Ice Cold

  ICE COLD

  by

  Mark Graham

  Ice Cold is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental

  Warning: This book contains explicit violence

  Copyright 2012 by Mark Graham

  Dedicated to:

  Joyce Ann Hogue

  Author of “The Beast Within”

  Chapter One

  Ted Ackerson left his shop and locked the door behind him. When driving out of the gate he set the front and back gate to be locked, only to be opened again by an electronic controller. It was just like his garage door opener except it had twelve digits instead of five or six, which made it a lot harder to hack. Only he and his brother had an opener and only they had the password for the complex security system which ran throughout both yards.

  Ted and his brother had started a junk yard business when both of them had graduated from high school. The junk yard was forty acres in size and had one of the largest crushers in the state. The adjacent lot was also forty acres filled with ready cement tiles, pipes, and anything else that could be pre-made out of concrete. They also had several cement trucks they used for their concrete business and supplied cement for large contractors, government contracts and some home builders. Both businesses did quite well. The Ackerson brothers were involved with the city in many areas and both were football stars from back in the high school days.

  They kept two CPA’s and an attorney busy just getting stuff done and insuring both businesses belonged to two separate entities and in turn two corporations, plus some more thrown in for confusion sake. The CPA’s were top notch and paid very well to insure everything was above board, legal, with no hint of suspicion. Their attorney was educated and experienced as a business and a criminal attorney.

  As far as the businesses went, Ted was the CEO of the company. Steve was shown in the files as an employee who poured cement for a living. Ted was always there and Steve was there when he felt like it, or at least make a visit if he were in town.

  The two of them started out being the only two employees but as time went on they got bigger and bigger and ended up being very successful in all their endeavors. What changed the equal partnership was when Steve enlisted in the Marine Corps. That led to an entirely new life changing experience for Steve.

  At 2:00AM, several hours after Ted had left, a new dark green Chevy Impala pulled up to the back gate and drove through almost immediately. Steve, the driver, hit the button again and the gate closed. Steve drove to the middle of the junk yard where there was a huge incinerator building. The building was big enough to house the incinerator and a complete filtering system for the exhaust.

  Steve hit another button on another garage door opener and the large door raised allowing Steve entrance and he drove in with a lot of room to spare. He parked near what looked kind of like a stainless steel table with up-turned edges on three sides of it. The far end had no up-turned edge but did have one that was down-turned. After many uses they found the thing would hold up to five tons.

  Steve opened the truck and hauled out a huge blue tarp that was wrapped around something about six feet long. He hoisted the tarp and whatever was in it onto the table, leaving it length wise. He turned and walked several feet away and hit a lever and the table went up several feet. When it stopped, Steve turned another lever and the table tilted to the door opened on the huge cylinder even with the bottom of the table. As soon as the table was at the proper angle the tarpaulin and contents slide through the door of the cylinder. Steve operated the thing to come back to the original position. As it did so Steve set the temperature at 3,000 degrees for one hour. As he did he heard and felt the cylinder go into action and the filtering system turn on. The last thing he did was to turn the air conditioner on. It would keep the air around the cylinder staying relatively cool.

  The cylinder was also rigged to melt steel and bring it out taking it out to be poured into various number of forms they had.

  Inside the cylinder the tarp melted and burned immediately and the human body turned completely to ash, including bone and teeth by the time it turned off. The incinerator was rinsed out with an acid flush draining all the matter through a water filtration system most small cities would love to have. Within minutes it was running into the river as very clean river water.

  ~~~~~

  Steve drove home which was about five miles east of Maumee, Ohio. He had the house built several years before on ten acres of land, with the house right in the middle. He had a very complete and complex security system. There were security cameras that ran twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and were recorded digitally enabling the viewing to be very concise and clear. The days of having to change tapes occasionally and the optics so poor were over. There were several 'booby’ traps set up around and in his house also. Signs around the property were plainly in sight along all sides of his property that read, “Trespassers will be Shot; Survivors will be Shot Again. He had an ‘in’ with both the Maumee Police and the county’s sheriff’s department. They kept an eye on his place too. Relatively Steve’s house was more secure than almost anything else in the state, or region for that matter. Steve could be in France, turn on his computer, and log into his security system. He would usually do so once a day at some point and check a couple locations. Sometimes just the perimeter cameras, and a few inside. Sometimes just to check the system.

  Chapter Two

  Although Steve learned quite a bit about cars and concrete before going into the Marine Corps it wasn’t an occupation he wanted, and after getting out of the Corps they agreed Steve would continue to receive pay from the company plus benefits but would in turn match whatever Ted put into it.

  In the Marine Corps Steve took to it like a fish in water. He loved the discipline and pushing his body as far as it could go. He had gone in just several months before Desert Storm so went over there for a few months doing his thing in a recon outfit. When Steve returned he was stationed at Camp Pendleton as a trainer. For the remainder of his time in the Corps he took college courses and practiced different martial arts. A year before being discharged he was called to Afghanistan and became part of an interrogation team that had Americans, Afghanistan, Iranians working side by side. He spent six months there and returned to Camp Pendleton. The true story if anybody had to know it was that Steve was never discharged from the Marine Corps. When he started his special training a month after he was discharged he held the rank of Captain. A year later a Major, and a year after that a Lieutenant Colonel. It would take him a couple more years to attain full colonel. The reason for being commissioned is that he would outrank any person he may investigate, and if he didn’t then he was a special agent with one of the federal agencies. He held several identifications, with all them well documented with a life of sorts for the person he was supposed to be. While completing his training he also got himself onto a condensed college curriculum and graduated with a bachelors in history and human behavior from UCLA.

  His training taught him everything he would have to know in the area of martial arts, bomb making, bomb disablement, surveillance, psychological warfare, electronics in many areas, computer science and advanced programs teaching him to hack different system and basic computer languages. For four months he trained with a Navy Seal team, and another six months with Special Forces in the Army. In doing so he also held equal ranks in three of the armed forces. The Air Force and Coast did not have the need to know anything about Steve so he didn’t need to part of either of them.

  Steve’s life was considered difficult by many. Being what he was he couldn’t afford to have a wife or children. Alt
hough he had two brothers and a sister they were well cared for with deep cover protection around them, and his parents before they died. Nobody could get to him by capturing a loved one. He had plenty of friends, rather acquaintances, but didn’t love anybody enough to die for or be forced into a tricky situation. In fact some of his training went a long ways to enable him to be a full psychotic if need be.

  At first of he could only personally take to killing other men, with some exceptional issues on his part. The training brought him through that in no time, and by the time that training was done he was willing to kill men, women, children or whole towns if need be. Other than his brother and sister his two Rottweilers were his first love. His sister cared for them when he was gone, sometimes leaving them to patrol Steve’s property. They caused a problem at first because they would set off one of the alarms. Steve’s security people found an advanced system that would except a mass which could be considered a dog or small animal. He did get a kick out of watching his two dogs playing, while he was on the computer when he was on the other side of the world. He could make the dogs go crazy by manipulating some of the security stuff out in the yard.

  Only a hand full of people knew what Steve did, but only one who was his boss. People in a variety of countries knew there were men like Steve, but not who, where, or what they were. They were the perfect ‘spooks’. They could come and leave with nobody knowing about it. Sometimes they interacted as a small team of two or three, but most of the time by themselves.

  Although there were a number of people who knew he was involved in criminal activity, they only knew one aspect of them. To some Steve was what is called a “Hitman”, to others an assassin, to a very small group he was known as a master interrogator and torturer. The practice of torture was questionable in many situations, with Steve and a couple of his professional friends agreeing. However if some man or woman was dragged from a cell with her associates left behind, and returned two hours later with both feet, one hand missing, along with their face pealed off, the others would be more than voluntary with any questions put to them. Sometimes torture in itself was a punishment to an individual for doing some dastardly deed. The criminal justice system and prison systems could not do all they could do when it came to some criminals, or even some non-criminals.

  Chapter Three

  The line of events with the tarp covered body being burnt to a crisp started a couple months before. Steve was scheduled to meet at the at the agency’s headquarters with several of his peers. The meetings were held monthly, sometimes weekly, and those who were not knee deep in their assignments were expected to show up. If not they needed to contact the Director within a week. If someone didn’t show up or call in they would be considered either rogue or dead. It seemed to Steve that he was in contact with the Director two or three times a week.

  At this meeting a list of assignments were given to all in attendance with a short description why, where, and when it had to happen by. One of the assignments was in the village of Asinipoli in South America. Only a handful of the persons in the room would take such a job, and usually when they did they teamed up with two or three others. Listed also was the amount the projects would pay. Whoever volunteered for an assignment had to be okayed by the Director to take it. No one knew what the Director’s real name was. There were so many identifications each of them had, so it didn’t matter. The name of Director fit, and the man was respected by a lot of people in and out side of the government.

  Steve looked at the list and saw the name Horacio Osad Mendez. Apparently Horacio had gone and done too much. Steve needed a little vacation time home and he never did like the black militant and pimp the man was. Evidently Horacio changed from just hitting a hooker from time to time to actually maiming a few very good, and well known hookers. Hookers whose customers were local and state politicians and business men. What put Horacio over the edge was when he found one of his whores in a stretch Towncar with one of the state representatives in the back with her. He beat the woman almost to death and while he was at it knocked several of the representatives teeth out and cut him badly on the face. Because for political reasons the representative was not willing to appear in court against Horacio, nor was anybody else. It seemed as if even the bad asses of Maumee didn’t dare go up against Horacio. The list showed that Horacio was to be tortured for a long period of time and eventually killed. With no sign of what happened to him or where he went. Seeing Harocio’s name he raised his hand and yelled “I’ll take number eleven. Know the guy and already have a plan.” Everybody looked around, no one spoke up, so the Director authorized the hit, telling Steve to make sure all was done within two months.

  “Do you want the village too, Ice?” the Director asked. “Sounds right down you alley. Need any help?” Steve was known as Ice from his early days and everybody except those in Maumee knew him as such. With his first job he was sent to kill a guy in a bar. The guy actually got the best of him and threw Steve’s knife away. Ice picked up the first thing he could behind the bar and it was an ice pick. He drove it right through his assignments left eye, with the end sticking out the back of his skull. For a few days the folks called him “Ice Pick” but it didn’t take long to shorten to “Ice” especially when one of his peers was with him. With somebody with him he took out an entire family and it seemed that Ice’s eyes appeared as ice as did his attitude for a couple hours.

  “Yes Sir Director, and if I get that village I want to do it by myself. I do not want to split it with anybody. Too many chefs spoil the pot.”

  There was several snickers around the room but no one appealed Ice’s request for either duty. There were plenty of easier ones on the list that some of the agents actually had to fight for.

  “Okay,” the Director responded, “there’s no reason I can give you, but you need to take out every living thing in that village by the end of next week. Got it?”

  “Yes sir,” Ice responded and left to go home, take a day or two off, and fly down to wherever this stupid village was in a few days.

  ~~~~~

  Ice flew into the closest city to Asinipoli with a real airport. His guise was that he was a business man representing an oil company out of California.

  His biggest fear for some reason was that he would be kidnaped and held for ransom. Biggest problem was that every thing looked good but there was no such company that he seemingly worked for. Ice rented an all-terrain vehicle and headed to Asinipoli, which took him five hours to get to, going by way of two tracks, paths, and pathetic roads. Some places he was very concerned about driving off the edge and falling thousands of feet down to a valley below. Most of the roads would be considered one lane in the States.

  When finally driving into Asinipoli, he was surprised it was quite a big village. It had what looked like a four block downtown area; with shanties covering many acres that stretched to the bottom of a mountain half mile a way. He then noticed there was about another half mile from downtown to the opposite mountain. The village was at the end of a valley and he could see a small donkey path going up into mountain range at the far edge of the village. He had come in the only way one could get in without walking. He found what he thought might be a decent motel in the area and got a room. That was about all it was, a room and real little bathroom. There was an air conditioner but it sputtered and spit most of the time and did a poor job of cooling the room down.

  Ice checked for any law enforcement or any military and found they had two police departments. One was for the west side of the city and the other the east side of the city. Each one only had two or three officers and they wore what was the local type of clothes with a cheap tin star on their chests. One he saw was carrying a .22 revolver and another was carrying an old luger that looked like it must have been left over from the second world war. Neither department liked the other and were basically not on speaking terms. The east side guys drove a twenty year old dodge, and the other drove an even older Ford truck. The two main industries they had wa
s for car specialties. One made the trunk liners for the Chrysler 200 and 300, and the other made dashboards for another Chrysler model. Their crop was bamboo, peanuts, rice, and marijuana. Donkey loads of the marijuana went out the back way. Everything else went out the same way Ice had gotten in.

  Steve had no idea why he needed to wipe out the city until being there for three days. By then he had met some people at the local bar where anybody could go including tourists and business men. All the other bars in town were open air areas with a bar, and a bunch of tables. Christmas tree lights would go around the top of the bars, and most had either DVD players or radios for the music.

  One guy he met was an old guy that went by the name of Chucky and was originally from Iowa. Another guy who was even crustier than Chucky was Zero. Both were Vietnam war vets and had ended up in Asinipoli for some unknown reason. They just ended up there. One since the mid seventies the other moving there around 1982. Both were disabled so actually got enough money to live like kings. Both lived in a house-trailer in the same so called little community of house trailers. Both said they were trailer trash. Ice wished they would take a shower at some point and gargle with some kind of mouth wash. Drinking with these two caused him to almost be rude and stay away, but he needed as much intelligence as he could get of the area.

  The townfolk in the bar assumed Ice could be trusted because he appeared to be friends with Chucky and Zero. A couple local men joined them at their table, both of which were business men in the village. They openly complained about someone who was putting the touch on every body. Kind of like a tax on anybody who had money and they figured it out by how much the business or persons brought in. Ice saw it as a “protection for profit” gig. “You pay me and you won’t get beat up or killed” kind of thing.