Murray McDonald - Critical Error

“Oh God that’s awful, I can only imagine what they would have done to the agent.”

“Don’t worry, there was no agent. As Sam finished his report to his officer, a man walked into the room and dismissed Sam’s officer with a flick of the head. Sam was then face to face with, his words “the coldest bastard I have ever met in my life, I swear to God the temperature dropped when he entered the room.” He informed Sam that there was no agent, the Russians were a Spetsnaz team that had always managed to evade the CIA and Mujahedeen and had been causing untold havoc. Of course Sam took one look at the smug look on the guy’s face and shot a punch straight to his chin. The guy never saw it coming and was knocked to the floor. He never retaliated, he just stood up and welcomed Sam to the CIA’s Special Operations Group, handing Sam a letter signed by the President asking Sam to move across as his skills would save far more lives if he were the one leading the operation, rather than the one mopping up. Sam could not refuse a request from his President and so spent the rest of the war doing what he does best.”

“Saving people’s lives?” asked a confused Clark.

“No,” the Senator said shaking his head. “Ending them!”

“Oh!”

“Sam worked for the CIA up until three years ago. Right up until the nuclear bomb exploded in Texas.”

Clark read between the lines. “Was he there?”

The Senator looked around the carriage, delaying any answer as he pondered what he should tell Clark. He decided on the truth.

“Sam was there. Sam was the guy who could have saved the day. Sam was the guy that was told not to shoot the terrorist four hours before he detonated the bomb.”

Clark just stared at the Senator. The revelation that the government could have stopped the atrocity left her speechless.

“Sam had tracked the terrorists for months. He had many opportunities to kill them but every time, he was stopped by his bosses. They wanted to know where the target of the attack was. It was the one thing nobody could uncover.

“But I thought it was Washington.”

“That’s the story but Sam says not a chance. The terrorists knew the bomb would set off every alarm we’ve got. That bomb was not ever going to get near Washington. Sam told everybody that they had to be stopped before they got to America but they just ignored him.”

“Oh my God. So what did he do?”

“After he was stood down, an assassin tried to kill him and very nearly did. Sam’s not sure who hired him, it could have been the terrorists or any number of people. Andriev was a gun for hire. Anyway, after everything that had happened, Sam decided to quit. He sent a picture of himself looking dead to the assassin’s contact, burnt Andriev’s body and left his own ID next to it. The Mexicans didn’t waste time checking. They just declared the body as Sam Baker and as nobody local claimed him, they buried it in a pauper’s grave. Sam used Andriev’s tickets and travelled back to the US.”

“My God,” Clark could hardly believe what she was hearing, “So, what did he do then?” she prompted, keen to hear everything.

“We talked, he told me what had happened and that he would be going away. He’d contact me when he could. In the meantime, he gave me instructions on what to do if I needed him. The bomb going off hit him hard. He wandered for a while before he found North Haven and settled down. He was happy for the first time in a long time.”

“Until today?”

“Until today,” repeated Baker, “I’ve not seen Sam for over three years. Not since he saved the CNN journalists, just before the bombings in Israel…”

Clark turned to look at Baker as his voice dropped. She was expecting to see a tear in his eye but instead saw a look of horror.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking down the carriage towards where the Senator was staring blankly.

“I’ve just shivered all over, it’s like somebody walked over my grave,” he said quietly. “Something very bad has just happened.”

London

Rebecca tapped on the door gently. “Room Service!” she announced.

“Can you come back please, I’m not quite ready,” responded the guest.

Rebecca Cohen smiled. He certainly wasn’t ready for what he was about to receive and nor would he ever be.

She inserted the master key borrowed from the front desk and began to enter as if not having heard the guest. Footsteps came rushing towards the door as it opened.

“Sorry, I said I’m not ready.” Irritation replaced the guest’s jovial tone.

As the door opened fully, Rebecca was faced with the limping Izz al Qassam Brigade Commander she had seen over a year earlier. He, of course, did not recognize the woman in front of him as she was fully dressed. Although he did recognize that she wasn’t wearing the correct attire for a cleaner. She wore black trousers, a black top and more worryingly on a hot day, a pair of gloves.

As he stepped towards the door in an attempt to shut it, she lifted her arm and fired. The small darts flew towards the Palestinian, catching him in the chest. Over 50,000 volts pulsed through his body, sending him crashing to the floor. Rebecca closed the door behind her and placed the Taser X3 on the small table before manhandling the Palestinian towards the bed.

“Come on, wake up!” urged Rebecca.

The man looked at Rebecca as his eyes opened. He remembered going to open the door and then nothing. He looked down and saw he was naked. He tried to move but his arms and legs were secured to the four corners of the bed frame. He tried to speak but his mouth was stuffed full of what felt like a sock.

Rebecca smiled as the fear in his eyes grew and the realization of the situation sank in.

“My name is Rebecca Cohen,” announced Rebecca. Her voice almost sang as she savored the helplessness of the terrorist scum’s situation. “And you, my friend, are going to tell me everything you know.”

The man shook his head wildly in protest at the thought of telling her anything. The realization that it was a Jew bitch that he was lying naked in front of replaced fear with anger.

“Before you make up your mind, there are a few things you should be aware of.” Rebecca stared coldly into the young Palestinian’s eyes as she spoke. “Firstly, this is not going to end well for you. You are going to die and secondly, you are going to tell me everything you know before you do.”

Rebecca could see from the arrogance in the man’s eyes that he thought she was very mistaken. It was always the same, she thought. This foolish misconception that they couldn’t be broken. Everyone could be broken and much quicker than they ever imagined.

She almost pitied him, almost. She looked into his eyes and made him an offer while removing a small scalpel blade from a belt around her waist, a belt that held many other tools.

“If you talk now and I believe you are telling me the truth, you will meet your 72 virgins intact.”

The subtlety of her threat was not missed. The Palestinian’s fear returned instantly. The bravado dropped as his eyes fell towards his crotch. However, he shook his head. He was a proud and strong Palestinian.

Rebecca shook her head. It was such a shame, the naivety of these men. Of course, this would not be easy, being in a busy London hotel added to the complexity of the situation. Noise was going to be a problem. His screams would have to be contained.

Rebecca turned on the TV, selected a radio station and turned up the volume to almost the highest setting.

She moved the scalpel to within a few millimeters of the Palestinian’s manhood and watched his eyes for any hint that he may forego the pain and suffering. The defiance in his eyes suggested not. She shook her head and started cutting. The screams were almost entirely muffled by the boxer shorts in his mouth, anything else was nicely covered by the music.