The Rampage of Ryan O'Hara (25 page)

“It sounds like you’re good to go, Frank. You can take off now if you want. Unless you’d rather wait and hear what the others will be doing,” Markowitz said.

“No, that’s not necessary. We’ve all talked among ourselves already. Besides, once we commit, we’ll all be doing our own thing anyway. We won’t have any contact until we assemble back here at the end of the mission. There’s really nothing more to discuss.”

“Okay, Frank, in that case you can leave. Have a good hunt and bag us a nice big commie trophy.” Markowitz smiled and gave the former G-man a thumbs-up.

Tucker made his way around the table and shook hands with the others. After wishing them good luck, he left the house and got into his car for the trip north. Road conditions permitting, the five-hour drive would put him in Chesapeake Beach by 1700 hours.

After Tucker departed, the remaining group leaders recited their respective personnel rosters, assignments, target profiles, and areas of operation. When Markowitz was satisfied that his copy of the mission’s objectives, participants, and locations corresponded with all the others, he made one final statement. “Men, I can’t overemphasize how crucial it is that this mission succeed. The time has come when we must do what gutless political leaders, who are long on wind and short on courage, refuse to do.

“We no longer have the luxury of waiting while our elected officials keep their collective heads buried in the sand and deny the existence of an alliance between communist and Muslim fanatics whose goal it is to destroy our country. It is increasingly clear that our politicians have no intention of employing the necessary military, intelligence, and law-enforcement resources necessary to address what has become a national crisis. Therefore, we will do the job for them.

“The silent surprise attacks we will carry out two nights from now will be the opening salvo in a war that will be waged until we have removed these malignant, subversive bastards from our midst. Be swift and ruthless when you attack and don’t leave any witnesses. Bear in mind that this is just the first of many similar missions that will follow. From this point forward, we will use the same tactics and inflict the same horrors on terrorists that they use on their victims. We will hunt down these subversive human lesions wherever they fester. They will be annihilated without exception and we will stop only when they have been rendered incapable of proceeding any further.”

Markowitz concluded, “Godspeed, gentlemen, and good hunting. We will see you back here in four days. This seminar is now adjourned.”

R
yan exited the hotel at eleven p.m. and walked across the parking lot to his car. Rested from his two days of self-imposed R and R, he was anxious to get down to the business of dealing with Jonas Judd.

He drove the mile and a half to Judd’s house, parked, and took the same path to the beach that he’d taken two days earlier. As he walked along the shore and approached the rear of the residence, he noticed a light coming from one of the windows and waited until the room became dark before climbing the hill and jimmying open the door to the basement.

Using his penlight, he proceeded slowly up the stairs to the kitchen and entered.

Gun in hand, he moved quietly across the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the living room. Careful not to silhouette himself in the moonlight coming through the window, he stayed close to the interior wall and made his way to the steps leading to the second floor.

He stopped twice on his silent ascent of the staircase to listen for movement and, once at the top, noticed light coming from beneath a door at the far end of the hallway. He cautiously advanced and then paused momentarily before gently turning the knob on the bathroom door.

He found Judd sitting in a Jacuzzi facing in the opposite direction, completely unaware of his presence. Coming up behind his unsuspecting quarry, Ryan extended his arm until the gun made contact with Judd’s back.

Judd jumped as he felt the cold steel of the .41 magnum touch his spine just below the neck. Ryan pushed forward with his free hand, causing Judd’s head to briefly disappear beneath the bubbling water.

Springing back up, a choking Jonas Judd spat, spun, and focused his eyes on the stranger.

“Mr. Judd, I presume,” Ryan jested, borrowing a line made famous by Mr. Stanley when he’d found Dr. Livingston in the jungles of Africa.

His voice trembling with fear, Judd managed to stammer out the beginning of a question. “Are you from…?”

“Am I from the office of the chief of staff? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. Do you think I am, Mr. Judd?” Ryan felt that an ambiguous and noncommittal answer would make the best reply at this stage.

“I…I…I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking,” replied the terrified Judd.

“Sit back down and get comfortable while I adjust the thermostat, Mr. Judd. I wouldn’t want you to get a chill,” Ryan said coldly as he glared expressionlessly at his unwilling host.

“I don’t need any more heat. It’s warm enough already,” Judd protested.

“Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Judd. It just seems warm. Why, it’s only a hundred and four degrees. Let’s see, now. Where’s the…? Oh, there it is. I’ll just turn up the thermostat to, uh, yeah, let me see. How’s a hundred and twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit sound, Mr. Judd? Do you think that will relax you?”

“I’ll boil! Please don’t do this to me!” Judd pleaded.

Ryan chuckled and shook his head. “You won’t boil Mr. Judd. Water boils at two hundred and twelve degrees. Your thermostat isn’t equipped for that type of heat. Besides, I’m not a sadist. I don’t even like it when seafood restaurants boil live crabs, but that’s not to say that I won’t consider letting you simmer for a few hours while we talk.”

Despite the water temperature, Ryan could see that Judd was shaking. He was pleased. He enjoyed inflicting mental and emotional pain on cowardly, traitorous, communist, Islamofascist-loving terrorists like Judd. Yes, he’d amuse himself by toying with this scum sucker for a while, just as he’d done with the Delgadillos, Hayward, and Finnegan. Then after breaking him down psychologically, he’d commence a physical torture session proportionate to the pain and suffering Jonas had inflicted on others.

“By the way, Mr. Judd, you don’t happen to have an electrical appliance I can use in case I decide to leave early, do you? I was thinking we could save a lot of unnecessary time and suffering if you do. I could just hook it up and throw it in the water with you. It’d be over before you know it.” Ryan turned up the thermostat and continued, “So where shall we begin, Mr. Judd?”

“I…” Judd tried to answer but was interrupted.

“Do you mind if I call you Jonas? I think that would be nice.”

Judd didn’t respond, so Ryan continued tormenting him.

“Yes, let me call you Jonas. If I’m going to shepherd you into the afterlife, I think it’s only fitting that we adopt a less formal tone with each other. Don’t you agree?”

T
he black van drove past Judd’s house and continued on down the hill. A few minutes later, it returned from the opposite direction and passed by a second time before rounding the corner and coming to a stop.

The men filed out of the van and moved swiftly toward the expensive bayside home. Armed with silencer-equipped semiautomatic pistols, they entered the property and took up their positions.

When Tucker was satisfied that the perimeter team—consisting of Coleman, Dodge, Lutcher, and Young—had a visual on all approaches to the house, he nodded to the entry team. Hatcher produced a burglar kit and,
after a couple of minutes, was able to breach the lock and open the front door.

Tucker moved past him. Using hand signals, he directed Fachini and Meeker to begin a sweep of the ground floor and then motioned Hatcher to follow him upstairs. Not long after the entry, a problem developed on the exterior perimeter when a large German shepherd trotting up from the beach happened upon Lutcher and Young and began barking incessantly. Lutcher attempted to quiet him but backed away as the dog began growling and moving toward him in a crouch.

Seeing what was about to happen, Young decided to end the threat and without further ado put two bullets into the dog’s body. The dying yelp from the canine was followed by the appearance of a young couple. Stunned, the two stopped and began to turn as if preparing to run. Lutcher pointed his gun at them and shook his head.

Young removed a roll of duct tape from his pocket and guided the couple away from the moonlight and into the shadows of the house.

While Lutcher held them at gunpoint, Young taped and bound their mouths, hands, and ankles. After securing them, he advised the couple that no harm would come to them as long as they stayed put.

Tears appeared in the woman’s eyes. It was unclear whether she was crying out of fear or from grief over the loss of her dog. Maybe it was a combination of both. The reason really didn’t matter. The important thing, as far as Lutcher and Young were concerned, was that they were able to abate the situation before it got out of control and screwed up the operation.

Lutcher whispered to Young, “Are you serious about not harming them? We’re not supposed to leave any witnesses. You were there when Sterling specifically mentioned that, or did you forget about it?”

Young looked surprised. “Look, Dave. These two pose no immediate threat to us and I’m not about to snuff out their lives because they had the misfortune to innocently stumble upon us in the middle of the night. They’re securely bound and will remain so until long after we’re gone. They haven’t seen our faces and have no way of identifying us, so to hell with that order. Just disregard it.”

Lutcher persisted, “An order’s an order, Floyd. If we’re going to have a chain of command, we’re going to have to abide by directives that are issued by those who outrank us.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s your idea of what makes us legitimate, Dave, but it isn’t mine. Besides, Sterling isn’t here. You know as well as I do that plans usually go down the shitter when the action begins. So let me reiterate. The couple lives.”

“But…”

“There’ll be no buts about it, Dave. Now get your ass back to your own corner of the house before I lose my patience and do something we’ll both regret,” Young said in a tone that was unmistakably a threat.

“Okay, Floyd, but this discussion isn’t over. We’ll see what Frank has to say before we leave. My guess is that he’ll agree with me,” countered Lutcher, determined to have the last word.

Young stared at Lutcher. “Don’t push it, Dave.”

Lutcher turned and walked back to his position at the other end of the building.

Inside the house, Tucker and Hatcher were about to find their own little surprise waiting for them on the second floor. About halfway up the staircase, Tucker stopped and raised his hand, signaling Hatcher to do the same. As they stood listening, they heard the muffled sound of voices coming from the second floor but couldn’t make out what was being said.

After a few seconds, the two men continued cautiously to the top. It was there, at the top of the staircase, that they saw the figure of a man illuminated by light, standing inside an open door at the other end of a long hallway. He was conversing with someone else, who was not yet in their line of sight.

They crept stealthily toward the voices and soon caught a glimpse of the second man, who was sitting in a hot tub in what appeared to be a luxuriously large combination spa and bathroom. Stopping once again, they were now close enough to hear what was being said. It soon became obvious that the conversation was anything but friendly—a conclusion further reinforced when they noticed that the man standing with his back to the door was holding a large handgun.

They waited and listened in the shadows.

Ryan smiled as he asked Judd, “So what do you want as your epitaph, Jonas? I was thinking maybe something along the lines of, ‘Here Lies Jonas Judd, Boiled for Treason,’ or perhaps something simple like, ‘Jonas Judd, Commie Cockroach.’”

Judd began to plead, “Look, all I did was lose my temper. I yelled into an answering machine and made
some threats I didn’t have any intention of carrying out. People do that all the time when they act out of anger. Why does that merit the death penalty? All I wanted was protection from some maniac who’s going around the country assassinating my friends.”

Ryan laughed. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it, Jonas? The prez giving the impression that you were some kind of big shot with all the same privileges accorded to those in his inner circle. How were you to know that calling the White House and demanding protection would put your smug little ass in jeopardy? After all, you were one of his boys, or at least that’s what you were conned into believing. But then, when you really think about it, you pretty much put the noose around your own neck when you took the demands past the acceptable threshold and began issuing threats. That was a very stupid thing to do, Jonas.”

Judd responded, “Look, I told you. I didn’t mean anything I said. Can’t you guys understand that? I’d never sell out the president. I don’t even know that much about him. He’s already survived every accusation his detractors have leveled against him. Everything I know about him is already out there. There’s nothing more I can add that everyone’s not already aware of. No one gives a shit anyway—not the press, not the public, and least of all, not his own party. He’s untouchable. Please, you have to give me a pass on this. Go back and tell them I never meant any harm,” Judd pleaded, continuing his attempt to convince Ryan that he wasn’t a threat to anyone at the White House. “I’ll do anything they want. Please, just don’t kill me. I’m no threat to anyone.”

“What makes you think I’m from the White House, Jonas?” Ryan asked.

“You said you…”

“I said what, Jonas? I didn’t say anything. I merely said I might be, when you asked. Think about that for a minute and then ask yourself why you believe the people over at the White House would deem you important enough to be on the receiving end of an executive death warrant. I seriously doubt that, in their eyes, you’d be worth the trouble. You’re nobody, and everyone except you is already aware of that fact. You’re just a slimy little washed-up anarchist and terrorist from Lenin’s Legion.”