Derek Ciccone - Painless

Painless

Derek Ciccone

Copyright 2010 Derek Ciccone

Painless is available in print at all major online retailers or through www.derekciccone.com

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This book is dedicated to all those who make the daily sacrifices to help others, which includes mothers at home, soldiers abroad, and everybody in-between. That is what the work for the greater good really is.

Prologue

Mitchell Joness Labor Day wouldnt be filled with parades or barbecues, and he didnt get the day off from work. He was thousands of miles from home, sitting quietly at a kitchen table in a small house in Malmo, a city on the southern coast of Sweden.

His assassin-like stillness was only occasionally interrupted to check his watch, or dispassionately stroke his long, graying beard. The beard, along with his wiry frame and dark, vacant eyes, gave him a resemblance to a certain infamous terrorist. This made flying commercial virtually impossible. But for his job with Operation Anesthesia, he didnt have to.

As Sunday night slowly morphed into Monday morning, he patiently read his favorite authorHerbert Spencerwhile waiting for the Lerner family to return from the United States. The news that the Lerners received from the US doctors was no doubt life-altering, but little did they know that Mitchell Jones was about to really change their lives forever.

Based on eighteen years of experience, he didnt expect a confrontation. He knew the Lerners minds would be too cluttered to notice the obvious signs that someone had broken into their home, such as the lights he arrogantly left on, or the lingering odor from his chain-smoking. But if an altercation did occur, he was under direct orders to take everyone alive.

This went against Joness natural instinct to shoot first and ask questions later, a philosophy that got him fired from his old job at the CIA. But Operation Anesthesia didnt see it as a black mark on his rsum. In fact, it was the reason they sought him out all those years ago. But sadly, like most things, their survival instincts had softened over time.

He took an extended drag on his cigarette, attempting to relieve some of the pain that was a souvenir from a recent mission in Iran. A mission that went awry, to say the least. Sixty percent of the area from his chest to his feet was burned from the fiery helicopter crash. The cigarette wasnt a very good anesthetic.

Not even the best spin-doctor could heal the colossal failure of Iran. Any mission where you are presumed dead, and thats the good news, was not one for the time capsule. But thanks to Joness survival instincts, he and his boss, Franklin Stipe, were preparing a dramatic rise from the dead. A resurrection in which Stipe would likely portray himself as the brave hero, leaving out the part where Jones guided him to safety, allowing him to avoid the cruel fate of the others they left behind.

But he smiled anyway, exposing his cigarette-stained teeth. He knew Stipe wouldnt be in power much longer. His inevitable fall was dictated by the laws of nature, or what Spencer so brilliantly termed the survival of the fittest. A concept wrongly credited to Darwin and his theories of evolution. Herbert Spencer actually coined the phrase in his 1864 masterpiece, Principles of Biology .

In it, Spencer created the model that applied his law of survival of the fittest to society. He warned that humanitarian impulses had to be resisted, as nothing should be allowed to interfere with natures laws. This differed from Stipe, who sought useless elements such as glory, acceptance, and credit. As did the culture of modern America, which embraced concepts like love, happiness, and religion. It chipped away at its inherent survival skills, softening the society, and making it a target for its predators. But of course, that was the reason Operation Anesthesia was created in the first place.

The front door creaked open and a weary family entered, two-and-a-half-year-old Petr sleeping in his mothers arms. Their bright blond hair didnt appear to be dimmed by the life-changing news they had received on their trip, but each step they took was marked with exhaustion. Jones was sure the physical fatigue didnt even compare to the mental strain of trying to grasp Petrs diagnosis.

Upon reaching the kitchen, they were met by Mitchell Jones and his 9mm Glock. He coldly explained to the Lerners that their trip had just begun and it would be in their best interest to quietly cooperate. The father declined the offer, yelling, Aldrig i helvete no way in hell and Jones could kiss his behind , Kyss mig i arslet.

Jones went right for his weak spot, knowing a little Swedish of his own. Jagt skar av dina ballar om du inte haller kaft, he calmly stated, threatening to remove the mans testicles.

The man stood down.

Predictable.

He knew the mother would be tougher. They always were. When it came to their children they were true survivalists like him, willing to fight to the death. So he immediately went with a pre-emptive attackthreatening to kill Petr.

She cooperated.

There would be no need to bind and gag them. He used a concoction created for Operation Anesthesia by one of the worlds leading neurologists, which would temporarily paralyze the body, including voice. And when Jones expertly injected each of the family members with a syringe containing the paralyzing drug, it didnt surprise him that young Petr didnt wake, or even flinch.

He effortlessly loaded the drugged family into the rented SUV he had parked two houses down on the quiet street. He then drove out of Malmo, over the modern Oresund Bridge, and into Denmark. In Copenhagen, a private plane waited to bring them to the home base of Operation Anesthesia. It would be the Lerners home for the rest of their lives.

It was the end of the road.

Chapter 1

It was the end of the road for Billy Harper, both literally and figuratively. From the literal standpoint, the end of the road was a well-groomed cul-de-sac in New Canaan, Connecticut, with stately mansions staring back at him. The figurative was much more complex and hurtful.

His old high school football coach used to drill into his head that you should never look back because someone might be gaining on you. And whenever Billy glanced into his rear-view mirror, what he always saw gaining on him was his past. But ironically, as he looked through the front windshield at the children playing on the lush lawns, his past was straight ahead, and the pain began to rumble. The figurative .

He gathered his emotions as best he could and drove his 2001 Jeep Cherokee down a dirt driveway, which was hidden between two majestic mansions that anchored the cul-de-sac.

The Cherokee was a lot like himit wasnt that old, and still looked pretty good on the outside, but had a lot of hard miles on it and could break down at any moment. He bounced along the strip of gravel, kicking up dust and rocks, and rattling his few remaining possessions that were strewn throughout the vehicle. Billy glanced into the infamous rear-view mirror and saw the cul-de-sac disappear from view.

He arrived at a white picket fence. In the center of the fence was a wrought-iron gate with Bevelyn Farms imprinted on it. He passed through the open gate onto a paved driveway that circled in front of an arch-shaped, red barn, typical of the New England countryside. A large silo stood next to it like its overprotective big brother.

Billy parked in front of his new home, and exited into a sun-drenched afternoona record high temperature for the tenth of September. In a dramatic twist from the morning rain showers, the sky now looked like Monet had brush-stroked it with oranges and reds, and the smells of Saturday afternoon barbecues filled the air. It was as if the once-dreary day was given a fresh start. Billy took a deep breath, and then headed toward what he hoped would be his own fresh start.