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The Prosecution of General Hastings

## A. A. MacQueen

THE PROSECUTION OF GENERAL HASTINGS

Published by A. A. MacQueen, LLC at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Copyright 2015, A. A. MacQueen, LLC

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1511869706

ISBN-10: 1511869704

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Back Matter
**PROLOGUE**

Just after midnight, the American walked into the shabby motel that was located two blocks off of Pueblo Nuevo on the north side of Hermosillo in the northern Mexican state of Sonora. The man sitting in the dusty '72 Chevrolet Impala had been waiting and saw him arrive. Not being Mexican himself, he watched closely to ensure that his prey was the American. He was good, this man in the motel; he seemed to fit in. If the observer in the Chevrolet had not seen him earlier, he might not have identified the man to be the American. But it was him. He was sure of it.

He watched as the American chatted with the man at the desk. The American handed the clerk something and the clerk handed him something in return. Then the clerk handed the American two bottles of beer from the fridge behind the desk. The American pushed his hat far back on his head, turned away from the desk and walked down a hallway carrying the two beers in one hand and his brief case in the other. Now the man in the Chevrolet would wait again, but his plan was in motion. He would wait a couple of hours. There was no hurry. Why rush a man's last night on earth?

With the windows rolled down, there was a pleasant breeze that passed across the front seat of the Chevrolet. It was a star filled night with no moon and the motel was far enough away from the lights of Pueblo Nuevo for the man to enjoy them in the dark Mexican sky. He played the radio softly, continually watching the doors of the motel. From the time that he began his vigil earlier in the evening, no one, save the American had entered or left.

At five minutes to three o'clock in the morning, the man got out of the Chevrolet. He reached into the backseat and retrieved the heavy glass bottle. It smelled of the gasoline that it contained. He was careful not to touch the wet rag that hung from the neck of the bottle. The man walked behind the motel and identified the glass window of the room where the American now lay sleeping. It was an old motel and the thin glass window panes would break easily. This would not take long.

The man reached into his pocket and withdrew the plastic cigarette lighter that he had purchased at the gasoline station. He turned the small striking wheel with his thumb and held the flame to the gas soaked rag hanging from the bottle. With all his might, he then threw the heavy glass bottle. It crashed through the window and loudly exploded into a massive ball of fire. The man could see the fire covering the interior of the motel room, the door, the walls, the bed clothes. It raced up the inside door leading to the hallway blocking any chance of escape. It happened in seconds. The room was completely engulfed in flames. The man thought he saw slight movement of the bed clothes. But they were completely aflame.

The firelight danced across the man's face revealing an evil grin. He stood watching for a moment. He was certain the American had not survived this.

"Allahu Akbar," he said. He turned and walked back to his car.

CHAPTER ONE

By ten o'clock that morning she had been at her desk for over three hours. Outside the glass wall of her office at the law firm of Henson & Byars she could see that the business day in downtown Oklahoma City was well underway. It was warm for this Friday in January, but a snow storm was dumping on the Rockies and promised to move across the plains over the weekend. She wondered what the same scene she was viewing now would look like when she returned on Monday morning.

At 37, Sally Stillwell had done well in her profession, though it took her a while to find it. Always a bright student it was not until her senior year at the University of Oklahoma that she made the decision to pursue law as a career. With a perfect 4.0 GPA, a stratospheric score on the LSAT, and excellent recommendations, she was admitted to the Law School at Stanford. She excelled there and was named Editor of the Law Review. Upon graduation, the newly minted juris doctor was pursued by high profile firms from all over the country. But, she had been an "Army Brat," living many places in her early years and she had fallen in love with Oklahoma City while at O.U. She now considered it home. She accepted an offer from Henson & Byars, a firm with fifty attorneys, when founders Jack Henson and Russell Byars hinted at a fast track to partnership. She paid her dues as a young associate, working the long hours expected. Her case preparation was impeccable and as her courtroom talents became more and more apparent, she was assigned cases of higher visibility. She more than satisfied the firm's long standing clients whom she represented and through her burgeoning reputation, brought in significant additional clients and revenue. As hinted at her hiring, partnership came in record time with a unanimous vote from the partnership committee.

"Excuse me, Sally?" Jeanine Spence, Sally's administrative assistant asked from the door.

"Yes, Jeanine? What's up?"

"There is a General Hastings on line 2 for you. Can you take the call?"

The name sounded alarms within Sally's memory. She had been acquainted with a Jack Hastings before leaving Oklahoma for Stanford. The memory was not at all pleasant. Could it be him?

"Sure. I'll take it." Sally looked down at the blinking light on the telephone set. Could it be?

"Hello, this is Sally Stillwell, may I help you?" she answered.

The smooth voice on the other end of the line was all too familiar. "Well, Sally Wilcox. It is good to hear your voice again after all these years. Jack Hastings, here. How are you?"

Sally really didn't want to step onto the thin ice that she saw in a conversation with the Jack Hastings she had known. Her reply was tentative. "Yes, it has been a while. My name is Stillwell now, and it has been for several years. Did I hear that you are now 'General' Hastings?"

"Yes, major general. I got my second star a year before retiring," he said. He paused a moment, then asked, "How long has it been now, for us?"

She knew exactly. "Our last contact was fifteen years ago in August. I was leaving for Stanford the next day." The memory of their last encounter was not something Sally wanted to relive. She continued, "I'm sure you didn't call to reminisce, General. How may I be of service to you?" What she really wanted to do was hang up the phone. She couldn't think of any reason that a conversation between Sally Wilcox Stillwell and John Jackson Hastings should take place.

"I need to have some legal work done... fortunately, the good kind. Just after retiring I bought a small arms manufacturer up in Stillwater. It was a little family business that had a proprietary design for a pistol they were building. I saw some possibilities and was able to buy the company. We've done well since I took it over and I'm ready to expand. That's going to require a sizable cash infusion and I want you to handle the securities documentation for a private placement."

"That's really not my area, General. I head up our litigation department here and would be of little use to you." She took delight in her clear explanation that eliminated her from the work he wanted done. "We have an excellent corporate law group here. I'll be happy to refer you."

"Please, Sally. Call me 'Jack.' I think we are well past formalities, aren't we? And, while I appreciate your willingness to pass me off, it is really you that I'd like handling this project," he said. She hated the smugness in his tone.

"I can't imagine why, General. I'm not a corporate attorney..."

"Oh, come now," he interrupted. "No need for modesty. You've built a fine reputation in corporate dealings," he said.

"Not really. Let me see who I might..."

Cutting her off again, he took another tack. "I've spoken to Russell Byars. I met him just last year when I accepted a seat on the Board at OklaPetrol. Your managing partner seems to think you might be able to squeeze me in. When can we get together?"

Sally could feel her teeth grinding. OklaPetrol was one of the three largest clients that kept Henson & Byars on retainer. Her partners would not want anything to disturb that relationship. But, she wasn't about to allow General Hastings to call the shots.

"Let me speak to Russell about it, General," she said. "Perhaps I'll be able to set up a meeting and bring in one of our corporate guys. Do we have your contact information?"

"Oh, yes. Russell knows how to get in touch with me." Again, smugness.

"Good. I'll do some checking and someone will get back to you with arrangements. Is there anything else?"

"I'm sure your corporate guys are top notch. But this isn't a big deal...yet. It's you that I want, Sally. I'm sure you can work something out."

"That was a very poor choice of words, Jack." Time to end this call. "Be sure and give my regards to Jana."

"Oh, sorry. You are right," he responded. "I'd prefer our meeting be early in the week. Thank you, Sally. Good to talk with you."

Sally was on her feet as soon as she had put the phone down. Up and moving, she turned left out of her office and walked the short distance down to the large corner space that was the workplace of Russell Byars, managing partner of the firm. She could see through the glass wall that he was alone at his desk so she didn't bother speaking to Molly, Byars' assistant, who watched as she walked directly into his office. Byars looked up as she approached.

"I just got a call from Jack Hastings. He claims that he has spoken to you and wants me to handle some securities work for him," she announced.

"Good morning to you, too, Sally," said Russell Byars.

He was an odd looking fellow, particularly when in the company of Jack Henson, the other founding partner of the firm. Henson could have stepped right out of a Marlboro man commercial, well over six feet with the ruddy looks of a genuine cowboy, which of course he was. Even in the law practice he capitalized on those looks. Cowboy boots, hat, and western cut suits with a string tie were Henson's daily attire. He even had a black western cut tuxedo and snakeskin boots for formal occasions. Byars, on the other hand, was a studious 'Mister Peepers,' complete with bow ties and thick horn rimmed glasses that looked straight out of the fifties. His diminutive size made for quite a sight when he and Henson were together. But every member of Henson & Byars knew that looks were deceiving and that Russell Byars ruled the firm with an iron hand. Reasonable, yes, but his authority was never in doubt and never questioned.

"Yeah, Jack Hastings. A major general and as far as I have seen, a hell of a nice guy," said Byars. "He also seems to be a real mover and shaker. He owns a couple of companies himself and sits on the Board at OklaPetrol. He runs a company called the Talon Group, an international security and operational consulting company, and he's got this Mesquite Manufacturing outfit that he took over a while back. Told me he's ready to grow Mesquite and needs some funding. He asked specifically for you to handle the securities documentation."

"Well you know that's not my bailiwick," she said. Feeling railroaded, she asked, "Don't I get a say in this?"

Byars was clearly surprised at her demeanor. She seemed angry and he didn't know why. "Well, of course you do. Is there some problem?"

Sally started to feel as though she was not handling this very well. "Actually, there is. Jack Hastings and I... we, uh, have a... history."

"What kind of history?" he asked.

Sally hesitated. "Well, I'd really rather not go into it. It was a long time ago. He caught me off guard just now when I took his call."

What she had just revealed, and the fact that she was clearly irritated piqued his interest. Byars watched her carefully. "There could be real potential for the firm here, Sally. He told me that he's trying to put together somewhere between $15 and $25 million. And that's just the first round. This company of his could go public within a year or two and that could mean big things for us."

"Still, if it's all the same to you, this project should be passed on to Flynn or Murphy. I'm already neck deep in a medical malpractice case and it's going to be a doozie. Paddy or Mike would be much better suited for the general's work." She looked hopefully at Byars.

"Again, Sally... Hastings particularly asked for you. You can turn it down, of course. But we don't want to rock the boat with OklaPetrol. Would you mind holding the meeting that he is requesting? We can invite Flynn and Murphy in if you'd like. I'll be there as well. It could be an easy thing to pass the work over to one of them. But I do think it reasonable to have you set up the meeting." The look in his eyes as they drilled into hers offered only one answer.

A smile crossed her face. She realized that she had come in second in the discussion. "Sure. I'll set it up. Does the first of next week work for you? That's what Hastings has requested."

"I'm sure it will. Just run it by Molly out there" he motioned to his assistant. "She's got my calendar."

Moments later Sally was back at her desk arranging a meeting she didn't want to take place. Her first call was to Padraig Flynn, who, like herself, was a Stanford grad and an excellent corporate attorney.

"Paddy," she said when he answered, "I'd like to invite you to take a look at a new filing that seems to be coming our way. Are you free for a meeting next Monday afternoon?"

"Ah, Sally, tell me more," he answered. "The last time I agreed to something that open-ended I found myself paying the bar tab for the office softball team. What's it all about? And what does a litigator like you have to do with a corporate matter like this?"

"That's just it. I'm trying to have nothing to do with it but I kind of got roped in. That's why I'm calling you. A retired Army major general and member of the board of directors at OklaPetrol wants to expand his manufacturing company. He's growing rapidly and is seeking a round of funding in the $15 to $25 million range. This isn't my cup of tea, but I'm sure it could be yours." She saw no reason to mention that she had known the client in a previous life.

"Sure. I'll take a look. Let's see," he said, checking his calendar. "I am in court that morning but should be available after, say, two o'clock?"

"That's perfect," she said. She wanted to go ahead and get this done and out of her way. The sooner, the better. "Two o'clock it is, then. The conference room on thirty," she said, referring to the conference room on her floor. "See you then."

She then placed a call to Molly, Russell Byars' secretary to see if he was available at that hour. He was. Next was a call to Mike Murphy, another staff attorney whom Sally thought might fit the bill. She had noticed that Mike's caseload seemed to have dropped when it was discussed at recent partner meetings and there was no apparent reason for it. She felt sure he would have the time and would do a fine job of it if called on.

"This is Mike Murphy," he answered on the second ring.

"Mike, if you are available, I'd like for you to sit in on a meeting I've got scheduled for next Monday at two," she said. "We have some securities work pending with a retired Army general. He's a high roller. Sits on the board of OklaPetrol and a friend of Byars. Can you squeeze it in?"

"Well, I should be able to. I'm taking the wife to Chicago for the weekend and coming back early on Monday. So, yeah, that should work. What's it all about?"

"He wants to get a round of funding and needs the filings put together. It could lead to bigger things when he takes it public in a year or two. It's not my gig so I'm just trying to get it to the right folks in the firm. I've got Paddy Flynn sitting in as well."

"Fine. I'll be there," said Murphy.

"Good, Mike. I'll see you then," she said, and hung up the phone.

Sally called Byars secretary back. "Molly, would you mind contacting General Hastings and inviting him to a meeting here on Monday at two? Please let Russell know that he's scheduled to be there as well. Tell him that I will be there, along with Flynn and Murphy."

CHAPTER TWO

Friday afternoon, and to Sally's thinking it had come none too soon. Sally and Tom Stillwell had come to regard Friday evenings as 'date night.' Meeting for a drink at the Cattlemen's Club had become a weekly ritual that the couple looked forward to, some weeks more than others. Located on the top floor of the bank building in which Henson & Byars was located, "the Club," as it was simply known to its members, was a convenient and elegant watering hole and restaurant. On any given night one would find there a cross section of Oklahoma City's upper crust. Oil men, cattle barons, land owners, politicians and businessmen all had a place at the Club. All partners at Henson & Byars held memberships to and used it routinely for entertaining or meeting with clients.

Sally had arrived first and found an out-of-the-way table in the spacious oak paneled bar near the window. Tom would be driving up from Fort Sill and was expected sometime around six-thirty. The bar was only moderately busy and Sally took the time to review a brief written by one of her paralegals as she sipped a glass of Oak Valley Chardonnay. She had expressed her appreciation of its buttery dryness to the club's wine steward the first time he offered it to her and he had made sure that he kept some on hand ever since.

Far across the room, Sally observed a distinguished looking man who appeared to be in his early fifties. He was sitting with an attractive woman, who looked to be younger. Something about the man looked familiar but she was more taken with their conversation which had become more and more animated from the moment that she had arrived and noticed them. Though she could not hear what was being said, the conversation between the two was becoming intense and quite animated. As if on cue, with others in the bar taking notice, the woman abruptly stood. She picked up her drink and threw it forcefully in the man's face. And then in a voice heard by all, she said, "You really are the son of a bitch that everyone says you are." She took her coat that was draped across her chair, turned on her heel and walked out of the Club.

The man watched the woman leave, making no effort to follow. He retrieved a handkerchief from his hip pocket and deliberately wiped the moisture from his face and jacket. The other patrons turned to look away, hoping to diffuse the tension. After several minutes, the man stood, he placed several bills on the table and moved toward the Men's room. Still far across the room, his eye caught Sally's. For an instant contact was made. Very subtly the man nodded, acknowledging her. Sally watched him leave.

"Jack Hastings," she said to herself.

Lieutenant Colonel Tom Stillwell, still wearing his Army Class A uniform walked through the entrance of the Cattlemen's Club, straight to her table and leaned down to kiss his wife. "How is it that you look so incredibly gorgeous at the end of the day?" he asked.

"Well, hello there, Soldier Boy," she said smiling. "You are looking pretty handsome yourself."

Manuel, their waiter seemed to appear from nowhere once Tom was seated. "Your usual, Colonel Stillwell?" he asked.

"Yeah, Manny. The coldest Pabst Blue Ribbon you've got," Tom answered with a smile.

Sally watched her husband and smiled. She never tired of looking at Tom Stillwell. They had met when she was just two years out of law school and an associate at Henson & Byars. He was a captain attending the advanced course for Field Artillery Officers at Fort Sill, just ninety miles away. It was a Christmas formal that was held at the Officers' Club. An old guy friend from O.U., who was then an Army officer, had asked her to accompany him on a friendly date. Almost as she entered, Sally and Tom spied each other across the room. They later discussed the magnetism that seemed to draw them to each other that night. They began dating immediately and seemed destined for the long term. Tom, however, was deployed with the first troops sent into Afghanistan and the relationship, as often happens with service members, was put on hold. Through the wonders of email they maintained contact as often as they could. Then upon his return, Tom proposed. He was literally on bended knee in the baggage claim area of Will Rogers World Airport in Oklahoma City. Caught completely by surprise, all she could think to say at the moment was, "Gee, Tom, what about Mom and Dad?"

"I've just taken them to lunch in Nashville, Sally," he replied. "Wild Bill and Connie seem to think it is a pretty good idea." The fact that Tom Stillwell had stopped in Nashville to ask for Sally's hand had more than sealed the deal. She loved the man but she loved the fact that he shared her old-fashioned family values. They also shared an admiration for "Wild Bill" Wilcox, Sally's father.

Bill Wilcox had entered the Army with an R.O.T.C. commission when he graduated from the University of Tennessee in 1968. With the Vietnam conflict running hot and heavy, the young lieutenant went into Army aviation after attending Field Artillery Officers training at Fort Sill. He flew helicopter gunships through two tours in Vietnam. Highly decorated in combat, "Wild Bill," as he was called by his flying buddies, stayed to make the Army a career. He got all the right assignments and attended the necessary schools to make Colonel after twenty-two years of service. His last assignment was again back at Fort Sill as Post Commander. One of his staff officers was Major Jack Hastings.

Shaking herself from the past, Sally asked her husband, "How are things at Fort Sill today, Colonel Stillwell? Did you shoot any of those big ole guns that you boys seem to like playing with so much?"

"Not today my dear," he answered. "We have inspections coming up, so we are paying close attention to other things. And how about your day? Anything interesting?"

"Unfortunately, yes," she said.

"Wow. What does that mean? Or, do I want to know?" Tom Stillwell was a professional soldier. And while he found his wife's legal career interesting, he knew that an attorney's work often dealt with details. Details that he thought would, more often than not, put him to sleep.

"I got a call this morning from a retired Army general. He wants me to help him in some corporate matters. I really don't want anything to do with it and I'm going to pass the case on to Flynn or Murphy. You probably know the guy," she said.

"Who is it?" Though there are some ninety thousand officers in the United States Army, it is likely, due to specialization, and the transient nature of the job that one officer might know, or have served, with another.

"His name is Hastings. John Jackson Hastings," she answered watching Tom's face for a clue.

He groaned. "Ole Jack Hastings, huh? Yeah, I know him. We've crossed paths several times. Can't say that he is one of my favorites, though. I was very surprised to see him get his star as a brigadier general. And then I was shocked when he got a second one."

"Yup. He retired as a major general. Or, that's what he told me this morning. I met him years ago when he served under Daddy at Fort Sill. It was back in the '90s. He was a major then." Sally had decided not to tell the whole story. It would serve no good purpose. "And, for a real coincidence... he was just here."

"Here? As in... this bar?" Tom asked.

"Yeah. He was sitting with some woman over there," she said indicating the table. "They were having some kind of spat. She jumped up and threw her drink on him and left. He left just a few minutes ago."

"Did you speak?"

"No. But he seemed to have recognized me." She thought for a minute. "I don't want to waste any more of our weekend talking about Jack Hastings. Are you ready to eat? I'm famished."

Tom smiled back at her. "I am, too. How about one of Monty's steaks? Let's go over to the dining room, have dinner and head for home. Sound good to you?"

"Perfect." She lifted her wine glass to touch his beer. "Here's to Friday...and having my hubby here to share it with."

"I'll drink to that," he said.

CHAPTER THREE

"Hello?" Harry Kincaid did not recognize the 405 area code that appeared on the screen of his cell phone and made a habit of not answering by name. It was a Friday night and Harry was about to walk out the door of his trendy Foggy Bottom bachelor's apartment in a very chilly District of Columbia. It was going to be drinks, dinner and laughs with several friends. He was meeting his pal and business associate, Bobby Lawson, before picking up their lady friends for an atrociously expensive dinner at Chez D'Artagnan on Capitol Hill. He'd been out of the country for a bit and was looking forward to catching up.

"Uh, hi. Is this Harry? Harry Kincaid?" It was a female voice with a slight Texas accent.

"Who is calling, please?" he asked, still not giving away his identity.

"Um... this is Carol Von Karmenn. I'm Pete Von Karmenn's wife... I mean... I'm his widow. Is it you, Harry?" she asked.

"Oh. Yes. Carol, how are you? It's me. I'm sorry I didn't recognize your voice. It's been a while." Harry had met Carol Von Karmenn just once a couple of years prior when she and Pete were in D.C. Pete Von Karmenn and Harry had worked together. More accurately... they had fought together. Even more accurately, they had almost died together. Harry Kincaid had been a lone operative working for the CIA early in the war on terror. On several missions, he was attached to the Delta Force team that Major Peter Von Karmenn led. After a couple of tough scrapes with some Taliban goons in northeastern Afghanistan, Pete and Harry became hard and fast friends. The kind that you could count on when you needed one.

"Yes, it has been a couple of years. I guess I'm doing okay," she began. "Well, not really." She paused for a moment, then said, "This is kind of awkward." Another pause, "Am I interrupting anything?"

"No, Carol. Not at all. It is good to hear from you." Harry took off his blazer and hung it on the knob of his bedroom door. He had no earthly idea why Carol Von Karmenn was calling him but he thought enough of her dead husband to be interested. Much like himself, Pete had left the service to join an "outside consulting firm." Truth be told, such firms carried out clandestine operations for clients who didn't care to be identified but had pockets deep enough to afford them. Often the number one client was the U. S. Government. And why would someone leave the armed forces or an intelligence service to join such a firm? There were two very sound reasons: One, the money was more than a government employee could ever dream of, and, two, the rules of engagement were considerably different. The second reason, by far, appealed to the Harry Kincaids and Pete Von Karmenns of the world more than the first. Harry was one of a handful of men who left various agencies to join Oceanic Import-Export, LLC. Their most effective recruiting tool was their unofficial motto: "Tired of playing by the rules? Come on over."

"I'm, uh..." Carol was clearly having a hard time getting to the purpose of the call.

"What is it, Carol. How can I help?" he asked as he paced slowly through the apartment. He could feel, more than hear, tears on the other end of the phone.

"Pete said you'd be like that. He told me that if I ever needed help that I should call you."

"I'm glad that he did. And, he was right. Now, what's up?" Harry asked. He stopped pacing and sat down on the end of his bed.

"Oh, Harry, it's a mess. You know that when Pete left the Army he joined The Talon Group?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do. I did my damndest to get him to hook up with us but he felt like he was getting a sweeter deal at Talon." Harry remembered almost begging Pete to join Oceanic.

"I wish he had. Talon was being formed by a general who was still on active duty with the Army. He offered Pete some ownership and convinced him to come on board to help form the group from the ground up. Pete also thought that the general was in position to bring in some work right away. At least that's what he told me."

"Yes. He told me as much at the time." Harry saw no reason to tell Carol that he had cautioned Pete about the potential conflict of interest with the general's involvement. Nor did he mention that he had heard about the general and did not feel comfortable with him. "So, what's up?"

"Do you happen to know General Jack Hastings?" she asked.

"I know of him, Carol. I've never had any direct dealings with him."

"He's stopped paying me, Harry. There was supposed to be a continuation of salary paid for a year if something ever happened to Pete. And there was supposed to be a lump sum payment, too... he called it a "death benefit." Pete told me that it would be several million dollars... if..." her voice trailed off. "I never thought I would need money. I never thought I'd lose Pete."

"When did the payments stop?" he asked.

"The direct deposit was made at the end of the month two months ago as usual but there hasn't been anything since then," she said. "It's coming up on two months with no pay."

"That's not good. How are you making ends meet?" Harry asked.

"Just from our savings. I will go back to work as soon as I can, but I haven't yet because of the kids. Right now, they need me at home." She seemed to be tearing up. "I just never expected anything like this... and I really... I'm sorry to call and lay my problems on you."

"It's okay, Carol. Do you know if Pete had a partnership agreement? Or, an employment contract? Anything like that?" he asked.

"Yes. I've got a copy of the documents forming the company and it lists Pete as a partner. And I've also got an employment contract that spells out what I just told you... a year's salary and a lump sum death benefit based on some stock fund that was set up. He also has some ownership in the company." Carol had the documents in her hands as she spoke.

"I assume you've talked to the general about all this?" he asked.

"Yeah, I did at first. He was the one who came over and told me about Pete's death. He was very nice then and seemed concerned. I called him when there was no paycheck last month and he was completely different. He said that there was no more money and he hung up. Now he won't take my calls at all," she said.

"Have you seen an attorney?" he asked.

"Yes, I have. But the lawyer tells me that my claim would be against the partnership. And he says that Hastings claims that the partnership has no assets. He says he can't pay."

Harry thought for a minute. He stood and resumed a slow walk through his apartment. Then, "First of all, Carol, I'm glad that you called me. I'm sure that there's something we can do. Will you give me a day or two to work on it?"

"Really? Is there something that you think can be done?" she asked.

"We can try. Where are you now, Carol? Do you need some money now?" he asked.

"I'm in Lawton, Oklahoma. This is where General Hastings was when he formed Talon. Pete and I bought a house here when he joined," she said.

"And the other question?" he reminded her. "Do you need money?"

"Probably not, Harry. I've got almost a thousand dollars left in savings. If you think there is some way to get the money Talon owes I can probably get by."

"No. Let's not cut it that close. I'm going to send you ten thousand dollars. That should tide you over for a while. If not, I'll send you more." Harry Kincaid was not about to see the family of Pete Von Karmenn suffer because General Jack Hastings and the Talon Group was not holding up their end of a bargain. Before hanging up he got Carol's bank details and would later arrange for a transfer.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Old Ebbitt Grill was bustling on this Friday night when Harry stepped through the door. He returned the familiar nod of Teddy, the maitre d' and checked his coat before taking the several steps up to the old, vintage bar that had long been a popular watering hole of the plain as well as the powerful in the nation's capitol. He saw Bobby Lawson before Bobby saw him. A young lady with short cropped blonde hair and icy blue eyes seemed to have Bobby's attention. Harry chuckled. This was not unusual. At six foot four and the youthful good looks of a high school prom king, Bobby often found himself engaged in conversation with attractive ladies. More often than not, it was they who initiated the contact.

Bobby turned when he recognized his friend's voice ordering from the bartender. "Double Dewar's on the rocks, Mitch," Harry said.

"Good to see you back in town, Kincaid," the bartender replied. "Seems the news of your demise was greatly overrated."

"Any news about me is greatly overrated, Mitch," Harry said, turning toward Bobby and his new friend.

"That's a fact," said Bobby shaking Harry's hand. "Tracey Kendall," he said to the young lady, "this is my old friend Harry Kincaid. Harry, this is Tracey. She's assistant press secretary at that big white single family dwelling down the street."

"Well, hello, Tracey. So nice to meet you. Have you begun your job search for next year, after the election?" Harry asked.

Tracey couldn't help but giggle. "Wow, I need to ask my boss about a diplomatic post for you, Mr. Kincaid. You've got real polish."

"Just kidding," he replied. "I'm sure your team will win by a landslide." He looked at Bobby. "How are things at our office, Pal? It feels like I've been gone for months."

"Yeah, it's been kind of blissful and quiet," Bobby joked. It was good to see his business pal back in town.

"Excuse me, gents," said Tracey looking toward the door, "my date just arrived." She got down from her bar stool, revealing a long and perfectly shaped leg. She pressed a bar napkin into Bobby's palm and winked at him. She said, "Nice talking to you, Bobby." Then to Harry, "See you around, Mr. Ambassador."

"Yes, I do hope so, Miss Vice President," Harry responded. "Hey, there's your solution. If the Prez would make you his running mate and just ditch that other guy, his re-election would be assured."

Tracey looked back at Harry as she left, saying, "Oh, you are a real charmer."

Bobby laughed. He glanced down at the napkin on which was written the ten digits of Tracey Kendall's phone number. "I've got to agree, Harry," Bobby said. "You've got a real way with words."

The two watched as Tracey met a studious looking man dressed in pinstripes at the door. She stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. He motioned back towards Bobby and Harry, obviously asking her about them. They saw her laugh and shake off his inquiry. A moment later they were out the door.

Bobby turned on his stool back to the bar and leaned towards Harry. "Lawyer, I'll bet. He had that look about him."

"Probably so," said Harry. "This town is full of them."

Mitch came over to check their drinks. Bobby waved him off as he asked Harry, "So, how was Somalia? Is it the hip vacation spot we've all come to believe?"

"It's just lovely, Bobby. Except for the accommodations, it kind of reminds you of Disneyworld." Harry gave Bobby his world class grin. "They have pirates and everything."

They chuckled knowing Harry's trip had been anything but pleasure. Oceanic had been retained by a client to negotiate safe passage for certain ships travelling the waters off the coast of east Africa. Though the mission involved offering payment to a bunch of lawless thugs, the client, a certain Middle Eastern kingdom, had hired Oceanic knowing that if things didn't work out using the friendly approach, they might be in a better position to take a more aggressive tack.

Oceanic Import-Export had few employees and each one was a Vice President by title. The small twelve hundred square foot office they kept in Fairfax, Virginia had a staff of two ladies and Bobby. Beth Handy was the receptionist and kept track of the various contracts that were being fulfilled at any given time. She was dubbed Vice President of Administration. Prin Howard handled most normal financial matters related to the office and employees expenses. Naturally this made her Vice President of Finance. Bobby was Vice President of Operations and coordinated all of the activities of the operatives, negotiated directly with clients and contracted operatives. On rare occasions Bobby would do some field work. But the founders wanted Bobby for his organizational and planning skills. Harry Kincaid was the only field operative who was employed by the firm. When others were needed, they were brought in as independent contractors. Harry's title... Vice President of Recreation. His choice.

Oceanic Import-Export had been formed the right way, by good people. Three founding partners, all veterans of alphabet government agencies, CIA, FBI, NSA, and SEALs, started the firm on the third anniversary of 9/11. Harry Kincaid was their first recruit. The founders preferred to remain nameless and in the background. Their connections and influence reached the highest levels of the CIA, the FBI, the Pentagon, and the Capitol. In forming Oceanic, the founders' purpose was not monetary, though their minimum fee was set at a million dollars. They were patriots who had seen, through the eyes of their own experiences that the best interests of the country were not always pursued. Whether it was politics, international opinion, or plain old human greed, there were those who had misplaced desires and interests. Oceanic Import-Export was available to fight terror, crime or corruption wherever it might be found. And it was well known that, due to the founders' connections, no permission was needed. If a few rules had to be bent or side-stepped along the way... well, what was the real harm as long as the good guys won and the bad guys lost? The firm's friends could cover for just about anything.

Kincaid had been a field operative for the CIA. He had spent some time with the Navy SEALs and Army's Special Forces before he, and all of his superiors realized that he just wasn't a team player. He flourished, however, when given a solitary assignment that most sane people would steer clear of. Need a tribal leader in Yemen taken out? Put Kincaid on it. Need to get the operational plans of an Al Qaeda cell in Brooklyn? Kincaid's your man. Need someone to go sit in the Tora Bora region of Afghanistan and measure the snowfall for a month? Kincaid. Just don't micromanage him or try to tell him how to do it.

It was after a botched mission that cost twelve of America's finest fighting men that Kincaid submitted his resignation to the CIA. His reasoning was that when politics got to the tactical field level, it was time for him to work somewhere else. The Siren's call of Oceanic came at the right time.

Bobby Lawson had come later. He and Harry had met one pleasant evening in South America when Warrant Officer Lawson was a helicopter pilot attached to an Army Ranger team operating out of Panama. Bobby had no idea why he was tasked to insert this lone CIA dude into a Colombian village just southwest of the city of Medellin. And he knew well enough not to ask. The flight was made during a torrential rainstorm. Bobby remembered being impressed with the fact that his passenger was so calm about the mission he was on; and Harry remembered being impressed with this pilot crazy enough to fly in such weather. He remembered seeing Bobby, out of the corner of his eye, yawning while the small two seat reconnaissance helicopter was being tossed and blown all over the sky. He actually seemed bored. A week later, it was Lawson again who extracted Kincaid from the same village. It wasn't until they were back safely on the ground in Panama when Lawson learned that Kincaid had been shot twice. He probably never would have known if Kincaid hadn't asked Bobby for directions to the first aid clinic to have the slugs removed. The two kept in touch after Kincaid left the CIA. When Bobby decided to leave the Army, his friend had a place at Oceanic waiting for him.

Over the years, particularly through their association at Oceanic, Bobby and Harry had become fast friends. Though Harry was ten years older, they acted like fraternal twins. When both were in the same area code, they spent a good deal of social time together. Neither was, or ever had been married. Both, however, had steady female companions that made for an enjoyable foursome. It was these ladies, Penny Lane and Annie Wilcox, the guys would be meeting at Chez D'Artagnan later in the evening. Before that, however, Harry wanted to fill Bobby in on the phone call he'd received.

"Bobby, you knew Pete Von Karmenn, didn't you?" he asked?

"You bet I did. I worked with Pete for over a year. Great guy." Bobby's face grew grim. "Sure wish he had come to work with us. I hated hearing about his murder."

"Murder? What do you mean murder?" asked Harry.

"Well what the hell would you call it? He isn't listed as a 'KIA' anywhere I know of. I heard he got blown up in some cheesy motel in Mexico. I don't know the details." Bobby shifted on his stool. "Why are you asking about Pete?"

"I got a call from his wife tonight before I left my place. Carol is her name," he said.

"Why'd she call? What's up?" asked Bobby.

"Seems the outfit that Pete went to work for has cut her off."

"What do you mean, 'cut her off?'"

"According to Carol, she was supposed to receive Pete's normal paycheck for up to a year and a lump sum death benefit if it came to that. The paycheck stopped the month after he was killed and she never has gotten the death benefit. How much do you know about the Talon Group?" Harry asked.

"I know that General Jack Hastings put it together while he was still on active duty. He had all kinds of contacts. He'd been stationed in the Pentagon and had also been the military attaché to Mexico. From what I heard, he wanted to put together a company like ours and contract with the Mexican government. Thought he could pull in operative talent, like Pete, and then sell 'security' services... wink, wink."

"Wink, wink?" Harry questioned.

"Well, yeah, Harry," Bobby said. "Tell me something that goes on down in Mexico that you think is good? I mean, if it ain't human trafficking, drug trafficking, or arms trafficking, what else goes on down there?"

"That's a good point," said Harry. "But in Mexico, no one knows who the good guys are. The government is about as corrupt as any on earth. Hell, you'd think they all came from Chicago."

"Pete said they planned to expand to other areas, too. But Mexico was where the general thought they could get off to a fast start," Bobby explained.

"So you talked to him? Pete, I mean?" asked Harry.

"Yeah. He called me last spring... March or April, I think. Said things weren't looking all that good with Hastings. He was putting out a feeler to see if we could squeeze him in. He didn't say it in so many words. He said that you had tried to recruit him early on." Bobby finished his drink with one toss and put the empty glass down on the bar. "I wish I had asked him to join us right then and there." He signaled Mitch for a refill.

Harry looked at his watch. "Yeah, we got time. One more for me too, Mitch," he said. He looked back at Bobby. "So, what do you know about this General Hastings?"

"Not a whole lot," said Bobby. "But, nobody thought it was right for him to be setting up Talon while he was still on active duty. I don't think it's illegal or anything. But, it's that 'serving two masters' thing. Hell, maybe it is illegal. But what I wonder about is what he is willing to do with his firm? You know, at Oceanic, we still fight bad guys. Lots of times we end up on assignments going after the same ones we chased when I was in the Army and you were in the CIA. For some reason, I get the feeling that Hastings would take money from anyone who would give it to him. With us, it's not about the money. I've got the feeling that with him, it's not about anything else."

"Hmmm. Do you know anyone else who went with Talon?" asked Harry.

Bobby thought a minute. "Maybe. A couple of guys that I know talked to Pete and Hastings. That's been a while back and I don't know if they ever signed on or not," Bobby said.

"Well, think about it, will you? I want to dig into this. If Hastings is trying to screw over Carol Von Karmenn now with Pete gone, I can't let that happen. Pete and I got to be pretty tight over in 'Injun Country.' He was a good guy. Always had your back," said Harry.

"Yup, that was Pete. I never met Carol. But, I'm with you. We need to help her if we can. I'll make some phone calls." Bobby drained his glass.

Harry called Mitch over and handed him his American Express card. "Put Mr. Lawson's beverages on my tab, please, Mitch. It's 'Be Kind to Lost Souls Day."

"Lost Souls?" asked Mitch.

"Ah, whatever. It's my treat," answered Harry.

"Good. That includes the young lady, too?"

"Damn," said Harry looking at Bobby. "You were going to buy that Democrat a drink?"

"Hey, it's just a job to her, Harry. And besides, you're buying it now."

CHAPTER FIVE

Chez D'Artagnan was a short cab ride from the Old Ebbitt Grill. Everything in D.C. is a short cab ride from the Old Ebbitt Grill which is one of the reasons for its popularity. On the ride over, Bobby and Harry compared notes on the Pete Von Karmenn that both had served with in 'operational mode,' or using the old U. S. Cavalry vernacular that Harry favored, in 'Injun Country.' They shared the same opinion... Pete was one of the best.

The two had just settled in at the bar and were about to order a beverage when they noticed every male head in the room turn to observe the two ladies just entering. Penny Lane, walking and looking like a runway model, made straight for Harry. Her auburn hair fell straight to her shoulders and framed a face that could have graced the cover of any fashion magazine. His gaze connected with her frost green eyes as she crossed the room. Just a step to her left and one step behind was Annie Wilcox who was zeroed in on Bobby. Though they had lunched together twice during the week, the thrill of seeing her still quickened his pulse. Annie had hair as black as midnight with eyes just as dark. When she and Bobby were eye to eye in conversation, he sometimes felt lost, like he and been swallowed up in them. To say that the two men were appreciative of what was moving their way would not be adequate. To say that every other male in the room appreciated their entrance wouldn't either.

Harry spoke first. "Evening, ladies. You'd best sit down right here, and quickly. And, please, don't feel the least bit ashamed."

"Hello, stranger. I've missed you," said Penny, giving him a peck on the cheek. It had been two weeks since Harry had left for Somalia. "Why on earth would we feel ashamed?"

"Because every man in here has just undressed you two from the moment you stepped through the door," he answered.

"Nice, Harry," Penny said with an embarrassed frown.

"Geez, Harry," said Annie Wilcox, still looking at Bobby.

"Always has the right thing to say, doesn't he?" Bobby responded. He gave Annie his best boyish grin and a quick kiss on the cheek.

The couples took a high top for four and enjoyed one round of drinks before being called for their table. They were shown to a discreet corner of the dining area, near a window, but secluded from other guests. The ambient music was Earl Klugh's soft jazz from the seventies, though no one at the table could have identified it.

"So," asked Penny, "how was London, Mr. Kincaid? Did you represent Oceanic Import-Export well and bring home the bacon?" None of the Vice Presidents of the company ever accurately, or truthfully, described their business to anyone. In fact, Harry had forgotten where he had told Penny he was going.

"Oh, but of course," he answered. "Everything went very well." There was some truth to Harry's answer. It had gone well. He just hadn't been in London. "The import-export business is alive and well."

"You were gone quite a while this time, weren't you?" Annie asked Harry.

"Just a couple of weeks," he answered. "Some things can't be rushed."

"And how about you, Penny?" Bobby turned the conversation away from Harry. "How are things at the U. S. Department of Agriculture?"

"I'm so glad you asked, Bobby. I've been dying to tell you guys about the latest news in farm subsidies. It's absolutely fascinating. Where should we begin? Corn, wheat, or soy beans?" Even Penny couldn't keep a straight face. She realized that her job was probably the least interesting of any represented at the table.

Bobby chuckled. "Well, I guess I'll pick soy beans."

A rescue of the conversation was brought on as their waiter arrived to discuss the evening's specials. The four listened intently then bantered about the choices they had to make. They made their decisions and placed their orders, with Bobby deferring to Harry for the wine selection.

Thinking about their earlier conversation Bobby asked Harry, "By the way, where is Carol Von Karmenn living now? Is she still down in North Carolina?"

Penny looked up questioningly. "The wife of an old Army pal," Harry explained. "No. She's living in Lawton, Oklahoma, right outside of Fort Sill."

Annie spoke up. "I know where that is."

"Oh, really?" asked Bobby.

"Yes, I do." Annie explained. "We lived there when Dad was stationed at Fort Sill. It was his last duty station before retiring and moving back to Nashville. I was just a kid. But my sister went to O.U. in Norman. Now she lives in Oklahoma City."

"She's the other lawyer in your family, right?" asked Bobby.

"Yup. She's the biggest reason that I went to law school. I just happened to prefer Constitutional law and found my dream job here in D. C. Sally got into criminal law and likes to mix it up in the courtroom. She's with a real good firm there and, she's a great lawyer. Graduated from Stanford Law, head of her class." The admiration that Annie had for her sister was evident.

"I didn't realize you had a sister who is a lawyer, Annie," said Harry. "This friend who called may have need for one out there." He looked over and subtly nodded at Bobby.

"Her name is Sally Stillwell. She practices at Henson & Byars. I'd be happy to make the introduction if you want," Annie offered.

"Great. Let me talk to Carol again and we just might ask you to do that. Small world, huh guys?" Harry smiled as they all agreed.

CHAPTER SIX

The digital clock on the table next to Kincaid's bed read '1:37.' For reasons having to do with his line of work, he was a very light sleeper and therefore was wide awake the instant that he heard the vibrations of his cell phone. He checked the digital display for a Caller I.D. and didn't recognize the number. He pushed the side button to route the call to voice mail. At 1:38 he had not gotten back to sleep when again he heard the vibrations. He slid out of bed, taking care not to disturb Penny Lane, who was sleeping comfortably next to him under maroon satin sheets. She had given him the sheets calling them a housewarming gift after her first sleepover.

He walked barefoot through his living room and into the kitchen guided by the blue lights of the digital readout on the coffee maker. He turned on the kitchen light and answered the call in a less than welcoming fashion, "This better be good. Who's calling?"

"Is this Kincaid? Harry Kincaid?" It was a man's voice, low key and confident sounding on the other end.

"Who wants to know... at one thir-ty-nine in the morning?" he asked, enunciating each syllable of the number.

"My name is Von Karmenn... Phil Von Karmenn. I'm Pete Von Karmenn's brother."

"Yeah? This is Kincaid. Couldn't we have picked a better time to meet?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Really, I am. I've been calling ever hour pretty much all night. Left a couple of messages..." The apology sounded sincere.

Kincaid thought back, replaying the evening. He and Penny had split from Annie and Bobby after dinner at Chez d'Artagnan. They went for a nightcap at a little club within walking distance of Harry's place. Then he recalled getting back to the apartment sometime around eleven o'clock and Penny's enthusiasm, expressing her delight at his homecoming after the two week separation. He smiled thinking about it. No wonder I didn't hear the phone, he thought.

"No harm done, Phil. What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Pete's wife called me tonight. She said she had called you, too," he answered.

"Yeah, I spoke to her around six o'clock, I think."

"She said she called asking for your help," Phil said. "About Pete's death and some money due?"

"She did," Harry answered. "And, I'm glad she did. I thought the world of Pete. I'm happy to help Carol any way I can."

"Well, Harry, I hope you're sitting down..."

"Why?"

"Pete's not dead," Phil Von Karmenn said.

Harry had reached the refrigerator and was midway through pouring himself a glass of milk. He set the milk container down. "You want to run that by me one more time?"

"Pete's not dead, Harry. We've been in touch for several weeks. I'm not sure how much you know about Talon, Pete's employer but he was sent down to Mexico about a month ago. He concluded his business one night and went back to his hotel. He was supposed to return the next day. His hotel room took a Molotov cocktail at three o'clock in the morning. It was huge."

Harry finished pouring the milk and pulled down an opened bag of Oreo cookies from the cabinet over the refrigerator. "So, what happened to Pete?" he asked.

"My brother always made a habit of changing rooms after he checked into hotels. Said there was no reason to make himself easy to find. When he got back to this fleabag dump he was staying in, he made a deal with the night clerk and switched to a room on the other end of the motel. Some poor bastard checked in later and got Pete's original room. The night clerk probably pocketed the rent from the other guy because the records still showed Pete in the room that got bombed."

Munching one of the Oreos, Harry asked, "So, why the big secret?"

"A couple of reasons. How much do you know about General Jack Hastings?" asked Phil.

"Some, but not much. Fill me in," Harry answered, taking a drink of milk.

"Hastings convinced Pete to hook up with him in forming the Talon Group. They had worked together on some special ops when Hastings was involved with JSOC, an interagency group that ran black ops. Hastings liked Pete," Phil said.

"Who wouldn't?" Harry responded. "Pete was damn good at what he did."

"Hastings wanted to form a company like yours... security and operational 'consulting,'" said Phil.

"Naw. We're in the import-export business," Harry mumbled, garbled with a mouth full of cookie.

"Yeah. Right. Anyway, Hastings was going to get the contracts and Pete was going to fulfill them. If they needed outside help, Pete knew guys he could pull in on a contract basis. They were going to work in Mexico first where Hastings had government contacts from his time there in the embassy as military attaché. So, Hastings pulls off an arms sale and sends Pete down there..."

"Whoa," Harry stopped chewing. "Arms sale? To who?"

"The sale was to the Mexican State of Sonora," Phil continued. "Hastings got the deal through some contact he had in Mexico City. So Pete goes down to Hermosillo, the state capital to get the funds transferred and arranges shipment."

"So, were these guns going to the state militia, or who?" asked Harry. He noisily withdrew another Oreo from the cellophane bag.

"This part gets a little sticky. Pete says the guns were to be used by Mexican soldiers against the Sinaloa Cartel."

"Sinaloa. Yeah, I've heard of them," said Harry, chewing. "Big time drug traffickers into the U.S." Another drink of milk.

"The baddest guys in the business. They only shipped two hundred tons of cocaine into the U.S. last year, and just about as much heroine. Enough marijuana to cover Nebraska. They also deal in human trafficking. They send men, women, and children over the border, for a fee. Then they turn on them when they get here. They have no compunction about killing the men, raping the women, and turning the kids into drug mules." Pete paused letting what he had said sink in.

"Geez," said Harry. Another Oreo.

"More than that," he continued, "the Sinaloa Cartel has worked directly with terrorists aligned with al Qaeda, the Muslim Brotherhood, and Islamic Jihad. They've smuggled known cell members across our border through their same infiltration routes. No telling what those guys are bringing with them." Phil paused. He had to ask, "What are you eating?"

"Oreos," said Harry.

"Hmmm." Phil continued, "Anyway, I said it got sticky. Pete finds out that the guns are actually going to be funneled to the Matamoros Cartel, a deadly enemy of the Sinaloans. Now, the Matamoros Cartel isn't a bunch of choirboys. They are in the drug business, too and in an on-going turf war with Sinaloa. Hastings tells Pete that the U.S. Government is okay with the deal since the arms are going to fight the cartel that is causing us the most harm." Phil paused again.

Harry had stopped chewing. "The U.S. Government is okay with selling arms that go to a Mexican drug cartel that is actively shipping across our borders?"

"There's an old Arabic proverb ...," Phil began.

"'The enemy of my enemy is my friend,'" said Harry.

"Exactly. This is very similar to what went on in Afghanistan back in the '80s. We were furnishing weapons to the 'freedom fighters' to help them defeat the Russians. Those same fighters today are known as the Taliban. Ironic, huh?" asked Phil.

"Yeah. So, what happened with Pete?" Harry asked, heavily munching another Oreo.

"He completes the deal. His government contact is a guy named Miguel Sanchez and they kind of hit it off. The shipment is coming from a company called Mesquite Manufacturing. While he's working with Sanchez on the documents, it slips out that Hastings owns Mesquite."

"Are you shitting me?" Kincaid was shocked. "What a deal. He's making money on both ends?"

Phil continued, "Of course Sanchez figured Pete knew it so Pete didn't tell him any different. As soon as he gets done and away from Sanchez, Pete calls Hastings."

"And...?" Harry pours more milk.

"Hastings gets all tongue-tied and tells Pete he'll explain everything when he gets back. That night Pete's hotel room blows up." Phil cleared his voice. "Wish I had one of those Oreos."

"Where's Pete now?" asked Harry.

"He's laying low. He's pretty convinced that Hastings was behind the bombing and is letting him think it worked." Phil fell silent and let Kincaid digest the story.

Harry's mind was churning. This story was a lot to accept. A retired American Army officer, a general no less, was trafficking guns to a sketchy Mexican outfit and probably making big bucks doing it. Further, Harry couldn't imagine that the U.S. Government would allow it.

"So, what's Pete's plan? And why doesn't Carol know he's alive?" Harry asked.

"Pete's sure that Carol couldn't keep the secret if she knew. She's been badgering Hastings so much over the last couple of weeks that he has stopped taking her calls. We know that Hastings has filed a claim with Lloyds' Chicago office for the death benefit. So, he believes Pete is dead. But he has told Carol that everything is held up pending proof of death from the Mexican authorities. That's probably true."

"So, again," asked Harry, "what's the plan?"

"Pete tells me you've got some friends in pretty high places. He'd be willing to pay handsomely if you could get into this and find out if Hastings might be telling the truth about the sale being legit with our government. If it is, Pete can resurface and deal directly with Hastings. If it isn't, we've got to blow the whistle on him." Phil heard more rattling of cellophane.

"That could take some doing," Harry said. "But let me make a few calls and see what I can turn up. In the meantime, what about Carol? I've got a lead on a lawyer in Oklahoma City I'd like to put her in touch with. It sounds to me like Hastings is giving her the runaround. At least a lawyer can put some pressure on him."

"That would be great, Harry. I assume you've got Carol's number?" Phil asked.

"Yeah, I do." Then Harry switched gears. "I didn't know Pete had a brother."

"Yup. I'm three years younger. I'm a staff sergeant with the Fifth Special Forces Group at Fort Bragg," he said. Harry knew that it would be easy enough to check out Phil Von Karmenn.

"You mean your momma raised two of you blood thirsty snake eating warmongers?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid so," Phil laughed. "Look, Carol said you were going to send her some money."

"I am. As soon as the banks open on Monday. She sounded like she could use it," Harry said.

"Well, you don't need to support Carol. Pete put away some money that Carol isn't aware of. He and I plan to open up a guide service up in Wyoming one of these days and we've got a few bucks set aside for it. He wasn't hiding it from her intentionally, but she doesn't know about it. We can reimburse you for whatever you send her," Phil said.

"I wasn't worried about losing money on Pete Von Karmenn," Harry said.

"I know you weren't, and once this little misunderstanding with Hastings is cleared up, it won't be an issue." said Phil. "Pete has told me a lot about you. Wishes he had hooked up with your outfit when he went with Hastings. I talked to him earlier tonight and he told me to bring you up to speed. I'm sure he'll contact you himself when he feels like he can."

"Tell him to contact me any time. And tell him that we've still got a place for him when we gets all this worked out," said Harry.

"Will do. Sorry to bother you," Phil said. "I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing,"

"No problem. Sleep is greatly overrated anyway." He hung up the phone and finished off the glass of milk he had poured while listening to the remarkable story of Pete Von Karmenn as told by his brother.

He went back into the bedroom and slid into the bed beside Penny. She stirred slightly then turned over to face him. "Have you been gone again?" she cooed.

"Yeah, I guess I have," he answered.

"Well I guess I should welcome you home again, huh?" she giggled. She kissed him, lightly at first. "Mmmmm," she breathed. "Oreos."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jana Leigh Merriman fell in love with Cadet John Jackson Hastings the moment she saw him standing at Trophy Point. It was "Ring Weekend" at West Point, a tradition in which rising First Classmen receive their cherished class rings at the Academy. It was a cloudless day and the Hudson River, banked on either side, splashed and splattered with the browns, oranges and reds of autumn leaves set an artist's tableau as a backdrop. A slight breeze drifted off the river far below in the valley lending a fall chill and a hint of cooler weather to come. The presentation ceremony had concluded and Jana's twin brother, Cadet Lieutenant Sam Merriman was pleased to introduce his parents and sister to his friend and Regimental Commander, a tall and handsome young man from Utah. Jack Hastings looked born for the uniform. Indeed, he could have been a model for recruitment literature for the Academy.

The year was 1979 and Jana was beginning her own senior year at the University of Texas. A beautiful young woman with her short blonde hair, blue eyes and shapely figure, she had led a busy social life while pursuing her own degree in nursing. She was a fraternity sweetheart and never wanted for a date. Many a young man had sought it but she had given her heart to no one. She had certainly never experienced the palpable physical sensation that left her smitten, almost speechless, when she shook the hand and felt the penetrating eyes of Jack Hastings.

Tom and Sheila Merriman were proud of their only children, both of whom would be graduating the following June. Sam would be off to serve out his commitment in the U. S. Army, and Jana would pursue her career in one of the many hospitals near their home in Houston. Or so they thought.

On that special weekend when friends and family descend on the Academy, Jack Hastings was alone in the crowd. His parents were undergoing a vicious divorce back in Utah which both used as an excuse for not making the trip. Truth be told, he didn't miss them. Both of his parents had their own busy lives, his father as a land developer and mother as an attorney. The family had never been close so Jack didn't miss what he had never had. He also had never had a 'steady' girlfriend or one special enough to invite for Ring Weekend. But this unexpected encounter with Sam's sister became the silver lining to the gloomy cloud that had been his prospect for the weekend. To the surprise of the Merrimans, Mister Hastings, as all cadets are addressed, asked Jana to dinner in nearby Highland Falls that first evening, an invitation she accepted without a second thought. The following evening at the Ring Banquet, Hastings sought out the Merrimans. He latched on to Jana and the two were inseparable the rest of the evening. She would recall in later years the feeling of her heart in her throat when Jack Hastings appeared before her impeccably dressed in his formal mess dress white uniform. Thus began a romance that continued, long distance, through their senior year. On two occasions, Jana had been able to fly to New York to meet Jack for a weekend in the City. Jana had never even come close to sleeping with a man and had earned a well deserved reputation among the boys back in Texas. The "Ice Queen," they called her. But with Jack Hastings, she felt powerless to his advances. His experiences with the opposite sex had begun earlier and he had learned well. Indeed, his gentle carnal skills brought out in her an enthusiastic sensuality that she found baffling. They laughed and joked that their weekends in New York may as well have been spent on a desert island, or in an isolated forest. They abhorred the times when, tired of room service, they would finally succumb to their pangs of hunger and leave their hotel room to get something to eat. But they didn't stray far.

Jack Hastings received his commission at West Point as a Second Lieutenant in the United States Army on June 7, 1980. On June 8th, with Second Lieutenant Sam Merriman acting as Best Man, Jana Leigh Merriman became Mrs. Jack Hastings in a ceremony at the Cadet Chapel. She was now an Army wife.

The Army provided an interesting life for the Hastings. From an early age, Jack had known that he wanted to make it his career. His ambition was obvious to all who met and served with him. In late night bull sessions at the Academy, he had earned the nickname 'General' from his fellow cadets. And none of them doubted for an instant that he would someday be one. Following Officer's Basic training in the Field Artillery at Fort Sill, Lieutenant Hastings was assigned to a howitzer battalion in Germany. He excelled at everything handed to him as a junior officer. Having learned early that politics count in the military, Hastings made a point of getting to know well all the senior officers with whom he served and came in contact.

Hastings' new brother-in-law, classmate, and comrade-in-arms, Sam Merriman, chose Armor as his service branch and attended his Officers Basic Training at Fort Knox, Kentucky. His objective was to fly helicopters and serve in the air cavalry. After completing his training at Ft. Knox, Merriman was sent to flight school at Fort Rucker, Alabama. Whereas Hastings was the politician, Merriman made his mark by serving with excellence. He showed remarkable skill during his flight training and was assigned to an assault helicopter company in Fort Campbell, Kentucky to gain some experience before being recalled to Fort Rucker to serve as an instructor in the Aviation school. Already qualified in rotary wing aircraft, helicopters, Sam breezed through a fixed wing qualification course gaining him ratings in the few airplanes that the Army flew.

While at Fort Campbell, Sam Merriman met and fell in love with Sonya Youngblood, a young freelance photojournalist working on assignment for National Geographic magazine. After a whirlwind romance of six months, the two married in a small ceremony performed by an Army chaplain at the post chapel. Given short notice, Lieutenant and Mrs. Jack Hastings were not able to return from Germany to attend. But the two young officers, now bound by family as well as profession would see each other as often as they could. And, it would be inevitable that their paths would cross through their military service.

For Hastings, there followed more schooling at Fort Benning in Georgia, and Fort Bragg in North Carolina, adding skills that qualified him as a paratrooper and an Army Ranger. He carefully mapped out his career and sought the assignments that would get him where he wanted to go. In 1988, Captain Jack Hastings applied for and was accepted into a graduate school program offered by the Army to its most promising officers. He attended Georgetown University in Washington, D.C. for a two year program earning his Masters Degree in International Studies. Upon completion of the program, he pinned on the gold leaves of a Major, just in time to fill the slot of battalion executive officer during the first Gulf War. When he returned, Hastings attended the Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, a must for officers destined for higher rank. Major Sam Merriman surprised his brother-in-law the first day of class at Fort Leavenworth when he calmly took a seat next to Hastings in the classroom. Hastings didn't notice who was sitting next to him until Merriman leaned over and said, "I got you through West Point. I guess I'm gonna have to get you through Leavenworth, too." A lively reunion ensued; for a short while the two officers were once again, classmates.

For her part, Jana was content with the Army way of life. They bought their first home in Fairfax County, Virginia at the time that Jack attended school at Georgetown. She took the opportunity to advance her nursing skills and through George Washington University, got her Masters Degree in Nursing and was certified as a nurse practitioner in cardiac care. She remained there in Virginia during Jack's thirteen months in Iraq and nine months in Kansas. Though her career was always secondary to his, Jana was proud of her own accomplishments and took comfort in the knowledge that her skills were marketable, should the need ever arise. With both Jack and Jana focused on careers, children never became a part of their plans.

What seemed to be the perfect marriage, however, was not. Perhaps it was due to the long separations. Perhaps it was due to the adolescent he was before meeting Jana. But, simply put, Jack Hastings loved the ladies. Or, more accurately, he loved the physical gratification that he could take from them. He loved his wife as much as he was capable. But his fidelity to Jana was lost one night early in their marriage while the young officer was stationed in Germany. A temporary duty assignment took him to Paris for three days. He met a young American tourist from Orlando, Florida in the hotel bar the first night there. One thing led to another resulting in the first betrayal of his vows. Though Jana was confident that she owned the key to his heart, she became aware that her husband's needs were greater than hers. She loved him and she never refused him. But she came to believe that he was not above an extra-marital fling. Though hardly pleased with the situation, she kept her feelings and suspicions to herself and decided to do so as long as his actions were discreet and never brought her disgrace or humiliation.

In 1993, Major Jack Hastings was again assigned to Fort Sill where he served under Colonel "Wild Bill" Wilcox. Jana was happy to once again be living under the same roof with her husband and came to enjoy the Oklahoma plains town of Lawton, adjacent to the base. She took a part time job in a local cardiology practice to maintain her nursing skills. The Hastings grew to know Colonel Wilcox and his wife, Connie on a social level. Ever the politician, Hastings took every opportunity to keep his commanding officer happy and impressed. Being around and cajoling the Colonel certainly had its place. The pride of Wild Bill and Connie Wilcox was their two daughters, Sally and Annie. Sally was attending college at the University of Oklahoma eighty miles away in Norman; Annie was ten years younger than her sister. When Sally was home for a weekend or between semesters, Major Jack Hastings could not keep his eyes off of her.

On April 19, 1995, a lunatic named Timothy McVeigh parked a rented van outside the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City. The van was filled with over five thousand pounds of ammonium nitrate fertilizer, thirteen hundred pounds of nitromethane, and assorted blasting devices. The combined materials created a bomb weighing over seven thousand pounds with destructive characteristics that became apparent at exactly 9:02 a.m. Central Standard Time.

Sally Wilcox, now a senior at the University in Norman had just months left before graduation. As part of an elective course in Criminal Justice, she had arranged to interview Special Agent Jack Hanlon of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Agent Hanlon had been very accommodating and had invited Sally down to his office on the third floor of the Murrah Federal Building. Their appointment was set for 9:30. She was searching for a parking place three blocks south of the building on North Robinson Avenue when the bomb exploded.

The blast claimed 168 lives, 19 of which were children under the age of six. It destroyed or damaged 324 buildings within a sixteen block radius. It was the worst case of domestic terrorism ever perpetrated on American soil.

Like everyone around her, Sally was stunned by what she had witnessed. In fact, she didn't know what she had witnessed. Bricks and debris from the explosion had fallen on her car breaking an axle and crushing the windshield and roof to the extent that she had to crawl out of a rear window. Dealing with some degree of shock, she finally found a telephone and called the office of her father. When the call came in, Colonel Wilcox was somewhere on Fort Sill's East Range observing the activities of one of the howitzer battalions. Major Jack Hastings took the call from a very distraught Sally and without hesitation, got in his car and drove the ninety-three miles to Oklahoma City completing the trip in seventy-one minutes. He found Sally Wilcox dazed, sitting on a curb beside her car on North Robinson Avenue. He guided her to his car, placed her in it and drove her back to Lawton and to the waiting arms of Wild Bill and Connie Wilcox.

It made sense to Jana when a friendship developed between Colonel Wilcox's oldest daughter and her husband. Traumatic events have a way of drawing people together. The age difference between them made it unlikely, in Jana's mind, that it would ever be anything more. Sally returned to school as soon as classes resumed the following week and nothing more was thought of it. She would be leaving for law school at Stanford at the end of the summer anyway.

CHAPTER EIGHT

In late1996, Lieutenant Colonel Jack Hastings was reassigned to the Pentagon requiring the couple to move back to their home in Fairfax County. Jana was pleased to return to the area and was delighted to get a faculty appointment in the nursing school at George Washington University. She had long wanted to transfer her clinical experience into a teaching situation, but with no prior instructional work, she was surprised when the position was made available to her. Hastings worked in materiel procurement for the joint armed services. This gave him exposure both inside and outside of the Army. His specific work amounted to the investigation, testing, and purchasing of individual weapons for soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines. There was significant travel required for his duties. Neither he nor Jana seemed to mind the separations, having gotten used to them earlier in their marriage.

Life in northern Virginia was made even more pleasant by the assignment of Lieutenant Colonel Sam Merriman to the Military District of Washington. He and Sonya purchased a home in nearby Arlington, Virginia allowing the Hastings and the Merrimans to get together often. Jana got to know and love her sister-in-law Sonya. The two found that they had much in common and enjoyed spending time together. They drew all the more closer when their husbands were drawn away by the requirements of their jobs.

Jack Hastings saw another opportunity after 9/11 in seeking an assignment with the Joint Special Operations Command, or JSOC as it was known. With special operations becoming more and more important in the war on terror, he believed that future command positions, and the promotions that were sure to follow favored officers who had special ops experience in their records. With Jana settled into the nursing school at GW, and the fact that JSOC would require significant travel in and out of hostile environments, Hastings decided to commute to Fort Bragg, down in North Carolina, where the new position was based. It proved to be a wise career move on his part when he was promoted ahead of schedule to Colonel.

Always the politician, Jack Hastings had maintained contact with old acquaintances, from the Academy and elsewhere. Some of these old friends could be found in positions of influence in numerous departments and agencies around Washington. Through his network, he became aware of a quasi-diplomatic post that was to become vacant. He made the necessary contacts and got himself assigned as the military attaché to Mexico. Again, he elected to make the trip to Mexico City alone, knowing that his job would take him back and forth from Washington. Jana was more than happy to remain at home in Fairfax.

Colonel Hastings caught the eye of the senior U. S. military leadership as well as the State Department in 2006 when he successfully negotiated the release of the kidnapped son of the Vice President of Mexico from a crazed drug gang operating out of Tampico, northeast of Mexico City on the Gulf of Mexico. Although he laughed it off as simply being in the right place at a bad time, which was true, the deed earned him Congressional nomination for his star as a brigadier general. The fact was that Hastings had taken a secretary from the embassy for an illicit secluded weekend on the gulf and wound up being in the perfect place to negotiate the kid's release. None of the old boys from West Point, knew the whole story, but would not have been the least bit surprised.

General Hastings returned to the Pentagon to serve out his remaining years in the Army. He earned his second star before retiring in September of 2010. Though his Army career could have continued, and he could have earned higher rank and greater responsibility, he saw opportunities outside of the military. To the great surprise of many, and the disappointment of a few, Major General Jack Hastings left active military service after a long and admirable career.

At the time of his separation from the Army, Jana was ready to end her tenure at George Washington University. Her contribution to the nursing program was well recognized by the faculty and staff. It was with heavy hearts and great disappointment that they bid her farewell. Knowing that the future lives of retired military officers were often tied, at least in part, to that big five-sided building on the Potomac, the Hastings maintained the house in Fairfax. But Jack's business interests took him back to Oklahoma where he and Jana purchased a sprawling two hundred acre ranch with a large and comfortable home outside of Fort Sill. The proximity to the base gave them access to all it had to offer, not the least of which was healthcare at Reynolds Army Hospital, one of the best in the system.

CHAPTER NINE

Jana Hastings arrived and checked into the Prairie Plaza Hotel, the finest in Oklahoma City, just before six o'clock. It was Friday evening and Jack had reserved a penthouse suite for them to enjoy for the weekend. She was looking forward to the escape, albeit modest, from what she referred to as the 'Lawton routine.' Jack had told her to expect him 'late,' allowing him time to wrap up a late afternoon meeting with his design team at Mesquite Manufacturing in Stillwater. He hoped they could have a late dinner in The Dining Room, the 'white tablecloth' restaurant there in the hotel, one of the City's best.

At fifty-one years of age, Mrs. Hastings still turned more than a few heads. The flaxen blonde hair of her youth had given way to a gorgeous silvery gray that framed the still lively blue eyes to which her husband had fallen prey over thirty years before. The active life that she had always led served her well, maintaining a figure that was the envy of women half her age. She was wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a short denim jacket over a western shirt when she emerged from her Mercedes in the motor lobby and checked in at Reception. The only thing unusual about her appearance, thought the staff, was that such western wear rarely looked so good. The bellman insisted on escorting her to the penthouse floor, pulling the only piece of luggage that she had brought. Over the years she had learned to pack light, taking only what she'd need. The bellman slid the electronic key through the lock and opened the door for his guest to enter. He followed her in, placed her suitcase on a luggage rack that he removed from the closet of the bedroom. He pulled open the curtains of the floor to ceiling windows that wrapped around the corner of the sitting room. The Oklahoma City evening flooded into the room. The furnishings were elegant and comfortable. Glancing around, she decided that the suite was probably worth the $350 per night. In Washington, it would have been $950, but this was Oklahoma City.

"Is there anything else I can assist with, ma'am?" he asked.

"No. I'm sure I'll be fine. Thank you, Carlos," she said, placing a folded bill in his palm.

"Please enjoy your stay," he said, backing out of the suite.

Once alone, she decided to treat herself to a long, lazy bubble bath in the oversized tub that could have easily fit two. She removed a bottle of Shiraz she had decided to bring at the last minute, opened it and poured herself a glass. When the bath was full, she took her wine and her copy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude" and slid gracefully into the warm bubbly water. Jana Hastings was content. And she was happy to be in this place looking forward to the weekend with her husband.

Jack Hastings glanced back into the bar, then stepped into the elevator car when it arrived at the floor occupied solely by the Cattlemen's Club. He was pleased that he had the car to himself. He still held a handkerchief in his hand, continually blotting the shoulder of his blazer that had taken the brunt of Diana's ire. He had expected her to react harshly. But he wasn't prepared for the display of temper brought on by his pronouncement.

Hastings had met Diana Ricci, Assistant to the Executive Director of the Oklahoma City Chamber of Commerce at a cocktail party hosted by the Chamber some seven months prior. Diana was in her early forties, had chestnut hair that she wore up that evening and sparkling green eyes. Her hourglass figure was accentuated by the fit of her emerald cocktail dress. When Hastings introduced himself as a guest who had come at the behest of his banker, he soon discovered that she was intelligent, charming, and available. As the party wound down, Diana caught one of Hastings's passes and invited him for the proverbial nightcap at her townhouse in Founder's Grove. It was the start of an affair that he considered an entertaining diversion; she thought it had long term potential. He had rolled into bed next to his sleeping wife back in Lawton at just after five o'clock the next morning. Jana had long ago ceased asking questions when Jack arrived home at such odd hours. She reasoned that if she didn't ask, he wouldn't lie to her.

For the past month, Diana's expectations had become more and more a topic of conversation when they met for their frequent trysts. Hastings recognized trouble the first time she had used the term 'we' when discussing a future of which he never had imagined himself a part. Yes, it was time to break it off. She was a big girl, and though she may not want to hear it, surely she could deal with it. Now it was just a matter of returning her key and picking up his laptop computer that he had left at her place the previous afternoon.

The valet brought his Lexus around and held the driver's side door for him to get in. He pressed several bills into the young man's hand, fastened his seat belt and pulled out into the evening traffic. He would go meet Jana at the hotel, drop off his bag, then go deal with Diana. It would take no more than thirty minutes to get to her townhouse. This would give Diana time to cool off a bit and his swapping the key for his laptop shouldn't take more than five minutes. His little errand would also give Jana time to dress for dinner later in The Dining Room. That was it; a good plan and a clean break.

When he arrived at the hotel suite, he knocked on the door and playfully announced, "Room Service." He waited a minute or two and knocked again. "Mrs. Hastings?" he said.

He heard the chain latch grab, then smiled at his wife as she opened the door the few inches allowed by the chain. There stood Jana in a luxurious, white terry bathrobe with the hotel's logo stitched into one side. Her hair was wrapped in a turban she had fashioned with another towel, a universal skill of all women.

"Room Service?" he asked, smiling.

She looked back at him playfully. "I didn't order anything but if I had I would have asked for something a little fresher."

"Ouch!" he said as he pushed through the door, pulling his suitcase behind. He kissed her on the cheek and said, "You look comfortable."

"You got me out of the most soothing bubble bath," she answered.

"Well, I'll let you get right back in it. I've got to go pick up my laptop. I left it with Frankie Lutz this morning before I drove up to Stillwater for the meeting. Another virus. I don't know how I continue to attract those things. Frankie cleaned it up today and I need to go get it because he's closing this weekend because of the snow in the forecast. I'll only be about an hour, tops," he said.

"Why did you even come by here then?" she asked.

He turned to face her and drew her into his arms. "To see you, of course. It's been a long time since this morning." He gave her another kiss then said, "I'll just drop my suitcase and go. How about calling The Dining Room and make reservations for nine? Does that work for you?"

"Okay. I'll finish my bath and be here waiting," she said smiling. She studied him standing before her. She did love her husband. He had always been the most handsome man she had known. She believed it the day they met at West Point and her opinion had never waned. Looking at him standing there in his Navy blazer, she realized just how well he had aged. It just wasn't fair, she thought, that men grew distinguished looking, with their salt and pepper hair. Their wrinkles were lines conveying worldliness and knowledge. Women just looked old. She pulled him close to her again and gave him a slow, yearning kiss. Releasing him, she winked and said, "Hurry back."

As he turned to leave, she looked at the crystal clock set in driftwood on the far wall. "Seven-fifteen," she mumbled. Perfect. She'd pour herself another glass of wine, reheat the bath and take thirty more minutes in it.

Hastings was back down in the motor lobby in minutes and found his Lexus double parked in the drive through where he'd left it. Knowing he'd be right back out, he'd opted not to deal with the valet. He got into his car and swung out into the traffic on Broadway and headed north, merging on to I-235. He drove for fifteen minutes and exited at North Wilkerson heading west. Five minutes later he pulled up in front of Diana Ricci's townhouse. He stopped short of her address and waited for a white panel van with Arizona plates to pull away from the curb. He maneuvered the Lexus into the vacated space, killed the engine and stepped out of the car. He walked briskly up to her front door and rang the bell. No answer. He waited a minute and rang again. Being well familiar with the place, he knew that she had had time to answer the door. Apparently she wasn't home. This may work out even better, he thought. He'd just open the door with the key he planned to return, go in and pick up his laptop and leave the key. He'd be out of there in less than a minute.

He slid the key into the lock, turned the knob and pushed the door open. He stepped through the foyer and moved forward.

Nothing could have prepared him for the scene that lay before him.

The living room to his left was a sea of blood. The walls were splattered as if a bloody paintbrush had been slung and shaken against it. There were lines of blood trailing across the floral print of the sofa and splotches of the red liquid that had run down the wall behind it. The wretched smell of death permeated the room. Diana Ricci lay amid the scene on the once spotless ivory carpet that was now a sponge soaked with the coagulating essence of her life. Her head lay to one side at an unnatural angle. He stepped closer and saw that it remained connected to her body by a single tendon woven through a muscle. Her neck had been savagely slashed leaving her all but decapitated.

Hastings fought back nausea as he tried to think. He could feel panic beginning to overtake him. Looking down he saw that his shoes were forcing Diana's blood out of the carpet as if standing on soaked turf. Blood was seeping up around the soles of his shoes.

He had to leave. He couldn't be found at this unbelievable scene. He looked over his shoulder into the kitchen and saw his laptop computer on the breakfast table where he had left it the day before. He stepped out of the carnage and over to the table. He snatched up his computer, pulling the power cord from the wall plug. He shoved them into his case, holding it rather than zipping it closed. He threw the door key which he had been holding onto the table and ran for the door of the apartment leaving bloody footprints with every step that he took. He locked the front door from the inside and, clutching his computer, stepped back out into the night. He dashed for his car taking no notice of a young woman walking her dog near the end of the block.

Hastings opened the door to the Lexus and tossed his laptop across the console into the passenger's seat. He started the car, slamming the gear shift into reverse. He stepped on the gas and crashed into the pickup truck that was parked behind him. He shifted to drive and slammed into a late model BMW in front of him. The Beamer's burglar alarm began to sound and his own front passenger's air bag deployed. Backing up again, he was able to maneuver out of the space and into the street. He pushed the accelerator to the floor, sideswiping the driver's door of an oncoming Volkswagen Beetle. He sped away down the street without ever seeing the dog walker who was copying his license number on a grocery receipt, the only paper she had in her pocket.

CHAPTER TEN

Jana sat waiting in the hotel suite. She had dressed in a simple but elegant black shift that had always been one of Jack's favorites. As she slipped into that dress after her bubble bath she thought of how he used to tease her saying "The only way that dress can look any better is lying in a heap on the floor by the bed."

As nine o'clock passed, she took out her cell phone and called her husband. The call went directly to voice mail and she left a quick message saying, "It's just me. You must have been delayed. Wondering if you're coming to dinner. I'm going to go on down to The Dining Room. I'm famished. Hope to see you soon."

Jana left the suite and descended in the elevator to the lobby. When she approached the host's station and announced, "General Hastings...party of two," Stefan, the maitre d' looked past her, over her shoulder.

"Yes, of course," he said, "Did you say 'two?'"

"My husband will be along shortly. But I'd like to go ahead and be seated, please." Jana suffered no shyness when it came to forging her own way. She'd had a lifetime of it.

"Please, ma'am, follow me." Stefan made his way through the room, moderately full of diners and showed her to a table overlooking the street. The temperature had dropped, and a few flakes o snow could be seen illuminated by the streetlights. The forecast for the oncoming snow made sidewalk traffic sparse. As Stefan held the chair for Jana to sit, her waiter, wearing a starched white jacket poured a glass of water.

"Good evening, Madam," he said. "My name is Ricardo and it will be my pleasure to serve you this evening. I understand someone will be joining you?"

"Yes, my husband should be here soon," she answered. For a split second, she wondered just how long it would be.

"May I bring you a beverage, ma'am?"

"Yes, that would be good. I'll just have a glass of wine. What red would you recommend?" she asked. She had already enjoyed two glasses of the Shiraz as she bathed and dressed in the suite. Another wouldn't hurt.

"We have an excellent pinot noir from the Columbia Valley. Woodbine Estates?" he suggested.

"That sounds fine, Ricardo," she said.

"Yes, ma'am. I will leave you with the menu and be right back with your wine. This evening's specials are listed here," he said, handing her an additional card. "I highly recommend the Fried Lobster. It is a specialty that only our chef has perfected." He paused a second, then turned and left.

Jack Hastings was a basket case. He drove around aimlessly with no idea or plan of where he was going. He soon found himself back on I-235 heading north. He then took the John Kirkpatrick Turnpike, east. His cell phone had rung a couple of times but he ignored it knowing there was absolutely no one that he wanted to talk to. He continued to drive with no conception of time. He had to figure things out. What was he going to do? 'Keep driving,' he thought. 'I just need to think.'

Jana had ordered a starter of fried calamari and another glass of wine. She tried Jack's cell phone again with the same result. Though she had given her husband the benefit of the doubt, her patience had worn thin... very thin. At five minutes to ten, she asked Ricardo for her check. He returned it with a sheepishly apologetic look as if he understood her frustration. She offered no more excuses for her absent husband as she signed the check to their penthouse suite and abruptly left the restaurant.

Hastings continued to drive east, then headed north toward Stillwater when he reached I-35. After driving for some unknown distance, he exited, crossed over and reentered in interstate heading south. He knew that he had to get back to Jana. He had to explain things. And, yes, he had to go to the Police. But what would he say? It was well after ten o'clock when he exited at NE 23d Street. He would go back to Jana at the hotel and call the Police. She would understand. She would help him get through this, the worst night of his life. But what would he tell her? How could he explain Diana Ricci and what was he doing at her apartment? How could he explain to anybody what he was doing at that apartment?

He was driving west on NE 23d Street, back to the hotel. He pulled up to the stoplight at North Kelley Street, completely focused on the street that lay before him and his path back to the Prairie Plaza and to Jana. The light turned green and he started across Kelley. He heard the single blast of the Police horn and in his rearview mirror saw the blue lights that filled his rear window. His heart sank. He pulled over to the curb after clearing the intersection.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When Jana returned to the suite and allowed her anger to subside, she realized that there really could be no plausible explanation for Jack's absence. Something must have happened to him and she knew she had to do something. She glanced at the clock that had told her the time he had left. It was now 10:23. She paced the floor, still wearing the black dress that she had hoped would please her husband. She knew that fretting was doing no good and picked up the phone.

"Nine One One," the emergency operator answered. "What is the nature of your emergency, please?"

She had not really thought of the situation being an emergency, but she had to say something. "My husband is missing," she said. "He is very late and I'm afraid something has happened to him." As the words left her mouth, Jana knew that this must sound like some crackpot wife calling.

"How long has he been missing, ma'am?" asked the woman on the other end of the phone.

"Since about seven-fifteen," she answered. She remembered looking at the clock when he left the suite. "Yes. He left at seven-fifteen."

"Well, ma'am, that's only a couple of hours. We don't call someone 'missing' until it has been at least twenty-four hours." The emergency operator sounded at the same time sympathetic and impatient.

"I realize how this must sound," Jana said, "but we live in Lawton. We are staying at the Prairie Plaza for the weekend. My husband left at seven-fifteen to run an errand and was to meet me for dinner no later than nine. Something has happened."

"Ma'am, I understand. But according to our guidelines your situation does not constitute an emergency. Please hold. Let me see what I can do." The operator clicked off and left Jana holding.

A moment went by. Jana continued to pace across the carpet of the hotel suite as far as the telephone cord would allow. "Oh, Jack," she thought, "where the hell are you?"

"Ma'am? Are you there?" asked the operator.

"Yes, I'm here."

"I suggest you call Oklahoma City Police," said the operator. "Speak with the Desk Sergeant at (405) 555-1666. If there have been any accidents or occurrences involving your husband and the Police, he will know."

Jana quickly picked up one of the hotel pens beside the phone and the notepad with the hotel's picture on it. She scribbled down the number she was given. "Thank you so much," she said. "You've been very helpful."

"You're welcome, ma'am. Good luck." With that the operator ended the call.

The clock behind the desk of Sergeant John Mulcahey read 10:27. He answered the phone, "Mulcahey, Central Precinct."

"Hello, my name is Jana Hastings. May I speak with the Desk Sergeant, please?"

"You've got him, ma'am. What can I do for you?" Mulcahey was a no nonsense cop with twenty three years of dealing with the good people of Oklahoma City. He was as friendly as he could be out of uniform. In uniform, he was all business.

Jana explained that her husband had left the hotel and not returned as planned. She made every effort to sound reasonable and intelligent. She did not want Sergeant Mulcahey to think she was some doting woman who missed her man. Now, well past her anger, she felt that she had a legitimate concern.

"Did you and your husband have an argument or anything, ma'am? Any reason he may have left and decided to stay away a while?" he asked.

"No. Nothing at all. We had dinner reservations for nine o'clock and he was going to be there. He just ran out to pick up his laptop computer," she explained.

"Okay, what was your name again, ma'am?"

"Hastings. Jana Hastings. My husband is General Jack Hastings," she said. Jana was not one to flaunt Jack's rank. But in this case, it might help.

"General, huh?" Mulcahey asked.

"Yes," she said. "He's a retired major general. We live in Lawton." She knew she didn't have to explain that Lawton was near the large base of Fort Sill.

"Well, Mrs. Hastings," Mulcahey said, "we haven't had anything happen around here that might have involved your husband. And nothing in the other precincts that I can see in the computer. Let's say that's good news."

"Yes, but..." she began.

"I understand your concern. But I see nothing here. If he had somehow gone to a hospital, someone would be contacting you. I'm sure he had emergency contact information on his person didn't he?"

Jana really hadn't considered contacting hospitals. "Yes, he's got that kind of information on him and he has me listed in his cell phone under 'Emergency'. So, I think I would have been called."

"It really hasn't been that long, Mrs. Hastings. Not if he was in some kind of an emergency." Mulcahey continued, "But again, I see nothing that has happened around the City in the last few hours. Let's do this... Give me your phone number and I'll get back to you if anything pops. And let's hope you don't hear from me."

She gave Mulcahey her cell number as well as the hotel and suite numbers. "I can't think of anything else to do," she said. "But something just isn't right." She knew there was no reason to keep the Sergeant on the phone. "I do appreciate your help, Sergeant."

"Quite welcome, ma'am. Good night."

At precisely the time that Jana Hastings ended her call with Sergeant Mulcahey, Patrolman Jimmy Brewer was approaching the black Lexus driven by her husband. The snow had increased. Though not yet heavy, a soft white blanket was beginning to cover the ground. Hastings had pulled to the curb as soon as Brewer had hit the siren and lights. Officer J. R. Tobin, Brewer's partner had noticed the right rear taillight on the Lexus was damaged, actually hanging from the fender housing. It was obvious that it was recent damage. While Brewer approached Hastings, Tobin ran the license number through Oklahoma Department of Motor Vehicles.

"Keep your hands on the wheel, sir," ordered Brewer. "Keep them where I can see them, please."

Hastings did exactly as he was told. He was terrified.

"Have you been in a wreck recently, sir?" Brewer asked. "Your right rear taillight is just barely hanging on." Brewer peered into the car and determined that Hastings was no immediate threat.

"Yeah, I was," Hastings answered. He offered nothing more.

"Can I see your driver's license and registration, please, sir." Brewer watched closely as Hastings reached into his wallet and retrieved his license. He handed the license to the policeman. Brewer kept his flashlight focused on him as Hastings reached across to open his glove compartment. Brewer noticed the deployed air bag hanging limp from the dashboard.

Hastings started to reach up under the air bag to get to the glove compartment. "Oh, wait," said Hastings, sitting back straight. "I've got a pistol in the glove compartment. Thought you should know."

"Okay, uh, Mr. Hastings," said Brewer having glanced at the driver's license. "Please exit the vehicle."

As Hastings was getting out of his car, Officer J. R. Tobin approached from the passenger side of the Police cruiser. He had run the vehicle license plate through the DMV computer and verified the registration. He had also learned from his dispatcher that the Lexus had left the scene of an accident.

"Please turn around, Mr. Hastings," ordered Tobin, reaching for his handcuffs. "I'm afraid we need to take you downtown to discuss a matter of two vehicles that you have damaged pretty extensively this evening." He placed the cuffs on the wrists of General Jack Hastings and recited him his Miranda Rights and aided him into the back seat of the cruiser.

"At what point can I call a lawyer," Hastings asked.

"If you feel like you really need one, you can call one as soon as we get to the precinct," Tobin said somewhat surprised. "All we've got you for is destruction of private property and leaving the scene of an accident."

"You don't know the whole story yet," Hastings said.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sally and Tom Stillwell valued their weekends together. That's why the phone call from Russell Byars, an oddity in itself, was most unwelcome. A phone call at home from Russell would hardly signal a cause for celebration. On this particular Saturday morning, the expected snowstorm that had dumped on the Rockies had arrived in Oklahoma and the white stuff was coming down in earnest. The couple was sitting at the table in their breakfast nook enjoying a second cup of coffee while sharing the weekend edition of the Wall Street Journal. Tom was first to reach the ringing telephone and simply passed it over to Sally when he read the caller ID.

"Good morning, Russell," Sally answered. "You must have already built your snowman, eh?"

"Ha. I wish," he sounded serious. "I really hate to impose on you, Sally, but I'm afraid I need for you to meet me at the office."

"Why? What's up?" she asked.

"Well, I've just secured the release of General Jack Hastings from the Oklahoma City jail," he said. "He was pulled over last night due to a faulty taillight. But that doesn't begin to describe the problem. How fast can you get to the office? He's going to meet us there."

Sally held the phone trying to make sense of what she was hearing. "What? What happened, Russell? Did he resist the police?" she asked.

"No. I'll explain it to you as soon as we get to the office," he answered. "Can you come? Now?"

"Soon. I'll be there in an hour. What's the charge?" she asked. "Just tell me that."

"It could be Murder One," he answered. "I'll see you soon."

Sally slowly lowered the telephone and set it on the table. She stood there stunned, gazing at nothing in the distance.

"Sal?" Tom asked. "What is it?"

She turned and looked at him. "General Jack Hastings has been arrested. He's accused of murder."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Russell Byars and Jack Henson were waiting in the conference room on the 30th floor of the office tower when Sally arrived. There were only a handful of others at work in the firm's office that occupied two floors of the building on this snowy Saturday. Ambitious junior associates could be found working during off hours in most all law firms, and Henson & Byars was no exception. When Sally entered, Byars had his back to the door pouring a cup of coffee at the sideboard. Henson stood and offered Sally his hand.

"Hello, Sally," he said. "Sorry to wreck your weekend like this." He was wearing his trademark western wear, toned down to denim on this Saturday. And, no string tie. Sally noted his sheepskin coat and black Stetson hanging on the coat tree in the corner. She had always liked Jack Henson. He was so laid back that employees at the firm sometimes jokingly wondered if he was fully awake. An summer intern once remarked that he thought Henson's pulse might reach 56 during sex. His longish hair and bushy mustache were real. His drawl was slow and rural, betraying the razor sharp mind and keen intellect that he possessed. Many a courtroom adversary had left a case wondering how "that cowboy" had been able to sway the jury to his point of view. Fact was, Jack Henson was the real deal.

"I'm sure you guys had other plans for the day, too," she said. Byars had turned around holding up a cup, with a questioning look, silently offering her coffee. "Yes," she answered. "I'll fix it."

Byars moved to the table and sat down at the head. "Let me fill you two in before Hastings arrives," he said.

"Please do," said Sally. She poured her coffee, doctored it with cream and sugar then sat down opposite Henson at the table.

"At just after midnight last night," he began, "I got a call from Jana Hastings, Jack's wife. She was staying at the Prairie Plaza Hotel where Jack had booked a suite for the weekend. She said that Jack had left earlier, just before dinner, to go run an errand... to pick up his laptop computer at some repair shop. He had told her he would be gone no more than an hour and when he wasn't back in over three hours, she called the Police looking for him. She'd tried his cell phone off and on all night and gotten no answer. Then sometime around eleven-thirty, she got a call from the Desk Sergeant at the downtown precinct that she had talked to earlier. He told her that her husband had been taken into custody and was being held in connection with a brutal slaying... that Hastings was in lock up at the downtown precinct. She drove down there where Hastings told her to call me."

"So, what happened?" Henson asked, looking over at Sally.

"He'll be here soon. Let's just all get his story at the same time," said Byars.

"How'd you get him released?" asked Sally.

"Well, the cops weren't about to let him go last night even though he hadn't been formally charged. I just held off until this morning. I called Judge Garvey at home. He knows Hastings and allowed his release as long as we signed for him. His car was banged up, but drivable. So after I signed for his release at the jail, he went back to the hotel to shower and change. That's when I called you two."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Through the glass wall, Sally saw Ted Garner, a junior associate who was working on this snowy Saturday, leading General Jack Hastings toward the conference room where they were meeting. As the two men approached she couldn't help but notice the utter fatigue that was apparent in Hastings' face and movements. He was wearing jeans with a button down dress shirt and the Navy blazer that she had seen him in at the Cattlemen's Club. Though clean shaven, his eyes seemed watery and somewhat bloodshot. The man appeared both physically and emotionally exhausted.

Russell Byars greeted him at the door, speaking tenuously. "Come in, Jack, please. I believe you've met my partners. This is Jack Henson. And of course you know Sally..."

Both Sally and Henson rose to shake the man's hand. Hastings' hesitation to make eye contact betrayed the self confidence that had always been a part of his grand persona.

Hastings barely nodded, and said nothing when he shook Sally's hand. "Hello, General," she said.

"Welcome, General," said Henson. "Please, sit down."

"May I pour you some coffee?" Sally asked. She despised the man but he was clearly at a very low point.

Hastings acknowledged her sheepishly and softly answered, "Yes. Thank you, Sally. That would be very nice."

Russell broke the ice. "General, I've related to Sally and Jack here what I know of last night. And that is simply that you were pulled over by the Police for a broken taillight, which led to them detaining you first for leaving the scene of an accident, then your possible involvement in the slaying of this Miss..." Russell fumbled with his notes, "Diana Ricci. I was able to secure your release this morning with the help of Judge Garvey."

Hastings simply nodded his head confirming what Byars had said.

"Well, clearly there is much we don't know." Byars gave Hastings a moment to pick up the conversation. With nothing forthcoming, he continued, "Please, fill us in."

Sally placed a small tray with a cup of coffee and some cream and sugar on the table and slid it across to the general. He looked up and nodded his thanks. He took the cup from the tray, ignoring the condiments.

Hastings drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He leaned back in the plush conference chair and took a moment, gazing out the window. He seemed to steel himself for what he needed to say.

"First of all," he began, "let me say how profoundly embarrassing this is." He looked at Byars, then at Henson. He did not look at Sally. "I had nothing to do with Diana Ricci's death. I did know her, yes. I went to her apartment to pick up my laptop which I had left there yesterday afternoon, or, evening, I guess. When she didn't answer the door, I used a key that she had given me to get inside." He stopped. He looked down at nothing on the table. He slowly shook his head. "The place was a slaughterhouse. There was blood all over everything... the walls, the furniture... the carpet. She was lying in... Geez, it was just a mess. And it looked like it had just happened."

"Did you know she was dead?" Henson asked. "I mean, could she have still been alive at that moment?"

"Her head was almost completely severed from her body. And there was just blood everywhere," Hastings answered. He looked over at Henson, "There was no doubt that she was dead."

"Go on, please," prodded Byars.

"I panicked. I saw my laptop on her kitchen table where I had left it. I just grabbed it and ran," he said. Again, he looked down at the table and shook his head from side to side. "So foolish," he said.

"Why did you run, General?" It was Sally who asked.

He seemed to gather some grit and looked at her somewhat sullenly. "Obviously I was in a place where I shouldn't have been," he said. He looked back down at the table. "I wasn't thinking clearly."

"So, I assume that you had some kind of... relationship with this woman?" asked Byars.

"Yes. I did." He paused a moment. "Ironically, I went there to get my belongings and leave her key. I had already broken things off with her earlier yesterday."

"Was she the woman I saw you with at the bar upstairs?" asked Sally.

"Yes," he answered. "That little scene she made was her response to my telling her I was ending the affair."

"What scene?" asked Henson.

"She threw her drink in my face and called me a son-of-a-bitch... loud enough for all the world to hear. Then she stormed out." He paused. "I knew she wasn't going to be happy. But I didn't expect that."

The three attorneys sat quietly for a moment, thinking about his story.

"So," Byars continued, "in a nutshell... you were having an affair with this woman. You broke it off. Someone else killed her and you happened onto the scene in time to be blamed for it."

"That's exactly what happened," Hastings said.

"Can you think of any reason someone would kill Diana Ricci?" asked Sally. "Robbery, maybe?."

"The Police have ruled out robbery as a motive," said Byars. "I did learn that much this morning."

"I've been racking my brain all night long with that same question," Hastings answered. "I don't know of anyone who would want her dead."

"Can you think of anyone who would benefit from her death?" asked Henson. "Is there any financial gain for someone with her out of the picture? Ownership of any property? Job advancement? Anything at all that you can think of?"

"She really didn't have anything. She was divorced and had been for twenty years, or so. She was a secretary. I can't think of anything someone would gain by her death," said Hastings.

"Any old boyfriends? Anyone who could have been jealous?" asked Henson.

"Not that I know of."

"Well, somebody has to ask the hard question and it might as well be me," said Byars. "Was your wife aware of this affair? Could she have wanted this woman out of the picture?"

"Jana doesn't have a violent bone in her body. That's out of the question," answered Hastings.

"How is she taking this?" asked Sally.

Hastings looked over at Sally with piercing eyes. He remembered the Sally Wilcox of 1995. "Not well," he said. "Hmph. That's an understatement. Let's just say that my marriage will probably not survive this, regardless of the legal outcome." He looked back at Byars. "That's why I left the apartment without calling the Police."

Again, the room fell silent.

Byars finally spoke. "Well, Jack, we're assigning Sally here to handle your defense." Sally's mouth dropped and she turned to face Byars. "She's the best litigator we've got. And I won't kid you... you're going to need it. The preliminary information I got this morning is that the coroner has pegged the time of death to be almost exactly the time that you were there. When you hit those two parked cars leaving the scene, a witness called the Police immediately. The time of that call matches the coroner's estimate."

"What are my chances?" he asked.

When no one else spoke, Henson answered. "All of their evidence appears to be circumstantial. But we can't deny that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unless some crackerjack detective or an investigator can solve this crime with the real killer, you may be looking at plea bargaining to a lesser charge."

Hastings sprung from his chair, "Bullshit," he bellowed. "That means decades in jail. Is that what you're telling me, Jack? That's the best you guys have to offer? Maybe I should look for another lawyer."

Time seemed to stand still. Then, Henson's natural demeanor was on full display. He slowly swiveled his chair around to face Hastings. "You may," he said. He looked directly at Hastings. Without breaking eye contact, Henson leaned back, almost falling out of his chair, and took the yellow phone directory from the credenza behind him. He tossed it across the table at Hastings. It landed on the conference table with a loud thud... "Here ya go, Chief...have at it."

Realizing that his outburst was pointless and misguided, Hastings sat back down, almost in tears. "I apologize... I'm sorry... I need your help and I know it. I'm just frustrated and exhausted."

"That's understandable," said Byars, standing. "Is there anything else you can tell us right now that might be of help?"

"No. Nothing that I can think of. I just need some rest." Any energy that Jack Hastings had been able to muster was now spent.

"I think we've done all we can do right now," said Sally. "I will need the police report to see what they've got. I'll also find out who is going to prosecute the case and touch base there. So, we've got work to do." She looked over at Hastings. "Where can I contact you?" she asked.

"I'll be staying at the Prairie Plaza," he answered. Jana has already left. She's gone back to the ranch in Lawton. You've got my cell."

"Fine," she said. "I think we should meet again on Monday afternoon. But I'll get back to you to confirm it. We will get the information we need before then. I'm sure we'll have questions for you."

Byars looked at Hastings. In a serious tone he said, "Jack, we were able to gain your release by signing for you. Judge Garvey made no bones about our firm's being responsible. I trust you will respect our commitment."

"Of course, Russell," Hastings replied testily. "That needn't be said."

"General, less than twenty-four hours ago I wouldn't have made that statement."

Hastings absorbed the meaning of Byars' remark. "Point taken," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Harry Kincaid pulled his steel gray Porsche into the small parking lot of the non-descript four story office building off University Drive in Fairfax, Virginia. He parked in a lone space in the corner of the lot near a dumpster. There was an oak tree in the corner that provided shade on sunny days and seemed old enough to have been a witness to George Washington, owner of some adjacent land, riding by on horseback. Taking the stairs to the second floor, Kincaid walked briskly to the end of the hall. A small plastic engraved plate beside the door identified the space as Oceanic Import-Export, LLC. It was just after ten o'clock in the morning on Monday. The other three employees were busily at work, and had been for two hours. Kincaid was wearing his normal office business attire; jeans and a black tee shirt under his navy sweater that had been a Christmas gift from Penny Lane. Under most circumstances, Harry Kincaid would not be caught dead in a coat and tie.

"Good morning, Beth," he said, pushing through the door. He paused at her desk. "You know, it was a stroke of pure genius to place you here... right here near the door."

Beth Handy, Vice President of Administration looked up, smiling. It was always good to have Harry Kincaid in the office. He brought a flirtatious humor with him that made the days more enjoyable. "Oh? And why is that, pray tell?" she asked.

"Why, it should be obvious," he answered. "Being the fine looking woman that you are, it gives our visitors a wonderful first impression. Makes the firm look classy and well staffed. Yep, pure genius, I tell you."

Beth was used to Harry's wit but was sometimes thrown by his playful banter. Still, she knew better than to fall for any of his comments. "You know, Harry," she answered, "you're more full of crap than a Christmas goose... but don't stop, okay?"

He smiled back at her and said, "Never, my dear. Never." He continued in and headed straight for Bobby Lawson's small corner office that faced the front of the building.

He passed Prin Howard's desk. "And how are you this fine Monday morning, Vice President Howard?" he asked.

"Never better, Harry. And my day is complete now that you've arrived," she responded in her classic dry style.

"Oh, but you do make an old man feel welcome, Prin. I assume Master Robert is in," he said.

Prin didn't have a chance to answer as Bobby Lawson yelled from his office, "Right here, Harry. Come on in. I've got some interesting information for you."

Harry stepped into Lawson's office. Bobby swiveled around in his heavy leather office chair to face him. "I've some interesting news for you too," Harry said. "You first."

"Okay," Bobby said. "After our conversation about Pete the other night I tried to think of some other guys I had heard went to work with Hastings," Bobby said. "Remember John Decker?"

Harry cocked his head to one side. He squinted as if trying to place the name with a face.

Bobby went on. "Decker... big burly guy. He was a major and handled the supply duties when Pete and I were working special ops over in the sandbox. I was always amazed at how he could get us anything we needed... anything. I remember once we had a late night helo insertion up in Tora Bora. I was flying the Apache then, giving gun support to Pete's team when they were inserted. It was winter and cold as a well digger's ass. What we needed to soften up the area were some Hellfire missiles. We were going to bust up the Taliban's bunkers before we put Pete's team on the ground. Our aviation supply chain couldn't find any in all of Afghanistan. Hadn't been any for months. Somehow Decker got five containers of them. We strapped them on and pummeled the place for an hour. When the Chinook put the team in, they met 'minimal resistance,' as the field report said. I got to know Decker pretty well and I thought you met him. Called him 'Sluggo.'"

"Oh, wait..." Harry said. "I do remember that guy. Once, on a mission with Pete, I was carrying an old Colt 1911 as my side arm of choice. Everyone else was carrying a Beretta 9mm, so they weren't stocking .45 caliber. I never met him. But he got me my bullets."

"I made several calls this morning and found out Sluggo went to work for Hastings, too." Bobby paused a moment. Beth Handy knocked gently on the door, then came in and handed Harry a cup of coffee.

"Cream and one Sweet-n-Low," she cooed.

"Geez," Bobby exclaimed. "What kind of deal is this? I've been here for two hours and no one brought me any coffee."

"Thanks, Beth," Harry said and winked at the young lady. "You're the best."

"Yeah. Thanks, Beth," said Bobby. He said it sarcastically but he knew that the office ladies loved Harry Kincaid. Hell, all ladies seemed to love Harry Kincaid. And he really didn't mind it. Beth smiled at Harry and blew Bobby an exaggerated kiss as she backed out of the office.

"Bobby, if you want coffee," Harry said, "there is a pot of it right out there by the fridge. I saw it when I came in." He let his words cut, then asked, "Are you going to tell me about Sluggo, or do you want to go get a cup of coffee?"

Bobby just rolled his eyes and continued his story. "Like I said, Sluggo also went to work for Hastings. But..." he paused, "he's working for Hastings' at a small arms company. Company called Mesquite Manufacturing."

"Well, that squares with some of what I learned, too," Harry responded. "Did you know Pete has a brother? Phil is his name."

"Yeah, now that you mention it. I think Pete did say something about a kid brother who is also in the Army, right?" asked Bobby.

"Yup. Well, he called me real late Friday night. And since you're sitting down, I'll go ahead and tell you... Pete is alive."

Bobby's eyes grew wide. "Alive? Pete's alive?" he asked.

"Yeah. That's the good news," Harry answered. "The bad news is that Pete thinks that Hastings was behind the attempt to kill him." Harry went on to explain everything that Phil Von Karmenn had related to him in the late night phone call. Bobby sat listening intently.

When Harry had finished, Bobby summed up. "Something here doesn't pass the smell test," he said. "I'm going to try and get in touch with Sluggo and see what he has to say about all this. I hear this Mesquite Manufacturing plant is out in Stillwater, Oklahoma."

Harry picked up the ball. "I'm going to call Big Daddy and check on it, too. We need to know if the U.S. okayed the deal." Harry often used an inside source that was offered to him when he left the C.I.A. And it was a good source. The Director himself, Franklin Peers, thought the world of Harry and didn't want to lose him when Harry resigned. At their last meeting, the United States Director of Central Intelligence told Harry never to hesitate in calling on him if he felt the need. Peers knew that Harry would never abuse the privilege. Over the years, Harry had called on the Director less than a handful of times, all for good reason.

"Good. Let me know what you find out," Bobby said.

Harry thought for a minute. "It's time to talk to Pete. I'll get Phil to have him call me."

Thinking it would take some time to get Pete Von Karmenn on the phone, Kincaid's first call was to his brother Phil. Phil answered his cell phone on the second ring. "Von Karmenn," he said.

Harry heard gunfire in the background that slightly overpowered Phil's voice when he answered. "Phil? It's Harry Kincaid. Did I catch you at a bad time?" He continued to hear the gunfire.

"Naw, man. I can talk. We're just out here at the range about to test a new pistol. What's up?" he asked.

"I need to talk to Pete," Harry said. "Can you get him to call me?" The gunshots seemed to subside and Harry could hear other men laughing and talking behind Phil.

"I'll give it a shot. If he answers, he'll probably call you back right away. But if you don't hear from him quickly, he'll still get back to you as soon as he can. I told him we touched base the other night and he's anxious to talk to you." The gunfire resumed. Kincaid could make out rapid semi-automatic fire. He could hear the ejected brass rounds hitting the ground.

"Good. Just give him my number and I'll take it whenever he calls." Harry was curious. "What's the new pistol you're testing?"

"I was about to tell you," Pete answered. "It's a new composite piece and you'll never guess who makes it."

"This is too much of a coincidence," Harry was thinking out loud. "Mesquite Manufacturing?" he guessed.

"Bingo," Phil chuckled. "It's damn nice, too. Real lightweight composite body and the action is made of a ceramic. Supposed to be harder than steel."

"How does it shoot?" Harry asked.

"We haven't started with it yet. The guys are qualifying with their Berettas right now. We're going to try out the new one later this afternoon.

"How'd you end up with it?" Harry asked.

"The Group Commander came in this morning with half a dozen of them. Said the procurement guys up at the Pentagon were looking at them and want us to run 'em through the wringer," Von Karmenn explained. "They figure that if anyone can tear it up or wear it out, a Green Beret can, I guess."

"What's the verdict, so far?" asked Harry.

"Like I said, they're damn nice. Lightweight, yet balanced. Supposed to be more accurate than any hand gun available. It will handle both nine and twenty-one round magazines. Available in .45 cal and 9mm. If this is what Pete and Hastings are selling the Mexicans, I'm pissed."

"Well, you can imagine there's not as much red tape down there to deal with," Harry observed. "Okay, Phil. I'll wait to hear from Pete. Let's keep in touch."

"Will do, Kincaid." The connection was broken when Harry no longer heard the gunfire.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kincaid leaned forward in his big leather chair. His office was identical to Bobby's. Both had the stylistic touch of a warehouse supervisor. Functional, they called it, rather than flashy. Oceanic Import-Export was not in business to impress people. The high back leather chairs that Bobby and Harry used could have been found in any high level CEO's office. But they had bought them for comfort, not looks. Everything else, desks, lamps, tables and chairs were all used and bought at salvage houses.

Harry punched the numbers into his phone from memory.

"Director Peers' office." It was the soft voice of Dawn McGibbony. Harry knew that voice and could visualize the beautiful face and body of its owner. More than a few of the many men who had passed through Franklin Peers' reception area and into the inner sanctum at his Langley, Virginia headquarters had been struck by the beauty of the lovely Ms. McGibbony. And more than a few had struck out when they tried to take their acquaintance with her from professional to personal. The fact was that Dawn McGibbony was already deeply in love... with one Patsy Bellamy, the owner of a small coffee shop in DuPont Circle. They'd been a couple for five years, and though disappointing to the men who admired her, Ms. McGibbony was forever true to her love. Harry Kincaid had the same recurring thought every time he heard Dawn's voice on the phone, or saw her in person... 'What a waste.'

"Hi there, Dawn," he greeted. "Harry Kincaid here."

"Well, hello, Mr. Kincaid," she answered. Harry could picture her captivating smile. Perfect teeth, aqua blue eyes and flawless skin, framed by long blonde hair, silky and tumbling to her shoulders. "Haven't heard from you in a while."

"Yes, it has been some time. How have you been?" he asked pleasantly. Harry well knew of Dawn's sexual preferences but like a lot of other men, he wanted to be first in line if she ever decided to get back and swing from the right side of the plate. So, like James Bond playing to Miss Moneypenny, he always expressed interest... just in case.

"Same old, same old, Harry. I assume you would like to speak with my boss?" she asked.

"Yup. Sure would. Just between us, I call him 'Big Daddy.' Is he in?"

"Big Daddy... I like that," she said. "He is in and your timing is perfect. Let me put you through before his next meeting. Hold on."

"Thanks, Dawn..." he said, but she had put him on hold and didn't hear his expression of gratitude.

A moment later, the normal gruff voice of the DCI answered. "Peers," he said.

"Good afternoon, Director. Harry Kincaid here." Harry could picture Franklin Peers standing at the window of his spacious office overlooking the Virginia countryside. Or, he may have been pacing. Peers was a man of restless energy. Unless he was seated and meeting with a superior, one of the few that he had, he was in constant motion. Rarely was he found seated at his desk.

"Harry," he said. "good to hear from you. I trust you are well."

"Thank you, sir. Yes. I am well." Knowing the Director was not one for idle chit chat, Harry got right to the point. "Sir, I've called with a question concerning an operation that took place down in Mexico. It involved one of my former associates."

"Tell me more," said Peers.

"Pete Von Karmenn was working on behalf of the Talon Group, a security and consulting firm headed up by a retired Army general by the name of Jack Hastings. The information I have is that Pete was sent across the border to complete the negotiations and arrange for the shipment of some small arms being purchased by the Mexican government." Harry paused.

"Go on."

"Well, sir, I am now led to understand that the arms would actually end up with the Matamoros Cartel, and this was being done with the consent of our federal government." Again, Harry paused. He knew he didn't have to explain to Franklin Peers who the Matamoros Cartel was.

"Harry, how is it that you have come to have knowledge of such an operation?" Peers sounded none too happy; someone knew something that they had no business knowing.

"As I mentioned, sir, Von Karmenn was a friend of mine. He was supposedly killed in a fire bombing at his hotel after closing the deal down there."

"And your question is...?" asked the Director.

"I guess I have several, sir. First, is it possible that such a sale of arms to a known drug cartel that is actively shipping into the U.S. could have been sanctioned by our government?

"Yes." Peers answered abruptly.

"Hmm. Then, second question... are you aware that Von Karmenn is still alive?" Harry asked.

"No. Are you sure? How do you know that?" Peers asked.

So, Big Daddy knows all about this, Harry thought. He fell silent a moment. The Director's answers were not what he had been expecting. Then, "And, Hastings...," Harry started to probe deeper.

"Look, Harry," Peers began, "it's probably a good thing you called. Yeah, I'm aware of the deal. And I know Hastings. Fact is, this thing didn't come off as expected. We didn't know that Von Karmenn is alive. We got reports he perished in the bombing of the motel. We need to determine who tried to kill him."

"The suspicions point to Hastings," Harry injected.

"Why? And who's suspicions?" Peers asked.

"Evidently Hastings owns the manufacturer who is selling the guns. Von Karmenn didn't know that and as soon as he found out, his motel room blows up. I heard from Pete's brother. And I hope to hear from Pete soon," Harry explained.

"Well, we don't know what happened but we need Pete Von Karmenn to help us figure it out. All this crap going on between these cartels is a powder keg. And it's already spilling across the border. That's just for starters. There is more and more intel that says Islamic Jihadists are already in the mix. And they would have a special interest in these particular guns. This deal was approved for two reasons: It was supposed to aid Matamoros in fighting the Sinaloans. And it would allow us to track how arms are disbursed and used down there. Now we don't know what happened or who actually ended up with them." Peers paused. "Do you think you can recover Pete Von Karmenn and figure out who tried to kill him? If it's Hastings, we need to know it. If it's not, we need to know that too."

"I think I can recover Pete. I'm not sure where he is, but I'll find out. As for who tried to kill him... that's a bigger job," Harry said.

"Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry," said the Director. He could see what was coming. "I know you don't work for free. And I know your firm's fee schedule. Recover Pete Von Karmenn for us and determine what's happening with those weapons. We don't need them falling into the wrong hands. It was risky enough to deal with the Matamoros boys and it backfired. Consider yourself hired."

Harry was flattered and pleased at the same time. "Sir," he said, "I really didn't call you drumming up work..."

"I know you didn't, Harry," Peers responded. "But the fact is we need you. I'm glad you called."

"I'll speak with my team. I'll get back to you, sir," Harry said.

"Well you just do that," Peers scoffed. "Tell Bobby I said hello, Harry." With that Franklin Peers ended the call. He had every confidence in Harry Kincaid and Oceanic Import-Export.

Bobby Lawson was on the phone when Harry walked back into his office. He held up a finger to keep Harry there as he seemed to be completing a call. "Yeah, Sluggo," he was saying. "That'll work. Just call me back when you're free." He paused, listening. "Okay. Yeah, good to hear from you, too." He hung up the phone.

"You got Decker?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, but he was walking into their production meeting. Said he'll call back in a couple of hours. Seems eager to talk."

"Good. I just got off the phone with Big Daddy," said Harry. "He confirmed the deal that Hastings and Pete worked out. It was sanctioned by the government. But he didn't know about Pete being alive. We've been hired to recover Pete and find out what happened to the weapons. The big concern, of course, is who might have ended up with all those pistols.

"I also talked to Phil Von Karmenn. He's going to have Pete call me."

"Let's go eat," said Bobby.

They left Bobby's office and walked out to where Prin was chatting with Beth at her desk in the reception area.

"Ladies, we're calling a staff meeting, right now," Harry said. "We need for you two to grab your coats. The meeting is off-site."

Bobby walked out tugging his windbreaker on. "I'll drive," he said.

Beth and Prin had answered this call before. "Where is the meeting, Vice President Kincaid?" Prin asked.

"Yangtse River, Vice President Howard," he answered. "Chinese joint just opened up over in Arlington. I hear it's a winner."

The four settled into Bobby's Land Rover, boys in the front, girls in the back, and chatted with small talk for the fifteen minute drive to the restaurant. When they arrived, the hostess showed them to a table for four and gave each a menu. There was a lazy Susan in the center of the round table. It held small vessels of Chinese condiments; Soy Sauce, hot mustard and duck sauce. As soon as they were seated, an attractive young waitress approached their table with a tray containing a plate of spring rolls and a small porcelain pitcher of hot tea. She set the spring rolls and tea on the lazy Susan and placed a small plate and tea cup in front of each guest.

The waitress introduced herself as Mai Ling and began to explain the menu when Harry's cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller I.D. and saw that it was Carol Von Karmenn.

Harry stood, still looking down at his phone. He glanced over at Bobby. "It's Carol Von Karmenn. Just order something for me, would you? Anything." He stepped back outside the door of the restaurant.

"Hello, Carol?" he answered. He walked over and began slowly pacing in a corner of the parking lot.

"Yes. It's me Harry. Sorry to bother you again," she said.

"It's not a bother. I was going to call you anyway," he said. "I had the money wired to your bank this morning. You should be getting a notification, if you haven't already."

"Yes, it has already shown up in my account. I don't know how to thank you. But that's not why I called," she said. "Harry, I just kind of vegged out, playing with the kids all weekend and didn't see any news until this morning. General Jack Hastings has been arrested in Oklahoma City. He's charged with murder."

Harry Kincaid stopped his pacing. "What?"

"He was arrested late Friday night or early Saturday morning." There was an edge to her voice. "Some woman that he had apparently been seeing was found dead in her apartment. And the Police linked it to him."

Harry was stunned. He stood silent... thinking.

"Harry?" she asked.

"No, no. I'm still here," he said. "I'm just surprised. Is there any more to the story?"

"Not that I've heard. Apparently it's been all over the news all weekend. Can't believe that I've just now heard about it," she answered.

"Okay, Carol. Sit tight. Let me do some checking and I'll get back to you." Harry stood there in the parking lot for another minute trying to make sense of what he had just heard. He walked into the restaurant and sat back down at their table.

Bobby looked over at Harry. "What's up, man?" he asked. "Have you seen a ghost?"

"General Jack Hastings has been arrested in Oklahoma City. He's charged with murder."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Pete Von Karmenn paced across the small room of the dusty hovel of a boarding house that he had taken in the El Mariachi section of Hermosillo. He had found the place the day after the room he had rented on the north side of town was bombed and went up in smoke. His old habit of changing rooms after checking in had paid off. Someone wanted him dead and surely thought that they had succeeded. That had been weeks ago. He had no idea who had tried to kill him. His only thought was to lay low a while and figure it out on his own. The less contact he had with anyone else, the better.

Pete's natural dark complexion, coal black hair and fluency in Spanish had allowed him to blend in. He had told the owner of the small boarding house that he was a writer and just needed a quiet place at a reasonable price. The owner seemed to go for Pete's story, allowing him a cheaper rate if he paid by the week. Pete paid two weeks in advance, three times, not wanting any more contact with other Mexicans than necessary. He had taken the time to trace the movements and learn the habits of Miguel Sanchez, his last 'business' contact before the bombing. He tracked him from his office in the militia section of the Sonoran State office building in the middle of Hermosillo. He observed him at his home in a comfortable area in west Hermosillo. He watched Sanchez play with his little boy and girl out in their yard and watched him holding his wife late in the evenings on the patio at the rear of their home. One night, he crept up to a window and listened as Miguel and Lourdes Sanchez made love. Pete grew confident in knowing that he could take out Miguel Sanchez any time he wanted. And if he learned that it was Sanchez who tried to kill him, Lourdes Sanchez would be a widow as surely as the sun brought heat to the desert.

But in watching Sanchez, tracking his every move, he came to believe that it was not Sanchez who was responsible for the bombing. The two had met and Pete had closed the deal on the shipment of 700 MX21 pistols from Mesquite Manufacturing, Inc. of Stillwater, Oklahoma, USA to the Departmento de la Milicia, in care of Sr. Miguel Sanchez. Sanchez had wired 175,000 USD to the bank account that Pete had directed. It seemed neat and clean at the time and Pete was looking forward to getting home. Then the bomb intended for him lit up the night sky of Hermosillo like it was Cinco de Mayo.

Now it was time to hold Miguel's feet to the fire.

Miguel left his office at three o'clock in the afternoon as usual. He got into his 2000 Subaru station wagon, started the engine, and pulled out into traffic on Avenida Sonora in downtown Hermosillo.

At the first intersection, he felt a hard cylinder of steel press firmly against the back of his head and heard the voice of Pete Von Karmenn speaking in perfect Spanish. "Hola, mi amigo. Bievenido a tu peor pesadilla." Welcome to your worst nightmare.

"Oooooohh," Sanchez exclaimed. "Pedro Von Karmenn. Estas vivo!"

"You're damn right I am alive, Miguel. And that's more than I can say for you if you don't do precisely what I tell you," said Pete. In the preceding days, Von Karmenn had searched Sanchez' car while he was at work. He knew that Sanchez carried no weapons, either on his person or in his car.

"But of course. I'm so glad... I thought you were dead. You must believe me," said Sanchez.

"Drive to Jardin Juarez at Sonora and Benito Juarez. Pull over in the parking lot. If you make any sudden moves, I will scatter your brains all over your windshield. Do I make myself clear, Miguel?"

"Si, Don Pedro." Sanchez turned back to the east and drove directly toward the park. He turned off of Sonora and pulled into a parking space under an Acacia tree at a secluded end of the parking lot. There were few people about. Several boys in their early teens were kicking a soccer ball in the middle of the field, and two young mothers with their toddlers were sitting on a bench at the far side.

"Don't move," Pete said as he exited the car from the back, skipped around the back of the car and to the front passenger's seat. Once inside, his eyes drilled into those of Miguel Sanchez. "Who tried to kill me?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," he answered. "But I am glad they did not succeed."

"Don't bullshit me, Miguel." Pete said.

"I'm not bullshit you, Don Pedro. You are good man. We make good deal." Sanchez' eyes were pleading honesty. But Von Karmenn wasn't sure.

"Tell me what you know," he ordered.

"The Capitán General of the Sonora Milicia, Capitán Juan Luis Lopez ordered the shipment to be released to some hombres as soon as it arrived. They were supposed to go to our soldiers. But some other men took the guns," Sanchez said.

"Who were these other hombres?" asked Pete.

"I don't know, Don Pedro. I really don't. But I think they were Sinaloa," Sanchez said. "I'm sorry. I overheard Capitán Lopez on the phone. He made much money selling the guns."

"Why do you think they were Sinaloa?"

"Because I hear Capitán Lopez. He call the man el Lobo on the phone. Lobo is el jefe for Sinaloa in Sonora. He is the boss," explained Sanchez.

"Okay, look, Miguel," said Pete. "I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself. I want to know where this 'Lobo' is located. And I want to know where those guns are now."

"Maybe I can do that, Don Pedro. Maybe," said Sanchez.

"Well, let me put it this way, Miguel. I've been around town here since I saw you last. I haven't left Hermosillo. But I have gotten to know a lot about you... and your wife, Lourdes... and your son, Carlos... and your little girl, Soledad. I know where you live, Miguel. I've been there. Do you know what I am saying to you, Miguel?" asked Pete.

Miguel looked at Von Karmenn with genuine fear reflected in his eyes. "Si, Don Pedro. But I will help you. Please do not harm my family. I will help you."

"Give me your cell phone," Pete said.

Miguel handed it to him. Pete removed the battery and tossed it under his seat.

He said, "I have your cell phone number. When you get home replace your battery... it's under the seat. You still have my number?"

"Si," answered Miguel. "I have it from before."

"By this time tomorrow, I want you to call me. I want you to tell me where I can find Lobo. And I want to know what he did with those guns," Pete ordered.

"I will do my best, Don Pedro. I will try," said Sanchez.

"Don't try, Miguel. Do it. Get me that information. If you do, I will take care of you. If you don't... well, we don't want Carlos and Soledad to grow up without a father, do we?" he asked.

"I will help you, Don Pedro," Miguel pleaded.

"Now, I'm going to get out. You leave the way we came. Don't stop and fish around for your phone battery. You don't need it now. But you call me by this time tomorrow." Pete placed his pistol in the waistband of his jeans behind his back where it was covered by his denim jacket. He got out of the car and looked back inside, directly into the eyes of Miguel Sanchez. "Do not disappoint me, Miguel," he said.

"I will not, Don Pedro. I call you tomorrow."

Miguel Sanchez backed out of his parking place and drove out onto the street. Pete Von Karmenn watched him leave, wondering if his plan would work.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

John Jackson Hastings, Major General, U. S. Army, retired, and now, murder suspect, had finished lunch at the Bistro, an informal restaurant in the Prairie Plaza Hotel and returned to his room. He had spent a good bit of Sunday, the day before, talking back and forth with his wife, trying to patch things up. She had listened to his pleas of innocence in the murder of Diana Ricci and even seemed sympathetic. But she was clearly, and rightfully hurt.

"Jana," he pleaded. "I love you. I would never hurt you on purpose."

"I believe you love me, Jack," she had responded. "But, you have hurt me. You have hurt me very deeply. And you have humiliated me. I don't believe that you killed that woman but it seems clear that you were involved with her."

He saw no point in denying it. "Ironically, I went there on Friday night to pick up my computer, just as I told you. I had broken things off with her earlier. It was over, Jana."

"It may have been, Jack," she said. "But you know, over the years I have suspected you of other... liaisons. I always chose to ignore what was going on. Long ago I decided that living a life of suspicion wouldn't be living at all. I never pried or tried to investigate you. But I won't be made a fool of, Jack. You have to live with yourself for your actions. But, I don't."

Hastings knew that she was right. He also realized that arguing some feeble case to support what he had done would be a fool's errand.

"Jana, please... can you find it in your heart to forgive me. I've made some poor choices. I... I need you in my life," he said.

"The damage to our relationship didn't happen on Friday night, Jack. It just all blew up then. I don't know what I'll do," she said. "But right now you are facing a murder charge and it appears you've got your work cut out for you."

They said little more in that first conversation. He called her several more times throughout the day feeling that he needed to hear her voice. She always took the call and spoke with him. But, once trust is lost, he'd heard, it was almost impossible to regain. Hearing his wife of over thirty years speaking with him as if he were a stranger brought home that fact that, indeed, the trust was lost.

Now on this Monday, he was standing in the suite that he had rented for him and his wife to enjoy for the weekend. It seemed like years ago. Looking out through the floor to ceiling windows at the snow that had rolled through the city, he could not help thinking how much the landscape had changed, literally and figuratively, in just a matter of hours. It was that thought that was interrupted when he heard the ringing of his cell phone.

"This is Hastings," he answered.

"Buenos dias, General Hastings," a thickly accented voice greeted him.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"I am a man who wants to purchase the MX21pistoles for my compadres, Señor," the voice said. "But you do not want my money."

"Our sales are strictly regulated. If you represent who I think you represent, I will not sell you anything," Hastings said.

"General Hastings, I would think that the events of this weekend would change your mind," said the voice.

"Who is this?" his voice rising in volume? "Who?"

"Oh Señor Hastings, we knew about you and your whore. You know that the same thing can happen to your wife. That is a very nice place you have in Lawton," the voice said. "It would be to your benefit to consider selling us your MX21... and to your wife's."

It seemed that all the blood in his body was rushing to Hastings head. So, this was Diana's killer and he was now threatening Jana's life. His hands were shaking. His skin broke into a cold sweat.

"You lay a hand on my wife and I will hunt you down and kill you like the rattlesnake that you are... Do you hear me?" he asked. Then, more loudly, "Do you HEAR me?"

"Are you there alone with your wife now, General?" the voice asked. "Perhaps you should express your appreciation to her. Then you should come down to my country and make a deal with me for these weapons."

What? He seemed ignorant to the fact that Hastings was virtually on house arrest for the killing.

"Carmello?" Hastings asked. "It's you, isn't it?"

"Ah, you remember. Si, it is. We have already taken care of your compadre... Von Karmenn," said the voice of Rafael Carmello, procurement kingpin of the Sinaloa Cartel. "By now you should know that we mean business. We want to buy your guns, Señor Hastings. What could be so difficult about that? You make money, we get your guns."

Hastings paused. He tried to collect his wits. He knew that he must deal with Carmello if he was to clear himself of Diana Ricci's murder and keep Jana safe.

His voice softened. "Perhaps I should reconsider. What is it you want?"

Carmello answered, "Well, that is better, General. We have the 700 weapons that you sent before."

"Those were to go to the Militia in Sonora," Hastings protested.

"Oh, General, please..." Carmello didn't feel the need to explain his network within the Mexican government. "Now, I want to buy 1,000 more. I will pay 200 USD for each one," he said.

"That is less than our price. We must get $250," Hastings said. He didn't care what the price was, but he knew he had to keep Carmello interested.

"General, we can buy other pistols. But yours has properties that we like. We will give you $200. And we will leave Señora Hastings alone," Carmello said.

"Let me see what I can do. How can I contact you?" asked Hastings.

"You must call the office in Sonora. Speak with Capitán Lopez. He will reach me and I will call you back." Rafael Carmello sounded pleased. He would be getting his guns. And that would make his customers very happy.

"Give me twenty four hours. I will contact you tomorrow," Hasting said. He hung up with his mind spinning."

Without putting down his phone, he searched its directory and pushed the button to call his attorney.

"Ms. Stillwell's office, this is Jeanine. May I help you?" the pleasant voice of Jeanine Spence answered.

"Yes, this is Hastings... Jack Hastings. I must speak with Sally right away," he said.

"Please hold, General. I'll see if she is available."

"This is incredibly important. Please put me through," he insisted.

"Yes. Please hold." Jeanine placed the call on hold and looked through the glass wall. Sally was on the phone. Jeanine quickly wrote a note on a post-it. She got up and walked into Sally's office and held the note in front of her.

Sally scanned the note quickly and said into the phone, "Hey Sis, I've got a call here that I need to take. Can I call you back in a few?" She paused. Then, "Okay. Yes. As soon as I can." She hung up the phone and looked up at Jeanine.

"He says it's very important," Jeanine offered.

Sally nodded and picked up the phone. "Yes, Jack," she answered. "What's up?"

"I just got a call on my cell. It was a Mexican who had contacted me months ago and wanted to buy some of our weapons. I turned him down and now he's telling me that he could do to Jana what he did to the girl Friday night. I'm sure he means it and I need to get Jana out of here and this guy has as much as admitted to the killing." Hastings was talking a mile a minute. "He says that he will leave her alone if..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa... Stop," said Sally. "Take a deep breath. Now, let's go back and start again."

He relaxed for a minute. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said. "Just tell me again about this call. When did you get it? And who was it?"

"The call came in just minutes ago. It was Rafael Carmello. He's in the upper echelon of the Sinaloa Cartel in Mexico. He's equivalent to a Quartermaster in our Army," Hastings explained.

"Okay..."

Hastings continued. "Carmello had contacted us months ago wanting to buy some of our firearms. As much as we need the business, I wasn't about to sell them to him. His cartel is the biggest exporter of drugs and crime into the U.S. They are all over our border and they have known ties to various groups of Islamic terrorists. I turned him down flat. We later made a deal to sell to the militia of Sonora, one of the Mexican states. I cleared it with our own government and sent a guy down there six weeks ago to close the deal. He was killed the same night he completed it." Hastings paused giving Sally time to digest his story.

"Go on..." she said. "I'm with you."

"So in this call, just minutes ago, Carmello tells me that he 'took care of' my guy down there, and admitted that they had killed the woman, he didn't call her by name, on Friday. He still wants me to sell him guns and has threatened to kill Jana if I don't."

Sally thought for a moment. "Tell me exactly what he said about the murder Friday night. That is our immediate concern."

Hastings tried to remember the words Carmello had used. "Let's see... he said something like he knew about me and my whore... and the same thing can happen to my wife. Clearly he has admitted to the killing."

"Well, it sounds like it," Sally said cautiously. "But we have another problem."

"Sounds like it, did you say? Well, hell yes, Sally," Hastings exclaimed. "He's as much as admitted it. This should get me off."

"Hold on, Jack," she said. She was conscious of the fact that she used his first name. "I said we have another problem. I was going to call you earlier, but I got a call from my sister and was delayed. Just before lunch I spoke with Nora Quinn. She is the assistant district attorney who is handling the prosecution of your case."

"So?" he asked.

"Nora's boss has gotten the Police to issue a warrant for your arrest. It seems the circumstantial evidence is just too much for them to overlook. They have your footprints in the bloody carpet. They have your fingerprints all over the place. And..."

He interrupted her. "I've never denied being there, Sally. I told them all that."

"I know. But, the bad news is that they have issued the warrant and we are to appear in court for the arraignment this afternoon at four o'clock. The D.A. wants you behind bars." Sally let the news sink in.

Hastings was silent for a moment. Then he asked, "What happens at the arraignment?"

"It is a hearing to decide whether or not to put you back in jail until the trial," she answered.

"And what is your opinion?" he asked.

"I know the judge, and he is fair. I know Nora Quinn, and she is fair, too, but she says her boss isn't going to ignore your obvious presence at the scene."

Hastings' grew contemptuous. "Listen to me," he said. "I was a major general in the United States Army, a West Point graduate. To tie me to something of this nature, this brutal, is beyond reprehensible. Pure nonsense."

Sally fired back without hesitation. "You are also the man who left the apartment of your former lover within minutes of her death. General Hastings, you are facing the consequence of your own actions and the law will take its course."

"Well what about the phone call I just told you about? The man admitted to the killing," he pleaded.

"Maybe so," she countered. "But think about what you just said to me...'What about the phone call I just told you about.' That's right... you just told me about a phone call. That's not a defense."

Jack Hastings hesitated, looking out the window of the hotel suite that had become his home. "Yes," he said. "You are quite right."

"Please be at my office no later than 3:15 this afternoon. We need to have a good response when we go before the judge. Any problems with that?" she asked.

"No," he answered. "I will see you then."

Hastings was worried. He was worried for himself and the legal entanglement in which he found himself but he was more worried for Jana. He had to get her out of Lawton. He didn't know how far the Sinaloa Cartel's tentacles reached. But obviously they had gotten to Diana Ricci and he knew that Jana wasn't safe at the ranch. He had to get her out of there.

Jana answered his call on the second ring. "Hello, Jack," she said.

"Uh, hi, Jana," he said. "Doing okay today?"

"I guess. You?" she asked.

"Yeah, okay." He did not want to worry her. But he wanted her away from the ranch. "Uh, look. I'm thinking it might be good for you... for us... if you could get away for a bit. I was thinking... why don't you go back to Fairfax for a while?"

"Why would I want to do that?" she asked.

"Frankly, I think it might be better if you didn't have to endure all this legal mess by being here while it's going on. It's embarrassing to me and I know it is to you..."

"You are sure right there," she said.

"So, why not just go spend some time back east? The house is just sitting there empty. I think you would enjoy it." Hastings wondered if she suspected anything from his suggestion.

"Actually, I had considered that. I'm sure you would understand if I told you I just didn't want to see our life splashed across the evening news every night," she said.

"I don't blame you." He paused, silent for a moment. He thought he could hear her breathing. Then, "Uh, Jana... I, uh..."

"Oh, Jack," she interrupted, "don't let's go through this again. I agree that it would be good for me to get away. I'll think more about it and let you know."

"Yeah. Good," he said. "Good."

They hung up. Jack Hastings sank down into the club chair facing the large window that was open to the chilly Oklahoma afternoon. He looked out the window without seeing anything other than a vision of his beloved Jana. He first saw her as the young woman he encountered at Trophy Point the day he got his class ring at the Academy. She then morphed into the middle aged woman that she had become; still smiling, still as lovely as ever. He thought about his actions through the years. He thought of how he had fooled himself into thinking that a night in the arms of another woman was harmless, a victimless crime. His vision of Jana was as clear and as real as if she were standing before him. He looked into her eyes. And for the first time in his memory, Jack Hastings wept.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The afternoon sun was sinking in the west and the traffic around the Nation's Capital was beginning to build. Harry Kincaid stood looking out wondering if the 'chance of snow' that was predicted would materialize. D.C. area traffic was brutal on a good day. A good snowfall ought to really make things interesting. He could hear Bobby Lawson in his office across the hall. Bobby was on the phone and Harry had heard him early on say, "Sluggo, thanks for calling back."

Harry's own phone began to vibrate. He glanced down at it. Caller I.D. said 'Out of Area.'

"Speak to me," Harry answered.

"You're the one who wanted to talk to me, or so I hear." The voice of Pete Von Karmenn sounded good to Harry's ears.

"Well, Major Von Karmenn, are you enjoying your little R & R down there below the border?" Harry laughed. "I hear you are staying in some real posh digs."

"Oh, I highly recommend it, Kincaid. Fireworks nightly. Takes your breath away," he said.

"Sounds enticing, but I like to observe fireworks from a greater distance than what I hear you're offering." Getting serious, Harry said, "Good to hear from you, Pete. You gave us a hell of a scare."

"Thanks, Harry. It was a hell of a scare to me, too. But I think I've about got things figured out now," he said.

"Well, good," Harry exclaimed. "You can explain them to me then. As of this morning, our firm has been pulled into this. The Director of Central Intelligence is concerned about the whereabouts of that shipment of arms from Mesquite and who's got them. He's retained us to help you out, and track down the guns."

"So, he knew about the shipment?" asked Pete.

"Yeah, he did," said Harry. "And the Feds sanctioned it thinking that the goods were going to be used to fight Sinaloa."

"Well, that makes me feel a little better. I'm holed up down here in Hermosillo," Von Karmenn explained. "Been here all along. But I got sorta pissed off when someone tried to blow me up. I first thought it was my partner Jack Hastings' doings. I didn't know he owned Mesquite. Anyway, a little while ago I hijacked my Mexican contact. Scared the shit out of him. He's going to find out where the guns are and who is in the food chain. I'll tell you right now, though, it's going to lead us right to the Sinaloa Cartel."

"Don't suppose you've heard about the troubles your partner is in, have you?" asked Harry.

"Hastings? No. What's up?"

"Seems he's been arrested on a charge of murder. Some young woman in Ok City. Don't know the whole story yet," Harry answered.

"No kidding?" Pete asked.

"That's what I hear," said Harry.

"Well, I learned early on that Hastings has a hard time keeping his pants on," Von Karmenn said.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. By the way, it might interest you to know that it was your wife who told me about it," said Harry.

"Carol? Really?"

"Yeah, really," Harry thought Pete's reaction kind of strange. "I don't get why Carol's been in the dark, Pete. She still thinks you're dead. She called me the other night."

"Yeah, Phil told me that she did." Von Karmenn knew that he owed Harry an explanation. "With all my suspicions about Hastings, it was just better that Carol didn't know," he said.

"Okay, if you say so." Then moving on, Harry asked, "What's next? You got a plan?"

"Well, sort of," Pete answered. "Miguel Sanchez is my contact here. He's the one that I made the original deal with and the one I terrorized earlier today. He's in the state government here and is supposed to dig into where the guns are and who's involved. I'm to hear from him tomorrow. Then I'll know what we are up against."

"Well, you can bet that Big Daddy is gonna want a stopper plugged into that pipeline," Harry said. "I'll come down there if you need me, Pete. I'm getting paid, so..."

"Big Daddy?" asked Pete.

"Yeah, my code name for the Director of Central Intelligence," said Harry.

"I always heard you were plugged in pretty high up. Let me see what Sanchez digs up. I wouldn't mind having you down here. It'd be just like old times," he said.

"Just say the word there, Pedro," Harry offered. "Look, how can I get in touch with you? Phil's been good about keeping that a secret."

"I've got a service that I check." Von Karmenn rattled off the ten digit number of an answering service. "Just leave a message there. I'm quick to get back if needed."

"Good enough. Let's talk tomorrow," suggested Harry.

"I'll call when I've got something," said Pete. "Good talking with you, Kincaid."

"Yeah. Likewise, Pete. Keep your powder dry."

Harry turned around to see Bobby Lawson standing in his door.

"Was that Pete?" Bobby asked.

"Yup. Same ole Pete. He's been down there since they tried to kill him. He thinks he's got a bead on things now. He's going to call back tomorrow," Harry explained.

"Good. Does he need any help?" asked Bobby.

"He might," Harry answered. "Guess I'd better brush up on my Espanol, eh, Roberto?"

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that." Shifting gears, Bobby said, "Hey, I've got some news from Sluggo."

"Yeah? What?" asked Kincaid.

"Hastings pulled Sluggo into Mesquite Manufacturing as soon as he bought it," said Bobby. "Made him a Vice President right off the bat and general manager of the plant. Sluggo never had any manufacturing experience, but Hastings just wanted him there to oversee things and look out for his interests. Hastings promised to give Sluggo some stock along the way, too."

Harry walked over to the refrigerator in the outer office, with Bobby trailing close behind him. He opened the door and pulled a Diet Coke from the top shelf. "Want one?" he asked Bobby.

"Naw, thanks," Bobby answered. Bobby followed Harry as he turned and walked back into his office. He continued. "Sluggo wasn't aware that Pete Von Karmenn was working for Hastings at Talon until I told him. And Von Karmenn, I'm sure, didn't know about Sluggo being at Mesquite. Obviously, Hastings wanted to keep the two companies separate."

"Sure looks that way," said Harry. He began digging in the top drawer of his desk, looking for something.

"So, let me tell you about their pistol," Bobby said.

"Isn't a pistol a pistol, Roberto?" asked Harry continuing to look through another drawer.

"Aw, man, you know better than that. But, the Mesquite MX21..."

Without looking up, Harry continued... "comes in either .45 cal or 9 mm. Takes either a nine or twenty-one round magazine, right?"

"Yeah," Bobby responded. "How'd you know?"

"Phil Von Karmenn and his team of Green Berets are testing them for the Army down at Fort Bragg. He was on the range when I talked to him this morning," Harry explained.

"So, do you know about the composition, Mr. Smarty Pants?"

"Composition?" Harry stopped looking for whatever it was that he had been searching for. "What about the composition?"

"The outer body, the grip, slide, barrel assembly and all the exterior parts are made of a resin composite. It's lightweight and balanced, but durable as hell. The working parts, the guts, are made of a proprietary ceramic. Same story, hard as steel. Like Kevlar, put to good use." Bobby seemed excited about this information.

"So?" asked Harry.

"So?" Bobby repeated. "So, do you know what this means, Harry?

"Go ahead and tell me, Bobby. You look so excited I don't want to spoil it for you," Harry answered.

"Just think about it. Composite and ceramic... It's radio transparent," Bobby exclaimed. "They cannot be detected by x-ray. This will be airline terrorists' weapon of choice, Harry."

Harry sat stunned. The implications of what Bobby had just told him were sinking in. "We've got to get on this, pal."

"Wait. There's more," Bobby said.

"What?"

Bobby went on. "Sluggo says that Hastings is in a huge mess out there. The news is covered with stories of him and the killing of that woman. Her name was Diana Ricci. Sluggo talked to Hastings yesterday and claims the woman was dead when he got to her apartment Friday night. He fessed up to an affair with the woman but says he didn't kill her. Hastings is in deep shit over it."

Harry sat there stroking his chin, deep in thought. Finally he said, "Bobby, just on a hunch, let's get Annie to call her sister out there. Didn't Annie say her sister is a criminal lawyer? See if she might know anything about this. Now that Big Daddy has us on the payroll, we'd better start doing something to earn it."

"I'm picking her up after work," said Bobby. "We can put in a call to Sally this evening."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sally Stillwell emerged from the elevator on the thirtieth floor of the building and walked directly through the large glass doors into the office. Two receptionists were seated behind the expansive reception desk in front of the large gold letters announcing 'Henson & Byars, LLP.' The woodwork was a rich dark walnut giving all who entered the correct impression that any work done in this office was going to be expensive.

It was ten minutes after five in the evening. Many of those who had braved the snow and come into the office were already gone for the day, though working hours at the firm formally ended at five-thirty. Outside her office window Sally noticed the overcast sky was darkening. It was the perfect sky to match the doleful mood she had acquired at the arraignment of General Hastings. From his corner office at the end of the floor, Russell Byars saw Sally arrive and came down to meet her just as she moved behind her desk. She picked up a handful of pink 'While You Were Out' slips and was thumbing through the phone calls she would need to return.

"How'd it go?" Byars asked as he crossed her threshold.

"Not well, Boss," she said. "Hastings has been taken back into custody and will await trial comfortably incarcerated in the luxurious confines of the Oklahoma City Jail. The general is not happy."

"What? I'm shocked," said Byars. "The man is a retired general officer from the U. S. Army, for Pete's sake. Who's the judge on this?"

"It's Judge Stemmons, Russell," Sally answered. "Nora Quinn is representing the State and told me earlier today that the D.A. does not want any inkling of a flight risk. It was a grisly, gruesome murder and they feel that their case against Hastings is solid. I didn't have much to argue other than his military record. Clearly that wasn't enough."

"Yeah, I understand," Byars said, though he had hoped for a better outcome. "It's not your fault. So, how does your defense look? Will you have a better argument in court?" he asked.

"Quite possibly," she said sounding a bit more upbeat. "Hastings got a call from a Mexican earlier this afternoon that he claims took credit for the killing. The guy is some big shot with a Mexican crime cartel. Hastings says the guy is trying to force him to sell guns from his company to them."

"Did you tell Stemmons about that?" Byars asked.

"I hinted at it," she said. "I couldn't really say, 'Your Honor, my client got a phone call today from a Mexican kingpin that completely exonerates him of this crime.' I knew that wouldn't fly. I plan to pull the records from Hastings' cell carrier. Producing a recording of the call at trial could be more convincing"

"That certainly would help," he said.

"Yeah. But what we really need is the real killer... if it, in fact, wasn't Hastings."

"Do you doubt his innocence?" Byars asked.

Sally looked back at Byars. "I didn't say that, Russell. But all the facts... his presence there, his involvement with the victim... Some people could see those as opportunity and motive. I know for a fact that Hastings doesn't have much respect for women."

"What? Why would you make a statement like that?" Byars asked.

"Sorry. I really shouldn't have said that," Sally answered.

"No. Really," he pressed. "Why do you say that, Sally?"

Sally sat down in her chair. A look of resolution crossed her face. "Please close the door, Russell," she said, "and have a seat."

Though no one was close by, he closed the door and sat in the arm chair in front of her desk.

Sally seemed to take a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say. "I told you that Jack Hastings and I had a history."

"Yes, I remember," he said.

"He was stationed at Fort Sill back when my father was there. I was up here at OU for most of the time. I had met Jack and his wife, Jana at some social functions down there. He was quite the ladies' man even then. I can see that he still is. Anyway, I happened to be coming into town on that April day when that asshole McVeigh bombed the Murrah Building. In fact, I had an appointment in that building. I was looking for a parking place when the bomb went off. I missed being in it by minutes. My car was covered in rubble and I had to crawl out of it. It certainly couldn't have been driven. I called my father's office and Hastings answered the phone. My dad was out, so Hastings got in his car and drove up here to get me. He picked me up and drove me straight back to my parent's house." She stopped for a moment to collect her thoughts.

"That was an awful day," Russell said. "I remember it well."

She overlooked his remark and continued. "I was a senior at OU and graduated that June. I had been accepted for law school at Stanford and was due to leave in August. The night before I left, some of my OU pals and I were out bar hopping in Norman. We were in Casa de Tio and I had a bunch of Margaritas, really throwing them down..." She was looking off in the distance, at nothing. Then she looked over at Byars. "This is not easy for me, Russell."

He nodded and said, "It's really none of my business, Sally. You can stop if you want."

"Well, I'm already into it now," she said. "At some point that night, I looked up and saw Jack Hastings sitting at the bar. He was there alone. I found out later that his wife had gone back somewhere to visit her parents. He saw me and my friends and waved, and I waved back. I had had enough to drink that I was pretty friendly. I waved him to come over and join us and he did."

"Sally..."

"No. Let me finish. You probably know what's coming. We drank some more and... well, Hastings and I ended up in a hotel room." She stopped and looked over at Byars.

"You spent the night?" he asked.

"Well, not all of it. But enough. I had to fly out to California the next day. He took me home and my parents were none the wiser," she said. "It certainly wasn't rape. I was quite willing. Me and Jose Cuervo. But the next morning, I couldn't live with myself. He was a married man. It just grated on me and grated on me. It is the worst thing I've ever done and I've never forgiven myself for it. My parents dropped me at the airport for my flight to San Francisco and thought my sullen mood was all hangover. Of course a good bit of it was." She sat silently for a moment. "So, that's my history with General Jack Hastings. I just remember what it was like, being with him that night. He used me. He was rough; physically and verbally. I am sure there are many other women that he used that way."

Now it was Russell who sat quietly for a moment. He sighed deeply, then, looking directly at her said, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry it happened. And, I'm sorry you had to relive it."

"Oh, believe me, I've relived it more times than I can count," she responded. Then she seemed to lighten up a bit. "It was a long time ago, Russell. I was a kid. I was a stupid kid. I've put it behind me, for the most part. But seeing him and dealing with him is not pleasant." She cocked her head a bit and said, "You see, he doesn't see a thing wrong with what we did."

"Do you want off of the case?" he asked. "Henson and I could..."

"No. Not now. I can't run from it forever. I think that it just might be good for me to defend the son of a bitch. I'll even try to get him acquitted," she laughed.

Russell smiled at her. "You're a good kid, Sally," he said, "and a damn good lawyer."

Again, she laughed, sarcastically this time. "Not so much, Russell. But, thanks for saying so. This is not a story that I'm proud of. In fact, you are the only one I've ever told."

"Well, I feel like I coerced you..."

"You didn't. And I lived through it. It's good that you know," she said.

Russell stood. He reached across and patted her arm. "Let me know if I can help."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sally thumbed through the pink phone messages that she was holding. There was a call from her sister that must have come in just before she got back to the office. It was marked 5:02 p.m. They had spoken earlier in the day and Sally had promised to call her back. But then there was the arraignment and dealing with an angry Jack Hastings as he was taken off to jail. Her other messages could wait.

She loved talking to her little sister. The six year age difference had diminished greatly after Annie had gone off to law school at Georgetown. Sally was secretly proud that Annie had followed in her footsteps and never missed a chance to brag on her to her colleagues. After all, few could boast of a younger sister being a law clerk to a Supreme Court Justice. She checked her watch. It was just before six o'clock, and an hour later in D.C.

She punched Annie's number into her phone. Annie picked up after the first ring. "Hello, Counselor," Annie answered recognizing the caller i.d. "If you're still at the office you've had a long day."

"Ha," Sally responded. "I feel like I need a counselor... a different kind, mind you. I saw where you called. Sorry I didn't get back to you earlier. I had an arraignment to deal with today that didn't go so well."

"Wow. What's an arraignment? All I have to deal with everyday is the United States Constitution." Annie was kidding, of course. She never missed an opportunity to let Sally know how much she loved her area of the law. Sally and Annie Wilcox were raised by "Wild Bill" and Connie Wilcox with a genuine love of the country, its founding and history. Annie found it very natural when she fell in love with Constitutional Law.

"Ha ha, very funny, Sister. What are you up to this evening, there in the nation's capital?" Sally asked.

"Bobby and I are going out to Match Box Pizza," she answered. "Only the best pizza in the universe."

"Bobby? You're still seeing Bobby? It's been quite a while for you two, hasn't it?" Sally asked.

Annie knew that Bobby couldn't hear what was being said when she answered, "Not nearly long enough, Sal. This one is a keeper." Her voice dropped into a conspiratorial tone. "He's in the little boy's room right now, or I wouldn't have said that."

"Whoa, now," Sally laughed. "Careful there, girl." She was delighted that Annie had found a man that she seemed to admire and respect. Much like Sally, Annie had always been a high achiever and had always set the bar very high for potential gentlemen friends. Sally knew that if Bobby met with Annie's approval, he must be quite a guy.

"Oddly enough," Annie said, "something has come up that involves Bobby. In fact, he asked that I give you a call about it. He'll be back in a minute and I'll put him on. But, do you know anything about a case out there involving an Army general? A Jack Hastings?"

Sally could hardly believe her ears. She leaned forward in her chair. "What?" she asked. "I can't believe you just asked me that."

"Why?" asked Annie.

"Who do you think got arraigned today? I'm defending Jack Hastings," Sally said. "This is just too weird."

"Wow," Annie exclaimed. "It sure is. Hold on, Sal, Bobby's back." Sally could hear Annie saying to Bobby, "My sister is General Hastings' defense attorney." Then, coming back on she said, "Sally, I'm going to give the phone to Bobby... Bobby Lawson. He's got some questions." Then Sally again heard Annie say, "Here, Bobby. This is my sister, Sally Stillwell..."

Bobby took the phone. "Ms. Stillwell?" he asked.

"Oh pa-lease, Bobby. It's Sally. Let's get off on the right foot, here," she answered.

"Great. It's good to meet you... so to speak," he said. "I've heard a lot about you from Annie. I was hoping we'd meet."

Sally was immediately impressed by this seemingly shy young man on the phone. "I'd say I've heard a fair amount about you, too," she replied. "Some of it was good."

Bobby was a bit thrown off, but recovered quickly, "Oh. Ha," he said. "Um, Did I understand that you are working with General Hastings?" he asked.

"Well, if you call defending him in a murder trial working with him, then yes, I am," she answered. "And what, may I ask, is your interest in him?"

"I, uh, work for a company here called Oceanic Import-Export. We are in the import-export business," he said.

"Hmmm, clever name," she said. "And how does that tie to General Hastings?"

"Our current client has an interest in a transaction involving General Hastings' company, Mesquite Manufacturing, and the Mexican government," Bobby said. "It's a fairly involved situation, but there has been a snag in the deal and my client is asking that we intervene and set things straight."

"Hmm," Sally thought for a minute. "And may I ask who your client is?"

Bobby didn't usually reveal a client's identity. But this was an unusual case. "Confidentially, Sally?" he asked.

"Yes, I'll respect that," she answered.

"We're working for the federal government on this one... well, one branch of it," Bobby said. "We really need to ask Hastings some questions. It could be important."

Sally began connecting some dots. "You know, there is some kind of chance that this could impact my case here," she said. "in a positive way. He claims that he had a call today from a Mexican in some cartel who wants to buy arms from him. That was before they hauled him off to jail."

"Ms. Stillwell... I mean Sally, my partner and I need to come out there and speak with the general. Is that agreeable to you?" he asked.

"Well, he's easy enough to find right here in the Oklahoma City Jail," she answered. "But, sure, I have no objection. When can you get out here?"

"Is tomorrow okay?" he asked. He looked over at Annie and, away from the phone asked, "Want to go see your sister?" Annie was shaking her head enthusiastically.

Sally answered, "That's fine. What time can you be here?"

"Most any time," Bobby answered.

"Do you want to check flights and call me back?" she asked.

"No, that's okay. I'll be flying us out there and we can be there most any time you tell me."

"You'll be flying? Flying what?" she asked.

"The company's got a Cessna Citation that I use. We can be there in just a couple of hours," he said.

Sally blushed at the thought of her little sister's boyfriend flying out there in a private jet. "Good, then. How about noon at our office? I can send a car to the airport for you," she offered.

"We'll need a car anyway, Sally. We're going to need to run up to Stillwater, too. I'll just get a rental."

"Super. Put my sister back on, will you?" Sally asked.

"Here she is... Nice meeting you, Sally. See you tomorrow," Bobby said.

He handed the phone back over to Annie then took out his own to call Kincaid. "Hello?" Annie answered.

"Boy is Daddy going to like that one?" Sally said. "Flying out here in a private jet. Can you come?"

"Yeah, I can take a personal day. I guess the Court can do without me tomorrow," Annie smiled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Jana Hastings had lived through numerous separations throughout her marriage to a career Army officer. It was part of the bargain and she knew it going in. There were the unaccompanied assignments Jack had that took him to war zones, hostile areas that were a part of his chosen line of work. There were the temporary duty assignments he'd had that left Jana on her own for days, weeks, or even months at a time. Those had never bothered her. She looked forward to those times, and they were many, when Jack was home, or they were together while he served at various duty stations at home and abroad.

Retirement had been the pot at the end of Jana's rainbow. There would be no more living alone and hoping that Jack was safe, wherever he was. They would have a wonderful life together; one that they had earned together. She had always enjoyed northern Virginia and living near the Capital. And having Sam and Sonya Merriman nearby made it feel even more like home. But when Jack wanted to move back to Oklahoma and buy the ranch, she did not complain. She had even come to enjoy the wide open landscape and their proverbial 'home on the range.'

Jana had returned to the ranch outside Lawton from the Prairie Plaza Hotel on the Saturday morning after Jack had left to confer with his lawyers. She had wandered aimlessly around the expanse of the ranch house, walking from one room to another, for no purpose other than to feel herself moving about. She was in anguish over Jack's situation. She didn't believe that he was capable of the brutal slaying of that woman but Jack's involvement with her was clear. And that hurt. The pain it caused Jana was physical. She had heard one time that a team of psychologists and physicians had proven through clinical studies that emotional suffering did in fact manifest itself in physical pain, most often in the abdomen. The ache that she felt in her gut was real.

Jana Hastings had never felt so alone in her life.

During the sleepless nights, and the moving about the house during the days, she contemplated her future. She didn't know what would happen to Jack, whether he would be exonerated of the crime or whether he would spend time in prison, or worse. But she did come to believe that she needed her own plan. She needed to decide what to do with the rest of her life, whether Jack Hastings was in it or not. The idea that he had posed to her about returning to the home in Fairfax made sense. She had always been happy there. And getting out of Oklahoma was much more appealing than watching her husband's predicament played out every night on the evening news.

She had hesitated to call her brother for all the obvious reasons. Sam Merriman had been the one who introduced Jana to Jack Hastings that afternoon at West Point. Jack had been someone Sam had always admired. But over the years, and for reasons she had never learned, her twin brother seemed to be less and less of a friend to her husband. She supposed that they could have grown apart. Perhaps there was some professional rivalry when Jack got his star, becoming a general and Sam retired as a Colonel. But, the breakdown in their closeness seemed to have occurred much earlier. She just didn't know.

Now it was time to call Sam. She knew that he would be supportive and that he would want to know about all that had happened. It was still with a heavy heart that she picked up the phone and called her brother on that Monday night.

"Merriman," he answered, just as he had for so many years in the Army.

"Hi, Sam," she said, "it's me."

"Well, hello there, Sister." In her mind's eye she could see her brother's smile. "Are you buried in snow out there?" he asked.

"No. It's not as bad as it sounds. You doing okay?" she asked, stalling.

"Yeah, just fine. What's up?" Sam was wary. He knew his sister well enough to know this wasn't a call just to chat.

"Trouble, Sam. We've got trouble," she said. "I'm so sorry to call you about this, but..."

"Nonsense. I'm your brother. Talk to me," he said.

"Well, Jack is in real trouble. I, uh... don't know where to begin." Jana was pleased that she was holding her emotions in check. She related the whole incident to Sam beginning with her checking in at the Prairie Plaza Hotel.

Sam listened quietly, inserting an "uh huh," or a "hmmm," where appropriate.

Jana ended the tale by saying, "So, he's been taken back into custody and is to remain there until the trial. We talked about my returning to Fairfax and I think that's what I want to do."

Sam was quiet for a moment. Then, "Son of a bitch," he mumbled under his breath. "It wouldn't be smart of me to talk about Jack right now. Let's focus on you. I agree that coming back here would be best, Jana. You don't want to be there to watch the spectacle that this trial could be."

"No," she said, "I don't."

"Well, how can I help you? I'll drive out there and pick you up. I'll leave tonight," he said.

"Oh, Sam, I know you would." How she loved her brother. "But no. I'll need a car there and I may as well drive myself. I just wanted you to know what is going on here. Frankly, I'm surprised that the Army grapevine hasn't broadcast the story yet."

"When do you plan to leave?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," she said. "I really want to get out of here. We've driven the same trip before and it's a full three day drive. I'm not going to push it, but I think I can be there by the weekend."

"Jana, why don't you let me fly out there and drive back with you?" he asked. He felt like he needed to do something to help his sister.

"No, Sam. Really. There's no need. I'm a big girl."

"Well, keep your cell phone with you and keep me posted along the way," he directed. "Call me tomorrow when you leave. Call me sometime during the day, and call me at night when you stop." He paused a moment. "Look, I'm just going to fly out there..."

"No. I mean it, Sam. It will be a good time for me to clear my head. I've got Beau to take care of me, anyway."

"Beau?" he asked.

"Yeah, my black Lab," she explained. "You remember, I told you I got him when Jack retired and we bought the ranch. He's been my buddy and he loves to ride in the car."

"Well, okay... as long as you call me and keep me posted," Sam said.

"I will."

"Look, Sonya is standing right here. She's about to yank the phone away from me. Will you talk to her?" he asked.

"Of course. Put her on," Jana said.

Sonya Merriman came on the line. "Oh Jana, I heard most of what Sam said. I'm so sorry about all this."

"Yeah, me too, Sonya. But I am looking forward to getting back to Virginia. Looking forward to seeing you," Jana said.

"So you are driving back? Did I hear that right?" asked Sonya.

"Yup. I'm leaving tomorrow. I'll have Beau, my 'woman's best friend' with me."

"Well, this proves an old adage I heard long ago," said Sonya.

"And that is?" asked Jana.

"The more you learn about men, the more you'll think of your dog."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Citation touched down at Will Rogers World Airport on Tuesday morning at eleven o'clock local time. Bobby Lawson taxied the small jet to the general aviation terminal on the west side of the field. His 'co-pilot' for the trip, Annie Wilcox had been treated to the trip of a lifetime riding in the right seat of the jet being piloted by her boyfriend. Their one passenger, Harry Kincaid, had gotten a full two hour nap.

Bobby was pleased to see that by the time he spooled the jets and lowered their door, the fixed base operator had their rental car, a late model Ford Explorer pulled up and waiting. Bobby walked into the terminal and checked the aircraft in while Harry and Annie threw their bags into the car. Within fifteen minutes from touchdown, they were on their way to downtown Oklahoma City and to the offices of Henson & Byars, LLP.

Sally Stillwell met the trio at the elevator when the doors opened on her floor. It was almost twelve noon, their agreed upon time to meet. After the expected hugs with her sister and the introductions of Harry Kincaid and Bobby Lawson, the foursome moved back to Sally's office and took seats around the small conference table in the corner near the windows.

After small talk concerning their flight in, Sally remarked, "I've seen a lot of coincidences over the years, but this just about takes the cake. Who would have ever thought a case such as this would have brought us together?"

"That's what I thought," said Annie. "But it's good to see you, Sister. And I'm glad you got to meet Bobby."

While Bobby blushed, Harry got to the point. "Am I correct in that General Hastings is in the Oklahoma City Jail?" he asked.

"That's correct," Sally answered. "My senior partner was able to get him released Saturday morning just after the arrest. But due to the brutality of the crime, the D.A. insisted on Hastings being held in jail. He was incarcerated at the conclusion of his arraignment yesterday afternoon, just before we spoke," she said, nodding toward Annie.

"Well, Ms. Stillwell," Harry began, "it is imperative that I be able to speak with him. It's a matter of national security."

"First of all, Harry, my name is Sally. Drop the Ms. And in this story of 'When Harry Met Sally,' I will arrange for you to speak with my client as long as you enlighten me, to the extent that you can, on this matter of 'national security.' It's quite possible that it could help me defend him in this murder case."

"Fair enough," Harry answered. "A substantial purchase of small arms was made by the Militia in the Mexican State of Sonora. We have reason to believe the weapons have ended up in the wrong hands. Hastings made the sale. We need to talk to him about it."

"You won't mind if I sit in while you question him?" she asked. "He received a call yesterday morning that fits right into this scenario."

"A call? From who?" asked Harry.

"Well, as long as we are going to see him, I'll let him tell you about it." Sally looked over at Annie and Bobby. "Do you two have an interest in this, or no?" she asked.

Before they could answer, Harry said to Bobby, "I can handle this, Bobby. Why don't you and Annie go get some lunch and hang out someplace? We'll figure out our next steps after I see Hastings."

Bobby and Annie glanced at each other. "That works for me," said Bobby.

When Sally stood, the other three followed suit. She walked around to the coat tree and got her coat and scarf. They walked together through the office, back to the elevator.

"I'll drive us over to the jail, Harry," Sally said as they entered the elevator. "So you two can take the rental. By the way, what are your plans for later? Do you have any?"

"I need to be back at work tomorrow," Annie said. She looked at Bobby, "We're going back tonight, right?

Sally said, "Well, Tom wants to see you if you've got time. That's my husband," she said to Bobby.

"Can we have dinner together?" Bobby asked. "I'd like to meet him, too. We can leave after that. Figure three hours to get home."

Sally looked at Harry. "Does that suit you?"

"I doubt I'll be going back to D.C. from here," Harry answered. "It depends on what I learn from Hastings. So you guys plan for whatever you need to do."

The group split up when they reached the Parking Level.

"We'll give you a call when we are through with Hastings," Sally said over her shoulder as she and Harry headed to her car. "I'm thinking it'll be a couple of hours."

Bobby and Annie were left standing by the lobby door that led to the visitors' parking garage. The clock above the door read 12:35. He looked over at Annie. "Where to?" he asked. "I don't know much about Oklahoma City."

She gave him that impish grin that he so adored. "We passed a Marriott on the way in."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Sally Stillwell and Harry Kincaid approached the desk marked "Visitors Check In" at the Oklahoma City Jail.

The uniformed officer behind the desk looked up when he heard their approaching footsteps. "Good afternoon, Ms. Stillwell," he greeted. "Cool enough for you?"

"Hello Carlos," she answered. "Sure is. We're here to see General Hastings. Can you take care of that for us?"

"Sure. And the gentleman?" Carlos nodded toward Harry. "He's with you?"

"Yes. Mr. Kincaid is investigating the case. He's in from Washington," she answered.

"Good enough," he said, "Just step through Security. I'll have him brought to Room 6."

Harry followed Sally, who moved about with the familiarity of one who had been there many times before. She led him down a hall and motioned toward a substantial steel door to the right. They stepped inside. There was a six foot gray steel conference table with a green Formica top. Four chairs surrounded the table. Three walls were covered with what appeared to be acoustical tile. The fourth wall, backed up to the hallway and had a large window made of very think clear plastic. Sally had brought with her a large brief case, feminine but functional. Harry Kincaid carried nothing.

They were just about to sit when the door opened. Jack Hastings walked in wearing a bright orange jump suit. Sally was taken aback looking at the once distinguished Army officer, now standing before her in the garment of a common criminal. 'Oh, how far the mighty fall,' she thought.

She nodded to him as he entered not offering a hand. "General Hastings, this is Harry Kincaid. He's come out from Washington to ask you some questions."

Harry offered his hand, which the general took with a firm grasp. "Yes," said Hastings. A look of encouragement seemed to flash across his face. "I know you, Kincaid."

"Have we met, General?" asked Harry looking closely at Hastings. "I don't recall that we have."

"No. Let me amend that," he said. "I know of you. I have for years."

Sally looked from Kincaid back to Hastings. "How so?" she asked.

"Just various operations," Hastings said smugly. "Nothing that would mean anything to you, Sally."

"General Hastings," Sally said firmly, but courteously, "you might want to leave your condescending tone in the jail cell that you just left. I will be representing you at trial and it would behoove you to let me decide what has meaning to me and what doesn't."

Harry Kincaid glanced toward Sally. Jack Hastings looked as though he had been struck by lightning. "I'm sorry. I meant nothing by that. I apologize for my tone."

"I think the general and I may have been in the same area of operations some years back," said Harry. "Would that be the connection, General?" he asked.

"Yes," he answered. Looking back at Sally, Hastings said, "This man has a very distinguished record. I'm pleased that he is here. But, why?"

"General Hastings," Harry began. "I'm with a company now called Oceanic Import-Export based in Fairfax. Because much of our work is sensitive, from a national security perspective, we've been retained to follow up on your sale of some MX21 firearms to the State of Sonora in Mexico." Harry made the explanation for Sally's sake as much as Hastings'.

"I know all about your company, Harry," said Hastings. "I am concerned about that sale as well. I was contacted yesterday by a Rafael Carmello. He is in procurement for the Sinaloa Cartel. I had refused to sell our arms to him some time back."

"Why did he call you yesterday?" asked Kincaid.

Hastings looked over at Sally, then back to Kincaid. "He threatened my wife. He said that the same thing that happened to the woman Friday night could happen to Jana. He demanded that I sell him our MX21."

Sally watched Harry closely, searching for a reaction.

Kincaid showed interest. "What else did he say? Anything about the arms you already sent down there? Anything else about that deal?"

Hastings answered, "He said that they, Sinaloa, had captured that shipment. Our deal was made specifically with the Sonora Militia. The arms were supposed to be funneled to the Matamoros Cartel, to use against Sinaloa." Hastings grew more somber. "He also said they were behind the killing of my man who went down there to finalize the shipment."

"Pete Von Karmenn?" Kincaid asked.

"You knew him?" Hastings showed surprise.

"One of the best. We worked a lot together in Injun Country," Kincaid acknowledged. Harry said nothing about his recent contact with Pete.

"Your deal was with the Militia?" asked Sally. "A part of the Mexican government?"

"They are all corrupt down there, Sally," Hastings said. "My guess is that they either bought off or threatened this Capitán Juan Luis Lopez. He's the contact. I was supposed to call Lopez to arrange another shipment."

"When?" asked Harry. "You were supposed to call him when?"

"Today... whenever I could arrange a shipment," answered Hastings. "Lopez was to contact this Carmello and put us in touch. This is what I told you yesterday, Sally."

"You didn't say anything about calling this guy Lopez," she said.

"Well, I got thrown in here," he said.

"Look, it's not too late," said Harry. "Have you got contact information for this Lopez?"

"It's with our files up in Stillwater," he answered. "My general manager up there can get it for you."

"Is that Decker?" Harry asked. "Sluggo Decker?"

"Yeah," said Hastings. "How did you know?"

"We've already been in touch with him," Harry answered. He turned to Sally. "I need to get up to the plant in Stillwater. We can't let this contact slip by. This can be my entrée into the Cartel."

"Whoa," said Sally. She was focused on Harry. "That's way out of my area. My priority is getting General Hastings cleared on this murder charge. How is all this going to help me do that?"

Hastings answered, "Sally, if Kincaid here can just verify that Carmello was behind the killing like he told me on the phone, wouldn't that do it?"

Sally turned back to Hastings. "Jack, reciting what was said in a phone call is hearsay evidence. It may sound strong to you because you spoke to this guy. But this is not forceful evidence to a jury. Your bloody footprints in the apartment and the victim's blood all over your shoes are compelling... hard evidence."

"Look, Sally," Harry said, "if I play this right I should be able to do better than that." He looked back at Hastings. "How long does it take to get to the plant in Stillwater?"

"I've made it in just under an hour," Hastings answered. "It's on the west side of town."

Kincaid turned to Sally. "I need to get up to Stillwater. Do you want to come along? Or, should I get the car back from Bobby?"

Sally looked at her watch. It was 1:45. "How much time will you need at the plant?" she asked.

"No more than an hour, I'd guess."

"I cleared my calendar for the afternoon. I'll ride along if you don't mind. I just might learn something that could help our defense," she said. "Do you mind?"

Harry and Sally stood from the table. "Not at all," he said. He turned to Hastings who had also stood. "General, I appreciate your help. We'll see where this takes us."

Hastings offered his hand. "Thanks," he said to Harry. He didn't know of anything else to add.

Sally rapped on the steel door which was immediately opened by the guard who had been posted just outside. She glanced over her shoulder at Hastings. "We'll be in touch," she said.

Sally, back behind the wheel of her Audi with Harry Kincaid in tow, drove out of the municipal parking lot adjacent to the jail and moments later was on I-35 heading north. Harry made small talk asking her about how she had come to settle in Oklahoma City and heard her story about returning after law school. Still making conversation, he was about to ask her how she had met her husband when she turned to look at him.

"Wait, Harry," she said. "Tell me about Bobby. I've heard my sister's version of him. But level with me... what's he like?"

At 42, Harry Kincaid was a few years older than Sally and recognized the question of an older sister about her kid sister's boyfriend. Luckily, he could tell her the absolute truth about Bobby Lawson and make Sally very happy.

"He's one of the finest guys I've ever known," Harry said. "He was an incredible pilot while he was in the service. Nothing ruffles him. He's a hard worker... He's just a great guy."

"Well, that's good to know," she said. "But what about my sister? Do you think they are serious?" She glanced at Harry, taking her eyes off the road, hoping for a clue to his sincerity.

"Well, gee, Sally," he responded, returning her look, "What does Annie say?"

"Hey, I'm the lawyer here," she laughed. "I get to ask the questions. But, nice try."

Harry chuckled, too. "Well, let me put it this way... I've known Bobby a long time, almost ten years. You can imagine that he's never been too hard up for a date. I'd like to just follow him into one of those Washington night spots and pick up his rejects."

"Oh, terrific," Sally said.

"No. Let me finish, Ms. Lawyer Lady," he joked. "Annie's got Bobby Lawson's full attention. I think they are a great couple."

"Well, that pretty much agrees with what I've heard from Annie. Annie has always set the bar pretty high. She's not interested in your average Joe. But she sure seems interested in Bobby."

Harry chuckled again. "Well, big sister, they are smart kids. They'll be just fine."

They fell silent and drove for another twenty miles then took the Highway 51 exit to Stillwater. Ten miles farther and Harry saw the non-descript sign stating, 'Mesquite Manufacturing, Inc.' Sally saw it too as she eased off the accelerator and made the right turn onto the long drive that ended in the plant's parking lot.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Jana Hastings had taken all of Tuesday morning to pack. She was in no rush and her sadness at leaving the ranch, and Jack, weighed heavy on her. Beau, her faithful friend followed her from room to room as she placed the items that she wanted to take in suit cases or cardboard boxes. She was able to get everything she wanted into the trunk of her Mercedes and still have a clean back seat for Beau. She placed his oversized bed on the seat and packed his food and bowl in a bucket that she used for his water. She took his leash and several of the training dummies that he loved to retrieve and packed them in a nylon bag that was embroidered with his name.

At two o'clock, Jana locked the house, got in the car and drove down the long driveway. With tears in her eyes, she looked in the rearview mirror and saw the image of their home, her's and Jack's, growing smaller until she made a turn and saw that it was lost in the distance.

She picked up her phone and placed the call to Sam Merriman as she had agreed to do.

"Merriman," his characteristic telephone greeting.

"Okay," she said through her tears, "I'm on my way." Her effort to sound happy was strained.

Sam knew his sister well. "Are you just now leaving?" he asked.

"Yup. Just pulled out of the drive. Getting onto I-44 in just a minute," she answered.

"How far do you intend to go today?" he asked.

"Hadn't really decided. I'll just drive until I'm tired."

Sam didn't respond immediately. After a short pause, he asked, "Jana. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Sam," she said. "I'm fine. It's just kind of hard leaving your home under circumstances like these. You know?"

"I'm sure it is, Sister." Sam was at a loss for words. Then, "I could still fly out there and drive with you, ya know."

"I'll be fine, Sam. I'll call you when I stop tonight, okay?"

"Yes. Do." He paused for another minute. "I love you, Jana. Be careful."

"I love you too, Sam. Thanks for being my brother. I'm okay."

Jana looked down to see Beau. He had made himself comfortable in the back seat and laid his head between the two front seats on the console. She could feel his breathing on her arm. She petted him with several strokes and whispered, "It's just us now, Beau. We'll be fine."

He nuzzled her arm. She knew they would be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sally Stillwell parked in a space marked 'Visitor' to the left of the entrance to Mesquite Manufacturing, Inc. She and Kincaid got out of the car and walked through the double doors that led into an unpretentious reception area. A young woman who looked to be about eighteen years old dressed in blue jeans and a gray sweatshirt with 'Cowboys' stenciled in bright orange was seated at the desk.

Kincaid approached the desk. The young woman looked up, smiled and said, "Hello. Welcome to Mesquite Manufacturing. How can I help y'all today?"

"We're here to see Mr. Decker," Kincaid replied.

She picked up the phone that was in front of her on the desk. "Yes, sir. He's in. Who can I tell him is here?" she asked.

"Harry Kincaid and Sally Stillwell. General Hastings sent us." Harry watched closely to see if the mention of Hastings' name brought any reaction. It didn't.

"Yes, sir. One second," she said. She pushed a button on the phone, paused, then said, "There's a Mr. Kincaid and Ms. Stillwell here to see you, Sluggo." Another pause. "Okay, I'll tell them." She looked up at Kincaid as she hung up the phone. "He'll be out here in just a moment."

In less than a minute the door on the left wall that led from the reception area opened. Harry and Sally turned toward the door in time to see Sluggo Decker coming through it.

"Geez," gasped Sally, under her breath.

John 'Sluggo' Decker had to lower his head to keep from scrapping the door frame when he passed through it. He was a mountain of a man, standing six feet nine inches and weighing just over three hundred pounds. He was wearing khakis, a denim work shirt and a pleasant smile on his face.

"Hello, Kincaid," he said. "Lawson told me I might be seeing you out here." Sluggo offered his hand. "Have we met before?"

Harry shook Decker's hand, noticing that it completely enfolded his. "I'm sure we have not, Sluggo. I definitely would have remembered you. But I do know that you procured some .45 caliber ammunition for me once over in Injun Country. You wouldn't remember it." Harry placed his arm behind Sally gently moving her forward. "Say hello to Sally Stillwell. She's your boss's attorney."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Decker," Sally said.

"Ah, please," he replied, "everyone calls me 'Sluggo.' "Got tagged with that name when I was a kid and it stuck like flypaper. Come on back to my office." He turned and held the door for Sally, then Harry to go through. He ducked, and followed them. "End of the hall, down there," he said.

The plastic engraved sign on the wall beside the door read, 'J. Decker.' Inside, there was an inexpensive wood paneling running halfway up the wall to a chair rail. The beige paint above it was home to a number of product posters featuring several firearms that were made by the company. A rectangular conference table occupied the area in front of the door and a large white board hung on the wall facing the table. There were several drawings on the board that appeared to be designs of a hand gun. A steel desk with a laminate top occupied the other end of the room and was backed by a single bookcase that held a number of loose leaf binders. The desk was piled high with various papers, catalogs, and unopened mail. There were also two hand guns perched on one of the piles of papers. If it is true that an empty desk is the sign of an empty mind, then Sluggo Decker's mind was Grand Central Station at rush hour.

"Please," he motioned toward the conference table, "have a seat."

"We just left Hastings down in Oklahoma City," Harry said. "We've got some work to do and it needs to be done quickly, Sluggo."

"Let's roll," he replied. "I'm all ears."

"Okay," Harry said. "First, let me say that our firm has been pulled into this by the Director of Central Intelligence because the shipment of guns that you guys shipped to Mexico seems to have fallen into the wrong hands. We've been tasked to locate them, and find out how they got where they are."

"Well, as far as we are concerned, the units were shipped to the Sonora Militia. That was approved by the Feds and that's where we shipped them," Sluggo replied.

"No question about that," Harry said. "You guys did nothing wrong. But you might know that the guy who concluded the deal for you, Pete Von Karmenn, supposedly got fire bombed in the middle of the night in his hotel room. Then when the guns arrived, they got diverted to the Sinaloa Cartel."

"Pete?" Sluggo moved his chair closer to the table. "I heard that Hastings had hired Pete at his consulting company. I didn't know he was involved in this deal though. I served with Pete in Afghanistan. Great guy." Sluggo shook his head as if trying to erase the story. "I hate to hear that."

"Well, the good news is that Pete had swapped rooms. He's been laying low down there trying to find out who tried to kill him. He's close to an answer, too," Harry explained.

"Oh, wow," said Sluggo. "That's good."

Harry continued. "Now, there is something more pressing. And this is where we need to move quickly. Hastings got a call yesterday from a Rafael Carmello. Carmello is with Sinaloa. He as much as told Hastings that they killed that woman... Hastings' mistress." Harry watched for a reaction from Sluggo.

Sluggo shook his head and mumbled, "Damn. Stupid."

"Carmello threatened Mrs. Hastings," Harry said. "Said the same thing could happen to her if Hastings refused to sell him more of your MX21s. Hastings was to call this Captain Lopez in Sonora today. He's the corrupt S.O.B. who deals with this Carmello. He's also the same guy that you, Mesquite, that is, dealt with on that last sale. Von Karmenn worked with another guy once he got there. He never met Lopez. But, what this boils down to is, we need to set up a deal with these guys... today. I'll pose as Hastings' rep and arrange a meet down there." Harry paused to look over at Sally. She was looking at Harry with eyes that betrayed her astonishment at what she was hearing. Harry said to her, "You aren't hearing any of this, Sally."

She looked back and blinking her eyes, shook her head 'yes,' then, more vigorously, 'no.'

Harry looked back at Sluggo. "Once I get down there, I'm going to try and figure out what this is all about... where these guns are going. I'm also going to try and deal the guns for the name of whoever killed the woman last week."

Sluggo looked back at Harry. After a long minute he said, "That woman's name was Diana Ricci. Hastings brought her up here a couple of times. He made up some cock and bull story about who she was, but it was pretty clear what was going on. She was a nice gal." Again he shook his head, "I hated to hear about her death. She didn't buy into this."

Harry nodded. He watched Sluggo get up and go over to his desk. He picked up the two hand guns and returned to the table and set them down in front of his two guests.

"This is the MX21," he said.

Kincaid picked up one, and Sally picked up the other. Harry watched with a surprised look as Sally slid the action open and checked to ensure it wasn't loaded. She pressed the release to eject the magazine. Clearly, she was not new to hand guns."

"You look pretty adept with that, there, Mrs. Stillwell," Sluggo said.

"I am," she admitted. "My father taught my sister and me how to shoot as soon as we were strong enough to hold a gun. Hand guns, rifles, shot guns... you name it. He made sure his girls were comfortable with firearms." She winked at Kincaid, "It's the American way," she said.

Harry looked back at Sluggo. "It's lighter than I expected. Very nice," he said.

Sluggo held out his hand and Harry placed the weapon in it. Sluggo broke it down in pieces. Within seconds, he had it completely torn apart, field stripped, the components spread across the table top." He picked up the firing mechanism and held it up between his finger and thumb. "This," he said, is what makes this weapon unique.

Harry took the piece from him. "Is this the ceramic that I've heard about?"

"Yup. Stronger than steel," Decker said. "But, it is completely invisible to x-ray or any of the other known detectors. The rest of the body is composite, and it is too. The real attraction to this weapon, Harry, is that it can easily be smuggled onto an airplane, or through security screeners at most any checkpoint."

"You know what our fear is don't you, Sluggo?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid I do," he answered.

"Well I don't," Sally said.

Harry looked at her. "Sinaloa has been known to work closely with Islamic extremists. We know that they have used their channels to smuggle some of the jihadists across our southern border."

"And you think they may be selling them these weapons?" she asked.

"Bingo," he said.

"You mentioned that you need to make a call?" asked Sluggo.

"No time like the present," said Harry. "I just had to get up here and make sure we are on the same page. If this all works like I hope, you won't be making any shipments. But, still, you clearly need to be in the loop."

Harry removed his cell phone. He looked at Decker and said, "I need for you to pull your record on that last deal and give me the phone number for the Sonora Militia."

"Sure," said Sluggo. He got up from the table and walked over to his desk. After rifling around through the mountain of paper, he pulled one sheet and looked at it closely. He returned to the table and handed it to Harry. "Here's the order. The phone number is there at the top."

Harry took the paper and found the number. He motioned toward the telephone at the end of the table. "May I?" he asked.

"Help yourself," said Sluggo.

Harry punched in the country code for Mexico followed by the number listed on the order form. When the call was answered, Harry spoke is perfect Spanish. "Captain Juan Luis Lopez, please," he asked. After a short pause, he said, "Harry Kincaid. I am calling on behalf of General Jack Hastings from Mesquite Manufacturing." He waited another moment. Then, "Captain Lopez, my name is Harry Kincaid. I work for General Jack Hastings. I have been asked by him to call you and set up a meeting with Rafael Carmello. I assume you know what this concerns."

Sluggo and Sally sat transfixed, intent on Harry's conversation.

"Yes," Harry continued. "I am prepared to meet with him in Hermosillo, if necessary." Again a pause. Then, "Yes, Thursday it is. I will call you to confirm a time and place that morning. Yes. Fine. I will see you then." Harry hung up the phone and stood.

"Hmm," said Sluggo. "That seemed easy." Sluggo and Sally both stood.

"Mind if I take one of these along with me?" Harry said, picking up the pistol that was still intact.

Sluggo grinned, "I guess our sales rep needs a sample of our product, huh?"

"Thanks for your help, Sluggo," Harry began moving toward the door. Sluggo escorted them out to the reception area.

"It was good to meet you, Kincaid," Sluggo said. "I've heard a lot about you. I guess I'm about to find out if any of it was true."

It was not until they turned onto I-35 heading south, back to Oklahoma City, that Sally said anything. She looked over at Harry and said, "I don't know what I was expecting when I agreed to come up here with you. But that wasn't it."

"Just remember, Sally," he said, "You didn't hear a thing. I wanted you to know that a big part of this plan is to find out who it was the killed Diana Ricci. Hastings may have some shortcomings, but he's not a murderer." He paused. "Generals aren't known to do any dirty work. Some aren't known for any work at all," he said with a wink.

"I agree," she said. She was quiet for a moment then said. "Oceanic Import-Export. I guess this is what you guys do? Arrange buyers and sellers?"

Harry retreated into 'ambiguous mode.' "Well, yeah. This is kind of an oddity. We don't normally deal with bad guys."

She turned to look at him while keeping an eye on the road. "Somehow, I'm not sure I believe that," she said.

"No. Really. This assignment just kind of fell in our lap."

"And, Bobby? Does he do the same things that you do?" she asked.

Harry could see right through that question. Sally Stillwell wasn't going to want her little sister falling in love with a man with a dangerous career. "Aw, no," Harry answered. "Bobby is a paper pusher. I do most of the field work."

"Oh," she said. His answer seemed to satisfy her.

A moment later, his cell phone rang. He checked the caller I.D., then answered, "Speak."

"Kincaid, it's Pete." Von Karmenn's call was earlier than Harry had expected.

"Yeah, man," Harry said. "What did you find out? Did your guy come through for you?"

"Yeah, he did," Pete answered. "This guy el Lobo is a guy named Rafael Carmello. He's a..."

"I know him, Pete. That checks out with what we've found out, too. Look, I've got a meet set up with him and this guy Lopez on Thursday. Can I hook up with you tomorrow? I think we need to develop a plan."

"Yeah, good. Look, here's my cell number. Just call me directly when you get here," Pete rattled off his ten digit number.

"Got it. I look forward to seeing you, Pete."

Harry smiled and looked over at Sally. "All set," he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

"Sally, where are you?" Annie asked when Sally answered her cell.

"Heading back to the office. Mr. Kincaid and I have been up to Stillwater," she said. "We should be back at the office about five o'clock, I'd guess."

Annie looked over at the clock on the bedside table. It read 4:28. "So, should we just meet you there? What's the plan?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm going to call Tom and just have him meet us at the Cattlemen's Club. It's on the top floor of our office building and we can have dinner there. If you're still planning on flying back tonight that would probably be best. You can get a reasonable start."

"Okay," Annie said. "We'll be there close to five."

"That's great," Sally replied. "Did you enjoy our fair city this afternoon?"

Annie suppressed a laugh, "Yeah, I guess we did all we could do on a cold, snow covered day here."

"Okay, I'll see you at the office." Sally ended the call and then called her husband's number on speed dial.

"Hello, Gorgeous," said Tom Stillwell. "I was just thinking about you."

"Well, how nice. I was thinking about you, too. That's why I called," she said.

"Did you see Annie?" he asked.

"Yeah. She's here with Bobby and a business associate of his," Sally looked over at Harry and smiled. "Say, can you meet us at the Cattlemen's Club? They are going to be flying back to D.C. tonight and they plan to leave after dinner."

"Sure," he said. "I'll leave here soon and drive on up. Can't wait to meet Annie's new fella."

"You're gonna like him, Tom. See you soon. I love you," Sally said.

"This all seems to be working out rather well, Sally," Harry said. "I really appreciate all your help."

"Well, Harry, if you can find out who killed Diana Ricci, it will have been a bargain." She looked over at him and smiled. "I've enjoyed getting to know you anyway."

"Likewise, Mrs. Stillwell," he said. "Your husband is a lucky man."

Sally grew serious. "Tell me the truth, Harry. What are the chances that you can come up with the murderer?" she asked.

"I really don't know," he answered. "But these guys will sell their souls to get what they want. I'd bet that this Carmello will turn over the killer without blinking an eye if he thinks it will get him the guns. That's what I'm banking on."

Sally pulled into the garage and parked in the same slot she had left several hours earlier. Harry noticed that stenciled on the concrete floor was, 'S. Stillwell.' They got on the elevator and Sally pushed the button for her floor. The elevator car rose one floor and stopped. When the doors opened Sally and Harry stood face to face with Bobby and Annie.

"Well, lookie here," said Bobby. "Fancy meeting you here." He and Annie stepped inside and the car began to rise once again.

"I've got an idea," Sally said. "Why don't you guys go on up to the Club. It's on thirty five. That will give me and Annie a chance to catch up a bit while I go into the office and check messages. How's that? We'll meet you in half an hour or so."

"Good idea," said Harry. "That will give me a chance to brief Mr. Lawson here on what we accomplished."

The car stopped on the 30th floor. Sally stepped out. Annie leaned over squeezed Bobby's hand. She winked and said, "See you soon."

As the car again started to rise, Harry looked over at Bobby and said, "I hate to break this to you, pal, but I'm going to need you to fly me down to Tucson tonight. I need to meet Pete in Hermosillo tomorrow morning."

"Geez," Bobby said leaning back against the wall of the elevator car. "To Tucson, then back to D.C. Ugh."

"Hey, that's why we pay you the big bucks," Harry said. He was quiet a minute, looking closely at Bobby. "You might want to step into the Men's room when we get to the Club up here, ole buddy. Tom and Sally Stillwell might not be too impressed with that lipstick all over your face."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A few minutes after five o'clock Jana Hastings, pulled off of Interstate 40 and into a truck stop near Webbers Falls, Oklahoma. She needed gas and noticed that there was a large field on the far side of the parking lot past where several eighteen wheelers were parked. She planned to take Beau over to the field and let him run a bit. He had been such a good traveler lying there with his head close to her. It was the least she could do for him. Sitting at the gas pump, she thought she would go ahead and call Sam and let him know where she was.

"Hi, Sam," she said when he answered. "Just wanted to let you know that I'm okay."

"Good girl," he said. "Where are you?"

"I just pulled off of I-40. I'm at a truck stop near some town called Webbers Falls. I need to fill up and I see a place where I can let Beau stretch his legs."

"Sounds good. Never heard of Webbers Falls, though. Are you doing okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. The last sign I saw said Fort Smith, Arkansas, sixty miles."

"Oh, well you must be making good time," said Sam.

"Yeah, I think I am." She looked back over her shoulder and said, "I see a Hampton Inn across the road. I just may stay there tonight."

"That sounds good. Why don't you do that? You've had a full day," he said.

"Well, if I don't call you again, that's what I've decided to do. I'll speak with you tomorrow," she said.

"Okay, Jana. Thanks for calling."

"Bye, Sam," she said and ended the call. She got out of her car and filled the tank with gas. It was still light, but the sky remained overcast from the storm that had pushed through over the weekend. She pulled over past the idling eighteen wheelers, to a corner of the field. The snow had melted as quickly as it had come and the field seemed dry. As soon as she opened the back door, Beau came bounding out and made directly for the field. She watched admiringly as her dog moved to and fro across the field one way then back again. His nose was just inches off the ground; he was picking up the scent of everything that had ever crossed the field.

Beau continued to range back and forth through the tall grass. Out of the corner of her eye, Jana saw another dog, a smaller Labrador bounding toward Beau. He was almost white, but definitely a Lab. Looking farther to her right, Jana saw a man walking toward the field. By this time the white dog had caught up with Beau and they began to play, jumping back and forth, as dogs will do.

"Tank," the man yelled. "Play nice. He was here first."

Jana looked toward the man who was now walking toward her. He was wearing jeans and a windbreaker. He had on a brown wool packer hat, the kind that fly fishermen wear. As he grew nearer, she noticed that he looked to be about her age, perhaps a bit older.

"Good evenin,'" the man said. I hope my pup hasn't intruded."

Jana looked back at the man and said, "No, not at all. He's quite all right. What a pretty boy he is, too. How old is he?"

"He's about nine months now. Still got a lot of puppy in him," the man said as he watched the two dogs at play. "That's a handsome man you've got there, too."

"Oh, thank you. Yeah, he's like a son to me," she said.

"I know the feeling. They get next to you in a hurry, don't they?" The man was standing there with his hands shoved down into the pockets of his jeans. He had a kindly look about him, she thought.

"Are you traveling, too?" she asked. "Well, I guess that's a silly question."

"Yeah. We're in that RV over there," he said pointing to a large motor home with a Jeep hooked behind it. "Headed out west. A friend invited me up to a cabin he has near Seattle. I hear the place is real nice. So, I finally decided to go. You?" he asked.

"I'm going the other way. I'm on my way to Washington, D.C.," she said.

"Well, you're going to one Washington and I'm going to the other," he observed.

"Guess so," she said. "You've got a long way ahead of you, don't you?" she asked.

"Well, yeah," he said. "I guess I'm a day or so short of half way. But I'm in no hurry."

The two watched their dogs who were thoroughly enthralled with each other. They barked and scampered about, their tails in perpetual motion.

"Doesn't take much to make them happy, does it?" the man said casually.

"No. It doesn't. Life is simple for them, I suppose." She continued watching the dogs but her mind seemed elsewhere.

The man seemed to notice her reverie. "What takes you to D.C.?" he asked.

"We've got a second home there," she answered. "I'm just going back to stay a while."

"I see you have Oklahoma plates. Do you live in this area?" he asked.

He didn't seem to be prying, just making small talk. She didn't mind his curiosity.

"We have a small ranch down near Lawton," she said. "How about you? Where do you live?"

"Well, right now I live in that thing," he said pointing to the RV. Smiling, he said, "I live in Atlanta, otherwise."

With the dogs romping about, Jana and the man seemed to be content standing there watching them.

"I sure like your pup's coloring. He looks almost white," she observed.

"Yeah, he's a yellow by breed," the man said. "But he does look almost white. His name is 'Tank.'" He turned to face her. "Mine is Jack," he said, extending his hand. "Jack Davenport."

She took his hand. It felt warm. "I'm Jana Hastings. Nice to meet you." She nodded toward the dogs. "And that's Beau."

They fell silent then, watching their dogs.

"They sure don't meet a stranger, do they?" he asked.

"No. They sure don't," she said.

Jack noticed the empty Mercedes and asked, "Are you traveling alone?"

Again, she was not put off by his question. "Yes. Just Beau and me. You?"

"Same," he answered. "My wife passed away a while back. Tank joined me last August and we've been traveling around pretty much ever since. He's a good traveler."

The evening was beginning to fade. The lights at the truck stop were coming on and the parking lot was well lit though the field was getting darker. It was easier to see Tank than it was to see Beau.

"Are you going to continue on this evening?" he asked.

"I don't think so," she said. "I'm thinking I'll stay across the way at that Hampton Inn." She looked at the man who was still watching the dogs scamper about. His hands were still stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

"Are you going on?" she asked.

"No. I started out just below Tupelo, Mississippi this morning," he said. "I'm ready to stop."

Curious, she asked, "Where will you go... with the motor home, I mean? Do you have to find a campground?"

"No," he said. "I checked with the folks inside. I'm going to stay right where it's parked."

Again, they fell silent watching their dogs.

Jack turned and looked at Jana, a curious look on his face. "I hope you won't think I'm being forward," he said. "Tank is a great traveler. But he's not much for conversation. Would you care to join me for dinner there in the truck stop?"

She smiled, considering the offer. "I've never eaten in a truck stop," she said. This man seemed so genuine and so... what was the word? Non-threatening. What would it hurt?

"Great food," he said. "Have you ever seen a skinny truck driver? Why don't you go over to that Hampton and check in? Then come on back and meet me in the dining room."

She thought a moment. What could it hurt? "I think I'd like that. Sure. Why not?"

"In fact, if you'd like, bring Beau back with you and he can stay in the RV with Tank while we are at dinner."

"Hmm. I guess that would be better than leaving him in the hotel room. I don't know how he'd act without me in there," she said.

"It's settled then. What time do you have?" he asked. "I don't carry a watch anymore."

She checked her watch, "I've got 5:35," she said.

"How about 6:15? Will that give you enough time?" he asked.

"Six-fifteen it is," she said.

Jana Hastings called Beau and Jack Davenport called Tank. The two new acquaintances parted and went their separate ways. Jack watched the Mercedes pull out of the truck stop and watched it cross over to the hotel parking lot. He looked forward to a nice dinner and pleasant conversation with this woman.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Jack had fed Tank and was filling his water bucket at the sink of his motor home when there was a light tapping on the door. He glanced at the clock above the sink. It read 6:13. Hmm, he thought, punctual. He set the water bucket down and reached for a dish towel. He walked over to the door drying his hands and turned the knob.

Beau came bounding up the stairs and was inside before Jack even saw Jana.

"Well," he chuckled, "Come right in Beau."

"Oh, my..." she said from the pavement outside. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" he asked. "No harm done. Come on in," he said holding the door open wide.

Jana stepped up and into the RV. She looked around and said, "Wow. I've never seen the inside of one of these. All the comforts of home."

"That's the idea," Jack said. He took a minute to look at this lady that he had met outside in the parking lot just an hour ago. She was wearing jeans, like he. But hers were worn longer, as westerners do when wearing cowboy boots. True cowboys' jeans drag the ground and Jana Hastings' jeans fell below her cowboy boots, too. She had on a plaid western shirt and was wearing a thick woolen vest over it. Jack was struck by the beauty of her that he hadn't noticed earlier. Her hair was cropped short and was a silvery gray. Her blue eyes held a sparkle and had small lines in the corners that he guessed were the result of a smiling disposition. Her skin was smooth and flawless. He decided that Jana Hastings had taken good care of herself.

"I fed Beau over at the hotel," she said.

"Oh, good. I was going to ask about that." He looked down at the two dogs lying comfortably on the carpeted floor. "They seem tuckered out, I guess from the running around in that field." He looked back at Jana. "Let's hope they are. Ready?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," she said. "I feel hungrier than I thought."

Jack grabbed his windbreaker and hat. He held the door for Jana to step out. He then turned around and looked at the dogs before stepping out himself. "You two boys behave yourselves." They looked back at him innocently. When he was outside, he turned and locked the door with his key.

They walked across the parking lot and into the diner. Jana was a good seven or eight inches shorter than Jack. He suspected her to be about five feet four inches as he stood six feet even. She looked inside at the diner complete with truckers and mumbled, "This will be a first."

"Aw," he said, "you'll love it. Just good home cookin'."

A waitress greeted the couple and took two menus from the hostess stand, "Just the two of you?" she asked. Jack removed his hat and nodded. The waitress said, "This way, please."

He stepped aside and allowed Jana to go before him. Jack saw that the dining room was moderately full, and there were six burly drivers sitting at the counter. The waitress showed them to a table by the window and set the menus down. "I'll be right back to get your drink orders," she said. "It's just me here tonight."

Jack helped Jana as she moved to shed her vest. She put it over the back of her chair, which he held for her. He took off his windbreaker and placed it, along with his hat, in one of the two vacant chairs at their table. He sat down opposite her.

The waitress returned as promised and took out her order pad. "There now, my name is Sheila. What can I get y'all to drink?"

Jack looked up and jokingly said, "Could I see your wine list?"

Sheila looked at him and laughed, "Ha, yeah, I wish. What's your next choice?"

Jana smiled at his joke. A good sign, he thought. "What would you like Jana?" he asked.

"I'm fine with the water right now," she said. "Maybe some coffee later."

"I'd like some tea, please. Unsweet," Jack said.

"Okie dokie," said Sheila. She used her ball point pen and pointed at the front of Jack's menu. "Our specials are listed right there on the front of the menu. The catfish is fresh. And the meatloaf is good anytime," she said. "I'll be right back."

Jana was engrossed in the menu. She looked over at Jack. "They have everything," she said. "I had no idea that truck stops served food like this."

"Just keep this in mind on your trip," he said. "Look for the ones that have lots of cars and trucks in the parking lot."

"Makes sense," she said.

Sheila returned after delivering several plates to the men at the counter. "Ready?" she asked.

Jana ordered the chicken fried steak with French fries and slaw. Jack opted for the meatloaf with mashed potatoes and green beans. "Okay," said Sheila. "I'll be right back." She turned and scurried back to the kitchen.

"This is interesting," Jana said. "I never would have thought to eat in a truck stop."

"I hope this one is as good as most," Jack said. "I'd feel pretty bad recommending it if it's not." He looked closer at Jana and was more impressed with her beauty. "So," he asked, "why are you travelling back to D.C.? Do you have business, or is it just for a change of scenery?"

She considered the question a moment. "Just for a change," she said. "My husband is kind of busy at the moment."

"And what does Mr. Hastings do?" Jack asked. "Is he a rancher?"

"Well, no," she answered. "It's General Hastings. He's a retired Army officer." She paused a moment. "His name is 'Jack,' too."

"Ha. What a coincidence," he said. "General, huh? That's an impressive career."

"He went to West Point. Always wanted to be a soldier," she said. "My brother did, too. That's how Jack and I met. My brother introduced us."

"Gee, that's even more impressive," He paused a moment. "Did you enjoy Army life? There must have been lots of moving around, huh?"

"I got used to it," she answered. "There were a lot of separations. I got used to that, too. I guess it helped make me kind of independent." She paused, then said, "I lived in the home in Fairfax... where I'm going now, several times, alone... while Jack was stationed elsewhere."

"Hmm," Jack thought about that. It was a completely different way of life than what he had lived.

She smiled at him. "So, tell me about yourself," she said. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm retired, also" he said. "I had a plastics manufacturing business up until last year. I got an attractive offer to sell it, so I did." He was looking out the window into the distance. Then he turned back to face her and said, "We were going to travel, Claire and me... that was my wife. But, it wasn't to be."

Jana was intrigued by this kind man. She felt there was more to his story.

"What happened?" she asked.

"She was killed," he said.

"Oh, my. I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to pry. You did tell me you had lost her earlier. Please..."

He stopped her. "No, no. It's quite all right," he said. "I've gotten past the shock, and the grief, I guess. But, she was a wonderful woman. I'll always miss her."

Their conversation was interrupted as Sheila returned balancing a tray full of dishes. She lowered the tray and set one side of it on the corner of their table. With one hand she held the tray and with the other she placed their meals in front of them.

"Mmm," said Jana. "This looks very good."

Sheila let the empty tray fall to her side. "Is there anything else I can get for y'all right now?" She looked from Jana to Jack, then back.

Jack peered over at Jana with a questioning look, prompting her to say, "I don't think so."

"I'll be back to check on y'all," Sheila said, then turned and hurried back to the kitchen.

Jack picked up his silverware and studied his plate. If Jana had had any thoughts or misgivings about accepting this man's invitation to dinner, they were completely gone. She felt that she was a good judge of character, her husband notwithstanding. And she felt very comfortable in his company.

He continued, "Claire was a doctor... a pediatrician. Both of us had worked hard all of our lives and we were looking forward to traveling... doing just what Tank and I are doing now. We were going to buy an RV and just take off."

"I'm so sorry..."

"No, really," he said. "I don't mind talking about it. After the car crash, I didn't know what to do. My kids helped a lot. They encouraged me to go ahead and go, just as Claire and I would have."

"Kids?" she asked. "How many do you have?"

"Two. Both girls," he answered. They both live in Atlanta. My oldest, Sarah, has a son, my grandson. And my youngest, Nicki, is a doctor. She's going to join the practice Claire started as soon as she completes her residency this year."

"Gee," she said. "You sound like the model family. You should be proud."

Jack noticed that she had called him by name, and was glad. "Oh, I'm very proud of them. It's been a good life," he said. "What about you? Any kids?"

It was Jana who was now looking out the window, into the distance. "No," she answered. She seemed sad. "We just never really had the time or... inclination, I suppose. Jack was very intent on his career. And, he was gone a lot."

The two continued with their meal and allowed a lapse in their conversation.

It was Jack who picked it up. "Did you work?" he asked.

"Yes. I had a pretty full career in nursing," she said. "I got my Masters in Nursing while Jack got his in International Studies at Georgetown. Then I taught at George Washington University Hospital there in D.C."

"That is a full career," Jack noted.

"It was fulfilling," she said. "It gave me a lot of satisfaction over the years. And, it kept me busy while Jack was away." Jana was beginning to wonder at how she felt so secure in telling her life story to this man who had been a complete stranger just hours ago. But it felt so natural.

"I've always wondered about those long separations," he said. "Weren't they hard on your marriage? I mean... I thought it was great coming home to my wife every night."

She thought for a minute. "I guess it was," she confessed. She had never really thought about it. Was it the distance between them that had led Jack to other women? Was it something she had done? The innocent question from this relative stranger had prompted her to ask herself what it was that had caused such heartbreak in her life.

Jack was finishing his meal which he seemed to have relished with delight. Jana watched him thinking that he had no idea of the thoughts his question had caused. She couldn't help but wonder how her life would have been had she had the kind of 'normal' life that this man described.

He looked over and saw that she had come close to eating everything on her plate. "Good?" he asked.

"Very good," she said. "This has been a pleasant surprise."

He smiled at her. "It's been a pleasant meal in many respects," he said.

She returned his smile. "Yes. It has."

Sheila returned, looked at both of them and said, "Okay, y'all, how 'bout some dessert?"

"Truck stops are known to have fantastic pies and cakes, Jana," Jack said.

"Oh," she said shaking her head. "I'm stuffed. But please, you go ahead."

He smiled and said, "No. I've had enough, too. But, join me in a cup of coffee?"

"Yes. I sure will." Jana looked up at Sheila and said, "Decaf for me, please."

"Me, too, Sheila," Jack said.

Sheila nodded and left, returning shortly with a tray containing two ceramic mugs and a coffee pot. She set the mugs and the coffee pot down on the table, then cleared the dinner dishes from in front of her guests. Pointing to the objects on the table she said, "Cream and sweeteners are right there. Help yourselves."

Jack picked up the silver cream pitcher and placed it in front of Jana. Then he reached for the sweeteners and did the same.

"When do you expect to reach that cabin you told me you are going to?" asked Jana.

"Oh, I don't know," Jack answered. "I'm just poking along. If I find some place we want to stop and explore, we just pull into a campground and stay a while. No hurry."

"That does sound like fun," she said.

"It is," he replied. "But, again, Tank isn't much of a conversationalist." He gave her a genuine smile. "I'm really glad you agreed to join me for dinner. It's good talking to someone who answers back."

Jana had noticed that Jack's eyes reflected sincerity. He had blue eyes, like hers. Now, as she looked closer, she noticed a rugged handsomeness about him; one that she hadn't noticed before. Yes, she decided, this Jack Davenport was a fine looking man.

"It's been a very welcome break for me too. Things haven't been going so great lately. I'm glad we met," she said.

He caught a sense of despair in her voice but decided not to pursue it.

Sheila returned once again and placed a plastic folder containing their bill on the table. "No hurry, y'all. I'll take that whenever you are ready."

Jack reached for the folder and removed the check.

Jana immediately reached for her purse and said, "How much do I owe, Jack. Chicken fried steak and coffee."

"You owe nothing, Jana. This is my treat and it is not up for discussion."

"But... wait. You..."

He looked at her with mock seriousness. "I said... it's not up for discussion. This has been a delight and I'm grateful that you accepted my invitation."

"Well, it's been so nice getting to know you," she said. "But the dinner treat is not necessary."

He placed several bills in the folder. "There," he said. "Done. We'll hear no more about it."

They rose from the table and Jack helped Jana on with her vest. She stepped away from the table as he picked up his jacket and hat. He put the hat on his head and began toward the door as he pulled on the jacket. They passed Sheila on the way out.

"Thanks, y'all. Come back to see us," she said. "And y'all have a nice night."

They smiled in return, each with their own thoughts.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Bobby Lawson and Harry Kincaid were seated at a large round table in the bar of the Cattlemen's Club when Sally and Annie arrived. The guys stood and watched as the two sisters approached their table.

Bobby leaned over to Harry and said, "Hmm. Too bad Sally is married."

Harry looked back at his friend and said, "I hate to admit it. But I was thinking the same thing."

Annie walked around the table to Bobby and gave him a kiss. "Whatcha drinkin', Flyboy?" she asked.

"Club soda with a lime squeeze," he replied with a disappointed smirk.

"Good answer," she said. "Daddy always said, 'Eight hours, bottle to throttle.'"

"Yup, that's right. Old aviators' rule. Kincaid's not flying though," Bobby remarked.

"Let me guess," Annie said to Harry. "Double Dewars on the rocks?"

He smiled, "You got it."

They all sat with Sally and Annie leaving a vacant seat between them, and began idle chit chat. Five minutes passed. Then, Bobby looked past the ladies. "Here comes an Army officer that looks like he might belong to you, Sally."

Lieutenant Colonel Tom Stillwell walked directly to their table. "Good evening, everyone," he said. He leaned down and kissed his wife on the cheek. "And a special good evening to you, my dear."

Sally smiled, always glad to see her husband. Annie stood up and gave Tom an affectionate hug. "Hello big brother," she said. Then she turned to introduce him to Bobby and Harry. Tom looked at the two men, carefully sizing them up.

"Good evening, Colonel," the two said, almost in unison.

"My name is Tom, guys," he said. "Welcome to snowy Oklahoma. Has Sally taken good care of you?" he asked.

"The best," said Harry. "She even drove me up to Stillwater this afternoon."

"Oh, yeah. Mesquite Manufacturing?" Tom asked.

"Yeah," Harry answered.

Sally looked at her husband. "Their pistol is pretty unique, Tom," she said. "Made of composite with ceramic inner workings."

"Is it a revolver?" asked Annie.

"No," answered Sally. "It's a semi-automatic like a Glock or Beretta."

Bobby chuckled. "These girls know their firearms, don't they?"

Tom answered, "Yeah. You can thank Wild Bill Wilcox for that. They can shoot, too."

"No kidding," Bobby said. "Annie blew me away shooting skeet a few months ago."

They all shared a laugh as Manuel, their waiter approached. Harry spoke up, "What's your pleasure, Ladies? Colonel? Our treat."

The ladies ordered a glass of Chardonnay. "I'll have my usual, Manny," said Tom.

"Two Chardonnays and a PBR," Manny replied. "Coming right up."

The group enjoyed their beverages and later moved into the dining room. Bobby, Harry and Tom discussed Tom's current assignment and played the game of 'Did you ever know a guy named...' which always occurred when present and former service members met. They spoke of various units in which they had served and, since all had served in the war on terror, they compared notes on that.

Sally and Annie loved chatting about their legal careers which were so different. Sally was a trial lawyer and Annie was a clerk for a Supreme Court Justice. Both were attorneys, but their daily activities were vastly different. Annie always enjoyed learning about Sally's adventures in the courtroom; and Sally always enjoyed Annie's tales of the high court.

Dinner conversation was lively and enjoyable. It was Sally who brought up the inevitable. "It's after eight o'clock. And if you guys are flying back to D.C., you might want to get going. Wish you could stay longer," she said.

"Yeah," said Bobby. "Our flight has gotten a bit longer, so I guess we'd better head out."

"Longer?" asked Annie.

"Yeah," he said. "We've got to drop Mr. Kincaid here off in Tucson before heading back to D.C. But, you can sleep all you want."

"Tucson?" Annie exclaimed. "What on earth for?"

Sally looked knowingly at Harry, who winked back at her. "We're in the import-export business, Annie. You know that," he chided.

When they parted down in the motor lobby leading to the parking garage, Sally tugged on Harry's sleeve and pulled him away from the group. "It seems that I know a bit more about your business than my little sister does, Harry."

"Well, you don't have to tell everything you know, Sally," he said.

She squeezed his arm and said quietly, "Be careful. Just be careful."

"Always."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Jack Davenport and Jana Hastings walked across the lighted parking lot of the truck stop. Jana's Mercedes was parked right beside the large motor home in which they had left their two Labs.

"I'll let you pay the babysitter," Jack joked as he unlocked the door to the RV.

"Gladly, sir," she said. "Thank you so much for the dinner, Jack. It was great fun."

Jack opened the door. Looking inside, he stopped, still. "Uh-oh," he said. "Boys...?"

"What is it?" Jana asked.

Jack stepped inside the motor home, followed closely by Jana. There was a shredded bag that had held Lay's potato chips, with not a crumb to be found on the floor; the trash can had been overturned with paper trash strewn about the kitchen and sitting area. A trail of toilet paper led back to the bathroom and there was a velour blanket, once draped across the couch, now torn and lying across the floor.

"Oh, noooo," said Jana as she surveyed the scene.

Jack looked back at her with an impish grin and said, "And they told me they would be good."

She snickered at his joke, then said, "Let me clean this up, Jack. Oh, my gosh."

"No way," he said. "It wasn't Beau... not by himself. It's really nothing. They just got playful. There's nothing really messy. Don't worry about it... It's all just paper."

"Yeah, but, geez... what a mess?" she said.

"It's nothing," he insisted. "Tell you what, let's let them go out and take care of business. If you'll keep an eye on them in the field over there, I'll get this straightened up."

"Well, yeah. But... I'll help," she said.

"Just make sure they stay close by. This won't take any time," he said.

Jack held the door open and the two Labs scampered out. They made a bee line for the open field just steps away where they had met earlier. Jana followed them.

"Just leave it," she said over her shoulder. "I'll help you when I get back... please," she said.

"Nonsense," he replied and began picking up the debris that the pooches had left.

In a short time, Jana returned and tapped on the door. Jack opened it wide and said, "Come on in. See... all done."

The two dogs slipped in beside Jana and stood smiling and wagging their tails, looking up at Jack.

"I wish you had let me help," she said.

"All done, I said. But, I'll tell you what I will let you help with..."

"Of course. What?" she asked.

"I've got a really good bottle of a Merlot. How about helping me with that?" he grinned.

It seemed the most natural and easiest answer she'd ever given. "I'd love to, Jack."

"Good. Let me have your vest and you have a seat right over there," he said motioning toward a large easy chair that backed up to the passenger's seat behind the windshield. She nodded a 'yes' and moved to the chair. The dogs both lay on the wood floor at Jack's feet while he took a corkscrew from a kitchen drawer and pulled the cork from the bottle of Sonoma Valley Merlot that he had taken from a pantry on the left side of the sink. He selected two stems from the cabinet next to the refrigerator and poured the wine.

He crossed to where she was sitting and offered her a glass. When she took it, he held his glass out to her and said, "To new friends..."

Looking up, she smiled and touched her glass to his. "You've been so kind to me tonight," she said.

"You are an easy person to be kind to, Jana. This has been nice."

He backed away a step and sat on the couch, at the end closest to her chair. They each took a sip of the wine, then just sat quietly for a moment. Jack looked over at the two dogs lying peacefully on the kitchen floor. "Look at those two partners in crime," he said.

"Yes. Their good looks fool you, don't they?" she asked.

"They sure do," he answered. A moment went by.

"Hmm," he said, getting up. "It's too quiet in here." He stepped over to a speaker on the kitchen counter. He plugged an iPod into a cable leading to the speaker and selected some music. He adjusted the volume down as The Eagles played 'Take It Easy.' "This okay with you?" he asked.

"Fine," she said. "Who doesn't like the Eagles?" She watched him return to the couch. She looked at him and heard herself saying, "Why is it, Jack?" She paused. "I feel like I've known you all my life."

He looked back at her with a quizzical grin. She had a strange smile on her face and had felt completely at ease with what she had said.

"Well, I don't know, Jana," he replied. "But I'm glad you do. You seem to make friends easily. Perhaps it's your Army background."

She looked back at him in silence, thinking. There followed a pause that seemed to linger.

Her eyes searched about the room as if trying to make a decision. "May I tell you something?" she asked.

"Why, yes. Of course."

"The reason I am traveling to Washington is that I am leaving my husband." She had been looking at the floor, at nothing, when she made the statement. She raised her eyes to search his. Had she made a mistake? Why would he care about that?

He looked back and shook his head slightly. "I'm very sorry to hear that, Jana. You've been married a long time, haven't you?

"Yes. Over thirty years," she answered.

"That is a long time," he said. He thought for a moment. "But... people change. I'm sure you have your reasons."

"Yeah. Well, that is the reason, Jack. It's that he didn't change," she said.

"I don't understand."

"I suspected Jack of cheating on our marriage many years ago. I chose to ignore it. I guess I figured that if I didn't confront it, it really didn't happen. But, it never got any better. I never raised the issue." Jana looked back down at the floor. "I don't know if it would have helped if I had."

Jack looked at her, seeing the hurt in her eyes.

"You have been so nice to me this evening... a complete stranger," she said. "I don't mean to burden you with this."

"No. It's okay. My daughters tell me I'm a good listener," he said. "Why have you made this decision now? ...if you don't mind my asking."

"I'll tell you but you may not believe it," she said, "But no one could make up a story like this. Last Friday night Jack and I were supposed to meet at the Prairie Plaza Hotel in Oklahoma City. We were going to stay the weekend, just as a quick getaway. I checked in early and when he got there, he just dropped off his bag and said he had to run an errand. We were to meet in the hotel's dining room a bit later. He never showed up." She paused a moment remembering the night. "I got a call later from the Police. He'd been arrested for the murder of a young woman. He later said that he had gone to her apartment to return her key and pick up his computer. He claims that he had nothing to do with her murder. I believe that part... he's not a killer. But he did admit to having an affair with her. He finally had to admit to it because the Police had proof that he'd been in the apartment."

"Oh, Jana...," Jack said. "What you must have gone through." He noticed that her glass was empty and rose to refill both of their glasses. She accepted the wine with thanks.

"It was an awful night," she admitted. "He was released from custody early Saturday morning and was going to stay in the hotel. I went back to the ranch."

"He has a good lawyer, I assume?" Jack asked.

"I think so," she answered. "But he was arraigned yesterday afternoon and the prosecutor insisted that he go back to jail. So, there he sits, a former major general in the Army sitting in a jail cell like a common criminal."

"But you said you believe he's innocent," Jack reminded her.

"He may be innocent of killing that woman. But he's certainly guilty of carrying on an affair with her. He humiliated me. I'm not proud that I was willing to put up with his philandering as long as it was discreet. But that's where I drew the line."

The wine seemed to be just what Jana needed. She had felt relaxed with this man all evening but the wine seemed to allow her the release of pent up feelings that she had lived with all weekend, alone at the ranch. Things that she didn't want to discuss with Sam, her own brother, came easy with this man. She drained her glass.

She looked at Jack and gave him an embarrassed smile. "Do you have a bathroom in this home on wheels?" she asked.

He grinned back. "Of course." He motioned toward the back of the RV. "It's just down the hall."

She got up and walked back to the restroom. Jack thought another bottle of wine might be in order. He had it opened when Jana returned. He refilled her glass and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she said. She was silent a moment. She looked over at him and said, "It sounds like you had a great marriage."

"I did," he admitted.

"Well, I'm happy for you. You are a nice man. I should have been so lucky."

The music had stopped. Jack got up and played with the iPod a moment. Soon, the music of Paul Simon came from the speakers and Jack returned to the sofa.

The time passed quickly. Their conversation turned to other things and Jana's mood seemed to improve. They talked of the music that was playing and some of the other artists they both enjoyed. He discovered that she had similar political leanings as he. They discussed books that they had read, and movies that they had seen. And, they drank more wine.

It was close to midnight. Without reason, Jana moved from her chair over to the sofa, next to Jack. She leaned against him and he placed his arm around her.

"I want to thank you for this night," she said. "Thank you for listening."

"It's been good getting to know you," he said. "I'm sorry that you've been mistreated."

She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips. "I have to go now," she said.

He looked at her tenderly and said, "You are welcome to stay here with me. You know that, don't you?"

"I know," she said. She got up hesitantly and put on her vest. Beau sensed that they were leaving and stood beside her. Jack stood. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, still watching her. She came close to him again, and hugged him. He encircled her with his arms, returning the caress. She lifted her eyes to meet his and rose up on her toes. He leaned down to her. She held him a moment, then slowly backed away and moved to the door.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Her eyes were moist when she looked back at him, "You will believe me when I tell you that I want to stay?"

He nodded.

"But if I did, I would be no better than him."

Jack and Tank stood outside the RV and watched Jana Hastings and Beau get into her car and slowly cross over to their hotel. Jack watched to ensure that she got inside safely. Then he and Tank turned and went back into their home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Bobby Lawson quickly filed his instrument flight plan for the first leg of the journey that would eventually conclude at Reagan Washington National Airport. But first, he would drop Harry Kincaid in Tucson so that he could cross over into Mexico to meet up with Pete Von Karmenn, the next morning. Annie Wilcox knew nothing of Harry's plans and the guys saw no reason to enlighten her.

The wheels on the Citation Mustang left the runway at Will Rogers World Airport just minutes after nine o'clock local time. Bobby had filed for a three hour flight and thought he could better that time by a few minutes once in the air traffic system. As with their earlier flight, Harry Kincaid took advantage of Annie's desire to ride up front with Bobby. He was asleep in the plush leather seat in the passenger cabin before Bobby reached cruising altitude.

Annie was settled in the right seat thoroughly enjoying the trip. It was clear that it really didn't matter what they were doing. Just being with Bobby was enough to satisfy Annie Wilcox. The fact that they were carving a trail in the night sky in a sexy corporate jet was just icing on the cake. In a matter of hours she would be at her desk in the chambers of Justice Antonin Scalia at the United States Supreme Court. But she would enjoy every minute of the trip until then.

The trip took close to the three hours that Bobby had planned. He touched down at Tucson International Airport just minutes before eleven o'clock p.m. local time having gained an hour enroute. Bobby taxied over to the private terminal and saw that the car Harry had reserved from Oklahoma was waiting for him. While the Citation was being serviced and topped off with fuel, Annie stepped into the Ladies' Room giving Bobby and Harry a few minutes to talk.

"So what's your plan for hooking up with Pete," Bobby asked.

"We agreed to meet tomorrow morning," Harry answered. "I'm going to head on down to Nogales tonight. I figure crossing over into Mexico will be easier tonight."

"Well evidently it's pretty easy heading north anytime," Bobby joked.

"Yeah, so they say," Harry replied. "I'll find some motel and leave early to hook up with Pete in Hermosillo. It's only a couple of hours."

"I could have flown you down there, you know," said Bobby.

"Yeah, but that would attract too much attention," Harry replied. "And I might need the car to get me and Pete out of there."

"Have you got a plan for dealing with the bad guys?"

"You know what, Bobby?" Harry responded. "We don't even know for sure who the bad guys are yet. I've been dealing with this guy Carmello, who also goes by the name of 'Lobo.' We think he's up in the ranks of Sinaloa. If he is, there's a good chance he's reselling the guns on to some Islamists that they've been courting lately. That's the nut we need to crack."

"And how are you going to deal with them?" Bobby asked.

Harry looked at Bobby, incredulous. "Are you kidding?" he asked.

"Well, uh..." Bobby fumbled a bit.

"I'm going to deal with them like the rattlesnakes they are," Harry said. "Okay with you?"

Annie returned from the Ladies' Room and approached the two men. "Okay," she said smiling. "I'm good for another few thousand miles." She looked at Bobby and said, "Where to now? Paris?"

Harry chuckled and said, "Ah, you see there, Roberto? Give 'em one little ride in the Citation and they want to go 'ocean hopping.' Never fails."

Bobby reached over with his right arm, looped it around Annie's neck and pulled her close to him. "If you can talk the Court into letting you off for a few days, we just might go to Paris," he said.

She stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Be careful what you offer there, Flyboy. I just might take you up on it."

Harry began to back away toward the car he had hired. "Well you two just go anywhere you want. But when I need a ride home in a few days I hope you'll consider coming to pick me up."

"All depends where we are when you call," Bobby joked. "Just give me some lead time."

Harry shook Bobby's hand and gave Annie a hug. "Okay, kids," he said, "I'm outta here."

"Be safe," Bobby chided. "Keep me posted."

Harry waved over his shoulder and got into his car. He was off the airport property within minutes.

Bobby and Annie walked over to the Flight Planning room where she watched him file a plan to Reagan Washington National with a short fuel stop in Little Rock, Arkansas.

At eleven thirty-two, local time, Bobby retracted the wheels of the Citation. With a three hour time change he was thinking that he might have to drive Annie directly to work from the airport. She watched his every move as he piloted the jet into the night sky.

"You can go back there and take a nap if you want to, Annie," he said.

"And miss all the fun?" she joked. "No thanks, Flyboy. I'm just fine right here."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Wanting to blend in with the local populace, Harry Kincaid had told the rental agency that he wanted the oldest car they had. After mentioning that he would be in Mexico a few days, the agent agreed to accommodate him with a 2004 gray Honda Civic. He also requested that the car be as dirty as possible but the agent regretfully informed Kincaid that all of their rentals were washed inside and out as soon as they were returned. This would not be a problem, Kincaid reasoned. By the time he got to Hermosillo the next morning, he was sure his Honda would be as dusty as the rest.

Just after leaving the rental car office at Tucson International Airport, Harry pulled into a convenience store adjacent to the airport property. He went in and purchased a small plastic ice chest and a six-pack of Diet Cokes. He picked out a bag of fried pork skins and a large bag of beef jerky. When he laid the items on the counter by the cash register, he looked back thinking he'd forgotten something. He walked back to the fridge and took out a half gallon of milk. He snagged a large bag of Oreos from the shelf on his way back to the register. He told the clerk to add in a small bag of ice which he pulled from the large chest outside the door. After breaking up the bag of ice and covering the Cokes and milk in the ice chest, he put his groceries in the back seat of the Honda and pulled away from the store. He found the entrance to Interstate 19 and headed south.

Kincaid's border crossing was uneventful. He passed through the U. S. checkpoint well after midnight and the border guard on duty barely checked his driver's license. He asked a couple of cursory questions as to where Harry was going and why. He seemed completely uninterested in Harry's answers and allowed him through without incident. The Mexican guard, working the same crossing simply flagged him on.

Leaving the crossing, he continued south on the highway that became Alvaro Obregon. He continued through Nogales proper and found a nondescript motel called the Fiesta Inn on the southern edge of an industrial park in the area known as Nuevo Nogales. He reasoned that he would face little traffic the following morning when he struck out for Hermosillo to meet up with Pete Von Karmenn.

The Fiesta Inn fit Harry's needs perfectly. It seemed that less than half of the rooms had been rented. Most of the license plates on the cars and trucks in the lot were from Arizona. It was the typical low cost establishment that would be used by salesmen traveling on low or no expense accounts. When Harry stepped up to the reception desk and rang the silver bell on the counter, he heard movement from the night clerk in the office behind the wall backing the counter. He envisioned the clerk getting off of a cot or out of a big chair. When the man appeared, the hair on the back of his head was matted down. Harry knew he had awakened him.

Harry signed the registration card with a name that he made up and listed a fictitious address in Tucson. He prepaid for the room in cash and the clerk gave him a room key attached to a large aqua colored plastic fob. The clerk wished him 'Buenos Noches' and was back behind the wall and in bed, Harry suspected, before Harry had cleared the door.

He found his room at the far end of the building that was at right angles with the one where the office was located. The lot was sparsely populated with other vehicles and there were few lights on in the rooms. He parked the Honda in front of the door to his room. He grabbed his bag, the groceries and the ice chest, unlocked the door and went inside. It was not until he had gotten inside the room and propped a straight backed chair under the door knob that he realized how very tired he was. It had been a long day, starting out in Washington early that morning. He undressed and crawled into one of the two double beds. He turned off the solitary lamp on the table between the beds and fell into a deep sleep before the room got dark.

Harry awoke well before dawn. He was an early riser anyway but his body was still accustomed to east coast time. Out of habit, he got up and moved to the window to check things out. He looked to see if there was anyone about, or anything unusual. Satisfied that there wasn't, he went into the bathroom to take care of his morning chores. He could be dressed and out of there in thirty minutes giving him an early arrival in Hermosillo where he would meet up with Pete Von Karmenn.

While getting dressed, Harry retrieved the half gallon of milk from his ice chest and took out the Oreos. He filled one of the plastic cups that he found next to the sink. He drank it down and filled it again. He pulled four Oreos from the bag. He ate them and drank the second cup of milk while getting dressed.

When he emerged from his motel room, Harry looked just like any other man who might be found in this northern Mexican town. He had on well pressed Wrangler jeans that fell just below his boots. He wore a western cut shirt that was a subdued plaid with imitation pearl buttons. He decided to stop somewhere short of Hermosillo and purchase a hat. That should complete the look of just another Mexican moving about that would draw no attention.

He threw the room key on the table by the window, picked up his belongings and left, closing the door behind him. He looked around the parking lot and saw that he was alone. A dusty old Chevrolet pick-up was parked across the lot under a stand of trees. Harry noticed that the windows were rolled down causing him to look more closely at the truck. Again he checked around and saw no one else. He moved over to the pick-up and looked inside. Tossed on the floor of the passenger's side he spotted a straw cowboy hat. He reached in and retrieved it. The fit wasn't perfect, but certainly close enough. He put it on his head and got into the Honda.

"That's one stop I won't have to make this morning," he said quietly to himself.

Harry pulled away from the Fiesta Inn and located Highway 15. He turned south on it and would follow it all the way to Hermosillo. He reached into the back seat and removed several more Oreos and ate them as he drove.

Harry turned on the radio and found a station that seemed to be an all news station broadcasting out of Nogales. He listened to the announcers, a man and a woman, understanding every word that they said. Harry Kincaid thought of his fluency in Spanish like many think of riding a bicycle. You never lose the skill. Growing up in Oakland, California, Harry had been exposed to the language at an early age. He learned 'street Spanish' from the Chicanos that were the majority in his neighborhood. His government service had added Arabic and Farsi to his language skill set. When he had to, Harry Kincaid could present himself and pass for any of the foreign nationals who used those languages. He had done so more than once. And for the next few days, except while dealing with Lopez or el Lobo, he was a Mexican.

It was shortly before eight o'clock when Kincaid passed through the small town of Santa Ana, one hundred miles north of Hermosillo. Time to call Pete.

After a single ring, Pete answered, "Kincaid, where are you?"

"Yes, hello, Pete. Good to hear from you, too," he joked. "I've just passed through Santa Ana... looks like I'm about a hundred miles away."

"Okay, good," Pete replied. "That will put you here about ten o'clock."

"That's what I figured," Kincaid said. "Where shall we meet?"

"Okay, this is what I want you to do," Pete said. "As you near Hermosillo, you will see a rather large store on your right. It's called Mercado del Pacifico. Go about a quarter of a mile past it and you will see a small cantina, also on the right. There's a sign out by the road that says 'Café Combate.' I'll be waiting for you inside."

"Combat Café?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Seems appropriate, huh?" Pete said.

"Okay. I'll be there by ten o'clock; maybe a little before."

Kincaid began to slow as he approached Hermosillo. He noticed the store that Pete identified to him. A bit farther, a shabby wooden sign stood near the road. Blue lettering on a faded and peeling background said, 'Café Combate.' Harry turned into a dusty gravel parking area, just past the sign. There were two other cars in the lot. One was a dusty Subaru station wagon and the other was an old Toyota Corolla. Both were wearing license plates from Sonora, Mexico.

Kincaid parked to one side in the shade of an Acacia tree. He sat a moment surveying the area around him. The café appeared old, and was rust colored adobe in need of repair. The front door was propped open by a square box fan that sat on the ground blowing air into the structure that looked more like someone's home than a business. He looked to the back of the building but couldn't see anything other than a few rusted metal barrels and a pile of assorted rubble. The place looked occupied, but not busy.

He stepped out of the Honda and stood beside the car for a moment. The first thing that he noticed was the heat. The temperature had probably been in the low seventies when Harry had left Nogales in the cool of the morning. Riding south in his air conditioned rental, he hadn't noticed the increase in temperature. Now, standing on the outskirts of Hermosillo, nearing mid-day, Kincaid guessed the temperature to be well into the nineties. He noticed movement at the door of the café. He recognized Pete Von Karmenn who motioned him to come.

Kincaid walked across the dusty gravel lot and into the building.

Von Karmenn wore a big smile as he offered his hand. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Kincaid," he greeted him in English. "Not a bit prettier than I remember."

Harry returned the smile and firmly shook Pete's hand. "Good to see you, Pete. Especially after the death notice we all got." Harry followed suit, speaking to Pete in English.

"Well, as they say, pal, the news of my demise was greatly exaggerated," he said.

Harry looked around the room. They seemed to be standing in a small dining room. There were a handful of tables that would seat four. There was a till on a counter near the door with a middle aged Mexican woman sitting on a stool behind it. He noticed a passageway with a split curtain acting as a door through which he could hear the identifiable sounds of a kitchen.

There was one other person in the room. A Mexican of medium built sat at a table in the far corner. He looked to be about thirty-five years old.

"Come on over here, Harry," Pete said. "This guy is Miguel Sanchez. He's my contact here. I've never heard him speak any English, but you never know," Pete said.

As they approached the table, Sanchez cautiously stood. "Hola, Señor," he said.

Von Karmenn introduced Miguel Sanchez to Harry Kincaid, in perfect Spanish. They shook hands and took seats at the table. The middle aged woman at the till stood up and approached the table.

"Algo para beber, Señor?" she asked Harry. Something to drink?

He looked at the cans in front of Von Karmenn and Sanchez. "Coca Light," he said.

"Si," she said. The woman withdrew to get his beverage.

"Okay, guys," Kincaid said, "what have we got?"

"Miguel here has been a busy boy," Pete began. "It appears that the Capitán General of the Sonoran Militia is up to his eyeballs with the Sinaloa Cartel."

"Si," said Sanchez. "It is true."

Pete continued. "Lopez has been dealing directly with a Rafael Carmello who is in the cartel. Carmello is also known as 'el Lobo.' Miguel has verified that you will be meeting with these two men tomorrow to discuss another shipment of arms from Mesquite Manufacturing."

The woman returned and placed a silver can of Coca Light in front of Kincaid. It was cool, but not cold. She left them and took her place on the stool behind the till.

Kincaid took a sip of his drink. He quietly waited a moment, then looked first at Pete and then at Sanchez. "Now can you guys tell me something I don't know?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so," said Pete. Sanchez was nodding his head as if supporting what Pete was about to say. "Miguel here has verified that Carmello has a buyer for all the arms that Mesquite will send. And you won't believe who's behind it."

"Surprise me," he said.

"al Qaeda," Pete answered. "More accurately, some branch of it. It splintered all over the world after our retaliation for 9/11. The arms sales are coordinated right here in Hermosillo by one known as Farooq Aziz."

Kincaid made a fist and pounded it once on the table. "Damn," he uttered. "It was just a matter of time, wasn't it?"

"There's more, Harry," Pete said.

Kincaid looked back at Pete.

"Aziz is an American."

"You're shitting me," Kincaid said with a questioning look.

Von Karmenn nodded to Sanchez. "It is true, Señor," Sanchez said, picking up the story. "I heard a conversation between Capitán Lopez and el Lobo. Lobo named this Farooq Aziz. He specifically said that he is American."

"Where is he working from," Kincaid asked.

"Lobo told my Capitán that he works between Hermosillo here, and Colombia," Sanchez answered. "I have seen him myself, here in Hermosillo. I have seen him with Lobo. He is a black man."

Kincaid looked down at the table, thinking. He made several movements with is right forefinger on the table top as if tracing something.

"What are you thinking, Harry?" Pete asked.

Kincaid didn't answer for a moment. He looked up and with a wry smile said, "This all makes sense, doesn't it Pete? My first question was, why are they working through a middleman? What good is the Sinaloa Cartel to Islamic terrorists? But it's obvious, isn't it?"

"There's a quid pro quo," Pete said. "The jihadists pay Sinaloa a premium for arms and with it comes the use of their network, their pipeline into the U.S."

"That's it," agreed Kincaid. "And this Capitán Lopez simply provides a legitimate customer to whom our government would approve shipments. Boy, are we nuts, or what?"

Von Karmenn looked over at Sanchez. "You say you have seen Aziz? Has he ever been in to see Lopez, or just Lobo?"

"He was in the office just after I made the deal with you on the last shipment," Sanchez said.

He zeroed in on Sanchez. He leaned closer to him. "Was it Aziz who firebombed my hotel?"

Sanchez flinched at Pete's aggression. "It could have been, mi amigo," he answered. "I thought it was el Lobo. But maybe not."

Kincaid looked over at Pete. He raised his eyebrows as he asked, "Does it matter?" Von Karmenn caught his meaning. Harry looked back at Miguel and asked, "Do you know where the last shipment of pistols is now?"

"Si," he answered. "Lobo told Capitán Lopez that he was holding them at his office until Aziz has them picked up."

"Good," Kincaid said. "And you can tell us where Lobo's office is located?"

"I will show you," Sanchez answered.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Deputy Virgil Willard approached the cell that was occupied by General Jack Hastings. Willard had served in the Marine Corps for four years and had lived through two deployments to Iraq. 'Once a Marine, always a Marine,' he frequently told his friends. And as such, he still respected military rank. He had been both courteous and respectful to the new prisoner that occupied his block of the Oklahoma City Jail and had a hard time believing that the charges against this major general could possibly be true.

"You have a visitor, General," he said when he reached Hastings' cell. He signaled back to the guard at the end of the cell block and heard the electronic and metallic release of the cell door.

"Who is it?" Hastings asked. "My lawyer?"

"No," answered Willard. "It's a Mrs. Von Karmenn."

Hastings looked back at the Deputy with a frown. For a moment he considered directing Willard to ask her to leave but he didn't need the kind of trouble that Carol Von Karmenn could cause. And she was sure to make things messy if he refused to see her.

He rose from his cell bunk and held out his hands allowing Deputy Willard to apply the handcuffs that he had come to expect when leaving his cell. He passed through the door and turned right toward the exit door that led out of Willard's cell block. Once through, he turned left down the hall that led to the visitation area.

"Room 4, sir," Willard said. "Right there on the left."

Willard opened the door for Hastings to step through. He remained outside saying, "I'll be right here, sir. Let me know when you are done."

When he entered, Hastings was met by a tearful Carol Von Karmenn who was seated at the familiar steel table with the green linoleum top. When she stood he noticed her form fitting black skirt and sheer white blouse revealing a provocative camisole underneath. He watched as she came around the table and stopped, facing him. She reached up with her right hand and forcefully slapped him on the left side of his face. He raised his cuffed hands to ward off anything further.

"Carol..." he exclaimed.

She stepped back as Deputy Willard opened the door. "Everything all right in here?" he asked.

"It's okay, Virgil," Hastings said. "We're fine."

Willard paused, looking at Mrs. Von Karmenn who was holding both her hands over her nose and mouth.

"Are you sure, sir?" he asked.

"Yes," Hastings answered, turning to face him. "It's okay."

The deputy backed out of the room, closing the door. Carol moved back to the other side of the table.

"That wasn't necessary," Hastings said.

"I never thought I had anything in common with your wife," she said. "But now I find out you were cheating on both of us." She paused. "You son of a bitch."

"You drove all the way up from Lawton just to call me a son of a bitch?" he asked. "Thanks for the concern. I guess you believe I killed that woman, too." He shook his head and smirked at her. "Don't believe everything you see on the evening news, Carol."

"I don't think you killed anybody," she responded with a voice full of scorn. "Pete said generals don't have the balls for that kind of work. What's your story with this woman?"

"She worked for the Chamber of Commerce. That's all. I loaned her a laptop computer and went to pick it up," he said. "She was dead when I got there. But I got nailed for it because it had just happened and I left the scene. I left footprints and fingerprints all over the place."

Carol Von Karmenn walked around the table and over to the door. Her eyes were locked onto Hastings'. She tapped on the door with her finger.

Deputy Willard opened the door saying, "You done?"

Still glaring at Hastings, she responded, "We certainly are."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Harry Kincaid stepped out of the Café Combate while Pete Von Karmenn settled up with the woman sitting behind the till. He walked over to his rental car and stood in the shade of the Acacia trees. He retrieved his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans and hit the speed dial number for Bobby Lawson.

"Hola, Señor," Lawson answered, "Como estas?"

Harry answered in English, "I'm fine but how are you after flying all night?"

"It really wasn't bad at all," he said. "Annie was a real trooper. You can tell that she's Wild Bill Wilcox's kid. She sat right up front and paid attention the whole way. We stopped in Little Rock to refuel and got back to DCA around seven. I drove her straight to work."

"I think you've got a keeper there, Roberto," Harry said. "Don't blow it."

"You are telling me not to blow a relationship with a woman?" Bobby asked.

"Okay, let's move on," Kincaid suggested. Further discussion of him and his love life would not prove either productive or entertaining. "Look, I need you to get me a rundown on someone. We've come across an American down here who is procuring arms for al Qaeda, or one of its cells. Get in touch with your contacts at the FBI, or anyone else you can think of. Find out all you can about a Farooq Aziz. All we know is that he is American and he's down here working between Colombia and Hermosillo."

"I'll get right on it," Bobby said. "Can I call you back on your cell? Or do you want to get back to me?"

"I'll get back to you in a couple of hours. We've got some scouting around to do here." Harry ended the call and motioned Sanchez and Von Karmenn over to his car. He had Miguel ride up front and Von Karmenn in the back. He turned to Sanchez. "I'll bring you back for your car when we're finished. Now, how do I get to Lobo's place?"

Sanchez directed Kincaid back onto Highway 15, the same road that had brought him to Hermosillo. Again, he headed south and drove for several miles.

"Turn left on Libertad, Señor. It is the next intersection," Sanchez directed. They drove through a residential district of modest homes, then right onto Templo Mayor, a road leading toward an industrial park that backed up to the foothills that bordered the southern edge of town. They entered the park and turned onto Calle Linda proceeding east, passing several warehouses.

"It is the third building on the left," Miguel said. "Do not slow down or stop, please." Harry and Pete took note of the building as they passed by, then made a left turn at the next intersection, and another, to see if they could view the rear of the building. It was a very plain looking structure lending no hint as to the business or activities that it housed. There was a loading dock in the rear with a rolling metal garage door that would accommodate one vehicle. There was another single metal door beside it. Those, along with the front entrance, a single glass door, were the only entries or exits in the building.

"Okay, Miguel," Kincaid said, "that's all we need." He backtracked their route and within fifteen minutes was once again pulling into the gravel lot of Café Combate.

Kincaid parked the Honda under the same Acacia trees he had left almost an hour earlier. All three men got out of the car. Kincaid turned to Miguel. "I will call Lopez tomorrow morning as was agreed. We are to meet with Lobo. Would you expect us to meet at the office?"

"No, Señor," answered Sanchez. "It is unlikely. They will probably meet you in some other location. Capitán Lopez thinks that no one in our office knows what he is doing with el Lobo. But everyone does," he smiled. "He will probably suggest La Hacienda. It is a small hotel on avenida de la Huerta, near the university."

"Do you expect to be with him?" Kincaid asked.

"No, Señor," Sanchez answered. "When el Lobo is involved, I am never included."

"Okay, Miguel," said Harry. "You've been helpful."

The Mexican nodded his thanks. Von Karmenn looked over at Sanchez. "You've got one more job to do for me, Miguel," he said.

"Si, Don Pedro," I tell you I help.

"And you have. But this is the most important of all, Miguel." Pete continued to look Sanchez straight in the eyes.

"Si? What is it, mi amigo?"

"Find out where Aziz will be tomorrow night," Pete said.

Again Sanchez nodded. "I think I know already, Don Pedro. Lobo told my Capitán that Aziz has taken up with a whore that Lobo gave to him. She was a gift to Aziz, a token of their friendship. Lobo told my Capitán that Aziz has made her his slave."

"Do you know where he keeps her?" asked Pete.

"Si, Don Pedro. This I also hear on the phone when Lobo talk to my Capitán," he said.

"How would you like to move your family to the United States, Miguel?" Pete asked.

Miguel Sanchez looked at Von Karmenn with eyes wide, "It can happen, Don Pedro? It can happen?"

"Find out where Aziz will be tomorrow night for sure, Miguel. It can happen," he answered.

Sanchez looked over at Kincaid who nodded a 'yes.' He stepped away and got in his dusty Subaru. He started the engine and slowly drove toward the exit of the lot. He rolled down his window when he was near Kincaid and Von Karmenn. "Be careful, mis amigos," he cautioned. "These men are very dangerous."

The two nodded to Sanchez and watched him move out onto the highway and accelerate back into town.

"What's the plan, Harry?" Von Karmenn asked.

"First, let's get out of this heat," he said. "Shall we go back inside the café or have you got a better idea?

Pete checked his watch. "It's lunch time. Let's go back inside for a taco."

"There's no one here, Pete. Do you think the food's okay?" Kincaid asked.

"How bad can it be?" he answered as they stepped back inside.

The square box fan was still doing its best to keep the small room cool. The woman who had been sitting behind the counter came out from the kitchen as the two reached their table. She came back over and asked, "What can I get for you?"

Von Karmenn spoke up, "dos tacos con frijoles y arroz. Y Coca Light." Two tacos with beans and rice.

Kincaid nodded, "lo mismo para mi," he said. The same for me.

She nodded and stepped back into the kitchen.

Kincaid looked over at Pete Von Karmenn. "You know we've got to take these guys out, don't you? All three of them." he said.

"Yeah," he answered. "I don't see any other way around it."

"Why would we want another way around it, Pete?" he asked. "These guys are pond scum. They are flooding our country with drugs, and that's the good part. This connection to Islamic terrorists and the plan to funnel them through our Swiss cheese borders strikes me as a big incentive. You and I can't put an end to it. But we can at least put a crimp in their schedule."

"I agree completely, Kincaid," said Pete. "We've got a sweet opportunity here."

Their conversation was interrupted as the woman stepped up to offer two plates. She set them down, one in front of each of her guests and cautioned, "Muy caliente." She returned momentarily with some utensils and two more Coca Lights.

They suspended talk of their plan while they ate lunch. They were quiet for several minutes, seeming to enjoy the food. It was Kincaid who broke the silence.

"Mind if I ask you a question, Pete?"

"Fire away," he said.

"This is really none of my business and it doesn't have anything to do with the operation, but... I'm curious..."

"You want to know about Carol," he said, anticipating the question.

"Like I said, it's not any of my business."

Pete set his fork down in his plate. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating what he was about to say. He looked his old friend in the eye. "She's been cheating on me, Harry." He paused. "With Hastings. I kind of saw sparks flying between them when we met several times after I helped him form Talon."

"You're sure, I guess?" Harry asked.

"One night I was piddling around in our office at home. We each have a desk with our laptops in there. It was late and she had already gone to bed. I was downloading a huge file to my machine so I fired hers up to look for a flight. She saves all her passwords so she doesn't have to enter them when she goes online. Her laptop booted up to her hotmail homepage and I saw a couple of emails from Hastings."

"Geez..."

"Yeah. Pretty stupid, huh?" he asked. "I read them. They were pretty explicit as to what was going on. So, I forwarded them to myself in case I ever needed them in court."

"Did you confront her with it?" Kincaid asked.

"No. I left the next day to come down here," he answered.

Kincaid watched Pete trying to detect anger, resentment, bitterness. He saw all three. "That sucks, pal. I mean... that really sucks," he said.

"I thought it was odd that Hastings never told me he owns Mesquite. Why would he not tell me that? It's not like I care that he does." Pete paused for Harry to respond.

"I don't know. With Sluggo Decker there, you were sure to find out."

"So, think about it, Harry. I come down here and make this deal to sell a bunch of Hastings' guns which I didn't know were his until Sanchez mentions it in conversation. That night, my motel room gets bombed and to all the world it looks like Pete Von Karmenn is history."

Kincaid had finished eating and was watching Pete, listening closely.

"So, my so called business partner is boinking my wife... I make him a pile of money by closing the deal and someone serves me a Molotov cocktail. What would you think?" Pete asked.

"I see your point," Harry said. "So, she thinks you're dead and thinks Hastings is holding out on her with the insurance money?"

"Who knows?" he answered. "It's hard even thinking that she might have wanted to cash in like that."

"It's bound to be," Harry said. "Have you thought about how this is all gonna shake out? I mean, with you and Carol. You know part of what I'm down here for is to find the murderer of the woman that landed Hastings in jail. When I do, he'll be right back where he was as if nothing ever happened."

"You know, Kincaid, right now we've got a job to do. And unless I'm reading this all wrong, it's not going to be easy. I'm not thinking about anything other than you and me taking care of business."

Kincaid smiled. "It's good to be working with you again, Pete. You're a pro. C'mon, let's get out of here."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Harry Kincaid drove Pete Von Karmenn back to the boarding house that Pete had called home for the weeks following the bombing. Von Karmenn introduced Kincaid as another writer friend and told the owner he needed a room for the night. The old man seemed to think nothing of it and for the cash that was offered in advance, assigned Harry to the room next to Pete's. After settling in, Pete knocked on Harry's door just as Kincaid's cell phone began to vibrate. Kincaid motioned Pete into the room while he answered the call.

"Si, Roberto, what have you got?" asked Harry.

Back at the Nation's Capitol, Bobby Lawson had finished a late afternoon run around the trails of Theodore Roosevelt Island. He had returned to his high rise apartment in Arlington in time to shower and dress for a dinner of pizza and maybe some TV across the river with Annie Wilcox. He had been soaking wet from his shower when he heard from one of his sources at the FBI. What he heard and read seemed serious enough to immediately pass on to Kincaid as Harry had requested earlier.

"Farooq Aziz," answered Bobby. "I just got his FBI profile emailed to me from the Special Agent in Charge of the Detroit Field Office. He's a pretty mean hombre, Harry."

"Oh? How'd you get the profile?"

"I've always been impressed with the efficiency of the FBI guys when they get a request from Jack Tully," Bobby answered.

"You went straight to the top, eh? The Director's Office?" asked Harry.

"Like I said, it seems to speed things along," Bobby replied. "Farooq Aziz... formerly Jimmy Stamps. A very unhappy black man from Detroit. Hard to believe, huh?" Bobby paused, but got no reaction. "He's the son of a woman who worked the assembly line off and on at GM. No mention of a father."

"You're reading that?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, off of his profile. Let's see..." Bobby continued. "He grew up on the streets, with multiple run-ins with the law. Hmmm, burglary, armed robbery, car theft, assault and battery... Doesn't seem he missed any of the check boxes..."

"Yeah. Go on," said Harry.

"Ah, here it is... Incarceration... Looks like he bounced in and out of most all the correctional facilities in the Detroit area. Yeah. Here. He spent three years and three months in the federal pen outside Chicago. That's where he was introduced to Islam. He got paroled two years early. Changed his name to Farooq Aziz back in Detroit soon after he got out."

"So, strike another one up for rehabilitation in our federal prison system," Harry remarked.

"Yeah, right," Bobby went on. "He became active in the Majid al Wahiri mosque in suburban Detroit, but seemed it wasn't radical enough for him. He had a very public altercation with the Imam there. The next thing the Bureau lists is that he left the country, probably for Yemen."

"A world traveler, huh?" Harry asked.

"Hang on a sec..." Bobby said. "Let me read through this... Oh, here. He turned up again in Detroit for a short time, more militant than ever. Next thing it says is that he is believed to be operating somewhere in South or Latin America working with radical cells in that area. His stated goal is to destroy 'the great Satin and bring America to its knees.' How's that for loving the land of your birth?"

"Well, it sure looks like they've got him pegged," Harry said. "We understand he's splitting his time between Colombia and Mexico... buying weapons for his terrorist organization."

"Like I said, pal, a pretty mean hombre," Bobby said.

"Okay, man," Kincaid responded. " I appreciate the info."

"Anything else I can do for you, Harry?" Bobby asked. "I'm running a little late. Gonna take Annie for one of those incredible pizzas at Match Box, then back to her place for some TV watching."

"Oh. Why thank you so much, Roberto," Harry chided. "I do hope that I haven't bitten off too much of your social time."

"Take care of yourself, Kincaid," Bobby chuckled and ended the call.

Harry turned to Pete. "Well, we were right about Aziz. I declare that his usefulness here in this life has expired. I say we assist him in hooking up with all those virgins those boys have waiting for them.

"A logical next step," Von Karmenn remarked. "But I'd like dibs on him since he seems to have been the one who lit up my hotel room."

"Seems reasonable, Pete," Harry said. "Let's take a quick inventory of our resources. What weapons are you packing? Do you have one of Mesquite's MX21s?"

"No," Pete answered. "I've got my Beretta 92F. Force of habit. It's like my American Express card... I don't leave home without it. I've got plenty of ammo for it, but that's all. How about you?"

"I've got an MX21 that Sluggo gave me the other day," he said. "But I wasn't expecting it so I've got my Beretta also. I've also got a couple of small bricks of C-4 I've been carrying around in my overnight bag for months. That might come in handy."

"What the hell are you doing with a plastic explosive in your luggage, man?" Pete chuckled.

Harry could see the humor. He smiled and said, "Honestly I don't remember why I've got it in there. But it's stable; no danger in just carrying it around."

"Well, do you have a detonator?" Pete asked. "It's no good without one."

"Good question," Kincaid said. "Let me look." He walked over to his bed and began digging around in his overnight bag. He began pulling items out and scattering them on the bed. There were several magazines of 9 mm bullets, two or three assorted knives, and a couple of hira-shuriken, also known as 'throwing stars.' Pete recognized a wad of heavy duty plastic cable ties wrapped together in a rubber band. There was some duct tape and several other items that Pete couldn't identify. Digging deeper, he pulled out a small metallic device that was attached to a miniature printed circuit board. "Here we go," he said smiling. "I can program this to blow with a signal from my cell phone."

Pete Von Karmenn looked over and just shook his head. "You're amazing, Kincaid."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Thursday morning dawned over Hermosillo with the promise of being a carbon copy of the day before, and the day before that... and so on. Not much seemed to change from day to day in this town that appeared so benign, so slow paced.

Harry Kincaid held the curtain an inch to the side with one finger and looked outside, a habit with which he began every day no matter where he was. He saw nothing unusual thinking how deceiving looks could be. Who would ever guess at the activities that he and Von Karmenn had uncovered that could lead to such destruction and potential loss of life, all here in this sleepy little town. He took a shower in the community bathroom at the end of the hall. Von Karmenn had assured him that they were the only guests at the boarding house. When he returned to his room, he dressed, wearing the same jeans of the day before with a clean shirt. He heard Pete leave his room and go down to shower.

Kincaid moved restlessly about with nothing to do. He searched through his bag and removed a military novel by W.E.B. Griffin and started to read. He would give it an hour before calling Capitán Juan Luis Lopez to arrange for their meeting with Rafael Carmello, el Lobo.

Twenty minutes had passed when Von Karmenn knocked and came into Harry's room carrying a deck of playing cards. "How about some Gin?" he asked.

"Sure, Pete," Harry answered, "just like old times over in Injun Country?"

"One difference," Pete said. "Let's play 'I win' this time. As I recall you relieved me of several hundred dollars one night in Tora Bora."

"Aw, that was just beginner's luck, Pete. You're a much better player than I am," Harry joked. "Same stakes... a buck a point?"

Pete tossed the cards down on the table and sat. "Deal 'em," he said.

Some time went by while the two guys played their game making idle conversation. It was just after ten o'clock in the morning when Harry stood and reached for his phone. "Time to call el Capitán," he said.

He pulled up the number that he had been given by Sluggo Decker two days before. Von Karmenn gathered up the cards and began to deal a hand of Solitaire while Kincaid made his call. If tensions were high, no casual observer would have guessed it. He hit 'Send' and waited for the connection. Von Karmenn could hear the indistinguishable voice of someone answering Kincaid's call.

"This is Harry Kincaid," he said in his perfect Mexican Spanish. "I'm calling for Capitán Lopez. He's expecting me."

After a very short wait, Lopez came on the line. "Señor Kincaid, I've been expecting you."

"Si, Capitán," Harry said. "I am here to do business. At your convenience, today?"

"Yes, of course. Señor Carmello is looking forward to our discussion. We can meet with you at twelve o'clock. Is that agreeable?"

"Twelve o'clock will be fine, Capitán. Shall I come to your office?" asked Harry.

"Oh, no, Señor Kincaid," Lopez contested. "I have arranged a nice place for us at La Hacienda. It is a pleasant little hotel on avenida de la Huerta, near the university. Room 104. Do you think you can find it?"

"I'm sure I will be able to find it, Capitán," Harry responded. "Twelve o'clock?" he asked.

"Si," Lopez confirmed. "And, Señor Kincaid? Are you prepared to effect shipment of the pistols we seek? Today?" he asked.

"We shall see, Capitán. If a minor request is met, I'm sure you will be pleased with our arrangements." Kincaid was pleased that Lopez seemed anxious. That should make his bargain easier.

"Bueno" he said. "We will see you there at twelve." Kincaid disconnected from the call.

He looked over at Von Karmenn. "Your deal," he said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Pete Von Karmenn was in good spirits. He was up $300 on Harry Kincaid playing Gin on a shaky boarding house table at a shabby little place in Mexico. It had been a good diversion; a good way to pass the time until Kincaid's meeting with a pair of notorious arms merchants who had, in all likelihood, seen their last sunrise.

Just as Pete played the last card in his hand, winning another $25, his cell phone began to vibrate. He glanced down at it. "Sanchez," he said.

"Hola, Miguel," he answered. "Como estas?"

"Bueno, mi amigo," Sanchez said. He was speaking in a low, subdued voice. "I have the information that you wanted."

"Okay. What is it?" Pete asked.

"Señor Aziz is seeing my Capitán and el Lobo this evening for dinner," he said. "They are to meet at a small café called Los Magos Cena. The Dinner Magician. I have learned it is a favorite of Aziz. He will be there at eight o'clock to meet my Capitán."

"Good work, Miguel," said Pete. "Where is this place?"

"It is off of Boulevard Paseo Rio," he said. "On the south side of town. It is behind a bank building... very private."

"Okay, I'll find it."

"Don Pedro?" asked Sanchez.

"Yes?"

"Did you mean what you say?" asked Miguel. His voice was plaintive. "About my family? In America?"

"I did, Miguel" Pete answered. "Let us get our business out of the way and we will talk."

"Oh, gracias, Don Pedro. I can't tell you what it would mean to us. It would be a dream come true," he said.

"I understand, Miguel. We will make it happen for you." Pete ended the call and looked at Kincaid. "We really don't know how lucky we are."

"You got that right, pal," he answered. He stood. "Let me go get this little meeting out of the way. Then we'll work out the details for tonight."

Pete stood too. "Good. I'll scope out this Los Magos Cena for tonight. Meet you back here a little later?"

"Yup." Harry checked the time and thought it would work out just about right for his meeting at La Hacienda. He reached into his overnight bag and retrieved a small satchel that looked like something a businessman might carry documents in. He placed the MX21 that Sluggo had given him into the satchel along with a legal pad and several other random sheets of paper that happened to be in his bag. He put two magazines of 9 mm ammo in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Those won't do you any good in your jeans, ole buddy," Pete said.

Harry looked back at him with a wry grin on his face. "This ain't my first rodeo, Bucko. I'll know where they are if I need them." He smiled broadly and said, "Besides, this is just a sales call."

He moved to the door.

"Hey, Kincaid?" Pete said.

"Yeah?"

"Take care of yourself."

"I will."

"You owe me $325."

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Kincaid located La Hacienda on the street that Lopez had given him. It was a modest looking hotel, single story and constructed out of the same pink adobe that described so much of the architecture in the northern part of Mexico. There was an office on the south end of the single wing. The parking lot wrapped around the building with odd numbers on the front, and even numbers on the back. Kincaid drove slowly around the building and located Room 104. There was a single car in the lot on the back side of the hotel. It was a late model Mercedes and was parked by itself at the back edge of the lot under a stand of Chihuahua white pines that gave shade to it.

There were no lines on the asphalt to indicate spaces so Kincaid parked about three car widths from the door to Room 104. He looked at the clock on the dash of the Honda. It read 12:13. Close enough. He gripped the handle of the satchel and stepped from the car. He looked about the area and moved toward the door. There was a large plate glass window to the room with the curtains pulled half way across it. He noticed a table on the other side of the window and a man seated at it.

He tapped lightly on the door.

It was cracked just inches, then opened wide. "Hola," greeted Capitán Juan Luis Lopez. "Señor Kincaid?"

"Si, Capitán Lopez?" Harry responded offering a hand.

The fat Capitán took his hand. "Please. Come in."

Kincaid stepped into the room and looked over at the man seated at the table. The man stood as Kincaid took a step toward him.

"This is Rafael Carmello, Señor Kincaid," said Lopez. "I believe your General Hastings has mentioned him to you."

"Yes, he has," Kincaid confirmed.

"Please, Señor Kincaid," offered Carmello. "Have a seat with me at the table. We have business to discuss." His eyes never left Kincaid's as he spoke to Lopez, "Juan, please get our guest a drink of water."

"Certainly," replied Lopez. Kincaid quickly determined that there wasn't any doubt as to the pecking order in this meeting.

Lopez walked into a small kitchenette and retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge. He returned and placed it in front of Harry.

Kincaid nodded his thanks to Lopez and directed his discussion to Carmello. "So, Lobo? I believe that is what you are called?"

"Si," he smiled. "It is a name that has followed me most of my life. It is what my friends call me." He studied Kincaid carefully and said, "I will consider you my friend until I am proven otherwise."

"Well, Señor Carmello," Kincaid responded, "that is yet to be determined, isn't it?" Kincaid had made his point. "I am here to discuss our MX21 side arms. What is your requirement, should we decide to sell them to you?"

Carmello looked at Kincaid with a sly grin. "Señor Kincaid. Let us not waste each other's time. I am here to purchase one thousand of your MX21s. We will pay you 200 USD each. It is a very simple arrangement. You will invoice Capitán Lopez, just as before. And you will ship it to his address, just as before."

Kincaid thought he should say, "You know that my government has grave concerns as to who these weapons will serve. They have strict..."

"Señor Kincaid," Lobo said. "We are past such rhetoric, aren't we?"

Kincaid shrugged his shoulders, as if making a concession. "Yes. We are," he answered. "But I have one condition."

Lobo looked over at Lopez and smiled, then back at Kincaid. "And what might that be?"

"I am led to believe that you arranged the killing of Diana Ricci in Oklahoma City."

"A very sad necessity, Señor," Lobo replied. "It seems that your General Hastings wasn't willing to cooperate with us. We must have more of the weapons." Lobo sighed, and said mournfully, "We had to get his attention."

"Well, you did," Kincaid conceded. He paused a moment to get the full attention of Lobo. "Here's the deal, Rafa," he said with a certain swagger, almost a sneer. "We will sell a thousand of our MX21s, billed and shipped to Capitán Lopez, as before. You will turn over to me the man who killed Miss Ricci. This woman was... special to my general. I must deal with him."

"Ah, Kincaid... you joke with me," said Carmello.

Harry did not bat an eye. "No. I do not joke with you. Is he so important to you that you will not give him up for the guns?" Kincaid's eyes were locked with Lobo's. He knew that the first man to blink would lose.

"We can send another man to visit Mrs. Hastings, you know," said Lobo. He was becoming nervous. He broke the stare with Kincaid.

Harry knew he had won. "You will not be that foolish, Rafa. We can deal with anyone you might send. But, why? All you have to do is turn over your man to me. He doesn't have to know. Just have him meet with me."

"You ask too much, Señor Kincaid," he said.

Without threatening, Harry reached into the satchel that he had placed on the table. With his forefinger and thumb he gingerly removed the MX21. He laid it on the table in front of Carmello.

"One thousand of these are yours. Just turn over the killer," Kincaid said.

There was a long pause as Carmello gazed at the pistol on the table.

"Or, I walk," added Kincaid.

A full minute of silence.

Carmello looked up at Kincaid. "His name is Carlos Garcia-Mendoza. He is called el Hacha, the ax."

"And where can I find him?" The tenor of Kincaid's voice conveyed his seriousness.

Carmello replied, "He lives in Nogales... in Arizona."

"I want you to arrange a meeting," Kincaid said. "Call him and tell him that I have a job for him. Tell him I like his work. I want him to deal with a woman who has become a problem." Lobo listened carefully. Kincaid continued. "Tell him I will meet him tomorrow morning in Nogales and pay him $10,000 in cash."

"When can you ship the guns?" Lobo asked.

"We ship the guns after I meet with el Hacha," Kincaid said with a wry smile. "and I arrive safely back in Oklahoma. And, of course, after your payment has arrived in our bank, as before."

"Very well," Lobo replied.

Lopez had been watching the exchange with eyes as wide as saucers. He let out an audible sigh of relief at Lobo's last words.

Kincaid leaned back in his chair and continued to look at Carmello. "Call him now."

Carmello pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He looked questioningly back at Kincaid.

"There is a McDonalds on Mariposa Road on the east side of Interstate 19 north of Nogales," said Kincaid. "I stopped there yesterday. Tell him to meet me there at ten o'clock in the morning."

Kincaid and Lopez sat quietly as Carmello made the call. He listened closely to every word to determine if there were any verbal signals being given and decided there wasn't. Besides, this was all about the guns. He didn't expect Carmello to betray him with el Hacha.

When Carmello ended the call, he said to Kincaid. "It is done. Hacha will meet you where you say. He will be driving a white van. He will be alone."

Kincaid smiled and stood up. "Well, gentlemen, I believe this concludes our business." He leaned over and shook the hand of Capitán Juan Luis Lopez. "Señor Capitán...," then shaking the hand of Carmello, he said, "A pleasure, Rafa."

Lopez smiled broadly and nodded 'yes' in perpetual motion. Carmello smirked and said, "We will be awaiting the shipment, Señor Kincaid. And, do not call me Rafa."

Harry nodded, gave Lobo a condescending wink, then turned and exited the room. He got back into the rented Honda and drove around the building and out of the parking lot.

Kincaid picked up his cell phone and hit the speed dial number for Bobby Lawson.

After two rings Bobby answered. "Hola, Kincaid. How goes your Mexican vacation?"

Harry chuckled and said, "Almost over. Look, I need for you to pick me up in the Citation tomorrow morning at eleven o'clock in Tucson. We'll have Pete Von Karmenn and one other passenger we'll need to drop off in Oklahoma City."

"Who is the other passenger?" Bobby asked.

"His name is Carlos Garcia-Mendoza, Bobby. He's the guy that murdered Diana Ricci in Oklahoma City."

"And you've got him with you now?"

"Well, not quite yet," Harry answered. "But I will have by the time we meet up in Tucson. And, by the way, Bobby, I guess it wouldn't hurt to let Jack Tully know we are bringing him in. This guy is tied in with the Sinaloa Cartel. And that's always of interest to the FBI."

CHAPTER FORTY

The night was warm and dry when Harry Kincaid and Pete Von Karmenn threw their belongings in the trunk of the rented Honda and pulled away from the boarding house. It was seventeen minutes after eight o'clock according to the clock on the dash. Harry gave the car keys to Pete who drove through the streets of Hermosillo retracing a route he had taken earlier in the day.

"How have you been getting around while you've been down here?" Kincaid asked.

"Oh, lots of ways. Walk, hitchhike, taxi, Sanchez, sometimes," he answered. "There's always a way."

"How'd you check out this place this afternoon?"

"I took a cab down to Paseo Rio, the river walk, then got out and hoofed it. I've got a plan for our evening activities," said Pete.

"I'm sure you do," Kincaid grinned.

Pete Von Karmenn told Harry what he had in mind. After a few questions Kincaid agreed with Von Karmenn's plan.

As they approached the restaurant Kincaid looked over the cars in the lot. He spotted the Mercedes that he'd seen earlier in the day at La Hacienda. Just as earlier, it was off by itself near a stand of trees. The lot was moderately full as the restaurant seemed reasonably busy on this Thursday night. Von Karmenn parked at the opposite side of the lot from the Mercedes. He reached for his Beretta and his silencer. He stepped out of the Honda and shoved the silencer into the front pocket of his jeans. He placed the pistol in the back of his waistband and covered it with the leather vest that he was wearing over a denim shirt.

"Okay," he said to Kincaid. "I'm going in. None of them know me. Remember, Aziz is mine. You can have el Capitán and Carmello when they come out. Sanchez said they would be together and Aziz always stays later with his woman."

Kincaid got out of the car on the passenger's side and moved to the trunk. He took the keys from Pete. "Let's hope he's right. I don't want to go chasing these guys all over Mexico tonight. We've got a date with the Ax Man in the morning."

Von Karmenn walked over to the door of the restaurant and went inside. He stepped to the left, avoiding the hostess and walked into the bar as he had planned earlier in the day. He sat at a high top next to a half wall that overlooked the main dining room. There, across the room he spotted three men and a woman. He immediately recognized Capitán Lopez, and assumed the other Mexican was el Lobo. The black man at the table could only be Aziz and the woman, his companion. From the looks of their table, they were almost through with their meal.

An attractive waitress approached Pete's table. "Something to drink, Señor?" she asked.

He smiled at her, "Una cerveza, por favor," he said. A beer. She gave him a flirtatious smile and nodded.

Pete watched his prey. He could not hear their conversation but believed he could discern what was going on. Their waiter approached and asked about their meal and they all nodded. He left and returned a moment later with a smaller menu which he handed to each of the guests.

Pete's beer arrived, placed in front of him by the waitress who introduced herself as 'Rosa.' It seemed like she wanted to chat. Pete returned her attention, smiling as if he was pleased to be the object of her interest. Rosa lingered a bit at his table and made small talk. Pete continued watching the four guests over Rosa's shoulder.

Kincaid looked around the lot and saw no one moving about. In fact, he saw no one at all. He took several items from his overnight bag and approached the Mercedes. He checked the doors and found them all locked. He looked closer, checking hood latches and trunk latches before deciding what he would do.

A noise coming from the street startled him. He turned and saw an old man on the road behind him riding by on a bicycle. He stood still on the opposite side of the car and watched the man pass him by. When the man was out of sight, Kincaid continued with his task.

The waiter directed another server to remove the dishes from his guests' table. He returned a moment later and placed an elegant dish of flan in front of the woman, then another in front of Lopez. Lobo and Aziz took a snifter of what could have been Brandy.

Pete continued to watch. Rosa returned and asked if he would like another beer and Pete declined. He hadn't taken any from the first one, but the lighting was low enough that Rosa could not see it. She stayed a bit longer than necessary and chatted some more. His attention, however, was on the four guests whose dinner was winding down. Pete was half listening to Rosa and watching the table closely. Another couple entered the bar and took a high top across the room. Rosa excused herself to go wait on them.

The waiter approached the table again and handed the dinner check in a plastic wallet to Capitán Lopez. He removed a wad of bills from his pocket and placed them in the wallet. When the waiter returned he took the money and left the table.

Lopez stood, stepped away from the table and walked purposefully toward the Men's Room. Lobo continued to chat with Aziz. Lopez returned momentarily and made no attempt to sit back down. Rafael Carmello stood up. He reached over and shook the hand of Farooq Aziz. El Lobo and Lopez turned to leave. Aziz motioned for the waiter to come back over and whispered something in his ear when the waiter leaned down. It seemed that Sanchez had gotten it right.

Harry Kincaid was half sitting, half lying in the front seat of the Honda when he saw Carmello and Lopez emerge from the restaurant. He watched them as they walked across the parking lot toward the Mercedes. Carmello reached into his pocket and removed the keys. He placed a key into his door on the driver side and turned it. He opened the door and pushed a button allowing Lopez to enter on the other side. They closed their doors. Carmello leaned forward and placed the key in the ignition. He turned the key and the Mercedes came to life. Carmello backed out of the parking space, then moved forward, out of the lot and up onto Boulevard Paseo Rio. He accelerated heading north, back toward the center of Hermosillo.

Pete was watching intently as Aziz and the woman were served another Brandy. They seemed to engage in a bit of foreplay, whispering, and leaning closer to each other. Pete noticed that the woman had placed her left hand below the table and was massaging the crotch of Aziz. He was smiling. And with his right hand, he was returning the favor.

Pete Von Karmenn almost laughed out loud when the explosion that shook the building completely ruined the mood for Farooq Aziz and his lady friend. Their expressions, he would later say, were priceless.

Von Karmenn reached for his Beretta. He stood and moved purposefully toward the table, and Aziz. Aziz noticed Pete immediately and jumped from the table, leaving the woman shocked, screaming, and sitting there. Pete could not take a shot as the distance between them was populated with other shocked and surprised dinner guests who were also rising from their tables. Aziz made a dash toward the restrooms and the back exit that was down the hall just past them. Pete heard the door slam when Aziz passed through hit, flinging it shut behind him.

Pete dashed through the door into the darkened alleyway. He was standing alone ten feet outside the building searching for Aziz. There was no one in sight. With a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, Pete slowly turned around and saw the barrel of the MX21, no more than seven feet away. It was pointed directly at his eyes with the smiling face of Farooq Aziz behind it.

"Allahu Akbar," Aziz declared. And he pulled the trigger.

Von Karmenn heard the 'click,' and nothing happened. He didn't hesitate. He raised the Beretta and placed one round on the bridge of Aziz's nose. Blood, bone and gray matter splashed against the back wall of Los Magos Cena.

Von Karmenn moved quickly. He leaned down and took the MX21 from the dead hand of Farooq Aziz. He looked around the vacant alley and walked briskly around the corner of the building, up through the parking lot and got into the dusty rented Honda beside Harry Kincaid.

"Good dinner, Pete?" Harry calmly asked as he engaged the Honda in gear and pulled up onto Boulevard Paseo Rio and turned south.

"Truly memorable, Kincaid," Pete answered. "I'll tell you about it when I quit shaking." Then, "Hey, you're going the wrong way. Turn around."

"Naw, there's some kind of wreck or something just up the street. I'm going to go around the block to avoid the tie-up."

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

It was almost midnight when Kincaid and Von Karmenn arrived in Nuevo Nogales on the south side of Nogales, Mexico. He found a convenience store that was open and pulled in. He and Pete walked inside and bought a six-pack of beer and a bag full of junk food. They got a bag of ice and Kincaid covered the beer inside the cooler that he had purchased when he left Tucson two days earlier. They left the convenience store and drove across the street into the parking lot of the Fiesta Inn, the same hotel where Harry had stayed on his way to Hermosillo. He looked into the office and remembered waking up the night clerk. It appeared that this would be an encore.

"I stayed here the other night," Harry said. "I figure we'll get a good night's sleep, get some breakfast and cross over in the morning. We can be right on time to meet the Ax Man at ten." Just wait here and I'll be right back."

Kincaid went into the office and emerged minutes later with two room keys. He got back in the Honda and drove around the lot until he found their rooms on the back side of the building. There were only several other cars parked outside rooms and few lights were on.

Harry handed one key to Pete. He popped the trunk to the Honda and they both retrieved their bags. Von Karmenn unlocked one room and shoved the door open. Kincaid grabbed the ice chest and groceries and moved into the room next door.

"Come on over for a brewsky after you throw your bag down," he said to Pete. "The door's open."

Minutes later, Pete pushed through the door into Harry's room. Kincaid was leaning back on two legs of one of the chairs that had been placed at the round table in front of the window. He had a Cerveza on the table and a bag of pork skins that had been ripped open. The ice chest was on the floor within easy reach. Kincaid's mouth was stuffed with pork skins and he was munching loudly.

Pete looked over at Kincaid and gave him a weak grin. "What?" asked Harry. "I didn't get the five star dinner you had tonight, man. I was sitting outside with the crickets."

"I wish I had eaten," Pete said. "But I didn't. It might have been my last supper."

Kincaid was puzzled. "What are you talking about?" He leaned down and pulled a beer from the ice chest. He twisted off the cap, set it on the table and slid it over for Pete.

"I did a bone-headed thing tonight, Harry. I'm damn lucky to be here," Pete said. He sat down in the other chair and set the MX21 on the table beside the pork skins. "This was Aziz's." He looked down at the floor, shook his head, and repeated, "Damn lucky."

"Okay, I'll ask again," said Harry. "What are you talking about?"

Pete looked over at Harry. "In that restaurant tonight, I was watching our guys from the bar. Just sitting quietly out of the way where I wasn't noticeable. I saw Lobo and Lopez leave. Aziz hung around with his girlfriend just like Sanchez said he would." Pete paused a moment as if he needed to rest from the story. Kincaid had stopped munching the pork skins and was listening intently. Pete took a pull from his beer.

"And...?" Harry prodded.

"When the car blew, Aziz saw me coming for him. He jumped up and beat feet out the back door. There were a bunch of civilians in the way so I didn't have a shot." He paused and took another pull from his beer. Kincaid stuffed a handful of pork skins in his mouth and resumed his chewing. "I went after him and saw him bust through the back door. I chased him and ran right through the same door. As soon as my feet hit the pavement outside, I knew I'd fucked up." Pete looked over at Harry who, again, had stopped munching. "He was behind me Harry. Just a few feet away. He was smiling at me. He said quite clearly, 'Allahu Akbar,' then I heard the 'click' of his gun... but nothing happened."

"Sheeeeuut," remarked Harry.

"I was able to pop him with the Beretta," Pete said. "Go figure. By all rights, I shouldn't be sitting here."

Harry leaned forward allowing the chair to come back down on all four legs. He was looking into Pete's eyes with sincerity. "Maybe so, Pete," he said. "But you are. You know there's not a man in our line of work who hasn't had a nice stroke of luck when it came in handy."

"Yeah, but...,"

"No 'yeah buts,'" Harry said. "It happens." He reached for the MX21 that was on the table between them. "Let's take a look at this thing."

Harry broke down the weapon into pieces just as he had seen Sluggo Decker do in Stillwater. With the pieces spread out on the table he picked up the firing mechanism. He held it up to the light that hung down over the table. Looking at it closely he remarked, "So much for ceramic that is hard as steel." He looked over at Pete. "The firing pin is broken off."

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Friday morning broke over northern Mexico with high wispy clouds that showed a slight tinge of red from the morning sun that was lazily climbing from the eastern horizon. When Harry Kincaid emerged from his motel room he guessed it to be over eighty degrees. Von Karmenn heard Kincaid's door and opened his own.

"Going to be another scorcher, Pedro," Kincaid remarked.

"Yup," Pete agreed. "With any luck at all though, we'll be back in God's country by sundown, and considerably cooler weather."

"Luck?" Harry grinned. "Is that you? Asking for more luck?"

Pete chuckled. "Yeah. I guess I forgot about the double ration of it I got last night, huh?"

"Just yankin' your chain, Pete," Kincaid said. "What say we locate us a place to scarf down a breakfast burrito? Sound good?"

"You betcha, Amigo. I'm hungry enough to chow down on some road kill if we don't get to an eatin' place first."

Kincaid walked around to the back of the Honda and popped the trunk. Pete followed him with his bag and placed it inside. He stood by looking around the parking lot while Harry went back into his room to retrieve his gear. He emerged with the ice chest in one hand and his overnight bag in the other.

They pulled out of the Fiesta Inn and back on to the highway heading north. Less than a mile up the road, Kincaid spied a diner that sat near the entryway to the industrial park that he had noted on his way south. There were a fair number of cars in the dusty gravel lot out front indicating the food was passable. Kincaid pulled in looking for some shade in which to park the Honda. Seeing none, he opted for a place close to the door.

The two Americans pushed through the glass door ringing a bell that was attached to the handle on the other side. There was a counter full of Mexicans in a wide range of dress. Some appeared to be laborers, others perhaps mid-level businessmen. None of them seemed in a hurry and none of them seemed to take note of the two who had just entered. Kincaid always took it as a good sign when no one seemed to notice him. And that was certainly the case here. They stepped into the room and took a booth that overlooked the parking lot and the highway that was now bustling with what would pass for rush hour in Nogales, Mexico.

After they were seated, they looked back towards the cash register and watched as a woman, assumed to be their waitress squeezed from behind the counter and came walking their way. She was a middle aged woman dressed in a colorful skirt that resembled a serape and a white cotton blouse. She was wearing a string of beads around her neck that looked like pieces of hard candy strung together.

As she approached from a distance Kincaid remarked, "Damn, Pete. There's enough fabric covering that woman to make sleeping bags for a whole 'A Team.'"

Pete broke into a laugh, "Kincaid, you do have a way with words."

"Buenos días, chicos," she said. Good morning, guys. "What can I get you to eat?"

"Hola, mi amor," answered Kincaid. "Bring me your favorite breakfast," he said. "And, plenty of it. We are two hungry boys."

"Yes," Von Karmenn agreed. "I'll have the same."

She smiled at Kincaid's calling her 'sweetheart,' and said. "Si. Dos especialidades." She turned and squeezed back behind the counter and into the kitchen.

Von Karmenn appeared to sink into a pensive mood. Kincaid had noticed that he was a bit subdued when he first emerged from his room just before leaving the Fiesta Inn. Harry's little stabs at humor were aimed at bucking Pete up, but their effects had been short lived. Harry watched Pete absentmindedly spinning a small bottle of hot sauce on the table with his fingers.

"You look a million miles away, Pedro," Kincaid remarked. "You still bothered by the broken firing pin from last night?"

Pete returned from his reverie. "Naw, I've gotten past that," he answered. He stared down at the table for a moment, then he looked up at Harry. "What the hell am I going to do about Carol?" he asked. He was speaking more to himself than his friend. He knew that Harry couldn't answer for him.

"I guess that all depends on what you want to do, Pete," Kincaid said. "If you are certain that she had a little thing going on, you are going to have to decide whether or not you can get past it."

"We were high school sweethearts, Harry," he said. "I would have never believed she'd cheat on me."

"How long have you been married?" Harry asked.

"Almost eighteen years, now," Pete said.

"Have you ever suspected this sort of thing from her before?"

"Never," Pete said. "Never." He once again was looking down at the table and playing with the hot sauce.

"Let me ask you this question," Harry said. He paused for a moment. "Have you ever cheated on her?"

Pete looked up immediately, searching Harry's eyes for some obscure purpose in the question. He was met simply with Harry's curiosity. "Well?" Harry asked.

Pete squirmed a bit in his seat. "Uh..."

"Hey, look, Pete," Harry said. "You don't have to answer. I mean, hell, I know what it's like for guys like you and me. We bounce all over the world... in and out of different places. And, yeah... a man's got needs, right?"

"Well, uh..., yeah, I suppose," said Pete, now watching Harry. "I certainly never, you know, got attached to anyone else. I've always loved Carol. Just Carol."

"You know, Pete. I'm single because I need to be single," Harry said. "I know how I am. Right now I'm involved with a real nice gal who works at the Department of Agriculture. Her name's Penny and we have great times together." Kincaid could see that Pete was listening carefully. "I'm pretty sure that Penny would marry me this afternoon if I asked her and could get there in time. But, like I said, I know me."

Von Karmenn nodded his head, following what Harry was saying.

"It's about trust, Harry. And... honor," said Pete.

"You're absolutely right," Harry agreed. "But it's got to run both ways, doesn't it? I know a whole lot of guys who seem to live by a double standard: 'It's okay for me; but it ain't okay for her.' You know them, too."

"Yeah. you're right," Pete agreed. "I just never thought Carol and I would be in this situation."

"And let's not forget, Pete," Harry said. "At this very moment, Carol still thinks you are dead."

"I know. That's another problem," Pete acknowledged.

"Why don't we take this one step at a time," Harry suggested. "Let me give her a call. I'm not sure what would happen if you called her after almost two months with her thinking you're dead."

Pete was nodding in agreement. "Makes sense."

"Let me get her prepared. Then you give her a call before we leave for Oklahoma," Harry said. "You'll be back tonight and can just take it one step at a time."

"Yeah," Pete agreed. "Let's do that."

"I'll call her when we get out of here," Harry said. "We've got plenty of time."

Harry and Pete looked up as their waitress approached carrying two very large plates. She set one down in front of each of them. There was a pile of food on each plate that was covered with salsa and cheese. It looked to be enough to feed everyone in the restaurant.

The waitress gave the guys a big smile, one that displayed the front tooth that she was missing. She placed the check on the table, looked at Harry and said, "Enjoy, my love."

Kincaid took the check to the register and paid the bill as Pete walked outside. No one took any notice of the two men who appeared to by just two more Mexicans starting their day. They got back into the Honda. Harry backed out of the parking place and pulled over to one side of the lot allowing the air conditioning to cool the car. He took out his cell phone, pulled up Carol Von Karmenn's number and initiated the call. Pete sat quietly listening.

Harry acknowledged her answering with a nod of his head and said, "Carol, it's Harry Kincaid."

Pete could hear the garbled sound of his wife's voice bleeding through Kincaid's earpiece.

"Yes," Kincaid said. Then, "Uh, Carol, I have some news for you." He paused a moment. "Are you sitting down?" Again a slight pause. "Pete is alive... Yes, Carol, I'm sure. Yes. It has definitely been confirmed..." Pete could hear the excitement coming from his wife through the phone. "I don't know all the details, but you can expect to hear from Pete later today." Harry looked over at Pete. It was clear that Pete was pleased with Carol's reaction. "Yes, Carol... Yes, today... Okay... yes... okay. Carol, I need to run, now. Yes, I'm very happy for you, too... Okay, bye now."

Harry looked over at Pete. He noticed Pete's eyes seemed a bit moist. Harry made a fist and gave Pete's leg a light punch. "Everything will work out, Pete."

Pete nodded, not allowing his voice to betray his feelings. He just nodded.

"Now," Kincaid said, "let's go find the Ax Man."

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Kincaid pulled off of Interstate 19 at the Maricopa Road exit at 9:17 according to the clock on the dash of the Honda. He turned right, drove the tenth of a mile and pulled into the parking lot of the McDonald's. He found a vacant space in the corner of the lot behind the restaurant and backed into it so that he was facing any cars that might drive in and around toward the rear of the building.

"Give me a hand here, Pete," Kincaid said exiting the car. Pete got out on his side and met Harry at the trunk. Kincaid turned the key and the lid popped open. "Put your bag and the ice chest on the back seat," he said to Pete. "We need to make room for our guest."

Von Karmenn grabbed the ice chest and placed it in the back seat, then he picked up his bag and tossed it in onto the floor. Kincaid reached into his own bag, searched around and removed the duct tape and cable ties. He placed them over to the side of the trunk behind the left tail light. He removed the satchel that he had taken to his meeting with Lopez and Carmello. He checked to make sure there was nothing of danger in it. He then removed the overnight bag that contained everything else and shoved it into the back seat on the driver's side. All that remained in the trunk was the tape, cable ties and the satchel, full of papers that lay in the middle of the trunk. He lowered the lid of the trunk without latching it.

Kincaid moved back around to the driver's door and got in. Von Karmenn followed suit, getting in on the other side. "Now. We wait," he said.

But they didn't have to wait long. At ten minutes to ten Kincaid watched as a white panel van pulled into the McDonald's lot off of Maricopa Road. There was one man driving... or, was it a boy? Kincaid squinted to get a better look at the driver. The van continued slowly into the lot with the driver looking from side to side, searching. Kincaid got out of the Honda and stood beside it, watching the driver of the van. Von Karmenn got out as well. Kincaid seemed to draw the driver's attention as he stopped looking about and focused on Harry. But the van began the shallow turn to continue around the building.

Kincaid nodded toward the driver of the van, "Hacha," he said.

The driver raised a hand acknowledging Kincaid. He backed up enough to make a turn and pull into the space beside the Honda. Kincaid and Von Karmenn walked around to the driver's side of the van just as the driver jumped down from his seat. He was a small man, no taller than five and a half feet, but not young. He had the worn skin of a man that had spent many of his years in the sun. Kincaid guessed him to be about forty. He was wiry. He could have easily been a construction worker, one who worked with his hands and lifted heavy objects all day.

"I am Kincaid," he said in Spanish. "Lobo called you." The man looked at Von Karmenn. "He is with me," said Kincaid.

"Lobo says you have work for me," said Hacha.

"You took care of the woman in Oklahoma?" asked Kincaid.

Hacha grew wary. "Lobo told you?" he asked.

"Si. I admire your work," said Kincaid. "You used an ax?" he asked.

"A machete," he said. "It was an easy job."

"No," Kincaid said, shaking his head. "Lobo said you used an ax. Your name... el Hacha."

Kincaid knew that he wasn't dealing with a Rhodes Scholar, but what Hacha did next truly surprised him. Hacha stepped back to the driver's door of his van. He reached inside between the two front seats and, without lifting it outside of the van into public view, he held up a blood stained machete.

"Machete," said el Hacha.

Von Karmenn could not contain himself. He snickered. Then recovering quickly, he said to Kincaid, "See? I told you it wasn't an ax. A machete," he said acting like he had won an argument.

Hacha watched the two with some degree of amusement.

Kincaid smiled at el Hacha's blatant admission to the murder, even providing the murder weapon. "I pay $10,000 for you to kill another woman. She is in Phoenix."

Hacha smiled. "When you want her dead?"

"Tomorrow," Kincaid answered.

"How you pay me?" Hacha asked.

"I pay you $5,000 now... and $5,000 on Sunday, after she's dead," said Kincaid. "Come. See," he said and began leading Hacha around to the Honda. "I show you the money."

Hacha followed Harry around the front of his van with Pete behind Hacha. Harry raised the lid of the Honda's trunk and pointed inside. "There," he said. "In that bag."

Hacha leaned over to look in the trunk. The heel of Kincaid's right hand came down on the back of Hacha's neck with the force of a sledge hammer. The Mexican fell limp, his torso and head pitching forward into the trunk. His legs were like wet noodles as he began to slide backward to the ground. Von Karmenn stepped up and caught the roll of duct tape Kincaid tossed to him. He pulled a strip from the roll and quickly wrapped it around Hacha's mouth. He wrapped it three times around his head, covering his ears, and across his mouth. At the same time, Kincaid pulled three cable ties from the bundle held by the rubber band. He put two in his mouth, quickly crossed Hacha's wrists behind his back and secured them with the first tie. He then lifted Hacha into the trunk of the Honda. He pulled another tie from his mouth and bound Hacha's feet together at the ankles. He looped the third tie through the one holding Hacha's wrists and the one around his ankles. He pulled the last tie tight. Hacha, still out cold, was hog tied in the trunk of the Honda.

Kincaid slammed the trunk closed. He looked over at Pete and said, "Hop up there in our little buddy's van, Major Von Karmenn and follow me to the Tucson airport." He winked at Pete and said, "You'll have time to give Carol a call."

Carlos Garcia-Mendoza was in and out of the McDonald's lot in less time than it would take to buy a Happy Meal. Looking around as they left, Harry Kincaid saw no one who took notice of what had happened. In less than two minutes, he and Von Karmenn were back on Interstate 19, forty minutes from Tucson International Airport where Bobby Lawson sat waiting.

The Citation was fueled and waiting to depart. As with all private aviation terminals, clients are permitted to drive their vehicles onto the ramp and load their belongings into their aircraft. With the aircraft shielding their activities from the terminal, Kincaid and Lawson removed el Hacha from the trunk of the Honda and carried him the few steps across the tarmac and onto the aircraft. Hacha was conscious but too dumbfounded at what was going on to put up a fight. Once onboard, Kincaid used two more cable ties to secure Hacha to the base of one of the seats in the passenger cabin.

Von Karmenn left the van in the parking area of the private aircraft terminal. He threw the keys on the floor under the brake pedal. He then used an old rag that was lying behind the passenger's seat and put the machete in a plastic grocery bag that he also found in the van. He put the bag under his arm and strolled out onto the ramp and climbed into the aircraft. As soon as Pete was inside and had pulled the door closed and secured it, Bobby Lawson was rolling, taxiing to the end of the active runway. Four minutes later the Citation was airborne. Next stop, Will Rogers World Airport, Oklahoma City.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Once Bobby had leveled off at cruising altitude, Harry took the aircraft's radio telephone from its cradle in the main cabin. He looked through his own cell phone and found the number he was looking for and punched it into aircraft's device. Within seconds his call was answered.

"Ms. Stillwell's office, this is Jeanine. May I help you?"

"Yes, please. This is Harry Kincaid calling for Ms. Stillwell. Is she in?" he asked.

"One moment please, sir. I think she just stepped away but let me see if I can locate her for you," was the reply.

Jeanine Spence was an excellent administrative assistant, thought Harry. She always allowed for dealing with a call that her boss didn't want to take.

"Harry?" Sally was on the phone in seconds. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Sally," he answered. "How is your day going so far?"

"Well, that all depends," she mused. "Do you have any news for me?"

Harry could picture Sally at her desk in the office he had visited a few days ago. Was it only a few days ago? So much had happened since then.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do," Harry said with a grin. He was about to make her day. "I need your help, too."

"Okay," she said. "What's up?"

"First, I need for you to get in touch with the U. S. Marshall's Office in Tucson. There is a cargo van parked in the lot at the private terminal at the airport. It's about a 2004 Chevy with Arizona plates, all white with no markings. They will need to confiscate it and take into impound. The keys are on the floorboard on the driver's side."

"A van? Tucson?" she asked. "Reason?"

"Well, we've got its owner and he won't be coming back to pick it up," Kincaid said. "One Carlos Garcia-Mendoza. He's known as el Hacha. That means 'the ax' in Spanish. He's the murderer of Diana Ricci."

There was a pronounced silenced on the other end of the phone.

"Sally?"

"Yes, I'm here, Harry. Please, run that by me again," she said.

"Bobby and I are in the air...on our way to Will Rogers now," he explained. "ETA about two-thirty this afternoon. We have Garcia-Mendoza in custody."

"Harry, how... uh...," Sally was amazed.

"I need for you to contact your local police and the FBI. This thing has gone across state lines now and they'll want to be involved. Please have them meet us at the airport to take this guy off our hands."

"But... are we sure it's him, the murderer, I mean," she asked.

"I'll explain it when we get there."

"But, proof, Harry," she insisted. "Do we have any proof?"

"Well," he said, "you're the lawyer. But we've got a bloody machete that we captured along with our boy here and it ought to have the victim's DNA, along with is fingerprints all over it. I'm sure that the lab guys can find the same on the floor of his van if you need to tie it closer to him."

"That's... uh... well," she responded, "pretty remarkable." She thought for a minute. "Harry, uh, I just need to ask... uh, under whose authority did you apprehend this guy?"

"Well, if you need a name, you can probably get by with Jack Tully," he answered.

"Tully? As in the Director of the FBI?," she asked.

"Yeah. Him," Harry said.

"I'll meet you at the airport," Sally said. "I can't wait to hear the rest of this story."

Harry ended the call. He looked down at el Hacha who was lying uncomfortably on the floor of the jet, still restrained by the heavy plastic cable ties. The Mexican began to squirm a bit, attempting to redistribute his weight.

"Sorry about the accommodations, Hacha," Harry said to the man. "But hey, you're not paying for the ride anyway."

The Citation Mustang piloted by Bobby Lawson touched down at Will Rogers World Airport and taxied to the general aviation terminal on the west side of the field. Waiting on the ramp was a black SUV, two cruisers from the Oklahoma City Police, and a transport vehicle with Oklahoma City Sheriff's Department markings. There were assorted men dressed in a variety of suits and uniforms.

Sally Stillwell and Russell Byars were standing near the door to the terminal, joined by another man and woman.

Harry Kincaid and Pete Von Karmenn stepped from the small jet while Bobby Lawson shut down the engines and went about the routine chores that accompanied an arrival after flight. Harry looked for and motioned for Sally when saw her. She came forward with Russell Byars and the other man and woman in tow. Russell signaled for one from the Sheriff's Department to accompany them.

Harry greeted Sally then introduced her to Pete. She then took charge and introduced her law partner, Russell Byars, then Nora Quinn and Nora's boss, Toby Gannon, the District Attorney. The other group of law enforcement officials began to work their way toward the jet.

After the pleasantries, Kincaid said, "If you folks will excuse me, I will step inside and get our guest." Von Karmenn remained on the tarmac.

Harry stepped back into the jet and pulled a pair of wire snips from a small tool kit near the first aid kit kept by the door. He approached el Hacha and leaned down to clip the cable ties. He spoke to the Mexican warning him not to make any sudden movements. He first clipped the ties holding Hacha to the seat. Then he clipped the one that bound his ankles to his wrists. Last, he clipped the tie holding his ankles. By this time, Bobby Lawson had stepped out of the cockpit and assisted Harry in lifting el Hacha to a standing position.

"Are you okay, Hacha?" asked Harry in a very cordial tone.

"Si. Okay," he answered.

"Well, welcome back to Oklahoma," he said. "Now come on outside."

He led Hacha down the stairs and into the waiting custody of the Oklahoma City Sheriff's deputies who were there to greet him. Instinctively, Sally Stilwell and Nora Quinn stepped back several paces when they saw this diminutive little Mexican step out. The group watched as the deputies escorted Hacha over to their transport and placed him inside. Once securely inside, the deputies got into the vehicle and pulled off of the tarmac. They were followed by the other law enforcement officials, forming a convoy to accompany their newest guest to the Oklahoma City Jail.

As the vehicles pulled off the airport property, Nora said to Sally, "You mentioned something about the murder weapon?"

"Ah, yes," Harry said. Pete Von Karmenn stepped back onto the jet and retrieved the plastic grocery bag containing the machete.

"Now y'all be real careful with this," Pete chided, "That little fella is real proud of it."

The District Attorney ignored Pete's wisecrack and reached over and took the weapon from Von Karmenn, politely saving Nora Quinn from having to deal with it.

Another man in a suit came forward and offered his hand to Harry Kincaid. "I'm Special Agent Paul LeGarde, FBI, Mr. Kincaid," he said. "Director Tully's compliments on your actions here."

"Thanks, Agent LeGarde. "I'm thinking these folks have all they need here to convict this guy," Harry said, indicating Gannon and Ms. Quinn.

"And," interjected Sally, "to free General Hastings."

"Yes, I think so," said Nora.

Toby Gannon reached over offering his hand to Kincaid, then to Von Karmenn. "A job well done, gentlemen," he said. "I'm sure that we'll have no problems with this case as soon as all the lab evidence checks out." Then he said, "Shall we meet back at our office, Sally? Perhaps we can get in touch with the presiding judge and gain the general's release."

"I will meet you at your office," said Sally.

Nora Quinn and her boss turned and walked briskly to the parking lot.

Sally turned back to Harry Kincaid. Bobby Lawson had stepped down out of the jet and joined them. "I'd be honored if you guys would let me buy you a steak at the Cattlemen's' Club this evening. There might even be an adult beverage in it for you."

Harry looked over at Bobby with an obvious 'want to?' look. "Suits me, said Bobby."

"You're on," Harry said. "Time?"

"Well, why don't you ride into town with me?" she asked. "I'll drop you at a hotel and you can meet Tom and me at the Club around six o'clock. Surely you guys won't be flying back to D.C. tonight."

"No," answered Harry, "not tonight. In fact, I want to chat with Hastings and Sluggo one more time. Can you arrange that for us, Sally?"

"I'm sure I can. I'll put it together and let you know when we meet at the Club," she said.

Harry looked over at Pete. "Will you be joining us, Major Von Karmenn?"

Pete looked out towards the parking lot. "Actually," he said, "I have a ride coming. I'll just wait over here in the terminal."

Harry and Bobby walked with Sally out to her car. Harry looked back over his shoulder at Pete who was standing outside the entrance to the building watching them leave. Harry lifted his right hand and gave Pete a 'thumbs up' signal. Pete looked back and returned it.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

It was sometime after nine o'clock in the evening and Jana Hastings was in the living room of her home in Fairfax, Virginia. She had brewed a cup of tea and was curled up in a large club chair in front of the fireplace. Beau was snoozing comfortably in front of the flickering oak flames on the large stuffed bed that she had picked up for him when she arrived back in Virginia. "New home, new bed, Beau," she had said to him when she dropped it in front of the fireplace.

She had been reading more of the book she had begun reading in Oklahoma, 'One Hundred Years of Solitude.' She chuckled to herself wondering how many years of solitude she would have... and, how many had she already had? She lifted her eyes from the printed page to grasp her cup for a sip of tea. Her eyes rose to the mantle, and to two photographs there. She let the book drop into her lap and she looked more closely at each picture. On the left, there was one of her and Jack on their wedding day at West Point. It was not a posed photo; it was one taken candidly and contained her parents laughing gaily beside her on one side and her brother Tom clowning with Jack on the other. The beautiful Cadet Chapel was looming in the background, overseeing the joyful event. Such happiness was evident there.

Her eyes swept to the other side of the mantle, to another photograph of her pinning the single star onto her husband's uniform on the day that he was confirmed as a brigadier general. It was only the two of them in this frame, some twenty-six years after the wedding picture was taken. It was clearly the same two people, a bit more serious, who had grown older, more mature.

She thought about the space between the two photographs, thinking it to be the timeline of the marriage of Jack and Jana Hastings. What had occurred in that space? How had they grown from the young couple who couldn't bear to leave their hotel room in New York City to the couple viewing life more seriously? ...the couple decorating Jack's uniform, acknowledging his accomplishment? And now, here she sat in Fairfax, Virginia, by choice, while he remained in Oklahoma, half a country away?

She looked from one photograph to the other, then back to the first again. She regretted the distance between them; the emotional distance. Perhaps they had achieved too well the ability to deal with the geographical distance, making it easier to settle for a marriage in which they lived apart.

She thought about the man she had met the first night of her trip back east. The very enjoyable dinner and evening that she spent with Jack Davenport may have been a glimpse of what life should have been.

The ringing of her phone shook Jana from her thoughts. She looked at the caller I.D. wondering who would be calling at that time of night. She was surprised at what she saw. Beau stirred at her feet from the sound of the phone.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Hi, Jana," greeted her husband. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Jack. I'm fine," she said, wondering who she was trying to convince.

"They have found the killer, Jana. He's in custody and I've been released."

"Why that's great news, Jack. I'm very happy for you," she said. "Who is it?"

"He's a Mexican tied to a big crime cartel," Jack explained. "Supposedly he... Well, it doesn't matter, does it? I'm just happy it's over. I'm happy for us, Jana."

Jana was silent, not knowing quite how to respond.

"Jana? Aren't you happy, too?"

"Yes, Jack. Of course," she replied. "I said I was."

"Yes. Yes, you did," he said, his voice trailing off. Jack Hastings was disappointed that this was not the reception for which he had hoped. But, he could make things better. He knew he could. "I was thinking," he said. "I'll probably fly back there to Fairfax as soon as everything is wrapped up this week... there are a few legalities yet to be settled. But then, I'll fly back and we can spend some time together... Maybe go on a trip..."

He waited for a reaction, for acceptance. But it did not come.

"Jana?" he said.

"I'm here, Jack."

"Does that sound okay with you? That I come..."

"Jack, I don't know," she said. "I, uh..."

"Don't know?" he interrupted. "Don't know what? You're my wife. I want to come get you... to be with you."

"I don't think... I..."

"What, Jana? What?"

"I need some time, Jack."

"Time? Why? We've been separated for over a week now, Jana. Longer than that."

"I...," Jana didn't know how to say what she wanted to convey to this man who had shared so many years with her. "I met someone, Jack."

"Met someone? What in the hell does that mean?" he asked, his voice rising. "What do you mean you 'met someone?' You mean a man? You met a man?"

"Well, yes."

Jack Hastings was incredulous. "How... What... You are involved with a man, Jana?"

"Oh, no." She almost chuckled at the thought. "No, no."

"Well, what do you mean then?" he asked.

"I mean that I met a man. There's no involvement. I just think that I saw what an honorable man looks like, Jack."

It was Hastings now, who was quiet, his words failing him.

"I need some time, Jack. Give me some time, will you?"

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Harry Kincaid and Bobby Lawson got off the elevator on the Penthouse Floor of the Prairie Plaza Hotel and walked briskly down the hall. Kincaid rapped on the door twice and waited. He heard voices behind the door just as it was opened by General Jack Hastings.

"Good morning, General," Kincaid said. "I trust you prefer these accommodations to those where we last met?"

A brief smile washed across Jack Hastings' face as he opened the door wide and welcomed the two visitors in. Harry could not help but notice that Jack Hastings looked gaunt, perhaps even thinner than he had been just a few days earlier.

"It's good to see you, Kincaid," said Hastings. "You did a helluva job for me. I'm deeply in your debt." Hastings looked over at Bobby.

"I'd like to introduce my business associate, General," Kincaid said, "This is Bobby Lawson."

Hastings gave Bobby a firm handshake. "Please to meet you, Mr. Lawson," he said.

"And you, as well, General," Bobby replied. Bobby looked past the general at the massive man walking toward them. "Well, hello, Sluggo," Bobby grinned. "You may have grown a few inches since I saw you last."

Sluggo stepped over and shook Bobby's hand. "Damned good to see you, Lawson," he said. He nodded to Harry and shook his hand, too. "Kincaid," he said.

Hastings looked over at Sluggo. "So you know these guys?"

"From a while back," he answered. "Knew ole Lawson here over in Injun Country. Damndest little chopper pilot you ever saw, General."

"Hey," protested Bobby, "who you calling little?"

"Oh, hell," Sluggo laughed, "I call everybody little."

They all chuckled. Hastings pointed to the table situated near the windows in the corner. "Have a seat over here, guys."

Kincaid noticed a large plate of pastries in the middle of the table and a large pot of coffee. There were a number of cups on a tray with cream and a variety of sweeteners. About half of the pastries were gone.

"You'd better help yourselves to the food there, gents, before Sluggo finishes them off," offered Hastings. "He's only had five... that I saw."

"Sorry, General," said Sluggo. "I just hate to see food go to waste."

The men settled in seats around the table. Harry set his satchel on the table in front of him then leaned over to get a cheese Danish. Bobby was pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"I'm glad you came over Kincaid," said Hastings. "I'd like to hear about your trip to Mexico. And again, I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me. I owe you my freedom."

"Well, don't be so quick to thank me, General," said Harry. "I'm afraid your customer down there in the Sonora Militia is no longer among the living. You won't be selling them any more of your MX21s."

"Lopez?" asked Hastings. "You bumped him off?"

"Why, no, General," Kincaid responded a bit indignantly. "We are in the import-export business. Capitán Lopez was involved in a traffic mishap. Bad transmission, or a gas leak, or something. I don't know. Damn thing just blew to high heaven."

Sluggo and Hastings looked at each other and grinned.

"Mysterious, huh?" Bobby asked Harry.

"Yeah, it was," Kincaid responded. "There was another guy in the car with him, as I understand. Fella named Carmello... folks called him 'Lobo.'"

Hastings' grin grew larger. He was shaking his head side to side. "Pity," he said.

"Sorry about the lost business, General," Harry reiterated.

Harry reached over and picked up his satchel. "I've got a question," he said. He looked over at Sluggo Decker as he unzipped the bag and removed the MX21. "We retrieved this from a fella named Farooq Aziz. It had funneled into his network through Lopez... through Carmello. Now, Sluggo... tell me again about how the ceramic used in this piece is as strong as steel?"

Sluggo and Hastings exchanged glances. A slight smile seemed to flow between them, as if they shared a secret. Sluggo reached across the table prompting Harry to hand him the weapon. He stripped the pistol down to its components in a matter of seconds. He reached among the pieces and picked up the firing mechanism. He held it up above eye level, inspecting the firing pin.

He handed it over to Jack Hastings, saying, "Have a look, General. Worked like a charm."
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### Books by A. A. MacQueen

### Following Claire

### The Abduction of Sidney Kane

### One Night in Stuttgart

### The Prosecution of General Hastings

### A Long Flight Home

### Harvey's Dilemma...And Other Stories

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