CHAPTER 3

Appearing, disappearing.

Sniffing at the air, Tretow looked around the barn at those defects and imperfections in the walls where smoke was beginning to penetrate the atmosphere around them and sighing he said, "I think I’d rather make a run for it. I don’t want to turned into a kebab."
        He kicked at the doors repeatedly but although he had unbarred them, the KIJAC army had wedged them from outside.
        "That didn’t work. What the...?" As if dynamited, the blazing barn doors exploded inwards and a dusty green truck tore into the barn, screeching to a halt right in front of him. Tretow began to fire at the truck but stopped immediately as a well-recognized voice shouted, "You call for a taxi?"
        "Mr. Sukoloff! How did you know I was in trouble?"
        "I was trained for it."
        "Thanks, sir," Tretow said giving a relieved laugh.
        "I didn’t come prepared for this. Give me your explosives and I’ll remove that communications mast. You get to safety. I’ll meet you back at your car."
        "Sir! You can’t do it! You’re not an active agent."
        "So?"
        "Well, you’re retired, Sir."
        "So?"
        "You’re not licensed and I’d be much quicker..." Tretow backed down when the Russian threw him an icy stare of disapproval, a look probably capable of freezing the blood of Helen of Troy.

Bursting out of the barn, Tretow and a machine gun stolen by Sukoloff, first knocked out the other lorries in a single long burst then scattered the other men outside the barn who now were suddenly outmanoeuvered and out-gunned. As soon as he got to the safety of his car he watched Sukoloff nervously through binoculars. If he were hurt, even scratched, Henn would wallpaper the office with him. Amazingly, he seemed to charge straight at the panicking men as they defended their base. He almost danced over exploding grenades and wove his way round bullets as they zipped into the ground all around him. Tretow was dumb struck as he watched this small, fearless one-man army and only managed to stutter, "Oh no! Oh, crickey, he’s not going to make it, wow!"
        He watched Sukoloff climb a building as if he was using a ladder and the army in a state of total confusion. They were firing their guns haphazardly and so great was their confusion that anything moving got the brunt of the firing, including their own men. Only a very few seemed to know what to fire at and the bullets from their guns removed huge chunks from the wooden walls. Sometimes one would land so close to Sukoloff it caused yet another ‘wow’ to be uttered by the overawed Tretow.
        It only took a few minutes for him to set the explosives, then jumping from the roof he landed cat like on the ground below and ran back toward Tretow as an explosion ripped through the air.
        "Wow... Sir."
        "Training, you know," Sukoloff replied matter-of-factly.
        Tretow meantime was on the in-car radio to H.Q. "Tretow, control. Mission complete."
        It was Henn who answered. "You were beginning to cause anxiety here Mr. Tretow. Did you encounter some resistance or just decide not to bother keeping us informed?"
        "Yes, Sir, I had resistance, oh boy did I have resistance, but wow, you should have seen him run! He ran straight through them and those guys were so shocked they ran away from him, and then? Well then, he jumped off the roof! It must have been thirty feet! And not one bruise! Wow, can he run..."
        "What are you going on about, Mr. Tretow?" Henn said interrupting him.
        "Mr. Sukoloff came and rescued me."
        There was quite a long pause before Henn answered. "Can't have done he's here!"
        "It's definitely him, Sir."
        "Vacily?... What are you doing there? How did you get there?"
        "Hi there."
        "Who gave you permission to return to active duties. What’s this about jumping off roofs? You know damn well your leg won’t take that kind of treatment any more. Carry on in that fashion and you’re sure to end up in a wheelchair."
        "Temper, temper. I had informations that Tretow walking into a trap. So, as I had nothing better to do I thought lend a hand I would."
        "I have not got a temper, what I have got is an ex-agent who still thinks he’s twenty."
        "Alex! This army, its men have sleeve patch of little beetle!" Henn took a while answering as he digested the facts, firstly; few others had known Tretow was going to that particular base, secondly; the base’s occupants had apparently been waiting for him and thirdly; for the second time that day their old antagonists KIJAC had been mentioned, "Ok, Vacily, we’ll discus this later, I’ll see you as soon as you get back."

"Where’s your car, Sir?" asked a puzzled Tretow.
    "I er... What?... Oh, yes, by taxi I came, looks like it didn’t wait for some reason."
    "Took one look at what was happening here and flew off I shouldn’t wonder," laughed Tretow.

Tanen leaned heavily on the bar. He had walked for miles trying to clear his head. The sights of the massacre flooding his mind. He saw Sukoloff standing facing the men. They were shooting at him. He heard the men cheer as lightning played about the manhole cover. Dark shadows and green lights entering the injured who stood up and walked away. He could half see the face of an injured agent. A mouth that snarled at him—eyes that changed from innocence to wild animal, from blue to green.

The afternoon become increasingly confusing for Alex Henn, he shook his head as he tried to make sense of recent happenings. The authorities had just reported with the news that those responsible for the massacre had used some kind of hypnotic spray. The death toll had climbed to thirty-five, another forty had been injured and of those forty, ten had serious injuries. All but two of the dead were victims of gunshot wounds. These other two it seemed, had apparently met an instantaneous death in what had since been confirmed to being anaphylactic shock. How could a condition as rare as this and normally brought about as an allergic reaction to the toxins in insect stings or bites occur? No evidence of insect stings had been found on either of the bodies. Indeed the only similarity between them, besides the fact of both victims were male, was a small puncture wound, caused possibly by a needle or dart. Analysis of blood taken from the bodies showed the blood contained a toxin similar to that of wasps. Yet, while it had caused the usual allergic reaction it also appeared to have caused extensive blood clotting. A possibility existed that the poison was artificially produced, but why? No links were traced to these two men belonging to any known organization, although inquiries were still being undertaken. It must be assumed, until proven otherwise, their deaths were murder by toxin. But, were they specifically targeted or randomly selected.
    In addition, were the hallucinations reported by his agents and some of the survivors, a result of the same poison?
    The chain of questions concerning these two bodies continued to grow longer and longer. If they were targeted murders the question, "who were they," arose and equally if not more importantly, who had laid the contract? Of even greater importance was a need to know who had developed and successfully used the toxins responsible. On the other hand, were they random selections and if so why from a whole street full of shoppers, were these two selected, was there a common characteristic that so far had been elusive?... And... After all this were their murders then covered up by the shootings of the others...
    Henn needed answers...

Throughout the night all eyes and minds had been focused on the information coming from the emergency mortuaries where operatives of all conceivable agencies were gathering what details they could from and about the victims of the massacre. Results had so far been routine calling for nothing more than, at the most, a standard authorization signature. Henn, who had taken the opportunity for a short nap, was now, during mid morning, back at his desk again awaiting a deluge of paper relating to the night’s occurrences. He filled the time usefully by allowing his mind to wander over to the communications desk where, in his mind’s eye, the delightful Trixie was now in a considerable state of undress.
    A gruff voice addressed him, its owner simultaneously thrusting a piece of paper in front of him. Mechanically he took the paper and began to scan along the opening lines.
    "To PIA H.Q. via FBI computer link, 10.16HRS 18JUL... Ref... Standing orders... BAL... 884... Message Reads, ‘4 shells confirmed your type Z7X, found Morga...
    At this point Trixie vanished, he was suddenly galvanized back into active thought and started to read the message again.
    "To PIA H.Q. via FBI computer link, 10.16HRS 18JUL... Ref... Standing orders... BAL... 884... Message Reads, ‘4 shells confirmed your type Z7X found Morgan’s Alley, Bronx, Alley Now Sealed... Awaiting your instructions... J. Lingard, LT. Homicide Div., Bronx. Also... Body, John Doe... Vagrant... Confirmed NOT... Repeat NOT yours, found same alley, have left in situ as death by high caliber weapon. J.L.... Message Ends."
.    Like a well oiled machine Henn issued orders almost automatically, as per standing orders in the case of any agents engaged in a firefight in the New York area, headquarters was put on Phase B alert. With the absence of any forensic specialists currently available at headquarters, field agents were dispatched without technical backup to Morgan’s Alley. Since gunplay had occurred, their skills may be more useful than those of the magnifying glass brigade.
    The body in Morgan’s Alley had by description, wounds matching those of the victims in New York. There could be a possibility of a connection or, maybe this Brother of the Loose Order of Skid Row was just the unhappy victim of a back-street cowboy with a high velocity carbine.
    The spent Z7X shells however, caused much more serious concern hence the dispatch of his best agents in Steele and Tzavros. These two would go in this afternoon once the vagrants body had been removed and if the team of agents sent the previous night hadn’t managed to turn something up.
    Klyne meanwhile was still with the FBI, busily engaged with their computer staff at attempting to cross reference existing records of all the victims to see if any link, no matter how small, could be found between them.
    Henn asked Proctor to call in his available agents. Instructions were passed out, their job would be to backup Steele and Tzavros looking for anything out of the ordinary the FBI might have overlooked in the alleys surrounding Morgan’s Alley in the Bronx, hopefully they’d turn up something.
    Tretow marched in towing some minor agent whose ears were bent in awe by stories of the great Sukoloff. Being prompted, the wide eyed young man nervously handed Henn a letter while he stammered, "Sir, I was handed this in the street outside the building. Sir, it’s been cleared by security, Sir. But, I’m afraid I didn’t really take that much notice... Sir, of who gave it to me, Sir."
    Henn let out a smirky low groan as he wondered just who was doing the hiring around PIA nowadays. The note however looked serious and once read he handed it over to Proctor. The puzzle did indeed seem to be growing.

Your reign is finally over Alex Henn and my revenge has begun. One of you has already been removed. The demise of PIA is underway.

C. KING.

    Frowning at the paper, Proctor turned it over in his hand. "Do you have any concept as to its connotation, Alex?" he inquired.
    Henn sat and thought quietly for some time before answering. "Vacily said that KIJAC were back."
.    "Chad King? The Chad King? Leading KIJAC! Are you sure?"
    "I haven’t had a report from Vacily yet, although I did call him to tell him we had problems. I suppose it could be Chad King, but I hope not. That mans’ totally mad. He’s batty as a belfry. We put the psychotic screwball behind bars years ago. Both him and his ding-a-ling sidekick Professor Bajak."
    "Who can forget those days and the dreadful things they did. If I remember correctly, when you caught them, they were both carrying out almost Frankenstinian experiments using human guinea-pigs."
    "That’s right."
    "I remember, did not one of our top agents work with them? Code name... Spider?"
    "It was Scarab. One of you has been removed? Joseph! I don’t like this, there was only one other on that case besides me, that was Vacily!" Then he jumped up and grabbed at the intercom. "Reception? Has Mr. Sukoloff checked in yet?"
    Silently, Proctor noted taut lines of worry cross Henn’s face when reception answered in the negative. These two had been together for so long. Their characters were chalk and cheese, yet he wondered, without the cheese could the chalk still write?

The slow routine of PIA had vanished. Personnel rushed hither and thither as more messages were brought in. Alex Henn sat at the table, with Joseph Proctor nearby. Tzavros and Steele too, were deep in conversation, as they kited themselves out for their forthcoming excursion to Morgan’s Alley, whilst Bird was writing out her report on the victims. Again, by some quirk, it was the delectable Trixie who was at the communications desk, it was truly remarkable how by pure accident her shifts coincided with Henn’s. She was at the moment chatting away quite happily into her headset, probably discussing the strategic advantages that were built in the latest lip-glosses or perfumes with one of the female agents. This would be much more interesting than dispatching the new grid reference numbers.
    Tretow ambled in smiling as usual and began to taunt Steele. "Mr. Steele, you think you’re good?"
.    "I don’t think, I know."
.    "Maybe, Sir, but I wonder what they were like when they were younger? Lord, you should have seen him," said Tretow grinning and seemingly impervious to Steele’s superiority. Henn twitched, the first line of conversation from all his agents was the performance of Sukoloff in New Jersey. Feeling slightly pushed aside he noted aloud. "The great Sukoloff still hasn’t managed an appearance in this office yet." Angrily he flicked at the intercom switch and shouted, "Vacily!?"
    The answering voice sounded bright and chirpy. "Good Morning, Alex."
    "Just were are you, Vacily? he barked.
    A thin teasing chuckle answered him. "Lab. work, you know? Examining cartridges and such."
    "Found anything interesting?"
.    "So far I can tell you they were fired from eight different guns, but, they were all the same type of weapon. Modern short barrel carbines of some type."
.    "What type?"
    "Wait a minute!"
    "I am waiting."
    "The shells seem to be or are copies of old KIJAC issue high impact. You know? Them very nasty little exploding things. Remember ones coming after their dumdums?"
    "I remember. Anything else?"
    "No, otherwise I would have said so."
    "Vacily, I need your report. Chad King is in action again."
    There was silence for a while before he answered. "That’s who he was, I knew I’d met him somewhere. Yes, I saw him, it’s all in my report and that already on your desk."
    Henn blinked as he rummaged through a pile of papers. Then a slight worry began to grow. Were they right, these government officials, was everyone in PIA either too old or too inexperienced to continue? Proctor had said Sukoloff looked old and ill, but what of himself? Older by two years and a headache so severe that it made him gasp, and now, was he beginning to lose his memory? When had Sukoloff placed his report on his desk? He for one hadn’t seen him!
    "Tretow, who was Mr. Henn talking to?" asked Steele.
    He gave his usual beam as he spoke of his hero. "Mr. Sukoloff, didn’t you recognize his voice? He did sound a bit different."
    "Nothing, I heard nothing, no voice at all." Nodding towards Tzavros he added, "and neither did Mr. Tzavros."
    "No voice? Been playing with G force again? Get your ears checked."
    "Watch it, boy, our ears are fine. We both heard Mr. Henn talking to himself, that’s all."

Back to what's new.