Sovereignty

By Kenny Lannes

The imperfection of humans is on full display as we somtimes "play God" to correct the world we see and only wind up making things worse. Two characters in particular walk a fine balancing act in a co-dependent tug-of-war as their actions dig theselves a deeper well and the only way out is by helping each other while asking for and distributing forgiveness in high doses.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenny Lannes
• Release date: Aug 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301203376

Kenny Lannes

Kenny Lannes has a Masters in Electrical Engineering and has been an engineer and musician for 29 years. Mixing technology and art, Kenny has also built custom amplifiers for a number of musical acts incluing Zebra, Gatemouth Brown, the Radiators, Boot Hill, and Bill Solley to name a few. A part time artist Kenny also does portraits to be autographed for charity auctions. Signed portraits have included Peyton Manning, Eli Manning, Drew Brees, Gatemouth Brown, and Randy Jackson. Sovereignty is his first novel and it was co-created with Mark Wolf, Alex Wolf, Bert Hall, and previously published author Robert Carlsen.

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Sovereignty

Written by Kenny Lannes

Created by

Kenny Lannes

Mark Wolf

Alex Wolf

Bert Hall

Robert Carlsen

Copyright 2013 Kenny Lannes

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

Sovereignty

Chapter 1: My 7th Job

It’s a Tuesday afternoon. This is my 7th job and I guess for someone more cold-hearted this would be routine - but not for me. It never becomes routine and maybe that’s a good thing. I still need to breathe deeply to calm my nerves. I still have to convince myself that I’m in my own right to pull this off. I still have to wipe the sweat off my palms every 5 minutes. The Co-op has researched this situation for 18 months and 7 weeks ago we decided to expedite the mission. So why does this feel like my first time? Maybe it’s a sign of my humanity. At least that’s what I’ll tell myself over and over again.

I finally make it to the apartment building and ascend to room 415. The building has been freshly renovated and my eyes scan the virgin crown molding painted in a light cream color. The new hardwood floors, whose varnish can only hint that anyone has been here before, support my being as I traverse the hallway. The numbering on my door is manufactured from a finely polished brass that puts forth its own elegance. This would be a nice place to live. But the landlord might not approve of my application after I’m finished today.

My jacket is custom made and after I hang it in the closet, I open it, unzip the hidden pockets on the inside lining and assemble my tools all the while peeking out the window every other second. Paranoia can be a good thing and complacency can sign your death certificate if you’re not careful.

I see the people starting to stir on the stage which means Edward will soon take the podium to address the crowd in Piazza Navona. Ed was always fond of Rome and apparently he thought combining this monumental occasion with a mini-vacation was the perfect mix of business and pleasure. The city loved it because it brought about 1000 extra people to the local hotels and always wound up on the news back in London. Everyone is waiting with baited breath to hear the speech and witness the culmination of 4 years of hard work: to revel in the joy of their accomplishment, to feel the lump in their throat, to pat themselves on the back and sigh that it was all worth it. I see all walks of life and all ages on the stage. Two young girls, teenagers possibly, are seated directly behind the podium - probably the mayor’s kids. Two attractive young ladies and a sharp dressed young man flanked on his left by who appears to be their mother. Other more elderly dignitaries pepper the stage with their presence to take part in the festivities. Their self-importance permeates every inch of the stage never realizing it is a folly born of themselves. But my presence here is for a different reason.

I still don’t know how exactly I got into this business. It’s not something you dream about as a child. I guess my ego is the culprit. I was in my early 30s and Jim approached me about my marksmanship. Jim Beasley knew me from the service and knew I was tops in my class. I thought I’d wind up as a senator’s aid or even run for office on the local level. The governance and power struggles of people have always fascinated me. I understand the love and desire for money. I understand the love and desire for acceptance. I understand the love and desire for a beautiful woman. But I still don’t understand the desire to control millions of people I’ve never met. Power is good in as it makes my life easier. How does controlling millions of strangers make my life easier? If I understood why this dominates other people’s lives, maybe I wouldn’t be doing this. But I don’t. I really don’t care what careers, hopes, and dreams fill the hearts of the millions I’ve never met. How could I? The mind has a limited capacity.

The apartment is on the square and now I’m peering out of the bathroom window careful not to actually extend my head or any part of my person outside of the window. The Co-op is great at hiding identities but the smaller the paper trail, the better. And I’m sure there are a hundred video cameras running, but the odds of one directed at this window are pretty small. The occupant of the apartment has been detained. All I know is that I’ve been assured no harm will come to them and there will be witnesses to place them elsewhere such that they will be quickly cleared and vindicated. I’m the real culprit.

I’m here to kill Edward Havlechek.

I start to tune into the rhythm of my breathing and heartbeat and keenly adjust my depth perception as I peer down the end of my rifle. It’s a cool 45 degrees in the air and I can see the condensate on my gun barrel every time I exhale. A lot of people think you need big, powerful bullets to kill someone. But marksmanship can make up for a lot. Several times in the past I’ve needed a silencer which can rob the bullet of energy, but not today. At exactly 24 minutes after Edward starts his speech, the reason everyone is here, Havlechek Aerospace’s latest jumbo jet, will fly over the square on cue to the applause and delight of everyone in attendance. They’ll yell and scream and cover their ears like girls at a Beatles concert. Told you I didn’t need a silencer.

It took us 2 years to develop this gun. It’s disposable, only good for about 3 shots. But if I ever need more than one, I did something wrong. It’s not metal. The barrel is a relatively thin ceramic and it assembles in 3 pieces, and for the first 3 shots it’s as accurate a gun as you can build or purchase. It’s not spec’ed to operate after that. As far as I know no one else can even buy this gun. The loading mechanism is carbon fiber and the stock is a beautiful stained cherry wood. The maker added a laser engraved paisley in the wood just to add some class. People always take pride in their work no matter how sterile the specification may be written. I always smile looking at the engraving in the wood.

This is business. Yeah it’s kind of personal due to the research we did on the subject. You sometimes get engrossed in the lives of the people you go after. But once a decision is made, it’s business. I learned in the Marines not to hold a grudge. The guy you lost to in poker the night before might be the guy you need to save your life the next day. Personal emotions are wonderful for friendships, family, and romance. It’s what separates us from the rest of the animals. But you’ll do better in business if you keep it business.

I’m not an anti-capitalist. I love the fact that Edward’s company is excelling, providing jobs, competing on the global market, and providing a return for retired stock holders. It’s what Edward is doing with his money outside the company that bothers the Co-op . . . and me. Life isn’t perfect. Who are we to take him out? We’re no one. Who is anyone to even refuse to pick someone on the playground when choosing teams at recess? I tell myself it’s no different. Only the stakes are higher and the players are supposedly all grown up.

All of us are free to make our own way in life as long as we’re ready to deal with the possible penalties of your choices. My disdain for Edward has grown to a point where I’m ready to accept those possible penalties. I finally understand the mobster mentality at the turn of the 20th century. There was actually honor among thieves. They didn’t hurt innocent people. When someone was rubbed out, the victim had decided deep within the recesses of their conscience to work with the mob, and they knew the penalties if they slipped up. As far as I’m concerned, I’m even further removed from guilt than they were.

I found out I have a skill. I’m so good, maybe it’s a gift. So can I use it to better the world situation? I believe I can. I’m doing no more than an athlete who uses his or her gifts to earn a living. The military trained me and sculpted my gift into its present form which, by the way, is the finest in the world. I don’t kill indiscriminately. When someone gives me the opportunity to make some money, I don’t turn a blind eye to the details. I do ask questions. I research the situation, sometimes for years working hand in hand with tons of data the Co-op provides.

I have a wife Natalie and a little girl Talia. She’s only 3. My wife knows I have a BA in social studies and an MA in political science and thinks I work for a political think tank. She’s been by the office numerous times and the walls and computer screens are covered with current events and political leaders. The money from my jobs goes to the Co-op and I receive a very nice check every two weeks with FICA, income tax, and SS taken out of it. My wife has seen the check stubs a million times and has no clue as to what I really do for a living. I can only hope she would approve. There’s no one I love more save for my little girl.

As the event nears, I notice a frame of mind that overtakes me in situations like these. The anticipation is neutralized as I begin to pensively move past the point of impact in my thoughts. I look past pulling the trigger . . . one second after, . . . one day after, . . . one month after, . . . one year after. It’s strangely calming. One moment I can’t imagine the act will ever complete, and the next I see myself far into the future thinking I thought that would never pass and now it’s only a distant memory. You can apply this mind game to many things in life; a medical visit, a graduation, an up and coming vacation, or the taking of a life.

The sun is shining and there’s not a cloud in the sky. What a beautiful day. The windows rattle, and the local humanity covers their ears as the jumbo jet passes over head. But in the presence of this immeasurable mechanical power, I remain calm not even flinching. Edward is at 1:00, facing me, looking up to the sky at about 50 degrees. My breathing is down to 5 breaths per minute. Smile for the camera Ed. I pull the trigger and Edward Havlechek is dead. The 22 caliber bullet traverses the 55 yards or so and passes into his eye with such precision and grace that he continues to stand there for 5 seconds before the trauma overtakes his body and he collapses. No one has a clue as to what happened. At the time of his instant demise, everyone is still looking skyward. There’s no mess anywhere. Later ballistics and video tape will place the shooter right where I am. But for now, I calm myself one more time as it’s time to clock out and head home.

Chapter 2: My 8th Job

It’s been two years since my last job. My guilt hasn’t gotten the best of me yet. Driving back to the hotel in downtown Caracas I really can’t believe I’ve pulled off this new assignment. Although I wonder if it’s truly over. The getaway was close and I’m watching the rear view mirror like a hawk and every time a child yells in the street I think it’s the beginning of a siren winding up. It was a long shot to begin with and the team and I prepared for 3 months scoping out the area, reviewing routines and itineraries. I required an extra 50% premium for this one.

The guy was a bum. He embezzled over 25 million in government funds, mistresses all over the world, and dozens of innocent citizens murdered whenever they tried to expose him. Who will take his place? I don’t know, I don’t care. There is always a new tyrant waiting in the wings. Does that mean you don’t defend the people from a present danger? If another dictator takes over, maybe there will only be 2 or 3 weeks of peace before it vanishes in the streets to be replaced once again with fear and oppression. Is only 3 weeks worth it? You’ll have to ask the people. It’s just like feeding the poor. If you go in with the attitude of eliminating national hunger, you’ll be so overcome you’ll never start. But if you provide food for two people just for one afternoon, then for one afternoon two people found comfort. Right?

I run through these rationalizations more and more now when I finish a job. It’s strange because when I’m presented with an opportunity, it always seems like a no brainer. Furthermore, months and sometimes years are spent investigating the situation. Like I said, I don’t kill indiscriminately. So why do I wrestle and rationalize things every time I do this? My mental and moral safeguards are already in place. I just want to get back to the hotel and relax before my flight tomorrow morning.

Walking through the lobby I notice a new flock of tourists congregating before they set out to see the city. I nervously scan the entire lobby. No one stands out . . . nothing looks suspicious. My heartbeat slows even more as it strives to return to normal. Pasquale gives me a smile and a nod as I pass the front desk. He’s been great these past 3 days, even procuring an Italian sausage po-boy for me last night complete with peppers and onions. Would he still do that if he knew why I was here? How differently would people treat me if they knew the truth? And who could blame them. How would I react if I were in their shoes? I take the elevator to the 5th floor and lean on my door as I turn the key using gravity and my dead weight to help me get into the room. I open the balcony door and curtains and take in the hot summer evening in Venezuela. Checking my email I see a picture Talia colored for me and in response I give her and Natalie my love promising a toy surprise for her from the far off land Daddy had to visit. What is she going to do if she ever finds out what I do? Would she understand? If not, can I deal with her rejection as she grows into a young adult? I don’t think I can. No matter how much I reassure myself, I often contemplate getting out of this racket. How would I explain the job change to Natalie and where would I go. I’ve really led myself into a corner in this game of life. All of us are free to make our own way in life. You just have to prepare for the possible penalties. Right? How many times do I have to tell myself that?

I order an omelet from room service with a small glass of wine and afterwards recline on the bed. Before I know it I’m falling asleep in my work clothes save for my shoes which I’ve kicked off my feet. They lie in disarray as if I were a 5 year old retiring after Christmas Day at Grandma’s. Sleep is a great. I wish I didn’t need it. But I do, so I enjoy it wholeheartedly. I stare at the ceiling until the few small cracks in the plaster fade from my cognitive thought.

***************

Call it fate or just blind luck, but sometimes the simplest act can profoundly change your circumstances. For some reason I awake from a dead sleep. I’ve never slept well until about 3 years ago when I started taking vitamin supplements. Don’t know if they’re the reason but it’s never difficult to get back to sleep, unlike when I was younger. I roll over and the piercing light from the alarm clock stuns my eyes and as I quickly close them, my brain remembers seeing 3:43 am. But then, shielding my eyes from the alarm clock light, I peer out towards the balcony and notice a moving profile. My pulse quickens and I sit up to adjust my eyes. Certainly what I perceive can’t be true. It must be my eyes adjusting from the alarm clock. My room is on the 5th floor. No one can even accidentally walk by my balcony. However the balconies do join adjacent rooms from the outside. There’s only a 6 inch thick wall between the railings. As my eyes focus, my heart rate only quickens as I realize that there is indeed someone on the balcony and the profile moves for the door. Adrenaline is powerful stuff. In a quiet panic I slip out of the bed stuffing my pillow under the covers in a frugal attempt to make the bed look occupied. Still in my suit and socks I head for the corner next to the balcony door and crouch down. I have no weapon on me. Not good. I've never had to defend myself without a weapon. What the hell is going on?! - a random burglary? Not on a 5th floor balcony! A hit on me? Who would even know? I’ve covered my tracks like the consummate pro for 10 years. The Co-op has contacts all over the world and deep within the US government. How could anyone have caught on? I now realize that not only did I leave the balcony door unlocked, I left it partially open to try and catch a breeze 50 ft. in the air. Fate woke me up at just the right time, and at the time, unfortunately fate deemed it sensible not to lock the balcony door. Strangely the perp continues to just stand there. The door is open. If you’re here to break in, how can you turn down an open door? Is this a pro just double-checking for a trap? All of us know that you have to always assume your enemy is on to you. But why would a pro enter through the balcony with the bright lights of the city behind them to cast a shadow on the glass door and curtains? Finally I see a demure figure enter the room cautiously and I can see the gun in his right hand. Despite my years of experience, and the fact that I’ve killed 8 people, I’ve never been in this position before. I’ve always been the one who coordinated everything ahead of time. I’ve always been the one in total control. Months of planning help reduce the risk. But right now I’m useless. This is all unplanned and improv. My heart is about to jump out of my chest. I have to control my breathing or I’ll give myself away but I can’t. Do I assume he’ll leave when he sees the bed empty!? Not likely! That means eventually they’ll find me so I’ve got to maintain the upper hand while he doesn’t know my position. Come on man, pull it together and take this bum down! Move while you have the advantage! He slowly walks towards the bed trying to decipher if there is indeed someone in there. With my breathing finally under control, in my socks, I move silently up behind him on the carpet. My mantra rings through my brain I don’t kill indiscriminately dammit! The perp raises his gun to the vertical position as he cautiously leans over the bed. Pros don’t normally expose their weapons like that. That’s it! It’s now or never. His small stature works to my advantage and in the darkness I position my body slightly to his right so that I can extend by left arm over his right shoulder and grab the gun before he lowers it. I need my right hand free because when he turns around I’ve got to clock him with all my might in the jaw hoping it'll be a knockout punch. My biggest problem is trying to subdue my uncontrollable shaking. I’ve got to play