KILLER SPERM: A Serial: FIFTY-EIGHT

KILLER SPERM: A Serial: FIFTY-EIGHT

Status: Finished

Genre: Thrillers

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Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Thrillers

Houses:

Summary

Doctor Michael Barnes volunteers to be interim Director of he Harry Hope Fertility Clinic. Almost from the moment of his charitable decision, he is beset with mysteries, murders, attempted murders, puzzles, international black market killers protecting an illicit billion dollar market in of all things, SuperSperm. With help from his attorney wife, Fiona and her PI, Bill, as well as a grand master of cryptograms, progress is made along the shifting path to the head of the organization. Most surprising to Doctor Barnes is the fact that the billion-dollar 'product' appears to originate in his Clinic. Action, adventure, suspense---the whole tutti frutti of thrilling mystery ensues.
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Summary

Doctor Michael Barnes volunteers to be interim Director of he Harry Hope Fertility Clinic. Almost from the moment of his charitable decision, he is beset with mysteries, murders, attempted murders, puzzles, international black market killers protecting an illicit billion dollar market in of all things, SuperSperm. With help from his attorney wife, Fiona and her PI, Bill, as well as a grand master of cryptograms, progress is made along the shifting path to the head of the organization. Most surprising to Doctor Barnes is the fact that the billion-dollar 'product' appears to originate in his Clinic. Action, adventure, suspense---the whole tutti frutti of thrilling mystery ensues.

Chapter58 (v.1) - ULTIMATUMS CONSIDERED

Author Chapter Note

'The boss' defies the warrant for a full search of the square miles of the Wales estate. A warning of death and destruction is stated by the boss. The assembled forces outside consider the circumstances after the boss gives a demonstration of the estate defenses.
Meanwhile, Fiona, Bill,and Brett are trapped in the control room of the organization's control bunker.
Sooo . . .

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: February 23, 2017

Reads: 109

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: February 23, 2017

A A A

A A A

KILLER SPERM

A Serial

Nicholas Cochran

Chapter Fifty-Eight

 

Axel Canady gathered his lieutenants. Axel exuded an air of pure authority, well-tempered with reason. As a Hells Angel, he contributed most of the motorcyle club's ideas for good deeds in the communities around the Bay Area.

Standing well over six feet, mustachioed, with an immense beard and almost three hundred pounds of muscle, Axel drew the attention of all, Angels or not. When he spoke, it seemed that even the air stopped to listen.

“We have some serious business to take care of, dudes. Bill and his pals are in a fix. Hope I’ll hear more but he says he may not be able to get a signal. But he sent me his coordinates on his fancy-ass phone; like this one.”

The other ten members drew closer. “Bill gave a code word for urgent. So we’re calling all members from fifty miles minimum to get to these coordinates ASAP. Forget the speeding tickets; I’ll get that covered. 

"We’ll meet two blocks from the coordinates, on the North side; it’s closet to the main joint. Bring the store; legal or not. This is a pisser of a situation and we’ll work it out later if it hits the fan.”

“Are we doing a storm and trash, or what?” asked Redman Windstruck, a burly lad from Hayward who was known throughout the club as the best knife thrower, something he learned from the Native American Cherokees after they rescued him from a fire that killed his parents.

“No, Reddy, it’s a search and rescue; at least to begin with. Bill will know. So; any other questions?”

There were none. Each Lieutenant understood that they must round up all the Hang-Arounds right through to the Fully-Patched, get them armed and rolling, and loaded for bear.

*  *  *

There was a frank nastiness in the tone of The Voice, breaking through all the static and scratchy screeching, “This is private property. This stupid warrant is illegal on its face. There is not one credible scrap of evidence attached to the warrant itself to permit a search of these premises. Therefore, there will be no search.

"I have Mrs. Barnes, Bill Richardson, Brett Houdinski, Tom Bubb,and Electra Wales here.They will be held until I notify you of their release. My demands for hastening their release will be issued shortly.

“Oh, and yes, General Motombo, if you can hear me. Any breach of the Wales property line by your APC or any of your men will be met with a killing force. You must believe me on this. There are forty years of carefully placed mines, automatic weapons, flamethrowers, napalm, as well as numerous other surprises. You will surely die—and all your men as well—should you decide to ignore my orders.

"Those orders are effective this minute. You, your men, and all traces of your presence are to leave the estate immediately. 

"Our property line extends to the pavement of the road. On the road, you will be safe. Off the road you will be dead,” pausing for emphasis, “and as for my many friends in the Police Department, all your SWAT Teams and weapons will be destroyed. Your gunships will never get off the ground. Think. Be wise. You have two minutes to reply. However, any movement toward your helicopters or any push through either the Western or the Eastern front will be liquidated. I shall give you a short demonstration on an empty area of the estate. Look.”

The Voice went to the five panels of switches and pressed.

Pieces of the estate turf were pierced by rising and revolving automatic weapons that laid down an unbelievable curtain of fire over the remote area. At the same time, twelve mines exploded at various points. Next came RPG launchers out of the ground, followed by grenade catapults that tossed twenty grenades in all directions in less than ten seconds.

The noise drove everyone to hold their ears. The sounds of the ordnance acted on the brains of the police and soldiers such that the booming, cascading, rolling roar of the deadly demonstration created almost instantaneous demoralization.

No one on the estate moved. The hostages in the bunker control room were agog.

After the smoke drifted off the torn turf, The Voice remarked in an exceptionally light tone. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I rest my case. I will change my order. I will now give you fifteen minutes to clear all your personnel and vehicles, flying machines, APC—everything off the estate or the killing fields will begin. Am I making myself clear here?” pausing for emphasis, “I thought so.

"Now, once everyone is off and away from my sight and my lands, I will release the hostages. Should anyone be on this property after the fifteen minute grace period, I will kill the hostages and plan to wreak vengeance on all of you beginning with your children. Then your mother. Then your families, friends, acquaintances—and on like that,” another pause, “yes, I think you get the point.

Good day. I await your removal from my property. Thank you.”

** *

Lieutenant Baker ordered all his men to form up and retreat. Sergeant Pillory spoke with the other four copter pilots and prepared for takeoff. General Motombo began to rethink his mission; not the objective; not the conclusion; just the timing. He ordered his men to move the APC to a position where it could not be found by sight, heat pattern, or night goggles. He talked to his men again once they were blocks away behind an earthen berm that would reject heat sensors a well as low level radar.

* **
 While The Voice was laying out the terms of disengagement, Bill edged closer to Fiona to whisper “Got everything?” Bill smiled as he nodded.

“Yes, but I need to assemble. I think a good pee would not be seen as suspicious.”

Brett had been calculating how he could trip two or three of the gang and trash the panel of switches.

Riddick Malcolm and The Voice were talking in low tones.

Jesus Christ, boss; this is getting a bit hot here. Now we’ll have the goddamned National Guard in here. I thought you always wanted to keep all this stuff quiet. Get rich in the dark, you said. Hide in plain sight, you said. Well, all that’s over now.”

Max and his two sons were plotting their escape from this chamber of doom.

“Well, there’s a switch near the door I can flip, “suggested Bart, “we need to keep old Black Rags occupied and then make a run for it."

Andy was skeptical. “This looney would just as soon waste us as laugh at us. I think we’re better as a comedy than a curtain-closer.” 

Max was impressed with his son’s learned speech. He nodded his parental approval while beginning to think of some other way to upset this particular apple cart and make a dash for freedom.

Malcolm came up to the three. “Don’t try any funny stuff, guys. You’ll never make it off the property; out of here, maybe; off the property; no chance,” pausing as he leaned closer, “but if you can give me a few minutes, perhaps I can solve all our problems.”

He winked before turning back to The Voice.

“You know, boss, I think this really is the time to disappear. Our operation is exposed. Our liquidators are known. Our base is now known. And we have several agencies who would want to talk to us for a very long time, with or without attorneys. And then,” drawing in his deepest breath of the day—the week, “you would be exposed.”

Perhaps it was this last observation that zapped a loose nerve ending. The black-draped shoulders of The Voice drooped slightly. The prospect of losing anonymity was painful in many ways, but the unmasking would---unfortunately for the boss---lead to other strings of inquiry; and more charges.

“Well, Riddick,” sighed The Voice, with traces of humanity squeezing out between the static and the screeches, “we’ve had a great run.

Riddick seized the day. “And we can start up again. It’s all laid out. I checked and double-checked the whole operation just yesterday.

"Everything is in place. Impossible to find; and impregnable as well. We’ll make a deal with someone else in the Clinic. In fact I‘ve lined up one already.

"As long as Bubb donates, that’s enough to insure a profit in the first year. All our foreign contacts will know nothing except what they read in the paper. Now, as for ‘ambassadors of good will’; delivery people; all those can be arranged. It won’t at all be like starting over; it’ll just be a resumption with some new personnel. Perfect.

The Voice was silent.

***

I was busy worrying about Fiona. We had agreed to talk at least twice a day to insure each other’s safety. Bill Naylor called to tell me that Stephanie and her flat-mates were having another party.

“Do you think those—that guy will show up again, you know, with the woman, Electra?”

“At the moment, Bill, I doubt it.”

“Well, you and your wife are invited; next Saturday; eight. Get here early if you want to.”

I read between the lines of Bill’s invitation to learn that he and the others remained both intrigued and frightened. 

From the pitch of his voice, I read him as very uptight, a young man praying for resolution of all the mayhem and then a celebratory wingding where all could exchange their stories of how they fit into this byzantine mosaic of fear and fortune.

“Thank you Bill, I’m sure we’ll be along. We have some more mountains to climb before we rest, but with a bit of luck we will be done with these problems in time for your party—but don’t wait for us, please. Say hello to your friends and thank them again for me, will you?”

“Sure will Doctor; and let us know when we can help, okay; bye.”

My eyes drooped while I disconnected; thinking of those mountains. And where is Fiona?”

***

“I have to go to the bathroom,” announced Fiona, “where is it?”

Malcolm turned away form his conversation with the boss to give Fiona directions.

Brett and Bill were squeezing their insides with the painful anticipation of Fiona emerging with a weapon.

Brett looked at Bill with eagerness in his eyes. “Got a plan,” he whispered.

 

End of Chapter Fifty-Eight


© Copyright 2017 Nicholas Cochran. All rights reserved.

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