Moral Dilemma

By Adam J. Watts

Despite a different era... The same problems present themselves.

The year is 1963 and after the incident in Cuba, Seb lives a life in hiding. Fortunately America is big enough to facilitate such an existence, but it isn't long before the mysterious Mr. Beasley is contacted by one of the most powerful men in the country.

J. Edgar Hoover has spoken and his proposition appears too good to be true.

As a complex web of lies, deceit and political propaganda are weaved, turbulent times lay ahead for the former British Intelligence agent.

Forget flower power, cunning and firepower are his only allies.

***

Fast forward twenty years and say hello to recently promoted FBI Agent Jessica Kerry. Inexperienced but talented, Jess is assigned the task of uncovering the truth about that fateful afternoon in Dallas.

Did Lee Harvey Oswald really shoot the President?

Who are the mysterious terrorist cell called Compass?

And just how did Jess's fiancé get caught in the crossfire?

When past and present collide, only those involved can affect the future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legend Press
• Release date: Nov 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781785076497

Book preview

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Chapter One:

No Fly Zone ~ Autumn 1983

‘Many sources suspect the event near Sakhalin Island to be one of Soviet retaliation…’

The monotonous tone of the female newsreader grated on Seb. Her authoritative American accent, rigid posture and fixed expression repulsed him. Yet he felt pleased.

The plan had worked. Sitting in front of him was a battered and bruised Barry McVeigh. He was actually in pretty good shape, considering his flight had been on the receiving end of a surface-to-air missile not fifty minutes previously.

To the public this man was an average father of three. To those in the know? An influential employee of the United States Secret Service.

Turning off the television, Seb yanked a Balaclava from it’s hiding place in his pocket. A few seconds later he was to be completely unrecognisable.

‘Wakey wakey Agent McVeigh!’ Seb barked in an American accent.

No response.

A quick slap around an already bleeding cranium soon caught his attention. ‘So glad you could make it.’ His captor chuckled.

Panic stricken eyes stared back. An expression Seb had seen so many times.

‘Where am I? What do you want?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t divulge our current location. It would be unwise given the present political climate. I can however, answer your second question.’

Seb manoeuvred himself behind the detainee’s chair and leaned in close. McVeigh flinched as the receptors in his neck registered the uncomfortable caress of his captor’s breath. He was perspiring.

‘You.’

‘Me? What for? I’m just a normal guy…’

An ugly untruth if ever there was one.

‘Come now. Don’t be so modest… I’m quite sure there are several things of interest inside that balding head of yours’.

‘What happened to the plane?’ The American enquired rather flatly.

A textbook dissembling tactic.

This man had been trained, of that there was no doubt. Barry McVeigh would be a tough nut to crack, but crack he would.

Moving away from the agent, Seb walked to the far side of the room.

‘My organisation requested that your mode of transport make an unscheduled stop. For all intents and purposes, flight KAL007 crash landed somewhere in the Sea Of Japan…’ Seb paused, as he leaned against one of the four grey walls. ‘No survivors.’

McVeigh’s head jolted upwards. His eyes locking with his captor’s. ‘That’s right. The world thinks that the entire passenger list perished on impact. So you’re going to have to work very hard to avoid fulfilling that common misconception.’

The sound of Seb’s laugh echoed around the walls of the concrete room.

‘The other passengers… How could you?’

‘Quite easily. Such measures have been taken timesmany throughout history. The sacrifice of the masses to save but a few.’

‘You’ll have to kill me!’ The man in the blood-stained suit and tie shouted.

This new level of noise did not sit well with Seb.

‘And why is that exactly?’ He winced.

‘I’ll never help you.’

‘Of course you won’t.’ Seb retorted sarcastically. His demeanour suggested that he believed otherwise.

Without warning Seb thrust an arm out towards the middle of McVeigh’s back. At the end of this arm was an agricultural device. The result of this action was a short cry, followed by a muscular spasm. Usually a small amount of urine is expelled during the process… It was difficult to say in such poor light.

As Barry slumped in the chair panting, Seb strolled around to the front of the seat and crouched down. His tone was intentionally patronising.

‘You’re going to help me Barry. This is something beyond your control…’

The cattle prod loomed into the prisoner’s view once more. The threat of another shock was enough.

‘Tell me what you want.’ McVeigh gasped, before gritting his teeth.

‘I’ve already told you.’

As anticipated, the room fell silent.

‘You said me, but I don’t see how…’

‘Let’s just say that your face fits.’

‘You’re mad!’

Seb smiled, ‘Far from it my friend. I am the sanest person you’ll ever meet.’

His captive’s expression glazed over. Barry was physically drained and would soon have the headache from hell.

‘Who are you?’

Seb rose from his crouched position and paced away from the solitary chair.

‘Wrong question agent…’

‘Agent? Who exactly do you think I am? I’m just an–’

It happened so fast McVeigh could only assume the series of events. His captor must have darted toward the chair, pushing it over with some considerable force.

‘Don’t lie to me!’ Seb snarled. ‘You insult my intelligence.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion.’ Barry stammered from the floor.

‘You are Barry McVeigh, Secret Service and we… We are Compass!’ Seb restrained himself. His next sentence was delivered with the utmost composure. ‘I am sure your employer has heard of us.’

The room remained silent. McVeigh stared into the two corners of the room he could see from his lowly, upturned position. There was no natural light whatsoever. The only source of illumination radiated from a solitary strobe in the ceiling. Even that flickered from time to time.

Not a sound could be heard inside the room. From the two men in the middle, to the four corners of the concrete cube. McVeigh cut short this deafening silence.

‘Great, I’ve been kidnapped by a delusional schizophrenic.’ He sighed.

As if in an act of defiance, several silhouettes emerged from the shadows. He had been surrounded the whole time and yet had no knowledge of their presence. How could that be possible? Barry concluded that the blow to his head was more significant than he had previously thought.

Several machine gun safeties were simultaneously flicked off and Seb took this opportunity to reaffirm the prisoner’s position.

‘We.’

‘I see.’

‘I’m so glad! That will save us valuable time in the days ahead.’

‘Days?’

Righting the chair on which McVeigh sat, Seb spoke softly into Barry’s ear.

‘Days… We can hardly expect such a complicated, procedure to be completed in a few hours now, can we Barry?’

‘Procedure?’ The first sign of fear floated to the surface of the conversation like the body of a bloated corpse. Something McVeigh might be if he didn’t do as he was told.

‘That I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death. Philippians 3:10.’ No response.

‘Not a religious man Mr. McVeigh?’

‘My faith is not in question. In fact, if the offer of death is still on the cards…’

‘Oh no. That ship sailed a long time ago. You will help us Barry… Or your family suffers the same fate as the passengers you shared a flight with.’

Slowly the furrows in the face of the Secret Service agent flattened out, as Seb administered the sedative. The relaxation of the muscles reminded Seb of how the sand around this considerable island could be smoothed with the roll of a single wave.

The last thing Barry would witness was a brief glimpse of a face in the crowd of soldiers. One he knew to already be dead.

‘Sleep well Agent McVeigh. I need you on good form for the conference.’

Chapter Two:

‘Compass’ ~ Winter 1963

The room was little more than a storage facility. A basement above which a seedy take-away restaurant operated, but this series of small facts did not bother or inhibit the ambitions of Seb.

These were the humble beginnings of an underground organisation. One could hardly expect parity with the latest, multi-million dollar election campaign rumbling on above ground.

He was under no illusion about the crowd staring back at him. Many would never return, some would fade into obscurity, but a handful of loyal and enthusiastic individuals could be garnered. Of this he was certain.

‘Firstly, I would like to thank you all for attending.’

The usual grunts and nods were forthcoming, whilst others remained silent.

‘You are undoubtedly here because you received my invitation. It would therefore be fair to say that we share a similar political standing and likewise a disaffection with the current government… Am I correct in my assumption?’

A solitary voice could be heard from the far reaches of the room. Seb could not help but wonder why the wise guys always loitered at the back.

‘Tell us something we don’t know!’

‘Quite right Sir… I can see that you doubt my conviction. How about a little demonstration?’

In one flowing motion Seb’s assistant moved into position and the projector at the back of the room was powered up. The need for footage was both unnecessary and expensive. This crowd did not demand bright lights and special effects. Merely a man with enough sincerity to convince the gathered crowd that his vision was one of significant value to them all.

As the showman in the spotlight spun them all a line, the unsuspecting audience members were experiencing strong feelings of togetherness. For months, possibly years, they had searched for like-minded individuals, but thus far failed to find a suitable leader.

The majority of these social misfits already yearned to belong. All Seb had to do now was sell them his modern day elixir. This was of course a metaphor for the information he was about to divulge, but packaged correctly, he could create an insatiable appetite for want and destruction amongst the men gathered here tonight.

‘This is a map of Dallas, Texas… As you can see, I have highlighted one particular area.’

With this Seb pointed a pool cue, which he had liberated from a local bar earlier that day, at the illuminated wall. ‘If this crack in the plaster is impeding anyone’s view, please find a new place to stand…’

He waited whilst a few of his guests repositioned themselves.

‘Excellent. As I was saying; this is a map of Dealey Plaza in the expansive state of Texas. This particular location is of little importance during most days of the year, but soon it will become a hotbed of activity.’

‘The scheduled visit of the President?’ A new voice ventured.

‘Exactly! Who here took note of the proposed route listed in today’s edition of the Dallas Morning Star? A show of hands please.’

If this had been a vote, whatever metaphorical movement Seb had just proposed would have been carried unanimous. ‘Very good, but who in this room got any further than that?’

At first he thought he had lost them. That his idea had been too elaborate or the suggestion to which he eluded too vague. This was Texas after all.

Finally a younger man stepped forward. He could have been anyone in the street on an average afternoon, such was his ambiguity, but Seb had already seen what he needed to.

‘It’s no secret that our President likes the cameras. Previous stunts like this one have given him maximum exposure.’

‘And maximum exposure is our friend gentlemen’ Seb acknowledged.

‘So what?’ Another older, deeper set of vocal chords disparaged, ‘We mosey over there and lose of a few rounds? You’d never get past security.’

Seb shook his head, ‘Since purchasing my copy of the paper, I have done nothing but work and rework the plan… Until I reached the point I am at now.’

Seb paused for both dramatic effect and to encourage the eagerness of his now actively engaged audience.

‘Which is?’ The younger man demanded.

‘This.’

Living up to his role as an elaborate salesman of old, Seb flourished a hand once more. The sheet of acetate upon the OHP was quickly changed and there, for all to see was his masterpiece.

This was that moment in time when you found yourself standing out on the ledge. This relatively small group of open-minded individuals would either join him in his leap of faith or quite as easily push him from his pedestal.

Murmuring ensued as the complexity and precision of the schematic were duly absorbed and appreciated. He seemed to be winning them over, but just to make sure he decided to explain the finer details.

‘As you can see, I have taken the time to research the Plaza and narrowed down the windows of opportunity. Elm Street appears to be the most open expanse of land and therefore that is…’

‘Where the majority of the security forces will be,’ the gruff man interrupted.

‘If you’ll let me finish?’ Seb paused. ‘Thank you… It is a valid point that you make my friend and that is why we won’t be doing this the conventional way.’

Over the next ten minutes Seb proceeded to inform his onlookers of their worth. He would need them on the ground to act as ‘interference’. A mix of exuberant enthusiasts and the occasional petty misdemeanour were the order of the day.

‘You think that will be enough?’ Someone enquired.

‘If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I take it we are all singing from the same hymn sheet gentlemen?’

Several heads nodded in unison. One remained motionless. ‘Something troubling you? You in the leather jacket.’

‘What happens if we get caught?’ the sceptical man in his mid thirties asked.

‘You will not get caught. None of you will be pulling the trigger. I already have someone lined up for that particular pleasantry. A man – just like you, but with considerable military experience.’

‘I don’t know… What about the FBI? They have eyes everywhere.’

Seb smiled.

‘What if I told you that the FBI sanctioned our actions?’

‘I’d say you’re crazy.’

‘You are entitled to your opinions of course, but…’

‘I want out!’

Quickly the black leather of the jacket was heading for the door.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ Seb warned.

The man’s hand reached for the handle. As his skin made contact with the metallic surface he began to spasm uncontrollably. Within seconds he was lying on the floor.

Surprisingly the seven remaining disciples did not balk at the sight of their potential ‘comrade’ convulsing on the dirty basement floor. Instead they turned to face Seb, as if in wait.

‘Deal with that will you?’ their new leader called to the former projectionist.

‘We share a common goal gentlemen… From our humble origins, we will rise up against this corrupt political agenda and put an end to the reign of John F. Kennedy… Are you with me?’

A firm, positive response came back in an instance. Even the biker with the deep voice appeared passionate about what was to happen.

‘Thank you. Your loyalty and enthusiasm is appreciated. We shall reconvene here tomorrow night and review the plan. Time may be against us, but the power of our belief is not.’

As his final words of the evening were delivered, Seb could see his associate dragging the electrified body of the doubter from the room. Not everyone chooses the right path. Even when it is signposted so clearly for them.

‘Welcome to Compass my friends. A true bearing for us all.’

Chapter Three:

Destiny ~ Summer 1983

Agent Kerry made her way down yet another of the clinical corridors within the walls of FBI headquarters. The overly sterile appearance of the place didn’t sit well with her, but the feeling of unease could also be the result of several pairs of eyes, each duo burning a hole in the back of her head.

It was only a matter of days since she had received that promotion. The one her colleagues hadn’t stopped talking about. Just this morning she had walked in on a conversation of which she was the main topic.

Obviously the discussion had ceased upon her arrival, but this was as good of an indicator than if the two men had simply carried on regardless.

Her age had almost certainly been a part of the controversy, but the fact people within the organisation found particularly difficult to accept was her gender. The looks of derision Jess continued to receive since that initially exciting announcement were beginning to annoy her.

Friendships of several years were suddenly pushed aside or forgotten. She could only assume that this was a mix of the aforementioned prejudice alongside an equally frustrating brand of professional jealousy and macho bullshit.

She was no less capable than any of her male counterparts. Her citations proved this, as did her results from the initial aptitude tests and various role playing scenarios that trainees were exposed to before they received their official Bureau status.

As the fledgling federal agent continued on her way, she pushed a few strands of red hair from her eye line and thought back to one particular time in her past. Whenever her brother and their cousins had been playing in the yard, Uncle Mike would regale his niece with stories from his childhood.

Michael’s father had been a policeman and the tales of a turn of the century lawman lit the fire behind her impressionable eyes. She had always known she wasn’t like kids her own age and her uncle saw this too. Whilst the other girls were off fantasising about fairies or princesses, she was daydreaming about solving crimes.

Her mom tried to dissuade Jess from what was fast becoming a fixation, but nothing would do the trick. Things died down a little in her teens, as even she began to notice boys, but when one date took things too far, she couldn’t hide her true nature.

If her memory served her well, which it usually did, the kid’s name was Ryan. A typical jock who had only shown an interest in her, because he thought he was on to a sure thing. She knew this at the time, but like him, wanted to prove a point to the snotty glamour girls in her year group.

The arrangement ended badly for both parties, as the overly amorous Ryan took a knee to the nether regions and suffered a fractured arm. Jess herself had to endure the unpleasant process of having a guy force himself on her.

Of course, Ryan’s parents were on the war path and as a result the young and somewhat naive Ms Kerry was staring criminal charges in the face.

Looking back, she knew that the arm was a step too far, but she couldn’t resist taking away something that meant a lot to her ‘attacker’.

He had been her school’s first choice quarterback for the last season and a half, but her actions that night would certainly put a dent in his progress. Fortunately it was what her mother had referred to as the, ‘source of the problem’ that saved the day, as Uncle Mike persuaded the family to drop the charges.

She never knew exactly what he had said to them. Most likely something along the lines of their son being just as much to blame. Nobody could say how far it might have gone if she hadn’t reacted, but Jess knew which course of events she preferred.

The trouble was, one stupid decision had cost her something she too held dearly. Periods spent with her favourite uncle.

After the incident her mother called time on their relationship and forbid her brother-in-law from coming to the family home. She blamed him (unfairly) for what had happened, when deep down she simply resented having raised a tomboy.

So what if she didn’t like wearing dresses? Who wants to be a prom queen and live off an arrogant man, when you can be your own boss and tell guys what to do?

In a matter of seconds she had reassured herself that this was the career she had always wanted and any shit that came with it was simply the price to pay.

‘Agent Kerry!’ a voice beckoned as she got within a few feet of the door. Her boss and mentor stood waiting for her arrival.

‘I’m not late am I?’ she enquired.

‘Just in time, as always. Please, take a seat.’

Special Agent Anderson waved a hand towards the office and she followed in its wake. As she passed by him, the smell of his familiar aftershave invaded her nostrils. It wasn’t an obtrusive scent, merely one she had become accustomed to over the years as a cadet.

Closing the door behind him, Bill took up his position behind the large desk. The office was tastefully decorated and went against the grain of everything the exterior decor stood for. Jess couldn’t help imagining how frustrated this retro masterpiece would make the architects feel… If they ever had the displeasure of seeing it.

‘So… What can I do for you Agent Kerry?’ he smirked.

‘What?’ she asked with a titter.

‘Sorry. I’m just having a hard time adjusting to your new title,’ his smirk now developing into a full blown smile.

Jess’s smile disappeared instantly. Anderson noticed this. ‘What did I say?’

‘You’re not the only one having a hard time adjusting to it.’ She replied flatly.

Running a hand through his greying hair, Bill leaned forward in his chair.

‘You may be young, but you are one of the best agents this department is ever likely to have at its disposal… You could give the guys out there a run for their