Execution Style

Russell felt the cold steel of the agent’s automatic against the back of his skull.

Strangely enough, this was almost a familiar experience.

“Are you listening to me, Mr. McConnery?”

“Yes.” Russell answered the disembodied voice. The questioning agent was in front of him; the one with the gun to his head hadn’t spoken since they’d awakened the young congressman.

“Good, we’re going to ask you some questions, and if you answer correctly, you will see another sunset.”

“Really?” Russell asked, hoping the hopefulness in his voice wasn’t too poorly faked. Since he’d been abducted earlier in the afternoon, he hardly expected to survive the day.

Most didn’t survive these interrogations.

“Mr. McConnery, you’ve upset a great many people with your unpopular views. It seems your kind has fallen by the wayside in our nation. We merely want order to be respected, and you, sir, are too low ranking in the order.”

“The New World Order?” Russell asked, failing to hide the sarcasm.

“Well then, have a good night to think it over. If your mood doesn’t change, you die at sunrise.”

Russell felt the gun withdraw from his head followed by a door closing a few minutes later. He slowed his breathing and extended his senses as much as possible. The room was almost sterile with no smell except his and the lingering scent of gun oil. Someone apparently keeps his automatic well serviced.

With his breathing slowed, he listened, but it seemed the room was either soundproofed or away from his captors. After yelling several times, Russell listened for his echo and figured the room was little bigger than the clichéd single-light-bulb interrogation rooms of so many movies.

How far I’ve come in the world, he thought sarcastically.

*

Russell tried to keep from shaking as his interrogators paced in front of him. They had to be bluffing. The guy behind him has at least a twelve gauge pressed into the back of his head. It would make a helluva mess in their basement if he fired, not to mention ont heir spotless military surplus camo jackets. He thought he recognized a few of them from passing, but everyone doesn’t really know everyone in the small towns anymore. And apparently, Southeast Centerville, Vermont had its share of “gun nuts.”

“Russell McConnery for state congress, eh? Who sent you to spy on us?” The leader, called Will by several others, said. Russell already knew enough to put these men away, so although he assumed his gray matter wouldn’t be sprayed across the room, he wouldn’t make it home for late night television. And Letterman was supposed to be good tonight.

“You think this is funny?” Will asked.

Mustering the courage to speak, Will said, “I’m just going door-to-door to speak with the voters.”

“Really?” Will asked. “A liberal like you makes for a good spy. The government’s been trying to take away our rights for years. It doesn’t matter what party it is.”

Russell couldn’t help but agree. He eyed the brochure he’d made on his computer in Will’s hand. “That’s the sort of thing I’ve been saying in my campaign.”

“You’ll say anything to get elected, or escape,” another voice cut in.

Will shot the man an angry look but didn’t say anything. He reached onto a nearby table and picked through the items they’d appropriated from Russell, taking his wallet. After passing through the insignificant amount of cash and multitude of ATM receipts, Will pulled the accordion of plastic cards from the wallet. The first card was Russell’s ACLU card. “I don’t think there’s much more to say after seeing this.”

Regaining some courage, Russell said, “Look at the next card.”

Will’s eye’s opened wide.

“Show it to your friends.”

Will pulled the NRA card free after noting it was a lifetime membership card.

The pressure from the shotgun eased off Russell’s head slightly. “We’re on the same side. Look beyond your own concerns and see that they’re the same as mine and the so-called liberals like me. We both support the Constitution and oppose those who try to undermine it.”

Will nodded almost unnoticeably, and the shotgun lowered. “So, you came to talk?”

*

Russell sat, wide awake and in total darkness until what he figured was morning arrived. The sound, distant as it was, of a tractor was too unmistakable. So, he hadn’t been taken very far after his capture by the feds. Some time later, the door opened and several pairs of footsteps entered.

“I hope you rested comfortably,” the agent said.

“Wonderfully,” Russell lied.

“Good. For your sake, I hope a good night’s rest cleared your mind.”

“Perhaps,” Russell stalled. “Although my contacts have been in overnight, and my eyes are burning like hell.”

The agent snorted, the first hint of emotion the young congressman had heard. “We’ll get you some saline after you answer a few questions.”

“In that case, I’ll do my best.” Russell knew there weren’t any real questions to be asked. They didn’t already know his answers. The questioning was a mere formality before his informal execution.

Russell thought he felt the agent pace in front of him a few times before speaking. “You’ve made quite few enemies in Washington, Mr. McConnery. Such radically liberal views as yours aren’t very popular with the current administration.”

“You mean regime?” Russell asked, earning him a smack across the face. He continued after regaining his equilibrium. “Our government seeks regime change in other countries, but uses every Constitutional and many unconstitutional loopholes to stay in power. That makes our leaders even more corrupt than those we seek to topple.” Russell knew the words well; they were from one of his more popular speeches that had gotten him elected to national office several months before.

“You should know the law, that speaking ill of our leader in times of peril is not allowed. That’s one of the reasons you’re here with us now.”

“And who exactly do you work for in the government?”

“My employers, such that they are, are concerned with anyone who wishes to change the status quo.”

“You didn’t answer my question though, do you work for the Thought Police or the SS?”

That comment earned him a fist in the stomach.

When Russell caught his breath, the agent was off to the side engaged in a rapid-fire conversation with another man. A door opened and closed and several sets of footsteps left the room in a hurry.

“Problem?” Russell gasped.

The agent snorted, and the service automatic was again at his skull.

“Guess not. You do seem to be having a problem, I take it?”

The unmistakable sound of gunfire sounded outside the room. “And on whose orders are you holding me?”

The agent sounded distant, “You’ll be dead before anyone knows anything.”

“Maybe.”

A single gunshot rang out in the small room. “Definitely.”

*

Will heard the shot and knew he must be close. He motioned for his men to form up around him and headed down the hallway of the vacant mill. The group of five stood, weapons ready at the door. Will personally blasted the lock with his shotgun, sending sparks and metal flying as the door swung inward. The lone agent in the room, deafened by first his gunshot then Will’s, turned in stunned silence as Will’s backup man took him in the chest with a rubber bullet.

He tried to look past the remains of his friend strapped in the chair as he untied the straps tying Russell’s body in place. He loosened the shirt to get at the belt buckle and quickly removed the piece of metal. Inside the buckle held a camera and recorder, evidence of Russell’s questioning and subsequent murder.

Evidence stowed, Will nodded toward one of the men in the group. The tall, balding man moved forward over the stunned agent and pulled his badge from his pocket. “I am Sheriff Robertson, and this is in my jurisdiction, and I’m placing you under arrest for the kidnapping and murder of Russell McConnery.”