The Activist

By Neil A Cook

Neil Cook was born in the Bay Area. As a child he and his family moved north to Mendocino County where he still lives. Since childhood he has had an interest in art, history and fiction and has always dreamed of pursuing a career in a creative realm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Global Summit House
• Release date: Jan 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637957233

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The Activist

Neil A. Cook

Copyright © 2021 Neil A. Cook.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ISBN: 978-1-63795-724-0 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-63795-725-7 (Hardcover Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-63795-723-3 (E-book Edition)

Book Ordering Information

Phone Number: 315 288-7939 ext. 1000 or 347-901-4920

Email: [e-mail]

Global Summit House

www.globalsummithouse.com

Printed in the United States of America

For my mother Bernadette, this book

would have never been published without her help.

Thank you mom.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

The Manhunt For Nick Freeman

The Improbable Conspiracy

A Twist of Fate

Karen’s Checkmate

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

No man is an island and that statement is no less valid when it comes to the creation and publication of a book. I want to thank all the people at Global Summit House for giving me the opportunity to bring my work to the world. I could not have done this without your help and you have my endless gratitude. Thank you for helping a nobody from Ukiah, California-a rural town in Northern California-realize his dream of being a published writer.

I want to thank my mother Bernadette who brought GSH to my attention and helped me pay for the service. I also want the acknowledge my stepfather Scott, my father David, my stepmother Kathy, my brother Josh and my sister-in-law Jessie and thank them for all their support and just being a great family.

I want to thank the proprietors of Slam Dunk Pizza in Ukiah;Matt, Stephanie, Chuck & Sue for giving me a job and helping restore confidence I thought was gone forever. I also want to thank the staff of SDP-past and present-for all the help and support I’ve received from them over the years. (Support your local businesses!)

Finally I want to extend a thank you to two local bookstores Mendocino Book Company and Village Books-both in Ukiah-for keeping me supplied in good literature. (Support your local bookstores!)

Prologue

The taxi cab rolled through the streets of Chicago, slowly creeping it’s way through the heavy traffic. Nick Freeman sat in the backseat looking out at the impressive city with all it’s skyscrapers and overstimulating lights. Isolated from the windy city, Nick sat on the right side of the uncomfortable vinyl seat, waiting for the cab to reach his destination. Nick was a political activist and an author who protested the way special interest in government and commerce resulted in social injustices. Nick and his mother Linda were left all alone when Nick’s father Philip died in brutal car accident when Nick himself was only four years old. Nick’s father had no life insurance and they were turned down by every federal financial aid program available. Linda Freeman had to take two full time jobs, one waiting tables at a diner during the day and another working the graveyard shift stocking shelves at a grocery store, just for the two of them to stay ahead of the bills. Nick turned to political activism as a teenager and hasn’t looked back sense. He protested corporate downsizing, poor health care issues, corruption in government, anything that he felt was a social injustice. He led many political movements and public demonstrations while still in high school and by the time he was in his early twenties, Nick wrote his first book No Man’s Land which elaborated on the lack of control that blue-collar workers have over their lives and the lack of empathy corporations show for their laborers. The book became a bestseller and earned Nick national attention, making him one of the most well known public activists in the country. He continued writing, producing three more books, Oil Nation outlining the unreasonable control oil companies had over society, Hard Luck: The Linda Freeman Story which was about he and his mother’s struggle and his latest book The Beast which was about outrageous government-controlled security measures in the post 9/11 world. Nick was in Chicago that week to promote the release of The Beast with three book signings, a press conference and an appearance on the John Casey radio show, which had just taken place the previous night. Nick had long been a critic of the powerful political clique he called the circle. A group alleged to use it’s powerful influence to meet political and business interests, that would sometimes lead to budget cuts in public schools and hospitals and the closure of several useful government-funded programs. These habits made them the perfect antagonists for Nick Freeman’s activist campaigns. The circle included Nebraska Governor Page Perkins, who was also the wife of arms manufacturer Powerhouse Industries board of director’s chairman Rex Perkins III, Florida Congressman Aaron McKay, Preston Kirkpatrick the CEO of oil conglomerate Generation One, Nathan Payne a loud mouth opinionated journalist and host of the news show Bring The Payne and Michael Cutler, a United States senator representing Missouri, who like Nick was in Chicago that week as part of a promotional tour to challenge The Clean & Renewable Energy Research & Development Act going through Congress. The bill-which would mainstream the use and development of renewable energy options if signed into law-was supported by President Brenden Cross. The plan was met with just as much criticism as praise, especially from the circle who considered it wasteful spending and argued that the bill ensured big government control over energy development and distribution. John Casey managed to get Nick to talk about a theory he had that they were involved in the attempted assassination of Brenden Cross. After Cross’ primary election victory speech he was shot at by Billy McGrath, a disgraced police officer from Southern California who had been stripped of his badge a month earlier for repeatedly striking a teenage shoplifter with his baton. McGrath fired three shots at the man who would become the leader of the free world in less than a year and missed. He attempted to flee the scene, but was gunned down by Spokane police officers assisting with event security. He died from his wounds on the way to the hospital. After a lengthy investigation, the authorities determined that McGrath acted on his own, the attempted assassination was McGrath’s way of lashing out at the world for the end of his law enforcement career. Nick made it no secret that he believed that McGrath was hired to assassinate Cross, reasoning that there were plenty of things McGrath could have done to lash out at society without traveling all the way to Washington from Southern California (a long and expensive trip) and shooting Cross who was at the time a U.S. senator representing Washington state. Senator Cutler was Cross’ opponent in the election and Cross was ahead in the public polls. The circle’s power and influence had already been slipping for quite some time and Nick publicly stated that the radical new policies Cross was proposing would probably damage their business and social interests. Nick briefly mentioned it on his Internet blog and it created a small buzz. Casey (who’s radio show had a conspiracy theory theme) received a record number of requests to have Nick Freeman come on the show and discuss his theories in detail. On the show, Nick suggested that the circle hired the tarnished cop through a third party to assassinate the presidential hopeful. That edition of the John Casey show pulled in their highest ratings in Casey’s ten years on the air. That morning Nick’s literary agent wanted to meet with him and discuss changes in publicity moves related to the John Casey segment. According to his agent, after the record high ratings on the radio show, Nick’s publisher Rogue Books wanted to make some changes to his promotional tour for his new book. Nick was taking the taxi to the Sheraton hotel where his agent was staying. Nick didn’t care much for Louis Roberts, the man was as sleazy and underhanded as anyone would expect someone in his position to be, but he was good at doing the legwork with Rogue Books and that was all Nick ultimately cared about. Louis and Nick were two very different people, Louis craved the best of everything, which was why he was staying at one of the most luxurious hotel’s in Chicago, whereas Nick who was almost a bear minimalist was happy enough at a Motel 6. The Sheraton and Motel 6 were far enough away for Nick to have to take the small, confining, uncomfortable taxi cab he was currently riding in. Nick was not all that anxious about meeting with Louis or the changes that Rogue Books apparently wanted to go through with. The last time that happened Nick was promoting Oil Nation and Louis roped him into an interview with a journalist who ambushed him with a vicious attack on his character for establishing hype by pointing out all the faults of the petroleum industry and none of the benefits. That journalist was Nathan Payne and he got his own television show thanks to the service he paid Preston Kirkpatrick and his company but dragging Nick over the coals. Louis and Rogue Books made a hefty profit from the affair, but Nick’s dignity suffered an enormous blow. The ordeal brought Nick into conflict with Rogue Books and Nick almost walked out on his publisher. Rogue managed to keep Nick from leaving them by amending his contract so that he had to approve of any function that they wanted him to do. Now six years later they wanted to change their plans again because of the high ratings on that night time radio show. Nick dreaded the sudden unscheduled meeting with Louis, somehow he knew that something bad was about to go down. Before he knew it the cab came to a halt.

Okay, buddy were here, the young red-haired cab driver spoke in a casual tone that’ll be twenty-four, fifty.

Broken from his many deep thoughts, Nick paid the driver and told him to keep the change.

Thanks.

Don’t mention it.

Louis had already given him his room number, so Nick went directly to the elevator. Nick rode the elevator to the third floor, where Louis Roberts waited for him in room 306. He had no trouble finding the room as it was only a few steps away from the elevator, but noticed that the door was cracked open when he reached the room. Nick stood at the ajar hotel room door for a moment, furrowing his brow in confusion. Knowing that Louis Roberts was as paranoid and cynical as they come and would never leave a hotel room door open, Nick checked the piece of paper he wrote the room number on again and then the number on the door placard. It was the right room. Nick shrugged to himself and put the paper back in his pocket.

Louis, Nick lightly called out to his agent while modestly rapping on the large, white hotel room door, Louis, it’s Nick, I’m here. Why is the door open.

There was no answer, so Nick cautiously pushed the door open and peaked inside, Louis Nick raised his voice a little, but without shouting, you wanna tell me what this is about?Nick couldn’t see anything from the door, so he went inside the room which quickly came into view as soon as he passed the bathroom door and the closet. The elegant room included a high definition flat screen television, a fancy small desk, a couch and an end table and a bed that despite being disheveled still looked almost perfect. That perfection was coupled with the shock of finding Louis lying lifeless on the ground at the foot of the bed, with a small bloody hole in the side of his head. Nick put his hand over his mouth in shock, at the same time he noticed a stranger in the room, pointing a sniper rifle fixed with a silencer, out the partially open hotel safety window that opened just enough for the room’s occupant to get air but not jump or fall to their death. He was wearing all black clothes and a matching black ski-mask. Before Nick could say or do anything he was attacked from behind and forced to the ground, where he was repeatedly kicked and punched while he was down, from what he could tell was two men wearing the same clothes and mask as the sniper. The two men stopped beating on Nick and were now restraining him and holding him in the direction of the unknown gunman. Nick was frightened, shocked and sore from the beating, but he still felt he should negotiate with the would-be shooter, to at least try and find out what’s going on. What’s going on here, Nick frantically shouted why are you doing this?

Shut up, Freeman. one of the thugs replied after executing a powerful blow to Nick’s chest with his knee.

It’s okay, said the gunman through a thick accent that sounded Hispanic, but still spoke English fluently he just wants to know what this is all about. The gunman continued to speak, without moving his position, he was definitely an expert marksman, you see Mr. Freeman, Senator Cutler is also staying at the Sheraton, and you’re going to kill him.

Are you insane! Nick screamed as loud as he could, despite being short of breath from the painful blow he had just endured, only to have to endure another blow to the side, which forced him to drop to the ground and come face to face with his murdered literary agent. The lifeless green eyes of Louis Roberts stared back at him, the blond floppy hair stained red with his own blood, while Nick was forcefully held down by his assailants. The shooter then announced that Senator Cutler’s car had just arrived and was being parked across the street from the building, in an effort to covertly enter the building. Nick had heard stories of high profile individuals such as politicians and celebrities using this unusual tactic to avoid a media or spectator ambush. They usually wear sunglasses and hats, sometimes dress casually and keep their head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone, while their body guards follow them at a distance of about ten feet. It sounded like Senator Cutler was trying to enter the Sheraton using this method and considering what was happening right in front of Nick in his agent’s hotel room at that moment it wasn’t hard to figure out why. Please don’t do this, Nick pleaded with the shooter, please, I’ll do anything you want, I’ll give you anything you ask for, just don’t do this. Nick realized the irony of the situation, pleading an assassin not to kill a man that had been something of an arch enemy to him. Nick didn’t care at all for Michael Cutler, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see the man murdered and on top of that, it looked like these guys were looking to frame him for the deed, which wouldn’t be to far-fetched considering the night before he had just accused the senator and his associates of masterminding the attempted assassination of President Cross.

This isn’t about you Mr. Freeman, said the shooter someone hired me to do this, your just a pawn to ensure that neither me nor my client are linked to this deed. That’s what makes me such a great killer, I do everything to ensure my invisibility.

You sure you can do this with just one bullet in your gun, Devil, one of the thugs spoke over his shoulder while still restraining Nick.

Devil as the would-be henchmen had just referred to the shooter answered his question with the whoosh of the silenced shot from his suppressor equipped rifle, holding back what would have normally been an earth shattering crack which would have immediately attracted unwanted attention to the Sheraton. Got him, he’s down. Nick stopped struggling after the shot a feeling of shock and hopelessness coming over him. Devil casually strolled over to where Nick was being held down, put the sniper rifle in his right hand and with the help of his henchmen rubbed his fingers on the gun, near the trigger and even forced his index finger on the trigger. Nick tried pulling the trigger, but the goon that had raised concern over whether one shot would do the deed had been right, there were no more bullets in that gun. Devil then threw the rifle across the room and pulled out a rather large black finish handgun that also had a suppressor attached to the front of it. He smacked Nick on the side of the head with the gun which caused him to drop to the ground in pain, but did not knock him unconscious. It incapacitated him long enough for them to force the gun into the place where his jeans and the small of his back met. Through the ache and ringing inside his head Nick listened to the three criminals hasty retreat from the hotel room, closing the door behind them and leaving him alone in a crime scene that would probably be discovered in a matter minutes. Nick slowly picked himself up off the ground using the bed as leverage, while holding his throbbing head which gradually hurt more as he stood up. He had been set up. No doubt the three men had taken Louis hostage and forced him to call Nick, summoning him to the Sheraton. Then they murdered him and waited for the fish to take his bait. He felt like such a fool. And Louis, Louis was dead because of him. Louis Roberts wasn’t the most admirable person in the world, but he didn’t deserve this kind of fate. The poor man was only thirty-one-years old, two years younger than Nick and say what you want about the man’s character, but he was a good literary agent and despite all their differences he still considered Louis a friend. It was very disheartening for him to see someone he’d known for so long had died this way, but Louis’ death wouldn’t be in vain, he was going to find out who was behind this. But he was going to have to do it alone, because he had just been framed for the crime and the men who were actually responsible did a good job of covering their tracks. Nick had spent almost two decades criticizing the government and more recently his public criticisms of the circle would no doubt ruin any credibility he had. No one would believe he was innocent, he had to get out of this luxury hotel and find a way to prove his innocence. Fleeing the scene would make him look even more guilty than he already looked now, but no one was going to take his word on such an outrageous claim without any hard evidence. Nick thought that if he left fast enough, maybe he could avoid becoming a suspect. He was facing a life sentence at least, more likely the death penalty and he had the improbable task of finding the men who framed him (who were undoubtedly dangerous), he would most likely have to duck the law while doing this, which thanks to the cutting-edge technology in this day and age was pretty much impossible and on top of all that his damn head was throbbing, from the blow he just took. THE GUN!!, Devil put a firearm equipped with a silencer in his jeans, no doubt the weapon was empty though, they just put a weapon on him to reinforce his guilt in case there was any doubt among the authorities as to whether Nick committed the murders. He could feel the piece wedged against the small of his back. Nick quickly pulled off the black hooded sweatshirt he was wearing, wrapped it around his hand and pulled the gun out from the space in his pants and dropped it on the floor, where it made heavy but soft thud on the powder blue carpet. Nick hated guns, even if it meant that he would be beheaded, he wasn’t about to carry around a firearm. Nick put the sweatshirt back on over his dark green t-shirt and thought about exactly how he was going to get out of there. Nick decided he would leave the room, find an emergency exit and then lie low until he could figure out the next move. Slowly he moved to the door and looked in the peephole. When he was satisfied there was no one immediately outside the door, he slowly opened it and poked his head out in the hallway. When he confirmed the coast was clear, he proceeded down the hall in the direction opposite to the elevator, walking quickly but quietly, taking a chance that the emergency exit door was easily accessible. As Nick continued moving toward the vague conclusion in front of him, he heard the ping of the elevator, followed by the mechanical swoosh of the elevator doors opening, but kept moving forward, ignoring what he felt for sure was trouble. Nick reached the emergency exit just in time to hear a strong voice call out to him...........

The Manhunt For Nick Freeman

Karen Abbott sat at her desk in the office she shared with her partner Eric Vest. Her desk was littered with case files that had been dormant for no less than six months at the very least. She had almost completely recovered from her broken ribs and they still had her sitting behind a desk filing suspended and closed cases. Karen and Eric were two of the best agents working for the FBI ‘s contracted homicide unit, a faction of the agency run directly out of the organization’s headquarters in Washington D.C. The CHU investigates assassinations, attempted assassinations and suspected contract killers and Karen and her partner had the unit’s most impressive track record, bringing over a dozen contract killers to justice and even successfully preventing the attempted assassination of a corporate CEO by doing nothing more than following up on an anonymous tip. Eight weeks ago Interpol contacted the FBI about Raul Vega nicknamed El Diablo a hit man from Venezuela who is wanted for several homicides in Eastern Europe, Africa and the Middle East. It seemed that Interpol obtained information from a very reliable source that Raul Vega was being smuggled into the United States aboard a boat most-likely disguised as a commercial fishing vessel. Interpol, the FBI, the INS and the Coast Guard were all dispatched to Miami to check incoming ships and boats for any sign of Vega. Karen and Eric were dispatched to Florida to search the docks and harbors there. The day started off rather uneventful, the two agents spent most of the time helping other agents check suspicious boats and ships and patrolling the harbor for someone who fit the description of Vega. They didn’t have a picture of the man, just a description of his appearance from Interpol based on interrogations and witness testimonies. At one point Eric and Karen had decided to split up and search the docks independently. Not long after Karen spotted a man at a distance of about twenty feet from where she stood, wearing a black trench coat on top of a gray hoodie with dark blue jeans and large black boots walking rather quickly in the opposite direction. It was hard to tell at the distance between them but it he appeared to be soaking wet, like he had jumped in the ocean with all his clothes on and had just now climbed out of the water. Karen followed him for a few steps before calling out to him twice, when he didn’t answer her she then ordered him to stop, after identifying herself as an FBI agent, which he responded to by running. She gave chase without calling for backup which proved to be a huge mistake. She followed him into a boathouse community, where he disappeared from her sight. She slowly moved around the docks of the floating suburb with her gun drawn, then noticed the fresh wet footprints on the dock. She followed the footprints to a houseboat that had a for rent sign out front and the door wide open. Karen carefully crept up to the door and noticed splintered wood on the door frame and the broken lock on the open door. She raised her firearm as she slowly entered the empty unfurnished houseboat and slowly crossed the living area to the kitchen. She crossed the threshold to the kitchen with her gun pointed directly in front of her, but other than a fridge, an oven, a sink, a dishwasher and some cupboards, there was nothing in the small room. Karen then turned around and came face-to-face with a man holding a gun with a suppressor. The man pulled the trigger and at almost the same moment the silenced report sounded from the gun, the bullet slammed into Karen’s ribs, knocking her off her feet and onto the ground. The small and thin FBI issued bulletproof vest that she was wearing succeeded in stopping the bullet, but it knocked the wind out of her and left a crushing, unbearable pain on the right side of her upper body. It hurt her to breathe and she coughed up a little blood. Karen knew right away that the impact had caused internal injuries, if not at least one broken rib. The stranger that shot her, quickly moved over to where she was and kicked her weapon-which she had dropped-away from her. He then frisked her and found her sidearm. He took it away from her and threw it out of an open window. He then crouched down over her and took her FBI ID badge and the chain it was hooked to from around her neck and looked at it. As he was examining her badge, she took a good look at his face. He was Hispanic with long shaggy black hair, a neat goatee, brown eyes so dark they almost looked black and a dark purple scar underneath his left eye that went straight down to the middle of his cheek. He fit the description perfectly, she was at the mercy of Raul Vega, the man she was tasked with bringing to justice. He stood up still holding her badge, then turned his attention to her and held up her own badge for her to see, mocking her. He then pulled the same handgun he had used to shoot her just a minute ago out of his coat pocket and pointed it at her head to show her how serious he was.

Don’t move, Vega said in a heavy Hispanic accent but spoke English well enough to effectively communicate with her or anyone else who spoke the language, Apparently the FBI was anticipating my arrival. This harbor is crawling with agents. I have just accepted the highest paying contract of my long career and I wont let anyone stand in my way, much less some pretty white bitch who considers herself some kind of hero. He prepared to squeeze the trigger, but stopped himself at the last second and put the gun back in his coat pocket. No, that’s to good for you. I’m going to see to it you die suffering. Vega then grabbed Karen by her long platinum blond hair and dragged her across the wood floor of the houseboat. When they reached the damaged door they had both passed through to enter the houseboat, Vega released his grip on her hair. He then hoisted Karen up on his right shoulder-a move that aggravated her injuries, forcing her to cry out in agony-and carried her to the rear of the boat. The Venezuelan assassin simply dropped Karen off the back end of the boat and into the water.

The vivid memory seemed to happen all over again as Karen fit three more case files in the suspended box and closed it. She stood up from her desk taking the box with her to the two piles she had set up in front of the file cabinets. She set the box in the suspended case file, the other pile of course being the case closed file. Karen didn’t remember anything after Vega threw her off that boat, until she woke up in the hospital with her partner at her side. Eric told her she had been rescued by the Coast Guard and had suffered two broken ribs and a mild case of hypothermia. He also informed her that Vega had slipped past them. She told him about her confrontation with Vega and he was nice enough to fill out the written report for her. Eric continued to visit during Karen’s hospital stay, along with her brother Chris and Rachael Parsons her boss. Agent Parsons told her during one of her visits that after debating the issue with the FBI Director, she would be sending Eric on the official FBI manhunt for Raul Vega, despite concerns from colleagues and higher-ups who felt that it was too personal to send him after his partner’s shooter. After a little under a month in the hospital, Karen was released and sent home to recuperate the rest of the way. She returned to work a week ago. But Karen had spent that whole time filing paperwork. Parsons felt it would be healthy for her to take it slow until she felt the time was right for her to return to the field. Not only was she going to return to the field that very day, Agent Karen Abbott was about to embark on the most complicated and disheartening case of her career with the FBI. Karen grabbed another empty box, sat down in her office chair. She looked over at her partner’s desk which was directly across from hers and noticed how neat and organized it was, the papers neatly stacked into well organized piles and personal affects meticulously arranged. Her desk looked like it had been ravaged by a tornado, everything in disarray all over the place. Before Karen could return to work, there was a knock at the office door, Come in Karen called out without looking up from the files in front of her. Rachael Parsons entered the room looking as professional as she always did. She wore a black paint-suit, with the standard issue FBI office name tag clipped to her coat pocket, her long light brown hair tied back into a pony tail. Agent Parsons was one of the best the FBI had on their payroll, being a Yale graduate with a 4.0 grade point average and one of a rare group of women who have been tapped into Yale’s mysterious and influential Order of the Skull & Bones secret society since the organization started welcoming female alumni in 1992. She still wore her skull ring on the ring finger of her right hand. Parsons was a no nonsense agent who took her job very seriously and held the highest of expectations for all the agents she supervised in the CHU. Her stoic, all-business demeanor made her somewhat intimidating at times, but she was still very well respected among the other staff members at the Bureau and despite her tough exterior, she still had a kindness to her. When Karen was hospitalized after the incident with Vega, Rachael Parsons was one of the first people at her side and stayed by her side just as long as Eric and Chris. She also arranged for a nationwide APB on Raul Vega, which included a hefty award for his capture and that move bumped his name up to the number two spot on the FBI ‘s ten most wanted list. Her intelligence, determination and impressive track record with the Bureau had earned her the current position she held as the Supervising Agent of the CHU. Before Karen could greet her, Agent Parsons cut her off, speaking as sternly as she always did and sounding a little more urgent than normal.

Are you ready to return to the field Karen, because the Bureau needs you now more than ever.

What is it? Karen asked as she stood slowly from her desk.

It’s Michael Cutler, the United States Senator from Missouri, her tone softening slightly, he’s been murdered.

What!! Karen responded with shock What happened!

He was gunned down in Chicago just outside the Sheraton, the hotel he was staying at, by sniper fire. The police at the scene believe the assailant to be Nick Freeman, a long time public critic of the senator’s policies. Freeman was spotted by members of Senator Cutler’s security detail, apparently fleeing the scene. When they asked him to stop he ran. Somehow, he managed to elude them. They found a PSG1 sniper rifle and a .45 in the hotel room of Freeman’s agent Louis Roberts who was also staying at the Sheraton. He to had apparently been killed by Freeman.

Are they sure it was Freeman, Karen inquired with some skepticism in her voice, I mean I just had a confrontation with a notorious assassin and he confessed to me that he was planning a hit.

They don’t know anything for sure at this point, but right now Freeman is the number one suspect.

Has anyone even looked into the possibility-

Parsons