COVERT WRITERS TAKEDOWN - Joe Bergeron (different ereaders TXT) 📗

Robert sent over?”
“I didn’t get too far into it, looks like - economic
data - agricultural stuff - population demographics -
government organization.”
He needed the information, but more
importantly, he needed to keep her occupied.
Her thoughts, however, weren’t far from the
realities.
“Michael, aren’t you frightened by all this?”
“Yes…but I’m trying to stay more pissed than
frightened, and I need to keep telling myself that.
Whoever shot at me, if he wanted, probably could have
done a lot more damage. They need us to be frightened.
When we get their next call, they’ll probably tell us
their terms. Time’s on our side. We also have Robert,
Andy St. Croix, and McKenzie Industries behind us.
It’s not like we don’t have assets.”
He had no idea of the breadth and depth of the
additional assets that could be set in motion for him.
She did.
Leaving a tip on the check, they rose and
returned to the room, both noticing the advanced tape
counter.
“Play it back, Michael.”
Sunday, May 21, 9:01 p.m.
They’d parked the Cadillac in his driveway
almost as if they were invited guests.
Inside Dan Bellcamp’s house, Miguel Belize’s
two hand-picked agents were performing a very
thorough search and seizure operation. They knew
what to look for and what to take - note pads,
computers, discs, fax machine, three ring binders,
telephone bills.
138
Most of the information contained in the
software and in the binders was already in the
possession of their employer, but every intelligence
operation in the world understands the value of
redundancy.
They’d load the car, drive to a marina in the
Florida Keys, and reload their miscellaneous collection
onto a twin diesel powered, and stripped thirty-five foot
Trojan.
The crossing to the island ninety miles offshore
was set for midnight.
While attending the United States Naval
Academy, Andrew St, Croix excelled Academically. One
of the top Law candidates in his class, he’d been
recruited by a small organization within the
Department of The Navy following his commissioning
as a Naval officer.
‘Zero’ is a code name for one of the Navy’s
deepest secrets, an organization formed into teams of
experts with disciplines in maritime law, intelligence,
weapons, metaphysics, and close-contact warfare.
This elite group is commanded by an Admiral
reporting directly to the Chief of Naval Operations, the
principle naval advisor to the President, to the
Secretary of Defense, and the Secretary of the Navy.
The Chief is also the Naval member of the Joint Chiefs
of Staff.
Zero’s primary function is to provide landbased
support operations for the Naval Systems
Command, and the Naval Intelligence Command. Most
of what Zero does is illegal - in any country. However,
the illegality of the organization is philosophically
rationalized as necessary security action against
opposing forces - even on friendly soil.
Zero means nothing, but is an absolute.
Therefore the motto of Zero is ‘absolutely nothing’.
139
Officially, it doesn’t exist. But if it did exist,
there would be absolutely nothing Zero couldn’t do.
Any U.S. commanding naval officer, in any port
in the world, could tell you he or she has seen Zero
operate - but they could tell you nothing more.
Zero has available to it any U.S. intelligence,
equipment, and weaponry in existence, including
ordnance from other service branches. Every Zero
officer is skilled in dual disciplines. They learn their
primary aptitude and secondary regulation after
acceptance into the elite group.
Andy St. Croix’s acute ability to bring
metaphysical logic to strategic plans was his primary
aptitude. Close-contact warfare was his secondary
regulation. The fact that he could choke a rattlesnake -
and it was so noted on his Zero recruitment form -
allowed the Admiral commanding Zero to easily identify
his second discipline.
For two years, St. Croix had supplied the
metaphysical logic for naval systems and naval
intelligence operations in Vietnam. It was during his
fifteenth month in Saigon at a senior staff meeting of
the Navy’s Tactical Air Wing Command, TAWC, when
he told a Fleet Command Admiral…
“…if y’all don’t start using the firepower on
those tubs out there, y’all might just as well as kiss this
conflict good night and go home before any more of our
boys and girls get hurt. If the intention is to sit, then
hell, let’s sit. If our intention is to win this thing, then
we better start kickin some serious ass, because all
ah’ve seen to date is a bunch of wobbly indecision.”
St. Croix had a way of defining the logic of The
Laws like no one else. However, it’s obvious that the
logic of The Laws, no matter how fluently expressed, do
not always find welcome ears.
140
His tour of duty complete, Andy St. Croix was
subsequently introduced to Robert Wirtham and
Patrick McKenzie. Soon thereafter, following several
discussions, he was offered, and accepted, the position
of Director of Internal Security for JGM Exports, or,
Yankee Echo.
He’s only been told as much about the
organization as Courtney.
The Rattlesnake Slayer now sat in a rented
Lincoln Town Car sixty feet south of Dan Bellcamp’s
house, and fifty feet north of the nearest street lamp.
He needed no spotlight on his presence.
Raised to his eyes were a pair of Nikon
binoculars outfitted with Zeitz infrared night vision
detecting systems. The darkness of the moonless night
actually aided the sight pattern of the hi-tech specs as
he peered through Dan Bellcamp’s windows, curtains
still drawn apart.
Twice he’d watch two men pack their vehicle
with the former Managing Editor’s hardware, software,
binders and folders.
Satisfied there were no more than the two
operatives, St. Croix placed the binoculars on the seat
beside him and checked a schematic floor plan and
property layout he’d drawn the day before.
Two wires he’d pulled in the Lincoln’s engine
compartment allowed no lights to illuminate its interior
as he opened, and half-closed the driver’s door.
Andy St. Croix’s plan was to conduct a rear
assault on the one he targeted as ‘Cardinal’, the larger
of the two. He’d take the ‘Bishop’ in the kitchen.
Calculating a fifteen second approach to the
deep mauve-lavender climbing roses on Bellcamp’s
trellis just outside the garage, his silent count was now
at twelve seconds as he maneuvered to position.
Hearing footsteps, the Zero negated a feeling to
investigate, choosing instead to maintain a course to
the rose trellis without challenge.
141
Reaching to his back pocket, an oversized
handkerchief and an electricians wire tie were checked
for duty. His concentration shifted from footsteps to
Law Nineteen
‘This sucker’s goin down once, and he ain’t
comin back up for air.’
Arms full of binders, books and papers,
Cardinal balanced the load on his right thigh while
opening the rear driver’s side door of the Cadillac.
Reassembling the stolen accumulation of data,
he leaned into the car’s interior to place them on the
back seat.
Cardinal had just completed a normal
breathing pattern when a closed fist, feeling to him like
a baseball bat, crashed on the middle of his spine.
The force, intentionally directed to fall between
his fourth and fifth thoracic vertebrae caused him to
expel in a whisper, almost all his breath.
A second strike landing immediately thereafter
found the third and fourth cervical vertebrae, the blow
motivating spinal cartilage to press against, but not
through, the foramen housing his spinal cord.
The shock of the combined jolts produced both
temporary immobility and paralysis, an acceptable
condition to the Zero Commander.
His hands summarily gathered behind his
back, Cardinal was wire-tied with the strip of plastic.
Not that he could yell without the benefit of
breath, but as a separate precaution, his mouth was
filled with the oversized handkerchief.
Shoving the aching Cuban onto the car floor,
St. Croix turned his attention to the one he’d targeted
as ‘Bishop.’
Footsteps again - again not anticipated.
“Carlos?”
Cardinal was called - no answer.
“Carlos?”
142
A bit louder - still no answer.
“Carlos?”
Now anxiously questioning - the thief,
ironically, sensed impropriety.
The next sound St. Croix heard was an easilyidentifiable
steel click. Bishop had locked and loaded.
“Shit,” an unheard whisper from a prepared
Zero already locked and loaded, his nine millimeter
Beretta held in both hands.
St. Croix quickly glanced at his watch - 9:05
p.m. - data flooded his mind.
‘Neighbors will be watching prime time TV -
won’t hear one round.’
A mental review of the kitchen beyond the side
door recalled open space with only one shelter, a
refrigerator on the west wall.
‘He won’t hide - he needs information.’
Zero was right.
‘He’s probably having a cigarette.’
Bishop, trying to have a reassuring positive
thought, was wrong.
The oldest trick in the book is still one of the
most useful.
His Beretta in his right hand, St. Croix bent to
his knees feeling the ground behind him with his left. A
stone found, he tossed it against the left front wheel of
the Cadillac. The sound of the mineral against the
tire’s custom rim was translated by Bishop as a relaxing
Carlos allowing his subordinate to clean up.
Shoulder holstering his weapon, he opened the
side door to bemoan his contemporary’s attitude.
St. Croix’s weapon crushed Bishop’s nasal
cartilage spewing blood on the Beretta as well as the
deliverer and the Receiver of the forced action.
Forcing a knee into Bishop’s groin caused the
Cuban to emit a louder laryngeal noise than would have
been created had the Zero simply shot him.
143
The tradeoff was OK. The philosophy of a
Beretta is quite simple. small bullet - large hole. Andy
St. Croix wanted an answer, not a dead Cuban.
Bishop, now backside down on the kitchen floor
found both the taste of blood and steel in his mouth, as
well as five very strong fingers seemingly trying to
rearrange his larynx.
St. Croix had identified their nationality on
initial review. He also felt strongly that, because they
were on U.S. soil, they were not linguistically
handicapped.
“Ah know y’all speak English, and y’all got
about three seconds to tell me who sent you, or your ass
is goin to Hell.”
He pulled the Beretta’s machined steel
hammer to its firing position.
Even though Bishop had never studied
deductive logic, he intuitively felt a sense of mission in
this man.
It didn’t take him three seconds to respond.
“Belize.”
One second later, in retrospect, Bishop couldn’t
believe he’d said it.
St. Croix searched the Cuban’s eyes - truth was
found.
“Where’s Patrick McKenzie?”
Bishop’s brow wrinkled, his eyes squinted.
Shaking his head from left to right several
times, St. Croix could see the Cuban did not know.
Removing Bishop’s revolver from its holster, he
released the clip putting it in his pocket. Then, with his
left hand, he threw the chrome-plated revolver twenty
feet north of its owner.
Inductive reasoning is based on fundamental
truths.
One truth seemed to be that Yankee Echo had
been compromised by the Managing Editor.
144
Therefore the breachers probably already had
the information Cardinal and Bishop were presently
stealing.
Another truth was Bellcamp was missing, and
deductive logic suggested there would be multiple
parties involved in the remediation of that mystery.
A third truth which was very probable, was
that both Cardinal and Bishop would not want to reveal
the fact that they’d been compromised while on their
mission.
They could, and would return to their island on
time, but would most likely say their beat-up conditions
had either been the result of an auto accident, or
injuries incurred in deck accidents on the Trojan.
Belize would believe they’d accomplished their
mission - they might enjoy life for several more decades.
Zero addressed the prone Cuban.
“Have a nice ride home, Bishop.”
Standing, St Croix had a new name planted in
his memory bank.
He completed the distance between the former
M.E.’s ranch dwelling and the Town Car in fourteen
seconds, and was a mile and a half