The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 08

Susan sat smugly in the back of the FBI vehicle. Mr. Asshole Mark Miller, big time FBI creep couldn't tell the difference between amniotic fluid and piss. She looked over and leered, "If I lose my baby I'll see that you're screwed; screwed but good."

Agent Miller silently gnashed his teeth.

The vehicle sped on into the night. It was a huge SUV, but had no siren so it was touch and go all the way.

Susan grimaced, "I'm uncomfortable."

The vehicle rolled into the hospital parking area and up to the emergency room doors. Two orderlies with a stretcher raced out to the back of the vehicle.

Susan leaned forward and stood up, "Oh hell. It was just me having to take a piss." She looked back at Agent Miller, "Oops. I'm sorry."

Miller was furious. He hailed the driver, "Get started again. We're taking this young lady in for interrogation."

Susan gave him a phony befuddled smile, "Look. We're right here at a hospital. Why can't I make a call to my lawyer from right here?"

Miller smacked his fists together. He turned back to the driver, "Hold up." He looked at Susan, "Let's go inside for a minute." He gave her a look of what he hoped was genuine apology; could I please have an informal talk with you?"

Susan, feeling completely in control, smiled even more broadly, "What kind of informal talk?"

Agent Miller held up his hands, "Please, just for a few minutes."

Susan stood there, a little tired, looking a little haggard, clothes a little ratty, and belly distended, "You want to ask me out?"

Miller responded, "Please?"

Susan relented, "I'm tired. My back is killing me. I ache all over, but if you need a minute, I'll go

along."

Agent Miller nodded as if in relief, "Thank you." He took her arm and helped her inside the hospital.

Once inside Agent Miller turned to his driver, "Call a limousine so we can see Ms. Slattery gets home comfortably." He looked at the doctor on call, a man who'd been standing in the rotunda in disbelief, "Do you have a nice comfortable private lounge where she and I could sit down for a few minutes?"

The doctor stood to the side a little. He started to walk as he pointed he spoke, "Sure follow me."

The doctor led Susan and Agent Miller to a quiet and comfortable facility. Once they were inside Agent

Miller looked at Susan, "Would you like a coffee or anything?"

She responded, "A coffee, cream only, that would be nice."

Agent Miller looked at the doctor, "Could you please get us two coffees with cream?"

As the doctor walked away Agent Miller and Susan both sat down, each in one of the plush comfortable chairs available. Agent Miller spoke first, "I'm sorry for all the trouble. No one's going to arrest you."

Susan stiffly responded, "Well thank you Sir Galahad."

Agent Miller started talking, "I know you've been through a lot, and I'm responsible for at least tonight, though I know I've done nothing wrong."

Susan sternly commented, "Then I can go home?"

Agent Miller answered, "You said you'd give me a couple minutes."

Susan was tired and she wasn't at her best, "Look I've had it." She wasn't thinking. "I've been kidnapped twice, ransomed twice. I've had my career ruined, and my private life turned upside down. Then you come along and accuse me of things you and I both know won't stand up, and now you want to talk."

Agent Miller was tired too, but not that tired, "You said you were kidnapped twice? Ransomed twice?"

Susan realized her mistake, "Did I say that? I meant once."

Agent Miller had some information he needed even if he didn't have her, "You said twice, and you meant it. The truth be known you have been kidnapped and ransomed twice, and both times by the same man."

Susan had slipped up, but knew he still didn't have anything, "I said twice, but meant once. It was just a slip of the tongue."

Agent Miller waved his hand, "I don't want to fight about it. You and I know the truth. I can't and won't press it, but I want to tell you some things. Let me do that, and I'll see you get home safely."

An orderly came in and dropped off two coffees. Susan opened her lid and smelled it, "Just checking for drugs."

Agent Miller didn't laugh, "No drugs. Will you let me talk?"

Susan sipped her coffee, "Sure. I've got time."

Miller took out a piece of paper and a pen. He wrote the name Ophay on it, and handed it to her, "This is the code name of a killer I've been tracking for two years. He's the man who has kidnapped and saved you two separate times."

Susan listened but offered no comment.

Agent Miller went on, "I've positively connected him with six different homicidal occurrences." He looked at Susan, "Eight years ago he murdered a twenty-six year old woman for $5,000.00 simply because she was alleged to be cutting out on an unhappy boyfriend."

Susan sat stiffly.

Miller continued, "Five years ago he murdered a forty-two year old industrialist, a man with a wife and two children. Five years ago he murdered three black jack dealers in Las Vegas. He got $5,000.00 and $25,000.00 respectively." Miller tried to appreciate any expression on the woman's face, but so far got no response.

He kept at it, "Four years ago he murdered a twenty-four year old secretary. He got $25,000.00 for that. Three years ago he scored $100,000.00 when he drowned a sports celebrity while the guy was scuba diving."

Susan looked up. She remembered reading something about that.

Miller hit her with the coupe de grace, "Two years ago he got $125,000.00 for butchering an entire family.

Susan was listening.

"That's right." Miller said, "He murdered a father, mother, and all three of their children." He paused for emphasis, "I'm not lying to you." He waited, "Susan that man you've been protecting is a bad one. These are only the cases we can prove. There are half a dozen others we think he was involved in."

Susan was holding her coffee cup in both hands, "You're lying."

"I'm not lying. The man's a murderer. Why you're alive is a mystery."

She took another sip, "I don't believe you."

"Believe me. Look I know you were kidnapped twice. I think I know why the second time."

Susan looked at him, "Yeah? Why?"

"You're alive. That's why." He pushed the only button he had, "Look, no recriminations, no threats, no charges. We'll even help you get your business started again. Just give me a name. Just a name, that's all."

Susan was tired. She wanted to go home. She needed to rest. All he wanted was a name. Shawn said it would be OK. She looked over, "Shawn McClellan."

Agent Miller wrote down the name. He stepped to the door and spoke to the agent who'd been the driver, "See Ms. Slattery to the vehicle we ordered for her. See that she gets home." He turned back to Susan, "Thank you Ms. Slattery."

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On the other side of the world; in the arid Sahara a handful of aid workers watched as a caravan of vehicles approached from the east. It was the irregular forces who'd been to their camp several days before. This time Shawn, Kim and the others knew things wouldn't be nearly as cordial.

Kim looked around, "Everybody has what they need?"

Everyone nodded.

"Then let's take up positions."

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Susan sat in the back seat of the black limousine as it hurtled its way across town. She realized what she'd done. She betrayed the man who loved her. Sure it was probably the right thing to do. If he'd committed all those crimes; if he killed all those people; then he should be brought to justice. There was no reason to believe Agent Miller had lied. She knew Shawn had been a hired killer from the first day. She knew he was bad luck for her. She knew there was no future being in love with a man like him. She knew there were other men, better men. There was Todd.

Still, if all the bad things he'd said about Shawn were true, then why did she feel so horrible? She sat quietly in the darkened back seat of the limousine. She whispered, Hermie. She put her head in her hands and started to weep. What was wrong with her she wondered?

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Agent Mark Miller rode along in the FBI vehicle with his current partner. Pulling out his hand held computer, blackberry, blueberry, hand pad, or whatever it was, and typed in Shawn McClellan. The name rang a bell; he just couldn't get a fix on it. The dashboard screen of the vehicle started to vomit up information, a military picture, military records, childhood records, college information. He studied what emerged. Everything on the screen fit neatly with what he'd hoped. With all McClellan's known past activities on the screen there was nothing that conflicted with any of the murders Miller's Ophay had been aligned with. There was strong circumstantial evidence to put McClellan in all the right places at all the right times. But there were problems too. This man McClellan had a career working with international aid organizations. The two didn't make sense. They weren't congruent. Syndicate murderers weren't do gooders.

There were inconsistencies pertaining to his military record as well. He'd volunteered for three years service, he'd seen action; he must have. Yet there were no references to the expected places, nothing about Iraq, Afghanistan, not even Korea, but he had two Bronze Stars. Something else was suspicious. There was an official letter of commendation indicating an honorable record of service and dismissal as an E-5. But it came after only two years. He'd signed on for three. At the end of two years he was an E-6. His commendation letter that mentioned 'honorable service' was not a military discharge. Mark Miller was puzzled. What happened to the higher ranking? What happened to the third year? Where was the Honorable Discharge?

Agent Miller looked at McClellan's military record. It didn't make any sense. What happened to that third year? He tried to pull up more information. The computer stopped him cold. Any further information about Sergeant E-6 or E-5 McClellan was blocked. Not even his FBI password could penetrate the military firewall. Agent Miller could come to only one conclusion. The name Susan Slattery gave him was a phony. This man Shawn McClellan could never have been the man she claimed had kidnapped and then ransomed her. This man was still actively engaged in the United States Armed Forces. That bitch he thought. She pulled not one, but two tricks on him this night. He wasn't going to let her get away with it.

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Kim strode out to greet the oncoming convoy. He could tell they were the irregulars from several days before. They looked pretty confident too. As they pulled closer the A.P.C. slipped to the side of the road.

The other vehicles stopped and started to disgorge their passengers. Aside from the Armored Personnel Carrier there were four trucks, what looked like an old Russian APC, and a tow vehicle hauling an open trailer.

Out of the trucks, the Russian vehicle and the trailer emerged several dozen young men, mostly boys actually. Some had automatic rifles; a few had pistols, but most still carried sticks or large knives. They made no attempt to approach him. They were all making straight for the encampment, and from what Kim could tell they were headed for the womens' quarters.

Kim realized there would be no negotiation this morning. He waved his arm, the signal to prepare to fire. As they drew closer he dropped his arm.

Shawn, Jesus, Amin, two trustworthy male refugees, and Kim all opened fired. Within seconds the front rank of irregulars crumpled to the ground. Some died instantly, but most lay writhing on the ground. The rest fled back to the trucks.

Kim saw the commander step from behind the APC. He started giving orders to the young men, and they began to fan out around the perimeter of the camp. Obviously they intended to attack it from several sides.

Looking over at his comrades he could tell they'd all come to the same conclusion. Amin and Jesus were retreating to the main hospital. Shawn had collected two trustworthy refugees and retreated to the womens' area. Kim took up a position directly athwart the opposing commander. If he could kill him, that would end the affair.

The young irregulars rushed the camp from several directions. As they crossed the perimeter's outer edges all the armed aid personnel opened fire. Most of the irregulars found themselves in a crossfire between Shawn and his group and Amin and Jesus. It was a devastating display of the effectiveness of the AK 47. What a remarkable weapon. Another score of young, or youngish, boys lay splayed all over the ground.

Kim opened fire on the APC hoping to hit the enemy commander. He was sure it was a waste of time. If there was one man among the opposing forces who took care to keep safe it was him.

All around the camp the youthful enemy retreated. Everywhere was the pitiful sound of dying or desperately wounded adolescents. A few minutes earlier most of them probably envisioned themselves proud conquerors. Seconds later they were just another flock of dying boys.

Kim, Shawn, and all the others held their breath. They hoped they'd succeeded in beating back their attackers. Such was not the case.

The commander in the APC ordered its occupants to open up with the forty millimeter. Over the next several minutes cannon fire blazed through the aid camp like a firestorm. Each shot swept through two, sometimes three tents. Hundreds of refugees started to flee westward, away from the cannon fire.

The Sudanese commandant wasn't finished. He sat upon the top of the APC and released the safety catch on the fifty caliber machine gun. Slowly, irresistibly, the APC started moving toward and then through the camp. The man atop the vehicle fired into every tent, at everything and anything that appeared to move. He even raked bullet fire across his own wounded.

What had taken three groups of aid personnel months to organize was being annihilated in minutes. Dozens of women lay dead in the dirt. Perhaps a hundred children had been machine gunned. Hundreds had fled. Dozens more lay amid the ruins crying, some in pain due to their own wounds, many others in bitter anguish over the loss of some child or parent.

Shawn scanned the area. He saw Jesus among the dead. Amin was holding his intestines in his hands. He couldn't see anyone else. Kim, Kia, and Shai, had all either escaped, or were lying unseen among the heaps of dead. Shawn turned to the surviving men among his small group. In a dialect he knew they all understood he led them away. There was nothing left here but death and failure. Shawn's primary duty from then on was to the men still with him, and to those who'd been killed. He had to escape. He had to report what happened here. He vowed this massacre mustn't go unpunished.

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By the time the limousine dropped Susan dropped off it was late. She undressed, rinsed off, and went to bed.

Susan dropped off to sleep almost immediately, but didn't remain so. Something awakened her. It awakened her with a start! She peered over at the electric dial on her alarm clock. It read 3:30 a.m. She hurt.

She lay there for another ten minutes. The time slowly clicked by. There! She felt it again! It was hard to say exactly what it felt like; maybe like a watery wave rolling into shore, except this was in her abdomen. It hurt, but not profoundly, sort of like being constipated. She figured either her baby was moving, or she was starting to have contractions.

Susan lay beside the clock and watched the minutes tick away. After another fifteen minutes she decided it had been a false alarm. She rolled back on her right side, and closed her eyes. She should get back to sleep. There wasn't anything to do at the office, but she ought to get in early just in case. Oh! There it was again!

Yes, this could be the beginning of her time. She rolled back over to look at the clock again. It was 4:15 a.m. Gee, she thought, if that's all it was going to be it wouldn't hurt much at all. All the books and all the people she'd talked to described agonizing pain. She sort of figured all along they were only trying to scare her. No big deal! Hell, she'd put up with Shawn, she could put up with this. It was his anyway. His and hers she thought.

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The commandant of the irregulars picked up the APC phone. He called the Captain of the regular forces who'd loaned him the APC, the very Captain who's visited the aid camp just days earlier, "Sir, we've just broken up a major gun running operation disguised as a UN aid station. We must have killed fifty terrorists! The rest have fled. Unfortunately few usable firearms have been found. Most have been destroyed in combat, or were taken off by the fleeing terrorists. This was a great victory. Our casualties have been high."

The Captain on the other end replied, "Did you capture any of their leaders?"

The Irregular commander responded, "Not sure. We're still looking through the debris."

The Captain ordered, "Any male leaders must be killed instantly. Hold any women."

"Yes sir!"

The Captain continued, "Collect all the medical supplies and any other useful paraphernalia you find and load it on the trucks. Did you find any money?"

The Irregular commander was standing in a partially damaged tent staring at an open box filled with $100.00 bills. "No sir. No money." He had no way of knowing he'd just put a bullet in his own head.

The Captain concluded the conversation, "Gather in what you can. Burn all the bodies. I'll be there soon." He turned to one of his lieutenants, his primary aide, "Call out Mustafa's squad." Mustafa was a sergeant among his battalion, and an integral part of his personal operations. Most of the Sudanese army had been corrupted by years of civil conflict. Mustafa's group was no less corrupt, but they were all elite troops, his elite, and they were all battle hardened veterans.

The Captain turned back to another telephone. This one connected him to his commander. He hit the necessary button and waited. Seconds later an adjutant on the other end responded, "General Ibn al Suleiman's headquarters."

The Captain spoke, "Sir. This is Captain Kemal al Raspar, 351st Mobile Infantry reporting on the disruption of a terrorist base camp."

The adjutant answered, "Sir. Hold on."

Second later, "This is General Suleiman."

The Captain gave his report, "After weeks of surveillance we've uncovered and disposed of a secret Christian terrorist base. Thanks to our planning casualties have been modest. Though few tangible resources have been collected a major disruption to the Christian anti-government movement has been achieved."

The General listened in bored frustration, "Any money found?"

The Captain responded, "None yet sir."

Suleiman closed the conversation, "Bring me any worthy female prisoners, all the money, and any other worthwhile supplies you've been able to salvage." He paused for emphasis then added, "This was a job well done Raspar. It will go on your record."

On the other end there was a delighted, "Yes Sir!"

Captain Raspar turned to his aide, "The men ready?"

His aide responded, "Yes sir."

"Good. Let's go clean up the mess."

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Back at the wreckage of what had a few hours earlier been a working aid station the Commander of the irregular forces felt insanely rich. Sitting on a bloody chair, he was holding a shoebox that contained $80,000 American dollars, while languidly watching two luscious upper class women pretending to care about a bunch of worthless Dinka refugees.

Kia and Shai had decided not to run. They tried to gather as many of the surviving camp inhabitants as they could. Finding what was left of the medical supplies had proved a daunting task. The few surviving irregulars had collected most of the medicines and turned them over to their leader. The women worked feverishly trying to bandage horrid bullet wounds and vicious shrapnel lacerations, while a dozen callow irregulars stared at them lasciviously. Kia, owing to her exotic appearance, was the recipient of significant ogling.