Comeuppance Pt 01

Warning: This is a dark story about corruption and violent retribution. If that offends you, don't try to get it banned - just don't read it!

Unusually for me, this opening chapter is short: less than 6000 words, and the ending is abrupt. The next chapters are ready for release, but since this one was pulled after a few days when I previously submitted it, I want to make sure it gets published before continuing the story.

****

You fill up my senses, like a night in the forest

It was still three hours until first light. He was burrowed along the bottom of the north bank of a dry arroyo, avoiding the biting north wind whistling overhead. His head and face were covered by a camo-colored neoprene ski mask that left only his eyes exposed as he idly surveyed the colorful canopy of stars lighting the moonless sky.

There was only a repressed sense of urgency, for his targets were tucked in their warm beds with their latest victims - four young interns who came to Washington to assist the high and mighty... just as his sister had done a little more than two years ago.

The evil ones weren't scheduled for a morning hunt anyway, so he would be lying in wait until late afternoon.

He shifted around a bit, trying to get more comfortable without leaving too much sign. A thorough search with dogs would find his hideout, but he didn't want to give them information about his height, weight, or shape by leaving indentations. Or, he realized, he could just use the broken Mesquite branch across the creek to rearrange the sand when he left. He smiled and made himself comfortable.

To someone who normally wore boots, a hat, jeans, and, at most, a tee under a denim shirt, the layered clothing he wore was confining and uncomfortable. It was simply bad luck that the first norther of the season chose to arrive tonight, so for this exploit he wore a tight base layer under a lined camo jumpsuit, with a waterproof camo windbreaker. It was warm enough, but restricting.

The natural burrow he lay in was between two thick Blackbrush bushes. His netting spanned the short distance from one to the other, held in place by a few strategically placed ties. When daylight came, an observer would see nothing more than a bit of vegetation growing at the base of the dry creek bank, and he would be invisible to someone walking along the creek bank, or even in the creek bed.

He was fully settled in now, but his trespass began just after two a.m. when he landed his inflatable on the banks of the Nueces near the site of old Fort Ewell. It had taken only 22 minutes to reach his chosen hideout, plus three more to set up the camo cover and position himself and his weapons.

A Magnum Research Desert Eagle 50 Action Express semi-automatic pistol was strapped on his right hip, and two extra magazines were in his interior jacket pocket. The pistol and ammo were for comfort: if he had to use the oversized pistol, much less the extra magazines, it would mean his mission had gone badly wrong.

He was there for a simple purpose: to rid the world of six despicable varmints and then escape. No, not just escape: to disappear into thin air, leave no discernable trace and no clues to his identity! The state and feds would pull out the stops in their investigations, so this had to be flawless.

The Winchester Renegade Long Range Bolt Action rifle, barrel propped carefully on the butt of a mesquite log to his right, had come into his possession circuitously, and could never be traced back to him. The Creedmoor 6.5 ammo was hard to trace because it is immensely popular, but it too had followed a convoluted route into his possession.

There would be no DNA to analyze. A spill-proof urinal hose and bottle were strapped inside his jumpsuit, he wore thinsulate gloves, the clothing would not allow thorns to penetrate enough to draw blood, and the ski mask covering his head would contain any hairs that might detach from his close-cropped head. He would not spit or otherwise thoughtlessly leave traces of his genetic material, so the use of DNA to identify the assassin was all but impossible.

Tracks? The leather hunting boots he wore were picked up in a resale store in Mexico, maybe four years ago on a fishing trip, and had lain in the back of his closet since. Perhaps a few camo threads would be found on the thorny brush, but the articles of clothing were purchased far away and couldn't be traced to him - and they would be decomposed in a few hours anyway.

The extensive and exhaustive steps he had taken to set this exploit up were similar to those of a James Bond villain, but necessary given the nature of his prey and his desire to remain free to live in a world that would be greatly improved by their departure from it.

The pistol, rifle, and ammo had originally been acquired way south, near the Guatemalan border, by a Mexican acting on his behalf. The guns and ammo were American made, but purchased from an El Salvadoran arms dealer. After he procured them, the Mexican made his way north to Tamaulipas state without problems, and had dry-camped in the deep brush along a creek leading to the Rio Grande for two days to ensure he hadn't been followed.

Disguised as a slumped, longhaired old man, Jack had driven an ancient pickup to a site off the Old Mines Road northwest of Laredo, closer to the ghost town of Catarina. The exchange of money for weapons had taken place on an unnamed sandy road about two miles inside Mexico. The buyer wore nondescript jeans, a cheap black Walmart sweatshirt, and a black ski mask. The money was exchanged from his gloved hand to the seller; the seller handed him the cases containing his acquisitions, and they walked away in different directions. No words were spoken.

Neither knew the name of the other, nor anything about him; the deal was made on the dark web, between parties with fleeting identities that died with the deal. It had cost the buyer a pretty penny, but that was irrelevant. He had money; what he sought was retribution!

****

Lying back against the dirt bank, Jack stared blankly into the sky and let the night envelop him. The calls and flutters and stalking of night creatures filled his senses. He could feel, hear, and see their presence, in the same ways he felt, heard, and saw the stirring of the air around him.

It was dark, but the light of the stars was sufficient for his purposes, and he felt at home in it.

For over two months he had been training at night; dry camping, moving about in the darkness, reengaging and sharpening his senses, until they were more acute than ever in his adult life. He built his stamina and slowly turned himself into the stalker he must be to carry out and survive the mission he had given himself.

Having tested his senses against the night, he again went over every element of his plan. Each movement through the triangle of his killing field must be precise, and every shot must be perfect. His retreat must be exacting, for he had to leave no traces but be well upriver before they had time to acquire air support.

The assassination of two senators, a congressman, and their criminal bodyguards would not go uninvestigated.

After finishing the review, his mind drifted back to the events that sent him on this path.

Twenty-six months ago, Janice, the little sister he had raised through her teen years after their parents perished in a fiery collision with an eighteen-wheeler, had graduated from Texas Tech University. Her BA in Public Relations, with concentrations in policy analysis and social media management, had supposedly prepared her for a career in governmental service. Her brother felt certain it was preparation for a workplace that didn't exist in the real world, as his business courses had done.

A staunch member of the Young Republicans, she was as political as he was apolitical. High minded, certain of her beliefs, and righteously indignant that any true American would vote for a candidate of any other party, she served summer internships with a state senator after her freshman year, with the governor after her second, and then with a first-term congresswoman after her third.

She beat out a dozen highly qualified candidates for her first paid job, with a ranking member of the Senate Armed Services committee. Janice believed that graduating with highest honors, her involvement in party politics in college and causes at the local level, and her state and national level internships got her the job. Given the reputation of the senator who hired her, Jack suspected there were additional factors.

He hadn't seen the other candidates, but Janice's 5'10" stature, curvaceous body, long blonde hair, and model-gorgeous looks made her stand out in any pool of candidates.

Full of vim and vigor, she had taken Washington by storm. She shared her triumphs, trials, and tribulations by phone and facetime at least weekly, but more often daily... for almost nine months. The tenor and timing of her calls began to change during the next spring, and by early summer, she had all but ghosted her big brother and her best friend, his wife.

Because both his business and agricultural interests were at critical stages of growth, and he was wrestling with government agencies and regulators for licenses and permits he needed to expand his oil field services business into New Mexico, Jack couldn't easily afford the time to go see what was going on with his precious sister.

He decided to hire a private investigator, but Janice's best friend insisted that wasn't necessary, since they had no idea whether there was a problem, or she was just too busy. Instead, she proposed that she should go check on her, to see if she needed their help.

Jack disagreed, strongly preferring to hire the Maryland private investigator he found online. The man was highly credentialed and touted his knowledge of the Beltway and its denizens; he sounded perfect.

But April insisted that would be disrespectful to his sister, whereas her visiting would just be a pleasant surprise. After a week of arguing, he bought the airline ticket, secured a rental car, got her a room, and took her to the airport with strict instructions on what to do, not do, and how and when to report back to him.

It took several days for April to find Janice, because she wasn't actually living in the apartment she still shared with Dee, a staffer for another senator. Dee was evasive at first, but she warmed to April after a few days and admitted Janice was living with another of Senator Ferguson's staffers in a luxury apartment near the capitol.

Dee called Janice and convinced her to meet April in a restaurant near her apartment. After their meal, April expressed her deep concern at her friend's mental state to Jack. He was ready to fly out, crops, cattle, licenses, and permits be damned, but April asked him to give her a few days to draw her out. He was reluctant, but bowed to her pleas.

That was the mistake that begat the mistakes that led him to this place and time.

*****

Twilight was gathering to the east, the first tendrils creeping across the sky. Knowing the deer blinds were empty, he made his dry run at first light, working through the brush from one luxury hunting stand to another and then the last. Everything was as expected, as it should be at a well-run "hunting reserve" like this.

The schedule for each hunter was maintained on the ranch computer, along with the deer expected to come to the feeder and the cost to kill a particular buck. Cost was irrelevant in this case, because the ranch owner was cultivating the senators; he needed new legislation to protect his multi-billion dollar company from upstart competitors, so their kills would be comped.

The traveling group was composed of the three senators, their personal bodyguards/accomplishes, and their 'recruiter' - the woman who found, selected, ensnared, trained, and supplied the beauties that provided the favors that greased the wheels for the senators... and for the use of the senators themselves.

The agenda called for a late breakfast, a riding tour of the 3200-acre ranch, a barbeque lunch, afternoon entertainment provided by the young women who accompanied them, followed by an evening hunt.

Janice and April were not on this trip. They were among a clutch of beauties entertaining a group of billionaire campaign contributors at a lake house in upstate New York.

Recruitment usually began with an invitation to dine at an exclusive club in the company of rich and important men, including one or more of the senators. In April's case, the invitation was wrapped in an opportunity to spend the evening with her best friend.

Following dinner and dancing in the ballroom, which featured well-known bands or singers, they imbibed the mixed drinks of their choice, laced later in the night with the mixed drugs of the senators' choice.

A night spent in the arms of other men, captured for posterity by a videographer, ended the recruitment. A late breakfast in the room, a review of last night's film, the offer of expensive gifts and a life of opulence, in the presence of powerful and rich men, was made for their services.

When reluctance or refusal was asserted, the candidates were shown photographs and videos of the mutilated bodies of men or women who tried to intervene after their wives or daughters told them of their rape and extortion. The photographic record almost always convinced the recruits to commit to the opportunity they were offered, and to keep their loved ones in the dark.

The recruits that refused became the victims of random criminals, commonly in grotesque ways, and their photographs were added to the stack.

For additional persuasion, the candidates were shown the FBI files that listed the mutilated men and women as missing or the victims of unsolved crimes. Janice and April had both been warned that Jack would disappear in a similar manner if they did not do and act as told.

When his wife stopped responding to his phone calls and started sending erratic texts after slow playing him for a month, he climbed on a plane and went to DC. After a week, he was no closer to finding them than when he arrived, so he hired the PI he had previously selected, gave him pictures and what information he had, and went home.

Jack's PI worked his case for a little over four months, and provided detailed reports, including photographic, video, and audio evidence of the corruption of his wife and sister, as well as three other beautiful young women.

Of less interest to Jack at the time, the visage of numerous well-known politicians and businessmen were captured in the photos and videos as well.

Suddenly the PI called, advising Jack that they were both in mortal danger, and stating that he was off the case immediately and would be disappearing with his family! It was the only way to protect them and himself!

He advised Jack to destroy the reports and deny he had ever received them, as he was doing with all related records.

With the warning in mind, Jack increased his awareness and wariness, but three days later, Jack's pickup was T-boned by an oilfield truck that ran a stop sign. The pickup burst into flames and burned; the remains of the driver were unidentifiable. The driver of the stolen mud truck was never found.

Unbeknownst to the senators, it was Jack's mechanic driving the pickup back to the ranch, after fixing a leaking transmission.

Jack learned of the "accident" from Carl, who had been offered condolences when he went to town. Coming hard on the heels of the warning, Jack was convinced to disappear. The sheriff's department investigator took what he found at face value, and, prodded by the DPS officer assigned to the case, declared Jack deceased. Only Carl, Jack's attorney, Donnie, and the DPS officer knew the truth, and they swore to protect his secret.

No one thought much about the mechanic disappearing at the same time. He was divorced, had no known family, lived in a room in the shop, and had a bad drinking problem. He had disappeared before, so...

Elias, the DPS trooper, had become a close friend of Jack and April's over the two years since he was first assigned to the booming oilfield town they called home. Jack's lawyer was another good friend. Donnie produced a power of attorney Jack had signed when his PI issued his warning.

He appointed Jack's second-in-command as temporary COO of the oilfield services company, and made Jack's first cousin, Carl, the cowhand who lived in the bunkhouse, the foreman. He announced that he was making these moves until such time as April could be found and returned home to assume control, under provisions of Jack's will.

Donnie made no effort to find April, so things continued to run as they had been.

In the meantime, Jack remained at the ranch, located thirteen and a half miles from town and a mile off the Farm to Market road. He used as little electricity as possible, to make it seem the house was deserted. When he needed light, he lit kerosene lanterns that couldn't be seen behind the dark wool blankets hung over the windows, and Carl brought the supplies they needed to continue the charade.

It infuriated him to be hiding, but he wasn't cowering; he was planning and preparing. On their home turf, the reprobates were safe from reprisal, but if he could lure them to his turf...

He made preparations, put Carl in charge of their implementation, and then hatched his plot. He drove to San Antonio in the middle of the night and hijacked a WiFi signal at a truck stop. The computer skills Jack had developed en route to a CIS minor, and expanded and refined in his dissimilar businesses, enticed the billionaire owner of the hunting reserve 12 miles south of Cowtown to offer free hunts to two senators and a congressman Jack knew to be central characters in the criminal enterprise that had snared his loved ones.

Convinced of a lucrative offer of quid pro quo by the fake emails, the owner of The Reserve issued his offer and waited. Three days later, Senator Ferguson's Chief of Staff informed him that the politicians happily accepted his offer, and they worked out details.

Meanwhile, Jack waded around in the poorly secured computers in the hunting reserve's office. One was used by the billionaire when he was at the ranch entertaining clients, politicians, and regulators; the others were used by the ranch manager, the game manager, and the woman in charge of the big house and guesthouses. All were treasure troves of information, but he needed help to sort through it.

After discreet inquiries, Jack settled on a mysterious hacker with advanced skills and a dislike of a government that had given him a choice of going to jail or working for them doing the same thing they wanted to jail him for! He had chosen a third alternative - to disappear. Jack's monetary offer was tempting, but it was Jack's cause that convinced him to make his way surreptitiously to south Texas.

Now that the deer hunt was scheduled, Jack left the snooping to Alfred and dedicated himself to preparing for the mission he had concocted. He acknowledged it was far too late to salvage his marriage, but he could free the senators' slaves, including his sister and wife, and destroy those responsible for their desecration.

Traveling at night, using cash he had stashed after his PI's warning, he bought what he needed from sources impossible to trace, and practiced his mission. Today, all that preparation would come to fruition... or he would die trying.

*****

Jack used the warmth of the mid-day winter sun to nap, and he slept surprisingly well for the circumstances. He awoke mid-afternoon, ran over the plan in his mind one last time, and made his final provisions. He wouldn't begin until just before sunset, which would occur at 5:25 on this mid-December day. He would have 35 minutes of sufficient light to complete his mission and escape before the trucks came by each stand just after dark to gather the hunters and their kill.