David Golemon: Ripper

“I read his file, he’s not that frightening,” Vickers said.

Peachtree laughed, turned away from the gravesite, and started walking back to the limousine that was waiting for him.

“You find that funny?” Vickers asked.

“Tell me Hiram,” Peachtree said stopping and turning, “which file was it you read?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are an idiot aren’t you?”

“I am still not intimidated by a man who only achieved the rank of colonel in his time with the army. Not very motivated is he? The president’s friend Collins is nothing but a once-upon-a-time tiger that has been declawed and placed out to pasture, buried at some desk where the army can keep track of him.”

Peachtree smiled as he allowed his driver to open the rear door as he approached.

“You know Hiram, the president explained to me in the Oval Office after he lamented on Ms. Simpson’s passing that Jack Collins is probably the single best combat soldier this nation has ever produced.” He smiled. “Maybe you should really try doing your homework sometimes on people who could bring us both down.”

“Why is that?”

“Because if you did, you would know that Colonel Jack Collins won’t rest until he kills you. And that dear Hiram is from the mouth of the president of the United States himself.” Peachtree laughed as he sat down inside the limo. “Hell, he probably won’t rest until he kills both of us.”

Samuel Peachtree closed the door and the limousine left in a cloud of dust, leaving Hiram Vickers alone to contemplate his fate if Collins found out he was behind his sister’s murder.

The man known as Colonel Henri Farbeaux sat in a chair across from none other than the attorney general of the United States himself. He had been read his rights and informed that the president had taken a personal interest in his case.

Henri was read his rights for the third time under American law and the charges against him were read. Still feeling weak from his wounds received at the Event Group Complex deep beneath the Nevada desert, Henri really wasn’t interested in how many charges of murder and theft they could come up with.

“Do you have anything to say at this time?” the attorney general asked, smiling that he was sitting across from the famous French thief and cold-blooded killer.

“The jail complex in which I am currently residing has absolutely the worst cuisine I have ever sampled. Can you do something about that?”

The attorney general smiled and then stood up with his two assistants.

“Oh, we’ll get right on that Colonel,” the attorney general quipped. “The guards will take you back to city jail. Have fun getting acquainted with our local criminals. They don’t have quite the discriminating taste you have, but they’re a fun bunch of boys to spend a little quality time with.”

Farbeaux watched as the three well-dressed men left the room. He reached up and scratched his nose, rattling the handcuffs on both wrists. He heard the door open and two guards walked in. One lifted him up by the arm and the other pulled out his chair — all done in a not-too-gentle manner.

“Okay pal, time to go,” said a voice behind him.

Henri was led out of the room, and instead of going straight to the elevator they made a detour to the stairwell on the fifth floor. One guard with dark hair opened the door and the other who stood behind Henri pushed him through the exit. There was a third man waiting in the shadows that he couldn’t see. The large man cleared his throat. Then he tossed something to the man standing behind him. Suddenly the Frenchman felt the pressure of the cuffs as they fell free of his wrists. Rubbing them with his hands Farbeaux thought he understood. What was about to happen to him?

“Ah, shot while trying to escape. Very good. After all, you could have me spilling too much about deep, dark government agencies no one knows exists, right?”

The large man reached out from the shadows and opened the second exit door. As Henri looked out into the stairwell and the bright sunlight beyond, he glanced back at his two guards. He saw the larger man step out into the lighted doorway.

“As we say back home, Colonel, you better get while the gettin’ is good.”

Farbeaux saw the captain named Everett, resplendent in his blue guard’s uniform, standing before him. Henri turned and saw Will Mendenhall and Jason Ryan as they peeled off their absconded uniform jackets and tossed them onto the handcuffed guards they had taken them from who were wiggling and cursing under taped mouths.

“Gentlemen, you have my thanks, so before someone changes his mind, I bid you adieu.” Henri ran from the fourth floor and didn’t stop until he was on the crowded street far below.

As Farbeaux crossed the street he saw a familiar form standing on the corner. He stopped short and smiled at the man staring at him. Henri then stood ramrod straight and saluted. Henri Farbeaux laughed and crossed the street, disappearing into the thick traffic of the capital.

On the corner watching the escape of one of the most wanted criminal minds on earth, Colonel Jack Collins nodded his head as he saw Henri escape from American justice.

Jack took a deep breath and turned as Sarah approached and took his hand.

“Satisfied?” he asked as he finally smiled and looked down at her healing face, seeing his own reflection in her sunglasses. Unlike Farbeaux a few weeks before, he was able to see his reflection and not turn away in shame.

Sarah McIntire smiled and went to her tiptoes to kiss Jack on the lips.

“Thank you, Jack.”

As Sarah released Collins he continued to look at her and wondered how long it had been since Sarah had started falling for the Frenchman.

“Shall we go home?” Sarah said, smiling up at Jack Collins, who was caught with his darkest thoughts running through his mind. Finally, he smiled back.

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

DAVID L. GOLEMONgrew up in Chino, California. He raised three great children and now makes his home in New York. Ripper is the seventh book in his Event Group series.