Killer With Ice Eyes

By J L Hill

1997 - Maria is twenty-two years old. She is leading the Bright Skies Agency, an anti-terrorist/mercenary group, which combats human trafficking around the world. Barry Thomas, a government intelligence agent, working with Maria and her father MoJo objects to her tactics of letting herself be captured, then using the GPS within her to direct the

• Language: English
• Publisher: RockHill Publishing LLC
• Release date: Sep 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781945286742

J L Hill

James L Hill is a native New Yorker, born and raised in Fort Apache, the South Bronx's 41st precinct during the 60's, a time when you needed a gang to go to the store. Raised on blues, soul, and rock & roll gave him the heart of a flower child, and educated by the turmoil of Vietnam, the Civil Rights Movement, and the Sexual Revolution produced a gladiator.James has a successful forty-year career as a software engineer designing, developing, and maintaining systems for the government and the private sector. He returned to his first love, as a prolific storyteller with a slant on the dark side of life. Killer With A Heart, Killer With Three Heads, and the latest release in the Killer Series, Killer With Black Blood, a finalist for the Silver Falchion Award, published July 2021, are adult urban crime fictions. The final novel in the series, Killer With Ice Eyes, is a finalist for the Killer Nashville's Claymore Award of 2022. While Pegasus: A Journey To New Eden is a dystopian science fiction, and The Emerald Lady is the first book in the fantasy Gemstone Series.The next step on his journey led to the business of publishing. He started RockHill Publishing LLC not only to publish his own work, but to give others access to the literary world. His computer background and experience in word-processing gave him insight into what it takes to create good books.

Book preview

1

The Ball Buster

Corine peeks through a crack in the mud brick wall of her cell. She can hear the voices of men nearby; they are coming from the other side of the compound. She turns to the girls in the cell across from her, they are coming back. Who do you see?

I see the tall one, the fat one, and the boy, whispers Talgi. Corine, I am scared. They are coming for us this time. She clutches her dirty blazer tight around her neck. The other girls, ten in all, huddle around her. Talgi is the oldest of the Sudanese captives.

Don’t worry, Corine says calmly, they are coming for me. Again. She ties the strip of dress she tore from the hem around her waist, knowing it will not stop what is about to happen. Her blue dress is nothing but a rag now, Derreon Gila ripped it down the front the first night he raped her, right after she kneed him in the groin.

She rubs her cheek; the swelling is almost gone. This is the third time this week he’s coming for her. But this time is different, the big one, as the girl calls him, and Derreon’s brother, the young boy, is with him. And they, are coming in the morning.

The door to the mud-brick shanty swings open with a thud. The girls in the cell on the other side of the room scream, and cower in the corner. Derreon loves scaring the young ones. He bangs on the bars with the inch-thick rebar he carries as a club, eliciting cries from the frightened girls. The jail is a hastily built square of foot-thick mud and straw walls. The roof consists of planks of wood held in place by the hard, dry sidewalls. The bars of the two cells run from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. There are no windows, no light within when the door is closed.

Don’t let that black gorilla scare you, girls, Corine yells as she grabs the bars of her cell. He can’t touch you. You are worth money to his boss if you are unharmed. If he hurts you, I’m sure his master will shove that iron bar up his ass.

Derreon spins around and grabs Corine by the throat before she can retreat. But you are not worth anything to anyone, little French whore. You are mine to do with as I wish. He pushes her back with enough force to send her to the ground. He pulls a key from his pocket, unlocks the cell, and stands menacingly in the doorway.

Corine pulls her dress close around her as she scoots away from him.

He laughs and says, I am tired of your little cunt. You no longer amuse me. Today, my little brother will become a real soldier. Katuma, get over here!

The young boy, skinny and frail, stands in the shadow of his older brother, his eyes glassy with fear. He trembles as Derreon grabs him by the arm and flings him into the cell. He stumbles to the side as he tries to avoid tripping over the woman on the floor.

What are you waiting for? She is nothing. A worthless piece of meat, Allah has placed her here for our amusement.

He’s just a boy, who should be outside kicking a ball around with his friends. Not toting a gun and committing these crimes you are forcing on him. You believe in God; He will punish you both for this.

The fat man laughs, Maybe the boy does not like whores. Maybe he wants one of his own, closer to his own age. Or maybe we should take him to the other adobe where you are holding the bo—

Derreon’s rebar keeps him from finishing his sentence and sends blood flying from his mouth. The crack of bone reverberates in the ten-foot-cube hovel. The fat man’s head rattles the bars of the girls’ cage. See what I tell you. You dishonor me and yourself. This fool insults your manhood. It is time for you to become a man and a soldier in this army!

Disgusted with his brother’s lack of action, Derreon grabs Corine by an ankle and flips her over. He rips his pants open and pins her head to the floor with his massive paw. With one arm around her waist, he hauls her up to him and shoves his stiffening penis into her. He humps her furiously for a couple of minutes before dropping her to the floor again. He rips her dress from her body and wipes himself off. Then he throws the garment in his brother’s face. See, that is all there is to it. Just a piece of meat.

He grabs his dick, shakes it at the other girls, laughs, and pulls his pants up. As he walks out of the cell and passes the fat man still unconscious on the floor between the two cells, he kicks him in the groin. He looks back at his brother who is covering the naked Corine sitting with her knees to her chest. Careful, little brother, she’s a kicker. Lock her cell. And when this Mutha Fucka wakes up, take him outside and shoot him. No, shoot him here. Show these girls you are at least that much of a man.

Katuma locks the cell and leaves the shanty. He returns a few moments later with a pistol in hand. His head’s down while he fires one shot into the back of the fat man’s head. The head bounces once. Katuma leaves, slamming the door without making eye contact with any of the captives.

The sounds of engines arriving at the camp fill the air. Corine peeks through the crack in her wall and sees a white man exiting the first truck. She studies his looks, the way he walks, his camo outfit. White-haired and plump, he sports a neat white beard; looks about fifty, or a little older. He is not a fighter but perhaps a businessman, who has come to buy the girls.

The camp is one long road, less than a mile in the southern part where the desert landscape has given way to green vegetation. It is hidden from the air by camouflage nettings and paint. Trees and tall grasses surround it and hide what activities take place on the ground. Training and drilling of the boys go on all day on the road under a blazing sun.

Talgi asks, what is going on out there? It is the first time anyone has spoken since Derreon raped Corine and Katuma killed the other soldier. Two other boy soldiers pulled the man’s body out an hour ago.

I’m not sure, Corine answers, while cupping her hands to make it easier to see through the narrow crack. In the two weeks since they were kidnapped, she hasn’t been able to widen the hole by much. She pokes at a spot between the bricks that has dried uneven with her wet fingers. She instructs the girls to do the same in their cells. They find spots in all four walls and create lookouts. Without any utensils they can’t fashion much more than peepholes—they eat their food with their hands and the tin plates are too big to use. But she can still get a fairly good view across the compound because it’s always dark inside the jail.

Are they here for us?

No. I don’t think so. Corine sees about a dozen men; Whites and Africans exit the second truck. They unload crates from the last truck. It looks like these guys are making a delivery. I promise, I won’t let them take you.

Corine, you can’t stop them, Talgi says. They take the boys for soldiers, and we are to make wives for them. Or worse, we will be sold as prostitutes. The LRA raided my cousin’s village two years ago, I never heard from her again.

That’s not going to happen to you. Corine puts up her hand to end the conversation.

What?

It’s Commander Raska Diambu.

A fearful squeal comes from the other cell.

Corine again waves her hand over her head for silence. The white man in the pressed camouflage and the commander in his beige dress uniform are just out of earshot. She is trying to read their lips.

The commander points to one of the last boxes unloaded from the truck. An African soldier quickly pries it open. The commander uses both hands to pull a long black tub from the crate. He swings the strap over his shoulder and aims it at Corine’s hut.

This is the best rocket launcher on the black market. American made, reloadable, light weight, and with an advanced targeting system. The range is a mile. Fire and go, brags Otto Boone.

Yes, it is as you say, a fine weapon. And the guns?

AK47s, as you requested. You are going to raise Hell in the capital with these weapons, Commander.

Commander Diambu tosses the rocket launcher to the soldier who opened the crate, Derreon, why don’t you bring out one of the girls for Mr. Boone? A bonus for you.

Thanks, Otto says with a smile. But it will be very hard for me to take her where I’m heading next. You know, a lot of questions.

What about a nice French woman? asks Derreon. We can have her cleaned up in a few minutes.

Otto looks towards the hutment at the other end of the road and thinks for a moment, let’s just stick to the original deal. I’ll take the diamonds and we will be on our way. There is no problem with the payment agreed upon, is there?

Of course not, concedes the commander, his thick black beard hiding a scowl from the rebuttal. This arms dealer suggesting he might not pay would have cost him his life if he did not need more high-grade munitions. The offer was just a sign of our gratitude to you for undertaking such a dangerous and, shall I say, unpopular transaction.

These affairs are always dangerous, Otto agrees, whether they sit well with the popular opinions of the world or not. I for one, do not get involved in the political or social situations of my customers. It complicates matters unnecessarily.

Derreon hands Otto a briefcase. After a quick look inside the two men shake hands. The commander returns to his headquarters and Otto Boone climbs back into his truck and leaves.

Corine steps away from the wall, she has seen what she came for; the commander is in the camp. What she doesn’t know is for how long. She sits on the floor and starts clicking her teeth together.

The girls don’t know what she’s doing, but it is odd behavior.

She looks up at the girls, goes back to her crack in the wall, and watches for a while longer. Then she turns back to them, we are getting out of here very soon. I need you girls to gather together over there. She points to the corner of the cell behind the entrance to the room where one of the shafts of light streams in between the boards in the roof. The front wall of the jail is the thickest and the two corners offer the greatest protection. When the shooting starts, stay low and keep silent.

Who’s coming to rescue us? And how can you know this? You are a UN teacher.

Actually, Talgi, I’m not with the United Nations, Corine sees no trouble in sharing her secret now. I work with a group of soldiers hired by your government to track down Commander Diambu. He has fallen out of favor with his supporters and he is in the camp now. I just sent a message to my troops; they will be here in a few minutes. My men are a couple of miles from here hiding in the forest.

Talgi comes to the bars, looking horrified and angry, are you saying you could have freed us at any time and yet you did nothing? You let those men…

I had to. I had to wait for the commander to show up, she is unapologetic, I get Diambu, and the kidnappings stop. We can break the LRA in this part of the Sudan.

You put your life in danger… I guess that is your real job. But what about our lives? Do you not care what happens to us?

Of course, I care, Corine leaves the corner of her cell and goes to the bars. At the first sign of danger to you, or any of you girls, I would have called in my strike force. I was never going to let them take you out of this camp, not for any reason. Now, quickly, take cover, there is going to be a lot of shooting.

Just as the words leave Corine’s lips gunfire and yelling starts. It sounds close and she knows it’s return fire from the LRA soldiers. Her men start the assault with snipers, firing with suppressors from the tree line. She used the transmitter imbedded in her molars to relay the location of the commander’s headquarters and her own. His is the only building made of true bricks. Although, she figures in the two weeks she’s been held captive, her troops must have scouted out the camp.

A loud explosion, quickly followed by a second, means they blew up the two trucks in front of the headquarters. Something heavy loudly impacts the wall of her cell. A cloud of dust and small bits of the ceiling cave in. The girls scream and cry. She wants to tell them to remain calm, that cries will draw the attention of the LRA soldiers, who might decide to execute them, over letting them be freed. But there is no time.

The gun battle gets louder and closer. Her men are moving in on the camp. Corine feels sorry for the young boys who are undoubtably being killed. She watched drills in the mornings and again at night, calculating about ninety percent of the soldiers, if one could call them that, were boys less than fifteen years old. She counted about a dozen men in the camp and a hundred boys. Like the girls in the cell across from her, the LRA has exhausted the older boys and girls in this war and is now gathering the pre-teens and teenagers. The Sudanese government is desperate to stop the recruitment and building of kid armies.

That was when she got the call. The Sudanese army is reluctant to go after Diambu and others like him themselves; it means killing children, their children. There was no way around it. Also, they had backed these militias for years. The solution was to secretly hire mercenaries to hunt down the commanders of the children armies and do what was necessary.

Corine took the assignment for personal reasons and gave orders not to kill the children. Her men use nonlethal rubber bullets against the kids. The snipers and the A Team—A for assault not the popular TV show of a decade ago, although they often play the theme song during a battle on a boom box—fire live rounds at the adult LRA members. There was no requirement to capture Diambu or his commandoes alive. The Sudanese government would in fact welcome a confirmed kill over a trial and hanging. Less to explain.

She thinks it ironic, hunting down men who do the same thing they do back in the States. They recruit kids, twelve years old, some younger, to be in the gangs. The only difference is that in the States the gangs fight each other, not the government. There are run-ins with the police, naturally, but they aren’t waging a full-scale war against the United States. Not outwardly, at least.

As suddenly as it started, it is over. Deathly silence takes hold of the camp. The girls sob nervously in the corner of their cell. Corine looks up to see beams of sunlight crisscrossing the shanty in the dust-filled air. When she stands up a few spots of sunlight dot her chest. The thick mud walls did little to stop the bullets that someone took the time to spray the shanty with. The door swings open, and the full brightness of the sun lights up the room. Dust particles, millions of them, twinkle in the shaft of light.

Maria, you in here? A thick, deep man’s voice enters the house.

Yeah, don’t shoot! We are alone, Corine, whose true identity is Maria Delitanni, informs him.

Jesus! You look like shit.

Thank you, Barry. You always know how to make a girl feel special, Maria says, holding her tattered dress as closed as possible. Can you have someone bring me some fatigues? And stop gawking, there are no mirrors in here. I can’t look that bad, or that good either.

Maria comes out of the shanty dressed in camo. The girls stay close to her, their eyes squinting and darting around at the soldiers, afraid of them but relieved they are there. There are small groups of boys sitting on the ground around the camp, hands on their heads, heads down. They have been warned not to look up, not to move.

Maria approaches Barry Thomas, I want these girls taken back to their village before nightfall. What about the boys?

The government is sending transportation for all of them. But it is going to be a little different for the boys. Those they can reunite with their family will go home. But they are all going to a… debriefing center first. It may be a while before they can go home. Those who still have homes.

When I was their age, I would have been sitting with them, Maria confesses. The only difference is I won the wars I fought.

She allows herself to slip through time and space back to her gang headquarters in the South Bronx a half dozen years ago. Four boys were brought before her in their training room. It was a hollowed-out apartment, no interior walls to provide cover or get in the way of a fight. The four, two ten-years-old, one who was twelve, and the last a thirteen-year-old were involved in that day’s gang fight.

I watched today’s action from a rooftop, Maria informed them.

One of the ten-years-old started to speak and received a hard blow to the stomach with a stickball bat. Delivered without warning by the 22-year-old lieutenant everyone called Mouse.

She continued, You four did not fight, you cowered behind your brothers. I know you were afraid. Fear is a powerful thing, it can stop you from doing what is expected, what you gave your word you would do. You promised to fight for your colors. You promised to protect these colors. Your brothers fought today for your colors.

Maria threw four, foot-long lengths of chain in front of the boys. You will overcome your fear, here and now. When you were jumped into this gang you learned pain was fleeting and to be shared with your brothers. Now, you must learn fear is to be defeated. Defeat your fears and take your place with your brothers. Give into those fears, we have no place for losers in our ranks.

The ten-year-old, still on his knees, grabbed a chain first and swung it at the boy standing beside him. It wrapped around the twelve-year-old’s ankle, and he yanked him off his feet. The others dived for the chains and started slashing at one another. The twelve-year-old finally got hold of the last chain, wrapped it around his hand and began punching his opponent with it. The fight lasted five minutes until each boy was bloody, then Maria gave the signal for the older gang members in the room to separate them.

The entire gang convened behind the gang’s headquarters, a five-story brick building.

Mouse stood next to Maria in front of the line of gangbangers and asked. Are you sure we should do this?

Are you getting soft? Is this not the life we chose? We run together, we hang together, we die for the colors we wear.

But he gave his best.

That’s the problem, Maria said, he gave his best and was bested by a ten-year-old half his size. Lessons are only learned when the consequences are real. She waved her hand and an object appeared over the edge of the roof.

It fell so quickly they could not hear the scream until a moment before the ground silenced it. The splat of the thirteen-year-old boy sprayed a cloud of blood across the gang. Maria and the gang turned and walked away, leaving the three combatants to dispose of their fallen comrade. Their final lesson of the night.

Fumu, come here! Maria waves a gun-toting young African soldier over.

He is big and stocky, his six-foot frame dwarfing Maria’s five-four body, one of his biceps thicker than both her legs put together, his face menacing in green camouflage paint.

Girls, stay with Fumu Akombi, he will get you back to your families. He’s from Niger and I’ve known him for years. She says then leaves with Barry.

The soldier flashes the girls a big smile.

Maria and Barry head for the headquarters, Tell me you took that bastard alive.

Shot himself in the head when we surrounded his headquarters. But we got a couple of his friends. A big black African, tough motherfucker; when he ran out of bullets, tried to fight his way out. Took half a dozen guys to take him down. Hey, there is a shitload of weapons in that building over there. Looks like they just got dropped off. Some high-grade American stuff. Why didn’t you call us in when the weapons were being delivered? We could have nailed the arms dealer too.

Maria shoots him a look of disgust. Really? Is that what you think? You could have gotten a two for one here?

Barry stops abruptly, It is what we in the US government call a target of opportunity. We would like to know how he got his hands on some of our top equipment. And keep him from getting more.

You can pick him up on the road, Maria resumes walking towards the headquarter. She passes a row of four metal cargo containers painted in camo colors; where they housed the boy soldiers. Bullet holes line the top of the sides, three or four lines to provide air and let out some of the heat. At night she had watched the boys get locked inside to prevent them from escaping. She looks in one, the floor is covered in dirty mats and sacks of dried leaves. It must have been an oven in there, even at night. The boys were as much prisoners as were the girls.

Barry is still holding his position. Oh, you think so. Anyway, I sent a squad after him, but they only found his truck. He ditched it two miles down the road and took to the woods. He’s in the wind now.

Well, if you had shown up while his men and he were still here, it would have been a much different fight. It wouldn’t have been boys and rubber bullets. It would have been men and lead. I’m not subjecting my guys to that. The commander was the target, we got him, that’s what counts. Now, let’s go see my friends.

Maria sees Derreon and Katuma are hanging by their wrists a foot off the floor from a beam in the ceiling. She passes between them and pulls on the rope tied to the bars in the window. Derreon is lifted another foot higher before she lets go and he drops. The handcuffs dig painfully into his wrists. She spins him around and stops him with his rebar she took from the desk behind him. I told you God was going to punish you. I guess I should have also told you, I am your God!

Derreon spits in her face.

She lets it run down her cheek then cracks the rebar across his knee. "Oh,