The Hand In Shadow

2 Blood and Rain

2 BLOOD AND RAIN

John sat at the bar, in his favorite watering hole in the French Quarter. He liked the ambiance in New Orleans establishments, and he rather enjoyed the climate in this part of the Deep South. It did not hurt that the bartender was a perky little brown-haired woman, who went by the name of Julie.

"What have you been up to, John?" Julie inquired. "You have a way of appearing, and disappearing, which is mysterious, to say the least."

"Oh, you know, a little of this, a little of that," John replied. "Are you still beating your boyfriend, or have you got soft while I have been away?"

"Now John, that is not fair," Julie protested. "He only gets a beating when he deserves one. Do you want your usual Scotch?"

"Yeah, hit me. With the Scotch, I mean. I am not into the other thing."

Julie smiled and turned away to get John his drink. Walter slid onto the bar stool next to John. Walter was a slightly hyperactive little man, who always had a conspiracy theory to expound. John was always tempted to let him know how close to the truth his crazy sounding theories were, but he had held his tongue. You can never be too careful.

John reflected on the slim chance that Walter might be in the Resistance. He could be spinning theories, which were more or less true, but sounded crazy, to hide in plain sight, so to speak. On the other hand, he might also be a plant by the other side, to ferret out anybody who was getting too close to the truth.

"Can you believe how stupid our government is about the illegal alien problem?" Walter blurted. "Unless everyone in decision-making positions has severe brain damage, the policies they are setting can only be aimed at totally destroying this country."

"Walter, you know that you can never underestimate the stupidity of government functionaries," John replied. "If the immigration problem were the only thing wrong with the country, I would be much more hopeful about the future. All these ideas that you have sound like the makings of a good and a very long book about terrible governance in America."

Walter got a considering look when he heard that last sentence. John ruefully reflected that he might well have created a monster, by the mere mention of writing a book. Julie set down three shot glasses and a bottle of Scotch before John and poured three shots, one each for the two customers, and one for her.

Walter expounded upon a myriad of theories while John made the appropriate noises to keep the crazy coming. Through it all, Julie just sat, and smiled, and drank her shots. John knew that he should also keep a reserved demeanor, but he never could get the hang of not poking the bear.

This little conversation had greased the gears of John's mental machinery. As he listened, he was considering how the Unseen Masters were moving their pawn pieces around to accomplish their goals. Since they started using the United Nations as one of their primary tools, they had progressed much closer to the endgame. They were making steady advances, advances so well masked that few people realized the danger.

Agenda 21 had turned out to be one of the most versatile and useful tools that the Unseen Masters had ever wielded. Under a pastel lie about sustainability and protecting the Earth, they continued quietly to gain control over all property on the planet. They were removing all people's rights to privacy, property, or any say in the government over them. In the next few years, they planned to reduce the population to a 'manageable' level. They would place all humans in factory cities and working a prescribed job. Unless the Unseen Masters were defeated, the entire human race would be indisputable slaves in twenty-five years.

It was early afternoon, and Julie was tolerating Walter's inane musings on the subject of all things mysterious, while she pursued a campaign of sub-Rosa flirtation with John. The day proceeded in this manner for the next hour or two, until at last; it was time for John to prepare to do the deed.

"My friends, I must be off to do a thing, at a place which is not here," John quipped. "My cup runneth over with crazy, and with pretty. It is sufficient to see me through until my next visit." John got up and ambled to the restroom. A moment later, he was back at the River House.

He spent three hours studying the assignment, waiting for the best time to take out the Target. Typically, Jerad and his family had supper at Nine PM, taking about thirty minutes to finish the meal. After that, the wife would load the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and she and the kids would retire to their bedrooms after she turned the dishwasher on.

By about 9:45 in the evening, Jerad would be in his little study, on his computer. John could access the study through the sliding glass doors in the back, work his way through the living room, and take out the Target while he was distracted. After that, all that remained was the cleanup.

John took a second, to travel to the place in the Everglades he had determined to be a suitable final resting place for the Target, carrying some chains and weights with him for weighing the body down later. The place he had picked was a few miles north of Lane Bay Chickee, where he would stage the process from a lone hillock in the midst of a huge swamp. Leaving the equipment, and marking the spot firmly in his mind, in a moment, he was back at the River House.

John lounged about for a little while longer and checked his equipment several times for the operation. He watched a little television while petting Barney, as the dog made his back and head available. Soon enough, it was time to go.

The Shadow transported John to Spring Street, just north of Grant Road. This was a Tucson community, in which the community planners had provided tree cover for the use of Sculkers, such as John. He made his way to the appropriate back door and employed his binoculars to determine the situation. Someone had thoughtfully planted a hickory tree in the backyard of the house. John made good use of the tree as cover.

John pulled his Beretta Model 70 22-caliber pistol from its holster and checked the magazine. It was full of 22-caliber long rifle ammunition, with alternating standard and hollow point lead bullets. About half of the load in the magazine would usually consist of silver, but the file had assured him that Jerad was purely human.

It was now 9:32 PM, and he could see Jerad's wife as she finished loading the dishes into the washer, closed the door, and turned a dial. He watched as she had the standard argument with the kids about bedtime, and finally, he watched them walk slowly up the stairs to their bedrooms. It was now 9:41, and Jerad was finishing his cup of after-supper coffee. Two minutes later, and Jerad retired to his office, powering up the laptop.

John took a C3D suppressor out of his jacket pocket and mounted it on the Beretta. He sighted down the sights and made a minor adjustment to the rear sight. He was now ready to finish the job. Just give Jerad a moment more to become involved in what he was doing.

He made his way to the sliding glass door, and carefully tried it, to determine if it was unlocked. It was, saving John the fifteen seconds or so it would require him to defeat the flimsy lock. He opened the glass door carefully and made his way into the living room.

From the door, he had a trip of about thirty feet to complete before he would reach his target. Jerad was typing furiously on his laptop's keyboard, oblivious to anything else around him. John could have walked toward him playing a trumpet, without detection by the programmer. John walked quietly and carefully forward, anyway, taking the opportunity to make sure that the silencer and gun were ready to operate.

John was most used to shooting from the front. A shot into the forehead, just above the center of the eyes will put down just about anything. He would have to make do with a shot to the back of the head, in the notch that terminates the brainstem.

He slid up the last couple of feet and stuck the 22-caliber weapon in the optimum spot, about two inches off Jerad's skin. He squeezed the trigger, and quickly removed himself and the weapon, as Jerad tightened and convulsed, and bled a bit from where the bullet had entered.

John took a second, and touching the shoulder of the dead man, he had the Shadow transport both of them to the preselected site for the body's internment. He took the cleaning equipment that he had put at the site and returned to the dead man's office with them.

After about ten minutes of very quiet cleaning, he decided that he had cleaned the evidence of murder well enough. All he needed to do was to avoid detection of the act, with no more investigation than the police would devote to a missing person. He did not need to do the cleanup, but he did not want the children confronted with the death of their father. It would be better for them not to be sure that he was dead.

Returning to the internment site, he spent a few moments securing the chains and weights to the body, which he then sank into a deep part of the swamp water. The hole that he selected was about twenty feet deep. It should be a good resting place while the fish, turtles, and alligators made the body go away.

He assembled all his equipment for the trip home, and he detached the suppressor from the weapon and put the weapon accessory away. Soon, with everything completed, he took the short trip in shadow back to the River House. After Barney had completed sniffing John for the story, he and the dog were off to the Colony, to get more ammo.

Deep in the middle of Louisiana, he had helped to found and design an off-the-grid communal house for a group of people that he sometimes enjoyed visiting. They had equipped the house with solar cells, several furnaces, heaters, and stoves using wood. They had a complete recycling system for everything that would ordinarily be trash. They had gardens, cattle, hogs, and chickens. They had all the tools and workspaces you might ever need.

There was a complete automobile shop, metalworking, and all manner of construction areas, including its own small sawmill. John was here today for the very unusual reloading equipment that was here. He usually liked to load the eight-bullet clip for his Beretta with four lead and four silver rounds, with two of each hollow points, and the other two of each regular rounds. This was where he went to get the silver rounds.

Marvin was the guy that used the reloading press and was the closest thing to a professional at the task that John knew. When Marvin made your bullets, you could bet that none of them were duds.

Arriving outside the house, he called out to one of the residents, a man named George. "Is Marvin around, George? I need to get a box of silver 22, half-and-half."

George recovered from his surprise quickly. "Yep, he is in the kitchen, John. Step on in there!" Exchanging grins, John followed George into the kitchen of the rambling house. He could see the broad back and ponytail that could only be Marvin, sitting at the kitchen table, having what looked to be a bowl of Cheerios and a shot of Vodka. Marvin heard them enter, and made a minimal movement of his right shoulder and arm, which John took to be an invitation.

"I need some solids and some hollow points for my Berretta," John began. "All silver, of course."

"One of these days, I am going to find out why you need silver ammo," Marvin replied. "You either delight in conducting the most expensive target practice, or you have some exotic critters you are hunting."

"I will tell you all about it, one day," John answered. "Just not today. Fifty regs and fifty hollow points should do the trick."

Marvin nodded and got up to walk the short distance to the oversized closet space that he used for his reloading operation. John followed him, and they were quickly at the reload workbench. Marvin picked up two small boxes of silver 22-caliber ammo and handed them to John.

"Thanks, Marvin," John said. "So, how is everything going at the Colony?"

"It is going pretty good," Marvin boasted. "We are now generating surplus power, and selling some of it back to the electric company. We have a thriving recycle, including worm and mushroom farms for the organics, we have a versatile mini-smelting system, our own server system, and networking, and we are self-sufficient in food production. We are using our animal waste, and our fire ashes to fertilize the gardens, and using natural pest repellent plants such as mint instead of pesticides. Around the edges, we have a large population of predator insects, such as praying mantises, to keep the invaders to a minimum."

The total number of persons connected to the Colony, minus John and a couple of other perpetual visitors, was twenty-nine. Sixteen of them stayed there, and the other thirteen employed themselves there each day, such as Ted, who ran the auto-shop.

They spent about forty-five more minutes wandering about the Colony, as Marvin happily pointed out all the improvements they had instituted since his last visit. Once they had completed the Grand Tour, John made his excuses, found some cover, and let the Shadow take him back to the River House.

John put together a few snacks and other comfort items, for Barney and himself, and whistled for the pooch. As soon as he was ready, he summoned the Shadow to take them to a nice little barn that he knew. It seemed that it was always raining there, and the sound of the drops hitting the tin roof was soothing.

A moment later, John was lounging against a bale of hay in the barn, with Barney at his side. They enjoyed a hard thunderstorm, with the wind whipping the trees outside, and a mist of water drifting through the open barn door. The sound of the rain hitting the roof was loud and very relaxing.

John reached into the bag of goodies, which he had brought with him and fed the dog and himself each a half of an Italian sausage. Barney wagged his tail in thanks and licked John's hand in appreciation. They continued to listen to the rain for another hour or so until he started to feel something strange.

Do you know that feeling you get when someone behind you is looking at you? John was feeling that feeling, like a hand lightly ruffling the hair on the back of his neck. He had felt this many times in the past, and he had learned to pay attention to it.

He felt two distinct sets of eyes attempting to find him, probing hard in the shadows that hid him, for some sign of his location. They were unlikely to be able to make his position, but why take any chances? He knew how to stop those prying eyes.

John closed his own eyes, and visualized a flaming circle surrounding him, and Barney, for good measure. The flaming circle would act as a closed barrier, beyond which nothing of a psychic nature could penetrate. He then energized the barrier and made it pulse into the darkness around them, pushing back the psychic presence, all the way back to the source positions.

The people who were seeking him were one of the many forms of remote viewers. They were using the standard symbol catalyst from traditional remote viewing, but also placing themselves into a deep Delta state, and initiating a form of astral projection, to send their 'point of view' to the location found by the viewing methodology.

He checked, and there was no sign of the viewers now. They had certainly not received any real idea of where he was. They had used the techniques to home in on him, but they had not been able to overcome the protections around him. He and Barney were safe.