The Niagra Assignment

By Christian Iheanetu

The G7 was determined in their resolve to end the prolonged terror and criminality. They have to rescue and reclaim their country from the grip of wickedness and evil, perpetuated against the nation and its people by the murderous criminal gang that hijacked the government, enslaved, tortured, and killed it's people.

The search had lasted a whole year before the G7 were able to discover the only one man fit enough for the job. He has the dangerously unmatched credentials and record for ruthlessness and efficiency.

Jerry Kingston was an ex-commando, a professional and the exact man for the job. But things later took a different turn when suddenly from nowhere, and without warning, a deadly killer from his past was let loose into the scene. He was now faced with the dangerous task of struggling for his life against Dimitri, a maniac killer of repute.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798889603559

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The Niagra Assignment

Christian Iheanetu

Copyright © 2023 Christian Iheanetu

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

Any coincidence in names of persons and places as contained in this story, including events, is hereby regretted as it’s only a pure work of fiction and a mere representation of the writer’s imaginative and creative skill, hence does not in any way represent facts on ground.

ISBN 979-8-88960-339-9 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88960-355-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

In the Beginning (The G7)

Mission to Africa

The Southeast Operation

The Southwest Shock Treatment

Ambush in the Senate

The Police Reform

Enter the Chief of Defense Staff

The Man behind the Scene

The Devil Took Mullenga

A Close Shave with Death

The Game Is Up

Back Home and the Sweet Surprise

About the Author

In the Beginning (The G7)

I had decided to completely go off the radar for a while after my last assignment; hence, I proceeded on a long vacation. It was 16:00, and I was all stretched out in an easy beach recliner relaxing in a private beach at the South Pacific. I had also taken Jenny along with me as it was her day off at the casino bar, and the idea of the beach was one well thought out by her. It had been a very warm weather all day, preparatory to early winter, and the temperature around the beach area was just wonderful and very much friendly as I had earlier anticipated it to be. Both calm and peaceful with gentle caressing air that sets off thousands of beds of waves running across the surface of the waters of the beach in a cheerful and rhythmic lap that ends up in gentle splashes.

From my vantage position, I could clearly see Jenny as she stood erect to her full size like a model from the cover page of a Chanel fashion magazine. She was poised in preparation to take a dive into the fresh waters for yet another round of swimming. She seemed not just able to get enough of the feel of the smooth contact made by the fresh waters as it licked up the skin. A few hours ago, we had both swam far and deep into a large expanse of the water where she had actually proven to be in a very good shape, matching me with every stroke for stroke. I will actually give it to her. She is undeniably a very good water creature. We had raced back and forth a couple of times and sometimes surrendering totally to the forces of the water current, thereby drifting along idly. We had eventually gotten exhausted at a point and decided to take a rest and not until few minutes ago when she decided to return to the comfort of the water again with its increasing irresistible lure. Now as I watched her, I could barely take my eyes off her. From my position, I could clearly make out her wonderful and delicate curves covered by the briefest of bikini. Such a perfect body capable of setting any man on fire.

I had met Jenny at the casino bar of a popular nightclub on the second day of my vacation precisely three weeks ago. She had been working as a waitress. She was attending to the occupants next to my table when I spotted her about the same time she saw me. She was really a looker. The first thing you notice about her was those large sea-blue forget-me-not eyes. She had on a large hoop earring with her smooth and fresh blond hair caught up in a neat knot with the tips tapering right at the center of her back. She doesn't seem to be the makeup type. She had a skin as smooth and soft as silk. The way she dressed was such a simple thing that failed in its attempt at hiding and disguising her true shape and beauty. Just a pair of slacks with a casual top that set off the color of her eyes was all she wore. I could easily smell her perfume from my distance, and mere looking at her alone touched something deep down within me. Then she wore this friendly smile on her face that readily endears you to her. I had unconsciously winked at her at the time, and I thought I saw the briefest sign of acknowledgment in those deep sea-blue eyes.

I have met beautiful women in my time, but there is just something very different about Jenny that sparked the fire of curiosity in me. She is a little above average height with a well-molded figure of an Egyptian goddess. She had that untainted innocent beauty about her. She was twenty-one from what she later told me, which is clearly evident from her looks coupled with the gait from her carriage, and totally collapsed the last wall of resistance I had. That carriage was too familiar to me like yesterday. It brought back shades of memory. Yeah, it totally reminded me of Tara, my late son's mother. She was the only woman I had truly loved. Also as gentle and pure in heart, she had eventually died of heartbreak when the news that I was shot in Vietnam filtered to her. She couldn't bear it as it tore her completely apart. She had suffered severe depression and had reportedly been in and out of facilities leaving our only son, Jerry Jr., to the care of a distant relative. She was only two years older than Jenny at the time, and Junior had only been four at the time she passed on.

On recovery from the Vietnam shot, I had come home to my boy totally devastated, and a broken man from the thought of having to go through life without Tara, I started picking bits and pieces of my life again. It had taken three whole years for the pain to fairly subside, and just when I thought I'd finally move on again, the worst happened that completely shattered my whole existence. The only thing I ever lived for was brutally snatched away from me. Junior was abducted from his school and cruelly murdered. I thought the end had finally come for me.

The sharp persistent ring of my phone brought me upstart from my deep reverie; as I picked up the phone from an unknown caller, the voice from the other end was cool and aristocratic, Mr. Kingston? It was more like a question.

Yeah, speaking, and who's this? I responded more inquisitively.

This is Mr. Ridge on the line, Brian Ridge. My surrogate gave you my card two days ago, remember? I had been expecting your call.

My mind quickly ran back to the man with the Stetson hat; I had almost dislodged his right arm two nights ago at the back alley of the Ritz bar. For the past one week, I had been very conscious of this man stalking me. At first I tried dismissing the thought altogether, but it became quite obvious when I caught him off guard on three different occasions openly staring straight at me, and the one time was just around my neighborhood. As a well-trained professional, I have the rare instinct of recognizing an instant tail, but something was clearly out of place with this very one. He doesn't seem to care about his cover and doesn't appear sinister in any way. It is either he is an amateur or he is simply playing some kind of sick game because a good tail will never make his presence so obvious, especially with the Stetson hat sitting right there on his head, so pronounced like a death sentence. But whatever the case may be, I was determined to figure it out, and I actually did.

As I drove up through Pennington to make a stop at the Ritz bar, I had spotted Stetson's dim headlamps few meters behind me from a Toyota utility brand, which I had earlier marked him with. I had carefully crafted out a plan for his ambush earlier in the day. As I glided smoothly into the parking lot at the back entrance of the Ritz, I observed the same movement from Stetson as he parked a safe distance away from me. As I walked leisurely into the bar, I could make out his profile from the corner of my eyes even with shadow cast by the dimly lit lot as he struggled to get out of his car. As I settled in a table, I waved at the barman and ordered a glass of Bloody Mary; while my order was being delivered, Stetson walked stealthily to settle in a side table. I took my time observing him from my vantage point where I was seated; occasionally he cast a side glance at me. At about twenty minutes later, after downing the last bit of my cocktail, I beckoned to the waiter and settled my bill together with the usual tip. I stood up and made for the back exit; immediately I stepped outside. I took a position close to the right side of the exit door. The shadow cast by the adjacent building fell heavily on this very spot. I knew I would not have to wait long for my quarry just as the exit door opened then on Stetson. I could clearly make out his silhouette as he looked on straight to my parking position. Without hesitation, I threw him a quick jab at the right side of his neck that knocked the breath out of him, sending him sprawling on the sidewalk and gasping for breath. I immediately seized him by the right arm in a vicelike grip that let out a frightful scream from him.

Please don't kill me, you're already hurting me.

By this time, I had professionally frisked him for weapons but discovered only a business card with my name boldly written at the back. Who are you and who are you working for? I shouted out gruffly while maintaining pressure on the arm.

Oh please don't hurt me, let go of me. The gentlemen asked me to deliver just that card to you requesting you call them. I only needed the money, he finished breathlessly.

What gentlemen are you talking about? Speak up.

He was now squirming from the pain in his arm. Some men of honor. They just wanted a meeting with you, that's all.

I now took pity on him and released my grip on him as I walked to my car, tucking away the card in my wallet, and all these had actually happened two days ago. I had since forgotten about the card, until this call now, as I slowly drifted back to the present and to the strange caller.

What do you want from me and how did you find me? I barked into the receiver.

Well, let's just say finding you was made possible through sheer hard work, determination, and luck, but most importantly, Mr. Kingston, a gold fish has no hiding place. We are only requesting a harmless meeting. Please do kindly oblige us as it is a matter of extreme importance and urgency. The time will be 6:00 p.m. tomorrow at the penthouse of La Place Hotel. Would you prefer we send you a car, or you wish to drive yourself?

Let me think about it and get back to you, Mr. Ridge, I said to him.

In that case, we shall be anxiously expecting your call. Good night, Mr. Kingston. The line immediately went dead.

As the call terminated, I knitted my brows while rooted in deep thought. What would these men possibly want with me that is so important to have warranted putting a tail on me? I was in this very contemplative state when Jenny suddenly materialized from nowhere, signaling time to head home.

She, however, did not miss to notice the troubled expression on my face as she queried, Is anything the matter, hon?

Not really, just had a call from some associates of mine reminding me of a meeting scheduled for tomorrow, I responded.

Well, from the countenance of your face, I would say it appears much more than just an ordinary meeting, but do please be careful, Jerry.

Trust me, princess, it's nothing, okay?

I just hope so, she responded as we packed up and headed for home.

La Place Hotel was a very plush hotel situated between Sixteenth and Seventeenth Street of West Kennedy Boulevard. It wasn't difficult in locating the place because of its popularity. As I approached the driveway entrance and into the security check area, I identified myself with the security pass code earlier given to me by my host after which the electronic barrier was lifted, thereby granting me entry access. The hotel happens to be one of the best places exclusively set aside for the very rich and the crème de la crème of the society. It is a household name that depicts respect and affluence.

As I drove into the palatial premises of the edifice, I was instantly relieved of my parking responsibility by an elegantly dressed concierge after which I rode up the elevator and was ushered into what looked like a mini boardroom housed in the penthouse of the hotel. The room was well lit with expensive chandeliers. Two men were seated each on either side of a large well-polished mahogany table while the fifth man was seated on the other side of the table opposite a vacant seat, which I believe was reserved for me. I quickly took them all in one swift glance as they rose in acknowledgment of my entry.

They were all well dressed in business suits and looking quite aristocratic. They were also in their very prime with the youngest not less than forty-five and the one facing the empty chair whom I rightly suspect to be the leader of the group within his early fifties. He had a file on the table right in front of him and an expensive leather briefcase on the left side of his table. We had a warm handshake as I took the vacant seat. The man sitting opposite me immediately cleared his throat and began the process of a formal introduction.

Seated from my extreme left is Tony Moore. Next to him is Edward Aitken and to my extreme right is Del Jones. Also sitting next to him is Tom Seymour, and I am Brian Ridge. Each introduction was acknowledged with a slight nod of the head. The man was handsome, above average height, and lean with receding hairline and freckles of white hair. He also had a thick set of eyebrows with a matching mustache. He has that set of bright and intelligent eyes that seem to miss nothing. His friendly and cheerful disposition was apparent, but most importantly, he appears like a man of good authority who seem to have come a very long way in life. Somehow he appears to be riddled with a greater degree of masked burden of worries; however, he took me in in one swift glance and immediately launched into a very long tirade.

It is quite a pleasure to finally have you here in our midst, Mr. Kingston. You wouldn't know how important this meeting is to us. We are very much sorry for whatever embarrassment caused you by our emissary as he was actually following orders. We are a very special team known as the G7. The group was formed from a unifying spirit of true nationalism and selflessness driven by a common sense of purpose and duty to our nation. We assembled together because of the deathly situation threatening to engulf our dear nation together with the dehumanization and recolonization of its citizenry by its own very government.

He then stopped abruptly, like one who suddenly remembered his bearing. He opened the file that has been sitting in front of him, looked straight at me, tapped the file, and continued, This here is a dossier that was given to us containing your profile. I shall have to read it out to you so you can confirm if it's really yours. With that said, he then began reading from the file. You are Jerry Kingston, a special agent. You trained as an American Marine and also as a commando. You are a duly certified killer and adjudged the most ruthless marksman and assassin with utmost precision and without a conscience. It says here that you are an extremely patient tracker (SHADOW) with the rare quality to endure hardship while taking risks of high magnitude in a most tortuous task. You also have the expert ability of taking out a target without the slightest trail. You fought in Vietnam and almost got killed of a blow from a bayonet while attempting to save an African ally of yours. The blow from the bayonet left a deep cleft at the upper back part of your left thigh precisely.

Now I was growing impatient with the whole narrative. Cut to the chase, I shot in. I got no patience for all this crap. Is this some kind of interrogation class or what? I ain't cut out for all these bullshit.

They all stared at me in total consternation. Then in a gentle voice, he countered, "Patience please. We just wanna be sure of these credentials. We've really come a long way. We can't