The Rampage of Ryan O'Hara (20 page)

“Okay then. Keep the updates coming and I’ll keep the pressure off of you,” Hoo replied.

“Thanks, Loot, will do.” Mueller went back to his desk and filled Hanratty in on the meeting. “The L-T has our back, Harry. Now maybe we can get some work done.”

O
ver the course of the next week, the case picked up more steam. It remained on the front pages of all the major newspapers and was the lead story on the nightly prime-time newscasts.

Siobhán Finnegan was back in New York appearing on local talk shows and news programs, reinforcing the theory that the killings of her husband, the Delgadillos, and Hayward were connected. Her appearances, combined with the funerals of Patrick and the others, made for a media circus.

Mueller and Hanratty continued to follow up on leads and share information with authorities in Chicago and Arizona. But other than agreeing that the cases
were probably connected, they’d come up with nothing in the way of forensic evidence that rendered any clues about a suspect or suspects. For all practical purposes, other than keeping one another informed, detectives in all three jurisdictions were basically handling their cases independently.

The FBI, although kept apprised, saw nothing in the case that would prompt them to enter the investigation, at least not at this stage. In order for them to get involved, they would need evidence that a suspect or suspects were responsible for all the killings and that the crimes were being committed across state lines. Gut feelings and personal beliefs—minus proof—weren’t enough.

One individual who was becoming increasingly uneasy as the story unfolded was Jonas Judd.

The same paranoia experienced by his former Lenin’s Legion cohorts prior to their untimely deaths was now beginning to envelop him as he became convinced that the deaths of the others were not a coincidence.

Confident that, as one of the president’s economic advisors, he could have a security detail assigned to him just by stating his case and requesting one, he decided to put a call in to the White House and ask that such protection be provided.

It didn’t take long for Judd to start wondering if questions posed by the president’s detractors—regarding a lack of moral character, integrity, and loyalty—might not have some basis in fact.

At first he’d thought that the ignored phone calls and unreturned messages were due to secretarial or
clerical inefficiency. Perhaps malfunctioning voice mail equipment was the reason. But after a series of calls that stretched over several days went unanswered, it became apparent that no one was really interested in talking to him.

Tired of calling the White House, selecting numbers from a recorded menu, and leaving messages, Judd finally called the chief of staff’s office late in the afternoon on the fifth day and waited for someone to answer the phone.

He remained on hold for the better part of an hour with the hope that he would be able to make an appointment. He became enraged when a recorded message announced, “We’re sorry. The hours of the White House chief of staff are nine a.m. to five p.m. Your call is important to us and we regret missing it. If you would like to leave a message, please do so at the tone. Thank you.”

Judd left a message, but as soon as he did, he regretted not calming down and waiting a second or two in order to think about what he was going to say.

“Yeah, I want to leave a message. This is Jonas Judd. I’m a fucking presidential advisor. Tell that goddamned son of a Somali fish pirate that I need to talk to his pink Bolshevik ass and don’t like getting the runaround. I have shit on him that I’m sure the press would like to know about and I’ll goddamn well use it if that closeted Marxist wood beetle or one of his flunkies in your office doesn’t give me the courtesy of a callback.”

“There’s no need to get so excited, Mr. Judd. Threatening the president is not usually a good way to win friends and influence people,” came a voice on the other end of the line.

Panic seized Judd. The voice confirmed that his previous calls had been purposely ignored and now he’d stuck his foot into his own big mouth. It was improbable that he’d be able to extricate it without suffering some very damaging consequences.

“I…I…I…just wanted…” Judd couldn’t find the words to answer the staff member or whomever the hell he was trying to talk to.

“Cat got your tongue, Mr. Judd? You seem to be at a loss for words. You had plenty to say just a few seconds ago and now you don’t even seem able to put a sentence together,” was the reply to Judd’s stuttered attempt to speak.

“I…uh…I’m sorry…It’s just that I…uh…I’ve been trying to get through for several days now and I’m getting the impression that…uh…no one wants to hear what I have to say,” Judd said as he attempted to regain his composure.

“Maybe your impression that no one wants to talk to you is correct, Mr. Judd. Did it ever occur to you that your position as a minor economic advisor to the president is about as significant as a grain of sand on a beach? Maybe, just maybe, he really doesn’t give a rat’s ass about what you want,” the still unidentified voice continued. “Perhaps you should stick to the job he asked you to perform—you know, like writing economic packages and figuring out ways to stimulate the economy so that the workers and those who bear the burden of production on their backs can have a chance at a better life away from the indentured relationship they’ve endured at the hands of the wealthy for so much of our history.”

The unknown man on the other end, although not making a verbal threat, was nevertheless implying as much by his increasingly hostile tone—a tone that was obviously meant to intimidate.

Judd was shaken, but he had recovered enough from the initial shock of hearing the unexpected response to his tirade to respond, “May I ask with whom I am speaking?”

“Yes, you may,” came the reply.

“Well, who are you?” Judd continued.

“I said you could ask. I didn’t say you would get an answer,” the unidentified person responded.

There was now no doubt that the man speaking to Jonas Judd was ramping up his effort to cow the “insignificant” caller who had left the rude and threatening message on the chief of staff’s voice mail.

“Look, I am a presidential advisor. Regardless of your assessment of how important I am in the scheme of things, I am still an advisor and demand to know who you are and by what authority you think you can talk to me in such a manner.” Judd was at last in control of himself as he continued, “Now, tell me who the hell you are.”

“I am involved in the business of presidential security. That’s all you need to know. I will forward your sentiments to the chief of staff. He will decide whether or not you will receive the attention you are requesting or any other attention that the president, the secret service, or others who may have the capacity to see to you or your problem decide is merited. Now, my advice to you is to hang up, settle down, go home—if you’re not already there—and refrain from making any more calls
to this office. If and when someone decides to make contact with you, you’ll know.”

“But…” Judd was cut off by the dial tone. The nemesis, whom he’d created with his unwise outburst, had already hung up, leaving him with nothing but the anxiety of wondering what lay in store for him. Not only did he now have a rampaging killer to worry about, but he’d pissed off some unknown official at the White House, the very place he’d hoped to get some help. Now, thanks to his big mouth, he had the additional burden of worrying about problems from that quarter as well.

Taking a memo pad from his desk, he scribbled a “To Whom it May Concern” note and documented his growing fear that the killer of the Delgadillos and Hayward might be coming after him. He added that, should something happen to him, authorities should not only investigate this angle but should go a step further and look into the possibility that someone in the White House security detail may have caused his demise. He qualified his assertion by describing the confrontational phone call he’d just concluded with the unknown individual in the chief of staff’s office.

After placing the note under a paperweight on his desk, he turned on the nightly news. Lenin’s Legion and its members, both living and dead, were being discussed, analyzed, and argued about by a panel of pundits. They were trying to guess who might be next on a hit list being checked off by the murdering maestro orchestrating the assassinations.

T
he valley adjacent to the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains just north of Roanoke, with its fields and nearby forests, provided the ideal setting for a small organization of men known as “The Group.” Its members required the privacy of an out-of-the-way place to plan their next mission.

The Group was classified as “nonexistent” by its founders, all members of the national intelligence and military communities who were dissatisfied with the restrictions placed on covert operators by a government more interested in the rights of terrorists and subversives than protecting the country.

After thoroughly reviewing the employee records of former operatives from the government’s various intelligence agencies, the founders of The Group handpicked its members from among those deemed willing to bend the rules, by any method necessary, in the interest of national security. Any means to an end was justified so long as it protected America.

“Existing” entities—such as the NSA, CIA, DIA, MI, and FBI, and a multitude of other covert organizations within the system—operated under strict rules of conduct. Those rules were in complete contrast to the methods used by The Group. Because of its nonentity status, the members were free to waterboard, use electric shock, pull out a few thumbnails, and even kill if necessary. Foreign leaders considered supporters of terrorism were, contrary to federal law, eligible for assassination by The Group.

Most of these men had resigned their positions in national service after becoming disillusioned with regulatory constraints that, at least in their eyes, impeded job performance. Prior to being recruited into The Group, several were employed as independent contractors and made lucrative incomes assisting in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Several were also former military special operators.

The discussion on this particular day centered on the problem of American citizens who traveled abroad for the purpose of engaging in activities inimical to the interests of the United States and its allies. Of particular concern were those individuals and groups who were, without apparent censor, suspected of engaging in the shipment of arms to Islamic terrorist organizations throughout the Middle East.

The latest supply mission had precipitated an Israeli commando assault on a freighter traveling from Turkey to Lebanon. The raid had resulted in the death of one Israeli soldier, nine of the ship’s crew, and the wounding of several others on both sides. Small arms, rockets, mortars, and a vast cache of ammunition were found and confiscated during the raid. After removing the contraband weapons, ammunition, and surviving crew-members, the ship was rigged with explosives, blown up, and sunk. The message was clear. Israel would employ deadly force against the crew of any ship refusing to allow Israeli defense forces to board for inspection purposes.

Intelligence gathered about the terrorist shipments revealed that a network of Americans, financed in large part by a billionaire immigrant from Hungary, was supplying the bulk of the logistical support for these operations. The billionaire, Vidor Orosz, was an enigma in that he was a Jew helping Muslims bent on destroying the Jewish state.

As a teenager in his native land, a young Vidor had survived the Holocaust by revealing the hiding places of his fellow Jews to the Nazis.

The financial aid that Orosz provided to terrorist groups in the Middle East was just a small part of a much larger endeavor that he was putting in play to facilitate a new world order. His vision was the dissolution of the world’s sovereign nations and their replacement with one world government with himself as its leader.

Vidor Orosz was looked upon with disdain by both the acknowledged and “nonexistent” intelligence community. Not only was this ungrateful Hungarian
bastard—who had reaped all the benefits of his adoptive nation—using his wealth to perpetuate terrorism and carnage around the globe, he was using American citizens to help carry out his sinister plans.

Orosz’s destructive imprint was evidenced in all aspects of American life, especially politics. He helped rig the presidential election by financing corrupt groups that registered non-eligible and in some cases illegal-alien voters. His help went a long way in assuring victory for a non-vetted community organizer with questionable credentials and little in the way of a résumé who looked upon the presidency as a means to impose a socialist system on the country.

Additionally, this Hungarian transplant was financing front groups and foundations that served as depositories for funds collected for use by subversive organizations. With varying motives, their collective objectives included the dismantling of the United States and all other free nations of the world.

Among the many beneficiaries of Orosz’s corrupt aid was the Movement for Revolutionary Change. The MRC was comprised of former members of the Students for Revolutionary Change and Lenin’s Legion.

Yet another Orosz beneficiary was the Messengers of Medina, a supposedly moderate group with the stated purpose of assuring the civil rights of Muslim Americans. Its real purpose, well documented by national security and intelligence agencies but ignored by the American media, was the forced conversion of all humanity to Islam and the universal acceptance of sharia.

S
eated around the large table in the dining room of the rented farmhouse that served as their headquarters, The Group was brought to order by its leader, Sterling Markowitz, formerly of the NSA, who wasted no time in getting down to the business at hand.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for coming here on such short notice. I’m glad you were all able to attend,” Markowitz began. “The reason you were summoned to this meeting is to discuss our next mission, which, in a nutshell, is going to be a coordinated movement against key people in the Islamofascist/communist alliance. We will be targeting leaders of the Movement for Revolutionary Change and the
Messengers of Medina. The mission is going to be one of termination. Our purpose will be to send the message that death awaits anyone involved in causes meant to disrupt the good order and security of the United States of America.”