The Terrorbuster Saga

The fictional adventures of a superhero in the Great War On Terror. This blog is intended to present in a beginning-to-end fashion a story that is being serialized in standard blogging fashion on my regular blog - BLOGOTIONAL


As they approached Kiev, Carter slipped Ilya a stimulant and roused him. When they arrived at the hotel, Ilya was still groggy and it was no trick for Carter to lead him up to his room. Hotel staff didn't give it a second thought – hung over and groggy is a natural state of existence in the former Soviet.

Carter tied Ilya up in a chair and then went into the bathroom and shut the door. He put the toilet lid down, took a seat and slowly, but silently began to sob. Within just a few minutes, he looked up and all that could be read on his face was rage. He took a few deep breaths and stepped back into the room.

He walked calmly over to the in-room refrigerator, took out a bottle of Pepsi (they still use the old glass ones in Ukraine), opened it, took a swig, then stuffed it violently into Ilya's mouth - pouring the liquid as rapidly as possible while simultaneously gagging him. Ilya's eyes started to pop out as he was overcome with the sensation of drowning.

When the bottle emptied, Carter removed it and Ilya bent forward and puked. Before he was finished, Carter grabbed his collar and pulled him upright, looked him in the eye and said simply, "Answer my question the first time, or I'll call room service for more Pepsi." Ilya blinked in response.

"Who is buying the material from you?" began Carter.

"Al Qaeda, I guess…"

"You guess?" said Carter as he moved towards the fridge.

"If I say more, they'll kill me."

Shifting tacks, Carter asked, "How do you make delivery?"

"Old KGB network trucks to the Black Sea, then by ship to Mobile. All the people in between me and delivery think its drugs."

"Let's go back to the who question," Carter said as he walked over to his suitcase and pulled out the huge Bowie knife Amy had purchased for him as a souvenir during the first couple of days there. It was old Soviet military issue and Amy had seen him admiring it at a flea market. She had surprised him with it when they got back to the hotel.

Ilya's eyes started to bulge again at the sight of the knife, "The money comes from a bank in Kabul, so I just assume."

"Who?" asked Carter

"Cashiers check," responded Ilya.

"Precious little information," Carter thought, "but enough." Then he sat down at his computer and worked a while. Ilya saw a whole new set of identity papers appear for Carter.

Eventually he turned to Ilya and said, "Do you know how it was you were held in that office?"

"A" was all Ilya could manage.

"No," said Carter with a certain emphasis in his voice, "She was an agent in a hi-tech suit. Kind of like your buddy -- that thing that killed her. Only she was human,. . . and the woman I loved."

With that, Carter reached out with the knife and slit Ilya's throat. Ilya had no time to say anything before his vocal cords were rendered useless. He bled out in a matter of seconds. Carter then set about mutilating the corpse, especially the face and fingerprints. He even broke the teeth to void dental identification.

On what was left of the body, he planted his own identity papers. He then took a shower and got dressed. He pulled a suitcase out of the closet and put it where his super-tech case had been, picked up his new identity papers and walked out of the room as Rob Self, agricultural importer, visiting the Ukraine to arrange grain shipments to America. David Carter was dead.

Rob Self went to hop the next plane to Washington.