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    The Freedom Killers: Shannon Flynn Mysteries, #10
    The Freedom Killers: Shannon Flynn Mysteries, #10
    The Freedom Killers: Shannon Flynn Mysteries, #10
    Ebook377 pages6 hours

    The Freedom Killers: Shannon Flynn Mysteries, #10

    By charles fisher

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    About this ebook

    In this continuation of The Alien Killer, terrorists have destroyed the new World Trade Center, also known as The Freedom Tower. Shannon et al set out to unravel the government corruption behind the disaster.

    LanguageEnglish
    Publishercharles fisher
    Release dateJan 7, 2016
    ISBN9781524243357
    The Freedom Killers: Shannon Flynn Mysteries, #10

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      The Freedom Killers - charles fisher

      Table of Contents

      The Freedom Killers | A Shannon Flynn Mystery

      The End | Shannon Flynn will return soon.

      The Freedom Killers

      A Shannon Flynn Mystery

      St. Patrick’s Day

      Greenwich, Connecticut

      March

      ––––––––

      That was excellent food, President John Mayfield Lincoln said. He rubbed his stomach and let out a tremendous belch. Betty Coleman laughed so hard she almost peed herself.

      Good one, Slick, she keened. I couldn’t have done better myself.

      You two have to be related somehow, Shannon laughed. No two humans could have table manners that bad by coincidence.

      Oh, that, Lincoln said. People have razzed me about that all my life. I was just never the Miss Manners type, I guess.

      John, I got to tell you something, Phil Bolton said. I’m damn near eighty, and I ain’t never seen a bigger slob than you.

      Why, thank you, Phil, Lincoln said I always strive to be the best at what I do.

      Ryan Wills looked at the man he had pledged his very life to protect and shook his head in dismay. You’re as bad as her, he said, nodding at Betty.

      Watch it, Nancy, Betty warned. You’re on thin ice with me as it is. One more crack like that and I’ll strangle you with your own bra.

      I don’t have one, Wills snapped. But if I did, I daresay I’d have more to put in it than you.

      Betty responded by launching a handful of mashed potatoes at Wills. The mess struck him in the forehead, and the spuds dribbled down his face.

      NOOOOOOO! Mary Coleman keened, and bolted for the bathroom.

      Weak kidneys, Shannon grinned.

      Please tell me you want gravy with those, Betty said. So I can shove the pitcher up your preppie ass.

      Bastard, Wills grumbled as he wiped his face.

      "That’s Miss Bastard to you, Betty said. Snarky little cocksucker that you are. Maybe I should drag your tampon wearing ass outside and finish kicking the shit out of you. Would you

      like that better?"

      Try it, and I’ll have you shot, Wills said, nodding towards the two Secret Service agents flanking the president. I’m their boss, he grinned. They shoot who I tell them to.

      What say you, boys? Betty said. You gonna waste me on Miss Priss’s orders?

      Hey, one agent said. We only protect the president. Wills is on his own.

      You bastards, Wills sighed. Sell out the boss for a prime rib dinner.

      You didn’t pay for it, one agent said. You won’t even spring for Mickey D’s.

      Oh, Betty said. Cheap as well as a coward. What’s a good term for a cheap coward, Tyler?

      Penny pinching pusillanimous poltroon, Tyler Brooks grinned. I played one in my fifth Oscar winning performance.

      General Cagney played Mr. Joshua, Lincoln, who was quite drunk, giggled. Now he runs that freak show known as Area 51. We should open that joint up to the public and sell tickets. Balance the budget in a month,

      That’s an excellent idea, Sir, Lieutenant General James Cagney grinned.

      That Smiley character would sell some tickets, I bet, Lincoln nodded.

      Who’s Smiley? one agent said.

      Never mind, Cagney said. That’s on a need to know basis, and you don’t need to know.

      Me neither, Lincoln sighed. I don’t need to know anything, because even when I find out about what I don’t know that I should have known, I can’t do anything about it. Does that make any sense?

      Nope, Shannon said.

      You’re wasted, Slick, Betty said.

      The Lord thy God sayeth thou art an asshole, Mary giggled as she sat back down.

      Did you go to divinity college? Lincoln said, eyeing Mary.

      She’s a lawyer, Betty sighed. Believe it or not. She pulled a fake nun act to get into our favorite restaurateur’s office so she could kick his teeth out. That enabled us to trash his restaurant. Now it’s like a comedy routine she won’t lay off.

      Oh, you mean Rat Face, Lincoln nodded. I remember. So you aren’t really a nun, then.

      None tonight, none tomorrow night, Mary said, slurping her beer. Inserting a kielbasa or other object into thy holy parts is an affront to thy Lord.

      Jesus, Betty sighed. I don’t believe this shit.

      Jesus was Jewish, Mary said. Kielbasa is Polish. Jesus did not do the Polka or eat kishka. Myron Floren did not live in Jerusalem.

      How the hell do you  know what Jesus ate, you moron? Betty yelled. Maybe he went to fucking Burger King every day.

      They sat down in groups of hundreds and of fifties. And He took the five loaves and the two fish, and looking up toward heaven, He blessed the food and broke the loaves and He kept giving them to the disciples to set before them; and He divided up the two fish among them all. They all ate and were satisfied. And then they had pie. Not hair pie, for that giveth thee tuna breath. Which they probably already had considering what they had for dinner.

      You are a sick, demented asshole, Betty said.

      Mary took out her bag and held up her new third degree black belt sash.

      Two more grades, and thine arse belongs to me, she said.

      Is there a point to any of this stupidity? Wills said. Where is my dessert, anyway?

      Oh, Wills wants dessert, Betty said.Did you clean your plate, Wills?

      I did, he said proudly.

      "Okay, we have.......what the fuck do we have, Tyler? I didn’t even look."

      Chocolate cake with strawberries, chocolate mousse,  ice cream, and Strudel with cream. No pie, he intoned, staring at Mary, who thumbed her ears at him.

      Mousse, Wills said. I want mousse.

      Take her then, Tyler said, pointing at Ann Coleman. She’s a moose.

      Hey! I’m hot, the owner of the notorious  Bridgeport based rag sheet The National Informant said, stretching languorously. Look at me. Tall brunette, beautiful body, hot legs, and barely forty, she said, batting her eyes at Cagney. How about it, General? Want that prostate exam? I’m giving twenty percent off this week.

      Barely forty? Shannon laughed. Try barely human.

      Shove it, Blondie, Ann snapped. I haven’t seen anybody lined up in front of your bedroom door lately.

      That’s because her prices are too high, Betty said.

      I’ll pass on the exam, Cagney said. I’ve had that done already. You haven’t lived until you had a Sergeant Major shove two fingers up your ass.

      Only two? Ann exclaimed. I always use my whole......what? Why are you all looking at me like that? Jeez, a girl can’t say anything around here.

      Tell him about the nipple clamps and the model train transformer, Shannon said.

      That costs  extra, Ann  pouted. Besides, it doesn’t hurt that much and the electricity won’t prevent their thing from getting.....what? Again I get the look? Fuck all of you.

      Famous last words, Shannon said. Last spoken to the Lakers, I assume.

      I don’t see any mousse, Wills said, looking at Betty.

      Go get your own mousse, creepazoid, Betty said. I’m not your waitress.

      You have no manners, Wills said. I am a guest. You are supposed to serve me.

      It isn’t my house, genius, Betty said. The only thing I’m going to serve you is a knuckle sandwich. Want some more potatoes?

      No. I want mousse.

      I’ll get it, Shannon sighed. I want some, too. Cripes, Wills, don’t pee yourself. She went to the sideboard and dished out two helpings.

      Hey Slick, I think I changed my mind, Betty said. Our work isn’t finished. There are a couple of things I’d like to tackle next.

      What’s that, Lincoln said.

      These drug cartels, and our crooked news media. I still have a list of reporters that took money to bury stories about drugs.

      Go ahead, Lincoln shrugged. Just then his cell phone went off. Uh oh, this can’t be good. He took the call; the look on his face was one of mixed terror and dread. Thank you, he said. We’re on our way. He turned to Shannon. I have to go. Somebody just flew an El Al 777 into the Freedom Tower in New York. Ryan, go warm up the chopper.

      Déjà vu all over again, Bolton said. You just got your hand called, John. I told you them bastards would do something else. They been waiting for that thing to be finished so they could knock it down.

      Yes. Jesus, why me. I don’t need this shit.

      We’re on it, Betty said. I suggest you stay the hell out of D.C.

      Where can I go? My God, these bastards are everywhere.

      You can come to my facility, Sir, if you want, Cagney said. But I recommend Peterson AFB in Colorado. They are set up as a command center. We aren’t  really equipped to do what they can do. They have first strike capability and command of NORAD. I do not. I have.....well, you know. Alternative  methods. We are not really a strike force.

      All right, if that’s what you think is best. Ryan, make the arrangements.

      Yes, Mr. President, Wills said, and bolted for the door.

      Leave that pussy in D.C., Betty said. Let him protect the nail salons and tanning parlors.

      But he’s the head of the Secret Service.

      Look, they can’t get into Peterson. You don’t need the Secret Service there. Especially with  Wills running the show. More like Victoria’s Secret Service.

      She’s right, Sir, Cagney said. We will coordinate with you from my facility. We’ll figure out who did this.

      What about Russia?

      Never. The Russian president  loves his country, despicable bastard that he is. He knows what we’d do if we pinned this on him. He likes to pound his chest and make himself look like a tough guy, but when it comes to war, he wants no part of it. Not against us.

      That missing airliner.......Malaysia Flight 370. That was a 777, wasn’t it? Lincoln said.

      Uh, yes, Sir, it was, Cagney said. But there is no evidence that the aircraft survived that flight, he said, looking sternly at Betty. It did not have enough fuel to reach land from its last known position. They are still looking for wreckage.

      Odd a 777 could crash in the ocean and there would be no trace of it, Lincoln said.

      Depends on how it went in, Cagney shrugged. There is what is known as a soft landing at sea, where the pilot puts the plane down the same way he would on land. There would be no catastrophic impact. The plane might break up a bit, but the majority of it would remain intact and just sink. Due to the depth of the Indian Ocean, some 15,000 feet, the water pressure would prevent anything from surfacing. There would be no oil slick because there would be no fuel left.

      Thank you for the explanation, Lincoln said. I’m sure there will be some record of this new plane. Well, I have to get going. Thank you for a most entertaining day, Miss Flynn.

      Any time, Slick, Shannon laughed. Don’t worry, she said as she came over and gave him a hug. You have the best in the world working on this. We solve  shit like this just for fun. You’ll see.

      Thanks. I do not want to go to war in the Middle East.

      Hah, Bolton laughed. What do you think we been doing since 2001, playing patty cake? Time to throw the hammer, John. Find out who did this, and take them out. No mercy. The rest of ‘em will crawl back in their holes.

      He’s right, Betty said. I told you this before. Kick some ass for a change. Act, don’t react.

      This could start a world war, though.

      With who? Bolton cackled. Ain’t nobody on this planet wants to go toe to toe with the United States military. Not Russia, not China, and that don’t leave anybody worth a shit. Go do your job, John. And if you can’t do it, you got these gals. And if that don’t work, you call me.

      All right, I’m going back to D.C., then I’m going to Peterson. The Vice President will go to an undisclosed location, and Congress will be sent home. That will preserve the seat of government in case of a further attack.

      No, Mr. President, Cagney said. I strongly suggest you go directly to Peterson. Call back to D.C. and dismiss the Congress now. If you need transportation for yourself or the Vice President, I’ll provide it. If there is a further attack, let them hit an empty city.

      That makes sense, Lincoln said. I’ll do it.

      Then sit tight, Cagney grinned. Somebody will be coming to pick you up. Get that Marine helicopter out of here. That thing is a target.

      I’ll do it, Betty said, and headed for the yard. She opened the door of the helicopter and climbed in.

      What are you doing in here? Wills exclaimed. This area is restricted. We’re under attack.

      Betty smiled at the pilot, who nodded and smiled back.

      You’re a Marine Colonel, she said to the pilot. What would you do with a panty wearing girly boy like him? she said, pointing at Wills.

      No comment, Miss, he said. That’s not my job. He is not under my command.

      Lucky him. Look, Wills, you get your dumb ass out of here. Lincoln is staying until we arrange transportation. Bye, Sweetheart. She started to climb out.

      Wait! Wills yelled. You do not have that authority. The president has to authorize this.

      Out, Betty said. Now. He’s going to Peterson AFB. He said so. You don’t like it? Too bad. You have his cell phone, call him. Take off, Colonel, she said. Right fucking  now. Semper Fi.

      Semper Fi, the Colonel laughed as he brought up the rotor speed.

      Wait! Wills yelled as Betty climbed down. The last thing he saw as the helo lifted off was Betty’s two upraised middle fingers.

      They’re out of here, Betty said when she came back in. She popped a beer and looked at Lincoln. What’s your problem, Slick? Don’t like conflict? You took the wrong job. Maybe you should be selling cosmetics at Macy’s.

      No president likes conflict, Lincoln said. It is our responsibility to send our young people off to die in war. How would you like to have that responsibility?

      Not a problem, Betty said. They joined up, they took the oath. When the shit hits the fan, we expect them to perform. I put my ass on the line every day of the week for this project, and I never swore to uphold anything. They did. I say, get your ass out there and do your job. Accordingly, I would provide them with every advantage so they could win with as few casualties as possible.

      But this......I don’t know what to make of it. Another attack on the same place?

      Of course! Bolton  said. You think they’re going to fly a plane into the Apollo Theater? Wake up, John. They’re sticking your face in it. They took what, fifteen years to put up a new building in the same damn place? What else would they aim at?

      Henry Kissinger’s house would be nice, Lincoln muttered.

      Him? They ain’t going to do anything to him, he’s one of ‘em.

      Do you think it’s an Arab nation? I don’t believe Israel did this.

      Maybe, if they think they can start some shit between us and Israel. You’ll be trying to find out who donated the plane and the money, and the asshole fanatics who flew it. You can bet there won’t be any numbers on it, and the thing will have a fake paint job. Be careful with this, John, you never know who you’re dealing with. 99% chance it’s somebody here that set this up. Briggs is gone, so somebody will want to move up. They want more war.

      Bastards, Lincoln hissed. They would kill their own countrymen for money?

      You got it, Bolton said. Been doing  it forever. You wouldn’t get a war going killing somebody else’s people, now would you?

      I suppose not. If this is an inside job, they are going to be sadly disappointed. The only war I will initiate will be against them.

      Now you’re talking, Slick, Betty said.

      Just then, Goldfinger materialized in the back yard. Here’s your ride, Cagney grinned. Colonel Price will take you to Peterson.

      New York City

      St. Patrick’s Day

      ––––––––

      Senator Barclay Winfield stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows in his multi million dollar penthouse, sipping a fine old Scotch. Behind him, New York Governor Patterson Marshall and New Jersey Governor Ronald O’Hara sat on a Chippendale sofa with their drinks.

      I wonder who they got to fly that thing, Winfield said as he stared at the burning Freedom Tower.

      Had to be somebody good, Marshall said. That was one hell of a maneuver.

      Yes, it was, Winfield said. Especially when you consider all the precautions they took to protect that building.

      Not enough, apparently, O’Hara said. They never planned on a scheduled flight doing something like this. They were still stuck on protecting themselves against a hijacker. They didn’t have enough time to react.

      What airline was it? Winfield said.

      El Al, Marshall said.

      Oh, Winfield said. That’ll make some trouble.

      Should we go down there? Marshall said.

      Hell no, O’Hara said. It’s too dangerous. Let the police and fire department handle it. There isn’t anything we can do except get in the way.

      What floor did it hit?

      64, from what I can tell, Winfield said. Full speed, too. Cut the damn building nearly  in half and went all the way through. Half  the plane is in the street.

      Do you think there will be as many casualties as last time? Marshall said.

      More, Winfield said. They got them when it was full. They are still trying to evacuate, and half the people who leave the building are being killed by falling debris. Most of them are probably drunk.

      I suppose it’s too early for an estimate, Marshall said.

      Floors 65 through 90 are office space. Floors 20-63 are also office space. They hit the perfect spot. Anybody above 64 will have a very hard time getting past the fire and destruction, where the sky lobby is. The floors below that run the risk of collapse. They have to use the stairs because you can’t trust the elevators to keep working. We’ll have to wait and see, he said.

      Greenwich, Connecticut

      St. Patrick’s Day

      ––––––––

      Whores R Us is covering it, Ann said as she sat down on the sofa. The other networks are off the air.

      Bastards are probably afraid to come to work, Betty said.

      This is bad, Ann said. Look at this shit. The fucking thing is cut in half. Who knows how long it will be before it falls apart.

      Oh, it has a reinforced concrete base 185 feet high, Betty said sarcastically. That really helps defend against maniacs in airplanes. The structure is that tube design, which is just another version of what they had before. Open floors unsupported by columns except on the outside perimeter. Weaken that outside perimeter, and guess what happens.

      What happened next surprised even Betty. Another airliner appeared from over the water behind the tower and slammed into it at full speed around floor 90. The force was enough to snap the building in half from floor 64 up, and dump the upper half into the World Financial Center Building behind it.

      Holy shit, Ann whispered. That could kill 50,000 people.

      Is that all? Shannon said as she popped a Coors. You’d think they could do better than that. What amateurs.

      These dudes like to repeat themselves, Bolton said as he leaned forward, transfixed by the carnage on the screen. Same shit, different day. Let’s see them rebuild that fucker again, he cackled. Now we’re in the shit. That’s a few trillion dollars down the drain.

      On Fox, Laura Weaver looked at the screen behind her, and turned back to the camera. It appears that we have had a second incident, she said as she fussed with her blouse. She looked over at the live feed of herself, fluffed her hair, and then looked back at the camera. We will update as information becomes available. Stay tuned, Bill O’Reilly is next.

      What amazing reporting, Betty laughed as Weaver got up and left the desk. She probably has to go suck somebody off.

      Bill is coming, Shannon grinned.

      Yeah, the day is saved, Betty said. Ten to one he blames Lee Harvey Oswald.

      O’Reilly arrived at the desk five minutes later, and looked solemnly into the camera. He made a rather long, rambling speech about what a tragedy the event  was, and how America was once again under terrorist attack. He then leafed through some reports.

      Over 35,000 deaths are expected in this latest attack, he said. It is simply beyond imagining that these foreign terrorists would attack One World Trade Center again.

      Really? Bolton said. You should have just painted a damn bulls eye on the thing. It would have been beyond imagining if they left it alone.

      The flights involved appear to be two separate flights from Israel, O’Reilly said. Specifically, El Al. It is unknown at this time if these are legitimate flights, due to the chaos in the area of the attack. There has been no way to determine the origin of these flights at this time. Apparently, all the passengers on board were incinerated in the fire and explosion according to emergency personnel, who found no remains in the section of the first flight that fell into the street. I’ll be back after the break.

      Incinerated? Sure they were! Bolton cackled. You lying sack of shit! Too much chaos to find out where the flights came from, but you assholes managed to go down there and sift through the wreckage and look for passengers? Bullshit. Ever see it on a duck?

      Bill got his marching orders before he went on the air, Betty said as she fiddled with her laptop. Notice he’s calling them foreign terrorists before he has all the facts. El Al had one flight scheduled for New York from Tel Aviv today, not two. The other two they had scheduled to the U.S. were for  New Jersey and Dallas. The New Jersey flight is listed as late. The Dallas flight landed right on time. New York and New Jersey had a combined roster of 539 passengers. If that second plane was the New Jersey flight, somebody fucked up big time at air traffic control.

      Where the hell are the bodies? Bolton said. There ought to be 539 assholes belted into their seats. Roasted to a fare thee well, maybe, but they’d be there. But Bill said they ain’t.

      Bill is right by accident, Betty said. Those planes were empty, I guarantee you. Nobody hijacks an El Al flight. Hasn’t happened since Entebbe. Something is up. General? What do you think?

      I have to think about this, Cagney said. I’m not that devious, but something isn’t right here. Israel obviously would not attack the United States. This is a ruse designed to do God knows what.

      Make the United States attack Israel, Bolton said. That’s what it’s about. You’ll see, some war mongering crook senators are going to start screaming and yelling about how Israel stabbed us in the back and we need to hit them hard, right now, before they do something else. That clears the field in the Middle East for the A-rabs to have total control. That clears the U.S. to start another ground war over the next Muslim false flag operation. They’ll come up with one, too, you’ll see.

      Lincoln won’t go for it, Betty said. General, can you have Carter get all the satellite info and traffic control info before these bastards deep six it?

      Give me your computer, Cagney said. I’ll email him and have him do that. But I fear the obvious. The flights will check out.

      How? If these are not El Al flights, how could they check out?

      That’s  what we need to find out. We need somebody who can analyze this. Somebody brilliant, who can think like a mass murderer.

      Tyler coughed and looked around as if he were insulted.

      What am I, chopped liver? he said.

      Oh, we forgot, Ann said sarcastically. Mr. Encyclopedia is here. Enlighten us with your mighty brain, oh great pole swallowing oracle of wisdom.

      You remind me of the harridans Winston Churchill had to tolerate at cocktail parties, Tyler sighed, looking Ann up and down. One of them approached the great man and told him that if she were his wife, she would poison his tea. He looked back at her and said that he would gladly drink it.

      "Figures you’d refer to a  party with the word cock in it, Ann smiled. And what do you know about women, anyway? Other than being one," she giggled.

      I have learned much in my forty years, Tyler nodded. Primarily, after being subjected to the presence of such horrid creatures as yourself, and the divorce rate, and the male suicide rate, I have concluded that I  am much better off in the company of my own sex.

      Then why do you hang around with a bunch of girls? Ann retorted.

      Educational value, Tyler grinned. The mere presence of such awful beasts as yourself makes me feel much better about my sexual proclivities. The terrible odors you produce, the whining, the fits of dementia, the horror of a woman in menopause, the sweating, grunting, farting, and late night consumption of prodigious quantities of Beefaroni and pancakes reinforces my belief that you are a defective species.

      That means you love us, Ann giggled.

      Indeed I do, Tyler sighed. Although to admit such a silly position would be tantamount to a crime against humanity.

      Jesus, Tyler, will you get to the fucking point already? Shannon said. What about the flights?

      Oh, that. I suggest the following scenario.

      The North

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