David Golemon - Ripper

He lowered the glasses when he heard a car drive up from behind his hiding place. He knew who it was so he just waited for the report. A man dressed as a Mexican state policeman walked easily toward the man, tearing away a false moustache and removing his blue hat.

“It is done.”

The small, rotund man nodded his head and then raised the powerful field glasses once more. In the lenses he saw the old woman once more, and this time it looked as if she had two of Guzman’s younger children in tow. She was still shouting out indignities as she waved her arms wildly about some offense or other.

“Señor, you realize there are still women and children inside of the targeted area. And many, many of our Mexican police brethren?”

The man sniffed as he watched the hacienda but kept his glasses steady on the main building.

“It is a shame, but the situation cannot be helped. We have orders to destroy the hacienda and all of its contents. Now, are you sure the package was delivered to the right area of the building?”

“We followed your precise directions. The entire structure should be nothing but a large hole in the ground. It should destroy everything in the lower levels, along with everything and everyone within a thousand feet of the hacienda.”

“Very well. Do you have the transmitter?”

The uniformed man reached into his jacket pocket, brought out a small box, and then extended the small antenna and held it out for his operations manager. The smaller man finally lowered his field glasses and then looked at the transmitter and shook his head.

“You can have the honors.”

The man in the state police uniform looked uncomfortable. He turned his back on the hacienda one mile away and then quickly raised the small plastic cover and depressed the black button underneath.

The man with the field glasses was taken by surprise when the thousand pounds of special explosives provided by their CIA contact in Langley literally blew the ground the hacienda was sitting on in a vaporous, rolling ball of hell. The entire hacienda and the land it sat on vanished in a split second of destruction that Mexico had never seen. It was so powerful that the small man was shoved as hard as he would have been if a rugby player had slammed into him.

The explosive, octanitrocubane, is the most powerful nonnuclear explosive ever made. Octanitrocubane consists of a cube of eight carbons with nitro groups (oxygens and nitrogens) attached to each carbon. It is an explosive that doesn’t require an external oxygen source to decompose, meaning that it could blow up in every environment, including water and even in the vacuum of space.

As the small mushroom-shaped cloud rose above the small valley, the man rose and shook his head. As he raised the field glasses to his eyes once more he was shocked to see that between the rolling clouds of dust and sand and smoke, there was absolutely nothing left of the hacienda or the areas beneath it or around it. He couldn’t even discern the bodies of police or family members.

He lowered the glasses and removed his cell phone from his suit jacket. He hit the preselected number and then waited.

“Vickers, it’s your dime,” came the answer.

“Excuse me, señor?” the small man said, not understanding Vickers’s play on words.

“Oh, just a joke. What have you to report?”

“The explosives your man delivered were quite adequate for the job. I am afraid that there were many collateral pieces on the chessboard however.”

“The bastard Guzman led his family to this end. Make no sympathies for him or his family. They’re not innocents in all of this.”

“Sí, we knew what kind of man we were dealing with.” The small man closed the cell phone and almost raised the field glasses to his eyes once more but stopped short. He didn’t need to see the smoking ruin of this particular piece of Mexico. No, he didn’t need that. He stood instead and tossed the field glasses to the uniformed man.

“Sí, Señor Vickers, we do indeed know what kind of man we are dealing with. He’s a man not far removed from your own desires and aspirations,” the man said to himself.

Collins sat for the longest time on his bed looking at the two packed suitcases sitting by the door. He looked at his wristwatch and then his eyes moved back to the cases. He was waiting for the arrival of Sarah McIntire. The knock on the door soon came and Jack stood to answer it, kicking one of the suitcases out of the way as he did. He opened the door and Sarah was leaning on the frame, looking down.

“Hi, short stuff.”

Sarah looked up, and with her eyes black and blue and her nose bandaged she imagined she didn’t look her best. She stepped into Jack’s large room and then faced the far wall.

“You didn’t feel the need to discuss this with me before springing it on the world?”

“So you could do then what you’re going to do now?” he asked as he placed both of his large hands on Sarah’s shoulders. She reached back without looking and took his bandaged hand in her much smaller one.

“Jack, if it’s us and the military etiquette involved, I can resign and still keep my post as the geology department’s head instructor.”

Jack squeezed her shoulder and then turned her around and kissed her deeply. Then he pulled back and ran a finger close to her left eye, which was showing signs of opening all of the way for good. The bruise was deep and purple with tinges of yellow under the skin. Collins shook his head and then smiled.

“That wouldn’t stop me from showing favoritism toward you. That wouldn’t stop me from losing any more people in the field.” Jack removed his hands and then took a few steps back before turning to face Sarah. I’m afraid it’s much more than just us, baby. Do you know that on the plane trip back to Nevada, I couldn’t recall what Lance Corporal Udall looked like? A marine I have spent the past five years training?”

Sarah watched as Jack’s face clouded over with self-doubt and he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and then looked at Sarah again. “All of the faces of all those boys, from Iraq, Afghanistan, and here at the Group, they all seem to merge and form themselves into…,” again he tried to smile, “well, you. All of my fears, all the terror I feel when I order men to their possible deaths, all come back to you. The loss of you would be my punishment. Do you understand that?”

Sarah remained silent as she reached up and placed her arms around his shoulders and pulled him to her. He felt her soft sobs as she said goodbye in her own quiet way.

“You know short stuff, my mother thinks you’re a figment of my overworked imagination.”

Sarah laughed through her tears as she finally looked up at Collins. “She does?” she said as she wiped a tear away from her very sore face.

“I think we better allay her fears. She’s coming to Las Vegas so I thought maybe we can have dinner tomorrow night?”

“It’s a date … Mr. Collins,” she said as she started crying one more time.

Jack didn’t realize that he would not be addressed by his military rank any longer. As he hugged Sarah he smiled for the first time in a long while, while meaning it.

Jack Collins was very comfortable with the mister aspect of the change. He was tired. Tired of the death that had always surrounded him even since the days of his father. Now, he would wake up tomorrow and would never have to feel that hopelessness again.

Yes , he thought, Mr. Collins was something he could get used to being addressed by .

Niles Compton sat at his desk and read the report that had just been forwarded to him from Pete Golding down in the Computer Center. He shook his head and then looked up at the faces of Carl Everett and Virginia Pollock.