Session 03 (Agent Jude)

Operation Lazarus

The week leading up to Christmas was chaos, I spent most of my time at my desk, it had been a month since the events of the Russian Orthodox engagement, a month of silence and boredom.

I left the office Christmas Eve, spent the evening with Charlie, she could tell something was off, I was drinking more than usual, even for Christmas.  The red wine vanished quickly, so did the evening, my memory of it, sketchy at best, my strongest memory, waking up in her bed.

Christmas was lonely, I went to my cabin, two Shipping Containers I had turned into a small homestead, all my equipment was in order, none more attractive than the three bottles of Wild Turkey waiting on the shelves.  Revisiting my private survival stash always seemed to calm me down, field stripping and cleaning weapons and gear always seemed to take my mind off things.  Although tedious, it prepared me for the evening at the local fun house.  Christmas Strippers, always fun.

Short notice again, another communication from the Group. I was to make my way to Albany in New York State, more trouble brewing. I was keen to have my questions answered; was this going to do that for me?  Either way, I was in need of the action.

The weather here is shit...

The flight to Albany was fine, again, the weather here is shit, cold and bitter. I had adjusted my “Go Bag” to include warmer attire, tactical gloves and slouchy beanie now permanently residing within.  I landed without complication and made my way to the agreed meeting site, the Rental car booths. Pulling up short, I spotted Jasper moving in the same direction. We were both early and decided to sit at a nearby café for a coffee, within a few moments we were joined by Jagger, the three of us shaking hands. To my surprise, Jagger’s hands were clear of blisters and boils, a vast improvement, instead he now seemed to be fighting off a cold.

Jason also joined us, all gripping our coffee in the cold, we made our way to Jason’s familiar car, still as dismal as ever, only it was my turn to sit up front with him.  The words exchanged in the car were few, however it was clear we all had questions that had been unanswered after the previous operation.

Our first port of call, the USPS at Latham, a small suburb on the outskirts of Albany. We needed to pick up a package, Jason wanted someone with break and enter skills, jumping at the chance to do anything, I volunteered.  Jasper and Jagger stayed in the car, Jason and I hit the post office, light traffic as most people were in and out quickly after doing their late Christmas deliveries and pickups.  Jason pointed to the PO Box, 2432, standing in front of the camera, Jason motioned for me to open it. I jammed my boot knife into the seam near the lock, to my surprise, it flung open easily, removing the contents, a large folder type parcel. I handed it to Jason before we returned to the car.  If it was anything like the last folder, I didn’t want anything to do with it.

The drive was slow and cold, minimal talking in this beat up car with bad heating. Jasper tried to lighten the mood, but Jagger’s constant groaning made it hard not to feel slightly uncomfortable.

The Golden House Chinese restaurant

We stopped at ‘The Golden House’ Chinese restaurant, we were all in need of a feed as we landed at noon and 1pm was closing in on this ice box of a state.  As we ordered, Jason took the opportunity to go over everything from the last op.  

He informed us that all communications, even the ones between ourselves were all monitored, eyes of A-Cell or management were always present, nothing was secret unless spoken directly, face to face.  Jason also expressed his sympathies, as our previous operation was deemed not for suitable for Friendlies, a fully hardened Cell should have been deployed, as a result, our success was unexpected.  As this was an operation instigated by Clove, our agency prospects within the Group were not complete but certainly coming, all due to our success. We were on the radar of the Group previously, now we were under serious consideration.

As a result of the communications post operation, Jagger had requested combat training, something the Group did not provide, or any training for that matter. I again volunteered, opting to take him through some of the ropes. He had claimed to have been in Desert Storm, hopefully he was just rusty and not lying about that.

Jason informed us he had received a call from Alfonse, an A-Cell alias, the agent in charge of A-Cell from the sounds of it.  This was the first time Jason had been contacted by A-Cell directly, congratulating us on a successful mission and informing us that measures have been taken that a repeat situation would not occur.  

Jason's last point was to do with personal property. I knew what he was talking about. He wanted me to relinquish my vest, the vest that had saved my life at the cabin. I was reluctant, but I understood, it did after all have my name in it somewhere.

Jagger seemed to be the only one eating with any sort of enthusiasm as Jason filled us in on our next op.  A former agent, a Clyde Baughman, had passed away four days ago. It was our task to clean up, his apartment was to be emptied of all Group documents or evidence, a simple fire sale job, everything must go. Baughman was active in the 60s and 70s. recently retires but working casually as a friendly, IRS background so paperwork was key, lots of paperwork.  He was located in Troy, just outside Albany, this should be a quick job.

Jagger excused himself from the table as Jason turned his attention to the post pack we had pulled from the post office.  Emptying it on the table, there were three Cell phones, each labelled with a name, Jagger, Jasper and Jude, these were our agency phones, only to contact each other and A-Cell in dire need.  Fake ID’s, mine was George Ryan, Vancouver resident.

There was a file with a key attached. The file was on Clyde Baughman and most likely his apartment key. Another key, a padlock key, also fell out of the package, a strange key chain, a green square clanging on the table.  A stack of cash too, $500 each when we counted it, enough to get us going on the fly with anything we might need.

We concluded the lunch meeting to find Jagger still in the washroom, again volunteering for punishment, I found him bent over, white as a sheet, all his lunch now in the toilet bowl.  Picking him up, he was a mess, poor bastard was really ill, obviously as unexpected to him as the rest of us.

Throwing him in the back of the car, he assured us he would be alright, reluctantly Jason agreed to keep him with us, Jagger opening his medical bag and downing all manner of pills.  Who knows, it might all be over in an hour, at least we hope.

We were to drive to the Albany Green Box, prep for the upcoming op, even though supposedly a cake walk, it never hurt to be prepared.  Jason also informed us that he had retained possession of a few things from the last mission, mainly hardware, the shotguns and pistols were in the trunk.  The Green box itself, another vacant building in an industrial area, an old mechanic workshop, long abandoned.  Using the padlock key, the green square, or box, a dead giveaway.

SKS 7.62x39

Entering, it was a mechanics workshop, tools on shelves, a beat up stripped car, an empty truck also locked, although a key hidden in the wheel well.  Empty, nothing here, it was Jasper who first saw it, a single floor to ceiling shelving unit, this was the jackpot.  Again, books, Jason’s specialty, strangely, there were airport security uniforms, something must have gone down there previously, drugs, one labelled sodium pentathol, truth serum, I couldn’t resist, pocketing it, a trauma kit and of course, firearms.  A Smith and Wesson 586, perfect for Jagger in my opinion, he can finally put his scalpel away.  I grabbed it to give to him since he was still in the car, after all, my Glock was still in Jason’s trunk, an SKS rifle also rested on a shelf, without hesitation, Jasper grabbed it and the crowbar sitting next to it, he was after the axe man.  What was odd, an old surplus Russian grenade, Jasper and I looked at each other, both agreeing to leave it well alone.

Smith & Wesson 586

I ditched my personal belongings again, bagging them and hiding them in the cistern of the toilet along with those belonging to Jagger, we were on the road again, on our way to the apartment of Clyde Baughman.

It was about 3pm when we arrived, the only thing out of the ordinary was Jagger, still white as a ghost, dry heaving every five minutes. Poor bastard is all I could think.  Jasper, Jason and I all scouted the building, an old 60s apartment complex, four storeys high, fire escapes and large glass front and back doors, this was a white-collar neighborhood, nothing was to say otherwise, everything seemed normal, it was Christmas after all.

Night would come around 5pm, we decided to find a rally point in case of emergency, a block away, a large park, good enough for a simple clean-up operation.

As darkness fell, again Jagger remained in the car, semi passed out as he had been popping pills all day.  I took the back entrance of the building, Jasper and Jason the front, we met in the foyer, apartment 5, first floor.  We made our way up as casually as we could, Jason opening the door to the apartment with the key from the file.

Baughman's Apartment

We began our search, closing the curtains and using our flash lights, we moved room to room, Jasper taking the lead.  The apartment was scare, the lounge room contained no more than a couch, TV and table, the kitchen again basic.  Bathroom barely used, Bedroom again blank.  The spare room however, stacks upon stacks of paperwork, 4-foot-high piles of folders, loose notes and archive boxes.

Once satisfied the apartment was clear, we all took a room, in the lounge room, I pulled everything apart, the only thing of significance, a Colt Detective Special in between the cushions of the lounge, the serial number filed off, thank you very much Clyde.

It was Jason’s turn to shine.  After reviewing the stack of paperwork in front of us, he seemed to have some idea of what he was looking at, semi ordered and organised bundles of IRS paperwork, it was going to take a while, at least 3-4 hours.  I decided to go back downstairs and tell Jagger that we were going to be here a while, after trying to call his phone a few times with no response, I was off.
  
I found him asleep across the back of the car, he was dead to the world, I scribbled a not for him and threw it in, he would get the message.  On my return into the building, I stopped off at the mailbox of Clyde Baughman, as I did, an elderly woman with her dog came down the stairs.  She announced herself as Clyde’s neighbour, I had no choice but to remember the file of Mr Baughman, he had a son Michael, I took his identity.  This woman was sympathetic as to the passing of Baughman, explaining that it was so sad.  Once she had exited the building, I called up to Jason to confirm the encounter, watching her walk her dog in the freezing cold, it was only that the dog needed to relieve itself that she had left the apartment.

Colt Detective Special 38

Satisfied everything was clear, I returned to the room with the scraps of mail, it had become evident to Jason and Jasper that Clyde owned a Cabin near Tupper Lake, a good 3 and a half hours away, a key to the cabin residing on the hanger near the front door, along with paperwork amongst the rest.  Jason helped himself, taking the Cabin key and what looked like an extra pair of padlock keys labelled cabin also.

We began our long sorting process, 9pm rolled around before we could be certain there was nothing here relevant to the Group.  The cabin was to be the next stop.  Still unconvinced as to the motivations of Mrs Janowitz, Clyde’s neighbor, I decided to knock on her door for a quick chat before leaving.  Jason and Jasper returned to the car as I sat down for a cup of tea in number 6.  Within 5 minutes it was clear there was nothing more sinister at work here, just a concerned neighbor.

Satisfied I joined the others in the car, Jagger clearly had been told off for falling asleep by Jason, his colour slightly returning, but he was still showing signs of sickness.

The drive was going to be long and cold, Jason decided to go over with us what he had found out from the previous operation, the Russian Iconography, the religious cult, something about an ancient Roman Deity, supposedly wiped out under Stalin, I guess he missed a few.  Catching up on some sleep, we arrived at Piercefield just outside Tupper Lake, Jasper, in possession of the best geographical skills identified the location of the cabin, a private road out of town surrounded by woods, the cabin was down there somewhere.  The woods, just what we needed, another trap infested landscape with mangy dogs and god knows what.

As there was no cause for alarm, we decided to drive up the private road, a few miles in, a sharp bend, the cabin lay in front of us.  Turning the lights off, again Jagger stayed in the car, Jasper Jason and I moving to arm ourselves.  Jasper grabbed the SKS rifle he had taken from the green box, he was also brandishing a revolver, another Smith and Wesson, looked to be a 4’’ 586, I inquired and he told me he picked it up at a gun show; he wanted his own sidearm.  I understood that better than most. Jason took the Ithica shotgun full of buckshot, leaving me the Remington loaded with slugs. I felt pretty good, my Glock holstered under my arm, my Colt in the back of my belt and carrying a shotgun, my lack of vest apparent, however I still felt better equipped than last time.

Looking over the cabin, to the side, a small outhouse stood some 10 yards from the house, another 10 yards away a shed stood against the tree line, all we needed now where some crazy Russians and we would all be having flashbacks.

As there was not a large amount of ground between buildings, Jasper was to go to the shed, myself, the outhouse and Jason would remain on the porch of the Cabin, a quick search revealed nothing more than a toilet in the small shack, I joined Jasper who had pried the lock off the shed door, a few tools littered the ground, on one wall, 20 or so gasoline cans, all full to the brim. Clyde must have been ready to burn down the town.

Baughman's Cabin

All quiet we re-joined Jason at the Cabin, it was dark, quiet and off putting.  Looking around the Cabin it was Jason who suggested a window entry, if this was the cabin of an agent, it was most likely booby trapped, the door was never going to be a good idea.  Jasper took the lead, his previous window breaking prowess working in his favour with the crowbar, I boosted him in.  A few moments later he suggested we all enter through the window, something was just not right here.  I boosted Jason up who in turn gave me a hand.  The window was at waist height once inside, the thick rock base of the cabin making it 6 feet off the ground from the exterior.

Another sparsely furnished dwelling, Jason refused to turn the lights on, seeing no signs of traps, we agreed the electrical works were the next best way to burn the place down to an unknowing trespasser.  We began our search, again turning up little more than the basics for rustic living, all but Jason, pulling a large footlocker from under the bed.

As Jason pulled the footlocker out, Jasper called out that the plumbing in the bathroom was out, no septic activity, it seemed strange that there was an outhouse and an interior toilet, the kitchen had running water, also separate as the water ran, an electrical pump sounded, something was not right here.

Jason opened the footlocker to reveal a note perched atop of the items within. I read it aloud, its instructions simple, pour all the gasoline in the shed into the septic tank and burn it, don't tell his family. This was his final unfinished Opera.  Under the note, more books on strange occult nonsense, a large, old, bone handled knife, covered in engravings, a leather pouch of feathers, fingernails and teeth, and assorted other items relating to what looked like American Indian ceremony. A selection of reel to reel tapes also resided in the locker, accompanied by a large folder branded FBI; interesting considering Clyde worked for the IRS.  What took my eye was a small glass orb, magnetised to the metal interior of the locker, glass wasn’t magnetic. Strange.

We all looked at each other and agreed the locker was to go in the car's trunk, we needed to find the septic tank Clyde had mentioned in the letter.

Jason and Jasper hauled the locker into the trunk as I looked around the grounds.  About 10 feet behind the house, the ground sunk into a four-meter-wide pit, a manhole of steel in the middle, padlocked and silent.  Before we went near it, Jason gave us the lead, we began hauling every gas can towards the pit, no time for games, just pour and burn, that was the plan.
  

Once all of the cans were ready, Jason, Jasper and approached the manhole, Jason fiddled with the keys he had taken labelled Cabin until the lock popped open.  Cracking the hinged steel cover, sounds of water, metal and sloshing filled the air, to our shock, a woman’s voice sounded from within, asking for Clyde.

Jasper looked the most shocked, his initial reaction was to investigate, I can’t say I blame him, this was all wrong, Jason cleared the air, the file on Clyde stated his wife died 15 years ago, this woman, claiming to be her was not real.  Not wanting to open the cover, I returned to the shed to find a large auto funnel, returning to the pit, I jammed it into the broken seal of the tank.  Jason placed his foot on top of the cover, his shotgun pointed at it, Jasper took a slightly wider birth, a few feet back, his SKS rifle aimed at the small opening.

There we were, Jason to my left, Jasper to my right, and me, pouring gasoline into the septic tank through a funnel.  As the first can ran dry, more calls from within begging us to stop, the second and third cans yielded the same result, only the voice now sounded more annoyed than desperate.

I picked up the fourth can and got back on my haunches to begin pouring, that’s when it all went south.  A loud clang as I was flung back to the ground, Jason was also knocked back off the lid of the tank and the manhole hurled open, yet able to keep his feet.  Two waterlogged and grotesque hands gripped the edge of the manhole, followed by the face of an old woman, skin drooping in places, in others bones and teeth protruding.  Jasper let his SKS loose, firing off shots as the woman launched into the air, the sound of bullets bouncing all around the interior steel of the septic tank echoing out. 

Marlene Baughman

The woman landed, one foot on either side of me, her hands bearing down on my chest and face, her fingernails black and sharp, like the claws of a grizzly under threat, her eyes dark and full of hate.  I was defenseless, lying on my back, my pistols holstered, my shotgun a foot away from me. She began clawing violently.  Negating her blows and returning some of my own, to little effect, Jason let fly with his shotgun, a piece of buckshot blowing the matted hair of the woman across her shoulders as if so close the air of the shot had acted like a strong wind.

Distracting her momentarily, I seized my chance and let go with a left handed hook, pounding her in the jaw. I think my fist was more affected than her however, sending her back a moment, I scuttled out from under her as fast as I could.  Looking at the others, Jason had taken off back towards the car. I didn’t know if he had a plan or if he was petrified, either way he couldn’t help me now.

Jasper stepped in and swung hard with the butt of his rifle, as if knowing the attack was coming, the woman swiped at him, thankfully missing him but collecting his rifle, sending it sliding across the ground and falling directly into the septic tank. Jasper recoiled slightly, the woman returning her attention to me and lunging again, this time, her claws slicing my chest open in four long gouges, before I could beat her arms away.

The sound of metal sounded as Jasper pulled a large machete from his belt, something he had hidden from us in the green box, at this point I didn’t care, I just needed him to get this thing away from me.  It worked, the woman turned to him as he struck, slicing flesh from her arm.  A he struck I could see that even though he had cleaved her open, the uncut skin drooped and came away from the bone, leaving nothing between her forearms and shoulder but the bone, and yet she still continued to strike back at him.  As Jasper fought on, I searched around me, my hand coming to rest on my shotgun.

Bleeding and in pain, the adrenaline kicked in, I leveled the shotgun at the woman’s torso, what little there was concealing her rib cage, the moment came, she swiped at Jasper who dodged and struck, forcing her back enough for me to squeeze the trigger.  The slug lifted her off the ground, yet she didn’t fall, looking only more violent, she launched once more at Jasper.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jason running back towards us, the large engraved knife from the footlocker in his hand.  It was too late, I let off another blast, again collecting the woman in the chest, this time, she staggered and recoiled.  Setting herself, she leaped into the air above us, towards the tree line, she was trying to make her escape.  I rolled on my stomach as Jasper un-holstered his revolver and fired, his shot sending a chunk of the woman’s shoulder to the ground as she landed.  Again I fired with the shotgun, the slug again hitting its mark, it slammed into her back, sending her to the ground.

The old knife

Jason had not slowed down, he was running for the woman, he leapt with greater agility than I expected for a man of his age, plunging the knife into the chest of the woman who was still convulsing.  Something had grabbed me, I was rolled over onto my back to see Jagger, his medical bag in hand.  Jasper was also there, his gaze never leaving Jason and the woman, his revolver steady in his hands pointed at them.

The staples were rough, not as rough as the claws but I counted at least 20 snaps, they stopped hurting after the first four, the antiseptic was the worst, it felt like fire on my skin, the adrenalin still coursing through me, I passed the shotgun to Jagger we both moved to where Jason was calling for help.  Jasper had begun backing the lids off the gas cans and throwing them in the tank.

Jason grabbed the woman by the right leg, I grabbed the left, whatever skin used to be there was gone, now, only bones, we dragged her still twitching corpse towards the manhole, Jason still clutching the knife with his free hand.  At the lip of the manhole, I collapsed, my chest burning, Jasper took hold of the woman with both hands and flung her down the hole, Jason losing his grip on his knife, it also being swallowed by the darkness below.  Jagger began hauling me away from the tank as Jason flicked open his Zippo, Jasper closed the lid of the manhole until only a slither remained, enough for Jason to throw his lit lighter in, jamming the padlock, although not locked, the curved bar through the loop, enough to stop the lid blowing off as the fire took control.

My consciousness fading, all I saw was thick black smoke, screaming from a chilling woman’s voice and Jasper calling out, his profanity fitting to the situation.  This fire would burn for hours, every now and then, the explosion of another gasoline can sending a fresh bloom of bright fire light across the tank entrance.

The padlock on the door had been cut...

It was time to go, Jagger, who now seemed almost back to his normal self, aided me into the back of the car, Jasper took the wheel while Jason, predictably, took a cigarette.  I passed out, my chest burning, my head pounding, only dreams of that woman clawing at me filled my head.

I woke to see we were back at the green box in Albany, Jason and Jasper both with drawn pistols, the padlock on the door had been cut, lying silently on the ground.