The Justified Trilogy & Warning

The Justified Trilogy & Warning

Gregory Coffin

Copyright © 2012 by Gregory Coffin

ISBN: 978-0-9859806-7-2

Smashwords Edition

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Contents

Necessary Means

Opposing Force

Preemptive Strike: A Man's Home is His Castle

Preemptive Strike: What Will (Not) Be Done

Preemptive Strike: The Past Revisited - Ten Years Ago

Preemptive Strike: Home Defense

Preemptive Strike: Return to History

Preemptive Strike: At the Cabin

Preemptive Strike: What Happened to Ghasb Jamīl Tabī’a ad-Dimā

Preemptive Strike: Back to the Present - Back Home

Preemptive Strike: Epilogue

Preemptive Strike: Translations

Warning

Necessary Means

Dame!

The shout shattered the previous calm of the darkened yard which had its illumination from one bay window, a lamp post, and the glow of the cloudless evening sky. In a remote neighborhood, towering toward the moon hovering at the horizon was the silhouette of a mansion. The shout echoed off the blackened exterior brick walls and resonated back into the courtyard; some of the sound crept into an open door making it to the ears of the man who was preparing the last suitcases for a planned vacation.

‘Dame’ was the nickname ascribed to him, a name he loved to hear, but only from one person: Dominique, his wife.

Turning around, setting the heavy suitcases back on the floor, focusing on the open door, he wondered without dread, but concern: what could be the problem? His broad, angular and stern face held a pair of deep yet light blue eyes, and he squinted at the open door. His boots striking the wooden floor, rebounded a deep echo as he walked through the wide and stately hall; the boots were black leather, finely polished, but still with his steel toe, heel and shank inside the material - a fit he had never abandoned.

The house was empty other than a couple servants who were attending to chores in the kitchen which was on the opposite side; not needing it, Daemon did not want their help to carry baggage.

Dame! ripped into the still air again.

He hastened his steps.

From the first time he heard that cry, he knew something was wrong, but the repeated call locked his heart in his chest and drained the blood from his cheeks. The second scream was clearer; in its perspicuity he could hear a terrible and desperate cry as the woman shouting it never made such a sound before. To his added horror, there was a smaller and faint shriek behind the screamed name from his wife, and that second shriek was from his six year-old daughter.

Now at a run, his trench coat flapping about his legs, his driving cap fell off revealing his short, jet-black hair, trimmed to a buzz-cut, he dashed out the door. It was just before night had fully overcome the earth, but enough so all was covered with a shadow.

Daemon!

Daddy!

The screams filled the vastness between the lines of trees encasing the yard.

Turning toward one of their cars by the garage Daemon shouted Dominique?! Danielle?!

There was movement in the distance.

A conglomeration of shadows danced and warped about each other along the garage, to the sounds of muffled shouts and voices. A pair of headlights appeared. It was another car that had been parked for some time, but now only seen by its announcement. It was large, a giant vehicle created as seventies luxury.

The garage was some distance away, more than 100 feet; Daemon began rushing.

The last remaining shadow jumped into the additional car; one of the figures was being carried about the waist with a hand over her mouth. Her kicks and twists could not afford her enough to break the grasp of her captors. She fought with the vanity of a hare well constricted in the coils of a python.

Before the car door was slammed shut, the panicked shriek of a child shot out Daddy!

With all of the unknown intruders and his family loaded into the car, it thundered away. As it turned and sped down the driveway and out the open gate, Daemon could read the make and model and caught the numbers of the license plate.

Without breaking his pace after missing them by ten feet, Daemon turned and rushed into the garage, pulling out the set of keys to the car he knew would catch up to the abductors. The bright, fluorescent garage light did not pause Daemon as it blared its luminescence out into the driveway. Hopping into a modified, fire-engine red, 1970 convertible Challenger, Daemon turned the ignition and left long, black marks from the foot-wide rear tires on the pavement as the car roared out of the garage.

The distance from the garage to the gated exit was 100 yards; Daemon was already at 60 miles per hour.

Quickly approaching the exit, which was spired with tall concrete columns holding up a long, black steel-bar fence, he slowed to 50 as he knew what angle and speed would be necessary to maintain his quick pursuit utilizing skid and drag. Preparing to jet through the exit, Daemon saw a truck creep into the lane allowing his only escape. Daemon stomped on the brake pedal, the Challenger’s tires squealed as it slid sideways to come to a stop. Its right front fender struck the parked truck.

Get out of the way! Shouted Daemon, furiously flinging his arm, gesticulating his command.

A man stepped out of the truck and lethargically stretched as he looked over his hood. He was of average height and slim build.

Get out of the way! Daemon repeated.

The man slowly made his way to the front of the truck, glanced at Daemon, and leaned over to inspect where his truck was hit.

Move! Daemon jumped out. Stomping toward this man, Daemon's voice strained and the veins in his throat bulged in fury Move!

Daemon, you’ve damaged my truck.

Daemon stopped; his breath was forced to evenness as he waited, in consternation and deliberation, for what this man, who knew who he was, had to say.

The man said We, or at least I, might have to raise the price for this. Standing up, he continued If you want to see your wife and daughter alive again, you’ll have to fork over five million dollars.

Where have they been taken? Daemon stepped closer.

That is not your concern at this moment, Daemon. Your concern is: are you going to pay?

Where?-now.

Are you going to pay?

Last time – where are they being taken?

"No, you listen. And I will say last time. Are you going to pay? If not, if you need more convincing, then we might be forced to send a body part..."

You made a mistake. Daemon did not let the man finish.

Daemon's attack was an explosion.

Thrusting a hard right cross with a brick fist which crashed into the man’s face, striking the nose and cheekbone, and following through with such force he was almost knocked upside down, Daemon struck.

The man fell backwards, bouncing against his truck. Grabbing the staggering man by his shirt, Daemon flung him on top of his car, pounced on his back and twisted the man’s left arm, securing it between his shoulder blades. Bracing his own legs against the kidnapper’s, so movement was almost impossible except for the free arm, Daemon stood: an octopus engorged on a crab. He repeated with furious restraint Where are they being taken?

The man looked down his face, past the swelling, seeing his blood from a broken nose, pool on the hood of the car Man, you better let me go. If you don’t then we might have to do some terrible things to your daughter – and make your wife watch!

Where?!

Let me go, and I’ll tell you where you can pick them up, with the money. If not, then in pieces.

Daemon reached out with his right arm and grabbed the free hand of the man. Daemon’s voice was cold, calm and final Where?

I told you. Now let me...

A sharp snap, like a dry branch from a tree, sounded and was quickly followed with a wail of pain. Daemon had grabbed the distal phalanx on the little finger of the kidnapper and bent it backwards, beyond its flexibility, and broke it so the finger nail pressed into the top of the knuckle. The man, howling, tried to break free, but only worsened his pain as Daemon would not let go of the fractured digit. With constricted breath, the man eked You really screwed up. Now someone else will have to suffer. Someone else...

Where?

Go to Hell! I ain’t...

I don’t have time for this. A wail, louder and more panicked than the first, flooded the night as Daemon reached out and grabbed the remaining three fingers and broke them all with a quick twist Where?!

The kidnapper flailed, howling, cursing, spitting and drooling in torment as he fought but could not budge Daemon, he shrieked Let me go! One will die if you don’t...

Sneering in rage, Daemon interrupted Where?! as he slid his hand over the broken phalanges, the mangled remains of fingers, and clamped down with viselike severity Where!?

Only grunts and screams were the response.

Daemon was not getting the information he needed, and time was dwindling. The distance between him and his family was growing with each second. They were heading for a location he did not know, but must quickly discover. Daemon squeezed harder, the sensation of the metacarpals grinding against each other and the warmth of blood could be felt in Daemon’s palm, but the man only writhed; he would not answer.

"Where? – or I will start again elsewhere!"

Fear-choked and hoarse from screaming, the man cried "Alright...alright! They’re at the...Mansoer Apartment complex, room... 123. Please... let me go."

Good. With one swift movement, Daemon slid back, bringing his arms down and hooking the shins of the kidnapper. Lower legs held, Daemon brought the man's feet into the air while dragging him back. One arm being too sore to brace for the fall, he fell with only one arm to catch himself, which was not enough to keep his face from striking the ground. Daemon quickly braced his knee on the back of the downed man and pulled the belt off his quarry In case you are lying, you are coming with.

In a couple seconds, the belt was wrapped about the wrists and ankles of the kidnapper. He was hogtied, picked up like a fresh kill and tossed in the back seat of the Challenger. Walking to the front of the car, Daemon flipped a switch making the top of his car mechanically set while he went and placed the truck in neutral and shoved it out of the way. Returning to and getting into the driver’s seat of his car, Daemon did not look back at the man tied in the backseat. Blood, not his own, seeped from between his fingers when he clenched the steering wheel as he sped off to catch up, to keep his family from harm.

Lights blurred by as the car raced around obstacles, which could have been anything as little attention was paid to them. He focused only on one goal and all else was quickly catalogued as relevant or irrelevant, and then moved beyond while looking for the next item.

The man in the backseat now only existed to Daemon as a potential source for information, nothing more. Dominique and Danielle and their safe return remained a constant thought as he knew what he had to do with the amount of time afforded to him. Daemon coursed after the rest of the abductors, to his destination. He knew the general location, and had someone to guide him for the specific directions.

Coming up to the neighborhood where the building was near, Daemon broke the silence that was carried in the journey; coasting, while looking for the Mansoer building They better be there. If you lied, I will come back and start on the other hand.

Hearing those words, realizing that the throbbing sensation coursing through his nerves could be duplicated by a secondary attack of a crushing destruction to the bones in his remaining, intact hand, the man, while shaking his head in denial, responded in a high, panicked voice "You...you have no right to do this. No right at all to do this."

The point the man was trying to make revolted Daemon You speak to me of rights? Someone who kidnaps, and then threatens torture and murder speaks of rights? No, you took away my family’s rights – you forfeited your own.

What about the cops?

If I have the time, the info and ability, I am going to prevent harm to my family. I have all three – and you.

Something caught Daemon’s eye as he went through