Fan Fiction

If anything, what kept them together was their brotherhood, more than the fight. The fight brought them together, that's true. When that was gone, they still had that connection, that love.

And THAT is the real victory......

Chapter 1 :: Chapter 2 :: Chapter 3 :: Chapter 4 :: Chapter 5 :: Chapter 6 :: Chapter 7 ::
Chapter 8 :: Chapter 9 :: Chapter 10 :: Chapter 11 :: Chapter 12 :: Chapter 13 :: Chapter 14 ::
Chapter 15 :: Chapter 16 :: Chapter 17 :: Chapter 18 :: Chapter 19 :: Chapter 20 :: Chapter 21

Amidst the cheerful ringing sound of brass and iron bells and chanting, exotic musical instruments, and excited crowds; A short barrel shaped man with stringy hair moved jerkily, small piggish eyes gone slightly mad. Too many days of amphetamines made his eyelids puffy in a sagging face. Dale Menton wore a silk suit crumpled and stained from continuous wear. He carried a Desert Eagle .45 and a grudge the size of the grand canyon. He knew Castillo was here, somewhere. An expensive informant had told him the whole OCB crew was here now looking for some stupid drug deal. He knew that was part of a prior arrangement to keep them busy. Menton wore a Festival Tag he had purchased with a rictus smile on his pasty face. What ever it took, he was going to make sure Castillo did not walk away from this. The bastard had used up nine lives three times over. The pudgy rogue agent expected that Castillo would use a knife and come in close to the target. The man had been famous for his knife work.

Menton had a simple plan, find the target and stay close enough to finish Castillo off as a public service. The idea made him grin with delight. He carried identification good enough to pass as an FBI agent long enough to get out of the building and out of town. That was all that really mattered. The schedules he had memorized indicted the target would not be in an open window for at least another hour. It was the sight of Rico Tubbs that scared him into taking a walk through the maintenance corridors. From there it was pure luck that he caught a distant glimpse of a big man pushing a rolling storage box. Something about the man's body shape, movement, and then he knew it must be Reese. Staying back and listening to every sound to judge the movement by the faint soft squeak of the casters on the box. At a slow nerveracking pace, Dale Menton followed. He guessed the setup. It was classic. Weapons hidden in the box. Castillo MUST be in the box, or else he was already hidden here somewhere, and Reese was going to take him out in the box. The fat man quivered. But that wasn't part of the deal. Castillo was supposed to die and neatly close the book on any investigation. Suddenly Menton wondered if Reese had other plans in mind. At least Castillo would not recognize him. The amnesia extended beyond their first meeting.

Convention Center Main Exhibition Hall

The ethereal music changed at intervals to showcase different areas of the far east. It ranged across more than 20 centuries of Far Eastern religious music. The two men listening to it were not terribly interested.

Their passports were Argentine and irrefutable, money can take care of these small details. The elderly distinguished man and his companion, might have been professors, or businessmen, or almost anything in their conservative summer suits. Emil viewed the booths and banners and people with the casual contempt any conqueror has for peasants. He had no use for any religious persuasion, Emil himself was the only God in his universe worth consideration. The sound of iron temple bells, the whirr of prayer wheels and flags, clack of wooden sandals, the smells of incense and the rolling chords of chant, affected him not at all. He viewed with disfavor the occasionally wondering eyes of his assistant. Hans had been with him for years and this should not affect him. Emil made a note to himself that Hans would need watching in the future. He had noticed that many fell prey to religious drivel later in life. It was something he was simply not capable of understanding.

They had walked slowly through the crowds and scattered groups, always aiming toward the large hall where the major events would take place. A beautifully reproduced section of a Tibetan temple stood in a conspicuous location. Groups of Tibetan monks had created a religious pictogram in multicolored sands over a period of several days. The Dalai Lama would be a part of some ceremony here shortly. Emil was pleased with the timing of everything. The subtlety of his methods was unsurpassed. His subjects always forgot what he looked like, always. He enjoyed this power over their minds more then any other. Then only as the last of the drugs wore off did the conditioning take over completely. Not poison, but the lack of it combined with drugs and memories of it tearing at the nerves, and the need to follow the conditioning to its final solution.

He would not miss this occasion. To watch the perfect outcome of his work was an opportunity not to be missed. Emil was a supreme egotist. His patrons never guessed that Emil was always within sight or sound of a kill. It was irresistible. The validation of his work. To watch a trusted friend approach and suddenly become an assassin. This occasion was particularly easy to attend. Admission to the event gained through faceless intermediaries. Crowd smells mixed with candle wax and exotic forms of incense to create an almost visible atmosphere.

"You will find this highly amusing. One of the simple pleasures after a difficult job. He was a great deal of trouble, like all the mongrel breeds."

Hans nodded silently, he had heard these same words before many times, but had never taken more then a cursory scientific interest in the outcome. Emil found this event doubly amusing, the man had been some sort of professional assassin in the past and somehow those paying Emil had produced his old Control Agent to take charge of him when the amnesia became apparent. That made it so much easier. A professional killer. Emil supposed this would make it easier to blame the killing on the killer and never consider an outside cause.

Somewhere in this space was a weapon primed to explode. Emil felt nothing but amused pride as he waited expectantly. Shortly the target would make his entrance. The conditioning called for the subject to approach the target, greet them as a Friend and then stab them. Knives were always easy to obtain, and this subject was supposed to have great affinity with bladed weapons. Emil watched the crowd, knowing his latest creation must be in it. He had never laid eyes on even a picture of the Control Agent, unusual to have one available, they were usually sadly incorruptible. He wondered what the control agent might have chosen for disguise in this venue.

Hans muttered uneasily, "I do not see him anywhere."

Emil glanced sideways with half lidded eyes at his assistant. "He knows the target. He will want to obey me, it is the only thing that will bring release from the pain. Nothing will stop him from being here except death. And that will follow soon enough.” Emil finished with confident satisfaction.

Dream Coast Convention Center. Maintenance corridors

Stan Switek considered Lieutenant Castillo to be the best, hardest Boss he had ever had. The man always treated him fairly, and come down on him like a ton of bricks only when he deserved it. And this? This was a nightmare from hell. He knew that if the lieutenant did not want to be taken, anybody who went up against him was probably dead meat. Stan wanted to run like a rabbit from this whole situation. Only the awful truth of what Sonny had said kept him here.

Arnie shivered, "You think he's gonna go easy if we find him?"

"No."

Arnie looked at him apprehensively. "You think he'd try'n kill us?"

"Yeah. Good chance."

"Why are we doing this?"

For a long moment he watched Stan's face. Arnie thought he knew Stan pretty well after the time he'd worked with him. Thought he knew Castillo a little. A very little. But the look on Stan's face was a mixture of things Arnie couldn't put a name to. Stan smiled crookedly.

"Lieutenant Castillo is the best man I've ever reported to. This is what the lieutenant would want us to do. And I owe him. C'mon."

Stan could move fast when he needed to. They headed for the maintenance Corridors that surrounded the Main Hall. They were crowded with pallets of boxes and packing materials. Switek could tell that phlegmatic Arnie was terrified. It made him feel protective and he decided not to send Arnie off alone, not yet. When they moved up the first stairway to a balcony, guns drawn. Arnie's face was so freaked out Stan was afraid he'd shoot some poor civilian on sight. They approached the opening to the balcony very carefully and quietly. Moving cautiously up the stairs, ears aching for any sound that offered threat. When the stairs reached the switchback turn, Arnie stopped and signaled Stan to stay back and he dropped to the stairs and crept toward the doorway that opened out onto the balcony. It was a great arrangement to avoid stairway light from leaking onto the balcony, but it made it all to easy to surprise someone on entering the balcony. Arnie did NOT feel that surprise was a good thing in this case. At least not for him and Stan. Gun extended to look out at floor level onto the balcony. Most of it was visible. Three tense minutes later they left the balcony and headed for the next.

Dream Coast Convention Center Main Hall

Gina and Trudy decided on an innocently direct approach to the Light booth. There was so much glass that it didn't seem likely that anyone would chose to hide in it. Moving quietly, one knock on the door and it opened after a heart wracking moment. A faintly grumpy, balding older man opened the door.

"What? Are you lost? You are not supposed to be up here."

"Whew, um yes, but we're staff for the Festival, we were looking for a friend who said he was going to check out the upper levels." The women waved their staff badges.

"No. Nobody's been up here except the regular crew. But I seen guys checking out the balconies today."

"Huh, okay. Well thanks. Keep your door locked."

The man's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I ALWAYS do. You never know what kind of morons are wandering around. You look from here an you can see most of the balconies except where they put those damn plants." With that remark he shut the door and they distinctly heard it lock.

"Pleasant guy." Trudy remarked. They both turned and looked down into the Exhibition Hall. "He was right."

They had an almost perfect view of everything, except those balconies incongruously lined with plants. Trudy wondered whether they were real or fake. "I'll start from the left, you go the other way."

Gina opened her bag and pulled out a tiny pair of binoculers and began to scan the balconys to the right.

Balcony, Dream Coast Convention Center

Castillo counted down the seconds after Reese left. He felt groggy with resisting the endless fire in his blood and the disturbing whispers of a need to DO something. At last it was time. He opened the envelope and stared at the smiling face of a late middle aged Tibetan monk. Pain hit him like an avalanche. His knees gave way and he staggered against the balcony wall, eyes gone momentarily blind. The Assassin slid down the wall to the floor in a heap.

The Perfect Teahouse

The perfect teahouse sat in the endless predawn light. Storm clouds shuddered overhead. Lightening crackled in the air.

Castillo whispered, "What is happening?"

Jack Gretsky smiled.

Suddenly they were standing back to back, swords drawn in the dank hot night of an ancient forgotten temple in the highlands of Cambodia.

"What is happening?"

He stood facing Jack, gun drawn on him.

"Jack! What is happening?"

They stood on the hillside below the strange teahouse, a storm rolled heavy thunder overhead.

"It's time Marty."

They stood at the gate to the world of grey fog. The gate of the living.

"It's now Marty." Jack smiled. "You'll know what to do."

Martin turned to look at Jack Gretsky one last time. Gretsky's smile widened.

"Vaya con Dios, Marty."

Martin Castillo stepped through the gateway and fell.

Falling! Falling through shattered images and scenes. Falling through pain, grief, and sorrow until there was no more. Only a curious emptiness, void of all feelings. Opening eyes like a newborn baby in a strange world.

Balcony, Dream Coast Convention Center

Sweating heavily, his insides felt jellied and he had trouble focusing. Images flashed like torn sections of movie reels through his mind. Demands shouted in his skull. He knew what he had to do.

There were drugs in his system he could feel that, poisons and long acting psychoactive. He turned and found a snipers rifle on the floor next to him, a photograph next to that of a smiling Buddhist monk. Fire raged through his body and with it a task. A very clear specific task. Marty's head came up slowly like a cobra, his eyes seemed flat, He knew what he had to do.

Dream Coast Convention Center, Main Hall

Marco's head swiveled uneasily. He was terribly conscious of how long it might take to draw his discreetly hidden weapon.

He was now waiting for the procession to start and hoping no one would notice how intently he was studying the crowd. The problem was that everyone IN the crowd looked suspicious to him. He knew the Lieutenant's height was probably the only factor that could not be disguised. That was what he was scanning the crowd for first. There were so many people he could have pegged as potential wierdos that it was mind numbing trying to sort them. So far he'd seen at least six people who gave him the creeps. Especially that silver haired business man and his boyfriend.

Chapter 1 :: Chapter 2 :: Chapter 3 :: Chapter 4 :: Chapter 5 :: Chapter 6 :: Chapter 7 ::
Chapter 8 :: Chapter 9 :: Chapter 10 :: Chapter 11 :: Chapter 12 :: Chapter 13 :: Chapter 14 ::
Chapter 15 :: Chapter 16 :: Chapter 17 :: Chapter 18 :: Chapter 19 :: Chapter 20 :: Chapter 21