The Greatest of These by Greg Wendleton (have you read this book .txt) 📗

life. When the soft member of the team, Garret, had casually mentioned that his neighbor and father figure, Chad Wilhite, was developing a logistic plan for delivery of those vaccine vials the plan started to hatch in his brain. Then when the news broke that the United Nations was going to make a large purchase of vaccine for distribution to “less fortunate” countries in Southeast Asia, he saw the possibilities and the big pay day he needed to make his dreams come true.

He needed three things: an avenue to gain information about the shipment; a partner in Southeast Asia willing to pay for the opportunity to liberate the cargo and finally, a patsy, or two, to take the fall for the crime.

His access point to information would be the unsuspecting dupe, Chad Wilhite. Garret had already made the mistake of telling Conrad that Chad was involved in the logistical plans for the United States, Operation Warp Speed program. With any luck at all, Wilhite would find a way to be involved in the United Nations humanitarian effort.

He knew that Garret would be an easy patsy to set up. He had trusted Conrad implicitly for the past fifteen years. He had pulled the trigger more than a dozen times on the simple instructions he had received via their secure email system. He had done it for only $100,000 each time, half of what he paid his other three assassins. That meant Conrad netted $400,000 each time he sent Garret on assignment instead of the $300,000 he earned when; Smith, Jones or Johnson, his other three stooges, were directed to go on a mission. But he would need those three for this big score.

The final piece of the puzzle would be the toughest. Someone, or some organization, to pay handsomely for the inside information that he would be able to provide. He knew who he needed to reach out to, someone he had dealt with before. The United Bamboo Gang, the UBG, is the largest of the criminal Triads on Taiwan. They have their hands in politics, drugs and other nefarious activities. They had the power, reach and most importantly, the money to purchase the “rights” to pirate the humanitarian cargo.

Conrad, through the same dark web channels he had previously used to do business with the UBG, reached out to his contact within the organization. He knew him only as “The Red Assassin”. Conrad had first done work for The Red Assassin, fifteen years ago when one of the UBG’s senior members had embroiled himself in a human trafficking nightmare that involved a United States senator’s daughter. I think you know how that situation resolved itself. The two men had worked on two additional contracts in the interim. It was time to utilize this relationship and broach the biggest question Conrad had ever asked.

He wrote the email and sent it through the dark web. It read:

I have an opportunity for you. Could be worth more than one billion US dollars. Is the information worth $100 million USD?

It was two days later when the email response came:

Are you fucking crazy? Where would you come up with a billion-dollar opportunity?

Conrad laughed out loud for a solid minute, digesting the question from The Red Assassin. Finally, after chugging a healthy amount from his Jose Cuervo bottle he wrote:

NO! I’M NOT FUCKING CRAZY! I have an inside track on COVID vaccine shipment to Southeast Asia. Worth over $1B. Can you pay $100M USD for the information?

It didn’t take two days for The Red Assassin to respond to Conrad’s second email. Within twenty-four hours he received a new email.

Big bosses say they are interested. Taking all the risk to hijack shipment. Information worth only $50 million USD. When will you know details?

Conrad had the third piece of the puzzle in place. He wrote back:

Will have full details by Tue, Feb 23. Can money be wired to the account at time of delivery of details?

Moments later a notification ping announced the response:

It shall be.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Smith, Jones and Johnson, aka the three stooges, had shoved hypodermic needles into the necks of Chad and Jamie Wilhite, in the darkness of the Rock and Brews parking lot. Both succumbed immediately to the power of the anesthesia and were rendered helpless. The two stooges injecting the drugs were the same two who had been inside the restaurant a few minutes earlier. The tailgate of the SUV parked to the right of the rental car opened and the two powerfully built men tossed the Wilhites into the cargo area like they were rag dolls. One stooge hopped into the passenger seat, while the other stooge ran around to the driver’s side of the second SUV. Trying not to make too much of a scene, they backed out of the parking spots like Shriners driving in a parade. Less discretely, they accelerated onto the Hana Highway heading east, out of Paia and past Mama’s Fish House. They were on the Highway to Hell.

The forty-five miles would normally take close to two hours to complete, but in the darkness of this late February night it would take a full three hours. Both drivers nearly drove off the winding, narrow blacktop several times. They corrected their course and slowed down each time. They at least had enough brain mass to understand the need for caution.

Just before they reached the sparsely populated town of Hana, they made a right turn onto an unpaved single lane, dirt trail. After about a half-mile they took another right turn onto an even less traveled path and pulled over after reaching a small, run down shack. This was the safe house that Conrad had arranged for them? It was isolated to be sure. The solo driver, Smith, as it turns out, exited his SUV and grabbed a flashlight from his door’s cargo compartment. He stumbled to the shack and opened the rickety door. Only then did he turn on the flashlight and quickly peruse the interior of