The Beasts of Juarez by R.B. Schow (story books to read .txt) 📗

the fleshy red ends so rough and ragged-looking it appeared as though someone had used a power tool to get the job done.

Coughing, gagging, he stood up and stepped back. He turned and called his supervisor right away. A moment later, the man who didn’t want to be bothered realized he needed to see the scene for himself. The guard’s supervisor was a hardened soldier with several tours of duty behind him. He did not possess a fragile constitution. But when he saw the arm and the foot, a pained expression crossed through his eyes and he glanced at the other two bags.

“Open them up, but don’t touch anything. We’ll need to call this in.” To one of the other guards, the supervisor said, “We need to set up a perimeter and divert traffic. This is officially a crime scene.”

The first guard on the scene begrudgingly sliced open the other bag, and a girl’s head rolled out. Standing there in the middle of the road, horrified and trying to keep his lunch down, the guard watched his supervisor take a deep breath, then let out a troubled sigh. For a second, he thought he saw a tear in the man’s eye. The girl had been beautiful once, someone’s daughter.

After the local police arrived to properly secure the scene, the guard’s supervisor called the current Secretary of State, a friend of his from a few years back from what the guard had heard. He stood by the supervisor to answer any questions if necessary, but by no means did he feign any interest in the conversation.

With the call on speakerphone, the guard’s supervisor said, “A few days ago, we received a memo saying that Camden Fox’s family was kidnapped but that it was to be kept hush-hush while an off-the-book KRT went after them, right?”

“Yes?” the woman asked.

“I believe we just found the oldest daughter,” he said.

“Is she okay?”

The man shook his head and said, “It looks like she was cut into pieces with some sort of power tool. My guess would be a chainsaw or maybe a reciprocating saw. But that was after she was beaten to a pulp and most likely raped.”

“Where did you find her?” the woman asked.

“Someone bagged up pieces of her and threw her out in front of the Embassy.”

“Oh, dear God,” the woman grumbled. “This is going to create a shitstorm of monumental proportion.”

“No kidding,” the supervisor said.

“I’ll get this information to Congressman Fox right away, thank you.”

“Madam Secretary?” he said.

“Yes?”

“If you can help it, I don’t want to be on the radar with this thing. We just reopened the Embassy and I don’t want to have to send a bunch of people back home.”

“I understand,” she said.

Secretary of State, Morgan Finch, opened her desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Scotch and a small crystal tumbler. She poured herself three fingers of the liquid and tried not to imagine the scene at the Embassy. When she drank the Scotch, she did so too fast, but that only meant she would need another three fingers. With her insides sufficiently warm, she called Camden Fox’s good friend, Damien Stone. The former federal prosecutor answered right away.

“Madam Secretary,” he said. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“You’re friends with Camden Fox, correct?”

“Yes I am,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m sorry for skipping past the pleasantries, and for being so abrupt, but I know you helped set up a kidnap response team for him.”

“I did no such thing,” he protested.

“We know for a fact that you did. If your concern is for your own well-being, you can relax. You’re not in trouble because none of this is on the record.”

“Are you monitoring my communications, Secretary Finch?”

“You’re a former federal prosecutor,” she said bothered by the formality and the posturing. “You should know better than anyone that we monitor everyone’s communications, yours included.”

“I knew you guys pulled this crap, but—”

“Spare me the sanctimonious bullshit; I have a larger issue that needs to be addressed. It is of a sensitive nature.”

“What’s larger than this, Madam Secretary?”

“Callie Fox was just dumped at the doorstep of our embassy in Prague.”

“Is she all right?” he asked, sounding shocked.

“She’s been cut into pieces, they think with a chainsaw. We can’t really say for sure until we get our hands on the remains.”

Morgan felt sick to her stomach saying this, let alone with such little emotion. Had she become so practiced at hiding her emotions that the brutal slaying of a US Congressman’s daughter would warrant such little warmth?

The answer was easy.

Yes.

“Are you positive it’s her?” Stone asked in a voice that had fallen a few octaves.

“Unfortunately, I am,” she said. “I’m about to call Camden now and let him know. I just thought you should know as well, in case you have to contact anyone on the ground.”

“Why don’t you let me break the news to Camden,” he said. “He should hear it from me.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Damien.”

“I appreciate the call, Morgan.”

Chapter Forty-Two

LEOPOLD WENTWORTH

When Damien Stone phoned Leopold, he found himself reluctant to take the call. He took it anyway. Later, it would prove to be a good thing that he picked up because Stone answered the question as to where Callie Fox had gone. Unfortunately, it was probably the worst news he’d heard in his entire life. At that moment, he was thankful that Atlas had been driving. With Sydney and the girls in the car, however, he had to hold fast to his resolve, his professionalism, and his sense of leadership.

“Who was that?” Sydney asked.

He wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t make himself say the words.

“Leopold,” she asked again, “who was that on the phone?”

“No one,” he said.

“That sounded like Damien Stone.