Back to GatefoldIssue #15 by Mike Hintze
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“Intelligence: Part One of Four”
War Journal Entry #976536
I’ve come across a lot of situations that the average person doesn’t think exists or at least doesn’t want to think about. The darkness in society is something everyone wants to see stopped as long as someone else has to do it. Problem is, when everyone thinks someone else will do it, it inevitably never gets done.
Society has survived and built itself so that the average person is powerless to effect change. The justice system is so convoluted and cannibalistic that it never does anything against the real threats; the real criminals. It’s a capitalistic society….and money talks.
Money is the driver behind everything. Greed and wealth drive people to do terrible things. It also gives people the will to do things they never would if they could get caught. Buying sin is a part of the world we live in, whether its guns, drugs….
….or prostitution.
I’d been staking out this place for several nights, taking notes and just scoping out the joint. I’d heard that Ernie Fisarello, a capo high up in the Barone crime family, was known to frequent this place. The windows were all boarded up and nary a soul left the place. I found out about this location from a soldier in Fisarello’s crew. It took a while, but with a little help from my Bowie knife and some turpentine….well, you can use your imagination. The point is, he sang like a canary before I put him out of my misery.
My first day of surveillance seemed normal enough. Several men came and went, all wearing suits and ties for the most part. I didn’t recognize them, so I logged their faces with my digital camera and made a note to run their faces through my database. I’d been at this gig for a lot of years and had made my own file system developed on the worst society had to offer in my little neck of the woods. Plus, I had a little access into the DMV and other databases. When this was all done, I’d be checking each of these guys out. Might end up with something if this stakeout doesn’t pan out.
Day Two had a little more traffic in the building, mostly in the early hours then the evening. All upper class from the looks of them. My suspicions to start were that it was some kind of gambling outfit. I knew Fisarello had a taste for poker, so everything made sense as far as that went. Still, no Fisarello yet. I was giving it another day then I was going to have to move on to Plan B. One thing of note: everyone who came to the door knocked three times, spaced about 2-3 seconds apart.
Sure enough, 7:00 pm on Day 3, and Fisarello shows up. I almost missed him because all the suits were beginning to run together. He walked in with what had to be his bodyguards. A little more than an hour later he walked out. I had my sniper rifle aimed at him as the door opened, ready to take the shot on him. My finger was on the trigger.
Then something happened that changed everything.
A girl, no more than twelve years old, ran out past Fisarello. Another man ran after her and grabbed her. She got maybe three feet out the door before she was dragged back in. It was a brief flash, in and out, but it was enough. The girl had been dressed in lingerie and was adorned in more makeup than Tammy Faye Baker.
It was a split second decision. Continue to take out Fisarello, or get into the building and get that girl out. Wasn’t much of a decision. Fisarello would have to wait.
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When storming an enclosed location, there are two methods of doing so: infiltration or shock & awe. When infiltrating, you become part of the local element and surroundings. You become the enemy and then take them down from the inside. Shock & awe is more direct and self-explanatory. In with a bang, take out the enemy. This situation was going to need a little bit of both.
I carry a small assortment of clothing in my van for spur of the moment needs. One of the items is a three piece Armani suit. A quick zip with my electric razor, some hair gel and I look like a reasonably good excuse for this particular establishment. The overcoat completes the ensemble. A few additions and I’m ready.
I crossed the street and approached the door. I knocked three times, spaced well apart. Almost immediately, the door was opened. A guy who spent way too much time in the gym answered and ushered me in.
I was escorted into an adjoining room with comfortable couches and a bar. The musclebound goon motioned for me to have a seat and asked what I would like to drink. I declined the seat but took him up on the drink, asking for a scotch straight up. Another guy prepared the drink while the first one went through a curtained doorway. While he was away, the bartender started the small talk.
“You have some friends,” said the bartender.
“Fisarello,” I said. “He recommended you.”
The bartender nodded. “It’s three grand for an hour. Anything goes.”
I anticipated this. I pulled out a billfold. “Money well spent,” I said. I pulled three G’s and set them on the bar. He took it and set it beneath the bar without even counting it.
Mr. Muscles came back and pulled the curtain aside. In came seven girls, none of them any more than sixteen years old. The girl I saw wasn’t among them. Odds are she had been roughed up as punishment.
I looked the girls up and down, not wanting to seem in too much of a hurry. I settled on one that seemed to have a steel will. Her look of defiance told me that she wasn’t broken yet, not like the others. I’d need that will.
We were escorted to a room behind the curtain. Once inside, the door was closed and the girl went to the bed. Her face told me I was in for a fight. The room had whips and other tools of the sex trade on a shelf.
I sat down beside her. She gave me an odd look when she heard the noise of my additions in the longcoat. “I need you to get under the bed and stay there,” I said, “You’re going to get out of here safely, but you need to stay out of sight. Can you do that?”
She nodded.
“How many of them are there?”
“Four,” she said. “Gerry and Mark you saw in the front. Dave and John I think were in the back. Gina tried to escape.”
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated. “Michelle.”
“Michelle,” I said, “Keep your head down.” I took off the trenchcoat. Underneath, I had my Model 590 Military shotgun on my left and my PM2 Italian shotgun. My suit vest was actually a tailored load-bearing vest with two 45’s and a PM12S Beretta subgun. I’m not a shotgun fan normally, but I wanted to be able to take down a man with a minimum of fuss. I took up the M-590 first, then opened my door.
A man was at the opposite end of the hallway facing away from me. He turned as the door was closed again. His eyes went wide as he went for a piece. I pulled the trigger, sending him into the far wall. He shattered the plaster and left a comical human-shaped pattern there. I noticed an odd tattoo on his forearm, but thought nothing of it at the time. The gauntlet had been thrown. Now it was time to wait for the others.
Screams were heard from different rooms in the hall. I headed to the main reception room. As I walked past a couple of rooms, men poked their heads out wondering what was going on. Two 45 shots later, and their victimization days were over.
By now, maybe ten seconds had passed since the first shot. Gerry or Mark came around the corner armed, but weren’t expecting me. I fired at his knees, taking him down as fast as possible. The last of the Gerry/Mark team stayed around the corner and fired blindly. I crouched down and took out a flashbang grenade, tossing it down the hall. I shielded my eyes and waited until the trademark bang went off, then went running down the hall. I took out a 45 and finished off the first one in the head, then brought out the M-590 on the other blinded one. He was screaming that he was blind. I made sure he never saw anything again.
I headed back to the rear of the building and tossed a piece of debris at the door. It was immediately turned to swiss cheese by small arms fire and a shotgun. I put on a small gas mask and tossed a tear gas grenade through the demolished door. Thirty seconds later they were all hacking and gagging. I went up and kicked through the remainder of the door. The men were puking when they looked up and saw me. I can only imagine what they saw through their tear-haze. I hope it was the spectre of death. One of the men begged me not to shoot. He said I didn’t know what I was getting into. He was the first of the two I finished. Two more hits from the shotgun and they were both done.
I looked around for Gina. I saw a mattress at the back of the room with a young girl lying on it. She wasn’t coughing. She never moved. I reached to turn her over. Her dead eyes stared up at me. There were no tears or any sign of the tear gas use on her. She had been dead long before I got there. Her escape attempt had been punished. Blood stained her nighty. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me she had been beaten and raped to death.
I headed back to the front and made a room by room sweep. Any other johns left had made tracks after I went ballistic in the back. I got the girls together and ushered them outside. I called 911 and told them to get here as fast as possible. I stayed with them as long as I could until police sirens sounded, then made tracks.
I was back at my Jersey warehouse within the hour. After a hot shower and a bite to eat, I turned on the local news. Sure enough, there was a story about the girls and what they had went through. Interesting thing was, they said the bodies of three men who were organizing this prostitution ring were recovered. The assailant was described as well-armed and well-dressed. I had to give a smile at that. There were two problems though.
One, I killed four men with the operation, not three. I know all four were dead. Why were only three reported? Two, operations like this were not standalone. For the most part, they were part of a network. I was overzealous in killing all of the men. I needed to find another source of information in taking the network out, as much as I possibly could. Where could I start?
I had my surveillance of the building and the various johns that had come and went. But the most direct link I had was Fisarello himself. I needed to find him and ask him a few questions before I killed him. Luckily, my interrogation of Fisarello’s goon had given me more leads than this one. I knew where he would be tomorrow night. Only now, instead of a simple killshot, I had to organize a kidnapping. Fisarello was going to be visiting his brother at his Park Avenue penthouse. High security. A challenge, but not impossible. Nothing is impossible with the right plan. And the right weapon.
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I slept fitfully that night. Most nights I don’t sleep well, but this night was different. I was walking through Central Park again, Maria and the kids at my side. We were going to have a picnic. The day was perfect.
We’re sitting down to eat. Maria’s smile makes everything else look drab and lifeless by comparison. I’m taking a bite out of the egg salad sandwich when gunfire sounds. I turn my head and see my daughter jerk convulsively. A red hole was in her forehead. She fell forward towards me, and I saw the back half of her head was gone, blown away, brain matter speckled down the back of her dress. I look to my son and see him lying down, arms wrapped about his stomach. Blood as black as night flows between his fingers. He soundlessly says “Daddy?” and then he closes his eyes. Maria stands up to see to the kids while I sit there helplessly. More shots fire and she dances like a puppet on a string, blood spattering on my face as she goes down. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. My family is dead. I feel my own body jerk and I see bullet wounds on myself. Everything goes into slow motion as I lie down, feeling nothing. I look up and someone is blocking the sun. It’s Gina, in her bloody nighty, her face as dead as when I found her. She says something to me, but my ears are ringing. She kneels down to me and repeats the words.
“Punish them for me.”
Someone walks up beside Gina. It’s a large man, but his face is unseen because of the way he blocks the sunlight. He’s enveloped in shadow. All I can see is his chest. A skull symbol stands out like a neon sign. The man in shadow is me.
Then I wake up.
An alert is going off. My warehouse security is being breached. I pick up the .45 I have holstered and head to the computer surveillance post across the bedroom. I toggle the camera views and see nothing. Nobody shows up. Has the system gotten a glitch in it?
Then I see shadow go across the camera angle. If I had blinked I would have missed it. I head to the hidden armory in the room wall and grab my Barrett 50-Cal semiauto. I hit another hidden panel and head into my hidden network of tunnels and perches. From here I can access and fire upon any location in the warehouse. I settle in on the main warehouse perch and hit the emergency breaker, cutting all power to the place. I put on my nightvision and ready to take on my intruders.
I have numerous countermeasures set up around the perimeter, from tasers to concussive land mines. Nothing had gone off, which told me these intruders were well-heeled. Maybe SWAT. Maybe not.
I saw figures swarming to all corners of the warehouse. The figures were black, emitting no heat signatures. That told me these were no normal law enforcement. I had a suspicion as to who they were, but I had idea why. In the meantime, I had to get out of here. Law enforcement were not my targets in this war. I’d leave this facility and head to another.
I took a backhatch to a slide that would take me to an underground tunnel where I had a bike waiting. I slid down and seconds later was standing by the speedbike. I shouldered the 50-Cal and put on my helmet. As I went to kickstart the bike, I saw a glimmer of light down the tunnel. A second later something hit my chest. An electric shock went through my body and everything went black.
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I awoke tied up to a chair in a dark room. The lights were dim, but I could see several people were sitting with me. I shook the grogginess from my head and tried to see who was there. A spotlight came on and blinded any sight of my company I had.
“Let’s get things started,” I said, “I have an appointment to keep.”
“Mr. Castle,” said a female voice, “You are being contained for reasons of national security.”
“So who are you? SHIELD? CIA?”
“Frank,” said a familiar voice, “We need to have a serious talk.”
I recognized the voice immediately.
It was Nick Fury. I was being held by SHIELD.
Next Issue: Intelligence Part 2, as Nick and Frank have a heart to heart and Frank has to make some hard decisions that will change his life.
I’ve come across a lot of situations that the average person doesn’t think exists or at least doesn’t want to think about. The darkness in society is something everyone wants to see stopped as long as someone else has to do it. Problem is, when everyone thinks someone else will do it, it inevitably never gets done.
Society has survived and built itself so that the average person is powerless to effect change. The justice system is so convoluted and cannibalistic that it never does anything against the real threats; the real criminals. It’s a capitalistic society….and money talks.
Money is the driver behind everything. Greed and wealth drive people to do terrible things. It also gives people the will to do things they never would if they could get caught. Buying sin is a part of the world we live in, whether its guns, drugs….
….or prostitution.
I’d been staking out this place for several nights, taking notes and just scoping out the joint. I’d heard that Ernie Fisarello, a capo high up in the Barone crime family, was known to frequent this place. The windows were all boarded up and nary a soul left the place. I found out about this location from a soldier in Fisarello’s crew. It took a while, but with a little help from my Bowie knife and some turpentine….well, you can use your imagination. The point is, he sang like a canary before I put him out of my misery.
My first day of surveillance seemed normal enough. Several men came and went, all wearing suits and ties for the most part. I didn’t recognize them, so I logged their faces with my digital camera and made a note to run their faces through my database. I’d been at this gig for a lot of years and had made my own file system developed on the worst society had to offer in my little neck of the woods. Plus, I had a little access into the DMV and other databases. When this was all done, I’d be checking each of these guys out. Might end up with something if this stakeout doesn’t pan out.
Day Two had a little more traffic in the building, mostly in the early hours then the evening. All upper class from the looks of them. My suspicions to start were that it was some kind of gambling outfit. I knew Fisarello had a taste for poker, so everything made sense as far as that went. Still, no Fisarello yet. I was giving it another day then I was going to have to move on to Plan B. One thing of note: everyone who came to the door knocked three times, spaced about 2-3 seconds apart.
Sure enough, 7:00 pm on Day 3, and Fisarello shows up. I almost missed him because all the suits were beginning to run together. He walked in with what had to be his bodyguards. A little more than an hour later he walked out. I had my sniper rifle aimed at him as the door opened, ready to take the shot on him. My finger was on the trigger.
Then something happened that changed everything.
A girl, no more than twelve years old, ran out past Fisarello. Another man ran after her and grabbed her. She got maybe three feet out the door before she was dragged back in. It was a brief flash, in and out, but it was enough. The girl had been dressed in lingerie and was adorned in more makeup than Tammy Faye Baker.
It was a split second decision. Continue to take out Fisarello, or get into the building and get that girl out. Wasn’t much of a decision. Fisarello would have to wait.
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
When storming an enclosed location, there are two methods of doing so: infiltration or shock & awe. When infiltrating, you become part of the local element and surroundings. You become the enemy and then take them down from the inside. Shock & awe is more direct and self-explanatory. In with a bang, take out the enemy. This situation was going to need a little bit of both.
I carry a small assortment of clothing in my van for spur of the moment needs. One of the items is a three piece Armani suit. A quick zip with my electric razor, some hair gel and I look like a reasonably good excuse for this particular establishment. The overcoat completes the ensemble. A few additions and I’m ready.
I crossed the street and approached the door. I knocked three times, spaced well apart. Almost immediately, the door was opened. A guy who spent way too much time in the gym answered and ushered me in.
I was escorted into an adjoining room with comfortable couches and a bar. The musclebound goon motioned for me to have a seat and asked what I would like to drink. I declined the seat but took him up on the drink, asking for a scotch straight up. Another guy prepared the drink while the first one went through a curtained doorway. While he was away, the bartender started the small talk.
“You have some friends,” said the bartender.
“Fisarello,” I said. “He recommended you.”
The bartender nodded. “It’s three grand for an hour. Anything goes.”
I anticipated this. I pulled out a billfold. “Money well spent,” I said. I pulled three G’s and set them on the bar. He took it and set it beneath the bar without even counting it.
Mr. Muscles came back and pulled the curtain aside. In came seven girls, none of them any more than sixteen years old. The girl I saw wasn’t among them. Odds are she had been roughed up as punishment.
I looked the girls up and down, not wanting to seem in too much of a hurry. I settled on one that seemed to have a steel will. Her look of defiance told me that she wasn’t broken yet, not like the others. I’d need that will.
We were escorted to a room behind the curtain. Once inside, the door was closed and the girl went to the bed. Her face told me I was in for a fight. The room had whips and other tools of the sex trade on a shelf.
I sat down beside her. She gave me an odd look when she heard the noise of my additions in the longcoat. “I need you to get under the bed and stay there,” I said, “You’re going to get out of here safely, but you need to stay out of sight. Can you do that?”
She nodded.
“How many of them are there?”
“Four,” she said. “Gerry and Mark you saw in the front. Dave and John I think were in the back. Gina tried to escape.”
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated. “Michelle.”
“Michelle,” I said, “Keep your head down.” I took off the trenchcoat. Underneath, I had my Model 590 Military shotgun on my left and my PM2 Italian shotgun. My suit vest was actually a tailored load-bearing vest with two 45’s and a PM12S Beretta subgun. I’m not a shotgun fan normally, but I wanted to be able to take down a man with a minimum of fuss. I took up the M-590 first, then opened my door.
A man was at the opposite end of the hallway facing away from me. He turned as the door was closed again. His eyes went wide as he went for a piece. I pulled the trigger, sending him into the far wall. He shattered the plaster and left a comical human-shaped pattern there. I noticed an odd tattoo on his forearm, but thought nothing of it at the time. The gauntlet had been thrown. Now it was time to wait for the others.
Screams were heard from different rooms in the hall. I headed to the main reception room. As I walked past a couple of rooms, men poked their heads out wondering what was going on. Two 45 shots later, and their victimization days were over.
By now, maybe ten seconds had passed since the first shot. Gerry or Mark came around the corner armed, but weren’t expecting me. I fired at his knees, taking him down as fast as possible. The last of the Gerry/Mark team stayed around the corner and fired blindly. I crouched down and took out a flashbang grenade, tossing it down the hall. I shielded my eyes and waited until the trademark bang went off, then went running down the hall. I took out a 45 and finished off the first one in the head, then brought out the M-590 on the other blinded one. He was screaming that he was blind. I made sure he never saw anything again.
I headed back to the rear of the building and tossed a piece of debris at the door. It was immediately turned to swiss cheese by small arms fire and a shotgun. I put on a small gas mask and tossed a tear gas grenade through the demolished door. Thirty seconds later they were all hacking and gagging. I went up and kicked through the remainder of the door. The men were puking when they looked up and saw me. I can only imagine what they saw through their tear-haze. I hope it was the spectre of death. One of the men begged me not to shoot. He said I didn’t know what I was getting into. He was the first of the two I finished. Two more hits from the shotgun and they were both done.
I looked around for Gina. I saw a mattress at the back of the room with a young girl lying on it. She wasn’t coughing. She never moved. I reached to turn her over. Her dead eyes stared up at me. There were no tears or any sign of the tear gas use on her. She had been dead long before I got there. Her escape attempt had been punished. Blood stained her nighty. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me she had been beaten and raped to death.
I headed back to the front and made a room by room sweep. Any other johns left had made tracks after I went ballistic in the back. I got the girls together and ushered them outside. I called 911 and told them to get here as fast as possible. I stayed with them as long as I could until police sirens sounded, then made tracks.
I was back at my Jersey warehouse within the hour. After a hot shower and a bite to eat, I turned on the local news. Sure enough, there was a story about the girls and what they had went through. Interesting thing was, they said the bodies of three men who were organizing this prostitution ring were recovered. The assailant was described as well-armed and well-dressed. I had to give a smile at that. There were two problems though.
One, I killed four men with the operation, not three. I know all four were dead. Why were only three reported? Two, operations like this were not standalone. For the most part, they were part of a network. I was overzealous in killing all of the men. I needed to find another source of information in taking the network out, as much as I possibly could. Where could I start?
I had my surveillance of the building and the various johns that had come and went. But the most direct link I had was Fisarello himself. I needed to find him and ask him a few questions before I killed him. Luckily, my interrogation of Fisarello’s goon had given me more leads than this one. I knew where he would be tomorrow night. Only now, instead of a simple killshot, I had to organize a kidnapping. Fisarello was going to be visiting his brother at his Park Avenue penthouse. High security. A challenge, but not impossible. Nothing is impossible with the right plan. And the right weapon.
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
I slept fitfully that night. Most nights I don’t sleep well, but this night was different. I was walking through Central Park again, Maria and the kids at my side. We were going to have a picnic. The day was perfect.
We’re sitting down to eat. Maria’s smile makes everything else look drab and lifeless by comparison. I’m taking a bite out of the egg salad sandwich when gunfire sounds. I turn my head and see my daughter jerk convulsively. A red hole was in her forehead. She fell forward towards me, and I saw the back half of her head was gone, blown away, brain matter speckled down the back of her dress. I look to my son and see him lying down, arms wrapped about his stomach. Blood as black as night flows between his fingers. He soundlessly says “Daddy?” and then he closes his eyes. Maria stands up to see to the kids while I sit there helplessly. More shots fire and she dances like a puppet on a string, blood spattering on my face as she goes down. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. My family is dead. I feel my own body jerk and I see bullet wounds on myself. Everything goes into slow motion as I lie down, feeling nothing. I look up and someone is blocking the sun. It’s Gina, in her bloody nighty, her face as dead as when I found her. She says something to me, but my ears are ringing. She kneels down to me and repeats the words.
“Punish them for me.”
Someone walks up beside Gina. It’s a large man, but his face is unseen because of the way he blocks the sunlight. He’s enveloped in shadow. All I can see is his chest. A skull symbol stands out like a neon sign. The man in shadow is me.
Then I wake up.
An alert is going off. My warehouse security is being breached. I pick up the .45 I have holstered and head to the computer surveillance post across the bedroom. I toggle the camera views and see nothing. Nobody shows up. Has the system gotten a glitch in it?
Then I see shadow go across the camera angle. If I had blinked I would have missed it. I head to the hidden armory in the room wall and grab my Barrett 50-Cal semiauto. I hit another hidden panel and head into my hidden network of tunnels and perches. From here I can access and fire upon any location in the warehouse. I settle in on the main warehouse perch and hit the emergency breaker, cutting all power to the place. I put on my nightvision and ready to take on my intruders.
I have numerous countermeasures set up around the perimeter, from tasers to concussive land mines. Nothing had gone off, which told me these intruders were well-heeled. Maybe SWAT. Maybe not.
I saw figures swarming to all corners of the warehouse. The figures were black, emitting no heat signatures. That told me these were no normal law enforcement. I had a suspicion as to who they were, but I had idea why. In the meantime, I had to get out of here. Law enforcement were not my targets in this war. I’d leave this facility and head to another.
I took a backhatch to a slide that would take me to an underground tunnel where I had a bike waiting. I slid down and seconds later was standing by the speedbike. I shouldered the 50-Cal and put on my helmet. As I went to kickstart the bike, I saw a glimmer of light down the tunnel. A second later something hit my chest. An electric shock went through my body and everything went black.
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I awoke tied up to a chair in a dark room. The lights were dim, but I could see several people were sitting with me. I shook the grogginess from my head and tried to see who was there. A spotlight came on and blinded any sight of my company I had.
“Let’s get things started,” I said, “I have an appointment to keep.”
“Mr. Castle,” said a female voice, “You are being contained for reasons of national security.”
“So who are you? SHIELD? CIA?”
“Frank,” said a familiar voice, “We need to have a serious talk.”
I recognized the voice immediately.
It was Nick Fury. I was being held by SHIELD.
Next Issue: Intelligence Part 2, as Nick and Frank have a heart to heart and Frank has to make some hard decisions that will change his life.