Although terrorism had not yet made a mark on Canada, it had sickened him to see what had befallen his historical brothers to the south – the brothers that had rebelled against the King – the black sheep of the family. They were still family though, even if they didn’t know it and acted like a spoiled kid sometimes. Keel had worked with American Special Forces in his past and had made lifelong friends with some of them. They were his brothers in arms and he felt the two countries were brothers as well. Brothers that had a common historical background, even if one had broken away from the empire at an early age while the other hadn’t.
Now was not the time for reflection however. There was work to be done. Work that he considered local terrorism. A man had been brutally murdered and left to be found by his loving wife and young child. Inexcusable. It was not going to go unpunished. The “end man” would see to that.
Upon arriving at the top of the slope and to the left of his target house, Keel took a moment to let the sounds of his surroundings settle. Crouching under a huge hanging tree and amid brush, Keel did a quick surroundings check. Not a sound was heard. The house to the left was coated in darkness. Not a light to be seen anywhere. Not very smart. It literally radiated to anyone wanting to break in that no one was home. The house in question however did have a back patio light on, right above the door.
Keel stealthily glided up to the back of the house. He had no intention of standing out in the open underneath the back porch light. Using his compact night scope, he had previously noted that the left side ground floor bedroom window was slightly open. Opening the window slowly, Keel pulled himself up and into what turned out to be Kevin’s bedroom. A picture of Kevin with some buddies on a beach in Mexico was prominently displayed on top of a dark wood dresser placed against the side wall, next to a queen sized bed.. Ignoring everything else in the room, Keel moved up to the door and listened for any noise in the immediate vicinity. Only a faint, clinking noise reached Keel’s ears. Silently opening the door, Keel slid out and down the hall. There, the hallway opened up into the kitchen.
“Hey Carl. You want a Corona or a Pale Ale”, screamed Kevin Whitewall.
“ A Pale Ale”, screamed back a slurred voice from the basement.
This voice, Keel knew, belonged to the primary target, Carl Bropen. The murderer of Nelson Graves, oil engineer and husband to wife Glenda and father to daughter Lilly. Bropen was one of the Green Men, and one of the most radical. He was responsible for multiple environmentally based attacks on the oil industry as well the softwood lumber industry across Alberta and British Columbia. Until this point, he had been a perpetual irritating pest, like a petulant child. The murder of Graves was an obvious intensification of his radical views.
First however, Keel had to deal with Kevin Whitewall. Although he was not the target, killing him would offer a viable motive to the local police and it would cover the fact that Bropen was the primary target.
Bropen was staring into the open refrigerator. Two bottles of Pale Ale were on the top of the kitchen counter next to an Edmonton Oilers bottle opener. The door opening away from where Keel was standing, just barely visible behind the hallway wall.
Keel moved out from behind the wall and quietly towards Kevin, his back to Keel. Standing right behind Kevin, Keel quickly struck out and wrapped his left arm under Kevin’s chin and using his right arm to brace his left, Keel had wrapped him up in a basic sleeper hold, cutting off the blood supply to his head and rendering him unconscious in a matter of second. Keel then slowly lowered him to the kitchen floor. He then looked around the kitchen, noticing a meat carving knife on the far side of the counter. On the kitchen table was a credit card and a small, 2-½ inch hollow tube. It looked like it was made of ivory. Only the best for Kevin.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Chapter 4 - good night
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Chapter 3 - laying in wait
The coolness of the prairie night can feel ominous, but the man in black is at home. This is when he feels the most comfortable. This is when he feels truly in control. He knows exactly where he is and he knows what exactly is surrounding him. He can feel it. He can sense it.
He has been lying on the cool moist ground surrounded by nature’s camouflage. The tall Pine trees and thick underbrush give him comfort. He has been there for over two hours. It is now 8pm. It is time to work. It is time for the “end man.”
For this evening, Keel decided to wear a black lightweight climber’s Ferrata Hoodie. It was snug and stretchable without being tight and the built-in hood covered enough of his face that he didn’t have to worry about needing a balaclava. On the left bicep was a small zippered pocket that contained a small device that would be introduced to the target. To complement to the hoodie, Keel decided upon a pair of tar colored Patagonia Stretch Jackalope Pants. Both were from Mountain Equipment Co-op, a co-operative clothing company that specialized in Canadian outdoor activities, like hiking, and extreme sports like rock climbing. For civilian jobs, Keel had found their products to be exceptional and appropriate. Military gear stuck out in Canada. If you looked more like an outdoor enthusiast, you tended to blend in. Checking the time, Keel decided it was time to move. It was 8:15pm.
The man in black starts to move. He moves in a crouched position, being careful where he places his feet, avoiding branches and twigs that might snap and create an unwanted noise. Moving up the gentle slop in the greenbelt behind the residential area, Keel knows he is directly down and slightly to the left of his target house. Information had reveled that the family living on that side of the target house was away.
The chances of being spotted are almost nil, however there is always the possibility of the improbable, like kids teenagers off in the woods drinking or smoking some pot, but Keel had scouted out the area and was confident in his reconnaissance skills. This is what a point man was trained for and Keel had been on point many times. These days however, Keel was point, backup and the whole unit all at the same time. Just the way he liked it. He preferred being responsible for only himself when out in the field, even if the field was a greenbelt in the middle of a major urban center. The field came in many designs and it wasn’t only in military combat situations. Not anymore. Not since 9/11 had come to North America.
Although terrorism had not yet made a mark on Canada, it had sickened him to see what had befallen his historical brothers to the south – the brother that had rebelled against the King – the black sheep of the family. And they were still family, even if they didn’t know it and acted like a spoiled kid sometimes. Keel had worked with American Special Forces in his past and had made lifelong friends with some of them. They were his brothers in arms and he felt the two countries were brothers as well. Brothers that had a common background, even if one had broken off official relations with the Matriarch while the other hadn’t.
Now was not the time for reflection however. There was work to be done. Work that he considered local terrorism. A man had been brutally murdered and left to be found by his loving wife and young child. Inexcusable. It was not going to go unpunished. The “end man” would see to that.
Upon arriving at the top of the slope and to the left of his target, Keel took a moment to let the sounds of his surroundings settle. Crouching under a huge hanging tree and some brush, Keel did a quick surroundings check. The house to the left was coated in darkness. Not a light to be seen anywhere. Not very smart. It literally radiated to anyone wanting to break in that no one was home. The house in question however did have a back patio light on, right above the door.
Chapter 2 - the grad student
The North Saskatchewan River, lying at the bottom of a beautiful majestic valley, runs right through the city of Edmonton. On the south side of the river, Karson Delly sat in his lab in the science building at the University of Alberta. A graduate student, he had been there since 8am. It was now 7pm.
Karson had baby blue eyes and his dirty blond hair was more gray now. The last facial comparison he had heard was to Chandler of Friends. He was somewhat tall, about 6 feet and had an average build. He wasn’t skinny or heavy, however his weight had fluctuated quite a bit over the last few years. About three years ago, he had gone through a minor depression and had dropped down to about 170lbs. A friend had finally been able to help break him out and Karson had rekindled an old weight lifting interest. Within four months, his weight was back to 190lbs and he was bench-pressing 2 ½ plates and bar curling 1 plate.
The weight lifting had died off again, except for some minor stuff, but he was feeling good overall. After getting through high school with an average just high enough to get into university, and then an uneventful first year in the social sciences, he had found his calling in engineering. From that moment, he had excelled and had moved right to the top of his graduating class after four years.
Now working on his Masters in Chemical Engineering, he was continuing on a project that he had started during his fourth year, with the permission and support of Dr. Johns. John’s was a professor at the U of A and a consultant for CHOCAN Oil, one of the largest oil companies in the country that was based out of Calgary, just a few hours south of the city.
He was just about to stick his face back into the microscope that was situated on the table directly to his left when he heard the door to the lab rattle. It was locked so as to not be disturbed and in a lame attempt at avoiding the unavoidable for tonight.
“Karson, open this door right now. I know you’re in there. I know you’ve been in there since this morning. Now get your bag and get out here before I pick this feeble lock and drag you out. I told you last night that tonight was for beer and I’m not taking any excuses this time. Your black molasses will be waiting for you there tomorrow morning, unless of course I can get you so hammered that you’ll want to rip your own head off in the morning. Now hurry up. I’m thirsty and the RATT is waiting for you.’ RATT being a local university bar called the Room At The Top, found on the top floor of the Students Union Building.
Karson smiled to himself as he listened to his good friend Digger rattle the door some more and mumble something about finding women, or women were waiting or something to that effect. If they were waiting, it wasn’t for him or for Digger.
His shyness often got the better of him and his early graying hair didn’t help either. He had had good luck with women in his late teens and early 20’s, but it seemed to get more difficult as he got older. Karson imagined it was probably the same for women. Strange it was so hard. He grabbed his backpack and walked over to the door and unlocked it. Opening it up revealed Digger leaning against the wall in the deserted hallway with an eager smile on his face. “Hey Digger, been waiting long?”
The guy he called Digger was in fact Peter Diggins, making his nickname obvious. He and Karson had met some years ago when they had been thrown together as roommates during their first year at Red Deer College – located exactly halfway between their respective hometowns, Edmonton for Karson and Calgary for Peter. He was short, overweight and had a strong affinity for beer, which explained his prominent Buddha belly. A history major who focused on African history, Digger had turned out to be a good and loyal friend. He could sometimes come across a little rough and perhaps more than a little crude, especially to women when in the company of his good companion beer, however Karson trusted him lock, stock and barrel.
“Just long enough to open these up,” Digger replied as he swung his hands out from behind his back holding a bottle of Big Rock Traditional in each. “Just an appetizer before the main course. Let’s go Kar,” he said as he handed one to Karson. “How’s the molasses tonight?”
“Wet and sticky as ever.”
“Well, let’s see if we can find a couple of women to match that tonight,” laughed Digger. “Or we’ll just have enough beer to compensate.”
They headed down the hall to the stairs and then finally out the front door. After about five minutes, they reached the Students Union Building and the elevator that took them up to the ninth floor. When the doors opened, they were greeted with the sounds of students and their nonacademic rituals.
The bar known as RATT didn’t look much like a bar. More like a cafeteria. Cheaply upholstered chairs surrounded cheap tables and the room held a capacity of about 300 people – although limits were often tested. On each table at least three pitchers of beer could be seen with waiters and waitresses maneuvering around the tables carrying even more for their thirsty clientele. Some local Canadian flavor shot out over the speakers making it impossible to overhear any conversation unless you were sitting right at the table.
Karson and Digger made their way through the throngs of people to the back where some familiar faces were waiting. Seated at two combined tables were four people – Jolene and Shelly, Josh and Jason and three pitchers. The whole gang was there. It was time to drink.
Chapter 1 - the 'end man'
It was still early in the morning when Keel left the office and walked out of the building from which he had just had the short meeting. Those meetings rarely lasted long. They didn’t need to be long. Not for what he did. He was an “end man”. If and when there was problem within the organization that needed to be ended, he did it. He did not work within the Human Resources department though. There was no HR department. Not for this organization. Not for the ‘Order of 6’. He didn’t even really know how many people worked for it. The only people he had ever talked and met with was Mr. Fremore and the other man, Mr. Angus. Usually though, it was just Fremore. He knew Mr. Angus didn’t live in Calgary, of that he was quite sure. In actual fact, he was positive that it wasn’t anywhere in Canada. He didn’t really care though. That information wasn’t relevant to him. Currently, only Fremore was relevant to him – the man who had recruited him.
Overall, he liked Fremore. During and after the recruitment, the man had always been direct and blunt about the work he was to do. The man had no hesitation about anything, especially for the work Keel did. He liked that. Respected that. The man had stones. And that was rare he thought to himself. Not many people had the stomach for blood. It was a job that needed done though, and more often than people would realize. Sometimes certain people who interfered with how things worked had to go – and he made them go, he ended them. His recent background suited his current profession perfectly.
Keel even enjoyed the work – and the perks. It wasn’t that he enjoyed killing, although it did have a bit of a rush to it – a bit of a power trip, but it was just that he was good at it and he liked being good at what he did. Throughout his childhood, he had often been overlooked not because of his shyness, which it wasn’t at all, but because of his remoteness. He seemed to give an aura of just not caring, which was not true at all. He had always just preferred to keep his mouth shut instead of spouting off. He was more of a listener rather than a talker, until it was time to say something. He had friends, but not buddies, which had caused a few problems in his recent background where teamwork was essential. He had been able to work it out, but had shown an affinity still for doing things by himself - another reason for his recruitment.
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
Keel had been all around the world - England, Germany, the States, Australia, the Middle East and also into Asia. And yet his favorite was still the quiet, low-visible and almost invisible area of western Canada – Alberta and B.C. No one outside of Canada looked at that area. It was Montreal, Toronto, Vancouver or nothing, and usually then even nothing. CNN barely even covered Canada. The country to the north and the largest trading partner of the world’s largest everything, economy and military, never got the time of day. Canada was off the radar in the land of super-sized French fries, larger than life SUVs and the world’s most powerful military.
The Order of 6 wasn’t complaining though. It was exactly how they wanted it. The less Canada was noticed, the more invisible it was, the better. From their point of view, “If they don’t know you’re there, they can’t see what you’re doing.” Behind the scenes is where all the action takes place anyways – and that is not for public consumption.
This area of Alberta and British Columbia had the beautiful and unique blend of vast prairies, thick-forested regions balanced off with a historical desert area and topped off with the remarkable beauty of the Rocky Mountains. They may not be the oldest mountains in the world, but Keel would put them up against any others in the world. This day however was not for beauty. No. It was for ‘ending’. It was time to go to work.
Behind the wheel, Keel downshifted into second gear as he turned onto the tree-lined residential street. The houses here were large. This was an area with money. He even knew a judge with the provincial Supreme Court lived nearby. For this reason, he had rented an Acura Integra. Not the most expensive car, but one that would blend in. After a few turns, he came upon a cul-de-sac. There it was, # 1625. The house was a three-level Victorian with white stucco. Drapes had been pulled across the picture window. A dark blue Lexus SVU was parked in the drive with plates that said, “NOTURS,” which read as “not yours”. The vehicle, Keel knew, belonged to Kevin Whitewall. Twenty-eight years old and spoiled to the point of annoyance to anyone who met him. His parents, Margie and Buster Whitewall were in Vegas gambling. All of this was in the dossier Keel had encrypted into a file on his Blackberry. He didn’t need to look at it. He had memorized it. It was not what he was thinking of though. There were three points that were on his mind at the moment.
First, Kevin was supposed to be home alone and Kevin had a special relationship with the target.
Second, the house was center-left on the cul-de-sac with two pertinent features in the back. Both side property lines in the back were marked with eight-foot high fences for privacy and more importantly, the rear property line was met with a greenbelt.
The third and most relevant thought in Keel’s mind went back to point number one. Kevin was supposed to be home alone all week while his parent’s were away. He was not though. Kevin had a guest - a guest that was in hiding from not only the Order, but from his own organization as well. The reason his own people had not found him here was because Kevin Whitewall was unknown to them. He was not a friend of the target. He was his dealer. Kevin was a coke dealer for “those who fell into in the appropriate class of economic standing.” For a guy with a university degree in business, but no job, Kevin made $200,000 a year on top of what his parents gave to him.
The target fell into the appropriate economic class. In fact, the target was Kevin’s best customer and that was the reason why he would not turn him away if the target needed a place to crash. That would be unfortunate mistake for Kevin.
Keel brought his left arm up and his eyes went to the crystal. It read 5:04pm. The sun wouldn’t be setting for about 2 more hours. He would be waiting a while past that however to make his house call. He glanced around one last time and noted that all was as it should be. He had time to kill, he thought. Such an appropriate phrase to use this evening.
He put the car back into gear and pulled away slowly, not even looking into the rear-view mirror to see the house. He had seen all he needed to. The house wasn’t going anywhere. Nor were the occupants.
Prologue - oil engineer murdered
At first it was confusion, followed quickly by surprise, shock, and finally ending in fear. Pain coursed through his body. The focal point being in his throat. Taste suddenly hitting his senses. The taste of .... death.
Calgary, Alberta, Canada.
The story in the Calgary Reporter read:
Oil Engineer Murdered
EDMONTON - Nelson Graves, an engineer and employee of CanOil, Canada’s third largest oil company was found murdered in his home last night in Calgary. Police are releasing few details, but sources say Graves was found covered in oil.
Apparently, Graves who works in Ft. McMurry on the Alberta Oil Sands project was in town for the weekend for his 12-year-old son’s birthday. Grave’s had arrived early to surprise his son while he and his mother were out shopping.
The killer apparently broke into the home in the afternoon when no one was there. The perpetrator then waited for Mr. Graves to come home in time for the birthday party. Mrs. Graves and her son, upon returning from shopping discovered the body in the garage and called the police.
The police have no suspects at this time and are considering this an environmentally motivated killing.
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He wasn’t covered in oil. He had been forced to drink it. Someone had used duct tape to secure him to a chair in the garage and had then shoved a funnel down his throat.
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“It’s appalling what he did. He’s obviously gone renegade on them and I don’t think they’ll be able to control him. Not even G1. His father will see to that,” said the man in dark gray Ermenegildo Zegna suit. A lean 180 lbs and balanced over a 6’3” frame with delicate silver hair perfectly combed back, Mr. Fremore sat behind a large cherry wood desk that had nothing on it, except a telephone and a Cuban Cohiba resting gently in a crystal ashtray. The view from the window behind him revealed the rest of the downtown skyline. It was from one of the tallest buildings in the city of Calgary. The desk was perfectly clean and shined as if it had just been polished. The office was large, but not excessively so - just enough to allow for a small sitting area consisting of a small couch and two chairs off to the side of the desk area. Two panels in the wall were visible. Both were slightly open - one revealing a fully stocked bar. Two glasses in use were just barely visible. A touch of colored gloss on the rim of the near empty one. The other cabinet door expelling a view and odour of a built-in humidor. “How soon can you do it?” He spoke to a man sitting in a chair in front of his desk.
“I’ll drive up after we finish and review the layout. Tomorrow night at the latest I expect. I don’t foresee any problems. He thinks he’s covered and is probably quite proud of himself right about now. He does have some resources, however as you said, he’s renegade, so most likely gone AWOL on them.” The man speaking was in his early thirties, about 5’ 11” and weighed a hard 195 pounds underneath his jeans and jacket. You wouldn’t think much if you saw him. He had short, lightening hair and an average, but pleasant face. Quite ordinary really, except for two features.
“Good. I want that bastard to suffer for what he did. How you do it up to you, as always. However, on this one I would like to make a request.”
A small but intense look of concern crossed the face of the man listening. Never before had his boss ever said this before. The man called Fremore caught the look and smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to tell you how to do your job. It’s just a general request. If possible, I want you to make that man suffer. And suffer hard. I knew Graves. Not intimately mind you, but I had met him before and he is – was a good man. I’m going to make sure his wife and son are well taken care of, but this is just for my own peace of mind. I want to be able to close my eyes tonight knowing I did something about it.”
For such a powerful, calculating and often cold man, Fremore knew the virtue of loyalty.
“I’ll see what I can do, sir.” Said with just the thinnest of smiles crossing his face.”
There was very little that made Fremore nervous, but that thin smile from that one man was one of them. He never showed his nervousness though. That would be weak. That would be giving away a piece of information. He didn’t do that. Never! But still, that smile would cause an internal shudder every time he saw it - even more so when it was directed towards him. Yes, Keel made him just a little bit uneasy. It was a strange balance with Keel. Trust mixed with fear ever since that first day he had sought him out for the Order. It was understandable however, considering Keel’s background.
“That smile of his still gets to you, doesn’t it? I can sense it in you”. A woman with sharp features, dressed in an expensive looking beige suit had walked into the office from behind the bar cabinet, picking up the nearly empty glass as she entered. It had a swivel built into it allowing a secondary room to exist for viewing guests in Fremore’s office.
“Do you think he can”, asked Fremore.
“There isn’t much he can’t sense in people. Especially fear. Although, that usually comes late for them. He always seems so, … unremarkable, until he gives you that smile”.
“And then your spine starts screaming at you to run. Thank god he’s on our side.”
“And he is on our side. He’s a good, decent, loyal man, who just happens to have a very special talent”.
“Well, let’s get our own senses back in order. We know this job will be done with no complications. So, how about I take you out for some breakfast, my dear, Ms. Granger?”
“Sounds lovely”.
“And then dinner later”, Fremore posed in a way that asked if that was possible.
“Perhaps. Let’s see how the day pans out”.
And with that, Fremore walked from out behind his desk and kissed the woman he called Ms. Granger on the left cheek and lead her out of the office by her elbow. A smile was on both faces as they left.
