The Proscenium Conspiracy (Roger Murphy Part 1)

By Steven Roberts

Chapter 1

The shadowy figure emerged from his hiding place and blended into the winter’s freezing murky darkness. His quarry was just ahead. The evasive behavior of the quarry told the hunter something. The quarry was afraid. In addition to the fear running rampant, the quarry knew a hunter stalked him. “I will bring this to an end, very shortly,” the hunter mumbled to himself. “My long wait for you is finally coming to an end.” The shadowy hunter shivered then braced himself from the penetrating cold, as he grew more impatient. He disregarded his training, his experience and his gut feeling, in closing the gap, to nearly within striking distance. The prey ducked quickly around a corner, into a darkened, deserted alley. The sounds of quickened footsteps on the dry snow made the sound of tearing Velcro fasteners apart. Those sounds had barely been distinguishable, muffled in the blizzard, now beginning to howl like a freight train. Although unseen in the swirling snow it had been obvious to the hunter’s trained hearing, the prey had taken flight. The hunter chased toward the unseen fleeing subject with every ounce of energy he possessed, trying to make up for the widened chasm between them. His lungs felt like bursting from breathing the freezing air. The two men ran to the end of an alley piled with debris and snow.
Trapped, the prey turned to face his pursuer, “Who are you? What do you want?” he yelled in an indignant tone, surprising for his perilous situation.
“Your control has sent me,” the figure replied in his hushed voice, barely above a whisper.
The man’s eyes couldn’t hide his surprise, yet he regained his composure quickly, “Then you have made a terrible mistake. I’m not who you must think. I am with the government.”
“I have made no mistake. My orders are to watch your eyes when I tell you what comes next, to watch your eyes as they lose life, and to watch you die up close,” suddenly the shadow man sprang onto his victim, using one slashing motion with a long, thin blade knife. The blade struck at and across his throat, ripping a long trail of destruction, instantly causing the man to collapse. The precision delivered slash came with practice. It was a slash that would allow the victim to live for a precious few seconds.
“The New World Order once embraced you as one of its own. You became a traitor, Pavel. That’s why you’ve been killed,” the shadow man whispered.
Pavel held his throat as blood seeped between his fingers then his body slumped to the ground. The horrified look in the eyes of the quarry told the shadowy figure the message meant something. Then the hand that held the throat dropped away.
The killer bent over, examining the dead man’s wrist for the mark, a final validation of the victim’s identity. Pavel’s death had completed his mission.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Roberts
• Release date: Dec 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9780984945207

Steven Roberts

Writing: Steve has written eight books, non-fiction books, action adventure novels and an anthology of short stories, poems and songs. He has spoken to groups about surviving cancer, the challenges of entrepreneurship, and writing books, as well as presentations of his books.Community: Steve is currently Chairman of the Dearborn Library Foundation and works with Habitat for Humanity in Florida. He is the founder of authors’ clubs in Florida and Michigan.Personal: Steve worked in the automotive industry in Europe and Detroit, later operating his own management consulting firm. Steve and two partners also built and operated a golf course near Jackson, Michigan. Steve and his wife, Jane, live in Dearborn, Michigan and spend winters at Kensington CC in Naples, Florida. They have four married children and twelve grandchildren.

Book preview

The Proscenium Conspiracy

By

Steven L. Roberts

The following was inspired by true events.

The Proscenium Conspiracy

Copyright 2011

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-0-9849452-0-7

By

Steven L. Roberts, All rights reserved

www.stevenlroberts.com

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Summary

Intrigue, terrorists, twisted government officials on both sides of the crumbling Iron Curtin, make for an exciting and intense read. Who the enemy is may cause concern.

Also by Steven L. Roberts

Wildflowers

The President’s Own

Jericho Papers

Homegrown

The Lake

This story is dedicated

to my loving wife,

Victoria Mary Roberts,

who taught me to love and laugh

and who remains a constant source of inspiration.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Now, the story can finally be told.

While the wall separating East Germany from West Germany was being torn down, a new era had already begun. With the end of the Cold War, a new threat to world peace and prosperity poked its ugly head onto the world scene. This is a story about that emerging threat.

Chapter 1

The shadowy figure emerged from his hiding place and blended into the winter’s freezing murky darkness. His quarry was just ahead. The evasive behavior of the quarry told the hunter something. The quarry was afraid. In addition to the fear running rampant, the quarry knew a hunter stalked him. I will bring this to an end, very shortly, the hunter mumbled to himself. My long wait for you is finally coming to an end. The shadowy hunter shivered then braced himself from the penetrating cold, as he grew more impatient. He disregarded his training, his experience and his gut feeling, in closing the gap, to nearly within striking distance. The prey ducked quickly around a corner, into a darkened, deserted alley. The sounds of quickened footsteps on the dry snow made the sound of tearing Velcro fasteners apart. Those sounds had barely been distinguishable, muffled in the blizzard, now beginning to howl like a freight train. Although unseen in the swirling snow it had been obvious to the hunter’s trained hearing, the prey had taken flight. The hunter chased toward the unseen fleeing subject with every ounce of energy he possessed, trying to make up for the widened chasm between them. His lungs felt like bursting from breathing the freezing air. The two men ran to the end of an alley piled with debris and snow.

Trapped, the prey turned to face his pursuer, Who are you? What do you want? he yelled in an indignant tone, surprising for his perilous situation.

Your control has sent me, the figure replied in his hushed voice, barely above a whisper.

The man’s eyes couldn’t hide his surprise, yet he regained his composure quickly, Then you have made a terrible mistake. I’m not who you must think. I am with the government.

I have made no mistake. My orders are to watch your eyes when I tell you what comes next, to watch your eyes as they lose life, and to watch you die up close, suddenly the shadow man sprang onto his victim, using one slashing motion with a long, thin blade knife. The blade struck at and across his throat, ripping a long trail of destruction, instantly causing the man to collapse. The precision delivered slash came with practice. It was a slash that would allow the victim to live for a precious few seconds.

The New World Order once embraced you as one of its own. You became a traitor, Pavel. That’s why you’ve been killed, the shadow man whispered.

Pavel held his throat as blood seeped between his fingers then his body slumped to the ground. The horrified look in the eyes of the quarry told the shadowy figure the message meant something. Then the hand that held the throat dropped away.

The killer bent over, examining the dead man’s wrist for the mark, a final validation of the victim’s identity. Pavel’s death had completed his mission.

Chapter 2

New York City 1995

Roger was about to doze off.

Wake up Roger! Kevin snorted, I’ve spent too much in this room too

Roger waved is hand to quiet Kevin, It’s not a room. It’s a closet, at best, he whispered.

Kevin gave a low chuckle, The other guys call it ‘the basket’ you know. Bet even you can figure out why they call it that, huh?

Call it what you like, after spending so many hours in this place my eyes are blurred from fatigue, Roger whined as he returned his attention to the small hotel room at the end of the hall. This could have been accomplished remotely, you know. There’s no real reason to keep that room under constant surveillance this close, he returned his attention to the small television screen displaying the view from the tiny camera protruding from the wall and holding a large picture facing the room under surveillance.

Four days Roger, that’s how long it has been. I’m tired too. That makes both of us Kevin. I’ll bet the two agents on the street are tired of this as well. I don’t like it either. I don’t like working with the New York Task Force. I especially don’t like working in any investigation under ‘Supervisory Special Agent in Charge’, Charles Cramer. You know he is the latest ‘up and comer’ in the Secret Service, don’t you? Kevin ranted in a whispered and sarcastic tone. Anyway, you know it was Cramer himself who got us assigned to follow and observe our ‘subject’, don’t you?

If he didn’t I’d probably still be in hack, Kevin. I don’t think my file can take many more suspensions before the Service gives me the boot. How many warnings and reprimands will management allow before they pull the plug? I should have stayed in the Marine Corps, where they appreciated me more.

Aw shit, Roger, the Service would be lost without you. Who else can do what you do?

According to the Director and the Office of Professional Responsibility, apparently anyone can.

"Well anyway, the Marines were not all that happy with you after some of your indiscretions, as I remember.

Roger nodded and laughed. Ouch! Don’t remind me. I was blissfully trying to forget.

I know you always had the best intentions, Roger.

I would not have been promoted any higher. That’s a hell of a way to finish up an otherwise promising career, don’t you think?

Kevin nodded. His somberness was obvious. Well, there is that. So how does Cramer fit?

Roger shrugged his shoulders and turned his eyes to face Kevin. Apparently he asked the Director for me and by extension, you. So here we are. I have no idea why he would want me in his investigation. We have worked together in the past, without any problems. Maybe he thought he was reaching out to me for old time sake. For whatever reasons, I do consider his requesting me as a lifeline in an otherwise stormy sea.

Kevin smiled and chuckled, changing the subject. The suspect we are watching is with the Russian Mafia. I mean really, Roger. Doesn’t that sound bogus when you see where he’s living and what he’s been doing?"

Roger chuckled, I know, I know. He’s in the Russian Mafia, and by God, Cramer says so. Who in their right mind would argue with that?

Well I’m not seeing it. We have seen so called Russian Mafia types many times before, Roger. This guy is a little short of looking like any of those types.

You heard the orders, ‘follow, and report the subject’s activities.’ We file our reports only to Cramer. Cramer will make all decisions regarding the subject and his value to the task force. That’s a routine practice for his task force. The main focus for their investigation is the specific criminal activities of a particular cell of the New York City based Russian Mafia, one suspected of both credit card fraud and counterfeiting. I can understand Cramer’s reluctance to have any details of the investigation get out. Anyway, I have to watch my Ps and Qs on this assignment or I’ll probably get booted.

Kevin shook his head, No way. One day they’ll wake up and realize your abilities are in demand.

Roger laughed lightly, I hope it’s soon, I’m tired of being the scrapper in the crapper.

Kevin pointed in the direction of the subject’s door. This Gustav Patrinko’s behavior suggests that his stay is going to be an extended one. After four days of watching, we have nothing. A closed door is all we can report.

Roger nodded and whispered, I know. My patience is about gone with this effort. I told Cramer this was a waste of time, in as polite terms as I could muster. I expressed my misgivings about the Russian Mafia connection with Patrinko. Cramer was not happy.

So what do you think about Patrinko?

Roger yawned and rubbed his eyes, I think Patrinko is merely a Russian immigrant who is expecting to get a fresh start in life. Cramer, however, refused to accept that view when I told him earlier. Cramer said his orders had been clear. He wanted to keep the team on Patrinko until further notice. Roger shrugged then redirected his eyes and his attention back to Patrinko’s room.

Roger felt his eyelids getting heavier. He rubbed at them and stretched, although it didn’t help much. His thoughts drifted to the agents outside. The car was more comfortable than the basket. He wanted to sit back and have his favorite drink, Black Jack, neat and plentiful.

The two agents were down on the street watching for any threat from Patrinko’s friends, the Russian Mafia. He doubted that the Russian Mafia posed a problem to the team. He was willing to send the other agents home but he knew Cramer would go nuts if he did. Roger chuckled, thinking about causing Cramer such an irritation. Nevertheless, to do so would only increase the chasm between them. He and Cramer had worked together before Cramer became an SAIC. Roger had no real reason to be insubordinate to Cramer. Still, it was tempting just toying with the idea of causing Cramer even a tiny bit of discomfort. Such thoughts kept him awake for a little longer. Besides, his career was on the slow track anyway, mainly over being so outspoken, and maybe a little too much Jack Daniels, Black Label. It was safer for what was left of his career to keep focused on his assignment and not make waves, not even tiny ones. His most recent warning was that another bit of insubordination, no matter how small, might put him on a much longer suspension than those in the past. That was a polite way of saying a permanent suspension in the future waited for him.

His attention diverted back to his eyelids. He needed sleep soon. Eyelids were tricky. Without rest, they shut down, suddenly, without further warning. He was able to stay awake by positioning himself in a way so that when he dozed his head would fall and hit the back of chair he had near him. In the process, it hurt a little. He trained himself after several dozes to remain awake, or suffer the pain. The plan’s success had mixed results. He was barely able to stay focused. He knew it was a fight he was losing without a heavy dose of caffeine soon. His remedy would be coming soon. Kevin left and was rounding up a tanker of coffee. If only he could maintain his vigilance for just a little longer.

Suddenly, a crackle pierced the silence in his earpiece.

An agent on the street spoke excitedly, Roger! A big man entered into the lobby and went up the stairs. Heads up, he may be coming towards you!

Roger almost immediately saw the hall nearly go dark as a big man entered, obscuring the nearest small light. The man crept silently through the hall toward Patrinko’s door.

Roger then heard a crackle in his ear. The garbled voice in his earphone made him shudder. Roger rubbed at his ear, Yeah…yeah, I have him on my screen. It looks like he’s heading toward Patrinko’s room, he whispered.

Kevin’s here now. He’s coming up, said the second agent.

No! Wait yelled Roger, unable to finish. His briefly redirected attention was almost enough to miss the big man’s first action. The door went flying off its hinges as he kicked at it. He pulled a machine pistol from under his coat and let a clip of forty rounds loose in one nonstop burst. No loud shots broke the silence, but Roger’s trained ear caught the noise of death, the ominous pop-pop sounds as each round fired, and the unmistakable sounds of spent cartridge casings cast from the automatic. Even the slide for the automatic mechanism was quiet, but the weapon made that barely recognizable sound he knew too well, the unexpected sound made when an automatic didn’t fire its last round, causing the mechanism to stay partially open. It was unmistakable to Roger. The killer’s weapon had jammed. It happened quickly. Roger understood what he wasn’t able to see, but hear. It was all over in less than ten seconds, too fast for Roger to have reacted in time to help Patrinko. Jesus Christ! he muttered above a whisper. The Big Guy has a full auto with a full silencer! I think Patrinko’s down! We need help up here quick guys! said Roger, in a now excited and elevated voice.

Roger almost fell out of the small room trying to get untangled from his gear. He rolled outside onto the floor and scrambled to his feet. He bounded through a door into the adjoining hallway, with his 9mm at his side. He heard more sounds. He heard the sounds of a killer approaching an intersection in the hall where Roger stopped and prepared himself for his meeting with the killer.

Roger jumped from the corner as the killer approached, pointing his weapon into the man’s face, Drop the fucking gun asshole! Do it now!

The man sprang from his position swinging his pistol towards Roger’s torso.

Roger was faster. He anticipated the man by spinning backwards, in a clockwise motion, coming down on the man’s right elbow with a clenched fist. He followed his assault clubbing the back of the man’s ear with his pistol, as hard as he could. The blow’s force seemed to have had little effect on the brute.

The man barely staggered to the floor. He got up quickly. Then, making a twisting motion, he was in position to use the weapon in his left hand. As quickly as the confrontation had started, it was almost over, with the man almost on top of Roger.

Roger was also in position. He fired and caught a part of the man’s body with one bullet as two loud explosions echoed down the hall. Wounded, he slowed very little.

The big man raised his weapon again when Roger pulled the trigger once more. He hit the man square in his heart. Surprising to Roger, it still didn’t stop him. The man anticipated Roger’s actions as he staggered backward two feet, stunned enough to reduce his response, but not stop it. The big man fired twice in Roger’s direction without hesitation.

Roger felt the searing heat across his side, and then another across his shoulder. He had seen the flashes but heard nothing.

There’s a silencer on both fucking weapons! Roger muttered to himself. Roger let off two more shots that reverberated down the hall, followed by the heavy thud of the man’s body. In his side, Roger felt a burning sensation grow worse. Roger felt himself for pain. He grasped at his side and felt the wetness of his blood. Needing to rest, he slid down the wall to a sitting position. He had to work to keep his eyes open and focused. Sitting offered him a small relief.

Jesus Christ Roger! What happened? Couldn’t you throw him some of that Kung Fu shit on him, or maybe talk nicer to him? yelled Kevin as he ran to Roger’s side.

Roger felt better sitting on the ground as he caught the movement in his eye. The man on the floor had moved, Shoot the bastard! whispered Roger to Kevin, sounding winded.

Kevin wasn’t paying attention, I’ll say you did buddy. Blood is all over the place.

Roger shoved the kneeling Kevin out of his way and put a bullet in the middle of the man’s eyes. The body once more hit the floor with a soft thud.

Damn! How could I prepare for that shit? Sorry Roger, I never expected him to be alive and kicking. It’s not like you to leave them alive.

It’s okay Kevin, makes up for the farmer, wheezed Roger just as he started to fade out.

I have an agent down; get me some medics up here, now! shouted Kevin into the microphone of his communication link.

As Roger momentarily lost consciousness, Kevin keyed his mic again for the agents on the street. Where are my paramedics guys? I need them up here right now dammit all to hell!

Roger’s body slumped softly against Kevin.

Hang in here with me old buddy! pleaded Kevin, you don’t have your bulletproof vest on, remember. You’ll be fine, Roger.

Roger roused slightly and opened his eyes, I’m okay; really, it only hurts when I laugh, so...I won’t laugh. he felt himself gaining strength from the short rest.

Damn you Roger! Why are you always pulling this shit on me?

I tried to be easy, but he wanted to do it the hard way, Kev. Feeling a little more of his strength return, Roger slid against the wall and back into a standing position. Then, he tore a piece of his shirt to make a bandage for his arm. Kevin tied it down, putting enough pressure on it to choke the seeping blood to a trickle. Roger ripped another piece of cloth from his shirtsleeve, making a bandage for his side. Bleeding there had slowed to modest oozes.

By the way you pecker-head, don’t give me another scare like this! yelled Kevin, I’m getting too old for this shit.

Roger sensed the need to move. If he stayed in one place too long, he had a feeling he might faint again. His experience with wounds told him that his moving might prevent or at least stall him from going into shock. He had to keep his mind on other things. He knew if he kept his mind focused on his duty, he could overcome most of his pain. He also knew that shock followed serious wounds, like his, in most men. However, shock was preventable, as far as he was concerned. He knew that tough mental conditioning was a powerful medicine. Because he believed that, for him, that’s what it was. He learned in the Marine Corps that it was mind over matter. Roger turned off his thoughts regarding his condition. He had to make his body move, now!

You stay here, Kevin! ordered Roger quietly, I’m going to check over what’s left of Gustav Patrinko. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find something in his room. You check out the hall in the meantime, okay?

But Roger, Kevin’s voice trailed off in frustration.

No buts! I need to walk a little, anyway.

You’ve been wounded, Roger. For Christ’s sake act like it, will you?

Once I get my bandages changed and have some rest I’ll be just fine, he lied. He knew it because he had a hard time repressing his pain. Now, every indication pointed to a worsening of his condition, fast. He felt his temporary strength fading.

Roger walked down the hall and into the Patrinko’s room. He had images in his mind of what the .45 cal. sub-machinegun had done to him. Still, he had to make the confirmation. He searched through Patrinko’s room. It was as sterile as an operating room. There were some clothing and personal hygiene items. Everything, except his overcoat was a new purchase. Patrinko was a man who had traveled light. Why was that so, if he had the local Russian Mafia affiliation? It would seem that they would take better care of him.

Kevin let out a short whistle in the hallway and yelled, Check out this bag, Roger. We can cancel the national deficit. And then there’s the other thing?

Roger stiffened, What do you mean the other thing? What other thing?

Kevin chuckled. It was one of his, it’s not really funny, sort of chuckles. I guess it was our lucky day. His sub-machinegun jammed. I think he might have been luckier if he used a better lubrication on his weapon, eh?

Roger relaxed a bit and yelled back at Kevin, bad guys always go down. It probably would have jammed even if it had better grease! Then they both gave a tense laugh.

Roger turned and walked out of Patrinko’s room as the residents of the flophouse began emerging from their rooms. The mob circled about, like a pack of coyotes.

Roger faced the mob, Everyone go back into your rooms and wait until someone comes to ask you some questions. he held his badge high enough to let everyone see it. Grudgingly and haltingly, they accommodated his orders.

Roger’s attention returned to Kevin, How much are we talking about?

Can’t count that high, boss. By the looks and weight, I’d say over 5 million in 100s. It looks real enough though. I might add it’s the new style note. Look at this, still has wrappers from the San Francisco Federal Reserve.

Call Cramer, we need to get some more help.

Kevin nodded and pulled out his phone, Consider it done.

Roger picked up one of the bundles and examined one bill in the middle. He pulled a small package from his pocket and gave the small magnifying glass a flip out of its case. Then he studied the details of the bill and the fine printing on each side. He failed to find one blemish, flaw, or smear. The paper felt as good as the printing looked. He counted the trace threads on both sides: they added up. Kevin was returning from ‘the basket’ the men had called home for the last four grueling days and handed Roger a small leather case, Guess you’ll want this.

You think?

The way you’re studying the note, I’d guess it’s better than I thought. The chemicals tell no lie.

Roger was sure it was a waste of time. Nevertheless, he went through the procedures anyway. He used an eyedropper to add tiny drops of the chemical onto the surface of each side of the bill. Just as he thought, it was negative. It meant the bill used the special ink, only found on the real bills. Then, he pulled the last bottle out of the case and replicated the process as previously done. Still, it was negative. Then he used another method of testing the paper and it too proved that this bill was the genuine article. Looks like a duck, walks like a duck, quacks like a duck. Hey, you think it might be a real duck, Kevin?

My guts say otherwise Roger. I’ll give you five to one odds that shit is going to be Monopoly money, chum. You taking that bet, or passing?

You’re on. However, I don’t feel good about it. It’s like taking a bag of candy from the mentally infirm.

"Yeah sure, whatever you say, only because I’m feeling particularly generous right now. By the way, the office is on the way Roger. Help will be here in about fifteen minutes according to the SAIC. NYPD and the ambulance will probably show about as soon as the office can get here.

Tell me again, why it’s so good to be honest, Kevin.

Kevin gave his usual snide snort following a wide grin. Cause we got our own moral compass, aside from the law, that says so. Why do you think?

I keep telling you it’s what separates ‘us’ from ‘them.’ Now I hope you can keep that in your mind, okay Buddy?

Hey you’re not getting delirious on me I hope. But yeah, I keep asking you, who is ‘they’, and who is ‘us?’ Roger, are you sure, you are okay. You need to stay with me buddy. You’re not going to black out on me, or some fool thing like that, right? Hey, you did that. Now I remember. It was down in Panama. I had to carry your stupid ass out of that big mob of locals. They each wanted pieces of you and your dumb Marine’s ass for their trophy wall.

I’ll say it this last time. I’m okay. I’ll be fine. I hope you got that. Oh yeah I seem to remember it was you who got this stupid Marine’s ass on a collision course with the locals in the first place? Roger winced in pain, thankful for Kevin’s verbal distraction.

You know, Roger, you really ought to run for an office. You’re so full of shit I never can figure out what in the hell you mean. I have told you many times, it was not me who shot that bull inside the farmer’s house. It was a man outside that shot the bull. I shot the farmer when you ducked, before he was about to blast you. Have you a better picture now? And, if you’ll remember, all you had to do was roll to the ground while I did all the dirty work.

All I gotta say is you sure have selective memory, Kevin.

Roger nodded at his mic and Kevin got the message. He keyed his mic, Paul, you alive down there? asked Kevin jokingly, come on up when the NYPD or ambulance arrives, okay? And keep our doors covered for now...alright?

Paul tried as he collapsed in the seat with the long thin bladed knife through his throat. He slumped over in the seat while the man slipped back into the shadows, over another dead agent with a similar wound through his neck. The dead agent in the street had made the mistake of choice, in where to make a nature call. The man in the shadows had watched and waited for any opportunity to present itself. He turned his gaze to the room above that overlooked the street, and sought the fire escape ladder to the roof.

What about it down there Paul? Paul? called Kevin in his mic. We have problems with our front door boss. I don’t like this at all. With you shot, and our front door agents too quiet, something really stinks, Roger.

Roger immediately reached up with his pistol and swung at each light in the hall, sending glass showers to the floor. It caused immediate darkness to descend into the hall as the last light bulb shattered. He lived on his own razor sharp edge of well-exercised intuition. He let his gut tell him how to act and let his body take control. That combination of talent had never let him down. After years of knowing and working with Kevin, Roger knew Kevin wouldn’t question his gut instincts. Kevin’s wife even told Kevin many times to be a like a tick and hang on to Roger’s tail. She made Kevin promise to do so many times and she told Roger on more than one occasion.

There’s going to be trouble! Everyone stay in your room! Close and lock your doors! Roger yelled, while moving for the opposite end of the hall, clutching his wound. Kevin, you stay inside the basket! Call the shots for me! Roger felt adrenaline surges coursing through his system. He focused clearly and decisively again. His mind was off his pain, off his wounds, and on whatever he was going to be facing in the dark halls. It was what he needed to remain both functional...and alive.

Got it, I’m there. Kevin returned to the observation closet and continued to watch the hall through his scope. He flipped a switch, activating his night vision monitor. Two minutes after it became dark in the hall a man entered and was moving along the walls toward the victim’s room. The man stopped and leaned over the body. Kevin watched as the man stood up and exited the way he entered.

Roger whispered, What is going on?

Kevin whispered back, One man. He was bending over our dead man, as if he was looking for something. Now he’s heading out.

Roger stood and inched along the wall towards the unknown man, unable to see anything in the dark hall.

He’s right in front of you, Roger, whispered Kevin.

Federal Agent, stop now! Get your hands up! yelled Roger.

He’s turning! He’s pointing! boomed Kevin in the mic.

Two more shots rang out. Roger fired on impulse when he heard Kevin yell the word ‘turning.’ He knew Kevin was excited with the man doing something more than just turning around. He thought the shot nicked the man from the sounds he made. On the move, he ran into the dead man’s room. With practiced svelte, the man flew through an open window and landed in a full trash dumpster below.

Roger stood, looking out the window a second then followed. He landed hard from the two-story fall, into bags of questionable origins. God it stank! He pulled himself up as he felt the pain shooting through his side and the fresh blood oozing to his waistline. The wetness was invading the sides of his trousers along his leg. He forced the pain out of his mind and focused his attention on finding the man. He crawled painfully from the dumpster and started running down the alley in the direction where he last saw the man.

Roger yelled into his comm link, Kevin, I’m in the street to the north of your building. I need help down here. He’s in this alley somewhere. Go high. The comm link was always handy. He was thankful he was wearing it and even more thankful the fall didn’t damage it. Pain was throbbing all over his side and shoulder. His desire to stop the Shadow Man was so great the pain had become secondary.

I’m on the roof, almost over you. I‘ve got the night scope. I have it trained on the alley. He’s down there, but I’ll be damned if I can see him. Wait...wait...there he is. He’s prone and not moving, Roger. He’s just ahead of you, near the other side of the alley. You be careful now, he may be waiting to ambush you. I can’t do anything to cover you up here. Wait for me. I’ll get closer! yelled Kevin as he ran along the flat rooftops trying to close the gap between him and his partner, hold on Roger I’m coming! Kevin ran his fastest sprint along a roofline where he could get into position to cover Roger.

Roger approached the prone body carefully, weapon still pointed and ready to fire. Once he got closer, he saw a dark pool under a part of the body. The body lay twisted, as it fell. Roger guessed he had taken a little time to die from the shots fired earlier. He was reaching down to feel for the pulse. Just then the body rolled over, a weapon shoved into Roger’s face. Even in the dark, Roger could see into the eyes of the man and feel his coldness. Roger flinched in anticipation of the first shot. As a result, his slightly turned head had separated him from the path of the lethal bullet. Impact from the man hitting him and his own reaction had spun Roger around. The Shadow Man was on his feet, attempting to run into the darkness. Roger made a lunge at him and brought him down. Both men immediately ensnarled in one large ball of confused, intertwined limbs, in a life or death struggle.

The Shadow Man was fighting as if he knew in advance, what Roger was doing next. Roger couldn’t gain control of the man. The Shadow Man’s senses had to be working overtime, Roger thought, as he continued his attempt to subdue the man. This man found Roger’s weak spot, the wound in his side. The Shadow man gouged his finger into the wound. The pain was excruciating. Roger cringed, almost paralyzed from pain. He overcame the urge to give in to the pain. He tried to gain advantage over the man and inflict some damage to him. Anything, at this point, Roger wasn’t proud. He’d bite or scratch the man’s face to get an advantage. This Shadow Man was a wildcat that refused to surrender.

Roger used his knees and elbows as much as he was able to; then the Shadow Man overcame him. They rolled once and for one brief moment came to a stop. Roger’s fierce opponent had gained a deadly advantage. Roger made one big, final effort, forcing one last roll. He was digging deep, into his fading strength, waiting to use his last bit of effort, when any opportunity presented itself. In all the confusion these fighters generated, Roger detected the Shadow Man’s weak spot. It was the spot where Roger was sure he must have wounded this man. During his last surge, Roger thrust his index finger roughly into the wet spot in the man’s side where he continued shoving. He dug as deep as he could, while twisting his finger in the hole and feeling an instant reply from the man’s body. Roger briefly gained an advantage as Shadow Man responded, nearly doubling over.

Roger regained partial control. He got his hand loose and grabbed for the throat. He held on, trying to choke off the man’s windpipe. The Shadow Man broke one hand loose and produced a small stiletto knife from his waist. It glimmered in the moonlight. Roger deflected the man’s lunge with the knife. It produced one minor cut on Roger’s hand, but not before Shadow Man positioned himself. He overpowered Roger’s grip on him and rolled to the top.

Kevin’s four shots rang out, echoing down the quiet alley. The shots surprised the man. It was enough that Roger could twist out of the man’s grasp as he plunged the stiletto. It missed with Roger’s twisting. Then the man caught Roger on the side of the head with a piece of hard debris. It stunned, hurt, and slowed Roger for a second, long enough for the Shadow Man to leave as fast as he came. Roger, so physically overwhelmed, stayed on the ground, not moving.

Roger, Roger, you alright, Buddy? I thought for sure I hit the bastard in his head on that last shot. Guess I was still a little too far away from you. Besides, at that range it was my best shot ever. Hey, you’re not going to be pissed off that I didn’t make a kill are you? What a wicked shot. Man, I gave the barrel at least two inches of rise in elevation on my sights.

Roger pulled back into a focused mental state. He sat, stunned over his outrageous luck in surviving three bullets, not to mention surviving his life and death struggle. I’m okay.

Kevin prepared to leave. I’ll go get him.

You’ll never catch him, Kevin. Let’s get the hell out of here. Put the word out to the hospitals. He has one serious injury. I’m sure you shot him at least once and I aggravated the hell out of that wound. Maybe we’ll luck out and find that it’s so serious it caused him to bleed to death in utter agony.

Are we clear here Roger? Let’s get you into some lights. Yuck Roger, you’re bleeding on the side of your head. Hey, there’s one more blood trail on your other arm. Ace...you’re like a sieve.

I’m okay, let’s just get inside.

The sirens pulled up in front of the building soon after Roger and Kevin returned to the hall.

Roger was going through the second man’s pockets. Look at this Kevin.

Whatcha got?

I don’t know. It’s just personal stuff that looks foreign. Yet, I think it looks kind of familiar.

Make up your mind, Roger. Is it foreign or familiar?

"Well, it looks like symbols I remember from when we were in Grenada. It could be Chinese, or Russian, maybe Cuban.

I’ll bet it is Russian, Roger, it fits.

Yeah, our first subject was Russian Mafia, right, Kevin?

That’s what Cramer said at the briefing.

This guy is Russian too, I bet. So, what kind of shit have we been sucked into this time, Kevin? Roger glanced towards his partner.

It is deep, son, very deep.

Is it too late to fill out some vacation requests for time off starting in one hour?

Kevin laughed, but sounded unsettled. You better sit down. You look like you’ll pass out any second from loss of blood. Say, you’re not anemic are you, Roger?

Kevin, you’re such a prick.

Hey, I’ve heard stories about things these Russian Mafia types have done, even interviewed several in the past. Shit Roger, when these guys are involved it always gets...well, you know, real ugly.

Yeah, yeah, Kevin, it’s going to get really ugly, I get that. Hey…I did get that, he laughed in a barely audible voice, these wounds prove I got it.

You are so funny Roger. I mean, hey, they’re very tough cookies. I have no idea about what planet they escaped from, but I wish they’d go back as fast as possible. They’re alien to our experience.

I got it; give it a rest, Kevin.

Well...I’m just saying…

Kevin, look at this tattoo on his right arm. Have you ever seen one so unusual as this before?

I don’t know. I’ve seen some pretty bizarre shit for tattoos, Kevin bent over for a closer look. What is it anyway? Five dots chasing each other? Kevin took in a deep breath, and did an exaggerated scratch on his head. Maybe they’ve got a mark they use to identify each other. Maybe they want it to be small enough that it won’t attract attention. Is that how you make it, Ace?

It’s something like that. My guess is it has to do with a gang or a family sort of organization. Roger went into the room and checked the arms of the first man. He came back and checked the second man again.

What did you find? Kevin asked. Is he branded too?

Roger nodded, Looks like it. Maybe he had a falling out or something amongst his little family, or worse? It’s a tough kind of divorce but it sure saves on legal bills.

Kevin whistled as he moved his head at the end of the hall and whispered, Oh my God, it’s getting worse, like I thought, both men gave each other a disgusted look as they glanced back toward the approaching noise.

Charles Cramer walked through the hallway with a dozen agents.

See what I mean? Roger, while suffering, whispered, as he nodded his head toward Cramer.

Jesus Christ, Roger! Are you going to be okay? Let’s get you into the ambulance. The paramedics are right behind me. My agents down stairs weren’t so lucky, I’m afraid. They’re being taken care of right now.

What’s luck got to do with anything? Roger replied in a weakened whispered voice.

You’re alive. They’re dead. If I took them off this assignment as you wanted, perhaps you wouldn’t have been so lucky, Roger.

They’re dead and that’s a tragedy. Their deaths didn’t even slow the suspect who killed them one tiny bit. Guess if they weren’t here, they’d still be alive and it wouldn’t have changed what happened to me much at all. The next time you detail any officers to observe any suspects with some connection to the Russian Mafia you might remember to have heavier weaponry and better support. Maybe if you have a hard time understanding that you might want to look at what’s left of Patrinko. Then, you might understand.

You’re just in this bitchy mood because you’ve been wounded. I understand that. We’ve been here before, you and me, and Kevin. So stop busting my ass, Roger. Now, are you okay, or not?

Roger toned down, Really...I’m okay. I lost some blood. It’s not that serious.

Let’s let a doctor decide that, okay? The SAIC pushed the tiny button on his collar. Clear the medics up here, quickly!

Roger felt light headed with his stamina ebbing. He knew it was a precursor to his fading out. He sat down and let himself go out slowly. The paramedics quickly took over, cutting his clothes for access to his wounds and putting pressure bandages on those wounds.

Cramer shook his head in disbelief, You guys look like you’ve had a long night, Kevin. Help Roger. Get him settled into the hospital. I’ll do this end. Try to get me the paperwork as soon as you can. Anything I can get you or Roger, be sure to let me know. I’ll log the currency for you. How much is here?

I stopped at five million, but it’s there’s at least seven and maybe more.

After sitting with Roger in the hospital room for hours, Kevin headed for his hotel room. He called his wife and told her that the Teflon skinned Roger was once again in the hospital. He also told her that even though the other two agents in the street had worn their body armor they died. That was how it usually went with Roger, he told her. Others around Roger, who had worn their vests, when he wasn’t, were hit, very badly. She told him to always dress as Roger did. That wasn’t always as easy as it should’ve been he had replied. Roger didn’t always cooperate with such simple plans. On many occasions, Roger said he either didn’t believe Kevin’s observations, or wasn’t prepared to accept them.

Two weeks later, Roger was out of the hospital and staying in a hotel. He was getting used to not having his hourly vitals taken, or awakened to take a handful of pills, especially sleeping pills. His cell phone rang early in the morning. Yes? he answered, still groggy, sore, and tired.

Is this Agent Murphy?

A lump rose in Roger’s throat, never liking the tone of such officious sounding calls so early in the morning, especially so early on this morning, That’s me, speaking.

The Director is on the line and wants to speak with you, Agent Murphy.

Roger didn’t like the way the day was starting out already, Okay.

How are you doing Roger? Are you about ready to get back into your duties? Without waiting for any response, the Director went on. The lab has finished its testing. Every note was counterfeit and we have some serious problems. You and your partner catch the chopper I’m sending to Manhattan. You have twenty minutes.

At least in the Marine Corps he had more time for sleep. Maybe it was not much more, but at least some more, anyway. He chastised himself before he gave himself his standard lecture on all the down sides for his leaving his commission in the Corps. Recon, Ooh-rah, Ooh-rah, he mumbled. More energy swirled through him. He felt better. Memories of the Corps always provided that fresh strength.

It wasn’t easy getting himself together and getting to the helicopter with Kevin on such quick notice. The Air Force had a helicopter waiting for the men on the helicopter pad, precisely on schedule. After a quiet ride, the helicopter set down at Andrews Air Force base near Washington, D.C. The limousine was waiting for a short trip to the Treasury Department.

Roger recognized two other agents as he and Kevin were ushered into a large conference room. Looking around, he saw the familiar faces from other departments in the government. He wasn’t sure just why he was there, who belonged there, or even why everyone assembled there.

Shit Roger, what did we stumble into this time, some deep shit or what? Kevin whispered.

It’s probably deep, son. Very damn deep, Roger whispered back. I wonder if I’m still on the Director’s shit list after all this. He looked at Kevin as Kevin shrugged.

I don’t know Roger, but I think you’ll need a lot more than this to get you off his shit list. I would say you might need something more like divine intervention to get you out of that deep shit hole you are stuck in.

Always the buddy Kevin, always the buddy, Roger whispered.

Kevin grinned, Who else would put up with your shit? You really should thank me, you know that, right?

Fuck you Kevin, Roger shook his head.

I trust you’ll use plenty of lube. I don’t think Cramer would.

Roger chuckled, You think?

Gentlemen, we have a lot to cover. Let’s get to it. Our Agent Murphy is here because he’s the agent responsible for making the recent discovery. As a result of his rather unfortunate encounter, he has some rather valuable expertise in this matter. We’re happy to have you back among us Agent Murphy. I’m sorry for your short notice.

Roger nodded at the Director and the assemblage.

The Director of the Secret Service began to speak again. To bring everyone in this room up to speed with what is known, let me give a synopsis. Back in the days under the reign of the Shah of Iran, the United States Government taught the Iranian Government how to make its currency in the same manner as our government. We even had a brief, but weak moment, during which we allowed Iran’s government to purchase the same equipment we used for printing and producing American currency, the Director stopped then took a drink from a glass. Visibly shaken by what he was about to report. Therein lays the crux of our present situation. We had some success at tracking the Iranian use of those presses for the first few years after they got the presses. In time, a few counterfeit American 100s started showing up in Europe. Those early products seldom escaped detection even by a novice. Moreover, only small quantities were printed. After Desert Storm that all changed. The production of counterfeits since then has seen an exponential growth, and a continuing march to perfect notes. He paused long enough for the implication of the news to sink in.

To continue, we saw such a large growth in the counterfeit 100 that we redesigned the bill, to specifically thwart the Iranian counterfeiting. We thought the safeguards we built into the new notes would be sufficient to protect the note. We may have been a little long on optimism and short on reality.

He paused, and looked around the room. The government of the United States has been buying back every one of the older perfect counterfeit notes that have been returned, by any and all of the banks across Europe and parts of Asia. We have had no real notion of how much of our exchange with other nations is for purchasing the counterfeits. We also have no idea in how much of this money is in circulation. A weak guess was all we had, and that was painting this situation in a lighter shade than reality. Now, I must tell you we believe that all of our previous estimates are considerably off. ‘Counterfeited to perfection’ is my characterization of these newest bills. With the new bills horribly compromised, my report to the Treasury Department and all concerned principles is doom and gloom. Our new bills are now beginning to turn up at the Federal Reserve, just like our old notes, and we’re replacing them with newly printed notes. So there you have it. We’re exchanging the new notes we print for those notes they printed, whether they’re the old style, or new. Agent Murphy will you give us some sense of what your own personal thoughts were as you examined the notes?

Yes sir, Roger stood from his chair, I used the latest tests in my kit, starting with the basic and moving to the very latest chemical analysis. I felt confident the bill I was examining was real, especially after making the thread count. I wanted to be as thorough as possible and used the dye analysis for concluding my tests. In my mind, the bill I tested was the genuine article, and, there was absolutely no indication to contradict that opinion in the field. I made every test we have for use in the field, Roger sat back down and the Director went on.

The bill our Agent Murphy tested has a serial number on it and it is five billion dollars apart from the others in that same bag. Then, yet another bundle had notes three billion dollars further into the series. We, folks, have a spread of serial numbers in that one bag that represents eight billion dollars. Several bills the treasury had scheduled for burning in San Francisco is in a series that’s another five billion numbers apart and it was not confiscated but already worn out. What we thought before was under those numbers by a substantial amount. If we can prove thirteen billion, then how widespread and significant is this ‘Super Bill?’ Please, let me remind you we’re talking about the newest 100-dollar note just recently released. We already concede that we long ago lost all control over two older style notes. And that was, after all, why we changed the previous notes.

The Director paused before going on. His audience maintained their attention on him. With us tonight we have key Senators from both the Banking and Intelligence committees, a representative of the Federal Reserve, and the representative for the Attorney General. In the corner is the President’s Chief of Staff. We know we have a problem. So, how do we solve this issue without causing the United States grave financial and economic consequences on a global scale?

The Chief of Staff spoke first. What do we know about the men involved?

Both of the dead men wore the same tattoos. And it appears that both were Russian, said Roger. What else have we got so far?

Good question. What else do we have? The Director asked, towards a man at the other end of the table.

Yes Sir. I see on my monitor that we have something during the last few minutes. He kept his eyes on his computer monitor while he spoke. Here’s the subject Agent Murphy had under surveillance in New York, the agent pushed a button, causing big pictures to appear on each of the four walls in the room. Every person at the table had an unobstructed view of a big screen. Here’s a man we previously kept a dossier on while he was in a Russian Intelligence organization. Then he disappeared about four years ago. The agent placed another picture side by side with the earlier picture, As you can see, the man in each of the pictures doesn’t have even the slightest resemblance with each other. Yet their fingerprints match. Patrinko is certainly the man in both photos. My task force developed information that Patrinko had a connection with a man who is involved with many counterfeiting and money laundering schemes. We wanted to investigate any contacts our subject might make. We thought his ties may even link into one or more U.S. organized crime syndicates.

Why would Patrinko change his face? An attendee at the table asked.

We don’t know. He had been connected to an Intelligence group, once.

A Senator raised his hand, Was Patrinko known to be part of any prolific counterfeiting ring?

The agent at the monitor answered, We had no previous reason to believe so.

Then who was this Patrinko connected to? The Senator asked.

We now believe he was connected to the Russian Mafia.

And they’re behind this counterfeiting scheme? Another voice in the group asked.

We...don’t know. We do know the Russian Mafia now has various counterfeiting operations going on. But, we had no idea they were capable of printing such quality and quantity that these bills represents.

What about those damned tattoos? Another voice in the group asked.

We don’t know what the tattoo on each man represents, the agent replied.

Go on Agent Cramer. Give them the rest, the Director ordered.

Our examination of clothing articles did develop interesting as well as troubling details about these men. Russian passports were in the linings of the men’s coats that weren’t hand sewn but were professionally manufactured in identically the same way.

Roger watched Cramer carefully. He had a lot of polish, but there was more to what was going on with Cramer than what he had seen so far in the meeting. He had known the agent for over five years and there was always something about him that made Roger uneasy. More recently, it was because Cramer did not seem concerned at having lost two agents in the field. That bothered Roger the most, now. Roger still felt deeply troubled over such a loss and he had never worked with the two agents before. How a man like Cramer functioned continued to escape Roger. Cramer specifically requesting Roger for the surveillance detail bothered Roger the most.

Senator Fulmer, chairman for the Senate Intelligence Committee, waved a hand in the air to draw attention, Gentlemen, it looks like there’s a big problem here. Maybe it’s more than we can even begin to imagine. Is it, or is it not the case, that the paper is printed in Iran, or do we believe it is Russian?

The Director shook his head. All of our indications point to Iran. However, all of the counterfeited notes seem related to the Russian Mafia.

Have you ever had a near perfect Russian counterfeit? Senator Fulmer asked.

No Sir, not that I’m aware of, the Director answered.

Does the old cliché, ‘one trick pony’ mean anything to anyone, gentlemen? The Senator as he looked around the table.

Yes, Sir, it does, Roger piped in, so you think because Iran has been involved in the past they are now?

No…however, you make a very interesting point. I was thinking more about the Russian Mafia. They buy, they sell, and they steal, can we actually believe they’ve suddenly learned to produce? Can we all agree to that? Fulmer maintained eye contact with Roger.

I take it we definitely agree these men are Russian Mafia? Can we all agree that the most likely suspects for our counterfeiters are Iranian? Fulmer looked around, noting that everyone nodded except one.

We have numerous investigations pending in which the Russian Mafia is involved in counterfeiting, with all due respect, added Kevin.

We certainly do. What about volume and particularly, the quality?

Kevin nodded apologetically, Well...yes, there’s that. I guess that does make a difference.

The Senator looked around for a consensus, Then I suppose what becomes our most worrisome detail is the sheer volume of notes somehow channeled through the hands of the Russian Mafia. I think the vast sums of notes in the hands if this crime organization causes us some particular concerns, although, that’s a separate issue. These perfectly made counterfeit bills pose our most pressing concerns. Can we be quite clear about that? The senator’s eyes narrowed as he looked around the room for dissent. But these counterfeiters open other ‘special’ problems for us.

And what might those be Senator? the Director asked, coolly.

John, as Director of the Secret Service, I recognize your main concerns in this case: the counterfeiting. You must be aware that we also have to be concerned with our protecting the vital interests of the United States economy. Doing so, demands that we have a supply of money that’s trustworthy. And there’s even more at stake in this case.

Is that so? the Chief of Staff said, with little enthusiasm.

The Senator nodded, Yes. He turned back to the Director, At this point I think it’s important for us to adjourn this meeting and continue our part of this discussion privately.

I’ll have to take your word on that Senator. This meeting will now move to the next agenda items. Agent Cramer will give his own presentation of the Russian Mafia connection to other counterfeit schemes currently under investigation. Agent Murphy and Lemay, please join me in my private conference room and as soon as you can please. Senator you may have my undivided attention in the next room.

The party of two agents, the Director, and Senator stepped into a smaller room next to the large conference room. The Director’s motion for the Senator to sit opened the conversation, Senator, when you’re ready, giving his permission with the wave of his hand.

"Thank you John. Being the Chairman for the Senate Intelligence Committee, I have access to information coming from many sources. Sometimes, other agencies discover tidbits of data that are often unconnected by them, yet vital to other agencies not privy to the information. Being here tonight, I can give you a connection that is very important, and shouldn’t go beyond this room. Can we all agree to