Today’s excerpt is from Assassin
I Am, a standalone book featuring Fred Dupree, Rosemary Williams, and
some old friends. Rosemary kills her
first terrorist. Enjoy and have a great day.
m.j.
When he reached
a spot he thought would do, Fred shoved the sergeant to his knees, took off the
hood and duct tape, and growled, “Okay, sergeant, I’m gonna ask you a few
questions—I want truthful answers. Some,
by the way, I already know the answers to, so no fibbing. At best, you’ll stand trial for your
misdeeds; at worst…well, there are two ‘at worsts’. One, you will be taken to a secret
underground prison, jokingly called Gitmo Two.
You go there without trial and spend the rest of your life there. Your condition on arrival will depend on how
easy it is to get the truth from you.
Lying to me or refusing to cooperate will result in parts of your body
being removed. I will start between your
legs.
“The second ‘at
worst’ is you will be buried in the grave my partner is digging—actually, that
will happen in any event. You will be
given a breathing tube, but will be bound in such a manner that you won’t be
able to move. You will be left there if
anything happens to me or my partner as a result of faulty information you give
us. If your information proves to be
correct in all details, we will come back and unbury you.”
Fred went into
further detail as to exactly what he would do to the sergeant before he asked,
“Got it?”
The sergeant
glared with hate at Fred, but nodded his head, knowing he was going to give all
the information he had. He was terrified
even at the prospects of being buried alive and having to hope his information
proved useful and truthful, to the point that his two tormentors were able to
enter the mosque he was going to send them to and leave alive.
He readily
admitted to making the phone call that put in motion the attempt on Fred’s
life. Under questioning, he explained
how he had been able to recognize Fred.
On an operation in Chicago, Fred—mistakenly certain there was no camera
in the room of a mosque he was in—had his picture taken. He had been wearing a false mustache with
bushy eyebrows, but it was not enough to keep him from being recognized by an
experienced policeman who had seen the picture taken by the secret camera. By the time the now-captive sergeant saw
Fred, the picture had been circulated to all al-Qaida affiliated terrorists in
the U.S.
The FBI was
aware of this, but—through simple oversight—had not passed it on to Homeland
Security. Therefore, Fred had been
unaware, until his questioning of his prisoner.
He was less than happy to find out this new problem, but let it go, as
he continued with the sergeant.
Fred also
learned that the mosque where the sergeant infrequently went to services was
the one contacted with the information on him.
He was told the imam always had from five to fifteen of his ardent
followers (terrorists) with him when in the mosque, and he seldom left it. When asked about why that was so, the
sergeant could only guess that something of great value was in the mosque.
Convinced he had
obtained all the information he could from the sergeant, Fred got him up and
marched him to the grave Rosemary had dug.
He had the protesting man get in, then looked at Rosemary and asked,
“Would you like to do the honors?”
Knowing she was
being tested and not caring in the least, Rosemary took out her gun and shot
the man in the forehead. Without a bit
of hesitation, she put her gun away and reached for the shovel. Fred walked over and took it from her. “You did the heavy lifting—let me cover him
up.”
When he
finished, he hurled the shovel some distance away and put his arm around
Rosemary as they walked back to the car.
“You okay?”
“Sorta. I’m a bit queasy—didn’t think I would
be. At least I didn’t throw up.”
When they
reached the car, Fred rooted around in his ‘war bag’ and found a pint of
bourbon. He broke the seal and handed it
to Rosemary. “Don’t overdo it—you’re
driving.”
Rosemary took a
long swallow and coughed. She capped it,
handed it back, and muttered, “Thanks.
Where to?”
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