Justifiable Homicide: A Political Thriller (Robert Paige Thrillers Book 1) (17 page)

The guy took the cash and extended his hand. “Thank you. Nice doing business with you.”

Jim turned and walked away. He had to carry it in plain sight since he didn’t have a bag to put it in, but that wasn’t a problem. He wasn’t breaking any laws carrying a gun around at a gun show. It would have been a problem if he’d tried to do that in a shopping mall.

Next stop, the ammunition table. Actually, he had several to select from. He chose the one with the big red, white, and blue sign, even though it wasn’t the closest one. He liked red, white, and blue.

He stepped up to the table. Before he could open his mouth, the twentyish, good-looking woman standing behind the table said, “Hello, sir. What can I get for you today?”

He didn’t know how to respond. The table had stacks of more than a dozen kinds of ammo. Some in boxes. Some in bags. He saw more large boxes and bags sitting on the floor behind her. Enough firepower to take over a village, or even a small town, if used properly. He didn’t know what kind of ammo his new gun took.

He lifted up the gun so she could see it. “I just bought this gun. I need ammunition for it.”

She took it from him and turned it around in her hands, almost fondling it. “This is a fine weapon. You can shoot a lot of home invaders with this one. What kind of ammo would you like?”

“I don’t know. What do you recommend?”

“That depends.” She picked up a box. “This one’s good for target practice, but if you use it to shoot a home invader, it’ll go right through him, through the wall, and into the next room, and maybe the neighbor’s house. You shouldn’t use these except for target practice.”

She picked up another box. “These are hollow points. They’re more expensive, but they’re the only thing you should be using for home defense. They hit and splatter. They don’t come out the other side, or if they do, they leave an exit hole the size of a baseball, since their energy’s already spent by the time they exit. You don’t have to worry about them going through the wall and hitting a loved one.”

“I’ll take the hollow points.”

“How many would you like?”

“I’ll take a hundred.”

“If you want a hundred, I can sell you a bag of them. They’re cheaper by the bag.” She reached to her right and picked up a bag. “Here you go, 100 .45 caliber ACP.”

“Thank you.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his slightly depleted wad of cash, and paid.

“Thank you, sir. Here’s our card. Stop by and see us when you run out.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.”

He turned and walked toward the exit door. He had all he needed.

“If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.”

George Orwell

Wellington turned toward the group. “Can you suggest anyone else to add to our list?”

John Wellington, Santos Hernandez, Jim Bennett, and Tomás Gutierrez relaxed in Santos’s family room, chatting over beers. The wife and kids weren’t home.

Gutierrez answered first. “I don’t think we should be killing professors and journalists. All they’re doing is exercising their First Amendment rights of free speech and free press. I didn’t go to Afghanistan to protect American freedom so I could see it taken away in my own country.”

Wellington looked downright startled at his response.

Before he could say anything, Santos Hernandez chimed in. “Tomás, you can’t believe that!? What they say is giving aid and comfort to the enemy. That’s the definition of treason. They’re traitors. We have to execute them before they can do any more damage to our country.” He spoke with a thicker than usual Cuban accent. It came to the surface when he got emotional.

Bennett added his two cents’ worth. “Santos is right. We can’t let the likes of Shipkovitz, Kaplan, and Steinman continue to give aid and comfort to the enemy. They’re either with us or against us, and they’ve chosen to be against us.”

Tomás began to squirm in his seat. He started to think he shouldn’t have expressed his opinion. He tried to backpedal in order to get off the hot seat. Maybe a further explanation would do that. “I’m not saying that they aren’t giving aid and comfort to the enemy. All I’m saying is that we shouldn’t execute people who are merely exercising their Constitutional rights. We should be targeting people who do overt acts to destroy our country. I …”

Santos interrupted him. “But I thought we all agreed that professors and journalists should be included in our list because they’re giving aid and comfort to the enemy?”

“I’ve changed my mind on that. I don’t think we should be targeting them.”

Wellington, Hernandez, and Bennett looked at each other in disbelief, not knowing what to say.

Wellington tried to smooth it over. “OK, let’s do this. We won’t add any journalists or professors to the list. We’ll just target those idiots in Washington who are destroying the country with their excessive spending, high taxes, overregulation, and welfare programs. And maybe some of the bureaucrats who enforce the rules they make.”

Bennett turned toward Wellington. “But what about Steinman? What should we do with him? He’s already on the list.”

“We’ll keep him on the list, but we won’t kill him just yet. Let’s see what Paige can find out about what Steinman’s up to and how he plans to continue his humanitarian aid to the Palestinians.”

Gutierrez looked at Wellington, who could feel his piercing stare. That stare always made him uncomfortable. A piercing stare from a regular person is one thing. A piercing stare from an assassin is something else, even if it’s a friendly assassin. Wellington thought the lie would pacify him, at least for the moment. He realized it was a short term solution, and that he would have to confront Tomás’s opposition at some point.

Tomás continued. “I don’t think we should include whistleblowers on the list either.”

They all straightened up on hearing that remark. Santos put his beer on the table and started waiving his hands. “What do you mean, we shouldn’t have whistleblowers on the list!? Those fuckers are giving more aid and comfort to the enemy than professors and journalists! They’re exposing our tactics. They alert the terrorists that they need to change the way they do business. It makes it harder for us to get them.”

Tomás tried to justify his position. “Those guys are exposing corruption in the government. If government officials are violating the Constitution, the people have a right to know. They’re helping to make the country stronger by rooting out corruption. They—”

Bennett interrupted. “What about that guy who disclosed all the stuff the NSA was doing? Don’t you think people like that need to be stopped? He was definitely giving aid and comfort to the enemy. He was also disclosing national security secrets.”

Tomás replied, in a nervous voice. “I think that people who expose unconstitutional conduct are heroes. The people need to know what their government is doing. If we allow government officials to systematically violate the Constitution, it won’t be long before we aren’t any better than our enemies. If we don’t have a rule of law, we don’t have anything.”

Hernandez, Bennett, and Wellington looked at each other in disbelief. Wellington tried to pacify the situation, which had gotten out of hand. “Look guys, we can agree to disagree on this point. Let’s keep journalists, professors, and whistleblowers off the list, for now. There are plenty of politicians and bureaucrats who need to be on our list. Would that make everybody happy?”

They all nodded, but actually no one was happy. Before Tomás had opened his mouth they all thought they were on the same page. Now the group seemed deeply split, and there didn’t appear to be a solution that would return things to normal. They all felt uncomfortable at that point. They finished their beers and made excuses to leave. As Wellington left, he decided to arrange a meeting with the Boss to inform him of the conversation they just had.

“You did the right thing bringing this to my attention. Tomás has become a problem. We may have to eliminate him.” The Boss was responding to Wellington’s summary of the conversation that took place over beers at Santos’s house.

“Yes, I was thinking the same thing. But let’s wait and see if this thing blows over. Maybe he’ll come to his senses.”

“I don’t think that will happen, but there’s no harm in waiting to see how things evolve. If he can get back on track, there’s no need to get rid of him. He’s been a valuable asset.”

“I agree. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Yeah, I know Saul Steinman. He’s a schmuck.” Rachel Karshenboym voiced her opinion of Saul Steinman to Sergei Turetsky as they walked outside her office at the Kendall campus of Miami Dade College. He had just finished briefing her on the assignment. The sound of her voice always annoyed him, but at least he could enjoy the breeze and the sight of the palm trees swaying on both sides of the sidewalk as they walked toward the parking lot. It was much better than Moscow.

“He says he’s a strong supporter of Israel, but he’s totally against U.S. Middle East policy. He’s funneling money to the Palestinians. Killing people who funnel money to terrorists and who oppose U.S. Middle East policy would be doing both Israel and the United States a favor. I think we should coordinate our efforts to make sure he gets eliminated as soon as possible. We need to silence him and stop him from funding those Palestinians.”

Sergei had expected some resistance. His prior dealings with Rachel had always been less than pleasant. Would Steinman feel comfortable even being in the same room with this woman, let alone inviting her to join his group? Could she keep her private views to herself? He doubted it. That would seriously compromise the mission.

“All I’m asking is that you infiltrate his study group and keep us informed of what’s going on. I don’t know what Aaron has planned for him. Maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Sergei was talking out of his ass and he knew it. Although he didn’t know precisely what Gelman’s plans were, he knew they didn’t include killing Steinman. He had to say something to calm her down because he could feel she was going to refuse the assignment.

That seemed to pacify her. There was a change in her facial expression. Sergei noticed it.

“OK, I’ll take the assignment, but I have mixed feelings about it.”

“That’s fine. I understand. I’ll tell Aaron you have mixed feelings.”

“You do that.” She didn’t like Aaron Gelman and she made no attempt to hide her feelings. She thought he was a politician who cared more about covering his ass than doing what was right for Israel.

Sergei walked back to his car both relieved and anxious—relieved because he would be able to tell Gelman that she had accepted the assignment, and anxious because of fear she would screw up. He began to think of a backup plan.

James Young sat on the side of his bed, thinking about his predicament. It had been exactly three weeks since Santos Hernandez pummeled him at the airport. Less than three weeks since the Department of Homeland Security goons punched him, froze his bank accounts and credit cards, and got him fired. His broken ribs still hurt.

The assault case the TSA filed against him would go to trial in a few months. He couldn’t get an attorney to represent him. They were all afraid of what would happen to them if they defended someone accused of being a terrorist. They could be accused of aiding and abetting.

His mother’s brain was melting away from dementia. His wife had been cut back to part-time at work to avoid being subject to the federal health care regulations. They were practically out of money. The cash his wife brought home from her job wasn’t even enough for groceries.

He felt under attack, isolated, and alone.

He walked over to the bedroom closet, took out his gun, slapped in a fully loaded clip, and tossed it into a large cloth bag, along with the extra clip. When he picked it up by the handle, he noticed the outline of the gun barrel and the end of the clip were visible. They poked the cloth bag from the inside. That would draw too much attention. He walked to the bathroom closet, took out a bath towel, and wrapped it around the gun. That would soften the angular features so they wouldn’t be too prominent.

He got in the car and headed for the Miami International Airport.

James felt dead inside as he drove to the airport. His mind. His spirit. The federal government had killed him with its laws. Everything but his body. His elected representatives and their cronies had betrayed him. They had betrayed the trust of all Americans. They were safely ensconced in Washington, but the foot soldiers, the enforcers, were in Miami.

Some of them were at the Miami International Airport. And they were vulnerable, especially if you didn’t care about getting away after you did what needed to be done. He didn’t care about getting away.

He pulled into the Dolphin parking garage and took the first space he saw. He didn’t try to get a space near an exit or an elevator. He didn’t plan on making a quick escape.

He turned off the ignition. Grabbed the extra clip from the bag. Put it in his pocket. He picked up the MPA 10SST. Checked to make sure it had a shell in the chamber. Rewrapped it in the bath towel. Returned it to the bag. He got out of the car and started walking toward the terminals. It was a large airport. It would take a while to get to his destination, but time was no longer a factor for him. No job. No cash. Pending court case. No attorney. No hope. All because the TSA assaulted him and his mother.

He passed a few TSA agents along the way. He resisted the urge to kill them on the spot. That would derail his plan. He had a specific target in mind.

A few minutes later he arrived at the same terminal he had been at three weeks before. The terminal where the TSA had whisked his mother away in her wheelchair. The place where Santos Hernandez beat him. He would have to show his ticket to the TSA agent posted at the podium before he could gain entrance to the search area. He didn’t have a ticket. He would present his MPA 10SST instead. No photo ID needed.