The operations of the previous week had been carried out very well, but they were by no means a success. The response from the government had been weak, and there had been little action taken to stop the group.
In Nestor’s increasingly chaotic mind, this meant that the killings had to get more brutal and more personal. They said that one death was a tragedy but a million (or 58) was a statistic. As such, he changed the plans for the second wave to involve four targeted assassinations.
“David I want the killers out there, the real crazy ones.”
“We don’t have a lot of....”
“The crazy ones. They’re out there.”
“Ok, how many?”
“Three. One will have a double kill.”
“Ok...”
“You sound hesitant.”
“Nestor we’re losing members. People are dropping their activity because we aren’t getting results.”
“THIS WILL DO IT DAVID!!! Get them out there and get them killing.”
“Si, señor.”
A young man from the north side of San Cristobal was selected for the first mission. He said his name was William, and he had proven himself to be particularly useful on scouting missions. Tall, white, and good looking, he wasn’t questioned easily and received benefit of the doubt when doing something shady.
He was a poor pick for the job. Nestor had underestimated his usefulness and would come to regret it.
William’s task was to assassinate, in brutal fashion as Nestor instructed, an ex-Senator. Zephaniah Kruger had been of only minor note while he was in office, but had stayed in public life. He was a staunch proponent of equality, and he didn’t have the protection that others did. That would hurt him in the end.
Kruger was making his way to a speech at an NGO in downtown San Cristobal at a leisurely pace. He had taken the train in and had only a couple blocks to walk, but newspapers had gripping headlines and muffins had delicious smells. William had no time for muffins.
Just after Kruger turned the corner onto the side street where the NGO’s office stood, William called out at him from around the corner: “Sir, you dropped your wallet!” Kruger unknowingly started to turn around the corner with a quizzical look on his face.
William had stepped up a foot and unsheathed his knife. He met Kruger with it right at the point where the Senator turned the corner.
Kruger’s face was one of shock, but not for long. William had stabbed him in the stomach on the first go, but wasted no time in pulling it out and stabbing Kruger in the jugular vein, causing copious amounts of blood to pour.
A man at the muffin cart saw the commotion from a half block away and came running, but he was too late. Zephaniah Kruger lay on the ground, slumped over, bleeding to death.
“SIR! I’m calling an ambulance sir, you’re going to be alright!” the man said unconvincingly.
Kruger looked up at him, then passed out. The blood loss was too much.
The next attack would be arguably the most brutal. Nestor had been reading up on medieval torture manuals when he came up with this attack a few months prior. The target wasn’t specified, but the method of it was, very much so. It had to be something that could be done fairly quickly but be so painful that it would send a shockwave into the community. It would elicit a response.
The target developed over the next few weeks to be a former Speaker and leader of the Liberal Democrats. Pierre Desjardins had recently retired from office to his house in the suburbs. Secluded from the bustle of city life, it was also secluded from many peering eyes.
On what would be a normal work day for other people, Pierre would wake up with his wife and make her breakfast before wishing her well on her way to work. He would read for a bit before going outside, to the front porch, to pick up the morning paper. This was the critical point for his attackers.
Esmeralda, Fernanda, and Frederick had been training for this mission for quite some time. They had burned through a lot of material in preparation, but they were ready.
At the appointed hour, they arrived outside the Desjardins house and waited in the bushes. The madame had already left. Pierre came out a little after nine wearing a bathrobe and slippers. He had always been a portly man, but the robe seemed to bulge out even more around his midsection. He peered over his reading glasses out onto the street to see if anything interesting was out there. Of course, there wasn’t.
His attackers grabbed him stealthily and made sure he didn’t make any noise. Chloroform was a tried and true method in this respect. They dragged him around the back to their waiting van and threw him in.
The group drove off to David’s apartment downtown, making sure they weren’t going to get pulled over. Their cargo wasn’t exactly legal.
Once at the apartment, they grabbed the restraints and frame. Quickly and with great precision, Pierre, who was now fully conscious and stripped naked, was attached to the frame upside down, his feet in the air and blood rushing to his head. The frame complex was lugged outside and put back into the van laid flat so that Desjardins stayed awake.
Again driving carefully, Frederick took the van to a street just off a central plaza in Calaverde. Before getting out, he readied his weapon and adjusted his apron. He didn’t want to get blood all over his jeans. Esmeralda and Fernanda prepared similarly.
They pulled Pierre out of the van with his legs in the air, as before, and carried the entire ensemble quickly to the edge of the square. Esmeralda and Fernanda pulled their guns, and the job began.
Frederick began at the end. The end of Pierre Desjardins, that is. With a saw, he made incisions and began cutting. There was no point in going slowly. The man would feel enough pain and the women could only hold off outside attempts at stopping the operation for so long.
It wasn’t intended that Pierre Desjardins would pass out so early on. For him, perhaps, this was a good thing. He wouldn’t wake up again, sure, but he also wouldn’t feel much of the pain of being sawed in half. Esmeralda and Fernanda fired off a few shots on anyone who tried to approach and stop the operation. Eventually the civilians got the message and stood waiting for the authorities to come.
San Cristobal’s emergency services were perfectly serviceable, but they still took a couple minutes to get there. By that time, Frederick had reached Pierre Desjardins’s neck. In a hail of gunfire, the women and then Frederick went down, he fatally. He was in the middle of a saw, leaving the blade lodged around what used to be the politician’s nose.
In total, three civilians were killed alongside the former politician. Two of the attackers were alive, though, and they would be forced to talk.
The most prestigious of the attacks went to Isidore, the large Haitian man who had earlier harbored Tomas Sanchez before he escaped. Isidore had served as a sort of suburban patrol for the group, but with the new recruits increasingly coming from new immigrant populations, he wasn’t as needed anymore in that role. With his great size and skill, he was perfect for the double attack.
It was well known to those in the legal circles of Calaverde that justices Andres Paredes and Antonio Perez were great friends. For the group’s purposes, this manifested itself most importantly in the lunches they took together at a cafe across the street from the Supreme Court. Isidore already had a table by 12:30 when the two bespectacled Latino men emerged from the building across the street and made their way over. “Even the justices cross against the light,” Isidore chuckled to himself.
There was, of course, protection at the cafe. There was an armed guard standing at the entrance to the premises, but considering that the seating extended further down the sidewalk in both directions, it was impossible for him to notice everything. Because of this, Isidore had recruited two of his brothers, Jamal and Jean-Claude, to help out.
Jamal’s job was to create the disturbance. He would drop something and starting yelling at his dining partner, and unknowing and soon to be terrified date. Jean-Claude was to pass along the weapon, a simple handgun, while the guard was turned the other way, looking at the commotion.
The plan went well, as had been expected for something with only a few moving parts. Isidore wasted no time in standing up with the gun and firing two shots at the justices, who were sitting close to the door on his side of the aisle.
Andres Paredes was hit in the right temple and would die within a few hours. Antonio Perez was hit above his left eye. There was a chance to save him, but only if the emergency services got to him quickly.
Isidore was eventually subdued by other patrons, but only after putting up a fight and injuring three in the process. He wouldn’t be willing to talk for a while.
Nestor sat back at the end of the day and reviewed the report sent to him by David. He mumbled to himself as he went along. “Good expedient work.... effective... hmm a bit slow here... odd premise... good shot... not so good.... very brutal, lots of attention -- I like this one... will get reaction. Hmm. Good, good.”
Nestor called David after he was done. “Looks good. Now we wait for the response. This is a turning point for us, David. We need new blood.”
