All characters, living or dead, and locations or events in this web novel
are entirely fictitious or merely coincidental.
Chapter 6
are entirely fictitious or merely coincidental.
Chapter 6
The drive from Houston to Dungpileton was short, 45 minutes south on Highway 288, giving Race one last mulling over of this most dangerous mission. Most dangerous in that the enemy was the organization he gave unquestionable loyalty to from day one for the last 22 years. It wasn’t a matter of killing a traitor or double agent, he didn’t know if he and General Langford were the last stand against total domination of the federal government by the Family. His closes allies in the agency were incommunicado in other countries and none of his encrypted communicates to the regional goners were answered except for the rouge botanist. It was a fortuitous coincidence the botanist resided in Dungpileton. Race wanted to believe the botanist stayed in that wretched town for him but the agency shrinks had their own explanations.
Loss
of spouse has precipitated the consumption of cannabinoids, opiates and
other phyto-alkaloids, resulting in self-destructive abandonment of reality, frequent
schizophrenic bouts and pent up rage for local municipality and citizens.
No one saw this psychological assessment again after Race removed the file
from the Pentagon’s vault and destroyed it. The exit to Dungpileton was
followed by a six mile stretch to the outskirts of the town. Race looked at the welcome sign and smiled.
WELCOME TO DUNGPILETON
WHERE DREAMS COME TO DIE
Houston, Texas
This one is a little more slippery but in the end they all end up in hell.
Darya read the personnel file of the
rogue botanist. For a federal employee there
were meager leads to discern a behavioral pattern to stalk and kill him in a
way the local authorities would consider it a random, opportunistic death resulting
from a mugging or burglary. There was basic information such years in service,
a periodic accommodation or the details of his benefits. Nothing more.
It was almost as if the record was sanitized to keep his activities a
secret. This struck Darya as odd considering his heavy involvement in
subverting oil and gas drilling on his refuge.
But how did an ordinary employee manage to manipulate his record in this
way? Darya’s people inside the NSA used
their Cray super computers for a week to hack into the botanist home computer;
running exabytes of 24/7 brute force hacking to break his firewall encryption
but it was getting them nowhere. Then a
break came from the mass arrests of Anonymous
hacktivists last year by the FBI and Interpol. They were all low-level
operatives and for all their bravado on the internet the suspects quickly
wilted under the prospect of spending years in prison. Since the September 11th attacks
all intelligence agencies were required to symbiotically share investigative
data with each other. Darya’s laptop was
programmed to receive data which mentioned the word “botanist” and this
turned up in a vague confession about the leader of the Houston Anonymous cell,
a Tip Holmgreen, and his association with a rogue botanist in
Dungpileton. Darya insisted Tip was not
to be arrested rather; she would follow up on the lead. The death of the botanist began with Tip and
to this end Darya relied on his most reliable tactic – the propensity for geeks
and nerds to lose every bit of common sense around a beautiful woman.
Ensnaring Tip was too
easy. One week of house surveillance
showed predictable patterns, one of which was a visit to Fat Boys' Burgers
every evening for dinner. When Tip drove
into the parking lot she was there standing by a dilapidated Ford Escort,
looking distressed and helpless over its failure to start. Tight fitting jeans and a t-shirt with an
anarchy “A” stretched by her breasts sealed the deal. Tip waddled over to her with an inquiry that lead to offers of help and a
prolonged conversation over burgers.
Darya feigned interests over every topic concerning computers, outer
space and video game. She hid her revulsion of his gorging three double meat cheeseburgers and subsequent dripping of grease and saliva which joined the other stains on his t-shirt. When she felt the time was right she suggested they go back to
his house to play War of War Craft.
Tip never saw it coming, the sudden
pang of contracting muscles from Darya’s Taser as they entered his
bedroom. When the convulsing stopped he
was injected with Propofol, an anesthetic that immediately induced sleep. After an hour Tip awoke, noticing his arms
and legs bounded to a chair with duct tape and likewise, his mouth was taped
over. He was sitting at a desk in front
of his computer and as he turned to look at Darya was abruptly slapped across
the face. Darya’s voice was now sinister
and direct.
Mr. Holmgreen, I know it would only
take the threat of torture to make you divulge the passwords to access your
computer and files but I prefer an alternative method.
Darya grabbed Tip’s jaw, jutting it up and jabbed a non-hypodermic
syringe deep into his nostril. Pushing down the plunger, she released into his
nasal cavity a fluid containing hundreds of cysts of the genetically altered
toxoplasma parasite. The fluid flowed
down Tips’ throat and within two hours the parasites had emerged and were settled in his brain. With vacant eyes, Tip looked at Darya and
awaited his first command. Questions
were followed by answers for accessing his computer files and more importantly,
his email conversations with the rogue botanist. These were downloaded onto a flash drive for
viewing at Darya’s leisure. After this she paused a
moment, deciding what to do with Tip now that his usefulness was over. She reached into her purse, withdrawing a
Smith & Wesson .357 Mag 8 shot revolver and placed it on the desk. All her weapons were personally manufactured
without serial numbers.
She issued her last command.
She issued her last command.
Tip, when I walk out the door I want you to wait five minutes then take off your pants and underwear. You will sit in front of this computer and masturbate until you ejaculate. You will then put
the front of the barrel of this revolver to your forehead and pull the trigger
until it fires.
His only reply was a nod.
Darya spent ten minutes wiping off fingerprints and adjusting the room to look like only one person was present in it. Tips' Gmail account was closed and internet cookies erased. She left his computer on with the monitor displaying a porn web site. Tip complied with her command after she departed for Dungpileton.
His only reply was a nod.
Darya spent ten minutes wiping off fingerprints and adjusting the room to look like only one person was present in it. Tips' Gmail account was closed and internet cookies erased. She left his computer on with the monitor displaying a porn web site. Tip complied with her command after she departed for Dungpileton.
Dungpileton
The email rapport between Tip and the botanist were silly to her –
arguments about the best mind altering drugs, alternate realities and
speculation of a future when space flight will take people to the farthest
edges of the galaxy. Finally there was a
reference to the Houston Comicpalooza next week. It wasn’t much but waiting for hours among
geeks and nerds for one sighting of her prey was all part of the hunt.
Comicpalooza 2012
George R. Brown Convention Center
George R. Brown Convention Center
Houston, Texas
To fit in, Darya wore the trappings
of Zena, Warrior Princes. Her shapely
figure drew hundreds of salivating gawks for several hours as she moved among
vendors hawking posters, books, video games and every conceivable action hero
figurine. She studied the behavior of
these attendees in internet chat rooms and web sites that catered to their taste in
sword and sorcery, science fiction and horror films. From this she surmised the botanist, at his
age of 52, would be a collector of comic books and a Star Trek Fan with an old
school interest in B movie monsters.
Knowing this was important to gaining his trust if he bothered to show
up. Her
instincts told her the botanist would not be so gullible as to fall for a Maden in Distress ruse. His physique suggested he didn't make Fat Boys' a routine dinner venue. Taking him down would require a little more sophistication
but in the end all geeks and nerds fell victim to her feminine wiles. In the seventh hour she sighted the
botanist looking through boxes of golden age Spider-man comic books. Casually Darya moved in, pretending
to look through comics beside him.
He pretended not to notice her at first because he was formulating a
pick up line. When ready he took a Spider-man
# 32 from the box and showed it to Darya.
Thirty-two dollars for an Amazing
Spider-man #32 in good condition, not bad.
Darya turned to him, smiled and
replied. Oh, I love that issue! The last time Doctor Octopus was seen was in
Untold Tales of Spider-Man # 19. And the
way Aunt May was hanging on for life in the hospital had me on pins and needles
until the next issue.
He was caught in her web.
