Two slowly raised his hand.
“What the hell is it?” said Hess.
“I heard we also eliminated a Judge Sayor in Phoenix. How’d we do that?”
“You wouldn’t know, would you?” said Hess. “You were on the shit list. Couldn’t participate, right?”
“Yes, Herr Hess.”
“Well, you remember Judge Millsberg in Orange County, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. You made that look like a perfect accident.”
Which is just what you want to hear, thought Two to himself. Some perfect accident. She was helpless on the pulley and chains in the barn. Then you decided to torture her some by funneling carbon monoxide from the tractor into her face. And you overplayed your hand, shithead. Millsberg died before she ever had a chance to cooperate with His Eminence. And then, based on reading about one of Millsberg’s recent court decisions—while doing your goddamn ‘homework,’ you devised that stupid ass scheme: Faking a bicycle accident by banging up her bike. Then dragging her by her feet with your truck—to scratch up her face. Next you set her up ‘perfectly’ in bed at her house, with her car running in the garage, to make it look like she had fallen asleep and sucked in fumes. All bullshit. All unnecessary. All a waste—just because you blew the carbon monoxide thing. Nice work, Herr Friggin’ Hess, you piece of shit.
Hess pounded the table. “Two! Are you listening?”
“Yes, Herr Hess.”
Hess turned to the others. “As I was saying, yes, a perfect accident. The same thing with Sayor. Except that traitor ended up dead in the desert by ‘accidental’ snake bite. How fucking unfortunate. Right, One?” Hess pivoted toward Two. “Are you up to speed now, Two? Satisfied?”
“Yes, Sir, thank you.”
“Then if you don’t mind, Two, our briefing is over. Is that OK with you?”
“Yes, of course, Herr Hess,” whispered Two, looking down at his feet and thinking, What an asshole. What a huge fucking asshole.
Hess was feeling the pressure of the upcoming Summit. So, at 6 a.m. on Thursday, he and five Watchmen reviewed the trainees in the Operations Tent at the Camp. With a stiff face, Hess scanned the Watchmen-in-training. “This starts your final exams. At 0615 One, Three and Four will take three of you to the target ranges. The rest will conduct practice assaults in full gear at the mock compound. Everything will be scored. At 0815, you will all run Obstacle Course B, the tougher one, in a crouch. Full gear. Four and Five will lay down automatic weapon fire—just above where your heads should be. Stay low, stay fast, gentlemen.”
Three heard his cue. “What then, Herr Hess? These men crave a real challenge.”
“Good,” said Hess. “At 0930, we’ll go on a mountain run. Thirty-pound backpacks and Mark-43 heavy guns. Upon return, we’ll repeat exercises at the target ranges, mock-compound assaults, and obstacle runs. Why? To make sure your scores don’t plummet after a little exercise. Then, gentlemen, we’ll have lunch: K-rations and water. That way, we’ll be ready for afternoon demonstrations in the training tank and the underwater-demolition pond. Again, everything will be scored. We expect your best. Don’t disappoint. If all goes well, we may even take an evening run for an hour or so. Then tomorrow, we plan more of the same starting at 0400 hours. The best of you will demonstrate for the Executive Committee on Saturday and our allies on Sunday. Good luck, gentlemen.”
CHAPTER 57
At 9 on Thursday morning, after being buzzed through the gate, a young, bald-headed man opened the front door. Terry, dressed in a non-descript blazer, beige chino slacks, and a white shirt with a pocket protector overflowing with pens and pencils, said, “Good morning, sir. We’re Inspectors Lee and Williams. From the City. Here for an interim inspection of the construction under your permit.”
“I don’t know anything about an inspection. Please return when the owner’s here,” said the bald man.
“When will Judge Gimuldin be arriving?” asked Dan, as he shifted his clipboard and adjusted his tool belt full of levels, rulers, and other inspection essentials.
“Not until Friday evening.”
“No-no-no,” said Dan, looking impatiently at his cheap digital watch and the pad on his clear plastic clipboard, “we must inspect before then. It has to be done this week.”
The bald man squinted. “Why?”
“Because we have schedules too, young man. Look at this,” said Terry, waving official-looking documents he had found on-line. “The permit clearly notifies you that there can be interim inspections at any time without notice. That’s how we enforce compliance with city code. Now, if you want us to just shut down construction and revoke the permit, fine, we can do that. Your choice.”
“But construction hasn’t even started yet. Can’t you come back later, after it begins?”
“That’s not how it works,” said Dan, looking busily at his watch and pad again. “The allowable time on your permit is ticking away. You’re on a clock. If we revoke it or the permit lapses, the owner has to go through the filing process all over again and it can be up to a six-month wait to get another approved. And most times the second application takes longer, especially if we write-up your refusal to grant access for inspection. Up to you—but decide quickly. We have a full day of inspections, every day.”
The bald guy nodded. “OK, OK. But what would you inspect? There’s no construction yet.”
Dan didn’t answer the question. Instead, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out some papers, briefly flashing part of his ‘inspector’ badge. Just enough to look official. Then he shoved it in his pocket before it could be read. “What is your name, and what do you do here?”
“My name is Two—like the number. I’m in charge of security.”
“Well, Mr. Two, here’s the deal,” said Dan. “I’m surprised your employer didn’t apprise you of the situation, but once you pull a permit in this City for any add-on construction, the City has the right to inspect anything and everything about the property. We have to make sure nothing is out-of-code—we’re talking present-day code. Look at those sprinkler faucets and controllers over there. See them?”
Two looked behind the bushes near the front door. “Yes, they’ve always been there.”
“That may be,” said Dan, “but they’re not tall enough. Those faucet heads should be at least twelve inches above ground—a 2003 rule. In case of flooding. They definitely look no more than ten inches high. If so, they must be torn out and replaced.”
“Are you serious?” Two looked at the two men as if they’d just grown antlers.
“I’m sorry,” replied Dan, “but that’s the kind of thing we have to write up. Now the faster you let us get about our business, the faster it’ll be over and we’ll be on our way. Or we can come out tomorrow at 9 a.m. sharp with one or two other City inspectors and go over this place with a fine-toothed comb.”
“Look,” Terry said, sighing in commiseration with Two. “We’re just doing our jobs. Just like we know you’re doing yours. But this address is on our schedule today. We don’t make the rules. You don’t let us in now, we just come back tomorrow. And that makes our supervisor cranky. Quite frankly,” he glanced at Dan, “the guy’s an ass and he’ll send us back out to inspect every system, brick by brick, to check for current compliance. Just because he can. Plumbing. Electrical.”
Dan winced. “Wiring is always fun. Checking every receptacle in the house.”
“Your choice, Mr. Two.” Terry shrugged. “What’s it gonna be?”
Two gave them a weak smile. “OK. Come on in, gentlemen. I think I understand now. I’m sure we can finish this up quickly today.”
