Silencers and Sermons: The Extractors

By JD Harris

JT caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked around to see a grenade coming his way. He jumped behind a stand of trees as the grenade went off. He didnt remember falling to the ground, but he felt like he had a red hot iron stuck to his body on his left shoulder, left side of his back, and the left side of his ass. He turned over and the old woman was walking down the hill with a cane as fast as she could go. JT aimed and put four rounds in her back, and she fell to her knees and then face down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524615918

JD Harris

JD Harris started writing when he retired in 2014. He has authored many articles in golf course industry magazines. His first novel, Seventh Son of the Seventh Son, is a historical fiction about Irish folklore. His imagination and ability to make up a story has produced another intriguing novel.

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All characters, places, and situations in this work of fiction are the creative invention of the author. Any resemblance to real persons, dead or alive, or events is coincidental.

© 2016 JD Harris. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  06/24/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-1592-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-1591-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016910372

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

I want to thank the following:

My wife Cheryl for her undying support and input.

Barbara Lipe for her advice and insight as a writer.

CHAPTER 1

JT Logan sat in a small airport, two hundred kilometers outside Madrid, reading a John Grisham novel. The sound of heavy boots caught his attention, and he raised his eyes to see two militiamen in crisp, black uniforms towering over him. He was the only other person in this part of the terminal. Excuse us, señor. Are you Mr. JT Logan?

Yes, I am. What can I do for you? The officer had spoken to him in Castilian Spanish, and JT responded in kind.

I understand that you are carrying a gun. Is this true?

JT hesitated; he figured someone had set him up. No, sir. I thought it was illegal for a foreigner to carry a gun in Spain.

He saw the guards observing him to see if they could detect any nervousness that would indicate he was armed. The guard finally said, That’s true. Would you mind if we checked? The other militiaman put his hand on his gun; JT could hear the leather holster creak.

JT figured it was an effort to intimidate him. He could see that the guard’s gun was in a holster, covered by a flap, and buttoned down. He knew he could knock both men out before either one could come close to reaching his sidearm. He laid his book on the chair next to him and stood up. Dwarfed by his six-foot-four-inch frame, the two militiamen—who were barely five and a half feet tall—met his piercing blue eyes. No, sir, JT said coolly, I don’t mind.

Turn around, please, and lock your fingers behind your head.

JT complied. The guard was rough, and JT figured he was trying to make a point. When he patted down each leg, the man hit him in the balls, but JT simply winced and said nothing.

The guard scowled menacingly. Okay, sir, you may sit down. Who do you work for, and what is your business here?

I work for the Trans Global Insurance Company, based in Paris. I’m here trying to get to the States.

The guard switched to English. The international airport is in Madrid, and there are many flights to the States from there. Why are you at this particular airport?

JT switched to English also. I’m hoping to catch a ride on a private plane to Paris and then to the States. I’m just trying to save a little money.

We have word that you are an assassin, Mr. Logan, and that you were involved with the kidnapping of a young woman in Madrid.

JT smiled at them, which seemed to irritate them. Officer, I’m not carrying a gun, so you can see that your information is false. I did not participate in a kidnapping. Whoever told you that is obviously trying to throw you off their trail. You’re being duped.

The guard narrowed his eyes. What does this word ‘duped’ mean?

It means to be made a fool of, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to see that now. Check your source of the erroneous information, and you will find whoever you’re looking for.

The guards faced each other. They then took him over to a section that held ten rows of empty folding chairs and had him sit on the far end of the fifth row. He saw he was as far away from the doors as he could get. Please sit here and wait until we can check something out. As they began walking away, he could hear a plane pull up on the tarmac outside the building. JT wondered if it was his plane. He couldn’t tell because the curtains that covered the airport’s glass wall went all the way to the floor.

As the guards walked away, he noticed the curtain move a little, and he felt fresh air from somewhere. The curtain pulled back slightly, revealing a man standing by an open door. The man peered through the curtains at the militiamen at the desk and motioned to JT.

The guards still had their backs to him. One was on the phone, and the other was listening to his partner. JT stood up quickly, walked over, and stepped through the curtain and followed the man through the door. The man shut the door, locked it with a key, and started running toward the plane. JT followed down the grass to the tarmac and around the back of the Gulfstream. JT could feel the heat from the engine exhaust.

They went up the steps, and as soon as they got in, the door closed. The plane surged forward before JT could sit down. As it turned onto the runway, JT looked out the window at the building. The front part of the glass building had no curtains, so he could clearly see the militiamen, their guns drawn, searching for him.

The plane lined up on the runway. He could feel the vibration as the pilot revved up the engines to full throttle and released the brake. The plane surged forward so much that it pressed his head back against the headrest. After they were airborne, the man, who was in working-class shirt and pants, came back to JT’s seat. You are Mr. JT Logan?

Yes, I am, and I appreciate you extracting me from what could have been a bad situation. How did you know it was me?

I was going on a description of you. They said you were tall and built like a muscleman. Also you were the only one in that part of the airport. JT did have a slim waist and a bigger-than-average chest and biceps, but that was from his days in the army. He lifted enough weights on a regular basis to maintain his physique.

The man turned his gaze toward the front of the plane. It’s all in a day’s work. Settle back, and we’ll get you something refreshing to drink.

JT reclined his super-comfort seat and closed his eyes. He heard a voice in French. Excuse me, sir, can I get you a glass of wine or a cocktail?

He met the eyes of a beautiful, retro-style, Marilyn Monroe–looking blonde. She had bright red lipstick and wore a tight, white blouse that amplified what were larger-than-average breasts and a tight black skirt. She was also wearing heels.

JT quickly came to his senses. A glass of red wine would be nice.

She stood up to her full height in the plane, something he could not do. I’ll be right back.

A few minutes later, she returned. As he reached for the glass, their eyes met and lingered as she sat down across from him. Is there anything else I can get you? Anything at all? She gave him a seductive look. She sat with her shoulders back, which emphasized the size of her breasts.

He and his liberator were the only passenger on the plane. No, thank you, this will be fine.

He closed his eyes and sipped the wine. He heard her get up and walk to the back of the plane. He hadn’t had sex in eight months, but he didn’t know anything about her—and in this day of STDs, he wasn’t interested in exploring that possibility. The wine and the physical exertion he had gone through the past week made him sleepy. He sat the glass in the armrest and drifted off to sleep.

When he felt someone shake his shoulder, he opened his eyes to find her staring at him with that seductive smile she had. We’ll be landing soon. Raise your seat, please. He complied, leaned over, and then lifted the window shade. He could see the Eiffel Tower silhouetted against the rising sun in the distance. A few minutes later, he felt the plane touch down.

After the plane came to a stop, he moved toward the door that had just opened. He walked down the steps to see a man leaning against a black Peugeot, appearing rather intimidating in his black suit. When he saw JT, he stood up and approached him. Mr. Logan?

Yes.

The man opened the door, and JT slid in on the black leather seat. The man shut the door, went around the back of the car, got in the driver’s seat, and drove off without saying anything. The traffic was bumper to bumper with cars, motorcycles, and even bicycles. The motorcycles and bicycles drove between the cars. Even though the windows were up, JT had no problem hearing all the honking, beeping, and shouts of frustration from outside.

The driver stopped in front of the ancient, six-story building in District 16 that housed JT’s apartment.

JT got out amidst the commotion of Paris. He glanced around; if any of the fifty or sixty people who were hurrying by within a hundred feet were looking for him, he couldn’t detect who it was.

He went inside, got in the elevator barely big enough to hold him, and went to the sixth floor. The building was hundreds of years old but had been retrofitted with an elevator that took the place of a closet on all six floors. By Paris standards, JT’s apartment was a huge place. The unit he owned covered the whole end of the building; the floor below held ten six-hundred-square-foot apartments in the same space. He got out, walked to his apartment, and went in. As expected, a man he did not know was sitting on the couch under the far window, a briefcase by his feet. The man rose and smiled. Mr. JT Logan, I presume?

Yes, sir, and call me JT, please.

Of course, of course. I am Maria’s uncle, Franklin. I so appreciate you getting my niece away from those … those … terrorists. I hope you killed them all.

JT looked at him without comment. The man hesitated. Oh, that’s right, you can’t discuss it. The man was every bit as tall as JT and about a hundred pounds heavier, which was very unusual for a Frenchman. He was wearing a very expensive suit and had diamonds on his watch and the three rings he was wearing. He reached into a briefcase on the table and pulled out a laptop. He opened it and turned it on. After a few minutes, he started typing and then finally looked up. Do you have an account number?

JT bent over and typed it in. Franklin sat there a minute and then looked up with a smile. Five million into your offshore bank account, correct? JT just nodded. If he was being taped, he didn’t want anything being recorded that could incriminate him.

Franklin stood up as JT started for the spacious bedroom of his apartment. Franklin followed him to the door. There will be a man outside your bedroom door while you sleep. Have a good night’s rest, and you will be leaving at seven in the morning for your flight to the States.

How will I be going, by commercial or private plane?

Oh, private—well, it’s an Airbus, but it’s a chartered Air France, loaded with tourists. You will have first-class accommodations to make a man as big as you are as comfortable as possible. You will land in New York, and there will be another plane to take you to your next destination. He smiled, walked out the door, and closed it.

JT opened a drawer, took out clean underwear, and went into the shower. He stood in the steam from the shower for ten minutes before washing and getting out. He got in bed and fell asleep almost immediately. His biological clock still off from his recent travels, he awoke fifteen hours later. He got up, shaved, and got dressed.

He walked out to find a man, who introduced himself as Simon, in the kitchen. He spoke in French. I was just going to come and wake you. I’ll have some croissants ready in a minute. JT sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee. Simon set a plate of warm croissants down, and JT picked one up and put it on a small plate. He spread butter over it and then some jam on top of that. It was wonderful because the croissants were still warm and the aroma filled the kitchen. He ate four of them even though he was on a no-bread regimen.

Afterward, he went back and packed a suitcase. It was small enough to be a carry-on. They went out to where the black Peugeot was blocking the inside lane of traffic; cars were parked bumper to bumper along the curb as far as he could see. They got in, and he was driven out to another small airport, though this one was big enough to handle commercial jets. Simon pulled up to the steps, and JT got out and climbed the stairs. The flight attendant, in her crisp company uniform with a nametag declaring her to be Cherise, stuck out her hand. May I see your ticket, sir?

He showed her his phone.

Her eyes got big, and she motioned him to follow her. She went to a first-class seat and stood in front of the woman sitting there. I’m sorry, Miss, but you will have to go back to your original seat.

The woman, who was about five feet tall, stood up. I was told I could sit here if the man didn’t show up. She put her hands on her hips in defiance.

Cherise smiled the smile of a professional flight attendant. "He’s here. I’m sorry, but you will have to return to your original seat.

The woman looked at JT and then back to Cherise. Since he’s late, let him sit back there.

The pilot stepped in and very sternly addressed her with a heavy French accent. Madam, you must return to your seat or leave the plane. She stood there not moving. The pilot was just as firm. "Madam, you are interfering with the operation of an international flight. If I have to call the policier, you will be detained indefinitely."

The woman picked up her belongings and went back to the back, giving all three of them a dirty look. The pilot smiled and motioned JT to the seat. You may be seated, monsieur.

He sat down and wondered why it was always Americans who made fools of themselves in foreign countries. For that matter, he didn’t understand why she was mad—at five feet tall, she could have fit in the overhead bin quite easily. The door was closed, and the announcements were made. The air the compression unit was blowing put pressure on his ears, and they hadn’t even taken off yet. It was another thirty minutes before the plane rolled to the runway and then another fifteen before he felt the plane throttle up and catapult forward.

On the eight-hour flight JT watched four movies and played solitaire until they finally announced their approach to LaGuardia. After landing and clearing customs, he left the secured area and saw a woman with a sign that read simply, JT. He walked over and introduced himself. She asked for his last name, and when he told her it was Logan, she motioned for him to follow her. He walked behind her and got in a car that took him out of the city to a rural airport where he saw several jets.

He got on a Lear jet, and they took off immediately. This time, he was the only passenger on the plane.

He landed in Memphis a few hours later. When he left the terminal, there was another woman with a sign with his name on it. She picked up her cell phone and called a car from the cell phone lot, and about ten minutes later a black Range Rover SUV pulled up. He put his bag in the back, walked around to the driver’s side, and got in. He drove downtown to the Peabody Hotel and let the valet take the car. After he registered, a bellman took him to his suite, told him his clothes were already there, and handed him an envelope. JT tipped him, and he left. JT opened the envelope; in it was a key that he put in his pocket. He then went to the bedroom.

There was a knock at the door, and JT peered out the peephole to see a courier with a package.

He opened the door, and the man smiled at him. I have a special delivery for Mr. James Thomas Logan. JT nodded and reached for the package. The man pulled it back. May I see some ID, please? JT took out his driver’s license and showed him. The man smiled again. Sign here, please.

JT signed the sheet, took the package, shut the door, and put the box on the table. He opened it; inside was a locked metal box. He pulled the key out of his pocket, unlocked it, and raised the lid to reveal a .40-caliber Ruger semi-automatic. He picked up the loaded clip and stuck it in the handle until it clicked. He pulled the bolt back and saw the bullet slide into the chamber as he let go of it. He picked up the clip-on holster and put the weapon in it.

Also inside the box was a cell phone. He picked it up and dialed a number.

A voice on the other end answered, Hello.

Robert, JT here.

Man, it’s good to hear from you. I didn’t think you were going to make it in time. You are in Memphis, aren’t you?

Yeah, I’m at the Peabody. What time do I need to be at the church?

In two hours—five thirty, sharp.

JT smiled. I’ll be there before then.

Hey, wait a minute, JT. I thought you would come out and stay with us. We have plenty of room.

No, that’s okay. The company is picking up the tab here, and besides, you probably have your four road dogs with you, and it’s bound to be crowded.

Robert laughed. With all the women they have up here, you’re right about that. I’ll see you at the church.

Forty-five minutes later, he went down and asked for his car. They brought it up, and he maneuvered through downtown and got on I-240. He followed it around, got on I-40, and took the exit for the church. It was one of the largest churches he had ever seen. He parked where he saw several other cars and walked in the front door. Standing in the vestibule was Robert, surrounded by the four men JT knew were never far from his side.

Robert was a mid-level mercenary who made a decent living fighting other people’s battles. He had been in pretty good shape at one time, but drinking and carousing had taken its toll on him.

Robert spotted him, walked over, and hugged him. Damn, man, how are you?

I’m fine, but you might want to keep your profanity down while you’re in church.

Oh, hell, that’s right. He looked around to see if anybody else had heard him. Come on, man, I want you to meet the woman I’m going to marry. In fact, you may be related to her—her last name is Logan, also.

JT smiled at him. "What’s wrong with her?’

Robert frowned as he adjusted his 101st Airborne cap. What do you mean?

Well, if she’s marrying you, there has to be something wrong with her. Is she blind or mentally challenged or what?

Robert grabbed his shoulder and laughed as they walked. No, man. She’s beautiful and smart. She’s a neurosurgeon and a lawyer to boot.

A doctor and a lawyer … are you sure about this? One slip, and you’re screwed.

Robert leaned back and laughed again. No, I’m sure. She can support me, but I still have to have my team. You know, you get on the jazz every once on awhile and have to see some action. Hey, when are you going to get me hooked up with that company you work for?

I put your name on the list. I’ll have to check and see where you are. JT knew his company would never accept Robert or anybody like him, because he liked to brag about who and how many people he killed. Does she know what you do for a living?

Robert shook his head. I’m a troubleshooter that has to take a few trips out of the country occasionally, as far as she knows. Government contracts mostly. He smiled as they walked toward the sanctuary.

JT stopped him as they walked in. I’m curious. I know that foursome that hangs around with you are your closest friends. Why did you pick me for best man?

Appearing a bit embarrassed, Robert looked down and back up. You’re right—they are. I couldn’t pick one of them for hurting the other three. You were next on my list, so I picked you so I wouldn’t hurt my friends. I hope you’re not mad.

Nah, that makes sense. I just wondered. Are they going to be groomsmen?

Oh, yeah. She has three friends and two sisters on her side, so they’ll be up there with us.

They continued their walk to the front of the sanctuary, where JT saw a pretty, redheaded woman about his age talking to the minister. She wore matching jacket and slacks with a white blouse, and she had a great figure. Robert walked up. Excuse me, honey. I want you to meet someone. Jessie, this is my best man, JT Logan. JT, this is my bride to be, Dr. Jessie Logan. I told him ya’ll might be related, having the same last name.

JT looked into the prettiest face he had seen in a long time, and he envied Robert.

She shook JT’s hand, and he found it to be firm but soft. Where is your family from, JT?

South of LA. And you?

Dallas-Ft. Worth area, so we’re probably not related.

JT shook his head. Probably not.

Robert introduced him to the preacher, Pastor Willis, and laughed as he turned to Jessie. JT asked me what was wrong with you. He thought you had to be blind or mentally disabled to marry someone like me. They all had a good laugh.

The preacher clasped his hands. Okay, let’s get this rehearsal done. Jessie introduced JT to Angela, who was going to be the matron of honor. They went through the rehearsal three times before everybody knew what they had to do.

They left for the Peabody for the rehearsal dinner. JT got there first and waited in a plush chair in the lobby. The others finally showed up thirty minutes later. They went in to a banquet room in the restaurant and sat down, and as the salad was being served JT engaged in small talk with Angela. She told him where she was from and what she did. Suddenly they heard, "Angela, I need to talk to you—now."

They all turned to see a man standing there waiting for Angela. She got up and walked out to him in the hall. They couldn’t hear them, but it was obvious they were arguing. JT ate but kept his eyes on the couple. Robert leaned over to Jessie and asked, Who is that?

Jessie glanced at the couple still arguing. That’s her jackass husband, Billy. He’s super jealous of her and needs to stop messing with her. Her daddy is one of the most powerful lawyers in Shelby County, and he’ll ream him a new one. If I ever see another bruise on her, I may take him to court myself.

Angela finally came back in and looked over at Jessie as she sat down. I’m sorry, Jessie.

Jessie shook her head. Don’t worry about it.

They went on eating, and halfway through the main course someone tapped Angela on the shoulder. It was her husband again. Come out here right now and talk to me, or I’ll drag you out. He turned and walked out.

Robert stood up, but JT stood up also. I’ll handle this, Robert. Stay seated.

Robert looked at JT. No, I’m going to kick his ass.

JT shook his head. You’ll make things worse. Let me try and cool this thing down. Stay here.

Angela started to get up, but JT pushed her back down. You too.

JT walked went out the door that had been closed by now. Her husband turned, obviously expecting to see Angela, and JT held up his hands. Hey, I need to talk to you. Hey, man, I don’t know what the problem is, but look at it from our standpoint. You’re messing up something that’s very important to these people. I understand you and your lady are having problems, but can’t this wait until after this dinner is over?

Billy put his hands on his hips. Are you the best man? JT nodded. Well, you are the problem.

JT frowned at him. Me? Why me? I just got into town a couple of hours ago.

I don’t allow no man to get near my wife. Where are you going after this, to some party probably?

JT shook his head. I don’t know what the rest of them are going to do, but I’m going up to my room and go to bed. I’m suffering from jet lag. Look, I’m just going to walk your wife down the aisle when this is over. I do not intend to butt into your marriage; in fact, I’m not looking to get involved with anyone right now. Trust her, man—she’s not going to do anything but do her part in the wedding.

As he waited for Billy to respond, JT assessed the other man. He suspected Billy had a good build at one time but had let himself go. He was stocky and wore a tight T-shirt that showed off his pecs and biceps, but it also showed off the roll around his middle.

Billy looked at JT. You’re lucky I have a cage match tomorrow night, or I’d kick your ass.

JT worked to keep his expression neutral. "I’m sure you could, and I appreciate your not doing it. Like I said, I’m