The ReRoute
"You are crazy. Men die just for knowing this package exists."
I had been trying to convince myself that it was a bad idea to have this cargo in my possession, but my desire to own items in high demand was greater and trumped my objections. I threw the tarp over the package, then jumped into the drivers seat of a large delivery truck and began to drive away. Simultaneously, I signaled two drivers of identically marked delivery trucks to take off in the opposite direction. If anybody was watching, they would need to decide for themselves which truck to follow.
As I drove down a badly carved road, I began to relive the past 24 hours in my head. There was nothing but desert ahead of me. All I had to do was drive and sweat. Might as well be productive.
24 hours ago, I received a call that stood me up on edge. It was a contact of mine from a neighboring nation. His region had a rumor circulating about a new type of nuclear device. One that was easier to create under government scrutiny and was 100% undetectable by radioactive scanning. It could easily be hidden in an individuals basement or storage building. There were also rumblings that there were daily improvements over it's half life and durability.
These factors alone made the device extremely dangerous. The official word was it doesn't exist. I knew better, my contacts don't lie. That's why they are my contacts. I knew that if this device fell into the wrong hands, there would be serious security issues.
I began to map out a plan to, at the very least, see this device. I was well known as a man of knowledge in this area. People came to me with questions and I could give answers. I had to know what this device was all about. I would worry about owning it later.
I began my plan by studying the region of my contact. It was fairly remote, which meant that there was a high probability of running into surprises while I studied this region. I began by getting my hands on maps, I contacted an associate of mine who specialized in GPS systems programming and satellite tracking. I gave him ranges of coordinates and got maps of the entire area. I planned 3 separate routes that could easily be switched should the need arise. I picked routes that had very few towns on their roads, so there was little chance of being spotted.
I then began gathering some intel on the group in possession of this device. They were a rather large team of terrorists in a neighboring nation, they were also extremely high tech. A quick scan of sales record from nearby vendors proved that they were terrorists with deep pockets and could afford high quality survaillance equipment. This meant that I would be watched from multiple angles as I approached their operation.
The records did not include weapons that were purchased. For that, I would have to search the records of the US counter terrorist intel records.
That would be slightly tricky. The last time I broke into a US based server, I was nearly caught and would've gone to jail for a very long time. This time, I decided to take a different route.
I pulled out a older laptop and turned it on, connecting a secure card to it to connect to a special network. Once the connection was complete, I opened up a terminal chat window and collected a random ID. The random ID was only valid for 60 seconds, long enough to get my data and get out. I typed in the location of the server I wanted the info from and a generalization of the intel.
60 seconds later, I was given the location of a server where my data would be placed. I was advised to wait up to one hour for proper measures to be taken to protect privacy. This was the “Ghost Ring” network. A completely secure and anonymous network of Hackers and Intel specialists. Their network was as simple as logging into the right spot, with the right credentials, and requesting the information you needed. They would then tell you where to look for it among countless servers being used for storage. No names were ever exchanged, and the connections were encrypted. Completely safe for me, and in one hour I would have my intel.
I spent the next hour securing trucks for my job. The 3 routes had been meticulously planned and need certain truck types for each route, given the nature of the roads. I was able to get the perfect trucks for the road types. The handling was important, as I had to make sure I wasn't deterred by a bad tire or other mechanical issue because the road was in terrible shape.
As the next hour rounded the corner, my data was available. I logged into the server and downloaded my data files and examined them. Although they were a high tech group, their weapon budgets must not have been that high. They ran with standard AK-47's and some variations of American made M-4's. That was a basic cause for concern, but wouldn't prove to be distressful. This document gave no information regarding RPG's or other explosives.
I looked over all my intel and my routes. I had more than enough backup plans to pull this off, now it was just a matter of getting it done. I took my notebook and hopped in my truck. I made the trips to the all of my suppliers, collecting the trucks, packing materials, firepower and various other equipment parts.
Within the next 6 hours, I had trucks, crates, identification papers, and the guns necessary to pull this off. I met with my two dummy truck drivers and laid out the plan for them. I loaded their trucks up with their payment, ammo and other various packages of clothing and food to sell on their markets. This made them look innocent should they be stopped by anybody. I gave them each a GPS with their specific route preprogrammed, and then advised them to get some rest. I planned on beginning the plan at 3am.
Shortly before I was to lay down for some sleep, my phone rang. It was another one of my contacts who told me the weapon was being relocated. This caused a slight problem in my plans. I got the new coordinates from him, and made notes to change my GPS devices. He then provided me with another piece of information. He was able to get his hands on the “secure address” of the GPS that belong to the truck carrying this nuke. I wrote that address with great excitement and then hung up.
A while back, some hackers in Russia had discovered that each GPS had an address that it used to communicate with the satellites in space. After much studying, it was discovered that the GPS signal could be routed to communicate with another device, providing false information. It wasn't the easiest task, but it could be done. I looked at my watch, I had 4 hours to get it done before we started out trip. I started off my reprogramming the GPS with the new location. Then I started work on the GPS spoof. I looked up the instructions for this hack job, and set to work on it. After many tests, I was confident that the hijack of the GPS code would work. I prepared my hack job and then packed it up with the rest of my GPS devices. I looked at my watch. I had 30 minutes before we left.
I decided against sleeping, and went to wake up my other drivers. We would make the trip early just in case problems arose. We hopped into the trucks and began our route. Driving down empty roads in the middle of the night was boring to say the least. I constantly was looking at the GPS, as my anticipation and my anxiety grew.
Once we were 50 miles away from the drop point, I and the other drivers stopped as instructed. I then pulled out my wireless device and being the GPS hijack. I turned the device on and punched in the instructions. I watched as the device began by copying the characteristics of the main satellite for this region. Once it had the system specs, it began to broadcast the information exclusively to the GPS secure address we had obtained. The device suddenly beeped and flashed green. This meant that the connection was complete and transmitting. This meant the GPS in that truck would shift everything by 10 degrees latitude. That would, by my calculations, bring the truck right to the remote location we had set aside. With the hard part taken care of, we set up part 2 of our plan. We planted one of our vehicles in the middle of the road with a flat tire, to block the progress of the truck when it did arrive.
We hid our other trucks and stood behind a rock while we waited. The time seemed to take forever. As the sun rose, our cover was slowly diminishing because of shadows. At the crest of 6am, we heard the rumble of a heavy duty diesel engine. We loaded our weapons and waited for some voices to be heard.
Several minutes passed and we heard the car doors close. That brought me some panic, as I began to assume they had radioed their teammates to let them know their situation. We would have to act fast. We heard two pairs of footsteps walk toward our truck. I heard one of them ask if anybody was there. That was our cue.
We whipped around from behind the rock with our guns loaded and pointed at them. They immediately threw their hands up in surrender. I was quite taken aback by this. It was then I realized that they weren't armed! I shook my head in disbelief. I kept my gun on them though. We forced them to walk to the back of their truck. My drivers kept a bead on them while I climbed into the back of the truck and found the package. It was placed in the far back of the truck bed underneath a pile of boxes of cabbage that was in the early stages of rotting. They had planned this very well. I moved the boxes around and fought through the smell until I was able to retrieve it. I slightly cracked the case open and saw a lead lined case with the warning “Radioactive Material”. I closed the case back and nodded at my drivers. At that point, they knocked out the two unarmed men.
We set to work on securing the package in my truck. It proved to be quite heavy and took all 3 of us to get it lifted into my vehicle. By the time we were finished, our unarmed friends were waking up. We took some rope and tied them to the front of their truck. They were tied in such a way that they couldn't turn their heads. This way, they could not see in which direction we leave. I then motioned to my drivers to get in their trucks and start driving when I give the signal.
I took one more look at the cargo in my truck. In 24 hours I had gone from a simple arms dealer and business man, to being the proud owner of an incredibly valuable piece of nuclear weaponry. I was either incredibly smart, or incredibly stupid. I threw the tarp back over the crate and climed in the truck. I gave the signal to the other drivers and then drove off. As I drove along the road, I took out my records and wrote down a number for my warehouse. For optimal security and privacy, it would be store in my warehouse compound. I assigned it to container #1319203. That section of my warehouse was well protected by a state of the art security system.
I began to wonder about who I could trust to tell about this package. Apparently a handful knew about it, but only few knew I now had it. I knew the drivers of the other trucks could be trusted, because they didn't know who I was. For all they knew, I had stolen a cache of guns or something. They didn't care because they got paid.
Over the next few days, I would consider who I could trust with this secret. In the meantime, I would make the trip to my warehouse to get this package stored. News of it's disappearance would spread quick. It was best to keep it out of sight and out of mind.
Despite the surprises, I feel like the operation ran smoothly. This was definitely a big step for me. I knew this was a life changing weapon, and I felt safer with it in my hands. It was definitely going to be interesting from now on......
The End
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
The Jericho Files #6
"eat up Carey! Tomorrow your trials really begin!" one of my fellow soldiers said to me. We were sitting in the mess hall eating our dinner, after a hard day of training. My muscles were tired, my mouth was screaming for a fresh drink of water. I quickly ate as much food as I could get my hands on. Tomorrow was my sniper class training exercise, an exercise that I was incredibly nervous about.
In my regiment, snipers were held in high regard. The ability to pick off your enemy from hundreds of yards away was touted as nothing less of a superhuman feat. If you were a sniper, you were protected almost as much as the major was.
Because of the high regard, everybody went through the base trial. This trial helped to determine if you had the patience and skill to be a sharpshooter. We all waited anxiously for this day.
After mess, we retired to our bunks. I spent the rest of the evening studying the manuals for our company's standard issue sniper rifle. I memorized the process to take apart and clean the gun. I committed to wind/air speed factors for bullet travel to memory. I was bound and determined to pass this test. As lights out approached, I laid down and began to visualize the next day in my head. I dreamed of the shooting range and the targets far down from the firing line. I could easily picture the round shape of those targets and the bullseye. I could feel the texture of the rifles trigger as I squeezed it, firing off round after round at my targets, hitting them with deadly accuracy.
Yes, I was ready.
The sun rose the next morning just like it does every morning. This morning brought more anxiety than joy. I was up with the rest of my crew, prepared to meet the challenge ahead. We did calisthenics, had our breakfast, and were on our way to the sniper range.
When we arrived, we were handed the standard issue rifles and tested on disassembly. My hands flew across the rifle body as I disassembled it with lightning speed. The bolts, the casings, even the tiny springs did not escape my nimble grip as the rifle flew apart. I barely hesitated as I began to reassemble , making the audible clicks of parts snapping into place almost like a rhythmic drum solo. As I slapped the bolt into place, I shouted “Done!” and placed the rifle on the table. My superiors seemed to be impressed as they showed my time off. I smiled in satisfaction and sat down, waiting for the next test.
As I awaited the next trial, my eye caught my a group of soldiers nearby. They carried small cases with them close to their sides. The cases were slightly bigger than regular briefcases. Their grips on them were so tight, their knuckles were almost white with stress. They seemed to treat them like lost loved ones.
They were greeted by my superiors with smiles and warm greetings. I quickly guessed, by their decorations and warm acceptance, that they were the elite marksman squad, named the “Eyes of Wind”. They were the team we were going through trials to be a part of. I paid close attention to this group of guys. Their mannerisms, their speech. They were calm and cool, despite their prestige. I wasn't afraid to admit to myself that I was a nervous wreck inside, just itching for a chance to be one of them. But to pass my next trial, I was going to need to be as calm...no, calmer than they were.
My next trial was up. They handed me a pair of binoculars and a series of instruments and directed me to a spot hundreds of yards away. They instructed me to calculate it's distance and prepare a sniper rifle with the proper adjustments for a shot. I poured over the papers and did the math in my head, rarely writing any notes down. I triple checked the numbers, they were right. I grabbed the rifle and adjusted the dials as necessary, aiming down the scope to check my shot.
As I reached for a bullet to load the rifle, I was stopped by my superiors. They said they had never asked me to shoot, and if I was finished, then I needed to step back. I obliged and stepped back. One of the “Eyes of Wind” squad members stepped in and looked down the scope. Without adjustment, he reached for a bullet, loaded it, looked through the scope and fired.
I held my breath for what seemed like forever as they checked the shot. “Direct hit, sir! Technical Bullseye” I heard them say. I exhaled loudly. A Technical Bullseye was just a hair off mark. This meant my calculations were practically dead on. I couldn't have been more pleased. My superiors seemed to agree.
I sat back, once again, and waited for the final part of trial to commence. This was the most difficult part. You were given the description of your target and had to do all the work yourself. You had to setup your gun, make your measurements and make your shot. The description seemed simple, but there was a catch. Everyone knew the “Eyes of Wind” squad was the best for a reason. That reason was because you needed to hit a moving target dead on perfectly to get a consideration into the squad. I had concentrated the most on this during my studying. It was incredibly complex. However, if you pulled it off, you might as well have just put a camel through the eye of a needle. You were a perfect shot.
During my wait, I shut everything else out. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Intersecting lines drew themselves in my brain. I visualized every possibility and tried to commit them to my short term memory. This moment was mine.
I heard my name shouted, my eyes popped open. A jeep had arrived, already occupied by my superior and a low ranking official for witnessing. I grabbed my test gear and hopped in the jeep with them. We drove out for several miles and then parked next to a small bench. My superior handed me my orders. The distance was far, and the target would be moving at a hefty pace. I only had one shot at this. I couldn't decide when the target moved either. I had 5 minutes to prepare.
For those next 5 minutes, my mind was working overtime. I calculated the shots over and over. I studied the lay of the land and looked at every bit of foliage between me and that target. There was no way it was getting past me.
I laid on the ground to prepare for my shot. I adjusted my scope dials and became familiar with the feel of the trigger. I found a comfortable grip, then sat and waited. When my 5 minutes expired, the superior shouted “LOAD!” to begin the trial. I loaded my single bullet and waited. My eye firmly on the scope. I fought my nerves and any shaking my tense muscles were causing. I wasn't about to allow my body to betray me during this important shot.
My mind wanted to wander, but I fought hard to make sure that didn't happen. Just as that thought exited my mind, I saw the glimmer of my target in the scope. ¼ of a second later, I was firing. The shot rang and I pulled back to take in the scene. The target stopped just short of where I had fired. The superior and witness both examined the target.
I'd like to tell you that I made the shot, and it was the best shot they had ever seen, but I'd be lying. “Dead Miss” was their verdict. I couldn't believe it, I stood there in disbelief as my superior made the mark on my record. We packed up the equipment and went back to the drop spot. They shared my result with the other superiors and made it official. My other superiors couldn't believe it either, as at least the other soldier had marked the target, just not perfectly. When the day was over and done with, I was the only soldier to not hit the target.
The disappointment in myself was unmatched. I asked everyone I could if they saw any error in my calculations, if there was a flaw in my practice. They saw none. It was baffling to say the least.
I was not used to being a failure. I obsessed over my details, I fought hard to be perfect in anything I tried out for. Now, in ¼ of a second, I was condemned to be a standard infantry man, and not a highly regarded one.
I walked away from the day aware of shortcomings I didn't know I had. Granted, it was not the first or last time I would be disappointed in me. However, that didn't change the fact that Failure is bad for Business.
In my regiment, snipers were held in high regard. The ability to pick off your enemy from hundreds of yards away was touted as nothing less of a superhuman feat. If you were a sniper, you were protected almost as much as the major was.
Because of the high regard, everybody went through the base trial. This trial helped to determine if you had the patience and skill to be a sharpshooter. We all waited anxiously for this day.
After mess, we retired to our bunks. I spent the rest of the evening studying the manuals for our company's standard issue sniper rifle. I memorized the process to take apart and clean the gun. I committed to wind/air speed factors for bullet travel to memory. I was bound and determined to pass this test. As lights out approached, I laid down and began to visualize the next day in my head. I dreamed of the shooting range and the targets far down from the firing line. I could easily picture the round shape of those targets and the bullseye. I could feel the texture of the rifles trigger as I squeezed it, firing off round after round at my targets, hitting them with deadly accuracy.
Yes, I was ready.
The sun rose the next morning just like it does every morning. This morning brought more anxiety than joy. I was up with the rest of my crew, prepared to meet the challenge ahead. We did calisthenics, had our breakfast, and were on our way to the sniper range.
When we arrived, we were handed the standard issue rifles and tested on disassembly. My hands flew across the rifle body as I disassembled it with lightning speed. The bolts, the casings, even the tiny springs did not escape my nimble grip as the rifle flew apart. I barely hesitated as I began to reassemble , making the audible clicks of parts snapping into place almost like a rhythmic drum solo. As I slapped the bolt into place, I shouted “Done!” and placed the rifle on the table. My superiors seemed to be impressed as they showed my time off. I smiled in satisfaction and sat down, waiting for the next test.
As I awaited the next trial, my eye caught my a group of soldiers nearby. They carried small cases with them close to their sides. The cases were slightly bigger than regular briefcases. Their grips on them were so tight, their knuckles were almost white with stress. They seemed to treat them like lost loved ones.
They were greeted by my superiors with smiles and warm greetings. I quickly guessed, by their decorations and warm acceptance, that they were the elite marksman squad, named the “Eyes of Wind”. They were the team we were going through trials to be a part of. I paid close attention to this group of guys. Their mannerisms, their speech. They were calm and cool, despite their prestige. I wasn't afraid to admit to myself that I was a nervous wreck inside, just itching for a chance to be one of them. But to pass my next trial, I was going to need to be as calm...no, calmer than they were.
My next trial was up. They handed me a pair of binoculars and a series of instruments and directed me to a spot hundreds of yards away. They instructed me to calculate it's distance and prepare a sniper rifle with the proper adjustments for a shot. I poured over the papers and did the math in my head, rarely writing any notes down. I triple checked the numbers, they were right. I grabbed the rifle and adjusted the dials as necessary, aiming down the scope to check my shot.
As I reached for a bullet to load the rifle, I was stopped by my superiors. They said they had never asked me to shoot, and if I was finished, then I needed to step back. I obliged and stepped back. One of the “Eyes of Wind” squad members stepped in and looked down the scope. Without adjustment, he reached for a bullet, loaded it, looked through the scope and fired.
I held my breath for what seemed like forever as they checked the shot. “Direct hit, sir! Technical Bullseye” I heard them say. I exhaled loudly. A Technical Bullseye was just a hair off mark. This meant my calculations were practically dead on. I couldn't have been more pleased. My superiors seemed to agree.
I sat back, once again, and waited for the final part of trial to commence. This was the most difficult part. You were given the description of your target and had to do all the work yourself. You had to setup your gun, make your measurements and make your shot. The description seemed simple, but there was a catch. Everyone knew the “Eyes of Wind” squad was the best for a reason. That reason was because you needed to hit a moving target dead on perfectly to get a consideration into the squad. I had concentrated the most on this during my studying. It was incredibly complex. However, if you pulled it off, you might as well have just put a camel through the eye of a needle. You were a perfect shot.
During my wait, I shut everything else out. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Intersecting lines drew themselves in my brain. I visualized every possibility and tried to commit them to my short term memory. This moment was mine.
I heard my name shouted, my eyes popped open. A jeep had arrived, already occupied by my superior and a low ranking official for witnessing. I grabbed my test gear and hopped in the jeep with them. We drove out for several miles and then parked next to a small bench. My superior handed me my orders. The distance was far, and the target would be moving at a hefty pace. I only had one shot at this. I couldn't decide when the target moved either. I had 5 minutes to prepare.
For those next 5 minutes, my mind was working overtime. I calculated the shots over and over. I studied the lay of the land and looked at every bit of foliage between me and that target. There was no way it was getting past me.
I laid on the ground to prepare for my shot. I adjusted my scope dials and became familiar with the feel of the trigger. I found a comfortable grip, then sat and waited. When my 5 minutes expired, the superior shouted “LOAD!” to begin the trial. I loaded my single bullet and waited. My eye firmly on the scope. I fought my nerves and any shaking my tense muscles were causing. I wasn't about to allow my body to betray me during this important shot.
My mind wanted to wander, but I fought hard to make sure that didn't happen. Just as that thought exited my mind, I saw the glimmer of my target in the scope. ¼ of a second later, I was firing. The shot rang and I pulled back to take in the scene. The target stopped just short of where I had fired. The superior and witness both examined the target.
I'd like to tell you that I made the shot, and it was the best shot they had ever seen, but I'd be lying. “Dead Miss” was their verdict. I couldn't believe it, I stood there in disbelief as my superior made the mark on my record. We packed up the equipment and went back to the drop spot. They shared my result with the other superiors and made it official. My other superiors couldn't believe it either, as at least the other soldier had marked the target, just not perfectly. When the day was over and done with, I was the only soldier to not hit the target.
The disappointment in myself was unmatched. I asked everyone I could if they saw any error in my calculations, if there was a flaw in my practice. They saw none. It was baffling to say the least.
I was not used to being a failure. I obsessed over my details, I fought hard to be perfect in anything I tried out for. Now, in ¼ of a second, I was condemned to be a standard infantry man, and not a highly regarded one.
I walked away from the day aware of shortcomings I didn't know I had. Granted, it was not the first or last time I would be disappointed in me. However, that didn't change the fact that Failure is bad for Business.
The Jericho Files #5.5
"call it" one of the doctors said to the other.
The other doctor, weary and beaten, pulled off his gloves and looked at the clock
"time of death, 3:34am" the tired doctor sighed and slowly walled from the room while the nurses tended to the now dead body.
That dead body was me. Jericho Carey. What seemed like days ago, I was injected with something that was supposed to help me escape my captors. What it ended up doing was killing me and forcing my captors to drop me off near a hospital. I was ready to move on until I heard the doctors say I had a faint pulse. I was certain that this would not be the end for me.
Now the doctors, who fought valiantly as they are called to do, were calling it. Meaning that the fight was truly over. Maybe now I could pass on and go be with my family.
The nurses removed all the equipment that was hooked up to me. I could hear them talking clearly now, which was strange, since shortly after my death all I could hear was muffled noises and dull sounds. Why would my hearing return clearly now?
I guess I could consider this new territory for anyone, including myself. It's not everyday you get to experience the moments after death. I occupied myself with this concept while the nurses finished cleaning me and wheeled me out out of the emergency room and down the hall. Every once in a while, I could feel the thud as the stretcher would run into doors, opening them up for us to pass through. As I was being pushed, I wondered how much longer I had before it was over. Just about that time, I passed by a sign that read "autopsy". It seems that they wanted to find out what happened.
They wheeled me into a room that was significantly dimmer than the others and left the stretcher in the middle of the room, locking the wheels. I could hear the nurses chat as they left the room, leaving me in silence.
Shortly after that, I heard some more people enter the room. They approached the stretcherand leaned over it, looking into dead eyes. There was a male and a female, both were wearing surgical gowns and caps, but you could see the military bars and medals beneath the gowns. I had a feeling my time with the opposing military was not over. I could only hope I would pass before their exam began.
They pulled back from my face and stepped away, I could hear the sound of water and assumed they were scrubbing in for the autopsy. I could hear they were discussing my altercation with Farid and the aftermath. It seems that Farid lied and said he was trying to inject me with a small amount of truth serum, when I grabbed the needle from him and took the entire syringe. Truth serum in that dose, they said, was the official cause of my death. They were going to perform an autopsy to try and prove if Farid was lying.
They returned to the table with surgical masks on. They stepped to end of the table and began to cut the remainder of my clothes off. As they did that, I could feel the cool air of the room touch my legs.
Then something strange happened. The cold feeling in my toes began to turn warm. I at first thought it was just my imagination, but quickly remembered this was the same feeling I had whenever I injected myself with Farid's syringe. It slowly began to get warmer at my feet and slowly began to work it's way up. The man and woman were working near my head now, and I noticed they were armed. They apparently were expecting to be interrupted by whomever I worked for.
Slowly the warm feeling crawled up to my ankles. I felt my toes twitch a little. From the looks on their faces, they had not noticed. This was incredible. It seems that my body was coming back to life. After all the torture I had endured, it seems the hope Farid had promised me was coming true. The warm feeling was flowing thorugh my calves now. I did my best to keep my toes from twitching, so the doctors would not notice what was happening. I had decided that these people were not on my side. And if I was truly coming to back to life, I would not be welcome in my present company. I began to devise a plan of escape. I was fully prepared to fight my way out of here.
"Prepare the formaldehyde, once we examine his internals and get a tox screen, we'll prep the body for burial" the female doctor said. The male doctor left the side of the table to manage this task. The female doctor pressed a button on a voice recorder and began to take notes. The warm feeling was up to my waist now. I could feel the muscles in my legs twitch as they had feeling return to them.
"subject is a Caucasian male, approximately 6 feet and weighing an estimate of 190 lbs. He was detained for questioning when he received an overdose of sodium amatol. The subject apparently had an adverse reaction to of the sodium amatol and suffered a heart attack. That is the initial analysis, an autopsy will provide us with more information. We will begin with an incision along the length of the chest cavity."
She reached for an instrument on her tray, and I felt the warm feeling reach my heart. The familiar feeling of my heart beating began to return to me. I wasn't exactly sure how, but my body was returning from death.
She grabbed a scalpel and pressed it against my chest and stopped suddenly. She felt my skin and then grabbed her tape recorder.
"subjects skin is warm to the touch, this abnormality is very uncommon and will require some deeper investigation. We will have to drain the blood before we continue this---"
I did not give her time to finish that finish sentence, my arm had regained feeling so I made a lunge for the doctor. I had not taken into account that after a long time of non movement, my muscles would not be as strong as before. I had enough strength to push myself off the table, but enough to stand. As I fell to the ground, I wrapped an arm around the surprised doctors neck, dragging her to the ground while having an effective grip on the doctor.
She did not struggle much. I guess the shock of seeing a dead body come to life was a little too much for her. I took the opportunity to grab her sidearm, and promptly pistol whipped her in the head, knocking her out. I then gripped the table and struggled to stand. As I struggled to stand, I began to notice my own breathing, I realized that I was really once again alive. I wanted to celebrate, but I knew better. I was in a hospital full of the enemy, I would surely die again if I didn't get out now. I knew of her associate, who would be returning shortly. The strength in my legs was returning quickly, so tried to stumble across the room. I heard the sound of footsteps and quickly limped to a door, hiding behind it. The owner of those footsteps entered the room talking about iv kits, then immediately stopped when he noticed the scene. The body was gone and his partner was on the floor, unconscious. He took half a second to survey the situation, then ran towards the door to get help. As he ran towards the door, I swung it closed right in his face. He stepped back, confused. That's when he noticed me and feel backwards in fear. I approached him calmly, with a smile on my face. I cocked the pistol and aimed it at his head. He literally shook in surprise at the change of events. I asked him to state his name, rank, serial number, and outfit name. Which he did. I had gotten the information I needed all along. I told him to stand up and get up against the wall. My brain, finally awake, was devising a plan to get out of here. When he was against the wall, I told him to strip. He appeared to be the rank of a major, according to his military decorations. This was an advantage to me because majors were rarely questioned about their intentions, so as soon as I assumed his identity, I could leave here quietly, wherever here was.
As he stripped, I took his clothes and put them on. They were slightly loose, but a good fit. I took his sidearm as well, for extra firepower. I then put the gun to the back of his neck and asked him where we were. He eyes shifted from side to side. He intended to lie to me. I decided not to waste my time, and clocked him in the back of the skull with my pistol. He fell to the floor in a heap. I straightened my hat and began to walk out the door. I stopped briefly to consider if I would be recognized by others in the hospital. I looked back at the table and noticed and noticed a pack of surgical masks. I quickly grabbed one and put it over my face. It was time to go home.
I stepped out the door slowly and took a left. The best thing during my death, if there is such a thing, was that my eyes were always open. I saw everything, and my memory seemed to be working very well. I quickly was able to retrace my steps back to the front door and was halfway out the door when I heard the major's name being called. I turned around slowly. A slightly younger man approached me and asked me how the autopsy had gone. I calmed myself and explained that I was being called away to something else and that I had left the autopsy in the hands of my colleague. When he inquired about the mask, I explained that i was feeling slightly ill and I did not want to run the risk of infecting others. He seemed to buy it and offered to go assist in the autopsy. I did not want to alarm him, so I stated that he should, but first he would have to prep and find a iv kit and prep it for a formaldehyde transfer. He saluted and walked away to tend to the task. I turned to leave and walked outside. The sun was just coming up on the small town area where this hospital stood. I quickly moved down the street, as I figured I only had 5 minutes to get away before the truth was discovered.
As I walked, I noticed a parking lot off to the side, which contained several civilian cars and a military jeep.
I fished in the major's jacket and discovered a key. I took a chance and hopped into the jeep. I pushed the key into the ignition and turned it.
The engine roared to life and I was off. I still had no idea where I was, but drove anyway expecting to find something to jog my memory.
As I was driving, I noticed there was some chatter from the radio regarding my description. It appears the enemy has discovered my absence and was now on its way to find me. I sped up slightly and headed for the city limits. I had little time to get away.
As I left the city, I grabbed the radio and messed with the dials and tried changing the frequency to match that of my platoon. As i was changing knobs, I heard a brief whoosh and looked up in time to see an RPG heading towards my vehicle, I swerved to avoid it. As the RPG just barely sailed past me, i had steered too much and felt the jeep begin to flip. As it tumbled over, I heard gunfire begin to rattle the bottom of the jeep. I grabbed my sidearms and crawled out of the jeep, using it as cover.
I loaded my sidearms and moved out of my cover to fire. As I fired off a few rounds, I noticed the insignia on one of their vehicles. It was the symbol of my neighboring platoon. They knew me just as well as my platoon did. I shouted at them to stop and stepped out from behind the jeep. I threw my guns to the ground and got on my knees with my hands behind my head. They quickly moved to secure me as a hostage. The put my hands behind my head and tore my hat off. They quickly stopped to study my face, then let out a shout of joy. They had recognized me and quickly untied me and helped me to my knees. I explained in the briefest terms what had happened and then suggest we leave because I was being looked for. I gathered my things and followed them to their vehicle. Before we left, I grabbed a grenade from a comrade and threw it at the jeep. As we sped away, the grenade exploded, engulfing the jeep in flames. With that, I had removed every trace of myself being there. My name had never been uttered, and people were not sure who I was.
As we drove back to our base, I was asked countless questions by my fellow soliders. They had received word that I was MIA, and that I had been missing for over a week. The time didn't seem to have passed that long.
Several hours later, we arrived at our base and I met with my superiors for debriefing. I explained to them my story and what I experienced. They helped fill in the blanks of some information I had missed. We were able to determine the actual outfits name that had captured me. I left it to the commanders to make plans for retaliation. I asked them for permission to organize a special ops squad in the near future. They asked for my reason, and I confidently stated that there were some personnel currently being forced to work for the opposing army that I'd like to capture and “convince” to work for us. I left it at that, and let them decide.
I walked out of the tent and headed to my platoons tent. I had to plan out this special ops mission.
I wanted to have a little chat with Farid......
THE END
The other doctor, weary and beaten, pulled off his gloves and looked at the clock
"time of death, 3:34am" the tired doctor sighed and slowly walled from the room while the nurses tended to the now dead body.
That dead body was me. Jericho Carey. What seemed like days ago, I was injected with something that was supposed to help me escape my captors. What it ended up doing was killing me and forcing my captors to drop me off near a hospital. I was ready to move on until I heard the doctors say I had a faint pulse. I was certain that this would not be the end for me.
Now the doctors, who fought valiantly as they are called to do, were calling it. Meaning that the fight was truly over. Maybe now I could pass on and go be with my family.
The nurses removed all the equipment that was hooked up to me. I could hear them talking clearly now, which was strange, since shortly after my death all I could hear was muffled noises and dull sounds. Why would my hearing return clearly now?
I guess I could consider this new territory for anyone, including myself. It's not everyday you get to experience the moments after death. I occupied myself with this concept while the nurses finished cleaning me and wheeled me out out of the emergency room and down the hall. Every once in a while, I could feel the thud as the stretcher would run into doors, opening them up for us to pass through. As I was being pushed, I wondered how much longer I had before it was over. Just about that time, I passed by a sign that read "autopsy". It seems that they wanted to find out what happened.
They wheeled me into a room that was significantly dimmer than the others and left the stretcher in the middle of the room, locking the wheels. I could hear the nurses chat as they left the room, leaving me in silence.
Shortly after that, I heard some more people enter the room. They approached the stretcherand leaned over it, looking into dead eyes. There was a male and a female, both were wearing surgical gowns and caps, but you could see the military bars and medals beneath the gowns. I had a feeling my time with the opposing military was not over. I could only hope I would pass before their exam began.
They pulled back from my face and stepped away, I could hear the sound of water and assumed they were scrubbing in for the autopsy. I could hear they were discussing my altercation with Farid and the aftermath. It seems that Farid lied and said he was trying to inject me with a small amount of truth serum, when I grabbed the needle from him and took the entire syringe. Truth serum in that dose, they said, was the official cause of my death. They were going to perform an autopsy to try and prove if Farid was lying.
They returned to the table with surgical masks on. They stepped to end of the table and began to cut the remainder of my clothes off. As they did that, I could feel the cool air of the room touch my legs.
Then something strange happened. The cold feeling in my toes began to turn warm. I at first thought it was just my imagination, but quickly remembered this was the same feeling I had whenever I injected myself with Farid's syringe. It slowly began to get warmer at my feet and slowly began to work it's way up. The man and woman were working near my head now, and I noticed they were armed. They apparently were expecting to be interrupted by whomever I worked for.
Slowly the warm feeling crawled up to my ankles. I felt my toes twitch a little. From the looks on their faces, they had not noticed. This was incredible. It seems that my body was coming back to life. After all the torture I had endured, it seems the hope Farid had promised me was coming true. The warm feeling was flowing thorugh my calves now. I did my best to keep my toes from twitching, so the doctors would not notice what was happening. I had decided that these people were not on my side. And if I was truly coming to back to life, I would not be welcome in my present company. I began to devise a plan of escape. I was fully prepared to fight my way out of here.
"Prepare the formaldehyde, once we examine his internals and get a tox screen, we'll prep the body for burial" the female doctor said. The male doctor left the side of the table to manage this task. The female doctor pressed a button on a voice recorder and began to take notes. The warm feeling was up to my waist now. I could feel the muscles in my legs twitch as they had feeling return to them.
"subject is a Caucasian male, approximately 6 feet and weighing an estimate of 190 lbs. He was detained for questioning when he received an overdose of sodium amatol. The subject apparently had an adverse reaction to of the sodium amatol and suffered a heart attack. That is the initial analysis, an autopsy will provide us with more information. We will begin with an incision along the length of the chest cavity."
She reached for an instrument on her tray, and I felt the warm feeling reach my heart. The familiar feeling of my heart beating began to return to me. I wasn't exactly sure how, but my body was returning from death.
She grabbed a scalpel and pressed it against my chest and stopped suddenly. She felt my skin and then grabbed her tape recorder.
"subjects skin is warm to the touch, this abnormality is very uncommon and will require some deeper investigation. We will have to drain the blood before we continue this---"
I did not give her time to finish that finish sentence, my arm had regained feeling so I made a lunge for the doctor. I had not taken into account that after a long time of non movement, my muscles would not be as strong as before. I had enough strength to push myself off the table, but enough to stand. As I fell to the ground, I wrapped an arm around the surprised doctors neck, dragging her to the ground while having an effective grip on the doctor.
She did not struggle much. I guess the shock of seeing a dead body come to life was a little too much for her. I took the opportunity to grab her sidearm, and promptly pistol whipped her in the head, knocking her out. I then gripped the table and struggled to stand. As I struggled to stand, I began to notice my own breathing, I realized that I was really once again alive. I wanted to celebrate, but I knew better. I was in a hospital full of the enemy, I would surely die again if I didn't get out now. I knew of her associate, who would be returning shortly. The strength in my legs was returning quickly, so tried to stumble across the room. I heard the sound of footsteps and quickly limped to a door, hiding behind it. The owner of those footsteps entered the room talking about iv kits, then immediately stopped when he noticed the scene. The body was gone and his partner was on the floor, unconscious. He took half a second to survey the situation, then ran towards the door to get help. As he ran towards the door, I swung it closed right in his face. He stepped back, confused. That's when he noticed me and feel backwards in fear. I approached him calmly, with a smile on my face. I cocked the pistol and aimed it at his head. He literally shook in surprise at the change of events. I asked him to state his name, rank, serial number, and outfit name. Which he did. I had gotten the information I needed all along. I told him to stand up and get up against the wall. My brain, finally awake, was devising a plan to get out of here. When he was against the wall, I told him to strip. He appeared to be the rank of a major, according to his military decorations. This was an advantage to me because majors were rarely questioned about their intentions, so as soon as I assumed his identity, I could leave here quietly, wherever here was.
As he stripped, I took his clothes and put them on. They were slightly loose, but a good fit. I took his sidearm as well, for extra firepower. I then put the gun to the back of his neck and asked him where we were. He eyes shifted from side to side. He intended to lie to me. I decided not to waste my time, and clocked him in the back of the skull with my pistol. He fell to the floor in a heap. I straightened my hat and began to walk out the door. I stopped briefly to consider if I would be recognized by others in the hospital. I looked back at the table and noticed and noticed a pack of surgical masks. I quickly grabbed one and put it over my face. It was time to go home.
I stepped out the door slowly and took a left. The best thing during my death, if there is such a thing, was that my eyes were always open. I saw everything, and my memory seemed to be working very well. I quickly was able to retrace my steps back to the front door and was halfway out the door when I heard the major's name being called. I turned around slowly. A slightly younger man approached me and asked me how the autopsy had gone. I calmed myself and explained that I was being called away to something else and that I had left the autopsy in the hands of my colleague. When he inquired about the mask, I explained that i was feeling slightly ill and I did not want to run the risk of infecting others. He seemed to buy it and offered to go assist in the autopsy. I did not want to alarm him, so I stated that he should, but first he would have to prep and find a iv kit and prep it for a formaldehyde transfer. He saluted and walked away to tend to the task. I turned to leave and walked outside. The sun was just coming up on the small town area where this hospital stood. I quickly moved down the street, as I figured I only had 5 minutes to get away before the truth was discovered.
As I walked, I noticed a parking lot off to the side, which contained several civilian cars and a military jeep.
I fished in the major's jacket and discovered a key. I took a chance and hopped into the jeep. I pushed the key into the ignition and turned it.
The engine roared to life and I was off. I still had no idea where I was, but drove anyway expecting to find something to jog my memory.
As I was driving, I noticed there was some chatter from the radio regarding my description. It appears the enemy has discovered my absence and was now on its way to find me. I sped up slightly and headed for the city limits. I had little time to get away.
As I left the city, I grabbed the radio and messed with the dials and tried changing the frequency to match that of my platoon. As i was changing knobs, I heard a brief whoosh and looked up in time to see an RPG heading towards my vehicle, I swerved to avoid it. As the RPG just barely sailed past me, i had steered too much and felt the jeep begin to flip. As it tumbled over, I heard gunfire begin to rattle the bottom of the jeep. I grabbed my sidearms and crawled out of the jeep, using it as cover.
I loaded my sidearms and moved out of my cover to fire. As I fired off a few rounds, I noticed the insignia on one of their vehicles. It was the symbol of my neighboring platoon. They knew me just as well as my platoon did. I shouted at them to stop and stepped out from behind the jeep. I threw my guns to the ground and got on my knees with my hands behind my head. They quickly moved to secure me as a hostage. The put my hands behind my head and tore my hat off. They quickly stopped to study my face, then let out a shout of joy. They had recognized me and quickly untied me and helped me to my knees. I explained in the briefest terms what had happened and then suggest we leave because I was being looked for. I gathered my things and followed them to their vehicle. Before we left, I grabbed a grenade from a comrade and threw it at the jeep. As we sped away, the grenade exploded, engulfing the jeep in flames. With that, I had removed every trace of myself being there. My name had never been uttered, and people were not sure who I was.
As we drove back to our base, I was asked countless questions by my fellow soliders. They had received word that I was MIA, and that I had been missing for over a week. The time didn't seem to have passed that long.
Several hours later, we arrived at our base and I met with my superiors for debriefing. I explained to them my story and what I experienced. They helped fill in the blanks of some information I had missed. We were able to determine the actual outfits name that had captured me. I left it to the commanders to make plans for retaliation. I asked them for permission to organize a special ops squad in the near future. They asked for my reason, and I confidently stated that there were some personnel currently being forced to work for the opposing army that I'd like to capture and “convince” to work for us. I left it at that, and let them decide.
I walked out of the tent and headed to my platoons tent. I had to plan out this special ops mission.
I wanted to have a little chat with Farid......
THE END
Monday, November 10, 2008
The Jericho Files #5.4
I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, I felt very much dead. But my eyes were working. I could still see the ceiling of room I had been interrogated in. My ears were working, but everything sounded like it was underwater. I could hear the muffled shouts of my captors as they continued to struggle with Farid. I could hear the thuds of extra footsteps coming close. They must have called for backup. I could see shadows moving on the wall, and it looked like they had Farid quite well subdued. A couple of shadows were growing larger. This meant they were coming over to me. There were two men, looking of the same nationality as my captors, and a female. They were wearing white coats, so I could assume they were doctors or medics of some kind. They began by looking at my eyes. Based on their expressions, my pupils must have dilated. They began to check for a pulse, but were quickly disheartened when they found nothing. They began chest compressions.
It was strange. I couldn't move my eyes, yet I could see. My earing was slightly muffled but functional. As they began chest compressions, I could feel the hands on my chest and felt the push every 15 seconds. I began to wonder why I could experience all this if I was dead. Do people linger after death? You hear stories of people who experienced a white light as they laid dying, but never have you heard of this. As the doctors continued the fight to save me, I laid there and thought about the legacy I had left behind. I had become a small legend in Ireland because of my dealings with the corrupt law enforcement officials of my hometown. I walked into Israel, looking to lay low, and became an officer in the Israeli military. I couldn't shoot for anything, so they had made me a supply officer. I came became so good that everybody knew who I was. In one monumental moment, I went from behind Sgt. Carey to Mr. Jericho.
I smiled every time I thought about that moment.
I truly had lived a fulfilling life. As the doctors continued trying to revive me, I thought about meeting God. My church in my hometown had taught me from day one that God loves everyone, but hated the sin within us. I'd like to think I had kept myself clean of as much sin as possible. I was not responsible for any pain and suffering, except for criminal types. I fought with the Lord's chosen people in their military. I had lived a decent enough life. I had not been a criminal, I had been a revolutionary.
I prayed that when I made it up here, that God would accept me with open arms. And let me see my mother and father, I wanted to tell them that I had carried on like they asked me to, that day on the farm. The day my life and their lives changed. The day I changed from a small farm boy to a target of corrupt officials and bloodthirsty officers of the law.
I wondered...
My attention was wrenched back to the current situation as the doctor's work was interrupted. A higher ranking officer had walked into my view and was looking at me. I couldn't say I recognized him, as none of our data files contained a dossier with his description. His nondescript face showed age, but wisdom that could only be attained from a Major's rank. He had spent a lot of time in this military establishment and carried the aura of their leader. He was examining my face closely.
I could hear some voices, although I could not decipher what was being said. I think they are in the process of trying to figure out who I was, and what I was doing in this area. I had luckily not worn fatigues when I left my post earlier, so my outfit was not identifiable, just the fact I was armed was all they could run on. After some more studying of my features, I saw him point at the doctors. I could sense some movement for a few seconds. Then felt my body being lifted to another table. This table was cold and felt like a typical metal stretcher. I supposed they thought it was time to move me.
I was being rolled out of the room and into the hallway. It was hard to tell the style of room just by the ceiling. I couldn't gather any more information about my location.
It was then I had to remind myself that I was dead, and my mission was over. There was no point in gathering any more data, as the angels in heaven were not concerned with such things. The ceiling tiles rolled across as I was moved to the outside. I could see flashing lights. They were apparently loading me in an ambulance. Right before the doors to the ambulance opened up, I felt a thud. The stretcher had hit the bumper of the ambulance. I could barely hear some rustling behind me. Several soliders then appeared at my side and lifted my body up. They moved me over to another rigid platform. This seemed to be standard....until I felt my legs being lifted up.
Oh no....
what came next should have been expected...but the fact that I was dead still had not sunk in. The feel of plastic against my skin was helping. I heard the dull roar of a zipper going across the bag. They were bagging me.
As the zipper closed, and darkness surrounded me. The reality of it all finally sank in. I was dead. Life was gone from my body. This was it...
It truly was over.
At this point, my faith in Farid fizzled. It was over for me. All I had to do now was move on. But why wasn't I? This didn't seem normal. I stopped tracking time, which had passed a total of 45 minutes since I injected myself with Farid's medication. He told me this would get me, and get me out it did.
It got me out in a bodybag.
As I waited for my soul to move on, I began to replay my life in my head. I gathered up every memory I could possibly think of and replayed it, paying attention to any and all details my mind could recreate. I thought back to the day on the farm when my life changed forever, the rage that instantly erupted in me. The subsequent revenge, and the satisfaction of that revenge being carried out. I was not a stranger to murder, but I promised that no one else would ever die by hands after that day. And no one had, I had fulfilled the promise to my family.
As I was lost in my thoughts, I was suddenly brought back to the present by a jarring motion. The ground below me felt hard and jagged. I began to heard muffled sounds again, and they sounded like excited voices. I think my captors had dropped me into a crowded area. The bag was being tugged, and before I knew it, the bag came flying open. Staring me in the face were a couple of doctors and a female nurse. They had a look of shock on their faces, then the older male doctor reached into the bag and placed his fingers against my neck. I expected him to get that typical defeated look on his face, knowing that there was a dead body in this bag.
But he didn't.....
He shouted something to his associates and they began to scramble to the sides of the bag. I worked hard to translate his language:
“We've got a faint pulse, let's get him inside!”
My mind raced, wondering how it was possible for the pulse of a dead guy to suddenly return. Had I been alive this entire time? Had the “hope” Farid promised begun to come true?
The doctors carried me inside to the emergency room and placed me on a stretcher. They started hooking up machines to me to find out how I was doing. When the machines powered up, the doctors were greeted with a high pitched beep, stating that I was, in fact, dead. This doctor proved to be stubborn though, and began their life saving procedures.
“CLEAR!”
The shock of electric paddles coursed through my body. I was quite aware of what I was going through, although I don't think the doctors were. There were 3 doctors and what seemed like 1500 nurses all working over me, trying to resuscitate what seemed to be a dead body. I was far from dead though. I guess you could have described me in a physical limbo. On the outside, I was dead. Cold to the touch. But on the inside......
I was very much alive.
It was strange. I couldn't move my eyes, yet I could see. My earing was slightly muffled but functional. As they began chest compressions, I could feel the hands on my chest and felt the push every 15 seconds. I began to wonder why I could experience all this if I was dead. Do people linger after death? You hear stories of people who experienced a white light as they laid dying, but never have you heard of this. As the doctors continued the fight to save me, I laid there and thought about the legacy I had left behind. I had become a small legend in Ireland because of my dealings with the corrupt law enforcement officials of my hometown. I walked into Israel, looking to lay low, and became an officer in the Israeli military. I couldn't shoot for anything, so they had made me a supply officer. I came became so good that everybody knew who I was. In one monumental moment, I went from behind Sgt. Carey to Mr. Jericho.
I smiled every time I thought about that moment.
I truly had lived a fulfilling life. As the doctors continued trying to revive me, I thought about meeting God. My church in my hometown had taught me from day one that God loves everyone, but hated the sin within us. I'd like to think I had kept myself clean of as much sin as possible. I was not responsible for any pain and suffering, except for criminal types. I fought with the Lord's chosen people in their military. I had lived a decent enough life. I had not been a criminal, I had been a revolutionary.
I prayed that when I made it up here, that God would accept me with open arms. And let me see my mother and father, I wanted to tell them that I had carried on like they asked me to, that day on the farm. The day my life and their lives changed. The day I changed from a small farm boy to a target of corrupt officials and bloodthirsty officers of the law.
I wondered...
My attention was wrenched back to the current situation as the doctor's work was interrupted. A higher ranking officer had walked into my view and was looking at me. I couldn't say I recognized him, as none of our data files contained a dossier with his description. His nondescript face showed age, but wisdom that could only be attained from a Major's rank. He had spent a lot of time in this military establishment and carried the aura of their leader. He was examining my face closely.
I could hear some voices, although I could not decipher what was being said. I think they are in the process of trying to figure out who I was, and what I was doing in this area. I had luckily not worn fatigues when I left my post earlier, so my outfit was not identifiable, just the fact I was armed was all they could run on. After some more studying of my features, I saw him point at the doctors. I could sense some movement for a few seconds. Then felt my body being lifted to another table. This table was cold and felt like a typical metal stretcher. I supposed they thought it was time to move me.
I was being rolled out of the room and into the hallway. It was hard to tell the style of room just by the ceiling. I couldn't gather any more information about my location.
It was then I had to remind myself that I was dead, and my mission was over. There was no point in gathering any more data, as the angels in heaven were not concerned with such things. The ceiling tiles rolled across as I was moved to the outside. I could see flashing lights. They were apparently loading me in an ambulance. Right before the doors to the ambulance opened up, I felt a thud. The stretcher had hit the bumper of the ambulance. I could barely hear some rustling behind me. Several soliders then appeared at my side and lifted my body up. They moved me over to another rigid platform. This seemed to be standard....until I felt my legs being lifted up.
Oh no....
what came next should have been expected...but the fact that I was dead still had not sunk in. The feel of plastic against my skin was helping. I heard the dull roar of a zipper going across the bag. They were bagging me.
As the zipper closed, and darkness surrounded me. The reality of it all finally sank in. I was dead. Life was gone from my body. This was it...
It truly was over.
At this point, my faith in Farid fizzled. It was over for me. All I had to do now was move on. But why wasn't I? This didn't seem normal. I stopped tracking time, which had passed a total of 45 minutes since I injected myself with Farid's medication. He told me this would get me, and get me out it did.
It got me out in a bodybag.
As I waited for my soul to move on, I began to replay my life in my head. I gathered up every memory I could possibly think of and replayed it, paying attention to any and all details my mind could recreate. I thought back to the day on the farm when my life changed forever, the rage that instantly erupted in me. The subsequent revenge, and the satisfaction of that revenge being carried out. I was not a stranger to murder, but I promised that no one else would ever die by hands after that day. And no one had, I had fulfilled the promise to my family.
As I was lost in my thoughts, I was suddenly brought back to the present by a jarring motion. The ground below me felt hard and jagged. I began to heard muffled sounds again, and they sounded like excited voices. I think my captors had dropped me into a crowded area. The bag was being tugged, and before I knew it, the bag came flying open. Staring me in the face were a couple of doctors and a female nurse. They had a look of shock on their faces, then the older male doctor reached into the bag and placed his fingers against my neck. I expected him to get that typical defeated look on his face, knowing that there was a dead body in this bag.
But he didn't.....
He shouted something to his associates and they began to scramble to the sides of the bag. I worked hard to translate his language:
“We've got a faint pulse, let's get him inside!”
My mind raced, wondering how it was possible for the pulse of a dead guy to suddenly return. Had I been alive this entire time? Had the “hope” Farid promised begun to come true?
The doctors carried me inside to the emergency room and placed me on a stretcher. They started hooking up machines to me to find out how I was doing. When the machines powered up, the doctors were greeted with a high pitched beep, stating that I was, in fact, dead. This doctor proved to be stubborn though, and began their life saving procedures.
“CLEAR!”
The shock of electric paddles coursed through my body. I was quite aware of what I was going through, although I don't think the doctors were. There were 3 doctors and what seemed like 1500 nurses all working over me, trying to resuscitate what seemed to be a dead body. I was far from dead though. I guess you could have described me in a physical limbo. On the outside, I was dead. Cold to the touch. But on the inside......
I was very much alive.
The Jericho Files #5.3
My body racked with pain. I was unaware of how much time has passed during my interrogation since there were no windows in the room and my captors certainly wouldn't tell me. They had used every slow and painful torture method previously devised by man to try and get me to talk. I had come close to cracking several times, but would find myself able to be lucid enough to refuse. My spirit was strong, but my flesh was proving to be very weak.
Although I have had plenty of time to study their dialects while they threatened me, I was nowhere closer to figuring them out. Their slang and regional specific words led me to believe they were near the southern region of Lebanon, but I couldn't be 100% certain yet...I needed more from them.
They finished their latest round of interrogation with several palm thrusts to my sternum per minute. These men had obviously had different regional trainings, and they were good. Their palm thrusts were taking all the breath out of my lungs, by the time my lungs would recover, they would take another shot, leaving me with no air again. I continued to find myself on the verge of passing out if this did not let up.
They stopped their barrage for just a second to question me again. “We know that you are trying to track us, tell us who your outfit is and this punishment will end”, they spoke into my ear, with false sympathy in the voices. I shook from the pain running through my chest, and my breath was staggered, but I refused to talk. They waited several seconds, then they resumed the palm thrusts.
The lack of air circulating in my body was causing my vision to dim, I felt myself begin to slip into a state of near unconsciousness and felt myself drift. I was no longer strapped in a chair being interrogated by the enemy, I was back on my farm once again with my family. My mother was on the porch once again tending to the catch of the day while my father was in the farm finishing up the chores before the sun was lost.
I was in my own corner of our land, tending to some crops and making sure they were growing well. Despite the pain in my body, I could swear that sun was beating down on my sweaty brow.
I stood up and stretched for the heavens, I had been working for hours and was looking forward to a good meal with the family. I gathered up my tools and the produce bag and made my way back to the house. I crossed over a couple of hills to get close to the house when I heard shouts coming from my mothers direction. My family, being the loving couple they were, rarely argued so shouts like this were uncommon. I continued walking with no cause for alarm, until I heard a crash coming from the house.
I dropped everything in my hands with the exception of garden hoe. If something bad was happening at the farm, I wasn't going to run into it unarmed. I took off at a speed that defied my miniature frame. As I crossed over the last hill, I caught full sight on the horrific scene on the porch of our house. I let out a shout of rage....
With a blinding flash, I was brought back to reality still screaming. They had decided to put aside the palm thrusts and resorted to Water Boarding. The cellophane was over my face already, thereby masking the shout of rage that carried over from my dream. The water was flowing at an amazing rate and I felt panic to begin setting in. My nerves were frying at an accelerated rate and I felt myself on the verge, once again, of begging for the pain to stop. When the begging began, I knew I was not too far off from surrender.
As soon as I had tightened my vocal cords to speak up, I heard a shout in a foreign language to halt. The water stopped flowing and the cellophane was cut. I took as deep a breath as I could, due to my bruised sternum. The lights had been slightly elevated, which hurt my eyes a little. I squinted for just a second while they adjusted, then looked for the person who shouted.
As my eyes regained focus, I was face to face with the originator of that shout, staring down the two soldiers. He was wearing a lab coat, but carried an officers decorations. This meant he was above the two interrogators in rank, and a surperior. My ears were still recovering from having cellophane dragged across them, so I had a hard time hearing exact words. He poked both of them in the chest in a commanding stance, and then pointed to the doorway, asking them to leave. They did, but with hesitation. As the door closed, I felt panic set in once again. Higher ranking meant that the news I was here was circulating. Higher ranking also meant that he was cleared to do more damage to get information.
I had a feeling that the interrogation was about to get much worse. He looked down at me and smiled and leaned in close. He whispered a phrase in my ear that made my brain work overtime.
“Au revoir non e für immer”
My tri-linguar code for an ally. I had a long time ago devised several hundred codes comprised of several phrases with 3 or more languages contained within the phrase. I gave one and only one to each of my contacts or people I did business with. It kept us from compromising each other in public and easily identified a friend should they be disguised.
The phrase “Goodbye isn't forever” belonged to Farid Abed, a contact I had established a long time ago during my first months as a supply officer in my outfit. He worked for a small laboratory in his home country that specialized in gene therapy and cancer research. Their funding wasn't the best in the world, so me and him were able to assist each other. Farid was well stocked with ammunition and materials for body armor. Where as I, through another contact, was able to gather laboratory equipment for him and his team to keep working. I had not seen him for 3 or more years, he either was moonlighting as a Lebanese officer, or he was undercover. I dared not ask, lest it come out in interrogation.
He leaned back and spoke softly with exaggerated body language, for the security cameras benefit. “Carey, it is good to see you again. The help you gave me so long ago has caused my laboratory to be merged with this outfits medical division. It was done against my will, but I am trying to support my family through this. When I heard word of a prisoner of Irish descent in these parts, I knew it was you. I pulled rank on those interrogators to see you. I will more than likely be found out as a sympathizer and be taken care of soon, but getting you out of here is more important.”
He reached into his lab coat and produced a syringe filled with a cloudy blue liquid. “This is a result of the equipment you gave me, it is the only way to get you out of here alive and in one piece. I want you to trust me on this, and do not doubt me. You will return from this adventure very much alive. I wish you the best” he said, while tapping the syringe. We began to hear knocks on the door and shouting from the other side. Farid began to loosen my straps before the door opened up with guards realising their mistake of letting Farid in. As he loosened my bonds, he grabbed my arms and whispered to fight as the door flung open. I faked a struggle and grunted to put on a show for the guards who had just come in, they joined in the struggle trying to pry me and Farid apart. During the struggle, I saw Farid wink at me and loosen his grip on the syringe. I grabbed it with my free hand, and in a split second, stabbed the syringe into my thigh and pressed the plunger down. Farid loosened his grip from me and was thrown into a corner by the guards.
As the drugs made their way into my system, I began to wonder what Farid meant by “adventure”. I also wondered, if only for a split second if I had been betrayed. It wouldn't be the first time in business that it had happened. I felt the drugs begin to take affect.
It started with a tightening in my chest, I could only describe it as what a heart attack would feel like. The pain was excruciating on top of my already bruised sternum. I felt the pressure on my cranium skyrocket, my eyes feeling like they were going to explode from their sockets. My stomach and intestines cramped to unbelivable lengths and I thought I was about to turn inside out. Every vein felt like it was on fire. My body began to seize with such force that bonds were coming loose, some were more stubborn and resulted in breaking the bones they held down. The others pains masked these shattered bones, the only proof being the sound of breaking resonating in my ears.
The pain continued it's unbearable waves for several seconds as the guards stared in wonder. I was dying, and they didn't know what to do. I wanted to curse Farid's name, but he begged me to trust him on this “adventure”...so trust him I did.
My last thought, before my body became still, was whether or not Farid would survive this adventure for what he had done. I stared open eyed at the ceiling and felt my toes go cold, the cold began to creep up my body towards my head. If I could have screamed, I would have, but every muscle in my body seemed dead. By the time the cold reached my heart, I felt it stop beating.
In every sense of the word, I was dead.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
The Jericho Files #5.2
I awoke to the sound of electricity crackling and sparks flying everywhere. My eyes took some time to adjust, as it was almost pitch black wherever I was at. I tried to move, but apparently was strapped down in a chair and felt a slightly pressure in my head which means I was almost hanging upside down. I had no way to determine my whereabouts or know what time it was. All I knew was I was tired and my head was killing me. The sparks or burnt smell they were creating weren't helping.
I began to hear some movement and voices no higher than a whisper, I strained to listen but was unable to make anything out. They seemed to be far away, so I began to make deductions based on what I had seen so far. I was apparently in a large room, as there were far off individuals that I could barely hear. I was being held in a chair in an uncomfortable position, and there was someone making sparks nearby. This only meant one thing.....
Interrogation.
At that point, my eyes began to adjust and I could see only two men in the room. One seemed to be holding a welding torch in his hand and was creating the sparks I saw when I woke up. They seemed to be welding several parts of metal together, although it was hard to tell at the time. The pieces of metal seemed to be shards with sharp jagged points. They didn't look friendly, but then again, nothing felt friendly about this place. I began to prepare myself for a world of pain.
I laid my head back and closed my eyes. There was no use in attempting to escape because they were blocking the only entrace. Besides, the longer I stayed here, the more I could find out about my captors. It was obvious that whoever they were, they were up to no good. There was a high chance they were the Lebanese soldiers we were looking for.
I slowly let myself slip into a being of relaxation. Suddenly, I was back on the farm in Ireland. My mother was on the porch cleaning the day's catch my father had brought in. I was out in the fields, tending to what little crops we had. I watched my mother work vigorously to clean the fish and game. It was getting late in the day and we wouldn't have much daylight left to work. She never quit, whatever got the job done. Where my father's job ended, hers begun and continued at a blinding pace.
You couldn't help but be impressed. The family was famous for it's work ethic. We never quit. We never tired. There was always a solution.
I let myself slip just slightly to my current situation. I wouldn't quit either, I wouldn't tire during this interrogation. I refused to be the weak link in this chain of my outfit.
I was ripped from my being of relaxation by a strong tug of my hair. My eyes snapped open to be greeted by an ugly sneer on a man of middle eastern descent. His features were crude and weathered. He had seen combat, his scars spoke that. He stared a hole through me, trying to frighten me. He opened his mouth to speak, and a foul stench of wine and old meat came forth in his breath. He was definitely a soldier, as hygiene care was not top on your list when you were in skirmishes. He began to speak in a dialect that took me a little to decipher. As I caught up on the translation, I knew that I was in for a long fight.
“Hello Dog, you can either talk and die quickly or be silent and die slowly. It is your choice....choose now”
He picked up a rugged combat knife and placed it against my face. I took a stock of the situation:
I was restrained in a chair slightly upside down, the blood was rushing to my head at an astounding rate that I was beginning to see spots. I had two men concocting insane devices to interrogate me. They wanted my identity and what I was doing here. More than that though, they wanted my life.
I think my decision became quite clear then.
I kept my mouth shut.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
The Jericho Files #5.1
“CLEAR!”
The shock of electric paddles coursed through my body. I was quite aware of what I was going through, although I don't think the doctors were. There were 3 doctors and what seemed like 1500 nurses all working over me, trying to resuscitate what seemed to be a dead body. I was far from dead though. I guess you could have described me in a physical limbo. On the outside, I was dead. Cold to the touch. But on the inside.
I was very much alive.
It sounds pretty extraordinary, I know. But I guess it's more extraordinary how I got here.
Several weeks ago, I was with my outfit in an section of the Golan Heights. We had been deployed secretively to gather intelligence regarding an increase of Lebanese soldier presence in that area. The Golan Heights were still very much ours, we decided to send a small group there to check it out.
We had been held up in a run down hotel so as to not attract attention. Because of the sophistication of the Lebanese army, I also had to stay off my wires. My supply chains were not at my fingertips, so I had to be on the lookout for anything that could be of use to the army. Because we were trying to be discreet, we packed light.
This is what I would call a challenge for me. It's not everyday that I have my ties severed. But they are not what keep me going, either. I make sure to always have backup plans.
It was late at night, and we had been in that hotel for 4 days observing the area and the people looking for individuals who stood out. After 4 straight days of spying on people, it's hard to tell who is who anymore. The group was getting stir crazy. I decided, against my better judgment, to go on a small patrol to get a better scope of the area. I had hoped this would speed up our reconnaissance and get us home sooner
I left the building at 12:45am and began to walk the streets of the Golan Heights village named Majdal Shams. It wasn't the prettiest place in the world, I hold that distinction for my native Ireland. I have learned from traveling though, that every place has it's own beauty. Be it hidden or world renowned, it is everywhere.
I strolled street after street, taking mental notes and drawing a map in my brain of the town's layout. I made special note of awkward buildings or unusual markings for further navigation. Nobody stood out to me. I tried not to be too intrusive while I investigated back alleys for any odd personnel.
As I turned a corner, something bright caught my eye. It was just a flash, but it was enough to alert me.
Sniper.
I acted like I dropped something behind me and quickly ducked back around the corner and just held my breath. If someone was scoping me, that meant they knew who I was or they were just as suspicious as my team was. Snipers are very rarely alone too, this meant that if I drew attention to myself, I would be surrounded by his teammates within 30 seconds.
My only option was to casually walk around the corner again and continue walking. Never making eye contact with the sniper and trying to find some cover. Not walking around that corner would alert the sniper that I knew he was there and he would call his associates.
I was in a tight situation either way.
I adjusted my jacket and walked around that corner once again. I scoped my surroundings. I was on the sidewalk of a slightly narrow road. Straight ahead, the road dead ended and either turned left or right. Based on the glint, the sniper was in the tall, almost 3 story building several blocks down to my left. No matter which turn I took put me in the path of that sniper. I continued walking as if on a wire, pretending to be walking casually. I could that scope burning a hole in my ear. He had me zoned up and was ready to take me out.
It was at that point that the door of the building I was walking by swung open and 3 heavily arms guys jumped out and grabbed me. I began to resist and felt the butt of a gun hit me hard on the head.
Then everything went dark.......
The Jericho Files #4.3
My hand was gripped to the door of that metal container so hard that my muscles ached. I had only split seconds to act and open this door. If I didn't, I was sure to be torn apart by the multiple guns at my back.
When I opened that door, a barrage of bullets were bound to come my way. Howard had decided to use me as a human shield to ensure that they survived the assault. I think to think fast and find a way to get this door open and remove myself from the path.
My mind raced and then settled on a tried but true solution.
I jiggled the handle of the container, faking like it was stuck. I began to pull in a frantic state, seeming just as eager as they were to get it open. I could hear every single one of them stop breathing, anticipating a trick of some kind.
“It's jammed”, I said with a degree of frustration in my voice. I was fully prepared to play this off like a disappointment if they believed it. “I can't get it open!” I shouted and began to grip the handle tighter, placing both feet on the doorway for more leverage. I kept silently begging them to take the bait.
I looked back at Howard with a “help me” look in my eye. All I needed was for him to believe me and get his goons to help me. Then my plan to open this door and get out of the way quickly could take place.
Howard hesitated just for a second, then made a quick nod of his head. His goons jumped into place right behind me, grabbing me and each other to create a chain of force to pull the “stuck” door open. They began to yank and I faked pulling for a just another second or two.
Then I let my plan open up.
I flicked the one latch on the door that was really keeping it closed. The door swung open with amazing force. The goons had generated quite a pull and therefore the opposite reaction threw us all back. Their grip on me loosened and allowed me to stay clung to the container door, which swung open and out away from the entrance to the container.
“Stop Hi---” was all I heard Howard shout before the scream of automatic turret guns opened fire. I stayed clung to the door and hung on with all my might. The sensors in the security system would soon detect that the “threat” had been eliminated and shut itself off.
Several seconds passed, and it seemed like hours. The whir of the guns finally died down. I let my feet touch the floor and walked around the corner to view the carnage.
5 dead goons, 1 dead ex-business partner. They had been subject to the full force of the security system. It was a messy scene. One that, despite my reputation, made me slightly ill. I was glad to be alive, but the price paid wasn't on my top list of great memories.
I cautiously tiptoed amongst the remains to the container. The separate security measures were certainly working, as I was not being turned into swiss cheese. I had to examine the cargo to make sure nothing had been damaged.
I walked into the container and began to pull back the heavy tarps that covered boxes upon boxes of items that Howard and his thugs had died for. I inspected the Arabic script written on the box to ensure that there was no damage, and no switch had taken place during our invasion. Everything was in perfect order.
I replaced the tarps and walked out of the container, closing and latching the door behind me. I decided to reset the guns later. I had a mess to clean up. I made several phone calls to my cleaners, asking them to dispose of the current mess and to make it quick and quiet. I then made my way back to my main office. I had a lot of rebuilding to do. The security system software would have to be rebuilt from the ground up, as well as make sure all the turrets were restocked and calibrated. My facility had taken a minor hit, but nothing I couldn't learn from.
I would be a fool if I didn't say that it bothered me that Howard was the one to betray me. I learned a long time ago from my dad that trust shouldn't be easily gained, especially in business. When it is gained, you should have a friend and associate for life.
Apparently, Howard didn't have the same father.
Betrayal isn't new to me either. I have had a lot of people try, and succeed, to stab me in the back. This was no different. It always boiled down to one thing
Nothing Personal, Just Business
Monday, October 20, 2008
The Jericho Files #4.2
"I'm sorry it had to be this way, Mr. Carey"
That voice was unmistakeable. I almost didn't believe my own ears when that sentence was uttered. I turned my head slowly to see the group of masked men part, and the owner of that voice step forward.
By his appearance, one would take him for an ordinary individual. But I knew him as more, so much more. His thin wiry frame would make one assume he had no possible contribution to society. But I knew better. Beneath that thin, bony face laid the brain that helped design this factory. The hands that held a Glock9 pistol also helped build the very security system that had kept me prisoner. The man who was pointing that Glock9 pistol at my forehead, was my confidant. My most trusted business partner.
He was Howard Rames, my second in command.
"Howard," I said, "Would you mind telling me exactly what you are doing holding a pistol to my head...instead of them?!"
Despite this obvious betrayal, I seemed to be remaining quite calm. It surprised even me. Howard and I had met several years during a business transaction gone bad. A shootout ensued and me and Howard ended up aiming for the same people. After the hostilities had died down, me and Howard decided that maybe working together would save us time, money and aggrivation. We pooled our resources. His brain and my connections proved to be an unstoppable team. We began to 'redirect' shipments from all over the world to our own location. Our warehouse began to fill so quickly, we were having to expand weekly. Our team seemed unstoppable.
Or so I thought.
Howard chuckled. "You always were one for humor, weren't you Carey? Unfortunately, the jokes on you this time. It's always been on you. Too bad you were too wrapped up in your "business" to see that I've been trying to trap you since our partnership began."
"It only makes sense, Howard. Who else could break the security system? Who else knew about the fence? Who else knew exactly where the shipment these men are here for was located at?" I said calmly. I wasn't angry...not yet. I had learned a long time ago that eventually, everybody will betray you. So I make certain....precautions.
"Now stand up" Howard flicked the gun at me. "Let's take a walk and go check on that shipment. We have an interested customer."
I was lifted to my feet, the laptop falling from my lap to the floor, as I was shoved away, I glanced at the screen. The words Transfer Complete stared back at me. It was only a matter of time now before the security system would be completely useless. I walked with the group without protest. If I was going to get out of this alive, I would need to be smart and not fight until the right moment.
Howard for the most part was remaining quiet. For a man who had betrayed someone as prestigious as myself, I expected more gloating. But what can I say? People tend to surprise you.
We walked through the large containers in the warehouse, heading towards their prize. Container #1319203. I don't blame them for fighting so hard for this container. It contained something that could make it's owners very very rich.
We left one warehouse and entered another. The containers would seem like a maze to anybody else. But to me and Howard, it was second nature to navigate them. It's no wonder his masked cohorts were able to find me so quickly.
"You're unusually quiet, Carey, for someone who is about to have a prized possession taken away from him" Howard said to me.
"I find it hard to believe that any possession is worth the fight. There is always something more valuable." I spoke in a reserved tone. Howard wanted me to be angry over this, I wasn't going to let him enjoy this moment at all. Besides, in a few short minutes, he wouldn't be enjoying anything.
As we passed through the warehouse, I could only hope that Howard hadn't remembered my inner security policy. The cargo in that container was precious to me, and when it comes to precious things, I take extra precautions. I had an inner security system installed in the next warehouse. It was a separate entity from the automated turret system I had turned against me. This system was much more sophisticated and deadly. It was impossible to turn it against me because the system had a double encryption on it's passwords. It could never be cracked. I had the world's most famous hackers attempt it. They walked away in frustration.
If Howard knew about the system, he wasn't letting on. He seemed quite proud of himself to have gotten this far. It was time to put him in his place.
We entered the final warehouse. As we drew closer to the container, I faked a loud sneeze. The group immediately had their guns on me. I could tell they were nervous by the slight wavering of their guns.
Howard stopped his stride and turned to face me. He walked towards me until we were face to face. He took his pistol and pressed it against the bottom of my chin.
"You allergic or something?" Howard asked, the look on his face had me concerned.
"Only to backstabbers" I said through clenched teeth. He deserved that shot and then some. He would get what he deserves as soon as we opened that container.
Howard sneered, and pulled the gun from my face. He kept walking through the containers. Howard was too angry from my comment to thoroughly think through my actions. My sneeze was an activator. That loud noise was high enough in decibals to activate the inner security policy. As soon as they opened the door, the security system would ensure the cargo was never touched.
As we approached the container, Howard suddenly stopped. He pointed to me. One of the masked men grabbed me by the arm and led me to the front of the group. Howard shoved me towards the container door.
"Open it" he said. His sterness was admirable, but not very effective.
"Are you scared of something, Howard?" I said, with a challenge. Howard did not like being messed around with, and he proved this by sticking the barrell of the gun in my ear.
"Do not mess with me, now open it." Howard pushed my head away with the gun.
I was in a tough spot now. By opening this container, I had a high chance of taking the full blast of the security system's countermeasures. Therefore, voiding my chances of getting out of this alive. I surveyed the situation.
One way or another, I was in deep trouble.
*to be continued*
That voice was unmistakeable. I almost didn't believe my own ears when that sentence was uttered. I turned my head slowly to see the group of masked men part, and the owner of that voice step forward.
By his appearance, one would take him for an ordinary individual. But I knew him as more, so much more. His thin wiry frame would make one assume he had no possible contribution to society. But I knew better. Beneath that thin, bony face laid the brain that helped design this factory. The hands that held a Glock9 pistol also helped build the very security system that had kept me prisoner. The man who was pointing that Glock9 pistol at my forehead, was my confidant. My most trusted business partner.
He was Howard Rames, my second in command.
"Howard," I said, "Would you mind telling me exactly what you are doing holding a pistol to my head...instead of them?!"
Despite this obvious betrayal, I seemed to be remaining quite calm. It surprised even me. Howard and I had met several years during a business transaction gone bad. A shootout ensued and me and Howard ended up aiming for the same people. After the hostilities had died down, me and Howard decided that maybe working together would save us time, money and aggrivation. We pooled our resources. His brain and my connections proved to be an unstoppable team. We began to 'redirect' shipments from all over the world to our own location. Our warehouse began to fill so quickly, we were having to expand weekly. Our team seemed unstoppable.
Or so I thought.
Howard chuckled. "You always were one for humor, weren't you Carey? Unfortunately, the jokes on you this time. It's always been on you. Too bad you were too wrapped up in your "business" to see that I've been trying to trap you since our partnership began."
"It only makes sense, Howard. Who else could break the security system? Who else knew about the fence? Who else knew exactly where the shipment these men are here for was located at?" I said calmly. I wasn't angry...not yet. I had learned a long time ago that eventually, everybody will betray you. So I make certain....precautions.
"Now stand up" Howard flicked the gun at me. "Let's take a walk and go check on that shipment. We have an interested customer."
I was lifted to my feet, the laptop falling from my lap to the floor, as I was shoved away, I glanced at the screen. The words Transfer Complete stared back at me. It was only a matter of time now before the security system would be completely useless. I walked with the group without protest. If I was going to get out of this alive, I would need to be smart and not fight until the right moment.
Howard for the most part was remaining quiet. For a man who had betrayed someone as prestigious as myself, I expected more gloating. But what can I say? People tend to surprise you.
We walked through the large containers in the warehouse, heading towards their prize. Container #1319203. I don't blame them for fighting so hard for this container. It contained something that could make it's owners very very rich.
We left one warehouse and entered another. The containers would seem like a maze to anybody else. But to me and Howard, it was second nature to navigate them. It's no wonder his masked cohorts were able to find me so quickly.
"You're unusually quiet, Carey, for someone who is about to have a prized possession taken away from him" Howard said to me.
"I find it hard to believe that any possession is worth the fight. There is always something more valuable." I spoke in a reserved tone. Howard wanted me to be angry over this, I wasn't going to let him enjoy this moment at all. Besides, in a few short minutes, he wouldn't be enjoying anything.
As we passed through the warehouse, I could only hope that Howard hadn't remembered my inner security policy. The cargo in that container was precious to me, and when it comes to precious things, I take extra precautions. I had an inner security system installed in the next warehouse. It was a separate entity from the automated turret system I had turned against me. This system was much more sophisticated and deadly. It was impossible to turn it against me because the system had a double encryption on it's passwords. It could never be cracked. I had the world's most famous hackers attempt it. They walked away in frustration.
If Howard knew about the system, he wasn't letting on. He seemed quite proud of himself to have gotten this far. It was time to put him in his place.
We entered the final warehouse. As we drew closer to the container, I faked a loud sneeze. The group immediately had their guns on me. I could tell they were nervous by the slight wavering of their guns.
Howard stopped his stride and turned to face me. He walked towards me until we were face to face. He took his pistol and pressed it against the bottom of my chin.
"You allergic or something?" Howard asked, the look on his face had me concerned.
"Only to backstabbers" I said through clenched teeth. He deserved that shot and then some. He would get what he deserves as soon as we opened that container.
Howard sneered, and pulled the gun from my face. He kept walking through the containers. Howard was too angry from my comment to thoroughly think through my actions. My sneeze was an activator. That loud noise was high enough in decibals to activate the inner security policy. As soon as they opened the door, the security system would ensure the cargo was never touched.
As we approached the container, Howard suddenly stopped. He pointed to me. One of the masked men grabbed me by the arm and led me to the front of the group. Howard shoved me towards the container door.
"Open it" he said. His sterness was admirable, but not very effective.
"Are you scared of something, Howard?" I said, with a challenge. Howard did not like being messed around with, and he proved this by sticking the barrell of the gun in my ear.
"Do not mess with me, now open it." Howard pushed my head away with the gun.
I was in a tough spot now. By opening this container, I had a high chance of taking the full blast of the security system's countermeasures. Therefore, voiding my chances of getting out of this alive. I surveyed the situation.
One way or another, I was in deep trouble.
*to be continued*
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Jericho Files #4.1
Do you want to execute? [y/n]
I stared at the computer screen, completely unsure if I actually wanted to execute this command or not. Doing so would most assuredly wipe out the security systems of my own personal warehouse. But desparate times called for desparate measures.
Pershaps I should go back to the beginning.
Two days ago, my warehouse received what could simply be called a 'redirected shipment'. The original owners would like to call it 'hijacked', but I've always considered that to be such a dirty word. In business, it's not what you say. It's how you say it.
Anyway, the redirected shipment was quite precious to their original owners. They considered it precious enough to send a squad of trained hitmen in to retrieve it.
They began by breaching the outer perimeter of my land. My fences were electrified in random spots that constantly cycled themselves. I like to keep them guessing. How they climbed or got past it, I'd love to find out.
My warehouse, on the outside, looks like one big building. On the inside, you may be amazed to discover the one big building is just a shell that houses close to 20 different smaller warehouses. These store all my various 'findings' over the years, not to mention my arsenal of vehicles, weaponry, and equipment for jobs. Most of the warehouses are locked and sealed, but all were controlled by a centralized database of computerized security machines. If one got breached, all of the warehouses would lock down tight. Keeping anybody else, but locking everyone else in.
It also was quite smart in it's countermeasures. It was programmed to constantly use it camera's to examine the occupants of the building, and match them against a database of biometric characteristics. Such as heart rate and pulse. To determine if the individual was a welcome or unwelcome guest. It would then react accordingly.
The assailants had breached my land, and entered my main warehouse shell. They were now making their way into the first warehouse. My security cameras were picking them up, but not responding any other way. This raised my suspicions, so I investigated.
As I began to examine the security system for flaws, I discovered a problem. a BIG problem. They had planted a virus in my security system. The virus was elaborate enough to remove my database of biometrics and replace it with the information of my unwelcome guests.
I shuddered at what this meant. The countermeasures of the security system was now configured to treat everyone other than these robbers as unwelcome guests.
Including me.
Shortly after I realized this, I heard the click and whirr of a countermeasure becoming active. I ducked to the side behind a large metal container. My heart began to race as I hear the *CLANG CLANG CLANG* of metal bullets riveting the side of the metal container I was leaning against.
I knew my system well enough to know that all the other guns had become active as well. I was trapped in my own warehouse, with my own security system against me.
Quickly, I began to think. I had overseen the entire construction of this facility. I knew the layout better than the one who drew up the plans for me. I tried my best to remember what this warehouse contained. My mind raced through the container manifests that I had practically memorized in a frantic attempt to see if anything here could help me out.
As another round of bullets pounded against the metal container, a number sprang to my head....#56394.
Container #56394 contained a plethora of electronic equipment from a heist in Sweden. A local group of computer geeks were running their own ring of servers filled to the brim with illegally copied movies, music and other forms of media. The heist by authorities lifted the servers from the group and shipped them off for evidence. But somewhere along the road, the equipment was...lost. It's amazing what can happen when you make a detour and electronically inject some modified paperwork.
Container #56394 had what I needed. A laptop. A computer with a connection to this very much alive security system. I just had to get there without being turned into swiss cheese.
I turned my head across the corner, looking for a path to move to the next container. If I remembered correctly, #56394 was 4 or 5 containers over. I just had to move from container to container, using them for cover.
I eyed my path and took a deep breath. I placed a foot against the container I was leaning against and launched myself to the next container. I hear the gun fire up and begin to shoot rounds at me. I landed on the ground behind the other container, rolling to get the best distance away from the gun. The rounds stopped pounding the container seconds later. I continued my trek to the container.
Moments later, I reached it. #56394 was staring me in the face. I unlatched it's door and made my way in. I scrounged through the various boxes and lockers, looking for the one electronic device that could get me out of this mess. Midway through the container, I found the device I so desperately needed. I booted it up and exhaled to find that the battery was fully charged. That left me at ease, I don't think I could stand anymore of the remote control guns shooting at me.
I reached into my shirt and retrieved my memory stick. On that memory stick contained every database file and program I could ever need should my computer systems become compromised.....like they were now. I loaded the stick and accessed my files. The security system was unique in that it did not require direct access to the terminal. It could receive wireless signals at any terminal and make necessary changes. I modified the laptops wireless settings to access the security system and examine the damage.
The changes to my system were elaborate, and very well masked. The virus had hidden the options to change the settings of the system. I, in effect, was locked out. There was no way to allow my biometrics back into the system.
There was just one thing left to do.
My fingers worked frantically across the keyboard. I used the utilities on my memory stick to construct a counter-virus for my security system. This virus was designed to do two things. Find a workaround entry into the system and neutralize the virus infecting the sytem. It was also designed to completely disable the security system once the virus was found and neutralized. This way, the intruders couldn't try again.
I coded as quickly as I could. I knew the intruders were getting closer to my side of the warehouse mazes. I had to work fast. My mind was working at a frantic pact to try and create the necessary lines of code to bring my own genius design down.
What seemed like an eternity passed, as I finished the coding. I began the connection to transfer the code. As I finished the wireless handshake, I was prompted by the computer.
Do you want to execute? [y/n]
The question was an important one. Without this security system, the odds were against me with these intruders. I was out-manned and out-gunned. But either way, the system is useless to me. I pressed the enter and heard the satisfying click of the keyboard. The connection began to transfer the file to the security system.
That's when I heard another click. A loud and very audible click. Like the cocking of a gun.
And another.
And another.
And another.
And another.
I turned slowly and saw 5 men standing at the entrance to the container. 5 guns cocked and ready to blow me apart if I even moved a little.
It looks like I had been found....
*to be continued*
I stared at the computer screen, completely unsure if I actually wanted to execute this command or not. Doing so would most assuredly wipe out the security systems of my own personal warehouse. But desparate times called for desparate measures.
Pershaps I should go back to the beginning.
Two days ago, my warehouse received what could simply be called a 'redirected shipment'. The original owners would like to call it 'hijacked', but I've always considered that to be such a dirty word. In business, it's not what you say. It's how you say it.
Anyway, the redirected shipment was quite precious to their original owners. They considered it precious enough to send a squad of trained hitmen in to retrieve it.
They began by breaching the outer perimeter of my land. My fences were electrified in random spots that constantly cycled themselves. I like to keep them guessing. How they climbed or got past it, I'd love to find out.
My warehouse, on the outside, looks like one big building. On the inside, you may be amazed to discover the one big building is just a shell that houses close to 20 different smaller warehouses. These store all my various 'findings' over the years, not to mention my arsenal of vehicles, weaponry, and equipment for jobs. Most of the warehouses are locked and sealed, but all were controlled by a centralized database of computerized security machines. If one got breached, all of the warehouses would lock down tight. Keeping anybody else, but locking everyone else in.
It also was quite smart in it's countermeasures. It was programmed to constantly use it camera's to examine the occupants of the building, and match them against a database of biometric characteristics. Such as heart rate and pulse. To determine if the individual was a welcome or unwelcome guest. It would then react accordingly.
The assailants had breached my land, and entered my main warehouse shell. They were now making their way into the first warehouse. My security cameras were picking them up, but not responding any other way. This raised my suspicions, so I investigated.
As I began to examine the security system for flaws, I discovered a problem. a BIG problem. They had planted a virus in my security system. The virus was elaborate enough to remove my database of biometrics and replace it with the information of my unwelcome guests.
I shuddered at what this meant. The countermeasures of the security system was now configured to treat everyone other than these robbers as unwelcome guests.
Including me.
Shortly after I realized this, I heard the click and whirr of a countermeasure becoming active. I ducked to the side behind a large metal container. My heart began to race as I hear the *CLANG CLANG CLANG* of metal bullets riveting the side of the metal container I was leaning against.
I knew my system well enough to know that all the other guns had become active as well. I was trapped in my own warehouse, with my own security system against me.
Quickly, I began to think. I had overseen the entire construction of this facility. I knew the layout better than the one who drew up the plans for me. I tried my best to remember what this warehouse contained. My mind raced through the container manifests that I had practically memorized in a frantic attempt to see if anything here could help me out.
As another round of bullets pounded against the metal container, a number sprang to my head....#56394.
Container #56394 contained a plethora of electronic equipment from a heist in Sweden. A local group of computer geeks were running their own ring of servers filled to the brim with illegally copied movies, music and other forms of media. The heist by authorities lifted the servers from the group and shipped them off for evidence. But somewhere along the road, the equipment was...lost. It's amazing what can happen when you make a detour and electronically inject some modified paperwork.
Container #56394 had what I needed. A laptop. A computer with a connection to this very much alive security system. I just had to get there without being turned into swiss cheese.
I turned my head across the corner, looking for a path to move to the next container. If I remembered correctly, #56394 was 4 or 5 containers over. I just had to move from container to container, using them for cover.
I eyed my path and took a deep breath. I placed a foot against the container I was leaning against and launched myself to the next container. I hear the gun fire up and begin to shoot rounds at me. I landed on the ground behind the other container, rolling to get the best distance away from the gun. The rounds stopped pounding the container seconds later. I continued my trek to the container.
Moments later, I reached it. #56394 was staring me in the face. I unlatched it's door and made my way in. I scrounged through the various boxes and lockers, looking for the one electronic device that could get me out of this mess. Midway through the container, I found the device I so desperately needed. I booted it up and exhaled to find that the battery was fully charged. That left me at ease, I don't think I could stand anymore of the remote control guns shooting at me.
I reached into my shirt and retrieved my memory stick. On that memory stick contained every database file and program I could ever need should my computer systems become compromised.....like they were now. I loaded the stick and accessed my files. The security system was unique in that it did not require direct access to the terminal. It could receive wireless signals at any terminal and make necessary changes. I modified the laptops wireless settings to access the security system and examine the damage.
The changes to my system were elaborate, and very well masked. The virus had hidden the options to change the settings of the system. I, in effect, was locked out. There was no way to allow my biometrics back into the system.
There was just one thing left to do.
My fingers worked frantically across the keyboard. I used the utilities on my memory stick to construct a counter-virus for my security system. This virus was designed to do two things. Find a workaround entry into the system and neutralize the virus infecting the sytem. It was also designed to completely disable the security system once the virus was found and neutralized. This way, the intruders couldn't try again.
I coded as quickly as I could. I knew the intruders were getting closer to my side of the warehouse mazes. I had to work fast. My mind was working at a frantic pact to try and create the necessary lines of code to bring my own genius design down.
What seemed like an eternity passed, as I finished the coding. I began the connection to transfer the code. As I finished the wireless handshake, I was prompted by the computer.
Do you want to execute? [y/n]
The question was an important one. Without this security system, the odds were against me with these intruders. I was out-manned and out-gunned. But either way, the system is useless to me. I pressed the enter and heard the satisfying click of the keyboard. The connection began to transfer the file to the security system.
That's when I heard another click. A loud and very audible click. Like the cocking of a gun.
And another.
And another.
And another.
And another.
I turned slowly and saw 5 men standing at the entrance to the container. 5 guns cocked and ready to blow me apart if I even moved a little.
It looks like I had been found....
*to be continued*
Monday, October 13, 2008
The Jericho Files #3
"GET OVER HERE GENTILE"
That was my commanding officer. Eitan Eshkol was his name. Loud and abrasive, but my superior nonetheless. His words were not to be taken lightly, or his discipline would be harsher than his words. I stopped what I was doing immediately and dashed over to him, snapping to attention when I arrived next to him.
He liked to call me "Gentile", it was his way of truly and firmly distinguishing me from the other soldiers. I was an Irish man, in an Israeli Army. There could be no more distinguishing me to the next guy. But, he liked to called me Gentile, so as to further set me aside. I did not mind at all.
It was the way He did business.
He stared me in the eyes with an intesity that could have lit my brain on fire, had I been guilty of something. I joined the IDF for a reason, not to steal weapons like I had from so many of my other employers, but to do just one simple thing.
Pay to the Lord's nation, what the Lord had paid to me.
"Would you mind telling me where this TANK came from?" Commander Eshtol said to me in an accusing tone. I dared not lie to this man, this was without the one man who could put me so far in the ground I'd never be heard from again.
"I acquired it, sir!" I said in the most unwavering tone I could muster. This man's stature and power in the IDF was terrifying to fathom, and tended to cause weakness in my voice whenever I knew that there was a chance he might not like my answers.
"You acquired it? One does not just acquire a tank, Carey! I want an explanation, now!" He demanded. He had not gotten used yet to the way I ran things. Since my failures as a sniper were extremely well known amongst the regiment, Commander Eshtol decided to make me a supply officer. My duties were to handle all the delivery, documentation and upkeep of our supplies. Food, clothing, and weaponry. I made sure that if somebody needed something yesterday, they had it the day before.
I ran a tight ship, I made sure that all guns and ammo was documented, I took counts after every skirmish. We had ourselves logged down to the last bullet. Nothing got out of my supply chains, but everything that was loose and unclaimed, was sure to get in. When I joined the IDF, I not only brought my willingness to fight for God's chosen people....
I had brought my business with me.
"You see sir, our opposition has this discrepancy with their tanks. Their fuselage's do not like to be filled with certain articles, as it causes a decrease in performance, and eventual shutdown. This is a well known flaw with all gasoline powered assault vehicles. What our opposition does NOT know, is that with a simple maintenance realted procedure, the tanks can be flushed and working like new again" I explained in detail as best I could, I wanted Commander Eshtol to be more curious, so he could continue to ask questions. This would either further delay my punishment, or completely revolutionize how I was able to supply this batallion.
Commander Esthol's eyebrows were raised in interest, "These....articles....what exactly are they?"
I looked at my commander like it was common sense, "Just plain ordinary sugar, sir!"
Sugar was a hot commodity in this part of the region. The batallions were only supplied with so many foodstuffs and various sweetners and spices to add to their meals, sugar was not such a luxury. It was in scarce supply. Commander Eshtol did not enjoy my insinuation.
"Do you mean to tell me that you are using SUGAR to poison the gas tanks of our opposition? Sugar is the one thing we are lowest on supply right now--"
"But commander", I interrupted. I was willing to take the punishment for interruping the commander, because I was sure he would love my explanantion. "The sugar is not from our company, that's the beauty of my plan, sir. I know one of the individuals who supplies our opposition with gasoline for their tanks. Me and him used to be in business together. To pay me back on some "debts" he owes me, I am instructing him to put 1/2 lbs of sugar per every gallon of gas he sells to our opposition."
Commander Eshtol's countenance relaxed as he pondered over the math of 1/2 lb of sugar per gallon of gas. It wasn't enough to completely render the gas useless. Over time, the sugar would eventually clog up the fuel injection systems and render the tank useless.
As Command Eshtol thought over the math, I continued. "You see, sir, over time, the sugar will continue to decrease the performance of their tanks, until they eventually die on them. Our opposition would rather leave the tanks in the desert to rot, since they are useless to them, than have them repaired. With some of the engineers, I have developed a field repair kit that can flush the tank's systems and have it operational in an hour. That gives us plenty of time, to sneak in, repair the tank, and drive it over to our enemy lines. And that sir, is where this tank came from."
I relaxed my stance just slightly and let him ponder over what I had just said. I could tell he liked the idea that I had proposed. All was fair in war to Commander Eshtol, he just wants to know what is happening in his batallion.
Commander Eshtol seemed to breaking from his pondering and looked me square in the eye. "Good job, Gentile. I like the way you work. You in line for promotion if this plan continues to work. You are dismissed" He saluted me, which I returned and then walked away.
As I walked away, I couldn't help but smile. Sticky situations come and go around here, but there hasn't been much I couldn't handle. I've been able to supply my battalion with weapons, ammo, and supplies that are 10 times better than our opposition and twice as good as our neighboring batallions. It was my job to keep this fight going....and why not?
It was my business, after all.
That was my commanding officer. Eitan Eshkol was his name. Loud and abrasive, but my superior nonetheless. His words were not to be taken lightly, or his discipline would be harsher than his words. I stopped what I was doing immediately and dashed over to him, snapping to attention when I arrived next to him.
He liked to call me "Gentile", it was his way of truly and firmly distinguishing me from the other soldiers. I was an Irish man, in an Israeli Army. There could be no more distinguishing me to the next guy. But, he liked to called me Gentile, so as to further set me aside. I did not mind at all.
It was the way He did business.
He stared me in the eyes with an intesity that could have lit my brain on fire, had I been guilty of something. I joined the IDF for a reason, not to steal weapons like I had from so many of my other employers, but to do just one simple thing.
Pay to the Lord's nation, what the Lord had paid to me.
"Would you mind telling me where this TANK came from?" Commander Eshtol said to me in an accusing tone. I dared not lie to this man, this was without the one man who could put me so far in the ground I'd never be heard from again.
"I acquired it, sir!" I said in the most unwavering tone I could muster. This man's stature and power in the IDF was terrifying to fathom, and tended to cause weakness in my voice whenever I knew that there was a chance he might not like my answers.
"You acquired it? One does not just acquire a tank, Carey! I want an explanation, now!" He demanded. He had not gotten used yet to the way I ran things. Since my failures as a sniper were extremely well known amongst the regiment, Commander Eshtol decided to make me a supply officer. My duties were to handle all the delivery, documentation and upkeep of our supplies. Food, clothing, and weaponry. I made sure that if somebody needed something yesterday, they had it the day before.
I ran a tight ship, I made sure that all guns and ammo was documented, I took counts after every skirmish. We had ourselves logged down to the last bullet. Nothing got out of my supply chains, but everything that was loose and unclaimed, was sure to get in. When I joined the IDF, I not only brought my willingness to fight for God's chosen people....
I had brought my business with me.
"You see sir, our opposition has this discrepancy with their tanks. Their fuselage's do not like to be filled with certain articles, as it causes a decrease in performance, and eventual shutdown. This is a well known flaw with all gasoline powered assault vehicles. What our opposition does NOT know, is that with a simple maintenance realted procedure, the tanks can be flushed and working like new again" I explained in detail as best I could, I wanted Commander Eshtol to be more curious, so he could continue to ask questions. This would either further delay my punishment, or completely revolutionize how I was able to supply this batallion.
Commander Esthol's eyebrows were raised in interest, "These....articles....what exactly are they?"
I looked at my commander like it was common sense, "Just plain ordinary sugar, sir!"
Sugar was a hot commodity in this part of the region. The batallions were only supplied with so many foodstuffs and various sweetners and spices to add to their meals, sugar was not such a luxury. It was in scarce supply. Commander Eshtol did not enjoy my insinuation.
"Do you mean to tell me that you are using SUGAR to poison the gas tanks of our opposition? Sugar is the one thing we are lowest on supply right now--"
"But commander", I interrupted. I was willing to take the punishment for interruping the commander, because I was sure he would love my explanantion. "The sugar is not from our company, that's the beauty of my plan, sir. I know one of the individuals who supplies our opposition with gasoline for their tanks. Me and him used to be in business together. To pay me back on some "debts" he owes me, I am instructing him to put 1/2 lbs of sugar per every gallon of gas he sells to our opposition."
Commander Eshtol's countenance relaxed as he pondered over the math of 1/2 lb of sugar per gallon of gas. It wasn't enough to completely render the gas useless. Over time, the sugar would eventually clog up the fuel injection systems and render the tank useless.
As Command Eshtol thought over the math, I continued. "You see, sir, over time, the sugar will continue to decrease the performance of their tanks, until they eventually die on them. Our opposition would rather leave the tanks in the desert to rot, since they are useless to them, than have them repaired. With some of the engineers, I have developed a field repair kit that can flush the tank's systems and have it operational in an hour. That gives us plenty of time, to sneak in, repair the tank, and drive it over to our enemy lines. And that sir, is where this tank came from."
I relaxed my stance just slightly and let him ponder over what I had just said. I could tell he liked the idea that I had proposed. All was fair in war to Commander Eshtol, he just wants to know what is happening in his batallion.
Commander Eshtol seemed to breaking from his pondering and looked me square in the eye. "Good job, Gentile. I like the way you work. You in line for promotion if this plan continues to work. You are dismissed" He saluted me, which I returned and then walked away.
As I walked away, I couldn't help but smile. Sticky situations come and go around here, but there hasn't been much I couldn't handle. I've been able to supply my battalion with weapons, ammo, and supplies that are 10 times better than our opposition and twice as good as our neighboring batallions. It was my job to keep this fight going....and why not?
It was my business, after all.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
The Jericho Files #2
You have got to be kidding me"
That was the first thought on my mind while I was staring down the barrell of a shotgun pointed right at my face. The shotgun was unfortunately behind held by my employer, Mr. David Nebins.
Well....I guess we could call him an ex-employer now.
"Cathal......you've got two seconds to explain to me why 10 percent of my warehouse stock is missing, and I better like the answer, or I will turn your face into swiss cheese! "
Now this is what some folks would call a 'predicament'....others would call 'painting yourself into a corner'. Did I take his missing stock from his warehouse? Of course I did. Does he deserve to know? I guess he's inclined to think he does. But the bigger question is why is he so mad? It's not like he did anything with his 'stock' anyway, it just sat in the store collecting dust.
If there's one thing I can't stand, it's somebody who doesn't know how to do business. Better tell him when he wants to hear.
"Wasn't me who took it" I said in a monotone voice, hoping he'd pick up on the fact that I knew more than I was letting on before he decided to pull on that trigger.
I noticed his finger relax from the trigger. I exhaled a deep breath.
"If it wasn't you, then who was it?" He asked in a rather angry tone.
"Robbins, sir" I said quickly and forcefully. I didn't need a full name. He knew who Tristian Robbins was.
What he didn't know about Tristian Robbins was that he was my "other" employer in this business. If he never could get me work or didn't want me to do anything for him, Tristian would always have a job for me. And as such, I had a huge sense of loyalty to Tristian. Except for my last job.
Tristan wanted me to steal as much of David's 'goods' as I could for him. Tristan had always not liked something about David....no one really knew why, but he always seemed to take great pride in making David's business suffer. That was where I came in. I was the middle man David didn't know about. In return, I would be paid a handsome 'finder's fee' for my work.
I set it all up to look like someone had broken in and removed the merchandise. I hired hitchhikers to be my manual labor. In exchange for working through the night, they got 50 bucks and a ride into the next county. Complete strangers, and as far as they know, they were hired as movers.
The plan was perfect...well almost perfect. Tristan decided he was going to short me on my 'finder's fee'...which was a big mistake to begin with. If there is one thing I cannot stand, it is someone who doesn't want to spend good money to get a good job done.
And to make things worse, I discovered quickly that Mr. Nebbins' powers of deduction are far more skilled than I give him credit for. He knew that I had something to do with the robbery, he just didn't know what. He was determined he would get the information out of me.
Hence the shotgun in my face.
"Robbins?" David said in disbelief. "That scumbag. I KNEW he was behind this! I'll make he regret the day that he ever crossed my path!" David removed the shotgun from my face and stormed off.
The fact that it was Tristan who robbed him seemed to make him forget all about the fact that I might've been in on the robbery. I watched him as he stormed off and it brought a smile to my face. No one steals from me and doesn't expect some revenge.
I decided that since Tristan was probably quickly on his way to early retirement and taking Mr. Nebbins with him, it was best for me to get out of town. I packed up my things and was out on the next train. In business, things go wrong all the time. There's just one thing to remember.....
There's always more business the next county over.
That was the first thought on my mind while I was staring down the barrell of a shotgun pointed right at my face. The shotgun was unfortunately behind held by my employer, Mr. David Nebins.
Well....I guess we could call him an ex-employer now.
"Cathal......you've got two seconds to explain to me why 10 percent of my warehouse stock is missing, and I better like the answer, or I will turn your face into swiss cheese! "
Now this is what some folks would call a 'predicament'....others would call 'painting yourself into a corner'. Did I take his missing stock from his warehouse? Of course I did. Does he deserve to know? I guess he's inclined to think he does. But the bigger question is why is he so mad? It's not like he did anything with his 'stock' anyway, it just sat in the store collecting dust.
If there's one thing I can't stand, it's somebody who doesn't know how to do business. Better tell him when he wants to hear.
"Wasn't me who took it" I said in a monotone voice, hoping he'd pick up on the fact that I knew more than I was letting on before he decided to pull on that trigger.
I noticed his finger relax from the trigger. I exhaled a deep breath.
"If it wasn't you, then who was it?" He asked in a rather angry tone.
"Robbins, sir" I said quickly and forcefully. I didn't need a full name. He knew who Tristian Robbins was.
What he didn't know about Tristian Robbins was that he was my "other" employer in this business. If he never could get me work or didn't want me to do anything for him, Tristian would always have a job for me. And as such, I had a huge sense of loyalty to Tristian. Except for my last job.
Tristan wanted me to steal as much of David's 'goods' as I could for him. Tristan had always not liked something about David....no one really knew why, but he always seemed to take great pride in making David's business suffer. That was where I came in. I was the middle man David didn't know about. In return, I would be paid a handsome 'finder's fee' for my work.
I set it all up to look like someone had broken in and removed the merchandise. I hired hitchhikers to be my manual labor. In exchange for working through the night, they got 50 bucks and a ride into the next county. Complete strangers, and as far as they know, they were hired as movers.
The plan was perfect...well almost perfect. Tristan decided he was going to short me on my 'finder's fee'...which was a big mistake to begin with. If there is one thing I cannot stand, it is someone who doesn't want to spend good money to get a good job done.
And to make things worse, I discovered quickly that Mr. Nebbins' powers of deduction are far more skilled than I give him credit for. He knew that I had something to do with the robbery, he just didn't know what. He was determined he would get the information out of me.
Hence the shotgun in my face.
"Robbins?" David said in disbelief. "That scumbag. I KNEW he was behind this! I'll make he regret the day that he ever crossed my path!" David removed the shotgun from my face and stormed off.
The fact that it was Tristan who robbed him seemed to make him forget all about the fact that I might've been in on the robbery. I watched him as he stormed off and it brought a smile to my face. No one steals from me and doesn't expect some revenge.
I decided that since Tristan was probably quickly on his way to early retirement and taking Mr. Nebbins with him, it was best for me to get out of town. I packed up my things and was out on the next train. In business, things go wrong all the time. There's just one thing to remember.....
There's always more business the next county over.
The Jericho Files #1
The Jericho Files #1
I never really understood him.
I mean, who could? Sitting across from my desk was without a doubt the most cocky and pretentious dirtbag that had even graced my office. I couldn't stand the look of him. His whole style was dirty. His clothes were dirty. His smile was dirty. His HANDSHAKE was dirty.
But the more I stared at him, I asked myself....
Was his money just as dirty?
"I don't know, Mr. Gerrin" I said dryly, trying incredibly hard now to show too much interest. "I'm not exactly sure if you'd 'fit in' in my kind of business" I made sure to stress the "fit in" part of that sentence. I wanted this guy to know he couldn't cut it here.
"What part do I not exactly 'fit in' with, Mr. Jericho?" He answered sarcastically.
I leaned forward slightly and pursed my lips. I was going to keep my cool during this meeting, I had already decided that. This man was already on my bad nerve because of past 'business choices', now he was just being disrespectful.
"Take a look at your last few business deals. You ran 12 meth labs in southeast New Mexico, you would've gotten busted but your trained monkeys ended up taking the fall while you skipped town, with more than enough bail money" I started off, with a sharp tone in my voice. That comment made him scoff.
"Then, after that deal was behind you, you decided to run bags of coke through customs hidden in the carcasses of parrots that were stolen from a taxidermist" I continued, with a slight elevation in the tone of my voice. This one made him smile, as I can only assume the thought of stuffed parrots was amusing to him.
"As if this wasn't enough, you decided to dump a stash you were carrying down a sewer drain, and ended up poising a small towns water supply" I said with just a hint of anger in my voice. I wanted to make sure my displeasure with this guy's actions was well known.
"Look, I do what I have to do to get the job done. I would've thought that YOU of all people would appreciate what I have to bring to the table." He said remorselessly.
That did it. I slammed my hand on the table and stood up. I leaned over my desk and put my face as close to his as possible. I wanted him to feel the heat that was causing my face to burn with frustration.
"Now look here, you worthless drug peddler. I have NO NEED for anybody in my business like you. I don't care how many times you've ducked the cops, I don't care how much business you've brought to other companies, I DON'T CARE how scared or not scared you are of this business. You are NOT somebody that belongs here. You may not care about what happened yesterday, but when you run drugs, you leave a wake that lasts for the rest of your life." I said through slightly clenched teeth.
"I don't have space in my business for a drug runner. I don't have the luxury of having blemishes on my reputation. I don't need your business. Go elsewhere" I said in a slightly calmer tone. I sat back down in my chair while the individual across from me tried to remove the shock from his face.
I stared at Mr. Gerrin as he tried to recompose himself and come up with some kind of excuse. I watched as his expression turned from disbelief to a smug smile, coupled with a sneer. He just didn't want to listen to me.....
"You mean to tell me, that the great Mr. Jericho, wants to put himself on a higher pedestal than me? What makes you so better than? I run drugs, you run guns, big deal. It's business."
I sighed at his lack of vision. I was also thankful, that while he was speaking, he didn't hear the soft click of the safety switch embedded in my desk.
"That's where you're wrong Mr. Gerrin..."
*CLICK*
*SWIP*
The dart from the secret barrel in my desk had hit him square in the arm. I had placed it off center because those who sit across from me are more likely not to even notice the dart coming towards them. The toxins the dart was dipped in weren't fatal, just strong enough to make the target a drooling sack of flesh for awhile.
"You see, Mr. Gerrin...you and I have different philosophies on business. I believe, if you run weapons...it makes you a revolutionary. If you run drugs...it makes you a criminal"
By now, the toxins were starting to spread into his system. I could tell by the shifting of his eyes in a panicked state. The toxin was designed to incite the feeling of tightness in the chest. Similar to a heart attack, but more acute so as to cause alarm in the individual. But as soon as they realise what is happening in their chest, their extremities have gone numb. This only increses their panic. As the toxins spread, all they can do is sit still and pray that someone notices their plight and calls 911 or gets a doctor.
In Mr. Gerrin's case, no one called 911. I was the only one in that office besides him...why would I possibly call 911 since I was the one who gave him the toxin to begin with? No...I believe I'll let him sit there and stew in his own panic. The final phase of the toxin only takes a few more seconds. The toxin will begin to fool his mind into thinking he's losing oxygen, causing him to pass out. 25 seconds after the dart shot, Mr. Gerrin was completely docile.
"And I have no place in my business for criminals...I prefer to let the cops deal with them" I said with satisfaction in my voice. I got up from my chair to closely examine Mr. Gerrin. His body was completely limp.
This brings a smile to my face. Nobody tells me how I should run my business. Better end this conflict right.
I picked up my phone and used my #1 speed-dial. Always the most important.
"This is Jericho, get in here, I have some cleanup that needs to be done"
Excellent, my cohort will take Mr. Gerrin's body to a location, then contact the authorities to tip them off to Mr. Gerrin's whereabouts. They'll arrest him and we'll have one less drug runner on my hands.
I love my job.
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