Mother of Satan: The 1700 Club (Chapter 3) - Baltimore Post-ExaminerBaltimore Post-Examiner

Mother of Satan: The 1700 Club (Chapter 3)

(This is the continuation of a serial novel. For previous chapters click here.)

The 1700 Club was a private club in Georgetown. Membership has always been limited to 1700. The members come from all walks of professional life.

There are more than 2,500 people on the waiting list waiting to join the 1700 Club. A prospective member must be sponsored by a current member. All members are expected to run a five-figure entertainment tab annually.  That is understood and no one has ever found it difficult to spend or to write off that kind of expense. One rather famous member, who is retired and living out on the West Coast, merely invites all 1700 members to dinner once a year to fulfill his commitment. When he flies into town he realizes that he will be billed for 1700 dinners, and that the Club has seats for only 300.  The 298 actual guest are by invitation only.

The most important rule of the 1700 Club is the “Confidentiality Clause.” No member should ever discuss any of the details of Club activities nor are they to discuss any events which might otherwise cause professional harm or  embarrassment to a fellow member, or to the Club as a whole. In other words – whatever goes on between the four walls of the 1700 Club stays there.  The Clause has never been broken.

Irwin Rogers parked his unmarked Ford on an adjacent block out of view of the 1700 Club and walked to the entrance. Sabrina Delfuco was expecting him and buzzed him in once he arrived at the video monitored foyer.

“Well baby, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes. Errr-win Rogers. I’d of thought you would have been retired long ago. You’re still as handsome as ever,” she lied.

“Come on in baby,” Sabrina said while beckoning him with her long, red fingernails. “Let’s go back in my office where we can catch up on some old times in privacy.”

Sabrina had a small but well furnished office between the kitchen and bar. She looked a hell of a lot better than Rogers did. Sabrina had just turned 43, but the years had been kind to her. She still had the figure of a well endowed woman in her early 30s. Her large breasts were the featured display of her low-cut black cocktail dress. Her jet black hair was long and teased and her lips were painted shocking pink. Dangling from her neck was a diamond and emerald necklace which rested at the central focal point of her cleavage. The gems were real.

“ How long has it been Irwin?” Sabrina began, “Twenty years?”

“More than that. Hell Nixon was president for Christ sakes,” Rogers said. “You know rumor has it that it was your operation over there next to the Watergate was the real reason those plumbers broke in. They say some members of the White House were satisfied but worried customers of yours.”

“Honey,” Sabrina laughed, “we worked for all kinds of tastes in those days and they were both the liberal and conservative kind. You might say that we established a kind of Third Party here in our Nation’s Capital.  Besides baby, you know it’s not polite to kiss and tell.”

“Well I sure hope you can tell me something about Alexi Defarshi, Sabrina,” Rogers said. “How did you know him?”

“ We still have the same arrangement, don’t we Irwin. No testimony and everything is strictly between you and me right?” Sabrina asked.

“ Of course,” he agreed. “ I just need to get a handle on this guy. I know he was a player but I haven’t a clue what kind of action he was into.”

“ You name it and Alexi was into it. I’m not surprised someone busted a cap in his ass. Whatever you want. Boys, women, drugs, gambling — Alexi was your man. He was a facilitator. Facilitating made him feel powerful and it made him rich. He liked hooking people up with what they wanted and he collected at both ends of the deal,” Sabrina said.

“ What was your relationship with him?” Rogers asked.

“Well hypothetically, if Alexi had a client who wanted go out on a special kind of date, he might contact me for a referral,” she said with a smile.

“Hypothetically, how often would that be?” Rogers asked.

“Only once or twice a week. It was always a special order — someone he wouldn’t already have in his stable,” Sabrina replied.

Special order — like what is a special order?” Rogers asked.

“ You know Irwin, I get paid to talk dirty,” she said in her sexiest voice while continuing.

“A special order is the freak of the week. Something unusual the client wants. It could be a black transsexual or a blond dressed in leather and chains for the S&M types. These power types work hard giving orders all day and some of them get hard when they are made to take orders from someone with a whip.  You know me, I don’t judge people.  I just take their money and provide them with a service.”

“Would anyone want to kill him that you know of ?” Rogers asked.

“Me,” Sabrina said angrily. “One of his freak customers whipped the shit out of one of my girls. She still hasn’t come back to work. The sick fuck took a whip and pealed half her back off. My girls are supposed to make their living on their backs.”

“Did you tell Alexi what had happened?” Rogers asked.

“You best believe I told him. Not to speak ill of the dead, I will have to say this much for Alexi —  the same day I told him what had happened to my girl he came by with $5,000 in cash to help pay for her medical bills and get her back on her feet. He told me if I needed more to just call him. I wish I had now,” she said regretfully.

“What about the John who did it? Did Alexi or the girl tell you anything about him?” Rogers asked.

“His first name is Mohammad. He was also Iranian or Persian or whatever they call themselves. Mohammad was from Alexi’s hometown back in Iran. Anyway, let me tell you honey, Alexi was scared shitless of this Mohammad. He said he had known this guy back when he used to be — are you ready for this — a cop for the Shah. All I can tell you is Alexi didn’t want any trouble from me and I know he didn’t want any trouble from this  Mohammad dude,”  Sabrina said.

“Mohammad have a last name?” Rogers asked.

“No, but I just remembered the name of the Department he worked for in Iran. It was called the Savak. Alexi kept saying to me ‘you don’t understand Sabrina, Mohammad worked for the Savak, you don’t know what they are like, you’re not a Persian.’”

“You could hear the fear in his voice,” she said. “Me, I didn’t give a shit about no Savak or no Mohammad either. I’ve got a business to run and if I need to, I don’t mind telling you that I’ve got my own Savak for their sorry asses if I need them. As far as I was concerned as soon as I took Alexi’s money, the matter was settled. We had an understanding from then on. No more freaks! Especially if there’re cops, no offense intended,” Sabrina concluded.

“Would you mind if I talked to your girl? She might be able to help me find this guy. There is a chance he had something to do with Alexis’s murder,” Rogers said.

“I don’t know,” Sabrina said reluctantly. “Vera doesn’t trust cops too much these days. Let me talked to her and I’ll let you know,” said Sabrina while standing up abruptly as if to signal her need to get back to work.

“We close here every night at 2 o’clock sharp. I’m usually here Tuesday through Saturday. I always stick around for an hour or so after closing. Don’t be such a stranger Err-win. Come by sometime and let me take care of you. On me. After all we might not be here for another 20 years,” she said with a smile.

Rogers smile in agreement, then flipped a $20 bill on the bar before leaving.

Viper

 Phil Donovan was about to deliver the most important briefing of his career. This morning he would be briefing members of the National Security Council and he had every reason to believe that after this morning’s briefing, he would be briefing the President of the United States directly. As Donovan pulled up to the West Gate of the White House, a uniformed Secret Service Officer said good morning, checked Donovan’s credentials and waved him through. Once inside the West Wing he was escorted to a waiting room just outside the briefing area. He took a seat and picked up the latest copy of the Friday Follies off the coffee table. Each week the White House Staff would assemble a collection of the best political cartoons in the nation. This Special Edition was “a look at politics through the eyes of the political cartoonist.” The Follies always began with the same quote: “I don’t care a straw for your newspaper articles. My constituents don’t know how to read. But they can’t help seeing them damned pictures,” “Boss” Tweed speaking of Thomas Nast, 1871. Donovan began reading the Follies when the door to the briefing room suddenly opened.

“Mr. Donovan — you may come in now,” said a tall Secret Service agent in a dark gray suit.

“Good Morning,” Donovan said to the assembled group. Seated at the long rosewood tabled were the highest ranking members of the civilian and military intelligence community.

“The Classification of this briefing is Top Secret SI,” Donovan began. “Forty-three hours ago I received information through sources available to our Station Chief of Counter Terrorist Operations, Middle East Section, that a terrorist operative, code name Viper, has entered the country. We have reason to believe that Viper intends to carry out the assassination of several prominent Iranian Nationals in this country.

“There is however a secondary mission which has been assigned to Viper which we just learned of today and which constitutes a major threat to the National Security,” Donovan paused again, took a deep breath and flipped the page of his briefing notes.

“At 0300 hours today’s date the secured communication network of Viper was intercepted by NSA Operations. This intercepted traffic indicates that once the assassinations are executed, Viper will have a secondary target, code name ‘Mother of Satan.’ We believe Viper will target Washington’s Metro Subway System, most likely at the Farragut West Station. Viper is armed with the a small detonating device which contains the biological agent anthrax, consisting of highly infectious spore-forming bacterium that are transmissible to humans. The infection causes external ulcerations as well as lesions in the lungs. A single gram of anthrax theoretically contains 10 million lethal doses. Should Viper accomplish his secondary mission we believe the lethality figure would approach the 100,000 range in the Washington metropolitan area within 48 hours of infection. If the target is to be Farragut West Station, Viper’s final command of execution will be a quote from Admiral Farragut himself. It shall read ‘Damn the torpedoes — full speed ahead.’ It must be assumed that this final act will be a suicide mission conducted personally by Viper. Viper believes this is a supreme test of his belief in Allah and that by committing this act he will become a martyr free to enter paradise with 72 virgins and forgivess for his sins. Conveniently, this will also afford the leadership in Tehran with a plausible denial.”

“How much do we know about Viper?” asked National Security Advisor Bill Gallager.

“Viper is a former member of the Savak,” Donovan replied coldly. “As you gentlemen know, most members of the Savak were put to death or imprisoned after the revolution. Viper was apparently able to escape that fate. During the final years of the Shah’s reign, Viper had established a complex network of operatives within the United States. Savak operatives had penetrated the Iranian student movements that were forming at George Washington and American universities. Viper must have been able to convince the current leadership in Iran that his network in this country could still be of service to Iran. Since only Viper knew the identity and locations of his network in this country, we believe he offered them in trade. We do know that Viper continues to operate them from his base in Iran. We have been able to identify 15 of his cell operatives. We estimate that there are a total of 20.”

“What about Viper’s real identity?” asked Admiral Powell of Naval Intelligence.

“His name is Mohammad Karun,” Donovan replied quickly. “The last name is an alias, named after the Karun River. His real name is Mohammad Ali Bactar. He was educated in the United States, first at Avon Old Farms, a prep school in Connecticut and then later graduating from American University here in Washington in 1978, where he majored in International Business. He is fluent in English and Spanish and he is particularly familiar with the United States and its customs. Viper originally was being groomed for a diplomatic cover for his Savak activities for the Iranian government. Prior to that, he had a brief stint of military service with the Iranian Air Force. His family was poor and it is believed that since the coup, Viper remains the sole survivor in his family. Our records indicate that he was born in Shushtar, a small town on the Karun river 120 miles north of the Persian Gulf,” said Donovan who now had the room completely in awe.

“This clearly would be an act of war,” Gallager said angrily. “Talk to me about counter measures. What are our options and exactly what can I tell the president we are doing to eliminate this threat Mr. Donovan?” asked Bill Gallager.

“First let me emphasize that we are fortunate to know precisely what the biological agent is. However we cannot be sure that this is not a mixture of various agents. There is a vaccine available in sufficient quantities to enable us to vaccinate all essential personnel. In all likelihood the simplicity of this biological device was intentional. It is possible that Viper’s network wants us to know what the device is so that the essential leadership is kept from harm. As you gentlemen know, we vaccinated the military during the Gulf War. Those vaccinations were for anthrax and botulinal toxin. There remains the possibility that those vaccinations may have caused some medical complications for some of the returning veterans in what we generally referred to as the Gulf War Syndrome. A straight anthrax vaccination however is far less risky and has been used for sometime successfully by veterinarians, animal handlers and members of our forest service. From a medical standpoint there is a definate survivability factor,” Donovan said.

“What about the rest of the population in the D.C. area?” asked Gen. Compton of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

“If the population were informed of this potential threat we would have a general panic, and if this device is detonated and we do not inform the public the government will appear heartless. It’s a lose, lose proposition. Current estimates indicate that we do not have enough vaccine to inoculate the entire city and the necessary military contingent. Even if we did have enough vaccine, people would evacuate and the government would eventually shut down. As a result, Viper would go underground and we would forfeit our chance to eliminate this threat permanently. It is imperative that we respond to this threat upon American soil in a forceful and convincing way. We must make an example of Viper, together with all principals in this conspiracy, in order to discourage any future such acts from ever being considered again,”  Donovan said convincingly. He then took a sip of water that rested next to the lectern and proceeded.

“The Comprehensive Terrorism Act which was passed by Congress this year has created an important exception to the Posse Comitatus Act. The U.S. Attorney General can now grant the military the power of arrest when terrorists use or threaten to use chemical or biological weapons in this country. Control of the civilian population would therefor rest primarily with military units who would be vaccinated in anticipation of such a contingency. They would only be deployed after a detonation had been confirmed. Until then, they could be held in reserve at a military installation nearby.”

“Have you been able to pinpoint where Viper is operating from?” asked Gallager.

“No sir, not at this time however we do have complete electronic coverage of his network of the 15 cells that we know of.  There are possibly five that we have not identified as of yet.  That gives us a three out of four chance to apprehend Viper when he makes contact with the first cell member.  Also the FBI has been notified.  The Bureau now has complete access to our NSA capability since this is now a direct threat to National Security.  They are implementing a counter-terrorist strike force which will concentrate on securing Farragut Station from any such attack together with tracking and hopefully apprehending Viper once he surfaces.  Viper has not yet begun the first phase of his operation.  There have been no assassinations of prominent Iranian Nationals that we know of at this time.  Our best hope is to intercept him when he makes contact with one of the 15 cells we have identified.

“ Mr. Donovan …” Gallager had another question but first he had to squirm in his seat.  “Who is giving Viper his orders?”

“A fundamentalist and radical religious leader in Iran named Reza. He has no official position with the Government of Iran, which is why I told you in the earlier part of the briefing that Iran could plausibly deny any involvement in the act,” Donovan concluded.

“ We cannot afford the luxury of doubt any longer. All of us in this room know who really is responsible.  This is an act of war and we must speak with one voice and not allow Iran the opportunity to squirm out of their involvement in this outrageous act.  I want to be able to say with certainty that Iran is directly involved.  Are we all clear on this?” asked Gallager while scanning the room for objections.  There were none.

“Very well,” he continued, “We will meet back here a 6 p.m. sharp and let’s make sure we are all on the same page here.  I want to have all the electronic and operations data you can collect that points a finger directly at Iran.  Iran must be informed that if this thing comes off we will not hesitate to hold them responsible and that we will not hesitate in turn to retaliate in the most significant of ways.  Understood?” asked Gallager to a table of nodding heads in agreement.  “Since she may have to play a pivotal role in this operation I move that the U.S. Attorney General be included in all future briefings on this subject,” Gallager said without calling for a vote.

“Oh by the way.  You ever read the Post, Phil?” asked Gallager with a hint of sarcasm.

“Yes sir, I do,” replied Donovan,  who appeared bewildered by the question.

“Now I don’t know how prominent he was but,  a couple of nights ago an Iranian Maitre D’was found shot to death on Capital Hill.  I was reading how this guy had a lot more money than he should have for a man in the Maitre D’ business.  Since you do read the Post I was just curious what you think of that case, Phil.  Sounds like it happened right about the time your boy got into town doesn’t it?” Gallager asked with a tone of disdain.

Phil Donovan went numb as he clenched the lectern.  His whole career depended on his response to Gallager’s question and Donovan had no way of knowing how much more Gallager knew about Alexi Defarshi.  It was all or nothing.

“I can assure everyone in this room that Alexi Defarshi was neither prominent nor was he ever an operative of Viper.  I am basing that assessment on both my professional opinion as well as on the personal experience of my estranged wife, Candace Cole.  I believe Mr. Gallager that you are already aware of this connection, however, if you are not and you wish me to proceed further, I shall do so at your pleasure.”

“ No, I don’t think that will be necessary for now Mr. Donovan.  I am satisfied that there is no connection so long as you are,” said Gallager who then adjourned the meeting.

Phil Donovan gathered his papers and exited the room quickly.

Once he had left, Admiral Thomas addressed the rest of the members in the room.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “there goes a true patriot. That boy truly regrets that he had but one wife to give for his country.”

The room burst out in laughter.

 

The Morgue

Detective Harrison was the case officer assigned to witness the autopsy of Alexi Defarshi.  Ballistics had already confirmed that a silencer had been used with the murder weapon and that the weapon used was a 7.65 mm Single Action Beretta, Model 70.  A virtually silent weapon explains why the killer took the time to shoot out the streetlight without worrying about being heard.

The pungent smell of formaldehyde filled the morgue and the overwhelming stench made Detective Harrison’s nostrils flare as he entered the room. The white-tiled morgue was antiseptic and frigid.  In the center of the room was a cold stainless steel table, which was continually being rinsed by jets of circulating water.  The sound of the dripping water echoed throughout the hollow room. Laying on top of that table was the pale gray and thawing body of Alexi Defarshi.  Dr. Lee made his first incision the back of the scalp at the top of the left ear.  He continued the cut around the back of the scull in a semicircle pattern, stopping at the top of the right ear.  Then he reached under the opened flap with his hand and peeled the scalp back over the face of the corpse. Doctor Lee turned on his electric saw and cut a circle around the top of the skull. Then, with a chisel and hammer, he popped open the skull.

“Have a look at what the bullet did to his brain Detective Harrison,” said Doctor Lee who was now cradling the head with his two bloodstained surgical gloves.

Harrison looked closely and saw the bullet’s path had divided the gray matter of the brain practically in half.

Doctor Lee reached into the skull with his hands and scooped out the remaining brains and dropped them on the scale.

“ Not much left,” Lee commented after making note of the weight.

He then looked into the empty skull and observed a small entrance hole in the upper pallet of the mouth.

“Look here,”  Lee said to Harrison while twisting the opened skull toward him. “The bullet came out of mouth and into brain.  Then it traveled out of skull here.  Like I told you before, this is the fatal shot.  Now let’s go get bullets,” Lee said enthusiastically.

The first bullet came out easily.  It was lodged in the back of the shoulder blade muscle.  Harrison held out a plastic medicine container lined with cotton.  Doctor Lee dropped the bullet gently into the container and Harrison marked the container as an evidence exhibit with the police department case number.  Then he initialed it with his police ID # and sealed the container.

The second bullet had lodged in the marrow of the spine.  Doctor Lee pulled hard with his clamps to free the bullet but it wouldn’t budge.  Not wanting to damage the projectile, Doctor Lee finally took his chisel and broke the spine.  The bullet then easily broke free with a tug from a pair of forceps. Harrison collected the second bullet and then packaged it with the first. He thanked Doctor Lee and hurried out of the building.  On the way to his car he stopped at a newspaper stand a picked up a copy of the Post.  It was already 11:30 and he was supposed to meet Rogers for lunch at noon.

 

The Special Order

That evening, Senator Roy Cole’s administrative assistant and trusted confidant Edwin Pettibone place a special order for the senator.  Her name was Nadia, a fiery, long legged Bolivian in her early 20s. Pettibone would handle the details of payment.  Nadia was to meet the senator at 11 o’clock in room #701 at the Mayflower Hotel on Connecticut Avenue.  Cole would be having a fundraiser there earlier that evening.  The extra thousand dollars for this special order could easily be buried in the paperwork of the evening’s events.

Pettibone made it a habit to have a thousand dollar hooker waiting for the senator at most of the important fundraisers.  In the past Pettibone had relied on Alexi to handle these matters, but now circumstances dictated that he must deal directly.  Nadia had been of service in the past and she remained one of the senator’s favorite distractions.

By dangling these thousand dollar carrots in front of the senator, Pettibone was able to spark some degree of enthusiasm for these boring fundraising rituals.  Dull as they were, such events had become a necessary evil to remain in elected office.  Pettibone felt that he was merely adding a little sugar to help the medicine go down.

It was 4 p.m. and Senator Roy Cole was almost ready for a night on the fundraising town.  But first – a little help from an old friend – biamphetamine sulfate.

“Senator, it’s time for your vitamin,” Pettibone said solicitously.

“Why thanks Ed.  So what’s on the agenda tonight?” he asked dispassionately while washing down his upper.

“The Trial Lawyer’s Association, senator,” said Pettibone, trying to remain upbeat.

“Don’t tell me that asshole Lynch is going to be there, please,” Cole said almost pleading.

“Well he is the chairman,” Pettibone said. “ I promise I’ll do my best to keep him occupied however you must try and keep in mind that Wilson Lynch is delivering us 100 concerned trial lawyers at $500 a plate.  What’s good for the War Chest is good for democracy,” Pettibone laughed.

“Those fucking parasites,” Cole said while fumbling for his tuxedo in his closet.

While the staff had already gone home, tourists were still walking the corridors.  Pettibone discretely shut the main door to the senator’s office and locked it just before Cole dropped his pants.

“You can’t turn on the television these days without seeing one of these slip and fall scam artists trying to induce Mr. and Mrs. American into suing someone for something.  When is enough going to be enough with these lawyers?” Cole asked.

“Roy , I hope that’s not going to be the speech you plan to deliver tonight,” said Pettibone loudly but with a slight hint of humor.

Cole knew that when Pettibone called him Roy he was getting pissed off.  Roy also knew that while he may be a senator now, without Pettibone he would still be the Mayor of Greenwich.

“Relax Edwin, I’m just venting,” Cole said while flashing back his best smile. “By the way – what have I done for them lately?”

“You’ve voted against ceiling caps in lawsuits and you have consistently opposed the federal push to require lawyer’s clients to account for the money they pay their lawyers in fees. So long as you confine your venting to the bathroom, you’ll remain one of their staunch defenders and a champion of the right to overbill,” Pettibone said in his rapid staccato. “Here is an outline of your speech.  Five minutes tops.  You should be able to ad lib with the themes I’ve underlined.  Due process, sacred contract and federal intrusion.”

“Hell, I really have been their friend haven’t I ?” Cole remarked while combing his thick white and gray hair.  Senator Roy Cole still looked good and he knew it.  He managed to become distinguished looking without losing his boyhood charm.

“That’s some damn good speed,” the senator remarked while combing his hair. “Speaking of the bathroom:  You know what that prick Lynch told me once?  We were talking about the problems that the White House was experiencing because of law firms overbilling.  Anyway, Lynch told me that as far as he was concerned if he’s taking a shit, and he thinks about a client while doing it, that time’s included in the bill.  Can you believe that?”

“It’s a world of scoundrels, senator and you are a prince among men.  Remember,” cautioned Pettibone while tapping his two fingers under his chin, “keep the neck up.”

When Roy Cole held his head up, that extra fold of skin under his chin disappeared. When he did not – it dangled.

“ Right,” Senator Cole said impatiently. “Now tell me Ed, did you get her?”

“Yes, senator,” Pettibone said reassuringly.  “After the show you can play swallow the leader.”

Mohammad Karun

 Mohammad Karun had been fighting the struggle against the evil Satan – the United States – for longer than he could remember.  Karun had always hated the smug superiority of Americans.  Soon these Zionist-loving Infidels would pay for their arrogance, thought Karun.  Soon Satan will meet the mother of his evil.  But first some soldiers must be sacrificed for the struggle.  There must be no trail left which could lead back to his holy land.

Karun was about to make an unannounced visit to a rug dealer named Achmed.  Achmed’s business had been prosperously “going out of business” on Wisconsin Avenue for nearly two years.  It was closing time as Karun entered the store and shut the door slowly. The last customer, a well dressed woman in her 50s, passed by Mohammad as she was leaving.  Achmed looked up into the eyes of Karun and knew that he was doomed.

“ We must talk in your office,” Karun said pleasantly. “ I have just received a message that will bring you great joy Achmed.”

“Wonderful news I hope,” Achmed smiled nervously.

Karun nodded slowly in the affirmative.

“Have you arranged for our meeting on the mountain with the others?” asked Karun quietly.

“Mohammad, I have never failed you.  All the members have all been contacted, in person, just as you said.  No phone calls.  Twelve o’clock noon tomorrow.  They will all be there I promise,” Achmed said in a voice which betrayed his fear.

“You are a good and trusted friend Achmed,” Karun said reassuringly as he closed the door to the office behind them.

Once in the office there was no need to delay.  Karun plunged the dagger directly into Ackmed’s heart.  Karun always enjoyed watching the facial expressions during this moment when life passes on to death.  The act of killing gave Karun great pleasure.  His penis became hard as he looked into the surprised eyes of his victim – Achmed the dying.  “Praise me to Allah for soon I shall join you in Paradise, Ackmed,” he whispered into the face of Achmed while slamming his twisting body against the wall to prop it up.  The dagger’s blade was now fully buried into Ackmed’s breastbone, stopped from penetrating deeper by the brass hilt of the dagger.  Achmed had stopped twisting and was almost dead.  Karun held his limp, warm body suspended against the wall.

Holding the handle of the dagger with both hands Karun twisted the blade once more and then ripped the torso open with a final upward slash. Hot blood was pouring from the limp body onto Karun’s hands while drenching his clothing.  Karun embraced Achmed as his limp head lay across Karun’s shoulder.  He pressed his cheek against Ackmed’s thick beard and whispered farewell into his ear.  Then he took a giant step backward and withdrew his penetrating steel dagger.  Achmed slid down the wall until his buckled knees crashed to the floor.  Then he fell face forward onto the carpet.  Karun looked down at the corpse and  admired Ackmed’s tight, narrow ass.  The sight of it had aroused  Karun and suddenly he felt an irresistible urge for sex.  Karun hated the demons of his flesh that inspired these innermost cravings.  The demons always became more pronounced when he walked upon the soiling of these Infidels.  He knew that he must now call a friend of an old friend and place an order for some sex.  In this decadent country you can order anything you want over the phone and it will be delivered to your door like pizza.

Karun picked up Achmed’s phone with his bloody hands and called Sabrina Delfuco.

When Sabrina answered the phone, Karun mentioned that he was a friend of Alexi Defarshi and that he wanted to place a special, all-night order for Cupcake.   He was told to call back in an hour and check in to see if Cupcake was available. The frenzied passion that killing had induced in Karun caused him to make his first mistake. The phone call was being monitored by the National Security Agency at Fort Meade, Maryland.

Karun managed to drive away in Achmed’s black sedan only moments before the FBI arrived at the rug store.

The Senator Roy Cole Show

Senator Roy Cole was dressed in formal black tie.  He stood erect behind the lectern looking sternly into the crowd of trial lawyers that had gathered at the Mayflower Hotel’s Grand Ballroom to attend his fund raiser.  He was totally at ease, having struck that fine balance that occurs when the effects of speed yield to the mellowing influence of Absolut vodka.

“ Finally,” Cole began while summoning his sincerest sounding tone of righteous indignation, “let me conclude by telling you how I feel about this recent bill which is attempting to impose limits on product liability damages. This alleged reform has been introduced by my Republican colleagues as part of  their Contract with America.  As a traditional Democrat, I must tell you that I was shocked to learn that there are even members of my own Party who have joined with the Republicans in supporting this dreadful bill.  And who, of all people, is leading this charge within our party to limit corporate liability?  Let me give you a hint.  His last name just happens to be Rockefeller.”

Cole paused, smiled cynically into the audience, and waited for the bursts of laughter to subside.  “I quite frankly cannot begin to guess why my distinguished colleague, with so prominent a name as Rockefeller, would have the slightest inclination toward limiting the liability of corporations, can you?” he asked while smiling broadly toward the roar of the crowd.  Then Senator Roy Cole’s smile slowly faded and he once again became somber.

“Seriously ladies and gentlemen, this is no laughing matter.  Each year in this country 30 million Americans are injured by defective consumer products and 29,000 men, women, and children are killed because of them.  You – ladies and gentlemen – have a sacred contract with these consumer victims.  Your clients are entitled to be free from the federal intrusion which would seek to limit the liability of the irresponsible companies who have harmed them.  It is not the business of the federal government to form an alliance with private industry, especially when that alliance compromises the due process of it’s citizens.  You have my assurance tonight ladies and gentlemen that I will join with you and our president in opposing this bill, and any bill like it in the future that would attempt to abridge the due process of our citizens,” Cole said while pausing for the thundering applause.  He was preaching to the choir.

“ I thank you for your support, and now let us begin to enjoy these delicious and expensive meals,” he said smiling while sitting down next to the odious and loathsome Mr. Lynch.

“ Well done Roy.  Excellent speech!” Wilson Lynch said.

“ You know you can always count on me Wilson,” responded Cole while loathing every syllable.

After dinner, the lawyers lined up and filed out of the room quickly, each stopping briefly to shake Roy Cole’s hand and ingratiate themselves. During this procession, Edwin Pettibone was collecting a fat check from Wilson Lynch. Pettibone thanked Lynch and the Association for the money, shook Lynch’s hand briefly, and then with a wry smile turned to Cole and handed him the key to his suite.

Senator Cole felt like a child opening the first present of Christmas as he unlocked the door to Suite 701.  Standing before him in the dimly lit room was Nadia Gavidia dressed in a sheer black negligee.  Under the transparent shroud she wore a pair of black gartered stockings that framed her coal black mound of pubic hair.  Her large, soft brown eyes smiled at the senator as he entered the room.  A bottle of Dom Perignon was submerged in a silver bucket of ice beside the bed.  Nadia parted her ruby red lips and kissed Cole on both sides of his mouth gently and softly whispered how she’d missed him in his ear.  He felt her hot breath on his neck.

“It has been too long since I have seen you last, Roy,” said Nadia pouting.  “Don’t you need me anymore?” she asked playfully with a thick Bolivian accent.

“I need you more than you’ll ever know Nadia.  Only you know how to make me feel alive,” he lied smiling.

He took his hand and gently pressed his fingertips across her hardening left nipple.  She look down at the floor and felt his cock beneath the black pants of his tuxedo.  She squeezed the semi-hard penis and rolled her tongue temptingly across the front of her pearl white teeth.

“Shall we get com-fort-able?” she asked as she felt his  hardening cock begin to uncoiled from her choking grasp.

She scooped up a long fingernail full of cocaine from the large bag that rested on the glass night stand next to the bed and ceremoniously snorted two nostrils full.  After recoiling from the rush, she summoned Roy Cole to join her for a toot, beckoning him with her index finger.  She held her long sculpted nail under his nose while he snorted deeply.  His eyes watered as the numbing sting sent his senses into overdrive.

She scooped up another nail full of the white dust and  sprinkled it all over her wet pussy.

“Taste it,” she told him as she laid back onto the bed and opened up her legs widely.

Roy buried his head between her thighs and pressed his numbing tongue against her hard clit.  He rolled the swelling nub gently with his probing tongue while listening to her soft, undulating moans.  She grabbed the back of his head and dug her long fingernails into his scalp, pulling his snaking tongue deeper within her.  Roy  Cole quickly unbuckled his trousers and thrust his hard cock deep into the sea of her wetness.  He pressed his wet and numb cocaine mouth against her lips and kissed her deeply with his tongue while teasing her hard nipples with his fingertips.  Within moments of entering her he could feel the beginning of the long and agonizing squirt that would eventually explode deep within the womb of this beautiful and captivating woman.

to be continued….


About the author

George L. Munkelwitz

George Munkelwitz has been a law enforcement officer for 32 years. He spent 22 years patrolling the streets as a Prince George's County Police officer. He served in Vietnam as a military intelligence specialist where he worked with the controversial Phoenix Program. Prior to the anthrax attack, he was writing the book "The Mother of Satan." After the anthrax attack, an article appeared in the Washington Times magazine Insight, quoting his expertise in military intelligence, and mentioning his book. ABC news interviewed him but he felt the network treated him like a suspect and not an expert in the field. He never published the book after that interview. Nearly two decades later, his serial novel is finally published by Baltimore Post-Examiner. Contact the author.
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