Scarcity (Jack Randall #3), page 19
“How much do you weigh?” the new voice asked. It was older, and cold, with no emotion.
“I . . . I don’t . . .”
“How much do you weigh?” he asked again.
“Six . . . sixty kilos.”
Some more sounds she could not identify filled her ears and she started to cry. The hands holding her arms grew tight and she felt her arm exposed once again where the sleeve was torn. The sting of the needle made her cry out, but this time no one hushed her. The needle’s sting changed as she felt a cold liquid enter her arm.
The light around the blindfold quickly faded.
Julio watched with distain as his partners caught the girl and lifted her onto the stainless steel table. He hated this place and the man who occupied it. They called him The Butcher, and the man was evil personified. From what little he knew, the man was a former surgeon who had lost his license after he was found molesting his patients, or killing too many of them on the table, depending on who you talked to. He’d developed a drug habit and was now an unlicensed veterinarian. Somehow he had come to be on the cartel payroll. It was not the first time they had come here, and Julio had been shocked at the man’s demeanor. He showed no emotion whatsoever, other than to smile when they paid him.
He watched silently as the man arranged her on the table just so, placing her head in a block and deftly inserting an IV in her arm before reaching up and adjusting the light overhead. He placed an oxygen mask over her face and it soon clouded with condensation from her heavy breathing. The tray full of instruments gleamed on the table, and the man quickly tied a plastic apron around his waist before reaching out a gloved hand for a pair of syringes. He held up the first one to the light and examined it, speaking one word as he did so.
“Out.”
They needed no encouragement and quickly left via the stairs. Julio took one last look at her blindfolded face lying on the table before swallowing and closing the door behind him.
The Butcher looked down on the young girl on the table before him as he injected the large dose of Heparin. He reached out and pulled the blindfold from her face. Seeing her beauty, he cupped and stroked her face before letting his eyes travel down her still form. If he had more time he would have enjoyed her body before performing the feat he had been hired to do. But time was short. The dose of Etomidate he had given her would only keep her unconscious for a few minutes. It was time to get to work.
Attaching the large syringe to the IV catheter, he slowly withdrew a large quantity of her blood. He then carefully mixed the blood with a crystalloid IV solution until he had a four-to-one ratio. To this he added forty milliequivalents of potassium before setting it aside in an ice bath. A simple recipe for cardioplegia.
Fetching a large pair of scissors from the tray he cut the tape from her wrists and let her arms fall to the side. Working in steps, he soon had the sweatshirt sliced free and her bra also removed, exposing her bare breasts to the bright light. Another pause while he gazed at her form before he grabbed a bottle of Betadine from the tray and coated her entire chest with it. Her muscles twitched at the cold fluid and he cursed his carelessness while searching for the syringe.
He quickly injected 200mg of Succinylcholine in her IV. It would take a moment, but she would soon be paralyzed. He couldn’t have her moving around while he worked.
• • •
Cold. Anita’s brain slowly awoke and this was the first message she received. Something cold was on her. A liquid. On her chest and running down both sides of her to pool under her back. Hard. Something hard was holding her head. She moved to open her eyes and they slowly obeyed to let in a blinding light. She automatically closed them. Where was she? The last thing she remembered was the bleach smell, and there was a man. A new voice.
She tried to raise her hand to block out the light, but it refused to move. Odd. She tried again with no success. The more her mind woke, it seemed her body refused to follow. With a start, she realized she couldn’t feel her legs. She attempted to say something, but the breath required to do so was being drawn too slowly.
What was happening to her?
Her eyes slowly opened without her willing them to and she saw the shape of a man standing over her. She clearly heard the snap as he put on a pair of gloves. The bleach smell was strong in her nose. The dogs were still barking.
Who is he? What was he doing to her?
She was quickly both confused and terrified and attempted to take a breath in order to scream. It would not come. She willed her body to draw a breath, but it still refused to respond. Panic griped her, but she seemed frozen in place.
• • •
The three of them paced up and down the hallway while the dogs continued to bark halfheartedly at them. Carlos stopped to blow smoke through the bars of the cage and into the face of one particularly loud dog. It silenced him for a few seconds only. He smiled at the dog’s anger before taking one last drag and crushing the butt under his boot on the tile floor.
Julio leaned against the wall with a sigh that drew the attention of Armando.
“It’s done, get over it.”
Julio met his gaze before letting himself slide down the wall to sit on the cold tile. The gun in his belt stabbed him in the ribs, and he drew it out and placed it on the floor beside him.
“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”
Armando eyeballed the gun before exchanging a look with Carlos.
“Okay.”
He lit another cigarette.
• • •
The Butcher noticed the slowing of her breathing as the succinylcholine took hold. It was a short-term paralytic. He had a few minutes at best, but that would be more than enough. He noted the pulse from her distended carotid artery speeding up. Too soon for oxygen deprivation, perhaps she was waking up? It didn’t really matter either way.
He pulled the scalpel from the tray and made a quick incision down her chest, exposing her sternum. The blood flowed freely and he ignored it as he grabbed the sternal saw. He fired it once with a loud screech before placing it in the incision. Applying steady pressure, he began sawing through the girl’s ribcage.
• • •
No! Her mind screamed it repeatedly, but her body refused to save itself. Run! Fight! Scream! All of her thoughts fell away as she stared at the man’s face not inches from her own. Her heart pounded in her chest in protest, but the pain was the only feeling she had. She had no choice but to watch this man as he killed her. The pain in her chest increased sharply as her heart began to protest the lack of oxygen. The smell of her own blood and bone overpowered the scent of bleach in her nose. What was he doing to her?! Why can’t she move?! He finished sawing and her ribs popped as he inserted a rib spreader and quickly cranked the handle. The pain was like nothing she had ever encountered before. Her vision began to tunnel as her body used up the last reserves of oxygen provided by her killer. Daddy help me! The pain kept her awake long enough to see the large clamp in his hand before the tunnel collapsed and her life ended with it.
• • •
The Butcher was moving quickly now as time was the enemy. He quickly clamped off the aorta followed by the superior and inferior vena cava’s. Silently cursing the absence of a surgical tech, he fetched the cardioplesia from the ice bath and injected it into the aortic root. The girl’s heart quivered in protest before quickly lying still. He grabbed a small basin of sterile ice and unceremoniously dumped it into the chest cavity. Pulling two suction catheters free he was forced to use his elbow to turn them on before jamming one each in on either side of the heart. He stepped back and forced himself to slow down before again picking up the scalpel.
Working carefully and drawing on a diagram he had committed to memory, the Butcher severed first the aorta. After repositioning a suction catheter he quickly followed with the superior vena cava and then the inferior vena cava. The cuts had to be precise. If the cuts did not look professional, it could arouse suspicion. Working steadily, he soon freed the pulmonary arteries and vein, disconnecting the heart from the lungs. Better able to rotate the heart now, he was forced again by the lack of help to hold the heart in place while he severed some connecting tissue. Once free, the heart flopped into his waiting hand and he carefully removed it from the girl’s chest. The suction catheters gurgled loudly as they worked to remove the pool of blood and melted ice from her now empty chest. He ignored it as he checked the heart over thoroughly for any damage he may have caused. All appeared as it should be. The heart was cold, flaccid, still, and decompressed. He moved over to the organ machine and placed it in the tray of cold saline. He made the necessary connections and adjustments before filling the reservoir with blood and closing the lid. The heart was ready. He turned the machine on and watched it circulate the fluid for a moment until he was sure everything was functioning as it should. Only then did he turn back to the girl on the table.
He wasn’t finished yet.
• • •
Julio watched them both as they crushed out another round of cigarettes. Evidently they didn’t care if they messed up the Butcher’s clean floor. Typical.
“How long?”
“Couple more minutes. He has more to do this time, remember?”
“Yeah . . . forgot.”
Julio ignored them and put his elbows on his knees and his hands over his ears. He couldn’t stand the barking of the dogs coupled with the words of his partners anymore.
A loud banging was heard from behind the door. The dogs raised the volume in reply. Julio pressed his hands tighter and closed his eyes in a futile attempt to block it all out.
• • •
The Butcher ignored the flying tissue splattering across his apron and repositioned the Lebsche knife for another blow from the mallet. It was harder than he had expected, and the misuse was not doing justice to the knife, but he soon had what he needed lying on the table. He gathered them up and deposited them in an ordinary Ziploc bag before adding some ice and sealing it. Stripping off the bloody gloves, he placed the baggie on the machine and picked them both up. A kick on the door at the top of the stairs prompted one of them to open it. The scene was not what he expected.
Armando stood before him, brandishing a large handgun in his fist.
Julio raised his head when he heard the door open to see the Butcher holding the machine. The plastic bag on top threatened to slide off but the man’s attention seemed to be elsewhere. Following his gaze, he saw Armando holding a gun aimed at his head. His hand automatically searched the floor next to him until it dawned on him that the gun was his. Armando cocked his head as he watched the expressions move across Julio’s face. His lips parted into an evil grin and his rotten teeth were the last thing Julio saw before Armando pulled the trigger.
They all watched as the blood found its way through the cracks around the tiles. Armando and Carlos stepped back to keep their boots clean. The Butcher said nothing. He simply set the machine down well away from the expanding puddle before standing and holding out his hand. Armando reached into his jacket and removed a large envelope. The man took it and immediately began checking its contents.
“Sorry about the mess.”
The Butcher ignored them as they gathered up the machine and plastic bag. He was still counting the money when they left.
• • •
Fifteen minutes later they pulled up to the gates of a small airport outside the city. Armando now wore a set of surgical scrubs and an ID badge from the largest hospital in the area. He picked up the machine and walked through the small FBO to see the flight crew waiting in the crew lounge. He set the machine on the floor in front of them and picked up the clipboard he had balanced on top. One of the crew checked the machine’s digital readout as well as the seals covering the lid. Satisfied, he nodded to his partner who was examining the paperwork. He checked his watch before asking a question.
“Harvest was thirty minutes ago?”
Armando shrugged and smiled. “No hablo.”
The crewman made a face but just nodded. He signed the form even though he couldn’t read it and handed the clipboard back to him. They didn’t have time to mess around with paperwork. They only had a few hours to get the heart to Baltimore. The paperwork was someone else’s problem. A to B was his and he wasn’t going to be the one to hold things up.
The jet engines screamed as the pilot fired them up. The two crewmen gathered up the machine and moved out onto the apron.
Armando just smiled. They would now drop off the baggie and go home. He mentally counted his money, now increased by half a share, as he walked back to the van.
Mexican policemen charged with kidnapping
September 11, 1999—BBC
—NINETEEN—
Jimmy woke with a start and immediately located his gun as his brain processed the sounds around him. Once he determined there was no threat, he let his head fall back onto the pillow with a sigh. The all too familiar feel of the cold metal in his hand coupled with the view of another hotel room ceiling served to remind him of what he was doing. It was a reminder he was getting quite tired of. But leaving the job he had was not as simple as it was for other lines of work. For now it was something he just had to accept. Besides, it was too early in the morning for thoughts of that nature.
He swiveled his head around to find the clock. The light around the drapes told him the sun was barely above the horizon and the clock confirmed this. He could also hear the morning news on the TV in the next room. Manuel was on duty, and had either fallen asleep or was letting Jimmy sleep past their agreed scheduled time. He doubted it was the former, and the smell of coffee meeting his nose served to support that. Either way, it was time to get up.
He pulled himself to a sitting position before scratching the stubble on his face. He set the gun back down on the nightstand before standing and walking to the bathroom. As he walked by the door he heard Manuel change the channel, confirming that his partner wasn’t asleep. After a piss and a mouthful of hotel mouthwash, he put on a pair of shorts and opened the door.
The room was pretty much as he had left it the night before, as was his partner. Manuel looked tired, as expected, and he was in the same position Jimmy had left him in the night before. A room service tray with a fresh pot of coffee sat on the table next to a full ashtray. The remains of some late night meals sat next to him on the couch and Jimmy watched him slowly get up as he entered the room.
“Thank God. I gotta process some coffee. Watch the screen for me. Be nice to not take it with me for a change.”
“See anything?”
“Nothing all night.”
Jimmy just smirked and nodded while he poured himself some coffee. He hated the waiting, too. Manuel handed him the phone from the pocket of his hotel robe as he hurried past. Jimmy sampled the brew while he walked toward the couch. Not wanting to sit yet, he stood behind it where he could see the two screens. The TV showed a talking head on CNN updating everyone on the latest trouble in the Middle East. The laptop sitting on top of it provided a picture of the row house as seen from the camera they had hidden in the garbage can. Jimmy looked for any changes, but saw nothing new.
Manuel returned from the bathroom and rubbed his face. He also needed a shave.
“You want I should shower first?”
“Yeah, go ahead, I’ll order us up some breakfast.”
Manuel returned to the bathroom while Jimmy took his place on the couch. He searched for and found the hotel menu on the crowded coffee table before clearing a spot for his feet. They could be here for days. Might as well eat well.
He divided his attention equally between the laptop and the menu. They would only get one shot at this. He couldn’t afford to get too distracted.
He heard the shower start.
• • •
Lenny had traded his car for a borrowed FBI Suburban, and he now expertly adjusted the large coffee in his hand as he maneuvered through the DC traffic. At least he could avoid the damn traffic circles today. Something he hated as they always forced him to use both hands while he looked over both shoulders. Last time he’d spilled his coffee as he crossed DuPont circle, burning himself and barely avoiding hitting a man on a bike. The man had smacked his car with his gloved hand before giving him the finger and pedaling off through the traffic. Lenny had returned the gesture despite the man’s back being turned. Made him feel better. Anybody dumb enough to ride a bike through DC traffic deserved to get hit, as far as he was concerned. Lenny was a big believer in Darwinism.
This morning he wasn’t making the roundabout trip he had forced himself to make in the past. Today was moving day for Angel. He was going to pick up him and his keepers and drive them to Quantico. There he would be housed in the brig with a small number of US Marshals and plenty of Marines outside. No press would get within the base. Lenny hoped it was enough. He had no illusions as to the cartel’s reach. They had shown in the past that they were willing to go to any length necessary to silence those who spoke out against them. As a result, Lenny preferred secrecy over brute strength. So far it had worked.
But the evidence had to be presented to the grand jury and Angel would have to start making appearances. Once that started, the word would be out and there was no turning back. With so many people aware of who Angel was and what he was saying, his location could no longer be kept secret, hence the switch in locations. Unfortunately for the grand jury, they were about to be sequestered as well. The whole thing could take months. Lenny didn’t envy them.
But his part would soon be over. All he had to do was pick the three of them up and deliver them. Lenny had timed the transfer to fit the DC traffic. By the time they got back on the road, traffic would be lighter, and he wouldn’t be heading against it either.
