Justifiable Homicide: A Political Thriller (Robert Paige Thrillers Book 1) (44 page)

Santos’ wife was at the other end of the table. After loading her plate with food, she walked toward them.

“And this is his wife, Maria.”

She smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

Maria was a white Cuban, the kind whose ancestors probably came from Spain. Her breasts were tastefully displayed, nice little handfuls. She and her parents had escaped from Cuba when she was 17. Their daughter, Rosa, was still at the food table, trying to decide between chicken or a hamburger.

Wellington motioned toward Paige. “Tell Bob your AK-47 story.”

“Oh, that?” She smiled. “Why do you like that story so much?” She liked to tell the story, especially to gringos.

She turned toward Paige. “Well, when I was a school girl living in Cuba, they taught us how to disassemble and reassemble an AK-47. They also taught us how to use it. I was trained to shoot gringos if they invade my country, so watch out.” She smiled, then added, “Please invade soon. We promise not to shoot you.”

Everyone chuckled. As she finished the story, Paige caught her gazing into John’s eyes. John was gazing back. It was more than a friendly gaze. Santos noticed it, too. He didn’t look happy about it.

Paige surmised that there might be something going on between them. It was plausible. Miami was a horny city. A
Miami New Times
poll found that 73 percent of them lost their virginity by age 18. Sixty-one percent had cheated on a partner. Hispanics were thought to be the most aggressive race in bed by more than a two-to-one margin and were thought to be the most sensual in bed by a more than four-to-one margin. Almost everyone in Miami had had at least one one-night stand. Forty-three percent had had a threesome. Their favorite position was doggie style. The missionary position came in a distant third.

After a few minutes of pleasant conversation it was time to move on. Paige had met each member of the team, except for the Boss. They seemed like a nice bunch of patriotic Americans with good family values. None of their wives knew that their husbands worked for the CIA or that they were plotting to kill journalists, professors and others who dared to speak out against the government. They didn’t realize that their adopted country was moving a little closer to tyranny with each passing year, and that they were sleeping with some of the foot soldiers who were leading the country down the path toward totalitarianism, allowing themselves to become impregnated with little foot soldiers for the next generation.

As they continued their walk in the back yard, Paige noticed a strikingly attractive woman with long blonde hair speaking to Sarah. She looked a lot like Ann Coulter, the right-wing political commentator. She was tall and slender. Her long, straight blonde hair extended well below her breasts, which were small and hidden by a loose fitting blouse. Her black pants also were loose fitting, which gave her a modest appearance, or as modest as she could manage, given the fact that she was strikingly attractive and had long legs and long blonde hair. She stood out in the crowd of short, dark Cubans.

Paige motioned in her direction. “Who’s the blonde?”

“That’s Jennifer Kravath. She’s a friend of Sarah’s. We met her at our church.”

“Can you introduce us?”

“Sure, if you like. But let me warn you. She’s a trip.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”

John escorted Paige over to meet her.

“Hi Jennifer. Enjoying the party?”

“Yes. Thanks for inviting me.”

“You’re welcome. It’s always nice to have a token gringo or two. This way I don’t feel like I’m in Havana.”

“Very funny, John. I’m honored to be your token gringo.” She looked at Paige, checking him out. “But it looks like I’m not your only token gringo.” Paige could feel the sexual tension. Jennifer was hungry, but not for food. Her makeup was perfect, in spite of the hot weather.

It was tough being a single parent. Susan, her 14 year-old daughter, was a pudgy little brat and she was becoming difficult to control. Jennifer was glad to be away from her for a few hours. The party gave her an opportunity to escape.

“Yes, I managed to find another one. I’d like to introduce you to Bob Paige. He’s an accounting professor at Saint Frances University.”

She extended her hand, while gently thrusting her right hip toward him. “So, you’re a teacher. I’m a teacher, too. I teach civics at Martin Luther King Jr. High School.”

Her long, slender fingers were soft and sensual, which Paige noticed as soon as he made contact.

“We were talking about illegal immigration,” referring to the conversation she was having with Sarah. “I was just saying that if immigrants want to come here, let them come over on the Mayflower like my ancestors did.”

Everyone laughed, but from the tone of her voice, Paige couldn’t tell if she was kidding or serious. Jennifer was able to trace her family tree back to 1781 in Connecticut. It was possible that her ancestors actually did come over on the Mayflower, although she couldn’t find any proof one way or the other.

She brushed her hair aside with her right hand and moved a little closer to Paige. “We need to plant an e-chip in every baby born in America so we can tell who’s an American and who isn’t. And we need to include a GPS tracking device in it so we can tell where they are. We need to have a federal database to screen employment applications and fine every employer who hires an illegal. Everyone should be required to carry an ID.”

“Don’t you think that would be a little harsh?” Paige asked, “not to mention a violation of our Constitutional right to privacy? Is it really any of the government’s business where we are or who we work for?”

“What? You sound like one of those liberal TV commentators. They should all be tried for treason for giving aid and comfort to the enemy.”

Paige felt a sudden desire to egg her on. “Who’s the enemy?” The sexual attraction he initially felt for her was fading fast.

“Muslims.”

“Don’t you mean
fundamentalist
Muslims?”

“They’re
all
fundamentalist. If they weren’t fundamentalist, they wouldn’t be Muslims.”

Paige couldn’t resist the urge to challenge her. “That’s not true. I met some Muslims in Bosnia who drink beer and even wine and whiskey. Some of my best friends are Palestinian Muslims who live in New Jersey.”

“You have Muslim friends? What kind of American are you? We should load them all on airplanes and drop them over Saudi Arabia. I haven’t decided yet if we should give them parachutes or just let them go
thump
when they hit the sand.”

She continued. “Ferdinand and Isabella had the right idea when they kicked them out of Spain in 1492. America and Europe would be better off without them. If we don’t get rid of them soon, they’ll breed us out of existence.”

Paige responded. “Ferdinand and Isabella also kicked out the Jews in 1492. Would you kick them out, too?”

“No, the Jews are OK. They’re part of our Judeo-Christian heritage. Besides, if we kicked out the Jews, where would we get doctors and lawyers? Well, maybe we could kick out the lawyers,” she said, only half jokingly.

Her tirade had started to attract attention. A few of the adults started moving in her direction to listen in on the conversation. She had become the main attraction. One man in particular was paying close attention to the conversation, but he was more interested in what Paige had to say. He kept in the background, making sure that there were always two or three people standing between him and Paige. Wellington had made it a point not to introduce Paige to him.

Jennifer continued. “Jesus won’t return until Israel is a Jewish state, so we have to support Israel. Once they wise up and kick out the Palestinians, Jesus will be able to return. When Jesus returns we’ll have peace for a thousand years and everyone will be Christian.”

Paige saw an opening and couldn’t resist. “Everyone? What about the Jews?”

“God has a plan for the Jews. The Bible says that only those who accept Jesus as their savior can enter the kingdom of heaven. We’ll give them an opportunity to accept Jesus.”

“What if they don’t take that opportunity?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Maria was listening intently to the conversation. “What do you think of gay marriage?”

Jennifer turned in her direction. “The Bible says homosexuality is an abomination. We should gather up all the homosexuals and stone them, like the Bible says.” Turning to Paige, Jennifer asked, in a rather hostile voice, “I suppose you think gay marriage is acceptable.”

Paige smiled before answering, knowing she wouldn’t approve of his position on the issue. “Actually, I think the government should get out of the marriage business. Marriage should be just another contract between or among consenting adults. The only role for government should be to enforce whatever terms the parties agree to.”

“Among?” she asked, in a raised voice. The veins on her neck looked like they would burst. “You mean you’re in favor of polygamy?”

“Sure, why not? As long as all the parties agree and no one’s rights are violated, what difference does it make? People could have term contracts, too. There’s no reason why marriage has to be for life. You could have two-year or five-year contracts, renewable at the option of the parties. It would also drive the divorce lawyers out of business, since there would no longer be a need for divorce. All people would have to do is wait for the contract to expire.”

“I can’t believe what you just said. Jesus would never approve of that. Marriage should be between one man and one woman. We should make any other kind of marriage a felony.”

Paige couldn’t resist the opportunity to irk her on. “King David was a polygamist. Wasn’t he one of Jesus’ relatives?”

“That was different,” she was quick to reply. “Times were different then.”

“So, you mean the Bible isn’t rigid? We should go with the flow and change with the times?”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“Then what
did
you say?”

She started to fidget. She couldn’t come up with a reply and she didn’t want to try. All she wanted to do was leave.

She turned toward Wellington. “Look, I’d like to continue this conversation but I have to go. I have to check on my daughter to make sure no one’s impregnating her.”

“John, Sarah, thank you for inviting me.” She turned and walked toward the front, where her car was parked.

As she walked away, Paige commented to John, “Wow! I bet she’s a nasty fuck!”

“I’ve thought about that myself, but actually she might be quite good. Think of what she might be like if she channeled all that frustration through her pussy.”

Paige smiled. “Do you think she has a pussy?”

They both laughed.

“'Tis the business of little minds to shrink; but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death.”

Thomas Paine

Now that Paige had met the team, he had a better idea of what he was up against. He thought about his options and how he would terminate them on the drive back to Sunny Isles Beach.

Most of them had had military training. That could be a problem. They would know how to react, not to mention the fact that they would know how to kill him. They had killed before, maybe up close and personal. That certainly was the case for the members of the team who had assassinated Raul Rodriguez and his girlfriend. His best weapon would be the element of surprise. He’d have to kill them before they could switch into defensive mode. If they had time to react, he would be in trouble.

It takes more guts to kill someone when you are looking into their eyes than it does to push a button on a computer thousands of miles away from the target. Computers had made killing much easier. Someone in San Diego could control a drone flying over Afghanistan or Iraq or any other country and dispatch dozens or hundreds of people by pushing a button. No emotion. No fear. Just like playing a video game, except the enemy consists of living, breathing human beings who probably have loved ones and families, just like the person who’s pushing the button.

Paige didn’t know if he could do it up close and personal. He’d never executed anyone before. He’d gone hunting a few times but didn’t enjoy killing animals. He did it because the other guys in the group did it and they didn’t seem to have any qualms about killing living things. Buying hamburger in the meat department was one thing; killing a cow face to face was something else. Terminating a human being who had military training and who could kill you if you didn’t kill him first was a whole different ball game, one that Paige didn’t want to play.

In his mind, he knew he had to do it. They had to be stopped. But his gut told him it was too dangerous. The easy way out would be to do nothing, but that wasn’t an option. It had to be done and he was the only one who could do it.

Wellington would probably be the easiest to kill, at least in theory. He was the least athletic of the bunch. As far as Paige knew, he hadn’t had any military training, although, as a CIA person, he probably had some firearms training. The CIA had given Paige firearms training and he was just a professor, a part-time CIA asset. If they gave it to him, surely they would give it to someone like Wellington, who was full-time CIA. He would have to do him fast, before he could pull his weapon, assuming he carried one. He’d have to pick a time and place that would allow him to do it and get away without being seen or identified. Wellington would have no reason to expect an attack, which worked in his favor. He would have the element of surprise.

How to do it was the next question. As part of his training, the CIA had given Paige a Glock 17 and two blades. One was shaped like a T, consisting of a handle that fit neatly into the palm of the hand, with a three-inch, single-edged blade that protruded from the handle at a 90-degree angle. The idea was to punch the victim multiple times in rapid succession, pulling away quickly so the target couldn’t grab your hand or take away the weapon. A half dozen successful punches in the right places would cause the victim to bleed out in a matter of minutes.

The other blade looked like brass knuckles and could actually be used as such, but had a spring that could flick out a four-inch blade, if necessary. The design protected the holder from slicing his own hand as he thrusts it into the target because each finger is inserted into one of the four holes in the brass knuckles, which are actually made of stainless steel. The problem with using a traditional knife is that the hand might get sliced as it plunged the blade into someone’s body, unless it had a hilt that prevented the hand from sliding during the attack. If O.J. Simpson would have had one, he wouldn’t have sliced his hand when stabbing his ex-wife and her boyfriend, or so the story goes.