

The Rich Guardian

A Novella

E. Clay

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to a person or persons is purely coincidental.

This publication was the subject of a Department of Defense pre-publication review on 20 December 2017, by a DoD Counterintelligence representative.

The Rich Guardian

Copyright © E. Clay 2018

New Paradigm Publishers

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1-7321028-0-4 (paperback)

ISBN-13: 978-1-7321028-1-1 (ebook)

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by photocopying or any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.

# Dedication

This book is dedicated to all the men and women of the US intelligence/law enforcement community who work very hard, day in and day out, to keep this great country safe.

# TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1: Friendly Fire

Chapter 2: Speculate to Accumulate

Chapter 3: The Widow Maker

Chapter 4: The Stars in His Eyes

Chapter 5: Caveat Venditor—Seller Beware

Chapter 6: The Good Shepherd

Chapter 7: Dollars and Sins

Chapter 8: Return to Sender

Chapter 9: No Way Out

Chapter 10: The Awakening

Author's Corner

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

**FSB** : Russian Federal Security Service, akin to the FBI with broader powers to include border security

**KGB** : Predecessor to the FSB, disbanded in 1991

**GRU** : Russian military intelligence

**Oligarch** : A very rich business leader with a great deal of political influence (especially in Russia)

**SVR** : Russian External Security Service, akin to the CIA

**Chekist** : A period after the Bolshevik revolution where Russian state police had free reign to torture, murder, and conduct large scale deportations to crush political dissidence

**NSA** : The National Security Agency is responsible for global monitoring, collection, and processing of information and data for foreign intelligence and counterintelligence _Wikipedia_

**GCHQ** : The Government Communications Headquarters is an intelligence and security organization responsible for providing signals intelligence and information assurance to the government and armed forces of the United Kingdom _Wikipedia_

**Ops** : Abbreviation for operations

**RPG** : Rocket-propelled grenade

**Tradecraft** : Tradecraft, within the intelligence community, refers to the techniques, methods, and technologies used in modern espionage (spying), and generally, as part of the activity of intelligence _Wikipedia_

**Double agent** : In the field of counterintelligence, a double agent is an employee of an intelligence service, whose primary purpose is to spy on a different target organization, but who, in fact, is a member of the target organization _Wikipedia_

**VPN** : A virtual private network affords a caller anonymity

# Prologue

_The Rich Guardian_ is the story of one man sleepwalking through life without a sense of purpose or destiny. However, on 6 June 2018, his life is forever altered after an unexpected encounter with a foreigner who has a dark and secret past.

Clay's new acquaintance puts him in the crosshairs of a superpower with unlimited reach. There is nowhere to hide.

# Chapter 1: Friendly Fire

January 1, 2018 10:30 a.m.

FSB Research and Development lab,

St. Petersburg, Russia, secure location

"Good morning, prime minister, director, and most welcomed guests. Today, I am honored to have managed such a talented team, unlike any ever assembled. The brightest scientists, engineers and innovators the world has to offer."

The keynote speaker confidently walked from the podium to engage his distinguished audience with VIP seating in the first two rows. In the center of the room was a long, oblong object with the Russian flag draped over it, almost touching the floor.

"What the world offered in safety, we've surpassed. What the world lacked in style and comfort, we've improved. And what the world achieved in lethality, we've transcended. Ladies and gentleman, prime minister, director... behold modern innovation without peer," he said with a raised fist.

With a loud clap, the Russian flag draping the object vanished and reappeared hanging high from the rafters for all to see.

Standing ovation.

"Please remain standing for our great country's national anthem."

Following the conclusion of the Russian national anthem the guests took their seats. The keynote speaker broke his salute and stepped near the exhibit. He delicately stroked the beautiful contours... of the new presidential limousine.

The limousine was a sleek, black armored Mercedes loaded with Russian innovation: state-of-the-art technology designed to withstand an RPG attack or a roadside bomb intended for a tank, a communications package that could not be deciphered by the NSA or the British GCHQ, and the ability to function as a mobile command and control center in the event of a coup or in a time of war, capable of launching a nuclear strike with global reach.

Inside, the limousine was unsurpassed sumptuousness, complimented by the most expensive materials in the world. Seams in the woodgrain door panels were accented by ambient white lighting. The scent of leather was masked by a light floral fragrance. The wing mirrors relayed information to a large LCD in the dash.

The most distinguishable feature in the rear cabin was the Russian Presidential Seal perfectly embossed in the ivory marble center console in the rear seating area.

In the front cabin, one of the more noteworthy features was a gold-plated keypad positioned on driver's side door. The buttons were color-coded, some having extraordinary offensive capability.

The limousine was assessed to be critical to Russia's national security and needed to be protected at any and all costs.

Later that evening

To celebrate the unveiling of the new presidential limousine, the guests were treated to a formal evening banquet in the west wing of the FSB complex. A Russian classical quartet and a ballet troupe conducted last-minute warm-ups prior to the commencement of the festivities. Waiters and staff scurried about to ensure starters and ample bottles of vodka were on every table. Above the plush red carpet, the chandelier slowly spun, creating a subtle, almost hypnotic, glitter effect across the room.

The prime minister stood and tapped his spoon against his crystal shot glass and cleared his throat. The room fell silent.

"Good evening, most distinguished guests. I would like to propose a toast to mark this most memorable occasion. Please rise with glass in hand."

With his glass filled to the brim and raised high, the prime minister shouted, "To Mother Russia and our fallen comrades!"

"За здоровье!" the audience responded.

The prime minister gestured to the FSB director to his left for the next round of toasts. All eyes focused on the revered and feared director.

"Comrades! I'd like to make a toast to family. We are in a constant state of war, and the adversary is formidable, not to be taken lightly. To persevere, we need the strongest unit to be unbreakable: the family unit."

The guests responded with a standing ovation.

"So, here's to family!" The director raised his glass with a smile and took a drink. "May our sons have rich fathers and beautiful mothers. And finally, here's to our wives and girlfriends, may they never meet."

The guests erupted into laughter and shouted "Заздоровье!" Moments later the sounds of joviality subsided.

"Who will lead us in our final round of toasts?" the director asked.

Many senior officials in black tie raised their hands to honor the occasion. The director shook his head in protest.

"No. I turn to the next generation of leaders who will take the torch and restore Russia to its former glory, its Chekist past."

The director spotted the youngest member of the engineering team sitting with his very pregnant wife. A spotlight landed on the young couple, causing them to shield their eyes with their evening programs. Everyone focused their attention on the two.

"Stand, introduce yourself and tell us where you hail from."

The engineer was anxious; his wife whispered words of encouragement into his ear.

He stood, without a glass.

"Sir, I am Yuri Klimenko. I'm twenty-four years of age, and I'm from Kiev, Ukraine."

Silence fell over the room.

Yuri took his wife's hand. His gaze fixed on the director, he said, "To peace for all mankind."

The director narrowed his eyes. Grumblings of dismay grew among the distinguished visitors.

Within moments, the classical quartet took to the center of the room and started to sing at the request of a senior FSB official. There would be no final toast.

At the head table, the deputy director patted his lips with a napkin, and then whispered to the chief of his security detail. Sweat beaded on his bald head and it glistened under the bright light.

The musical selection successfully defused the tension and drew attention away from the young engineer.

After an intermission between acts, a security official approached the table where Yuri and his wife sat.

"Excuse me, the deputy director would like see you in the laboratory."

"When?" Yuri asked.

"Now," the official responded, looking at his watch.

Yuri had anticipated the dressing down that was to come for his un-Russian toast. He explained to his wife he'd be only a few minutes.

The security official shook his head. "No. Bring her with you."

Yuri and his wife were escorted to the lobby, where they entered the elevator. She placed her hand over her protruding stomach and let out a big sigh, then she whispered anxiously to her husband. "The lab?"

The security official pressed the lower level button. Seconds later the elevator door opened to darkness, where the presidential limousine waited about twenty feet away.

"Wait here by the elevator," the security officer directed.

Yuri held his wife's trembling hand.

"Let there be light!" The deputy director exclaimed, producing a loud echo.

A large spotlight beamed down on the limousine, leaving the rest of the room in total darkness. The couple felt the presence of others in the room, but could not see them, only their shadows.

Yuri and his wife were instructed to stand in front of the limousine by an unfamiliar voice that boomed from the mass of silhouettes in the VIP seating area. Perspiring heavily, Yuri escorted his wife forward. With an ungainly waddle, she walked beside him, one hand holding her side and the other on her stomach.

"Mr. Klimenko, why is the president's limousine a German make and not a Russian one? Can you answer that question?"

Yuri cleared his throat. "Sir, our engineering and design team determined the Mercedes S 600 to be the best chauffeur-driven car in the world."

A cigarette lit up, just before another voice barked out from the darkness.

"Foolishness! I'll tell you what I think. Yes, you have been influenced. You have been influenced by western propaganda and all of its filthy lies," he slurred.

Yuri's wife gasped in fear.

Yuri's voice quivered. "Sir, the Mercedes is simply the donor car. The security features are one-hundred-percent Russian design, I swear to you," he pleaded.

A remote control key fob opened the rear doors of the limousine, startling Yuri and his wife.

"Get in," a woman's voice echoed in a low tone.

Yuri's wife's eyes grew wide as saucers. "Please don't, please, my baby. My baby," she begged, clutching her stomach.

"Get in, now," the woman commanded in a sadistic tone.

Tears streamed from Yuri's eyes as he helped his expectant wife into the rear cabin of the limousine. He peered at the mass of darkness with contempt before joining his wife.

The doors closed by remote control. The door locks engaged preventing escape. _Click, click._

A silence that lasted only a few minutes seemed an eternity to the occupants inside.

A mature blonde dressed in a red pantsuit emerged from the shadows sipping a martini.

Several cigarettes lit up simultaneously before the command was given.

"Fire!" she commanded.

_BOOOOM!_ A bright light flashed.

A shoulder-fired rocket launched a missile at the rear passenger door, almost tipping the car over on its side. The battered vehicle landed back on all four tires with a loud thud. The hull of the car was creased but not compromised. The smell of sweet charcoal and a hint of sulfur permeated the air. Yuri and his wife were tossed around the rear cabin like rag dolls. The couple's screams could not be heard nor their banging on the blood-stained soundproof windows.

"FIRE AGAIN," she ordered.

"But, Madam?" The major queried.

"I said... FIRE!"

The major hesitated. He placed the weapon back on his shoulder and locked his sights on the limousine. He knew the images of the pleading couple would haunt him for the rest of his days, but he was FSB and he had taken an oath.

BOOM! Once again a bright flash appeared. The recoil jolted the major back. He mentally recorded the event in slow motion until the missile hit with lethal and brutal force. The major dropped his head in shame and could not cast his eyes ahead.

Yuri died a few days later in the hospital from internal injuries, but miraculously his wife and child survived the attack. The limousine was repaired, retooled, and entered into service three months later.

# Chapter 2: Speculate to Accumulate

May 29, 2018, 10:30 a.m.

Hyde Park, Chicago, Illinois

Ring, ring, ring.

_Beep_. _You've reached Eddie. Leave your name and number and I'll hitcha back. Peace_. _Beep_.

"Hey Eddie, this is Tony. Pick up the phone. I've got some good news."

Tony Wynn had been Eddie's best friend ever since their first meeting in kindergarten. "Hello? Tony?" It's me, Eddie. Are you still there?"

"Eddie, man, I tried calling you at work, but they said you took the day off."

"Yeah, I took the day off from work to sign for an UPS package. I got the Alexa hologram Pentium package, the one where you can choose your hologram."

Tony was impressed. "Sweet. I've seen the commercials. I heard with the Pentium package you get your choice of three holograms. Isn't one of the holograms a stripper?"

"In your dreams, man. But yeah, there are three options. One is an attractive woman, more like a super model dressed as a concierge, and the other is a really fit guy who could probably do underwear commercials."

Tony was intrigued. "But you said there were three options. What's the third?"

"The third option is the non-binary or androgynous option."

Tony was confused. "Speak English, Eddie."

"It's probably easier if I demonstrate. Hit video call and you can see for yourself."

Computer prompt: _You are now connected._

Tony was spooked by the life-size hologram standing next to Eddie with almost three-dimensional features. His mouth dropped.

"Man! It's beautiful whatever sex it is. I can't tell?"

Eddie was eager to demonstrate Alexa's innovation. "Ask Alexa a question."

"Okay. Alexa, are you a he or a she?"

Alexa was programmed with over one thousand facial expressions. The reply provided was accompanied by an expression of sadness.

"Hello, Mr. Wynn. I'm sorry, but those are inappropriate pronouns. Would you like to ask me another question?"

Tony freaked, but not because Alexa avoided the question.

"Eddie, can you tell Alexa to go in the other room please," he politely asked.

"Yo, she's not a real person." Eddie laughed, then commanded, "Alexa, off."

"Goodbye." Alexa smiled, waved, and winked before vanishing.

"Tony, you look like you've seen a ghost. Calm down," Eddie remarked.

"Okay, Mr. iRobot. Explain to me how she knew my last name?"

"That's easy. Your voice print. If you've ever registered a phone anywhere in the world and conversed with another cell phone user, it's stored in the cloud. It's the most accurate way of identification, that's why banks no longer use PIN numbers."

"The only reason I picked up was because you said you had some good news for me. Or was that just a stunt to get me to answer the phone?"

"Okay, okay. Let's just say it's an opportunity you might be interested in."

"Is it Amway?"

"No. I'm serious," Tony replied.

"Well if it's such an opportunity, why don't you take advantage of it?"

Tony explained. "Tomorrow, Customs is hosting an auction, and one of the items on the docket is an unclaimed forty-foot container. But I can't bid on it because I work for Customs."

Eddie was mildly intrigued. "So what's in it?"

"Eddie, the container is sealed, and even if I knew what was in it, I couldn't tell you. I could lose my job. The last big-ticket item last month came in the smallest container, a ten-footer. Precious metals and diamonds; who knew? The winner just got lucky."

Eddie stroked his neatly trimmed mustache in deep thought.

"Is there any information you can share that won't cost you your job?"

"You didn't hear this from me, Eddie but..."

"But what?"

"The container was insured for just over a million dollars."

After Eddie concluded his conversation with Tony, he had one burning question.

Why would someone not claim a container worth over a million dollars?

# Chapter 3: The Widow Maker

June 6, 2018, 11:30 a.m.

Port of Chicago, terminal 4, Customs warehouse

"Going once, going twice... sold! Sold to number 32, the gentleman in the red Marine Corps T-shirt."

A nice gust of wind cooled the beads of sweat on Eddie's brow. There was not a cloud in the sky, and although it was a hot summer day, Christmas had come early. The winning bid had maxed out Eddie's twenty-thousand dollar limit with nothing to spare. He'd bid with confidence, backed by a million-dollar insurance policy underwritten by insider information. His demeanor showed little emotion; he was calm and collected as he signed his name as the new owner of the mysterious contents of the forty-foot container.

"Before you open the container, can you tell me why someone would abandon a container?" he asked the Customs official.

"Heck, most of the time it's because of a bankruptcy or a company going out of business. Once a container lands and clears Customs, the owner or recipient has twenty days to claim it, or else they forfeit any rights to the property."

Eddie had one final question. "You know what's inside, don't you?"

The Customs official nodded.

Anticipation consumed Eddie. "Can I arrange transport here?"

"Son, I don't think you will have to worry about transport."

"What?"

The Customs official unlatched the locking bar and released the retainer handle. He slowly opened the freight container, generating a loud creak.

"She's all yours," the Customs official said.

Major disappointment immediately set in, followed by anger and confusion.

"There must be some mistake. This is the wrong container," Eddie protested.

"Naw, you got the right one. What makes you think different?"

Eddie had to keep the insider information under wraps. He walked behind the container and whipped out his cell phone.

Ring, ring, ring.

"You have reached Tony's cell phone, please leave a message. Beep"

"No!" Eddie yelled at his phone.

Eddie took a deep breath and attempted to regain his composure before re-engaging the Customs official.

"I'm sorry for my attitude; I know you're just doing your job. I'm just so disappointed. You have no idea. I'm putting this on AutoTrader as soon as I get home."

"You're gonna have a hard time selling it for any decent money as is."

Eddie wiped the sweat from his forehead and stared at the ground. "And why would that be?"

"This is a gray-market vehicle, meaning it's a foreign vehicle not designed to meet our safety and emissions standards. You're gonna probably have to get it converted for US compliance. And that could cost you thousands, especially for a high-end car like this one."

"Thousands? I've just spent thousands to buy the damn thing. I don't need or want another car. I don't care that it's a Mercedes. Big deal. What country did this car come from anyway?" Eddie probed.

The gentleman raised his glasses to his forehead and gave the vehicle a puzzled look.

"Interesting. The manifest says it came from Ukraine, but those are Russian plates."

_Ring, ring, ring._ "Hey, Eddie, it's me Tony."

"Man, I've been trying to reach you. I just drove off a few minutes ago. I need answers," Eddie demanded.

Tony was quick to respond and shed light on recent developments.

"Sorry, I took the day off. But, I found out the car wasn't supposed to go to auction. The client contacted headquarters and explained everything. Apparently, his international travel plans were delayed, and he had trouble accessing his funds."

"Hmm. Don't know what to say. I paid for it, and now I am the unlucky owner of a gray-market Mercedes. By the way, you said the car was insured for a million dollars, and there is no way a limo is worth that."

"You're right. I was suspicious when I found out it was an imported vehicle. Customs ran the drug-sniffer dogs over every square inch of that car. It came up clean as a whistle. But there were so many secret compartments in the car, I don't know if they found all of them. I think it was an armored diplomat car or something because it weighs a ton."

Eddie desperately tried to piece the puzzle together, but there were too many unanswered questions; however, there was one minor question remaining. "So why are we in a video call?" Eddie asked.

"We're not," Tony replied.

Eddie laughed. "I can see you in high definition on the car's display. In fact, I can see every camera feed uplink near your location. According to the data feed on my display, you're at the Holiday Inn in room 145. What are you doing at the Holiday Inn?"

Tony was alarmed at the revelation.

"Eddie, the camera on my iPhone is off. I don't know how you can see me when I can't see you."

Eddie continued. "You're not alone either, are you?"

"What makes you say that?" Tony asked nervously.

"Because I just saw Esther in a white bathrobe grab the remote control. She's sitting on the bed behind you. You're messing with fire, bro. You know she's married," Eddie advised.

"Dude, I'm gonna have to hang up, this is too creepy. Hang on, there's a knock at the door. Must be room service."

Boom, boom, boom.

Eddie sent a distress signal to his friend. "Tony, don't answer it. Do not answer it."

Tony let out a big sigh. "What now, Eddie? I'm kinda busy. Know what I mean?" he said with a smug grin.

The urgency and gravity in Eddie's voice grew. "Listen to me and pay attention. Is there another exit door to your suite?"

"Yeah," Tony responded.

"Then I suggest you get dressed as fast as you can and get the hell out of there. Right now."

Tony broke into a sweat. "Why?" he pleaded.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

"Because it's not room service! And he looks really pissed."

"Okay." _Click._

Shortly after the conversation with Tony, Eddie pulled into a 7/11 to gas up. Five minutes into the hunt for the fuel door release, he conceded defeat and asked the gentleman who pulled in behind him.

"Excuse me, sir. I just picked this car up, and I can't for the life of me figure out how to find the gas cap," Eddie lamented.

A middle-aged man with a military-type haircut and piercing blue eyes approached the limo. With his index finger, he pressed the rear area of the fuel door and it popped open.

Eddie scratched his head. "There's a button for everything in the car, so I thought for sure..."

"She's beautiful," the stranger commented with admiration. "And by the way, she takes diesel."

Eddie was slightly put off by the man's seeming knowledge of the car. "How do you know it takes diesel?"

The stranger ran his fingers along the contours of the car. "This is a limited edition of the Mercedes Maybach. Less than a dozen were put into production, but diesel was the only option." After a brief walk around the limo, he returned to fill up.

One hundred dollars later, Eddie finished refueling and went inside.

"Cash, debit, or credit?" asked the attendant.

"Debit, please."

"Okay, that's one hundred dollars. Swipe away."

"I'm sorry, but your card declined the transaction," the attendant said after Eddie had run his card through the machine.

The customers behind him in line grew impatient, adding to Eddie's anxiety.

"Do you have another card?" asked the attendant.

"I'll cover it!" Eddie's new acquaintance offered from the back of the line.

All the patrons in line quickly turned around to acknowledge the mystery Samaritan who strolled to the head of the line to swipe his card.

"You're all set. Do you want a receipt?"

The man declined the receipt. Eddie followed the gentleman to his car and thanked him profusely. "If you give me your address, I can send you a check in the mail. Something must be wrong with my card. I know there are funds in my account. I checked this morning," Eddie explained.

"I don't have a permanent address as of yet. I've arrived in the country only hours ago. Don't worry about it."

"There must be something I can do; after all, it was a hundred bucks."

"All right. Offer accepted. How about you take me for a quick spin?"

A few minutes into the drive, the pair found themselves inching along in gridlocked traffic.

"You can call me Alex. What is your name?"

"Edward, but people call me Eddie."

Alex appeared to be deep in thought. "So what is the significance behind Eddie, or Edward?"

"Excuse me, I'm not following you," Eddie replied.

"In Russia, parents name their children with the hope that one day they will live up to the nobility of the meaning of their name."

Eddie found the history lesson intriguing. "I'm almost sure the Clay family didn't subscribe to that practice. When I was born fifty years ago, Edward was probably just a popular name at the time. I doubt there was any significance." He glanced at his companion. "So what's the significance of Alex?"

Alex looked out the passenger window and checked his side view mirror. "It means defender, defender of mankind."

As traffic began to flow, Eddie noticed an uncanny coincidence. "That's odd. That's the tenth straight time that's happened. Weird." He looked at Alex. "Every time I approach a traffic light, it turns green. Watch this," Eddie said at the next one, which promptly turned green. "See. Every time."

"Is it a problem?"

"It's just odd, very odd."

Alex reached across Eddie and pressed the green button on the gold-plated keypad. "There. Problem solved."

Moments later they hit a red light.

Thoughts in Eddie's head ricocheted at warp speed as he tried to make sense of the incredible features of his new acquisition. "This is no ordinary car, is it?"

"No."

"And it's not a coincidence we met at the gas station either, is it?" Eddie asked nervously.

"No." Alex shifted his body to face Eddie. "The car you are driving belongs to my president, and there will be a global manhunt for it, which I presume has already started. I followed you from the port to the gas station, and then I demagnetized your debit card."

Eddie tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He feared for his life.

"If this is a carjacking, you can have the car," Eddie insisted.

"No. I am not a thug. I am FSB, and today you've just purchased the wrath of my government. If you want to make it to next week, you will have to trust me unconditionally," he warned.

"Why are you helping me, and how do you know so much about this car?" Eddie pleaded.

Alex continued to look over his shoulder suspiciously. "I was there when this car was unveiled to a very selective audience. This car has extraordinary capabilities. I know this because it was I who smuggled it out of the country."

Forty-five miles into the journey home

Reality started sinking in fast. Eddie was no longer concerned about the twenty thousand he'd spent; it was now a matter of survival. He avoided direct eye contact with Alex. However, a lifelike tattoo of a little girl on his forearm drew Eddie's attention.

"Your tattoo. It looks more like a photograph than artwork."

Alex extended his arm to oblige Eddie. "I had it done a few weeks ago, before I left Moscow. It's my daughter, Tatiana. She's in hiding. I have other tattoos. Would you like to see them?"

"Okay."

Alex raised his khaki trousers above his knees, revealing a star on each knee. Eddie quickly glanced at the tattoos and refocused on road.

Alex deciphered the coded artwork. "It's a prison tattoo. Stars on the knees means I kneel to no one," he replied with a macabre demeanor.

The prison comment made Eddie slightly uneasy about his passenger with the mysterious past. "But I thought you were secret police. I thought you had to have a clean record to work for the Russian government," Eddie said naively.

Alex seemed distracted by the streaming data feed across the interior display, but he took time to address Eddie's question.

"Clean record? That may be criteria for your FBI or CIA, but not for FSB. Above all else, there are two requirements. One is unwavering loyalty to Mother Russia. Your skill set will ultimately determine your position and assignment. Your CIA and FBI are handcuffed by political niceties, which impedes their effectiveness. They would be better served to overlook petty infractions."

"You mentioned there were two requirements. What's the second?"

"Fearlessness."

"Can I ask you one more question?" Eddie requested.

Alex nodded.

"When you speak, I don't hear even a hint of a Russian accent. You could easily pass for an American."

Alex smiled. "I will take that as a compliment coming from an American, but it comes with many years of practice. To defeat your adversary, you must be able to impersonate them and hide within their ranks. There are many like me throughout every echelon of your government. Some hold political office while others are commanders in your military. We speak like you, we act like you, and we even drink your inferior spirits."

Eddie laughed.

"But we are not you, and in a time of war we will burn your house down. All it takes is an encrypted text. There are sleeper cells all across this country and Europe as well. Our unbending loyalty enables us to make sacrifices you would never consider. We are prepared to die undercover with our headstone inscriptions bearing someone else's name."

"You sound like you are still working for the secret police."

Alex shook his head. "I have blood on my hands. Innocent blood. But I will not be hunted for my sins against mankind. Instead, I will be slaughtered for my sin, high treason, against my country."

Sixty miles into the journey

"Damn, I think I should have gotten off at the last exit. How do you work the GPS?" Eddie groaned.

"It's disabled. The president's movements are classified; geolocation via satellite would be a great security risk. The car travels in stealth mode, invisible to any tracking device, including satellite and radar."

Eddie was intrigued. "You mean I can't get a speeding ticket?"

"There is an anti-jamming feature that disables radar. An officer can cite you, but he won't be able to render technical data to support the citation."

After a few miles, Eddie took the next available exit. He casually pressed a button on the enigmatic keyboard.

"What did you do? What did you do?!!!" Alex yelled.

"Relax. We're off the freeway. I just didn't want to deal with red lights. Traffic is usually heavy around this time."

"Then you should have pressed the green button!"

"I thought I had," Eddie replied defensively.

"You pressed the orange button. You have no idea what you've done," Alex lamented. "The orange, red, and black buttons have far-reaching and grave consequences. It's only a matter of seconds now."

"Seconds?"

Alex checked his watch. He shook his head in dismay.

A speeding black object flew alongside the limousine.

Whoosh.

"Whoa! What was that?" Eddie starred at a black object hovering about twenty feet in the air. It looked menacing.

Alex sat in silence.

"Is that a drone? I can see lights flashing. That's weird," Eddie commented.

"It's in countdown mode." Alex reached into the glove box and retrieved two pair of sunglasses. "Here put these on. You're going to need them. Cover your eyes now. Hurry." Alex flipped both sun visors down.

_Five, four three, two_ ...

"Okay, now what?" Eddie asked.

_KABOOM_!!!!

A series of blinding flashes of light followed by seismic shock waves wreaked havoc as far as you could see, setting off car alarms and shattering store windows and even windshields. Traffic lights ceased functioning. Pedestrians ran into buildings and hid behind cars for safety. Many presumed a major earthquake had struck.

Cars were T-boned at the intersection and chaos erupted as road rage consumed drivers. Some resorted to screaming matches with rude hand gestures. Others exited their vehicles and engaged in to physical violence.

Alex turned to Eddie, who was engulfed in guilt and shame. "It was a mistake. I'm sorry," he pleaded.

Alex looked out the window. "Don't tell me. Tell them." He pointed to the brawls across the street. "And the thousands of others."

"Thousands?" Eddie replied.

"Congratulations. You've just initiated a major cyber-attack that would be considered an act of war if attributed to a foreign government. The drone was deployed from a concealed compartment in the trunk. You've just taken a five-square mile radius off the grid. We're in a blackout right now. In a few minutes, you will hear the sound of backup generators coming on line. In about ten minutes, cell-phone operations will return to full capacity."

Eddie was concerned. "What if the cops figure out it was me? That I did this?"

"Anyone who saw the drone would have experienced temporary blindness. By the time their sight is fully restored, we will be far away. We haven't much time. Turn left at the light."

Moments later

Alex glanced into his wing mirror. He was suspicious. "Eddie, maintain your speed," Alex advised.

"Okay. Is there a problem?" Eddie asked nervously.

"A cop is tailing us. Just keep calm."

Eddie broke into a sweat. "What should I do, Alex? I don't want to go to jail. It was an accident!"

"We won't go to jail. I can't go to jail. It's not an option," Alex assured him.

Whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop!

Blinding red and blue police lights created a strobe effect from behind.

Eddie eased to the right, hoping the squad car would pass. It didn't.

"Okay, what now, Alex? What do we do?" Eddie reached for his wallet and the car's shipping documents. He could almost hear his own heart thumping in his chest, ready to explode.

Alex remained ultra-cool. "Nothing... yet." He reached inside his blazer and retrieved a silver case with a Cyrillic inscription on the top.

Eddie was disappointed. "Alex, the cops around here are not to be messed with. You can't just give them a business card. What is that going to accomplish? You're just going to piss them off."

Alex smiled. He was confident. Too confident for Eddie's comfort level.

The lone officer scribbled a few notes on his clipboard before exiting the squad car and approaching the Mercedes from the driver's side.

Eddie's shirt was soaked in sweat, a clear indicator of guilt.

There was a knock at the window. Eddie lowered the window to accommodate the officer.

"The reason I stopped you was I clocked you going forty. The speed limit is thirty," the officer said courteously.

Alex clenched his fist and slowly turned his attention to the officer who had just spit a wad of chewing tobacco on the ground.

"I'm sorry, officer," Eddie said. "That was careless of me. I should have been more conscious of my speed."

The officer stuck his head in the window and looked around. Alex never took his eyes off the officer.

"Fancy ride you got here. You've got all the bells and whistles. You just come from the port?"

"Ah, yes. Yes, sir. How did you know?"

"You've got foreign plates." The officer took a special interest in the keypad on the door. A large vein in Alex's neck throbbed. The vein in his temple followed suit.

The officer pointed to the keypad. "So what would happen if I pressed this little black button?"

Alex leaped to the driver's side and firmly grabbed the officer's hand. His hand swallowed the officer's completely. The officer recoiled and Alex let go, but not immediately.

The officer drew his weapon. "All right, get out. Get out of the car now, one at a time!" the officer yelled.

Eddie quickly unbelted himself and exited the vehicle with both hands raised. Drivers slowed down to observe the fast-paced drama unfolding. Many pedestrians whipped out cell phones to record the action. But none of their mobile devices functioned due to the blackout.

Alex remained in the car. The officer pointed his weapon at Alex and ordered Eddie to kneel with his hands behind his head. He then told Eddie to cross his ankles.

The officer attempted to raise dispatch on the net. "I have two armed suspects. One went for my gun... Dispatch do you copy? Dispatch come in!"

"Alex! Come on, man. Get out of the car. Just do as he says. Please! It's over," Eddie pleaded.

Alex slowly unbuckled his seat belt and obliged Eddie's plea. He stood next to Eddie and raised his hands.

"Now turn around and kneel!" the officer screamed at the top of his lungs.

Eddie knew mayhem was imminent. He flashed back to his earlier conversation with Alex. _Stars on the knees means I kneel to no one._

"Sir, he can't kneel. He doesn't understand English very well. Please don't shoot."

"You mean he physically can't kneel? What is it, a medical condition or something?"

Eddie scrambled for a reply. "No, sir. It's against his religion."

Alex gave Eddie a look. As if to say _Is that the best you could come up with?_ Alex turned around with his back to the officer, both hands raised.

The officer would not be deterred. "Against your religion? Is that so? Well it's time you got converted to... Batonism."

The officer raised his baton high and struck Alex over the head. Thud!

Alex was unmoved. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and did some deep breathing.

The officer struck Alex yet again with an even harder blow. A blow that would have rendered most men incapacitated. Alex flinched slightly.

"Alex just this once. Kneel with me. If not, we're gonna die right here in the street," Eddie begged.

The officer then deployed his taser and tased Alex. High-voltage current raced throughout his body. Alex exhibited signs of tremors in his hands. He clenched his teeth, and white foam seeped from his mouth. Only the whites of his eyes were exposed. Still, he wouldn't go down.

Out of nowhere, the business card case appeared between his right index and middle fingers. It caught the officer's attention.

"What you got there?"

"It is my business card," Alex said.

"Drop it, and kick it to me with your heel. And no funny stuff, or I'll blow your head clean off."

Alex complied. The officer knelt down to pick up the silver case with the Cyrillic inscription. He inspected the exterior of the case, then opened it.

"Cопереживает вашей жене," Alex whispered.

"What do we have here?" The officer retrieved a white card with a Cyrillic message. It read _Cопереживает вашей жене._

After a lengthy period of silence, Alex lowered his hands. He extended his right hand to Eddie. "Get off your knees."

"Wha...?" Eddie turned around. The officer stood frozen like a statue with blood streaming from his nose. He held the card in one hand and the silver case in the other. Alex approached his would-be executioner and retrieved his silver case.

"Cопереживает вашей жене!" Alex said one final time, then he spit on the officer's boot.

Paralysis seized every muscle in the cop's body, with one exception. The officer's eyes followed Alex and Eddie as they approached the car.

"Get in. I'm driving," Alex commanded. He burned rubber, leaving the officer in a cloud of black smoke.

Screeech! Vrooomm!

Eddie asked only one question: "What did you say to the officer back there?"

Alex closed his business card case and placed it back in his inside pocket.

"I said симпатия вашей жене. It means condolences to your wife."

# Chapter 4: The Stars in His Eyes

"Alex, could we stop at the Cracker Barrel up ahead? I can smell bacon."

Alex signaled right at the light and pulled into the Cracker Barrel. Many pedestrians stopped and gathered in admiration of the stately car, hoping to catch a glimpse of an A-lister. There was a noticeable look of disappointment among the paparazzi-like bystanders as Alex and Eddie exited the limo. Many put their cell phone cameras away and left. Some remained behind.

The weight of the day's events was eased somewhat by a change in scenery: a public restaurant that happened to be Eddie's favorite breakfast spot. Alex remained in character, on guard at all times. He never smiled or showed emotion. He was on a mission, which only he knew.

Eddie let out a big sigh and rubbed his hands together. He didn't have to look at the menu.

Alex kept a constant visual on the limo.

A waitress approached and asked Eddie for his order. "I'll have the Smokehouse Breakfast with scrambled eggs and cheese, and a large orange juice. Please."

The waitress took Eddie's order and smiled at Alex. "And you, sir?"

"Proszę kawę," Alex responded.

The woman blushed. "Just coffee?"

"Tak," Alex confirmed.

Eddie was impressed and did a double take at the waitress as she collected the menus and tended to the next table. "How did you know she was Russian? I would have never guessed that," Eddie said.

"She's not Russian. She's Polish. Judging by her dialect, she's probably from Warsaw," Alex opined.

"How many languages do you speak?"

"I speak six languages fluently. My Farsi and Chinese are only passable."

Throughout the meal Alex sipped his coffee, his gaze rotating between both exits and the limo.

Eddie flashed back to the traffic stop. "So Alex. What if the officer had pressed the black button?"

Eddie's question quickly garnered Alex's attention. His response was stern and grave. "Do you believe in God, Eddie?"

"Yes. I believe in God."

Alex leaned toward Eddie across the table. "Then pray to him that we never have to consider that option. The black button is to be activated only when capture of the president is imminent."

"Why?"

"If terrorists were to capture our president, the streaming of his beheading or torture for propaganda purposes would cause irreversible damage to our nation and our reputation as a global power."

"Yeah, that would be bad. The fact that beheadings are viral material is beyond my comprehension."

After Eddie concluded his meal, the waitress returned and placed the check in the center of the table, then pressed a few buttons on her card machine. Eddie retrieved his VISA and handed it to her. She ran it through. "I'm sorry, sir. Your card has been declined."

Alex retrieved his cell phone from his blazer pocket and pressed two buttons. He casually kept his phone on his lap out of sight.

"Spróbuj ponownie," Alex advised the waitress.

She complied. "Connecting. Approved," she responded.

Alex placed his phone back in his jacket inner pocket. "We must leave now," he insisted.

When they exited, the sun had started to set. The pair was greeted by two unsavory admirers of the limo. Thug number one was wearing saggy jeans, a white T-shirt, and a red bandana on his bald scalp.

Alex was slightly annoyed and motioned them to scatter. Before he could start the car, there was a knock on the driver's side window.

" _Yo, ese. Cuánto cuesta_?"

Alex entertained his curiosity. " _Muy caro, muy caro_ ," Alex replied.

"Too expensive? Too expensive?" The hoodlum laughed aloud. He retrieved a gold-plated 9mm from his waist.

"Alex! He's got a pistol!" Eddie yelled.

Alex turned to Eddie. "As they say in America, chill."

The would-be assailant drew attention to the tattoo under the corner of his right eye. " _Yo, pendejo_. You know what these tears mean?"

"Hmm, let me guess. It means you enjoy spending time on your knees in prison. Your mother must be proud."

Alex's humor was not well received. "Step out of the car, _ese_."

To Eddie's surprise, Alex unbuckled his seat belt and complied.

"Alex! What are you doing? You're gonna get yourself killed," Eddie exclaimed.

Alex poked his head in the car. "We're going to have a moment together and watch the stars come out," Alex responded followed by a quick smile.

Within moments. Alex felt the barrel of the 9mm at the back of his head. The safety came off.

Click.

Alex calmly turned around and put the barrel in his mouth. He sucked on the barrel as if he were performing a sex act.

"You not right in the head, _ese_. You crazy?"

Eddie looked away. He heard a tussle and peeped out of the corner of his eye.

Alex had somehow taken control of the pistol and shoved it in his assailant's mouth. All in the blink of an eye.

Alex released the magazine. It dropped to the ground. He threw the pistol on top of the roof and walked toward the car. Thug number two ran off.

" _Yo, ese_ ... _yo, ese_."

Alex turned around only to see the first thug with a stiletto in each hand. "Let's dance, _pendejo_."

Alex shook his head. "I guess you really want to see the stars come out. As you wish."

Alex approached the guy with no regard for his own personal safety.

"Alex!" Eddie yelled.

Alex dodged the deadly lunges with his feet firmly planted. His torso displayed the agility of a world-class gymnast. Alex toyed with his prey, as a matador taunts a raging bull. "I could do this all day, but it's boring. Very boring. It's time the stars came out."

Alex walked directly toward the thug. One final jab was attempted. It was interrupted by a forceful throat punch, dropping his prey to his knees.

"There you go again. On your knees, again, _ese_. What is it with you Americans?"

Alex kicked the knives out of reach while his prey grabbed his throat in agony.

_Cough, cough, cough_.

Alex bent down and whispered. "Are you ready for the stars to come out, _ese_?"

_Cough, cough, cough._ "What stars?"

Alex firmly grabbed his would-be-executioner by the back of the head as he stood tall.

"These stars."

Alex delivered a swift and brutal knee to the guy's face, instantly shattering the man's jaw bone and nose.

The brute force of the motion ripped his khaki trousers across the knee, exposing one of Alex's infamous star tattoos.

Alex wiped the blood from his trouser leg with a napkin and disposed of it next to the motionless body of his attacker. He returned to the car and burned rubber out of the parking lot... taillights in a cloud of white smoke.

Bellwood city limits

A few miles from Eddie's house, Alex stopped the car and asked Eddie to drive. He also asked him to let him know when they were approaching his home. When they turned onto Eddie's street, he spoke up. "My house is just there on the left, the pale-green bungalow," Eddie said.

Alex paid close attention to his wing mirror. "All right. Listen carefully," Alex warned. "Go past the house one block and make a U-turn and come back on yourself."

Eddie was confused but obliged Alex's request and reluctantly passed his house on the left. "Alex, the street is too narrow. How am I supposed to make a U-turn?"

Alex unbuckled his seat belt and moved closer to instruct. "Okay, when we pass the fire hydrant up ahead, step on the gas."

"Wha..?"

"Okay. Hit the gas, NOW!"

Vroooom! Vroooom!

Alex immediately grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it to the left to a tight full-lock position, causing the car to swerve into oncoming traffic at a high rate of speed.

"We're gonna hit that car!" Eddie yelled as the black Escalade flashed its lights and honked.

"Keep your foot on the gas!"

Scrreeeech!

The car spun into a one-hundred-and-eighty degree turn, missing the oncoming Escalade by inches.

"Were you worried?" Alex asked.

"As soon as I catch my breath, I'll let you know," Eddie responded with a death grip on the steering wheel.

As Eddie pulled into his driveway, he calmed down and asked the obvious question. "Why couldn't we just pull into the driveway like normal sane drivers? That stunt was right out of a _Fast and Furious_ playbook."

Alex explained. "I needed to know if we'd picked up surveillance during the journey. If there was a car tailing us, it would have been forced to maintain our speed to continue visual contact. We're good."

Alex surveyed the accommodations. "We need to conceal the limousine. Your garage is too small and we cannot park on the street. We need cover and concealment," Alex responded sternly.

Eddie had an idea. Alex followed Eddie into his residence. "Alexa, coffee please." He turned to his guest. "Alex, can I get you a drink?"

Alex checked behind the curtains and looked suspiciously in the closets. "You didn't tell me you lived with someone."

"I don't live with anyone," Eddie replied.

"So, who is Alexa?" Alex demanded.

Alexa appeared at the top of the stairs and descended. The effect was eerie, yet surreal.

"She looks human. I didn't know holograms could move in such a lifelike manner."

"Alexa, say hello to my friend," Eddie commanded.

"Good evening, Mr. @#$%^^. Good evening, Mr. @#$%^^." Alexa started to experience technical difficulties, and her hologram rapidly faded in and out.

Eddie grabbed the remote and reset Alexa. "Alexa, say hello to my friend," Eddie commanded again.

"Unable to confirm identity."

Eddie was slightly concerned. He searched for Alexa's instructions. He read the instructions aloud and scratched his head. "It says here, Alexa will recognize any voice print registered to any cell phone user worldwide. I wonder why it can't identify you. That's odd."

Alex explained. "When I joined the Russian KGB right out of university, my biometrics were purged from global databases such as the one Alexa draws from."

"Hmm. Interesting. You're not giving me information that will get me killed are you?"

Alex did not respond. Eddie grew slightly anxious.

"So are you FSB or KGB?" Eddie asked.

"The KGB disbanded in 1991 after an unsuccessful coup. The FSB and our sister services the SVR and GRU are the successors of the KGB. But that's public knowledge. No one will take your life over that. I can assure you."

Alex revisited the issue of security for the Mercedes for which Eddie offered a solution. Eddie showed Alex his retired US Marine Corps ID. "The safest place for the limo is probably on a US military installation."

Alex nodded. "Is there a base nearby?"

"Yes. The Great Lakes Naval Base is about an hour's drive north of here. I grew up around there. Base access is restricted, and armed guards are posted at all the gates. I've never signed a Russian on the base before. It might raise some eyebrows. We will just have to see."

Alex retrieved a passport from his jacket. "Is this good enough?"

Eddie was surprised. "This is a US passport."

"Yes, I have several. I've worked many deep-cover assignments all over the world, including one as an illegals officer."

"Alrighty then," Eddie commented.

Boom, boom, boom!

"Are you expecting someone?"

Boom, boom, boom!

Eddie froze in place. "Maybe it's the FSB," he whispered nervously.

"No. The FSB doesn't knock." Alex quickly dimmed the lights and hid behind the living room door. He removed his belt and held it tight like a rope with both hands.

Eddie peeped out the window. He saw a familiar red BMW parked next to the Mercedes.

"Whew. You can come out Alex. It's cool," Eddie assured him.

Alex shook his head and remained in place.

Eddie turned the lights back on and opened the door. His female guest barged in. She appeared distraught. Eddie commented on her less than pleasant demeanor.

"I'm not in the mood, Eddie. Can you just listen to what I have to say? You think you know me so well."

"Leslie, I was married to you for seven years. I kinda feel I know when something's wrong."

"I've been trying to reach you, but your phone kept booting me into voicemail. Turn on the news."

"Alexa, Channel 7 news, please."

"Breaking news. The Greater Chicago area was hit with the largest cyber-attack in US history, leaving tens of thousands without power and Internet access. O'Hare Airport ceased operations for most of the day, and the Dow Jones took a plunge, dropping nearly 100 points."

The news continued. "Here next to me is Bill Gordon, a subject matter expert on cyber-attacks. Good evening, Bill. What is your assessment, and who could have launched this attack right under our noses here at home? The CIA, FBI, and NSA have declined to comment."

"It's great to be on your show. Despite ISIS claiming responsibility, I'd look more closely at a state actor. I'm very familiar with ISIS and their nascent cyber program, and this attack exceeds their capability. My assessment is that this was most likely Russia or maybe North Korea. The White House is expected to comment on it tonight. I anticipate some form of swift retaliation."

Eddie commented, "Damn. It wasn't Russia or ISIS."

Leslie folded her arms. "How would you know? Face it, Eddie, some things you just don't know."

Eddie sighed. "Yeah, you're right. How could I possibly know?" he falsely conceded. "Is this what you wanted me to watch?"

Leslie grabbed the remote and switched to the local news where another, more personal, story was breaking.

"It's the bottom of the hour, and we've just received confirmation that UFC hopeful Christopher "The Hulk" Harvey was released from prison earlier today after serving only three months of a one-year sentence."

Eddie plopped onto the sofa. "Uh-oh. This is bad."

"We have an exclusive. Roll the tape."

"Mr. Harvey, Mr. Harvey..." reporters called out as they followed Harvey to his car.

"No one that is still breathing calls me that. Call me The Hulk."

"Okay, Mr. Hulk. Do you plan to honor the conditions of your parole?"

"What do you mean?" he snarled.

"Will you comply with the restraining order levied against you by Mrs. and Mr. Clay?"

"No comment."

_Click._ Eddie turned off the TV.

Leslie was petrified. "Can I stay here with you tonight? I'm scared. He threatened to kill me in the courtroom."

"How did you find out he was released? Did the authorities call you?"

"No," she lamented.

"Then how?"

"When I came home from work, I smelled his cologne on my phone in the bedroom," she sobbed.

"Okay, don't worry. I'll figure something out, but you can't stay here. He'll be after me too. After all, it was my testimony too that did him in. Why don't you stay with your sister, Louise? You'll be safe there."

"Eddie, I'm scared. You know how dangerous he is."

Eddie hugged his former wife and tried to assure her. "I'll fix this somehow, I promise."

"Okay. I'd better go now. By the way, why is a limo parked in your driveway?"

"It's a long story, Leslie. Be safe and call me if you need me."

Leslie broke her embrace and wiped the tears from her face. "Okay."

After hearing her engine rev, Alex came from behind the door. He'd heard everything.

"Who is The Hulk?"

Eddie let out a big sigh. "My worst nightmare. He was a mixed-martial artist champion in Brazil for years before he came to the US. He's about six feet six, three hundred pounds of solid muscle. It took seven cops to bring him in."

Alex continued, "What's his connection to you and your wife?"

Eddie corrected him. "We're divorced now, happily divorced. Right around the time of our divorce, she started dating him. She confided in me about him from the very start, mostly about her suspicions. She wanted to break it off with him, but she was in too deep. She was suspicious of him because he never let her come to his house. He always would come around to hers unannounced, except on the weekends.

"I offered to hire a private eye, and she accepted. On the last surveillance shift, we found out about the other women. Unfortunately, one of the surveillance team members was caught taking pictures of them entering his house around midnight. The Hulk chased him and choked a confession out of him. He found out it was me who'd hired them.

"We immediately filed a restraining order against him. But it didn't stop him. The police caught him trying to get in her house just after midnight back in January. They had to call for back up. I can't believe it took seven cops to bring the guy in. Leslie was a nervous wreck for weeks after that."

Alex peeked out the window to check on the Mercedes. "I know of this man."

Eddie was surprised. "You know about The Hulk? How?"

"In Russia, we call him Kилектор. It means incredible."

"Oh, you saw him on cable?" Eddie responded.

"No. I saw him in person, in St. Petersburg near my home town. Two years ago, right after he defeated the reigning heavyweight champion in Brazil, he came to Russia to study and master Systema."

"What's Systema?"

"Systema is a Russian martial art that combines explosiveness with fluidity of motion, using the opponent's momentum against him. Agility is the key." Alex demonstrated a few moves in slow motion as he explained. "The Hulk, as you call him, trained with our Russian Spetsnaz instructors. He left camp after one week of training. He couldn't master the technique. Still, he is a formidable opponent in his own right."

10:00 pm that night

"Welcome to Great Lakes Naval Base. ID cards please," the military policeman commanded.

Eddie handed the sergeant his retired Marine Corps ID and Alex's passport. The sergeant closely scrutinized the passport before handing it back.

"Thank you for your service, Gunnery Sergeant Clay. You and Mr. Williams have a fine evening." The sergeant saluted the passenger after mistaking him for a distinguished visitor.

Eddie drove off. "Mr. Williams, really?"

The pair booked a large suite at the lodging facility on base.

11:00 am the following day

_Yawn_. Eddie rolled over and checked his phone for messages. There were three missed calls from Tony, his close friend at Customs.

"Hey, Alex. The bowling alley does a mean breakfast, but we gotta get there before noon," Eddie yelled into the adjoining room.

Silence.

"Alex?" Eddie whipped the duvet back, exposing his body to the slight chill in the room. He strolled into the other room in his boxers, barely coherent.

Alex was not on the sofa where he'd slept. There was a note.

Went shopping. Be back shortly.

"Damn!"

Eddie approached the window, looking for any sign of Alex. He was hoping that Alex hadn't strayed off base because he wouldn't be able to get back on without an escort.

Eddie jumped into the shower. The warm jet stream of water on his face soothed him and allowed him to decompress. Events from the night prior seemed like a nightmare. For a split second, he tried to convince himself he'd dreamt the madness. Eddie turned the shower off and dried himself off before brushing his teeth. When he looked into the steamy mirror, there was a man's reflection staring back at him. Eddie jumped.

"Alex, where did you come from? You scared the crap out of me!" Eddie quickly draped the plush black towel around his waist.

"I've been shopping. Did you get my note?"

Eddie gave Alex the stink eye. "You can't shop on base. You don't have an ID card."

Alex smiled. "I know that. I went off base. I have a gift for you." He presented Eddie with a white oblong gift box about eight inches in length.

"Hmm, the last time you gave someone something, it didn't pan out very well. Please tell me you didn't put your business card inside."

Alex laughed for the first time. "I think you'll like this particular gift. Open it."

Eddie cautiously opened the box. "Sunglasses?"

"Louis Vuitton sunglasses. Very nice," Eddie said as he inspected the merchandise. He tried them on and looked in the mirror. "Leslie always tried to get me to wear sunglasses. You must have spent a small fortune. Thanks, Alex."

Alex lightheartedly described his negotiating techniques. "Sometimes you have to pull teeth to get what you want." Alex removed his black leather gloves and placed them in his rear trouser pocket.

Eddie made an observation. "Alex, it must be eighty degrees outside. Why are you wearing gloves?"

"I don't like getting my hands dirty."

Eddie offered to grab breakfast at the bowling alley on base for the two of them. Blinding sun and searing heat greeted him as he opened the door. Since the bowling alley was just across the street, he walked over wearing his new Louis Vuitton shades.

Base bowling center

While Eddie stood in line to order, he felt his phone vibrate in his shirt pocket.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Clay, this is Sergeant Adams from Security Forces. You have a visitor at the front gate that needs to be signed on."

Eddie was concerned because no one knew he'd checked into the base. "Okay, who is it?"

"I didn't ask for her ID, but she's blonde with blue eyes and about five four," the Sergeant opined.

"I'll be right down."

Rather than fire up the limo, Eddie opted for a brisk walk to the main gate where Leslie stood in the visitor's parking lot next to her car.

Eddie flagged Leslie as he approached the main gate and signed her onto the base. Leslie drove Eddie to the bowling alley, where they sat in the parking lot and talked.

"How did you find me here?"

"It was easy. I just went on Google and selected the Find my Phone option."

"I forgot this phone was yours initially," Eddie reflected.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Leslie opened up. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Say what?"

"I know it was you. I don't know how you did it but... I feel safe now, thanks to you."

Eddie hadn't a clue what Leslie was referring to. "What are you talking about?"

"Early this morning, I got a voicemail from my ex..."

Eddie slumped in the car seat. "Oh, boy. What now? Did he threaten you? If so, we can use it as evidence and get him locked up for violating his parole."

"No, no, no. I'll play it for you. I just have to connect my phone to my car so you can hear it clearly. Listen."

Connecting. Paired.

Someone whimpered into the phone. _"Leslie, Leslie, please pick up."_

"Oh gawd, please don't... please... aaaaaaaagh!"

Eddie gave Leslie a strange look as he started to process what was happening.

"No, no more please. I can't take it. Leslie, I'm sorry for all the things I've done to you. No, please, not another one, no... _aaaaaagggh_!"

"Leslie, I promise this is the very last time you will ever hear from me again. Oh my gawd! No. Please, please, mercy. I beg you."

"Leslie, I'm sorry..." There was a gurgling noise then a prolonged scream.

Click.

Eddie was stunned.

"He screamed like a little bitch at the end, wouldn't you agree?" Leslie said unremorsefully.

"I don't get it," Eddie confessed.

"You are such a bad liar, Eddie. I know it was you beating the crap out of him on the other end. How you did it, I'll never know. They don't call him The Hulk for nothing."

The dots slowly connected. "What if I told you that it wasn't me," Eddie conceded.

Leslie smiled. "I know it was you."

"Okay, how do you know it was me?"

Leslie removed the sunglasses from Eddie's face. "You see these Louis Vuitton's? I bought these for his birthday when we first started dating. See on the side, it has his initials CH. It looks like there's a speck of blood on it. Eww, gross!"

Leslie hugged Eddie one last time before she departed. "You're the best ex-husband a girl could ever hope for."

Eddie replayed the chilling tape over and over in his head. The screams made the hair on his arm stand on end.

He flashed back to the previous conversation he'd had with Alex. "Sometimes you have to pull teeth to get what you want."

# Chapter 5: Caveat Venditor—Seller Beware

Midday

"Alex. I'm back. I hope you like pancakes. I got the black tea you asked for. Alex? Alex, where are you?"

Eddie searched the suite and again there was no sign of Alex.

_Bzzz, bzzzz, bzzz._ Eddie received a text message. _I'm across the hall in room 132._

Eddie went out to the hallway. Alex stood in the doorway of the opposite suite.

"What's goin' on, Alex? Does the staff know we moved rooms?"

"No. I put a block on this room in their computer system. We cannot be safe if our location can be so easily tracked. I altered the VIN on the Mercedes before I smuggled it out of Ukraine. But it's just a matter of time until someone makes a mistake that leads the FSB to our doorstep. It's all about maintaining sufficient reaction time to elude death. I'm buying time."

Eddie joined Alex in the living area of the new suite for breakfast. Eddie watched Alex sip his black tea.

"How can you drink black tea?" Eddie inquired.

"It's part of Russian culture. If someone were to poison your tea, it would be quite easy to tell, as there is nothing to mask the bitterness."

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "It's obvious that we come from two different worlds. I don't ever recall dining with someone where that was a concern."

"Eddie, in some respects, we are the same. Do you love your country? Would you die for your country?"

"Yes, on both accounts," Eddie replied from across the table.

"Then, in that respect, we are the same, except..."

"Except what?"

"Except... I would die for my country, but not my government. I told you earlier that my name means 'defender of mankind.' I cannot fulfil that legacy working for my government. And for that reason, I will be hunted like a wild dog, poisoned, and die in a shallow grave. My name will be erased from hospital records, school records, and court documents. I will be erased from existence after an excruciating death."

"That's gotta be the most depressing thing I've ever heard. I think I just lost my appetite."

Alex reflected, "I remember when I decided I had to walk away from this life. It was a defining moment. I've done horrible things before, but for some reason, I can't erase this one event that haunts me."

Eddie grew increasingly interested in "the event." However, his phone buzzed with a call. By the time Eddie reached for his phone, it had stopped ringing. The caller ID showed the call had come from Tony.

"Must be something urgent. That's the fifth time my friend Tony has called today. I'll call him back."

Alex appeared slightly concerned. "Is he normally this persistent?"

"No, not unless it involves a girl. He's always asking for advice." Eddie laid the Louis Vuitton glasses on the table. "Alex, you don't have to say anything, but thank you for what you did today. I owe you a debt of gratitude."

Alex finished his tea. "You owe me nothing, friend."

Eddie checked the messages on his phone and noticed a voicemail from Tony. He put his phone on speaker and played the voicemail.

You have one new message and five old messages. Beep.

"Hey Eddie, I've got good news and great news. I'll start with the great news first. Esther's husband moved out of the house and filed for divorce the other day. I've asked her to marry me and she said yes! Start preparing for a speech, because that's what best men do at weddings."

"Now for the good news. I felt kinda bad about the bum scoop I gave you about the car. I was just looking out for you; it seemed promising. To help you out, I've advertised it on eBay, using the pics I took when it arrived. My phone has been blowing up since the ad went live. I've got calls from San Francisco, Washington, DC, New York, and even Moscow. In fact, the guy from Moscow wired me five hundred to delist it. He must be a serious buyer. I think he's a bigshot because he's flying in on his company jet. I'm meeting him tomorrow at O'Hare, and from there I plan to bring him to you to negotiate price. Let me know if you are available. Peace."

The message ended.

"Moscow? Uh-oh," Eddie said.

Alex stood and leaned over the dining table. "Remember what I told you about sufficient reaction time?"

"Yes."

"We've just run out. From this minute forward, every second will be a matter of life or death."

Gulp. "Life or death?" Eddie asked solemnly.

"The bright side is your death will be swift, unlike mine."

Eddie jumped up and started pacing the room frantically. " _That's_ the bright side? That's just great. That is just great. I can't believe this is happening to me. I had a normal life just a week ago."

Alex dropped more bad news. "Your friend, Tony..."

"Yeah, what about him?"

"Are you close to him?"

"Close to him? Did you listen to his voicemail? He's like the brother I never had."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"We planned to grow old and fat as neighbors, chasing kids off our lawns in our twilight years. He's been my best friend for forever."

Eddie called Tony. He was anxious. The call immediately went to voice mail. _This is Tony. Leave a message. Ciao._

"Tony, listen carefully. Do _not_ go to the airport. Go somewhere safe and stay there. I can't go into detail over the phone. Call me to let me know you got this message." _Beep_.

Alex placed an arm around Eddie to comfort him. But Eddie was inconsolable. "We can save him, right? Right, Alex?"

"Eddie, look at me." But Eddie wouldn't. He couldn't believe this was happening.

Alex slapped Eddie. "I need you to be focused. I'm sorry for your friend, but being sorry for him will not save him. Right now you need to focus on one thing. Do you know what that is?"

The sting of the slap temporarily interrupted Eddie's thought process. "What do I have to do? Tell me."

Alex stepped toward the window and peered out from behind the drapes. "You have to survive."

Later that evening

Ring, ring, ring.

Every time Eddie's cell phone rang, it made him jump.

"Hello?"

"Is this Gunnery Sergeant Clay?"

"Retired Gunnery Sergeant Clay, yes. Who's asking?"

"This is Sergeant Flores at the main gate. Did you order a pizza?"

"Yes, I'll be there in a sec." Eddie tiptoed out of the room while Alex was taking a catnap on the couch.

Eddie collected the pizza and proceeded back to the room; the aroma of the sausage and jalapenos made him salivate.

Just as he passed the bowling alley, Eddie heard a siren, and a spotlight shined in his direction. He became anxious and quickened his stride, as he was only a few feet from the stairwell.

Whoop, whoop, whoop.

"Sir, this is base police. Stop right there."

Eddie turned around. He was blinded by the bright spotlight in his face.

A senior military policeman stepped out of the car and made radio contact with dispatch.

"It's him. I'm bringing him in," he advised.

Eddie held the pizza over his head. He tried to remain calm, but his quivering hands revealed his disposition.

"What's the problem, officer?" Eddie was worried that military police were aware that he was harboring a Russian spy on base.

The officer dimmed the spotlight and walked toward Eddie.

"You seem kinda nervous. Is there something wrong?" the officer asked.

"Nervous? Not me. Nope, not nervous at all," Eddie replied with a dry throat.

"We need you to come with us."

"Why? What did I do, officer?"

The officer paused. "Someone at headquarters wants to speak with you urgently."

"Am I in trouble?"

"I can't answer that. Only he can. You can put your arms down now."

Two other patrol cars followed behind them with their code lights flashing.

Great Lakes Military Police HQ

"Where are we going?"

"Through that door. It's where we conduct our interrogations."

By this time, Eddie faced reality. He would have to give Alex up and reveal everything he knew. He was prepared to confess.

"Sit down and wait here. I'll tell him you're here."

"Tell who? What's going on? I'll tell you everything I know."

The cop turned around and chuckled. "Don't tell me. Tell him," he pointed.

Standing in the doorway was a clean-shaven middle-aged African-American dressed in a dark suit. He had a swagger about him and his dark eyes gleamed with high spirits. He motioned to the detaining officer.

"Uncuff him, now. Who gave the order to cuff him? He's a person of interest, not a suspect," Mr. Cool commanded.

The patrolman did as he was ordered.

"Now, is that better?"

"Yes," Eddie replied.

"Can I offer you a drink?"

Eddie cleared his throat. He was rehearsing his confession in his head. "Water will be just fine, thank you..."

The gentleman laid his badge and credentials on the table. Next to his credentials, he placed a recording device.

"My name is Special Agent Gipson. I'm FBI. Do you know why you are here?" His voice had the qualities of a seasoned radio personality.

_Spill your guts_ , Eddie's inside voice told him.

"No, I don't."

Agent Gipson clasped his hands on the table and dropped a big sigh. "It just does not add up. You don't fit the profile. This is one of those outliers that just does not compute."

"Profile? What profile?" Eddie asked genuinely.

Agent Gipson explained. "Why would Russian intelligence be so interested in you and your friend Mr. Wynn?"

"Russian intelligence?" Eddie feigned ignorance.

"There's chatter, and lots of it, that indicate that the two of you have been targeted."

Eddie became alarmed. "Targeted for what?"

"That's just it. We don't know. We've thoroughly looked into your background, your friends, your colleagues, and even your ex-wife. You are as clean as a whistle. We also looked into your military career. You worked in finance. We even looked into your social media footprint. All we found was cat videos and old Soul Train reruns. There is no derog whatsoever. I need you to help me connect the dots."

_Spill your guts,_ his conscience echoed. "Sir, I'm just a retiree who's tryin' to make it. Maybe you've got the wrong guy?"

Agent Gipson motioned to the double-sided mirror, prompting a young FBI agent to bring in a sealed envelope.

"Maybe you can help us with this other matter, which we think might be related."

Eddie was pleased that he hadn't cracked under pressure despite his subconscious screaming at him to do so.

"What matter would that be?" Eddie replied with his arms folded. _This is easy,_ he thought to himself.

Agent Gipson retrieved a stack of 8x10 color photos from the envelope. He looked at them one by one with displeasure, deliberately preventing Eddie from having a peek.

"What are those pictures of?"

Agent Gibson stood and fanned the pictures across the table. He gave Eddie a blank stare.

Pictures of Tony slumped lifelessly in front of his computer were instantly seared into Eddie's psyche, never to be erased.

Many pictures were of Tony with his head laid sideways on the keyboard. His vacant and hollow stare was confirmation of the worst. Eddie's best friend was gone.

Eddie was shocked. His shock turned to anger, then his anger morphed into a confused rage. He stood and backed away. "This is not happening. This is a bad dream, that's what this is. This is not real. And you are not real. I'm dreaming," Eddie said in a state of mania.

Agent Gipson instructed Eddie to return to his seat and get a grip. "Unfortunately, this is real, and in real life we lose people. He's gone. Mr. Wynn is gone." He gave Eddie a sympathetic look. "Mr. Clay, you were Tony's closest friend. Why would he take his own life?"

"What are you talking about? Tony didn't take his life. Tony was about to be married. He was the happiest he'd ever been. If you give me my phone back, I can prove it." Eddie continued, "I left a message on his phone. Now I know why he never responded."

A young FBI techie entered the room and placed Eddie's phone on the table next to the pictures. "Sir, we've found Russian malware on your phone. It's been hacked."

Eddie scrolled through his phone and looked for Tony's voicemail. It had been deleted.

Agent Gipson offered his closing remarks. "The reason he never responded was because the call was intercepted." He gestured to the photos. "This appears to be a clear-cut case of suicide. We have the suicide note he left behind, and our forensics have confirmed it to be in his handwriting. Lastly, there were search terms on his computer for deadly poisons. Although, the type of poison he injected himself with is rare in the US. It's mostly found in Eastern Europe."

Eddie didn't want to divulge too much information. He remained silent.

Eddie was given a secure VPN for his phone to mask his number for his personal safety. Agent Gipson gave Eddie his business card and released him from custody. "Call me at this number anytime, day or night." Agent Gipson stood and extended his hand.

Eddie hesitated at first, then took it. "I will."

A lone squad car escorted Eddie to his quarters. As he ascended the stairs, he found himself caught up in a whirlwind of grief, confusion, and denial. Tony was dead; he'd never see his friend again.

He let himself inside the suite, but Alex wasn't on the couch. "Alex? Alex?" Eddie called out. Eddie checked the entire suite, but there was no sign of Alex anywhere. On the bathroom mirror was a note on a yellow sticky.

I'm sorry for your loss.

# Chapter 6: The Good Shepherd

Midnight

Eddie lay on the couch. His mind was overwhelmed by disturbing images of the photos he wished he hadn't seen. He wanted to grieve for the loss of his closest friend, but the heartache of looming death interfered. The numbness in his soul spread to his physical body. The soreness from the handcuffs no longer registered despite the deep indentations around his wrists. His pain sensors were muted, but his auditory receptors were heightened. He could hear every sound coming from the rooms on either side, including the sounds of passion coming from the room above.

Loneliness set in and he realized how much he missed Alex. Alex represented hope and fearlessness, something Eddie lacked. He soon found out that waiting for death to show up on your doorstep is so much harder when you are alone.

He thought of making calls to say goodbye to his loved ones. Then he decided he would make one call, but not to say goodbye. To get answers.

"Hello?" The woman who answered yawned deeply.

"Hello, is Reverend Cook there?"

"Is this Brenda's son Edward?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry for calling so late."

"We're servants of the Lord. We don't have office hours. Hold on."

"Reverend Cook, speaking."

"Hi, Rev. This is Eddie. I didn't know who else to call. I need you to pray for me. I'm in trouble, but I can't really go into it."

"I see. Would you like to make an appointment?"

"Yes, please."

"That's not a problem; I'm here for you, son. When do you want to meet?"

"Can we meet now?"

Great Lakes Naval Base main gate

1:30 am

Eddie stood on the corner and flagged down a restored navy blue vintage BMW. The window opened and Reverend Cook gave him a warm smile. "Hello, Edward. Let's go for a ride."

Eddie sprinted toward the car—a symbol of temporary safety from harm's way—and hopped in. "Thank you, Rev, for seeing me this late on such short notice. If I could have waited, I would've."

Reverend Cook quickly discerned a mood of desperation and hopelessness. "God is good, all the time, and all the time God is good," a quote he had repeated for nearly all of his seventy-eight years.

The pair drove off.

"Time is something I wish I had, Rev. But I don't."

"Tell me what's on your mind, son?"

"You knew my parents better than anyone, so I figured I'd ask you."

Reverend Cook nodded.

"Did I make my parents proud?"

The question surprised Reverend Cook. "Edward, of course you did. At first your mother wasn't excited about you joining the Marines, but she understood."

Reverend Cook pulled into a twenty-four-hour diner to continue the chat.

When they sat down in a booth, Eddie continued. "I feel like I was born with this purpose, to make a difference. And now I've run out of time to see it all through."

The reverend slowly sipped his coffee. "It was God that put that drive inside you. Remember that."

Eddie shook his head in disagreement. "Then why would he cut my life short before I could reach the finish line?" Eddie asked solemnly.

"God doesn't make mistakes and no one leaves this earth before their time. God put you on this earth for a reason. I know that."

"You say that with such confidence. Why?"

"You are too young to remember, but you've cheated death twice, and you'll do it again by the grace of God. You have to have faith."

Eddie was perplexed by the revelation. "I cheated death? Twice?"

Reverend Cook nodded. "Yes, you did. When you were born, you had no heartbeat. The doctors desperately tried to start your heart, but it just didn't wanna kick over. Yo mama and daddy were heartbroken. But God laid his hand on you, you see."

"Okay, but what about the second time?"

Reverend Cook obliged. "Remember the accident when you were about nine years old?"

"Yes, at the beach. It was on my birthday. I blacked out," Eddie recalled vividly.

"No. You didn't black out. You drowned. You stopped breathing, and you had no pulse. The paramedics put you on a stretcher and covered your body with a white sheet. God laid his hand on you, again."

"I didn't know that. I just heard I'd blacked out." The stories distracted Eddie from the stark reality of what waited outside the doors of one of his favorite restaurants as a child. "Reverend, do you know if there was any significance behind the name they choose for me?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, in some countries parents name their children with the expectation that one day that child will live up to the noble meaning of their birth name. For example, in Russia, Alex means 'defender of mankind.' Do you know why I was named Edward?"

"Well, this is what I know. Around the time of your birth, there was a lot of talk about gentrification in our community, forcing generations of families to move away from the only home they'd ever known."

He continued, "At that time, we were not short on leaders, but we lacked leaders with resources and means. Most community leaders had blue-collar jobs. A lot of vision but no capital to counter the movement. The Good Shepherd Project was our attempt to claim our community back."

"The Good Shepherd? What was that?"

"The Good Shepherd was a project that your mother and father helped start to raise funds to keep our families in our homes. It was their hope that one day you would play a role in the project when you got older." He took a sip of his coffee.

"Over time, developers lost interest as opposition to their plans grew by the day. Once the victory was won, The Good Shepherd Project fell apart due to a lack of funding. Now, The Good Shepherd Project is just the distant memory of a noble cause. Unfortunately, that monster has reared its ugly head again. Big business is looking to buy up the apartments and turn them into upscale condos. I just trust in God that we'll weather this storm. None of us wants to be uprooted." He looked at Eddie. "My wife and I pray every night that God will send someone to deliver us. A guardian for our little community."

Eddie and Reverend Cook reminisced for almost an hour more before making the journey back to base. They recited the Lord's Prayer in the visitor's parking spaces in front of the main gate.

Eddie left his spiritual mentor with a wave and a smile. He felt a flicker of hope, knowing that he'd cheated death twice before.

As Eddie approached the main gate, he was greeted by about a half dozen cars backed up. Their bright brake lights lit up the night. It was an odd sight for 2:30 a.m. He approached the sentry, who was in the middle of a conversation on the radio.

Eddie fumbled through his wallet, frantically looking for his military ID, which he'd last seen next to his driver's license. "Good, morning, Corporal. I can't seem to find my military ID. Can you let me on with my license as ID?"

"Good morning. I'm afraid I can't let you on base at the moment."

It was late and Eddie was emotionally exhausted. "If you call the lance corporal that was on duty earlier, I'm sure he can vouch for me."

"That's not the issue. There's been an incident at the lodging facility. I've been ordered to put the base on lockdown. It just happened, so I don't know all the details. I think it's probably a fire alarm."

"Fire alarm?"

"I don't know for sure, but the last time there was an evacuation at the lodging faculty, that was the reason."

Several explosions shook the ground. Seconds later, the corporal's radio crackled to life. "26, 26, come in 26."

The corporal keyed the mike. "26 here, over."

"26, be advised there have been multiple explosions at the lodging facility. I repeat, multiple explosions at the lodging facility. 26, be advised shots fired, shots fired. We have an active shooter situation. I repeat, we have an active shooter situation, do you copy?"

"26 here, copy that."

"Officer down, I repeat officer down. 26, request emergency services and backup, do you copy?" The patrolman was almost tearful and his voice quivered as he held the radio mic.

"This is 26, I copy."

Boom! Bang, bang, bang.

"26, 26, another officer down. Request notification of local civilian police, do you copy?"

The aroma of gunpowder in the air took the threat to a whole new dimension. Eddie took off like a track star. He knew the FSB was in pursuit mode and was closing in. After a two-block all-out sprint, Eddie stopped under a street lamp, doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

There was a Motel 6 a few blocks away, but he feared he would be found. He needed a place to hide safely.

Adrenaline raced through his veins. He clearly was in fight or flight mode, and flight was the only option.

Twenty minutes of sprint-walk-sprint exhausted him. It was time to find a resting place, but not a permanent one.

Before him was a 7-Eleven. Eddie walked around back and opened the lid of a gray dumpster. He jumped in. He was covered with spoiled milk, rotten fruit, and decaying hot dogs. The stench proved insignificant, and it didn't take long for his nose to acclimate to the ripe odor. He was safe. He slept.

8:00 a.m. 7-Eleven

Creak. Splash.

"Oh my God!" the store clerk yelled after she threw last night's chili into the dumpster.

Eddie was abruptly awakened by the splash and her shrill scream. He wiped the chili from his face and chest. "Where am I?"

The girl's scream prompted a security guard to come to her aid. The clerk stood behind the tall and burly man in uniform. "It's okay. It's just a bum looking for a meal."

Eddie stood in the dumpster and looked around in a zombie-like stupor. The rats at his feet sent him flying out of the dumpster.

The officer advised the clerk to go back inside, and then he confronted Eddie. "This is private property and you are trespassing. If you don't leave now, I will have you arrested. Do you understand?"

A swarm of fruit flies danced around Eddie's head. "Sorry officer, that won't be necessary. I'm not a bum. I don't remember what happened last night."

The officer took in Eddie's soiled suit and his Movado watch. "I can see you're not a bum."

"What day is it?" he asked the officer.

The officer told him and Eddie blinked in confusion. He'd lost an entire evening. The last thing he could remember was speaking to Reverend Cook, learning about The Good Shepherd Project. The rest was a blank.

He needed to call the reverend; maybe he could shed some light on the situation. Eddie patted his jacket pockets and found his phone. When he pulled it out, the officer said, "Come on inside. Let's get you cleaned up."

The officer escorted Eddie to the "employee only" toilet area to wash. The splash of warm water and mint soap on his face was refreshing.

Eddie approached the counter where the young clerk greeted him with a smile. "I spoke to security. Rough night, huh?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Can I get you a cup of coffee? It's on the house. Cups are over there," she pointed.

Something caught Eddie's attention. He stopped in his tracks and did an about face.

"Excuse me, Miss. Can you turn the radio up a little, please?"

This is WVON News. Headline news. Terrorists struck the Great Lakes Naval Base in the early hours of the morning. Four victims were airlifted to the Aurora Medical Center; three are in critical condition and one is in stable condition. Colonel Jon Brookes, the provost marshal of the Naval Base, had this to say about the attack.

A deep, raspy voice came on the air. _At approximately 0:200 hours, a highly trained and heavily armed four-man unit, dressed in all black and wearing balaclavas, infiltrated the base. The intruders proceeded north to the lodging facility, where they breached the rear entrance with a low-grade explosive device. One of the occupants called 911 immediately following the blast. The four-man unit breached two rooms on the first floor. Our security forces engaged the hostiles but were, unfortunately, overpowered by heavy machine-gun fire. Four members of our security forces sustained life-threatening injuries. We have no information regarding who or what the intended target was. The suspects eluded capture. If you saw something, say something. Thank you._

The interview continued. _Sir, in your twenty-five years of experience, have you ever seen terrorists operate with such precision?_

_Terrorists? I spent most of my twenty-five-year career in Special Forces, and I've never seen terrorists operate at this level—not ISIS, not al-Qaida, not al-Shabab. In my professional opinion, these men were not terrorists. These are highly trained sophisticated assassins. I've seen this unit before, but never in the US._ _It's alarming that this unit is operating right here in our backyard. When I saw the surveillance tape, I immediately recognized their tactics and techniques from a past operation I supported near Raqqa, Syria_.

"You can turn it down now," Eddie responded in a fog.

"Are you all right, sir? Sir?"

"Just a little dizzy, that's all," he said as he steadied himself near the coffee counter.

Bzzzz, bzzzz, bzzzz.

Eddie reached for his phone. There was an urgent text.

Eddie, meet me at the Motel 6 in 25 minutes. I'm in room 106. Alex.

_Whew, he's alive._ Eddie thought to himself.

Eddie grabbed a cup of decaf and waved goodbye to the clerk and the security officer. He proceeded to the Motel 6 as instructed.

A million thoughts raced through Eddie's head as he suspiciously eyed every car that passed him by. But one thought prevailed: he had cheated death yet again. By the grace of God, Reverend Cook had agreed to meet him at an unsocial hour just to talk. Because of a single act of kindness, Eddie would live to see another day.

Cars zoomed by at breakneck speed, making it challenging for Eddie to ID that one driver on the lookout for him.

_Whoosh!_ The old lady in the red Ford Mondeo. Nope, it couldn't be her.

_Whoosh!_ The college kid smoking a joint in the blue Mustang. Not him.

Up ahead was a silver Porsche that seemed to be flirting with the speed of sound. It sounded like a jet engine shifting through its gears. Eddie stopped and tried to get a glimpse of the driver, but the windows were tinted.

Whoosh! Screech! Vrooom, vroom!

At top speed, the car suddenly hit the brakes, causing it to make a perfect U-turn against oncoming traffic. It was now rapidly picking up speed in Eddie's direction. His instincts said to run like hell. But he listened to another voice in his head and stayed put.

The Porsche stopped inches from Eddie with the precision of a professional stunt car driver. The passenger door opened. "Get in, now."

Eddie was pleased to see his old friend. Very pleased. He wasted no time getting in and buckling up.

Screech! Vroom!

"You didn't run away. I could have been FSB. How did you know it was me?" Alex asked.

"I know how you drive."

Alex had his game face on. He was in business mode. "You heard about the op on the base?"

"Yes," Eddie replied. "I got the note you left in the room, but I didn't know where you were."

"I've been shopping."

"Oh, boy. I know what that means."

"Don't worry, no one got hurt. I bought an identical stretch limousine like the president's. I hired a member of a drug cartel to fly it to Mexico later tonight."

"Why did you do that?"

Alex weaved in and out of traffic then took the onramp to the expressway. "Don't worry about that. I've moved my base of operations two hours north of here."

"You mean a safe house?"

"Yes. The caretaker is a Ukrainian oligarch who went into exile here years ago. He's a shipping magnate. I left early this morning, but I hit traffic."

"You came back for the car. How are you going to get it to the safe house?"

Alex momentarily shed his rough exterior. "The Mercedes is already at the safe house. I came back for you."

Eddie was moved. "I got your text to meet you at the Motel 6. I was on my way."

"What text?"

"The one you sent about ten minutes ago." Eddie scrolled to the text and showed it to Alex.

"Give me that!" Alex said abruptly. He threw the phone out the window.

"Hey, why did you do that? That's my phone. All of my contacts are on there!"

"Including the FSB."

"It's got a secure VPN. It can't be tracked," Eddie countered.

Alex shook his head. "How do you think I found you?"

# Chapter 7: Dollars and Sins

Safe house, personal resort by the lake

8:00 p.m.

Alex gave Eddie a personal tour of the oligarch's lavish and luxurious estate, complete with an indoor tennis court and pool. A private elevator descended to the ground floor. "Wow, it even has its own movie theater," Eddie exclaimed. "What's on the other side of the double doors?"

"Follow me," Alex answered.

Past the double doors was an underground garage of Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Aston Martins, and one lone presidential black stretch limousine. It looked stunning under the halogen lighting, gleaming like it had just been detailed.

Eddie smiled. "She's beautiful. How did you get her here without being detected?"

"A covered car transporter. I rented it from base Outdoor Recreation."

Eddie scratched his head. "Alex, you can't rent anything on base. You're not military. They won't rent to you, even with your forged US passport."

"I didn't use my passport; I used your military ID."

Alex returned it to him.

"How did you get your face on my ID?"

"Simple tradecraft."

Both Alex and Eddie adjourned upstairs in the entertainment room. "Thanks for showing me around. I think I've seen everything."

"No you haven't. There is something that is far more beautiful than your eyes could imagine. It's right upstairs," he pointed.

"What is it? A painting?"

"No, far more precious and treasured."

"Olga! Принесите татиану," Alex commanded.

Eddie waited in suspense.

A few minutes later, an old babushka entered the room with a very sleepy four-year old girl on her hip. She had two blonde ponytails with red ribbons in her hair. She had blue eyes like her dad. She was adorable.

Alex greeted the love of his life with open arms. A rare glimpse of humanity in a trained assassin. "Meet Tatiana."

"Oh my. She's an angel. Just look at her," Eddie beamed.

Tatiana wiped her eyes. "Poppa? Who's the brown man?" she asked with a heavy Russian accent.

Eddie was taken with her innocence.

Alex picked her up and raised her high. "That's your Uncle Eddie."

Alex boasted of his daughter's ability to pick up languages. At the age of four Tatiana already spoke four languages fluently. Olga, her nanny, took the credit for her linguistic prowess.

"Say goodnight, Tatiana," Alex said.

She yawned. "Good night, Uncle Eddie. Will you be here in the morning?"

Alex interjected, "Sleep well, my little princess."

Tatiana kissed her dad goodnight and waved goodbye to her newest fan.

9:00 p.m.

Olga finished her chores and joined Eddie in the entertainment room. She turned on the television and switched it to a Russian station, Russia Today. Alex was in the bathroom.

The broadcast was in Russian, but it was obvious that a news crew was covering a recent plane crash not far away.

"What happened, Olga?" Eddie asked.

"A cargo plane crashed. Everyone aboard died," she explained.

Alex emerged from the bathroom and caught the news story. "Shed no tears. It was a drug cartel. Not innocent people, just greedy drug dealers who claim to be businessmen," Alex grumbled. "The news story should read... FSB Fights War on Drugs."

Eddie and Olga could not decipher Alex's cryptic innuendo.

Alex explained during a replay of the inflight explosion caught by a cell-phone camera. "Look here." He pointed to a bright flash from the ground moments before the plane exploded. "The plane was shot down by the FSB. It was no accident. This is typical RT propaganda."

Eddie finally figured it out. "Was that the plane that transported the limousine you bought?"

Alex nodded and repeated himself. "Greedy drug dealers who claim to be businessmen. It won't take long before the FSB finds out they have been deceived. I'm buying time."

11:00 p.m.

Eddie's eyelids grew heavier with each passing second. Alex awakened him just before he drifted off. "Here, these are clean clothes. They will fit you. You should shower. The smell is unbearable and I am unable to concentrate."

"Alex... wha?" Eddie responded with a sluggish slur.

Alex handed Eddie a towel set and a plastic bag. "Put your soiled clothes in the fireplace. I will burn them."

Eddie stretched his arms wide. His yawn was more like a roar. He thanked Alex for the clothes and walked up the stairs to the bathroom.

After a long and badly needed shower, Eddie walked into the kitchen just as Alex emptied a savory snack into a bowl.

"What are those? Pretzels?"

"Similar, but Americans usually find these repulsive. It's an acquired taste," Alex responded.

"Hmm, I've heard stories about Russian cuisine. No thanks."

"It's not Russian, it's British."

"British? In that case, I'll have some."

Eddie grabbed a handful and stuffed his face. Alex set the bowl down and waited.

_Crunch, crunch, munch, munch._ "These aren't half bad. It tastes like..."

Alex folded his arms. "Wait for it."

Eddie continued munching. "Wait for what?"

Seconds later, Eddie's gag reflex kicked into high gear, and he spewed the chewed contents in a projectile stream. "Uggghh! That is so disgusting. I need water. I need water."

Alex handed Eddie some paper towels. "I warned you."

"How do you eat that?" Eddie cleaned up the mess and examined the family-size package. Alex laughed. "Twiglets? The aftertaste is what gets you. It tastes like tree bark but not as good."

Shortly after the taste testing of fine British savory snacks, the pair engaged in a more serious discussion.

"Alex, I think I've developed a new habit since I've met you."

Alex kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and placed his hands behind his head. "Well, enlighten me."

Eddie sat on the adjoining sofa. "I think it's called... cheating death."

"Not to worry. There will be plenty more opportunities."

Eddie leaned forward in deep thought. "Within the last 48 hours, I've cheated death twice. By the grace of God, a simple phone call to my old pastor allowed me to avoid certain death. Secondly, if you hadn't found me on the street, I would have lost my life in a cheap motel. There are forces at work here," Eddie surmised.

"Yes, there are forces at work. There are three to be exact."

"Three?" Eddie repeated.

"Yes, F-S-B. And they won't stop until they finish the job."

"Okay, but that wasn't quite what I was referring to."

Eddie shifted the conversation. "Anyway, I spoke to my old pastor yesterday and he shed some insight about my parents' expectations and stuff, regarding me. Apparently, they did have high hopes for me."

Alex seemed intrigued.

"I was born smack dab in the middle of the civil rights era. My parents had this vision that I would grow up and become this affluent community organizer, and that I would be able to help resist big business and their efforts to uproot generations of families. That is so far from what I am as a person. Resist big business? Heck, I can't even resist a Wendy's double cheeseburger."

"And this troubles you?"

"Well, my parents passed away years ago and now that I know this information, I feel like I was a disappointment. My parents were active in the community and co-founded this project called The Good Shepherd. I barely remember it growing up, but I know I was never drawn to it as a kid. Some things I wish I'd never known. Whoever said knowledge is power lied."

Alex sat there stroking his chin. "And the name Edward, was that a random name they picked or did it have significant meaning?"

"I don't know why they picked that name, and now I guess I will never know because they're gone."

"Eddie, I think I would have liked your parents. I admire their principles and their fighting spirit. I feel it when I hear you speak of them. This is good, this is good."

"What's good?" Eddie asked.

"To survive you must have something to live for. Your life must have meaning and purpose. I choose to live up to my name. If I die tonight, I will have died knowing that my life was not in vain." He leaned forward, his eyes holding Eddie's.

"Eddie, you must embrace your parents' vision no matter how distant that dream might seem. If you give up, you give up on your parents, and you give up on yourself. Fight until your very last breath."

Alex continued, but he took the conversation to a more profound level. "There is something I must tell you now. I have something in my possession that potentially upsets the balance of global power, and my government desperately wants it back. I'm here in the US to deliver it as a gift to your country."

"Whoa. That's deep, very deep. Can't you just contact the FBI or CIA and hand it over?"

"It's not that simple. All of your intelligence services are penetrated by Russians and have been for many decades. As I've said before, some of our penetrations reach the highest of echelons in your security structures. There's only one person I trust in your government, and I trust her with my life."

"Her? Did you have a romantic relationship with her?"

Alex stirred in his seat. "No, it was much deeper than that. She was my handler when I operated out of the Russian embassy years ago."

"What's a handler?"

"When I was a diplomat in Washington, DC, I was a double agent. She invited me to Colombia, where I let her recruit me into working for the CIA, but I secretly reported back to Moscow. On our way to the airport in Bogota, we were kidnapped by the Gutierrez cartel. It was me who they wanted, not her; they didn't know she was CIA. A letter was sent to the Russian embassy in Bogota for a $550,000 ransom."

"Did they pay it?"

"No. It is not Russian policy to pay ransom. I escaped on the second day of captivity and hunted them down one by one. I saved the most agonizing and brutal death for the one who sexually abused Taylor; that was her name. I have many sins, but this is not one of them. They deserved to die."

Alex concluded. "There is something about combat and captivity that bonds people for life."

# Chapter 8: Return to Sender

2:45 a.m.

Eddie lay stretched out on the sofa; his face buried in the crease of the cushions. His dreaming mind muted the sound of footsteps walking toward him in darkness.

"It's time to go," Alex advised with urgency. "You need to wake up, now."

Eddie pulled the warm blanket up to his neckline. "All right, just five more minutes," Eddie mumbled, not really awake.

Alex switched on the bright halogen lights and used the stereo remote to blast Russian rap music. The lights and blaring noise jolted Eddie from his dream state. He sat up, his eyes wide like saucers.

Eddie bunny-hopped around the coffee table putting on his trousers and tripped over a Russian copy of Barbie. He faceplanted onto the rug.

"Okay, I'm up now, even though the sun isn't. Are we going somewhere?"

"We've been compromised. The FSB will be here in less than fifteen minutes. Olga and Tatiana have already left," he said sternly.

"Geez. So persistent. Do they ever sleep?"

"There's plenty of time to rest when we're dead."

Alex headed to the door. He was dressed in a black muscle shirt and his signature black trousers. "Follow me."

"Can we stop by Dunkin' Donuts? They have great coffee," Eddie joked, using humor to defuse the feeling of impending doom.

The pair approached a semi rigged up to a canvas-covered car transporter. A man in a dark suit and expensive shoes awaited them. He was armed. His presence startled Eddie.

"He's not FSB. His name is Sergey and he's a friend I have known since primary school. He fled Moscow years ago and now he's here. Russian intelligence thinks he's dead."

Eddie relaxed. "Whew. Why do the Russians think he's dead?"

"He faked his death, with the help of your government and a few keen journalists eager to break the story. He's driving the transporter; We'll be inside in the Mercedes."

Sergey hopped into the cab. He placed his nickel-plated Glock on the passenger's seat. Eddie followed Alex around the back of the transporter. Eddie required much hip swiveling to squeeze between the Mercedes and the metal frame of the transporter.

Sergey and Alex conducted a radio check using encrypted communications. With his foot heavy on the gas, Sergey raced out of the estate. The interaction between Alex and Sergey was very businesslike, despite their long friendship.

Eddie's intentions of remaining vigilant and awake were derailed by the quietness of the empty city streets and the low hum of the engine.

Alex and Sergey maintained constant communications over the radio. A code phrase was needed to indicate the presence of hostiles.

"Dunkin' Donuts," Alex suggested.

5:00 am

One hundred miles later

Eddie's face was pasted to the passenger window, fogging it with every breath he took. His choice of sleep over vigilance perturbed Alex.

Alex cranked up the heat to the max to disrupt Eddie's slumber. It worked.

Eddie came awake and yawned loudly. "It's like a sauna in here. Why is the heat on full blast?" he complained.

"You need to stay awake," Alex warned.

"I'm starving. What about you?" Eddie asked.

Sergey sounded the alarm. "Dunkin' Donuts, Dunkin' Donuts!"

Eddie instantly became coherent and excited. "Oh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about."

When Eddie reached for his wallet, he noticed the rear curtain of the transporter rolling up.

A hail of deafening and relentless gunfire sprayed the transporter from both sides.

"Still sleepy?" Alex yelled over the sound of machine-gun fire.

Reality hit Eddie like a Mike Tyson uppercut. "This limousine is bulletproof, right?" Eddie asked. "What should I do? Tell me what to do!"

Alex revved the Mercedes' engine and placed his foot on the brake. He would have to reverse out of the speeding transporter.

"Sergey, are you there?"

"I'm hit! I'm hit!" Sergey groaned.

Crack, crack, crack, pop, pop, boom!

"Прощай!" Sergey muttered faintly in Russian.

"Sergey! Sergey!" Alex shouted into the radio.

After a few moments, Alex whispered, "And goodbye to you as well old friend."

Alex reversed out of the transporter, spinning the tires and generating a black cloud of smoke.

Vroom, vroom, vrooooom! Screech.

The transporter rolled to a complete stop in the middle of an intersection.

Meanwhile, Alex quickly shifted into drive and stepped on the gas. Eddie bounced around, hitting his head on the roof before strapping himself in securely.

Alex drove like a Formula One race driver despite there being no combatants in sight.

"Eddie, the privacy partition!" Alex yelled.

"What about the privacy partition?"

"Press the damn button!" Alex shouted.

The privacy partition rose, bearing gifts. It doubled as a gun rack and held an assortment of lethal military-grade pistols and automatic weapons.

As the pair raced through the empty town, a lone motorcycle appeared and was rapidly approaching.

Varooom! Varooom. Varooooooom!

Alex put the car on cruise control at 140 miles per hour. "Eddie, we've got company. Hand me the weapon on the bottom right."

A paintball gun? Eddie was confused by Alex's choice given the superior lethality of the other weapons. "This one?"

"Yes, now hold the steering wheel while I take him out."

Their surroundings grew increasingly blurred as the Mercedes hit maximum speed.

A second deadly volley of machine-gun fire rained upon the limousine. Alex braved the hail of bullets and extended his torso out of the driver's window. He placed the rapidly approaching motorcycle in his crosshairs.

_This is for Sergey, you son of a bitch_ , Alex thought.

Bang.

Alex slipped back into the driver's seat and took control of the steering wheel.

An innocuous-looking blue splat right in the middle of the lone assassin's leather jacket sent him into a grand mal seizure. The motorcycle took a hard spill onto a grassy area, ejecting the assailant.

Alex eased off the gas and checked his left and right flanks for more combatants.

Eddie questioned Alex's choice of a paintball rifle.

"Yes, it's a paintball rifle, but those aren't paintballs. I could have killed him instantly, but I needed him to suffer. This was personal."

Alex came to a screeching stop. "You drive."

The sound of a second motorcycle ahead drew their attention. "Let's go," Alex commanded. Eddie followed orders on pure adrenaline.

A hail of small-arms fire ricocheted off the windshield.

"Okay, Alex. What are we doing? Playing chicken with this guy?"

Both vehicles were on a collision course travelling at speeds over 100 mph.

Eddie had a death grip on the steering wheel. "This is insane. The guy's not flinching. Just shoot him!"

"Steady, steady. Full lock to the left. NOW!" Alex shouted.

_Screeech._ The Mercedes swerved left and swatted the rider off his bike, making a suicidal U-turn. The assailant went airborne through a second-story apartment window.

Alex commented on Eddie's execution of his signature move. "Not bad, but next time do it with your eyes open."

Alex stared at the dashboard display. It flashed предупреждение in red.

Eddie pointed to the screen. "What's the flashing red light mean?"

Alex looked out the window. "We've been painted! There's an inbound missile headed for us. I can't see it! Show yourself, you bastard!"

A bright yellowish-orange light pierced through the clouds.

"I see it. There it is!" Eddie yelled. "It's coming right at us!"

"Deploy the flares!"

"What?!"

Alex reached across Eddie and hit a button on the keypad. A small door opened up from the trunk and fired off a loud three-round burst of flares. The heat signature from the flares drew the missile off course. An explosion one hundred feet up illuminated the dawn sky like a fireworks display. Falling debris set car alarms off on both sides of the street.

Alex started to breathe heavily. "We're out of flares! We're sitting ducks... unless..."

"Unless what!?" Eddie said, racing the car through the streets.

Another bright yellowish-orange light pierced the clouds followed by another locked in on the Mercedes.

"Alex, there's two! There's two! Right there!" Eddie pointed upward.

Eddie noticed Alex fiddling with the radio. "What are you doing? There's two missiles heading straight for us and you're looking for a radio station! We're so dead!"

"Found it!" Alex said to himself.

Alex wasted no time in pairing his phone to the onboard computer.

By this time, the rotating heads of the inbound missiles were moments away from impact.

Eddie braced himself.

Alex held his phone and gave a verbal command in Russian.

Whoosh, whoosh!

Both missiles missed the Mercedes by inches and took an alternate course.

"The missiles, they missed us. That was close." Eddie sighed in relief.

Alex took a breather. "The next target won't be so lucky."

"Next target?" Eddie asked.

Alex looked up in the sky. A loud boom sounded just above the clouds followed by a bright flash.

Alex had the last few words.

"Returned to sender."

# Chapter 9: No Way Out

Abandoned business park

7:00 pm

Eddie pulled into an inactive car wash to hide from the convoy of police cars that sped by. Across the street was an abandoned dilapidated two-story brick home. The pair made a run for it, dodging speeding cars in traffic.

They entered the house from around the back. "Smells like piss in here," Eddie complained.

The walls were peppered with graffiti, and all the appliances and copper had been ripped out. Halfway into the house, Eddie's foot stabbed through a floorboard.

"We need to keep an eye on the car wash across the street. This front window will give us the best vantage point," Alex advised.

Eddie sat on the second step of the staircase, while Alex scouted out the basement.

"Are we close to our destination? I can't believe that after all this driving, we still have a quarter tank of diesel."

"We're about a hundred miles away, and getting there will be a challenge. We've got the FSB, the police, and probably the FBI in pursuit. We'll have to travel under cover of darkness from here on."

Eddie buried his face in his hands. He said a silent prayer.

"Eddie, what are you thinking about?"

Eddie heaved a big sigh before answering.

"Just weighing my options, that's all. Let's see here, I could end up in jail for the rest of my life, or I could be vaporized by a Russian missile from the sky. I always wanted options in life. Guess I need to be careful what I wish for," Eddie said in jest. He continued, "You might be built for this high-octane, high-stakes game, but I'm more of a Candy Crush type guy."

Alex ignored Eddie's pity party and passed him on the staircase to complete his reconnaissance of the house.

When he returned to the main floor, Alex said, "Eddie, I need two hours sleep. If you see something strange, anything... wake me up."

"Sure, but there's no place to lie down. This place is a dump."

Alex leaned against the front door and closed his eyes. He drifted to sleep in the standing position. Eddie assumed a post by the window.

Eddie checked his watch often. Time seemed to move at a snail's pace. His eyes slow-blinked as each car passed. Within ten minutes, both were fast asleep on their feet.

One hour later

Whoop, whoop!

"This is the police. Come out with your hands behind your heads. You cannot escape. We have you surrounded."

Eddie awakened from his slumber. "Damn! They're everywhere! Alex? Alex, where are you?"

Alex descended the stairs. He looked out the front window and observed a sea of flashing red and blue lights. "Don't go outside. Let them come in," Alex warned.

A hundred red lasers filled the room, oscillating in every direction.

Eddie's faith faded fast. His fate stood before him, already determined.

They could hear the sound of radio white noise at the front and rear entrances. Alex placed his hand on Eddie's shoulder. He sat on the stairs. "Sit next to me and cover your ears. The breach is coming."

A lone grenade crashed the front window.

_Pssssssssssssss_ ...

Eddie stood. "Alex, it's a grenade. They're gonna smoke us out!"

"Get down. It's not a smoke grenade, it's a flash bang!" Alex shouted.

"A what?!"

BOOM!

On the count of three, the police blew the doors off their hinges with battering rams. Policemen rushed inside with Glocks drawn.

Dozens of red lasers covered the disoriented pair doubled over on the stairs.

A veteran lieutenant was the senior officer on site. Junior officers obeyed his every command.

"Separate 'em! I want one in the basement and one in the kitchen. Cuff 'em! Move!"

"Yes, sir!" the officers responded in unison.

Two officers dragged Alex into the basement, while one officer used a fireman's carry to take Eddie into the kitchen.

Both Alex and Eddie were bleeding from the ears and mouth. Neither could stand on their own power and both suffered temporarily hearing loss.

Police broadcast

"10-23, 10-23. Arrived at scene, do you copy?"

"I copy."

"10-26, 10-26. Detaining suspects. What's your ETA?"

"I'm here, Goddamnit."

Standing larger than life was a tall crusty old southern boy, who hailed from Alabama. He flicked his cigar to the floor and smashed it like a bug. His badge reflected in the low light as he marched into the living room with a swagger and a menacing presence. He made a phone call upon his grand entry.

"This is Captain Steward, put the mayor on. I ain't got all day."

Inaudible.

"Mayor Carlisle, this is Captain Steward. We finally caught the son of a bitch. I'm bringing him in personally. Captain Steward out."

A junior officer tapped the captain on the back.

"What the hell do you want, Officer Bryant? This better be important!"

"Ah, er, sir, the Feds are here."

A mature and poised African-American woman holding up her credentials made her own grand entry into the living room. She had a tapered navy blue skirt and jacket. Her hazel eyes were alluring. "Special Agent Chase," she said.

The officers on site were distracted by her presence. The captain was not impressed. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the CIA, most affectionately known as the Clowns in America. What did I do to deserve this royal visit?"

"I'm not in the mood for your bullshit, Steward. Let's play nice. You know what I'm here for."

The captain closed the gap between them. "Special Agent Chase, why don't you go back to being a Fox News contributor and leave the heavy lifting for men with broad shoulders. You're an overpaid profiler; you don't know shit about ops. Go back to what you know, babycakes."

She laughed in his face. "You don't get it, do you? You don't have a clue who you are dealing with. I've tracked this guy for over a decade. I know everything there is to know about him. So let me tell you this. If you caught him, it's because he let you. You and your army of police officers cannot contain hm. I'd bet my badge on it."

Captain Steward placed his hand under her chin. "Darling, sounds like you've got a schoolgirl crush on this bozo. After I get through with him, he'll wish he'd stayed his ass in Russia. He's gonna leave here either on a stretcher or in a body bag, and I'll bet this shiny badge of mine on it."

She slapped his hand away. "You're an ignorant fool, Steward. He's number three on Interpol's most wanted list, and the FBI just bumped him up to number two. His IQ is off the charts; he is a human weapon that knows no pain. Let me take him in. I'm your only chance."

"Captain, Captain!" shouted a policeman, straddling Eddie's motionless body.

"What is it?!"

"This one is fading in and out. He's barely got a pulse."

Agent Chase followed Captain Steward into the kitchen. She knelt down beside Eddie. "I'm Special Agent Chase. I'm with CIA counterintelligence. Are you okay?" She checked his pulse and then gently stroked the side of his face.

Eddie's breathing was subdued. His eyes opened for a few seconds. "I know who you are. You're Taylor," he whispered in a faint voice before losing consciousness.

Captain Steward was at the end of his short tether. "Special Agent Chase, I've run out of patience. You've got no jurisdiction here, so I'm ordering you to vacate the premises now."

She refused. Captain Steward reached down and manhandled her, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Let go of me. Let go of me!" She screamed and kicked. Captain Steward told his men to clear a path to the entrance. "Stop, you're hurting me!" You're hurting me! "Alex, help me," she cried.

The power cut out, and darkness filled the room. Uncertainty loomed over the force. All were on edge.

"What the hell. Who turned off the lights?" yelled the captain.

"Let me go, you animal! I'm a federal officer." Special Agent Chase managed to escape her captor's clutches.

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, creak, pause.

Thud.

Cough, cough. Grunt, groan, grunt groan.

Another senior officer onsite made his way to the garage and threw the breaker switch. The lights came back on.

The captain was on his knees, grabbing his throat in a manic coughing fit. He pointed to the basement. "Bring him to me, now," he groaned. The captain collected his uniform headgear and stood with raised pistol. He disengaged his weapon's safety.

Special Agent Chase backed up against the wall.

Three police officers scurried up the stairs. "Captain, I'm afraid I've got bad news. Lieutenants Ski and Martinez are out cold. There's no sign of the suspect."

The captain's eyes squinted with anger. "Search every square inch of this house. He can't be gone! Impossible!"

The captain anxiously searched his person. "Where are they? Where are my damn keys?"

Vroom, vroom. Screech.

A rookie policeman ran into the house. "Sir, someone just stole your cruiser."

"Goddamnit!" Captain Steward put his fist through the living room wall.

The rookie cop continued. "Sir, is this your badge? It was on top of the mailbox."

Special Agent Chase walked toward the rookie. "I'll take that, thank you very much."

# Chapter 10: The Awakening

Police headquarters, officer debriefing

Detective Corbet's office

"Good evening, lieutenants. You know the drill. I need you to walk me through the sequence of events, right up to the detention of the suspect. Right now, the captain is getting his ass reamed by the chief, and we need to get to the bottom of this with as much detail as possible. Do you understand? Lieutenant Martinez, you go first. Ski, I need you to wait outside."

Lieutenant Belinsky stood gingerly, wearing a neck brace, and walked out of the office, closing the door behind him. Martinez recalled the evening's events.

"Detective, we gave them several opportunities to surrender. We covered the front and back ingress-egress points. We had a dozen snipers on rooftops and close to thirty or so officers on the ground. There was no way he could have escaped."

"But he did!" Corbet bellowed.

Martinez continued. "I threw the concussion grenade and it went off in close proximity to the perpetrators. The black suspect was knocked unconscious, but the Russian was just disoriented and struggled to find his footing. Lieutenant Ski and I took him to the basement to restrain him."

Silent pause.

"Go on."

"That's when things got kinda crazy. Once we got him into the basement, Ski told the Russian to get on his knees with his hands behind his head. Something inside of him just snapped."

The detective interjected, "You should have tased him. Why didn't you follow protocol, Lieutenant?"

Martinez seemed to be reliving the event and started breathing heavily as he relayed the story.

"Detective, we did. We both tased him. It didn't faze him. He started walking toward us, and I went for my service pistol. I tried to get the drop on him but..."

"But what?" Corbet demanded.

"Lights out. That's all I got. The next thing I remember was the paramedics carrying me off in a stretcher. Detective?"

"What, Martinez?"

"The guy's not human. I've seen some crazy things in my ten years on the force, but this guy is unreal. That's all I can say."

Knock, knock, knock.

"I'm busy!" yelled the detective.

Knock, knock, knock.

Corbet excused himself and hastily walked to answer the door.

"Damnit, Brian. This better be important. What is it?"

"Excuse me, Detective. I know you're busy, but I've just uploaded the body cam footage from officers Ski and Martinez to the Intranet. It's like a scene out of a Bruce Lee movie. I'm thinking about adding a soundtrack to it," he joked.

The detective was not amused. "Brian, as always you are efficient. But there is nothing funny about this whatsoever. When the captain has a bad day, we all have a bad day. I'll take a look at the footage. Send Ski back into my office, please."

The detective beamed the footage onto his overhead monitor behind his desk. The footage was slightly grainy, but the entire range of view was captured, complete with enhanced audio. The footage had been advanced to the last thirty seconds. Corbet gave a running commentary as events unfolded.

"Okay. He's standing with his hands above his head with his back to you. Hmm, he's not complying with your order to kneel. All right, I see you deploying your taser, and here comes the second taser. Maybe the tasers malfunctioned. He's not affected by them."

"No, sir, he was not. But they were working. You can see the sparks flying."

Corbet turned the volume up to the max.

A woman's loud scream was captured on audio. _Alex, help me!_

"Sir, this is when he went absolutely psycho."

The detective watched intently. "All right, his back is to both of you. It looks like he's getting ready to turn around to face you. Okay, he's walking toward you."

Wham!

Corbet was confused. "What just happened? Why are both body cams filming the ceiling?"

"Sir, maybe if you advance the footage frame by frame you can see what happened."

The detective complied. "Wow. That's incredible. I've seen that move a million times before in UFC fights, but never that fast. The speed is phenomenal. His moves are literally invisible to the human eye at normal shutter speed. I've never seen a round house kick to the face with such speed and brute force. One kick took out the both of you?"

"I guess so. I didn't see it coming."

"Me neither."

Corbet rewound the footage and watched in amazement. "All right. It's a wrap, gentlemen. I've got what I need for now. If I need more information, I know where to find you. Send in the other suspect. I believe his name is... Mr. Clay, Mr. Eddie Clay."

Both officers shrugged. "Sir, Lieutenant Hall and Patrolman Driscole escorted the suspect from the arrest site about a half hour before we left. They should have been here by now. I'll raise them on the radio."

"32, 32, what's your 20? Repeat, 32, 32, what's your 20?"

Patrolman Driscole wondered why the lieutenant wasn't responding to the request for their location. "Lieutenant Hall, if we don't answer, they'll send a squad car to look for us."

"Just shut your mouth and keep your eyes on the road. We're almost there. Turn left into the business park up ahead. Remember, don't say anything. Let me do the talking. You got that, rookie?"

Deep in the back of the industrial complex was a pair of bright headlights cutting through the dusk.

"There they are. Don't get too close. Park next to that white van over there," Hall ordered.

Two tall men in dark business suits emerged from a black BMW X5 with tinted windows. They stood in front of the headlights in military rest position.

Lieutenant Hall exited his cruiser and shined his flashlight at the two men. The lieutenant was anxious and attempted to assert control over the meet. "You got my money?"

The pair laughed. The older gentleman engaged the frustrated police officer and endeavored to assuage his nervousness. "Why so aggressive on first date, eh? In Russia we engage in pleasantries before beeznius."

The condescending tone of the Russian only agitated the cop even more. "Listen, jerk balls, in case you didn't know, we're not in Russia, you got that?"

"Put your flashlight away. We want to see your face. We have the money. What do you have for us?"

"Hey, Driscole! Wake him up and bring him here," he commanded.

"He's still unconscious," Driscole shouted from the driver's seat.

"Then drag him."

The rookie cop complied and dragged Eddie by his feet to the standoff. Eddie faded in and out of consciousness.

The two Russians were annoyed. "This is not what we agreed to. Where is Alexander? This man here is of little interest to us."

"Hey, pal, you get what I give you. I'll make you a deal. Give me $250,000, that's half. That's fair."

The two Russians whispered among themselves, then the older gentleman spoke. "No deal."

"Whoa, I put my career on the line for this shit. All I have to do is make one call and I shut down all your operations: the drugs, the hookers, and the money laundering. Capisce, comrade?" The cop reached into his pocket and raised his phone high.

The Russians conceded. The younger Russian retrieved a black briefcase from the trunk and handed it over. At the same time, Driscole dragged Eddie to the rear of the X5. The exchange was complete.

" _Cимпатия вашей жене_ ," the older Russian said to Lieutenant Hall as he entered his vehicle.

"What did you say? I didn't catch that," Lieutenant Hall responded.

The two cops counted the counterfeit bills in the front seat of the cruiser.

The black X5 pulled alongside the patrol car. _"Cимпатия вашей жене_. It means condolences to your wife."

Spinning tires and a plume of black smoke accented their hasty departure. Their taillights disappeared into the night.

Seconds later, a bright yellowish-orange light descended from the moonlit sky, courtesy of the FSB.

"32, 32, what's your status?"

Eddie awakened from his coma-like state. "Who are you and where am I?"

The two Russians in the front seat continued to drive, barely taking notice of their human cargo.

"I said, who are you and where am I?"

The older Russian in the passenger's seat obliged his requests. "Mr. Clay, we are representatives of the Russian FSB. I am Nicolai and this is Igor. The question is not where are you. That is irrelevant. The real question you should ask yourself is where do you go from here? And that my friend is entirely up to you."

"What are you talking about? And by the way, is there any chance you could loosen these cuffs? They're killing me."

"Mr. Clay, where is Alexander?"

"I don't know, honest."

"Mr. Clay, where is my country's limousine? It does not belong to you, and we would like to have it back."

Eddie hesitated.

"Igor, pull over. He will talk one way or the other."

The X5 pulled into a Home Depot parking lot. Igor joined Eddie in the back seat and straddled him. He produced a pair of pliers from his suit jacket and forced Eddie's mouth open. His pliers firmly gripped Eddie's two front teeth.

"Aggggggh." Eddie moaned in anticipation of excruciating pain.

Nicolai turned around. "No, Igor. We don't have time for fun and games. Hold him still." Nicolai produced a medium-sized hypodermic needle with a cloudy white substance in the chamber. "Hold him still, Igor," Nicolai commanded.

Eddie watched in fear as the needle vanished into his arm. He could feel the cold liquid entering into his veins, flowing throughout his body. His rapidly beating heart soon calmed as he entered a trance state.

Nicolai smiled at his semi-unconscious passenger. "Now the truth can be told," Nicolai said.

Abandoned landfill, just outside Chicago

Midnight

Eddie could barely keep his eyes open. He was groggy from the serum. "What happened? Where am I?"

"I want Poppa. I want my poppa," Tatiana cried out in the front seat of the limousine.

"Silence her, Igor." Igor struggled to contain her. Tatiana's temper tantrum was in full swing.

Nicolai grabbed the same hypodermic needle and jabbed her thigh. Tatiana was unconscious in minutes.

"Igor, Alexander should be here in a few minutes. Get the shovels from the trunk."

"да сэр," Igor confirmed.

A dark silhouette emerged between the two headlight beams about twenty feet away.

"Igor, it's Alexander."

Nicolai flashed his high beams. Alexander had both hands raised as he slowly walked toward the limousine. He looked disheveled and his five o'clock shadow had turned into a scraggly beard.

"Alex!" Eddie yelled from the rear of the Mercedes.

Alex did a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn and raised his shirt to show he was unarmed.

Igor uncuffed Eddie and handed him a shovel. "Get out and go stand next to Alexander."

Igor threw a shovel to Alex, standing in front of the limo. "Dig!"

Alexander dropped the shovel. "I want proof that you have Tatiana. Let me see her!" he demanded.

Nicolai exited the car with the motionless four-year-old over his shoulder.

"What have you done to her? If you have harmed her in any way, I won't rest until I've wiped out your entire bloodline on both sides."

"Poppa, Poppa," Tatiana muttered.

"Alexander, do we have an agreement? Yes?"

Alexander nodded.

"What's goin' on, Alex?" Eddie pleaded.

Alex picked up his shovel. "Help me dig."

Five minutes later the pair finally exchanged words. "Alex, I'm sorry. I must have told them where we hid the limousine. I don't know what else I might have told them. They drugged me."

"I know. Keep digging."

"What are we digging for?" Eddie asked.

Alex didn't respond.

"We're digging our graves, aren't we?"

Alex stopped digging momentarily. "Perhaps."

"I knew it. I saw this in a movie once. So this is how it all ends. I'm going to die in a landfill, buried in a shallow grave. I will be so glad when this is over and done with. I am tired of fighting death. I give up. I'm tired, dog tired."

Alex witnessed Eddie losing the will to continue. "What happened to your ironclad faith in your God?"

Eddie kept digging. "Ironclad? It's more like tinfoil at the moment. I've got no fight in me. The worst part is this. I now know what my purpose in life was. I now know what my parents' expectations were of me. I've failed them."

Eddie continued his rant. "In my heart and mind, I believed the reason you came into my life was to show me those things. To wake me up out of my slumber. I was sleepwalking through life before I met you. The funny thing is that it still bothers me that I never found out why my parents choose the name Edward. I could have been a Robert, a Michael, a Victor, any other name, so why Edward?"

Alex joined Eddie in vigorous digging.

Eddie continued. "Apparently, I was supposed to be a leader, a wealthy leader of my community. Isn't if funny how death can make you appreciate life? And now I'm digging my grave."

_Thud._ "Alex, I think I hit something."

"Stop digging," Alex advised.

Alex stooped down and wiped the dirt off a shiny black case.

"A laptop?" Eddie surmised.

"Yes, but they want the hard drive." Alex raised the laptop in the air and walked between the two headlight beams.

Alex placed the black case on the hood of the limousine. "Release the girl."

Igor pointed his firearm at Alex to keep him in check.

Nicolai released Tatiana to her father. Alex kissed his daughter's forehead and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Poppa, Poppa," she said faintly.

Nicolai and Igor fired up the laptop inside the limousine.

Carrying his daughter, Alex joined Eddie by the pit.

"Is that it? Are we free to go?" Eddie asked.

"No, once they realize that the drive has been wiped, they will attempt to execute us. I'm just buying time. I'm waiting for a special guest."

A sleek black Cadillac SUV approached the limousine. Alex checked his watch. "I knew she'd show to watch my execution."

"Alex, talk to me. What's going on?"

Alex was spinning in his own orbit, intently focused. A senior FSB official, dressed in her signature red pantsuit, stepped out of the SUV and spoke to Nicolai.

"I just need her to get in the limousine. Come on. Get in," Alex whispered to himself. She did. Alex sighed. "I've waited for this moment."

"This sounds bad, whatever it is," Eddie moaned.

Alex placed an arm around Eddie's shoulders.

"That woman there is Satan's mistress. I took an innocent life because of her. It was a senseless act. Not for country, not for honor, not for anything but her utter madness." Alex flashed back to that infamous evening and relayed the story with remorse, regret, and compassion.

"Get in the limousine," a woman's voice echoed.

"Please don't, please, my baby. My baby."

"Get in, now!" she commanded sadistically.

"Fire!" she ordered.

The limousine rocked back and forth from the RPG blast, the occupants tossed about.

"Fire again!"

"But Madam?"

"I said... FIRE AGAIN!"

Boom!

"So it was you. You fired the rocket into the limousine."

Alex nodded. "I could still smell the sulfur in the air from the blast as I retold the story." He let go of Eddie and stepped slightly away. "Remember when I said there would never be a good time to press the black button on the keypad?" Alex asked.

"Of course I remember."

"The time has come." Alex reached into his pocket and opened his hand. There was a keychain with a key fob.

Alex handed Tatiana to Eddie. "Goodbye, Madam. I'll see you in hell."

"Alex, wait a second, hold on, wait!"" Eddie shielded Tatiana with his body from the imminent blast and braced for impact. Alex pressed the infamous black button.

There was no explosion. Just the sound of door locks falling, sealing the occupants inside. The three passengers fervently tried to unlock the doors. Their screams were muted by the soundproof limousine windows. The safety glass withstood their barrage of shells that ricocheted everywhere inside. The vehicle rocked left and right as the passengers threw themselves at the doors.

During the struggle, a white cloudy gas escaped from the interior vents. Their screams were soon followed by choking and gagging. In minutes, three lifeless bodies lay on top of each other in the front of the Mercedes. It was surreal.

"That wasn't sleeping gas, was it?" Eddie asked.

A government helicopter flew past the nearby tree line and shined a spotlight on the trio standing in front of the Mercedes. The wind of the chopper blew debris in every direction. Eddie and Alex shielded their faces. Tatiana buried her face into Eddie's trouser leg.

"Right on time!" Alex shouted over the sound of the chopper blades.

"Are these the good guys?" Eddie shouted back.

Alex reached down in the hole and retrieved another laptop case.

"So, I guess they are here for you," Eddie surmised.

Alex handed Eddie the laptop in exchange for his daughter. "No, they are here for you, Edward. The nuclear codes are on the hard drive."

"Alex, did you plan this?"

"I had a little help from a friend at the CIA. But this is where we go our separate ways, my friend."

Eddie was sad to see his friend leave. "You don't strike me as a Facebook or Instagram type of guy. But if you ever come around, hit me up."

Alex shook Eddie's hand and waved goodbye. Tatiana waved goodbye too, clinging to her dad's neck.

"Alex! Thank you, for everything."

CIA Museum, Langley, Virginia

Six months later, exhibition unveiling

"...And that concludes this afternoon's session. We hope that you've enjoyed this rare glimpse into Russian presidential security. It took six months to restore this fine automotive specimen to its current pristine condition. She's beautiful, isn't she, ladies and gentlemen?"

Applause, applause.

"I have time for two more questions. The gentleman in the black sweater, what's your question?"

"You said the limousine was acquired from The Good Shepherd Project. Can you elaborate?"

"Of course. The Good Shepherd Project is a startup community service organization based in the Greater Chicago area. The terms of the sale were not disclosed, but from what I've been told, the proceeds were used to incentivize small business growth and job creation in the area."

"Time for one more question. The woman in the blue-flowered dress."

"Thank you for taking my question. I'm a member of the Go Green movement in Woodbridge. Last year in 2017, Mercedes Benz publicly announced on their website they were phasing out diesel engines in favor of more environmentally friendly fuel alternatives. This Mercedes is a 2018 model, correct?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"With that in mind, does the Russian Presidential Limousine use unleaded or diesel fuel?"

The museum historian hesitated. He stroked his gray beard in deep thought.

"I don't want to misspeak and give inaccurate information. I don't know the answer to that question. I will have to research it."

The CIA historian concluded. "Ladies and gentlemen, in your programs, you will find a brief survey sheet. We'd like to solicit your comments and feedback on our new exhibition; let us know if we've hit the mark. Thank you."

CIA Museum, staff room

"Great job, Andrew on your presentation of the Russian limousine. You hit it right out of the park. I'm reading your reviews. They loved it. Well done."

Andrew poured over the survey sheets and smiled with each review.

"Hey Andrew, you've got a couple of odd reviews here. Not sure what to make of them."

"Are they bad reviews?"

"No, both are five stars. Here, you take a look."

Andrew read both reviews.

Great job! The limousine runs on diesel. Trust me.

Oтлично сработано, diesel.

There is something about combat and captivity that bonds people for life.

—Alexander—

THE END

Definition of Edward: Means "rich guardian," wealthy, prosperous protector. Derived from Old English elements. Other variants include; Ed, Eddy, Eddie, Ted, Teddy.

# ALSO BY E. CLAY

Writing as Eddie Thompkins III:

Flagrant Misconduct

My Name is Elijah

The Mogadishu Diaries

Writing as E. Clay:

_The Seduction of Monet Dawson_ (bestseller)

_The Crossover_ (bestseller)

The Syndicate: Operation Valiant Exodus

Fade to Black

Lucid Nightmare

Writing as Eddie Clay

Insider Threat

# Author's Corner

The author on Huntingdon Radio Station HCR

The author, whose real name is actually Eddie, would like to thank you for taking the time to read _The Rich Guardian_. One of the main objectives in writing this story was to encourage enlightenment and self-awareness of purpose. _The Rich Guardian_ was written in ten weeks.

The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.

—Mark Twain

Ebook formatting: www.lkebookformatting.com

Paperback formatting: www.ByYourSideSelfPub.com

New Paradigm Publishing. All rights reserved. 2018

http://www.new-paradigm-publishers.org
