Bishop's War (Bishop Series Book 1) (23 page)

He towered over Meecham, his crystal blue eyes penetrating and devoid of any emotion. Mike made a feeble attempt at staring up at him, but his neck began to hurt and his nerves quickly gave out.

“Why don’t you take a seat so we can get down to business?”

Moving behind his desk and into his comfort zone, Meecham regained his composure. “I understand you go by Connie?”

“Yeah, that’s right, Mike. Now, before you say anything else, I’ve got to ask if you’re sure about this.”

“You’re the second person today to question my level of commitment.”

“Just so you know, there’s no turning back. You’ve been a business man and a government man up till now. After tonight all that changes.”

“Do you always try to dissuade your clients from doing business with you?”

“I’ve found that people are extremely passionate and emotional. For a short time they can be angry enough at someone to hire me and then have regrets or a change of heart. By then it’s too late and they somehow blame me for the outcome.”

“What happens then?”

“I don’t even waste a bullet, just bury them alive.”

“I assure you I am firmly committed and upon successful completion of this action I would like to discuss a long term employment package for you.”

“Okay, first things first. Who do you want clipped?”

“John Bishop and Felix Valdez for starters.”

“The sons of the Don, huh? Okay, but what about the man himself? You sure don’t want to make an enemy of Gonzalo Valdez and leave him hanging on your six.”

“Very well, him too.”

“You said for starters. I don’t walk into anything without having a full picture of the playing field.”

“I am considering adding Tony Kolter and General Marcus Palmer to the list.”

“That’s NSA Director Kolter, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you sure aim high my friend. The first three are no problem. People get killed all the time and they’ve already made some serious enemies. The last two will require some finesse. If their deaths appear to be anything other than accidental they’ll be called assassinations and neither one of us wants that kind of investigation. No one will buy it if they get taken out by street muggers.”

“Can you do it?”

“Sure. As Michael Corleone once said, ‘if history has taught us anything, it’s that anyone can be killed.’”

“How much?”

“For Bishop, Felix and Gonzalo I’ll give you a family package. Seven hundred-fifty k. Kolter and Palmer are bigger fish with a lot more risk. They’ll cost you a million each.” Bellusci handed over a slip of paper with his Swiss account number written on it. “Half now for all of them and the remainder for each one due upon completion.”

“Done,” Michael Meecham said, barely able to conceal his excitement now that he had ordered the deaths of his sworn enemies. “How long will it take Connie?”

“The Valdez mob is all in one spot up in New York. Could be as soon as a few days for them. A week or two max. Kolter and Palmer will take some time. Couple a months. Hard to say.”

“For the last two the time factors are not as critical so take your time and do it right.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Half down for all five of them is a million three hundred and seventy-five thousand. The money will be in your account tonight.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mike.” He placed his half smoked cigar burning in the ashtray and headed towards the door.

“You too… and Connie…”

“Yeah?”

“With Mr. Bishop and the young Mr. Valdez, it’s very personal. Please make it as messy and painful as possible.”

“Will do.”

Meecham thought about Connie after he left. There was no doubt that the man was a lethal weapon, and that hiring him was a huge risk. But a risk worth taking. For years he had used information as a means of blackmail and intimidation and he knew that he inspired fear or at least a healthy degree of respect from everyone he dealt with. News of his being verbally abused by Bishop and his cousin and then getting fired by Kolter had spread throughout the community like a brush fire. His reputation had taken a huge hit from the events of the last week and it had emboldened many of his enemies. People who would normally run to do his bidding were no longer returning his calls. In order to maintain his power he knew he had to clarify in people’s minds that he was not a man to be taken lightly before he became another water cooler joke.

He needed a strong statement and Connie was the man to deliver the message loud and clear. Once they all realized that crossing him was quite literally a fatal mistake, he couldn’t wait to see the long line of grovelers who would spew apologies and invent wild stories about why they initially refused to obey his orders. After this first phase was completed he had a much longer secondary list of names and many of those who denied him were already on it. He had always known he was destined for greatness and the big bald headed killer was going to help him get there.

Connie reminds me of my lion
, he thought, looking up at the massive head with its flowing mane and bared fangs that was mounted high on the wall. He would have to decide whether to have Connie killed before or after he became president.
I think I’ll do him myself. Another gut shot? We’ll see, we’ll
see.

Meecham opened a side drawer in his desk and carefully removed five photographs, each in an eight by ten frame. His usually dull gray eyes sparkled when he looked down at the five men he had just given orders to kill. He wished he could be there to see it happen, but he smiled nonetheless. He rubbed his hands together with anticipation, staring at the empty placeholders on the wall that would soon display the heads of his latest trophies.

Chapter 29

Con Ed

Despite his lack
of patience and bad temper, Amir Khan had always been a planner. He was only eleven when he devised the scheme to kill the Russian Colonel who had ordered the rape and murder of his mother and sister along with the gruesome death of his father. The Russian knew he was a hated and hunted man and was extremely careful. Just not careful enough.

The Colonel lay on top of his Afghan mistress, spent, sweating, and breathing heavily. He was still inside her when Amir steadied the heavy revolver with two hands, placed it next to his balls and fired. Even with his manhood gone the Russian had begged for his life. Amir had taken his time, using three more carefully aimed shots to maximize the man’s pain and suffering. He saved the last bullets for the woman who had defiled herself by sharing her body with such a man. Only a boy, he stood over them, the strong taste of gunpowder in his mouth and the sad realization that revenge was bitter sweet. The joy he felt in having killed such a monster was tempered by the finality of the Colonel’s death and his disappointment that it was something he could only do once. It was an act Amir would have gladly repeated over and over again.

Even then he had known it was only the beginning. His family, his entire clan, cried out for vengeance and their thirst for blood along with his own would never be satisfied. When he walked out of the room he had merely nodded at his uncle Aziz, who stood waiting for him with the bodies of three Russian soldiers at his feet.

Amir stalked New York as he had stalked the Colonel. Carefully and methodically. He started planning his attacks on the city more than five years ago. He knew that no matter how many security measures had been put in place after 9/11 there was no way to stop a committed group of fighters willing to lay down their lives to achieve their goals.

He despised Americans for their sense of entitlement and their expectations of luxuries he had never dreamed of as a child. New Yorkers were more arrogant than most and every one he met personified the “me now” mentality. He quickly saw that eight million self-absorbed people all living in a relatively small area created a lot of dependencies for the basic necessities of food, power, and water that they simply took for granted.

Initially, without a true plan in mind, he focused on recruiting men and creating a network of safe houses. He built his small army of dedicated soldiers and then sought a way to unleash them on the vulnerable citizens. Traveling throughout the five boroughs, learning all he could about the city, he was struck by how easy it was to blend into the crowds and maneuver undetected. Taxis were the perfect cover and many of his men were drivers. One afternoon while on a reconnaissance mission with Khalid they pulled up next to a Con Ed truck. The workers had put out a few orange cones and were pulling up a manhole cover in front of two police officers who neither questioned them nor paid them any mind. That night he started his online research and began to formulate his plan.

He discovered that New York was powered by multiple power plants, with six delivering electricity to Manhattan alone. He knew he didn’t have the manpower to take over and cripple all six, but he could go after the two that were most critical to midtown and everything south of it. That would put more than a million people, all the major banks, the business centers, and the stock exchange in the dark and without air-conditioning or hot water for a very long time.

He narrowed his search, seeking fellow Muslims that worked for the big utility company that powered New York. Once he found them he began the slow and deliberate process of converting moderate middle class working men into radical soldiers of Islam that were ready to die for the Jihad. Or more precisely, men that would die for him.

Each stage of the assault had been planned down to the last detail. He believed it was foolproof. Even the first bombings at Union Square were designed to show his contempt towards the U.S. government and law enforcement. He wanted the city to be on full alert while all the leaders attending the global summit at the U.N. watched helplessly as an Afghan soldier of God ripped the heart out of the financial capital of the world.

The two things he couldn’t see coming were his own arrest and John Bishop. The arrest was a stupid mistake that would not have affected the overall mission if he hadn’t been blinded by his fury when he first saw the uniform, the medals, and that scarred face. They had all transported Amir back to his childhood. Like Bishop, the Russian Colonel had been a decorated hero and a member of the Spetsnaz elite Special Forces. For Amir it was as if he was confronting his father’s killer all over again and he lost control. Years of planning were swept aside the moment he was placed in the cell with Bishop and things had rapidly deteriorated from there.

He had anticipated a body count surpassing the thousands that died on 9/11, yet between the attacks on Union Square and at the bar he had only managed to kill four people. He had a death sentence over him from his own Uncle. He was being hunted by the local police, the FBI, and Gonzalo Valdez. He had lost men, houses, equipment, and
most
of his explosives. Yet despite all these setbacks Amir remained optimistic. He knew he could still win. Tonight he would shut down New York and kill Bishop. After that he could die happy.

It was 11:57 PM. Amir sat in the control room scanning the multiple monitors that displayed the images from the security cameras covering everything inside and outside of the facility. Atal Wazir, still in his police lieutenant’s uniform, sat in a chair nearby and five unconscious Con Ed workers lay bound and blindfolded in a corner. Amir’s men had first taken over the control center, then worked their way through the power plant rounding up every one of the sixty seven night shift employees without firing a shot. Nine true believers with automatic weapons was all it took.

He had two soldiers at the front gate and the others strategically placed in anticipation of the upcoming fight. Amir was no fool. He knew that Bishop would try something. He just wasn’t sure what it would be.

He switched his view from the main entrance to the plant’s massive sub-basement. The monitor showed Maria standing with her arms wrapped around a vertical water pipe two feet in diameter that ran from the floor up to a much wider horizontal pipe twenty feet overhead. Wearing Atal’s handcuffs, she was rotating her wrists and flexing her fingers to avoid losing circulation. Amir could tell her back was beginning to ache from the awkward position and watched her shifting her weight from side to side and from one foot to the other.

Amir tenderly touched his throbbing nose, reflecting on the promise he had made to Bishop. If he surrendered peacefully and handed over the explosives he would keep his word and let Maria go. On the other hand, if anything went wrong he was prepared to shoot her down without hesitation or remorse.

“Where’s Khalid? He should have been here an hour ago,” Amir said.

“He’s either dead or in jail.”

“You’re right. He was a loyal friend and brother. Let us pray he died an honorable death.”

“There they are, right on schedule,” said Atal, pointing to the monitor that showed the truck coming towards them, driving east on 14th Street.

“I told you Bishop would come to me,” Amir said. His men had been watching the truck from a distance for the past few hours in its designated spot on Fourth Avenue. They confirmed that both Bishop and Felix were in the front seats. Ten minutes ago Amir had called Bishop and instructed him to drive to the plant’s main entrance.

“Unless one of us stays here to watch the screens we’re going to be blind when they make their move.”

“I know. I’m going over to the main building now. You stay here until I give you the signal.”

“Okay. Be careful Amir.”

“You as well my brother. Allahu Akbar.”

“Allahu Akbar.”

Amir walked out of the control room on the second floor of the command center. The circular three story building was glass enclosed to give the staff a three hundred and sixty degree view of the area. Recently built, its modern design contrasted dramatically with the windowless, dull red power plant next door that spewed smoke clouds from its four giant chimneys.

Security had been nearly nonexistent before 9/11. There used to be a lone unarmed guard sitting in a booth behind a single strand of chain at the main gate to the facility and there was even an entrance and exit to the FDR Drive that ran right alongside the Con Ed plant on East 15th Street. That exit had been closed off in 2001 and twenty foot high fences topped with barbed wire now surrounded the perimeter. The addition of reinforced concrete and steel barriers that retracted into the ground allowed only authorized vehicles to come and go and the old single sentry was replaced by two vigilant armed guards who manned the gate at all times.

Brushing aside the pain that came with each step, Amir quick marched through the tunnel that connected the command center to the power plant. He checked his pistol as he walked, then stuck it in his waist band. Then he gripped his still swollen arm. The bullet wound was sensitive to the slightest touch, but he pressed his fingers deep into the hole, reopening it. The jolt of pain heightened his senses and energized him. Blood flowed freely down his shirt sleeve. He howled once, then set his teeth, his eyes wild, his mouth stretched into a twisted smile.

“I am coming for you, John Bishop. I am coming.”

Con Edison truck number 107
Avenue C and East 14
th
Street

“You know, we’ve lived down here our whole lives. This Con Ed plant’s always been here like a smoking volcano in the background, but I never really noticed it until now. It’s huge,” Felix said.

“Look Cat, I know we’ve already gone over this a few times, but keep your eyes up. Like you said, that’s a big ugly building and there’s going to be all kinds of shit for the bad guys to hide behind. Amir will have a few guys at ground level, but count on most of ‘em aiming down from the high ground. We’ve got three things to do. One, get Maria. Two, kill Amir and his crew. Three, stay alive.”

“Works for me, cuz, but we may have to change the order and kill ‘em all first.”

“Spoken like a true soldier. Combat is unpredictable and you’ve got to be able to change and adapt to survive it. That’s all that matters here. We live and they die.”

Just then a bright green light flashed twice from a high rise apartment building south of the power plant.

“Johnny, there’s the signal.”

“I see it. Hey, before we go in I just want you to know… you’re my brother. Always loved you and always will.”

“Man, you know I’ve always felt the same way. Even when you were gone for so long I didn’t sweat it. I knew we’d get back on track. Give me some love, baby.”

They each leaned in and wrapped their arms around each other, sharing the moment. When they disengaged they nodded at each other once then turned their heads towards the main gate. Their yellow eyes glowed in the darkness and their jaws were set as they prepared to go to war.

“Here we go,” John said, putting the truck in gear. He drove slowly towards the two guards that each held an AK-47 pointing directly at John and Felix.

The concrete barriers were lowered remotely and a section of the heavy fence slid to the side, allowing the truck to enter the compound. Once the cousins were inside, the barriers were raised and the fence closed behind them. One guard stood in front of the truck while the other opened the rear doors to check for any uninvited guests and to make sure the explosives were there.

The former Con Ed worker turned terrorist saw the stacked crates of C4 and gave a thumbs up signal. His companion called from his cell phone to pass on the all clear. Once the message was relayed he turned his attention back to John and Felix.

“Out of the truck. Now!”

They were each thoroughly searched and then roughly pushed from behind.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. You two walk ahead of me. Slowly. My partner trails us with the truck. We’re going to follow the arrows, go right through the entrance and into the main building. Remember, you try anything, anything at all, I’ll blow you away and then your woman dies. We clear?”

“Yeah, we got it.” John looked back at the terrorist that was about to get into the truck. “I’ll give you a tip before you start her up.”

“What’s that?”

“Surrender.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means don’t say another word, just put down your guns and lay on the ground.”

He took a step towards John and raised the AK menacingly. “Who the fu…"

His final word was cut short by the fifty caliber round that disintegrated his head, exploding it like a watermelon. The second terrorist had a split second to react to being coated with his partner’s brains and skull before he was picked up and thrown aside by the heavy slug that punched a massive hole through his chest.

“Glad Christmas is a man of his word,” Felix said.

“That was fine shooting,” John said.

Christmas was in a tenth floor apartment in Haven Plaza, another housing complex only three blocks away. From that height he had a clear view of everything on the south side of the Con Ed plant including the main entrance to the compound. He’d promised to take the head off of the first terrorist at the gate and tear the heart out of the second.

The plan of attack was simple. No finesse. Just pure aggression. Come in hard and put the enemy down before he knew he what hit him. John and Felix each grabbed an AK. They opened the fence and lowered the barriers before getting back into the truck. They each reached under the dash for more weapons, NVG’s and comm gear.

Outside on the street Kevin gave the go signal for the Mack trucks that blocked traffic on Avenue C north and south of the plant and along 14th Street. This was a private fight. No one wanted the police or any civilians getting caught in the crossfire.

“We’re going in,” John said into the headset he’d just put on.

“Right behind you,” was the immediate response that both cousins heard loud and clear.