Rick Banyan, an international detective with offices in the US and Europe spent most nights dreaming of times he was able to spend with Saila, the love of his life. It was a way to keep his memory of her fresh in his mind, despite the fact more than six months passed since he was advised she had been killed by the bastard that Rick eventually brought down. He once again reviewed events that took place, while his mind fought the fog of sleep. I paid the man back in kind, using this demons proclivity for erotic bondage-type sex. I bribed the mans personal dominatrix to provide him with his weird form of sexual gratification. She used the specially-rigged motorized chain that caused a steel wire threaded through it to begin tightening upon receiving my radio-controlled signal, in order to crush my adversary. I finally convinced her to substitute my specially adapted chain for the usual accouterments of her trade. His death was to be in the most painful and agonizing way I was able to engineer. Unfortunately, my revenge did nothing to bring my beloved back.
Once Suzette left, I entered stepping into the mans view, having already initiated the tightening sequence that began to incapacitate him. It was important that he see the face of the man who would end his life, as this bastard had previously done to Saila with a hail of bullets, one of which was reported to have severed her spine.
Tonight Rick was having a different dream; it was a troubled sleep; a nightmare. His mind raced back to that terrible day when he was told Saila had died. He awoke with a start, sweat pouring from his body.
A question was running through his mind; it had to be answered, as if his very life depended on it. He askedno, he demanded it of himself.
Why was I told they were sending her remains to Kuala Lumpur to be cremated? Why would they send back a dead body, and not cremate her where she died and have the ashes shipped home?
The heretofore elusive thought was firmly etched in his mind. He would find a way to answer that question. Then the phone began to ring with an irritating cadence bringing him back to full mental awareness.
Not now. He said out loud, to an empty room. Rick sensed who was calling.
I have too many things to do first, rushed through his mind.
He lifted the receiver. CONSPIRATOR is activated.
The words resonated in his brain and the remnants of these thoughts echoed throughout his body. He knew all too well what was happening. The US Government was calling him back into active serviceanother mission was at hand. What he personally wanted to do would be put on a back burner until he completed his mission. It was what he had agreed to do when he bought his freedom from military confinement, based on what had been found to be trumped-up charges.
Rick Banyan had learned to follow orders. It was a late July morning in 2002 when he reached a public telephone located two city blocks from his home, and placed the call. It was not the first time he followed this ritual. This is Conspirator, calling as directed.
His voice was fed into a recognition analyzer. The number from where he called was captured and set up for the return call. This process took as long as forty-five minutes but averaged about twenty. He was prepared to wait.
While awaiting the call sending him on another mission for the US Government, he mused back to the days of his youth, when, a half-breed Indian was trained by his Nez Pierc grandfather, the tribal Shaman. It was he who taught Rick to create the hardened knife from animal bone that served him so well. His grandfather also taught him survival skills, including a mind trick allowing him to enter an alpha state of being, which looked like he was dead.
The ringing phone broke mental focus. Reaching for the receiver Rick glanced at his watch. Only five minutes since I called. Something big must be up; never received a return call in less than fifteen minutes.
This is Conspirator.
Rick could hear background noise verifying the voice answering the phone was his and started the mechanism encoding conversation with a cipher device for absolute security. It took only fifteen seconds when he heard the familiar voice of Kevin Winslow, his control at the super-secret agency he ran directly for the president.
No time for niceties, Rick. I need an immediate face-to-face. Its bad; I need your special skills. Seven-thirty now; meet me in fifteen minutes at the Japanese restaurant where we met before.
No problem, Kevin. Do I need to bring anything?
No. Itll take at least three hours to listen to and review what Im going to show you. Youll have a lot to memorize.
They met in a private dining area, specially equipped with white noise. Anything spoken within its confines could not be heard outside, nor was it possible to tape conversation. Kevin carried a bulging briefcase. They sat opposite across a large table.
I have to get these papers back in the hands of the presidents secretary no later than eleven-thirty. Ill talk. Then you can review the material.
Youre aware I handle four operatives for the president. You were the third one recruited. First, code name, CADAVER, was brought on board in 1988. President Betterson was in office. He was the first to use my services, and two successive presidents chose to continue my clandestine operation. As the code name implies, my first man was used specifically for wet work. Its important you know as much as possible about a man who will soon become your adversary. You heard that right, Rick; he has become a rogue agent and must be stopped. Im sure that when you find him youll have to kill him.
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