are innocent.”
Lance turned back to him. “I’ve got several calls to make and a plane to catch. Should I send the amateurs back in?”
“Yes. Please send them back in. Now. Please.” The assassin pleaded.
“Unless plans change, I’ll see you back here in two days with my new old friend accompanying me.” Lance couldn’t help but smile as he left.
Once outside, Lance was greeted by Seibel who stood looking at his watch.
“Thirteen minutes.” Seibel said.
“That long?” Lance replied.
The CIA spymaster turned to Fuchs and smiled. “Two weeks these so-called specialists have been working him and our boy turns him to bucket of piss in 13 minutes.” Fuchs just laughed and shook his head.
“Lunch time?” Lance grinned at them.
Seibel shook his head and sighed. “In a minute. I need to get with the boys to discuss next steps. You two go ahead and I’ll come join you.” Lance and Fuchs started down the hall. Seibel called to them. “But Lance, I suppose if Fuchs had handed you two folders with pictures of butterflies and blue birds five minutes before you walked into the room you would have used those to convince al-Bakr you would kill them all, in 36 hours was it?”
Lance thought for a few seconds. “If it were butterflies and blue birds, I would have told him I’d already killed his children and given a butterfly and bird for each one to his father. Probably would have made something up about their souls being as free as winged creatures fluttering on the winds of fate. Or something along those lines. Telling lies, you know. It’s what I do, in case you weren’t aware.”
“I know. Your specialty.” Seibel smiled and turned to his interrogators who had been watching Preacher’s performance from an adjoining room.
“Operation Sandal Rash has proven quite successful, even more than initially reported.” Seibel sat at the far end of a plain oak conference table in a nondescript conference room somewhere outside Washington D.C. The members of Account One sat on both sides of the table with the current head of the National Security Agency sitting directly across from Seibel at the far end. His briefings on his SAD, Strategic Activities Division, operations were often the highlight of these leaders’ month.
They had each been listening intently to his report, but all perked up in the last minute as he began his update of activities surrounding the killing of al-Ghamdi, capture of al-Bakr, and resulting intelligence gathered through interrogation of the assassin.
Seibel’s initial telling of the capture four weeks prior had elicited a good number of questions from the members of this ultra-elite group of intelligence professionals. He had dropped bits and pieces about the operation and sprinkled in a smattering of Preacher magic dust with a reference to the Saudi no longer possessing a right hand. He left out the details of Lance incinerating the Arab’s appendage from his body. But he let it be known that during direct contact, hand-to-hand, he asked them to pardon the pun, the Account’s youthful prize investment not only held his own against an experienced killer, Preacher completely and utterly dismantled the terrorist’s ability to ever pull a trigger with the stump. Let alone shake hands, since Muslims do not shake hands with their left.
It seemed, sitting here in this tight little room full of powerful people with war and invasion on the immediate horizon, these intelligence czars wanted more details about al-Bakr’s capture and the value of his testimony as much as anything else. They also let it be known that they wanted an update on Preacher – his latest activity and future projects.
“The value of our subject’s early confessions was minimal, almost without merit. The details provided were only at the surface level. Hardly worth the time and effort dedicated to the sessions.” Seibel always spoke this way when addressing this group. He almost never gave actual names; used coded words and phrases and spoke in generalities. Protocol did allow for divulging explicit information, but this was generally done only in the sole company of the Director of Central Intelligence, who went by the codename Marvin. Every once in a while, a member of Account One would pat or even slam the table and demand that Seibel stop speaking in code and tell the group in no uncertain terms what needed to be said. This was rare, however.
“The quality and complexity of this information changed substantially 10 days ago when the subject received a visit from Preacher.”
Before Seibel could continue, the White House intelligence advisor butted in, “Did the subject lose the other hand?” Members of the group couldn’t contain themselves and all chuckled. Seibel allowed himself to join them with a smile.
“No. The subject did not have his other hand severed by way of inferno like his right one,” Seibel let another bit of information from the Jeddah operation slip.
“Inferno?” The NSA Director at the opposite end of the table asked. “How was the hand removed?”
“Incinerated sir, blasted away for all of eternity by a Flasher.”
“Christ,” this time the CIA Director weighed in. “Literally burned away, gone?”
“Completely, right above the wrist. Gone and cauterized in seconds,” Seibel added for effect.
“I know I don’t recall amputation being a part of your plan,” NSA followed up. “But use of a Flasher for this purpose seems extraordinarily cruel.”
Seibel did not hesitate, “Extraordinarily indeed. It took young Preacher a total of 15 seconds to disarm, take down and remove the hand. I witnessed it in person and have watched the video tape dozens of times since to evaluate the operation. Each time, I am still shocked by both the speed and effectiveness of his methods. Nothing short of amazing. I would have been pleased if any of our resources could take, let alone break, the subject in man-to-man combat. Preacher did what maybe 10 others in the world could do when faced with such a lethal attacker, armed with a razor-sharp knife mind you. As I said last month, our investment is showing early signs of paying dividends. His visit with the subject last week moved us even closer to payback.”
Seibel went into the details of al-Bakr’s testimony garnered after his visit from Lance. The room was generally accepting of his assessment about their investment. They had their man in the field.
After a few minutes, the conversation turned to other topics. At the top of the list was Seibel’s take on KGB operations and his assessment of latest developments in that sphere. He updated Account One on the fracturing away of KGB operatives from central command. Smelinski was losing his iron grip.
His update of K&K operations took several minutes. Former KGB agents Evgany Korovin and Nikolai Kusnetsov had set up a network that would undoubtedly require the CIA to take action even with Iraq heating up and resources needed there. Their scope of work had broadened from strong-arming local and state leaders in Ukraine and Belarus to black market trafficking of exceedingly dangerous weapons. They had possibly begun operations that could result in weapons of mass destruction coming onto the market. He assured the group he was on top of it.
Seibel took another 10 minutes updating the file on Marta Sidorova, another former KGB operative building a network of current and former-KGB elements. Her operation had expanded out concentrically from Eastern Europe into France, Germany and southeast to Turkey. “Very impressive for someone only 26 or 27 years old.”
Seibel qualified his comments on Marta because in actuality, very few hard facts were known about her or her network.
His analysis of other things KGB concluded the meeting a half-hour later. It wasn’t surprising to Seibel that conversations between members of the elite group returned to Preacher and his accomplishments. Everyone loves a bad ass; especially a bad ass on your side.
