PIPER'S, Inc. 3 - DEAD TO RIGHTS

By JOAQUIN DE TORRES and DR. JOSEPH L. DE TORRES

Seven years ago, a secret society of exceptionally-trained assassins swept over the nation's criminal landscape like a tsunami on a tiny village.

Trained in exotic forms of hand to hand combat, military weaponry, and bleeding edge cyber technology - they hunted down and purged the most corrupt politicians, CEOs, lawyers, judges, priests, televangelists, social icons, police chiefs, and oligarchs with horrific and savage efficiency. No mercy was shown to those who destroyed the everyday citizen; no quarter was given to those who oppressed the innocent.

Performing this purge was PIPER'S, Inc., and spearheading the elite corps of PIPER'S, Inc. combatants was Draven Moon, callsign Temujin, a former special forces commander. A one-man army, he led the resistance; he led the assassinations; he led the raids. He was the facilitator of the new emancipation of America.

But that was seven years ago. . .

Today, Moon is serving multiple life sentences in Attica's super-max prison; the organization's original directors are either dead or retired; and the once invincible combatants of PIPER'S, Inc. are leaderless, unemployed, and scattered.

President Ericka Hedlin, a staunch supporter of PIPER'S, Inc., watches helplessly as the nation diverges again towards government and corporate corruption, racism, and police brutality. Without Moon, PIPER'S, Inc. is dormant; without PIPER'S, Inc., America is doomed.

But Moon has a plan -- an inconceivable and implausible plan. From within his cell, he promises to hunt down every conspiring facilitator and influencer in every government building, every courthouse, every police precinct, every law firm, every corporation, every political district, every racist rally, and in every oligarch's mansion -- EVERYONE who has damaged and threatened America in his absence -- will be burned alive in the flames of a New Revolution!

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Jul 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781456631543

Book preview

.

INTRODUCTION

Emergency Room 6

John F. Kennedy Memorial Hospital

La Quinta, CA.

Patient has hemopneumothorax, Doctor! Blood is flooding the pleural cavity!

Let’s drain it, responded Dr. Carmen Borja calmly, the head ER surgeon. As her trauma team worked frantically on the wounds of the victim, Borja remained collected, issuing orders in her usual controlled, professional tone. After 26 years as a trauma surgeon in the San Francisco Bay Area where shootings and knifings were as prevalent as its catastrophic rent, Borja was no stranger to blood, shredded flesh, bullet holes, stab wounds, broken necks, and shattered bones.

Borja had seen all facets of human misery and anatomical horror, and there had to be a breaking point. Working 12-hour shifts, 24-hour on-calls, and absolutely no-safe weekends were ruining her relationship with her family and her heath. She desperately needed a change; and when her daughter turned 13, she decided to make it.

Through a fellow surgeon and good friend at Balboa Medical Center in San Diego, she was tipped off about an opening for an ER surgeon position in the upper-crust resort town of La Quinta, California - population over 37,500.

A nice small town to raise my precious Charley. The message piqued her interest. She immediately began her research and her eyes lit up. La Quinta - an affluent resort city in Riverside County about 130 miles north of San Diego. Google stated that it was known for its first-class social and recreational facilities, gated communities, quiet environment, scenic mountain and valley vistas, celebrities, and music and sports extravaganzas like Coachella Valley, the Indian Wells pro tennis tournament, and the annual Bob Hope Chrysler Classic PGA golf tournament. La Quinta is ranked among the top 100 golf courses in the United States.

Ashamed for a momentary slip into demographic and racial reality, she knew that a place like this – full of rich White retirees and Yuppies, wait, do they even say ‘Yuppies’ anymore? I meant ‘Hipsters’ - would not attract the street crime, drugs and human trafficking, shootings, beatings, gang activities, homelessness, and overall filth that always threatened the citizens in the Bay Area.

This is my reward for all those years of saving lives in the worst way possible other than being a battlefield surgeon. I need this. Charley needs this. Her friend told her that she had everything La Quinta would want. Borja’s resume in the ER was impeccable, far and away more qualified from anything that town would ever need.

Nice and quiet, she said out loud. The tempo will be slow. The emergencies, routine. No school shootings, no gang wars, no kidnappings. She smiled, already determined to get the job no matter what. What could go wrong in a place like that? Dare I say, it might even prove to be – boring? She laughed at how giddy she was getting. She was accepted for the job 24-hours after sending an email with her attached Introduction Letter and CV.

In the eight months from the day she arrived, she had performed only five emergency surgeries, non-crime related; and of those, only one was serious enough to require her to stay more than five hours in the ER.

That was eight months ago.

* * * * *

SHE’S LOSING MORE BLOOD! yelled a young nurse, starting to panic.

Apply a stem to the left ventricle! ordered the assistant surgeon. Give me the goddamn cannula! Insert it through the vein there. Hurry up!

Borja’s eyes, nerves, and spine iced up when she walked into the ER and onto the scene of her first major crisis situation. Her first! That is, at La Quinta.

Tell me quickly, Renee! What’s going on? She was given a gruesome gist by the head nurse as both women frantically threw on their scrubs, masks and gloves in the locker room. Renee Wilks tried to be as calm as possible as she rammed out the information in bullet format.

Assassination attempt. President Sanchez and members of his cabinet. Multiple gunshots, multiple deaths. PIPER’S, Inc. members working security, also shot, several killed.

What’s the condition of the President?

Dead, Wilks answered flatly. You have to go to ER 6 to work on a PIPER’S, Inc. member. She’s about to go. Borja remained silent as they both reported to their assignments. When she entered ER 6, the cacophony of voices, equipment tones, and the clinking of metal instruments filled her ears. There was blood everywhere; there were bodies everywhere.

She quickly glanced at the clipboard recently and messily scribbled upon: DR. KATARINA VULIN. AGE: 32. COMBAT SURGEON. PIPER’S, INC. Dear God! This was no ordinary emergency surgery; this was no ordinary victim. Vulin was a legend in the field, a prodigy whose reputation as a surgeon vastly outshined her notoriety for working for PIPER’S, Inc.

She suddenly felt her calm being replaced by desperation. So, as all professionals of her caliber know, when the calm departs, training steps in.

Doctor Borja, THANK GOD YOU’RE HERE! exclaimed Dr. Benjamin Tanaka, Japanese-American surgeon who initially received the patients. We’ve got bodies everywhere! Tanaka snapped his head to the side, not knowing nor caring who was there. I need six units of blood, type B positive!, then turned back to Borja, somewhat less burdened by panic now that she had arrived.

Carmen, I’ve initiating two large-bore IV cannulae for vigorous fluid replacement. But, I’m afraid she’s lost too much blood. There’s hemorrhaging in multiple areas. He looked around quickly, then into her eyes with worry. He leaned in and spoke quietly enough so no one else could hear.

Carmen, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to do next. Her compassionate and empathetic eyes reassured him.

You’re doing great, Ben. We’re together now. Borja took the side opposite him and scanned Vulin’s body laying before her. It only took a moment for her experience to kick in. Tanaka, in only his fifth year of practice, had reached a point where he couldn’t answer all the questions he had rifling through his head at the time. But from Borja’s eyes to the synaptic database in her brain, the answers came forth like flood water.

Initiate tube thoracostomy. Make your incision in the intercostal space between the third and fourth ribs. Jolene, prepare 10cc’s of Voluven to prevent hemorrhagic shock.

Yes, Doctor Borja!

This doesn’t look good at all, Borja said under her breath. Jolene, just in case, prepare recombinant erythropoietin and platelet transfusions if her count drops below 10,000.

Yes, Doctor! Only four months on the job, the young African-American nurse’s voice was beginning to crack as she viewed the victim in all its ravaged humanity. She was temporarily held still and began to feel utter remorse for this victim, who despite the oxygen mask covering her face, was still so young and beautiful. Borja noticed this immediately.

Keep cool, Jolene. We all feel the same way, but I need you sharp.

Yes, Doctor Borja. I’m sorry. Jolene snapped out of it and continued with her duties.

Hold on, honey, Borja whispered to the motionless body as she slid the catheter tube between shattered ribs. Fluid immediately began draining out of the tube, but Borja wasn’t optimistic. As she worked, using all the techniques and tools at her disposal, she couldn’t know that almost two hours had passed until she looked up at the clock for the first time. She shook her head and motioned to another nurse nearby.

Wendy, get my cellphone, there on the counter. Call Dr. Jesse Torres. It’s the first number in my contacts list. He should be in Riverside now.

Yes, Doctor. The nurse retrieved the phone and pressed the Contacts key on the glass screen. I’ve got it.

Tell him we have a multiple gunshot wound victim; she’s lost four pints of blood. I’ve extracted 9 bullets from the victim’s chest, shoulder, ribcage, and abdomen. Tell him I need him here ASAP!

The nurse moved to the far side of the room with the phone. Borja turned to another nurse standing just behind Wendy.

Rita, come here.

Yes, Doctor!

Come behind me. Take off my necklace. Be careful, there’s a key on it. The nurse unclasped the gold chain that threaded into the loop of an ordinary-looking house key. When the nurse displayed the neckless in her hand, Borja spoke quietly so only the nurse could hear.

Go to my office. Open the bottom drawer of the right side of my desk. In it, there is a box. Use that key to open it and bring me back the set of vials inside. There should be six vials of blue liquid. Bring them all. Hurry! Rita left soundlessly.

Patient is going into cardiac dysrhythmias! exclaimed Tanaka.

Initiating defibrillation, Borja countered. Set paddles to 400.

She’s stopped breathing!

Keep the ventilator on her.

Paddles ready at 400, Doctor. Borja placed the defibrillator paddles on the torn meat of Vulin’s chest.

CLEAR! When Tanaka and the other nurses lifted their hands, she squeezed the triggers sending 400 volts of electricity into Vulin’s heart. The torso lifted slightly, then dropped.

Check her pulse, ordered Tanaka.

I have no pulse, Doctor. Eyes flashed to the monitor as a single tone filled the room. Flatline!

Increase to 700, Borja ordered as she glanced at the corner of the room where Wendy had the phone to her ear.

Paddles ready at 700, Doctor!

CLEAR! Again, hands were raised and Borja squeezed the triggers. This time the lifted only slightly.

Check pulse.

No pulse, Doctor. The flatline tone seemed to intensify in volume and strength. NO! NO! NO!

Come on, honey! Stay with me! This is our last chance! Increase to 1,000! Desperation was not only flowing from Borja’s voice but drops of sweat were beading on her forehead. She looked at Tanaka whose eyes registered hopelessness. Jolene came around her and dabbed the sweat with a dry cloth.

Wendy, where’s Dr. Torres?! Wendy raised one finger into the air.

CLEAR! Borja squeezed the trigger, but the body barely moved.

No pulse, Doctor.

NO! GODDAMN IT! NOT YOU! WHERE’S RITA!

Right behind you, Doctor! Borja turned and took one of the vials of blue liquid.

Put the rest back, Rita. Thank you. The nurse immediately left the room.

We’re flatlining! a voice called out urgently. The eerie monotone of the electrocardiogram machine silenced the room for a heart-wrenching moment as all activity slowed or stopped. Borja glanced at it and back to Vulin.

Give me a hypodermic needle stat! Prepare for intracardiac injection! WENDY!

He’s on his way! He was already on the road, but it’s an hour’s drive from Riverside. Borja didn’t hear the rest of Wendy’s statement; just the fact that he was ‘on his way’ was all that was important to her.

Any pulse?

No, Doctor.

Am I too late?

Borja injected the needle directly into the heart and stepped back, tears flooding her eyes.

Please! Please! she whispered and looked at the clock at the exact moment when the she injected the blue fluid. This has to work!

Carmen, should I initiate resuscitative thoracotomy?

Just wait for a moment, Ben. She looked at the clock again. Twenty seconds had passed. COME ON! COME ON! Thirty seconds. After 40 seconds, the tone had not changed. As if a miracle might present itself, she asked one last time.

Any pulse? Her tone reflected little optimism.

No, Doctor. I’m sorry.

I’m too late. I’M TOO LATE!

All eyes turned from the victim to Borja as she stepped back and reached up to pull her surgical mask down to her neck.

I was too late.

She removed the oxygen mask and gazed at the face of a woman who could have easily been a fashion model. She felt a hand on hers.

You tried, Carmen. You did everything you could. You were there when I failed. Tanaka’s voice was soothing on the surface, but Borja felt her soul had been stripped from her body. She shook her head and smiled.

You didn’t fail, Ben. You were brilliant. This boost of confidence was everything he needed to keep him buoyed for whatever was to come the rest of the day. He nodded humbly and turned to join the crew to help clean up the room.

Jolene, note the time of death, Borja said in a trembling voice. The nurse entered the time on the doctor’s log. Borja put her hand on the nurses around her.

Thank you, everyone, you were magnificent today. Let’s clean up and clear the room for the coroner. As they went about their duties, she looked down at the table. Tears flowed easily now as she caressed Vulin’s face with her hand.

I’m sorry, Katarina. I’m so sorry.

FOREWORD

Palm Desert, CA.

45 miles northeast of La Quinta

Report! ordered the voice on the other end of the line. His tone was rough, but in total control.

We got them! the man answered, trying to conceal his nervous demeanor. We got them! he repeated. We got that mother fucker!

Coin, calm down! said the voice on the phone. I want details! Who did you get?

THE FUCKING PRESIDENT, MAN! We got Sanchez! Right in the fucking head! BANG! His fucking brains were sprayed all over the fucking ground!

Emery Coin was the last person Meredith Helms, CEO of Paradigm Security, wanted to hear on the phone. Coin was an immature and self-absorbed ex-infantry soldier, who was proficient in shooting every type of gun, but had a hard time with cockiness and self-control.

He liked to shoot off his mouth. Although Coin was an affable person in most social settings, he had a penchant to just keep talking, even when not invited to do such. Unfortunately for Helms, this was the only person who answered the phone after trying eight others.

Yeah, Mr. Helms, we nailed that son-of-a-bitch! I saw the hit! It was great! His brains just blew out the back of his fucking head! He was–

Give the phone to Teller! Helms interrupted. He waited for the calmer, more stable Bart Teller to talk with him.

Yes, sir!

Report, Helms ordered in a more reserved voice.

Mr. Helms, we got President Sanchez and a whole slew of others. The PIPER’S, Inc. guards, we got them, too.

All of them?

No, but several who were in the tent with Sanchez.

Did you see Turnbull?

Yes, Deacons shot him in the head, too. Through the eye, I think. There was silence for a few moments as Helms processed this first part of the report.

Did anyone see Moon?

Who, sir?

Draven Moon, he’s their leader. He’s known as ‘Temujin.’ Tall, Korean; he would be the one giving orders, and carrying an assault rifle. He would have been closest to Sanchez and Turnbull.

No, sir. We saw only one Asian guy before we left, and he was carrying a bow and arrow. No gun. And he was like a hundred yards away from the tent where Sanchez was. He was good, too! He took out Mike, Slade, and Donnie!

Silence prevailed for several moments as Helms processed this part of the report. He could give a sugar-frosted fuck about those three men.

Sir? Are you still there?

Yes, go on.

Deacons was acting as the bartender when he killed the president and Turnbull. It was a perfect set-up.

Where’s Deacons now? Silence.

I believe he was killed, sir.

How can you be sure? This time a very long silence permeated between them. Teller! Talk to me!

I think we’re the only ones who made it out, sir.

THE ONLY ONES WHO MADE IT OUT?! WHERE ARE THE OTHERS?!

The other vans took some heavy fire from PIPER’S, Inc. and many were killed right in front of our eyes! We got the hell out of there after we dropped the smoke bombs!

And Tyler?! Did you see Tyler?! This question was followed by more silence. TELL ME! DID YOU SEE TYLER?!

No, sir! And we waited for them at the rendezvous point for more than the required time, but nobody showed up!

Oh, my god, Helms gasped, his body collapsing like a puppet whose strings had just been sheared.

We took heavy fire ourselves and barely got out, sir.

How many are there left with you?

Just four.

Oh, my fucking god! Helms almost choked as his body seized up in utter disbelief. He pushed himself up and stood on weak legs. He stumbled to the wet bar where he fumbled with a bottle of whiskey. His hands shaking, he poured some in a glass and some out of the glass. He slammed the drink down.

Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! he kept whispering as he desperately imagined the situation and what was to happen next. He had no contingency plan for his men being slaughtered except for the wiping of their identities, which was a prerequisite for joining the combat, espionage and other clandestine departments of the company.

This entailed surgically removing their finger prints, thus effectively erasing their biometric history from the nationwide law enforcement databases. Through this process, upon capture or death, their identities could not be revealed to federal or forensic investigators.

Sir, do you want us to continue to the next rendezvous point? The question broke Helms out of his stupor. He stumbled back to his desk.

No, Teller, he answered a bit more calmly, although he was now shaking all over. Come back, and give me a full report when you get in.

Yes, sir. The phone went dead, and just as suddenly, it chimed again. Helms looked at the caller ID. FUCK! He had to take this call no matter what he was feeling.

Hello?

Congratulations, Meredith! I just saw the breaking news.

Thank you, sir.

I understand you lost some men, but that was to be expected. Look, I don’t have time to talk right now, but I just wanted to tell you the 50 million has been deposited into your account. Thirty for Sanchez, and an additional 20 for Turnbull. You hit the jackpot!

Thank you, sir.

You’ve just gone down in history, Meredith. Enjoy it. You’ve earned it. The phone went dead again, and Helms just let the device drop onto his desk. He sat listlessly. His company was $50 million richer for assassinating the President of the United States, as well as the director and staff of PIPER’S, Inc.

Things would change in the country almost immediately now, and he thought he would relish watching all the newscasts about this historic day for weeks. But this history came at a massive cost. And especially, the amount of the treasure did not equate to the loss of the blood. He lost 19 good men, but most devastatingly, one of them – the driver of one of vans – was Tyler, his only son.

Any other day, this would have been a highly successful mission with a lucrative outcome. But to Helms, this was absolutely devastating. In addition to the loss of his men and his son, Draven Moon was not part of the final body count, something he was deeply counting on.

Temujin was still out there, and if he ever found out who did this and who gave the order, he would not settle for just blood when he exacted his revenge. He would want flesh and bone.

PROLOGUE

- One year after the La Quinta Massacre –

Progressive News America (PNA) Headquarters

Orlando, FL.

"Hello America, this is Progressive News America, I’m Rachel San Pedro Davis.

"Breaking news this evening from Mexico City, as local police were called to the scene of a gruesome double murder.

"Father Jose de Blanca Garcia, a Catholic priest who confessed to raping 30 young girls between the ages of 5 and 10 years old, and who had HIV, was acquitted and absolved of all the crimes by the Roman Catholic Church, specifically by the Archdiocese Primada de Mexico last week.

"Last night, Garcia was found dead in the pastoral home of Bishop Filipe Castillo de Cornejo, the bishop who carried the absolution rights. He, too, was found dead.

"Authorities said they were both bound, gagged, and castrated alive, before having their throats cut. At first, they believed this was the work of a Mexican gang, or a vengeful relative. However, a crucifix was found carved into their right palms, indicating that this crime was committed by ‘The Trinity Killer.’

"This is the second time the unknown killer, who has paralyzed the country with over 25 murders and mutilations, has struck outside the United States. Last month, Father Ancezo Inzoli, a Catholic priest in Rome who was convicted of sexually abusing as many as two dozen boys, ages 8 through 13, and paying their parents tens of thousands of dollars not to leak the crimes, was found dead at the gates of the Vatican.

"Inzoli, who was granted clemency by the Pope, had his genitals eviscerated before his death and subsequent carving of the cross on his palm. A box containing the genitals was delivered to the Pope’s private residence with a note that warned if he continues to lessen the disciplinary sentences of pedophile priests, he will continue to receive boxes.

"In addition to the more highlighted murders of former Congress members and legislators, The Trinity Killer has also hunted down religious pedophiles here at home.

"Just last year, in six separate states, three former Catholic priests and three Christian pastors, who served shortened prison sentences for pedophilia, were also eviscerated and murdered. Like the victims in Italy, these men were alive while castrated. The genitals of the former priests were sent to their respective diocese’s cardinals, while those of the former pastors were sent to their wives.

More on the murder of Father Jose de Blanca Garcia, as well as The Trinity Killer after the break.

* * * * *

Over a year had passed since the ambush at La Quinta Resort and Golf Club, which would later be dubbed ‘The La Quinta Massacre,’ by the media. The ambush claimed the lives of many important men and one very special woman.

On that bloody day, the nation lost President Turo Marin Sanchez, one of the best Progressive leaders ever to sit in the Oval Office. It was on his watch that PIPER’S, Inc. was born and flourished. The organization, led by Dr. Dale Turnbull, had changed the country dramatically, wonderfully, and brutally. Within three years of its inception, the manipulated gears of criminal American governing came to a grinding halt.

The Capitalist system, writhing in inherent corruption, cronyism, and plutocracy – was shattered. Neo-Liberalism and Neo-Conservatism, which strengthened and secured the power of the wealthy on the backs of the poor, was razed to the ground.

And when the smoke cleared, the poor would experience wealth; the oppressed would know justice; minorities would have equality; the destitute would earn opportunity; and the blind would see enlightenment.

The PIPER’S, Inc. philosophy of change was so simple in concept that it horrified the ruling class to its core: eliminate the masters and educate the slaves; destroy the cheaters and empower the cheated; take from the rich and give to the poor.

The execution of this concept proved their fears correct. One by one, the towers of corporate and government power tumbled; and those at the top, or in positions whose decisions over the years hurt, deprived, and oppressed the common man, were hunted and slaughtered.

All this was common knowledge now; the PIPER’S, Inc. legacy was etched in the shifting plates of America’s maturity, and there was no way the citizens would reverse, redo or rescind anything they did. Life was good. . .up until the bullet went through Sanchez’s head at La Quinta.

Naturally, the assassination of Sanchez took precedent in the media and in the world. Even the deaths of Adam McNett, Sanchez’s Press Secretary; and Kevin Olmstead, the Director of Homeland Security who survived that day, only to be killed by the Washington Sniper under the new administration, were second billing to Sanchez.

What didn’t get any billing was the extent of the damage and loss suffered by Sanchez’s escorts, the PIPER’S, Inc. Ghosts. Other details were kept from the public and media by the organization and the FBI for security purposes. The fact that a president was killed overshadowed everything, and facts – such as Sanchez joining PIPER’S, Inc. in a secret ceremony after he murdered then Attorney General Will Zachary – were never known.

Also untold to the press were the following facts:

- The assassination team were disguised as food caterers for the La Quinta golf day.

- There were eight PIPER’S, Inc. casualties; six deaths and two with life-altering injuries.

- PIPER’S, Inc. Director, Dr. Dale Turnbull, was the only name given to the media from the group because of his public persona and media-friendly relationship.

- Nineteen of the 23 assassins were killed by PIPER’S, Inc.

- One assassin was captured alive and was being held at the PIPER’S, Inc. compound.

- The mastermind of The La Quinta Massacre was Harrison Bernard, a rising star in the organization who was working under the influence of Benson Roth, one of the heirs to the Rothchild’s family empire.

- PIPER’S, Inc. second in command, Dr. Jim Fite, and eventual Turnbull replacement, Dr. Doug Stewart, survived the attack but spent months in comas before recovering with permanent physical disabilities.

- Three Ghosts deaths: Rolando James, callsign Lando; Carl Sharper, callsign Razor; and Nathan Dison, callsign Dice, had just joined the organization and were on their very first missions.

But the most tragic loss that would change the nucleus of the PIPER’S, Inc. universe was that of the organization’s combat surgeon, Dr. Katarina Valero. She was one of