Sedona AZ (March 18, 2015) – The following has been taken from Collins Rhōg’s private journal, and reproduced exactly as it was written, by his own hand. The date has been omitted, at his request, but Collins view is always captivatingly honest, full of depth and color, heart and perseverance in times of struggle. Collins spills his soul and captures his feelings with vivid imagery and heart felt emotion that oozes from the pages of this historic text.

The following is but a portholes view, from across the room of “The Life and Times of Collins Rhōg“:

If you are new to the story, it all begins at this link (click here). In previous weeks, our readers were introduced to Rhōg’s story as written in his journal. Join us as we return to the Life and Times of Collins Rhōg, now 38, while he surveys the gates of Hell:

– Cambire, The Story Part 15 –

Back at Russ’s place, my phone rang. I set my coffee down.

“Go ahead,” I answered, not knowing who it was.

“Shaun?” Deacon’s raspy voice greeted me.

“Is she safe?”

“We just returned from her place. Two guys were there when we arrived. Candor and I took care of them. She and her dog were shot.”

“What…!” I heard my voice scream into the phone.

“But I think they’ll live.”

“You THINK they’ll live?” I yelled.

“I was a paramedic in Nam. Her lung was pierced, we got to her just in time. She’s in the Hospital and the hound’s being treated at the local veterinary clinic…he was the worst for wear.”

“Fuck!” I exclaimed.

“We did what we could, Shaun.”

“Did you search them?” I asked.

“They were pretty clean. One guy had a note on him.”

“What did the note say, describe it, tell me everything?”

“I have it here,” Deacon paused as I heard him fumbling, “…It has the name ‘Xander’ and a phone number written on it and there’s also an arrow drawn on the paper that’s pointed from ‘Xander’ to another name…‘Collins Rhog’ and ‘seven days’ is written and circled beneath that…”

“Give me that number.” Deacon did, then asked, “Do you know these names?”

Ignoring his question, I asked, “Was there anything else? Any other writing or scribbling on the note?”

“Yea, I was just getting to that. There’s also ‘Martini when it’s over’ scribbled on the bottom. I guess they were going to celebrate after the fact.”

“Martini’s not a drink,” I replied. “Is there anything else?”

Deacon paused, and then said, “Nope, that’s all it says. There was some cash on the trigger men, a couple grand, we kept it along with their guns for throw downs. There wasn’t anything else, no wallets, nothing. Candor found a lighter and a pack of Russian cigarettes in their Suburban. He said they tasted like shit. That’s it man.”

There was a heavy silence before I spoke.

“My hangar’s on the West side of the lake. Use a topographical map to find the road in.”

“So that’s yours huh? I know it,” Deacon interrupted.

Continuing I explained, “On the side of the building are two meter boxes, one with a lead seal and one with a combo lock. The combo’s 12-38-22. Take your bread and seal it back up.”

“Will do, Shaun.”

“Oh, and Deacon?”

“Yeah…?”

“Good job…grab an extra ten-G as my thanks.”

“Much appreciated brother…” the biker replied.

“Any chance I could get you to look in on her and the pooch to keep me posted?”

“You got it, brother. I’ll keep an eye on them and let ya know how they are.”

“Thanks, Deacon. Talk later.”

“Take care, Shaun.”

“You too, Deacon.”

Hanging up the phone, I just stared out the window.

“It didn’t sound good, mate,” Russ said while shutting off his computer and pulling out the thumb drive I’d found on the balcony.

“They shot Reegan… and my dog.”

“Fuck man!” Russ sat down. “How is she?”

“Apparently she’s gonna make it, a punctured lung.”

“Thank God for that!” Russ exclaimed. “Collins, you need to get out of this business and marry that girl as soon as she’s out of Hospital.”

“I know, I know…”

“Look what’s happened! Reegan’s in Hospital because of you! She could have been killed!”

“I know, Russ!”

“You effing know?” Russ raised his voice and started to turn red. “When are you going to smarten up, Collins? You can still get out. You can disappear and make a life for yourself. Don’t be like me and let that window close on you. Don’t be like me, locked into this trade forever…” He paused and lowed his voice, “…until I die.”

“This is my last job, Russ. I’m getting out.”

“The way I see it, Collins, if life were a twenty four hour clock and let’s say we live to be eighty years old, well…then every year of life is equal to eighteen minutes. I’m 52 years old. I have 936 minutes on my clock.”

“I can see you’ve put some thought into this,” I interjected.

“I have!” Russ exclaimed and proceeded while pointing at me, “To be frank, my number is actually more than 936 because my birthday was last month, but for simplicity’s sake, we’ll say 936 minutes.” Russ took a rushed sip of coffee and carried on, “Now if I divide those 936 minutes by 60 since there’s 60 minutes in an hour…” he paused so I nodded to let him know that I was following his line of thought, “…that means that I’ve burned 15.6 hours of my 24 hour lifespan…. fifteen hundred hours is 3 p.m. Collins. I’m sitting just after 3:30 p.m. in my life… evening’s not far off and then night time and then the big sleep, my friend.”

He took another swig of coffee.

“Well, that may come sooner rather than later for me. Live by the sword, die by the sword, you know the deal..” Russ shrugged as I nodded. “And you, Collins, are 38. Just about at high noon. How will the other half of your life play out? You choose your own path, you know that.”

“I know, Russ, I know. I’ve just got to get through this job, get to the bottom of things, and then I’m going to vanish with Reegan.”

Lightly punching me on the shoulder, Russ replied, “That’s what I hope you do, mate. You’d better do just that. Every play you make is a throw of dice at the craps table. Sooner or later you will crap out. It’s not IF you will but WHEN. You’re playing the odds as am I. We think we’re smarter, that we’ve looked at every angle, that we’ve planned. We were taught that failure to plan is planning to fail and that being prepared makes us better than our enemy, smarter, more cunning. Trust me, mate, we’re not as bad ass as we think we are. It’s a whole lot of ego which equates into confidence. And we need confidence, for sure, but do you think those Russians thought they were going to die today? Do you think they thought they had it all figured out? Do you think they trusted their military training to get them through and give them an edge over you?” Russ stopped and stared at me.

“I know, Russ.”

“Do you?” He loudly questioned.

After taking a sip of my coffee, I changed the subject. “Any luck on the thumb drive?”

He looked at me for a moment before answering, “It’s encrypted. I can’t make heads or tails of the bloody thing.”

Just then there was a knock at the door. Russ got up and walked to it, saying over his shoulder, “Sorry mate. I tried.”

Looking through the peephole, he voiced, “It’s Greg.”

“You shouldn’t stand directly behind the peep hole!” I scolded him, but Russ ignored me and opened the door.

“What happened to you?” Russ asked.

“I forgot something,” Greg replied.

“In the effing woods!” Russ remarked as Greg walked straight in the place while ignoring him completely. “What’s with the heaviness? I can totally feel it!” he asked us.

“Hi Greg!” I greeted him.

“Hi Collins!” Greg replied.

Russ slammed the door with a thud after exclaiming, “You don’t say hi to me!”

“I’m gonna go,” I announced. “You both know the cipher. We’ll be communicating with that from here on out. WOW is the key.”

“What the eff is WOW? asked Greg.

Russ looked at me, then to Greg and, in an exasperated tone, said, “August 15, 1977, the first non-human originating radio signal was picked up by Jerry Ehman while working on the SETI project!”

“Oh, the ‘Wow Signal’…you didn’t say ‘Signal’…you just said ‘Wow’..something like 6EQUJ5. Ehman wrote ‘Wow’ next to the data when he saw it. I totally know that!” Greg reassured us.

“Right, okay, so fives the last digit, the marker and one, four, two, zero point something…something mega hertz was the signal,” Russ reminded.

“Um, that frequency would be 1420.4556 mhz…and counting five in, our key is four, five, five six,” I told them both.

“Why the bloody hell didn’t you just F-ing say ‘four, five, five six’?” Greg exclaimed in disgust.

“No kidding. It’s a F-ing career move, mate! Wow!” Russ piped in, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head.

“Wow!” Greg repeated, wiggling his outstretched hands and over exaggerating his mouth like a ghost.

I got up, mildly pissed at their antics and made for the door, “I’ll be in communication.”

“Where are you going?” Greg asked.

“I’m going to visit Xander.”

“Who’s Xander?”

“Just a dead man. A corpse.”

“Hey!” Russ shouted after me, giving me pause. “When this is over, get out Collins. Get out and don’t look back. Hold the good close to your chest, but shed the bad like a rain soaked jacket.”

“Roger that, Russ.”

“What’s that bit about?” Greg quizzed.

“I’ll tell ya later,” Russ answered him as I closed the door behind me.

Outside Russ’s place, I dialed the number Deacon found on the note.

“Hello,” the voice was smooth and confident.

“Xander?” I asked with a fake Russian accent.

“Who’s this?”

“Mr. Rhōg is dead. I have military case that I believe belongs to your associate.”

“Where are you?”

“We tracked him to Vancouver. I’m here now.”

“I’m in Vancouver also. You can deliver the case to me personally.”

“I can do that, but the price has gone up.”

“Excuse me?”

“I saw the contents. Bring double or don’t bother meeting me.”

“Double? Collins was supposed to be alive not dead, you asshole!”

“Perhaps should I keep the case?” I replied.

The line was quiet for a moment and then Xander spoke, “Alright. I’ll meet you in Stanley Park at the Mermaid in three hours.”

“You come alone and you bring Euros.”

“I’ll come alone, and I’ll have your cash in the American equivalent.”

“Double!”

“Yes, double.” Xander replied.

“Alright. I’ll see you in three hours at the Mermaid.”

“See you there.”

“Oh, and Xander?”

“Yes…”

“I won’t be coming alone,” I told him.

“Don’t forget what continent you’re standing on! I don’t give a G-damn if you come alone or not, but you had better have that f-ing case or you will all be going back to the Motherland in pine boxes. Do you catch my drift, you effing Russian goon?”

“Three hours, Xander.” I hung up without waiting for a reply.

The night air was bracing as I strolled down the path to meet Xander. My trench coat and the rage that pulsed through me were protection against the cold. Walking towards the Mermaid, I passed through my own breath. It would soon be over.

There was a figure in the shadows, just off the path. Assuming it was Xander, I kept moving ahead, giving nary a tell that he’d been spotted. The silhouette was up against an ancient cedar tree, frozen in darkness, with a large sea bag sitting on the ground. My thoughts turned to Reegan. I would restrain my anger, in order to make the play.

Pulling both hands from my pockets, I cupped my mouth and blew into them, rubbing them together in the cold night air, displaying a red herring of what was to come.

My left hand returned to the warmth of a pocket, grasped the cell phone within and navigated the keypad to find the redial button. I continued walking towards Xander, halting within thirty feet of the monster in the shadows. I turned away, as if to look about while awaiting his arrival. My left hand engaged the phone’s redial button and, continuing the turn, my right hand slid into the trench coat and released the Tomcat from the womb of its harness.

Time slowed to a crawl as I continued the turn towards Xander, my gaze passing over the ground just traveled, all senses sharply attuned. I was coming upon his sight line when his cell phone rang and, with the speed of a fisherman setting a hook, raised my Beretta for the kill shot. Squeezing off tandem rounds, Xander’s body was illuminated by the muzzle flash, revealing his gnarled face and feeble attempt to pull his heat. Pausing for a moment in the darkness, my thoughts returned to Reegan.

“You fucking bastard…” I said with complete calm and contempt, then proceeded to empty the .32’s clip into Xander’s prone body. The scene was like a strobe as I fired round after round into the dying man. Finished, I grabbed the large sea bag. It weighed about 60 pounds. Walking away from the black lump in the shadows that resembled nothing, I still wasn’t satisfied.

With that bit done, I needed more answers.

Later that night, I pulled into Edge’s driveway. He was a close friend, and given that he was a retired biology professor, I thought he may be able to help answer some questions. His real name was Ed, however, I had named him Edge nearly three decades prior because of his sharpness. He was the smartest person I knew.

“Holy shit, where did you get this? Edge asked, repositioning his glasses as he examined the vial.

“It’s a long..”

Interrupting, Edge held out his free hand in a stop position while shaking his head, saying, “I don’t want to know.”

“I’ve got a whole case of it.”

“What! If this stuff is real, just this vial could potentially cull over six billion people.”

“Is it real?”

“Fuck if I know! If the contents match the label, then yes. You better get this stuff to the authorities.”

“I get that. Can you test it?”

“Nope, I ain’t touching that stuff!” He handed back the vial and returned to his desk.

“Why would they create a hybrid virus using Ebola and Marburg?” I asked.

“Who knows,” he replied. “Perhaps because Ebola and Marburg have the largest known genomes of negative strand RNA viruses, they’re genetically distinct with seven genes. More to work with possibly? I’m just guessing.” He began to rummage through his desk drawers.

“So this is a bio-weapon! Holy Shit!” I exclaimed.

“Holy Shit’s right!” Edge pronounced, not stopping his search through the desk. “It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to surmise that Africa was nothing more than field testing for this virus.”

“Here it is…” he removed a bright yellow hardcase, made to protect a cell phone, from the back of the desk drawer, “…but I never thought I’d see the actual weapon, several generations improved from the 2014 outbreak.”

“You lose your phone?” I asked.

“Put the vial in here, do you realize what would happen if it broke?” He held the case open towards me. “I can’t believe you’ve been so nonchalant with it! You’re smart enough to know that this strain is airborne,” pointing to the label on the vial that read ‘Air Dispersal 5-15 Microns’ for emphasis, adding, “That means it can be spread through the air, idiot. And just so you know, talking, coughing and sneezing produce a large number of droplets in that range. Airborne transmission occurs when large contaminated droplets are expelled, and either land on another person or on a surface that comes into contact with another person. The other way it can be transmitted is when smaller contaminated droplets are expelled in a warm dry atmosphere, such as inside a building or home, to have the mucus part of the droplet evaporate quickly as it is absorbed into the air, leaving the tiny virus to remain suspended, or airborne for up to several hours…just waiting to be inhaled. From there the virus goes to work reproducing itself. This weaponized virus is rumored to have a 21 day incubation period before showing any symptoms, yet be contagious a mere three days after infection..”

“Three days?”

“Three days.”

“You’re right. I’ve been pretty careless.” I put the vial in the case. Edge latched it shut and handed it to me.

“I’ll keep this out of the wrong hands and save a lot of lives here.”

“You may have already done that.” He looked at me over his glasses.

“What do you mean?”

“Outside the body, the Ebola virus as we know it can only live for a few days. These cultures have been stabilized, they should last for about fourteen days, twenty-one at the most. After that, the virus is dead and useless as a weapon. How long have they been in your possession?”

“Nine days. I ran into trouble at the border and lost a few days at my emergency lay up point. That explains why they tried to kill me the minute I reappeared. It’s a use it or lose it scenario. Tristan bought the product. If it isn’t used by the pull date, it’s worthless and wasted money…”

The hairs on the back of my neck rose to attention. The dots were beginning to connect.

It was nearly 2300 hours when I left Edge’s place. Whacking Martini moved high on my list, although I had no idea where to find him. My mate, Andrew, had put the word out. He soon relayed that Martini frequented a certain Vancouver club.

Way back when, Andrew and I had been flatmates. I actually met him through Reegan, after her sister died. He was Reegan’s brother-in-law, and as straight-laced as they come with regards to actually committing a crime. His father is a retired police chief, and while Andrew hangs with a lot of connected people he stays clear of any and all illegal activities. He’s no rat, but always has an ear to the ground. Given the situation with Reegan, I was sure he’d locate Martini.

I was right.

When we went downtown to find Martini, there was a huge crowd surrounding the entrance to the club. People smoking with drinks in hand, laughing, gesturing, all having a great time. I made for the entrance with Andrew close behind. Ten feet in front of the door, an arm passed in front of me. The club gate was attached to a hulk of a bouncer, slowly shaking his pumpkin sized noggin no. My eyes shifted to meet his, and holding out a C-note glanced back at Andrew to signal he was with me.

The hulk raised his arm as the pumpkin head nodded, clutched the toll from my hand, and allowed us to proceed. At the door, a tall curvy bird with shoulder length bleached blond hair was wearing black knee high leather boots, a tight black leather mini skirt, and a red halter top. She showed a lot and covered a bit, but seeing no interest from me then Andrew, turned away to make eye contact with yet another approaching body. Seems everyone had business at the club.

Entering the club arena, one instantly felt the bass hit your chest and pass through your entire body. ‘Whump…Whump… Whaaaa Whump… Whump… Whump Whaaaa Whump..’ as the crowd bobbed up and down in the 420 haze thick as fog. I noted the exits, two on the opposite wall, one to the rear and the entrance we came through, all manned by wanker bouncers who couldn’t fight their way out of wet paper sacks.

The ceiling was high with a man hidden within the light grid, likely a sound guy or someone. People passed by. Sizing each one up, I caught movement to my right in a separate VIP area. Everyone in that venue was into their own trip, hundreds of conversations rolled and blended at the same time.

I noticed a bartender sizing me up, she was cute. I mouthed “taken” and kept punching through the crowd with Andrew on my six. Then, I was confronted with a dickhead who wouldn’t move even though he clearly saw us coming. Securely grabbing the bloke below the ribs, I moved him out of our way. He quickly turned and I said, “Excuse me.”

Our faces were inches apart, my eyes pent up with hatred locked onto his. “I will kill you right now, if you make a play.” I plan my moves, he wouldn’t be a problem. He turned and stepped away.

I looked up to see the bartender against the black wall. She was hot, not that I was interested. The girl smiled coyly, holding her stare, slowly blinked, then looked away. What is it with chick bartenders, must be in their job description. She looked my way again. I nodded, but kept on trucking.

Andrew and I made our way to the dance floor, silhouetted by three huge video screens displaying a dude riding an atom bomb while wearing a cowboy hat, a graphic that said Obama can’t find the door, and a Pong video. People were taking pictures with their cell phones and Andrew began to dance.

Andrew’s easygoing. He was nodding his head to the rhythm as he watched the videos, with his coat half on and half off. It was hot and stuffy, so I shed my jacket. Andrew took our coats to stash them beneath the stage, but a bouncer rushed in and stopped him. Seeing Andrew return dejected, I kinda felt sorry for him and grabbed our coats. Making my way back to the bouncer, I glared at him the entire approach.

He knew why I was there. I leaned into his ear and told him what I was going to do. He picked up what I was putting down as I laid the coats beneath the stage. “I’m not keeping an eye on them!” he growled in an attempt to save face.

I just laughed and turned away, noticing the purple, blue and pink scrim on the Fresnel lights which canvass the lighting grid 18 feet above the arena. I peered down to see five robotic cameras spinning like little dudes, to the Trance music, on the stage awash in cabling, power supplies and empty water bottles.

A half dozen people were taking pics with their phones, then one serious wanker who thought he was George Lucas pushed through the crowd to “get his shot.” We were up against the platform with slight room to move when Lucas blasted into me. Instinctively I spun around, my eyes screaming “What the fuck are you doing!” but I said nothing. He quickly apologised and scurried away.

I moved a bit to the music, constantly aware of my surroundings, watching the crowd beneath the glow of the Red Light beaming down on the deejays. The floor was a sea of people free dancing with Andrew essentially jogging in place while the bass pounded throughout the arena.

“There he is!” Andrew screamed into my ear over the blaring music while carefully pointing through the mass of gyrating bodies to a man wearing a black hooded sweatshirt. He had short hair and a thin little goatee, ears pierced with black spacers about the same diameter as nickels, numerous face piercings around his lips, eyebrows, and one in his nose. I knew that I was going to fuck up that mother!

“Get our things and meet me outside,” I yelled back to Andrew and gestured toward our coats under the stage.

“Hello Sunshine,” I said as I grabbed the bastard from behind his neck and turned him towards me. He reached for his heat, but it wasn’t there.

“You lose something? Come on asshole!” I saw the fear in his eyes, back lit by the gyrating crowd as I hauled Martini towards the exit. He struggled a bit but I clocked him straight in the throat. Gagging, he went weak in the knees but I had him in a death lock and continued toward the exit.

“Can you get the door, mate?” I asked the bouncer. “I think he’s gonna spew.” The bouncer opened the door for us as I dragged Martini into the night air. Seeing Andrew with a blank look on his face near the entrance to the exit, I muscled Martini around the corner and into the alley.

“I want you to tell me about the bio-weapon!”

“Fuck You!” he gasped.

“Fuck ME?” I grabbed his right ear and pulled the spacer out through his earlobe which ripped apart like an overripe mango laden with juice. Martini screamed as I reached up and did the same to the other ear.

“Do you think I’m asking mother-fucker?” I punched him in the face several times, breaking his nose. His body went limp. Incensed, I threw him into the side of a dumpster where he collapsed into a whimpering pile, blood spewing from his ears and face.

“Do you think I’m asking?” I screamed again while thoughts of Reegan and Shugo being shot raged though my veins.

“You’re going to tell me all you know, make no doubt about it!” I lifted his bloodied head and smelled fear. I bent down to glare into his eyes.

“Do I fucking need to spell it out for you, mate?” I began punching him in the face again and again, he moaned and began crying in a grotesque manner. I could not believe how this wanker was holding his mud. My knuckles were hurting from hitting his face, but rage filled my core. There was a pallet near the dumpster. I went over to it and freed one of its wood slats with a kick. Bringing the board back to Martini who was right where I left him, “I’m going to ask you again, who’s behind the bio-weapon?”

Martini said nothing. I grabbed his arm and held it out onto the asphalt of the alley floor.

“Have it your way!” I swung the board like a cricket bat, slamming it as hard as I could into Martini’s hand which cracked and deformed beneath the force. Martini screamed. I grabbed his other arm and splayed it out in the same fashion.

“It’s Tristan..I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he sobbed.

“I’m listening,” and crouched down, leaning in next to his head.

“Tristan was hired by the Russians…he hired Two Gun Johnny with instructions to hire you. The Russians wanted to use a drone, but Tristan wouldn’t. Said you were the best option and that you never fail.”

“Why are they trying to kill me?”

“The bio-weapon’s only good for three weeks, after that it’s no good. They didn’t tell you so you wouldn’t suspect anything. Besides, you’ve never been late on a delivery before! After the mess at the border, the Russians got worried and activated twelve of their own. That’s how important this is to them! They used every pro in North America and brought in two more!”

“Twelve, eh?”

“Twelve!” He whimpered.

I started counting in my head, talking out loud. “Two in town, two in the parking lot, three in the condo, Deacon and Candor got two… that makes nine.” I focused back on Martini. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“I swear it! I swear it! Please…” he began sobbing louder.

“I want more!” and raised the pallet board for another swing with my right hand.

“Wait! Wait!” Martini pleaded. “I’m supposed to meet Tristan tomorrow night at the Gear Jammer to give him the weapon. Xander reported you dead tonight and said he was recovering the case. Two Gun then told Tristan we had it back and that you were dead! Two Gun’s scared shitless of Tristan and recruited me for the drop.”

“Are you communicating with him beforehand or just meeting him there?”

“I just show up! There’s no communication! Tristan’s a fucking ghost, you know that. No one gets close to him except you, Collins. It’s no secret that Tristan treats you like a son. Two Gun’s not afraid of repercussions from the package getting lost, he’s afraid because everyone thinks you’re dead including Tristan!”

“Are you telling me the truth?” I raised the board a little higher with my right hand.

“Yes! I swear it! I swear I’m telling you the truth! That’s all I know!” Martini screeched through bloodied lips.

“Alright, I believe you,” I said. His eyes softened as he let out a slight sigh of relief between sobbing shutters.

I stood up, grabbed the board with both hands and swung it into Martini’s skull with all that was in me. I hit him again and again until he lost consciousness, then a few more swings claimed his worthless soul.

“That’s for Reegan, you piece of shit!” I threw Martini into the dumpster, turned and left the alley.

As I came round the corner, Andrew righted himself. He’d been leaning against the street wall, my sentinel. We turned to walk away. Just then, the back door of the club opened and music resonated into the alleyway, becoming louder as the cute bartender stepped out with an unlit cigarette in hand.

-Collins Rhōg

Cambire, The Story continues in the SedonaEye.com. Some SedonaEye.com scenes have been edited due to content. Look for the unedited Cambire, The Story, available at booksellers and retailers in the fall of 2015 to be published as Change of Allegiance.