Whisper of Fate

By Greg A. Huston

James Douglas is making his retirement plans from the “Firm”. There is someone that has other plans for Douglas. After receiving his final assignment, he realizes that this could in fact be his final anything. Jobar Chacowski, the world renowned drug cartel king, possesses information that the “Firm” desperately needs and wants. Douglas finds himself on a plane for Switzerland to retrieve this information when his plans are derailed by the strike of a match. The aging agent must rely on all of his training and experience to survive the last assignment, while someone tries to make it his last breath.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 27, 2005
• ISBN: 9781463492588

Greg A. Huston

Greg A. Huston served six years as a Military Police Officer with the United States Army. He currently works for the Department of the Army. He also works as a Police Officer in his home town of Marion, Texas.

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© 2005 Greg A. Huston. 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  05/14/2019

ISBN:        978-1-4208-4219-7 (sc)

ISBN:        978-1-4634-9258-8 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2005902476

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 One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

About the Author

Chapter One

As the sun began to settle down behind the trees on the horizon, James Douglas was preparing for his eighteenth night in the makeshift campsite he had carefully constructed on the side of the bluff. Douglas’ campsite was across the street from the largest white granite house this man from Nebraska had ever seen.

The chill of the cloudless night wore through his skin. Not starting a fire for fear of someone seeing him, Douglas just curled up, pulling his knees in as close to his chest as he could.

Douglas tried to imagine what hardships a man could possibly have with the money it takes to buy a house like that. Then again, Douglas started thinking about how that money was made which bought this huge house in the Alps.

Douglas’ stomach began turning when he thought about what he had seen in the photographs contained in the brown envelope and those that flashed across the screen in the briefing room. The only reason he took this job when he was supposed to be on vacation was that one photo among hundreds. There among the glossy eight by ten images he thumbed through, he picked up one of a little girl clutching her doll, lying in a pool of blood, with a bullet hole the size of his fist going through her chest.

Douglas lay back against the tree and soon his thoughts were drifting back to three weeks earlier when he was called into Trevor Evans’ office. The lights were off in the conference room with the exception of the low light over the mission board. Upon entering the room, Douglas sensed the presence of anger and fear. He turned to the back of the room and noticed a shadowy figure, but could not make out whom the guest was hiding in the corner. As he entered the room, Evans motioned him to a chair.

As Douglas sat at the monstrous solid oak table, the projector came on. On the screen flashed picture after picture of men, women and children being tortured and killed. In the pictures victims of all ages and cultural backgrounds were being tied to trees and beat. Some people were stripped and burned while their murderers laughed at them. Some of the women and girls were tortured in front of their families, in the middle of the street, in broad daylight. As women begged for the killers to spare their child’s life, they would let them go and tell them to run to mommy, only to shoot the mothers as soon as the child was her reach.

Nobody spoke as these horrifying scenes of grotesque executions flashed across the wall. When the last picture passed and the projector was turned off, Douglas turned to the back corner of the office and the unknown guest was quietly slinking through the door.

He looked at Evans and asked, who in the hell could do such hideous things to another human being?

Evans looked at Douglas but didn’t answer him as he slapped a brown envelope on the desk. Inside the envelope Douglas found more gruesome pictures as well as pictures of a well-dressed man that appeared to be from Egypt or India.

On the first picture of the man, there was a name, Jobar Chacowski, printed across the bottom of the page and also the date, which was just two days prior. Douglas looked at the pictures long and hard, mentally absorbing the pain and grief that this one man had inflicted on so many families.

The disgust that Douglas’ face showed confirmed what Evans was hoping; Douglas would postpone his vacation for a while. Evans needed Douglas and now that Douglas had seen the photos, he could not let this man get away with killing more innocent people.

Douglas picked up the envelope and approached Evans, who just looked at Douglas and nodded. Douglas knew what was being asked of him to do.

There’s a catch to this one, James. Evans said as he grabbed Douglas’ arm. This one will only be done with approval after acquisition.

Trevor, with you, there is always a catch. Douglas stated, smiling.

He’d done this many times over the past thirty years, and every time there was a bit of fatherly advise whether wanted or not. Although for some unknown reason to Douglas, this job seemed to have an adverse affect on Evans. Douglas figured that it was just fatigue setting in and the fact that Evans was getting on in years. There was something that was troubling Evans and if he didn’t feel secure or worried enough about it to mention it to Douglas, then Douglas wasn’t going to pry.

The only thing that bothered Douglas was the fact that the monster responsible for the killings in South America was allowed to kill or torture so many people, including Americans, before the U.S. Government, unofficially stepped in to stop him. In the surveillance photos and films from three days prior, there were at least fifty bodies lying in the street. To Douglas this was inexcusable. If there was someone in the area close enough to take those damn pictures, why were they shooting film instead of bullets?

Douglas departed the office and entered the first elevator that was not occupied. As Douglas pushed the ground floor button and looked at the door, he put the brief into his briefcase. When the door finally closed, he pulled the alarm and just stood there all alone rummaging through the images that permeated his brain. The elevator’s alarm increased Douglas’ anger to the point he had to get out of the building before he lost his mind.

As Douglas exited the fifteen-story building, he stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes breathing in the fresh air of Denver.

As Douglas walked home, the images on the projector played again and again, embedding hatred into his conscience.

Questions started running through Douglas’ thoughts. Who was the stranger sitting in the corner and what is his role in this? Was he once a victim of this mad man? Did he once work for him? Why hadn’t Evans introduced him to the stranger?

Douglas was exhausted when he got home that night, however, he knew that he would be flying soon and needed to go over the brief that Evans had given him. Douglas also felt the guilt building in his gut. He hadn’t spent much time with his family in a long time.

As he saw the pictures in his mind he tried not to get too attached to this case or let the case get to him more than it already was.

Douglas went upstairs and found his wife, sitting on Catrina’s bed laughing. Since Catrina’s birth thirteen years earlier, Douglas had not spent much time with her. The job had always come first before her birth and Douglas couldn’t say no to the firm on jobs after her birth without a fear of losing his job or worse, his life. Douglas snuck into the room and sat on the edge of the bed just as Heather was asking Catrina about a boy at school that had asked her to a dance. Douglas smiled at Heather, who could see in his eyes what he was going to say to her. Douglas looked away from Heather and stared at his little girl lying in her bed and the realization of her maturing hit him hard. Douglas leaned down, gave her a soft kiss on the forehead and stroked her hair a couple of times. Then he looked at Heather and could see the disappointment on her face.

Once they left Catrina’s room, Douglas explained to Heather that a very important client in Michigan requested that he travel there and review some equipment and contracts or he would pull his money and go elsewhere.

For twenty-five years, Heather had believed that Douglas worked for a securities firm and the time away from home were business trips that were mostly in the U.S. with the rare overseas trip lasting a couple of weeks or so.

After taking a shower, Douglas slid into bed gently, trying not to disturb Heather. As he pulled the sheet up over him, Heather turned to him and he noticed tears in her eyes. What’s wrong babe? Douglas asked.

Why do you have to go on so many trips? Shouldn’t you have people under you that you can send? I was really looking for this time away together and so was Catrina. That’s all she has talked about for the last month, and now you take that from her too. Heather said.

Look babe, as I told you before, if the client asks for me, I have to go. I am retiring in a couple of months and we can spend all the time in the world together then. Right now I have to work so we can pay the last few bills off. I promise, it’s almost over, then you’ll be getting tired of seeing me around here . Douglas explained, trying to lighten the conversation.

Not wanting to start a fight, Heather turned back the other direction to be with her thoughts, while Douglas sat there in the dark pondering the job that had just messed up his home life, again.

Douglas could not turn off his brain. The voice in his head kept the barrage of questions alive. The biggest and toughest question was who was this man in the photos and how can he take a twelve-gauge shotgun, hold it ten inches away from a six-year old girls chest and pull the trigger?

Douglas had never taken any job personal, however, having a little girl at home with his wife was not helping him at this point. All he could see when he looked at the photo was his girls face on that poor mangled body.

Douglas had always questioned the necessity of each job he had done. Being a professional is one thing, being a happy trigger finger with a license to kill makes you no better than the targets. This is one job that Douglas didn’t have to question and was even anxious to do. A sadistic ass, with the assets to do what

Chacowski was capable of doing, wouldn’t be missed by anyone, and should be put out of the world’s misery.

After Heather went to sleep, Douglas went downstairs to his office and pulled the brief on Chacowski from his briefcase. Douglas sat there for the next five hours going over the list of family and friends that the man named Jobar Chacowski kept in touch with.

Looking at the picture of Chacowski with his wife and children, one might mistake him as a banker or maybe even a doctor. Chacowski’s profile showed that he owned three houses; one in the Alps, where he ran his South American based smuggling cartel from, one in the Bahamas and one in South America that was only used as a vacation home. No business was ever run from this house due to the United States pressure on the local government to assist in the efforts of shutting down the drug lords of South America.

What the pictures might lead you to believe was the farthest thing from reality. Chacowski was a ruthless killer who made his fortune as one of the worlds most notorious drug dealers. After killing off most of the competition, and buying out the remaining competition, Chacowski was responsible for at least half of the cocaine imported to the United States. His obsession with vast riches, and his ways of dealing with those who tried interfering with him is what brought Douglas to this bluff overlooking his house in the Alps.

Several of the photos that Douglas found in the envelope revealed the demise of many DEA agents. Eyewitness accounts say a few of the agents had been dragged for hours behind a truck through the jungles of South America. After this, the Chacowski clan would cut off an arm or a leg and then pour whiskey

on the open wound and watch as the agent screamed, cried and then finally bled to death while begging to be shot.

There were photos of one agent that had been beat so badly that he went blind from the blows to his head. While he walked blindly through the streets, onlookers took turns striking at him with bats and clubs. When he received one too many blows to the head and passed out, Chacowski’s men strung him up to a tree by his hands and arms. After tying his feet to the rear bumper of a jeep they woke him. As he struggled, not knowing what was happening, the jeep began to creep forward, pulling more and more against the muscles in his body. As he cried in agony, the bastard driving the jeep slowly pushed the accelerator, laughing the entire time. For the next three minutes, a crowd of Chacowski’s men cheered the driver on as he literally ripped the agent apart. After the agent’s arms had been torn away from his torso, the driver of the jeep took off as fast as the jeep would go with the agent still chained to the back. The jeep returned about five minutes later with nothing more than a foot wrapped in the chain trailing behind.

As day turned to night, Douglas sat on the bluff and watched the life of Chacowski and his family through the binoculars or the night scope that was attached to the high-powered rifle that Douglas waged his life on and by now anxiously waiting to use.

Douglas followed Chacowski during the day and watched his ruthless actions. Chacowski would beat his own henchmen if they did not carry out his instructions to the letter.

Once, Douglas was within earshot when Chacowski had learned of a lieutenant of his that had helped

himself to some of Chacowski’s money. Chacowski gave the order to have the lieutenant brought to an abandoned warehouse.

Chacowski had been so angry over the boldness of this man that he personally went to the warehouse where the lieutenant had been taken to. After his men had strapped the lieutenant into a barber’s chair, they sawed his hands off with a hacksaw. Every time that he would pass out, Chacowski would pour water in his face to wake him up. After they cut off his hands, Chacowski had his men place a wedge in the lieutenant’s mouth to keep him from closing it. Chacowski grabbed his tongue and yanked it as hard as he could with a pair of pliers. As the blood began to pool in the lieutenant’s mouth, he passed out again. Chacowski had to pour water in his face to wake him again. Chacowski took a knife from his pocket and slowly, effortlessly, began sawing at the lieutenant’s tongue with it. The lieutenant thrashed back and forth within the restraints from the pain.

After hours of torture Chacowski feeling vindicated, put a single bullet between the lieutenant’s eyes, killing him instantly. Chacowski then took the man’s hands and placed them in a bag with ice to keep them viable. Later he would have them bronzed and mounted like some kind of trophy and placed on his desk as a reminder to his other men.

Chacowski placed the lieutenants tongue in a box and had it gift- wrapped. Chacowski wrote a note to put in the box that simply read, thieves will never tell their tale. When a courier delivered the beautifully wrapped box, the wife opened it with her children standing there. The point was made. She packed her children up and left on the first flight out.

At night, Douglas watched repulsed as Chacowski played with his children for hours, and then tucked them into bed and read them a bedtime story. Chacowski played the role of the perfect, loving father. He was home every night with his family. The hatred that Douglas had for Chacowski incubated as he waited for that call to take him out.

Douglas was not just here to kill Jobar Chacowski, but to gather all the intelligence he could about Chacowski’s business. Douglas was instructed to follow Chacowski and to report his observations to Evans until he received further instructions. Although Douglas was getting tired of watching this killer conduct his business in his usual violent manner, he was not one to disobey orders.

Taking the time to follow Chacowski gave Douglas time to observe his future targets and to get their habits down at the same time. Douglas had been given the green light to take out anyone who threatened to take over the Chacowski Empire after he was dead.

One obstacle Douglas had to overcome was the security around Chacowski. At any given time during the day, there were at minimum twenty guys around Chacowski. The only place Chacowski went without security was his bathroom, but security wasn’t too far away even then. Every door and window on Chacowski’s house were alarmed and the grounds were protected by guard dogs.

On one occasion Douglas had thrown T-bone steaks laced with Morphine over the fence and waited for the dogs to pass out before he had entered the house while the maids were there and Chacowski was gone with his family, taking all of his shadows with him. Douglas drew a rough sketch of the house as much as he could, while trying to avoid the maids. As Douglas walked

down the hallway of the upstairs, he was spotted by one of the maids who mistook him for a bodyguard and chastised him for walking on her wet floor. After the close encounter with the maid Douglas decided that it was time to leave for now. Douglas returned to the bluff and tried to come up with a plan that would make Chacowski’s men think that it was one of their own when it came time for Douglas to kill Chacowski.

Over the next couple of days, Douglas called the house and left death threats, claiming to be one of the ex-bodyguards and close friend to the lieutenant that was killed. If Chacowski bought the threats, he would know that someone from the inside had told someone else about the lieutenant and that would mean that Chacowski would not be able to trust anyone that worked for him until he found the mole and killed him.

The weeks had started taking their toll on Douglas. The nights were turning very cold and the days were very windy. Douglas prayed that he would get the go ahead any day now.

Although he was prepared for this job and had adequate clothing and necessities, Douglas was growing impatient watching this sorry son of a bitch.

Douglas was becoming more intolerant of the way this man lived his double life. During the day he would terrorize an entire village if he found out that his factories, which were really cocaine labs, weren’t producing what he thought were acceptable amounts of product.

He once found an employee using cocaine while working the packaging line and the next day he confronted him.

Chacowski smiled at the man and took a small baggie from his shirt pocket and handed it to him.

Chacowski told the puzzled man that he just wanted everyone to be happy and if snorting the boss’ blow made him happy then the least he could do was make sure that he had the good stuff. The man refused the free dope at first, but after Chacowski’s men started to approach him, he reluctantly took the baggie. He thanked Chacowski and started to walk away when one of the goons grabbed him by the arm and escorted him to the bathroom in the rear corner of the warehouse.

After being forced to inhale the contents of the bag, the man ran out of the bathroom with blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Halfway to Chacowski, the man collapsed on the floor and started convulsing. Chacowski and his goons just laughed at the man who lay on the floor gasping for oxygen as his lungs filled with blood. Chacowski bent over the man writhing on the floor and asked, "So jackass, how does that Borax feel weaving through your veins? Good shit, huh? Fucker’s think they can steal from me.