Karyn Kane: Conspiracy of Fire Part 1

Karyn Kane.

Conspiracy of Fire.

Bulmer, Tony.

The individual is handicapped by coming face-to-face with a conspiracy so monstrous he cannot believe it exists.

The American mind simply has not come to a realization of the evil which has been introduced into our midst. It rejects even the a.s.sumption that human creatures could espouse a philosophy which must ultimately destroy all that is good and decent.

J. Edgar Hoover, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation 1935-1972.

01.

Honolulu, Hawaii. The time for death was at hand. Senator Tex Johnston stood at the picture window of his 48th floor penthouse suite gazing out over the city into the Hawaiian night. His excitement had been building for weeks, until now it had reached a wild, almost intoxicating crescendo. Soon, the world would hear the clarion call of a bright and glorious new future, but in order to herald in this new age of mankind, the senator knew he would have to kill.

Clasping his hands behind him, the senator took a breath that drew him up to his full height. He felt the adrenaline building now. Oh what a future it would be, a future filled with the freedom and liberty that was the birthright of all mankind. But such a glorious resurrection could not come without sacrifice. The old and treacherous past, with all its squalor and degradation would have to be expunged; swept away by the power of the new.

Soon, they would come . The senator had arranged it. They would come silently under the cover of darkness, to ensure that his carefully laid plans could not be threatened-there was too much at stake. Greed and betrayal could not be allowed to derail the righteous destiny of mankind.

The senator felt euphoric. He was an apostle of the new future. A thousand years from now, voices would unite, across the world, to speak of his selfless dedication to the cause of freedom and justice.

Soon, they would come , soon. The deaths would be quick and efficient.

Ghostly reflections of the apartment danced across the window. The governor by the bar and the girl, flaunting herself in her skintight dress, wearing heels so high she could barely stand. The senator watched, as she tottered forwards, bent towards the bar and sniffed noisily, at the lines of white powder. A lewd comment from the governor filtered across the room. The girl let out a shrill laugh.

The senator s.h.i.+vered, as the ghastly drunken laughter snaked around him. The girl was ugly, her tiny body augmented with pneumatic b.r.e.a.s.t.s, created by the hand of a l.u.s.tful surgeon. Her face meanwhile, was a hard sculpted approximation of what beauty might be. The senator felt a growing sense of contempt-how many cold impersonal scenarios had this woman known? How many diseased liaisons had she endured, until she had arrived here, at this pivotal moment in the history of man? The senator turned his head quickly, furtively, so that he might seek confirmation of the ghostly scene reflected in the window.

"Come join us senator," cooed the girl.

The senator flashed a thin smile and turned back to the window.

Soon they would come. Soon they would be here.

"Hey, Johnston, get over here. This is some of the best blow I've ever tasted. You want to do business with the big boys, you've got to learn to party like the big boys, you understand me?"

The senator understood. The governor was weak; a man of avarice, fond of unG.o.dly pleasures of the flesh, and as with all such men, he was easily manipulated. Even now, as he sat at the bar quaffing Napoleon Cognac and running his filthy pervert hands all over the girls body, the senator knew that there would be no place for such weak and unG.o.dly men in the new order of things. Such men were the very reason that mankind had fallen into the cesspit of depravity foretold by the apostles of old. The weakness and the corruption of the old world had to be cleansed, washed away- along with the injustice that had, for so long held down the cause of the emergent man-strong, powerful, chaste of heart and mind.

The senator balled his hands into fists, his fingers turning white, as the pressure amped through every part of his being.

Soon they would be here, soon.

The governor was drooling into the girl's cleavage now, his lascivious face pressing hard against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. It was a sickening sight. The senator felt repelled, and yet fascinated by this nauseating seduction-the slickness of the girls flesh, alive with the power of sin; her bulging, unnatural body, writhing under the pressure of insistent fingers-the whole horrible scenario so sinful and unwholesome-and yet- The senator tore his eyes away, forcing himself to look outside into the swirling night. Far below on the boulevard, cars crawled like c.o.c.kroaches in the cold neon, clogging the diseased streets with the aimless throb of urban decline. The senator had no time for these little people engaged in their pointless cycle of consumption and waste-a journey to the liquor store; a trip to visit some ungrateful relative, or a run to buy gas with meager wages, so that rudderless lives might maintain the pretence of normality-work, consume, procreate-faster and faster, until death was upon them all. Didn't they realize as they lived their repet.i.tive insect lives, that their meaningless routines would soon be thrown permanently, irrevocably into disarray?

"What the h.e.l.l are you looking at Johnston? You keep staring out the window like that and this little lady right here is going to think you downright inhospitable. You don't want to be a party to that kind of misunderstanding now, do you? Because if I remember rightly, we had an agreement-you do remember our little agreement, don't you senator?"

Tex Johnston turned, gave the governor a cold look. "I am betting there are a lot of sharks in that ocean out there."

The governor paused, wiped the wetness from his face with the sleeve of his coat and said, "Sharks you say? What in the wide world are you talking about senator, you trying to make some kind of candy-a.s.sed moralistic point? I thought you Texas boys had b.a.l.l.s?"

The senator stared back, said nothing. The governor flashed a broad, orthodontically adjusted smile.

The girl looked worried, "What's he talking about sugar-cakes?"

"Pay him no mind, honey, the senator here might come across as some kind of soft-soaped southern hayseed, but he's really one of those Was.h.i.+ngton DC boys through and through. Ain't that right senator?"

"Have no fear, for the oceans will rise up and wash away your sins."

The governor's smile melted south, "You best be thankful I took me a handful of those little blue pills senator, because that weird-a.s.sed bible talk is a regular cold bath for folks looking to put a little romance back in their lives, if you know what I am saying."

"He is scaring me," squawked the girl, her tone amping shrill in the awkward stillness."

"Now you quiet down there, sugar-cakes. Looks to me like the senator here is getting overwrought on account of the fact he missed out on Sunday service this week-ain't that right senator? But I know just the thing that will set you straight..."

"I have no interest in your sordid compulsions governor," said the senator. "I am here as facilitator, to herald in the new era of man."

"Now listen to me, you self-righteous little p.r.i.c.k, there will be no heralding in anything unless you do exactly as I say. We had an agreement remember?"

"I am protected."

"Protected h.e.l.l, you are my b.i.t.c.h on the Hill until I say different. Are we clear senator?"

"The wave of righteousness is coming."

"You better cut it out with that Old Testament talk, because I got the inside track on your bulls.h.i.+t plans, and unless you come good with our agreement, you will be kissing goodbye to your cushy little career in Was.h.i.+ngton, faster than you can say Federal indictment."

The senator smiled, "They are coming. Soon they will be here. The time to repent is at hand."

"He has called the G.o.dd.a.m.n cops," shrieked the girl. "That's it. I am getting out of here-And don't think I am not going to run your cheapskate credit card anyways-because I will. Then you and your freak show boyfriend here can talk chapter and verse until the second coming of Christ for all I care."

"You ain't going anywhere sweetheart, you are staying right here," snapped the governor nastily.

The girl ignored him, grabbed her clutch purse and cigarettes and flounced towards the door. She made it two steps, maybe three and the governor caught her roughly by the arm.

"You ain't hearing me little lady, are you now? When I told you that you were going nowhere, I meant you were going nowhere-"

The girl let out a petulant gasp, but her eyes were hard and angry. "Get your G.o.dd.a.m.n hands off me, you animal."

There was a hard rap at the door.

"You see," snapped the girl. "You've gone and upset the neighbors now. I am out of here." The girl twisted free of the governor's pincer grip.

"This is a penthouse apartment, we don't have any neighbors to disturb," blurted the senator, "save for those below and the concrete floors are a foot thick at least."

But the girl paid him no heed. She stalked unsteadily towards the door, two pairs of eyes watching her go. She paused, looked through the spy hole in the door and said, "There is some woman out here, looks kind of sleazy if you ask me-if you were thinking of getting kinky, you have got to know that the sleazy types cost extra."

The governor shot Tex Johnston a sly look, "Why, you are some kind of dark horse Johnston. You had this little scenario planned all along am I right?" Then, without even looking, he said to the girl out the corner of his mouth, "So what you waiting for honey, let our guest in. I am guessing she isn't going to bite, if you ask her nice that is."

"What you think I am, your personal door service now, Mr. Big shot?"

"No need for that kind of tone sugar-cakes. What say we put our little disagreement behind us?"

The girl looked back with a sneer, and popped the latch on the door. As it swung open, the senator caught sight of a smartly dressed woman, her face part hidden by the brim of a flamboyant hat. No sooner had this fleeting image registered, than it was rapidly and shockingly dispelled, as black dressed figures in masks, barged their way through the door and dragged the girl roughly inside. A third figure entered behind them and forced a clear plastic bag over the girl's head The girl struggled wildly-her mouth gaping, like a drowning fish as the bag misted over with her gasps of terror.

The governor stepped forwards, a cry of outrage coiling at his lips, but the woman in the hat moved quickly-she gave him a bra.s.s knuckle punch that snapped his head back like it was coming off his shoulders. He fell hard against the bar, with blood and gore trailing out the side of his mouth.

"What do you think you are doing?"

snapped the senator. "This wasn't the agreement.

You were supposed to take them elsewhere-this place belongs to me-what on earth are you

thinking?"

The woman said nothing. She stood by the bar watching, as her a.s.sistants lowered the choking girl to the floor-watching, as the girl flopped and thrashed, the tightened bag revealing every last contortion of her dying face. When at last the horrible death spasms were at an end and the girls lifeless corpse lay, arched horribly on the cold, hard floor, the woman in the hat finally spoke.

"Your job is done and for that you have our thanks senator."

"Now wait a second. I ain't done lady, not by a long shot. When the new wave of righteousness comes, I am going to be sitting in the oval office. I am the architect of the new south, the savior of new world order-none of this would have been possible with out me."

"But you murdered these good people here, didn't you senator? That cannot go unpunished." The senator's eyes widened with sudden understanding. "I am protected, protected I tell you-don't you understand-I am the architect, the apostle. My contribution to the future of mankind is sacred beyond the judgment of man."

The men in black had him now, holding him tight like they held the girl.

The woman in the hat nodded quietly, moved in close and whispered, "If you don't want this to hurt, you better hold out your arm." "I am protected!"

The flat edged blow hit the senator hard in the windpipe. He let out a horrible, strangled gasp and his body slumped into the arms of his captors. He tried in vain to draw breath, but it was no use. The woman in the hat removed the bra.s.s knuckles and gently ma.s.saged her gloved fingers. She reached inside her jacket and drew out a black Sig Sauer 226. A sad, ironic smile twisted at her lips and she said, "Lovers tiff-a horrible thing-but your adoring public, I am sure they will understand senator." She drew out a bulbous black silencer from her coat pocket and attached it slowly, lovingly to the end of the pistol, ensuring that is was fully and tightly fixed. Then she looked at him thoughtfully, "Tell me, all that talk about minorities in your campaign senator-you actually believe any of that s.h.i.+t?"

The senator gave her a terrified look. The woman in the hat nodded thoughtfully, "Uh-huh. That's what I thought." The senator was writhing feebly now, not quite knowing what was coming next, but joining the dots anyway. They were just trying to scare him, throw the fear on him, so he would keep quiet about the governor and his little wh.o.r.e. That is what they were doing, surely?

The woman stood close now, so close he could feel the softness of her blouse; smell the allure of her scent reaching for his groin. She grasped his hand, prying the hard black handle of the gun between his reluctant fingers-then, as her gloved hand closed over his, she forced him to aim at the p.r.o.ne body of the governor.

"We have to make it look good, you know that don't you?" she whispered, her mouth so close he could almost feel the lipstick on his face. The senator closed his eyes, felt his bladder open wide. She squeezed his hand once then twice, the gun made a sinister phut-phut noise.

The senator kept his eyes closed tight. He felt the spreading wetness in is groin, felt his captors spin him around, in a horrible deathly embrace. Again she squeezed his hand phut-phut.

The senator choked back a scream then heard himself pleading over and over again, "Don't shoot me. Please, don't shoot me."

The woman laughed, it was a light, ugly laugh, infused with contempt. "I wouldn't dream of shooting you senator, that would be far too easy wouldn't it?"

He opened his eyes; saw the bullet holes in the window. Saw that the jagged gaping holes had crazed the reinforced gla.s.s with a million razor cracks. He didn't have time to draw breath-no time to scream, because he found himself being lifted bodily and pitched forwards, catapulted into the crazed surface of the gla.s.s, as though he were being launched through a car windscreen. But, there was nothing to restrain him, no seat belt, no air bag, just the shattered pane of gla.s.s between him and the endless night outside.

He felt his face hit, felt his head embed in the gla.s.s, felt a million razor shards tearing at his flesh. Dazed, his eyes filled with a kaleidoscope of dazzling light. What kind of h.e.l.l was this? It took a long moment for him to realize what had happened-but when he did, he gasped with terror-his hands and feet scrabbling desperately to gain some kind of traction-any kind of traction.

He was embedded. Embedded in the window. The safety gla.s.s had prevented his fall and now, here he was, his body inside the building, his head outside-looking down 48 floors, to the traffic-clogged streets below. A horrible strangled cry escaped his lips. He pressed against the broken gla.s.s with desperate, clawing fingers and felt it bow outwards in response. He peddled with his feet, but it was no use. He was trapped. Embedded in the window, with only a necklace of broken gla.s.s to prevent him somersaulting forwards into the deathly void beyond.

A sharp pain in his rear-as though a stiletto heeled foot was pressing hard against him, forcing him forward. The giant pane of gla.s.s groaned, a shattered beast in its final death throes. The senator heard its death call and struggled wildly, in a final desperate bid to regain his footing. The toughened gla.s.s sagged outwards, inching slowly towards a final catastrophic failure; the senator's eyes popped wide. There was no escape-the window exploded outwards, into a million sparkling fragments, and at last he was free, the dark air rus.h.i.+ng past him-s.n.a.t.c.hing away his screams, as he tumbled downwards into the endless night.

02.

Los Angeles California Karyn Kane sat curbside in her white Mercedes, parked up under a palm tree between San Vincente and Sunset. It was a ritzy kind of neighborhood, an up market residential enclave known as Brentwood. The boulevard was lined with mission style mansions, walled off from the world in white adobe compounds. Lush subtropical foliage and over watered landscaping burgeoned from every lot in the street. This was a nice place to live, a safe place; a place where the very wealthy could make pretend that they were like every body else.

Sitting there in her conservative business clothes with a copy of the Los Angeles Times sports section folded over her knee, and a take out coffee cup positioned next to the gear s.h.i.+ft, she might have looked to the casual observer like a hard working business executive, or realtor, taking a time out to make a call on her cell phone, before jumping into yet another hectic round of meetings, then lunch, at some chi-chi place in Beverly Hills- the sort of place that served sculpted mini plates of endive salad and Ahi-tuna, at a price point so punis.h.i.+ng that only the most upwardly mobile would entertain the idea of dining there.

Karyn Kane was no up business executive, nor was she a west side realtor looking to make a multi-million dollar showing before lunch. She was an agent for the National Clandestine Service, Deep Five division, specializing in beyond the rim operations-the delineation code for CIA covert action operations that extended outside of the confining boundaries of United States Law.

Looking in the rearview mirror, to check the street behind, Karyn caught a quick glance of her reflection, staring back from the rear-view- dark shoulder length hair tied back tight behind her head and big framed Gucci sungla.s.ses in beetle black. The make up made her dark, suntanned skin look pallid-like some Westside yenta heading out for a coffee-morning fundraiser at the Getty Inst.i.tute. The thought amused her-Inst.i.tute was industry slang for Israel's intelligence agency Mossad-the kind of crew who did their coffee mornings extrajudicial style, with Uzi sub machine guns.

Karyn shot a furtive glance down the street. A jogger in powder pink sweats pounded by on the sidewalk. She was cute, blonde and had a deep chestnut tan that said she ran five miles a day at least. Light morning traffic was heading out now, pulling clear of the million dollar driveways and heading out down the palm fringed boulevard-the usual kind of rides, high-end pristine, with dealer plates, s.h.i.+ning forecourt new. Then she saw him, coming out the front door, a block and a half down, on the other side of the street, Reed Goodman-the sniper. Reed was looking good, in casual khakis and a too tight t-s.h.i.+rt that showed he was still in shape. Of course he was. Reed wasn't the kind of guy who could let things go. All those years of Special-Forces training, there was no way he was going to let civvy-street sloppiness seep into the mix. Except, he was slipping-otherwise he would have noticed her for sure. There was no way the old Reed, the man she had known for two tours in Afghanistan would let a detail like that slip by him. Sure, her disguise would fool most people, but she had been scoping out the Goodman residence for an hour and a half at least. He had to have seen her.

Karyn sat forwards in her seat-Reed was carrying Carly's stuff, juggling an arm full of bags and sports equipment, like he was going to drop it all over the drive before he even got the door of the SUV open-the sap. Karyn bit her lip. Imagining what it would be like to be over there, helping him load up the Range Rover for the school run or some other family outing. That could never be possible, not now, not with all that had happened, since those dark days in upper Helmand.

A black Audi sedan sped down the block in the outside lane, slowing for the stop sign, it made a snappy u-turn at the limit and pulled over into the red zone. Karyn frowned. Where was the woman- the older woman? Karyn checked her cell phone, dialed into the secret cameras she had planted inside the Goodman residence-there she was, checking her reflection in the hall mirror, the skinny little b.i.t.c.h. What the h.e.l.l did a guy like Reed see in this pampered little floozy?

Julia Goodman. Karyn didn't like the sound of it. What the h.e.l.l had Reed been thinking, marrying a woman like that, an old money socialite from the uptight East? Sure she had money. She said her business was commercial real estate, but her billionaire father had bank rolled her from the start. Everything had been handed to her. She hadn't had to struggle, or work for anything-The spoilt b.i.t.c.h, it wasn't like she had to kill anyone to get by.

A shadow in the driver's side mirror-a Cadillac Escalade winding to a halt, and double- parking five cars back. Karyn gave a soft curse, and ran her hand inside the copy of the Times that sat across her knee. Taking hold of the handle of her Sig Sauer 229. She slowly scoped a 360. The whole neighborhood kicking off now-A dog walker, in a golf-caddy windbreaker coming around the block, with a Malinois-a Belgian Shepherd, for Christ's sake. This wasn't the kind of neighborhood for a Malinois-nor was it the kind of city for a navy blue windbreaker on and eighty plus morning, with humidity heading subtropical. Sliding back in her seat, Karyn angled the pa.s.senger side mirror into the blind spot and saw him coming down the pavement-patent leather shoes, stay press chinos and a Brooks Brothers b.u.t.ton down with pencil point stripes. The jacket was casual linen, a sartorial salute to west coast casual. But Jack Senegar head of the CIA was nothing if not understated. Jack was the kind of guy who looked like an insurance salesman, or that friend of a friend at the golf club, who might be a county litigator, but looks so una.s.suming you never did get to ask him what the h.e.l.l he did for a living. Karyn groaned. The Agency circus was in town and they had her boxed. She popped the door latches and waited for the arrival. Coming alongside the car, Jack Senegar opened the door and sat down in the pa.s.senger seat without needing an invite. He sat there for a long moment then said, "Well, isn't this nice?"

Karyn said nothing.

Senegar peered down the street, watching as the morning routine unfolded at Casa Goodman.

He watched, as Reed loaded up the SUV and made a tour of the vehicle, checking for points that might need attention. He watched as Reed held open the door for his wife-the perfect gentleman. The wife looked good, much younger than her forty years, She sashayed down the driveway in her floaty summer clothes, cell phone held to one ear, the latest designer purse hanging heavy on her other arm, a laptop computer clearly visible from the top of the bag. Senegar pa.s.sed no comment. At length he said, "Here comes the girl now. "

The young girl was pretty and tan with long dark hair. The kid was maybe ten years old at the most, skipping happily down the driveway with a drippy breakfast sandwich still clutched tightly in her hand.