Justice Ch. 07: From the Grave

Justice Ch. 07: From the Grave

This is the actual final chapter to my series, "No Need to Talk," the Saddletramp sequel to Astordatair's story, "I Needed To Talk To You."

The premise of the original story was simple - A man learns his wife is leaving him with their daughter for another man the same day he learns he has terminal brain cancer. In the original, the wife leaves for a month to be with her lover. When she returns, her husband has already passed away.

My three-part sequel told the story of the aftermath from three perspectives, the first from the cheated husband's point of view, the second from Anne's, and the third from Olivia's.

I realize the third part left a lot of valid questions in the reader's minds - for example, how could Anne have reached the level she did. And what was her real motive in recruiting Olivia? Hopefully, this story will answer those questions and more.

I also realize this story is almost as long as all three parts of my sequel combined. There was a lot of territory to cover, and I didn't want to give it short shrift. In all fairness, I could have easily added another several pages but chose not to.

Like the other chapters in this series, this story can be read on its own.

Many thanks to all those who reached out over the last couple of months. I am doing much better now, thank you. Also, many thanks to QuantumMechanic1957 for his patience in beta-reading this story.

And now, the disclaimers:

For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper... In addition:

1. Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities.
2. All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.
3. Statements or views uttered by the fictional characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

The end of "No Need to Talk, Pt. 03: Olivia"

"As do I," I replied. While I really wanted to get reacquainted with my birth mother, a part of me had reservations.

Anne/Anita stood and held her arms open. After a slight hesitation, I took her in my arms and returned her hug. I had to admit, it felt good to have her arms around me one more time. Still...

"Well, we'll be landing soon. Why don't you go on back and get some rest? After we touch down, I'll take you to your new apartment and explain the rules of the road, so to speak."

"All right," I said, leaving the cabin. I took my seat in the back part of the airplane and looked out the window. I had gone full circle, but I couldn't help but wonder what - and who -- I would face over the next two years.

I knew one thing for certain, though. The Julio Cabreras of the world had better watch out. I fell asleep and saw my dad's smiling face nodding in approval.

"Remember, Olivia. No matter where you go, or what you do, justice is riding with you," he said in my dream. I don't know what he meant by that, but it sure sounded good.

And now, Justice, Ch. 07: From the Grave:

Eighteen months later:

As I had done so many times in the last eighteen months, I took my position and scanned the target location. Jeremy Smith, or "Smitty," as everyone called him, took his usual place by my side as my spotter.

I was once again assigned to Ryan Jackson's team. We had developed a rapport over the last year and a half, and more than a professional acquaintance, although it never developed into a physical relationship. Both of us were too professional to let that happen and understood the adage that "familiarity breeds contempt." But he had come to respect my opinion when it came to planning operations.

We operated in various places around the planet, from Central and South America to Africa and the Middle East. We also conducted operations in Europe, but on most of those occasions, my job was simply to perform reconnaissance. Once was even in a cocktail dress at a diplomatic soiree, of all things. Ryan laughed his ass off on that one.

This time, we were operating on an island off the coast of Madagascar which was nothing but rock and dense jungle. The operation should have been simple. According to the mission brief, a local warlord had kidnapped several women from a handful of embassies in Madagascar and unless an exorbitant ransom was promptly paid, they would be sold to the highest bidders.

We were to free the women and save authorities the expense of a trial. Nothing we hadn't done dozens of times before, but I had a bad feeling about it from the beginning. There wasn't anything I could put my finger on, but I expressed my concern to Ryan in private, nevertheless.

"Can you point to anything to back up what you're saying?" Ryan asked earnestly, looking me straight in the eye.

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "Nothing directly."

"I can't abort a mission based on your intuition, Olivia," Ryan said after a lengthy silence. "A soldier's intuition is one of their most valuable assets. I trust yours like Peter Parker trusts his spidey sense. But the higher-ups will be upset at an abort for no reason. I need something solid."

"I know. I can't explain it," I said, frustrated with myself. At least Ryan listened to my concerns without dismissing them out of hand.

"All right. We'll keep an extra sharp eye out. You do the same. If you see anything, anything at all, that counters our intel, let me know immediately, and we'll abort. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," I replied, not really reassured, but I didn't have anything to stand on either.

The seven of us left the submarine USS Idaho just before dawn in three rubber crafts and silently made our way to the island. The only way home submerged silently behind us. After securing the boats on a ridiculous sliver of beach, we quickly made our way through the thick jungle to our objectives; me to a rock pinnacle with a deep, shadowed cleft, and Ryan and the guys toward a cluster of infra-red sources deep in the jungle.

The sun was just beginning to rise when we reached our location, and I began the process of scanning our target. My attention was drawn to some movement in the jungle close to the target. I looked through the advanced optics on my rifle and was stunned at what I saw.

It was as if the entire jungle had suddenly come to life. I was shocked to see what looked like hundreds of heavily armed and camouflaged men moving toward the target team. Looking further, I saw another large formation on the opposite side of the target, moving toward the team. That placed my guys in a deadly crossfire. I knew instantly there was no way we could overcome such a large and well-armed force.

"Shit," I hissed. "Smitty, call the team. It's a trap. I estimate at least a battalion-sized force in two teams moving against them."

"Roger that," Smitty said, picking up his radio. "Eagle Nest to Eagle Leader. Abort. I say again, abort. Two large formations moving in your direction."

"Copy that, Eagle Nest," I heard Ryan's voice say quietly.

Suddenly, I heard a distinctive noise. The sharp 'Ka-CHUMP' of large-caliber mortar rounds being launched, followed seconds later by loud explosions. Then I heard automatic weapons fire. The shit had officially hit the fan. Protocol dictated that in these situations, each team member would immediately disengage and head for the rendezvous point.

Smitty and I quickly secured our gear and turned to skedaddle... but found ourselves facing a large group of armed men in camouflage uniforms. How the Hell did they get behind us without my hearing them? I was very good at stalking but realized this was probably their home, and they would be far more familiar with the terrain than me.

Smitty pulled his sidearm, but two men practically blew him to pieces with their automatic weapons. I was spattered with his blood but didn't flinch. I had my sniper rifle, but it was pointed toward the sky, and before I could bring it to bear, I'd be in pieces like Smitty. The way these bastards were looking at me that might be the easier way out. The large man in front looked at me and smiled, but there was no warmth in his face.

"Well, it seems the rumors are true," he said in a deep baritone voice. "I see the Americans are now sending schoolgirls to do men's work. You should be at home, shaking pom-poms and having babies, Olivia Coleman."

I fought for control. What? How did this man know my name? To my knowledge, only one person outside of the team knew my identity - the woman I worked for, the woman who used to be my mother. I was stunned but forced myself to remain silent.

"Yes, I know who you are. Do not be afraid. Papa Charlie will take good care of you," the big man added as the others snickered obscenely. I had a sinking feeling that I would not like what was about to happen. "You are far more valuable to us alive and... intact." He turned to two of his men. "Secure her. Do not harm her in any way."

Two men kept their Kalashnikov rifles trained on me and two others took my rifle and tied my wrists together. They attached a rope to my wrists, handing the other end to the big man, whom I assumed was "Papa Charlie."

"Let's go," the big man said before turning. I found myself being half-pulled along, like a dog on a leash. We stomped through the jungle for several hours before reaching the compound.

When we arrived, I saw the bullet-ridden bodies of four of my teammates, stripped to their skivvies. I didn't see Ryan among them and hoped that he managed to get away. Although heartbroken, I gritted my teeth, determined not to show any emotion as they dumped Smitty's body with the rest. I didn't want to give away the fact that they hadn't gotten everybody.

"As you can see, the rest of your team has been dispatched," the big man said after we stopped. I looked him in the eye, more determined than ever not to break down or show any emotion. He frowned as he examined my face.

"You are not like any American woman I have ever encountered," he said with a curled lip. "The sight of death does not seem to bother you. I sense the spirit of the warrior in you."

"What do you want?" I asked tersely, trying to change the subject.

"That should be obvious, Olivia Coleman," he replied in his heavily accented English.

Of course, I thought. He wants to rape me. But his answer shocked me even more.

"You are worth a lot of money. Give me, say, 50 million American dollars, and you can go free," he said.

Again, I was stunned. I never told anyone about my inheritance - let alone how much. To my knowledge, there was only one person outside of my immediate family who knew that - my birth mother.

"I don't have access to that much," I said, hoping to bargain with this man. "And I won't for several years yet."

"But you can make it happen," the man said without a flicker of emotion.

"How do I know you'll let me go if I agree to your demands?" I asked.

"You don't." His voice had no humor in it.

"And if I refuse?" I asked.

"That would be most... unwise," the man said replied without any heat. "Papa Charlie would not be happy. And when Papa Charlie is unhappy, bad things happen to little American girls like you."

I felt and saw the eyes of the men looking me over like a piece of meat. Papa Charlie's face broke into a grin.

"You are not as soft and curvy as the other women we have... hosted here. But I suspect you would be quite... interesting," he said. "I will give you 24 hours to make your decision." He looked at two men and barked an order.

The next thing I remember was being roughly pushed and shoved to a hut, then dumped inside. A woman who accompanied the men stood in front of me.

"Strip," she ordered.

"Why?" I asked, concerned that I would be raped.

"Papa Charlie wants to make sure you are not carrying any weapons or tracking devices," the woman stated. "Now, remove your clothing or I will have the men do it. Your choice."

I glowered at the woman as I slowly undressed. I stood in front of her wearing only my bra and panties.

"Everything," she barked. "They will not touch you unless you give them a reason."

I slowly removed my bra and panties and stood before the woman, naked and embarrassed. I understood part of this was to break my spirit, but I refused to let them win.

"Spread your legs," the woman ordered as the men leered at my body, toned from years of hard work, training, and exercise. I spread my feet shoulder width and felt the woman roughly insert a finger inside me. I looked at the wall before me, trying to block out the sensation.

As she fingered me, I watched one of the men rifle through my clothes, checking them for any weapons or tracking devices. The other man held my panties to his face as he kept his weapon on me, and I nearly threw up when I saw him smile as he sniffed the gusset.

"Turn around and bend over," the woman demanded when she finished. I knew what she was about to do, and slowly did as she ordered. She spread my ass cheeks apart and I felt a finger probe my backside. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth as she put her whole finger inside me. Suddenly, the finger left me and I turned as I stood.

"Papa Charlie was right. You are not as soft as others we have had here," the woman said as she wiped her finger with a towel hanging from her belt. "You almost feel like a virgin," she added as the men leered at my B-cup breasts. I said nothing but looked at her with hatred on my face. "You may get dressed now," the woman said before turning away.

The men locked the door when they left the hut and took positions on each side of it. I quickly dressed and took in my surroundings.

The dirt floor was packed hard, and a rough-woven mat lay in the middle of the room. There was a small cot and a tiny table, and a bucket sat in one corner, which I assumed was the closest thing to a toilet these people could manage.

I sat on the cot and considered my options. I was certain these people had no scruples, and 24 hours would pass quickly. I also knew that even if I agreed to Papa Charlie's demands, the odds were I would probably end up either dead or in someone's harem... after these guys were done with me.

I closed my eyes and quietly mourned the loss of my teammates. It was a gut-wrenching realization that they were dead because of me. These bastards only wanted me for my potential ransom; my team was just in the way. We were not encouraged to know anything personal about each other so we couldn't give anything away if captured. It weighed heavily on me that I had no idea if any of them had had girlfriends, wives, kids, or siblings - anyone to mourn them but me.

There was obviously no way out of this hut, let alone the compound without help. As I thought about my situation, I recalled something my biological father said in a dream when I first took this job: "No matter where you go, or what you do, justice is riding with you."

Justice. The idea of that sounded good to me. I laid back on the cot and tried to get some sleep. "I sure could use some of that Justice about now, Dad," I murmured, staring at the mildewed plastic drape above me.

...

Eli, Danni, and Amos Jones sat outside on the back deck, reminiscing about the last 20 years. William and Elizabeth - Danni and Amos' children - were now in college, and on their own.

"Place is so quiet without the kids," Danni said wistfully.

"Yup. Seems like only yesterday I was out here playing horsey with 'em," Eli said with a chuckle.

"They sure loved it when you did that, Grandpa," Amos replied.

"I had a good time playing with 'em," Eli chuckled. "You two did a good job raisin' them kids. I can see good things in their future. Before you know it, they'll be bringing you a grandkid or two."

"What makes you say that?" Amos asked.

"Cycle of life," Eli replied. "They'll meet someone, fall in love, get married. That's the way it always has been." Eli's face suddenly changed, and Amos knew something had just happened.

"Everything all right?" Danni asked anxiously.

"I need to go," Eli said quietly. "Something just came up."

"Need any help?" Amos asked, almost eagerly.

"Not... yet," Eli said. "I'll be in touch."

Amos and Danni walked Eli to the door and watched as he jumped into the saddle of his huge horse. He whirled the animal around and hit the beast's flanks with his spurs.

"HEYAHH!" he shouted, spurring the giant horse forward. They saw him fly toward the back of the property, disappearing in a large cloud of dust, leaving behind a vacuum of sudden silence.

...

The hut was dark when I woke up, and I could smell burnt meat from the fires outside. There was a tray with something on it by the door, but the insects flying over it turned my stomach. Suddenly, the temperature in the hut dropped significantly, and I could see my breath forming clouds of mist. What the Hell? This was the tropics! Was this to put some kind of psychological or physical pressure on me?

A chill ran up my neck, and I could feel the hairs on my arms stand as if hit with static. I looked around and thought I saw shadows moving. I sat bolt upright and looked around, rubbing my arms in a vain effort to warm up.

As the temperature dropped even further and chills ran up and down my spine, I watched the shadows in one corner of the hut move. They seemed to swirl and coalesce into the form of a man. The temperature started rising, and I saw what looked like a cowboy from an old western step toward me, his eyes blazing like fire. This was it. I'd caught some jungle fever and was hallucinating.

He put a finger to his lips as I started to say something in the universal sign that meant, "Shut the fuck up." So, I did, staring. I doubted that hallucinations did that.

"The name's Peace. Justice O. Peace," the man said quietly. It seemed barely audible, but I heard it quite clearly. "Mah friends call me Eli. Come with me. There's some folks who want to meet with ya." He held out a gloved hand. "It's okay," he added, nodding at his hand.

I reluctantly put my hand in his, and the next thing I knew, we were standing in the middle of the street of an old Western-style town. The sky was blue without a single cloud, and the sun burned bright. Strangely enough, it wasn't as warm as I thought it would be.

"Where are we? Who are you? Really?" I asked apprehensively. Ryan would quote, often, Don't ask the question if you aren't ready for the answer.

"Ah tol' ya. Name's Justice O. Peace. You asked for me, so I came. This here's Hard Rock, Texas, circa 1855. Used to live here when ah was younger. Back before the war," he added.

"War? Which war?" I shot back, unnerved. Though the date should have given me a clue; I had gotten straight As in history.

"The war between the States, of course," he replied so matter-of-factly that I automatically believed him. "What you call the Civil War. Although there was nothing civil about it. C'mon. There's some folks who want to see ya."

I followed the strange man across the dusty road and into an old Western saloon. Honest. It even had those swinging double doors I had seen in the old movies. A man in a white shirt stood behind the bar wiping a glass clean.