case 11512

Day 1 - Tuesday

1.

    “Request permission to terminate case 11511.” Alpha put his finger on the button to delete the case from his access.

    “Terminate.”

    With that, he pressed the button and the screen went black for a couple seconds then eased back to life as simply a cursor blinking in the lower left corner. Another one down, Alpha’s 212th overall. A successful career in the eyes of all involved at this sphere.

    Alpha leaned forward to the cursor and typed “snc” then hit enter. This time the computer took its silent time. Alpha closed his eyes to imagine what the output would show. Man? Woman? Hopefully not another child. Hopefully someone that deserved it. Luckily, the Golf Sphere was good at sifting. The computer eventually showed the following information:

Case NN (Alpha string)

Albert Smith

654 East Avenue, San Marcos CA

T, 4 days.

    Alpha frowned. Four days would have to be quick work. The workload was certainly not tailing off these days.

    “Request permission to open case and rename as case 11512.”

    “Open. Rename.”

    “Case 11512. Acknowledge, Albert Smith residing at said address in four days.”

    “Correct.”

    “It will be done. Out.”

2.

    He turned to the back of the church as he heard the massive doors open. In the blazing sun stood eight high school wrestlers from San Central High School, four on each side of the casket. The students waited for a few seconds and then started the procession. Justin Woodard was making his last entrance into the church.

    Albert Smith rested his hand on his wife’s shoulder, and Karen backed into him a bit. His wife in turn rested her hands on her two teenage sons, Timothy and Thomas. Albert gazed at his family from one to one and looked back at the casket making its way to the front of the church. The solemn organ music did its best to hide the weeping of the Woodard family and friends, but it inevitably failed.

    Justin’s sudden death was crushing the Woodard family. The parents, John and Amy, lost their first born. Their only other child, 17-year-old Angie, had seemingly not said a word to anyone in the last three days.

    As the casket passed the Woodard family, Angie fell into the pew crying, Amy dove into John’s arms, and John did his best to hug the both of them. The students did their best to place the coffin in a precise manner and return to their families. Once completed, the pastor came to the head of it, raised it, said a quick prayer, and closed it again so no one in the congregation would ever know how extensive the injuries were to the young man.

    The pastor returned to the podium to start the service. He talked about God’s will and the unknowing but justified reasons that the young man was taken to heaven to be with his lord.

    Albert Smith stroked his wife’s hair and solemnly watched his boys. Timothy, the elder of the two at 20, was a sophomore at San Diego State majoring in Business, but more than likely did a lot more studying of women and booze. Timothy had wrestled with the dead young man for a couple years in high school and eventually handed the reigns of the 185-pound weight class to him once he graduated high school. Timothy’s eyes darted from spot to spot in the church distracted by everything that moved.

    Thomas however stared in one direction – to his girlfriend of two years, Angie Woodard. Thomas and Angie were both juniors in the high school, one year behind Justin. Albert gazed at his youngest son as he stared two rows ahead to his crying girlfriend at the end of the row. Thomas was a quiet boy, speaking only when spoken to, living his life in books, music, and writing. Albert got to know Angie over the years, and she started to pull Thomas out of his shell a bit. They complemented each other well. Angie shuttered with a spasm of crying, and Thomas was out of his seat in a second, sliding next to her and resting his arm over her shoulder. Her parents smiled at Thomas, and Thomas half-heartily smiled back.

    The pastor did not talk long, and the Woodard family slowly made their way to the casket to say their last goodbye full of tears and sobbing. Then, they were led to the pastor’s office until the rest of the congregation had their final time with the young man.

    Albert led his family to say their farewell, tapped the head of the casket a couple times, and immediately walked to the side. As his wife approached with a face of concern, he whispered, “I am definitely not comfortable when the young die too soon.” Karen nodded slowly. Once the Smith boys were finished, Albert led them to the back corner of the church to wait for the Woodard family and see if they needed anything.

    Hundreds of people came to pay their last respects to Justin: family members, school friends, wrestling buddies, old people and young. He was a popular and good kid who certainly didn’t deserve to be taken so young by a hit and run driver. The church eventually emptied, and the Woodard family returned to meet the Smiths. They shared their hugs and tears. In the distance, the pastor watched the scene as the two families exited the church to go bury the boy.

3.

    A young man turned the handle and walked into the motel room. He gave a quick scan of the room, deliberately shut the door, turned the bolt lock and fastened the chain lock. He waited with eyes closed for a few seconds then pushed the curtain to the side a few inches to take a look outside. Nothing noticeable.

    Although only in his mid-twenties, today he looked all of a 40 year old who had just come from a couple days sleeping on a bar table. Sierra took his long case and slid it under his hotel bed, turned the shower on, and started to undress, carefully folding each piece of stinking clothing. Before he could get in, his cell phone started to ring.

    "Yeah."

    A muffled voice immediately started to reprimand him for his poor performance.

    "Whatever. The job got fucking done, didn't it?"

    The soft muffle continued.

    "Look, I do not go to your fucking hole in the ground to do your job, do I? Don't you even fucking tell me how to do mine. Call me if there's another one. If not, leave me the fuck alone." With that, Sierra clicked the phone off and entered the shower.

4.

    After the funeral, Albert gathered his boys to a quiet corner of his house. "Before the Woodards get here, I wanted to take a second to tell you how much I love you two. I know I do not say it enough, and I am sorry." Tim went to shake his dad's hand, but Albert grabbed it and pulled him close for a hug. He also grabbed his younger son to join in.

    "C'mon man," Thomas protested as he tried to pull away. "I am tired and just want to go to bed." With that, Thomas pulled away and started walking up the stairs. "If Angie comes, please send her up." Only Tim looked up at his brother and saw the sly smile on his face.

    Thomas closed the door behind him and started to undress out of his suit into gym shorts and a t-shirt. He turned his computer on, waited, and started the computer jukebox loaded within. Radiohead started, Fake Plastic Trees.

    He fell into his bed, slid to the side and pulled out a small plastic baggie from the pillow case. I hope she is cool with this, he thought. Thomas grabbed a large hard-covered book from the nightstand, placed it on his lap, and emptied the pot and rolling papers on the book. With the sound of music, he started rolling.

    Footsteps were coming up the stairs at the same time Thomas replaced the bag. He took the joints and held them in his hand so no one could see them. A small knock, his door opened slowly, and Angie walked in. She looked like hell, and Thomas offered with little excitement the two joints he had in his hand.

    “Shut the door babe, and come on over.”

    As she moved to the bed, he reached over to open the window. After that, he grabbed a lighter, lit the first joint, and handed it to her. He lit the next for himself.

    “Sorry this is all I have,” he said. “I wish I could have made a couple calls to get something earlier.”

    “Yeah,” she mumbled.

    They both took their spaces on the bed, lying on their backs, smoking, and staring at the slow-moving ceiling fan.

    “That was horrible,” she whispered. The service was bad, Thomas thought, but the funeral was extremely painful for all involved. Angie was a mess throughout and couldn’t be consoled at all. As the casket was being lowered into the ground, Angie lost control. “You fuck!” she yelled with all her might. “I’ll find you!” she screamed hoping that the drunk driver that killed her brother would hear. Thomas and her father grabbed her, both with a forceful hug, and led her back to her seat as she wept uncontrollably.

    With the service over and the wrestlers having completed their task, the Woodard family then made their way to the Smith house.

5.

    Alpha returned to his desk with a cup of coffee. A new message blinked for him on the screen – “Case 11511 (EndEx)” - the final report for the previous case. Alpha took a step back. This was the case that Sierra screwed up very badly. Innocents down. The investigating team had completed its work, and the word was out for all to see, even the Golf Sphere headquarters. Alpha slid into his seat, took another drag from the cup, and clicked open the report.

Case 11511 (EndEx)

Sierra conducted

John Willard, mission complete within specific timeframe

* Code 112-I *

Catherine Willard, 38, wife.

Alpha’s gaze dropped to the ground. A Code 112-I notified all that there had been an innocent person killed during the mission. The “I” specifically meant it was intentional and not accidental. Alpha frowned and took his time before looking back to the screen to read the short narrative.

Summary: After initiating process from adjacent building, Sierra offered JWillard 5.62 wound to right shoulder. Not a mortal blow. JWilliard was then able to find cover in home. Disregarding standard operating procedures which would end current event, Sierra entered premises to terminate. Once inside Sierra discovered CWillard administering first aid to JWilliard. At this point, both subjects received 9mm wounds to the head. JWilliard was also seemingly undressed and raped. There were no known witnesses to these events.

EndEx

Alpha stared at the blinking cursor at the bottom of the page. “That fuck,” he muttered. He wondered who Sierra was. No one ever meets another in this line of work. In fact, after Alpha had been interviewed and hired, the one man he did meet was suddenly reassigned. He knew nobody by sight – only by voice over the phone.

    Jarring him back into attention, the phone rang to his left. Thoughts raced through Alpha’s mind. He couldn’t receive another case – there are strict orders to manage one active at a time. Another ring. Could it be the inspectors with questions for him? Alpha slowly reached for the phone.

    “Alpha.”

    “Alpha, this is the Golf sphere. Please confirm receipt and acknowledgement of Case 11511 EndEx.”

    “Confirmed,” Alpha slowly stated as he started to worry if he was in trouble.

    “Please confirm acknowledgement that inspectors believe Sierra conducted Code 112-I.”

    “Confirmed, so what is going to happen to…” Alpha started before Golf blurted in with his calm voice.

    “Please consult Bravo manual, Section 2.A.1. Respond when you have reference in front of you.”

    “Bravo manual? When do we ever use those things?”

“Please consult Bravo manual, Section 2.A.1. Respond when you have reference in front of you.”

Alpha sat complexed. The manuals were outdated tools from the very infancy of the organization. While they did build its mission, structure, and guiding principles, they were like the 10 Commandments in that no one really looked at them any more. The curser at the bottom of the computer still blinked. The light on the phone stated that Golf was waiting.

“Very well, hold one,” Alpha stated and headed to the very corner of the big office to an old bookshelf topped with dust and webs. After a few seconds of looking, he found Bravo Manual and pulled it from the shelf. A pile of dust, webs, and the like fell on him and to the ground. Alpha returned to his seat.

“Which section?”

“2.A.1.”

Alpha shuffled through the pages with the dust going everywhere. He tried to shake some of it from the book again with the hope that less wound end up on him or up his nose. Alpha skimmed and skimmed, turning pages this way and that. When he finally reached 2.A.1, his jaw dropped.

“I have the reference,” Alpha whispered.

“Please read the reference heading of Section 2.A.1.”

Alpha’s eyes grew wide with amazement as he remembered hearing about these proceedings. Most of these problems were handled in a much more low-key manner.

“Conductor Termination by use of Conductor Bravo,” Alpha stated in a low key voice. He hadn’t heard the word “conductor” in months. The conductors, which conduct and complete the actual missions, were far more commonly referred to using their alphabetic sign. Alpha’s conductor was simply known as Sierra.

“Alpha, are you familiar with this type of mission?”

“No, in fact I …” started Alpha.

“Get familiar with it. Now.”

    Alpha quickly raced through the three pages of the section while the golf sphere man waited. "Sir, I have quickly read through the section," he stated.

    "Once this interaction is complete, read it well, read it again, and deposit the manual back to its place. Tell no one of the reference utilization."

    "Yes, sir." A dial tone sounded on the line, and slowly, Alpha hung up the phone.

    Within seconds, a new message showed on Alpha's screen.

Case NN (Alpha String)

Bravo Manual Section 2.A.1

Golf Sphere, Alpha String, Sierra

Upon immediate completion of case 11512

    Alpha could not believe what he was seeing. They were actually going to do it.

    "Request permission to open case and rename as case 11513," he responded to the message.

    "Open. Rename."

    "Case 11513. Acknowledge, Bravo Manual Section 2.A.1 of Golf Sphere, Alpha String's Sierra upon completion of case 11512."

    "Upon immediate completion."

    "Acknowledged. It will be done. Out." With that Alpha eased his seat back from the desk and raised his feet onto it. Sipping his coffee, he wondered how smoothly this was going to go.

6.

    Karen Smith and Amy Woodard relaxed on the front porch of the Smith home. The sun was setting and was starting to fall underneath the Mexican fan palms that grew high into the air. Karen rested her arm on Amy's forearm, gently patting from time to time. Amy would shudder in the silence between them.

    After coming to the Smith home, Amy had recovered remarkable well after the funeral and service. Although there were times when she would break a bit, she seemed serious, concentrated, and focused.

    "I'll find out who did this to my son," she said staring off directly into the sun. "Karen, I will find the person and kill him myself."

    "Amy, I don't know how you feel. Hopefully, I will never know, but you can't talk like that. The police are on the case. They have already determined it was an SUV that …" Karen stopped unsure of what to say next without hurting the woman.

    "You can say it … it was an SUV that killed my son," finished Amy. "That is good. Hopefully they will find more, and I will be there if they ever find the person."

    Karen patted the arm again trying to smooth her long-time friend. She wondered what she would do if someone had killed one of her children. Probably feel the same way she concluded.

Her sons, Timothy and Thomas, were good young men well on their way to becoming good men. Sure Timothy was a bit of a controlling perfectionist and had to have things a certain way for him to be happy, but he would rarely demand that from others. Thomas in turn was a quiet, experimenting boy who has deeply been in love with Amy’s daughter.

    Karen glanced up to Thomas’ bedroom window. She thought she saw a bit of smoke linger out. She barely shook her head in parental disapproval. She knew he smoked pot but didn’t want to be called a hypocrite because of her younger 18-year-old experiences.

    Karen gazed again at Amy who was still staring at the falling sun – her pupils small as pinpricks. Amy started whispering something to herself, so faint and quiet that Karen could not make it out.

    “Amy, did you say something?”

    She still just murmured along quietly. Karen moved a bit closer.

    “What did you say honey?”

    Ever so softly, but mechanical in her repetition, Amy was whispering, “I will find him and kill him myself. I will find him and kill him myself.”

7.

    Alpha looked at the clock. Almost 4 p.m. Thank God, he thought, only a half hour more. All he had to do was send the two e-mails, go home, and try to forget about the day. The train ride home, a quick shower, and a beer with dinner usually helped that. There were many days over his career when it didn’t help.

    EndEx reports and tasking were sometimes gruesome to read. However, the worst part was just when he felt comfortable and convinced that there was not another horrible thing that could surprise him, new terrors were typed into reports. Typically those dealt with innocents being killed in addition to the targets. Especially children. Alpha, sadly frowned, remembering when a conductor mis-rigged a small car bomb that was supposed to go off on a remote road that actually detonated near an elementary school killing innocent men, women, and children. That target, an accused child molester, was earlier granted release due to a mistrial – sloppy police work. He refused to cooperate with the conductor and died on the spot with his son about 50 yards away, never shedding a tear.

    At that point, the civilian authorities and press started the witch hunt for terrorists. Humorous in its futileness, Alpha thought. We own the civilian authorities and press.

    Alpha looked again. 4:06. Let’s get it over with and started typing into his computer once again.

Case 11512

Albert Smith, 5 days.

654 East Avenue, San Marcos CA

Sierra task

Confession or Thomas Smith, 18.

    Alpha read over the tasking message a few times. Never did you want to get any of the information wrong. Appeased, he hit the enter button, and the message was securely whisked away. Alpha leaned toward the computer again.

Case 11513

Golf Sphere, Alpha String, Sierra

Upon immediate completion of case 11512

Sierra Bravo task

Termination

    Alpha read this one over as well and felt frightened. He had always wondered what would happen if one of the targets discovered the system – discovered who was typing the taskers. Granted, it was never Alpha making the choices. He just implemented them. If there was anyone he didn’t want to mess with, it would be Sierra. Yet, by sending the message, Alpha was the authority.

    “I hate this fucking job,” he stated and hit the enter button. Within 60 seconds he received two replies, both with one word answers: “acknowledged.”

8.

    Albert Smith left his wife sleeping in the bed and slid quietly off the side. Today had been the worst day of a horrible week, and now he could not find comfort in anything. As he tried to sleep, he remembered he forgot to brush his teeth, and although tired, was unable to allow his mind to simply ignore it.

    He quietly strode to the bathroom and gently eased the door shut. Turning on the light, he frowned as he looked in the mirror, looked at what he had become these days. Albert let the cold water run, bent over, and filled his hands. Slowly he dipped his face in his hands. Over and over, he tried to rinse the weariness from his face. He quit when his breathing became erratic and labored.

    He grabbed a hand towel and covered his face. The darkness was welcoming. He rubbed his face dry and rubbed his eyes hard enough to bring the multi-colors behind his eyelids. After dropping the towel onto the counter, he pulled the toothbrush from the cup and opened the drawer for the toothpaste. He brushed a slight piece of paper out of the way and grabbed the toothpaste before the wonder grabbed his attention. “What is that?” he mumbled to himself.

    Taking it in hand, he read it to himself and paused for a moment. Another moment longer and the toothbrush fell to the tiled floor with a bit of a clatter.

    “Al, are you ok?” Karen groggily called from the bedroom.

    “Yeah.” He stated slowly. “Yeah, just going to the bathroom.” He stared at the paper again and slowly looked around the master bathroom. No one else was present. Then he examined the drawer. Nothing else was in there, and nothing seemed out of place. How the hell did this get in here he wondered. He took a seat on the toilet seat and unfolded the note from his clenched hand. “I must be having a nightmare. There is no way I am reading this,” he thought to himself. But there it was in black and white. No denying it. He slowly read it again. “Confess by Friday or the quiet one as repayment.” He quietly but quickly turned off the light and left the bathroom.

    “Are you ok?” she asked again.

    “Yeah, just need a drink. Go to sleep.” Albert quickly left the bedroom, shut the door and quickly moved to Timothy’s room. He listened, nothing, and slowly opened the door. Timothy was asleep with his bare chest rising and falling easily. Albert shut the door and hurried to Thomas’ room. He held his hand against the door for a moment. Please let him be there. He creaked the door open and found Thomas and Angie fast asleep. “Thank god.”

    Albert shut the door and walked to the back door. Still locked. Walked to the front door. That was locked as well. The whole house locked and secure. Quiet, so quiet Albert could hear his own heart pounding rapidly in his chest.