Chapter 50

"Carl," the Judge was in full jurist mode. "This conversation never happened. You have presented us with a perplexing problem, wrapped up in a fortuitous opportunity."

We were in the family room. We waited, talking about mundane things while the Judge's guys swept the house for listening devices and installed some new toys they happened to bring along.

Once we were found to be 'clean, ' the Judge came right to the point. "There is merit in what you wish to accomplish, but the risk to the president is enormous. In that light we need to be very clear about a few things.

"First: I will not allow Hussein's father to come after my people. He has to go down – period. There is no way he skates away having sent those people to do you harm.

"Second: You MUST do what you are going to do totally off the books. The president cannot be linked, in any way, to any retribution that you are about to engage in. We have people that can be called upon when discretion is of the utmost importance, and I suspect your man, Jack will know exactly who I am describing.

"Third: We will assist you in this to make sure it is done right and goes off smoothly. There is far too much risk to the administration. You may not do this alone. We'll give you all the intelligence assets necessary and provide you with substantial, invisible support.

"Now what we need is a plan," and we worked for hours and hours, examining and discarding plans for Mr. Hussein. At the supper table, the Judge had an inspiration. We worked feverishly to nail down details, solve problems, and iron out wrinkles in the plan. By midnight it was done, and the Judge had departed for wherever people like him go.

As soon as I crawled in beside Colleen and Regina, sleep hit me like a freight train. Instead of staring at the ceiling, going over the plans, I slept like a baby and awoke refreshed. Colleen commented on my calm and relaxed manner as we walked Benjamin around the property.

"You are really content with the next step here, aren't you, Carl?"

She knew me almost as well as my mother knew me as a child, and I realized how right she was. The plan was workable, slick, brutal, and quick. We would put the problem of Mr. Hussein to rest very quickly and very permanently.

The next ten days flew by as we plotted, planned, practiced, and prepared. By the thirteenth day we had all the information needed to start the clock and go to work. I spent an uncomfortable night, awake, between my wives, waiting to leave for yet another battle. Somehow, I had to reinvent myself to avoid all this violence.

The flight to Paris was in three stages, each in a chartered jet that was booked by a different company, for a different reason. The likelihood of anyone being able to track us backwards was so slim, that we stopped worrying about it, except for Edward's on staff worrier.

"Do you think we will tip them off and blow the element of surprise?" That came from one of Edward's worriers. It made no difference how tight a plan was, Edward said that Joel was going to worry himself to death anyway.

"Joel, I think that our target better say his goodbyes, because the next words he will be speaking will be to his maker. You go ahead and worry. I want you to worry this thing onto the ground, because I want you to find every potential trouble spot and tell us, so we can plan for how to react.

"Don't leave anything unworried. Freak out if you need to, but make sure you think through all the things we haven't thought of. Our survival depends on how well we prepare in advance and keep to our plan from start to finish."

We were being delivered to an abandoned storefront that we rented a week ago. It was situated just outside the view of Mr. Hussein's favorite bar in Paris. The prior tenant had thoughtfully built an interior wall that shielded our activity from the street but provided an excellent view port for our surveillance tools.

We moved in during the lunch hour, using the rain to give us additional invisibility, and waited for our quarry to make his nightly stop.

Hussein arrived like clockwork and began an evening of social drinking, informal gambling, and rough sex with an extremely underage Parisian girl. Mr. Hussein liked to hurt children, and seemed to love hurting children who were so young that puberty hadn't yet given them woman's shape.

I HATE child rapists, and Hussein was about to find out how much I hated his hobby.

Jack clicked his mic twice to tell me that Hussein had retreated to his private sanctum, where his sex games were played out, and we were suddenly in action.