John: The Senior Killer

John: The Senior
Killer

Robert C.
Waggoner

Copyright 2006 by Robert C.
Waggoner

Smashword
s
Edition

Prologue

“Candice, I declare this is
the finest afghan I’ve ever seen,” a perfect voice for an old lady
was heard.

“Oh go on with you. That old
thing. I made it twenty years ago when my dear husband felt the
chill upon him,” she replied in a likewise creaky voice of her
eighty plus years.

“I know dear,” as she
fingered the material, “but such design and color.”

“I’m glad you like it and I
would like to give it to you for a present.”

“No, I couldn't accept such
a fine gift and it was your husbands. I don’t want to take
something you can remember him by,” she said with an eye on his
victim.

He was dressed like an old
woman. A perfect disguise as it was his profession. Now he had his
sights on ending Candice’s life. She was too old and time for her
to move on. Under his long dress in a special holster on one leg, a
Marlin spike lay ready to end her life. On the other leg a hammer
in another holster waited for use against the head of the Marlin
spike. Now it was time to put it to use.

Candice said, “I insist you
take it. I know you are moving to Redding and I’ve no need for it
here in Barstow.”

Changing the subject he
said, while rubbing his neck, “I have been having trouble with my
neck muscles lately and the doctor suggested a neck rub would do a
person good. Do you ever have a stiff neck Candice?”

“Oh my yes, even now I feel
a tightness there.”

“Let me show you how the
doctor showed me to rub the stiffness out,” as he slowly rose up
and moved behind her. From his dress pocket he took out a bottle of
Efficascent Oil. He showed her the bottle and said, “This is
camphor plus menthol and it feels wonderful on the skin and relaxes
the muscles.”

Candice looked at the bottle
and smelled the contents as she removed the lid. “My, this is nice
and I love the smell. Do you mind putting some on my
neck?”

“Not at all but could you
unbutton a few of your buttons so I can reach your neck easier?
Candice did as she requested and soon he had a nice view of her
neck and where the spinal cord entered the skull. “Please lean you
neck forward a little dreary so I can better rub your tired old
muscles.” He began to slowly rub the oil on her skin and soon the
room smelled like camphor.

“My, that is nice and feels
so warm. Already I feel better.”

“This only takes a few
minutes,” he said as he reached for the spike with one hand and
quickly grabbed the hammer with the other as Candice gave off
little moans of delight. He had the spike by the sharp end and was
rubbing with the heel of his hand while placing the sharp end next
to the entry hole to the brain. He practiced this many times on a
mannequin and gave the blunt end of the spike a blow sending the
tip straight up into her brain. In one second she was dead. The oil
fell from her hand to the old rug. He wiped off the spike on her
old dress and returned it to the leg holster as well as the hammer.
He picked up the bottle of oil and placed it in his bag; walked to
the door of the tiny house and looked back once at the former
Candice from Barstow, California. She was leaned over in her rocker
with arms hanging down. She never knew what hit her.

Walking with a cane he
closed the door quietly and slowly walked down the street to his
old non - descript car. He didn’t care if someone saw him, he was
just another old lady in a world that was fast becoming aged and he
meant to whittle the old folks down a little. Like in his favorite
book, “Sherlock Holmes” says to Watson: “The game is
afoot.”

Chapter
1

Precarious was not the word
Brad Pratt was thinking about. Stupid might be more like it. A
roaring sound in his ears both from the sea and the wind made him
think of being out here on a day like today; and the salt air and
spray from the waves crashing into the rock, sent the pungent smell
of the sea into his nose like someone using an inhaler for an
allergy. It was a November afternoon with the tide coming in and
hanging by his fingertips onto the rock wall of a sea stack proving
he still had it after all this time. His mate, lying flat on the
top of the rock, coal back hair flying in the wind stared at him
through equally colored eyes without expression. His hands were
numbing up and what footholds he had were not going to last long if
he didn’t move. Up was the only way to go; down was to be thrashed
against the rock from the pounding waves coming through the narrow
gap into a bowl like cove from which he foolishly decided to prove
he could climb the vertical wall without the use of pitons or such
useless things. His ego always got the best of him and this time
was no exception. He glanced down at the angry sea stirred up by
the coming storms known as the Pineapple Express during this time
of year in the Pacific Northwest.

Sweat dripped into his eyes
and looking up again he saw a small smile raise her brown cheeks
implying, what now big boy? You got yourself in this mess and now
you get yourself out of it. Her grin pissed him off and with
renewed determination he spied a finger hold and moved up a foot
closer to the top. His heart pounding but his breathing normal he
methodically made a plan and scampered to the top rolling over on
his back as both his dog and his mate climbed on top of him while
he let out a crazy laugh. He was soaked to the skin from first
jumping into the water from the top at slack tide and from the
spray from the waves crashing into the wall as he began his accent
to prove he could still do it.

Lying on his back with Sujin
on top of him brought back the nightmares that plagued him since
Afghanistan. He lay wounded in a small cave completely delirious
from the infection in his leg. To keep him quiet she lay on top of
him with her hand over his mouth as the sounds of the Taliban
crossed the rocky mountain trail. If found, she didn’t want to
think about what they would do to the both of them; stories of
captured enemy made her shudder and move her knife in her other
hand closer to his jugular vein. First she would cut him and then
herself if discovered. Sounds of rocks rolling down the mountain as
they walked by; little conversation was heard, mostly just an
occasional grunting as someone slipped on the narrow trail and more
than one had met his Allah on such trails in the rugged mountains
between Pakistan and Afghanistan.

He was still moaning from
the fever, but the howling wind masked his sounds as all was quiet
except the wind. She waited a few minutes more to make sure all was
clear. His moaning stopped as he fell into a deep sleep. She
crawled to the small opening cautiously to peer out and see if they
had left a trailer behind as they usually did with mountains full
of caves. She sniffed the wind and lay waiting for the next thirty
minutes or so before she crawled back to check on the wounded
American soldier. There was nothing on his person to say who he
was. However, she could tell by his uniform and haircut he was
American. Where did he come from and when she found him lying face
down on the rocky trail she thought he was dead. Listening for a
heartbeat through his back she heard the steady beat of a heart
that was strong and regular, albeit fast. He was not small and it
took all her strength and effort to drag him to a cave just large
enough for a body to fit the opening. He must have sensed someone
helping him as once she stood him up the pain of his leg must have
brought him around, he used his hands and arms to drag himself into
the cave only to pass out again as she followed him in. Going
through his pack and pockets she found some meds. Totally
unfamiliar with the names written on the meds, she discovered some
packs with antibiotic written on them.

Part of her originally
mission to Pakistan was for humanitarian reasons. The basics of
first aid she knew, and quickly she opened the pack and shot him in
his white butt with the injection. Next she looked at his wound in
his thigh. The bullet had missed the femur and passed through the
muscle and exited cleanly. He’d administered first aid to himself
and had stopped the bleeding. She wondered how far he had traveled
since being wounded. The old bandage she removed was smelly and
caked with dried blood. From her pack she took some precious water
and washed the wound. Applied a new bandage from his store of meds
and waited for him to regain consciousness.

Coming back to the present
she rolled off him and he sat up with a grin on his thin lips and a
satisfied look from his deep blue eyes. From the first time she
looked into his eyes she saw the look of intelligence and quickly
learned how fast they could change to a look of a killer. At
present his eyes had the warm look of a man in love with everything
that was him and with him. They stood up and went down the south
side of Fish Rock and along the ledge leading to the seashore. The
eastern edge of the rock pathway at high tide was under water.
Stuck on the rock at high tide was a six hour wait. Swimming was
not an option as a strong rip tide made swimming a deadly
hazard.

Walking in front with Sujin
just behind him and his dog already on the beach sitting by a man
who was scratching his ears, Brad Pratt knew trouble was in the
making as he stepped onto the beach. Looking first at the tall man
and then to the sky he took stock of the weather. The wind out of
the southwest and heavy clouds promised a night of stormy weather
on the southern coast of Oregon. He felt a chill and it wasn’t from
the storm as he knew his expertise was needed once more. Each time
he promised his mate it would be the last one. But she knew as long
as he was able he would put himself in harm’s way to do his duty
for his nation. He came from a long line of military career men and
it was natural for him to follow in their footsteps.

He took a deep breath of the
heavy salty air and walked boldly to the man standing with his back
to the wind with one hand in his Burberry and the other on the
dog’s head. His slacks had a crease still sharp with the pants legs
rolled up with boots on gave him the look of a sinister mob man in
Chicago watching his men take the stealing accountant out onto Lake
Michigan for a nightly swim with cement shoes. His medium white
hair blew in the wind like wisps of angel hair. As they approached
Steve Lewis he never broke his stoic expression but turned and they
all walked down the hard packed beach where it turned to soft sand
too far from the high tide mark, past Devils Kitchen and up the
trail to the bluff where he had his beach house.

His other dog, the mate to
his male German shepherd stood guard at the perimeter of his
southern property boundary. No private individual could own the
beach next to the ocean, but by special permission he was granted a
quarter acre on the bluff overlooking the ocean. As they topped the
trail to the house, Sujin took from her pocket a remote and clicked
the button much like an electronic key for your car releasing the
lock and security. Literally the only way you could sneak into the
property would be from the air and it would be a rare day indeed
for a parachutist to land with wind blowing most every day of the
year. The security was necessary as he had a bounty on his head
from Al-Queda. Before he and Sujin had left Asia, he finished up
the job he was assigned. Intel had determined a base camp for
hundreds of trainees based deep in the mountains needed
eliminating. With a GPS it was Colonel Brad Pratt’s job to pin
point the location for strategic bombing. He couldn’t have
accomplished it without Sujin’s help.

The rain began as they made
their way to the unusual and unique beach house that looked more
like a World War Two bunker than a house. It was in fact an earth
house half underground and half above perfectly round with bullet
proof windows encased in an I-beam steel construction. The whole
structure of the house was built on steel I-beams as was the roof
where one inch steel plates were covered by cedar shakes. Split
cedar siding gave the natural weathered look as the whole structure
blending in nicely with the environment. A fort might be a better
description of the house, but no way was Brad going to not protect
him and his family against an intruder. The grounds were heat
censored and most of the time at least one of the dogs were on
guard outside. They were trained not to attack, but to warn the
occupants of the house someone was coming. A push button located in
various locations around the house where the dogs could use their
nose to push an alert button if unwanted beach combers chanced
by.