Chapter 24: Retribution

The digital clock read WE 06/03—0033 CST. That was Wednesday, March 6, 12:33 AM. At that moment a police patrol car drove up to our exit and parked. The engine turned off and the headlights dimmed. Our police scanner crackled with the car telling headquarters that he was conducting surveillance on the burned-out church.

“How elastic is our schedule?” I asked.

“Fifteen minutes,” she replied. “Let’s wait five minutes and then back out the entrance.”

Surveillance turned out to be a nap. The policeman was soon snoring. Skulking away was easy. I wonder if he woke up when demolition silently shook the ground. The Corvette Stingray was silent except for the wind whistling past us and the hum of the tires rolling on the ground. We didn’t turn on our lights until we were blocks away from the burned-out church. The Stingray was a convertible, and we had the top up, so we could converse.

“Six hours to Baton Rouge,” I commented. We’d have to speed a bit, but since it was Wednesday morning, we’d probably get away with driving faster than the speed limit. Didn’t even have to worry about overdriving headlights—we didn’t need them to see in the dark. “Three targets. Get in, kill them, drop the card, get out.”

“Tell me again why we’re doing the bidding of a mob boss?” Billie asked.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I replied. “Army Intelligence has been in bed with Italian criminals since 1943.”

We talked mostly to pass the time. I had to explain terms such as Volkspolizei and Staatssicherheit. That was in addition to Soviet intelligence agencies—and to NATO. Spies really have no friends. Allies are marriages of convenience and divorce is messy. I never got over being helpless and hopeless in the Ares Boys Academy.

“You really are a monster,” Billie snickered. “A nice monster, but a monster.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “Being a monster has some utility. Vengeance in the line of duty is always delicious.”

Vengeance. Joe and Paul had been murdered and their wives kidnapped while we were playing house with Ruth. Billie and I were kidnapped, too, and we killed our kidnappers and rescued our sisters. They were safe in the arms of In Sharpe Focus. Joe’s Uncle Dick (I don’t dare use his real name—but he was a dick, first class, probably an asshole, too) was persuaded that Billie and I would kill the man who had ordered Joe’s death. That man I’ll call Carr—short for Carrion. He was going to die in six hours. If Uncle Dick had Carr killed, it would fracture fragile mob alliances. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—but Major Blake was using organized crime assets to locate and fight the coup. Politics is eviler than most Americans can imagine.

One example—to goad the USA into invading Cuba, a series of false flag operations like the fake Polish attack on Germany in 1939 had been proposed, carried out by deniable US intelligence agency assets. Major Blake promised to locate those who were supposed to carry out the attack, and if the current clean-up program that President Kennedy was executing missed someone, I was going to take care of those elements. Carr seemed to be one of those false flag elements.

“I wonder if Marilyn identified some of those assets,” I speculated. “According to Athena. Marilyn was in bed--literally—with some bad actors. She was making regular reports when she died. I thought I saw signs of wire taps at Marilyn’s guest cottage. Nothing that can be proven in court—just extra wires. I suppose those tapping Marilyn’s phones had fun with each other. I have had experience with FBI and CIA phone taps. Stasi tapped phones at the telephone exchange, didn’t need to enter homes and businesses, but would as a form of psychological warfare. I don’t know why the FBI doesn’t do the same here in America.”

“We have laws in America,” Billie insisted. “Don’t laugh at me! That wasn’t funny, Jackie!”

“I’d rather smooch than snicker,” I said, “but you’re driving. It would be worse if I were driving and trying to kiss you. You drive better. I distract more easily.”

“Dam,” Billie swore. “I have to remain dressed.”

The trip through Texas and Louisianna was uneventful—and dark. I was left at the rear entrance of the small café in a waitress uniform. The back door was open. Carr’s security was crap! I grabbed a carafe of coffee and walked up to the table, topped off one cup—