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  One Too Many

  Book I

  Tim Lynch, Sr.

  One Too Many – Book I

  Copyright © 2014 Tim Lynch, Sr.

  All Rights Reserved

  {Previously published 1993}

  Cover Design by Laura Shinn Designs

  https://laurashinn.yolasite.com

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  One Too Many – Book I is a work of fiction. Though some of the cities and towns actually exist they are used in a fictitious manner for purposes of this work. All characters are works of fiction and any names or characteristics similar to any person past, present or future are coincidental.

  Thomas Holt sat at his desk anxiously screening one of the five newspapers he voraciously read every day. He was especially jittery today since one of his field agents was hours overdue in checking in.

  Holt was a fifty-two year old Section Chief in the Central Intelligence Agency. He started when he was twenty-eight and had a somewhat lustrous career as he helped recruit “weirdos”, an unflattering term for those who had trouble “fitting in” yet had talents of their own. Through his guidance, they were quite useful to the Agency. His cover was usually as an Import/Export business-owner. He also (quietly) collected statuary from around the world as a hobby.

  Holt was a Peter Coyote-looking kind of guy, lean and muscular because he stayed fit by playing racquetball and working out at the gym five or six days a week. But today he was anxiously waiting to get word of an agent he had sent to the Middle East. The agent was ten hours overdue in sending arrival confirmation through the “network”. Holt's policy was that, after twelve hours, just two hours away, the agent should be presumed “lost”, that is, dead or captured.

  Holt had sent his “favorite” field agent on this especially-nerve-wracking assignment. The agent was Carrie Call, a five-foot, ten-inch green-eyed blonde, almost as pretty as Natasha Henstridge. He had recruited her just a few years earlier. She'd been a Martial Arts student of a “weirdo” Holt had used for some small jobs as a hippy freak in the late sixties.

  Miss Call was a strong-minded athlete, very clever and resourceful, who could adapt quickly to situations. She quickly mastered many weapons, even the “exotic” ones, and was highly skilled in the use of disguises. Holt knew more about her than even she knew, for he investigated potential recruits quite thoroughly, sometimes burying things he discovered if it served his purposes.

  And now, Miss Call was about to be placed on the List of the Lost without ever having known all about her past.

  Holt turned the page of the newspaper, and was shocked as he read the headline: “LOCAL MARKSMANSHIP CHAMPION INJURED IN CAR CHASE”. Under the headline was the photo of a face he knew. The article told how a Louisiana Deputy was injured in a car crash in Shreveport, Louisiana, and had sustained a head injury resulting in amnesia, then lapsing into a coma. Holt was stunned as he read the article and, after regaining his composure, placed himself on the next flight to Shreveport, making one short, but critical detour before boarding the plane.

  Upon arriving in Shreveport, Holt enlisted the help of the local FBI chief in identifying Holt as the Deputy's only living relative.

  Holt had the comatose Deputy signed out of the hospital and placed in a private ambulance, and 

  taken to the airport where a chartered jet was waiting.

  The jet brought them to a secluded private one thousand, two hundred-acre estate east of Dallas, Texas. The estate was like a resort for V. I. P.s and select “guests”. Besides a runway, it had just about every amenity one could imagine, including a private, state-of-the-art Medical Clinic.

  The comatose patient was placed in a private room in the clinic and monitored 'round the clock by the Medical staff.

  A team of top-notch medical doctors was assigned to bring Deputy back to consciousness, Seventeen hours and four minutes after arriving at the clinic, the Deputy awakened and Holt was summoned.

  When Holt arrived, he entered the patient's dimly-lit room, crossed over to the bed, gazed down at the Deputy, and, with heart pounding, excitedly uttered: “Carrie, my dear. You're alright!.”

  The patient looked quite perplexed, and Holt continued: “Don't be afraid. You've been in an accident and sustained a head injury with loss of memory. My name is Thomas Holt, your employer and friend. Your name is Carrie Call and you've been working for me for about six years. The best possible medical care is being provided, and we're going to do all we can to help to restore your memory.”.

  Holt knew, of course, that this was not lovely agent Carrie, but actually her identical twin sister. The sisters were orphaned in infancy and placed in different foster-homes, never learning of each other's existence. Holt learned of this when he first met, then investigate Carrie, keeping the information to himself. While he employed Carrie, he also kept track of her sister, whose name is Corey Cole. As Holt watched them both, he was constantly amazed at how similar they were even though unaware of each other's existance.

  Besides the faces and names being so alike, their life-styles were quite similar—a classic study of independent, yet, parallel development of twins unaware of each other.

  Holt now intended to to put to use this special knowledge he possessed.

  Corey Cole was Deputy Sheriff in Louisiana. She was the Louisiana State Champion in Marksmanship, and a “natural” in Aikido, the martial art taught at the Police Academy. Corey loved the outdoors and fishing, and both sisters even had a Golden Retriever, each named “Sandy”.

  How easy it was for Holt to accept Corey as “Carrie”; now to make Corey accept it!

  Holt had instructed the doctors to put Corey on a psycho-tropic drug that made her feel quite serene, and free of anxiety. This would make her more trusting and receptive to Holt's brainwashing.

  With the help of duplicate IDs for Carrie that Holt kept in the Agency office, and a photo album Holt had picked up from Carrie's apartment, and a few other things that he would use to create an artificial “past”, soon Corey would believe that she truly was Carrie!

  After two intense days of medication and “memory substitution”, Corey accepted the she was Carrie. She was recovered enough from her injury to leave the clinic. Holt then went on to explain that “Carrie” worked for him as an agent who helped to “make right some social disorders that victimized innocent people”. To Corey's medicated mind, her police-valued principles accepted this explanation. Corey, or rather, the new Carrie, was briefed “again” on her Middle East assignment.

  She would be brought to the Middle East, snuck into Iraq where others who knew her waited to help her complete her mission. She would be concealed until nightfall, then a local agent would lead her to the current residence of Sadam Hussein!

  Holt gave Carrie the file on Sadam; he was fifty-four years old, and married with four children. He had two brothers, but when his brother, Ahmad, disagreed with Sadam on a decision to test nerve gas on “an expendable little town of peasants” in their own country, Sadam had his brother, and Ahmad's wife and children kidnapped. They were all brought to a secret location, and Ahmad was made to witness the execution of his wife six children, one by one, before Sadam personally shot Ahmad through the head. This was a typical method by which Sadam maintained control in his country, by rapidly eliminating anyone who thought differently from him. As word of these deeds spread, so did fear of Sadam, and despite people's personal feelings and inclinations, no-one would dare try to eliminate him, since he had a large network of informers and people who followed him through loyalty or fear.

  Holt also received intelligence that, since Sadam got kicked out of Kuwait, he launched a major campaign to acquire nuc
lear weapons and take out his anger by launching a nuclear warhead on Israel. At last report, only two days old, it was rumored that Sadam already had the weaponry and planned to use it soon. Sadam would further hurt the western countries, who earned his wrath, by contaminating the Kuwaiti oil fields with a nuclear explosion.

  Carrie was told that it was her assignment to eliminate Sadam Hussein!

  Even under the influence of the psychotropic drugs, Corey's mind bolted at the thought of killing someone who was not threatening her life. Holt explained that Sadam was “holding a gun” to the heads of thousands of innocent people and had to be stopped before he could pull the trigger. And if he didn't shy away from committing genocide on his own citizens with the nerve gas experiment, why would he be reluctant to kill thousands of his sworn enemies? This seemed to make sense to Corey, and after a long pause and a deep sigh, she said: “Okay, Boss.”

  Corey was flown to the Middle East where a plane took her over the Zagros Mountains. After dark she was launched out the back of a C-141 airplane and she used a hang-glider for the long silent trip to her rendez-vous point on the ground. Her contacts would guide her to a “safe house” where she would rest until the next evening when she would carry out her assignment. Every moment was electrically-charged with apprehension, but Corey felt it her duty to complete “her” assignment.

  Corey got to the safe house and slept a while, dreaming about going for a run with her dog, Sandy. When she woke up, she remembered her dreams and they all seemed to coincide with the “past” Holt had told her about. She felt more relaxed about all he had said, since, even her dreams fit in.

  After a light meal and a bath, Corey geared-up her equipment...two spike knives, a garrotte, three shurikens, and a nine-millimeter with a silencer. She put on her dark brown contact lenses, darkened her face with make-up, and concealed her weapons with the black garb of the local women. She looked completely unobtrusive.

  As night fell, she was guided to within three blocks of the house that Sadam was currently using. For his own safety, Sadam would rotate use of five or six houses, but the underground intel network kept close tabs of his whereabouts.

  Everything looked familiar to Corey, since Holt had provided her with photos and a miniature re-construction of the area. She braced herself, and advanced toward a three-story building opposite Sadam's house. In front of the building was an armed guard, patrolling. Corey's instructions were to take out the guard at exactly 10:37 P.M., and, at 10:38, a car would pull up, the body would be placed in the car, and a substitute guard put in his place.

  As Corey approached the guard, she reached up with both hands to remove the veil from her face. As the guard saw this, he relaxed and smiled since he thought a flirtation was about to take place. During the instant of his distraction, with her right hand Corey withdrew the concealed knife from her left forearm and forcefully shoved it into the guard's neck. Before he could reach the ground, the car stopped at the curb behind Corey. Corey steadied the body against the wall , the substitute guard jumped from the car, tossed the dead man into the car, and assumed his post. Corey slipped out of the robes, rolled them up, and slipped them around her neck. She then scaled the corner of the building in her black commando garb, easily reaching the tiled roof above the third floor. She made her way over towards a large palm tree in front of the building. The tree's fronds provided perfect concealment as Corey nestled beside a parapet. She had a perfect view of Sadam's quarters across the street on the second floor. Knowing she was well concealed from nearly every angle, Corey pulled out her nine mm semi-automatic, checked the magazine and the silencer for the umpteenth time, and paused to brace herself for the task she was about to complete. She looked across at Sadam's chambers and saw the lights come on. There was movement in the room. A beautiful girl about thirty years old pulled the sheer curtains back and opened the five-foot high windows. Sadam crossed the room from right to left behind her. The moment had arrived!

  Corey's hand began to perspire as she positioned the gun over and over in her hand. She wondered if it might slip in her hand but then realized that the gun was so perfectly-designed, it would function under any conditions. Corey inhaled and watched as Sadam approached the window. The girl in the room went to prepare for bed. Sadam stood at the window talking to the girl as he looked up at the stars. Corey wondered if he was saying how he would light up the skies of Israel and Kuwait with his weapons. Corey knew this was the perfect moment. She extended her arm to aim and, as she stabilized her breath to fire, a pigeon suddenly flew up from below and passed right in front of her. Startled, she excitedly muttered: “Holy Shit!”, but she heard it as if said in unison with someone else. “Impossible!”, she thought to herself. It must have been an echo from the acoustics of her hiding spot. She pulled herself together, and extended her arm again, aiming at Sadam. But as she did, it looked as if a reflection of her arm appeared to her left. Controlling her panic, she realized she was not alone, pulled her hand back, pointed her hand around the parapet, and moved to see who was there. The other person did the same and they asked each other in synchronized whispers: “Who the hell are you?” They gasped as they looked at each other. Corey asked: “What are you doing here?”. Carrie answered: “Taking out the trash”, as she nodded her head towards Sadam's window. “Me, too”, Corey answered. But why do you look like me?”. Carrie answered: “It's more like: you look like me, but this is no time to exchange biographies. Let's do what we're here for and haul ass.” Corey concurred and said: “Okay, let's do it!”. Carrie said: “Okay, I'll take the left eye, you take the right....On the count of three.”.

  They each took aim, and, on the count of three, each hit their mark perfectly. The Butcher of Baghdad was dead!

  Carrie said: “Now let's get out of here and swap Q&As.”. Corey answered: “I'm with you.”. They climbed to the back of the roof and heard screams as they left. On the back side of the building, they rappelled down to a van waiting in the alley. Carrie explained to the man waiting at the van that she “can't go anywhere without running into an old friend.”. “She's with me. Let's get out of here.” The two ladies piled into the van and sped away, each lady staring at the other, wondering why they looked so much alike.

  They fled to a safe house, the place where Carrie had been taken while she was in a coma. She explained about their hosts: “They're friends. They concealed me from the soldiers when my hang glider crashed, and I lapsed into a coma for two days. They nursed me until I could do the job.”

  The girls spent the next two days together realizing that, besides their faces and assignments, there was another common denominator....Holt! The bastard seemed to know a lot more about them than he let on. They would now be extremely cautious around him until until they could get the rest of the pieces to the puzzle. They agreed that Carrie—the real one—would return to the office in Atlanta, and Corey, who still didn't know her real name, would go to San Francisco, to a clandestine apartment that Carrie would use when she didn't want to be found. It was furnished with clothes and all, so Corey could hide until her memory returned.

  Back at the Regional Office in Atlanta, Holt and his cronies were in the Monitor Room watching the news on six TV screens. They were all in a festive mood, laughing and talking about how Holt would be considered the Man-of-the-Year in the espionage community due to Sadam's elimination. “WRONG!”, a voice said from the open door. The Man-of-the-Year is a WOMAN, and you're looking at her!”.

  They turned around to see the familiar face of Carrie in the doorway. Holt looked at her, turned pale, and agreed: “That's right, gentlemen. THIS is the one who got the job done. She deserves the credit. Well done, Carrie.”

  Carrie smiled and said: “Thanks, but I'm not here to party—just to tell you I'm taking some time off.”.

  Holt still stunned and confused, quickly agreed: “Yes, uh, you deserve it. Call me in a couple of days to let me know how you are doing.”.

  Carrie smiled, hollered: “Okay, ciao”, tur
ned and left the office.

  Holt dismissed his subordinates, opened the bottom drawer of a file cabinet, pulled out a bottle of coconut vodka, took a swig, and slowly sat down, wondering which Carrie that was, and where was the other one?.

  End of Book I

  One Too Many

  From The Carrie Call Series

  By Tim Lynch, Sr.

  Author's note

  While you wait a week or so for Book 2, tell all your friends to download my book, and tell them where they can find it. Thanks for your time and attention. Hope you enjoy the whole Carrie Call Series.

  Tim Lynch, Sr.