Retribution: Urban Legend

By Wallace Williamson

They took his daughter first; tried to torture her to death on the Internet ... it didn't work out nearly as well as they'd hoped. So they tried the same thing with his wife ... which was even more of a disaster!

They tried to make an example of James Christopher Shannon. He made them an Urban Legend!

Urban Legends ... like the hook killer ... the hairy bastard ... floating lights in cemeteries ... stories everybody has heard ... and claims are true ... but nobody really knows ... for sure ...

"You slaughtered innocent women and children!"
"Those without Souls cannot be innocent. As for the others, I did them a favor by releasing them from this time and place in The World."
"Kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out, eh?"
"I have not been Called to kill you all ... yet."

The Angel Of Death ...
was never a HE!

BEK IS BACK!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wallace Williamson
• Release date: Oct 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301437078

Wallace Williamson

Wallace Williamson is a storyteller; always has been, always will be. His stories range from paranormal thrillers (RETRIBUTION series, CheerLeaders In The Mist series), to elegant erotica (Stories2Read Naked@Night), to 'growing up in Dixie' (Collins Crossing series), to contemporary life in America (London Bitches). Check out his website: www.DollarDreadfuls.Com, where you'll find stories, games, trinkets, T-shirts, artwork and other examples of delightful debauchery to tease and amuse your inner-WildChild!Yes, all the profits from the T-shirts really goes to fight breast cancer; so buy a shirt and save some boobies!

Book preview

Snatch Me If You Can

September — 2004

GraceAnne Shannon was one of the wealthiest women in the world. That made her a prime target. Yet she refused to live her life as a recluse. A little more than a year ago her only child had been abducted and pretty much tortured to death on the Internet for all the world to watch, but GraceAnne herself refused to hide from those who wished her ill. Rodeo Drive’s annual Diamond Jubilee was the social event of the year for the circles in which she traveled. Millions were raised for dozens of the currently most fashionable charities. It was one of the few chances she would have to dress up and impress her peers. Everybody knew she would be there!

There were more Police, both uniformed and not, and private security operators than there were actual socialites and merchants. RedBall Security, a recent acquisition of Shannon Corporation, had four men and two women within swatting distance around her at all times; another eighteen were spread out all along the route and in their mobile command post. The women even went with her to the Ladies Room; watched her pee … with the stall door open. They were all nervous as cats hiding in a dog pen. As well they should be!

Tully was a big guy. A really big guy. The biggest field guy RedBall had. Six foot nine. Three hundred and fifty eight pounds even before donning body armor and weapons. Born and raised in a wide spot on a dusty road in the Australian Outback where the smaller, wirier blokes had the advantage, he grew up tough as iron. Could take a hit from a pile driver and still have enough left to return the favor. He was the one they were most worried about. They took him first.

The elderly matron wore a gown that cost more than most people’s cars; had on jewels worth more than any five or six middle-class homes. She walked with a cane, but did it with obvious inbred grace and elegance. When she approached the Ladies Room, Tully stepped in the doorway and raised a hand to her.

Please wait a moment, mam …

The matron looked up and seemed confused. Tully smiled as best he could with a jaw that had been broken and reset more times than he could remember. A man in Police uniform shot a flechette from twenty-seven feet away straight into the big man’s ear. The hollow dart exploded neurotoxins into his brain and killed him where he stood before he even knew he’d been hit.

The sweet little old lady pushed against the great big dead man leaning stiff as a mannequin against the Ladies Room doorjamb. He fell aside. She pushed the door open and clubbed the female bodyguard like a baby seal and shot the other one with a silent bullet from her walking stick.

The fake Policeman took out another RedBall bodyguard before six .45 hollow-points ripped his head to shreds.

The target looked up from the toilet as the deadly matron sprayed her face. She fell over with the next breath. A door marked Janitorial Supplies opened. Two men stepped into the Ladies Room and pulled the slumped-over woman off the toilet, hustled her into the supply closet, which was actually a concealed doorway leading to an alley, and dumped her into the trunk of a waiting car.

A RedBall sniper took out the old lady with the walking-stick gun from a rooftop across the street.

The whole thing was over in less than two minutes.

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Chapter One

Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Seven Sisters Pavilion

For

Cybernetic Interface Application

Cambridge

Massachusetts – USA

Albert Moore didn’t like being underground. He kept telling himself he wasn’t claustrophobic because he had no problems with elevators or small rooms without windows. It was the fact that he was stuck down inside a great big sealed-up hole in the ground that was making his skin itch on the inside. He stood beneath a ventilation grille; closed his eyes and forced his jittery mind to believe, if only for a moment, that he was standing on a high mountain peak with the wind in his face. He would’ve imagined himself on the bow of a great ship cutting briskly through vast open seas, except that his stomach and waves just couldn’t cohabitate; barfed on the bridge of an aircraft carrier, which was way embarrassing for a Secretary of Defense. Supercarriers have about as much wave motion as a friggin’pier, and this room was only a few floors beneath the parking lot.

Big fucking deal.

He was still going bug shit!

They’re online, the kid with the three-hair goatee and faded black T-shirt announced as his fingers began to work the six keyboards in front of him.

He looked like a twelve-year old beatnik wanna-be in the throes of a growth spurt.

His grungy shirt read Fuck You You Fucking Fuck! on the front.

Couth Control Officer on the back.

Albert Moore shot Arlo Waters an accusing glance. The old spy just grinned like a Legionaire at a titty show. They were in deep, deep trouble …

Wow … the kid said mostly to himself … he was used to working pretty much alone. These guys are basically good …

How good? Moore asked with just a tinge of nervous suspicion.

"Very … his fingers danced faster upon the computer keyboards. His eyes darted around the code strings rolling down six large monitor screens. … good."

Moore looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon. Arlo Waters just smiled and said, But you’re better!

The kid stood up and kicked away the high stool he’d been perched upon. His hands were moving faster now. Two more screens began scrolling code. Fuckin’ … hope … so … man …

Shit! Moore eased himself down onto the corner of some big-assed electronics cabinet and slipped a silver flask out of his jacket pocket. This was just about the stupidest thing he’d ever let anybody talk him into. Five people dead already. The press was going balls-to-the-walls ballistic. Two Police Chiefs, a Mayor and Governor were screaming bloody murder! And another woman was about to be tortured to death on the goddamn Internet!

And the only chance they had was a near-sighted computer geek who lived in a hole like a fucking cyber-gopher!

A large video screen flickered to life with a grainy picture that drifted in and out of focus. A naked woman strapped to a wooden table. She appeared to be asleep. There was no sound … yet.

The kid was starting to sweat now, even though the canned air was chilly.

Albert Moore felt his bowels loosen and his stomach churn. He wasn’t going to make it through this … not again. She’s dead meat.

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Chapter Two

Torture Chamber

Location:

Unknown

The lights were bright when she opened her eyes. Very bright!

She awake?

Yeah. We’re broadcasting too. Ready to start tuning her up?

Give me a moment … to touch her …

The naked man wore a full-head pull-over latex mask that was supposed to look like former President Bill Clinton as a disguise. This portion of the video was being streamed without sound; no one would hear his voice … no one but her. He brushed his fingers along her naked body. Lightly. Almost tenderly … almost. The fingers of his other hand stroked his still flaccid penis. GraceAnne Shannon … so beautiful … Lady Grace … that’s what they call you … isn’t it …

His fingers slipped up the inside of her thighs. Paused at the moistness where they joined. "You are … exquisite … He jammed four fingers into her. Crushed her clitoris with his thumb. She bucked against him, but kept silent. Your daughter wasn’t much of a screamer either … not … at first …"

He pulled his fingers out and resumed dragging them up her body. "I was the first one to violate her, you know. A rather generous reward for my small part in thwarting that silly rescue your husband cooked up. Did you see the movies? I fucked her mouth first. Then I fucked her tight little pussy. Popped her cherry, as they say. Then I broke her ass cherry too. Then I made her suck her own shit off my cock. Did you see me do that? It’s ok if you missed it … because I’m going to do the same things to you … we all are …"

She just stared at him.

Glared at him.

He pushed his thumb into her eye.

She finally screamed.

And that made him hard!

That’s when they turned the sound back on.

A steady stream of very enthusiastic men wearing various, not to mention ridiculous, whole-head Presidential masks raped and beat her without mercy.

Non-stop.

Under the bright lights

Before the unblinking cameras.

Her face was swollen almost beyond recognition.

She had already swallowed most of her teeth.

Her throat was raw and bloody.

She was blind.

And still they went at her.

For the next three days and nights they worked her like a combination sex doll and punching bag.

For the cameras …

… for the world that was supposed to be watching.

She gave them the best show that she could!

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Chapter Three

Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Seven Sisters Pavilion

For

Cybernetic Interface Application

Cambridge

Massachusetts – USA

Twelve screens were now scrolling computer code almost faster than the eye could follow. Well, normal eyes, anyway. Alexander Pike’s eyes darted around the displays surrounding him with frantic desperation. His fingers were working two keyboards at a time now, each hand connected to different thought processes. Each charting it’s own course through the seemingly infinite cyber-quagmire engulfing him. "These … fuckers … are … basically … fuckin’ … good …"

Arlo Waters held the big plastic cup beneath the kid’s chin and touched the straw to his lips. He sucked the High-Caffeine-High-Sugar juice down like a parched vacuum cleaner. His hands never slowed. His eyes never left the computer screens. He pissed his pants again as Waters refilled the large mug. This was not going anything like they’d planned … not even close.

Question.

Arlo gave the kid a quizzical look, wondering if he’d really spoken. Yeah?

How … long … do … you … think … she … can … basically … hold … out?

Waters gave Moore a tense glance. The room was getting warmer now. Machines were pounding away as hard as the young man driving them. It was a race to see who or what would crash and burn first: the machines, the kid, or the woman. Moore pulled out his phone and touched a speed-dial number.

Yes?

We may have a problem.

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Chapter Four

Chicago

Illinois — USA

Gilly Jessup looked up from the computer screen and saw his secretary embroiled in an animated discussion with what looked to be a delivery-person, or courier, or …

Let me get back to you, Hassy, Jessup spoke into the phone his shoulder was holding against his ear. He clicked off the phone, locked his computer and stepped through the glass door between his office and that of his secretary. Something wasn’t right. Problem, Susan?

The tall, slightly reddish-haired delivery woman gave him a rather impatient look through thick glasses that didn’t even begin to look real.

"This … person … insists that you have to sign for that, Susan pointed at a mail-flat the courier was holding, personally."

Gilly took the E-Tablet the delivery girl held out. When he touched the stylus to the screen to sign, the receipt screen suddenly changed to:

Stay Cool

Meet Jessye In Lobby

Car waiting

Deadly Important!

JCS

Gilly glanced up at the girl. The name-tag on her left breast. Jessye

For future reference, Miss. My Personal Assistant here is fully authorized to accept all deliveries on my behalf. He scribbled his name on the tablet, it changed back to a receipt. Are we clear on that?

Yeah. She took the E-Tablet back and gave him the empty mail-flat. Whatever.

Sorry ‘bout that, Suz, Gilly smiled when the girl was gone. Listen … I think I’m going downtown for some lunch … how’s it look?

You’ve got Callahan at two.

Yeah … well … let’s bump that one back to sometime next week. I’ve still got some loose ends to tie up on it.

When he turned to get his jacket from his office, Susan asked in a worried voice. Doctor Jessup … is everything all right?

Gilly gave her his best plastic smile. Sure … far as I know … why do you ask?

That woman … I think she had a gun under her shirt … in her waistband …

A gun? Are you sure?

Well … it was a bulge that looked like a gun when she leaned to hand you the tablet.

Gilly Jessup thought about it for a few moments, then shrugged as he turned back to his office. Probably a Walkman.

A Walkman? Do they even still make those things anymore?

He stepped off the elevator and moved seemingly without purpose across the spacious lobby that was thankfully mostly devoid of people. He smelled her before he saw her. She was blond now, long and straight. The pin-stripped pants-suit made her practically invisible. Even the fake glasses seemed a little more real. "Angel of Venus … my wife’s signature fragrance."

Twelve hundred dollars an ounce … smells like sex in wet-dreams. She stepped in beside him and passed over something that looked like a big cell phone. By the way, your office needs an exterminator.

Bugs?

Lots.

No kidding … He slipped the little plastic box that his PA had thought was a gun into his pocket and snuck a quick glance at her. Nice glasses.

Should see them from my side.

When they stepped through the front doors, a great big black SUV lurched to a stop directly in front of them.

Doors popped open.

They were in and moving.

The SUV was one of those customized jobs with two calf-skin couch-seats that faced each other and a smoked-glass partition between the driver and cabin. When the man sitting opposite him extended his hand, Gilly Jessup recognized the fellow immediately.

James Shannon. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Dr. Jessup. Please, forgive the melodrama, but we have a situation in progress that is time critical.

They were moving quickly through traffic. Heading out of the city. The car rode like an oversized go-cart. Probably because it had three tons of armor and solid tires. Deadly?

Shannon smiled weakly. Quite possibly. He took a long sip of amber from a sweaty glass. "But before we get any further into this … I need to tell you what you’re getting into … because … well … frankly speaking … even the suspicion of involvement could put you and those closest to you in jeopardy. Deadly jeopardy."

Want a drink, Doctor? The sexy smelling blond next to him asked with a smile that was cold as the ice she plunked into a heavy crystal glass.

What he’s having, Gilly answered.

Ice tea with lemon, lime and fake sugar.

Ok.

As you may know, a little over a year ago my daughter was abducted and tortured. Most of the people traveling with her were killed … in horribly grotesque and excruciating agony. And the whole thing was broadcast over the Internet.

Yes … I remember …

"The purpose of this … atrocity … was, quite simply, to compel my compliance to certain demands from a rather shadowy group of individuals with virtually unlimited influence in the world’s power circles. These … animals … are ruthless and savage in their pursuits. It is their custom to kill through horrific torture anyone who dares defy them … along with family and loved ones. Simply by sitting here with me, your life as well as that of your wife and other family and friends could very well be in peril."

That’s why we snuck out like spies.

"Precisely. If you decide against involving yourself in our … situation … we’ll drop you off near the restaurant where you normally lunch and no one should be the wiser. If you help us, please know that we have a Security Team en-route to your wife’s location; though unless some threat manifest itself against her, she won’t even know that they’re around her. The same arrangements are being made for your parents and your wife’s parents. And anyone else you think might be endangered."

Hassy.

Shannon flicked a glance to the woman sitting next to Jessup. She looked up from the computer on her lap. Covered.

"I realize this is quite a lot to digest in such a short time. But time really is critical. You must believe that I hesitated until the last possible moment to involve you … it’s just too dangerous … but you seem to be the only one in a position to deal with our … problem."

You can protect my wife?

James Shannon gave Gilbert Jessup a long, penetrating gaze. He wasn’t going to lie to the man. That was not his way. "We command extraordinary resources, Dr. Jessup. I have been fighting these men, literally, for over a year now. Several very powerful individuals have aligned themselves with us. We will do all that can be done to ensure the safety of you and your loved ones. But no thing in this world is certain, sir. The risk is great, but the battle is joined. To the best of our knowledge, our adversaries are unaware of what we’re doing, or who is involved in the operation. We have learned through painful experience to play our cards close to the vest … or perhaps under the table would be more apropos. We will engage every measure to conceal your involvement. But in the end … the risk remains."

LeAngel is in Seattle for the week … I need to call her …

Don’t break routine, Jessye McAllister cautioned. Our team has just landed and is on their way to her. Call her when you normally would. Don’t even hint that you’re doing anything out of the ordinary.

"What is it … exactly … that you want me to do?"

We need your help in dealing with Dr. Pike.

Alex? Jessup cast a questioning eye to Shannon. He suddenly remembered a few weeks ago … a meeting with some clients looking for someone to program something to