Cold Blooded III: Sins and Sanctions (Nick McCarty Assassin Series Book 3) (10 page)

“Nothing so far, Nick. I’ll let you know when the five minutes pass you specified.”

“Acknowledged.”

After hearing the allotted time had passed, Nick checked the entire warehouse perimeter for anything out of the ordinary. He did brief inspections into crates on shelves near the walls, but found nothing. Working his way around the outer circumference, Nick kept the interior in sight also, searching for anything from his vantage point resembling a downward access. He inspected the warehouse in diminishing circles, paying close attention to shelving and crates. Near the end of his third circle, Nick spotted the hatch. Its cover of tattered canvas revealed the sharp corners of an entry to something below. Inspecting it, Nick found the cover canvas, dirty and grimy with grease and oil, to be a prop glued onto the hatch cover.

“Found it. Take the headphones off, Payaso. This may get very loud.”

“I’m set, Nick.”

Nick pulled the pin on the military tear gas canister first, opened the hatch, and threw it down inside what he could see was a well-lighted area below. He knelt on the hatch, grinning. A military grade tear gas canister is nothing like anything civilians imagine. In an enclosed space, the formula causes projectile vomiting, amongst numerous agonies not common knowledge to the general populace. Picture a slightly downgraded version of nerve gas. Through the cover, Nick heard screams, panic, and distress without remorse.

“Oh ye soldiers of Islamist murder, here comes baby.”

Nick pulled the pin on a military concussion grenade, popped the hatch slightly, and threw it down into the chamber. This time, Nick ran for it, unknowing of whether it would set off C4 charges capable of leveling the block. He was crouching with the entrance door open when the blast projected only a muffled whump noise. He returned to the hatch.

“I believe we’ll have live ones, Payaso.”

Gus took a deep breath, allowing the pent up adrenaline rush to seep out slowly. “Damn, that was a miracle. Why don’t you think the explosives went off?”

“Maybe they’re innocent Muslim lambs, meeting underground to exchange ideas on the passages from the Koran.”

It was many moments before Gus could speak after Nick’s reply. “Okay… okay… how long before you can check on the banditos?”

“I’m putting my mask on now. I’ll know what’s happening in a couple minutes. How’s my button cam working?”

“Perfectly. I’ve recorded everything since you entered the building without a hitch. They sure didn’t leave anything in the main warehouse to be detected. I’m watching, so give me a view of everything when you go down into that hole, partner.”

“Will do. I’m certain they have first class ventilation down there, so clearing away the aftermath of my party favors should be in progress right now.” Nick finished fastening his oxygen breathing apparatus into place. He opened the hatch to the smoky interior, descending with his MP5 ready.

The chamber below, complete with writhing and comatose figures in various positions strewn where they gave up any semblance of recovery, brought another smile to Nick’s face. He investigated the lower realm with cold efficiency, noting the small arms armory, ammunition, and explosives within sight. Nick then went from man to man.

He fired a three shot burst from his MP5 through the heads of each man not either Zarin or Sherazi. “Not you… not you… not you… hey we have a winner.” Zarin was unmoving. He had passed out during his first moments after the concussion grenade went off. Nick used his plastic ties to restrain him. “I have Zarin still alive and breathing, Payaso. I’m moving on.”

* * *

Gus cringed in spite of how he felt. He knew each burst meant a death. It was a false positive. The underlying thread of completion stabbed into his brain. He rejoiced in their deaths as if he were on a battlefield with life or death choices. He knew every life Nick took represented an enemy unable to plot the demise of a country Gus embraced above even life. That America unknowingly employed a quirky cold blooded killer without remorse or mercy to correct mistakes its hierarchy made in policy no longer bothered Gus. He and Nick were soldiers. They didn’t invent the problems, but Gus guiltily enjoyed being part of the bloody solution.

“Oh man, Payaso,” Nick complained in his ear. “It’s a good thing you aren’t down here with me. What a mess. I have to rethink using the tear gas grenade in the future. Thank God we have the tarp in the back. I found Sherazi. I should add Fabreeze to my equipment bag. This boy needs a shot of April fresh scent.”

Gus laughed. “I see how well your prep work did with the risk factor. There’s no gun battles after you use that military duo. How come they don’t do use the dynamic duo in combat on house to house situations?”

“Probably something ultimately idiotic like the sensibilities of our enemies. When I was with Delta, we used the duo, but only if we didn’t have some CNN traitor or other media embed to film the grisly effects. There is a shit load of everything imaginable down here. We’ll need Paul in on this. I believe all will be forgiven for my rogue op when he sees the treasure we’ve uncovered. Network him in with us, Gus. I don’t think this can be turned over to the locals this time, including the FBI.”

“On it.”

* * *

Nick dragged the unconscious Zarin and Sherazi into a clear area. He tested the air and found it bearable so Nick put away his mask, and put on a different black mask – that of El Muerto. With no intention of dragging both men up the stairs, Nick washed away the residue from their faces before slapping each of them into blinking, agonized consciousness. “Hello, boys. You naughty little terrorists have been very bad boys. I’m here to help you pay for your sins. I am El Muerto.”

Zarin blanched at the mention of El Muerto, his eyes widening in horror. “You… you tortured Mel Berringer to death… in horrible fashion! You can’t just kill us here in America!”

It was then as Nick looked on in amusement, Zarin and Sherazi took note of their dead cohorts with pooling blood. “How can you do this? Why do you wear a mask?”

“We’re learning from you chicken shit bastards,” Nick replied to the vocal Zarin. “When we know a bunch of you assholes need to be tortured and killed, we make a game of it with our own masks. How do you like it?”

That woke Sherazi to consciousness. He was incensed. “Torture and kill? This is not a game. You have no right to do this! I am a citizen!”

Nick chuckled. “Not anymore. I’ve revoked your rights. You two are so cute. Do you think I don’t know you murdered a young woman sent to infiltrate your cult? I’m the one you get when you don’t allow our regular law enforcement agencies to work. The really bad part for you two is when they call me in, I bring hell with me. Welcome to hell, brothers.”

Sherazi turned away. “He is bluffing. Arrest us, and turn us over to the proper authorities. We have nothing to say to you.”

Nick pulled his stun gun from his bag, firing off an arc. “This is only to remind you I am not the regular federal authority.”

Nick forced Sherazi screaming to the floor surface before backing out of reach, and zapping his groin area in a continual arc for ten seconds. Sherazi passed out. His comrade Zarin did not. “Did you get the message, sweetie, or do you need a personal demo?”

Zarin stared into the eyes appraising him with amusement from the mask holes with abject fear. He saw no feeling or hint of compassion so ingrained by American movies portraying the idealistic side of America. This man would do anything within imagination to him without hesitation. “I will tell you everything! Do not torture me!”

Nick unloaded his stun gun with a smile by zapping his fingers in between the electrodes, jolting upright for a split second. “Man… I can’t get enough of the charge. Well now, Ebi, that all depends on what you have to say. If I’m not impressed, the game will be afoot as a Sherlock Holmes fan might say. That’s when things get really unpleasant for you, pal. Start talking, buddy, or I start exploring your nether regions with Mr. Sparky. I promise you this. I will not add extra pain if you give me a name for who killed the young woman infiltrating your group. I am excellent at determining a lie. Don’t lie to me, bucko, or we’ll start partying right now.”

Zarin looked down. “I killed her. Mr. Sherazi found out she was a plant, trying to infiltrate our cell. Since I was the one who fell for her lies, her death was left to me.”

“That leaves only the gory details about this grievous wrong you two hoped to perpetrate here in Boston. Keep talking Ebi. If I don’t think you’re being truthful, or complete in the telling of this horrible story, I will have to give you an adjustment. We don’t want that, do we?”

Zarin shook his head with vehemence. “We will not live through this, will we?”

“I’m afraid not. I promised the murdered girl’s uncle you would pay for what you did with your life. How much pain goes with it, I’ll leave to you.”

“Nick… I’m networked in with you,” Paul Gilbrech said. “Gus told me it was an Isis cell.”

Nick held up a hand to stop Zarin. “I’m working with Zarin now. If you have intel I don’t, ask your questions. I’ll relay them. We have the warehouse to ourselves, so time is not a factor. Payaso is watching the front door, so there won’t be any surprises.”

“Can I have these two after you finish?”

“Nope. You involved your Marine buddy Stallings. I gave him my word, and El Muerto does not break his word.”

Gilbrech muttered something. “Okay, Muerto, it’s your show. Let’s get started.”

Over the next four hours, Nick covered every possible thread in the Isis network leading into America. He then took Zarin through the Isis network’s connections with Hamas in America. Zarin hung his head, while avoiding either looking at his cohort, Sherazi or Nick. Nick had duct taped the now conscious Sherazi’s mouth, warning him not to make a sound during the questioning. The insights surprised his interrogators. The Isis cell had filtered in through the Les Jardins-de-Napierville crossing between New York and Canada. A terrorist halfway house for the network existed in Champlain.

“I have told you everything I know,” Zarin said finally when Nick asked another question about contacts in Canada. “I was given papers overseas to get me from France into Canada. We were moved from there to the border immediately without stopping. I am sorry about the woman. I cared for her.”

“Who ordered her death?”

Zarin hesitated, but inclined his head toward the suddenly very animated Sherazi. “He ordered her death at my hand. Nearing my time I have no illusions. I have wasted my life.”

Nick unfastened his ankles, and helped him to his feet. “Do you have any booze in this dump? My experience with you true believers is you swear to have no alcohol pass your lips, and then do the opposite. I’ll help you have a few if you’d like.”

“I would like a few very much. As you surmised, we have booze as you say here. May I show you?”

“Of course.” Sherazi made violent movements, rolling around on the floor. Nick kicked him in the head. He quieted immediately.

“I don’t much like your partner,” Nick admitted, allowing Zarin to guide him.

Zarin glanced back at Sherazi. “I do not much like him either. I offer no excuses. I have been as a lamb led to the slaughter from the very beginning of my life. It has been a life filled only with death.”

Nick began getting his quirky idea mode going. In spite of everything he knew, and what Zarin had confessed during the interrogation, he couldn’t help liking the young man, especially his fatalistic acceptance of his death sentence. Paul had heard everything said. Nick continued following Zarin to a set of cupboards in a makeshift kitchen. Zarin pointed with his foot towards a closed cupboard door. Nick checked, and found an entire selection of booze.

“What can I get you?”

“The Jack Daniels would be very good,” Zarin said, backing away from the cupboard to give Nick room. “It would taste very good right now. Thank you for your kindness.”

Nick took out the bottle of Jack Daniels, and found a set of glasses in the upper set of cupboards a few seconds later. He poured a triple shot for Zarin into a glass. He gave Zarin a gulp, watching the distaste at first, followed by grim satisfaction.

“Yes. That is very good.” Zarin accepted another healthy gulp of Jack Daniels. He looked into Nick’s eyes. “Could you simply shoot me in the head after I finish this drink, Sir? I have nothing else to tell you. If I did, I would say so.”

Nick helped him gulp down the rest in the glass. “Let’s talk about that. How would you like to find God in something else than death?”

Zarin’s eyes widened, but he looked down immediately. “Please do not play with me as a cat does a mouse. I know what I have done is beyond redemption in your eyes. If I could but get a quick death, I will be done with this living death sentence.”

“I’m not playing a game. I could use someone like you. It will mean an abstract change in everything you’ve ever been taught. More importantly for you, it would mean survival.”

Zarin shrugged with inebriated smile. “I am happy if I can live. If you can let me live, I am your man.”

“It will probably mean at times fighting against the people you are now working for. Trust will be earned at a slow pace, and you will be averse to many of the things I do.”

“What? Did I hear right? You’re recruiting? Are you out of your El Muerto mind?” Gus’s rapid fire questions at significantly louder volume had Nick cringing.