The Ravagers of Lives

If you saw John in a bar, what would you think? When not on a short leave from duty when he and his mates released the tension by crazy antics, he would be with a group of others, maybe all around 30 years old. Typically, they sip their pints of beer, but not in a rush. They speak deliberately without bluster or loudness. They would look fit, but not heavily muscled, their skin tanned. Clean hair is normally neither short, nor long. John’s is dark, accentuating his ice blue eyes. He could be around 6 feet tall. A scar paints a thin white line from below his right eye to his jaw. A broken nose has been badly set at some time.

If you were told that he served two tours in Afghanistan with the SAS, Special Air Service, and saw mates blown apart, such a pub scene would fall into place. Two comrades suffered permanent brain damage, vegetables for life, if that is living. Others babble alcoholic nonsense, missing limbs and living in cardboard boxes in Mayfair’s back alleys.

In a ruthless war unarmed civilians and prisoners were routinely tortured and killed by both sides. John participated, harming enemies and civilians with bullets, knives and his bare hands. It was a dirty war. He thinks, ‘Retaliation and torture were necessary.’

If he allows himself to dwell on it, the bitterness of abandoning the country to warlords and the Taliban twists his guts. Leaving those Afghans who helped behind to their fate was the ultimate betrayal. It brings bile into his mouth. Red mists of anger cloud his mind. Adrenalin surges. He wants to lash out.

Bill, a mate from Belfast, met him in a quiet corner of this pub as arranged. He was bronzed, fit and flashed a thick wad of twenty-pound notes.

‘John, I’ve signed up with an outfit I want to talk to you about. They contract to provide people like us to the UK and US clandestine services. The relevant governments can deny involvement. Of course, in case of trouble, that leaves us out on a limb. We’re deployed to hot spots anywhere in the world. The money’s great. There’s none of the usual lip service to restrictive rules of engagement, or any Geneva Convention nonsense.’

‘I’ve just had three months sorting out some drug cartels in Mexico. Great buddies, lots of action, it was exciting.’

                                                                                                         ***

Six months later, undercover in Ukraine, John’s new mates include ex Foreign Legionnaires, US Rangers and two from the BND, Bundesnachrichtendienst. Bill had not exaggerated the action, the excitement or the comradeship.

John’s team snatched General Gregori Ivanovich, from his house in Belgorod, on the Russian side of the Ukraine border. ‘Flashbangs’, smoke grenades and bullets flew. To leave no witnesses, his wife and two small children were given lethal injections.

A week later, the electrodes and beatings took their toll. Ivanovich died from heart failure. The information he croaked through broken teeth on the disposition of Russian logistics led to devastating drone and rocket attacks. These blew dozens of ammunition depots and trucks to smithereens. Hundreds of soldiers and any civilians that got in the way, were left as burnt and bloody corpses.

With a big bonus and a week’s leave John and his mates released the tension with a licentious time on Hamburg’s Reeperbahn. Looking worse for wear, they met in a weinstube to compare notes. They swapped exaggerated yarns of their masculine prowess and experiences.

Jaimie, an ex-marine, shared a clip from a UK newsreel on his cellphone.

‘Listen to this Bollocks.’

John Healey, the UK Defence Minister trying to sound neutral, expressed his support for the further enquiries into alleged war crimes by British Forces in Afghanistan.

Jaime said,

‘That bastard ignores what the Taliban did. These leftie lawyers and MPs know nothing of war. Mark my words, they’ll be coming after us all. Just wait and see.’

                                                                ***

To his surprise John was never sent back to Ukraine.

The big boss summoned him to a meeting in the Special Forces Club in London’s Knightsbridge.

The paneled Georgian door with shiny brass fittings and a fanlight above was like many others in the street. Unlike them there was no metal plate denoting its occupancy, just a discrete, but highly polished number 8.

The tough looking doorman recognized him.

‘Sir James is waiting for you in the bar John.’

Sir James rose from a corner table to greet him. His double-breasted pin striped suit was old fashioned but fitted his persona.

 A waiter with military bearing poured generous G&Ts into cut glass tumblers, adding ice and slices of lemon. Sir James savored a mouthful. Then he took a handful of salted peanuts from an accompanying bowl.

‘John, there’s something new for you. You’ll have to leave us to join another outfit.’

John looked surprised.

‘Their HQ ‘s in the US but they work worldwide. All I can tell you is they’re fighting back in ways we only dream about. They weaken those who try and stop our efforts, lawyers, bleeding hearts and lefties.’

‘Sounds great! Tell me more?’

                                                                ***

Two weeks later he was billeted in a small apartment in Fairfax County, Virginia. It was bright modern and sparsely furnished for people passing through.

He was to spend little time there as his training schedule was from dawn till night. It was a short daily walk to a modern office building. That had windows to the outside, covered with dark film. All interior spaces were completely shielded from the exterior physically and electronically.

He tapped a wall. ‘Mmm, bullet proof.’

The training was an eyeopener. It began at 6am with a rigorous workout in the gym. This was often followed by combat training. ‘Nothing new here.’

He learned that the organization was completely off the books. It had unlimited funds and was known only to a handful of people in the US, UK and Israel. Intelligence from the FBI, the CIA, the NSA, British GCHQ and MI6, Mossad and other supposedly secure sources was readily available.

Wall-to-wall computer geeks provided anything they wanted to know about anyone, usually within minutes. This plus surveillance equipment illegally placed in homes and workplaces gave then everything they needed to know.

Subjects could have no secrets, sexual indiscretions, financial assets, long forgotten breaches of laws, broken marriage vows and more.

The instructor told recruits,

‘Your job is to get into the targets’ heads. You will observe them in person to build a complete picture and recommend action.

John asked,

‘Do we eliminate subjects when necessary?’

The answer disappointed him.

‘We try not to resort to the usual disappearances, car crashes, heart attacks, robberies gone wrong and all that old stuff. These things arouse suspicion, because we used them too often in the past.’

‘So how does this work?’

‘Sometimes we can turn their friends into our assets. If we need to alert the media to neutralize them, we do. More commonly, we use other methods. Your field training will demonstrate.’

                                                              ***

In an office deep in the building, an Ex Navy-SEAL colonel flipped open John’s file. The psychiatrist was there to offer opinions only when asked.

‘OK, excellent combat record. Divorced three times. No recent contact with kids. Good!

Keeps his mouth shut. Loves, danger. Aced weapons and unarmed combat.

Risk Factors?’

‘Well Boss, Civilians might call him a psychopath. He wants to terminate all threats as quickly as possible.’

‘Normal for our recruits then. Why should the CIA corner the market? Holding them back becomes the issue. I’m gonna try him on field operations training with Naomi. See how he gets on.’  

                                                              ***

 Naomi was an almond eyed, olive skinned and lithe 35-year-old. She noted John’s lustful stares in the gym with annoyance. Typical he sees any woman as his inferior and willing to succumb to his charms. I’ll dump him on his ass when he tries to beat me in unarmed combat.

As she expected he underestimated her. She winded him, got him on the floor and drove her fingers into his throat. He would find swallowing painful for a week, dead in real life.

He recognized her Krav Maga Israeli technique. Still in pain, he won the next bout, landing on top of her. Mm sandalwood and pheromones. Her glance was viperous. He offered a hand to help her up. She swept him onto the floor and the instructor had to pull her off.

                                                              ***

Now, she gave him a cool appraising look in the boss’s office. His blue eyes are cute. John nodded to her as they sat down. The Boss pressed a control button on his desk. They all looked towards the target’s profile as it appeared on his glass wall.

Frederico Mario Curti- 56- Married to Bridgid, ne O’Sullivan. They live in Wilmington Delaware and are prominent in Democrat activities and social circles. Three kids.

Our causes for Concern. He’s an ex-Harvard Law, civil rights lawyer, specializing in immigration appeals and suing ICE and Homeland Security. He wins way too often. He’s well connected all the way up to the Supreme Court.

His wife is active in civil rights. Her day job is with the international administration of PETA, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. She meets discretely with extremist animal rights groups in London, the Netherlands and Germany.

John asked fearing the answer, but had to try,

‘Why can’t we just arrange a gas explosion in the house or a car crash?’

Naomi looked at the ceiling, glancing at the Boss, who gruntedOptions,

‘Over the years too many incidents fed the conspiracy theorists. It goes right back to Lee Harvey Oswald and more recently Epstein. Even real accidents arouse storms of protest. Naomi’ll show you how it’s done.’

                                                               ***

As they left the Boss’s office, Naiomi gave him a come-hither look. He’s a bit more humble now. He  I’d like to get my hands on those tight little buns. This’ll be on my terms.

‘Why don’t we continue to review the case files in my place.’

He was impressed. It was bigger and better than his and obviously her permanent home, when not on ops.

They shared a bottle of wine, then another. She threw him a hot look. Then she pounced. They were soon tearing at each other’s clothing. In the bedroom, she pushed him back on the bed and jumped on top of him.

‘Wow! This makes a change’.

He felt her several scars from healed blade and bullet wounds as he clasped her tightly to him.

She made a noise like an express train at her point of ecstasy. He was stunned.

He was relieved when it was time to get back to work. He was worn out and sore.

                                                              *** 

 A week later, they moved into a Wilmington apartment close to the targets, posing as a married couple. Techs set up their surveillance electronics in the back room. There they could view surveillance footage from every part of the Curti’s house.

After two days trawling through this and every financial aspect of the household, John was frustrated.

‘God this is boring. They seem to do everything by the book, no dark secrets. What are we supposed to do?’

‘Watch and learn. We’ll start the process tomorrow. Meantime, come to bed, it’s time for your workout.’

Next day she began with a call to the geeks at HQ.

‘Prepare to do the following, and get the surveillance kit out of the house, before we pull the plug. Keep taps on all the cell, house and office phones.

Insert child pornography on his telephone along with a movie of his youngest naked having a bath. Make sure it shows he has shared these with the list of pedos from the file. Do have a couple of them from jail. I’ll give us more leverage.’

‘Mrs. C’s to get a text from ‘A friend’. Telling her to check his phone. Send a copy of the pictures to the headmistress in the kids’ school too.’

When the Curti’s were out, the cleanup crew entered the house from the rear, donning their protective white suits to avoid contamination. They removed all the bugs, driving away in a grey van with false plates.

                                                             ***                                                                                                        Frederico Curti slumps in a corner of a police cell, head in hands. In the space of few days, he has been arrested and cuffed in front of his whole law office. The cops roughed up the pedo on the way to the station. He has been charged with the felony of making and transporting child pornography under Delaware law. A recent case resulted in a 30-year sentence and $250,000 fine.

Federal Charges are developing, as some of the pedos he is accused of sharing with are from other states. Several recipients have turned State’s evidence against him in exchange for immunity or reduced sentences.

Through his lawyer, Frederico contacted his wife. Bridgid will not believe it is a set-up. His kids have been pulled from the school. They are staying with her at her mother’s house in Maryland.

John asked Naomi,

 ‘Is that it then? Did we really need to come down here to get it done?’

‘Ha! We could have chosen a different course. Next there has to be a trial, lots of publicity and all the rest. Even in the unlikely event he’s found not guilty, his career’s over. He’ll have no friends. Suspicion sticks.

She’s under a cloud too. People ask,

 ‘Did she know? Was she at fault?’

She’s already not going into work. Most of her friends’ve stopped calling. But as you asked, that’s not it.’

Her financials show substantial transfers to members of the Animal Liberation Front, ALF, over several years from embezzled funds that passed through her accounts. We put them there.

They include payments to Joe Klein. He blew up a meat packing plant in Chicago. He’s currently serving a life sentence for arson and murder. He’ll get certain privileges for his testimony.

The children will likely be taken by social workers.

                                                            ***

Back at base Naomi and John sit in the Boss’s office.

‘Well done both of you.’

Looking at John,

‘Naomi’s asked that you work with her on the next assignment in Egypt, but I’ve got something for you in the UK’.

                                                            ***

John moved on to other assignments. He doesn’t follow past cases. Two years after Wilmington, Bridgid is living in a skip in New York.

She rarely remembers who she is in a haze of crystal meth and alcohol.

Frederico died in Federal prison before his appeal against a thirty-year sentence could be heard.

An inmate cut his throat with a shiv. Prisoners consider murdering pedos a matter of honor. The guards never caught the culprit. They don’t like pervs either. The guy got what he deserved.