Assassin: The True Story of One of America's Most Successful Assassins. Robert J. Firth
Two were born blind and all are seriously demented and unable to care for themselves. So this is the enemy?
All this doesn't mean our guy's particularly stupid. It does however mean he's a bit crazy. There's an important difference between crazy and stupid. Let me give you an example. A stupid guy has a flat tire along side a tall fence. He takes the tire off putting the bolts in the hub cap. A truck comes by- hits the hub cap sending all the bolts flying into the woods. The idiot is flummoxed- he sits there perplexed. A voice calls to him from the fence. A guy is calling to him. There's a sign on the fence saying that this is the Eastern State Insane Asylum. The guy behind the fence says "hey there buddy, what's your problem." The dummy tells him. The guy in the asylum says, "look just take one bolt from the other 3 tires and put your spare on, drive to town and buy a few bolts." The idiot is amazed. He says "how did you figure that out, you're supposed to be insane." The guy says, "yes, I'm probably a little nuts but I'm not stupid! Now you know the difference!
So, at 0300 dark we moved. Over the back wall. No dogs. The back door was open, into the kitchen and upstairs. He was sleeping in the front bedroom where our camera had placed him the day before. John stayed by the back door and Max at the bottom of the stairs. They would watch my back and kill anyone interrupting us. With my mask on, I opened the canister of gas under his nose. The escaping vapor was absolutely silent. In seconds it guaranteed that the target could absolutely not wake. I held the pistol in a heavy bag tied closed at my wrist. This caught the ejected shells and helped silence the sound. Holding my hand over a pillow clamped on his head, I pressed the silencer against his temple and fired 4 mercury poisoned plastic bullets into his head using the silenced Russian gun I preferred. The bullets scattered into his frontal cortex with hundreds of fragments making ballistics impossible, guaranteeing instant death. This took less than 10 seconds!
The bullets I used for this kill were made of a high density memory plastic, lighter than normal bullets, they alter shape in flight deploying into razor edged plastic stars that tear into flesh, still expanding, and stop quickly. The mercury in the bullets core is ruptured when the round hits, expanding rapidly. The wounds are lethal as the mercury spreads throughout poisoning the victim. A little overkill but, what the hell- dead is dead! The appendices here have several pages describing different types of bullets. Probably more than you care to know but, read carefully, there will be a test later.
Why no sound? These bullets have a very low acoustic signature because they travel well below the speed of sound. (756 mph at sea level) A bullet breaking the sound barrier is the second loudest part of a gunshot after the blast at the muzzle itself- subsonic bullets fired from a silenced weapon are virtually unnoticeable. The action of the breach sliding open and closed is the loudest sound but, inside the heavy bag, even that is barely a whisper. You probably didn't need to know all this but, what the hell, in for a penny in for a pound. You're here now so welcome to my world! Fukwad twitched, his feet trembled, he never woke- he just died! That was the plan! I snapped several photos and headed out.
No one heard anything- which was lucky for them. John clicked his mike signaling all was clear and Max and I backed down the stairs and out the back door- the Sound of the air conditioner masking our movements. The car was waiting a few blocks away. In twenty minutes we were all on board an oil company jet heading across the Red sea toward Cairo. Our two "employees:" came with us so there was nobody and nothing left. A clean hit! We opened and emptied a bottle of expensive champagne enjoying the ten thousand dollar leather luxury seats and two inch thick dark blue carpet.
Before we landed, photos of the dead S.O.B were sent to the worldwide media saying who he was, what he did and a clear warning to anyone trying to pick up where he left off. Amazing how a little fear works to suppress bad behavior. Not all Islamic assholes want to die!
CHAPTER 4
NEAR SUGARLOAF KEY, FLORIDA, 2004
TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS
I stayed on board my boat Delilah, named after a pre WW1 Navy DD, for a few weeks. It was a 45' motorsailer that I had redesigned for my personal use. My guys had moved it to a marina in the Keys and I drove a rental car to a parking slot in front of the slip. Gardie was glad to se me. He was snoozing under a sun screen rigged with battens across the forward deck. My pals at the Legion house, the same guys who dumped the carcasses of the five killers in the glades, had taken care of the boat and my dog while I was taking care of business in nutter land. Guardie was easily the most disciplined and well trained Sheppard I have ever known.
After a few days of sailing and diving, my gorgeous wife, who was waiting aboard, had some real estate business in Palm Beach and flew home. That was Thursday morning. I was left aboard with the dog and my thoughts- but, as usual, not for long!
The Dock Master came to the pier and said, "Mr. Johnson, you have a call at the office." Inside, the overly air conditioned small CBS building, the gal handed me the receiver on the pay phone. The voice on the other end said "when you comin to the Legion, we have bidness?" That was it- vacation over! Friday morning, I took the dog and headed north in a rented car. The encrypted BB had, of course, been chiming but I had cleverly ignored it. No escaping these guys!
I left the boat with fully charged batteries, topped off diesel tanks, dehumidifiers quietly running on shore power and the pumps and warning bells working. If I couldn't get back to it in a few days the guys would move her to back to Pier 66 and have it looked after until I returned. I never had to worry about things like that. One of the guys was also part of our team and lived on a boat of his own. He knew the drill. I had helped him often enough with the same problems.
Here we go again! A terrorist cell had been detected in Fort Lauderdale. Masjid Al Iman is one of the oldest mosques in South Florida, Its located at 2542 Franklin Park Dr. It's been around since the 70's and generally considered not to be run by radicals. One of the teams had been monitoring phones and photographing vehicles and individual members near by for months. Wednesday evening a twenty something was photographed talking to an Arabic looking guy sitting in a new Mercedes 550 parked close to the mosque's main building.
A long-range, sound enhancing, amplifying listening device overheard and recorded the marks using our own acoustic booster technology. We could hear conversations up to 200 yards away. The set we use has a 12" parabolic dish hidden in the grill works. So what did we hear? The camera clearly showed a brown envelope being passed to the kid by the driver. What was in it? My guess is it was money but then again, I'm a suspicious SOB!
It sounded like some kind of event was scheduled for the following week. We didn't have long to figure this out. We had the car's license and ran the plates. He was a Muslim from Miami named Mohamed Jaweed. He owned a wholesale cement company in Homestead. He had a fleet of cement trucks and had been in business for 20 years. If he was a bad guy, he was likely sleeper who had been planted and told to lie low and live a normal life until called into action. Maybe this was it? There was nothing in our records indicating that he was anything but a legitimate business man. So what was he doing in Fort Lauderdale, fifty miles from home, talking to a 20 year old bearded Arab kid? Jaweed had been recorded saying "are you ready, do you need anything." The kid had nodded but not spoke. Jaweed gave him the envelope and said "when?" "Friday" the kid said and moved away.
A team car tracked the kid to a nearby apartment block. What to do? I decided to have watchers tag them both and keep track for 24 hours. It was Tuesday, we couldn't afford more time. The kid, let's call him 'Abdul,' met up with another similar type at ten that evening. He had made several calls on a 212 area code cell phone. The phone records indicated it had been purchased only a few days before in New York- a throw-away phone? We thought so. So what is he hiding, what is he planning- if anything? We traced the calls. All were in fluent Arabic with what I detected was a Lebanese accent. All were to cell phones in the local area.
The conversations were cryptic- "are you OK, do you need anything? Can you meet at our restaurant tomorrow night at nine?" He had about this same conversation with what we calculated to be eight of his fellow terrorists. Yes, I figured them to be whackos and planning something bad. The cell tower scan placed the eight bad guys at locations scattered around the Pompano and Fort