Creative Destruction

by Bill Kowaleski

Cast of Characters and Species

Table of Contents

Part 7: SYNTHESIS

Chapter 44: Assassination Attempt

They didn’t know each other’s real names, just the code names they’d learned when the team had first assembled. The Falcon sat against the wall of the dark, stifling boxcar as they bumped along the rail line that would eventually lead to James Martin’s home, a rail line that conveniently ran just five hundred meters from the edge of the Martin estate. His eyes wandered to his teammates, all three of them snoring on the floor in their black clothes.

The Eagle, like the Falcon, was a sharpshooter, renowned as much for his amazing escapes as for his kills. They both were lean, black-bearded, olive-skinned men with dark, intense eyes. The Supreme Commander had required that the beards be short and trimmed so as not to draw too much attention.

The other two, well, they didn’t know their fate yet, and that was just as well. They were younger versions of the sharpshooters, hardly more than boys, trained to perform a very specific task and, if they did somehow survive, they could take solace in the fact that they’d done their part.

The Organization was well-paid for this assignment. The money would fund the further disruption of godless governments, all for the glory of Allah. He laughed. That glory of Allah crap drew in the young recruits, but few of the operatives who had lived as long as he still bought it.

His chuckle woke the Eagle. “What do you laugh at?”

“I laugh at justifications,” said the Falcon. “I laugh at denial. What we do is what we do. It means nothing else.”

The Eagle’s nod was barely discernible in the dim boxcar. The other two operatives continued to snore. The train bumped over a cross track, then sounded its horn. It was a sound full of loneliness, a sound full of five thousand miles from home.

* * *

At James Martin’s palatial home, set on the gentle slope of an intensely green West Virginia hillside, all was in readiness. FBI agents held well-hidden positions around the house but, inside, all appeared normal. Miles and his father sat in the long living room, admiring the sun setting over the green mountains out of the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows that opened onto a tiled veranda that featured an Olympic swimming pool, tables with umbrellas, lounge chairs, and a Tiki bar. Sitting on either side of the windows in two simple chairs pulled in from the dining room were Jason Wise and Abdullah Naïr.

“Ah,” said Abdullah, “there is the train horn. It won’t be long now. You know what to do, Mr. Martin?”

He nodded. “I suppose it has to go down like this, but it seems pretty risky.”

“If everyone does his job, there’s little risk,” said Jason. “I’ve run operations like this for years, and the key is to always know as much as you can about your opponent. Thanks to those nano-monitors I planted on Guevarra when I shook his hand, we know almost everything about this hit squad that’s approaching.”

“So why won’t you tell me and Miles what they’re gonna do?” asked James Martin.

“It works best this way. Trust me.”

The elder Martin shook his head. “You know only what Guevarra heard. What if they’ve changed the plan on their own? What if—”

“Do your part, Mr. Martin,” said Abdullah. “Only Allah knows what the future holds.”

The tiny radio in Miles Martin’s ear whispered, “They just rolled off of the train. Four, as we expected. But they are splitting into separate groups. Two are approaching the house, the other two are deploying in the woods.”

Jason stood. His face revealed concern as he turned it to Abdullah and said, “Take over here, Nefer. I’ve got to change disguises.”

Jason ran to the master bedroom while Martin turned to Abdullah. “Nefer? I never heard anyone call you that.”

“All will be explained very soon, James. Just stay seated as you are.”

“Are we already off the script?” Miles asked. “I don’t like this one bit.”

* * *

The perch in a large old sycamore was perfect. The Falcon could clearly see the Martin’s veranda and, over the top of the three-story house, the entry walkway to the front door, though the door itself was not visible. He saw the young operatives approach, then disappear from his view as they neared the front door.

Flashes flared from the trees at either side of the house quickly followed by sharp cracks. “Check in, Camel!” he whispered, but there was no response. He pointed his rifle at where he’d seen one of the flashes and looked carefully through his scope. Yes, there was the gun. But what was this? It looked odd. He thought a moment. Ahh, not a lethal weapon, just something that shot a drugged dart. No matter. The two young operatives knew little, and he had only one target. The FBI agents were unimportant to him. Soon, when they thought the attack was over, his target would appear on the veranda.

Motion above him caught his eye. A carrion bird, common in his homeland and here, too, it seemed; he’d seen one when they’d first jumped off of the train, too. There was another circling near where the Eagle sat hidden. He idly watched it soar on the updrafts in the twilight sky, and he hoped Martin would appear on the veranda before nightfall.

* * *

Two muffled shots rang out. In his ear, Miles heard, “Two attackers hit at the front door. Unconscious. They’ll be out at least an hour. We’ll leave them there until the other two are secured.”

“Now both of you, onto the floor! Crawl like we taught you! Into the bedroom!” Abdullah’s words were loud, shrill, staccato, as if he were ordering troops.

As they crawled to the bedroom, they could see Jason’s feet as he walked past them into the living room. In the bedroom, Miles stood and went to the closed blinds.

“No!” commanded Abdullah who had followed them. “Do not touch those blinds!”

“There are still two attackers out there. I want to see what’s going on—”

“Exactly why you need to stay below the level of the windows!”

Miles heard the front door open, then the familiar voice of one of the FBI agents.

“Now?”

“No,” Jason’s voice responded. “Another minute. Get the other agent over here. We walk out there together. Are your vests in place?”

For a minute there was only silence, then the bug in Miles ear said, “Drones locked onto remaining attackers.”

“Let’s do this,” said Jason.

Miles, still crouching below the level of the windows, heard the door slide open, footsteps, muffled conversation, and then the crack of shots, four in quick succession. One of the agents rushed into the bedroom. “Jason’s been hit!”

Miles sprang to his feet and ran to the veranda. Jason lay next to the diving board, face down, motionless, in a rapidly expanding pool of blood.

“No! How could this happen? Jason!” Miles fell to his knees, buried his head in Jason’s back and broke into deep sobs. He was beyond despair, beyond shock. He couldn’t feel his hands or his legs. He gulped air. The pain was unbearable.

Then he heard his ear bug talk again. “They’re moving. Danger over. Heading for that culvert near the tracks. We’ll hit them there.”

Miles looked up. An idea came to him. What if... He grabbed Jason’s head and turned it. Now he had his second shock. Instead of Jason, he saw the face and hair of his father. But his father was in the bedroom, so...

“Hey, handsome,” a voice from the ground said. “You’re getting your jeans all stained by this fake blood I built into my disguise.”

His despair transformed in an instant to wild joy. He leapt to his feet and shouted, “Yessss!”

Jason sat up, staring at Miles dancing in circles and pumping his fists. “I guess you still like me.”

Miles stopped and looked down. “God almighty, you look exactly like my father. You’d fool anybody.”

“Now do you understand why we couldn’t tell you the whole plan? Your shock and grief were an important part of it. It induced those sharpshooters to disengage. They were sure they’d hit the right target.”

Miles sat down. “It’s weird. I feel I should call you Dad.”

Just then James Martin walked out onto the veranda. He bent down and shook Jason’s hand saying, “Do I really look that old? I sure don’t feel it.”

Abdullah Naïr joined them. “Success!” he said. “Such a pleasure to work with you again, Inkohatum. You’re the best!”

The real James Martin stared at Abdullah, then Jason. His head pivoted back and forth, finally stopping on Jason. “What’s going on here?”

Yeah,” said Jason, “time we clued you in.”

Proceed to Chapter 45...

Copyright © 2019 by Bill Kowaleski