 
THE MISTRI VIRUS

By

Larry E. Huddleston
THE MISTRI VIRUS

Copyright ©2009 by Larry E. Huddleston

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Chapter 1

Tommy LaSade had been three years old when his father, Mark, was sent away to Kuwait to free that country from the grasp of Saddam Hussain, the maniacal Dictator of Iraq. Tommy had just turned five when his father was sent home minus two legs, one at the hip, the other at mid-thigh, one arm at the shoulder, his voice and his hearing. The loss of his voice was due to severed vocal cords and missing larynx; his hearing because of destroyed ear drums caused by the same mortar that had taken his legs and arm. His daddy was a very unhappy man. He cried constantly, the only evidence was the constant flowing tears, and as far as Tommy knew, he never slept and couldn't talk to anyone.

Tommy didn't understand that that was the reason his father cried. There was a world of words he wanted to say to his only son, but couldn't. He couldn't hear his wife's or son's sweet voice, even though he could see their lips moving and knew they were talking to him. He couldn't even hear his own breathing or heartbeat to know he was still alive. He suffered in a world of absolute silence.

Tommy had been six years old when his mom, Sarah, came home lugging an old second-hand computer and monitor. A neighbor had come over to set it up and get it going for them. He hung around for several months to teach Tommy and his dad how to use it. Tommy was a natural; his dad tried hard but could never fully grasp the concept.

As Tommy's reading and writing skills improved at school, so did his abilities on the computer. His dad never quite got the hang of it. But, at least, now they could communicate to a degree.

Within five years, Tommy had left his father far behind in computer skills. He was able to make mental connections on the programs that simplified them and was soon writing his own programs that made his and his dad's communication exceptionally easier. At ten years old, he wrote a computer game that sent the world into a panic. He had written the code so that the kid that entered the correct sequence of characters would set off the panic and get all the blame.

Tommy had thought it hilarious. His dad didn't, but didn't say much in condemnation either. He typed only three words to Tommy: Serves them right!

Two months later, Tommy's dad was dead. It was ruled suicide. He had stabbed himself in the heart with a butcher knife. He had typed only three words on the newest computer: Serves me right! Tommy didn't understand these words at the time, but two months later his mom told him he was going to have a baby brother or sister before Christmas, a mere four months away.

Tommy wasn't a dummy. He knew where babies came from and how they were made. He was almost twelve. His dad had told him several times that his mom was unhappy with him because he couldn't make her any more babies. So, Tommy had put two and two together and had come up with four. His mom had gotten someone besides his father to make her a baby. His father found out, killed himself and freed his wife from a very heavy burden. Him.

Tommy hated his mom after that. He wasn't mean; he just didn't like her anymore. He hated his step-dad worse and vowed he'd never speak to them again. He was true to his word.

That was the one thing his dad had sworn him to. That he would never break his word to himself or to anyone he gave it to. Nor, would he ever betray the trust of a friend or enemy. The friend he would protect with his life. The enemy he would eliminate by any means available.

When Tommy had been six years old his dad had insisted his mom enroll him in a martial arts program under Master Chang, a Tibetan monk. He insisted it would help Tommy bring his mind and body together as one. Tommy guessed it worked. He was still in training and his mind and body were still together as one. But, he didn't think that was exactly what his father had meant.

When he entered high school, Tommy was a black belt in several disciplines of martial arts. He didn't have a particular discipline, though. He liked the approach of the great Bruce Lee, who taught that having no style was in itself a style. But he also liked the moves of Steven Segal in his movies, so attempted to bring the two together as one. It worked for him and had led him to win several competitions around the state. He had even qualified for the U.S. Olympic team and had won the gold at Barcelona.

Upon graduation from high school, he had gone to college for two years and then joined the U.S. Army to follow in his father's footsteps and make him proud of his only son. He thrived on the disciplined, regimented lifestyle of the military.

Following basic training and A.I.T. (Advanced Individual Training) Tommy was sent to Fort Benning, Georgia for Airborne Training, jump school, as it was called. It was a breeze; Tommy loved to run! And he had felt totally alive as he stood in the door and looked out into the wild blue yonder from the C-141, held a tight body position and launched himself at the Stick Sergeant's command. The long float down was what Tommy thought Heaven would be like. The crash and roll at the end was as if his life had come to an end; he couldn't wait to go up and jump again!

After jump school Tommy was approached by a Ranger and asked if he was truly ready for a challenge. Tommy accepted and was transferred across the base for eight weeks of undiluted hell. He thrived and graduated at the top of his class. He was then approached by an Airborne Ranger, wearing a Green Beret, and asked if he was interested in being all he could be. He volunteered and was sent to Ft. Bragg, North Carolina for training that separated the weak from the strong, of the mighty. Again he thrived and graduated at the top of his class. From there he was sent to Ft. Campbell, Kentucky for sniper training. There was no stopping Tommy LeSade. He was bound for glory and prayed for war. He was a soldier through and through. Patriotic to the core and was willing to die for his country, no questions asked.

He graduated West Point second in his class and was now an officer in the United States Army, the most advanced and powerful war machine in the history of the world. Tommy LeSade was a human Thor and three times as tough.

Some higher up had his eye on Tommy LeSade and, before he knew it, his four year enlistment was up. He was approached by a one star general and asked what his plans for the future were.

"My country, Sir!" Tommy had replied, coming to attention.

"Relax, Lieutenant," General Stall had smiled. "If you reenlist I will support you for Captain. You are a credit to the uniform, Sir!"

Tommy reenlisted for four more years and was sent to Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas to the War College. He graduated two years later as a Captain. Then, on September 11, 2001, Tommy LeSade's lifelong wish was delivered to him, and the rest of the United States, in New York City. America had cause for war and the American President, George W. Bush, Jr., didn't hesitate for a second. He ordered the massive invasion of Afghanistan, after tracing the terrorists back to there.

The American forces rolled across that country as if there was no opposing force in the way. It had been so easy, the American President had ordered his military to kick the shit out of Iraq, since they were so close anyway. Besides, it would save them a trip in the long run.

So, that was where Captain Tommy LeSade found himself on the morning of April 16, 2002. He was belly deep in sand, sweating like a pig and hotter than Hell's own inferno. He was madder than the Devil himself and indignant as a drunken Lord. He had the S.O.B. dead under his cross-hairs less than eight hundred yards away and no one would give him the okay to blow the bastard out of the saddle.

What the hell kind of war is this, he thought. Where a soldier can't kill the number one enemy!

"Hot Shot One, to Silver Eagle Three," Tommy whispered into the microphone at his lips.

"Hot Shot One, Silver Eagle Three, copy five by," a voice replied in his ears.

"Silver Eagle Three, Hot Shot One has Big Cahuna dead to rights at eight hundred yards and twelve o'clock. Request authorization to deep six primary. Over," Tommy stated urgently.

"Hold, Hot Shot One. Do not deep six primary! Repeat! Do not deep six primary! Copy?"

"Negative Silver Eagle Three!" Tommy whispered angrily. "Hot Shot has primary at eight hundred, high noon. I can take him clean!"

"Negative, Hot Shot One!" the voice repeated seriously. "Golden Eagle One says no deep six. Repeat, Golden Eagle One says NO deep six of Big Cohuna! Copy?"

"Roger, Silver Eagle Three," Tommy replied after several long seconds of disappointed silence. "No deep six. Out!"

Tommy pounded the sand with his fist in frustration. He could not believe the higher ups were going to let Saddam slip through their fingers. He could not believe it! It was madness!

Tommy watched through his scope as the ragged S.O.B. stomped around with his chest stuck out giving orders to soldiers who nearly fainted from fright when he spoke directly to them. They would fall to their knees before him, lean over and kiss his dirty feet as if he were God Almighty. Tommy whispered to himself, "He may very well be to these people. Who knows what they think or believe?" He sure as hell didn't!

He continued to watch through his scope as they all mounted up into their convoy of converted pickup trucks and drove off over the sand dunes. He realized his chance to get a little payback for over two thousand Americans was quickly disappearing over a hill. Damn, he screamed to himself, slammed his fist into the sand once again, then slowly began to slide backwards down the back of the sand dune he had been lying on.

Tommy was mad and silent for three days as he watched the town below. There wasn't much activity, just an occasional fast moving pickup and a few slow moving camels and any number of goats and herdsmen. None of them came close to him so he lay still and silent. Waiting.

At three o'clock in the morning he was awakened by frantic screaming in his ears, "Hot Shot One! Hot Shot One! Silver Eagle Three, over!"

"Hot Shot One, Silver Eagle Three, copy five by, over!" Tommy replied quickly, sensing the urgency in the voice, trying to position his mic better.

"Hot Shot One, Silver Eagle Three is under attack! Can you provide cover? Over!" The frantic voice screamed.

"Roger, Silver Eagle Three. Five mikes, over."

"Five mikes, over," the voice replied slightly relieved.

Tommy stood and ran down the back of the sand dune. It was over a mile through loose, shifting sand, to the fire-base. He would make it. He had too. His friends were counting on him. He pushed himself harder than ever before. He began hearing sporadic gunfire as he topped a dune and ran full bore down the other side, then up the next dune.

At the top of the dune, he belly flopped to his stomach, flipped the dust caps up on his infrared scope and began to scan the fire base below. Off in the distance he saw muzzle flashes and began to mark their position by the hours on a clock. His position to the fire-base was six o'clock.

After scanning from left to right, then back slowly, he had most of the enemy positions located and marked on his mental clock. He lined up on ten o'clock and waited. A muzzle flashed. He placed the cross hairs on it. It flashed again. He squeezed the trigger gently and waited. No more muzzle flashes from ten o'clock.

He slowly worked his way across the upper face of his mental clock. He squeezed the trigger on his sniper rifle over twenty-two times. He had no idea how many hits and kills he had, but there were no more muzzle flashes in or around the fire base.

He noticed as he started working his way down the dune to the fire-base that the dawn was quickly approaching. It would be sun up soon, and then he could count his dead and wounded enemies. He'd know immediately about the friendlies. He dreaded that part of war. It would be easier if only the enemy died. But even the enemy had friends who would mourn them. But war didn't work that way, she was not a discriminating mistress. She was a whore, plain and simple.

Of the thirty or so men assigned to the fire-base only about half were up and moving around as Tommy entered the fire-base perimeter. Several, he saw, were walking wounded. He knew this was not good news. He had a lot of friends here. People he had known for years, people he had served with, trained with, played with and now, fought with both off and on the field of battle. But, even if he didn't like them personally, he treated them with respect and expected and received respect in return. He didn't dislike any of them enough to want them injured or dead. They were his people.

As he entered the medical tent, the news got worse. His commanding officer was being zipped into a body bag. Tommy was ranking officer on the base and was now in command.

"Okay, people, what do we have?" he asked a medic standing over a soldier with a sucking chest wound.

"Eight KIAs. Five WIA and three walking wounded, sir," the medic replied, not once looking up.

Tommy knew he meant killed in action, wounded in action and walking wounded. Bottom line, they could be in very serious trouble if the Iraqis renewed their attack.

"I'm ranking office here," Tommy said. "I'm assuming temporary command. Have everyone available meet me at the command tent. I'll pick up who I see as I go that way. Tell them to stay low. There may still be shooters out there," Tommy said.

"Roger, sir," the medical sergeant said as Tommy turned and left.

"Sergeant King," he said addressing the communications sergeant as he entered the command tent.

"Sir?" King answered coming out the door to Tommy.

"Get us some medevacs in here and ask for Blackhawks overhead. Then meet me in command."

"Sir, medevacs are on the way. I'll request Blackhawks for overhead," he said, as he returned to the communications tent on the double.

Five minutes later, as Tommy sat in the command tent, he heard the approach of helicopters. He stood and walked out to meet them.

He had taken three minutes to post all his available men on the perimeter guard. He looked around as he exited the tent and was relieved to see them all alert and ready for action, should it come upon them. Only the medics were absent from the perimeter; they had their own duties to perform and they crept around tending the wounded where they lay.

No shots had been fired in over twenty minutes. As far as Tommy could remember, he had fired the last one. He figured that if he hadn't killed them all, the ones that had gotten away got the message and were still running for the distant dunes. At least he hoped they were. He didn't believe they could withstand another full scale attack. There was no way.

"Sergeant King?"

"Sir," King replied instantly.

"See about getting some more men, or hooking up with another outfit somewhere close."

"Roger that, sir," Sergeant King responded seriously, then turned back to his communications tent and radio.

Tommy watched as the Blackhawks began to circle in the distance. He thought they may be looking over the dead from his shoot out earlier.

At his twelve o'clock position he saw the helicopters began to slow and drop lower to the ground, as if looking closer at something. He couldn't imagine what it could be; a dead body was a dead body. The chopper's nose dropped slightly, then the big mean looking machine settled to the ground and the rotors began to slow to a stop a hundred yards from him. Tommy still squinted his eyes against the blowing sand.

The pilot exited the machine and came toward him. He walked out to meet the man half way.

"Major Andrew Ryan," the man introduced himself as he returned Tommy's salute and then offered his hand.

"Captain Tommy LeSade," Tommy replied taking the man's hand firmly. "Glad you're here, Major."

"Looks like a heavy hit, Captain," Ryan commented, looking around the fire-base.

"Yes sir," Tommy replied. "Nearly fifty percent casualty. Colonel Markham didn't make it."

"Mark Markham?" Ryan asked, a sadness darkening his eyes.

"Yes, sir."

"Damn! I liked the Colonel! He was a good man."

"Yes Sir."

"Captain, who's your sniper?" Ryan asked, following several seconds of silent mourning for their fallen comrade.

"That'd be me, sir," Tommy replied.

"Good shooting," Ryan replied, looking around, then back at Tommy. "In the dark, I presume?"

"Yes sir."

"Not bad at all," Ryan smiled. "Write up your after action report and I'll sign it. I counted eighteen bodies. Fifteen head shots, the rest died of massive throat trauma. They bled out, Captain. That makes your shooting exceptional."

"No thanks, Major," Tommy replied seriously. "I appreciate the offer, but I'll leave the decorations to the real heroes, sir."

"As you wish, Captain," Ryan replied smiling. "I'll write it up. You'll be hearing from me. I like your style, sir." Ryan offered his hand and when Tommy shook it, he turned back to his machine and within minutes was back in the sky patrolling around the fire-base.

Ryan's parting words still rang in Tommy's ears as he watched the helicopter in the distance.

Tommy looked around at the devastation of his fire-base. Bullet holes stitched along most of the tents. Three of his four Humvees sat on at least two flat tires. Their only drinking water was soaking into the desert sand and he was willing to bet their ammo supply was severely depleted.

Oh, well, he thought. It could have been worse, he decided, as he returned to the command tent to await further bad news.

He sat in the dimness of the command tent trying to decide what to do. All of his killed and wounded had been flown out. He hadn't received or even been promised replacements and there were no close support units anywhere in the area. He was however, promised periodic flyovers by the Blackhawks. He guessed that was better than nothing. He stood and walked outside. He may as well beef up his perimeter, if at all possible.

As he stepped outside into the glaring desert sun, he saw a lone Blackhawk helicopter several miles away taking evasive action. Hot on its tail was a R.P.G., rocket propelled grenade. It didn't appear that the Blackhawk was going to make its escape.

As the thought flashed through his mind, the R.P.G. connected with the tail rotor. It exploded in a brilliant flash. The chopper tilted severely, nose up, then lay over on its side and began to auto-rotate to the ground.

Tommy jumped back inside the tent, grabbed his sniper rifle and began to run toward the downed chopper. "Sergeant King," he yelled as he passed the communications tent.

"Sir?" King yelled back.

"I'll be back! Downed chopper a few clicks to the west. Put it on the wire," Tommy yelled as he continued to run to the perimeter.

"Yes, sir!" King yelled after him.

Tommy had been running for fifteen or twenty minutes up and down sand dunes. He knew he had covered at least three or four miles. Still, he saw no sign of the downed chopper. He continued to run, knowing that if the pilots had survived the crash they wouldn't survive the arrival of the Iraqis.

He reached the top of the next dune and fell to his stomach. He was breathing hard but steady; running in the loose sand was an exhausting ordeal.

In the valley below, the chopper lay on its side. The Iraqis had it surrounded. There were eight he could see. He figured there may be one or two more inside the chopper rummaging around.

The pilot and co-pilot were kneeling in the sand. The Iraqis had their AK's pointed at the backs of their heads.

This is going to be dicey, Tommy thought as he quickly figured a firing solution.

He decided he would take the two pointing their AK's at the American's heads first. Then, he would take the one in front of them asking the questions. He would have to play it by ear from there. He lined the cross hairs up on his first target's forehead and gently squeezed the trigger. The man's head exploded in a funnel of red mist. He quickly shifted his aim and the second was slammed back as the first was beginning to fall. The third was knocked forward between the kneeling Americans and his blood, bone and brain matter splattered across the nose of the chopper to overlay the first two.

Before the rest of the Iraqis could realize what was happening, two more headed to meet Allah face to face. That left three to five. The pilot and co-pilot were face in the sand trying to hide behind the dead bodies. They didn't provide much cover, though. Geysers of sand sprayed into the air as bullets slammed around them, the Iraqis intent on taking their prisoners with them to Paradise. Tommy was intent on preventing them from doing just that.

Tommy fired twice more and two more Iraqis left for the Promised Land, leaving one more. Tommy knew he was hiding behind the nose cone of the chopper. At ground level, the man's right foot was visible from about the ankle forward. Tommy drew a bead on it and as the Rag stuck his AK around the nose of the chopper and pulled the trigger, Tommy squeezed his at about the same time.

The Iraqis foot vanished in a spray of red across the sand. He screamed and fell forward, reaching for his maimed foot. Tommy sent him to Allah on the express train to join his brothers.

Eight Iraqis lay around the chopper. Tommy waited. There was only one way out of the chopper; through the opened door on the top. Still, Tommy waited.

After about five minutes the stock of an AK stuck up through the door. It was followed by two skinny brown arms reaching for the sky. Tommy watched through his scope and as the head poked up through the door, he squeezed the trigger. A spray of red mist stained the top of the chopper and the body slammed back into the frame and then fell out of sight.

After five more minutes of seeing no movement or hearing any unusual sounds from the chopper, Tommy began to slowly slide down the dune. Close to the bottom he stood up, never taking his eye from the scoped view of the door of the chopper. He stood and walked slowly toward the two prone men.

He was within ten steps of the chopper and five of the prone men when another man sprang from the door of the chopper like a jack in the box and began spraying the area with gunfire. Tommy fired twice, hitting the man in the chest with both shots. He slammed back into the door frame and dropped out of sight. Tommy continued to scope the chopper door, but there were no more unusual sounds or movements. After another five minutes he began to relax. He stepped forward and his foot came into contact with something on the ground. He glanced down. It was the third kill. He now stood between the two Americans. He looked down at them. They stared back up at him in awe. He recognized Major Ryan. They said not a word as Tommy returned his eye to the scope and once again started forward, slowly, one step at a time.

He eased around the nose of the chopper and looked inside through the windshield. There was no movement at all inside. He saw two bundles of what appeared to be rags, but he knew it was the two dead soldiers.

"Clear!" Tommy yelled, lowering his weapon. He turned and rapidly stepped back to the two pilots. When he reached them they were setting up, checking themselves over for wounds.

"Well, Captain. I now owe you my life. I'll never forget, ever!" Ryan promised looking him in the eye.

"Nor I," the co-pilot stated as he stood up and offered Tommy his hand. "Captain Wendell Cartwright."

"My pleasure Captain," Tommy replied.

"Wendell, this is Captain LeSade. He is a real hero. He has saved many lives today and has also taken a fair number. I count around twenty five in less than three hours. Whatever you do, don't make him mad at you," Ryan smiled. "I wish we had a thousand like him."

"Not a bad day in my book, since one of the saved lives was mine!" Cartwright smiled.

In the distance, four Blackhawk helicopters were approaching from the east as the officers stood talking. All four choppers turned and landed at the four corners of the downed bird. One co-pilot stepped out and came over to them.

"Mornin' gentlemen," he smiled. "Need a lift?" he said in a west Texas drawl.

"Wouldn't hurt," Ryan replied smiling. "Beats walking," he added, as they walked to the waiting chopper.

When they were airborne, the chopper spun around on its nose and fired two missiles into the dead bird. It exploded in a massive fireball and black smoke. The chopper then spun on its axis, and nose down, began to gain altitude and speed as it headed back toward the fire-base. The other choppers took great pleasure in destroying the pickups the Iraqis had arrived in.

The chopper dropped Tommy off at his fire-base. After handshakes all around and promises to stay in touch, Major Ryan and Captain Cartwright climbed back aboard the chopper and were flown back to their base for another Blackhawk. Tommy watched the helicopter until it was out of sight in the east, then turned his attentions back to his fire-base.

First off, he noticed that the flats on the Humvees had been fixed and that most of their gear had been packed up. It looked as if they were ready to travel and it wasn't even noon yet. He was impressed.

"Sir," Sergeant King said, saluting, as Tommy approached. "We've been ordered back to headquarters ASAP."

"Sounds great. When will we be ready to leave here?"

"As soon as you are, sir," King replied. "Your gear's in the Hummer," he added.

"Let's go, then," Tommy said walking to one of the Hummers and climbing in. He sat in the passenger seat with the butt of his sniper rifle resting on the toe of his boot and holding it upright between his knees. It had been a long morning and he was exhausted from the constant adrenaline rush that was now in the process of leaving his system.

Five minutes later, he was asleep in his seat. His body rocked gently back and forth and his head bounced on his chest.

After reaching the headquarters compound, Tommy spent nearly two hours filling out after action reports, down-playing his part in the rescue of his company. However, despite his modesty, the story of Captain Tommy LeSade was already racing throughout the battalion like a tidal wave. He tried to keep a low profile. He didn't want or need attention. He had just done his job to the best of his ability, nothing more, nothing less. Any soldier would have done the same thing given the opportunity; or would have died trying. Tommy was convinced of that, so didn't feel that he had done anything special. However, General Adrian Hawk thought otherwise and ordered him to report to his office at 1500 hours that afternoon.

Tommy didn't know it, but he had been selected for a top secret mission. He was exactly what General Hawk and a few CIA operatives had been looking for.

After the last form was filled out and placed in the out basket on his desk, Tommy glanced at his watch and saw that he had an hour to clean himself up and report to General Hawk's office. It would be close, but he would make it. If nothing else, Tommy was punctual!

Tommy showered, shaved, found clean desert camouflage BDUs and had three minutes to spare as he approached the General's orderly.

"Captain LeSade to see the General," Tommy said as he approached.

"It's an honor, Sir," the orderly said, jumping to his feet and attention as he saluted a living hero.

Tommy returned the salute and stood waiting on the orderly. He stood frozen in idol worship, a look of longing admiration on his face.

"The General, Lieutenant," Tommy prompted.

"Sorry, Sir," the Lieutenant said, dropping his salute and stepping to the General's door, then knocked and waited.

"Come!" the General roared from behind the door.

The orderly opened the door and stood to the side. "General, Captain LeSade reporting."

"Captain LeSade, may I offer you coffee?" Hawk asked, rising and offering his hand across the desk rather than saluting.

"That would be perfect, sir," Tommy replied dropping his salute and taking the general's hand.

"Coffee times two, Lieutenant. That will be all," Hawk said, dismissing the Lieutenant and turning his attention back to Tommy. "Have a seat, Captain. We have some things to discuss."

Tommy studied the general and decided he in no way looked like his name would imply. He was far from being a hawk in any sense of the word. Tommy thought turkey would be more appropriate. In fact General Hawk greatly resembled a turkey in every sense of the word; he was red-faced with wattles under his chin. He was cocky and strutting as if preening his plumage constantly. His belly and chest led his rear end by a good three feet, as if his tail feathers were on public display and he was inordinately proud of them, even though they didn't exist, except perhaps in his mind.

"Yes, Sir," Tommy replied, taking a seat across from Hawk.

"Captain, I have two after action reports here, filed by Major Ryan. Very impressive, Captain. Very impressive, indeed. Care to read them?" he asked, holding the AARs up for Tommy to see.

Tommy took the reports and read them as the orderly entered with two cups of steaming black coffee, then left. When Tommy finished reading he laid the reports back on the edge of the desk and looked into the general's red rheumy eyes.

"That pretty much what happened, Captain?" Hawk asked, never blinking.

"The language is a little rosy, but, yes, sir, that's pretty much what happened. It's fairly accurate. However, I can't say I'm responsible for all the head shots. It was dark, sir. I fired twenty two rounds. I doubt I made head shots eighteen of those twenty-two."

"Any other explanation?"

"No, sir," Tommy replied thoughtfully. "However, other men at the fire-base were firing as well."

"Naw," the general shook his head slowly. "They were under fire. Shooting sporadically. Scared shitless, probably on full automatic. If they hit a head it was pure accident. They probably hit nothing but the side of a sand dune. So, the only logical explanation is that they are all yours," he reasoned looking down at the reports. "Now, at the chopper," Hawk continued. "Major Ryan and Captain Cartwright were eye witnesses. There is no dispute there. Ten ragheads, right? Laid in the sand?"

"Yes, sir. That's correct."

"Very well. Both Major Ryan and Captain Cartwright have recommended you for the Congressional Medal of Honor for your actions. I don't know if that will fly, Captain, since you're not dead or wounded, but I will back it as well. What you did this morning was far and beyond the call of duty. It's an honor to be in your presence, sir. Now, at your base camp, Major Ryan and Captain Cartwright are recommending the Silver Star and the Distinguished Service Cross. I will also support these through Congress and the President. Comments?" the general finished.

"Sir, I didn't come here to be a hero," Tommy said seriously. "Nor did I come here for medals and awards. I came here for over two - thousand innocent Americans at the World Trade Center who cry out for justice. I'm here to see that they get that justice, or to die to secure it for them, Sir!" Tommy continued, his eyes never once leaving the general's.

"Well said, Captain LeSade," the general said proudly standing and saluting Tommy. "That is what makes a hero, Captain! You make me proud to be an American and a soldier, by God! If it were in my power, I'd promote you to the rank of full Colonel. You are a man of honor, humility, dedication and principle! If I knew it wouldn't make you mad, Colonel, I'd kiss you full on the mouth! By God!"

"I'll pass on the kiss, General," Tommy smiled, then stood and returned the general's salute. He dropped it when the general dropped his and took the general's hand when it was once again offered across the desk. It was surprisingly strong for a man of his appearance. Tommy was impressed.

"You'll hear from me shortly, Colonel. Good luck, son!"

"Thank you General," Tommy said, then did an about face and stepped to the door.

"One other thing, Sir, if I may?" Tommy said, turning from the door to face Hawk.

"Of course Colonel."

"Sir, I didn't do anything any other soldier wouldn't have done in the same circumstances."

"That may be, Colonel. But, let's pray we never have to find out."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Good day, Sir." Tommy said, then pulled the door open and stepped through, closing it behind him.

Tommy couldn't believe they were making such a big deal out of what he had done. As far as he was concerned it was all in the line of duty. Well, he thought, maybe the recommendations won't be approved. That would suit him just fine. All he wanted was to be a good soldier. Not a hero. Being a hero was too much trouble.

"Captain, Sir?" the orderly said as Tommy closed the door behind him.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"May I have your autograph, Sir? I've never known a real hero before, sir. It'd be for my kids, Sir!"

"Sure," Tommy smiled. "But, between me and you, you still don't know a hero."

The Lieutenant smiled as Tommy wrote his name across a slip of white paper. His penmanship was remarkably clear and legible.

"Don't you tell anyone about this, Lieutenant," Tommy laughed as he slid the signature across the desk to the lieutenant.

"Not a soul, Sir!"

Tommy smiled and left the office.

By six o'clock that evening everyone at the compound had seen the slip of paper bearing Tommy LeSade's signature. Tommy couldn't wait to get back out into the dunes. This was entirely too much trouble! Too complicated! He needed seclusion; just to be alone for a while with the men and women he knew and trusted.

He didn't know it, but he was about to get his wish. However, not in the way he hoped or expected.
Chapter 2

After Tommy had left Hawk's office, the General opened his top desk drawer and turned off the tape recorder. He had recorded the entire conversation. The recorder had been switched on at exactly three o'clock. Hawk knew that Captain LeSade was very punctual. As a matter of fact he knew everything there was to know about Captain Tommy LeSade. The young captain had been on his radar screen for several years now. He had first come to the general's attention when he graduated at the top of his class at Ft. Bragg. He was an outstanding athlete, exceptionally proficient in self-defense, exceptionally intelligent, loyal beyond question and as deadly as a black mamba. He was just the man Hawk had been looking for.

"Lieutenant!" Hawk screamed in a deep voice of command.

"Sir," the Lieutenant answered opening the door and coming to attention.

"Get me the personnel file on Captain LeSade. I'm making a note that he should never be promoted to full colonel without Presidential approval."

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant turned and left. He was back inside three minutes with the file, then went to type up the requested orders.

Hawk began to read the file carefully. Two hours later he began to smile. Captain LeSade was too good to be true. He would be willing to bet his retirement that there were no more than ten people in the whole U.S. Army with the qualifications of his very own Captain LeSade. The man was virtually trained from birth for the mission he had in mind. There was no way this particular mission could fail, his retirement depended on it! Plus, Captain Tommy LeSade was expendable, actually, Colonel. But, Colonels were expendable, too, in this man's army! True, he was an exceptional soldier with a bright and promising future. But, the army was full of bright, promising, young soldiers with bright, promising futures, and they were all expendable, without regret or hesitation. Captain, Colonel Tommy LeSade just happened to be in a battle zone and the mission he was being called upon to complete was almost guaranteed a one-way trip.

As far as General Hawk was concerned, they were all expendable. An opportunity like this came along only once in several lifetimes and he didn't plan on waiting for a few more to pass; he wouldn't be here to take advantage of it. So, it was now or never. And with Colonel Tommy LeSade on his team, it was now! There was no way Hawk was going to miss this chance. He would never get another.

He picked up his phone and dialed a number. He leaned back in his chair and smiled. This was going to top the Nazi sacking of Europe. He'd bet his life on it.

"Cramer," a male voice answered at the other end.

"I've found our soldier," Hawk stated, obvious pleasure in his demeanor. "He's perfect! Absolutely perfect!"

"Can he be trusted?"

"Absolutely," Hawk assured the man on the other end of the phone.

"Send his file."

"It's on its way."

Cramer hung up without another word. Hawk didn't mind. He had learned a long time ago that the CIA was a bunch of unusual characters. They made damn good friends and damn bad enemies. He hoped he never had to cross one of them. It would be a sad, short day for him. Accidents happened all the time and Generals weren't immune.

But, if this worked as he knew it would, his second star was guaranteed. If he could get the right stuff on the right people in the process, then, President of the United States was not out of the question. One may as well aim high, was his motto. The only drawback, as far as he was concerned, was that one could never aim high enough. If one didn't aim high and allow for a little drop and drift over time and distance, there was no telling where one would land, nor in what condition. Hawk planned to land directly on target. As always!

"Lieutenant!" he bellowed at the door.

"Sir?" the Lieutenant answered, coming to full attention on the other side of the door, then marching two steps to the door and opening it, then stepping in and saluting.

"Deliver this file to Mister Niles Cramer over at the C.I.A. office. He's waiting on it, so don't delay! I want it there ten minutes ago! What the fuck are you waiting on, Soldier! You're on the clock!" Hawk bellowed at the top of his lungs, seeing the soldier's skeleton through his uniform as he paled nearly translucent, then virtually ran from the office.

Damn, but I love this shit! Hawk told himself in a barely audible voice as the lieutenant disappeared like a wraith in the wind, nearly jumping through his ass to please his superior. That's the great thing about power, Hawk thought. People paid attention and respect to the powerful. And he was powerful. But, not near powerful enough. Not yet, but he would be.

"Time," he said softly. "It's just a matter of time!"

* * * * *

Tommy stepped through the door at the CIA office as ordered. He had been summoned less than a half an hour ago. I wonder what this is all about, he asked himself for the hundredth time in the last half hour.

It must have something to do with the After Action Reports I filed with Intelligence, he told himself, also for the hundredth time. In reality, he really didn't have a clue what it was all about.

"Captain Tommy LeSade, to see Mister Niles Cramer. I'm expected," he added, as he stood at the desk and looked down at the civilian secretary.

"Yes, sir," the young woman smiled, getting up and leading the way down the hall. "Right this way."

Tommy followed her down the hallway and into a very sparse office. The only furniture was a gray metal desk and an even grayer filing cabinet. A gray metal ladder back chair sat in front of the desk. He also expected the man behind the desk was also gray metal. He looked at the face through the pall of gray cigar smoke roiling around the dim light from the desk lamp. The smoke floated in a thick cloud obscuring the man's face.

"Have a seat," the man said.

He obviously knew nothing about military courtesy, being a civilian and all, Tommy told himself as he took a seat. If he did he certainly doesn't know how to show it, he added.

"Captain, you have been very highly recommended from very high up for a top secret mission. Top secret," the man reiterated. "Very highly classified. Very dangerous and just the opportunity for a man on the move up the military ladder, such as yourself. Are you in or out?"

"What is this mission, sir?" Tommy asked.

"Top secret! Very classified! Are you in or out, Captain?" Cramer replied without moving a muscle or blinking an eye that Tommy could see through the cloud of smoke.

Tommy thought for a few seconds, then for no reason he would ever be able to explain, he said, "I'm in."

"Good," the man he assumed was Cramer stated. "As you know, from this moment on you cannot discuss this mission with anyone except me. No one else, period. I don't care what their rank, security level or title is. You will not acknowledge the existence of this mission with anyone now, or in the future. I don't care if you live to be three-hundred years old and have all your faculties about you. You will not discuss this mission with anyone but me," he repeated. "Do you understand, Captain?"

"Yes, Sir. No one but you, period!"

"Very well. Sign this. Read it first," Cramer advised.

Tommy read the document, then reread it. It was basically an iron clad contract which said that when he signed it, if word of his mission was to become known to anyone besides himself and Cramer, he would be held absolutely responsible for the leak and would be court-martialed and convicted and would face a minimum of life imprisonment and possibly death by firing squad, or hanging. There was no way he was going to sign this document!

"Fuck you, mister! I'm not signing this," Tommy said seriously, tossing it back onto the desk. "This is a fucking death warrant!"

"Bravo!" Cramer said, clapping his hands slowly. "Exactly! I wouldn't sign it either. So you just passed the first test," Cramer laughed. "So, sign this one."

Tommy read the document, then reread it. Then signed it. It basically said that under no circumstances including threat of death would he reveal anything about the mission he was being sent on to anyone not authorized to receive that information. Cramer was the only one authorized that Tommy knew of. Cramer was his only contact.

"Captain, you just passed test number two. Now, who are you authorized to deliver any and all information to concerning your mission?"

"Only you, that I know of," he replied.

"Test three passed! Follow me," Cramer said, rising from behind his desk and heading for the door.

Tommy followed him down the hallway and through a door. They entered a large map room. Cramer approached a large map of the Middle East, but turned at the last moment and approached a map of Iraq and pointed to a spot in what seemed the middle of the desert.

"This is where you are going," Cramer said. "And this is where you are." He pointed to another spot just a little east of Baghdad. "As you know, Iraq is biting the big one! Saddam hasn't a chance of ice in hell of winning this war. But, as you know there are literally hundreds of war lords and tribal leaders that are going to raise billy hell once Saddam is history.

"The problem is, for the past twenty years or so, Saddam has been robbing the Iraqi people blind. He didn't trust his own banking system, so stockpiled billions of American dollars in bunkers in very secluded spots, filling them with tons and tons of currency, gold, platinum, diamonds and any other thing that held intrinsic value and was easily stashed. Now, he is history and Uncle Sam wants all his money back.

"The gold bullion will be given to the Iraqi government once it is in place and stable. It's theirs, after all. They can have it.

"Your mission is to capture this lone bunker where we believe there is between two-hundred and five-hundred trillion American dollars stored; maybe half again as much gold bullion, platinum and diamonds. We don't know for sure. There are always between eight and twelve guards at any given time. You are to eliminate the guards and secure the facility. You will then activate a beacon you will be carrying to alert me that your mission is accomplished. I will arrange for your pick up and evacuation back to safety. You will be given everything you want or need to accomplish this mission. Any questions?"

"Only one," Tommy mused. "When do I leave?"

"When you're ready," Cramer smiled. "It will take me one phone call to get you reassigned TDY, temporary duty, to me. It will be done by the time you're geared up."

"Well, let's get going, then," Tommy smiled, standing up.

"I'll make the call. You go get packed, soldier!" Cramer smiled, sitting back down in his chair and relighting his cigar.

Two hours later, Tommy was headed northeast in a Blackhawk helicopter that wasn't black. It was desert tan camouflage. It blended in perfectly with the terrain speeding by fifty feet below. He wasn't worried about their altitude, Blackhawk pilots were the best. He knew he was in good hands.

He felt his eyelids getting heavy, so decided to get some sleep. He knew it might be a while before he had another chance. He was right.

While he napped, one-hundred-and-fifty miles behind him, his C.O. put out an order; find Captain Tommy LeSade! Escort him to my office if necessary. But, get him here! Now! Unknown to him, the search was futile. Captain Tommy LeSade was on a secret mission and wouldn't be coming back anytime soon.

Tommy snapped wide awake when the chopper bumped into the sand upon landing. It seemed to him that he had just closed his eyes. He glanced at his watch. He'd been asleep for a little over two hours. He didn't know that just ten minutes earlier he had been listed as AWOL by his commanding officer.

"End of the line, Captain," the pilot said over his shoulder.

"Good enough," Tommy replied, as he opened the cargo door, climbed down and began unloading his gear.

"Good luck," the pilot yelled.

Tommy nodded his head and slammed the door. He picked up his pack and moved away from the chopper. He took out his compass to get his bearings. When he was satisfied he knew where he was, and where he was going, he shouldered his pack and started walking.

His destination was approximately ten miles northwest of his present location. It would take him about three hours to get there, more or less.

It would be pitch dark long before he arrived. But, that was the plan. Arrive after dark, dig in and watch, and wait. When he had their routine down, make his move. Simple.

This little exercise won't take three days, he thought, as he humped along. He periodically scanned his surroundings with his binoculars to insure he was alone and unobserved. It would be pure hell to get caught. So, he wasn't going to get caught. Plain and simple.

Back at headquarters, Colonel Austin Lake had just gone into thermal nuclear meltdown. LeSade's ass was his! When he found him. And he would find him! Where could he go?

"It just don't make no goddamn sense!" he screamed. "Who in the hell would go AWOL in the middle of the goddamn desert. In the middle of a goddamn war? This ain't like LeSade! Goddamnit! I'll skin his white ass from here to goddamn Austin Lake!" he roared, as the anger and pressure of LeSade's absence began to mount once again.

The sun was going down on Tommy in more ways than one. Luckily, ignorance was bliss. He was about four miles from his target. He stopped, scanned his surroundings, and then took a small drink from his canteen, then continued on his journey.

An hour later he saw the glow of lights in the distance. He seemed to be coming up directly in front of the bunker; which was exactly where he wanted to be.

He low crawled up the last dune between him and the bunker and peeked over carefully. He was looking straight in the front door. "Perfect!" he thought as he began to bury himself into the sand.

From his pack he took a sand colored sheet with four, foot long stakes attached to the corners. This he spread over his body from head to foot. Not only did it blend in perfectly, but it repelled heat as well. When he got the lower part into position, he folded the sheet up to his waist and rolled over onto his stomach.

From his pack he took a foot long telescoping pipe that appeared to be sand colored PVC. He extended it to four feet and pushed it through the top of the dune. When it came out the other side, he crawled over the top of the dune, pushed the end of the pipe back even with the sand and removed the pointed cap from the end, then crawled back over the dune and under the sheet. He slid back down the dune until he could see through the tube and into the front door of the bunker without raising his head too far.

Next he pushed the two top stakes into the sand until they were flush with the surface, then pulled the sheet up over his head and folded the inner edges under and covered them with sand. This would keep stray gusts of wind from getting under the sheet and making it billow up in the middle like a dome.

After looking around carefully and deciding the sheet was virtually undetectable, he ducked under and pulled the sheet into place. He looked through the tube. Nothing moved around the bunker as night fell like a black curtain across the desert. The place seemed to be deserted. Satisfied he was safe, he decided a nap was in order.

He was awakened by the sound of a racing engine and loud excited voices. He looked through the tube. Eight men were unloading supplies from the back of a pickup truck. The driver stayed behind the wheel and raced the engine as if he were at Indy.

Now was a perfect time. If only he could be sure there were no more men in the bunker. All eight at once. All in one place. Plus, the driver. He wouldn't get a better chance for maybe a week. He'd better go for it he decided, as he pulled the sniper rifle up beside him and eased himself to the top of the dune very slowly.

The men below were too busy to notice the small silenced rifle barrel lying on top of a sand dune at four hundred yards away.

Tommy studied the positions of the men and figured a firing order as if connecting the dots. He decided on the driver first, to prevent a possible get away, then the man standing at the bunker door. From there he would work left to right, back to front. This order would keep them away from the door and virtually out in the open.

His first shot took the driver clean, laying him gently over in the seat. The truck lunged and died. The men laughed and made jokes. His second shot hit its mark and the man dropped like a rock. After that it was like shooting pigs in a pen. Within a minute and a half eight men lay dead, or dying. Everything was silent as the grave. Tommy kept the cross hairs on the center of the opened door. He halfway expected someone to show up to find out what had happened to all the talking and joking, and the steady stream of supplies that should have been coming into the bunker.

Five minutes passed. Nothing. Ten minutes, nothing. Fifteen, nothing. Then, a head appeared and started up what was obviously stairs. He seemed to grow out of the sand in the doorway. Tommy let him get halfway up and then shot him between the eyes. He crumbled like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Tommy waited thirty minutes this time; nothing. An hour; nothing.

He slowly eased back down the dune. He took his binoculars and slowly scanned the surrounding area. Nothing moved. He slowly stood and, carrying his rifle at the ready, his eye to the scope, he started for the bunker, stepping soft and slow, the rifle making a slow 180° arc across his front.

Ten minutes later, he had covered the four-hundred yards. He stood beside the door, looking and listening. Voices, either a TV or a radio, he decided. He started down the steep steps, one step at a time.

At the bottom he spun the rifle barrel quickly around the room. It was empty except for a long sofa, two tables and eight chairs. On one of the tables was a radio and on the other a TV. Both were playing at once and at close to top volume.

At the back of the room was a door. He stood beside it, turned the knob slowly and carefully, and then jerked it open. He almost fainted when he saw what lay beyond.

From the door, as far back as he could see were pallets of money. He stepped inside and started slowly through the pallets. On his left and right, two pallets, four feet by four feet by three feet high, and stacked two high. He came to a crossway, looking slowly left and right. He saw no one. He went deeper into the warehouse until he was several pallets from the back wall. The money stopped and the gold bars, stacked on pallets eight or ten bars high, began. There were hundreds of the pallets. At the far end were large boxes sitting on pallets, he went to them and looked inside one. Diamonds! Tons of diamonds!

Tommy found it hard to believe, hard to breathe and hard to control his heartbeat. It seemed to want to race away with him. He had never been so excited, that he could remember, anyway. He scanned the warehouse once again. It appeared to be empty. At least he hoped so. Then the question that had been nagging at the back of his head came forward and was recognized: where did they sleep? He went back through the pallets quickly and was soon back at the door leading into the front room. Then, he saw it, a door on the far left hand side of the room. It was covered with a large tapestry. It wavered gently in a cross draft. He wondered how he had missed it the first time through. That was a deadly mistake. It was mistakes like that that got men killed, he chided himself as he stepped over to the tapestry and gently, slowly pulled it back and stepped inside.

Four men lay sleeping, two to a bed. He killed them as they slept. He felt no remorse. He was a soldier, as were they. This was war. They were the enemy. If they didn't want to die, they shouldn't sleep so heavy.

The bunker was clear and it was time for the beacon and time to relax and wait. While he did though, he had to do something with the bodies outside. Might as well put them to bed, he thought as he climbed the steps slowly, his rifle up and ready for the unexpected.

Outside was clear and thirty minutes later he had the last man lying softly on top of his friends. They had all smelled like goats. Now he smelled like a goat, too.

He drove the truck out into the desert and left it. He would have burned it, but he knew the smoke would draw unwelcome company. On his way back to the bunker, he grabbed his gear and took it with him. He activated the beacon as he went.

When he got back he sat in the stairwell just high enough so he could see out. That way no one could sneak up on him. He was careful not to sit in the blood and urine from the man who had died on the steps. He was on full alert when, less than two hours later he saw a plume of dust rising into the midday sky to the north.

Looking through his binoculars he could see the lead truck. It was an eighteen wheeler pulling two large box trailers with giant white crosses painted on the sides. He began to prepare for a fight if need be.

The eighteen wheeler pulled to a stop in front of the bunker. Tommy was surprised when Cramer climbed down from the cab. He was smiling as he approached Tommy, as if they were old friends. His right hand was extended in friendship.

"One thing about you, Captain," he smiled. "You are proficient."

"Wasn't nothing to it. There were only thirteen of them," he stated frankly.

Cramer shook his head in amazement. "Only thirteen of them, he says! What a character. So, were we right? Is old Saddam's treasury here?" he finished, turning serious once again.

"Come see for yourself." Tommy replied, then turned and led the way to the stash.

Cramer stood in shock for a moment before he started walking through the underground vault. He nearly fainted when he saw the pallets of gold bullion and tons of diamonds in the boxes.

"You know I've been wondering about something for a while now," Tommy stated in a bewildered tone, studying Cramer's face seriously.

"Yeah, what's that?" Cramer replied, as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Tommy looked at him wonderingly, as if a light bulb had come on inside his head. "How in the hell did they get it all in here. I doubt they carried it," he added.

"Oh, I doubt they carried it," Cramer agreed. "So, there must be another way in here. If we look around a little we may find it, too." he added, beginning to look around.

"Well, start looking Captain. We can't carry it up the stairs. That would take us a month. And we surely don't have a month. We'll be lucky if we get a few hours," he continued, beginning to search the wall in front of him.

Tommy was looking along the back wall. Something about the wall didn't look right. He was no structural engineer, but something didn't look quite right to him. "Cramer, come here and look at this. It doesn't look right to me," he finally said, believing he had found a secret.

Cramer walked over and Tommy pointed to what didn't look right to him. Cramer agreed and they both began to look closer. Tommy was searching along the wall when he found an indentation that looked suspicious. He stuck his fingers in and felt a switch of some sort. He pulled it and the wall began to slide back. It concealed a loading dock with a hydraulic ramp and a forklift as large as he had ever seen.

"Well Captain, you win the prize," Cramer said as he walked through the opening to the forklift. He climbed up on it and turned the key. It started right up. He turned it off and climbed down. "There's got to be a ramp around here somewhere," he said looking along the wall carefully.

Tommy had already spotted a red lever on the side wall. He walked over and pushed it to the 'up' position. The bottom of the wall began to slide forward and the top began to lower. The entire wall was a loading ramp. It continued to drop and level out until they were looking at the blue sky a few yards away.

They walked up the ramp and looked out. Then, turned around and looked down the ramp. It was too steep to back the trailers down and then pull the load out again. They would have to drive the forklift up and load the trailers outside.

Tommy saw another lever. He pulled it to the side. The wall began to lower more. The ramp was adjustable to fit the height of the trailer doors.

"Well," Cramer smiled. "Looks like of Saddam was thinking ahead after all. So, the only thing to do, I guess, is to get it all loaded. Then skedaddle! Right?"

"Right," Tommy said softly.

Suddenly he was feeling very strange about the whole affair. Something didn't feel right about this. He was expecting at least a platoon of American soldiers to accompany the truck as guards on this much money, gold and diamonds. "Where are the guards for the transport?" he asked curiously.

"This is a 'Top Secret' mission, Captain," Cramer replied smoothly. "The fewer people who know, the better. Right?"

"Right." Tommy agreed, still hearing the alarm bells going off in his head.

"I'll get the trucks around and start loading," Cramer smiled, placing a friendly hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Relax, Captain. You've done your part. Now, we'll do the rest."

True to his word, Cramer worked nonstop for the next three hours loading the eight trailers, stacking the pallets two high from front to back. He loaded four pallets of currency first, then four pallets of gold bars, then four boxes of diamonds. Then repeated the process until all eight trailers were loaded and the warehouse was somewhat depleted but far from empty.

The last two trailers were loaded with nothing but currency.

The pallets of gold bars had been so heavy that he could only load it one pallet at a time so it took twelve trips per trailer just for the gold alone.

When the last of the currency was loaded into the last trailer, Cramer and Tommy began to set thermal charges throughout the whole underground complex and set the detonators to 'on'. All they would have to do was flip the switch and the bunker complex was history.

From a mile down the road Tommy and Cramer stood beside the trailer with the remote detonator. "Here, you do the honors, Captain. Conclude 'Operation Clean-Sweep'. You captured it, you destroy it," he smiled handing over the remote.

Tommy took it and then made a major mistake; he turned his back on Cramer. When he flipped the switch and watched the bunker blow, his own lights went out and he fell to the ground.

"Sorry Captain," Cramer said, as Tommy slumped to the ground hard. "The fewer people who know, the better. Be thankful I didn't just kill you. I'll let the ragheads do that little duty for me!" he laughed, then turned and climbed up into the truck, started the engine and shifting gears with a roar, sped down the road, his double stacks blowing black smoke into the crystal blue sky of Iraq.

Chapter 3

When Tommy woke up, he knew he was in deep shit; up to the top of his ears, to be exact. There were no less than twenty Iraqi soldiers standing around him with their AK-47s pointed at his head. They each looked like a cannon barrel as he stared up them. Each of the Iraqi soldiers looked at him as if they would like nothing better than to slit his throat and drink his blood as he died. They seemed to be arguing bitterly among themselves. Then, after each had his say, he would look down at Tommy and grin evilly, with murder lurking on the surface of their eyes.

Tommy could only lay on his back and stare up at them in silence. He didn't move, didn't blink and most of all, he didn't show fear. He knew the worst they could do was kill him. And they could only do that once.

However, if he could have known just how wrong he was, he may have chosen to make a fight of it there and then. But, ignorance is bliss and he lay there and hoped for the best. He didn't know their best was hell on earth.

Finally, their arguing seemed to be done. At least it was over for the moment. He noticed one of the soldiers, he presumed the leader, looking at him earnestly. He stepped over and knelt down beside him. He spoke with a Pakistani accent. His breath smelled of garlic and sage.

"My brothers are very angry with you, American. They say it is not enough that you come to our country, kill our people, take our oil, deny us food and medicine, kill our leaders and Holy people; but now, you have helped steal our country's wealth, as well! Money our President has earned in honorable ways and holds in trust for his people. My brothers wish to kill you and let your friends escape with the money they have taken. But, I tell them, you are an honorable man and will tell them where your friends take the money, yes? Is this not so, since your friends have betrayed you as well?"

"I do not know where they have taken it," Tommy replied honestly.

The Pakistani soldier translated what Tommy said. The arguing resumed, both louder and more animated. They each cast evil eyes of hate at Tommy. They seemed to take turns kicking him and poking him with the barrel of their weapons. Finally, having reached a decision, the soldier knelt beside Tommy and said, shaking his head sadly.

"I am very sorry for you, American. My brothers say you must ride the dead camel and allow the living camel to ride you. I am very sorry. If only you would tell my brothers where the money goes, perhaps, they will change their minds and kill you quickly."

"I do not know where the money goes," Tommy said, but thought, 'If I live through this, rest assured that I will find out and vengeance will be mine, sayth Tommy LeSade!'

The soldiers picked him up roughly and loaded him into the bed of one of their pickup trucks. They all, as many as could be fitted into the bed of the truck, sat around him and used his body for their foot rest and also to hold him down. They then lowered the barrels of their AKs onto his body, trying to scare him he guessed. It didn't work. He was not afraid of death. He was more afraid of what the very near future held in store for him. If the hand gestures some of the soldiers were making were indications of what lay in store for him, he was in very, very, deep shit!

He began to prepare himself mentally. He could not prepare physically.

There was no physical preparation for what he feared lay ahead. All he could do was endure, hopefully from a place very far away.

By the time the pickup stopped, Tommy was ten years old again. He sat on his toes and heels in a kneeling position if front of Master Chang, his martial arts instructor and mentor.

Master Chang, a North Korean, had been raised in a Buddhist temple in the mountains of Tibet. He was a master in the arts of self-defense. Not just the physical aspects, but also the mental. He had passed his wisdom on to little Tommy LeSade. He had seen in Tommy an empty vessel; a dry sponge that needed water to survive. Master Chang was the water that needed a dry sponge to fill. By filling Tommy with his wisdom and discipline, Master Chang insured his survival into the next life.

He had taught Tommy that the human body was in fact, two separate but coexisting entities. The body and the mind. Each could survive without the other. The mind used the body and the body used the mind. The body being the host of the mind and the mind being the master of the body.

Through years of practice and discipline Tommy had become a master of separating his body and mind. As he lay in the bed of the pickup he began to separate the two.

When the pickup stopped in a village he was completely divorced from his body. He existed totally inside his mind. He was unaware of the punishing blows and kicks from his captors. Instead, he sat silent in front of Master Chang and soaked up the knowledge and wisdom being offered by his mentor.

He occasionally asked an insightful question, then sat in silence and absorbed the knowledgeable answer.

Master Chang calmly told him what was being done to his body and how to accept it without succumbing to it. To succumb, he said, was to admit defeat and surrender.

"I will never surrender to them, Master Chang!" Tommy swore, his voice a pain filled whisper that was drowned out by the excited cries and loud shouting of his captors.

Some saw his lips move but had no idea what he was saying. Furthermore, they didn't care what he was saying, they were busy preparing the 'dead camel' Tommy was to ride until he told them where the money had been taken.

The 'dead camel' was a fully stuffed camel penis. It was approximately sixteen inches long and as big around as a man's wrist. The engorged head was nearly the size of a baseball. Tommy was to be slowly lowered onto the upright penis and skewered through his rectum.

He was unaware that he had been lowered to his knees. He was also unaware that he was being tied in such a way that he was unable to move his hips in any direction except up and down.

He was unaware that he had been weighted with sand bags around his shoulders. Each bag weighed approximately fifty pounds. He carried two in front and two in back. He was unaware that the 'dead camel' had been placed in position beneath him. It had not been greased or oiled. That would have made the invasion of his body less painful. After all, the idea was to create as much pain as possible and make him suffer enough to talk.

Or at least make him suffer; he was an Infidel Pig! An unbeliever! An enemy of Allah! And most of all, an American invader!

He was unaware that the weight he held on his upper body had forced him lower and had brought his anus into contact with the giant penis.

He was unaware of the pain and stretching of his sphincter muscle as the strength of his legs gave way and he began to be impaled upon the penis. He was unaware that only one hour had passed since the weights had been placed upon his shoulders.

He was unaware of the laughs and taunts, the smiles and comments, the pointing and exaggerations of the men around him, as they watched the entire process happen.

He did not hear or understand their comments. He was unaware of the periodic lowering of the rope that held his hands above his head, so he would slide farther down the enormous penis.

He was unaware of the knife slashes across his back and torso; bleeding him out so that he would lose strength faster.

Master Chang told him of the carelessness of his captors.

Master Chang told him to endure until his captors became relaxed and were convinced that he was beyond recovery.

Master Chang would tell him when to act and how to move to eliminate his captors, torturers, and how to escape.

He was unaware of the fullness of his body, as the large penis entered deeper into him.

He was unaware when his sixth hour of captivity had passed.

He was unaware that half of his captors had left and that half of those who remained were bored and falling asleep.

He was unaware when the eighth hour of his captivity had passed.

He was unaware that it was three o'clock in the morning and that he had been impaled for four hours.

He was unaware that his body began to slowly rise up and off the 'dead camel'.

He was unaware when it slipped from his anus and his hands freed themselves from the rope binding them overhead.

He was aware only that Master Chang guided his every move and counseled him constantly in his recovery and escape.

He was not aware that his fourteenth hour of captivity had passed when the last rope fell free from his waist.

He only became fully aware when Master Chang released him and told him to let the killing begin!

When awareness came back into his eyes he was standing erect in the middle of the dimly lit room. Around him twelve Iraqi soldiers lay sleeping peacefully. In front of him dangled a rope. At his feet lay more rope and the giant, bloody and feces coated penis.

His rectum screamed with burning pain from the invasion. He mentally turned off the pain receptors there and began to systematically kill the sleeping Iraqis, silently and proficiently with his hands and feet.

He became a blur of action as he moved from soldier/victim to soldier/victim and sent them to Paradise, ending their life instantly and virtually silently.

One man made it to his feet. A side kick to his chest slammed him against the wall, and then continued inward to crush his sternum, rib cage and heart against his spine and the wall.

The rest died virtually painlessly from broken necks, skulls crushed against walls, crushed larynx and severed spinal cords in the neck, ruptured hearts and crushed temporal regions.

The entire killing spree lasted less than two minutes. The room was silent, smelled of fecal matter, urine, blood, death and raw meat.

Tommy stepped to the door, eased it open and peeked out. He looked left and right.

Outside, two Iraqis stood guard. They acted unaware of the slaughter inside as they looked up and down the street. They held their AKs at their sides by the pistol grips.

Tommy silently opened the door and stepped out. He looked left and right to insure there were only two guards around. That was all he could see.

He silently approached the men from behind.

They were completely unaware that death was upon them and he was furious. One of them saw movement in his peripheral vision, but it was far too late. They died instantly while still standing in place. He lowered them to the ground and squatted beside them. He continued looking left and right like a predator over its kill. He quickly searched them. They had nothing he needed. He stood and began walking silently down the deserted road and out of the village.

As he walked down the road, he entered each dwelling and slaughtered the adults without mercy, both men and women. He spared only the children. No one suffered, they all died instantly.

By sun up, he was the only living adult in the entire village, with the exception of one young woman in her early twenties. She hid, trembling and praying to Allah for deliverance from His Angel of Death who He had sent to punish His village for their unrighteousness. She stared at the white, blood covered American devil as he walked trancelike from the village. Allah answered the young girl's prayers.

Tommy found a pickup with the keys in the ignition. In the back were his clothing and gear. He also found and took a brand new AK-47 rifle and a case of ammunition. In the cab were maps of Iraq. He would dress later, he decided, getting in the pickup and driving from the hell he left behind.

As he drove out of the village the young girl came out of hiding. She stood in the middle of the street her arms raised to Allah in supplication. She wailed her sorrow into the early morning sky to a God that failed to answer her most adamant prayer; 'send lightning from the sky and kill the American devil that killed her family before he escaped to kill the rest of the Iraqi people!'

Now, a village of one young woman and twenty seven children alone, whom would all suffer the trauma of this night for the rest of their lives. Yet, they had witnessed not one single killing. However, they had found the bodies of the village adults and that was enough.

* * * * *

Tommy had been driving for several hours after leaving the village behind. He followed the map as closely as he could. He figured as long as he was traveling southwest he would eventually reach safety. He was not far from wrong.

He saw a large plume of dust in the distance ahead of him. He pulled the pickup to the side of the road and stopped to wait. He got out and armed himself to the teeth. If it was Americans he would be safe. If it was Iraqis he would be dead before the fight was over. He began checking the weapons in the back of the truck, they were all fully loaded. He began to mentally prepare himself for his death. He wondered how many he could take with him before they got him. He waited.

The first vehicle he saw clearly was an M-1A2 Abram's tank. He was safe, he hoped. He laid his weapons in the back of the truck, raised his hands to the sky and walked out ahead of the truck toward the oncoming tank. He was still naked and covered in dried blood. Some of the knife cuts to his body still wept blood and plasma. They burned like fire with his sweat.

The tank came to a rocking stop in the middle of the road. M-16A2 rifle barrels pointed at him from several positions on and around the tank. He kept walking up the road toward it, arms raised to the sky.

"Halt!" a voice yelled from around the tank.

Tommy stopped and turned all the way around so the soldiers could see he wasn't carrying anything concealed on his body. He stopped facing the tank once again, and waited.

"I am Captain Tommy LeSade of the Fifth Ranger Battalion. I was taken captive yesterday afternoon. I managed to escape," he yelled at the tank, so he could be heard over the idling diesel engine.

"Do not move!"

"I repeat, I am Captain Tommy LeSade of the United States Army Fifth Ranger Battalion. I was captured yesterday afternoon. I escaped my captors earlier this morning!"

"I repeat! Do not Move!" the voice stated emphatically, ignoring what Tommy had said.

A dusty, desert tan camouflage HumVee pulled around the tank and came to a stop. The doors opened and two soldiers climbed out. They slowly approached him, weapons leveled and ready for immediate use should he give them reason.

They stopped ten feet away.

"We are with the American Armed Forces. We..." one of the soldiers started before Tommy rudely interrupted him.

"Don't you fucking understand English, Sergeant?" Tommy interrupted calmly. "I am Captain Tommy LeSade of the United States Army Fifth Ranger Battalion. I was captured yesterday afternoon and managed to escape earlier this morning. Do you understand that?"

"He speaks English!" the sergeant said, looking over at his partner. Tommy glared at them as if they were imbeciles.

"What's in the truck?" the sergeant asked, looking over at the truck.

"My gear and weapons," Tommy said. "Lots and lots of weapons."

"Why are you naked, Captain?" the sergeant asked. "You've been cut up some."

"I'll live," Tommy replied. "I didn't stop to get dressed."

"What kind of weapons?" the sergeant asked.

"My sniper rifle and a lot of AKs. Some RPGs. My survival gear," he replied, feeling they were trying to talk him in circles to get him confused, in case he was a well trained enemy soldier. Or a spy sent to infiltrate the American forces.

"Where were you held captive, Captain?"

"A village northeast of here," Tommy said calmly. "The only survivors were the children," he added.

"We'll check it out. How far northwest?"

"Northeast. The village is northeast of here. Nearly sixty miles as the crow flies. Farther by road," he replied. "Can you contact Major Andrew Ryan? He's a Blackhawk pilot. I don't know what unit he's with. I've only met him twice," he added, beginning to waver on his feet.

"We'll see, later. Hold your hands out, palm up," the sergeant said. Tommy complied.

"Dave, go check out the truck. Don't touch anything! It might be booby-trapped!"

"You're not very bright, are you sergeant?" Tommy said.

"Oh, I'm plenty bright, Captain. Plenty careful and plenty alive. I plan on keeping my ass and the asses of my men that way, too!"

"Yes, I guess I do understand your caution," Tommy said thoughtfully. "I guess you are bright enough after all sergeant."

"I'll do."

"Just weapons and gear, like he said, Sarge," Dave said from behind him as he returned from the truck. "American cammies, sniper rifle and survival pack. Bunch of AKs and RPGs, too," he added.

"Well, maybe you are who you claim to be," the sergeant said doubtfully. "I'll tell you what, captain. You go to the truck and pull out whatever is yours. Come halfway back, stop and spread it all out on the ground. Then, come the rest of the way back. Got it?"

"Got it," Tommy answered, then turned and walked to the truck. He could understand their caution. Americans had been killed by car bombs and suicide bombers and what the military were taking to calling IEDs (improvised explosive device). The sergeant didn't plan to get his name, or the name of any of his men on the list, either.

Tommy collected his gear and walked halfway back. He spread it all out on the ground, then walked the rest of the way back.

"One question," the sergeant said as he approached. "Why didn't you stop and get dressed along the way?"

Tommy shrugged. "Saved a lot of time and trouble, didn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess so," the sergeant smiled. "Dave, check out his gear." Dave walked over to his spread out gear and looked around. He didn't touch anything. After a minute he came back. "Looks okay to me."

"Okay. George?" the sergeant yelled over his shoulder.

"Yeah, Sarge?"

"Light that truck up!"

As the barrel of the tank lowered and the turret turned to face the truck, the sergeant led Tommy and Dave over beside the tank and stuck his fingers in his ears. They did the same.

The tank bellowed and the pickup truck ceased to be. There was just a smoldering crater where it used to be. The truck itself was smoking twisted scraps of metal scattered across the desert behind the smoking crater.

"Okay, let's inspect your gear and get the hell out of here," the sergeant said, leading the way back over to Tommy's gear.

After an exceptionally thorough inspection the sergeant told Tommy to pack it up and load it in the back of the HumVee. And to get dressed, he was tired of looking at his bloody naked ass and swinging meat. He still wasn't convinced that Tommy was who he claimed to be.

When Tommy was packed up, the sergeant called his medic over and had him clean and patch the knife cuts on Tommy's body. The medic was aghast at the number, depth and randomness of the slashes.

"They wanted you to live a long time, Captain," he said, cleansing the wounds and putting antiseptic cream and bandages over them.

"They had other things in mind," Tommy said. "They wanted me to suffer."

"Why didn't you?" the medic asked. "I mean, why did they let you escape?"

"They didn't let me escape," Tommy smiled. "I just have better control of myself than they did."

"You said, Major Andrew Ryan?" the sergeant, who Tommy learned was named Murry, asked, as he walked up and studied the number of cuts and bandages.

"You're a tough sumbitch, I'll give you that," he added. "You say this Major can positively identify you?" he added, looking Tommy in the eyes.

"Yes," Tommy replied.

"You better hope, 'Captain'. He's on his way. If he don't know you, you're dead meat!"

"He knows me."

"You smell like a fucking bloody goat!" Murry said, then turned away.

"Yeah, I do," Tommy smiled at his retreating back.

* * * * *

The Blackhawk helicopter circled the convoy, then flared and began to float to the ground. When it was firmly on the ground and the rotor nearly stopped the door opened and Ryan stepped out to the ground.

Sergeant Murry, Dave and Tommy stood in front of the HumVee and watched him approach.

"Don't say a word, mister," Murry told Tommy as Ryan got closer.

"Well, Captain LeSade. We meet again. It's becoming a habit, it seems," Ryan said as he approached, hand extended to Tommy.

"Yes, it is," Tommy agreed.

"Captain LeSade, my men and I sincerely apologize for your treatment while in our company and custody. No disrespect was intended, I assure you, Sir."

"None was taken, Sergeant Murry. I assure you," Tommy replied.

"Custody?" Ryan looked confused for a second. "Oh yeah, I'd almost forgot. Rumor has it, Captain, that a certain Colonel Lake is super pissed at you."

"Pissed at me? For what?"

"He's got you listed as AWOL, that's all I know," Ryan said.

"AWOL?" Tommy mused, the light coming on in his head. He had been set up from the word go and he hadn't seen it coming. Trouble was he had no proof.

He remembered his father's warning from years ago. He could still see it typed across the computer monitor. 'Son, never, ever, as long as you live, trust your government or the CIA.'

At the time he hadn't understood, but he was beginning to, now. Cramer and General Hawk had played him for a patsy. They had sent him on a mission he wasn't meant to survive.

"Captain, maybe I had better give you a lift back to headquarters. You need to clear this up, quick!" Ryan said.

"Yeah," he replied. "I do."

On the flight back to headquarters Tommy told Ryan the entire story. Ryan swore to stand beside him, no matter the outcome.

"You know if you accuse a senior officer of wrongdoing without indisputable proof you will face court-martial procedures, and more than likely be sent to a military prison somewhere. Most likely Leavenworth."

"I know. Trouble is, I don't have proof, Major. All I've got is my reputation and word."

"Yes; and the General has that and one hell of a lot more backing him. Without proof, you're dead meat. Period!" Ryan said looking across at him. "It may be the best to just talk to Colonel Lake. Explain everything; and maybe, just maybe, he will forget the AWOL charge."

"You obviously don't know the Colonel," Tommy said. "He's strictly by the book."

Ten minutes later the chopper landed at headquarters. They got a jeep to give them a ride to the sniper battalion and Colonel Lake.

Colonel Lake's orderly announced their arrival and as requested by Tommy, asked for an hour so Tommy could get cleaned up.

"Request denied!"

"You tell the Captain to get his ass in here right fuckin' now! I want a goddamned explanation! And I want it now!" they heard Lake bellow behind the closed door of his canvas office.

The orderly was ghost white when he came back through the door. He started to speak but Tommy said, "I heard. Thanks anyway, Lieutenant." Tommy knocked on the door and entered. He approached the Colonel's desk. Stopped, came to attention and saluted. "Captain LeSade reporting as ordered, Sir!"

"Explain!"

"It will take a while, Sir."

"I've got five years before I retire, Captain. It better be good! Have a seat and get started."

The Colonel remained silent throughout the whole recital. He listened very carefully to every word Tommy said. He seemed to soften slightly when Tommy told him about his capture and escape.

"Captain, do you have even the slightest bit of evidence against General Hawk and this Cramer guy?"

"No, Sir," Tommy said. "Not a shred."

"Yet, you expect me to buy it hook, line and sinker?"

"Yes, Sir. I've said nothing but the truth."

"You don't think the General will tell the truth?"

"No, Sir. Not about this. Would you?"

"First of all, Captain. I wouldn't become involved in something like this. But, if I were a greedy man, and I did. I would lie 'till hell turned arctic!"

"I thought it had gone through all the proper channels, Colonel. Who am I to question the General?"

"You've got a point," Lake said thoughtfully. "So here's what I'll do," he continued. "I'll make some discrete inquiries and see if any mission like this was authorized. If it has, I'll clear you up. If it hasn't, without proof from you, I have no choice but to recommend court-martial proceedings against you on a number of charges. So, I suggest, Captain you get proof, somehow, somewhere. And take a shower, you smell like a fucking goat at a slaughter house! You're dismissed, Captain!"

"Sir," Tommy said as he stood, then saluted. He did an about face and left the office.

"How'd it go?" Ryan asked when Tommy came out of the Colonel's office and closed the door behind him.

"Not good," Tommy replied. "Without proof, I'm history."

"Then, let's get proof."

"Where?"

"Let's start with Cramer."

"If you were Cramer, would you be hanging around?"

"He believes you're dead."

"Maybe."

"Let's go find out."

"I've got to get cleaned up. I smell like a fuckin' goat!"

"Yeah, good idea," Ryan said, waving his hand under his nose and rolling his eyes up in his head. "It's hard to breathe around you," he laughed.

Tommy couldn't believe the amount of dirt and blood he washed from his body. His rectum began to pound again. He ignored it. He would need massive amounts of antibiotics to ward off any kind of infection or disease.

He already knew the future. He was going to kill Cramer and the General. But not before he proved his innocence and sent them to jail in disgrace.

If he had to, he'd go to jail with them just so he could see their eyes when they died. Their death would be very slow and very painful.

His first stop after leaving his quarters was at the medical tent. The medic gave him a shot of penicillin in the ass and a bottle of about fifty pills with directions on how often to take them; twice a day until they were all gone. He could do that, he told himself.

Ryan asked after seeing the bottle if he had the 'clap'. He told Ryan that he may have a lot of things far worse. He didn't elaborate further. Ryan just laughed and shook his head.

"I don't know about this younger generation," he commented, as they walked toward the CIA office. "How can you chance getting laid? So much shit out there that will lay you out on a pine slab, dead. You must have balls of steel, or a death wish. You're not gay, are you?"

"No, I'm not gay," Tommy assured him. "But, like you said, there's so much shit out there, why gamble?"

"I hear you," Ryan said, pointing at a door to one side. "This it?" Tommy stared at the limp American flag to one side of the door and nodded his head. "This is it," he responded and then turned and pushed through the door.

A different receptionist was sitting at the desk as was there before. Tommy asked for Cramer. The receptionist stared at them blankly, as if he were brain dead.

"Cramer, what section is he with?" Tommy asked seriously, thinking maybe the young man hadn't heard the first time.

"We don't have a Cramer here," the man responded.

Tommy moved so quickly and accurately the receptionist could only squeal in pain and surprise. Ryan just blinked.

"I'll ask you one more time, then I'm going to cause you so much pain you'll squeal for a month. Now, where's Niles Cramer?"

"He, he left. I don't know where. Yesterday. Red Cross. Pakistan, maybe! I don't know for sure. I swear. I don't know!" The receptionist was ghost white when Tommy released him. He nearly fell as he backed away from them and then quickly got behind his desk once again. He didn't sit down, deciding flight may be in order.

"Well, let's go see the General, then," Ryan suggested.

"Let's go," Tommy replied, walking toward the door.

"I'm glad you ain't mad at me," Ryan observed as they pushed through the door.

Tommy just grunted.

* * * * *

Cramer didn't feel bad about knocking the young Captain in the head. He shouldn't have turned his back on someone he didn't know well enough to trust was the way Cramer saw it. Oh, well, live and learn, was another one of Cramer's mottos. In this business, one learned fast or died. Cramer was still alive. He couldn't say as much for the innocent, patriotic young captain. As soon as some Iraqi patrol came along and found him they'd kill him fast enough.

Cramer put the truck in gear and let the clutch slowly out until he was moving in first gear. He followed the other trucks which were almost out of sight ahead. In his side mirror he saw the Captain lying in the sand. He wasn't moving at all.

Maybe I hit him too hard, he thought, continuing to watch in the side mirror as the fallen man quickly was lost in the swirling dust. Cramer looked away to shift gears and when he looked back the Captain was lost in the distance and dust. Oh well. No loss. Captains are expendable.

For hundreds of billions of dollars everyone was expendable. Including generals and lowly CIA agents, such as himself.

The truck gathered speed as he took it up through the gears. His only safety was speed and distance. And the Pakistani border two-hundred miles away. He planned to be across it by night fall. After dark, they would be vulnerable. Their headlights would be visible for miles on the open flat desert. They had to make it through the mountains during daylight hours. Even the mountains offered little, if any, protection. If anything, they were more dangerous. There was no place to turn around or hide. The road was too winding to outrun even the slowest vehicle on the road.

So their timing had to be perfect and their luck had to hold. So far their luck had been perfect. The young captain had been perfect for the job and one deadly sonofabitch!

Maybe I should have just killed him, Cramer thought too late. No, the desert will, if the rags don't. That's guaranteed!

If Cramer would have known how wrong he was, he may have turned the truck around right then and there and gone back to make sure LeSade was, in fact, dead. But, he had no way of knowing that at that precise moment, several dozen Iraqi soldiers in pickup trucks were pulling up and surrounding the unconscious Captain. So, Cramer drove on in ignorant bliss of the biggest mistake of his forty year life.

* * * * *

General Hawk was a lot surprised and perhaps a little frightened when his orderly knocked on his door and announced that Captain LeSade would like to see him about his completed mission and another matter of great importance.

Damn it! Hawk thought. Cramer was supposed to ensure the captain did not make it back from the mission! Deny! Deny! Deny! That's all he could do at this point.

"Very well, send him in," the General replied, and then quickly composed himself.

"Captain LeSade reporting, sir!" Tommy said, but did not come to attention or salute the General. He figured what the hell, he may spend the rest of his life at Ft. Leavenworth, so disrespecting a flag rank officer was no big deal.

"Captain, have you forgotten military courtesy?"

"No, Sir, you have."

"In what way, Captain? I never intend to offend. Even those of lower rank," Hawk smiled, reminding him of his place in the scheme of things.

"Sir, while I was under Mister Cramer's command, I was assured by him that he would get your permission to send me on a mission of great importance to you, him, the Army and the United States. He assured me he had your authorization. I completed the mission successfully and returned to my unit only to learn that I have been listed as AWOL and that my Commanding Officer was recommending court-martial proceedings against me.

"Sir, as you know," Tommy continued. "During court-martial proceedings I have no right, as an officer, to refuse to answer any question I am asked. I do however have the right to defend myself. I would prefer not to answer any questions asked by anyone. Therefore, I would like to request that you, perhaps, recommend to my Commanding Officer, Colonel Austin Lake, that no disciplinary action is needed for my absence. It would not be in the best interests of the Army, or the United States, sir," Tommy concluded.

"I assure you, Captain LeSade, this was an oversight on my part and I will take care of it."

"Sir, could you possibly do it now, while it's fresh in your mind?"

"Of course, Captain. No problem," General Hawk said, then reached for his phone and dialed a number. He listened for a moment while looking Tommy over carefully.

"Yes, this is General Hawk. Put Colonel Lake on, please." Hawk stared at Tommy, then nodded without blinking. To Tommy, he looked guilty.

"Austin, yes fine. How are you? Great! Listen Austin, a couple of days ago, I meant to inform you that I had need of one of your soldiers. Yes, Captain LeSade, and it slipped my mind until your report crossed my desk just now and reminded me that I neglected to call you. Yes, Sir. He seems to be an outstanding officer. Colonel, you say? I was thinking that very same thing myself. No, sir, I haven't seen him recently. But, I look forward to meeting with him again. Yes, Colonel, I agree. He is an asset to the Army. Yes, Colonel. I'm disposing of your report as we speak. Okay, Austin. Take care. Goodbye." He hung up the phone and stared at Tommy. "Politics, Captain. Never show your hand."

"Sir, I appreciate you taking time to take care of this for me. Thank you, sir."

"Captain, I'm always here for my men. Rank is irrelevant," the general assured him with a straight face. A little too straight as far as Tommy was concerned. He was guilty to the same degree as Cramer. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Captain."

"No, sir; that should handle my problem."

"Glad to help, Captain. Good day, sir."

"Good day, sir. Again, thank you, sir!" Tommy said, then came to attention and saluted the General, then did an about face and left.

"Lieutenant, destroy the incident report on Captain LeSade filed by Colonel Lake," Tommy heard the general say as he stepped from his office.

"Yes, sir!" The Lieutenant replied smartly, then stepped from the door and eased it closed behind him.

Tommy and Ryan waited by the lieutenant's desk until he arrived.

"Well, looks like you're out of the fire on this one, Captain," Ryan smiled wryly.

"Let's hope so," Tommy said, remembering his father's words. "I don't trust any of them anymore. I have a feeling General Hawk would have just as soon seen me burn."

"What are we waiting for?" Ryan asked, watching as the lieutenant came up to the desk.

"I want to see him destroy that report," Tommy said. "I'll sleep better."

"I hear ya," Ryan laughed, as the Lieutenant came back from a file cabinet with a file in his hand.

"Captain, I was going to destroy this file before it ever left here. I didn't believe it when I read it. It's bullshit. I overheard what the General and you talked about during your last visit. I knew about the mission," he said, handing Tommy the file.

Tommy opened it and looked at the report. After reading it he tore it up and handed the pieces back to the lieutenant for disposal.

"Let's go, Major," Tommy said, then turned and headed for the door. Ryan followed.

* * * * *

As soon as Tommy left and the door closed, Hawk picked up his private phone and hastily dialed a number. Then sat nervously awaiting an answer.

"Niles Cramer, please. General Hawk. When do you expect him back? Have him call me. It's an emergency. Thank you." The general looked worried as he hung up the phone.

Captain LeSade had to be dealt with. He could cause more trouble than the general cared to deal with. There were literally hundreds of billions of dollars on the line. He wasn't planning to lose his share. He didn't care how many captains he had to dispose of!
Chapter 4

Tommy's life returned pretty much to normal. For the following three months, he had been stationed in and around Baghdad. Saddam and all his followers were in hiding. His sons were dead. The rewards being offered for their heads were not being collected near as fast as everyone had thought. He had not seen Major Ryan for the past few weeks, so figured, he must be staying busy flying missions and shooting up what hadn't been already blown up.

Tommy had added four more bodies to his already impressive total. But, hoped he wouldn't have to add more to it. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why the Iraqi people couldn't stop killing each other and come to some sort of settlement over their differences. He knew, as the Iraqis had to know, that the United States was not going to leave until it got what it wanted, no matter how long it took or how much it cost.

America was 'top dog' and had every intention of staying top dog. Russia had learned as did Germany and Japan. For all three it had been very expensive, both in lives and reconstruction. War was a non-profit operation to the loser. But, if you were top dog, well it was unbelievably lucrative. Top dog never worried about the cost in human lives. Everyone below the top dog position was expendable cannon fodder. However, to the families of the fodder, no amount of money and power was ever worth the loss of their loved one's lives.

So, what were these people thinking? Tommy wondered. Were they thinking? What was Allah thinking? Tommy wondered if He even appreciated the untold numbers who had given their lives in His name. Wasn't He satisfied, yet? How much blood did it take to please a God?

Tommy was glad he was not Muslim. If he were, he would have died at the very beginning. His dedication and faith knew no bounds. He would have offered himself up quickly and never regretted it.

"Captain LeSade, sir," a female voice said from behind him, interrupting his storming thoughts.

"Yes, what is it?" he answered, glancing over his shoulder from his prone position at the pretty M.P. Lieutenant. He lay in a nest of sandbags peering through his sniper scope at the streets below.

"Sir, Colonel Lake wants to see you at H.Q. as soon as possible, sir." the lieutenant replied seriously.

Tommy stood up and stretched. He smiled as he looked into the pretty blue eyes of the blond-headed girl he towered over. She was maybe five foot six inches and feisty as a badger on a kill. Even though she weighed less than a hundred-and-ten-pounds soaking wet, he had heard tell she had taken down near seven footers who pushed the scales at three-hundred pounds on several occasions. And she had witnesses to back her up.

"Stiff," Tommy explained, coming out of his stretch. "Been lying there for hours."

"I know I sure love a good stretch after a long day," she replied. Tommy didn't know for sure if she was serious, or coming on to him, or both. He decided both.

"It's really no fun unless you have someone to really stretch out with, though," he winked.

"Captain! Are you coming on to me?"

"Of course. You're beautiful as an angel. Why wouldn't I?" he replied seriously, smiling down at her as they walked.

"That's sexual harassment," she joked playfully.

"Now, that's what I hate about society today. A man can't even pay a beautiful woman a compliment without it being sexual harassment! It's a shame!"

"I agree. Pay me another and I won't report you," she laughed, looking at him from the corner of her eyes.

"How about later?" he smiled down at her. "The Colonel's waiting."

"No, now! You may be in hot water again and I won't see you later. So pay me now. I hate credit," she laughed, enjoying the game.

"Let me see," Tommy said thoughtfully, striking a pose with his chin resting between his thumb and forefinger as he thought. "How about...shit!" he finished springing in front of her.

She heard a meaty slap, then a rifle shot and Tommy was shoved back into her and they fell to the ground.

Tommy felt it, but didn't hear it. He stumbled back into Lieutenant Tremmel's arms and then they were crashing to the ground. He lay staring up at the cloudless sky. He kept seeing Cramer's face lowering to the scope and seeing the puff of smoke from the barrel. "Cramer!" he sighed, then rolled over onto his back.

The rifle slug hit him in the right chest, four inches down from his collarbone. His chest began to suck air and bleed profusely.

Lieutenant Lindsey Tremmel raised her M-16 and began to shoot cover fire as she struggled to drag Tommy into a doorway. She didn't know for sure where the shot had come from, so she covered their whole front.

There was no return fire. Cramer was convinced he had hit his mark. Even the captain wasn't faster than a speeding bullet. So, he had left the scene and was now running down a back alley to his new office.

When she received no return fire, Lindsey began to call for assistance over her radio. She was promised help in five minutes. Just hold on! They had said. What else could she do, she asked herself, applying palm pressure to the hole in Tommy's chest.

"Come on Captain, don't you die on me!" she demanded. "I might actually be in love with you!" she said aloud, surprising herself.

"Well, in that case, I won't die on you, then," he said weakly.

"You better not, Captain! Or you will never get any of this!" she said, again surprising herself.

"In that case, Cramer could shoot me again and I still wouldn't go anywhere. Until afterward, that is," he joked.

She punched his chest on the left side playfully. "Just be quiet, Captain. Help's on the way. Should be here any minute."

"I'm being quiet. If you'll give me one good kiss I promise not to raise a ruckus!"

She kissed him. He passed out.

* * * * *

Cramer received the General's call just thirty minutes before he fired the fatal shot into the Captain's young heart. It had been a close thing. He had just gotten into position when he saw LeSade and the girl MP approaching. He had the cross hairs directly on LeSade's heart when he pulled the trigger. There was no way he missed. He breathed a sigh of relief. Their secret, and fortunes, were safe.

The Captain may have been the best, but no one is faster than a speeding bullet. Not even the best. That's why he hadn't waited around to gloat, and double confirm that LeSade was dead. The Captain was dead. Hanging around wouldn't make him any deader.

Besides, he had to get away. It wouldn't do for him to be caught in the area. Too many questions would be asked and questions were bad. Answers were worse. Especially in his line of work. He had no desire to provide answers concerning the demise of Captain Tommy LeSade. He couldn't care less about the Captain. The only two things he cared about in the entire world were that the Captain was dead and that his money was safe in Pakistan.

With the American crackdown on money transfers it would be several years before he had it all safely salted away in accounts around the world. But have it he would. Even if it took ten years. Money was good any time.

When he reached his office, he stashed the briefcase containing the disassembled rifle and then relaxed. He was home free. No one had seen him and he could not be linked to the death of Captain LeSade.

He picked up the phone, listened for the dial tone, then dialed the General's private line.

"General Hawk," the general answered.

"The foul deed is done," Cramer smiled at the irony. He had actually enjoyed making the billion dollar shot.

"Good."

"No problem."

"Good-bye," Hawk said, then hung up before Cramer could respond.

Cramer hung up, leaned back in his chair and relaxed. He lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke around his head. He hated the foul smelling things, but he had to have them, too. He smiled into the smoke, he was home free!

* * * * *

When Tommy came out of surgery he was missing half of his right lung. His running days, for the most part, was over. His military career was over unless he wanted to be a desk commander. He wouldn't like that for the next ten or twenty years, depending on whether he stayed for twenty or thirty years. He didn't mind the lung so bad; it was the loss of his career that hurt him to his very soul. The military had been his life, his love.

True, there was the desk option. But, he knew he'd go insane within a year of being strapped to a desk. He needed to be on the edge. Not necessarily on the cutting edge, but close enough he could see the shine from it. He couldn't do that from a desk anywhere in the world.

When he opened his eyes in post-op recovery Lieutenant Lindsey Tremmel was holding his hand, looking intently into his face and wiping tears from her eyes.

"Hello Angel," he whispered softly.

"Hi," she smiled, touching his face affectionately.

"Have I been here long?"

"About three hours."

"Can I get another kiss? I don't remember the last one very well." She kissed him again.

"Can I get another, Angel?"

"They're cheaper by the dozen," she smiled, kissing his lips again.

"My credit any good?"

"Triple A rated."

"In that case, I'll take a million."

"Okay, but you'll have to sign a contract. And I'll have to have at least sixty or seventy years to deliver the full order."

"Sounds reasonable," Tommy smiled. "I agree," he whispered softly, then began to drift away into sleep again.

When he awakened again he had been moved to a ward and Lindsey was gone. He wondered if he had dreamt her being there and the conversation they had shared and the promises they had made. Maybe, he thought, staring at the ceiling.

He began to think seriously about what he was going to do with his life away from the Army. Hell, the Army is my life! I don't know anything else but martial arts and computers. With a lung and a half I'll have to settle for computers. I'm still good for writing programs. Very good, he amended. Okay, that's it. Computer programming. His thoughts began to run wild as he lay his plans for the future. Then, Cramer's face ducking behind the sniper scope came to mind. That led to the money and the plans for balancing the scales began to form.

Cramer had tried to kill him twice! It must be the money! Then he knew, they weren't taking the money to return it to the United States Government, they were stealing it for themselves!

When he thought about it some more, he realized he was the only other person besides Cramer and Hawk that knew about operation 'Clean Sweep'. Well, there were the other three drivers of the trucks, but he was sure they were dead by now if they weren't in on the theft from the beginning. And for that much money, what were their simple lives?

Now that he thought about it, Cramer had never allowed the other drivers to come to the back of the underground warehouse, or to see what was being loaded into the trailers. That alone told him they were dead. Their lives meant nothing. What were three lives compared to that much money? What were a hundred? Was the sky the limit? Was there a limit? For hundreds of billions of dollars in cash and maybe twice that much in gold bullion would anyone be safe?

Tommy was so deep in thought he didn't notice when Colonel Austin Lake approached his bed and looked down at him with a concerned expression.

"Captain LeSade, I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said softly, so as not to disturb the other patients.

"No, Sir," Tommy replied, glancing up at Lake's round, black, bowling ball of a face. "Just thinking about the future," he added, noticing the papers in Lake's hand.

"Well, the future is uncertain at best. But, let me be the first to congratulate you, Major, on your promotion."

"Thank you, sir. I'd forgotten about that. Other things came up that took precedent over promotions and such. Too many other things going on," he continued, taking the proffered orders from Lake.

"Yes," Lake said thoughtfully. "Lots going on around here. Also," he added after a slight hesitation. "Let me congratulate you for being awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star and pending a Presidential Awards Ceremony, the Congressional Medal of Honor. It is my honor to have known and served with you, Sir," Lake said, handing Tommy the orders for the awards as he named them off. As Tommy took the last, Lake came to full attention and saluted him after his last statement.

"Thank you, Sir," Tommy replied, returning the salute. "But, I wasn't expecting this. I don't believe I have earned them, Sir."

"Major, 'by your actions in the face of overwhelming enemy fire, you single handedly overcame the enemy forces and saved the lives of no less than fifty American soldiers'. It says so right there in those orders signed by the Commander-in-Chief. Therefore, it is my humble opinion, sir, that you deserve far more than a simple medal to honor your service, bravery and honor."

"Thank you, sir. But, at the time, it didn't seem like much of a big deal. I was just doing what I was being paid to do."

"It never seems like much of a big deal. It never does, son," Lake said thoughtfully, as if he knew from experience. "Now, let's talk about something that's been bothering me," he said seriously.

"What would that be, sir?" Tommy asked, wondering what it could be.

Lake turned serious.

"Cramer," the Colonel stated matter-of-factly. "Tell me about Cramer."

Tommy told him everything he knew about the CIA agent, up to and including Cramer shooting him. He did not mention Operation Clean Sweep.

"Yes, Lieutenant Tremmel said you had seen who shot you. He have a reason?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Colonel," Tommy hedged. He could not mention details about his secret mission for Cramer and Hawk.

"I'm gonna do some checking on him. I want to find out what makes a duck like him quack. I'll be in touch before you leave outa here, Major."

"Any idea when that will be, Sir?" Tommy asked, glad to change the subject. "I'd say within a week. Germany, I think the doctors said," Lake replied as if deep in thought.

"I guess I'm doing all right, huh?"

"Doc said the bullet went in and out. Mangled the lower part of your right lung, deflected off something and came out just above your right hip just below your ribs. Said you were lucky, it could have just as easily went the other way."

"I don't feel very lucky."

"Count your blessings, Major," Colonel Lake said, offering his hand in farewell.

"Thanks for stopping by, Colonel."

"No trouble, Major. I'll see you later."

"Yes, Sir. Later."

The Colonel turned and left. He had been very deep in thought. Tommy couldn't imagine about what. Maybe he'd find out at their next meeting.

* * * * *

The phone on Cramer's desk rang and he leaned forward through his pall of cigar and cigarette smoke and lifted the handset to his ear.

"Cramer," he said.

"You have a problem, Cramer," General Hawk stated bluntly.

"What may that be, General Hawk?" he responded, figuring that if the general could use his name, then he could sure as hell put his on the wire, or recording. If it was being recorded. Turn about was fair play where he came from.

"You missed your target...again!"

"No way! That's impossible!"

"Then why was he lying in post-op recovery at the medical unit day before yesterday with half a lung missing?"

"There is no way I missed him!"

"You didn't miss him, Cramer! You just didn't kill him!"

"Jesus!" Cramer said in exasperation. "Do you have to go into such graphic detail over the phone?"

"What do you plan on doing about it?" Hawk said, ignoring the question.

"It's not what will I do. It's what the government will do."

"I'm talking about LeSade!" Hawk yelled into the phone.

Cramer jerked the receiver away from his hear, looked at it as if he could see Hawk's angry face in it. He cautiously put it back to his ear and said, "Finish it, of course!"

"It's too late for that," Hawk said. "He was on a medical flight to Germany this morning."

"That is a problem!" Cramer stated. "I can't just pick up and go to Germany."

"You'd better figure something!" The general threatened, then slammed down the phone in Cramer's ear.

Cramer hardly noticed. Stunned was not the word Cramer would have chosen to describe how he was feeling; more like, AMAZED! How did he survive a bullet to the heart? Maybe he is Superman! Cramer laughed out loud at his personal joke.

* * * * *

When Tommy opened his eyes the next morning Lieutenant Tremmel was standing in her MP uniform beside his bed.

"Well, good morning, Major," she said sweetly. "Are you ready to travel?"

"Morning Angel," he said smiling sleepily. "We going somewhere?"

"Oh, I thought we'd fly over to Germany today. It's such a splendid day to be out and about," she said aristocratically, with her nose in the air.

"Tell me, Lieutenant, can a fellow officer get a kiss," he sighed. "Just to start a beautiful day off right."

"Sounds like a direct order to me," she smiled. "And I always follow direct orders from my superior officers," she added, leaning over and kissing him on the lips. "But, wait a minute," she said, raising up and looking him in the eyes. "How do you know it's a beautiful day? You can't see outside!"

"Well, that's easy, Lieutenant Tremmel," he smiled. "The first thing I saw was you and that makes all the difference to me."

"Oh, you silver tongued devil!" she laughed, then kissed him again. "You know all the right things to say to get to a girl's heart!" She kissed him again.

When she came up for air two medical personnel were standing behind her. They tried not to look at her bent over bottom, but they couldn't help themselves. It was a beautiful view.

"Excuse us, sir. Ma'am," one of the medics said. "We're here to transport Major LeSade to the airport. He's scheduled for a flight to Germany this morning."

"Yes, I know. I'm his escort. Here are my orders," she said, taking a copy of her orders from her pocket and handing it to the medic.

"You'll have to show them to the flight crew, Ma'am. We just transport to the airfield, Ma'am."

"Very well," she smiled, putting the orders back in her pocket. "Carry on," she added, stepping aside.

The medics transferred Tommy from his hospital bed to the ambulance gurney, strapped him down lightly and raised the side rails. When they were ready, they began to push and pull him from the hospital ward. Lindsey followed closely. Protectively. That was her property they were transporting and it was very valuable to her. She had no intention of letting it get out of her sight for a second.

* * * * *

At the airport Tommy was loaded straight onto the aircraft. Lindsey was checked through airport security. Her identification and orders were checked with headquarters and verified. It was easy to get into a war zone and quite harder to get out again, she had learned. When she was cleared, she was allowed to board the aircraft and join Tommy.

On the flight to West Germany, when Tommy wasn't sleeping, they kissed and talked. Mostly talked and looked adoringly at each other. They were under constant attention from the flight crew, so their petting was done mostly in secret.

Lindsey pretended to adjust Tommy's blanket around his shoulders when she wanted a kiss. He pretended to be cold when he wanted one. All in all, it worked out pretty well. However, it didn't fool the flight crew. They knew they were transporting a war hero, a Medal of Honor and Silver Star awardee and his future wife. The story of the lovers went around the aircraft quickly, so the flight crew left them pretty much alone.

"Tell me, Lindsey," Tommy asked curiously. "Why the armed escort?"

"You are under the protection of the President of the United States. As a Congressional Medal of Honor awardee you are both a war hero and a National Treasure. Hence, the armed escort," she responded.

"How did you get scheduled to be my escort?"

"I basically ordered my C.O. to allow me. After all, we are going to be married. And I was with you when you were shot. And my C.O. is my uncle. So, it was really quite simple. He loves me," she smiled shyly and blushed a beautiful pink. "I told him you saved my life by pushing me out of the way and taking the bullet yourself," she said honestly. "What choice did he have?"

"You're pretty slick," he smiled. "We both know the bullet was intended to hit me in the heart."

"Prove it!" she interrupted. "If you hadn't pushed me out of the way, would the bullet have hit you or me?" she challenged.

"It would have hit me in the heart. If I hadn't leaned over and pushed you."

"Maybe," she smiled. "But, would you swear under oath to that?"

"No."

"There you go then. And here I am," she laughed. "It might have hit me," she smiled with emphasis on 'might'.

"Either way, I'm glad it was me and not you that got hit."

"See! You are a natural hero! And my knight in shining armor all rolled into one! That's why I'm falling deeper and deeper in love with you with every passing mile. Fell in love, that's why I fell in love with you in the first place."

"My Angel," Tommy smiled as he began to get sleepy.

Lindsey smiled, then leaned over to adjust the blanket around his shoulders. She stole a passionate kiss for her trouble. And got busted.

"He sure is a handsome devil, isn't he?" A female Major asked Lindsey when she came up for air.

"He sure is!" she agreed, realizing it would do no good to feign innocents. "That's why I'll love him forever!"

"You better. Or some other lucky woman will!"

"I know."

"Excuse me while I take his vitals," the Major said, showing her stethoscope and thermometer.

"Yes, Ma'am," Lindsey smiled, stepping back and allowing the Major to step up beside Tommy.

The major was very efficient. When she finished her exam she smiled at Lindsey. "He's doing perfectly, Lieutenant. You'll have him around for a long time, yet."

"I sure hope so," Lindsey said, as she began thinking about homes, babies, station wagons and car pools, soccer practice, skinned knees and bumped heads. "I sure hope so," she repeated in a whisper to herself.

* * * * *

Three weeks later Tommy and Lindsey sat side by side on a large military aircraft headed for the United States. Their first stop was Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland. From there they would have a military escort to Washington, D.C.; destination: The White House.

The awards ceremony was set for three o'clock in the afternoon, in the Rose Garden. The President himself would make the presentation on behalf of the people of the United States and Congress.

Personally, Tommy would be glad when all the fooforah was over and done with. Then, he and Lindsey could get married and start their future together. He said start, because Lindsey would have to return to Iraq and finish her tour of duty. She still had a year left.
Chapter 5

Looking back now, five years later, Tommy couldn't see what all the fuss was about. The president was a man just like himself. Only Tommy was honest, whereas, he felt the president and all his merry men were crooks, plain and simple. They used their positions to legally rob the very people they had sworn to protect, the American people, then, blamed it on the terrorists. Plus, they had gotten his Angel killed. And for that they had to pay. And pay dearly they would, too. He had seen to that with the last keystroke he had made on the computer keyboard.

The virus he had sent on its way fifteen minutes ago was unstoppable. No one but Judge Andrew Ryan and himself knew of its existence. Therefore, no one could find it and stop it.

It is, in fact, the perfect mystery virus, he thought as he heard the police cars outside pull to a screeching halt in front of his house. The game was afoot! Thirty seconds later the doorbell rang. The cops had arrived. It was time to go.

He got up and walked to the door. "Can I help you, Officer?" he asked with a surprised look on his face, as he pulled the door open.

Looking at the two large 'bull' cops the judge had sent Tommy smiled inwardly. They were both six feet four inches tall and weighed in at approximately two hundred and fifty pounds.

"Mister Tommy Mistri?" one of the officers asked.

"Yes?"

"Mister Mistri I have a warrant for your arrest on a charge of first degree assault. You'll have to come with me, sir."

"Very well," Tommy smiled. "May I secure my home, first? I live alone."

"We'll have to accompany you, sir," the officer said opening the storm door and basically forcing his way inside. He was closely followed by his partner.

Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly, Tommy thought. But said, "That will be fine. It won't take but a minute. I just have to turn on the alarm system and shut down my computer," he added over his shoulder as he entered the livingroom.

"I will need the alarm system password. A search warrant may be sworn out."

"In that case I will give the codeword to the server of the search warrant," Tommy said as neutrally as he could. He laughed inside as the cops fell deeper into his trap. Judge Ryan had told him these two had a history of police brutality against lone suspects, then claimed they resisted arrest. Tommy had every intention of balancing the scales of Justice for all their victims.

"Very well. I have to read you your Miranda rights," the second officer said, glancing at his partner.

"I know them. Save your breath."

"You will need to sign a waiver of those rights before we get to the County Jail."

"I'm not waiving them. I'm relieving you of the burden of having to read them to me."

"Sir, we're trying to be civil with you here. If you want to play rough we can."

"Officer, you don't know what playing rough is," Tommy said, flipping the power switch on the computer off and turning on the security cameras, both inside and out.

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, I'm promising you."

"We'll see, smartass!" the first officer stated, slowly pulling a night stick from his utility belt.

The second officer pulled his nightstick as well. He approached Tommy from behind and began to slap the stick into the palm of his left hand.

They're so easily provoked, Tommy told himself. So gullible, he added. They walk into a trap with their eyes wide open. Not very smart, not knowing who their opponent is.

"If you attempt to hit me with that stick, Officer. I'm going to shove it up your ass," Tommy said, thinking of the video and audio recording that would come out of this encounter.

"We got us a real bad actor here, Sam!"

"He's a pussy, Bill. Says he gonna stick ter up my ass! I'd like to see that!" he laughed.

"All you have to do is try and hit me with it and I'll make your wish come true!" Tommy smiled, his hands crossed in front of him, one hand holding his other wrist in a non-aggressive pose.

Sam swung his nightstick savagely at Tommy. Tommy caught it as he rolled away from the impact. He turned, rolled and twisted the stick out of Sam's grip and then smacked him solidly on the shin with it. It sounded as if he had hit a baseball out of the park. Sam roared with pain.

Tommy brought the stick down in the back of Sam's knee and he buckled to the floor clutching his shin and knee with both hands, bellowing like a bull buffalo with arrows stuck in his rump.

Tommy saw Bill coming for him out of his peripheral vision as Sam was going down. His nightstick was arcing over his shoulder aiming for Tommy's head. Tommy caught it with the stick he now had and jerked it from Bill's hand. He reversed his swing and struck Bill in the side of the head. He fell like a fallen pine.

At the same time, Sam was trying to get up. Tommy whacked him on the knee with the stick again. Again Sam bellowed in pain.

"Well, Sam," Tommy smiled. "I'm a man of my word and your wish is going to come true!" he said, kneeling down and placing his knee in the middle of Sam's back. He ripped the seat of Sam's pants open and then his boxers. He then began to shove the nightstick up Sam's ass.

"Oh, please," Sam begged. "Don't do that to me! Please!"

"Sorry Sam. I've never made a promise that I didn't keep. Plus, I just hate bully cops. Especially big mean sons of bitches like you and this piece of shit, here!"

Tommy felt the cops anus give and the stick began to slide in deep.

His buttocks clamped tight around it, but still it slid in deeper. Sam began to bellow like a bull giving up his nuts to castration.

"Oh God, please Mister! You're tearing me up something fierce inside! Please stop! Please!" Sam bellowed, then screamed like a girl and began to cry.

Tommy felt no remorse after what he had been through in Iraq. He shoved the stick deeper. Sam passed out.

Tommy stopped and stood up. He left the stick in Sam, then turned to Bill. He knelt down and ripped the seat of his pants and boxers. he grabbed the stick and shoved it up his ass about ten inches.

Behind him the door crashed open and a voice screamed, "FREEZE!"

Tommy stopped and raised his hands over his head. "Just fulfilling their wishes, Officer," Tommy smiled, when he saw the look of awe cross the young officer's face.

"If you move at all, I'll blow your ass away!" the cop said seriously. "Now, lay face down on the floor and place your hands behind your back!" he added pointing his shaking gun in the direction of Tommy's chest head and groin.

Tommy complied, thinking, mission accomplished. He smiled as he lay on the floor and placed his hands in the small of his back just as cops began to flood through the front door like flood waters.

Several of the cops laughed and shook their heads at the sight of the two meanest cops on the force with their nightsticks stuck up their asses. Others took it very serious, knowing it could be them lying there. They beat Tommy with their nightsticks and kicked him repeatedly in retaliation.

Through it all Tommy endured, knowing the video and audio recorders were catching every bit of the action in digital color and surround sound.

After ten minutes of uncontrolled abuse, Tommy was dragged out of the house and placed in a squad car. Bill and Sam had been taken by ambulance to the hospital for treatment and removal of their nightsticks.

Tommy was taken straight to the county jail and thrown into a cell without treatment or medical attention. He was the enemy.

An hour later he was dragged out of the cell, fingerprinted and photographed, then charged with sexual assault on a police officer, two counts. Resisting arrest and assault on a police officer, eight counts. He was looking at twenty years in prison. He wasn't concerned, everything had already been arranged with Judge Ryan.

* * * * *

Governor Wendell Cartwright looked around his new office. He still found it hard to believe he had been elected Governor in such a short time. He'd had a good campaign manager and his running mate had been involved in the political scene for years. His reputation had helped pave the way to the Governor's office.

John Taylor had a sterling reputation as a state senator and Congressman. He had served six terms in Washington, D.C. representing the interests of the people of Oklahoma. They all loved and admired his honesty and homespun, Will Rogers-like personality and character. When he announced to the people that he would be backing Wendell Cartwright, well, they just naturally jumped on the bandwagon with him.

The election had been a landslide. The Cartwright/Taylor ticket had garnered ninety-seven percent of the vote and as a result, the former Blackhawk pilot was now in the pilots seat in the most powerful office in the state of Oklahoma.

When he heard that his old pilot, Major Andrew Ryan was practicing law in Tulsa he had called to offer him a judge's bench in Tahlequah. Ryan had accepted.

So, when his secretary informed him that Judge Ryan was on the phone, he had taken the call without hesitation. He knew it had to be important.

He had no idea just how important until he heard the judge out. He had jumped aboard without hesitation.

Now, two weeks later, he still believed he had done the right thing. The man he owed his life to needed his assistance and he had given it, no questions asked. Without Tommy LeSade, he would have no life, much less a Governor's seat to sit in.

Now, the judge was back on the line with more news. He assumed that LeSade had been sentenced and it was time to start the ball rolling from his end. He mentally reviewed their last conversation as if it were yesterday.

"Judge Ryan, how you doin'?" Wendell asked, pleasantly.

"I'm fine, Governor. How 'bout yourself?"

"Fine, fine. Never a dull moment," he answered.

"How's Becky and the kids?"

"Oh, they're fine. The kids are growing like weeds. Becky's due any day with number four. We're hoping it's a boy, of course."

"Well, good luck," Ryan replied good naturedly. "Listen Governor, need a favor. It concerns Tommy LeSade. Remember him?"

"How could I ever forget the man who saved my life! Whatever it is, the answer is yes!"

"How about I fly up there so we can discuss it in private. It's a very serious matter that I don't feel needs to be put over the wire."

"Sure, Judge. My door is always open to you. Day or night. Seven days a week. You show up, you're in. Anytime," the Governor assured him seriously.

"How about four thirty, five o'clock tomorrow afternoon?"

"That'll be fine, Judge. I'll tell Sandy to clear my appointments after four o'clock so we'll have plenty of time to talk. Alright?"

"That's fine. I appreciate it Governor."

"No problem," the Governor assured him.

"Give Becky and the kids my love. Tell them I'll see them tomorrow."

"Alright, Judge - Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

As Wendell remembered the conversation and the meeting of the day following, he still felt sure he was doing the right thing. Tommy LeSade, now Mistri, had saved his and Ryan's life and in the end had lost his own, in a matter of speaking. So, anything he could do, he would.

"Governor, Mister Chambers is here for for his appointment," Sandy's sexy, bourbon and smoke voice, as he thought of it, said over the intercom.

"Very well, show him in," the Governor replied with a sense of pending revenge.

When John Chambers was seated and sipping his coffee, Governor Cartwright asked him point blank, with no hesitation. "John do you want to be the Warden at Connors?"

"I'd like to some day be warden somewhere. It doesn't have to be Connors," he replied after considering the question for a second.

"You know Bill's retiring?" Wendell said, referring to William Sterling. the current Warden of Connors.

"Yes sir, next month."

"Correct," the Governor agreed. "Now, I can place you in his position. But, I need a favor in return."

"Name it," Chambers said, sipping his coffee thoughtfully, his expression never betraying the hate he felt for the man behind the desk.

"Here before long a very good, personal friend of mine is going to be sent to Connors. His name is Tommy Mistri. He will need some, shall we say, 'accommodations', so to speak. Can you agree to that?"

"I don't see why not. As long as it isn't illegal."

"Oh, I doubt anything illegal will be needed. But, let me tell you about Tommy Mistri..."

For the next hour Wendell told him an abbreviated version of the story. He also outlined the accommodations he would be required to provide during Tommy's stay in the custody of the State of Oklahoma.

"Now, if you can agree to what I've said. I can agree to put you in the Warden's chair. Do we have a deal?"

"I don't see why not, Governor. I am concerned, though, that this man may kill or injure one of my staff."

"Oh, he will. Never doubt that. Tommy is the deadliest man I've ever known; with his hands, or his feet! But, I also know that he only kills in self-defense, or the defense of his friends. If you allow your officers or staff to provoke him, they are asking for trouble. So, if they don't bother him, he won't bother them. I'll guarantee it."

"Well Governor, I'll take your word on that. So, I guess we have a deal."

"Good. Tommy will be there in a couple of months or so. I was informed earlier that he has been sentenced, but has been released to tie up some loose ends in his personal life. So, I'm counting on you to take care of him for me. I won't forget it," Wendell said, offering his hand across the desk.

"I will, Governor," Chambers promised as he shook hands. "Tommy will be in good hands. I promise," he added seriously, feeling as if he were shaking hands with a snake. Or a dead fish.

"Okay Warden, take care of yourself," Wendell said with a sincere politician's smile, thinking about how he would love to tear the bastard's head off and shit down his neck.

"You too, Governor," Chambers said, then stood, walked to the door and left the office.

When Chambers left, Cartwright sat behind his desk recalling Tommy LeSade. As his memories surfaced a smile spread across his face remembering the young Captain on the day the sniper had saved his and Ryan's life.

* * * * *

Tommy stood at attention before Judge Ryan. He had never lost his military bearing. His attorney stood beside him shifting restlessly.

"Mister Mistri, in as much as the jury has found you guilty of first degree assault, do you have anything to say in your defense that may sway this court into imposing a lesser sentence than it otherwise will?"

"Your honor," Tommy said gravely. "It is with great regret that I find myself standing before this court this morning. I have always tried to conduct myself honorably.

"In every situation I have ever found myself, I have tried to bear in mind my abilities and control my impulses. Mister Morgan however, and I do sincerely regret his comatose state, would not let the matter, as presented before the court in detail, rest. He continuously provoked my patience by slashing the tires on my vehicle, painting anti-war slogans on my vehicle, residence and driveway. And finally, made the mistake of attempting to attack me with a Louisville Slugger, with the full intention of causing me serious and permanent bodily injury. I, as any citizen would have, defended myself to the best of my ability. And again, I do sincerely regret the man's current state."

"If this court sees fit to take into consideration all the evidence presented concerning my military career, my private life and my business dealings with the public, I believe this court may better serve the public by suspending any sentence imposed upon me. That is all your honor," Tommy concluded, repeating verbatim what he, the Governor and Judge Ryan had agreed upon two weeks earlier.

Judge Ryan listened intently and solemnly to every word Tommy said, as agreed. Then shifting to one side slightly and straightening his body to sit erect, he shuffled the papers around on his bench in deep thought. Or so it appeared to the public.

"Mister Mistri, this court appreciates your forthrightness and candor in this grave matter before the court. However, assault that leaves another human being in a vegetative state can hardly be taken lightly, even if by accident."

This court would assume that someone with your training and ability could have chosen another, less violent, way of handling your problem with Mister Morgan. That is what the police are for..."

"I ain't no rat!" Tommy interrupted angrily. "The police would be the last people on earth I would call for assistance..."

"Order, Mister Mistri. Or I'll find you in contempt!" Judge Ryan shouted. Then continued after a few seconds of silence. He and Tommy stared defiantly into each other's eyes. Then Ryan continued, "You chose to leave the police out of this equation and chose to handle it on your own. As a result of your decision a man lies in a comatose state and may never recover. Even if it was accidental, as you claim, he is no less clinging to life by a thread. And should he die as a result of this assault, you shall be changed with his murder.

"Therefore the court sees no alternative, if it is to encourage respect for the law and deterrence against citizens taking the law into their own hands, but to sentence you to the maximum allowable by law. Therefore, this court sentences you Mister Mistri, to serve five years in the Department of Corrections for the State of Oklahoma at McAlester and recommend that you serve your sentence at the Connors Unit.

"You are hereby remanded to the Sheriff's office of Cherokee County to await transportation to that facility at their convenience.

"Now," Judge Ryan continued, looking at some other papers. "We have some other business to conclude here today concerning Mister Mistri's arrest. Is the court to assume that the parties involved have reached a mutual agreement?"

"We have, Your Honor," the District Attorney said as he stood up behind the prosecutor's table.

"Would you care to enlighten the court as to the terms of this 'mutual agreement', Mister Prosecutor?" Ryan asked sarcastically, as if he knew in advance that Tommy was going to get the short end of the stick, again.

"Your Honor," the Prosecutor said. "In light of a certain video tape recording, the Sheriff's Office and the Prosecutor's Office feel that a settlement of...ten thousand dollars..."

"Objection, Your Honor!" Tommy' defense counsel erupted, jumping angrily to his feet. "Ten thousand dollars was not the agreed upon settlement!" he added in exasperated disbelief.

"What do you believe it to be, Mister Bass?" Ryan asked.

"Your Honor, the agreed upon settlement was set at seventy five thousand dollars, not a paltry ten! That's ridiculous considering the near fatal beating my client endured, while being handcuffed and prone on the floor, at the hands of the Sheriff's Deputies!"

"Mister Prosecutor, is that amount correct?" Ryan asked.

"Originally, Your Honor. But, we have since been informed that the Sheriff's Department can only afford ten thousand dollars."

Ryan studied the Prosecutor in total disbelief that he would try such a stunt in his courtroom before he said, "Mister Prosecutor, in my courtroom I seek only two things; the truth and justice. Everything else is to be kept outside these four walls. I will not tolerate misconduct by officers of the court. I will not tolerate trickery or deception to any degree. It will absolutely not be tolerated!

"I will take a fifteen minute recess and review this tape you mentioned. I will allow two people from the defense and two people from the prosecution to view it with me. Among the five viewers we will decide the settlement; sort of an arbitration committee. Our decision will be final, beyond appeal. Now, pick two people, yourselves excluded. Defense, pick two, yourselves excluded, and we will be back in fifteen minutes or so."

There was a few minutes of confused chaos as their representatives were chosen. Their elected representatives gathered in a group before the bench. They looked up at the judge expectantly.

"Gentlemen and Lady, please join me in my chambers," Ryan said, as he rose, turned and in a swirl of black silk robes entered his chambers. The four people chosen to join him followed.

The courtroom remained semi-silent for the next fifteen minutes. The only sounds above the air-conditioning blowers was whispered conversation and the rustle of papers. It was almost as if a time bomb was ticking away the seconds one by one. Most of the conversations were not about the case at bar.

Exactly twenty-five minutes later the door of the Judge's Chambers opened and the five people filed out. The judge took his seat and the four others resumed their seats. Judge Ryan cleared his throat and began, "After reviewing the tape in question. We find that at all times Mister Mistri conducted himself with both courtesy and respect toward the deputies. We also concluded that he was both candid and honest with them. We further found that the officers in question provoked the incident in a bullying manner with both threatened and implied aggression.

"Furthermore, after the initial incident was concluded and Mister Mistri was on the floor and handcuffed, and in custody, other officers from the Sheriff's Department launched an additional attack on Mister Mistri. This assault was a direct violation of Mister Mistri's Civil and several Constitutional Rights as well, and will not go unpunished.

"Therefore, we concluded that in the interests of justice and to deter future repeat performances by deputies of the Sheriff's Department, an award of one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars is adequate. There is no appeal, as per our agreement. And the funds shall be transferred to Mister Mistri by close of business today. Failure to satisfy this order will attach an additional ten thousand dollars a day for each day this award goes unsettled.

"This court is in recess until nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Court adjourned!" Ryan said, as he stood, whacked his gavel on the bench and then turned to enter his chambers.

It was one o'clock in the afternoon. By three o'clock that afternoon one hundred and fifty thousand dollars had been transferred into Tommy's bank account, just down the street.

Judge Ryan gave explicit orders to the Sheriff in person concerning Tommy Mistri's transfer to McAlester. The Sheriff then relayed them to the deputy assigned to transport Tommy to prison; to wit: if one hair on his body was disturbed en route to prison, then, the deputy could count on being the next prisoner to be transported in that direction. There was no guarantee that he would make the trip in one piece! Or even three! Leave Tommy Mistri alone!

The entire ride to McAlester was made in silence. Tommy and the Sheriff's Office were no longer on speaking terms. It was very personal. And no one minded in the least. That was just the way it was. Actually, the way they preferred it.

Tommy spent his time on the ride thinking about the past five years and the mental hell he had gone through. The heart shattering news that his Angel, Lindsey, had been killed by a sniper's bullet. That bullet, unknown to the world, had started Major Tommy LeSade, U.S.A. Ret., on a mission of revenge, and the world would be a far different place when the debts were paid and the dust settled.

Colonel Austin Lake's email informing him that, quote: 'no such secret mission had ever been authorized by the U.S. Government,' unquote. And that Cramer had disappeared. Assumed killed, or captured and then killed. Lindsey Tremmel had been investigating. General Hawk had retired and gone back to the states. Reportedly living large in Malibu. The unit had suffered heavy losses. No 'old timers' left, just new recruits. Hope you've recovered. Stay in touch. Take care.

Later emails confirmed all his worse fears. Lindsey had been killed by a NATO round; 5.56mm. Cramer had been seen in Pakistan. Hawk a billionaire - never on military retirement.

Tommy had started his own clandestine investigation on Hawk. He figured there was only one way a one star general could become a billionaire overnight; steal it!

His investigation had led him through a world wide web investigation. It seemed Hawk was getting millions from over two-hundred foreign banks in which he held accounts.

Tommy had then set about writing a software program to back track all the banking transactions for the past two years on Hawk. He had been amazed that they had all began their journey in Pakistan and from one single account held by a corporation called CLEAN SWEEP. The name of the mission he was sent on.

Learning this Tommy had then began writing his program to 'sweep clean' CLEAN SWEEP and General Hawk. Thus, taking their ill gotten gains as retribution for them taking his Angel, his career and his peace of mind.

He had kept Judge Ryan fully informed of his discoveries and the Judge had helped him design a fool-proof alibi for himself. If he was in prison at the time he could have had nothing to do with the disappearance of hundreds of billions of dollars in foreign banks, no matter what the investigation discovered in the end.

Tommy did not tell the Judge about the other features of the program. Such as, it would install back doors in every major government computer system in the world, undetected. It repaired its infiltration as it entered. It did not disturb, in any way, the existing programs and it would lay dormant until the last word of the code was entered, that no one on earth could decode except him. And why, after all the hard work he had invested, would he want to do that?

Now, he had to figure a way onto a web connected computer in prison, in less than one year. It would be a daunting task as far as he knew. Prisoners were not allowed anywhere close to 'online' computers. It was true some prisons had computer programs for prisoners. But, were they connected? He didn't know. But, he would soon find out.

The slowing and breaking of the car brought him back to the present.

They had arrived at the state prison in McAlester. He assumed it was McAlester. It was hard to tell, they were still out in the countryside, not in the town per se.

In the distance up the road they traveled, he saw the razor wire strewn fences and knew that he was about to enter a totally foreign world. He was mentally prepared for what he was about to face. He hoped.

The deputy pulled the car into an empty parking place and turned off the engine. After getting out, he held the back door open so Tommy could crawl-slide over and out. He offered no assistance. That was fine with Tommy.

Tommy wore shackles around his ankles and his wrists were handcuffed to a chain that wrapped around his stomach. The handcuffs were locked inside an aluminum 'black box' that prevented anyone from getting a key anywhere near the handcuff locks to get them open. without first removing the black box.

When he was out and standing on his feet, the deputy closed the door and led him to the front door of the prison. Inside he told Tommy to have a seat. Tommy walked over to some chairs and took a seat.

Within minutes, a prison guard was hovering over him and glaring as if Tommy had spit on his wife.

"What the hell you call yourself doin' boy?" the guard asked sarcastically, wallowing a cud of chewing tobacco around in his jaw.

Tommy looked up at him and saw a man with a mid-sixties IQ and knew he was in a no-win situation. "Sitting down," he smiled.

"Sitting down, what?" the guard sneered.

"Sitting down...on a chair, Officer?" Tommy replied innocently. He was lost for words, not having a clue as to what the guard wanted or expected.

"I ain't no goddamn 'Officer', boy!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"That, right over there is a 'officer'! I'm a Boss!" he added proudly.

"A boss of what?"

"A boss of you, boy! What else?"

"I don't know what else. Enlighten me," Tommy said, grinning in amusement when he saw the bewildered look in the guards eyes.

The deputy laughed.

"I'll enlighten ya all right! I'll put so much light in your head, you'll see in the dark, like a car!" the guard said in a menacing tone beginning to get mad.

"That's easy to say, now. I'm all chained down. But, if you want to give it a shot, try it bad ass!" Tommy said, as he prepared himself for the attack. "You might get lucky, boy!" Tommy grinned, to provoke the guard.

He figured he may as well establish himself right off, to let everyone know where and how he stood.

The angry guard stepped forward to put momentum behind his swing. It was exactly what Tommy was counting on. He leaned back in his chair, as if ducking the blow, then kicked out with both legs at the guard's knee.

The dislocation of the knee joint sounded like a rifle shot. It was immediately drowned out by the high pitched scream of the guard. It was heard far and wide in the hallways of the prison.

Tommy immediately crossed his legs over the guards head and neck and pulled the chain tight. He pulled the guard back toward him as the front lobby began to fill with many more guards from inside the prison.

"Boy, you better turn him a'loose! 'Er I'll chop yer laigs off at the goddamn knee!" one guard threatened.

"By the time you lift your foot to take your first step he'll be dead," Tommy said seriously, glancing at the guard trying to get his fingers under the chain around his neck. He was failing miserably. "So, here's what I suggest. The Deputy takes my cuffs and chain off. Then, he unlocks one of the leg irons and locks it back around the other one. Then, he takes the other one off. I'll not attempt to escape out the door, because the fight will be fair then. You all, against me. What do you say?"

"Boy, we'll kill you!" one guard said seriously.

"No, we'll just establish who the boys are and who the men are here."

"Deputy, turn that bitch a'loose so we 'kin kick his ass proper!"

"I don't advise that, Gentlemen," the Deputy smiled. He's a very dangerous man."

"We didn't ask for your advise. We asked you to turn him aloose. So turn 'im aloose!" one demanded.

"Okay," the Deputy laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "But, don't say later that you weren't warned," the Deputy said, as he began to unfasten the cuffs, belly chain and leg irons.

When he finished he stepped back and Tommy pushed the injured guard away, then stood up to face the rest of them. They wasted no time pressing the attack en masse. It was basically a free-for-all. The guards had no discipline and swung wide and wild. It was obvious they had had no formal training.

When the head warden entered and yelled, "Stop!" at the top of his voice, everyone standing froze. Those who froze were Tommy and three guards. Six others lay on the floor moaning, rolling back and forth, nursing broken bones or dislocated joints. "What in the world is going on in here?" the Warden continued, seeing he had everyone's attention. He looked at each person in turn, expecting an answer.

No one spoke.

"I asked a question!" he yelled. "By God, I expect an answer and somebody better start talking, fast!"

"Well, Warden, it was like this," one of the standing guards began to explain. When he finished, the Warden just shook his head in bewilderment.

"I cannot believe that eight of you could not subdue one single man. Something is wrong with this picture and I intend to change it! Who are you?" he added, looking over at Tommy.

"My name is Tommy Mistri. I'm here to serve a five-year sentence for first degree assault."

"Well, you'll not be serving it here. We can't have this type of grudge left to fester. We'll find you dead some morning and that will remain a mystery! So, come in my office and we'll figure it out," the Warden said to Tommy, then turned and walked away.

Tommy smiled at the guards who leered at him as he passed.

"Boys," he said softly to them as he went down the hallway to join the warden.

When Tommy entered the warden's office he was invited to sit down, and then offered coffee or soda.

"Thank you Warden, but I only drink water."

"Then, water it shall be, Mister Mistri," the warden said, smiling. "You seem to have some friends in high places, I hear," he continued, as he poured ice water into a glass and handed it to his guest.

"A few, I suppose," Tommy replied.

"It was requested of me by the Governor to assign you to the Connors Unit, in Hominy. Any particular reason you care to share with me?" he asked, refilling the glass for Tommy, who had drank it down as if he were dying of thirst.

"I have no idea why he would make such a request. Does he often request such special assignments?"

"Never. But, he is a new Governor. And new Governors are known for making changes to the status quo for the first year or so," he stated knowingly, handing the glass back to Tommy. "Usually for no particular reason," he continued. "Maybe just to make a mark of their passing," he added, thoughtfully.

"Perhaps," Tommy agreed.

"Wardens get in a rut. Things stay the same because Wardens stay put. Governors, however seem to never be satisfied. They always want to move higher, making their own improvements to a machine that was working fine before their arrival and will be working fine when they're gone to their higher station in life. Perhaps the Senate. Or Congress. Occasionally even the White House." he went on shaking his head from side to side as if in bewilderment.

The Warden's observations required no answers or comment from him, so Tommy remained quiet and listened respectfully.

"I would advise you, Mister Mistri, to watch your step while you are in our care and custody. Prison staff have long, unforgiving memories. So, you can't expect to always beat the system. Sure, you may win for a while, but some night, while you're fast asleep in bed, you'll have a midnight visitor or three. They'll be as quiet as a mouse, but with the full intention of killing you. And they will, because eventually, you will have to sleep.

"You're not the only dangerous person in our custody, Mister Mistri, as you will soon learn. Even at the Connors Unit, there are some very deadly men.

"So, just stay out of sight and you will remain out of mind, as the old saying goes. Mind your own business. Do your own time. Avoid the bad people like the plague and the three deadly sins of prison: drugs, gambling and homosexuals and you should be alright. But, there are those who will feel it necessary to see what you are made of. To test you. To try you. From my observations, thus far, they are in for a bit of enlightenment about the degree of resolve of some men.

"So, when you are challenged in the least, handle it quickly and decisively. Never back down or make excuses. If you do, the predators will be on you like sharks on chum.

"That concludes my advice to you, Mister Mistri," the Warden smiled fatherly. "Except, always, and I do mean always, be right. Have witnesses, or no witnesses. Have no close friends. They will sell you out instantly for their own gain. If you have secrets, keep them. Secrets are a liability in places such as these.

"Any questions? Concerns? Anything like that?"

"No, Sir. I do appreciate your advice and counsel, and your concern for my well being, though. I appreciate honesty and humanity in a person of authority. Such as yourself," Tommy said sincerely.

"Thank you, Sir. I know you are a well educated man. Military bearing. Officer, would be my guess. Special Forces, perhaps. Highly motivated. Dedicated. Loyal. Honest. Independent. Trustworthy. Did I leave anything out?" he smiled, ruefully.

"Deadly, extremely."

"Yes, yes. I forgot deadly. Very deadly."

"It is amazing you can come to such accurate conclusions about me in such a short period of time," Tommy said.

"I've spent my life around men of all stripe. Both good and bad. Mostly bad. One learns if one pays attention. Men wear their credentials on their sleeve, like a badge of honor. Which they are in some respects.

"Most men have to brag. They are nothing special. Those who are quiet, though. They are the special ones. Such as yourself.

"For example, the deadly creatures of the earth are quiet and stealthy. Their prey, on the other hand, is loud, careless and draws attention. The hunters have their eyes in the front of their face, like man. The prey? Their eyes are on the sides, for a wide angle field of vision. They need every advantage they can get when dealing with the truly dangerous and deadly," the Warden concluded, then changed the subject.

"Well, Sir," he said. "I must make arrangements for your transport to the Connors Unit. It is a very long ride. Perhaps I will drive you myself. Yes, perhaps I will. In fact, I will! I enjoy your company and would like to know you better. You intrigue me, for one thing, Mister Mistri. For another, I enjoy being around educated, self-contained men, such as yourself. Would you mind if I drive you? No, of course you wouldn't. Of course, if you should try and escape, I will kill you. Be assured of that."

"I will not attempt escape, Sir. You have my word of honor on that."

"Good, then, we won't need chains and such. I hate chaining men like animals. But, some men must be chained, though. They have no self-control. Make no mistake about that. But, you are not such a man as those, Mister Mistri. I sense it... Well, then. That's settled. Shall we go? We have a long drive ahead of us."

"Of course, sir, at your convenience," Tommy said, as he stood and set the glass on the edge of the desk on a coaster. He hated that the small talk had come to an end. He had enjoyed listening to the old man ramble on. He hoped he would continue on the ride to the Connors Unit.

* * * * *

Tommy's wish was fulfilled. The slim, grey haired old man, talked non-stop. His slate blue eyes sparkled with a touch of madness, perhaps. Or amusement, as he regaled Tommy with stories of his life, his loves, his adventures, regrets, sorrows and accomplishments.

By the time they arrived at the Connors Unit, Tommy felt as if he had known the old warden his entire life; like one would know a favorite grandfather, or uncle.

Tommy sat in the reception area of the prison without chains or shackles while the old warden talked to Warden Chambers, the new warden of the Connors Unit for nearly an hour. When they came out, Chambers nearly panicked seeing one of his prisoners sitting unfettered and unguarded in the lobby of his prison.

"I've filled Warden Chambers in on you, Tommy. He assures me you are safe and in good hands here. He has also heard from the Governor concerning your status. So, you should be fine. Is there anything you need before I leave, son?" he asked sincerely, his old eyes glimmering wetly.

"Yes, Sir, if you don't mind," Tommy responded.

"And that would be?"

"Your name, Sir. You've never told me your name."

"Well, I'll be damned! I haven't, have I?"

"No, Sir."

"It's James Ketchum, Tommy," he replied offering his hand.

"Thank you, Sir. I'll never forget your kindness," he promised, taking the man's hand in both of his and shaking it warmly.

Tommy was sad to see Warden Ketchum leave once he had officially turned custody over to Warden Chambers. But, his leaving was inevitable and Tommy watched him go in silence.

Chapter 6

"Follow me, Mister Mistri," Warden Chambers said as he turned and started down a long hallway. Tommy followed as directed.

"Have a seat," Chambers said when Tommy came into the office. He sat behind his desk and watched as Tommy took an empty chair in front of his desk.

Tommy sat and began to study the middle aged man with salt and pepper hair, black moustache, brown eyes, a ruddy complexion and a build like a linebacker.

"First off, let's get one thing straight. The Governor does not run this prison. I do," Chambers said sternly, studying Tommy. "I make the decisions about who does what. And when they do it, inside these fences. I decide who gets what privileges and when they get them. Not the Governor. I, and I alone, decide whether your time here is easy or hard. Do we understand each other, Mister Mistri?"

"Absolutely, Warden," Tommy replied.

"Therefore, I have decided that you will be persona non grata inside this institution, until, and not before, you prove to me that you deserve 'special' treatment.

"I have informed my staff that they are not to interact with you in any way. They will not speak to you, assist you, or hamper you. You will be as a ghost. A mystery man, if you will, to all inmates and staff alike. Any staff member who breaks these simple rules will be terminated 'post haste'.

"Now, you, you will be given free rein to do what you like. Basically, go where you are allowed to go, interact with the inmates here who allow you to. It will be up to you to defend yourself the best way you can, against however many come against you. My staff will not interfere. You shall quickly sink or swim on your own. Is that understood, Mister Mistri?"

"Yes, Sir, Warden," Tommy answered calmly, trying to figure out the Warden's game. So far, it was beyond him.

"You will be allowed a single cell. It will be up to you to defend and protect it. In other words, you will keep other aggressive inmates out who believe they deserve it more. You will keep your private possessions in it. My staff will not interfere in your defense of your turf. If you lose it, that will mean you are not tough enough to defend it and therefore, do not deserve it.

"Now, if we understand each other, you are free to go to population and face whatever awaits you, whether good or ill," Chambers concluded with a knowing smile, as if he had sentenced Tommy to death. He stood and pointed to the door. He didn't offer to shake Tommy's hand.

"One question, if I may, Warden?" Tommy asked as he stood up from the chair and looked Chambers in the eyes.

"Go ahead," Chambers replied as if a great imposition had been placed on him.

"Why are you being so careless and cruel to someone you don't know? I've never seen, spoken or met you before today and you seem to wish me dead. Why?"

"Simple," Chambers replied smugly. "I do not like privilege. I do not like soldiers. I do not like killers; in war or peace. I do not care about you or your welfare here. My job is to keep you here. That is all.

"I will not endanger the lives or health of my staff to protect you. They are all law abiding citizens, far and beyond above you. And that, Mister Mistri is why I do not care if you live or die here. You are the scum of the earth, Mister Mistri, and as such, so shall you be treated," Chambers stated calmly and seriously, as if he believed each and every word he had spoken. He stepped around his desk and stood in front of Tommy. He looked up into Tommy's eyes and smiled. "Any comment?" he asked, grinning fearlessly.

"Not according to Samuel Clemmons," Tommy said, looking into the warden's glassy brown eyes.

"Samuel Clemmons?"

"Mark Twain?" Tommy queried.

"What does he have to do with this?"

"Mark Twain said that if one wished to see the true scum of the earth, all one had to do was be at any American prison at shift change," he laughed, softly.

"And what do you say, Mister Mistri?"

"I'm beginning to agree with Mister Twain, Warden."

"Get out of my office, smart ass! Before I throw you out!"

"Warden, you are free to try. As is anyone," Tommy smiled in invitation, standing his ground.

"Get out!" Chambers yelled loudly.

Tommy stared him in the eyes for a moment longer. Then, realizing the warden wasn't going to attempt to make good on his promise and 'throw him out', he turned away and walked slowly out of the office. He slammed the door in contempt as he left. Then laughed out loud as he walked down the hallway to the reception area.

As he entered, a door over to his left buzzed loudly. He looked at the guard at the reception desk to his right. The guard pointed to the door, then buzzed it again. Tommy walked to the door and the guard buzzed it again when he took the handle and pushed his way through.

He released the door and it closed behind him. He stood in what appeared to be a visiting room. If he continued through the door to his right he would go outside to the visiting yard. A guard waved him straight through past several vending machines and held a door open to his right. He noticed that several inmates were involved in visits. He paid them no mind and continued toward the guard who was holding the door for him. He stepped through and into a long hallway that ran both left and right.

A small guard was coming toward him; they watched each other as he came closer. "Mistri?" he asked when he was within about ten feet.

Tommy smiled at the short, slim, red-headed, green-eyed guard and said, "Yes."

"I'm Officer Clark; I will be your escort for today. I will assist you in getting settled in here and show you around."

"Alright," Tommy said, thinking the guard was small and feminine enough, not to mention pretty enough, to be a woman. As he led the way down the hall, Tommy thought his walk was also feminine enough for a woman. Tommy guessed the guard was a flaming homosexual. Oh well, he thought, to each his own. Musta been a genetic mix up somewhere along the line.

"Follow me. I will get you in-processed, clothing and show you to your quarters, however temporary they may be."

"The Warden said that staff members were not to speak to me at all on pain of instant termination," he said walking beside the feminine guard.

"I don't know sign language or read minds good enough to carry on a conversation with you. If you do, that is. Which I doubt very seriously. I assume you are neither?"

"No," Tommy smiled.

"Then we must vocalize, even if he fires me. Which he would quickly learn was a 'major' mistake! So, I will talk and you will listen. I will lead and you will follow. You will get your clothing, food, rest, shower, etcetera, etcetera, in the same place every day. The Warden is just blowing off steam. He has many enemies here. He is what the inmates call a 'true blue' piece of shit! If he should come into population unescorted by at least ten or more staff, he would not leave alive. Or at least uninjured. So, he hates everyone. His precious staff included."

"Strange man," Tommy replied.

"The staff assumes he's gay. Or at least has some very strange sexual hang ups. No one knows for sure. But it's suspected. Just rumors so far. But, eyes are watching and waiting," the guard continued softly as they passed a group of eight inmates talking loud and play wrestling - 'grab-assing,' as it is known inside.

As they passed the inmates Tommy heard one of them say, 'fresh meat'. Another said 'fish!' And someone else said something about 'getting some of that!'

"Pay them no mind," Clark smiled. "They are the gay brigade. They are not who you should be concerned or connected with. Those are coming up now."

He saw another group of much rougher and meaner looking men up ahead. They were all tattooed, muscle-bound, shaved head with bandannas. They all watched closely as Tommy and Clark approached. The leader stepped out in front of Tommy and crossed his arms across his massive chest. He puffed it out, flexing his muscles. "Just who the fuck are you, asshole?" he said, as Tommy stopped in front of him.

"Your worst nightmares come to life," Tommy said looking the man directly in the eyes.

"Well now, ain't you some bad som'bitch!" the man laughed, joined by his followers, as he began to reach his arm out to push Tommy's shoulder.

There were three loud and very distinct pops and one loud, long, ear splitting, high pitched scream as Tommy stepped back and allowed the injured man to fall to the floor.

"Anyone else?" Tommy asked, looking at the other men staring wide-eyed at their fallen leader.

Their leader lay on the floor, moaning loudly. He rocked from side to side, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder, arm and knee.

Tommy and Clark walked on when he decided there were no takers in the crowd of bad asses.

"What did you do, besides make a deadly enemy? You will have to watch your back from now on! He's a 'lifer' and is suspected of killing four inmates since he's been locked up. He will kill you or have you killed," Clark continued seriously.

"It will be a while. He'll have to heal up first. I figure fifteen to twenty weeks should just about do it, more or less," he replied as if in no way concerned.

"He'll send someone."

"Not one of those," Tommy laughed. "They done saw the elephant!"

"Saw the what?" Clark asked.

"Never mind," Tommy smiled.

"Anyway," Clark continued. "He's not the worst. We have a lot worse here. Rapists, murderers, cannibals; we even have one here for narcolepsy! You know, sex with the dead? Gross!" Clark grimaced, shaking all over like a wet dog. "000hhh000hhh! I can't even imagine it! He owned a funeral home!"

"Hopefully, he will never get out," Tommy said, knowing Clark meant Necrophilia.

"He's getting out in about a month," Clark said.

"Maybe."

"Oh, he will."

"Maybe," Tommy repeated.

"Here's clothing issue. We'll get you fixed up and get you a cell. I'm sure you're tired."

"I could use a shower and some rest."

"Shower's in here. You can shower first. I need your sizes so they can get your clothes fixed up to fit properly."

"Shirt eighteen and a half, thirty-six. Pants thirty-four thirty-eight. Weight two-twenty. Shoe size ten-and-a-half double-D. Anything else?"

"Height?"

"Six six."

"That's about what I figured," Clark smiled, looking him up and down. "Jesus H. Christ!" Clark said, watching Tommy remove his shirt.

"I work out," Tommy explained.

"Damn, I guess!" Clark said, admiring Tommy's physique with envy.

"What I wouldn't give to be put together like that!" he added as Tommy dropped his pants, then started removing his boots.

"Just work out religiously. Eat right. And have a good trainer."

"You must have had the best of all three. But it would take a lot more than that for me."

"I did. Me." Tommy said, stepping into the shower.

"What about the scars?"

"Iraq," was all he said.

"Must have been a bitch!"

"It was," Tommy replied, as his mind began to flash memories he'd rather not remember. He turned them off and finished his shower as quickly as he could.

When he stepped out of the shower Clark stood with a towel ready. His eyes lingered on Tommy's body and penis.

"Are you gay?" Tommy asked innocently as he dried off.

"Looking at you, I think I may be," he replied sexily. "Are you?"

"No," Tommy answered simply.

"If you change your mind, let me know, okay?"

"I will," Tommy smiled, knowing he never would.

"If you need anything, let me know. I'll do it. I promise. I give real good head and like it in the ass," he smiled.

"Never, ever, make a promise you can't or won't keep!" Tommy said. "Lesson number one, you are only as good as your word," he added thinking Clark may be his ticket to the front office computer. He began to dress. The clothing seemed to fit him correctly. He began to stretch and then did a couple of high kicks to insure he had freedom of movement. He was satisfied with the inseam of the pants. He sat down and started putting on his boots. He watched Clark's feet as he tied the laces; one could never trust anyone right off.

"Oh, trust me. I'll keep my promise about the head, ass, anything you want. Anything!" he said emphasizing the 'anything'. "Just to serve you and please you would be an honor and pleasure."

Tommy couldn't believe he was getting sexually aroused.

"Looks like my magic is working," Clark laughed, looking at Tommy's crotch and then licked his lips.

"I'd better get that cell, now," Tommy said, walking toward the door.

"Right," Clark laughed. "Before you fall victim to my insatiable charms."

* * * * *

The cell was not what Tommy had expected. It was large and fairly spacious. It had a commode, sink, mirror, a double bed and a solid steel door that could be locked from the inside as well as the outside. On the right hand wall was a fold down table and a folding chair. There was carpet on the floor and fluorescent lights, a closet, dresser and shower. 'Not bad', he thought, as he looked around and smiled.

"I brought you sheets, towels, pillows, pillowcases and a supply bag," Clark said from behind him. "The supply bag contains personal hygiene articles and shaving stuff," he added, as he stepped into the cell, then closed the door and locked it. He turned and laid his burden on the fold down chair and immediately began to make the bed.

"I can do that," Tommy protested.

"I want to do it for you, if you don't mind, that is," Clark said, as he continued with his chosen task without looking up.

"Go ahead, then," Tommy said, as he removed the pile of stuff from the chair and sat down. "If it makes you happy," Tommy laughed, thinking how feminine Clark was. Not what he would call 'flaming', just securely feminine as if he had been born to it.

"It does. Very happy," he said. "I know your secret."

"And what would that secret be?"

"Oh, no, Mister. If I tell it won't be a secret anymore," Clark laughed, looking up at Tommy from under her eyebrows.

"Tell me a secret about you and we'll be even," Tommy smiled.

"I'll tell you two. How's that for trust?"

"Chancy," Tommy chided. "Very chancy."

"I doubt it. Okay, secret one. Judge Ryan is my uncle. Secret two. I'm a U.S. Marshal. But, you must never tell anyone. Judge Ryan got the Governor to assign me here, for you. I became intrigued with you when I saw your picture and Uncle Andy told me your story. So, now you know my secrets. Do you want some supper?"

"Of course," Tommy replied. It had been hours since he had eaten anything. "As long as we don't have to stop there," he added.

"I'm here to serve, obey and please you, Master Mistri," he smiled, lowering himself to his knees and bowing to the floor in a semblance of worship and obedience. He laughed the whole time, as he chanted, "Salami, salami, bologna," over and over.

"Get up, Clark. That looks bad from here," Tommy laughed, as he watched Clark with his butt in the air.

"Does it turn you on? Even though I'm facing the wrong way?" Clark teased as he continued to bow and chant.

"Not really. I'm not gay, Clark. So get up and let's go eat. I need to get organized and get some rest. It's been a long day," Tommy said as politely as he could. He didn't want to offend, embarrass, or hurt Clark because of his sexual orientation.

"Okay," Clark moaned sadly. "But, you don't know what you're missing!" he teased. "And remember, if you need anything. Anything at all. Call me. I'm here for you, remember."

"Okay, if I need anything I'll let you know."

"Promise?" Clark pouted, then turned and walked to the door.

"Promise," he said following him to the door and then out and down the hallway.

An hour later Tommy was back in his cell and alone. He locked the door behind him and lay down across the bed for a nap. This mattress will take some getting used to; he thought as he began to spin and then drifted quickly into sleep.

Then, he was dreaming about Clark.

* * * * *

Lisa Clark, United States Marshall, walked down the long corridor.

It made her feel alone and empty when she left Tommy at his door. She wondered what he was thinking at the moment. Was he thinking of her? Had he seen through her ruse of impersonating a man? She wasn't sure about that. He hadn't acted as if he had. He had treated her like a man in his speech and actions toward her. So maybe she was a good actress after all. But, maybe he was the good actor and had been playing along with her just to see how far she would go with it.

She would have revealed herself on several occasions. In fact she nearly had. But decided it would maybe be a bad idea this early in the game they were playing.

Several guards walked toward her as she moved swiftly down the hall. They exchanged greetings with her as they passed in a tight lipped way. They obviously believed her to be gay. She didn't know any of them. Although she had seen them on several occasions since she had been assigned here.

So, just said hi and went along her way toward the front of the prison. She had to get to a phone and inform her uncle and the Governor that Tommy had arrived and was settled in as requested.

As she approached a cross corridor she heard intense, angry voices coming from around the corner. She slowed slightly and moved to the opposite side of the corridor, just in case.

She stepped out into the corridor and looked to her right. Down the hallway a group of four inmates had another pinned to the wall. One of the four, the obvious leader, slapped the pinned man in the face and pointed his finger into the man's face angrily. The pinned inmate said something in reply and received another slap.

As she walked toward the altercation the four walked off down the hallway, leaving the slapped one alone.

"What was that all about?" she asked, walking up to him and looking at the red hand print on the side of his face.

"Nothing," he replied, looking at the floor.

"It didn't look like 'nothing'," she stated.

"It was nothing," he insisted, then turned and walked down the hallway in the direction the other four had taken.

'Oh well', she thought. 'Handle it, then.'

She went back to the cross-hall and continued toward the front of the prison and her phone call.

Five minutes later she was seated behind a desk in an empty office. She dialed her uncle's number and he answered on the first ring.

"Judge Ryan," he said.

"Uncle Andy, it's Lisa."

"Hi Sweety," he said. "How's it going?"

"Fine. Tommy arrived today and is settled in. We just got back from eating. He's in his cell now."

"How's he doing, being locked up?"

"I doubt it bothers him very much. I doubt that anything could bother him very much. He's already beat the crap out of one of our worst."

"He won't put up with much. He is easily provoked when his sense of honor is put in question. But, he must establish himself in the pecking order of the inmate population. He must be either predator or prey. He'll be a predator, for sure."

"He thinks I'm gay," she laughed. "I'm hoping he'll prey on me," she giggled.

"You are. You like men," Ryan laughed.

"If you look at it like that, I am supposed to be a man. I've made several passes at him already. He turned me down flat. Then just laughed it off and said, 'Clark, I'm not gay!', like it's a disease or something," she laughed, imitating Tommy's tone of voice as best she could.

"Well, don't deceive him any longer than necessary. You'll find him more and more unforgiving the longer you do. So don't let it go very long," the judge cautioned her.

"I won't, Uncle Andy. But, I have to wait for the right time."

"Well, I still don't like the idea of you being in there. It's too dangerous!"

"Uncle Andy, you should be ashamed," she scolded. "I'm a U.S. Marshall. That's a dangerous job!"

"Well, you just stay close to Tommy. He'll keep you safe whether you're gay or not. If he likes you."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He'll let the wolves eat you," he replied seriously. "But, if he likes you, he'll die for you if need be. If he doesn't, you'll die. It's as simple as that. So, stay close to him!"

"I'll stay close, don't worry. I'll be safe and I'll call you back in a day or so. Okay?"

"Okay Sweety. I'll talk to you then.

"Bye, Uncle Andy," she smiled.

"Bye."

She hung up, leaned back in the chair and relaxed for a moment, thinking about how she was going to proceed. She glanced at her wrist watch. It was 5:30 P.M., time to go home. If one could call it that.

Home consisted of a one room garage apartment she had lucked into in Hominy. It was boring, dull and lonely. But, it had a bed and a coffee pot. It also had a small hot shower that she needed badly. The smell of the prison had saturated her. It smelled of fear, hate and testosterone. She found it both repulsive and stimulating at the same time. It actually reeked of fear, testosterone, urine and sweaty bodies all at once. There was an undertone of sex, feces and old sperm. She shivered when she thought about what went on back in the cell blocks. Luckily Tommy wasn't there, at least.

She got up and went out the front door to her car, a late model Toyota, and drove home. It had been a long day.

* * * * *

Tommy's eyes snapped open. He didn't move. He lay there listening, feeling his surroundings. He sensed trouble in the hallway outside his door. He heard the murmur of urgent voices. He stood up, realizing he had fallen asleep in his clothes and that he had slept soundly all night, dreaming of Clark. He was well rested. He slid his boots on and laced them up, then stepped to the door, unlocked it and stepped out. Six big burly inmates had Clark backed up against the wall.

"We think you're a bitch, Clark!" one of them, a young, red-headed, red-faced, sloppy fat, sad excuse for a human being said with a leering grin.

Tommy noticed that when the slob spoke he sprayed droplets of saliva into Clark's face. His face was misted with it, but refused to blink or show fear. Tommy was impressed. He leaned against the wall to watch and listen. He was anxious to see how far they would take it and how much Clark would take before exerting his authority.

"Just what the fuck you want?" a skinny, frizzy haired, shaft of a boy asked Tommy meanly.

"I'm just watching," Tommy smiled.

"You just might oughta mind your own bidness, there Chief," he replied, turning to face Tommy.

"I'm not interfering. Just watching and listening to six big pieces of shit flushing themselves down the toilet." Tommy smiled daringly.

"Hell, I guess you thank we cain't handle this one little bitty bitch all by our own selfs, huh?" he replied, missing, or ignoring the insult.

"I seriously doubt it," Tommy replied knowingly.

"Well, what's to stop us?" he asked insulted.

"Me," Tommy smiled, pushing away from the wall.

They all laughed and pushed each other around playfully.

"And jest what you intend to do, protect this queer screw?" the fat spitter asked incredulously and then stepped forward aggressively.

"No, nothing like that," Tommy replied. "I intend to disassemble you pieces of shit and then flush you down the toilet. If he should get away in the fracas, then good for him," Tommy smiled, feeling himself center and prepare mentally for battle.

"Why do you want to get hurt over a fag screw?" the spitter continued, as he approached Tommy and stopped two feet in front of him.

"I don't like shit. And you are shit. So, if you don't like that, go for your gun," Tommy laughed watching the spitter's face turn a bright red, and then go to crimson.

"Bobby Joe, you cain't let him talk to you like 'at! Smash 'im!" one of the others said.

That was just the prompting Bobby needed. He exploded like a firecracker and was then on the floor broken and moaning just as fast. He rolled from side to side in his pain.

"Next?" Tommy said, looking up at the other five.

"Man, Billy Ray. I don't know. I ain't never seen no body move like 'at! Look at Bobby Joe. He's hurt bad!"

"Shut up Jimmy. This fag bitch protector jus' got lucky! Everyone jump 'im at once! See how lucky he is, then!" Billy smiled, looking around at his pals.

They all launched at once, as an uncoordinated mass of flying arms and fists. Their assault lasted less than a minute, then they were all in the same misery land Billy Joe was rolling around in.

"You'd better call the medics, Clark, or the plumbers. Whoever takes care of pieces of shit like this," Tommy said, turning to his door, entering and closing it behind him.

Clark stood, stunned into silence. In her entire life, she had never seen anyone move like Tommy, except in the movies where everything was choreographed. She thought some of these guys may not live. Two of them bled profusely from their mouths and noses. Two more had broken legs and wrists. Fat Boy Spitter was still convulsing on the floor struggling to breathe. Clark took her radio from its holster and called for backup in a stunned wondering voice.

"Clark to Control?" she said, as if half asleep. "Corridor four south. Six inmates down. I need medical staff, meat wagons and orderlies to clean up the mess. Over?"

"Copy Clark. Out," the voice from Control replied instantly.

Two minutes later the crowd arrived. Back up guards first, medical staff second, and orderlies third.

"Jesus Christ! What happened to these guys? They get hit by a truck?"

"I'm not sure." was all Clark could say.

She waited around while the orderlies finished cleaning up the blood and urine. When they left she went to Tommy's door and knocked.

"Come in," she heard Tommy say.

She went in quickly and closed the door behind her. Tommy was in the shower. Clean clothes lay across the bed. It had been made neatly, the pillows fluffed.

She locked the door behind her, stripped her clothes off and stepped into the shower.

"Hey, Clark! I said I wasn't interested. Get out!" Tommy said, his back to her.

She brushed her breasts against his back. "Are you interested now?" she asked, placing her hands on his hips and brushing her nipples against his muscular back once again.

Tommy turned around cautiously and looked her in the eyes. Then, slowly cautiously, his eyes drifted down her body. He began to grow hard quickly.

She kissed him softly, then began to kiss down his body until she was on her knees. She took him into her mouth and then into her throat. Her mouth hot and fluid, Tommy exploded. She moaned her dissatisfaction. Withdrew, swallowed, then stood.

"That was disappointing," she whispered softly, kissing his chest.

"It's been a while. A long while," he said. "But the day is young, yet," he added.

"Then we best get busy. I can't stay long. I'll be missed," she said against his chest, hugging him tightly.

"You sort of had me fooled."

"We thought it best. For all of us. I'm sorry."

"Don't ever deceive me again. I don't like deception."

"I won't. I promise," she replied, then turned and stepped out of the shower. He followed her and began drying her body off. He paid particular attention to what he was doing. She had the body of a Venus and he began to worship at her alter after he lay her back across the bed. He grew rigid and time vanished for them both in wave upon wave of passion, as they fed from each other.

* * * * *

Fifteen hundred miles away along the Pacific seaboard a similar scene was being played out; however, this one was homosexual in nature.

Retired General Hawk was being mounted by a young, well muscled and endowed, blond Adonis. Hawk was bound belly up to a large coffee table. He was gagged and blindfolded. He wore a tuxedo collar around his neck and on each lapel was a single silver star.

Young Adonis was riding high in the saddle. Hawk's feet bounced up and down on the floor as he power drove into the descending body astride him. His hips bucked up and down as he mirrored his rider's moves.

They were on the home stretch, heading for the finish line when Hawk's computer began to spit out a fax. A chime also sounded announcing he had email.

Hawk and his Adonis never heard the chime; they were racing across the finish line. It would be their last race in the lap of luxury. A bombshell had just landed and it would change both their lives forever and leave them to wonder, worry and jump at every bump in the night.

* * * * *

In Pakistan at the Clean Sweep Corporation headquarters, a similar fax was unrolling in the office of the president and CEO, Niles Cramer. It was 3:30 A.M. and a change began to occur in the atmosphere of the building. Though no one was present to witness it, it would have devastating repercussions on the lives of the many employees around the globe. Especially on that of the President and CEO, Niles Cramer, who at that time, was at home snuggled tightly between two barely legal, under Pakistani law, lovers. One male, the other female, which he had adopted for his personal pleasure and entertainment.

Down the hallway his head of home security was introducing two more 'lovers in waiting' to the pleasures, wants, desires and needs of their new master. They were proving to be reluctant learners and needed his special kind of discipline.

He heard the tone of the fax machine in the office next door as it announced and began to spit out the incoming message, even over the sobs of his reluctant and weary students. It was his job to hear and handle the things that went bump in the night in his Master's house. His very life depended upon it. He reluctantly left his students and went to retrieve and read his Master's fax and deliver it to him.

Unknown to him, it would be his last delivery. His Master hated bad news no matter whom or how it was delivered.

In Tahlequah, Oklahoma, Judge Ryan turned off his computer. It was time for Angela. He smiled as he rose from his chair and went down the hallway to his bedroom where his wife awaited him under the sheets.

Chapter 7

From the moment he received the phone call from the Governor, John Chambers, Associate Warden at the Connors Unit of the Oklahoma Department of Corrections in Hominy, Oklahoma, knew something was up. Something big! He also knew that he wanted to be a part of it. After all, he figured, if the Governor of the state took the time to call a nobody 'Associate Warden' for a face to face interview, something big had to be in the offing.

When the Governor had offered him the head Warden position, with strings attached, he knew he was being offered a doorway to the 'inside'. He intended to step through and close it behind him. John Chambers was not a fool!

When he found out the length of the strings reached from the Governor to Tommy Mistri he knew he was not being told the entire truth. So, he started doing a little investigation of his own. After all, wasn't he solely responsible for the safety and well being of Tommy Mistri?

At first his investigation led nowhere. All he had been able to discover was that the Governor was close friends with the sentencing judge. From there the trail went cold.

It seemed Judge Andrew Ryan had been a lawyer in Tulsa when the Governor had been elected. One of the Governor's first acts was to appoint Ryan to the bench at Tahlequah, the County Seat of Cherokee County.

Why, Chambers wondered. There had to be a connection.

He began to search further and further into the two men's backgrounds. He had hit paydirt four months into his search. He learned they had both been Blackhawk pilots in Iraq. At one point Ryan was pilot and Cartwright had been co-pilot. He learned that early in their tour they had been shot down by enemy fire. He had also learned that they had been surrounded, captured and rescued by a sniper named Tommy LeSade. From that point the mystery deepened. He could find nothing of the sniper, Tommy Lesade, after his being awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor and returning to Tahlequah, Oklahoma. His home town. And that's where it ended for Tommy LeSade. He found absolutely nothing more on the young sniper after his return to Oklahoma. Ever. Tommy LeSade did not exist anywhere in any file, any government or military record. Tommy LeSade had become a complete mystery. Until last night.

Chambers had just finished making love to his wife. He had rolled over onto his back and was staring at the ceiling. Suddenly, Tommy LeSade came to mind. And in a flash of brilliance he had put two and two together and came up with a cool clear four.

Tommy LeSade was Tommy Mistri!

He had sat straight up in bed, thrown the blankets back and rushed to his computer terminal. He had been setting there ever since, searching madly for one single clue that would connect the two.

There were none. Tommy Mistri had been Tommy Mistri since the moment of his birth. At least according to all the records he had found so far. But, John Chambers was no one's fool. He knew he was on the right track and all he had to do was to make the right move to hook it all together.

The clock at the top of his computer screen read six forty-five A.M. he had to get to the prison. He had to be there. He was the Warden!

He reluctantly closed down the computer and then switched it off. He would continue his search at his office. He had to find out the truth. Who knew, he could possibly become the next Governor of the state. If he played his cards right!

* * * * *

Tommy walked slowly, head down, around the perimeter of the prison yard. On his head he wore a black stocking cap. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his waist long winter coat. He was deep in thought.

For months now he had tried to figure a way to get into the warden's office and the computer there. The problem was, no inmates were allowed past the visiting room unless summoned by the Warden himself. So far, it was like the Warden had no idea that Tommy was there.

Lisa Clark had been unable to help him. There was always other staff on duty in the front offices. Her arrival there with an 'out of bounds' inmate in tow would raise more questions than she could possibly answer. Therefore, Lisa was not his ticket to the front office. Besides that, other staff were watching him very closely since the incident outside his door with Bobby and his crew.

Clark swore to him that she had not said anything other than she had found the inmates on the floor in the condition they were in. So, that meant one of the six, if not all of them, had described their assailant. Of course they had conveniently left out the role they had played to bring such a calamity down upon their heads. Typical, Tommy thought as he continued to walk slowly, noticing an occasional snowflake float through the air and through his frosted winter breath.

He had gotten to know the ins and outs of prison life and the typical mentality of most of the prison elements, prisoners and staff alike. There were still several of the 'old convict mentality' inmates on the compound and he respected them for their stand and beliefs in clinging to the 'old ways'. They were few and far between, but still around, because, Tommy had learned, that they kept to themselves, kept their mouths shut about what they saw, heard and did. They avoided the prison staff and they minded their own business. He had also learned they could carry a grudge until the time was right to correct the wrong with no witnesses and only one survivor.

Tommy had the 'old convict' mentality. He was born with it he supposed. He avoided the prison staff, with the exception of Clark. He stayed to himself, kept his mouth shut about what he did, saw and heard. He minded his own business and handled his problems on the spot. Most threats couldn't wait for an opportune time to settle. He would rather face his enemies face to face. He didn't believe in ambush. It wasn't in his makeup.

Deep in thought as he passed a set of aluminum expandable bleachers on his left, his subconscious registered slight noises and stealthy movements as he walked past the end. The other end was about thirty feet away. He was about ten feet from the end of the bleachers when he heard movement behind him. He didn't look up or check his pace. He waited to see what would happen.

"Hey, Bitch Boy! Word has it tole'roun' that you a punk. Been fuckin' a man staff. Or 'tother way 'roun. What up wit' dat, huh?" the low, surly voice rasped behind him in a strong Cajun accent.

Tommy stopped, hesitated, then turned around to face his accuser.

He was large! Not muscle big. Just physically big! Tommy estimated he was at least seven feet tall. Maybe a little taller. He would probably weigh in at about three-hundred-fifty pounds, give or take twenty. His hands were the size of kayak paddles with fingers like long fat sausages.

Tommy had seen him around before, mostly in the dining room. He had noticed that all the inmates deferred to and waited on him. He had seen him, on several occasions, take food from weaker inmates as if by right. His nick name was Tie-Tie. He was reputed to be the most deadly man on the compound and had once crushed a man's skull with one hand. It was also said that he was insane.

"What difference would it make to you?" Tommy asked in a level tone of voice.

"Well, Little Man. I like a lil' hiney hole time ta time. 'Especial 'dem hot-ass red heads. Woo wee! 'Dem is hot as cyanne peppeah, I'm told you, boy! Haa! 'Dat him bitch you be tappin' regular. 'Im right smack up my alley! So, mebe I knock 'im in his head and drive right up im's alley! Plug 'im up some, good, me, eeh?" he laughed evilly.

"Well Tie Tie, I'm real partial to that red head. So, I won't be sharing him with you. So, what do you think about that? Huh?"

"Well, 'den, Mister Mistri man. I see you heard 'bout Tie Tie, the mad Cajun from Lous'iana bayou country, yeah? Well, Tie Tie gonna break you head good. Den' Tie Tie gonna break you bitch up good, too. Wit' 'dis!" he grabbed his crotch shaking it at Tommy. "Tie Tie hung like man stallion, too!"

"That my mad Cajun friend will be real hard to do with a broken neck. Plus, being paralyzed from the neck down so nothing below your eyes works, won't it, now?" Tommy mocked, smiling.

"Oh, you talk so mean to Tie Tie. Try ta scare 'im up some, huh? Now, Tie Tie gotta try 'im," Tie Tie said, as he began to lumber forward slowly.

He assumed a wrestling stance, arms spread wide for grappling.

Tommy was not a grappler. He would not allow Tie Tie to grab him. The monster could undoubtedly hurt him seriously if he managed to get a hold on him somewhere. It would only take one hold, then he could pull Tommy into his massive arms. It may end quickly, or not. Definitely it would be very painful.

Tommy watched closely as Tie Tie approached. He was waiting for the giant to get into striking distance. When he knew the time was right, he stepped forward, slid under Tie Tie's arms and snap kicked the monster in the knee cap. It was like kicking a tree trunk. Tommy spun on around his leg and came to his feet behind him. He snap kicked Tie Tie behind the knee. The big man's knee buckled. He grunted and caught himself on his right hand as he went down.

Tommy did a spin kick. His foot connected with Tie Tie's elbow and he heard it crack like a tree branch. As he continued to spin he stopped on his feet facing Tie Tie. He then snap kicked Tie Tie in the kidney, then the side of the head. Tie Tie reeled from the blow. He shook his head, stood up and turned around to face Tommy. He clenched his fists as his face clouded with rage and pain. He began to step forward. His knee collapsed under him.

Tommy attacked ruthlessly. He snap kicked Tie Tie to the face, just below the nose. Tie Tie's head snapped back. Tommy kicked him again with a knife blade kick to the throat. Tie Tie began to choke. Blood began to boil from his mouth and run down his chin. His eyes rolled in his head and were unfocused. Tommy stepped forward, grasped Tie Tie by the hair above his forehead and tilted his head back. He drove the heel of his hand into the end of the big nose with all his strength and determination, putting every ounce of his weight behind it. He felt the bridge of the giant's nose collapse and break away from the skull between his eyes and felt it enter the soft tissue of the brain. Tie Tie was dead before he hit the ground.

"Never threaten a friend of mine," Tommy whispered to the departing spirit of Tie Tie, the mad cajun.

Loud cheering broke out around him. He had been so intent on the battle that he had failed to notice the gathering crowd. He turned to look around at them. He wondered why they would cheer a man's death.

Three large staff members came from the crowd. As they approached they spread out and surrounded him. They were not a threat.

"Mister Mistri, Sir. You will have to come with us. Don't worry, we heard and saw the whole thing. There won't be any charges filed. It was self-defense. Plain and simple," one of the staff members said. Tommy had seen him around before but had never heard his name.

"Then why do I have to go with you?"

"Because he may have had some friends. I doubt it. But, you never know in a place like this. Besides, Warden Chambers wants to see you in his office. He has some questions for you.

"That's good. I need to see him, too." Tommy smiled inwardly. The plan was coming together, maybe.

* * * * *

Warden Chambers sat behind his desk, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He was absolutely, so satisfied with himself, he could barely contain his joy.

He had solved the mystery of Mistri! He was a genius! Now, all he had to do was trick LeSade into admitting the truth to him. If he could do that, he would be able to figure out what this whole thing was all about. Maybe he could trick LeSade into telling him that, too. One could hope, couldn't one?

He could hardly contain his glee as he waited for LeSade to be escorted to him. He fidgeted with everything on his desk. Rearranging it for the forth or fifth time. He had lost count.

"Warden?" the Watch Commander, Major Adams, said as he opened the door and stuck his head inside. "Mistri has just killed Tie Tie on the yard. Rec staff verified it was self-defense. They recommended that no charges be filed."

Well, well, Mistri strikes again, Chambers thought quickly. "Mistri is on his way here, right? I did send for him, didn't I?"

"Yes, Sir, Warden. They should be coming through visiting now," Major Adams said.

"Good! You can go now," Chambers said dismissively.

"Yes, Sir," Adams said, then closed the door.

Three minutes later Tommy appeared in the doorway to the office. He was escorted by three custody staff and three recreation staff from the yard.

"Come in Mister Mistri. You can go back to your duties," he told the six staff. "I'm perfectly safe with Mister Mistri. Isn't that right, Tommy?"

"Yes, Sir. It is," Tommy replied, as he stood waiting for an invitation to sit down. He figured he'd be there for a while.

No offer was forthcoming to sit and relax so he stood facing the Warden's desk. He looked the Warden in the eyes. It was a serious blunder in the military. But, he was no longer in the service. His country had made it abundantly clear that he was no longer needed, or wanted! So, custom be damned! If the Warden wanted to disrespect him, the least he could do is offer his own form of contempt.

" So, Mister LeSade, what really brings you here to our fine facility?" Chambers asked, smiling as if he had solved Quantum Physics.

T ommy looked around him. He saw a comfortable looking chair to his left. He took two side steps over and sat down.

"I didn't offer you to sit down!" Chambers screamed, growing red in the face.

"No you didn't," Tommy replied, as he got comfortable. "But, since I'm going to be here a while, I figure I may as well be comfortable. Right?" he continued. "So, what do you want to know? I suppose coffee is out of the question?"

"I want to know why you are here under a false name and more than likely a false charge."

"Well, neither one is false. It's true LeSade used to be my last name. But, things happened several years back that forced me to change it. So, I adopted my mother's maiden name. It's perfectly legal, I assure you. The charge, first degree assault, is real, I assure you. My next door neighbor slashed my vehicle tires, wrote anti-war slogans on my house and driveway. He finally attacked me with a ball bat because I wouldn't move. He caught me at a bad time and I seriously injured him. He is in a coma in the county hospital in Tahlequah. It's all just that simple. Plus, the President doesn't want the nation to know that one of its Medal of Honor awardees is in prison because he can't control his temper indefinitely."

"I don't believe that's the whole story. Why would the Governor and the trial judge pull so many strings for you?"

"You would have to ask them to know the truth. But, I believe it may have had something to do with me saving their lives in Iraq. But, like I said. You'd have to ask them to know for sure."

"Bull shit!" Chambers stated. "There's a lot more to it than you're telling me LeSade!"

"There's just one way you can know for sure," Tommy said, trying to bait him.

"Yeah, how's that?"

"Let me use your computer for five minutes or less and I'll show you." The Warden bit like a starving bass on a Hoolie Popper. He sprang from his chair and stood behind it to watch.

"Show me!" he said. A satisfied smile on his face as if he had just enjoyed a full seven course meal.

Tommy moved to the computer. He took a deep breath and began to type furiously. His fingers were a blur.

"Woah! Woah!" Chambers yelled. "Slow down. I can't keep up with what you're doing.

"Warden I must enter over two hundred foreign words in less than one minute to break through the firewall. So, if you will be patient you will get what you want." Tommy cleared the screen.

"Go ahead, then. But, you'd better be right!"

"I am. Trust me."

Tommy began to type again furiously. He had practiced this a thousand times in the past. The time limit was his average fastest time. If he made even one mistake he'd have to start all over again. The code had to be perfect, and in time, in order to unlock the Mistri Virus.

When the clock at the top of the monitor screen clicked over its sixtieth second, Tommy hit the last letter of the last word of the code. The words shattered into a billion tiny fragments and the image of a nuclear explosion filled the screen. A mushroom cloud began to rise into a cloudless sky. As it rose it was as if the camera pulled back into outer space and the explosion began to race around the planet.

Tommy turned from the screen to face the warden. "In August of 2003, I was a sniper in Iraq. I had very distinct qualifications that were required for a particular Top Secret mission. I was led to believe the mission was sanctioned by the U.S. Government through the local CIA office...," Tommy began to explain to Warden Chambers. Then, a musical note sounded from the computer. He spun around and typed five letters, a space, then five more letters. On the screen in capitols was CLEAN SWEEP. Another musical note sounded, this one an octave higher. Tommy typed six letters, a space, then five more. On the screen in capitals was MISTRI VIRUS.

A planet Earth appeared on the screen and the virus began to cover it like a cloud. Around the planet, in over two hundred leading banking establishments billions of dollars began to move.

The Mistri Virus began to reassemble en masse. When it reached its critical mass it would explode and begin to sweep through the world wide web. It would invade every top level bureaucratic system in the world, establishing back doors at every level of government, state and federal alike. No government was safe and none would know or suspect. The virus was a sleeper; in that it repaired its passage as it went, until it established itself as a part of the existing system.

Tommy LeSade was the only human being on the face of the planet who could stop it, remove it, or repair it. He was its only master. And Tommy LeSade was dead.

As the virus continued to infiltrate the governments of the world, Tommy continued to explain the circumstances behind its creation until Chambers knew the whole story from start to finish.

"...So, when I found out it was all about stealing billions of dollars, possibly trillions, from the Iraqi people for selfish reasons, and they attempted to kill me twice and did kill the woman I was to marry, I created this program. I am the only human being on the face of the planet who knows the code that will open the back doors and allow me in. I have access to information that no human being is supposed to know in total. It would be too damaging to governments if it were to become public knowledge.

"I can topple governments and nations with one key stroke. I can make or break politicians. I can expose corruption at every level. In short Warden..." Tommy turned at a musical tone and made a key stroke, then turned back to Chambers. "...I am the most powerful man on earth, as we speak. And I will never allow that power to be abused."

As he continued to talk to Warden Chambers the billions drained from the accounts of 'CLEAN SWEEP' and retired General Hawk and were amassing in accounts set up by Tommy around the world. From there, exactly half of the grand total would be split off from the rest and deposited in veteran's accounts around the globe. The majority would go to U.S. Veterans, but billions would go to foreign veterans as well, if they had bank accounts.

Niles Cramer and General Hawk would be left without a dime to their names and probably millions in debt. 'It will serve the thieving bastards right,' Tommy thought, as another musical note sounded, signaling that one hour had elapsed.

The transactions were complete worldwide.

"So, that concludes the story of why I am here, Warden," Tommy said, as he turned to the computer and made a few more final key strokes. He wanted to insure that Chambers would receive his just rewards, as he had promised Governor Cartwright he would.

At the same time he sent a coded email to Judge Ryan announcing that the Mistri Virus had been fully implemented and allowed to run its course. Tommy would be free within hours. His final mission was a complete success. Just as he had planned.

"May I go back to my cell now, Warden?"

"Yes, get out, LeSade. I've wasted over two months on this. I honestly believed you were up to something illegal. A conspiracy or something. You're just another loser veteran, crying about how your country abandoned you in your time of need!"

"You have a good day, Warden," Tommy said, thinking 'you'd better enjoy it you bastard. You don't have many left. The clock is ticking as we speak'. Secretly, he laughed to himself as he left the office and slammed the door behind him.

* * * * *

For over a month now, Cramer had been thinking about the email he had received the night he had killed his chief of home security in a fit of rage. He didn't have a clue who it had come from or even where it had come from. But, he did know one thing. It was bad news, and he hated bad news!

He had made enemies world wide over the years. So, from that aspect, it could have come from anywhere and anyone. Still, he figured that with the right computer programmer he could trace the email back to its origin. Then he would have a better idea what it meant. It was so cryptic, 'swept clean'? What the hell did that mean, he wondered.

Since cost was of no concern he had hired the best hacker/programmer money could buy. The guy was good, he had to give him that. But, he was unable to trace it back to its sender. The closest he had come was that it had been sent from the United States; Central or Western area.

He knew no one in the Central United States and only General Hawk on the west coast. But Hawk wasn't smart enough, or dumb enough, to send him such a vague email. If he could send one at all. As far as Cramer knew Hawk's only desire was his boys and his drugs and what they could do for him when they were combined in vast quantities. So, Hawk was out. He could not, would not, send an email that read simply 'swept clean'.

Cramer now sat at his desk and studied the email. He read and reread it, trying to make the connection. He was failing miserably.

Since receiving the message he had been unable to eat, sleep or play with his boys and girls as he once had. He was losing weight, had bags under his eyes, and his equipment failed to function as nature had intended it should.

Every time he left the house he expected a bullet in the head. He jumped at every unexpected sound. He was beginning to suspect everyone he saw and met of being his killer. He had become very paranoid!

Across the desk from him sitting in an overstuffed, black, butter soft, leather chair sat the man he hoped would be able to solve the mystery of the email. He waited expectantly. Hopefully.

"So, have any luck, yet?" he finally asked, realizing the man could sit there in stony silence forever; like the sphinx.

"We are closer, Efendi. We are very doubtful that the message originated on the west coast of the United States of America."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"On the date in question, at the time the email was sent, the west coast was experiencing a major power failure that lasted for a while. Then, rolling power outages were put in effect. So, most computers were crashed as a result. Unless, of course, they were connected to emergency power generators. Then, perhaps," the short, fat, bald headed, head of Mossad for Pakistan said.

Kalief Goldman was very deep under cover in Pakistan. He posed as an arms dealer for Mossad, and sent Israel information on who was buying what and how many and at what cost. He was very good at his job. He and Cramer had met years ago in Israel and had become fast friends once they discovered they shared mutual interests. In fact, Cramer had purchased two of his youngsters from Goldman. They had been orphaned in the war, but now they had a father that loved them very, very much. And they were happy.

"Are you suggesting, then. That it came from the Central United States?"

"That, my friend, is a very good possibility," Kalief said thoughtfully.

"But, I don't know anyone there. In those states."

"At least you do not know that you know them. People move around in the states like fleas on a camel. So, who is to say for sure whether you know the person responsible lives there or not?"

"True," Cramer agreed thoughtfully. "But, it has been several months, now and nothing has happened. Perhaps it was a prank," he said, just as his computer chimed announcing the arrival of an email.

Cramer turned and watched it reel out of the printer. He picked it up and began reading. The more he read the paler his face became until he seemed on the verge of passing out.

When he finished reading the message he began to immediately call up his bank accounts. He skipped from one to the next as the message echoed inside his head. 'Have you checked your bank accounts today? When I checked they had all been 'swept clean'! ha! ha!'

It was true, under the account balance was nothing but, $0.00. Nearly a trillion dollars had simply vanished into thin air. There was not even a record of the transaction, past or present, to trace. Not even an echo. They all read 'ACCOUNT CLOSED' in bright red letters.

Cramer began to sob silently as he searched for just one account the thieves hadn't found. There was not even one left! They, he, she, had found them all. The only money he had was the cash he had in his safe, here in this office. That was less than two million dollars! He was ruined! He began to boil. His anger began to build like a volcano until he could no longer contain it.

"I want those responsible for this, found! I want them delivered to me alive! I want them now! I don't care what it costs!" he said icily, his voice calm and dead, looking straight into Kalief's eyes.

Goldman knew better than anyone what that tone of voice meant. His friend Cramer was ready to strike out and he would not be particular about who, or what, he struck out at. Something, or someone, was going to die under his hands.

Kalief smiled cordially. "We will do our best, Niles. You can count on that. I will not stop until they are found and dealt with."

"Well, get on it then! There isn't a minute to lose!"

"Yes, Niles. I will start on it now," Kalief said as he stood and left the office before Niles decided to take his anger out on him. It would be a close contest and the winner would be damaged, severely.

Cramer lay his head on his crossed arms on his desk top. He wasn't broke at least, he thought. But, one million or so, is a far cry from several hundreds of billions!

Hawk! His brain screamed at him.

He sat up immediately, turned to his computer and began to type furiously.

* * * * *

Retired General Hawk had never felt the desire to fly like his name sake, but he was flying high at the moment. So high, in fact, he was almost in orbit. He lay slightly on his side on the long, comfortable sofa. Between his plump, full lips was a golden pipe stem. It was attached to a long, curling, clear plastic tube. The hose was attached to a three foot tall clear glass water pipe. In the bowl was a delicate wine. In the burner was the finest opium money could buy. In his mind he was chasing and conquering the dragon.

He sucked on the stem slowly, deeply, then slid it from his lips with a soft smacking sound. A large, twisting, curling, rope of blue gray smoke floated lazily into the still dark air and flowed into the cloud hovering overhead. The marble sized ball of opium burned smoothly. The smoke filled the bowl and Hawk sucked more of the smoke deep into his lungs.

His beautiful young Adonis was trying to draw a lungful of the beautiful smoke through the golden stem hust below Hawk's ample pot belly. It seemed to be working. Adonis was glassy-eyed and moving in slow motion. He soared as high as the Hawk.

The beeping of the fax machine interrupted their blissful respite from the day's worries and cares. The General's fogged mind retrieved the memory that Niles Cramer was the only person on planet earth who had his fax number. Therefore, the fax had to be from Cramer. That meant more money! Or at least good news!

He pried the young Adonis off of his stem, then rolled cumbersomely from the sofa and waddled to the computer and fax machine and retrieved the message. As he read through his bleary eyes he nearly had a heart attack as he read it. Then, he began to laugh hysterically. It was the funniest joke he had ever heard. Who would have thought Cramer had it in him?

Then the reality of it sank in. Cramer was not known for his sense of humor. So, perhaps, this was not a joke. Perhaps he was broke for a fact.

He stumbled to his computer, typed in the code for his bank accounts very slowly. The keyboard seemed to float and twist as he managed to hit the right keys. It felt as if he were punching his finger into a cloud of smoke from his pipe. It was hard for him to focus. But finally he got the number in and his account came up.

"No! Not possible!" he whispered, as he read the account balances. They all read $0.00. Cramer had stolen his money! "The bastard! I'll kill him!" Hawk muttered, as he fumbled a loaded .45 Colt Desert Eagle from his desk drawer. He began to stomp around, aiming it at first this and then that around the room, believing each to be Cramer, then realizing they were all inanimate objects.

"What's wrong, General?" Hawk heard Cramer ask in a sexy, feminine voice.

"You stole my money!" the General screamed, then shot the young Adonis in the chest several times. When he lay on the floor dead, Hawk stood over him and emptied the clip into the young man's face.

Hawk's mind cleared enough for him to realize that he had not killed Cramer. But instead, the only person he had loved in his life, other than himself. He calmly dropped the clip from the butt of the pistol, walked back to his desk, slammed another full clip into the pistol, jacked a shell into the chamber then shot himself in the temple. He died on the way to the floor.
Chapter 8

When Tommy left the warden's office he was walking on a cloud. At that precise moment he was a multi-billionaire. The farther he walked down the hall, the higher he became.

He didn't remember walking through the visiting room. He only became aware of his location when he was in the hallway outside the door to his room. He dug the key from his pocket, inserted it into the lock, turned and pushed the door open.

Lisa sat in the chair with her legs crossed. Her foot bounced up and down impatiently, perhaps nervously, while she waited. She had been leaning back looking at the ceiling, her mind a million miles away. His sudden entrance startled her and she lunged forward suddenly and yelped her surprise. Her crossed leg fell to the floor with a flop. She yelped again as she suddenly leaned forward and grabbed her ankle with both hands. She looked up through her bangs and smiled ruefully, "Needles!" she exclaimed, sucking in her breath while moaning in exquisite torment and hissing through her teeth. Her head fell heavily between her knees and she laughed hysterically as the tingling sensation left her helpless. She began to bounce her foot on the floor to help restore the circulation.

"See what you made me do?" she accused. "You come barging in here like a bull in a china shop, scaring the dickens out of me! You should be ashamed!" she laughed, looking up from her knees, through her bangs, again.

"But, I'm not," Tommy laughed back. "Serves you right, coming into a man's room. Making yourself at home. Daydreaming 'till your foot falls asleep; a million miles away in some indescribable fantasy. You're lucky it's me and not someone that matters," he continued, crossing to the chair, leaned her back and kissed her soundly. "There, that should teach you!" he said, then kissed her again.

"I'm a slow learner. Show me again. And again. And again," she repeated after each kiss. "I hope I never learn!" she laughed, as he kissed her over and over at her every request.

"Enough! Or you'll be spoiled. I've got to take a shower," he said, pulling his shirttail out of his pants.

"Lucky me!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and pulling her own shirttail out.

Afterward, they lay in bed face to face. Tommy whispering, told her what had happened in the warden's office. She was impressed that the warden was gullible enough to be tricked into letting Tommy use his computer.

"He never lets anyone use his terminal!" she said, unbelievably.

"He was after something, you can bet on that. And he believed I would lead him to it. Or at least show him where it was so he could go and get it."

"Did you?"

"No, nothing he didn't already know. At least nothing he can prove now. Well, with one exception," he smiled slyly. "The Feds will be able to trace the theft of several hundred thousand dollars back to his terminal."

"He'll have a hard time explaining that."

"He can only blame me. But, I won't be me in about," he looked at his wristwatch. "Oh, another ten hours or so."

"Why won't you be you?"

"I'll be the real me, Tommy LeSade. Tommy Mistri will vanish into the ether like mist under a hot sun."

"Chambers will say you are one and the same."

"It will just be words. There will be no record of me ever being here."

"How are you going to manage that?"

"I've got friends in high places and a computer program you wouldn't believe."

"I'll just bet you have. You've got a very good friend in a low place, too. She needs a visit from you desperately," Lisa said, taking his enlarging penis in her hand and squeezing it gently.

"You know, I was just thinking about talking to her face to face," he said, slowly turning around on the double bed.

"I like face to face confrontations, too," she laughed, spreading her legs and opening her mouth wide.

* * * * *

When Judge Ryan received Tommy's email, stating that the game was on, he started the paperwork, and planted the evidence, that would free him from prison. It was simple really. All he had to prove was that Tommy had been denied a Constitutional or Civil Right. That was the easy part. He himself had made the mistake. He had considered evidence that had not been presented to the jury to access Tommy's punishment.

In Baily v Washington State, the Supreme Court ruled this to be the denial of trial by a jury.

Judge Ryan dictated his opinion to his clerk. His clerk forwarded the opinion to the Court of Appeals by fax. A friend of Judge Ryan's received it and took it to his judge. The Appeals Judge read it, affirmed it, then issued an order demanding the immediate release of Inmate Tommy Mistri from custody. From there, the Appeals judge petitioned the Governor's office of the state for a full pardon for Tommy Mistri.

Governor Cartwright received the petition read it through, thought about it for a brief instant and then signed it with a flourish. He had it faxed to every law enforcement office in the state demanding the expungement of all records pertaining to Tommy Mistri. Failure to comply immediately would result in heavy fines from the Governor's office.

Within twenty-four hours after receiving the Pardon and Order, all known records pertaining to Tommy Mistri were expunged, or otherwise destroyed. He existed nowhere except as a figment of imagination in the minds of a few, very select people.

* * * * *

When Cramer received word of Hawk's murder/suicide, he knew for a fact that Hawk had not stolen his money. That left only one person in the entire world; Tommy LeSade, Captain, United States Army Ranger/Sniper. The question was where was he?

Only three people in the world knew about Operation Clean Sweep. General Hawk, Tommy LeSade, and himself. Now Hawk was dead, and he didn't steal his own money. So, that left only one possible suspect - Tommy LeSade!

So, it was time to go to the states. He still had friends in Washington, D.C., Langley and Quantico, Virginia. It was time to pay them a visit and call in some old debts from years ago. He had to find Tommy LeSade, Andrew Ryan or Wendell Cartwright. Any of the three would do for starters. Of course if he lucked into LeSade first, the other two would be useless.

After he got all of his money back, he would kill all three of them. Somehow he knew they were all in this together. Then, he would vanish to some island somewhere and live like a king. After all he would have twice as much money, since LeSade had stolen the General's, too.

Cramer didn't know that half of the stolen money had already been dispersed into thousands of bank accounts around the world. Only the Mistri Virus could retrieve it and reassemble it all back into one account without missing one of the thousands of possible accounts worldwide. And only Tommy LeSade could enter the Mistri Virus.

The sudden inexplicable influx of funds into their accounts left many a veteran wondering where their sudden largess had come from. Many were afraid to spend it, thinking it a computer glitch that someone would discover and demand back. They planned to have it on hand, just in case. Then, almost as an afterthought, they had received confirmation that the money was back pay from various government programs that had been lost in the shuffle of bureaucracy. Many had just accepted it in stride, as if a long overdue bill had been paid in full. Others never noticed their bank books didn't balance by several thousand dollars. They were long past worrying about such trivial matters. That's why they had accountants. Or grave tenders.

Cramer had his secretary book him a flight on the first thing smoking to the United States, by any route. As he left the office he shot the unsuspecting man in the head once and ordered his maids to clean up the mess and 'report the body in the alley.'

An hour later, he sat in the first class departure lounge sipping gin and tonic while he awaited the boarding call. He sipped his drink slowly and plotted his revenge. It would be so cold and so sweet. He could hardly wait to see the look in LeSade's eyes when he told him that he had personally killed that nosy little cunt, Lieutenant Lindsey Tremmel in Iraq when she was getting too close to the truth about who had shot him. Then, he would kill LeSade. End of story.

Cramer came back to the present when he heard his flight called. He stood, drank the last of his watery gin and tonic, grabbed his coat and bag, then took his place in line. He clutched his first class ticket in his right hand as he stepped forward.

* * * * *

Lisa was jittery with excitement as she ran up to Tommy on the rec yard. Her face was flushed red with heat and excitement. Her sweaty bangs stuck to her moist brow.

"Tommy! Come on, Buster!" she panted breathlessly. "You're being released right now! You've been given a complete pardon from the Governor! Can you believe it?" she gasped, big-eyed.

Tommy just looked at her, then started walking toward the building and his room. "Aren't you coming?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder when he realized she wasn't beside him, like an excited puppy.

"You don't seem very excited." she said, looking at him, mystified, as she caught up.

"I'm not," he replied, then turned and started walking again. "I already knew."

"How did you know?" she demanded.

"Good planning."

She looked at him in disbelief, then started walking beside him. By the time they arrived at Tommy's room Lisa was wiping tears from her face. Tommy looked at her curiously.

"What's wrong, Sweetie?" he asked, concerned, pulling her into his arms.

"I guess this is all for us, huh?" she asked sadly.

"Why would you say such a thing, Lisa?" he asked, taking her by the shoulders and looking into her deep green eyes seriously. "I thought maybe you loved me and would want to be my wife, forever. Why don't you want to now?"

"Oh, Tommy, I want that more than anything in the world," she replied, hugging him tightly around the neck.

"Is that a yes, then?" he asked, looking down into her watery eyes.

"Yes! Definitely!" she laughed. "Yeahhh! Wow! I feel like flying. I'm so happy!" she squealed exuberantly.

"Well, don't fly too far," he laughed. "I need a ride home." He began stuffing his personal property into a bag. The rest, he left where it lay. The scavengers of the prison could have it when they found it.

"I'm ready," he said, taking one last look around.

"Let's boogie," she giggled.

"No time right now. But at home, I've got a king-sized bed!"

"Life is good!" she exclaimed as they left the room and walked down the hallway to reception.

* * * * *

arden Chambers was so mad he could eat nails! But, he didn't have a clue what he was mad about, for sure. But, he suspected he had been used and played like a common chump. Or worse, a fiddle! There was definitely something going on with Mistri/LeSade, Ryan and Governor Cartwright, but he didn't have a clue what it could be. And that was why he was so angry.

Now, Mistri/LeSade was being released from under his watchful eyes. Slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do about it. Mistri held the key to the secret. Or Mistri himself was the key. Either way he was getting away and would probably never be seen again. At least by him.

Well, at least he had gotten a Warden's position out of the deal. He had finally decided Governor Cartwright must not remember him from college, or the girl he had taken, made love to and then discarded like the slut she was, back to the high and mighty Wendell Cartwright. It hadn't been his fault she had gotten pregnant and then committed suicide when he refused to marry her and screw off his future. Things just happen for no good reason sometimes. How was he to know she was emotionally unstable?

Besides, Cartwright was Governor now and that had been at least ten years ago. It was best to leave the past in the past and look to the future; that was John Chambers' personal motto.

What Warden John Chambers didn't realize was that that girl in college was the baby half-sister of Wendell Cartwright. And Governor Wendell Cartwright had loved her dearly. In fact, he had bided his time for years, waiting for the perfect opportunity to remind John Chambers just how bad he was hated.

That time had arrived and pure living hell was about to descend on the head of John Chambers, Warden.

The clock was already ticking.

* * * * *

Retired Colonel Austin Lake decided early on that he wasn't too keen on the outcome of his retirement. He missed the mission his life no longer held. He missed the hustle and bustle of military preparedness. Being prepared and staying prepared, that was what it was all about.

Now, he never knew what to expect from one minute to the next. And all he seemed to do was sit around waiting for the next shoe to fall. As if the world was waiting to breathe. But, nothing ever happened and as far as he knew the world never took a breath. So he was suffering silently in suspended boredom. And he hated being bored! He needed something to happen! Hell, anything would beat the nothing his life had turned into.

Linda, his wife, bless her heart, still worked at what she loved. She still had her life. She was happy in her career as a RN and swore she would continue to work until she dropped! That was good for her. Bad for him. Because now all he did was sit around in his fat boy chair and slowly fill it from side to side.

Like now, he sat in his "fat boy" chair in his living room, in Austin, Texas watching some mindless show or other on TV. Whatever it was, he thought, it was boring him to death.

He looked up at the ceiling as a sudden thought brought to mind his old friend Captain Tommy LeSade. He wondered what in the world he could be up to. Maybe he would email him a message. Maybe they could get together for old times' sake. Maybe LeSade had something going on that he needed a fat, black, retired Colonel's help with. Hell, anything would beat this boredom he was suffering through. Maybe LeSade would save him before he went completely insane!

His decision made, he scrambled out of his chair and went to the computer terminal. He sat down and began to type. When he finished, ten minutes later, he pressed 'send', then went back to his 'fat boy' chair to await an answer.

He doubted LeSade was setting in front of his computer waiting on emails. LeSade undoubtedly had a life he was living.

He waited for over an hour. No answer came.

'Well,' he thought, 'he'll get around to it when he gets home. He's young. Out and about. Things to do, people to see, places to go. No time for an old fart like me.'

Recently he had been wondering why he hadn't heard from Tommy in nearly a year. Usually he'd receive a brief note about some mind blowing computer program he was developing. But suddenly, it seemed, those brief messages had stopped. Time had moved on and Colonel Austin Lake, retired, had become lost in a boring world of doldrums. He kicked back in his 'fat boy' chair, switched the TV to a different game show and almost immediately began to doze off.

Life was boring! Boring, boring, boring!

* * * * *

Tommy and Lisa spent their first week alone together, not far from a flat, comfortable surface. It didn't matter what it was, a bed, a floor, a coffee table, a couch, a dinner table, a cabinet. If it was flat and big enough it was employed. Even a large chair had served their purpose and needs. It really didn't matter, when a mutual need arose, they took care of it, as long as they were out of sight of prying eyes.

The second week Tommy spent answering mail, fax's, emails, arranging his and Lisa's banking needs and checking into accounting firms. Taxes were going to be a nightmare. He assigned one bank account with a balance of twenty five million dollars in it just to pay taxes on the rest.

Lisa had resigned from the U.S. Marshal's service and was at the moment searching for a larger house for them. She had sold her small house to a friend for five hundred dollars since she didn't need the money and the friend needed the house desperately.

Tommy's house was fine, but not quite big enough for a growing family. They were sure their family would grow eventually at the rate they were working on it. Lisa refused to take birth control.

Before meeting Tommy, her sex life had been next to nothing. Her job had been her life, but when sex was in the forecast, she insisted her partner wear a condom. After all, she used a diaphragm, but diaphragms didn't protect against disease. True, condoms were not 100% protection, but they beat a blank. All in all, she had not gotten pregnant and she had no communicable diseases. And she had been unable to get pregnant, so far.

Though they hadn't discussed marriage, they were both secretly certain that when the time was right, they would be married. It seemed it was understood. Lisa had seen too many times, the disaster of unwanted pregnancies. The hard decisions that had to be made and the resulting effects on the fetus and the mother, the children born to families that couldn't afford an abortion, or the child, and not to mention the father who truly wanted the child, not knowing his very life and future depended upon it. So, the family ended up with a child that wasn't wanted and couldn't be properly cared for, on one hand, and the father whose life was destroyed by the loss of his child, on the other.

Then, there were the other unplanned children in the family who suffered by the addition of yet another unaffordable mouth that needed to be fed, cutting the meager rations of the existing children even thinner.

In short, she knew it was a recipe for disaster and she planned on not being a careless participant in such.

Money would not be a problem. Love would not be a problem. The problem was deciding what size house they would need in the long run. She could solve that problem and she was working diligently to do just that.

Lisa had known love, support and encouragement her entire life, therefore, was well equipped to pass it along to her and Tommy's offspring. In fact, she was looking forward to it.

"Find anything, Babe?" Tommy asked, leaning over her shoulder, kissing her ear, cheek, then lips, as she looked around.

"A few," she said between kisses. "How much do you want to spend?"

"The sky's the limit. Your choice. Make it. I'll be happy with what you decide."

"Babe, I need a better car. I'd like to drive around and look at some of the houses. They don't show much on these internet sites."

"Let's go buy you one then," he replied. "What kind do you want?" he added, lifting her from the chair, wrapping her in his arms and hugging her tightly.

"You'd better stop if you're really going to take me to buy a car," she giggled, reaching down and rubbing his swelling groin.

"You're right. I'll spoil you first, then see what I get for a reward," he teased, kissing her softly around her ear lobe, which he knew drove her crazy.

"Anything you want if you keep doing that," she said, her passion rising.

"Let's go then, so we can get back fast. I want to claim my prize," he laughed, taking her hand and leading her to the door and out to his '02 Dodge Ram pickup.

As he backed out of the driveway, Austin Lake's email arrived.

* * * * *

Cramer was dog tired and bone weary when he arrived at Dulles airport in D.C. He was ushered through customs and thirty minutes later was entering his hotel room and beginning to undress. After a hot shower he went to bed and slept like a rock. He awakened exactly six hours later fully refreshed and rearing to go. He felt he could conquer the world given a good enough excuse and a big enough army, his own private joke. He decided he would start by calling some old friends at CIA headquarters and mend some bridges that had long since quit smoldering. He had neglected them for the past five years, when he didn't need them. Now, he did, so it was time to suck butt and call in some markers.

He decided to start with Terri Ashton. She owed him a couple of big favors. He had, at her request, rid her of a very troubled and troubling admirer.

Time to pay up, Terri, he thought as he dialed the number for the CIA headquarters and his still active code number.

"Central Intelligence Agency, Bradley speaking. How may I help you?" the female voice asked calmly.

"Terri Ashton, Anti-Terrorism. Niles Cramer calling."

"One moment please, while I connect you, sir," she replied, then was gone and elevator music took over babysitting duties for a moment.

"Ashton, Cramer, you son-of-a-bitch! Where have you been?" Terri asked, as she came on the line.

"Out and about, Terri. What's cooking?" he replied, smiling, knowing he was in like Flint, if he wanted to be.

"Chasing the bad guys, getting chased by the good ones and getting caught by the fast ones," she laughed at her joke.

"You lucky girl!" he said. "Listen, Babe. I need a favor."

"Same ol' Cramer, I see," she laughed jokingly. "What is it this time?" she laughed again, knowing Cramer had never asked a favor of her, ever. She had been the seeker of favors; on several occasions. And Cramer had always come through for her.

"I need to locate an old friend. I knew him in Iraq and have since lost contact with him. He came back to the states with a bullet in his chest."

"What's his name?"

"Tommy LeSade, Captain, Army Ranger slash sniper."

"Let me see," she mused as she typed. "LeSade, Tommy. Army. Special Forces. Ranger-sniper. Iraq. WIA. 2003. Correct?"

"Yeah, that's the scoop."

"Okay, we're in business. And it's thriving. I have a Thomas Adam LeSade, 406 West Cherokee, Tahlequah, Oklahoma. There is no Tommy. I also have a Tom Clark LeSade, 123 Belmont, Richmond, Virginia..."

"Can you just fax me the list? I'll call until I find the right one."

"That would make it easier. What's your number?"

He gave her the number to his PC.

"Okay, here it comes."

"Thanks Terri. You're a doll."

"No problem," she assured him. "Listen, if you're in town, why don't we get together later this evening?"

"No can do, darlin' I've got to find LeSade. Maybe some other time," he suggested, knowing he didn't need to be bound, gagged, blindfolded and spanked pink while she devoured him, tonight. Even though she was very good at it. He knew from past experience. He was almost tempted, but no, LeSade and getting his money back were more important.

"Well okay, then," she said, disappointment obvious in her tone. "But, call me soon, promise?"

"Promise," he said. "See you later. Thanks again, Terri."

"Anytime, Niles. Call me."

"I will. See ya later."

"Okay," she replied and broke the connection.

Cramer put the phone down and picked up the fax. There were ten Tommy LeSades on the list, or variations of the name Tommy. This would be simple, he thought, as he picked up the phone and began dialing the first number.

He stopped suddenly and hung the phone up. Bad idea! he thought. They were far from 'old friends' and if LeSade knew he was coming for him he could prepare. A prepared enemy was a bad enemy. It was better to sneak up on him. Cramer smiled and began to pack.

* * * * *

Lisa chose a light blue Infinity after three hours of looking around several dealerships in Tulsa. Tommy told the salesman that if he could have the light blue one ready to drive in one hour, as well as a dark blue one, they would pay cash for both of them and pick up the dark blue one tomorrow evening, the salesman assured him he could have them both ready in an hour. Tommy told him he would need to leave his truck there overnight and was assured it wouldn't be a problem.

One hour later Lisa drove them off the dealership property. Their first stop was a large ten-bedroom mansion on the south side of Tulsa. It looked like a three-story box. They passed.

"Why don't we just have a house built the way you want it?" Tommy asked as they drove toward the next house on Lisa's list.

"Really?" she asked in disbelief.

"Sure, why not?" he replied. "Then, you can have everything you want, just the way you want it. Plus, we can buy as much land as we want, to do whatever we want to do."

"I always wanted to raise horses," she said longingly. "They are so beautiful and graceful; like poetry in motion, set to music."

"Ah! A lass after me own Irish heart," he said in an Irish brogue. "So, let's look for land! Where? Lake, ocean, desert, island? Your choice."

"No lakes. No oceans. No deserts. No isles. What I want me fair haired lad, is trees. Millions of trees. Trees for miles and miles!"

"Here in Oklahoma?" he asked.

'There's no place in the world like it. So, I couldn't live anywhere else," she said turning serious.

"You're the boss. My wish is your command!"

"You got that backwards, buster!" she laughed, seeing he was turning red.

"Just a little," he agreed joining her laughter. "You know what I mean,

"Yeah," she laughed. "How much land we talking?"

"I don't know. How much does it take to raise horses?"

"Let's ask the professionals. Know any?"

"I know a few around Tahlequah. They'd know what an ideal spread would be."

"Well, back to Tahlequah then. Right?"

"Right."

* * * * *

The drive home was filled with talk of houses, land, horses, what breed, how many, where, schools, shopping and a myriad other subjects that revolved around one thing, family.

Lisa and Tommy were so comfortable in each other's company; it seemed they had been married for years. They seemed to see eye to eye on everything, as if they were a match made in heaven.

At home, one of the first things Tommy noticed when he entered was that he had an email from Colonel Lake. He read it, and then answered it with his sincerest apologies for not staying in contact over the past several months.

Austin had been good to him since the AWOL charges had been dismissed. Lake blamed General Hawk for the mix up and still held a vicious grudge. They had no idea that the General was in fact dead in California and lying in the Malibu morgue. Tommy was glad the grudge was against the general and not him.

In his answer he didn't mention his time in prison for several reasons; one, the records no longer existed. Two, it was all part of the ultimate plan to launch the Mistri Virus and three, Austin Lake had no need to know.

Instead, he told the Colonel about Lisa and their plans for their future horse ranch in Northeastern Oklahoma. He invited the Colonel and his wife to come visit anytime. Their door would always be open and their hearth warm and welcoming.

He closed the email with best wishes and sent it speeding on its way to Austin in Austin; both the man and the city. He thought how strange it would be to be named after the city in which you were born. He laughed. He didn't think Sapulpa LeSade sounded very good.

"What are you sniggering about?" Lisa asked, looking up from the small local paper she was reading.

After Tommy explained, she agreed that Sapulpa was not a very endearing first name. But, it started a discussion about first names for both boys and girls.

"Lisa," he said seriously, coming over and kneeling beside the sofa she was seated on and taking her hand in his. He looked up and into her eyes and said, "Since we are going to be together for the rest of our lives, why don't we get married and make it honorable, and legal?"

"Are you serious?" she responded, big eyed and her fingers over her mouth, which was agape in awe as her eyes became watery.

"Yes, of course. I love you. What better rea..." before he could finish, she was off the sofa and in his arms, hugging him tightly and smothering his face with kisses.

"Is this a yes?" he asked between smooches.

"Yes! Oh, god, yes!" she sobbed beginning to weep. "I love you so very much, Tommy LeSade!"

* * * * *

Terri Ashton couldn't believe her luck! After Cramer had called she decided to do a little checking on her own. Cramer, from what she remembered, was not the type to pay cordial visits to anyone! Much less 'old friends'!

He had no 'friends' that she could remember, unless there was something in it for him. And the fact that he had called with that line about paying a surprise visit on an 'old friend' told her only one thing; Cramer was up to something secret! And she was going to find out what it was and cut herself a slice of the pie.

So, being the spy she was, she placed tracers on all of the LeSades on her list and monitored all of their telephone and computer transmissions going to, or coming from, each address.

When she intercepted an email from Colonel Austin Lake in Austin, to Tommy LeSade in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, she ran a check on the Colonel.

That was where she had been lucky. Colonel Austin Lake had served in Iraq as Commander of an elite Ranger battalion. Captain Tommy LeSade, a CMH awardee had served under him as a sniper. That is when Terri Ashton had dominoed! She put two and two together and come up with a nice new shiny four.

After some more checking and digging, she had learned that the captain had been reported missing/AWOL for twenty four hours and had been temporarily assigned to a CIA operative named Miles Cramer. Shortly after that Cramer had gone missing and the Captain had returned from his unexplainable absence. It was curiously strange to her and beyond coincidence.

Terri contacted a very close friend, Sandy Borne, in the FBI. She explained her suspicions about Cramer and her friend agreed to call another friend in the Tulsa, in the Oklahoma FBI office and ask him to drive over to Tahlequah and have a talk with Tommy LeSade to find out if there was a connection and a long lost friendship.

What was really strange and out of character for Terri was that she was not normally a suspicious person. But, Cramer's unexpected and out of character call had set off alarms in her brain that she was not aware were there.

She was promised that if there was anything going on they would provide surveillance on LeSade. If Cramer showed up they would watch the two of them and find out what was really going on. Or, what the two were up to. And, best of all, if there was a bust, she would get the credit for the connection between LeSade and Cramer.

After she had hung up, she thought maybe she should have asked for surveillance on Lake as well. She quickly called back and made arrangements with the Austin, Texas office.

She felt she was in a win-win situation. If there was nothing there, she would get credit for being diligent in her job performance. If there was something in the works, she would get the credit for spotting the connection.

Win-Win! She smiled.

* * * * *

Colonel Lake read Tommy's email with pleasure. He knew Tommy was alright, in love and as happy as a clam in wet mud. Plus, the idea for the horse ranch intrigued him to no end. He had been raised on a horse ranch in southwest Texas. He considered himself a professional when it came to good horseflesh.

He emailed Tommy and told him about life on the ranch. He also mentioned his credentials as such.

Later that evening he discussed it with his wife, Linda. She agreed that if an invitation was forthcoming he should go. If for nothing else, just to get out of the house and become active in something that held his interest. After all, she reasoned, there were jobs for registered nurses in Oklahoma. And probably in Tahlequah, in fact.

Tommy had mentioned in the past that Tahlequah had two hospitals. One was the county hospital for Cherokee County and the other was the Cherokee Indian hospital for the local Cherokee Indian population. Tahlequah was the tribal headquarters for the Southern Nation.

It would be nice to live on a ranch again, Lake thought, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. He had spent the day napping off and on like a big pond bull frog. Now, he was paying the price for his laziness.

Linda had gone to work, where she spent most of her time. And like him, old habits were hard to break.

* * * * *

Cramer knew he couldn't telephone any of the LeSades on his list. If one of them was the Tommy LeSade he was searching for, he would be alerting him that he was being sought by an old enemy. He would then be on his guard every second of every day and night.

Cramer's intent was not to kill Tommy. Well, at least until he got his money back, anyway. Then all bets were off; Tommy LeSade was a dead man. The difference this time was that he would make doubly sure LeSade was dead. He had decided to go to every address on the list and visibly check each face and hope he could recognize LeSade after nearly six years.

He should be able to, he thought. Most people didn't change that much in such a short length of time. They may gain weight, lose weight, change their hair style, grow a beard, or any number of other things, but they very seldom changed their face unless they were trying to hide from someone.

Tommy thought he would be a suspect if he had actually taken the money. If he didn't, why disguise himself. If he did, then he was smart enough to know that Cramer would have to come to him face to face. Then, force him to give back the money.

The question was, how could he force LeSade to return the money short of killing him. If he killed him first, how would he get the money back? It was a Catch-22.

Leverage was the key. But what could he use for leverage? Unless LeSade had loved ones he was willing to protect for any amount of money. If he didn't, no amount of leverage would be enough - he would have to resort to torture.

He really didn't like torture. A man was willing to say anything when the pain became unbearable. How was the torturer to know when he had learned the truth? Besides, torture was chancy. Too much, the victim died or went nuts. Too little, and the victim didn't talk. It was a balancing act that he had no patience for. When the victim was a loved one on the other hand, the subject was more than willing to talk a blue streak and deliver the goods as quickly as possible.

Maybe he could use drugs, he thought, as he sped down the highway to the first address on his list. Maybe thiopental sodium (sodium Pentothal). Truth serum. Or maybe even nitrous oxide (laughing gas). Maybe even heroin or some other opiate. Get him hooked and strung out and he would talk for a 'fix'. He'd do anything to get the dragon off his back. Even kill. He would give him the money in a heartbeat if Cramer could get him in a place where only he could supply what Tommy needed most of all.

Now that, Cramer thought, has possibilities. He would have to do a little searching. But, drug dealers were a dime a dozen in the inner city. What he needed should be easy to find, if he looked in the right place.

But, getting LeSade hooked would be a completely different story. Of course after the first shot he would be like putty to handle. But, how would he deliver the first shot? Maybe a tranquilizer gun, like they used on animals. He could shoot him, wait for him to nod, then take him anywhere he wanted to keep him until he was strung out like a picket fence.

Cramer's mind zoomed through countless scenarios as he sped down the highway. His imagination traveled at the same speed as the Lincoln he was driving. He was happy and content to let it soar like an eagle. He knew what the final outcome would be. However he chose to do it, the end result would be the same. He would have his money back and Tommy LeSade would be dead!

* * * * *

Tommy lay on their bed, nude. Lisa sat beside him rubbing lotion onto his back. She was tempted to ask about the many knife scars, but had yet to build up the nerve to bring back all those bad memories. Tommy had never mentioned them or tried to explain them to her. So, she had left it alone, deciding that if and when he wanted her to know about his experiences in the war, he would tell her in his own time. Still, she wondered how he had gotten so many.

Tommy lay there thinking about the horse ranch. He had talked to three separate horse ranchers in the area and had learned a lot about what they considered a perfect set up would be. He also learned about a tract of land out near Lake Tenkiller. It was a little over four hundred acres. It had several spring fed creeks winding through it. One of which averaged three feet deep and had a gravel bottom. The water was crystal clear and ice cold.

It also had several stock ponds scattered around it, good pastures and millions of trees. There was no house, but that was a plus as far as Tommy was concerned, since they were going to have their own house built anyway. They were planning on going out there the following morning and having a look around, and maybe make an offer comparable to the asking price of six-hundred-thousand. There was only one drawback that Tommy could think of; the eastern pasture butted up against Lake Tenkiller. But that was half a mile away and would be out of sight of any house they built.

He was also thinking about the visit Andrew Ryan had made earlier. Ryan had claimed he was just passing by and had decided to stop and say hi and see how Tommy was treating Lisa. He was joking of course. His real reason was to inform him that Governor Cartwright was anxious to start phase two of the agreement they had made.

While Judge Ryan watched, Tommy entered a series of numbers and letters into his computer. Almost immediately the Oklahoma Department of Corrections great seal came on the screen. Tommy then made his way into the accounting department of the Connors Unit. He withdrew two million dollars and transferred it into the personal account of Warden John Chambers. Ten minutes later he transferred it into an offshore account bearing the same name.

He then entered the complete transaction into the Warden's computer at the Connors unit and with the push of a button completed his part of the deal they had made.

"Let him explain that!" Ryan laughed. "I wish Connors was in Cherokee County!" he added seriously.

"Well," Tommy said. "It serves him right. I'm a big believer in people getting what's coming to them. Their just rewards."

"Seems they always do, in the end," Ryan agreed.

Tommy also thought about Austin Lake and the email he had sent him inviting him and Linda to Oklahoma. He could be the foreman on the ranch and Linda could go to work at one of the local hospitals if she wanted to. There were several openings at both of them for Registered Nurses.

It seems, he thought, everything's falling into place. Just as he believed it would. His only worry at the moment was Hawk and Cramer. They would be coming soon. He didn't believe for a second they would give up all of their ill gotten gains without a fight. It's just a matter of time, he thought, as Lisa reached his neck and began to message the lotion into his golden skin.

Tomorrow, he thought, I'll have a security outfit from Tulsa or Muskogee come out and install a state of the art security system. We'll need it here since we'll be here a few more months.

They still hadn't acquired the land or an architect to design the home, or a builder to build it. That would all take time. And time was the one thing they were in short supply of at the time.

Cramer was coming! Of that he had no doubt!

Chapter 9

Cramer was coming alright! But he was taking the long way around. Lady Luck had dealt him a very high hand in D.C., but after he had checked the fifth name of ten off his list, the game had changed. He now found himself driving west on a four lane highway. His destination was Omaha, Nebraska.

At least if this wasn't the right T. LeSade, it was on his way to number six on his list.

If the last name on his list proved not to be the Tommy LeSade he was searching for he would be back to square one; ground zero! And with no leads to guide him.

Of course there was always the outside chance that he may hit the jack pot in Omaha or Tahlequah.

The sky blue Lincoln floated down the highway as if it rode on air. The Classical music he listened to was vibrant! Emotional! It moved him near to tears. The high notes came through the speakers as if the orchestra was inside the vehicle with him.

He tapped his finger on the steering wheel with the beat and visualized the 17th century balls. The dancers floating across the floor to their partners. The women curtsied. The men, in their white powdered wigs and waistcoats of sky blue, red, purple and violet, their butternut, gray, white and tan pants, fitting like ballet tights, their codpieces prominent, as they accepted the soft delicate hands of their partners, bowed, their left leg crossed slightly over their right, their head bowed gracefully, their chins turned just at the precise angle, as if looking up at him through the window of time. Laughing at his pathetic efforts to become one of them while knowing in his heart of hearts that he was nothing but a common commoner. Still, he longed to be there, one of them, one of the lofty ones. But, he knew he didn't have, and would never have, the gentility to pass himself off as more than he was, an imposter lost in the 21st century; a simple commoner.

This thought angered him and he twisted the knob to another radio station. He landed on a talk show. This angered him even more. He turned the radio off, sat back and began making plans for Tommy LeSade. This pleased him.

He smiled sadistically to himself and drove on west, increasing his speed to eighty. He engaged the cruise control and sat, back comfortably in the large luxurious, form fitting Moroccan leather seat.

* * * * *

The telephone on the desk of Sandy Borne, Special Agent, FBI, Tulsa Office rang importantly and insistently. She ignored it until she finished her background check on Captain Tommy LeSade, United States Army-Ranger/Sniper. She hated being interrupted. Her subject was the most impressive, real life man she had ever read about. It seemed as if there was nothing he couldn't do. From killing without compassion, to dying for a cause he believed in.

"Borne," she answered, jerking the phone from the cradle as if it were hot.

"Yeah, this is Jackson," her nemesis down the hall stated. "Found anything on LeSade, Ryan, and Cramer, yet?" she added, as if it were too far to walk from her office three doors down the hall.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. This guy, LeSade, is every woman's dream!"

"You're an expert on what every woman wants?" Jackson asked, insinuating that Agent Borne was perhaps gay.

"You'll never find out, Jackson. So, don't get false hopes built up."

Actually Agent Borne was hot all over for Agent Jackson. She could close her eyes and visualize Jackson strutting around the office in her form fitting, designer outfits; her pert little ass sticking out as if in invitation to be patted or caressed.

On several occasions, Jackson had dropped subtle hints to her that she was of the persuasion that enjoyed the company and attentions of young, pretty, well built, golden haired beauties, such as Agent Borne herself. She had also insisted, offhandedly, of course, that her favorite eye color was golden cat eyes. Bourne's eyes could be described as cat eyes. And they were definitely golden! It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where she was leading, or trying to be led.

"How about we have lunch? I have an interesting case out near Hominy. Seems a certain Warden there decided he needed a loan from the prison. He took it. Denies it. Has no proof. But, I need to investigate. Since it's not that far to Tahlequah, maybe we can carpool. How 'bout it, girl?"

What the hell, Borne thought. Might as well jump in and get wet all over! "Sure that would be great. You drive down. I'll drive back. Deal?" she said, half hoping for rejection. But, praying for acceptance, too.

"Deal," Jackson said quickly. "Wear something loose. The air conditioner in my car is moody."

"First thing tomorrow. Pick me up."

"I'll be there at six. I know the address."

"Great, I'll see you then." Wondering how and why Jackson knew her address, Borne looked back over at her computer and the military picture of Captain Tommy LeSade staring back at her.

"Bye," Jackson said, then hung up.

"Bye," Sandy said, then hung up and turned back to her computer terminal.

She thought about Agent Melissa Jackson. Not your typical African American. She was a little short for an FBI Agent at five feet six inches tall. Sandy herself was five feet eight. Jackson was slim with what appeared to be medium sized breasts. Probably 32C, Sandy guessed. She was a 36C. Jackson was very well educated. Harvard Law. Honors. IQ 160. Golden skin, satiny smooth. Beautiful face. Should have been a model. Father PhD. Law. Mother same. Long slim hands and fingers. Touch like a butterfly. Smells like Heaven in springtime. Soft spoken. Smoky voice. Third degree black belt. Tae Kwan Do. Olympics. Gold. Women's.

Sandy noticed her hands trembling slightly. She also felt a rising heated dampness between her legs. Her hands poised over the keyboard, she knew she had to start thinking about something else. LeSade would do for starters.

Two hours later she was still studying LeSade. This guy is an absolute Olympian God she thought, as she read and reread the information on the screen.

I can't believe I'm falling in love with him she told herself, as the information from his military 201 file began to scroll down the screen.

"You spending the night, here?" Jackson asked, sticking her head past the slightly opened door.

"Just finishing up," she replied; shutting the computer off.

"Need a lift?"

"No, thanks, I've got my car."

"How about a night cap? My place. We can do some planning for tomorrow," Jackson asked seductively, her voice as alluring as a vampire.

"Sure," Sandy responded before she thought about it. She grabbed her bag and went toward the door.

"Great! Let's go!" Jackson said, holding the door for her.

The drive to Jackson's was a blur. She followed closely behind so as not to lose her way. Her thoughts stormed through her mind as she thought of what all a 'night-cap' might entail in addition to conversation about the two working cases.

She had been torn between her two competing sexual desires since her years in junior high school. She had never been that impressed with heterosexual sex. But, by the same token, she had never had a lesbian relationship either. She didn't know exactly what to expect when alone with Melissa Jackson. But, she would soon find out, she thought, sitting in Melissa's living room sipping a bourbon and Coke.

Melissa had excused herself to slip into something more comfortable. Sandy couldn't wait to see what it may be. Her thoughts raced from a genie costume to a tank top and thong. She was anxious to see it whatever it may, or may not, be.

She tried not to show her disappointment when Melissa returned to the living room in very baggy gray sweats. She plopped down in a large overstuffed chair across from the sofa. She pulled her legs up under herself and sighed. She laid her head back, closed her eyes for a moment, yawned, sighed again and then stretched like an exotic cat.

She's so beautiful, Sandy thought as she watched silently. She almost felt like a voyeur.

Melissa's eyes flashed open. She stared straight at Sandy, as if she had read her mind. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" she asked.

"Thank you, but no. Average, maybe. But, not beautiful, like you," Sandy stammered, taken completely by surprise by the complement.

"Trust me, girl. I know beautiful. And you are she. I could eat you alive," Melissa said seriously, then licked her lips and shivered all over as if freezing.

"Melissa, are you gay?" Sandy asked, unable to resist the invitation.

"No, I'm FBI. Being a lesbian is frowned upon," she laughed. "They preach 'don't ask, don't tell'. But, don't you believe it for a minute, girl. If they find out, kiss your career goodbye. Kiss advancement goodbye. It's hello Cairo!"

"I would never tell," Sandy swore. "It's no one's business but yours, right?"

"Right," she replied, looking intently at Sandy. Her eyes looked her slowly up and down.

Sandy began to feel excitement spread throughout her whole body. She began to feel warm all over. She set her drink aside, and then stared back across the room at Melissa. Suddenly, she stood up and began to undress. To her surprise Melissa joined her.

When they were completely nude they met in the middle of the room with a hot passionate kiss. Their hands roamed each other's bodies delicately. The investigations that were supposed to be the subject of their meeting were put on hold for more important and pressing investigations that sent waves of desire and passion coursing through their bodies.

* * * * *

Tommy was glad the installation of the security system went fast.

Within four hours the whole place was wired like a TOP SECRET military installation. Nothing could move within the perimeter of his house and lot that he wouldn't know about.

He felt more comfortable and secure now than he had in the past six months. His main concern was Lisa. She had to be protected at all costs. He had sworn his life to her; she to him. It was his responsibility to protect her. And he would give his life in the fulfillment of that duty.

After the security people had left, Lisa and Tommy went to look around the land they were considering buying. They agreed they would decide where to build the house, barn, stables, corrals, exercise yards, and what areas would be used as pasture when and if they decided to buy the land.

A man by the name of Jack Anderson was going to meet them there and offer his advice for placement of the buildings and corrals and why he would place them as he suggested. Anderson had been raising Quarter horses around Tahlequah for over thirty years. So, he knew his business. He came highly recommended. He had a list of satisfied customers a mile long. Everyone in the area knew and trusted him and he knew everyone and who to trust.

When Tommy and Lisa shook hands with Anderson at the gate to the property, they thought they were shaking hands with Will Rogers. The resemblance was uncanny. They mentioned it and Anderson laughed.

"Yeah, people say that all the time. But I don't see the resemblance 'atall! Hell Will Rogers was ten feet tall and cast a shadow a mile long on a cloudy day. And had more wild stories than Louis L'Amour! Plus, he became a politician in the end. I don't care for politicians, much," he continued, doffing his hat and twirling it in his fingers, standing hip shot, much like the famous Oklahoman.

Lisa laughed at the uncanny characterization as she watched Jack imitate Rogers.

"Well, let's go have us a look around and see what we can and imagine the rest. Okay?" Anderson said, replacing his hat and opening the gate.

"Sounds good to me," Tommy said, climbing in his truck after Lisa. Anderson got in on the other side.

"I do admire sitting beside a beautiful woman," he said, smiling at Lisa.

* * * * *

Cramer was beginning to worry. He drove southwest out of Omaha headed for his furthest destination from D.C.; Tahlequah, Oklahoma. The last Tommy LeSade on his list lived there. If he wasn't the right one, Cramer thought, he wasn't sure where he would start looking next.

Maybe back to D.C. and Terri Ashton, he thought. She was so committed, he reasoned. It would be hard for her to back out now. Maybe she had overlooked something that would prove to be the key to the whereabouts of Captain Tommy LeSade. Plus, she still owed him a few favors, the way he saw it.

Thinking of a future night with Terri brought a smile to his face and a warm, fuzzy feeling to the pit of his stomach. He began to ache in a way that made him long for the comfort of his own home and his possessions there; inanimate and living, alike.

At least his home was safe. His slaves and servants were safe and financially secure should something happen to him. He never kidded himself; Tommy LeSade was one very dangerous man. There was always the possibility he would somehow gain the upper hand. If he did manage it, things were going to get real ugly, real fast.

Cramer knew for a fact that he was not the one to take LeSade one on one, face to face. His only chance was from a safe distance away and stealth. Preferably with a scoped rifle; which he didn't have at the present time. But, like anything else in America, it could be obtained with little or no trouble, if one knew where to look. Cramer knew where to look.

He had acquired illegal weapons in places where possession would bring instant death. No trial, judge or jury was needed. Justice was the man with the most men and guns to back him up.

Cramer had never had that many friends he could trust well enough to turn his back on them. Besides, he preferred the shadows. The inky black of night and the unexpected attack. The name of the game he played was 'he who survives wins'! He had always won in the past. As far as he was concerned Honor had no place on the battlefield. Survival reigned supreme.

The way he saw it was, if a man loved living, he could only put his total trust in one person. Himself! To trust other men to protect something that wasn't dear to them personally was foolish. A man's life was only dear to that man who possessed it. To others, it was inconsequential; a burden that may in fact cost them their own life as a result of trying to protect someone else's.

That's why Niles Cramer walked alone. Always had, always would. That way he was responsible for only one man's actions. His. He didn't have to try and guess what others saw, heard, did or how they acted or reacted to certain opposing actions. Thus, he was still alive after nearly twenty years in the very dangerous world of espionage and counterespionage.

Cramer enjoyed sitting back observing everything. He could take his time and act or react at his own whim. He could also decide on his own, to back off and wait for another opportunity if circumstances didn't add up exactly the way he wanted them to.

He enjoyed that freedom. Being his own boss. Doing what he wanted, when he wanted. Responsible to and for no one. The total 'free agent' was Niles Cramer!

The sign beside the highway read TULSA, MUSKOGEE, with an arrow pointing one way. Below that was LITTLE ROCK, HOT SPRINGS and an arrow pointing straight ahead.

Cramer guided the Lincoln to the right and Tulsa. There were some things he needed to pick up and Tulsa was the place to get them. He maybe couldn't get it in Little Rock quite as easily. He knew people who knew people in Tulsa.

* * * * *

The banker, Sam Bishop, looked at Tommy and Lisa over his round bifocals skeptically. Perhaps he had misunderstood what Tommy said, or perhaps they were playing a joke on a small town banker. He didn't much care for being the butt of some silly joke. The way he saw it, time was money. And they were taking up his time, therefore, costing him money!

"Let me get this straight, Mister LeSade," he said, as if catching on to the joke. "You want to open a checking account in both of your names. Then, you want to open a savings account, also in both of your names. And then, you want to transfer one hundred million dollars split equally into each of the accounts?" He grinned, his bald head damp and red with nervous tension and sweat.

"Correct," Tommy said.

"That's right," Lisa agreed.

"And where will these funds be coming from?"

Tommy handed him a slip of paper with an account number and a bank web address. Bishop typed the address and number into the computer on his desk. When the banking form appeared on his screen he typed in the account number in the appropriate space, then leaned back to wait. His expression was becoming more and more tense by the second. He was thinking that perhaps this wasn't a joke after all.

Then, he paled noticeably. He became nervous and very serious in an attempt to cover it up. The one hundred million dollars was a mere drop in the bucket compared to what was in the account he was looking into. There were literally billions of dollars in the account.

When the transfer was complete he turned back to Tommy and Lisa. He had mostly regained his composure. He was a banker, after all! He was used to dealing with large sums of money on a daily basis. Today he had set a new personal record in the amount he had handled in one transaction. From hundreds of thousands he had moved into the hundreds of millions!

This is one very rich man, he thought, as he turned around, smiled quickly, nervously, and looked into the four eyes that were watching him. "Of course I will have to report this transfer to the Securities and Exchange Commission and the Internal Revenue Service," Bishop said, raising his eyebrows a little.

"Of course," Tommy answered.

He didn't care. He had covered his bases from here to Sunday. It would take anyone, except him, forever, to trace the money through the system. He would be surprised if they checked any farther than the bank it had just been transferred from.

"At this time your account is available. I will have your temporary checks available within minutes. If you will excuse me for a minute, I'll see to it," he said, rolling his chair back and standing, then scurried from the office.

"I don't understand why people get so nervous about large amounts of money. It's just paper," Tommy said softly, looking over at Lisa.

"He probably makes a hundred to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year in this bank. At his current salary he would be long dead before he earned a tenth of the interest on that amount of money. How did you expect him to act?" Lisa scolded him quietly. "You should be ashamed, Tommy LeSade!"

"Ashamed for what? I wasn't born rich. I didn't inherit the money. I stole it, the same as Hawk and Cramer did. I'm not proud of it, but it's a little late for that, now. The difference is that I'm giving most of it away to people who need it far worse than I do. That eases my conscience a little. It's all new to me, too. And it doesn't make me nervous and giddy. I understand it's just a tool to use."

"That may be true, but you have it. And just think of the size of your tool compared to his," Lisa said with all seriousness, then began to glow red as realization sank in about her choice of metaphors.

"That is purely genetic, Lisa," he laughed. "It has nothing to do with the size of our bank accounts," he added, smugly.

She swatted him on the shoulder, he ducked playfully. She turned beet red and hit him again. He laughed out loud, as Bishop returned and sat behind his desk. He eyed them suspiciously, but remained serious.

"I will need for you to sign these forms for the savings account. And these forms for the checking account; for signature verification," he said, laying several forms in front of them. They began signing the forms.

Tommy stopped and looked up, "Mister Bishop, we are going to be married in the next few weeks. How will that affect our joint account?"

"No problem there. Once you are married, Lisa will have to complete new signature cards. As a matter of fact she can complete it now, if you like," he said, looking at Lisa.

"I'll wait." Lisa said. "I want it to be one hundred percent legal when I start signing my name as Lisa LeSade. It'll be no trouble to stop by and take care of it."

"As you wish," Bishop smiled, thinking it didn't matter to him. His bank was in possession of Tommy's one hundred million dollars. So nothing needed to be rushed now.

When Tommy completed signing his name five times to the signature card he handed his stack of forms back to Bishop.

Bishop then accepted Lisa's and said, "Well, that's everything, I believe. Welcome to our bank," he added, standing up and offering his hand to Tommy. "My door is open to you any time. Feel free to just drop in and chat, if for no other reason."

"Thank you, Mister Bishop," Tommy said, taking Bishop's hand and shaking it sincerely, then watched as Lisa did the same.

"These are your temporary checks," he said handing them a small booklet of checks. "I hope to see a lot of them passing through our small establishment," he smiled.

"There will be a few," Tommy promised, then he and Lisa shook hands with Bishop again and he walked them to the front door.

As they walked down the sidewalk toward their car, Bishop was back at his desk hard at work as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred in his sleepy little establishment. He looked up from his task as they passed and waved. He waved back.

When they arrived home, they were surprised to see a strange car parked in front of their house. As they pulled into the driveway and got out, two very beautiful women got out of the strange car and came toward them.

"Mister Tommy LeSade?" the golden one asked, offering her hand.

"Yes, I'm Tommy LeSade. What can I do for you?"

"I'm Special Agent Borne with the FBI. This is my partner Special Agent Jackson. We'd like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind, sir." Sandy said as she and Melissa showed their badges and identification.

"Sure, ask away," Tommy replied.

"Could we go inside, please? It would be more private and comfortable. This may take a while," Melissa asked.

"No problem," Tommy replied, leading the women inside.

"Can I offer you some coffee, or soda? I even have tea," Lisa asked, as the women sat on the sofa and Tommy sat in his Easy Boy recliner.

"Coffee would be great," Sandy answered for both of them.

"What's this all about?" Tommy asked, as Lisa left to get the coffee. All she had to do was pour it. Tommy insisted that there always be a fresh pot of coffee sitting under the Mr. Coffee coffee machine.

"Sir, do you know, or have you ever known a man by the name of Niles Cramer? He was CIA in Iraq in 2003," Melissa asked.

"What about him?"

Sandy saw by Tommy's expression of pure loathing that there was a connection here.

"I find it hard to believe that you two are FBI agents," Tommy smiled, across at them.

"Why is that, Mister LeSade?"

"You are both entirely too beautiful. You should be models, instead."

"Thank you for your compliment, Mister LeSade, but I assure you we are who and what we say we are," Melissa replied, thinking she could fall in love with a man as honest and open as Tommy LeSade. She realized that Sandy hadn't been exaggerating in the office yesterday about him being every woman's 'dream man'.

"Oh, I'm sure you are," Tommy said. "Now, what about Niles Cramer?" he finished, looking openly at the two women. He noticed the one name Sandy began to squirm and show him glances up her loose, short skirt.

He noticed she wasn't wearing any panties. She was coming on to him, he decided. 'Too late, Lass,' he thought, but continued to look anyway. He supposed it was male nature.

"What can you tell us about him?" Melissa asked, uncrossing her long beautiful legs as he looked at her.

He received a very clear and beautiful look at her nudeness, too. He was going to enjoy this interview, he decided. Both women smiled at him innocently.

"Where would you like for me to start?" he asked as Lisa came back into the room with a tray of coffee.

"How about at the beginning?" Sandy asked, turning professional again when Lisa entered the room and handed her a steaming cup of coffee.

"Would you like cream or sugar?" she asked them.

"No sugar, but we both just love cream," Melissa smiled, licking her lips, and then glanced at Tommy when Lisa offered Sandy the carafe of cream.

Tommy smiled, then began talking, letting his mind travel back in time. He talked for nearly thirty minutes, ending with his belief that Cramer had killed Lindsey in order to stop her investigating him further.

"It seems he may have reason to harm you further, Mister LeSade. If given the chance," Sandy said.

"I'm sure he would - if he got the chance. But, he's still safe in Pakistan as far as I know," he said, tossing a little bait out at them.

"We have reason to believe that he is actually hunting you as we speak," Sandy said, looking seriously into Tommy's eyes.

"Why do you believe that?"

"Four days ago he called a friend of ours in Washington D.C., actually Quantico, Virginia, asking about your last known address. He led her to believe you two were old friends, who, over the years, had lost contact. He wanted, so he claimed, to renew your old friendship."

"We were never friends," Tommy said firmly. "Make no mistake about that."

"It doesn't sound like it, after what he did to you, twice," Melissa said, doe eyed.

"Mister LeSade, we appreciate you taking the time to talk to us so candidly about this. We will place surveillance around the area for the next few days to keep a watch for Cramer. We're sure he's going to find you here. One of the addresses on his list was this one. It's the farthest from DC. So, will probably be his last stop," Sandy said as she stood, giving him one more good long look up her skirt.

Luckily, Lisa was looking worriedly at Tommy. Had she been looking at the women, FBI'ess or no FBI'ess, she would have been on her in a flash.

Tommy smiled inwardly at the look up the skirt, but internally he was grim, he knew that his killing wasn't over, after all.

"It has been a pleasure," Melissa said, and then when Tommy looked over at her, she stood, giving him another good long look up her own skirt. Again Lisa was staring fixedly at him.

"It has indeed been a pleasure, I assure you," he said as he stood to escort the two women to the door.

At the door both women turned and winked at him with a smile. They extended their hands to him and he took them one at a time and found them warm and delicate.

"Anytime you want us, we're here for you Mister LeSade," Sandy assured him.

"I'll keep that in mind, ladies. But, can we drop the 'mister', just call me Tommy. I'm much more comfortable with informality and after what we've shared; I feel we're old friends."

"Then you must call us Sandy and Melissa."

"Deal," he replied.

"Well Tommy, we'll be seeing you around, then," Melissa said, and then she and Sandy turned and swayed seductively to their car.

He watched them all the way. As they drove off he closed the door and turned his mind back to Lisa. The two FBI'esses were history. "Lisa?" Tommy called as he walked from room to room.

"In the bedroom," she answered.

"You know, I never did collect my prize the other day."

"You collected your prize many, many times, Tommy!" she laughed.

"Those times weren't really the 'prize' though," he argued, kissing her neck and earlobes, loving the fragrance of her perfume and shampoo.

He thought the perfume may be 'Wild Musk', his favorite.

"I hope you never collect your prize, Tommy," she said softly as she began to overheat.

Tommy picked her up in his arms. "Me too," he whispered as he lay her down gently on the bed, then lay down beside her and gathered her into his arms.

* * * * *

Cramer arrived in Tulsa at two o'clock in the morning. He found a motel room for a week and slept until noon the following day. By one o'clock in the afternoon he was sitting in a restaurant eating lunch. By three o'clock he was sitting in a bar drinking beer and talking to first one person then another. He was a good judge of character. By five o'clock he was talking to a man about handguns and rifles. By seven o'clock he was paying the man five hundred dollars for a scoped .30-.30 Winchester, lever action rifle; not his favorite choice for a sniper rifle, but he figured it would kill Tommy LeSade just as dead as the best sniper rifle in the world.

He spent a few hours the next day in the country around a town named Chouteau zeroing in the scope. It wasn't far off at a hundred yards, which is about what he figured his shot would be.

By noon he was driving south on Highway 82 headed for Tahlequah and one last Tommy LeSade. Unbeknownst to him Kalief Goldman was making the same connection in Tel Aviv, Israel, concerning one Tommy LeSade in Tahlequah, Oklahoma.

As Cramer entered the outskirts of Tahlequah and drove past the Indian hospital, then past the university Kalief was boarding a plane for the United States. He would be in Tahlequah in less than twenty-four hours.

Cramer stopped at a restaurant for lunch and then began driving around town searching for West Cherokee and house number 406, where he hoped to find Tommy LeSade and convince him it was in his best interest, and the best interest of his loved ones, to return him his money immediately.

By two o'clock he was cruising past the house for the second time in an hour; first one way, then the other. He had seen no activity around the house and there was no vehicle in the driveway, but the garage door was closed, he noted.

In a custom van with tinted windows a block away, Special Agent Fredrick Wright took note of the new Lincoln that had passed for the second time in an hour. He wrote down the license plate number and called it in. Within five minutes he knew the car had been rented in Washington, D.C. by Niles Cramer. He notified the other four agents in the area assigned to the detail and they began to watch the Lincoln closely. There was nothing more they could do. Cramer hadn't broken any laws, yet.

As Cramer cruised by the house for the second time he decided to come back to the house after dark. He figured the occupants would be home by ten. He planned to watch them for a day or so and get to know them by sight. Unless the man who lived here was the Tommy LeSade he intended to kill.

If there was a wife or kids, he could take one, or both, as bargaining chips, to make LeSade either return his money, or at least exchange himself for them. Then, he could make Tommy do as he wished.

Cramer drove to a motel on the outskirts of Muskogee and took a room for three days, with an option to extend his stay if need be. He ate supper at a local restaurant and returned to the motel for a few hours.

At eight o'clock he drove back to Tahlequah to do a little surveillance work. He had to be sure before he acted. Grabbing the wrong person would gain him nothing at all. He had to know he had the right Tommy LeSade.

He didn't want to kill an innocent person unless that person got in the way. If that happened they were fair game in any game of war. And this was a game of war! Plain and simple.

Five minutes after Cramer had driven past Tommy's house for the second time, an FBI agent was knocking on his door to let him know that Cramer had been spotted in the area. Tommy had thanked him for the update and offered him and his partners coffee, then said good night.

As he closed the door he felt his adrenaline begin to flow as it had in Iraq. His heart seemed to be beating slightly harder. He seemed to be more aware of his surroundings. He even sensed himself more profoundly as he walked back through the house to the bedroom. It was as if he was 'more there', more solidly fixed in the present. More Alive!

"Lisa, they spotted Cramer driving past the house about ten minutes ago. Be alert. Stay away from the windows. There's no telling what he may do. Or try," he told her calmly, as he slid the closet door back.

Inside, stored on the top shelf was his Army issue Colt .45 Model 1911. He slid the clip into the grip and jacked a round into the chamber, then placed the weapon on safe. He walked back through the house to the living room.

He went to the computer and activated the security system. Instantly several views of the house and yard appeared on four monitors. The images began to move as the strategically placed cameras began to sweep the house and yard.

Movement sensors would sense any movement large enough to be a human being and instantly sound an alarm. One of the cameras in that sector would instantly lock onto the movement and follow it as it neared. The image would be locked on the monitor and that sector would be flooded by a blinding brilliant light that would incapacitate the intruder until he could be subdued and apprehended. If another movement alarm sounded, two of the cameras would self release from the first alarm and lock on to the second alarm. They would be met there by two additional cameras programmed to monitor that area. Their images would be displayed on one of the other screens in four sections.

If multiple alarms sounded, each camera would monitor its assigned area. The four computer monitors would then be shared by eight cameras on split screens. As the moving object, or objects, advanced across the yard the cameras would follow all the way to the house, then the internal cameras and alarms would take over.

Tommy sat in his chair and began to watch the inactivity of his surrounding yard and house. Absolutely nothing moved on the full color screens, not a bird, a stray cat or dog. Not even a moth headed for the light. He wasn't even sure there were insects in his yard. Even though the views were crystal clear, it seemed he was looking at the house and yard through four paneless windows. It was eerie, in a sense.

* * * * *

Sandy Borne and Melissa Jackson had been spending a lot of time together since that first night. They were quickly becoming inseparable. The day following their interview with Tommy they were still talking about their free-shots they had each given him in his living room. They found discussing their memories enhanced their own desire for each other.

Even now, as they drove back to Hominy with a warrant for the arrest of Warden John Chambers, Melissa could not prevent her hand from resting on Sandy's thigh. She slid it casually back and forth, her fingers caressing the silky smooth skin on the inside of Sandy's thigh. Her fingers and palm gradually slid higher and higher, slowly inching Sandy's skirt higher and higher. Sandy smiled with pleasure. She spread her knees a little farther apart and Melissa took advantage of the better access and her hand slid up and into Sandy's crotch. Melissa found her open and wet with desire. She delicately caressed the hard nodule of flesh exposed from its hiding place in the satiny folds of skin.

"If you keep doing that, I'm going to bust!" Sandy said passionately, biting her lower lip gently and hunching her groin forward onto the encroaching finger.

Melissa laughed teasingly and withdrew her finger. Sandy moaned with disappointment.

"You're lucky we're not far from the prison," Melissa teased. "Otherwise I'd have your heels in the air."

"It's just ahead," Sandy said. "You're the lucky one. If we weren't so close I'd pull over and make you finish what you started, hussy!"

"That would be my pleasure, sweetie," Melissa said seriously, then winked and licked her lips hungrily.

Sandy laughed and said, "You just wait until tonight, girl. You'll be sorry!"

"Oh, I doubt that," she smiled back, as Sandy turned the car left off the main highway and started down the long driveway to the Connors Unit.

"Here we come, ready or not, Warden Chambers," Sandy said, as she pulled into a parking place near the front of the building.

"I wonder if he's expecting us," Melissa mused, as they got out and started for the entrance.

"I sure hope not," Sandy laughed. "I just love the look of total surprise and disbelief on their faces when they realize they were caught with their pants down," she added, as Melissa held the door for her.

"Me, too," Melissa agreed, then stepped in behind her and walked beside her to the reception desk.

"Hi Ladies," the guard on duty at the desk smiled. "Who are you here to see?"

"I'm Special Agent Borne and this is my partner Agent Jackson, FBI. We're here to see Warden John Chambers," she finished holding her badge and identification up for the guard to inspect. Melissa did the same. The guard ignored them for the most part.

"He left yesterday about noon. He hasn't been seen since. His house has been vacated and some of his personal belongings are missing, as is his car. Sorry," the guard said, paling slightly, placing both hands on the counter edge, as if to hold himself erect.

"Any idea where he might have gone?" Sandy asked.

"Not a clue. I did hear that he came into a lot of money, though," he offered helpfully.

"Do you mind if we have a look in his office?" Melissa asked.

"Can I see the warrant?"

Melissa produced it from her purse and handed it to him. He read it and handed it back. "Follow me, please," he said, then turned and came from behind the desk and led them down the hallway to the office.

On the computer screen flashed the words, 'BYE BYE!'

"Run Johnny run!" Sandra laughed. Melissa and the guard joined in. They turned and left the office.

Sandy and Melissa walked past the reception desk and out the door.

Melissa went to the driver's door and got in. Sandy settled in on the passenger side and smiled over at Melissa, "Pay back time," she said seductively.

"You wouldn't dare!" Melissa laughed as she fastened her shoulder strap and closed the door. She hiked her skirt up high and started the engine.

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Sandy laughed.

Before they reached the end of the parking lot, Sandy's hands were in action; one for each of them.

* * * * *

Ex-Warden John Chambers ran for his life. There was no way he could spend the rest of his life inside a system he had helped to create and bring into the twentieth century. Especially for something he hadn't done! That system was for the losers; the scum of society. He certainly wasn't one of them! He had done nothing wrong! He couldn't explain how the money had come to be in his possession. He certainly hadn't put it there. He knew nothing about it. But, he had seen the system work before and it wasn't in the best interests of the accused. So he knew, no matter what he said or did, he would not be believed, just as the millions of others before him had not been believed.

In modern America, one was guilty until proven, beyond a shadow of a doubt, innocent.

Yes, John Chambers knew the system was jam packed with men and women, who didn't, in any way, belong there. They, like him, had gotten caught up in circumstances beyond their control, then were left alone to fend for themselves against an oppressor, who paraded as a liberator, who could care less about civil, constitutional or human rights, and who they had not even a mere weak, spark of power to defend against, and an even lesser chance of defeating. John Chambers was smart enough to know that he had been entrapped by the beast and his doom was sealed. He was a goner!

In situations like he was in, he knew the only defense was money, power and/or connections. He had none of the above, so he had chosen the only option he did have access to. Distance! The very last option for a man in his position. The greater the distance between him and his oppressor the better his chances of survival; maybe.

The Mexico border was a mere half an hour ahead. He had been driving since late yesterday evening when he had come to the conclusion about what he must do. He had taken what money he had and a few 'must have' possessions and had hit the highway running south as fast as the speed limit would allow. In this case it was 85 MPH for cars and 65 for trucks. He was pushing it a little, as all drivers did. The Mexico border was getting closer with every revolution of his tires. His only stops had been for fuel, for both him and the car. He was awash in strong black coffee and still his eyes drooped from time to time.

He had bought a few snacks at the last rest area he had stopped at to relieve his bladder. These helped to relieve the acid of worry that ate relentlessly at his stomach; like a live rat in a basket strapped to his stomach.

His money was mostly gone. The Feds had seized his bank accounts before he even knew it was gone. He had five-thousand dollars left to build his new life upon in Mexico, or parts farther south.

There was only one way he could turn five grand into a decent nest egg; illegal drugs! They were a necessary evil of the American economy despite what the government raged. He did not personally use, love, hate or abide them. But, he understood the war on drugs was nothing but an economic front for the government. After all was said and done, if drugs were legalized, where would the government's thousands of employees who fought against them, find new employment? Certainly not in America. Therefore he knew the war on drugs was a loser. Hell, anyone who cared to look closely could see it a mile away and recognize it for what it was; a grand illusion!

The prisons were overcrowded and ready to explode into violence at any second and still the government continued to pack them into their inhumane warehouses as if they were nothing more than sides of beef. Then held guns on them to keep them from objecting. Then to add insult to injury forced them to serve 85% of their sentence before they would be considered for release. On a thirty-year sentence a person must serve 26 calendar years before he could be released. In most cases, he was beyond sixty years old and after half his lifetime in prison, he was released with no prospects. What was he expected to do? His family was, for the most part, dead. He was all but forgotten. His children were grown with families of their own. They wanted nothing to do with a person they neither knew nor wanted. He was adrift in a society he didn't know or understand. His only option was more crime or homelessness on the streets to survive out of dumpsters. John knew that wasn't going to be the life for him, so he sped for the border as fast as his Dodge Ram would carry him. In America, under an assumed name, the best he could hope for would be a minimum wage job. He knew that wasn't even surviving. That was merely existing. In that case, one's only option was to have a little something on the side. Usually that meant selling a little something illegal. That something was usually illegal drugs to willing buyers. Those willing buyers would get them somewhere if that was their desire, which it obviously was or there wouldn't be a need for so many dealers and so much drugs.

As he drove along at eighty five miles per hour he wondered just how long it was going to take the American people to wake up to the fact that the American government was just as corrupt, if not more so, than any other in the world. Just because they shouted 'democracy' in loud voices, from coast-to-coast, did not make democracy a reality.

John viewed it much as he viewed religion, in that Satan's greatest trick was to convince the people that he didn't exist. Likewise, the American Government's greatest trick was to make the American people believe they were living in a democratic society. Both were false. There was evil in the world and there were electoral votes to cancel out individual votes so that the popular vote no longer mattered. So, American leaders were not chosen by the people, for the people. They were chosen for the people by the ruling elite, selected by the multinational corporations if they toed the line and sold their souls to the devil in exchange.

It's all bullshit! Smoke and mirrors, John thought as his eyes once again grew heavy. Deceive the poor and ignorant into slavery for the government and call it democracy; the American way.

Shout it loud enough, often enough and long enough and soon the slaves began to believe it and echo it until they were in time with the originators.

Of course the politicians had to keep a serious, solemn and straight face and the gullible, ignorant masses would kill for and worship at the feet of the Great Deceiver.

Power, John thought, it's all about power. Getting it and keeping it. And most of all, using it for self-elevation, no matter who was trampled underfoot in the race for the top of the heap.

John was so deep in angry thought that he failed to notice he had drifted over the median line of the highway and into the path of a parked eighteen wheeler until it was much too late. His right foot left the accelerator petal, and the steering wheel moved fifteen degrees, as the front bumper of the car entered under the rear end of the trailer at 85 miles per hour. It continued under the trailer until it slammed into the rear tandem axle and stopped dead. The rear end of the car slammed up nearly three feet in the sudden stop.

The rear door of the trailer stopped at the top of the front seat. The only thing that stopped John from being propelled from the vehicle was the fact that his face had made near instant contact with the oncoming doors. They stopped his forward plunge, but in the end, as the car stopped, his head flew over the back seat and out the rear window of the car. It was instantly smacked by the front bumper of an oncoming, but sliding, car bumper that had managed to slow from 85 miles per hour to 81 miles per hour. John's head was slammed between the dual tires of the tractor and would be found three hours later when a Highway Patrolman noticed the tires appeared to be bleeding.

The steering wheel collapsed around the steering column, as it was designed to do. But John's instant forward momentum caught him at the bottom of his chest and entered his chest cavity at 84.9 miles per hour. Almost instantly his chest was slammed against the back doors of the trailer and the steering column ripped through his groin as the trailer shoved him off the column and pushed his head back over the top of the front seat.

His face shattered like a ripe apple shot from a cannon at a concrete wall. The contact lasted a mere millionth of a second before his skull shattered into a million pieces. But, John Chambers was long dead by that time. His spirit had fled his body before the impact with the trailer. His limp, lifeless, shattered body fell across the dash of the car and his remaining lifeblood began to puddle onto the crumpled hood and then drain off to the ground to mix with the engine oil, antifreeze, transmission fluid and gasoline from the mangled and ruined drive train.

Gasoline shot from the ruptured carburetor and fuel line and splashed onto the exceedingly hot exhaust manifold as the front of the car compressed and shoved the engine and transmission back through the firewall and into the front seat. The engine compartment burst into flame with a loud wooofff, as John Chambers was launched forward into forever.

As John's severed head was slammed between the tires of the tractor, the driver's door jumped open and the driver's hand tooled western style, custom made boot, the top encased very tightly into the leg of Levis, popped out and found support on the chrome plated step rail along under the door. The driver never saw John's head, but his eyes almost popped out of his head as he saw the oncoming, sideways car bearing down on him. His custom made boot barely made it back inside the cab before the oncoming car came sliding down the front of the tractor and sheared the driver's door off at the hinges, then continued to spin around the front of the tractor and off into the right of way along the right hand side of the highway.

It would be fifteen minutes before the Texas Highway Patrol would arrive. He had to drive from the Border Crossing. When he arrived, it was the first time in his fifteen-year career as a State Trooper that he became violently ill.

The headless body in the car was burned beyond recognition. The only link they would have to his identity would be the license plate on the rear of the car.

The truck driver was sitting petrified behind his steering wheel; he had gotten out to check for survivors. He was wondering if he would be listed among them.

The woman in the passing car that had smacked John's severed head and then slid down the side of the truck, nearly defooting the truck driver, sat in the door of her car and chain smoked from a pack of Camel Filters.

Five minutes after getting control of himself, Trooper Delbert Englebright learned that the deceased was Warden John Chambers of the Oklahoma Department of Corrections. He was wanted for embezzling state funds. He was found not guilty, as a matter of course and buried at state expense with full honors in the State Capitol since he had no family.

Chapter 10

Cramer drove slowly past Tommy LeSade's residence. He circled the block, and then parked halfway down the block behind a custom van with tinted windows. He could plainly see the front of Tommy's house from his vantage point. He picked up the new spotting scope from the seat beside him and brought it to his eye. He began to search the front of the house, starting along the front, from side to side. He spotted two dim red lights under the eaves of the roof; one at each end of the house.

Security cameras, he thought. That complicated matters considerably. He slowly moved the scope along the side of the house, then down to the lawn, across, back and back up the side of the house to the eve. Halfway down he spotted two more cameras, both were moving slowly.

When he was satisfied he had seen everything he could from this vantage point, he started the car and drove slowly along the street. He could see faint light around some of the window curtains as he drove slowly past the front. That didn't necessarily mean anyone was home, but it did mean the house wasn't vacant.

Down the street he turned the car around and approached the house from the other direction. When he could see the front door he pulled to the curb and parked. He began to scope the side of the house. Almost immediately he spotted the cameras. They were the same as the others. Two small faint red lights under the eve at each end and in the middle.

As he watched the red lights he noticed one was making a slow arc along the wall. Roving, he thought, as he began to sweep the side of the house, slowly working his way down the wall to the yard, then across to the edge of the yard. He also scoped the entire front of the house again.

Satisfied, he started the car and drove off slowly. He decided he would have to think about the security cameras and how to get around them. It was the unforeseen obstructions that flawed a perfect plan.

A surprise attack on the house would be impossible with the cameras watching everything. He would never know who might be watching the monitors.

Explosives, he wondered.

No, I don't know if it's the right target or not. No innocent people. I'm not a murderer!

He drove slowly around Tahlequah while he considered his options. He familiarized himself with the street layout as he drove, so he could make a quick exit if necessary. He learned Tahlequah wasn't very big when after ten minutes of slow driving, he was on the other side and heading for a town named Wagoner. He turned around and started slowly back.

He turned left at a traffic light. The street curved in a long S and he passed by the college campus and Indian hospital. He knew where he was, sort of. He turned around and started back toward West Cherokee Street

He couldn't think of a way around the security cameras. He drove back along the street to the traffic light, turned left and drove out of town and back to Muskogee. His mind churned the problem over and over the entire way.

* * * * *

Special Agent Fred Wright couldn't believe his eyes when the new Lincoln pulled up behind his van and parked. His heart began to race and his breathing began to speed up. He moved very slowly inside the van, not wanting to cause any movement of the vehicle body. He noticed his hands shook slightly, something that had never happened before.

"I'm getting too old for this kind of work!" he told his partner, Jim Stevens, a twenty-year veteran of the FBI, in a soft voice.

"I know what you mean, Fred," Stevens whispered back, as he picked up a camera, aimed it through the window and began shooting frame after frame at the occupant of the new Lincoln.

"You have the right camera?" Fred asked.

"Yeah, daylight on the right. Dark on the left," he answered, looking over his shoulder to be sure. He turned back and started snapping pictures again. "Our boy's got a spotting scope on the front of the house."

"Not illegal," Fred replied seriously, almost to himself. "Yet," he added, hopefully.

"Ah oh! Our boy's leaving," Jim said, taking pictures of the license plate when the Lincoln backed up far enough. He continued snapping pictures as the car pulled out and slowly drove down the street.

"We better alert LeSade that the villain is in the area," Fred said, as the Lincoln moved down the street.

"Hold on, brake lights!" Jim said quickly.

They both watched as the car turned around and started back toward them. They continued to watch as it pulled to the side of the street and parked. The headlights blinked out. Everything grew quiet again. They sat and watched in silence.

"Go ahead and call LeSade. Let him know Cramer's out here and what's happening," Jim said, putting a new roll of film in the camera.

"Maybe we'd better wait for a few minutes to see what he'll do next," Fred replied. "He may move again."

"Right," Jim replied, setting the camera aside. He moved the camera case around in the seat and removed a telescopic lens from one of the pockets. He looked through the lens at the Lincoln parked in front of them.

"I don't understand," Jim said. "He's just sitting there scoping the front of the house.

"Maybe trying to verify his target," Fred suggested.

"Yeah, or checking out the security."

"He won't be able to get past that without being seen."

"Our boy is moving again," Jim said, seeing the exhaust fume from the tail pipe as the engine started. Then the headlights came on and the Lincoln pulled away from the curb.

The Lincoln drifted toward them slowly. It turned left at the intersection and drifted into the night like a Great White Shark in the deep blue sea.

"Well, what now?" Fred asked, watching the Lincoln drift out of sight.

"We wait," Jim answered calmly. "Better call LeSade and let him know," he added, moving back into the captain's chair seat and relaxed. He was getting sleepy and hungry.

"Notify the locals for a routine stop and look?" Fred asked, as he punched LeSade's number into his cell phone. "Contact the others and let them know what we saw," Fred added.

"Might as well. I'm getting tired of this already. It's been a long day," Jim complained, turning the radio on and removing the microphone from the dash mount.

Tommy listened closely to the FBI agent. He stared at the monitors. They were the deadest television he had ever watched. The cameras inched along slowly, showing the same areas over and over. The landscape was lifeless, except for the occasional night bird, bat or bug that flew by. When the FBI agent finished talking Tommy thanked him for the update, and then turned his cell phone off. He leaned back in his chair and continued staring at the monitors.

Two hours later he got up and walked through the dark house to the bedroom. The digital clock on the bedside table read 2:23 A.M. Lisa was sound asleep, secure in the belief that Tommy could and would keep her safe from all evil. He looked down at her sleeping face and realized that she was just as beautiful asleep as she was wide awake.

She looks so peaceful, he thought. Like a child, or an angel in a painting. He smiled then lowered himself gently onto the bed so he wouldn't disturb her sleep.

He slowly drifted off to sleep, trusting the security system and the men outside about as far as he could throw a '55 Chevy hardtop. But he could not be at his peak if he was exhausted and sleep deprived.

Mostly he needed his rest for his three hour morning ritual. He worked out with some weight, never exceeding three-hundred pounds, and then did calisthenics for an hour followed by his martial arts program he had devised for his individual needs.

At exactly five o'clock his eyes snapped open. He gently removed Lisa's arm from across his chest. She grunted in her sleep, then turned over and continued to sleep. He patted her bottom gently then got up. He was ready for whatever the day may bring.

What he wasn't expecting was Austin Lake to show up on his doorstep with Linda in tow.

"Colonel Lake, what a surprise. Come in, Come in. Make yourself at home," he said at the door when he opened it and saw them standing there. He offered his hand, and then pulled the big Colonel to his chest.

On the street behind them was a pickup truck hooked to a very well packed U-Haul trailer. It looked as if they had come to stay.

"Hello, Tommy. It's good to see you again," Austin said as he hugged Tommy back and pounded him on the back while shaking his hand vigorously.

"Linda you get more beautiful every day," Tommy said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her cheek, then a tap on her lips.

"My how you white boys do carry on!" she laughed hugging him back tightly and kissed his cheek, then hugged him again and kissed his lips. "I just love having a big strong man in my arms!" she whispered, laughing softly, as she patted his butt with one hand and his broad muscular back with the other.

"Watch her Tommy," Austin warned. "She'll be taking your vitals if you don't. And she don't use a thermometer in the mouth to take a temperature, either," Austin laughed.

"None of my nurses in Iraq or Germany were this beautiful. I'll submit willingly to whatever she wants to do to me!"

"Yep, just as I thought! There's a sucker born every minute!"

Tommy and Linda laughed, looking into each other's eyes affectionately.

Linda Lake was indeed a beautiful woman. Her color was a golden tan. Her body, short slim and firm with curves in all the right places. Her eyes a topaz gold that sparkled like diamonds.

"I'll get Lisa. It's time she was up and around anyway. It's almost nine o'clock anyway. Coffee's in the kitchen, through there," he added over his shoulder as he left the room, pointing.

Fifteen minutes later Tommy was back. He had showered, shaved and dressed in blue jeans and a pullover Polo shirt.

"So, you folks find everything alright?" he asked as he entered the kitchen.

"It'd be hard not to in this little kitchen," Linda teased playfully.

"It is a little small," Tommy agreed looking around. "But I prefer to call it cozy."

"It'll be real cozy when Lisa squeezes in here," Linda smiled. "But I won't mind as long as I'm standing next to you, Tommy," she winked hugely.

"Linda behave. All you've talked about since we left Austin, is Tommy LeSade! You've never even met him before. You don't even know him," Austin laughed playfully.

"Give me time, Austin! I'm working on it. And I am a quick study, when it comes to gorgeous men!" she teased back, patting Austin on the shoulder.

"Tommy is private property! Trespassers will be...shall we say...dealt with?" Lisa said seriously as she walked into the kitchen.

"Well said," Linda laughed. "You see Austin, you have nothing to worry about. As long as Lisa's around."

"It's when she's not around that worries me." he said over his coffee cup. He blew the steam across it, then sipped the scalding black brew carefully. They all laughed like old friends.

"I'll bet you folks are about starved," Lisa said, changing the subject.

"I don't know what I am, more starved, or more exhausted," Linda sighed, looking meanly at Austin. "And it's all his fault! He drove all night and only stopped once for gas," she accused further.

"How would you know? You slept the whole way," he responded playfully.

It was easy for Tommy and Lisa to see that Linda and Austin got along like an old married couple. Lisa could tell that Linda worshiped Austin and it was easy for Tommy to see that Austin adored Linda. He knew they had been married for over thirty years. And that said something for a military couple.

"I wasn't asleep," Linda retorted, "Just resting my eyes."

"With your mouth open, snoring like a drunk Lord?" Austin said skeptically.

"I don't snore, Austin! You beast!"

"Honey, I had to roll the windows down to keep them from shattering!" he went on playfully, feeding the fire, then sipped his coffee calmly as if repeating gospel truth, his face serious as a fire and brimstone Baptist preacher.

Tommy and Lisa laughed at the easy banter of the couple. Linda sat stiff and indignant, staring incredulously at her husband. When he continued to sip his coffee undisturbed, she smiled at him with love in her eyes.

"He's all talk," Linda said, looking sheepishly at her hosts.

"So, how about some eggs and bacon, toast and cereal?" Lisa asked everyone, looking around the small table.

Everyone agreed, so she and Linda got up and got busy.

"Linda relax, I know you're exhausted. I'll take care of everything," Lisa said.

"Nonsense, Honey. I slept the whole way!" she whispered aside to Lisa conspiratorially while waiting to be told what to do.

"In that case, you can do the toast," Lisa laughed.

"We'll close on the property, Friday," Tommy said over breakfast. "Then find a designer and builder and start construction as soon as possible. We should be up and running in six months or so," he added.

"What breed of horses are you going to raise?" Austin asked.

"We haven't decided for sure. But probably Morgan or Appaloosa," Lisa said, looking at Tommy for confirmation.

"Everyone around here raises Quarter horses. So, we thought we'd do something different," Tommy said, shrugging his shoulders undecidedly.

"We'll have plenty of room. Six hundred acres with an option to buy a thousand more connecting to the first five hundred," Tommy said, and then began to describe the ranch he had in mind.

After thirty minutes, breakfast was finished and they sat around over their dirty dishes talking about everything that came to mind until the conversation began to drag. Tommy and Lisa could see that Austin was exhausted and refused to admit it.

"Well, Colonel, you'd better get some rest before you fall in your plate," Tommy joked.

"Show me the way," Austin replied, then stood from the table and waited to be shown to their room.

On the way to the guest bedroom, Tommy explained about Cramer and the vigil he was keeping and the FBI presence outside.

"So, we need to keep Linda and Lisa inside until Cramer is caught or otherwise dealt with. If and when he makes his move it will be settled decisively, once and for all," Tommy continued as he opened the bedroom door. "We'll talk more later. For now, get some rest. You need it."

"If you need me, I'll stay up," Austin offered, his eyes coming open wide.

"You'll get your chance. For now you need some sleep. So get it while you can, Colonel."

"Just the same, call me if you need me. I still sleep light."

"Will do. See you later," Tommy said, then turned and went back into the kitchen and the girls.

He stopped in the door and watched them for a minute, listening to their quiet conversation. Then turned and went to his computer and the security monitors. He sat down and began watching the slow, steady passing of the yard and surrounding areas.

* * * * *

Cramer was up and eating breakfast by 9:00 AM the following morning.

He had devised a plan that he believed would work. After breakfast he drove to a car rental office and exchanged the Lincoln for a blue mini-van, then drove back to the motel. He loaded his personal effects and the rifle into the van and drove back to Tahlequah.

At a small tractor repair shop on the north side of town he paid the owner five-hundred dollars to use his welding equipment for a few hours.

Within an hour and a half he had devised and built a silencer for the Winchester rifle. He was confident it would work for the purpose he had in mind.

He drove further out of town to a lonely wooded area that he thought was secluded. He walked into the woods with the rifle and silencer. After affixing the silencer to the rifle, he picked a small tree and test fired the rifle. The sound was like a muffled hand clap. The rifle also shot slightly high and to the right. He made a few small adjustments to the scope, then fired again. It was dead on target once again. He smiled with satisfaction. He returned to the van and drove back to town for lunch. After lunch he drove back to the area of Tommy's house. From a side street he was able to see one side and the back of the LeSade residence.

He parked along the street and moved to the back of the van. He slid a rear window open about four inches and rested the end of the silenced barrel in the corner of the window frame. He sighted carefully through the scope and finding the camera under the back corner of the roof, he aligned the cross-hairs on it and gently squeezed the trigger.

The camera exploded in a shower of glass and plastic when the .30-.30 slug hit it.

The sound was almost inaudible. Cramer smiled to himself and sighted on the next two cameras. They also exploded in a spray of debris. For the first time in years Tommy LeSade was blind and vulnerable.

Cramer drove the van down the alley behind the house and parked. Taking the rifle he approached the rear of the house near the blind corner. He noticed the back door was open, but the screen door closed, but not locked he discovered when he tried it. He opened the storm door carefully and stepped inside the house, then eased it closed gently behind him. It didn't latch.

As he stepped into the kitchen Lisa entered with an armload of folded dish towels. They fell soundlessly to the floor when she saw Cramer and the leveled rifle. She took a deep breath for her call to Tommy.

"It'll be the last sound you make," he promised coldly.

The call failed to materialize. It died in a sudden intake of breath. "What do you want?" she asked calmly.

"My money! And you to insure I get it," he replied softly, so as not to alert anyone in the house of his presence. "Now, come on or I'll kill you where you stand. Your choice, Little Lady."

Lisa led Cramer out the back door, across the back yard and out to the parked van. She followed Cramer's directions and got in the driver's seat. Cramer walked around the front of the van, keeping the barrel of the silenced rifle pointed at her the whole time. He opened the passenger door, got inside and told her where to drive.

"Let's go," he said, keeping the rifle trained on her head. "Just follow my directions and you may survive this," he said, as she put the van in gear and drove off down the alley.

Tommy and Linda had been sitting in the living room talking. Lisa was doing a load of laundry. Austin was in the guest room asleep. No one noticed three of the monitors blink out one after the other. They all heard three solid thumps against the house. Tommy and Linda both assumed the sounds were made by Lisa.

Several minutes later she walked through the living room with an arm load of clean and neatly folded dish towels, headed for the kitchen. After ten minutes, when Lisa hadn't returned, and had made no noise, Linda began to worry. "I'd better go check on Lisa. That girl done got hung up on something!" she said, standing and heading for the kitchen. She was back instantly. "She's gone, Tommy. The dish towels are in a pile on the floor!" she said, fear and worry in her voice and expression.

Tommy stood immediately. He saw three of the monitors were showing white snow. He hurried for the kitchen. On the floor were the dish towels. He looked at the back door and saw that it wasn't latched. He stepped out and looked around the back yard. He saw three of the security cameras were busted, hanging loosely on their wire.

"Cramer!" he whispered, running along the side of the house to the street and the parked custom van.

"Lisa's gone!" he said urgently as the door slid open and Fred stuck his head out.

"What do you mean, gone?" he asked skeptically.

"I mean gone! As in not here anymore!"

"You mean dead?" Fred asked concern strong in his voice.

"No! Goddamnit! I mean gone! As in taken from here! Are you stupid, or deaf, or what?" Tommy said calmly, deadly.

"The blue mini-van!" Jim said, his head behind Fred's. "It's the only vehicle in the area in the past twenty minutes or so. It had to be him! I'll alert the others to be on the lookout," he added, picking up the microphone and making the call.

"He wants me, not her," Tommy said. "He'll call. I'm going back inside to wait," he continued, then turned and ran back inside the house.

His wait wasn't long. Fifteen minutes passed since he had reentered the house. He paced around carrying the cell phone until it buzzed in his hand.

"Hello?" he answered impatiently.

"Well, well, Captain LeSade. It's been a while. Seems like we both have something that belongs to the other," Cramer said calmly, like an old friend. "I'm willing to make an exchange, if you are."

"Who are you and what do you want?" Tommy asked, playing dumb.

"I'll exchange this strikingly beautiful piece of ass for all of my money back."

"What money?"

"Now, now, Captain. Don't be coy. I haven't the patience for it. This cunt means nothing to me. I'll kill her with pleasure after I destroy her mentally and physically. Your choice," Cramer said calmly.

Tommy's mind raced wildly. His thought processes and decision making functions were in hyper drive.

"What do you say, Captain. I don't have forever. What will it be? The money or the girl? Last chance, Captain Hero," Cramer taunted sadistically.

"How do you want to do it?" Tommy asked.

"I'll let you know," Cramer said, then clicked off.

Tommy went straight to the computer to activated the 'failsafe'. He entered the long code and brought up the program, then activated the failsafe he had written and from there went to his phone tracing program and activated it. This program automatically traced the phone call back to its origin.

The failsafe would transfer all of the money to any destination in the world. Exactly thirty minutes later, it would transfer it all back to its point of origin. It would also record the exact address of the inquiring party. With everything ready and waiting, he sat back and waited. The cursor on his computer screen flashed off and on patiently. It had forever.

Ten minutes later Tommy's cell phone buzzed. He answered it, noticing Austin fully dressed, sitting in a chair sipping a cup of coffee. He had no idea how long he had been there.

"Here's how we'll do it, Captain," Cramer said when Tommy answered the call. "Write this account number and web address down. Transfer all the money there. I'll verify the transaction in ten minutes. If it's complete I'll release the girl and walk away. If it's not I'll kill the bitch and come for you. Understood?"

"I gave half of the money to the veterans around the world, Cramer," Tommy said.

"I was wondering where my extra ten grand came from," he mused. "Well! I suppose I can manage on what's left," he laughed.

"What's the address and account number?"

As Cramer gave it Tommy typed it into the computer. When it was complete he confirmed it, and then sent it on its way. "It's on its way, Cramer,"

Tommy said. "If you harm the girl in any way, there's no place on earth you will be safe. So, never stop looking over your shoulder. And never go to sleep. I'll be there!"

"Ooohhhh, you talk so mean, Captain LeSade. To be honest, I'm really scared! Not! Anyway, you made the right decision. See ya!" Cramer was gone. On the screen appeared the address of where the call had originated. It was a motel on the outskirts of town. Tommy knew exactly where it was. He went through the kitchen and into the garage to his new Dodge Ram. He backed out as the door was going up. His tires squealed and smoked as he raced down the driveway in reverse. They continued to smoke and scream as he hit the street, the front end of the truck slid around to point down the street. He slammed it into drive and the tires began to smoke, boil and scream as he raced to the rescue.

The van parked along the street pulled out and followed the truck closely. The driver assumed LeSade knew where he was going and meant to get there in the next two seconds!

Agents Fred Wright and Jim Stevens hadn't heard a word about the blue van, Lincoln, or Cramer since putting out the alert half an hour earlier. It was barely noon and was shaping up to be a long, hot day. Luckily they would be relieved at noon to eat lunch, sleep, shower, and return at midnight to relieve their replacements.

They were surprised when the garage door began to open and the brand new Dodge pickup began to smoke tires in reverse down the driveway and into the street like a stunt driver in some movie, then race down the street past them, engine roaring and tires still smoking like a dragster.

"Follow him if you can!" Jim said, climbing into the front seat. Before he could get settled and buckled in Fred had the van racing after the truck.

The chase led through backstreets and down alleys all the way across town. Tommy cautiously ran red lights and rolled through stop signs until he came out on Highway 51. He turned right and raced toward Wagoner, his tires smoking and the back end of the Dodge Ram Turbo fishtailing as it fought for traction.

When the custom van reached the highway the Ram was just a spec on the distant horizon. Fred and Jim looked both ways then turned to follow the only vehicle in sight.

"Damn, that Ram can sure run!" Jim said, watching the spec disappear over the horizon. "I'll call for back up. Don't lose him!"

Tommy knew the Feds were on his tail as he left his driveway. He didn't care. Lisa was his only concern at the moment. If they couldn't keep up, that was their problem. He eased through red lights and stop signs as he weaved his way across town. He emerged on Highway 51 and raced west. The motel was a couple of miles out on the right hand side of the highway.

Cramer had obviously rented a room at the mom and pop motel. Then used the phone line to connect his laptop to the internet, thus accessed his account in Pakistan.

As Tommy topped the hill, he saw a light blue van leave the driveway of the motel and casually speed west toward Wagoner. Tommy slowed and turned into the motel. He slid to a stop in front of the office and ran inside. The middle aged, attractive lady behind the desk looked up expectantly.

"The blue mini-van that just left. What room was he in?"

"Room five," the woman answered smiling. "But, he hasn't checked out, yet," she continued to smile in a friendly, helpful way until Tommy turned away and raced out the door toward room five, just down the way.

"Hey!" she screamed after him. But it was too late. He was gone out the door.

Tommy didn't pause at the door, he busted through as if it were made of paper. Lisa lay on the bed, gagged and blindfolded, tied spread-eagle on the bed. She was fully dressed and didn't seem to have been harmed. He removed the blindfold first and she began to cry when she saw it was him. He then removed the gag and began to untie her wrists.

"Oh, Tommy! I knew you would come!" she cried happily, throwing her arms around his neck when he released her wrists. They kissed passionately and hugged tightly.

When Tommy saw and tasted her tears he began to get mad. Cramer had made this personal once again and now he would pay the piper. Tommy calmly untied Lisa's ankles and lifted her from the bed. He led her outside as his anger raced through his mind like a wild wave of fire, incinerating everything in its path.

As they stepped out the door the custom van was rolling to a stop. The lady from the front office was crossing the parking lot toward them. She stopped in front of Tommy, fists on hips and demanded angrily, "Who's gonna pay for my door?"

"Where's Cramer?" Jim asked, opening the door and stepping out.

"Gone," Tommy replied, opening the sliding side door of the van and placing Lisa gently inside. "Wait here with these guys. I'll be back in a little while. Pay for the door."

"Tommy, where are you going?" Lisa asked suspiciously.

"After him. If I don't, he'll be back. He'll just kill us next time," he slid the door closed and turned to the truck.

"It's not good to take the law into your own hands, LeSade!" Stevens warned him.

"The law isn't very efficient from what I've seen," Tommy replied, then slid into the Dodge and rolled from the parking lot onto the highway.

"Who's gonna pay for my door?" the woman demanded once again, looking straight at Jim.

"Send a bill to Tommy LeSade," he shrugged.

"Tommy LeSade?" she asked skeptically. "No need to send a bill. I'll just call him. He'll make good, our Tommy will," she turned and went back inside never once looking back.

Stevens got in the van and closed the door. It started slowly for the highway. At the highway, a Highway Patrol car sped by, overheads flashing importantly.

"Damn, he must be moving around a hundred and twenty!" Fred said, turning onto the highway and speeding in the direction Tommy and the Highway Patrolman had gone. He slowly gained speed in the heavy custom van.

In the distance, Tommy saw a dot on the horizon. He didn't know if it was Cramer or not. The front end of the truck seemed to float slightly off the pavement. He glanced down at the speedometer and saw he was moving well over 120 miles per hour. The needle had been pegged, then had been broke off and lay at O.

The dot on the horizon had begun to grow. In his side view mirror, he saw another dot behind him. It was growing rapidly, too.

On top of the dot behind him, an array of flashing lights identified his pursuer as a cop of some kind. Probably a State Trooper, Tommy thought, as the dot continued to get larger. He could now make out the lights flashing wildly, as if they were in sync with the speed of the vehicle. Tommy figured the cop must be traveling at around 160, he was sure gaining fast.

The flashing lights behind him began to appear as a vehicle. Once in a while sparks flew out from under the vehicle as it bottomed out on the pavement. Tommy revised his estimation and decided the cop must be nearing two hundred miles per hour; the car seemed to be sitting on the highway.

Within minutes the vehicle, a helmeted Highway Patrol unit was sitting on Tommy's rear bumper. He could barely hear the hysterical warbling of the siren. He ignored it. Cramer was not getting away scot free again!

In the distance, maybe a mile, Tommy could see a blue spot. It emerged into a mini-van. The same one that had left the motel parking lot earlier. It had to be Cramer.

Tommy eased the Ram into the left lane and began to catch up to the van. The Trooper stayed right with him, but stayed in the right lane. When he was even with Tommy, he motioned for him to fall back and pull over.

Tommy ignored him and eased up beside the mini-van. He began to slow down and ease the Ram slowly to the right. The driver's window lowered. It was Cramer. He struggled with something in the seat beside him with his right hand. He raised it up across his chest, then lowered his hand and picked it up higher. As it slid out the window Tommy realized too late, that it was a rifle with a silencer on it. He realized immediately what was going to happen.

The bullet from the .30-.30 entered through the fender. It struck the engine block just below the exhaust manifold. From there it ricocheted down and away in a u-turn and hit the inside bottom of the tire.

The tire basically exploded off of the rim as the misshapen projectile entered the hot tire and released the hot air inside. As luck would have it, as the projectile entered the tire, the tire dropped into a low spot in the highway, adding the weight of the vehicle to the release of hot air. The tire was forcefully collapsed onto the rim of the wheel. The edges of the wheel rim collapsed, sending a shower of sparks back under the truck and slicing cleanly through the hot rubber, gouging a deep furrow in the asphalt, turning the wheel sharply to the right and dug deeper into the asphalt. It then bounced out of the depression, lifting the right front of the pickup and drifting it to the right.

The truck traveling forward at nearly 110 miles per hour became slightly airborne and began to roll as the rear end began to slide around to the left.

Tommy's last clear vision, as the truck became completely airborne, was of Cramer smiling over the scope of the rifle. Then, Tommy's world began to spin, bounce and roll into darkness.

The highway patrolman, seeing what was happening in front of him, floor boarded his cruiser, and hit the blower and nitrous at nearly the same time, then began to swerve to the right, sliding the rear end of his car around in a broad side spin. His last clear vision was of the Dodge Ram sliding, rolling, bouncing and tumbling end over end and side to side down the highway beside the blue mini-van.

The cruiser clipped the right rear corner of the mini-van with its left front fender as it passed. The cruiser began to spin clockwise and the mini-van began to spin counterclockwise. It flipped almost immediately and joined the macabre ballet down the highway.

The cruiser spun wildly out of control down the side of the highway, then the front end caught on something and the rear end spun around until the front end was freed, then began to slide backwards at nearly 90 miles per hour. The front end slowly slid around as the additional weight of the engine overcame the backward inertia. When it was pointed forward the patrolman stomped the accelerator and hit the Nitrous Oxide system once again and thus, regained control of his cruiser. In all it had made ten complete revolutions and never once threatened to turn over. Amazingly, his inside camera caught the whole thing on film for later confirmation of the superiority of the new prototype cruiser.

The mini-van however, didn't fare so well. When the left rear fender was clipped at one hundred miles per hour, the right rear corner of the mini-van was lifted high and slid forward and to the right by the cruiser moving at nearly 130 miles per hour. The mini-van was spun broadside to the highway and began to roll over and over down the middle of the highway.

On its seventh tumble it topped a hill and was met broadside by an eighteen wheeler traveling east at 65 miles per hour. The small van exploded and was then ripped in two pieces.

As the two vehicles tumbled and rolled down the highway, various pieces of each were thrown into the air as they came apart. The eighteen wheeler fared far better that the other two.

On contact, the eighteen wheeler's sudden decrease in tractor speed caused the heavily loaded box trailer's tires to lose their grip on the highway. The trailer, as a result, began to outrun the tractor that pulled it.

The front half of the mini-van was caught in the pincer of the tractor and trailer coming together in a severe jack knife. The pressure of this bent and warped the frames of the trailer and the tractor, totaling them both.

The back half of the mini-van was batted off the highway by the rear end of the sliding trailer. It came to rest, finally, beside Tommy's smoking, crumpled pickup.

For several seconds following the accident, nothing at all moved. All was calm following the entire five second accident. Then, the left front door of the patrol cruiser opened and the patrolman stepped out. In his hand was the radio microphone. He looked around dizzily, and then began to request assistance as he surveyed the havoc around him. He found it hard to focus on anything, but he knew it was a mess and there was death all along the highway.

"Three-ten to Base?" he said into the microphone.

"Base, three-ten, clear?" came to female response.

"Base, we have a major. One pickup truck, one occupant. Assumed deceased. One mini-van. One occupant confirmed dead. And one eighteen wheeler, one known occupant assumed, uninjured. Request assistance and life flight ambulance, earliest. Approximately one five miles west of Tahlequah on Highway 51, over?"

"Ten-four, three ten. Base clear."

Patrolman Clifford Fisher knew the occupant of the mini-van was history. No one could have possibly survived that. The driver of the rig was slowly climbing down from the conventional cab of the Peterbilt. He looked awfully pale. He seemed to be alright, just severely shaken. The pickup was iffy. Doubtful, but iffy. He turned back and got in his cruiser and drove up closer to the accident. He stopped and lit flairs as he neared the scene. He stopped beside the rounded pickup and got out.

He approached cautiously, dreading what he was about to see. He stilled himself, sniffing the air for the scent of spilled or leaking gasoline.

It was everywhere, mixed with the smell of heat and hot oil and burned rubber.

Miraculously the truck had landed on its wheels, or what was left of them. The top of the cab was smashed down almost to the doors. The front of the cab was resting on the dashboard. There were no windows left at all. The body of the truck was rounded, crumpled, twisted on the frame and absolutely totaled from what the patrolman could see and gauge.

He reluctantly looked inside. The occupant was a bloody twisted mess. He didn't move at all. The officer noticed a wrinkle on his shirt was moving in rhythm with his breathing; barely. He was breathing shallowly. He was still alive for the moment.

Looking at the body of the truck the officer knew he wouldn't be able to open the door on either side. He removed his gun belt and laid it on top of his car, then began to climb into the truck through the driver's window. He could get nothing through the window except his head, so backed out and waited for the fire department and the jaws-of-life.

"Hang on buddy, help's on the way," he said softly through the window frame.

"Hang in there," a voice said beside him.

When he turned to look, he saw it was the truck driver. "Are you all right?" Officer Fisher asked him.

"Yeah, I think so," he answered. "He gonna make it?"

"I doubt it. He's hurt bad."

The truck driver nodded his head sadly.

"Tammy's dead," he said sadly.

"Your wife?" Fisher asked him.

"No, my truck."

"Oh," Fisher replied. "Count yourself lucky. Trucks can be replaced."

"Not for me. I had to make this load to make my payment and renew my insurance," he said sadly, shaking his head in bewilderment. "Ain't gonna happen now. I'm through."

"Well, keep your head up, sir. Miracles happen. He's proof," Fisher said as Tommy began to move around inside the cab.

"The guy in the half of the minivan squished in my truck has a .30.30 rifle through his chest," he said conversationally.

"He's moving," Fisher said.

"I'll be damned! Guess you're right. Miracles do happen!" the trucker said in amazement, staring at Tommy.

"Help should be arriving any minute, Buddy. Just take it easy," Fisher said, kneeling beside the driver's door.

"Cramer?" Tommy whispered softly.

"What's that Buddy?" Fisher asked, sticking his head inside.

"Blue van. Cramer. Dead?" Tommy whispered again.

"Yeah, he's dead. You know him?" Fisher asked. There was no response. Tommy had become unconscious, again. Fisher was amazed that he had a smile on his face. Five minutes later, as the two men watched, Tommy was cut out of the truck. He was breathing slowly and steadily. They heard the warbling of the ambulance in the background. Over the warbling came the steady whop! whop! whop! of a helicopter.

On the highway, Lisa sat in the custom van crying. The FBI agents refused to allow her close to the wrecked pick up. When she saw Tommy's bloody body lifted from the truck, placed on a stretcher and rushed to the waiting helicopter, she whispered his name and reached out her trembling hand for him.

Chapter 11

W hen Tommy awakened, he was in a hospital room. He was surrounded by flowers and friends. He searched only for Lisa.

"What's this, my funeral?" he asked softly.

Lisa jumped up and leaned over Tommy's face. "No, Sweetie. Not your funeral. You're in the hospital," she replied, then kissed his lips.

"I'm disappointed. I thought you were an angel."

"I am an angel. Your private angel."

"There's an old saying that goes something like this. After a long sleep, you get to keep the first angel you see upon awakening. Do I get to keep you?"

"Forever!" she promised, wiping tears from her cheeks.

"How long have I been here?" he asked.

"Three weeks and two days."

"Guess I won't be going home tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow. Not next week. You were hurt real bad, Tommy."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah, that bad."

"Tell me about it, so I can start the healing process."

"Where should I start? There were so many injuries!" She began to cry softly, again.

"Hey, hey," he soothed. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Start at the top and go down to my feet. Okay?"

"Okay," she promised. "Concussion, severe. Broken cheek bone and eye socket. Broken nose, broken collar bone. Broken arm, four broken ribs. Cracked pelvis, broken hip. Broken left...thigh bone. Dislocated right knee. Broken right ankle. Collapsed lung, left. Ruptured spleen, bruised liver, kidneys, both of them. Two compacted vertebrae and a broken big toe, left," she said still wiping tears from her eyes.

"That's not so bad," he smiled grimly. "It could'a been worse. Killed Cramer, right?"

"Yeah, he was in ten pieces with a rifle stuck through his chest. He was beheaded, too."

After a minute of reflection, he nodded his head and said weakly. "Who is that man by the door?"

"Jacob. The truck driver. He hit Cramer broadside."

"Why's he here?"

"Says he has no place to go. He wants to make sure you're okay, I guess."

"Let me talk to him. What's his name again?"

"Jacob Ladder," she smiled, she looked around and motioned Jacob over.

"Hi, Jacob. Thanks for hanging around," Tommy said, trying to pick his hand up from the bed.

"My pleasure, Captain," Jacob said, reaching down and grasping Tommy's hand in his own and shaking it gently, but firmly. "I'm plumb proud pink sitting beside an injured Brother!"

"Brother?" Tommy inquired uncertainly.

"Yes, Sir! Hunnert an First Airborne, Ranger, Sir!" Jacob stood at attention and saluted smartly. "All The Way! Sir!" he added, dropping his salute and going immediately into parade rest.

"Where did you serve, Jacob?" Tommy asked.

"'Nam, Sir! Cam Ran Bay, Sir. Nineteen sementy one to nineteen sementy four. I hauled supplies to the Ranger boys down in the Delta, Sir!"

"That'd be the Mekong Delta?"

"Sir!" Jacob said in confirmation.

"What will you do now? Seems I'm on the road to recovery."

"Don't know, Sir. Tammy's dead. I'm broke, flat. But, I believe in miracles, Sir!" Jacob said seriously. "You survived, Sir! That is a miracle in my book!"

"Jacob, drop the sir. Call me Tommy. Please!"

"Yes Sir. . .Tommy."

"Who's Tammy?"

"Was my truck."

"Why Tammy and why is it dead?"

"Not it, she."

"Okay, she."

"She ate every cassette tape I ever put in her tape player except one of Tammy Wynett's. Well, she ate it, too. But, refused to spit it out again. It's still playin 'er was as we went into the slide that wound me up here. I named her Tammy outa respect she didn't eat that tape and spit it out in pieces," he continued wiping tears from his ruddy cheeks.

"Why is she dead?"

"Twisted frame, broken transmission, front axle, radiator, rear axle, and motor mounts. No insurance. I had to make that run to pay the premium for a year. But, I didn't make it. Everything was fine 'till I topped that hill. Then, everything was gone!" he finished snapping his fingers.

"Maybe it was just time for a new start, Jacob. Have you thought about that?"

"Now, how am I a'gonna start anything? I ain't got no home, no money, no job! Where can I go? If it weren't for your beautiful lady there, I'd be on the streets in a cardboard condo, eatin' deli from a dumpster!"

"Colonel," Tommy said a little louder than he had been talking.

"Yeah, Tommy? I'm here," Austin answered standing beside Lisa.

"Colonel do you feel like making a little trip with Jacob?"

"Sure, Tommy. Where are we going?"

"Lisa, drive Jacob and the Colonel to Tulsa to the Peterbilt dealership. Buy Jacob any truck on the lot that he wants. Fully loaded. Custom, whatever. Buy a matching box trailer. Pay any expense. Taxes, license, road taxes, and insurance for a year, whatever, so they can be on the road tomorrow or the next day at the latest.

"Colonel, you and Jacob drive to Louisville, Kentucky. Or Tennessee somewhere and buy me the biggest, proudest, Morgan stud and ten Morgan brood mares you can find.

"When you find them and make a deal, call Lisa. She'll transfer the funds to the breeder's bank. Load the stud in the trailer. Then build a wall, with a window so you can feed and water him, across it, then load the mares and come home. By the time you get back, I'll be out of here and the land will be ours."

"Tommy, I cain't let you buy me no truck. That'd be near a hunnert grand! I'd never be able to pay you back!"

"Jacob, you've waited by my bedside for three weeks because I'm your Brother. Well, as of today, you're my Brother. I have billions of dollars to spend on those I care about. And I care about you . . . Brother!" Again Tommy tried to lift his hand, and couldn't. Again Jacob reached down and took it gently into his. He squeezed it firmly and Tommy squeezed it back.

"Now, you all be off. I've got a lot of healing to do," he smiled; finality in his voice, then fell asleep.

Tommy drifted back in his mind to Master Wu. He bowed over his clasped hands. When Master Wu granted permission, Tommy kneeled before him respectfully. "Yes, young Tommysan, what wisdom do you seek today?"

"Master, my body lies broken from defeating my enemy. My mind and heart are strong. My spirit soars like an arrow from an archer's bow toward its enemy. I wish to heal quickly so that I may fight and defeat my enemies as they appear. I seek your wisdom in these matters, Master," Tommy stated.

"Young Tommysan, if the heart, mind, and spirit remain strong, the body will heal itself in its own time. You must always therefore, search your mind for your answers. Trust your spirit to guide you and your heart to give you the courage to do what is right. That is the wisdom which creates all life in all realms of existence. So go now, and search for truth. You shall find it within yourself."

Tommy rose. After clasping his hands and bowing to Master Wu, he turned and walked away into the silvery nothingness that surrounded him.

Tommy opened his eyes and looked around the hospital room. Lisa was asleep with her head resting on his hand. She sat in a chair beside the bed to his left. He reached over with his right hand and softly patted her hair and head. He could not find words to express his love for this woman. He smiled softly and drifted back into sleep to continue healing.

* * * * *

Kalief Goldman had few friends at CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia. But he knew he had one he could always count on; Terri Ashton. Her grandparents were from the old country and from a noble family. She would help him find the man who had stolen all his friends' money. He knew he could count on her above all others.

Kalief hung up the phone with a stare of disbelief in his eyes. Terri was on a full month leave of absence; current whereabouts, unknown. She had been gone for less than a week. As much as he hated to, he had to wait. There was no alternative. He hadn't a clue where to start looking for his enemy in a land as large as the United States!

Knowing he had no choice, he rented a room in a nice hotel and settled in to await Terri's return. He hated waiting. He was a man of action!

* * * * *

Tommy awakened to a soft kiss on his lips; Lisa smiled as she looked lovingly into his eyes.

"Mornin'," Tommy said softly.

"Yes, my love. Time to get up and walk. Are you ready?"

"Yes," he replied, mentally preparing himself for the oncoming pain.

He pushed the blanket and sheet back. Lisa helped him to a sitting position, then helped him turn and hang his legs over the edge of the bed.

Tommy was just starting to stand beside the bed when Linda Lake came bustling in. She was dressed in pristine white from head to toe. She was beautiful in Tommy's eyes. "So, you thought you'd start without me, huh? Well, guess again, Buster!" she said sternly.

"Hi, Sweetie," Tommy smiled, happy to see Linda again.

"Don't even try it Buster boy! I don't butter up easily. Besides, by tonight you'll hate me."

"I could never hate you."

"Don't bet your money on it, honey," she laughed evilly, as she took his right arm and helped Lisa stand him up.

"Now, just stand there for a minute and flex your knees a little. Let them get used to holding your weight again," Linda instructed.

With the first small flex he nearly crumpled to the floor.

"Whoa," he laughed. "I'm weaker than I thought."

"Five weeks flat on your back will do that to even the strongest. Most men wouldn't be able to stand at all, much less flex their knees," Linda said proudly, looking up at Tommy smiling lovingly. She hugged him tightly to her side. He hugged her back.

"Okay," Tommy said, seriously. "Let's step. Right leg first," he added as he prepared to step forward.

His leg didn't work exactly as he wanted it to. He stood sort of spraddle legged. He straightened up slowly and moved his left leg forward. It didn't work much better, but, he didn't fall either. He leaned heavily on Lisa and Linda for support.

Linda had been right, he thought. It was going to be a long day!

* * * * *

In Kentucky, Austin walked around and appraised the most beautiful two year old Morgan stallion he had ever seen. He wasn't just beautiful, he was majestic!

The stallion stood sixteen hands at the shoulders. He held his head high, his ears forward and his eyes alert, seeing everything that moved. His mane and tail were long and flowing; Austin Lake was in love!

"I'll take him." Austin said. "I'll have the money wired to your bank tonight and pick him up tomorrow, if that's alright with you, Mister Lane."

"That'll be fine, Mister Lake," Lane replied easily, as his groom led the stallion back to his paddock.

Austin watched him walk away, memorizing every movement of the stallion's magnificent body. He knew some breeders would show their pride and joy, then try and pass off a ringer. Austin was there to ensure that didn't happen to him, or Tommy.

Austin turned to the brand new Peterbilt tractor. As always Jacob was polishing on it. He also was in love. He was in love with Tammy II, his customized, midnight black with silver, red and gold highlights that flowed back into the trailer he pulled behind.

"Jacob, you're gonna polish all the shine off that truck if you're not careful."

"No Sir, Colonel! I'd never do anything to hurt Tammy II. She's a beaut! Ain't she?"

"That she is," Lake agreed, admiring the beautiful truck. The deep-dish chrome wheels sparkled and glowed like diamonds in the center of the jet black tires.

"Let's go Jacob. We bought us a stallion today. Tomorrow we'll head for home."

"Sounds good. Three weeks on the road is plenty for one trip," Jacob replied, stuffing his diaper soft polishing rag into his back pocket and climbing up into the cab of the long Roman nosed tractor. He started the Cummins diesel engine and listened to it rumble. He buckled his seatbelt and shoulder strap, then eased the transmission into gear, released the brakes with a hiss of compressed air, scanned the gauges once and they were off.

The tractor turned gracefully and the forty-two foot trailer followed the graceful arc of the turn. The twin chromed stacks roared with a deep base thunder, as the truck picked up speed with every shift of the transmission.

Austin glanced over at Jacob. He was smiling as always since getting the new tractor trailer rig. Before, he had hardly ever smiled. He had been a sad, worried man. Now, his dream had come true. Tommy had gained a lifelong loyal friend. A brother in every sense of the word. Austin believed Jacob would die for Tommy LeSade. He knew he would. Anyone as kind and loyal as Tommy deserved friends willing to die for him.

The next day at noon Austin couldn't believe his ears. The breeder, Mister Lane, claimed the money had not arrived in his account; therefore, they couldn't have the stallion.

Austin pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Tommy's number. It was answered on the third ring by Lisa. "Lisa, we have a problem, here," Austin said angrily. "Mister Lane claims the money for the stallion isn't here. So we can't get the stallion!"

"Austin, I assure you, the money was sent to his account at nine o'clock this morning. Its arrival into his account was confirmed. He's lying."

"Hold on a minute," Austin said, staring at Lane angrily. "The full sum was wired this morning and its arrival was confirmed by your bank. It should be there."

"Should be and is are two different things, Mister. And you're not getting my stallion until I'm paid. That's final!"

"Lisa, put Tommy on."

"What's up Austin?" Tommy asked when he was on the phone. "Hold on a minute, Austin," he added, turning to his laptop and began to punch in his code. When everything was ready, he spoke into the phone as he entered the account number given to him by Austin the night before. "At nine o'clock this morning, Lane's account held a balance of just under seven-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars. At six minutes after nine o'clock this morning, the account received a deposit of two-hundred-and-thirty-thousand dollars. Ask him if he agrees about his balance before the deposit."

"He agrees. He seems a little confused, but he agrees," Austin replied, wondering what Tommy was up to.

"Ask him if he wants to pay me that amount not to buy his stallion," Tommy said smiling. "Better yet, put him on the phone."

"Hello?" Lane said, taking the phone from Austin.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull mister. But, if you would like to pay me seven-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars not to buy your stallion, just say the word. I can arrange it, right now," Tommy told Lane seriously.

"Pay you my life savings not to buy Pretty Dancer? Are you crazy?"

"You must think so or you wouldn't be trying to pull a fast one on me. Why don't you call your account again and recheck your balance. Then call me back if you want to deal. I'll be waiting." With that Tommy broke the connection, then sat back and smiled.

Five minutes later Tommy's phone rang. He answered it.

"What have you done, you bastard?" Lane cried. "My account's empty! Wiped out!"

"So, do you want to be honest with me, Mister Lane?" Tommy asked sincerely. "I'm a patient man, but you sir, are pushing my limit."

"I want my money back or I'll call the law!" Lane threatened.

"You don't want the law in this I promise you. I will own you, lock, stock, and barrel if you invite them in. So, sir, what will it be?"

"You put my money back, plus the two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand for the stallion and we'll forget this ever happened," Lane offered.

"Sir, you tried to screw me and my friends. That privilege comes at a price. So, I will return your original balance, plus ten-thousand for the stallion. Or, I will completely wipe you out of business and home. Do you understand?"

"Yes, you bastard!" Lane said angrily, his face a mask of fury.

That lowered the price of the stallion by two thousand dollars. "Anything else you wish to say before we end these negotiations, Mister Lane?"

"No, sir," Lane answered meekly.

"Make mister Lake a legal bill of sale for eight thousand dollars for the stallion and transfer the papers over to him and see that he's loaded properly in the trailer. If you make one careless error, all bets are off and you, sir, are homeless. Understand?"

"Yes sir, there won't be a problem, sir. I promise," Lane promised.

"When everything is done, call me back and I will return your money. And, let this be a lesson to you. You never know who you're dealing with, or who they know," Tommy disconnected and waited for Austin to call back.

The call came an hour later and Austin reported that everything was settled and they were on their way home.

Tommy called up Lane's account at the bank and while he was on the phone, restored his money, plus the eight thousand dollars for the stallion.

He didn't like doing the man the way he had. But, he believed in honesty all the way around. He would much rather be the screw'er than the screw'ee! Plus, he hoped the man had learned his lesson from the experience.

"Tommy, we need to go," Lisa said coming into the room. "It's time."

Tommy got up and they left for the bank. It was time to sign the papers on the land. The horses needed a place to call home. As did they. From the bank, they were going to the custom home designer in Tulsa. They had a preliminary sketch of the ranch they intended to build and the home designer was waiting to enter a bid on their design.

* * * * *

As Tommy and Lisa were backing out of their driveway, Kalief Goldman was seeking clearance from the Air Traffic Controller to land his Lear jet at Tulsa International Airport. Permission was granted and he brought the smooth business jet in and sat it down like a seasoned pro, then taxied to the terminal and parked on the apron near the front door of a flight service.

After making arrangements for the servicing of the jet, he was given a lift to a car rental place where he rented a Chevrolet Caprice and a road map of Oklahoma. He had an appointment in Tahlequah and he had no intention of being late. He had a man to kill and funds to recover. He had, after all, been paid for his services by Niles Cramer. Wherever he was at the present time. He hadn't been in contact for over a month, now. Kalief was beginning to worry that something serious had happened. It was unlike Niles to not inquire about his slave children, or the possible purchase of more.

Kalief sped down the turnpike toward Ft. Smith. He tapped his finger on the steering wheel to the sound of the music on the radio. He kept the speedometer needle exactly on 65 miles per hour and enjoyed the scenery around him. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Beautiful! Was the only word he could think of to describe it. And even that was not adequate.

He turned off the turnpike at the Tahlequah exit and cruised easily south on highway 82. He still tapped his finger on the steering wheel as he cruised along planning how he was going to kill Tommy LeSade and anyone else who got in the way.

He was so engrossed in his planning that he failed to see the speeding car approaching the Ear Bob Resort turn-off until it was far too late. It seemed his world was instantly turned upside down and was spinning out of control until everything went black and silent.

* * * * *

Two days later Austin and Jacob pulled into Tahlequah. They called from the highway to tell Tommy, or Lisa, to come and lead them to the property so they could unload the horses.

Forty-five minutes later Tommy, Lisa, Austin, Linda and Jacob stood watching the eleven horses graze on the knee-deep grass. They were a beautiful sight. The stallion seemed to know he was the master. He watched over the mares protectively.

"Won't be long we'll have to separate the stallion. He'll go wild and get real dangerous," Austin observed, as they watched the animals move one step at a time across the pasture.

"They'll start building fences first thing Monday morning," Tommy replied, hugging Lisa. "But, Sunday there's going to be a wedding. And you're all invited!"

"Who's getting married?" Jacob asked innocently.

"Tommy and Lisa, who else?" Linda asked, as she hugged Austin and kissed him on the cheek affectionately.

"Maybe I ought to get married," Jacob observed thoughtfully.

"Got anyone in mind?" Tommy asked.

"Not yet. But, I just got a new Peterbilt, so getting a wife shouldn't be that hard."

They all laughed hysterically at Jacob's phrasing and how provocative it sounded. He failed to understand what was so funny and just kept looking more and more bewildered, asking what was so funny. His innocence served only to make them laugh all the harder.

The stallion watched them enviously for a minute, and then began to walk toward them, head high, ears erect and forward. He stepped without hesitation up to Tommy and began to nuzzle him gently. He placed his forehead against Tommy's chest and began to move it up and down gently, as if scratching his head.

Tommy scratched behind his ears with his fingers and then moved down behind his jaw bone and under his chin and throat, then began to rub his neck vigorously.

Tommy was amazed at the strength of the magnificent animal. With that strength, Tommy knew, came the massive potential for uncontrollable danger. But at the same time, as now, the need for great gentleness and affection.

Tommy continued to scratch, rub, and pat the stallion until he had received the gentleness and affection he needed. Then, the horse turned and rejoined the mares. He stopped and looked back, seemingly, at Tommy and nickered softly, as if saying 'thanks, goodbye for now, see ya later' all at once. He then turned and lowered his head and began to graze along with the mares.

"Maybe he don't want to be separated from the mares," Jacob observed sagely.

"I'd be willing to bet that's true. But, it has to be done," Austin said. "Otherwise he'll bully the mares into submission and they'll be hard to catch and control. It wouldn't take long for them to turn wild. So, his paddock should be one of the first things built. It'll have to be high and strong, too."

They all stood in silence, lost in their own thoughts as they watched the horses move slowly away into the distance.

"Tommy, you had better sit down somewhere, before you fall down," Linda said, looking closely at Tommy's slumping figure, resting heavily on his cane. He was still very weak from the accident and five weeks of lying in the hospital.

"You're right," he agreed. "I've seen what I came to see. I'm ready to go home if you all are. Austin, you did good. The horses are exactly what I had envisioned," he added, looking at Austin and offering his hand.

"Well, I did purty durn good, too, didn't I?" Jacob asked, a little put out that no one had acknowledged his contribution to their enterprise.

"Jacob, you did fine," Lisa said, hugging him affectionately.

Jacob turned red as a beet and began to stammer and shuffle his feet. He seemed to find the ground in front of him and his feet very interesting but not exactly the way he wanted it, so rearranged it to his liking with the toe of his boot.

Lisa decided that Jacob was not used to women showing him affection so openly, 'Poor man', she thought.

"I got me a new Pererbilt," Jacob said softly to himself, then turned to admire the sparkling new truck and trailer. He smiled affectionately at Tammy II. He was in love again, twice. Tammy II and Lisa, soon to be LeSade, were the only two women in the world he would sacrifice himself for without flinching or blinking.

* * * * *

The Sunday wedding went without a hitch. It was a small private affair held at Tommy's house. Judge Ryan performed the ceremony. When it was over and everyone had kissed the bride, except Jacob, who was far too shy for that, and shook Tommy's hand in congratulations, Tommy looked Jacob in the eyes as they shook hands and asked seriously, "Jacob is my wife not good enough for you to kiss?"

"Oh, she's perfect as rain, Tommy; I just don't think it's proper to be kissing on another man's wife. That's all," Jacob replied getting nervous.

"Lisa will be heartbroken if you don't. You don't want that, do you?"

"No, never! But if you say it's alright, I will," Jacob replied, looking shyly at the floor and his feet. He stammered and stuttered, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Its okay, Jacob. This once. Because it's her wedding day. Now, make her happy."

"Well, okay. If you say so."

"Lisa, Jacob didn't feel it proper to kiss the bride. He has since had a change of heart," he smiled, leading Jacob to Lisa.

"I just love respectful men! Come here, Jacob. And let's make it one to remember!" she laughed, spreading her arms wide to receive Jacob.

Jacob stepped up and shyly pecked Lisa on the cheek, quickly, then stepped just as quickly back, turning red to his ears and looking at the floor.

"That wasn't a proper kiss, Jacob! Come here," she said, grabbing him by his shirt front and string tie and pulling him back into her arms, roughly.

When she turned him loose, he knew he had been kissed proper. His face was red, his eyes were glassy and he was frozen, staring blankly into space.

"That was a proper kiss!" Lisa laughed, as she stepped forward and hugged Jacob tightly with affection. Then stepped back beside Tommy and placed her arm around his waist.

"Tommy, when you get a moment, I need to talk to you in private," Judge Ryan said quietly.

"Sure Judge, let's step into the den," Tommy replied, leading Ryan into the computer room/den. "What's wrong, Judge? And how can I help?" he added, indicating Ryan should have a seat.

"I received an email this morning that has me a little concerned, is all. I thought you should know about it."

"What did it say?"

"Something about, if we didn't make the death of Cramer 'right' we could count on an in-depth investigation by the Central Intelligent Agency, the FBI and the National Security Agency and several more of the alphabet agencies that our government loves to toss around to strike fear into the hearts and minds of its 'sheepified' citizenry."

"Who sent it?"

"I don't know for sure. Someone in Quantico, Virginia. CIA I guess."

"Hang on, I'll run a check." Tommy turned to the computer and his fingers flew across the keyboard. "This shouldn't be too difficult," he said, typing more information into the program. "Now, we'll just let it 'cook' for a minute. Then, we'll see who flung chuck!"

The Great Seal of the Central Intelligence Agency appeared on the screen. Tommy placed the flashing curser on the first small 'i' in Intelligence and clicked the mouse. He typed in 'enter says i'. A heavy steel door appeared on the screen. It was banded with heavy steel chains and bands with multiple locks, a bank vault wheel that began to turn quickly back and forth. As it did the locks began to drop to the floor until the heavy vault door began to swing slowly open.

When it was fully open, a spy vs. spy cartoon character stepped back away from the door, brushed his hands off and using an index finger began to motion them inside by curling and uncurling the finger from his closed fist. He then turned and began to walk into the vault.

He stopped under an overhead menu, like at a fast food restaurant, and arms crossed, his chin cradled between his thumb and forefinger, he studied the menu carefully. Hundreds of items were offered on the menu.

Tommy chose emails and clicked the mouse. His spy instantly reached up and took down the 'email' card. He walked to a wall and inserted it into a slot. On the wall appeared a 'request form'. Tommy filled in all the spaces he could. In the slot 'receiver' he typed in Ryan's name and email address. Instantly Terri Ashton's picture appeared on the screen with all her vital information.

"Mean anything to you?" Tommy asked Ryan.

"No," he replied, staring blankly at the picture. "Pretty girl, though."

Tommy clicked the mouse and the email she had sent appeared on the screen. Tommy read it quickly. It was basically what Ryan had said it was.

"Maybe a relative, or lover, of Cramer's," Ryan suggested.

"Maybe," Tommy said thoughtfully.

"So, what do we do? She can't expose us. Just cause trouble and inconvenience is all. I don't need it. How about you?"

"No, I'm happy living a low-profile life. I don't need any excitement," Ryan replied seriously.

"Well, let's invite her down and see what she wants," Tommy suggested.

"Sounds good," Ryan smiled.

"Miss Ashton, you, my dear, are in for one very fast ride," Tommy laughed, as he typed in a cordial invitation to Tahlequah for the chance to win millions of dollars in a contest for people of Cherokee descent. After intensive research it had been discovered that she was the great, great, great, grand-daughter of Chief John Ross and was therefore eligible to participate in the exclusive contest. Travel arrangements and airline tickets were being forwarded in her name and would be delivered to the Jackson Travel Agency in Quantico, Virginia. She would be picked up by limousine and driven to the airport.

In Tulsa, she would be met and driven by limousine to Tahlequah for the contest. Enclosed, also, would be a cashier's cheque in the amount of five-thousand dollars for last minute expenses she may have before departure in case she had to secure her home and vehicle and maybe house a pet for a few weeks. Congratulations and best wishes were added in closing.

"That should do it," Tommy smiled.

"I want to participate. I'm part Cherokee, too!"

Tommy laughed, and then began exiting the program. He had his little spy push the door closed and secure all the chains, bands and locks. When he finished, he turned to Tommy and waved bye-bye while he walked over, grabbed the Great Seal of the CIA and pulled it across the screen until the cursor was flashing on the first small 'I' of Intelligence. When it was Tommy clicked the mouse and was out of the program and the screen was blank.

"What all can you do with that program?" Ryan wondered aloud.

"Anything I want to. Anywhere in the world," he replied, turning to smile at Ryan.

"Anything?"

"Anything!"

Ryan smiled slyly and thought secret thoughts about the future. He had a little scheme in mind.

Tommy joined him in silence for a minute thinking his own thoughts. "We'd better get back, Judge. They're waiting. After all it is my wedding day," Tommy laughed, then stood and left the room.

Ryan sat for a minute lost in thought. Then, as if reaching a decision he rose and followed Tommy.

* * * * *

As Ryan entered the living room, less than twenty miles away, Kalief Goldman was being broadsided by a drunken Cherokee. The Indian was killed instantly and Kalief's chances were only marginally better.
Chapter 12

Tommy sat on his front porch, in the swing, enjoying the warmth of the mid-summer day and awaited the arrival of Miss Terri Ashton. He looked down the empty street and was surprised to see Jacob stomping angrily toward the house. It was obvious he was madder than a wet hen. His head was down, fists clenched at his side and he didn't just step; he stomped his foot down with every step. He seemed to be mumbling to himself as if in argument. Once in a while he shook his head from side to side angrily and kicked out furiously with one foot or the other. When this happened his anger was renewed in a violent storm that fought its way to the surface and exploded in rage.

Tommy watched him closely as he stomped across the yard and up onto the porch. He never once looked up, as he stomped up the steps and onto the porch, heading for the door.

"Howdy, Jacob," Tommy said calmly.

"Tommy that goddamn high and mighty, fat son of a bitch of a sheriff done went and put Tammy Two in jail! Said I must'a stoled'er! Wadn't no way I could afford sech a truck rig!"

"That the only reason?"

"That's what he said! Said I musta stoled'er!" Jacob raged indignantly.

"Did you explain how you got Tammy Two?"

"I tried. He wouldn't listen! Not to a word I said. Said I was lucky he wasn't taking me to jail, too! Said if he found out Tammy Two was stoled, he'd come for me next!"

"Well, let's go have a talk with Sheriff Anderson," Tommy said, getting up from the swing and walking down the steps to his new Dodge Ram Turbo Diesel, three-quarter ton pickup.

He listened to Jacob rage and vent his frustration all the way to the sheriff's office. He didn't say anything, just listened.

In the sheriff's office Tommy asked to talk to the sheriff as soon as he was free.

"Have a seat, sir. It will be a minute," the Deputy said. His name tag read D. Fine.

"Are you related to the Fines over by Peggs?"

"Yes, Sir. Cousin."

"I went to school with them a few years back. Good people, all." Tommy sat down to wait.

"Thank you, sir. I'm proud of them." D. Fine said, and then went back to what he had been doing before Tommy and Jacob had entered the office.

Five minutes later a man stomped out of the Sheriff's office much like Jacob had arrived home. He was red faced and mumbling about a 'high and mighty' fat bastard that didn't know jack shit about the law or justice.

"You can go in now, Mister LeSade. Good luck, sir. You'll need it."

"Oh, I don't think so. The Sheriff's a reasonable man." Tommy stood and walked to the open door.

"And just what the hell's your problem, mister?" the sheriff asked hatefully, as if his patience had been tried to the end.

Tommy saw a fat, red-faced, bald man in his early forties. He appeared to be around six-feet-four, or so. It was hard to tell for sure from his seated position behind his cluttered desk. He was so far out of shape he resembled a Blue Ribbon hog Tommy had seen at the County Fair once when he was a kid. He now knew what had happened to that hog. He had become sheriff of Cherokee County, Oklahoma.

"You for starters. Then, we'll go from there."

"Me? How the hell am I your problem?"

"You seized and impounded my friend's Peterbilt tractor this morning on the assumption that it may have been stolen. Now, I've come to get it back. So, sign a release and give me the keys and we'll be out of your hair," Tommy said seriously, standing in front of the sheriff's desk and looking down into his squinched pig eyes.

"Get the hell outa my office, Mister! Who the hell you think you are comin' in here makin' demands and issuing orders. I'm the law in this town, by gawd! I make the rules and apply them as I see fit!" Anderson screamed as he slowly stood, his voice getting louder the higher he rose.

"You're fired, Sheriff. Get out of this office! Now!" Tommy said calmly, reaching over and ripping the badge from Anderson's shirt front so fast the Sheriff didn't have time to react.

"You can't fire me! Who the hell are you? I'll lock your hairy ass up, Mister!" Anderson yelled, spraying saliva across his desk.

"Mister, I'm tired of you yelling at me, so if you don't get a civil tone in your voice, I'm going to clean this office with your fat, lazy ass and put you in jail!" Tommy said calmly, but seriously, as he stepped around the side of the desk to confront the ex-sheriff.

"You can't threaten and scare me you son-of-a-..." Anderson started to say, but never got to finish.

Tommy stepped forward like an attacking police dog. The room sounded like a short 4th of July celebration as Tommy landed no less than ten wicked blows to the fat man's face and body. When he finished and Anderson was like a drunken sailor in his hands he let the fat slob fall heavily to the floor, then calmly reached over and called Judge Ryan.

"Judge, I just fired your sheriff and I'm appointing another." Tommy said.

"Okay, Tommy. I'll notify the Mayor. Thanks Tommy, the county will appreciate it."

"Deputy Fine?" Tommy yelled through the door.

"Yes, Sir, Mister LeSade?"

"You're the new acting Sheriff," Tommy said, handing him the Sheriff's badge. "Lock this mess up until Judge Ryan says different. And, I need a release and the keys to Jacob's Peterbilt."

Yes, Sir Mister LeSade." D. Fine replied.

"One other thing. How do you know who I am?"

"My dad pointed you out one day, in town. He said you were a real hero. He told me everything about you, Sir. I hope you don't mind us talking about you."

"Who's your dad?"

"Charlie, Sir."

"Tell Charlie I said hi. He's a good man. Be proud of him. He served his country well. A braver man I've never met," Tommy said slowly, thoughtfully, remembering Charlie Fine and the bravery he showed in several battles that earned him the Bronze Star with Oak Leaf Cluster and a Purple Heart.

"Yes, Sir," Acting Sheriff Fine said. "Sir, what should I book 'this mess' on?"

"How about public indecency for starters?"

"Sounds good to me. I'll get this garbage hauled out then I'll get that release for you and the keys to the truck."

"You'll need help with this load," Tommy said, looking down at the mountain of blubber at his feet. "Jacob, give us a hand to haul this hog out 'a here."

"Yes Sir, Cap'n," Jacob said, stepping over and grabbing a leg as Tommy unbuckled the gun belt and let the ends fall to the floor on either side.

It was all they could do to drag the ex-sheriff's dead weight out of the office and to a cell in the back. But, ten minutes later when the cell door slammed closed the ex-sheriff lay on the concrete floor, still unconscious.

Tommy dropped Jacob off at Tammy II, and then drove on home. He wasn't surprised to see the sparkling new BMW stretch limousine parked along the street in front of his house. Special Agent Sandy Borne stood beautifully in her new custom fitted chauffeur outfit, her black cap tilted sexily down over her eyes. She was beautiful; he had to give her that, tails and all.

As he got out of his truck in the driveway and turned to face the street, Agent Borne opened the back door of the limo. Special Agent Melissa Jackson, acting as special escort to Miss Ashton, stepped out. She was quickly followed by Terri Ashton, CIA.

They came quickly up the sidewalk to Tommy. They held hands like old friends, which they were. Tommy waved Sandy to them when the other two ladies stopped in front of him. She started up the sidewalk behind them.

"Hi Tommy, long time no see," Melissa smiled, sexily.

"Hello, Melissa," Tommy replied, taking her silky smooth hand in both of his, as if it were a cherished item. "This beautiful young lady must be Miss Ashton. Correct?"

"Yes, hello," Terri smiled nervously, offering her hand to Tommy.

Tommy held her hand as gently as he had held Melissa's. "If you beautiful young ladies will follow me, I'll show you into the house. I'm sorry it's so humble. Our new house won't be finished for a few more months, yet."

"This house is beautiful. I can't wait to see the new one," Melissa said, as they entered the front door. Sandy came in last and closed the door gently behind them.

"You ladies find a seat anywhere. I'll get Lisa and the Judge and we will explain the contest rules to Miss Ashton. I'll be right back," he said smiling, then turned and left the room.

Lisa and Ryan sat at the table looking at a maternity magazine. She wasn't showing yet, but it wouldn't be long now according to her calculations.

"Hi, Angel," Tommy said, leaning over and kissing her around her earlobe, which he knew she loved.

"Hey, quit! I'm already pregnant! What more do you want, Beast!" she joked offering her lips to him.

"Just you, Angel - forever!" Tommy said seductively. "We have company. Come and say hi to Miss Ashton."

"So, the fly got into your ointment, huh?" Lisa smiled knowingly.

"Yes, and a pretty fly she is, too," Ryan teased, knowing Lisa was very jealous of Tommy and other women she didn't know very well. Which was most other women.

"Yeah, yeah, come into my parlor said the spider to the fly," Lisa taunted. "I know your kind, Mister! And I love 'em!" she laughed, standing and easing into Tommy's arms. He smiled over her shoulder at Ryan. Lisa pulled his head down and kissed him passionately.

"Come on, you're already pregnant! What more do you want from me, woman?" he taunted, turning and leading her and Ryan toward the living room. "Come on and meet the fly."

"The pretty fly," she corrected.

"Where's Austin and Linda?" he asked.

"At the ranch site, where else? He's still a Colonel at heart and likes supervising and giving orders. As if the builders don't know their own business," she laughed as they entered the living room.

"Miss Ashton, this is my wife, Lisa. She used to be with the U.S. Marshall's Office. This is District Court Judge Andrew Ryan," Tommy continued when the two women finished shaking hands. "The contest we are going to play is much like the old game 'truth or consequences'. Remember it?" Tommy asked, then waited for her to nod. "We each are going to ask you a series of questions. If you do not tell us the absolute truth, well, then you must face the consequences. Understood?"

"Yes, I think so," she answered, unsure she understood how they would know whether she was telling the truth or not.

"Okay, first question," Tommy said, taking a seat across from her and placing a tape recorder on the table in front of her and turned it on.

"Why the tape recorder?" she asked uncertainly.

"You can't expect us to remember your answers word for word, can you?" he smiled.

"No, I guess not," she reluctantly agreed, still unsure of the contest. "Okay, first question," Tommy repeated, smiling. "What can you tell us about Niles Cramer and your relationship to him?"

Terri was momentarily stunned into silence by the question. Slowly a 'deer in the headlights look' came over her as she realized she had been duped.

"What is this?" she asked incredulously, looking around the room.

"Terri," Melissa said calmly. "You are being investigated for corruption, threatening a state judge, blackmail and fraud. Do you want your Miranda Rights read to you?"

"No, I know them," she replied. "I refuse to answer any question that may incriminate me," she said, staring angrily at Tommy.

"Okay, but take a look around you. This may be your last look at freedom for the next twenty years. Are you sure this is what you want?" Melissa continued seriously.

"What choice do I have?" Terri asked, beginning to cry as she thought about jail.

"We have several consolation prizes. If you're interested, that is," Tommy continued. Before Tommy could continue Jacob came bursting through the front door screaming excitedly at the top of his voice. "Tommy! Ain't she a beaut? I told you you could trust me to pick a good one! She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen! Except Tammy Two!" he continued coming through the living room door. He stopped in his tracks and instantly got a deer in the headlights look of his own, when he saw the people, mostly strangers, setting around the room. "Oh, sorry Tommy. Didn't know you had company," he said shyly, looking at the floor.

"Come in Jacob. Take a seat," Tommy said, seeing a strange look come across Terri's face. It was like idol worship, love at first sight and a mother's love for her child all at once. "As I was saying Terri, we have several consolation prizes, if you're interested. If not, you go to jail for a long, long time!"

"You have no proof that I've done anything wrong," Terri sobbed quietly.

"Darling, we have all the evidence and proof we need to convict you of threatening Judge Ryan and attempting to blackmail him over the death of Niles Cramer. Otherwise you wouldn't be here," Tommy said quietly, but seriously. "Melissa, show her the evidence, please. I'd hate to see such a beautiful woman go to jail for twenty years."

Melissa lifted the file from the floor and began to lay out the evidence for Terri to see. She began to cry harder as each page was laid before her. She looked helplessly at Jacob and saw tears glistening in his eyes as well. She fell deeper in love than she had ever been before; that a man she didn't know could feel her pain and fear as she did was unbelievable. She had given up on ever finding true love, until now.

"What must I do?" Terri sobbed. "I don't want to go to jail."

"First of all, stop crying," Tommy said, then waited for her to regain her composure.

"Now, here's what you'll do. You will resign from the Agency. You will cite your reasons as follows. One, you have met the most wonderful, innocent man in your life and you are going to marry him. Two, you have become wealthy and plan to open your own trucking company, with your new husband. And three, you feel your chances of advancement with the Agency are extremely limited and therefore you feel it is in the best interests of both, the Agency, and yourself, that you resign. Do you agree to these terms, Terri?"

"Whom will I marry? Where did I get the money? How much money will I get? And what position will I hold in this trucking company?"

"You will marry Jacob Ladder," Tommy said, indicating Jacob.

"I got a brand new Peterbilt!" Jacob said proudly, but innocently.

Terri laughed through her tears, catching the unintended implications of Jacob's wording. She thought she may fall in love with this handsome, innocent bumpkin. She covered her mouth with her hand and turned red. She could not remove the humor in her eyes, though.

She looked back at Tommy. "Go on," she smiled.

"I will buy the company ten brand new Peterbilt tractors and matching trailers, pay all the road expenses and taxes for the first five years, or until the company starts turning a decent profit. You will be the president and CEO of Brother's Trucking Company. Your base of operations will be our ranch over at Lake Tenkiller. Jacob will be exclusive manager. He knows the business inside and out. His word is law, next to mine, Lisa's and Colonel Lake's. We can all overrule him. I will open a bank account at the local bank in the name of the company. I will hire an accounting firm to keep the books and I will build for you a comfortable home on our ranch. In addition to the trucking company and marrying Jacob, you will learn to love him and care for him. You will give him children. You will be loyal to him. Any attempt to deceive us or steal from us or run from us and this evidence will be turned over to Sandy and Melissa for your prosecution. You better pray every minute of your waking life that they find you before we do. There is no mercy and no second chance. Do you understand and agree to these terms?" he finished.

Terri sat and thought in silence for several seconds. She glanced at Jacob, then at Melissa and Sandy. Then, Lisa. And lastly back at Tommy. "Where do I sign?" she asked, nodding her head in affirmation, as she made her irreversible decision.

"There is nothing to sign. We are all witnesses to your acceptance of our offer. It's in your hands alone to live up to your end of the bargain," Tommy said seriously. "So, it seems you have earned the grand prize after all Terri. Welcome to our family."

Terri Ashton began to cry. They all gathered around her to lend comfort and support. And to show that all was forgiven. Today was the first day of the rest of her new life.

"Jacob, come meet your future wife," Lisa said, taking him by the arm and leading him over to Terri.

"Hi, Jacob," Terri smiled shyly, offering him her small, narrow, long, slim fingered hand.

"I got a new Peterbilt! Wanna go for a ride'!" Jacob asked innocently, staring straight into Terri's sparkling eyes.

'Yep', she thought, 'I'm gonna love loving this innocent man!' She said, "Sure, Jacob. If it's alright with everyone."

"You're free to come and go as you please. You're part of our family. You know your responsibilities. You know the consequences for betrayal," Lisa said softly, joining Terri's and Jacob's hands together. "It's in your hands now. Do what you believe to be right and live, or die with the consequences." She smiled, then turned to Sandy and Melissa. "So girls, have you thought about our offer?"

"Yes." they said together. "And we accept," Melissa finished and Sandy nodded her head in agreement.

"We decided we were headed pretty much nowhere with the Feds. And we both decided we really want to practice law. That's what we went to school for," Sandy said, smiling at Melissa and Lisa with love in her eyes. 'It's great to be loved, needed and accepted, for who and what I am', she thought, as her eyes began to tear up. "I'm so happy, I could cry!" she said, as Melissa and Lisa hugged her to them tightly.

When Lisa found Tommy again he was on the phone finishing up a conversation with Judge Ryan. She sat down on the sofa beside him and waited for him to finish up.

"Yes, she accepted our offer," Tommy said into the phone.

"I agree. She's a smart girl," he added.

"Okay Judge, tell the Governor I'll see him Friday.

"Bye. Take care.

"I will, bye." he finished placing the receiver into the cradle and turning to Lisa. He kissed her soundly. "That's from the judge. This one's from me," he smiled, wrapping her into his arms and kissing her proper.

"Whew!" she said when they came up for air. "Do it again," she begged. He obliged her willingly and with great pleasure.

"Want to ride out to the ranch and see how it progressed in the past week?" he asked, when they came up for air once again.

"I'd rather stay here and do something else with you," she said lustfully, with her bedroom eyes pleading.

"You're already pregnant..." he started before she interrupted.

"This will be for pure pleasure," she promised, squeezing him. "Please . . . Pretty please . . . With sugar on top?" she begged, panting like a happy dog.

"How can I deny a damsel in distress?"

"My hero!" she said fawningly, batting her eyes rapidly and seductively as she took his hand and dragged him from the sofa. He followed more than willingly as she led him to the bedroom and closed the door behind them with a bang.

* * * * *

In the Intensive Care Unit, Linda read the gauges of all the machines that were hooked up to Kalief. She wrote their readings down on the clipboard she held. When she finished she hung it back on the foot of the bed and went out the door.

At the Nurse's Station, her assistant, Deborah Kerns looked up from the magazine she was reading. "Any change in the new patient, Mister Spelling?" she asked.

"None, whatsoever," Linda replied. "Personally, I don't hold out much hope for him. His spine is shattered in three places and he was nearly cut in two. He lost massive amounts of blood before he arrived here, so there's a good chance of brain damage. If he does awaken, he may not know who he is. Or where he is, for that matter."

"I wonder what he was doing way down here." Deborah mused. "Long ways from Washington, D.C."

Linda looked up suddenly at the mention of Washington, D.C. She remembered the man who had tried to kill Tommy and had kidnapped Lisa was from Washington, D.C. "Are you sure he's from there?"

"That's what Doyle Henry said. He ran the plates on the car and they came back clean. From a rental agency in D.C. rented last Wednesday to Mister Aaron Spelling. Isn't he a movie director, or something?"

"Beats me," Linda replied, dialing Austin's cell phone number. She had to report the presence of this man from D.C.

* * * * *

Two hours after entering the bedroom, Tommy and Lisa emerged with smiles of pure heavenly bliss on their faces. Lisa literally glowed with a bright, inner light that radiated so brightly she appeared to be glowing from within; like one would expect an angel to glow with the light of holiness.

Tommy also glowed. But perhaps, not with such holiness as an angel. His was more the aura of a great and magnificent beast.

Sandy and Melissa sat on one sofa, glowing with love and happiness. Jacob and Terri sat on the other as if they had been together for years, even though it had only been a few hours. Jacob starred into the middle distance as if he had seen the Seven Wonders of the World in less than thirty seconds and had studied them thoroughly, trying to make up his mind which was the most magnificent. His eyes slowly led his head around until he was staring in awe at Terri. He seemed to melt with love and wonder as he stared at her, mouth agape.

She smiled with what may be the seed of love and promise of a bright future together.

"Girls, Jacob. We're going to take a ride out to the ranch to see how things are going. You're welcome to come along if you like and see what we're doing," Tommy said, looking from one couple to the other.

"Sure, I love ranches and horses and such," Melissa said as she stood up and pulled Sandy up with her.

"Sandy, come on, Sweetie. Let's see if we can find something of mine you can wear. I know that uniform has got to be . . . binding," Lisa laughed, taking her hand and leading her toward the bedroom she had just departed.

Five minutes later they emerged. Sandy was wearing a pair of Lisa's Levi's jeans, that were maybe a size too small and a western style blouse that fit her as if tailor made for her. The effect was breathtaking.

'She's beautiful,' Tommy thought. 'Like a million dollar model!'

"Ready?" Tommy asked, a glow of appreciation for beauty in his manner. 'I am quickly becoming surrounded by beautiful women!' he thought. 'But, hell, aren't they all beautiful in their own way?' he concluded.

"If you are," Lisa said. The other girls nodded. Jacob stared as if shell shocked.

Tommy noticed that Jacob was still lost in Terri's eyes as if searching for something as fleeting as wonder, perhaps. Or maybe it was just blind, true love and adoration. Whatever she had done to him during their truck ride had made a devoted disciple for life out of him. He was nearly worshiping at her feet.

"Let's take the limo," Tommy suggested. "So we can all go together and be comfortable."

"Alright," they all agreed. Except Jacob. He was nearly comatose with awe.

Tommy held the door for them, and then followed them across the street to the limo. He held the back door for them as they all climbed in. Then, held the front door for Lisa and followed her in as she slid over on the seat. After buckling his seat belt and insuring all his passengers were also strapped in, he started the engine and drove off slowly; stately as becomes a stretch limousine.

* * * * *

At the ranch site they all stood in amazement at the progress that had been made. The fences were up, as was the barn and stables. The house was framed and roofed. The walls were being boarded up in preparation for the native rock and log facing.

Lisa led the girls down to the house to show them the layout; this gave Tommy a chance to talk to Jacob alone. He wasn't sure how to approach him, but felt Jacob's well being was his responsibility. So, instead of beating around the bush, he just asked him point blank. "Jacob, are you alright? You've been acting strange. What's wrong?"

"Oh, Tommy," Jacob said in wondrous amazement. "The thangs 'at girl done to me in that Peterbilt sleeper-box! I had no idea they could do such wondrous thangs like 'at to their male counterparts! I thank I went to Heaven, three or four times! And am still alive to tell about it!" he went on in awe.

"Well, what you and Terri did is private. So keep it to yourself; out of respect for Terri."

"But, Tommy, 'at girl tied me up and spanked my bare bottom while she did thangs to me with her mouth that I never imagined was true! And I liked it just fine! I asked her to do it to me three times before I realized I wadn't dreamin'," he went on, a pleasant smile on his face from the memory of his experience.

"Sounds like you two are going to be just fine, then," Tommy laughed, patting Jacob on the back.

"Oh, I don't thank fine's the word for it, but I don't know what it is. But, it's good anyway!"

"I'm glad you're happy, Jacob." Tommy smiled.

"I'm mostly always happy. But, never as happy as I've been since I met you and Lisa. I love you guys more than I love me, or Terri, or Tammi Two!" he declared as honestly as he knew how.

"We love you, too, Jacob. Don't you ever forget that. We are brothers, forever!"

"I love you, Cap'n!" Jacob said simply and sincerely.

"I love you too, Jacob. Let's go find the Colonel and jazz him up a little. Whataya say? You with me?"

"All The Way! Cap'n!" Jacob laughed, following Tommy. He stayed respectfully, one step behind and to the right of his superior officer.

Tommy decided he would have to remedy that. He wanted his friends beside him, not behind him. There was a difference.

They found Austin at the stallion's paddock. They had given him two full acres to himself.

There were also several other two acre paddocks for future pure breed stallions.

"Colonel Lake, how's it going around here?" Tommy asked, as he approached the retired Colonel from the side.

That was one rule a soldier never broke. One never walked up directly behind a combat veteran without announcing one's presence well in advance, when possible, thus giving the man time to turn around and recognize the approaching person was not a threat.

The alternative was to approach from the side. Movement was more readily perceived in one's peripheral zone of vision. This gave early warning without speaking; which was often necessary in combat conditions, and preferable to combat veterans.

"Something just isn't right about that stallion," Lake said, never taking his eyes off the stallion a short distance away.

"What's wrong with him?" Tommy asked, bewildered. He had been told by the Colonel that the stallion was perfect in every way.

"Too damn smart and cunning," Austin replied. "He butters you up with gentleness, like a puppy. I just don't trust him, that's all. He's up to something. So, don't turn your back on him, is all I'm saying."

"He's a stallion, Colonel. He lives for one purpose. To pass his genes along to the next generation," Tommy said. "He will attack and attempt to destroy anything he perceives as a threat to that purpose," he continued calmly, looking through the eight foot high fence.

The fence was built high to prevent any of the stallions from jumping it when one, or more, of the mares came into season. That way the mare was not unnecessarily bred every year, unless she was physically fit to carry the long heavy burden of the foal to delivery. If she wasn't, she would not be put in with the stallion.

The life of a brood mare was not an easy life. Pregnancy was very hard on them. Therefore, breeders of purebred horses were very selective about which mare carried a foal to term at any given time.

"He's a magnificent stallion! There's no doubt about that!" Lake reaffirmed his opinion.

"Colonel we need to select a site to build a large truck barn that will hold as many as fifteen to twenty eighteen-wheelers, maybe even more in the future. Got any ideas?" Tommy asked, changing the subject.

"So now you're going into the trucking business? That's risky at today's fuel prices. Have you checked lately?" Austin said, turning to look at Tommy and Jacob. "Howdy, Jacob, I didn't realize you were around."

"I'm mostly pretty quiet, Colonel, Sir!"

Lake nodded, and then turned back to Tommy. "Better do your research first."

"We'll manage, Colonel. It won't be our livelihood, just a sideline."

"It's your money, son. I'm just the foreman of this spread. Maybe up on the hill there."

"Why there?" Tommy asked.

"Less noise for the mares. The trucks won't have to climb the hill if they're already on top of it."

"Makes sense to me," Tommy agreed, thanking his lucky stars he had t he colonel. "Jacob, your barn will be on top of the hill, there." Tommy said pointing.

Jacob turned to look at the hill where Tommy was pointing. "That kind of makes me king of the hill, don't it?"

"Maybe not king, but at least Captain. So, from now on you're a captain. Like me. What do you think, Colonel? Is he Captain material?" Tommy asked, smiling.

Austin stepped away from the fence and walked around Jacob, slowly. He looked him up and down critically, then stopped directly in front of him. "Jacob will make a damn fine captain, Captain!" he replied, nodding in affirmation, then stepped back and joined Tommy at the fence.

Jacob smiled and stepped up beside them at the fence. "Thank you sir!" Jacob said, looking through the rails of the fence at the stallion in the distance. Jacob had been standing back at a distance out of respect for the superior officers. But now, he was no longer the subordinate of the officers, since he was also now an officer.

"Colonel, I've got to go to Oklahoma City, Friday for a meeting with the Governor; Wendell Cartwright. Do you remember him?"

"Like we met yesterday. He was a fine pilot. Hard to believe he is now Governor of a state of the United States."

"You'll be in charge while I'm gone," Tommy said.

"Any idea what it's about?" Austin asked, looking down the rail at Tommy.

"Judge wouldn't say. Just asked me to be there, at the Governor's request. So, I'll go and see."

"Well, good luck, whatever it is."

"I'm going up to the house to have a look around. You coming?"

"No thanks. I've still got things to do around here. You and Jacob go ahead. Maybe I'll see you before you leave."

"Good enough," Tommy replied. "I'll see you later, sir," he added, then he and Jacob turned and started walking for the home site in the distance.

"Later, sir!" Jacob said, all but saluting.

"Later, Jacob," Austin said, then turned back to watch the stallion some more.

* * * * *

Back at the house ,Tommy could see that it was going to be beautiful when it was finished. The girls were sitting in the middle of a stack of plywood, cross-legged and talking like a flock of hens in a hen house. Their happiness and excitement made Tommy smile. When he glanced at Jacob, he saw that he was also smiling; but his smile was for Terri.

Terri smiled back, then winked at him causing him to blush cherry red, drop his head in shyness and shuffle his feet around in the saw dust on the floor. Tommy smiled; his world nearly complete.
Chapter 13

Friday morning Tommy was up at 4:00 A.M. His morning workout was three hours, as usual. He often switched times and routines so his body wouldn't become accustomed to the same exercise at the same time, day after day. He felt that over time, this would be counter-productive and his body may not react at its peak in any given situation at unexpected times.

At 7:00 A.M. he stopped. He was drenched in sweat. His muscles were shiny and bulging when he stepped into the shower. The water was luke warm but felt cold. He gradually increased the hot water until he could not stand it any hotter, and then slowly began to turn the hot water down while turning the cold water up. Soon it was as cold as the city water supply could get it.

When he stepped out of the shower at 7:30 A.M., his body was covered with goose-flesh; he shivered slightly. Despite the chill he felt great. He was ready for whatever the day may bring.

At 8:00 A.M. he was dressed and waiting for Judge Ryan. The Judge had offered to fly Tommy to Oklahoma City in his Beechcraft. It would be a flight of a little over an hour, whereas to drive it would take well over three, depending on the traffic in the downtown areas of Tulsa and Oklahoma City. Perhaps even more if there was a major accident. So, he had taken the Judge's offer of the free flight.

At 8:15 Tommy finished his breakfast and coffee and had rebrushed his teeth. He adjusted his tie and carried his sports coat and briefcase as Judge Ryan pulled up at the curb in his Lincoln and honked his arrival.

At 9:30 A.M. Tommy and Judge Ryan were met at the airport by the Governor's chauffeur driven limousine and driven straight to the State Capitol building.

At 9:45 A.M. Tommy and Ryan were ushered into the Governor's office and informed that Governor Cartwright would be right with them; would they like coffee while they waited?

They were on their second cup when Wendell entered the office alone. Tommy noticed right off that he hadn't changed much since he had seen him last: that would have been during the election campaign three years earlier, Tommy thought. Even then, at six-feet-one, Cartwright had been slim and erect with a military bearing that would probably stay with him for the rest of his life. His hair was still black as coal and shiny as glass, even though there was no evidence of oil or grease to hold it in place. His face was smooth and unwrinkled, other than three lines radiating from the corners of his sparkling gray eyes. His teeth gleamed white when he smiled, which was often. They were straight and even. And they had been exactly the same in Iraq, Tommy remembered, so he doubted that they had been capped.

Cartwright exuded an air of confidence and competence. As a governor he was well liked and undoubtedly would be reelected for a second term. There would be few competitors to challenge his record since he had taken office. And there was not even a whisper of a scandal to be harped on by a challenger. Wendell Cartwright would be extremely hard to beat in the election next year.

Tommy noted all of this as the Governor entered his office and took the ten steps forward to stand in front of him, hand extended. "Tommy LeSade! It's a pleasure to see you again. I think of you often. In fact, every time I look around me. If not for you, none of this would have happened. Matter of fact, nothing would have happened other than a military funeral and the presentation of a flag to my mother. I'm forever indebted to you. If ever you need me, I'm here for you. You have my word of honor, as an Officer and a gentleman on that," Wendell said with sincerity in his eyes and absolute gratitude in his voice, as he shook Tommy's hand firmly and placed his other hand on his shoulder and squeezed affectionately.

"Trust me, Governor; it was a pleasure considering how things worked out for you. I'd do it again with pleasure," he added sincerely.

"Please, have a seat. I have a serious matter I need to discuss with you," Cartwright said, after shaking Ryan's hard and nodded affection for him. Ryan nodded back.

Tommy and Ryan retook their seats on the sofa they had been sitting on before the Governor's arrival. Cartwright took a seat in a large overstuffed chair in front of them. He leaned back and crossed his legs at the knees.

He steepled his hands in front of his mouth and nose. His two index fingers formed the steeple. His fingers were long and slim, Tommy noted, as he touched them to his lips in thought.

"Adam Jenkins is the founder and CEO of Jenkins Petroleum in Tulsa. His only son, nineteen year old, Adam Jr. was doing volunteer work down in southern Mexico along the border of Guatemala. He was taken by rebels and is being held for ransom. Adam senior sent an emissary with a million dollars to pay the ransom. He has since been taken and is being held along with Adam Junior; again for ransom. This time, one hundred million dollars, U.S. If the ransom is not paid in three weeks the hostages will be killed,"

Cartwright said, looking directly at Tommy. "Jenkins senior has agreed to pay the ransom to his son's rescuer. Now, before you answer, I know you don't need the money and I know you are retired, but, the man's only son's life hangs in the balance. He needs the best. And you are him. So, think it over and let me know, soon. We don't have a lot of time."

"I'll go and get him on one condition. Actually, a few conditions," Tommy replied without hesitation.

"I'm listening," Cartwright replied, relief in his voice, knowing any demand would be met no matter what they were. Tommy LeSade was trustworthy. "One, I will need the best equipment money can buy."

"Anything in our National Guard Armory is yours for the asking. I'll notify the Commander," Cartwright agreed.

"The equipment is nonreturnable."

"Agreed."

"I will need high flying transportation for a HALO jump into the area."

"Agreed," Cartwright said, knowing Tommy meant High Altitude Low Opening.

"I will need a Blackhawk for extraction. Possibly under hostile fire. So, the pilot must have hot LZ experience.

"Agreed."

"I will require an exclusive, nonexpiring contract with Jenkins Petroleum for twenty tractor trailer rigs at minimum prices for Brother's Trucking Company. The one-hundred-million dollar ransom will be paid into that company account before I leave," Tommy said, leaving unsaid the possibility that he may not return alive.

"Give me a minute," Cartwright said, picking up the phone and dialing a number.

After a brief conversation he hung up the phone and smiled at Tommy. "He's having the agreement drawn up as we speak and the money will be wired before close of business today."

"I will require the necessary state and federal licenses and permits to maintain an arsenal on my property at Lake Ten Killer."

"Agreed."

"I will require nothing more from you other than a handshake to seal our bargain," Tommy smiled, then stood and extended his hand to the Governor.

Cartwright stood and took Tommy's hand firmly, sealing the deal. "Good luck, Tommy."

"Thanks Governor. It's been a pleasure seeing you again. Give my love to the wife and kids."

"Count on it Captain. You are a legend in our household."

"Thank you, Sir," Tommy said, looking the Governor in the eyes point blank.

"Ready Judge?" Tommy asked, releasing Cartwright's hand and turning to Judge Ryan.

"When you are, Tommy."

"Do you know where the armory is located?" Cartwright asked, escorting them to the door.

"Not right off hand," Tommy replied.

"I'll get you an escort with instructions, alright?"

"That would be great. Thank you," Tommy said.

"My pleasure, Tommy. Take care and come back safe."

"I'll do my best, Sir."

"I know you will, Tommy. I'm glad you're on our side," he laughed, as he opened his office door and showed them into the outer office. "Glenda, get Captain Stamper for me, please."

"Yes, Sir," his secretary replied, picking up the phone instantly. "Gentlemen have a seat. Captain Stamper will be here shortly," Cartwright said, returning to his office.

"Go right in, Captain," Glenda said, when an Army Captain entered to office. "The Governor's waiting," she continued, indicating the door.

Stamper entered without knocking. He was back in less than five minutes. He had a look of wonder and amazement on his face as he approached Tommy and extended his hand. "It is indeed a pleasure and an honor, Captain LeSade," Stamper said.

Tommy stood and took the proffered hand and shook it firmly.

"If you will follow me, I will see that you get everything you require, sir," he continued, releasing Tommy's hand and turned to Judge Ryan. "Judge, a pleasure, always," he said taking the Judge's hand as an old friend.

"The pleasure is always mine, Captain," Ryan replied, thinking back to Iraq and the Captain's Blackhawk spinning to the ground in a cloud of smoke. How he had managed to crash without injuring himself or his copilot and crew was still a military mystery.

"Tommy, Captain Stamper is the best Blackhawk pilot I've ever seen. Bar none!" Ryan said unequivocally.

"Now, Judge," Stamper smiled modestly. "That landing was pure luck!"

"Yeah, like the moon landing was pure luck!" Ryan laughed.

"Well," Stamper smiled. "Shall we go?" he added, gesturing toward the door.

"Yeah, let's get this show on the road!" Tommy replied as they left the office.

* * * * *

After making his selections at the Armory and receiving everything he thought he might need, Captain Stamper drove them to the airport and helped them load the equipment into the Beechcraft for the flight home. It was established that Captain Stamper would be the delivery and pickup pilot to and from Guatemala. He was familiar with the area from past experience during the drug wars of the nineties and was still an exceptional pilot in the Oklahoma National Guard.

It was a known fact that he could fly anything with wings, with or without an engine. Therefore, he was the natural selection for a clandestine mission. Plus, he was fluent in Spanish.

Tommy had readily agreed to the choice. He now sat in the co-pilot seat of the Beechcraft studying an enlarged map of the Southern Mexico and Northern Guatemala region where the rebel camp was located. It appeared to be mostly dense jungle.

"We may need a 'daisy cutter' for the LZ," Tommy said to no one in particular, mostly to himself.

A 'daisy cutter' is a large bomb dropped from an aircraft that exploded at low proximity to the ground. It shredded a large area of jungle in all directions, thus, creating a small, but adequate landing zone in the center for a helicopter.

"Wendell said anything you wanted or needed," Ryan said. "But, Captain Stamper will know what he needs. He knows the area," he added, glancing over at Tommy.

Tommy was deep in thought over the map and didn't respond. He was unaware of anything until the landing gears of the Beechcraft dropped from the wings and nose of the craft and then gracefully touched the asphalt and coasted to a stop in front of Ryan's private hangar.

Tommy got out and slid the hangar door back. Ryan taxied the airplane inside and Tommy closed the door. Inside Ryan turned the aircraft around, and then killed the engine. He got out and began helping Tommy unload and spread the equipment on the floor for its final inspection and packing.

Arrangements were being made, as they worked, for a scheduled, routine flight from the States to Belize, on the eastern coast of Guatemala. That route would take them over the area of the rebel camp. Tommy would make his jump from twenty-five thousand feet. He would then freefall to within five-hundred feet of the ground, then deploy his parachute and float to the ground from about two-hundred feet up.

The landing would be the most dangerous part of the jump. He would be landing in the canopy of the jungle at night unless he could spot an opening on his way down that was large enough for him to enter; unless the Captain decided on a daisy cutter.

After inspecting all of his equipment twice, Tommy unpacked and repacked the parachute he would be using for the jump. His life would be literally hanging on the proper deployment of the canopy.

It wasn't that he distrusted the rigger and packer who had initially rigged and packed the 'chute. It was just that once he left the aircraft, it would be too late to point fingers and collect apologies. It had to be right the first time so finger pointing and apologies were not needed. Plus, there were no second chances.

Satisfied that everything was as it should be, Tommy stood and stretched his back. He had been bent over for more than two hours. He glanced at his wristwatch. It was 3:00 P.M.

"Come on Judge, time for lunch." Tommy smiled.

"More like supper if you ask me. I could eat a froze dawg!"

"Between us, we just might," Tommy laughed, heading for the door, his truck and his home.

* * * * *

To put it mildly, Lisa had not in the least been thrilled to hear that Tommy was going on some rescue mission in Northern Guatemala, alone. She had, in fact, refused to listen to anything about it. She closed her ears, mouth, eyes and mind to the idea after stating her opinion. It was simple, 'Tommy, has lost his mind!'

He sat in the cargo hold of the C-130 as it flew over the flat rolling terrain of North Central Texas. He again saw in his mind Lisa's flat, amazed look of absolute astonishment and disbelief as what he had told her had registered in her unbelieving mind.

"Are you out of your mind, Tommy LeSade!" she had asked incredulously, staring at him as if he were a complete stranger. "To even consider such a thing is madness!" she had added in disbelief.

"It's a hundred-million dollar piece of cake," he had replied with a laugh. "I won't be there two days, at the most," he promised with a smile. She hadn't spoken to him since. She had fled to their bedroom to pout. And worry in private.

Now, as he sat in the aircraft going over his plan, he wasn't so sure it was going to be the piece of cake he had made it seem. Things like this seldom were. But, now wasn't the time to be thinking about the negative aspects of the mission. He would have time enough for that on the ground after he had landed and located the rebel camp.

He decided, he would take one whole day and night to study the camp and locate the hostages. Then he would plan his attack with as little commotion as necessary to rescue the hostages and clear out the area.

This decided he felt it was time for a nap. It was going to be a long, stressful next few days. He would need all the rest he could get for what lay ahead. He closed his eyes and drifted with the gentle motions of the big, heavy aircraft.

It seemed he had just closed his eyes when he felt a tapping on his boot. He opened his eyes. He was wide awake. Captain Stamper stood two feet beyond his feet; taking no chances with a deadly, combat veteran.

"It's time, Captain LeSade. Five minutes," he added, holding the parachute harness up for Tommy to see.

Tommy immediately stood and Stamper helped him into the harness, insuring the straps were snug and the parachute was hanging in the proper position. When it was, he steadied him and led him toward the center of the aircraft and the side door. Tommy carried his equipment bag then sat it on the floor in front of his feet.

Stamper twisted the handle on the door and slid it open and back.

He stepped to one side and invited Tommy to stand in the door. Tommy eased the equipment over and stepped into the door with the bag in front of him. He stood in the door with his knees flexed slightly and his hands on each side of the outer skin of the airplane. The equipment bag, on a twenty foot tether, would go out first and he would immediately follow it. Stamper stared at his watch silently. Tommy waited, staring into the pitch black turbulence outside.

"Go!" Stamper yelled, placing his hand on the parachute and urging Tommy forward and out.

At Stamper's word, Tommy kicked the bag out and hopped from the doorway. He fell into silence. The drone of the aircraft faded into the distance.

He clutched the reserve chute to his chest and felt the drag of the equipment bag at his waist. His legs and feet were held tightly together as he plunged face down at terminal velocity.

Tommy spread eagled and began to watch his altimeter. It was freezing up this high, he thought, as the digits rolled lower and lower, then passed twenty-thousand feet. He became instantly chilled and was still shivering as he fell through fifteen-thousand feet.

The equipment bag pulled steadily at his cargo belt as he plummeted toward the ground. The only sound he heard was the wind rushing past his ears as he fell into total darkness. He estimated he had about twenty seconds of freefall left before he had to deploy his parachute. He stared at his altimeter and as it passed five-hundred feet he pulled the release and the canopy fed out and fully deployed. He felt the jerk in his groin, then the release of pull on his waist when the equipment bag hit the ground and then his feet touched the ground and he immediately flexed his knees and flexing his knees, took the pressure of his landing. He took three steps forward and hit the 'quick-release' on his harness, freeing himself of the breeze blown canopy in front of him.

He still held a mental image of the jungle as he had fallen toward it. He relived the entire jump and analyzed his every move from the exact time the canopy had began to stream out above him and deploy. He had looked up as it had opened to ensure it was fully deployed. It had. The drag began to tilt him head up and feet down from his spread-eagle position.

He then looked down at the blackness of the jungle below, searching for any lighter spot where an opening in the canopy may be. As he fell and drifted he had spotted the large gray area and began to maneuver toward it. He drifted into it, as planned, and he had landed without injury, by pulling down hard on the risers, then releasing them and allowing the canopy to act as a brake for him. It had worked out perfectly as planned.

He stood looking around at the surrounding darkness, amazed at the cacophony of sounds in the nighttime jungle. It was deafening. He knelt at the equipment bag and withdrew his weapon and a radio. He loaded the weapon without placing it on 'safe' and then turned the radio on.

"Mystery Man to Spy. Confirm? Over?"

"Spy confirm. Good luck Mystery Man."

"Roger, Spy. Out."

"Spy out."

Tommy collapsed the antenna and leaving the radio on, fastened it to his utility belt. He placed the headset mic near the corner of his mouth, looked at his compass to get his bearings, then shouldered the pack frame, insuring it was comfortable and picked up his weapon. He pulled his night vision goggles down over his eyes, adjusted the intensity for the terrain, then started slowly through the nighttime jungle. He had a little over a mile to cover before sunrise.

He had no fear of the noise he made being heard. Over the roar of the millions of animals, insects and birds surrounding him, he could barely hear himself think. He knew he was in no danger of discovery, yet, he began to dread the daytime noise, when everything was awake and moving.

With his night vision goggles in place and turned on, he saw that the floor of the jungle wasn't as thick with vegetation as he had at first feared. Still, he took caution with each step. There were many things he had to watch for. Snakes for one; on the ground and in the trees. Snakes could be anywhere! Another thing was spiders. Again, they could be anywhere! They were really worse than the snakes. A spider could be on him and he would never know it until after he was bitten; unless he was extremely lucky, that is.

So, caution was the word as he made his way slowly and carefully through the Guatemalan jungle. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was now 4:26 A.M. He hoped to be in position by no later than six o'clock.

Time seemed to drag by for him as he made his way carefully step, by cautious step, through the jungle. Even with the NVGs (night vision goggles), it was difficult to move fast. He was virtually blind at his feet, so had to remember what he had seen in the distance and where it was in relation to then and now. Still, he moved slowly toward his final destination.

After what seemed like hours of moving through the green and white landscape, he thought the batteries on the NVGs were finally going dead.

He stopped and removed them to replace the batteries and go on. He realized he could see better without them. So he hung them on his belt and removed his GPS device and map. He squatted in place and began to compare the two.

After several minutes' comparison, according to them, he should be dead center in the middle of the camp. He looked at his watch. It read 6:00 A.M. He had to be close. He stayed squatted, waiting for a human sound to lead him the rest of the way.

It wasn't long in coming, but it didn't come from the direction he had expected. It came from the direction he had just come from, but to his left several feet. He carefully retraced his steps, listening intently.

Around thirty yards back and thirty feet to his right was a large flat clearing. Makeshift structures were scattered around it helter skelter. The rebel camp was beginning to come to life.

He low crawled on his stomach and elbows to the edge of the jungle for a better look. He saw right off it was going to be difficult to watch and study the whole camp from any one position. There were just too many blind spots.

After a while, satisfied that he had seen everything he could from his position, he moved to his right nearly a hundred yards, lay and studied. Then a short while later, he moved again. He continued until he had surrounded the whole camp and studied it from every angle.

Around noon, and only halfway around the camp, he saw a man carrying what he thought was two plates of food. He watched the man closely as he opened the door of the shed and placed the plates inside, then closed and locked the door by placing a bamboo pole across it.

As he turned to leave an armed guard came around a corner of the shed. The two men stood talking for a few minutes, and then the delivery boy left. The guard continued on his circuit around the shed.

Tommy smiled. He had found what he hoped was the hostages. Now he had to plan an escape route for them. He couldn't go through the camp at night unless he was extremely lucky. And he didn't feel that lucky. So he had to get into the jungle at its closest point to the shed, and then go from there. He glanced at his wristwatch.

Captain Stamper should have left Belize two hours ago, headed for Brownsville, Texas. From there he would fly a Blackhawk helicopter to an awaiting aircraft carrier on maneuvers in the Gulf of Mexico. Once there, he would wait for Tommy's signal, then head for the pickup point five miles from the camp. If all went well, he would be there waiting for their arrival, rotors spinning, when Tommy and the two hostages arrived. Hopefully, unpursued and uninjured.

Tommy lay watching the inactivity around the camp. He thought they were certainly a lazy bunch. But, then again, they had a million dollars from Jenkins Petroleum to lounge around on. And they were expecting another hundred-million more in the next two weeks. With that kind of money, why not take a day off from time to time, Tommy smiled.

The day wore slowly on. The heat became oppressive. Sweat ran into his eyes and soaked his clothes. There was no hint of a breeze in the jungle. Between him and the shed, heat waves shimmered and danced. Everything became blurred as the afternoon heat began to beat down upon him. It felt like a heavy weight as he lay sweltering inside it. He longed for night. Nothing dared move in the heat for fear of a heat stroke. Even the insects that had tortured him unmercifully had enough sense to seek shelter from the relentless attack of the tropical sun.

Tommy stared through bloodshot eyes at the shimmering, dancing waves that seemed to be losing their energy. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and thought he saw movement through the slow motion heat waves. His eyes snapped wide open and he stared at the wavering shadow as it neared the shed. Once again the man carried two plates of what was obviously food. He unlocked and opened the door, handed the plates inside, said a few words and then closed the door and locked it again.

Just as had happened earlier, as the man turned away from the door, the guard came around the corner. Tommy had not seen the guard since early that morning. The two men exchanged a few words then parted. The guard continued around the shed to complete his circuit.

Tommy could think of only two possible explanations for the guard's unusual behavior, one. He was sitting at the side of the shack in the shade, talking to the hostages through the wall. Or two, he had a makeshift lean-to on the side of the building that provided enough shade to be comfortable. Occasionally, he would peek through a crack in the wall to insure his hostages were still inside and safe. Whatever it was, Tommy hoped he was enjoying his last day on planet earth.

The intense green of the jungle began to turn gray. It slowly faded to blue, then finally to dirty gray again. It was as if that had been the tensely awaited signal for life to begin in the jungle. It seemed as if someone was steadily increasing the volume until the sound was a deafening roar.

Tommy noticed there was steadily more activity around and in the camp. That's when it hit him, these people slept through the heat of the day and the relative silence. Now they were up because it was cooling off but noisy as hell and sleep was impossible for anyone except the stone deaf.

This called for a change of plans. It was Murphy's Law in action! There was no way he could get through to the shed with all the activity and people around. He would have to do it in broad daylight when most everyone was asleep. He hoped.

Fires began to spring up around the camp. Lights began to come on. Music began to play. People began to make merry. Children ran around in groups playing games in the dark. Adults began to shout and talk loud as the volume of the night increased around them. The jungle was at full volume and raising hell. The smell of cooking food wafted on the evening air reminding Tommy that he had eaten nothing since the night before. He broke out a MRE and feasted as he watched the activity of the life of a jungle rebel camp. He noticed that very few of the people were armed.

Sometime after eating the MRE he drifted into a fitful sleep. Dreams of being taken prisoner in Iraq began to haunt his dreams. Then the dream of being shot in the chest by Cramer; pushing Lindsey aside and taking the bullet himself. As the projectile impacted his chest like the kick of a mule, he started and woke up suddenly, eyes wide and looking around as if expecting enemies from any and all directions. He sweated profusely. Between him and the shed, heat waves shimmered and danced once again in erratic patterns. The camp was as silent as a cemetery. It baked in the midday sun, as if in an oven, like he did. It was sweltering!

Tommy couldn't see anything clearly. If he couldn't, he reasoned, neither could they. Therefore, it was time to make his move. And he was ready to go home!

First, he had to eliminate the guard at the side of the shed. Then unbar the door, get the hostages and drag them into the jungle if he had to. He began to crawl slowly toward the shed, weapon across his arms, but ready for instant action if necessary. He didn't want to fire a shot that would more than likely bring the camp to a boiling caldron of life around his ears. If that happened, he and his hostages would be history in seconds.

His plan all along had been to get in, get the hostages, then get out without the captors being any the wiser. If he was unable to do that, for whatever reason, he would have no choice but to fight his way out for as long as he could.

Ten feet from the front door of the shed, he stood up. He stepped to the side of the shed and began to sidle his way along the side slowly. He peeked around the side of the shed in the direction the guard always came from. On the side was an open-sided lean-to. Under the lean-to was a lazy boy recliner, in the recliner the guard lay sleeping peacefully. Around his right arm was an electric cord. It ran from his arm to the side of the shed, then down the side and around the corner to the door, when the door was opened an electronic breaker was closed sending a mild electric current through the cord and into the guards body, waking him instantly. Satisfied that he knew the security system, he withdrew the ten inch Gerber survival knife from its scabbard and slowly approached the sleeping guard.

He stood beside the chair looking down at the sleeping man. Without hesitation, he clamped his left palm over the man's mouth and nose and, as his eyes flashed open in terror, he plunged the ten inch blade into the man's heart. The man looked up at Tommy in wonder, then slowly closed his eyes and relaxed into the arms of death.

Tommy placed his knee on the dead man's stilled chest and, with effort, withdrew the ten inch blade. He cleaned the blood from the blade on the man's shirt, then turned and retraced his steps around the front of the shed.

He placed the bamboo pole to one side and eased the door open. Two men in their early twenties sat cross legged on a pallet staring up at him.

"Are you Adam Jenkins, Junior?" Tommy asked the youngest looking man.

"I am, yes," the young man answered.

"I'm here to take you home if you want to go."

"Hell yes!" the men answered in unison, as they jumped to their feet and came to the door.

When they were out Tommy replaced the pole across the door. Then, turned and led the two men into the jungle as quickly as he could.

Once he had them a safe distance away from the clearing he turned and looked at them earnestly. "I'm Tommy LeSade. I was sent by your father to bring you home. We have a five-mile run ahead of us. So we won't have time to stop and chat about old times. The rebels may notice you're missing any minute. It may be hours, too. So, we take no chances. I will lead. You will follow. You will keep up or die trying. Look where you're going and look where you're stepping. When you can go no farther call out, we'll take a few minutes break. You ready?" Tommy asked, quickly and quietly.

"They weren't rebels. Just farmers," Adam said softly.

"Whatever. They were kidnappers and holding you for ransom. We don't have time to debate the finer points now, let's go," Tommy finished, then turned and took off through the jungle at a slow run. "Step where I step," he said over his shoulder as he activated the signal on his radio.

The close heavy air and the intense heat of the jungle soon had the two young men breathing heavy and sweating profusely. Tommy didn't breathe heavy at all, but, like them, was sweating gallons. He opened his back pack and withdrew three bottles of water. He passed each of the men one. They drank in silence.

"Drink it all," he said, shoving his bottle back into his pack.

When they finished he stuffed their empty bottle into his pack, then turned and began running through the jungle once again. He turned and ran backwards, then seeing they were right with him, he turned and ran on. He checked his compass and GPS screen and, seeing he was dead on course, set a ground covering pace. He wanted them to get as much distance between themselves and the camp before one of them gave out.

After three miles or so, Tommy stopped and turned to them. "How you doin'?" he asked, still not breathing hard.

"Fine," they both answered breathlessly.

"Ready to go the last two?" he asked with a smile. Secretly, he was very proud of them.

"Sure," they answered in unison.

Tommy nodded, then turned and took off at the same ground covering pace.

Fifteen minutes later he heard the slap and thud of a helicopter rotor in the distance. He smiled inwardly that he had led them straight home to the chopper.

Captain Stamper waved from the cockpit as the three men broke from the jungle and into the clearing. They waved back and came at a run toward the opened cargo door. A crew member had opened the door in preparation of their arrival. He then assisted them inside, climbed in after them and closed and secured the door.

The three sat looking at each other as the Blackhawk rose swiftly from the clearing, nose down as it pivoted and began to streak into the clear blue sky.

They all started laughing and talking at once, with high fives all around.
Chapter 14

During the long flight to Brownsville, the three talked nonstop. Tommy learned a lot about the so-called 'rebels' from Adam junior. They were not really 'rebels' as such; mostly farmer/gatherers, goat herders. They harvested fruits and nuts from the surrounding jungle and cut bananas when they could find a good tree. They harvested honey from wild bees and basically survived in a way of life they had enjoyed for countless centuries. Several times a year, they went to the coast, nearly a hundred miles away, and feasted on seafood. All told, they were mostly harmless.

"Mostly it was my fault we were held hostage," Adam admitted. "I told them my father was very wealthy and would pay a ransom to get me back alive and unharmed. I thought that would help the village forever. The cost of living is basically nothing there. Plus, my father has billions, so why not help the people I enjoyed living with?

"Then, Marty here, shows up with a briefcase full of cash and everything changed. The Patron of the village decided that if Dad would pay a million to get his only son back, then he would pay a hundred times that amount just as fast. Any father would do the same thing to protect his son, right?

"In this case, the Patron was correct, in a sense. So, he took us both to the shed and locked us up under guard. If you could call Ramone a guard. He was really just a teenager in his head. Slight retardation, I suspect. He wouldn't harm a fly and the Patron gave explicit orders that we were not to be harmed in any way. We were, after all, his 'golden goose', so we were protected and cared for. We received plenty of food and water and were never mistreated. We just couldn't leave. They didn't even talk bad to us, or threaten us. We were 'part' of the village.

"The Patron sent word to Dad of the change in ransom, and then we waited. They would never have hurt us. It wasn't in their nature. They were just farmers. Peaceful farmers. They would never have thought of this had it not been for me. They were happy with their lot in life, even if Dad never sent the money. It was mostly a game to them. Just to see if I was right. Hell, they got no place to spend hundreds of dollars, much less millions! Looks like they underestimated dad's resolve. He sent you instead, and here we are."

Tommy listened closely to everything Adam said. He regretted killing the guard. If he was as peaceful and simple as Adam suggested, he would have run in terror at the sight of Tommy in his camo paint and tiger stripes. Yet, they had to have known they were playing a dangerous game with the 'big boys'. And when one chooses to play with the big boys, one is subject to get hurt. Seriously!

He even learned a lot about Adam Senior. For instance, he was on his fourth wife; Adam Jr's third stepmother in ten years. He was known to abuse her on a regular basis, and to threaten her life if she attempted to leave or divorce him. He kept her confined to their mansion in Tulsa while he played 'the man about town' and had affairs as if it were his right. He had even been known to dip below the legal age limit from time to time, then pay off the parents to keep them and the crime quiet.

He was bi-sexual and had no qualms about using underage boys. The younger the better, as far as he was concerned, he just paid off when necessary. Money, he claimed, was his passport to freedom; freedom to do whatever he wanted to, whenever he chose to do it. He didn't care who he hurt in the process, as long as he got what he wanted.

Adam Jr. claimed that Adam Sr. was responsible for the deaths of several children under the age of twelve. He was reputedly well-endowed in more ways than money.

All in all, according to Adam Jr., Adam Sr. was a menace to society, but had too much money to be stopped, short of being terminated for the good of humanity.

"What if he didn't have all that money?" Tommy queried innocently.

"He would commit suicide!" Adam laughed seriously. "But, there is no chance of him going broke in this millennium! He's invested in too many major corporations around the world."

"If I knew a way to do it, what would you say?" Tommy asked.

"Go for it! I lost any feeling for him years ago when he began molesting me and my sister. When she died, he just laughed and blamed it on inferior genes, on his mother's side. The fact that she died of syphilis was silenced with his money."

"Are you saying he killed her with this disease?" Tommy asked.

"She was one of the several that died before the age of twelve that I mentioned. Luckily, when the blotching appeared in my palms, a doctor I was seeing noticed it and treated me. Otherwise I would be dead, too."

"So your father molested you, too?"

"For years. Since I was eight years old. Still does when I'm home. That's why I don't go home anymore."

"Where do you live, then?"

"I live with Marty and his wife when I'm in town. Dad sends me money, as a bribe, trying to entice me to come home. I take the money, but I don't go home. I have a trust fund worth several hundred millions. So, I do what I want. Mostly I ignore dad and stay away from him. He's evil!"

"Would you like to see him ruined financially, then?"

"I'd surrender my millions to see it happen!" Adam smiled.

"You maybe wouldn't have to do that."

"I don't believe it can be done, anyway."

"Let me see what I can do," Tommy smiled. "You may be surprised."

"Okay," Adam replied, and then his eyes became enormous. "Ho-ly shit!" he gasped in disbelief. "You're that Tommy LeSade! You did all those software programs for Gates, right?"

"I did a few, yes."

"You got rich!" he stated. "What are you doing this type of thing for? You could get killed."

"A friend asked me to come and get you two. So I did," Tommy smiled. "And yes, I made a little money with the programs."

He remembered the many long, lonely hours he had spent writing and rewriting the programs until they were flawless; even before the Mistri Virus was conceived and developed into reality. His mind automatically went back to why it was conceived and developed in the first place. His resolve once again became iron clad. He would use it to the very end for the betterment of mankind.

He had written a program, as a youth, that had set the world on its ear. In fact it had nearly caused a nuclear attack of a foreign government. The poor kid that had accidentally typed in the trigger code was still in treatment and under government observation as far as Tommy knew. He only knew that the kid had disappeared never to be seen or heard from again.

Following that episode, Tommy had developed several more programs for the 'Corporation' after his ejection from the military. He still held the copyright on them. They paid him royalties on each and every copy like clockwork. They had wanted more and more that would do more and more. He had suggested one program that would do it all and thereby save time, space and work. They had agreed and paid him a multi-million dollar advance against future royalties. He didn't know it at the time but they had also placed him on their payroll. He had spent nearly two years writing and perfecting the program before delivering it to them. They said they would be in touch in a week or so. They lied. So, after a month he contacted them. They didn't know what he was talking about and dismissed the whole thing as a disgruntled ex-employee, when in fact they were using and selling his program.

It had been a clear cut case of the big guy screwing the little guy, then laughing in his face because he cried foul! The courts had sided with the big guy, and campaign contributions. He learned that his copyright was invalid because he had been an employee of the 'Corporation' at the time, therefore, the copyright was owned by the 'Corporation' and had in fact, been filed six months earlier than Tommy's. Trouble was, as he had proven in court, why weren't they using the perfected program prior to his filing for a copyright? They had claimed it had still been in the testing phase and they had not converted their entire system to accept the new program, yet. Plus, he had been an employee of the 'Corporation'; therefore anything he developed was legally theirs anyway. Then they had shown forged payroll records, and that was when Tommy LeSade's dark half came out into the light.

The jury ruled in their favor and he had had to bite the bullet. But, he had also vowed to himself that he was not going to let them get by with it, either. Thus, the Mistri Virus was conceived, developed and perfected, and the first victim to fall was, you guessed it, the Corporation, to the tune of sixty-five-billion dollars! Bankrupt over night. Their accounts drained to a zero balance and every corporate officer ran for cover like cockroaches from the light.

Indictments were issued, trials were held, convictions handed down, sentences issued, wrists cuffed, tears shed, appeals affirmed, prison doors slammed and now long prison sentences being served by those who had been kings.

After a little more refinement, the Mistri Virus was launched into the World Wide Web. The Corporation's debt to Tommy LeSade was paid in full. Now it was time for the government to give him a belated kiss. It had raped him and taken away his purpose in life when it decided he was no longer fit for military duty. So be it.

"So, you can really make it happen?" Adam asked, bringing Tommy back to the present.

"I know someone who knows someone," he answered, looking at the young man across from him. "If that is really what you want."

"It is. I could die happy seeing the old man fall from his ivory tower," he grinned fiendishly. "But, we'll have to protect Lenore. She'll be in extreme danger when he finds out he's broke. He'll kill her, then himself," he added seriously.

"Can you handle that?" Tommy asked his eyes on Adam, then Marty.

"Yes. While he's gone. We'll let you know when she's safe."

"Fine. What do you want to do with the money?"

"Give it to charity. He hated charities. It'll serve him right!" Adam said hatefully.

"Fine," Tommy said, remembering the words of his father across the computer screen.

The Blackhawk sat down in Brownsville beside a shiny white corporate Lear jet with the initials (-JP-) between Pegasus wings written down the side. The side door was open and the steps down. Beside them stood a large, gray haired, distinguished looking man in his mid fifties or there about.

"Damn!" Adam Jr. cursed. "I might have known! The bastardo!" he added in Spanish.

"Must be dear ol' dad?" Tommy asked, facetiously.

"That's him," Adam Jr. affirmed, as he got out and stood beside the Blackhawk and waited for Marty.

When Adam Jr. and Marty were ready, Tommy walked them to the steps of the Lear to meet the gremlin.

"Hello, boy. Good to see you again. You owe me big, now!" Adam Senior said smiling sourly at his son. "And you must be the Tommy LeSade that came so highly recommended, from on high. High everywhere and way. High politics. High priced and high praise. What about you isn't high, LeSade?"

"My tolerance for disrespect from egotistical sons of bitches for starters," Tommy answered.

"No disrespect intended, just stating indisputable facts. It isn't every day I meet a Congressional Medal of Honor winner," he smiled, extending his hand.

Tommy ignored the proffered hand. He didn't like the idea of shaking hands with a dead man.

"So, you've been talking to the boy, have you? You must know by now that he is a pathetic pathological liar, if there ever was one. He doesn't know the meaning of truth. Or how to tell it. Or when to tell it, for that matter. But, I put up with him because he's my only son and child. And I love him despite his many faults and proclivities. This queer here, for one. They're lovers, you know. Oh, I see. He didn't tell you that? Humph, go figure! Well, no matter. We might as well get on home. He has a down payment to make on a hundred-and-one-million dollar debt. Ha! Ha!" he laughed, turning and walking up the steps and into the jet.

The interior of the Lear was cool, plush, baby blue. Tommy had to stop for a moment and think about that. Why not more masculine? Like tan, brown, or a combination of earth tones. This looked more feminine than masculine to him.

"Why baby blue?" Tommy asked directly.

"I find it comforting. Less stressful, if you know what I mean," Jenkins answered with a smile.

"I suppose so," Tommy replied, looking around the cabin, and then taking a seat on the sofa along one side of the craft.

To his right was the cockpit. Across from him was the door he had just entered. The pilot was in the process of closing and securing it. To the right of the door, Tommy's left, was a Lazy Boy recliner, which Adam Sr. occupied. It swiveled to face the front or rear of the jet. Left of Adam Sr., about ten feet, was a long conference table with seven captain's chairs around it. He noticed that Adam Sr.'s chair would slide forward and make the eighth. Adam Jr. and Marty occupied two of them, on opposite sides of the table.

At the end of the sofa Tommy sat on, to his left, was a short hallway. He assumed it led to a sleeping compartment and a bathroom.

"Bathroom's down the hallway, on the right. If you need it," Jenkins said, as if reading Tommy's mind.

"Mister Jenkins, we are prepared to taxi, Sir," a male voice said over the intercom.

"Very well, Captain. At your pleasure," Jenkins said to the space in front of him, then looked over at Tommy. "There are speakers and microphones throughout the craft so I can communicate with the pilots at all times," he said.

Tommy nodded his understanding, as the jet began to move across the apron and out toward the runways.

"You must donate a lot of money to charities and such," Tommy suggested, as if to make conversation.

"Charity! Charity never gave me a damn thing. Well, with the exception of a case of the clap many years ago! I wouldn't donate a cent to any one of the parasitic 'good causes'! A waste of good hard cash! Let the suckers and bleeding hearts of the world take care of the needy. I have nothing for them, but this!" he said angrily, raising his middle finger and shoving it at the roof of the plane.

"Well, how about all the needy children of the world. They're helpless. Don't you think they may need and deserve a little help from the wealthy individuals who can afford it?"

"I didn't say I didn't help people out from time to time," Jenkins defended. "Especially the children. I have a soft spot for children. I take care of several, as a matter of fact."

'Yeah, I'll just bet you do,' Tommy thought. 'Just dig your grave a little deeper and I'll personally put you in it myself.'

"How do you decide which ones to help and which ones to deny? It must be a hard decision," he said.

"It is a 'hard' decision. Believe me," he smiled. "But, if they strike my fancy, and are willing to do a little something for me that pleases me. I will enrich their lives beyond their wildest imaginings! Many times beyond their projected lifetime earning potential," he added after a moment's thought.

"What would such a 'something' be, for example? I ask only because I am faced with the same problem of who to help and who to deny from time to time. It's only common sense we can't help every single needy child of the world. So, how does one decide such an important matter?"

"For me, it's easy," Jenkins smiled conspiratorially, his eyelids becoming heavy. "It's sex. If they please me sexually. Especially young boys, I provide them a lifetime of luxury beyond their wildest dreams. If they don't, well, they don't," he concluded, then turned back to stare at Adam Jr. He licked his lips profanely and rubbed his swelling crotch in a readjustment sort of way as the jet began to scream down the runway at full thrust. "I love this part!" he said sleepily.

Tommy had decided before he had even stopped talking that the grave was plenty deep enough. And it wasn't because the jet was soaring higher into the deep blue sky and he was being pulled by an invisible hand to his left.

"What about your wife, Lenore? What does she say?" Tommy asked as if truly interested. "I just got married," he added as justification for his interest.

"Wives are nothing but arm candy and a place to ejaculate in. That's all. Their opinion is irrelevant. We make the money, they spend it. Plain and simple. After a while they aren't even good for sex! So, pay 'em off and trade 'em in on a newer model. You'll live forever with variety. Trust me," he slurred, drifting off to sleep. His chin rolled onto his chest and began to wobble with the vibration of the aircraft as it leveled off at altitude.

Tommy wondered if he would have confessed these things had he been wide awake. He doubted it. But then again, true evil and selfishness knew no shame. So, it wasn't out of the question. Who knew, perhaps it was like Adam Jr. had said; Adam Sr. felt he was untouchable. So, what he said in private was sacred. All he had to do was deny, deny, deny. Then set about destroying and silencing his accuser.

Tommy got up and moved to the table. He took the chair beside Adam, then leaning in close he began to explain how Adam Sr. had basically made a full confession.

"Yeah, he's quite proud of his proclivities. He would never deny it to an individual when there are no witnesses. He knows it would be his word against yours. He feels safe, so why deny anything?"

"We'll see how safe he truly is this time tomorrow, if you can get Lenore to safety."

"We can. We will. And just for the record, I'm not gay and Marty and I are not lovers. He," Adam indicated his father with a jut of his chin "says things like that to hurt me. It doesn't work anymore."

"Okay, then. Are you sure about the money going to charity?"

"It would be the very last place he would want a cent of it to go, believe me."

"We touched on charities during our conversation. Consider it done, then," he said, and then moved back to his place on the sofa to stretch out and think.

When the Lear touched down at Tulsa International Airport, Tommy's eyes opened. He felt refreshed, but knew immediately that he needed a shower, bad. He felt gritty from the non-stop sweating in the jungle. He couldn't wait to get home and remedy several pressing problems.

When the Lear rolled to a stop and the engines began to whine to a stop, the captain came out of the cockpit, unlocked and opened the door. The steps floated to the ground as the door opened.

They were inside a large, private hangar. There were several other aircraft parked around the inside, as well as a baby blue stretch limousine. All sported the JP emblem somewhere on their body.

"Sleep well?" Tommy asked, noticing that Jenkins was awake and moving. "Yes, thank you. It's a sign of a clear conscience," he laughed as he stood and started for the door.

"Mister LeSade, the Rolls there, is a gift of appreciation for a job well done. The paperwork is inside. It's free and clear. Enjoy it with my gratitude. Goodbye," Adam Sr. said, then disappeared inside the limo. When the door was closed the driver got behind the wheel and the stretch pulled out immediately.

"The pilot radioed ahead for him with his instructions. You were asleep," Adam Jr explained.

"What am I supposed to do with a Rolls?" Tommy asked bewildered, looking from the maroon and black Rolls Royce and back at Adam. 'It actually glows!' he thought.

"Drive it. It's a classic Silver Cloud. Worth about a half-a-mil or so. Sell it. Store it for your kid. Hire a chauffeur for your wife. Do whatever you want to with it. It's yours. Enjoy it!" he smiled. "One thing about the old man, he doesn't give cheap gifts to people he admires. And once you drive it, you'll love it! Why do you think they named it Silver Cloud," he added, love and appreciation for beautiful things in his voice and eyes.

"I don't feel right taking an expensive gift like this from a man I intend on destroying, literally," Tommy said, as he walked around the beautiful car. "It is beautiful, though," he admitted, gently brushing the swept back gleaming black front fender with the tips of his fingers. "I'll admit that."

"Mister LeSade thanks for coming to my rescue. I owe you my life. If there is ever anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask. It will be my pleasure," Adam said, extending his hand to Tommy. Tommy took it firmly.

"My pleasure, Adam," he said seriously, shaking the young man's hand. "Do you need a lift somewhere? I'll play chauffeur."

"No thanks. Marty has his 'vette here. I'll ride with him."

"Adam, other than delivering the money, what was Marty's part in this?"

"He's my brother. Actually, half-brother," Adam replied. "Lenore's son. Her only child. Why?"

"Oh, just curious is all."

"We'll see you later, Mister LeSade. It's been a pleasure knowing you. Keep your promise to me, okay?"

"Count on it, Adam," Tommy promised, opening the trunk of the Rolls, placing his equipment and weapons inside, then walking around to the front door and got behind the wheel.

With the door closed he didn't hear the Corvette start and roar from the hangar. It made a sharp left and disappeared around a far corner of the building. He started the Rolls Royce and followed them out of the airport. He was in fact, riding on a silver cloud that seemed to float him along his way home.

He found it hard to stay awake. The Rolls Royce seemed to be trying to rock and float him gently to sleep as it glided along the highway. He fought the desire to give in to its relentless, siren's beckoning call and soon found himself entering the city limits of Tahlequah.

The Rolls attracted much attention and wide open curious stares. He was relieved when he pulled into the driveway beside Lisa's Lexus and parked.

He was met at the door with hugs and kisses from Lisa. He also got quite a scolding for the one-sided decision to go on the mission. She felt he should have at least consulted her. After all, she was his wife and she was carrying his child. She had a right to know and voice her opinion. He should think of her once in a while, and not just himself.

He listened patiently to her list of grievances then went to take a shower and get some sleep. He was on the verge of exhaustion. He wouldn't last much longer in his present state. And, he decided, he wasn't going to win this argument, so why stick around and feed into it?

The shower seemed to revitalize him. The hot, steamy water relaxed his tense exhausted muscles, so that by the time he had the hot water tap off and just the cold water on, he was feeling like a new man.

After he dried off and got dressed, he returned to the living room. Lisa was nowhere in sight. After a few minutes of searching he heard a faint squeaking noise from the front porch. He recognized the sound and went to it.

Lisa was on the swing, slowly rocking back and forth. He sat beside her. She ignored him. He didn't speak either. He was content just to set beside her; in her presence, as it were.

"Birds," she said suddenly. "I hope we have a lot of birds on the ranch. I love to listen to the birds sing. Especially, early in the morning."

"There will be birds, I'm sure," he replied with a smile.

"I want lots of birds! Like trees! Millions of them!"

"We can put out feeders to attract them. Bird houses to nest in. It's easy to attract them and keep them around."

"Can we buy some? Ducks, geese, peacocks, swans? Birds like that?"

"As many as you like. Honey, you can have anything you want. As much as you want. Just buy them."

"You won't get mad if I spend your money?"

"I'd give away all the money if that's what it took to make you happy. I love you Lisa. Your happiness is all that matters to me. Nothing else."

"Not even the money?"

"Especially the money."

"I love you, Tommy," she said, leaning over against his shoulder gently.

"And I you," he replied, as his lips met hers. Inside the house the phone rang.

'Just my luck,' he thought, breaking the kiss and standing up. "I'll be right back," he promised. But, he wasn't.

He answered the phone in the living room on its fourth ring.

"Tommy LeSade," he answered pleasantly.

"Mister LeSade, its Adam Jenkins, Jr.," the youthful, excited voice said.

"Adam, is everything alright?"

"Yes, we have Lenore with us. We're going to Marty's house. Dad had to go to Houston. One of his oil wells in the Gulf blew. So you can do it. Whatever it is. Okay?"

"Are you sure this is what you want, Adam?"

"Positive, Mister LeSade. Just do it."

"Okay Adam. There's no turning back. You do understand that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Okay then, consider it done."

"Thanks Mister LeSade."

"Thank me when it's all over. You may feel differently, then."

"I'll feel the same as I do now, only better."

"Okay, then. Bye."

"Bye Mister LeSade."

Tommy hung up the phone and walked into the den. He booted up his computer. As it came on and warmed up, he constructed in his mind what he was going to do and how he was going to do it and in what order.

"Oh, my god!" he heard Lisa exclaim from the living room.

He went to her immediately. She stood in front of the TV watching a 'breaking' news story on CNN. It looked to him as if a large bomb had gone off somewhere in the jungle. He began to get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He began to hold his breath, waiting for the commentator to resume speaking and describe what Tommy was seeing. Then he did...

"...To recap this breaking news story that you are seeing live footage of as we speak...a U.S. bomber, flying maneuvers off the coast of Belize, in the Gulf of Mexico, just a few hours ago, accidentally dropped its full complement of armaments on a small fishing village, twenty miles west of the Guatemalan boarder. How the aircraft flew so far off course is unknown at this time. It is feared that there are no survivors in the village of two-hundred-and-seventy-six inhabitants. I repeat two-hundred-and-seventy-six men, women and children are feared dead in this massive bombardment of a small fishing and farming village twenty miles west of the Guatemalan border with Southern Mexico and Belize...For further updates on this breaking news story stay tuned to CNN News..."

Tommy felt his stomach turn as he remembered the children running and playing in the flickering firelight the night before. He could still hear their exuberant, joyous, excited childish laughter as they pursued and evaded each other in the night.

He felt his anger begin to rise beyond control. He knew perfectly well who was responsible for this travesty. He also knew what he was going to do about it. He turned and reentered the den and his computer. He seated himself at the terminal and began to type furiously, non-stop for two minutes straight. When the code was in and accepted, he sat back and waited for the doors of the massive vault to hell on earth to open wide and invite him inside. He went without hesitation or regret.

The fall of a mighty financial empire is akin to a whirlpool in the heart of hell. Everything even remotely touching it is sucked down into the raging vortex and consumed as the superstructure fights for survival. In the end it fails as it consumes itself totally from within in a futile effort to escape its unavoidable fate.

Such was the near instant demise of Jenkins Petroleum. Once the fall began there was nothing anyone in the highest positions, in the highest offices of the Jenkins Skyscraper in downtown Tulsa could do except pray the collapse would stop before it was dead and in ruins.

By five o'clock the following afternoon, all was lost. Including, but not limited to, Adam Jenkins, Sr. Several presidents, vice-presidents, and one chief financial officer went with him as a result of his insane rampage with a fully loaded, pearl handled, gold plated, diamond studded, .45 Colt Model 1911 that had served him well during two tours in Viet Nam. The last round in the clip reserved for himself and his own infected brain via the roof of his mouth.

Amazingly, exactly twenty-four hours to the minute later, everything was completely restored exactly as it had been, with the exception of lost lives, prior to the announcement that the mighty petroleum empire had inexplicably gone belly up.

No one could explain it; the chief financial officer was dead. The best anyone could do was blame it on a computer glitch that had miraculously repaired itself.

Numerous analytical checks were ran on the hard-drives and software of the financial programs and not a bit, byte, or bytes, was found to be responsible. Everyone agreed it was a shame the recovery could not have happened eight hours sooner to avoid the unnecessary bloodshed and death of the nine top officers of the corporation. In his Last Will and Testament, Adam Sr. had left everything to his one and only beloved son. Adam Jr. sole heir to the Jenkins fortune was rumored to be worth near one-trillion dollars in assets.

After two weeks of flip and flap about the death of one of Tulsa's greatest pillars, everything was back to normal. The deaths gone and forgotten as everyone returned to business as usual.

Everyone agreed, especially those who couldn't explain it and should have been able to, that with the trillions of gigabytes floating through the world wide web, and the airways, it was in fact feasible that a certain alignment of X number of random bytes could potentially trigger an anomaly such as the one experienced by Jenkins Petroleum, which would lead to a potential temporary erasure of all business transactions for a brief period of time. Should such an anomaly occur again, the experts urged CEOs to be patient and give the system time to repair itself. Perhaps it would.

Tommy however, knew otherwise. Had he wanted to erase Jenkins Petroleum permanently he could have done so with a simple click of a button. He had decided against it when he thought of all the innocent people who would ultimately be affected by the financial destruction of such a major corporation. He had explained his decision to Adam Jr. following the funeral of Adam Sr. when Adam Jr. inquired as to what had gone wrong with Tommy's plan. Adam Jr. had understood and agreed with Tommy's reasoning.

In a press release following his decline of the President and CEO position, Adam Jr. had announced he was giving the employees of the corporation a one-time chance to purchase equal amounts of shares in the corporation.

He had explained to reporters that he would take the number of employees, multiply that number by one-thousand, and then sell each employee one-thousand shares in Jenkins Petroleum for one-thousand dollars. What he didn't say was that for the employees that did not have, or could not afford one thousand dollars, the purchase price would be paid by himself as a gesture of thanks for their loyalty to his father and the corporation.

In effect, the employees would own Jenkins Petroleum lock, stock, and barrel. He was through with it. He had all the money he could spend in several lifetimes and had no intentions of trying to make more.

Tommy had congratulated him on his wisdom and charity to his father's employees and wished him well in the future. He also invited him to visit the ranch in Tahlequah. His door would always be open to the young man, Marty, Lenore and any future family he may have.

Now, two weeks later, standing at the corral looking at the new Appaloosa stallion that had just arrived that morning on Jacob and Terri's new custom Peterbilt, Tommy explained to Adam that he had one more fish to fry before he could consider retiring to enjoy his ranch and family.

"Who's the fish?" Adam asked, watching the stallion prance around the paddock proudly.

"I don't want to call any names. But, he is at the very top of his chosen field. And he authorized the bombing of the village in Guatemala a month ago."

"You're kidding, right? You wouldn't really go after him would you?" he asked incredulously, looking wide-eyed at Tommy.

"He authorized the wanton murder of innocent men, woman and children. He is guilty of crimes against humanity. He's not above the law and must answer for his crime, same as anyone else," Tommy replied simply.

"And you'll be his judge, jury and executioner?"

"Someone has to," Tommy replied. "Can you name anyone else willing to do it, who can, without repercussions?" he added invitingly.

"No," Adam replied after a few seconds thought. "But, to have that kind of power, it could be easily abused..."

"Yes, it could," Tommy agreed. "But I've had it for over a year and I haven't desired to become ruler of the universe."

"Yet."

"I never want that kind of responsibility," Tommy smiled.

"I can't think of anyone that I would trust with that kind of power; except someone who didn't want it!"

"So, that leaves me, right?"

"Yeah, I guess it does, Tommy," Adam said sadly. "But, I hate to see you go up against someone like him. He's evil. Like my father was evil. Only the President is a lot more dangerous. And evil with power is a very dangerous enemy."

"Not if he doesn't know who, or what, hit him. Or why. Or how for that matter."

"Are you sure he won't know?" Adam worried, concern for Tommy's safety and well being evident in his strained voice.

"Well, Adam," Tommy smiled. "Let's hope not."

"Yeah, for sure."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Tommy said, turning to the eighteen-wheeler. "For now, let's worry about unloading those mares," he added, walking toward the trailer.

Adam followed him, eager to see the mares Jacob and Terri had purchased in Montana the week before.

Later that evening Tommy sat in deep contemplation; staring blindly into his computer screen. Perhaps he was awaiting enlightenment. Perhaps permission. Perhaps even encouragement to topple the President of the United States. Whatever it was, he continued to wait, allowing the argument to wage war in his mind. He must always be on the side of right. Knowing he had the power to rule the world did not give him the right to abuse that power. In fact, he didn't want the job at all!

To the people of the United States, who is the President? Perhaps the better question is 'what' is the President of the United States? And what does he represent? When does he cross the line of misrepresenting the United States, its people and its National Creed? When does the President of the United States cease to be a leader for the people, elected by the people, as a representative of their beliefs, morals, and National Intent to other peoples and nations of the world?

When he breaks the Laws of Humanity? When he intentionally deceives the People? When he intentionally misleads the nation? When he misrepresents the Oath of Office? When he breaks it?

These questions, and hundreds more like them, zoomed through Tommy's mind like flashes of light in the blackness of night. Each question gave birth to more questions. And they, in turn, brought forth more that needed to be answered satisfactorily before he could, or would, act.

The Ultimate Answer to them all was simple; when a President of any country placed himself above the laws of that country, he ceased to be the People's President and instead, became their Dictator; immune to the Laws of the land, the laws of Humanity and the Laws of the Creator of the Human Race and everything that dwells upon Planet Earth, whether that Creator is a Being, Spirit, Myth, or simply Evolution. Whatever it may be, it produced a being with the ability for abstract thought and the ability to influence its place on the planet.

The phone record lying beside the computer monitor proved beyond a doubt that Adam Jenkins Sr. had called the President's private line on the morning Tommy brought the hostages out of Guatemala. In fact, it had taken place about the same time the Blackhawk crossed the Mexican border into Texas and landed at Brownsville.

The time line was near perfect when Tommy stopped to think about it. There was no question the President of the United States had been influenced by Jenkins and had chosen to disregard the law of the land and wantonly murder two-hundred-and-seventy-six, for the most part, innocent men women and children. Of course, he had no record of the actual conversation and in reality could prove nothing. But coincidence? He thought not! Justification? Perhaps. But, it was not as simple a matter as that to ruin a President of the United States.

Maybe I should just put the evidence out there for the entire world to see, and then let the people decide, he finally argued to himself.

The idea of personally ruining an American President was a daunting one. He had found it was as simple as one, two, three when he had stopped to consider all of the ramifications and ultimate consequences of such a decision and action.

Making up his mind once and for all, he leaned forward to the keyboard and punched the last key that would free the demon from its cage. In a matter of seconds the President of the United States would begin to fall and the crash would be mighty.

Let the chips fall where they may, he thought, as he made the very last keystroke and the gates of hell opened on the soon to be ex-President of the United States of America.

Chapter 15

The results of Tommy's decision were devastating; irreversible. The evidence irrefutable. The finger pointing unstoppable. The accusations flying. The public outcry for impeachment and prosecution, ear shattering. In the end, a dead president; murdered at the hand of an unknown assassin inside the White House itself. And unlike the assassination of President Kennedy, no assailant was found and no weapon produced. Investigations flourished, but no one was really serious about finding and convicting a guilty party. Instead they concentrated their efforts on finding the party responsible for releasing the damning evidence to the public in the first place. Their efforts were futile.

"It is unseemly that the President of the United States cannot have secrets from the public." This statement, made by the Vice-President, newly elevated to the Oval Office, led to his immediate downfall in the wake of what had led to the demise of his predecessor.

The Secretary of Defense, the National Security Advisor and the Attorney General soon followed their ill-fated leaders into history. And for the first time since George Washington, the United States was leaderless.

The Speaker of the House, James Adam Cartwright, was nominated as acting President until an election could be held. He was unanimously approved by Congress and took office soon thereafter. He took the Oath of Office and was sworn in by Chief Supreme Court Justice, Lansing P. Shelter exactly twenty-seven days following the President's assassination.

* * * * *

The day following the inauguration of President Cartwright, six Secret Service agents showed up on Tommy LeSade's new front porch on Lake Tenkiller.

Tommy was whisked away, along with Lisa, Jacob, Terri and Judge Ryan, to Washington, D.C. by order of the new President of the United States. Their presence was demanded in the Oval Office. It seemed President Cartwright wanted to talk to them about a most serious matter of National Security.

The five were ushered into the presence of the new President without the slightest delay. He ordered them to be seated. Then, offered them coffee or tea. Tommy asked for pure water. It was delivered without delay.

Jacob wanted Root Beer. It was delivered.

Lisa and Judge Ryan wanted orange soda. They received it.

Terri settled for iced tea and a hot spicy pickle. She was pregnant; her request was fulfilled even though it took a little while longer.

"Let's take a walk in the Rose Garden," the President said, standing and leading them in the right direction.

They all stood and followed him through his private entrance. Tommy was not shocked to see Governor Wendell Cartwright seated on a bench in the garden. He stood as his brother approached with his guests. "It seems everyone is here," the President said as he shook his brother's hand. "Everyone gather around close. We can't speak loud. There are ears everywhere. Mostly I'll whisper. You listen. Understood?"

They all nodded their heads in understanding and stepped in close. Tommy stood on the President's left.

"I have ordered all investigations into the late President's death stopped. It is a futile effort to discover what is not there," he said looking directly at Tommy and winking his eye. "As of this moment you are all the seed of a new National Security group. Tommy, you are its head. You assign your people where you want them. Your primary purpose is to follow up on the rumors concerning our National Security. You will be free to investigate any public or private person or official, including myself. As there is no way to stop you from what I gather," he smiled, then glanced at his brother. "If you find evidence of corruption, you will expose it to the public, as you did with our late President," he smiled again, looking back at Tommy. "You have my word of honor that you will never be exposed by this administration."

Alarm bells were going off in Tommy's brain like a five alarm fire. His father screaming loudly in his ear, "Tommy never trust the CIA or the government! You are nothing to them. They only care about themselves, their power and their money! They will discard you in an instant if it is for their advantage! Look at what they done to me! Where are they now, Tommy? Where are they now!"

"Excuse me Mister President. But, I haven't a clue as to what you are talking about, sir," Tommy said loudly, so anyone listening could hear him plainly.

The other four decried their innocence as well.

The Governor turned pale.

The President turned red and began to tremble slightly. He stared intently at Tommy as if his look alone could kill.

"LeSade, I will pursue you until the Hounds of Hell run you aground. If you think you can beat me, just try it!" he hissed in a whispered roar.

"No one is trying to beat you, Mister President. I simply fail to understand what your purpose is, Sir," Tommy replied calmly, as Master Wu spoke soothingly, but seriously and earnestly, in his mind. 'Young Tommy, when you release the Corona of the Sun upon your enemy, he will not see the next sunrise in this lifetime. Use it wisely on your deadliest enemy only!"

"Oh, you know, LeSade! Don't play stupid with me," Cartwright hissed, leaning closer to Tommy's right arm.

"Sir," Tommy said, raising his right arm behind the President's back.

His index and middle finger seemed to just touch at the base of the President's skull, then dropped back to his side.

The President saw an instantaneous, blinding red, flash behind his eyes as Tommy's fingers, quick as a striking black Mamba, slammed the nerve bundle together with several hundred pounds of pressure.

"A bee, sir," Tommy said simply, knowing the President was dying even as he spoke. "As I was saying, Sir," Tommy continued as if nothing had happened. "I am in no way qualified to head such an organization. That is all I was implying, Mister President," he continued, hoping to calm the President down so they could part on good terms.

"Oh, I believe you are more than qualified," the President said. "I have decided! So, it shall be!" He turned abruptly and left them standing in the Rose garden.

"Tommy, let me explain..." Wendell began.

"I don't want to hear your explanations, Governor," Tommy interrupted rudely. "You have shown where your loyalties and honor lie. Now, you live with it," he added, poking the Governor slightly left of center of his chest in a gentle rhythmic way with his index finger. Directly beneath his poking finger lay a bundle of nerves that if disrupted in the proper manner would disrupt the respiratory timing as well as the electrical impulses to the heart that kept it beating regularly. Tommy's carefully timed pokes to Wendell's chest caused the nerves to begin misfiring slightly. As time went on, the misfire would grow worse until the heart stopped all together. Nothing known to modern medicine would restart and retime the electrical impulses to support life that was now balanced on a razor's edge. The slightest emotional shock would send it crashing into oblivion. In fact, Governor Wendell Cartwright was a dead man walking. He would die within twenty-four hours, after learning of his brother's death.

"I'm ready to go home now. Show us out of this snake pit, please," Tommy said, taking Wendell by the arm and gently shoving him forward.

Tommy's belief was that when one was confronted with evil, and that evil threatened one's life, safety or family, it was better to destroy it first, rather than allow it to destroy what one held sacred. He truly felt bad about destroying a life he had once saved. However, in some cultures around the world, if one saves the life of another, that life becomes the property of the saver, to do with what he wishes, when he wishes.

Tommy didn't believe, or feel, he owned Wendell Cartwright's life. He did believe though, that he was owed the man's loyalty. And when Wendell chose to betray the secret of the Mistri Virus and jeopardize Tommy's wellbeing, peace of mind and trust that was one thing. But, when he chose to endanger the people Tommy held closest to his heart, that was quite another terrible mistake. An unforgivable sin. In fact, a deadly sin.

In the White House limousine on the way to the airport to catch a commercial flight home, Tommy called Colonel Lake and asked him to meet them at the Tulsa International Airport.

"I'll call you back when I get a flight time and ETA," Tommy said.

"I'll be there," Austin stated. "How'd your visit go with our new president?"

"Let's just say it went."

"Sounds exciting," Austin laughed, then hung up.

There were no available flights out for three hours. So, Tommy decided to charter a flight to Tulsa. He called the Colonel and told him of the change of plans.

They were in the air in less than an hour, heading southwest at over four-hundred miles per hour. They would be home for supper.

"Tommy, why don't you build a landing strip on the ranch and buy a Lear jet?" Judge Ryan inquired.

"I don't know how to fly," Tommy replied earnestly.

"Hire a pilot. You can afford it!"

"That's true. But we rarely go far enough to justify a Lear."

"You could go anywhere your business leads you, if you had one," Ryan pointed out. "Then, you could buy your own horses instead of relying on someone else."

"There is that," Tommy agreed. "How long of a runway would it take?"

"Two-thousand feet would do nicely."

"Is that all?"

"You could go longer if you wanted to."

"Maybe I will. I'll think about it, anyway."

"I like the idea of having a private jet at my beck and call," Lisa smiled.

"I got another new Peterbilt, Tommy. You should have a new jet. I wish I had one," Jacob said wistfully.

"It is a good idea, Tommy," Terri said. "No more driving to airports, waiting for flights, fighting traffic. Just step out your back door and fly away," she added dreamily.

"Alright! Alright! I give in, already! You win," Tommy laughed, knowing he wouldn't hear the end of it until he capitulated. "But first, the runway."

There were cheers all around the cabin of the private jet they were flying in. Tommy loved to see his friends so happy. It was all that made life worthwhile.

"Lisa, you and Terri start looking. When you find the one you want, we'll buy it," Tommy said. "But, not until the runway is finished and a hangar built. Fair enough?"

They all began to talk excitedly and all at once about what they wanted in a new jet. Tommy tuned them out and fretted over the morrow and what it would bring.

When Tommy entered his computer room in the new house, his first mission was to recover all the money he had entrusted to Wendell Cartwright. What was left of it anyway. His second mission was to figure out who would be the next President of the United States and whether he could be trusted or not. If not, he would be destroyed politically. If he could, he would be allowed to serve without interference. If he turned corrupt while serving, he would go the way of the last two.

Tommy left the Cartwright estate one-hundred-million dollars. If they couldn't live comfortably on that amount for the rest of their lives, then shame on them. He recovered almost a hundred-billion and dispersed it throughout his, Ryan's and Lake's accounts worldwide. The accounts never noticed the influx of funds. They absorbed the meager amount as if it were interest only, or as the ocean absorbs a sudden rain shower.

The first reports of the newly appointed President's death hit CNN News channel around 8:00 p.m.; the cause of death had not yet been determined, but anaphylactic shock was a prime suspect. It seemed the President had been stung by a bee while strolling in the Rose Garden earlier in the day. Efforts to save his life had been futile. He had been pronounced dead within half an hour of the onset of the symptoms. It was a tragedy; a great loss for a nation still reeling from the death of his predecessor. The coverage went on and on, bla, bla, bla, until Tommy, for one, was sick of hearing the lies being told by those who didn't want to know the truth.

Then another wave of news hit the airways when the news broke of the late President's younger brother Wendell, the current Governor of Oklahoma, and the President's choice for Vice President had dropped dead of a massive coronary after hearing the news of his brother's death.

A tragedy on top of tragedy, on top of tragedy; the greatest loss of political authority in the history of the United States! Two Presidents, a Governor, an Attorney General, A Secretary of Defense and one National Security Advisor, dead in the span of three months.

Tommy in no way regretted his decisions to clean out the corruption that was rampant in American politics. Corruption was a disease with only one cure. It was akin to rust on a piece of steel; corrosion on a piece of aluminum; bright sunlight on some plastics of the kind used in the dash boards of some American cars. If left unattended and treated, it would grow until total deterioration was the result.

Tommy had the means and desire to stomp it out. He had no political aspirations, no power addiction he had to feed and most of all no personal ax to grind. He just wanted honesty for the American people. They fought for it and died for it. They earned it and deserved it. He would give it to them free of charge.

He believed that were it not for the poor and middle class, there would be no United States at all. For instance, who fought the wars? The poor and middle class. Who kept the politicians fat and happy? The poor and middle class. Who fed off the poor and middle class? The government. Therefore, the least it could do was give honest representation to its host.

America was the greatest bureaucracy in the history of the world and when pressed, claimed the people lived off it, instead of the other way around.

It was high time the honest, hard-working people of America had an honest and hard working government they could believe-in, trust, and depend on. He, Tommy LeSade, was going to see they got it for a change, one way or the other. Or he would die trying.

* * * * *

Tommy was sitting on his new front porch in Lisa's new swing when he saw Jacob's pickup come speeding down the hill from the truck barn.

He slid to a stop in front of the house and got out fast. He was talking loud before his pickup door swung shut.

"Tommy! Judge let Jack Anderson outta jail this mornin'! Anderson's a'comin for you! Says he's gonna kill ya dead!" he finished as he came up on the porch looking big eyed and scared.

"Do you believe him, Jacob?" Tommy asked calmly, remembering the big, fat, loud mouthed ex-sheriff whose attitude he had adjusted a few months back.

"Yeah Tommy, I do," Jacob said seriously. "Them Andersons are real bully-boys. They'll back shoot ya if need be. Quicker'n a grasshopper can jump!" he added, taking a seat on the swing beside Tommy.

"Maybe I'd better go and apply lesson number two," Tommy said thoughtfully. "What do you think?" Tommy asked, becoming tickled at Jacob's agitated state.

"It ain't just him you gotta worry about, Tommy. There be several of them boys and they all stick together like Velcro!"

"They could have come for me any time since I locked Jack up. Why now?"

"Jack's the elder; the only one of the bunch with a lick of sense. He'll lead 'em, Tommy. And they'll foller him! Mark my word! Like ducks after a junebug!"

"Jacob, should I wait here for them to come and get me? Or should I go looking for them? What do you think?" Tommy grinned, knowing he wasn't going to let danger come around Lisa, Terri or Linda. Or anything else on his property that he was, or felt, responsible for.

"You al'ays ask me the hard questions!" Jacob accused, becoming more and more agitated. "Why?" he asked, perplexed. "Hell, I guess, go fer 'em! Can't lettum' come here!"

"That's what I was thinking, too," Tommy answered, standing tall and stretching easily. "Aaaahhhuua! I wonder where they are about now?" he asked after his stretch.

"They's stompin' up and down Main Street, talkin' loud and pushin' folks around, about a half an hour ago!" Jacob said. "Pushed Miss Clemmons down in the gutter then laughed when she started cryin'. Didn't even hep' 'er up!"

"Now that really makes me sad; that grown men would treat a nice old lady like Miss Clemmons in such a way as that. Miss Clemmons is my friend. I'd better go pay her a visit," Tommy said calmly. "I'll be right back," he added, then stepped inside the house.

"Lisa, I'm going into town for a while. Do you need me to pick up anything while I'm there?" Tommy asked loudly, in the direction of the stairs.

"No, Babe, I can't think of anything, right off. And Tommy, don't buy any more toys! We can hardly get in the nursery now. The baby's not due for another month!"

Tommy smiled thinking of all the toys he had bought in the last few months in preparation for the arrival of his child. "Okay, I'll be back in a little while." He turned and pushed through the door and onto the front porch.

"Okay, see you then," he heard her say from somewhere inside the new house.

* * * * *

Tommy stopped his truck in front of Clemmons Jewelry and got out.

He remembered the first time he had entered the little mom and pop jewelry store. He had stopped in to buy a wedding ring for Lisa. Mrs. Clemmons had treated him like family and had made him feel special, as he looked over the meager selection. She had apologized profusely for not having a better selection in stock. She explained that since Mr. Clemmons had passed away and after the expense of the funeral she was in fact barely getting by. She feared she may have to close the store and go to an old folks' home somewhere.

Tommy remembered asking her if that was what she wanted. She had just about thrown him out for even suggesting such a thing. He had apologized and all was instantly forgiven. He had bought the most expensive ring in the store and asked her if she would consider a silent partner who had plenty of money, just an investor; she would still have complete say so in every aspect of the business.

He remembered, as he crossed the sidewalk, that she had asked how much of an investor. He had said, however much it took to replenish the stock, remodel the store inside and out and print up a catalog advertising their selection. He remembered glancing around quickly, then saying he figured maybe half a million dollars ought to put her back in style. She thought he was joking, of course, until he had asked to use her phone to make some financial arrangements.

He had called the bank, asked for Sam Bishop, informed him he was in Clemmons Jewelry, here in town and said for Bishop to give Mrs. Clemmons a half a million dollar line of credit on his account.

After he handed the phone back, Mrs. Clemmons began to cry with joy. Tommy held her frail old body delicately and soothed her as best he could until she regained her composure and smiled up at him.

He remembered her kindness, as he pulled the door of the store open and stepped inside, her honest open smile and sparkling bright blue eyes surrounded by her halo of blue white hair, as he looked around the store for her.

"Tommy!" she cried, when he came through the door and stopped to look around.

He noticed a slight limp when she came toward him, looking up into his eyes. He saw her pain and his anger began to burn Corona hot.

"Wanda, are you alright?" he asked. "Did they hurt you?" he added, looking intently into her old, wrinkled face with love.

"They pushed me down, Tommy!" she said honestly, looking up, her eyes searching his face. "I hurt my hip when I fell. They started laughing at me and wouldn't help me up. I started to cry and they laughed harder until Jacob came. He had a gun and ran them off. They swore they were coming back. Then that fat pig, that was sheriff, spit on me! I feel dirty all over! I've been so scared waiting for you to come. I knew you would, Tommy! And here you finally are!"

"I'm here now. Everything will be fine. I'm going to take you out to the hospital for an X-ray. You may have fractured your hip. I noticed you were limping."

"I can't close the shop to go get an X-ray, Tommy. I have to pay your money back," she said earnestly.

"You never have to pay me a dime back, Wanda. You are my friend. I love you like family and I forgive the debt here and now. We are even!" he said finally, as if no argument would change his mind. And it wouldn't have. "Now, let's go get that X-ray. We can't have you limping around in pain, now can we?"

"You're too good to an old woman, Tommy LeSade," she said, giving in to his wishes. "If my Billy would have come home from Viet Nam, I pray he would have turned out just like you, Tommy."

"Now, you are being too kind," he smiled, wiping her tears away with his thumb. "I can carry you to the truck if you like, it may not hurt as much."

"I'm not that far gone, yet," she said stepping forward and nearly falling.

He caught her and scooped her up into his arms. She was as light as a feather to him. He walked to the door and pushed it open with his foot. Then, twisted through it and walked to his truck.

Her frail arms were locked tightly around his muscular neck. He was surprised at her strength. He reached down and opened the passenger door of the truck and gently sat her inside.

"Where are the keys to the door?"

She produced them from a pocket and handed them over. He locked the front door of the store, which also activated the security system, then returned to the truck.

They were met at the door of the hospital by Linda Lake, a Doctor Lyons and three other staff members. They placed Wanda on a gurney and rushed her off to the X-ray department.

"Lisa called," Linda said. "Jacob explained what had happened. She said you would be here. You can go take care of business. She's in good hands now," she added, smiling, knowing Tommy was going to kick some daylight up the Anderson boy's back sides over this.

Tommy watched until they entered an elevator, then turned and left to find the Anderson boys. "Time to pay up, boys," he whispered, walking to his truck and headed down town where he hoped to find his quarry.

He was making his first pass down Main Street when he spotted the Anderson boys standing around a pickup in the parking lot of a bar. He counted seven men, total. He pulled into the parking lot, stopped and got out.

"Jack, I heard you've been looking for me," he said, walking toward them.

"That's right, boy! Gonna' beat you to death, right 'chere!"

"That a fact, or a dream?" Tommy laughed, looking over at the other six men. "One of you old boys go and call some ambulances. If you don't want to ride in one of them, stay by the phone."

"Won't need but one," Jack said grinning. "A hearse is what you'll need, LeSade."

"They're not for me, Jack," he said seriously. "They're for you boys. I'll be fine."

"Boy, don't you talk big!" Jack sneered, manly crushing his beer can in his hand. "They's seven of us, in case you cain't count that high." Jack laughed, then looked around at his followers. They all grinned and stepped up beside him.

Tommy recognized two of them from the day of his arrest, well over a year ago. They were the two mean cops that were going to beat him with the night sticks. They had had a bad experience in their attempt. He guessed they held a grudge.

"You boys have your nightsticks with you?" Tommy smiled, laughing as they turned a bright red. Whether out of anger or shame, he didn't know. But, he was glad they remembered the incident, if not his name and face.

"That's a mighty touchy subject..." one of them started to say before he was rudely interrupted.

"Time for some payback, boys! Get 'im!" Jack yelled, then attacked, thinking to catch Tommy off guard.

The six followers came at Tommy in a swarm. Jack led and was greeted by Tommy's first assault. He was on the ground and puking his guts out, holding his groin with both hands, his eyes rolled up white in his head, before he had taken three steps.

The snap kick had ended his assault before it had really started. He continued to puke, moan and roll back and forth as two other men came at Tommy. The two swung wide sweeping haymakers at Tommy's head. He ducked and brushed them aside, then attacked furiously and with blinding speed as they turned to face him.

He snap-kicked the first man in the chin, his jaw snapped like a pistol shot and he dropped like a rock. The second man fared no better. Tommy swiveled on his toes and side-kicked the man in the side of the head. He rocked to the side and stood dazed. A short powerful punch to the kidney dropped him to his knees with Tommy standing behind him.

The other four men closed in.

Tommy side kicked the man on his knees in the back of the head as he turned to face the next four, sending him face first into the gravel of the parking lot. He lay still as death, while blood pooled around his nose and mouth.

The first of the four attacking men assumed a boxer's stance. He rested his weight on his right leg and extended his left forward for balance.

It was a tragic mistake around Tommy LeSade.

Tommy looked him in the eyes, smiled, and then in a move like lightning, kicked him in the side of his left knee. It snapped like a tree branch and the man screamed in pain and went down. He was through.

The next man swung and connected with Tommy's shoulder. It had no effect. Before the man could withdraw the punch full and get set for a follow up, Tommy grabbed his wrist and twisted, exposing the elbow, as he stepped around and turned behind the man. He smashed the elbow with the palm of his left hand, breaking it in two. The man screamed in pain and stumbled off cradling his busted arm.

After breaking the man's elbow, Tommy continued to spin on his left foot. His right foot streaked up and slammed into the approaching man's sternum, knocking him back.

As Tommy stood straight and stepped forward, he delivered a lightning fast series of punches to the man's face. He was totally out before he hit the ground, his face and shirt front covered with blood.

Tommy turned to face his final opponent. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jack struggling to his feet. He smiled as he concentrated on his opponent.

His opponent, seeing Tommy smiling as he faced him, turned and ran. He was quickly out of sight down the street. Tommy turned back to a sick looking Jack.

"Jack, some people are just born slow learners. You, for example, happen to be one of them. You refuse to live in peace in a world you can't control and dominate fully," Tommy said mildly. "So, perhaps you belong in the next. What do you think?" he asked standing squarely in front of Jack.

"Go to hell LeSade!"

Tommy's move was lightning fast. His right arm shot out and up like a steam driven piston. The heel of his hand connected with the tip of Jack's short, turned up, piggy nose. Fat vibrated down his gross body like a large bowl of Jell-O. He rocked back on his heels as the punch connected, then toppled over backwards. The back of his head connected with a 'thwack!' on the hard packed, gravel surface of the parking lot. He would never be the same. In three months he would wake up in the hospital with the mental capacity of a twelve year old bully that cried hysterically at any threat. Tommy turned away from the men on the ground, got in his pickup and drove slowly back to the hospital and Mrs. Clemmons.

At the hospital, he learned that Wanda had in fact suffered a fractured hip. She would be hospitalized for several days, then would be released to convalesce at home until it healed. Tommy called Lisa at home from Wanda's room and gave her the news.

"Why don't you invite her to stay with us for a while," Lisa said. "We have plenty of room here," she added, thinking of the eight unused bedrooms upstairs.

"That's a good idea. I will," he replied. "You sure you won't mind? I can hire a nurse if you like."

"No, I'll take care of her. I still get around pretty good...for a blimp," she laughed.

Tommy had to agree. She was big and getting bigger. The twins she carried were quickly outgrowing their home. She was due next week according to the doctor and he couldn't wait to be a father.

"You have guests waiting for you," Lisa said, changing the subject.

"Who?"

"Guess," she teased.

"I have no idea. I wasn't expecting anyone."

"Adam Jenkins, Sandy Borne and Melissa Jackson; ring a bell?"

"No kidding? I'll be home shortly."

"Okay, see ya later. I love you," she said lustfully.

"I love you too, Babe," he replied and then hung up the phone.

"Wanda, we want you to come and stay at the ranch when you're released from here. We have plenty of room. Plus, Lisa needs the company. Okay?"

"Oh, I don't know, Tommy. I don't want to be a burden on you young folks," she replied thoughtfully. "If you're sure I won't be a burden to you. But, I'll need someone to mind the store. I can't just close it for weeks. I've got bills to pay and customers to think of. And my friends stop by to see me. They'll worry," she continued, thinking of reasons to decline the invitation.

"Good, it's settled, then," Tommy said, leaning over her and kissing her forehead gently. "I'll be back to see you tomorrow. You just rest and don't worry about a thing. I'll take care of everything."

"Okay, Tommy. You're such a good man. If I was forty years younger, I'd give you a run for your money!" she laughed, lustfully. "Now, get out of here. I need my beauty sleep!"

Tommy laughed as he winked at her, then left, the door closing gently and silently behind him.

Wanda was still blushing as she drifted off to sleep, thinking of Tommy LeSade.
Chapter 16

Tommy sat in silence, hearing every word his three guests spoke. His mind raced as he connected all the points they touched upon. He was amazed at the simplicity of their plan to select the next President of the United States. He was in total agreement with their selection.

Although Tommy was not political in the sense he considered running for office himself, he believed the people of the United States deserved a government they could believe in and trust. He could see himself providing that government for them.

As it stood now, the great ship United States was rudderless. It had been in such a state for going on a month now, since the unexpected death of President Cartwright and his chosen Vice-President, his brother, Wendell. Left as is, the great ship was bound to run aground as so many other great ships had in the past.

What was needed was a man who was honest beyond question, who's only aspiration in life was to provide the greatest government the world had ever known. A man, or woman, who had the ability, drive and determination to see his task through without a backward glance; one who owed no one anything, who could not be bought, sold, or influenced by any power or person on earth. One who was neither Democrat or Republican, Conservative or Liberal, neither pro or anti anything; just a person who loves this country and was intent on leading it into the future and onward into peace, adoration and respect in the eyes of the rest of the world.

Tommy believed, after hearing Adam, Sandy and Melissa out, that they had hit on the perfect candidate in Dr. James Louis Carver, PhD. in Political Science and Constitutional Law at Berkley.

"What makes you think he would be interested in being president?" Tommy asked his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He sat in his La-Z-Boy recliner, his elbows resting on the arms, his ankles crossed on the foot rest as he listened.

"He forever rants and raves about the corruption in our government and how he would change it if he were in a position to do so," Sandy said, leaning forward, spreading her knees, to give Tommy a look if he wanted it. Once again he saw that she was naked under her skirt.

Melissa, not to be outdone, slid forward onto the edge of the sofa and spread her own knees wide as she turned on the edge, looked across Adam, smiled and said, "He would jump at the chance to clean house in D.C. He's not one of the 'good old boys', so he could be trusted to fulfill his lifelong dream of giving the people back their country and honor."

"You're sure about that?" Tommy asked, studying Melissa carefully.

"Yes," she answered unequivocally. "Why don't we go and ask him in person?"

"The new jet will be delivered tomorrow morning at ten. We'll leave for California at eleven to talk to this Doctor Carver. If he agrees, we'll support him as a nominee. With our help and backing he will be appointed as the next president until an election can be held. If he does good 'till then he will be elected by a landslide," Tommy said, leaning forward in his chair. "For now, though. I'm going to bed. It's one o'clock and it's been a long day! I'll see you all in the morning," he added, crossing the room and went up the stairs to his and Lisa's bedroom.

"I wonder what we have to do to get his attention." Sandy mused, watching Tommy out of sight at the top of the stairs.

"Get rid of Lisa first," Melissa laughed. "And that's not going to happen in our lifetime!" she added wistfully.

"I hope I'm someday loved like that," Sandy said, then stood and followed Tommy up the stairs. She was followed by Melissa, who was followed by Adam.

* * * * *

At eight o'clock the next morning, Tommy stepped through the door of Wanda's hospital room. Although it wasn't officially visiting hours, he had promised Linda he would only be a moment. He knew she wouldn't be that strict on him. But, he wouldn't take advantage either.

"Good morning, Handsome," Wanda said shyly, batting her eyes and tucking her chin slightly to the side.

"Are you flirting with me, Wanda?" he asked, stepping over and kissing her cheek.

"You bet your boots, I am!" she smiled, her cheeks rosy red, as he sat a vase of wild flowers on her bedside table. "At my age, I take advantage of every chance I get with a good looking young man, like you. Such beautiful flowers," she exclaimed.

Tommy wondered if she meant the flowers or the handsome young men.

"You know I'm a married man!" he teased, kissing her cheek again.

"I don't take up much room anymore. She can slide over a little!" she kidded, reaching up to pull him closer. "I heard what you done to them bully-boys yesterday; serves them right in my book!"

"It's necessary to remind some people that other people have rights, too. Yesterday was one of those days. And the Anderson boys were a bunch that needed reminding."

"Linda told me they put Jack in a room with a man from the Middle East. He was injured in a car accident last week. They didn't know if he would survive or not. But he got better. Linda told me he kept repeating, 'kill mystery - clean sweep'. They have no idea what he means."

Tommy knew immediately what the man was raving about. There could only be one connection to a man from the Middle East and 'clean sweep'.

That connection was Cramer. He had made arrangements before he left Pakistan, just in case he failed. This man was his insurance.

"I think the Anderson boys learned their lesson this time. I doubt they'll forget again."

"I hope not Wanda. They only get one chance to reform their ways with me," he said, gently brushing a lock of silver-blue hair from her brow. "I stopped by to see how you're doing and to tell you I may be away for a couple of days. But, Lisa and Linda will be in every day to check on you. And as soon as I get back from California I'll stop in, too."

"Important doings in California, I suppose?"

"Yes, I'm going to go see a professor at Berkley."

"What does he profess?" she laughed at her own joke.

"Political Science and Constitutional Law."

"You're getting in pretty deep, aren't you?

"No deeper than I have to, believe me."

"Oh, I do. You be careful. Airplanes are dangerous."

"Not brand new ones with excellent pilots. Our new private jet is being delivered this morning. We're flying it out to Berkley."

"I'd like to go somewhere one of these days. I've never been farther than Tulsa in my life."

"When you get well, just name someplace you'd like to go and we'll go there, Okay?"

"Okay. I'll think about it."

"I've got to go, but I'll see you maybe tomorrow evening, day after at the latest."

"Okay, Tommy. You be careful. Promise?" she said seriously.

"I promise, Wanda. But, you promise me you'll be good and heal up fast, so we can go somewhere. Okay?"

"I won't promise I'll be good. I'm too old for that," she winked, then shooed him out the door.

"I guess I'm interrupting your beauty sleep?" he asked, laughing as he headed for the door.

"No, I've had that. But Doctor Lyons is due any minute," she smiled, big eyed.

"You're cheating on me already?" he asked incredulously.

"I'm running out of time, Tommy. I gotta get it while I'm still hot!" she said as if joking, but serious.

Tommy laughed and pulled the door open. He stepped out into the hallway. As the door closed behind him he thought of the man somewhere in the hospital that had come at Cramer's request.

Before he left the hospital he talked to Linda and learned all he could about the man, Aaron Spelling. Even the name sounded fake to him. Aaron Spelling was a movie director in Hollywood and he certainly was not from the Middle East.

Well, he thought as he left the Nurse's Station, if the man ever recovers, I'll deal with it then. His chances were very slim, from what Linda had told him.

By the time he pushed through the front doors of the hospital his mind was back on Presidents and he had nearly forgotten about assassins and Middle East visitors named Spelling.

* * * * *

Dr. James Carver, PhD. sat deep in thought after listening to Tommy, Sandy, Melissa and Adam. He studied them as they studied him.

Tommy had to admit, the man had a commanding presence and a genuine smile. He had intelligence, grace and a sort of Regal baring that seemed to shout, 'you cannot influence my beliefs, so remain silent!'

"How do you propose to make this come about, Mister LeSade?" he asked after a few minutes silence. "I'm completely unknown, except in certain academic circles."

"First, Doctor Carver, I must know that you will accept the position of President of the United States of America as the same man you were yesterday; with the same beliefs, desires, and commitments that you espouse to your students," Tommy said, as if it were his decision alone who would be appointed President of the United States.

"That, Mister LeSade, is the problem with politics and politicians today. Many are corrupted by influence, money, power, pride, envy, the list is endless. They enter the arena as brave, strong gladiators, ready to slay the enemies of the world and they are immediately overwhelmed by more experienced, stronger veterans. They make promises they can't, or won't keep. And others they have no intention of keeping. They lie to get there, then lie to stay. They become a parasite on the nation; a vampire sucking the very lifeblood out of the nation, if you will. I would love to get a chance to rid this nation of its parasites and make it great, strong and free again. So, yes, I would be the same man tomorrow as yesterday."

"Then, consider yourself the next President. If you betray me, my friends, or my nation, you will die. Plain and simple," Tommy promised, deadly serious, looking Carver straight in the eyes. "What I'm about to show you is the most highly guarded secret in the world. Presidents and Vice Presidents, along with some cabinet members have died because of their betrayal of this trust. Should you betray it, you shall likewise die. Do you understand this commitment, Doctor Carver?"

"Yes," Carver replied simply.

Tommy stepped to a computer monitor on the Professor's desk. He typed rapidly for nearly two minutes. The screen was filled with letters and punctuation marks. He motioned the Professor over.

"This," he said, "is your advisor. I am its creator and I alone know the code to enter its domain. It's not too late to change your mind and return to your life of yesterday."

"No way. I'm in!" Carver said seriously.

Tommy entered the last keystroke, the image dispersed into millions of fragments. An explosion followed and a mushroom cloud began to rise to the top of the screen. It boiled and roiled as it rose upward and sped outward toward the viewer. A blinding flash and then a floating in outer space scene appeared. Each star represented a government, Agency or Corporation somewhere in the world.

"What would you like to know about, Mister President?" Tommy smiled, looking sideways at Carver.

"What is the truth behind Jimmy Hoffa's disappearance?"

"That would be FBI. Here," Tommy said moving the cursor to the star representing the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

When the Great Seal appeared Tommy placed the cursor on the small "i" of Investigation and clicked the mouse. The massive vault appeared. Tommy entered a series of letters. The massive chains and locks began falling away. The great wheel began to turn. When it stopped, the door swung open. The Spy stepped from the shadows and beckoned them forward with his finger. As he led them into the vault, he pointed at the overhead menu.

Tommy typed in 'Hoffa'.

A great cylinder of file drawers rose from the floor and began to spin slowly clockwise. It stopped on a drawer with 'HOFFA' written across the front.

Tommy clicked on the drawer. It slid open. From front to back were files. Each labeled according to its content. The last file in the drawer was labeled HOFFA-DEATH-CONCLUSION. He clicked onto it. It rose from the drawer and opened for them to read...

MEMORANDUM

FROM: James, Donald T. Date- XXXXXXXX

FILE NO: 20643A767D

SUBJECT: Hoffa, Jimmy

On this date, Special Agent James, Don T. and Special Agent Borne, Greg A. intercepted subject as subject exited location C. Subject was taken into custody and disposed of in accordance with Special Presidential Order No. 68742D authorizing same.

SIGNED: Donald T. James

WITNESS: Greg A. Borne

"Seen enough?" Tommy asked.

"Yes," he answered, straightening. "Just as I thought all along! The dirty Feds! They got him! Then disposed of the body. Classic! Then investigated themselves and found nothing, of course! What else can this program do?"

"Anything. Everything. Whatever you need to make the right decision," Tommy assured him. "This is your advisor. Accessed by me and me alone. Whatever you need I'll get you. Anytime. Anyplace."

"How will I get it from you, fast?"

"I'll write a program to access your computer and establish a direct link between the two. Whatever you require you will be able to review via me. You ask, I deliver. Simple as that."

"Okay. Now, how do I get into office?"

"Leave that to me and my aides," Tommy said, looking over at Adam, Sandy and Melissa. "Or should I say, your aides? Soon to be Cabinet members."

"What capacity? What are their qualifications?"

"Explain yourselves," Tommy said. "Adam, you go first."

For the next thirty minutes the three told Dr. Carver their life stories. He smiled, liking what he heard.

* * * * *

On the flight home, Tommy, Adam, Sandy and Melissa put their heads together and wrote an email to all members of Congress which stated simply, that any opposition to the appointment of Dr. James Louis Carver, PhD, as acting President of the United States would result in their being ruined politically and possibly indicted and prosecuted for various crimes they were in fact guilty of, then sent to prison for very lengthy sentences.

The four reread the email carefully. They discussed it, approved it, and sent it from the air over Arizona.

Two days later, not a single Congressperson objected to the appointment of Dr. Carver as acting President. In fact, they all, without exception, touted his flawless character, credentials and personal vision for the United States, to the world at large.

Within hours after his taking the Oath of Office, fourteen Congressmen and three Congresswomen were called into the Oval Office, one at a time. They were invited to resign their seat in Congress, or be exposed publicly and prosecuted on charges ranging from bribery to treason. They all tendered their resignation, citing personal reasons.

Two Supreme Court Justices, ten Appeals Courts judges and twenty-six Federal District Court Judges soon followed in the wake of the others.

Next came the Assistant United States Attorneys. Twenty-three in total decided private practice was their true calling.

Seventeen high ranking FBI officials, twelve CIA Agents and five Secret Service Agents along with Twenty-two U.S. Marshals decided it was time to feed elsewhere.

And that was just at the Federal level of government. President Carver was just getting warmed up. Before he had finished his first month in office three-hundred-and-eleven State and Federal parasites were feeding elsewhere.

He, Tommy, Adam, Melissa and Sandy selected their replacements based on personal interviews and on extensive personal and public background checks. Plus, each was exposed to the Mistri Virus's unflinching scrutiny. Far more failed this final test than passed it.

When the dust settled at the end of the second month the United States was operating like a well-maintained machine. One on which every operator was owner and mechanic. Defects were hurriedly fixed and the machine was restarted and allowed to run as designed. No cost was spared or pinched.

At the end of his first year in office, President Carver had the United States he had envisioned for so many years. He was a happy man and the United States was a happy place once again.

* * * * *

Tommy sat on the front porch swing with a twin in each arm. Tommy Junior was on his left hand over his heart and Lisa Adell was on his right, and strongest side. He looked out across the pastures at his horses and their foals.

In the background, he heard Lisa in the kitchen singing to herself and Wanda. He heard the sound of trucks up on the distant hill. He heard the sound of Colonel Lake down at the stables. He heard the sound of hundreds of birds in the trees and on the ground. He was a happy man; at peace with the world and universe at last. His crowning jewel had come from Linda earlier that morning. It seemed Jack Anderson had taken offense that Mr. Spelling would not talk to him and had strangled the paralyzed man to death. Jack would not be prosecuted for his crime. Instead he would be sent to the State Hospital in Vinita.

THE END

About the Author

 In 1991, Larry E. Huddleston, along with a close relative, was charged and convicted of numerous counts of bank robbery, armed bank robbery and use of a dangerous weapon during the commission of a crime of violence. He was sentenced to 292 months for the bank robberies, 60 months consecutive for the weapon and 60 months supervised release. In total, he must serve 29½ years before he is eligible for release in 2017.

From January 1992 until March 2006, he served his sentence at the United States Penitentiary at Leaven-worth, Kansas. He saw it turn from a maximum security prison to a "maximum security housing medium security inmates".

After 18 months at Leavenworth as a medium security inmate, he was transferred to FCI Texarkana, a "low security" facility.

While incarcerated, Larry became interested in writing and has since written 29 completed movie 'spec-scripts' and twelve completed novels of several genres, from western to sci-fi, romance to war, comedy to horror.

Look for Larry's current and upcoming books at:

MidnightExpressBooks.com

Available now:

Sacred Curse

Original Intent

Just Beyond the Curve

The Devil & Jenny

Street Sweeper

The Cherokee Queen

MIDNIGHT EXPRESS BOOKS

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http://MidnightExpressBooks.com

