

Kingfish

By

Frank Perry, author

Hampton Falls, New Hampshire

Books.by.frank@gmail.com

Synopsis

A former Navy SEAL becomes an unlikely lobbyist for the state of California in Washington DC at the request of his sister, a lawyer in the Governor's office. He's dealing with a controversial state initiative to legalize recreational drug use under certain controlled conditions to ease the enormous expense caused by the war on drugs. He's inexperienced on the job and seeks help from numerous sources more familiar with the political process. His crude approach stirs emotions on both sides of the issue and becomes violent when it might ruin fortunes for illicit drug traffickers and careers of politicians bent on promoting and anti-drug platform. He's up against an unholy alliance of opposites, both trying to stop him. Personal lives are uprooted and the people dearest to the lobbyist, including his fiancée, become targets for retribution. He's faced with abandoning his work or bringing heartache to those he loves.

Copyright © 2016 by Frank Perry

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to: books.by.frank@gmail.com.

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Acknowledgements

The author would like to acknowledge the contributions made to this book by: Sandy Blair, my valued author friend and advisor, Richard Cesario and Beverly Heinle provided invaluable proofreading "red marks," and Ken Starr, LTC, USA (ret.) provided valuable Army insight. My wife Janet Perry tolerantly read the early drafts, preventing too much embarrassment. The cover theme and designed was created by my talented son, Brendan Perry.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, world organizations, government agencies, regulations, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author professes no medical training related to the subject matter.

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Other books by Frank:

  * Recall to Arms

  * The Cobra Identity

  * Reign of Terror

  * Letters From the Grave

  * Kingfish

  * Sibley's Secret

  * The Dolos Conspiracy

  * The Girl on the Cliff

* Prolog: Failed Policy

The Washington Times, on June 2, 20111, reported the results of an international panel, prepared by the Global Commission on Drug Policy2. According to the Times article, ... "The fact is that the war on drugs is a failure."

The 19-member commission included several heads of state and noted individuals including former U.S. officials George P. Schultz and Paul Volcker.

The Nixon-era "War on Drugs" has escalated each year, resulting in massive expenditures, organized crime, overcrowded prisons, and human destruction on a scale unknown since the Second World War. This doesn't suggest that nothing should be done to curb drug abuse in America and around the world, but criminalized production and distribution of illegal drugs has corrupted governments in all parts of the world, including America. Organized crime today exists primarily because of current drug enforcement policies. Drug consumption and Government corruption have both increased dramatically over thirty years since the "war" began—as a direct result of American policy.

U.S. taxpayers have spent over a trillion dollars fighting the war and are continuing to lose an un-winnable battle. It's ironic that a partially legalized and closely regulated policy, especially for marijuana, would do more to curb abusive drug use and end gangland violence (and actually generate revenue) than any so-called war. The sad fact is that being "hard on drugs" has become a perverted platform for politicians. Practical courage is needed to re-address the problem of drug abuse. From history, we should have learned that barricading the borders (Prohibition) was the wrong answer to controlling substance abuse.

Farallons

The Farallon Islands are an eight-mile-long stretch of uninhabited barren outcroppings jutting from the Pacific, ranging from twenty-five to thirty miles off the Northern California coastline. They are remnants of an ancient tectonic upheaval, officially part of San Francisco County today. On clear days, they cast a grey silhouette against the western sky that can be seen from the Golden Gate Bridge. Clear days are rare. Winds and perpetual surf have eroded the islands, sculpting steep craggy peaks and arches rising a hundred feet above the surface then sinking sharply below, to over eight hundred feet. Uninhabitable by humans, the islands are a natural sanctuary for sea birds and mammals. Massive kelp beds and plankton-rich Pacific currents support all forms of marine life, including abalone and urchins, in dense underground natural hatcheries. Seals and otters thrive on the vast food supply. To their peril, a natural enemy, the Great White Shark, inhabits these waters as well in greater abundance than anywhere else in the world.

Tim Chambers and Brock Keefe worked in Sausalito as drywall installers during the week, and spent their weekends as commercial divers along the California Coast, harvesting sea urchins for their roe, which is a delicacy on the west coast and in Asia. Together, they owned an old nineteen-foot open skiff with a single Mercury outboard motor. Their diving gear was a hookah system, consisting of a scuba regulator tethered by a high-pressure hose to a small air compressor aboard the boat. Wearing a wetsuit and heavy weight belts, they could work along the rocky bottom of the ocean for long periods, sending their catch in baskets to the surface by a rope tended from the boat. They would alternate diving and tending duties.

Both men were in their mid-twenties and unmarried. They made enough money working underwater on the weekends to pay for their boat and expenses, but little profit. They were not full-time professional divers, but loved doing it on weekends. They had licenses to dive commercially.

Most of the time, they would anchor in kelp beds near the coast, not far from the mouth of the Golden Gate. If the weather was calm enough, and they had time to cruise farther out, they would venture to the Farallons where the harvest was much richer. It was a kind of manly dare between them to cross the open ocean in the small open boat. Neither would admit being nervous about the sharks, which had multiplied along the Northern California coast since otters and seals had been removed from government protection. At least one diver was attacked each year, on average, in the Farallons. A diver named Edleman had been killed and partially eaten only a week before. The U.S. National Parks Service had issued a warning for divers to avoid entering water near the North Farallon Island for at least a year. The huge sharks were known to be territorial during certain times of the year then would usually move to new feeding grounds. Tim and Brock were diving at the south island, miles away.

The dark pre-dawn swells were running about six feet tall at long gentle intervals in a dense fog. They cruised slowly, watching and listening for ships in the channel, using a magnetic compass for navigation. The fog would lift by mid-morning when the wind and chop would increase. They planned to dive along the leeward side of the southern-most island, shielded from the worst weather. If sea conditions followed a normal summer pattern, the men would return home after dark when conditions subsided again. If it remained too rough at night to cross to the mainland, they carried sleeping bags and food to stay overnight on the boat at anchor. Once the holding tank was filled, the boat would sink ten inches lower in the water, becoming dangerous to manage in anything but a glassy flat sea. At the Farallons, they expected to have a full load quickly.

It was cold and damp, as they neared the island. They could smell it before seeing anything. After two hours of cruising, they slowed as the swells moderated and the gulls could be heard above the engine noise, nearing their destination. They couldn't see it, but there were indications that the jutting cliffs were somewhere close ahead. The fog was thinning from the sunrise behind them, and the grey ghostly silhouette of south island suddenly appeared. Brock threw the anchor overboard into the kelp and Tim shifted into reverse, stopping forward motion.

Both were psyched about the money they could make in this fertile area but also thought about the man-eaters living there. They didn't talk about it. With swells and wind coming from the northwest, they were anchored in dense seaweed close to the cliffs on the southeastern side of the highest peak, about fifty feet from shore in thirty feet of calm water. They were surrounded by a dark brown kelp carpet spreading around the boat from stalks anchored to the bottom. The rocky shore at the base of the cliff had hundreds of sea lions waiting for the sun. Some bellowed warnings at the boat, but most continued to sleep. There were summer storms farther out in the Pacific, and rough sea conditions in the surrounding ocean created more silt in the water than usual, obscuring visibility. The anchor rope disappeared from view no more than six feet below the surface.

His teeth chattered in the mist as Chambers put on his black wetsuit for the first dive of the day while Keefe started the compressor and arranged the tethers. They didn't speak much during these practiced rituals. If the reef below was covered with legal-size urchins as both hoped, the basket would come up full a dozen times during the first hour before it would be Keefe's turn to work on the bottom. Chambers normally wore a fourteen pound weight belt when free diving to offset the buoyancy of his neoprene suit, but today he wore an additional ten-pound belt. This allowed him to wear sneakers instead of swim fins and stand on the rocky sea ledge. Even though the bottom sloped at fifteen degrees, the crustaceans living on the massive outcroppings provided ample traction. He just needed to avoid stepping into fissures where moray eels would feel threatened.

Ten minutes after anchoring, Tim sat on the edge of the hull with his feet in the water, adjusting his facemask and testing airflow. Brock handed him the "tool bag" inside the haul net that would be raised as Tim filled it with urchins. If all went well, they would have a full holding tank today.

With a final thumbs-up, Chambers pushed off as the air hose and haul net rope uncoiled beside Keefe on deck. Almost as quickly as he jumped, he disappeared from view, leaving a steady stream of bubbles boiling on the surface. His respiration rate accelerated from the first shocked by the cold Pacific, and bubbles rose in a constant stream before the water inside his wet suit warmed to body temperature. Today, tension from poor visibility and unspoken danger surrounding the Farallons contributed to higher anxiety. The compressor could handle Tim's excessive air usage. Brock instinctively maintained vigilance, watching around the boat for any sign of danger, but the Great Whites don't swim on the surface. Attacks come from below.

A crimson-streaked eastern sky was not yet provided much light in the depths. Tim sank, surrounded by darkness. He was in a forest of tall kelp and his only sight reference was the tether and the shadow of the boat above. After about a minute descending into the increasing darkness, vague contours appeared to his right while blackness remained elsewhere. His feet hit an uneven outcropping, covered with sea grass and barnacles.

It was difficult to balance at first. After stabilizing, he saw the floor surrounding him covered with the blackish spiny urchins. Excitement replaced anxiety as he filled the net, on the rope, sending it up in only two minutes. He was careful to measure each one, but most of them were so large it wasn't necessary. He couldn't see more than six feet, but it didn't matter. He'd never seen so many urchins in one location. After the second basket was sent up, sea lions darted in and out of the shadows as he broke open a few urchins to attract them for fun. If he thought about it, this was a stupid thing to do. Sharks ate the seals.

Time went by quickly when Brock pulled on the air hose, signaling Time to come up. The holding tank on the boat was already a third full. Chambers lifted his fourteen-pound belt into the haul net with some urchins and started up as Brock pulled on the air hose and rope together. Breaking the surface, Chambers yelled, "Man, there's gold on the bottom!"

Brock had been dumping the net. "Get aboard, and let me see!"

Chambers lifted his ten-pound belt over the side and tossed his mask and regulator into the boat, to climb over the swim platform. "Brock! You should see it down there! We could be rich, man! I never seen so many urchins and abalone. It's like no one has ever been here before. Red abs (abalone) is crawlin' on top of each other."

Brock was already half suited up when Chambers climbed over the stern. "Tim, empty the net, I wanna get down there. We've never had a haul like this so fast."

Chambers helped him with his weight belts and coiled the lines for a smooth descent. "Okay pal, we could be heading in by noon if this keeps up. It's pretty dirty down (poor visibility), but I didn't see any end to it. Just start a little south of the boat, and keep working toward deeper water. I was at about fifty feet, moving around the kelp stalks. It's dark, but you don't need to see far to find 'em."

Brock's excitement raged, and he was already sitting on the edge with his feet dangling in the water. "Hand me the basket, and hold my lines." He jumped in and started down as Chambers managed the lines. Like Chambers, Brock saw the bottom only a moment before landing. Even without moving to deeper water he was still finding urchins that Chambers had missed. They could come back to this spot for years and never deplete the supply.

The kelp forest was all around, casting dark shadows as the sun rose and fog thinned. Visibility improved to about ten feet with more light, and the ethereal shapes of the kelp formed a broad floating ceiling above, punctuated by moving light rays. It felt like a huge smoke-filled forest at dawn. He looked up briefly and saw the vague shaded shape of the hull for reference. He was cautious moving deeper into the darkness.

The steep slope led rapidly into the darker depths, but Brock wanted to find the boundaries of the urchin field, stepping carefully down the ledge, like descending from a steep mountain. He just couldn't believe how plentiful their prize really was. Then he saw it, an unexpected familiar shape in the monochromatic blackness ahead. He knew what it was before he could see even a third of it.

He was five feet above a car covered under a short layer of sea grass. It sat upright, with its hood pointed toward deeper water. Unlike the steep streets in San Francisco, this car had not simply slipped gear and rolled into the harbor -- not twenty-five miles at sea. He rubbed the license plate attached to the bumper with a registration sticker that was valid only a year earlier.

As he investigated, sea lions started darting nervously around him before disappearing into the forest. Then all light was eclipsed by a huge object overhead. On the surface, between the boat and shore rocks, the sea lions were suddenly noisy. They were barking and jumping out of the water as fast as they could swim. On the bottom, Brock knew what it above. A huge shark, about twenty feet long, brushed his yellow air hose, terrifying him. He could hide near the car and maybe even under it. He'd seen blue sharks before, but never anything over six feet long. This thing looked as big as a school bus and would eat a diver as quickly as a sea lions.

On the surface, Chambers tugged on the lines, figuring that a shark was there. Brock responded with a sharp tug that Chambers misunderstood as a signal. He thought Brock was coming up, so pulled hard. Brock lifted off the bottom, leaving him with no chance to hide. He was now shark bait. He panicked, dropping both weight belts and inflating his buoyancy compensator, ascending at a dangerous rate. He risked nitrogen poisoning or being eaten. He was rising too fast, trying to breathe normally. Terror overtook him as the head of the creature filled his vision, passing only a foot away. It swam moved past close enough to touch, showing a girth almost five feet wide. The massive tail thrust Brock aside. He was momentarily disoriented, but Chambers tugged him upright. The shark appeared again, its mouth only inches from Brock's torso as it missed him again. Its mouth was agape, wider than Brock's upper body with teeth inches long. He saw the jagged razors in massive red jaws. He screamed through his mouthpiece, reaching for the boat hull only feet above. Chambers had seen none of it. The shark made another pass charging from the depths below, and Brock jerked his legs to his chest. The beast missed by inches and broke the surface like a nuclear submarine shooting ten feet in the air. Brock broke the surface and Chambers grabbed both arms, pulling him over the side with superhuman stength.

That was when Chambers saw the shark's full size, longer than the boat, as it charged toward Brock's dangling lower body. Adrenalin in both men catapulted Brock onto the deck with Chambers falling beside him. Brock was unhurt but shaking uncontrollably. They lay motionless without speaking, afraid to show themselves. It felt safe lying flat, hoping the shark wouldn't attack the boat.

The Lobbyist

The Washington DC Metro system (WMATA) is a marvel of complexity. Anyone visiting the Capitol region for the first time is perplexed by the system's fare system. Costs vary, depending on the distance travelled and time of day. Highly educated people can't easily figure out how much it costs easily. More intellectually-challenged people or foreigners find it impossible. Even the seasoned Washingtonians usually just add twenty dollars to their passes and let the system deduct each ride before re-filling the credit amount. Other cities in the US and around the world use simple tokens or flat fares that anyone can understand. A large percentage of the Washington patrons, living in poor areas without cars, rely on the system for transportation. These people find the credit card feature on the kiosks insulting even beyond the system calculus, because most don't qualify for cards.

Professionals around the Capitol, including Government executives, legislators, lawyers, lobbyists and thousands of support staff, mingle with students, janitors, maids and street cleaners on their daily commutes. WMATA carries an amalgam of demographic, cultural and ethnically diverse people throughout the system. Almost a million people use it each day. They rely on the efficiency and timeliness of the trains in their daily routines. Since September 11, 2001, people are wary and vigilant. The Washington Metro is a particularly attractive target for terrorists since there is almost certainly someone newsworthy on the various train lines during rush hours. The system is generally safe from bullies and thieves, given its complexity and expense during peak hours, but the ethic mix in the Capitol district makes many people uneasy.

Hunter Kohl was late, which was something that he never tolerated for himself. He had lived near Old Town Alexandria, Virginia, for almost a year and never missed an appointment. His rented townhome was only three blocks from the King Street Metro stop. The early morning phone call from his girlfriend, Laurie (Malone), was an unexpected treat, and he wasn't going to miss talking to her just to have a leisurely walk to the train. By running and some luck with the train schedule, he would still make his lunch meeting after talking to her. He was in good shape but wasn't lucky this time. His train departed as he worked the fare machine near the bottom of the escalator, leading up to the platform.

He needed to add to credit to his pass. The train departed just as he got to the platform at the top of the escalator. It was the yellow-line train, and he would need to wait for the next one into The District. The blue-line trains also stopped at the King Street station, but they looped all the way around into Roselyn and Georgetown before ending back in the center of DC. He would also need to transfer to the red line. He looked at the digital clock in the center of the platform – damn.

The Metro system in Washington was reliable, but the duration between trains lengthens after rush hour in the morning and evening, as patronage declined. The terracotta floor tiles have round glass inserts that blink when a train is coming. In between trains, the lights remain on steadily, which added to Hunter's frustration. Noon trains were scheduled about half as often as morning trains. Looking up at the electronic marquee only increased his anxiety when it said ten minutes before the arrival of the next yellow train. After pacing alone in the midday heat on the platform, the floor lights began blinking. He looked down the track and saw a yellow placard in the front window of the train.

It was a long ten minutes. Once he was aboard, he took a seat near the door, allowing him to see fore and aft. There were only two other people in the fifty-foot long car. Both were disinterested in looking at him. From habit, Hunter always assessed the people around him. One of the men wore a dark green mechanic's uniform, and hid behind a newspaper. The other man was young, hiding under gigantic headphones, bobbing his head to some unheard rhythm. Neither man looked suspicious and didn't look like terrorists. He couldn't do anything but wait and enjoy the sites while the train was above ground. The ride seemed extra slow, travelling above and below ground in Virginia, then finally crossing above the Potomac River parallel to the Fourteenth Street Bridge before descending underground again for the L'Enfant Plaza platform inside the Capitol district. Two stops later, the train arrived underground at "Gallery Place" where he departed for the red-line. Gallery Place station has tracks crisscrossing on different levels, so Hunter took the escalator for his train. At the top, he was still underground on a vacant platform – he'd just missed the train again. He had another aggravating delay, waiting for an east-bound red-line train. While standing on the platform, it occurred to him that he had never been above ground at Gallery Place and had no idea where it was located in the district. He wasn't going to find out today. The train arrived in twelve minutes and he entered the nearest car, sitting alone except for an elderly woman toward the back. In total, he was about fifteen minutes behind schedule when the train arrived at "Union Station" at the base of the hill leading up to the Senate office buildings. He jogged up First Street with his sport coat over his shoulder. Summer heat and humidity were high, but at least it wasn't raining. He still wasn't accustomed to wearing a tie for work. His whole life had been about casual living or a uniform. His lunch meeting was at a small bistro east of the Hart Office building.

He was meeting Brian Collie, the number-two person in the Senate Appropriations staff office. Brian and his team were responsible for the language written into the Appropriations Bill from the Senate. The bill would be over one thousand pages in length before going to the President for signature once both houses of Congress were satisfied that their interests were served. Hunter was a Lobbyist, paid to influence the bill.

Brian was about five years younger than Hunter, having taken the staff position after receiving his Master's Degree in Economics from NYU. They were quite a contrast. Hunter was six feet tall, trim and muscular, around two hundred pounds with a very low body fat index. His dark brown hair had grown to medium length since leaving the active duty, but was always neatly trimmed. He had an air of confidence from military service, yet maintained a youthful eagerness. Although clean shaven, his beard grew quickly and showed moderate stubble by lunch time. Brian, by contrast, was short, chubby and soft, with overgrown hair. He had the childlike appearance of a college freshman except for his cheap business suit and horn-rimmed glasses. Hunter still had perfect vision.

Brian's father was a prominent New York attorney and political contributor, able to get his son on the staff of their family friend, a Senator, who was on the Appropriations Committee. Professional Staff members were technically neutral politically, reporting to the bipartisan committees, but ultimately still owed their allegiance to their sponsor. Brian and the other staff members were all young bright politically-connected professionals making little money. They work for the connections they made on the hill. They did all of the behind-the-scenes work, crafting the bills for committee purposes. They actually had broad discretion in wording the legislation, as long as it satisfied the intent of members.

Hunter was inexperienced as a lobbyist, but it didn't matter too much. His interface was mostly with specific committee staffers and supportive members of the House and Senate. Hunter was a California government employee paid as a liaison with the state's delegates in Washington. He worked for the California Department of Substance Abuse and Control. Most staffers were interns working for slave wages to establish credentials that would launch them into future careers. Hunter wasn't from an Ivy League background and didn't have a politically connected family. But he was experienced as an operator in the field, which gave him creditability with most of the people he needed to know in Washington.

He reached the top of the hill in less than two minutes, near the Senate Building Complex then turned eastward on Constitution Avenue toward the restaurant district two blocks away. Three minutes later, he found Brian standing on the sidewalk in front of the cafe waiting for him.

"Brian, I'm sorry I'm late."

"Not a problem, Hunt. I just got here, anyway."

The bistro had outdoor seating like most along the avenue, but it was too hot to sit outside. They took seating inside at one of the large tables surrounded by familiar chatter about various legislative matters.

After they both ordered water, Hunter said, "Well, how have you been?"

Brian answered, "Busy as hell. The new ranking member is a real tear. She wants to pull ten percent out of the spending bill and doesn't want to listen to anyone. "I don't know, Brian. It seems like you're always faced with too many 'wants' and not enough money. All the news is about deficits these days."

"Yeah, every member wants to show the folks back home that they protected pet projects, but then they campaign about cuts in Government spending. Fascinating, don't you think?"

They ordered lunch, and Hunter didn't answer the question. Brian went on. "I saw Leigh Bryant yesterday." Leigh was a lobbyist consulting for California that helped Hunter get situated and oriented on Capitol Hill when he took the position with the state's drug enforcement agency.

"Gosh, I haven't seen Leigh for a few weeks. I usually bump into her once or twice a week somewhere on the Hill."

"She's not around as much now with the baby. I think her client load is down to one or two, just to keep active. Mostly, she's a stay-at-home mom."

Hunter chuckled. "Yeah, the guy she married from the (UK) Embassy got a nice job in town with some big defense company, and she really doesn't need to work anymore."

"Well, maybe someday we'll both be so lucky."

Hunter didn't plan to stay in Washington long. He missed the west coast. His sister didn't really give him any option when she recruited him out of the Border Patrol. She and her husband, José, had worked together as lawyers to ease drug restrictions and hopefully end the violence on the California border. José led the effort for the state and had been travelling to Washington almost every week to press for changes in policy. He disappeared two years ago and was presumed to be the victim of foul play. Easing the drug laws would hurt the cartels.

Hunter's sister, Claire, was the next logical target when she took over for José. She also had two small children. Hunter took on the lobbying assignment partially to relieve Claire, but also to help protect her. He'd seen the Drug War first hand as a Border Agent, and prior to that as a Navy SEAL in secret missions into South America. The U.S. policy toward drug barriers at the border was not only impossible to enforce, it created an entire murderous class of drug smugglers. The illicit drug trade was responsible for hundreds of thousands murdered and cost Americans billions each year. Just like prohibition, the laws were backfiring and Hunter agreed to help change them.

Lunch arrived and water refilled when Brian asked, "Well, for the price of a meal, you have my dedicated attention, Hunt. What can I help with?"

"Ah, you know, Brian. I'm just checking to see if our language is still holding in the spending bill."

Brian smiled at him. "Hunt, I'm doing everything I can to keep it tucked away. Some of the conservative members have questioned it, but so far it's still there."

"Do you need anything more from me?"

"Nope. You've given me more background stuff than I need. It makes complete sense, but you know politicians; they're only thinking about getting reelected, so good intentions often get deleted."

"So, what are the chances that it'll stay in the bill?"

"I don't know. Say, fifty-fifty. I haven't actually asked Ian yet (Ian Firth was Director of the Professional Staff). I need him to agree to support it. He's got more clout with the members."

"Do I need to meet with Ian?"

"I'll let you know. Right now, I'd like to keep it under the radar and see if it slides through."

Hunter chuckled, "You know this won't quietly pass into law without media attention."

"Yeah, I know, but I'd rather fight that battle after it's signed off in committee. Otherwise, it'll die silently."

"I guess it's happened before."

Brian nodded, "Every year."

"Yeah, but now we have a financial crisis, and the border violence is growing. Someone needs to show some balls and solve it. I don't think the stars of reform have ever aligned so well before."

Brian chuckled, "Yeah balls! This is Capitol Hill. It's full of eunuchs."

"So, for now, I'll continue working with the California delegates."

"I think it's all you should do right now, Hunt. I'll let you know if the language gets challenged, then you can figure out how to change some minds. With the growing cast of conservatives on both sides, they don't want to go against party mantra, and the Drug War is a Republican centerpiece."

"Brian, after thirty years of trying to block our borders against drugs, all we've done is kill hundreds of thousands, spent trillions, and brought crime to every city in the country. It's had no real effect on drug use."

Brian looked askance, "Hunt, why do you think I'm having lunch with you? We're on the same side on this. The reality is, though, that the "Religious-Right" and "Dudley-Do-Rights" are able to stir up the masses that vote them into office on some antiquated Puritan notion that we can somehow stop drug use no matter how many people die."

"Brian, you know they're addressing the wrong problem. It's just like prohibition. We need to control demand on our side of the border and enforce OUI laws. If Americans want illegal drugs, there will be criminals supplying them. The real solution is legalization with corresponding penalties for anti-social behavior and better education programs. Hell, most of our kid's parents took drugs -- lots still take drugs. We need to turn a horrible situation in the Drug War that's failed for thirty years into a money-making commercial and regulatory system that pays for curbing demand. That would end the drug war, clean out prisons, cut murder rates, and turn a major drain on our economy into a cash generator, just like it did when the Capone era ended. Hell, Prohibition brought organized crime and corruption to our major cities that we're still living with – look at Chicago."

"Okay, Hunt. You've earned your pay today."

"Sorry, Brian, it sort of goes with the job."

"Look, Hunt. You don't need to apologize. You fought on the front lines of this war, been wounded and seen friends die. You understand this at a grassroots level – something our elected officials would never do. It's all political, so get used to it. I hear it all the time from the Border Patrol and DEA guys. They know we can't win a war that's unsupported by the population. The demand for drugs is stronger than ever. But, this is how Washington works. It's not about doing the right thing, it's about getting elected."

"Thanks Brian. I get the impression that a lot of people here understand how to solve it, but no one'll risk the political backlash."

"Yeah, so maybe our language will stick this time. Welcome to Washington, Hunt."

Laurie

Her meeting ended around two o'clock in the afternoon and she needed to get back to more productive work that would now last into the evening. She felt, along with all the other Contract Administrators, that none of them needed to hear, again, how the next few months would be hectic as the fiscal year came to an end. Most of the budget each year went on contracts awarded in the late summer as the fiscal year ended. Buyers were always at the end of the whip as agencies panicked about losing their funds if they weren't spent. She'd only been through the cycle twice before, but knew what to expect without being lectured. She would lose most of her evenings and some weekends to the job over the next eight weeks.

Returning to her desk, the message light on her phone was blinking. There were several messages that she erased. Then she sat back and smiled, listening to the Hunter's voice. When the message ended, she dialed his number.

He answered, "Kohl."

"Hey, you called?"

"Yeah. How about dinner tonight? I'm bouncing around the Hill for a couple more hours then I'll be home by five. How about I pick you up at six?"

"Umm. I should really stay here tonight. I've got a couple orders to get out and wasted an hour listening to my boss give a pep talk."

"So, is that a 'no'?"

"I guess not. But let's not drive anywhere. I'll come to your metro station. Let's meet there and walk to the Potomac."

"You want to mingle with the tourists?"

"No, I'd just like to look at shops in Old Town. Why? You don't want to walk, holding my hand?"

"You put it that way, how can I refuse ... six at the station?"

"It's a date."

Laura Malone grew up in Maryland on the Eastern Shore. She attended a small regional high school where she was active in athletics, playing soccer for three years and swimming all four years. In her junior and senior years, she was a football cheerleader. She tried overcoming her shyness, remained an introvert.

When she'd finished college three years earlier, she took a job as a junior buyer for the Department of Homeland security.

Hunter Kohl met Laura first over the phone when he worked at the San Diego Border Sector. She managed a few small purchases for the Sector where Hunter was her "customer." They talked on the phone often about business, but eventually the discussions became more personal. They were both single, and, when Hunter took the job for the state under his sister, he called Laura after moving to Washington. They first met face to face after he settled in Alexandria, beginning a relationship that had grown closer. Laura was shy, and it was probably the telephone interface that allowed a friendship to develop before they actually met. She was pretty, and several young men in the DHS had failed to connect. She could buy clothes off the rack that fit perfectly around her slim five-five frame. Her naturally wavy brunette hair was shoulder length and her eyes were a brilliant shade of green.

She was career-minded and grew up intending to work for the Government like her parents. The DHS protected Americans on home turf and fit nicely with her aspirations. She graduated at the top of her class from the University of Maryland with a degree in accounting.

Hunter was new to politics when he transferred to Washington. He was recruited by his sister, who managed California's Drug Enforcement Office at the capitol in Sacramento. Although he worked for the state, he worked in Washington, DC. He had been with the Border Patrol for four years, involved in several fights with smugglers along the desert border. Before the Border Patrol, he'd been in the Navy as a SEAL, working with Team One in San Diego. As a native Californian, he loved the state and was passionate about improving conditions for its people. He didn't know much about how Government worked before coming to Washington, but it wasn't hard to understand his role once immersed in the process. His sister wanted someone she could trust completely on the ground and arranged for Leigh Bryant to mentor him.

That evening at six o'clock, he stood at the bottom of the escalator waiting for her. The train arrived ten minutes later. She waived from the elevated platform dressed in a light print skirt and blue cotton top. She looked gorgeous and fresh, suspiciously like she'd gone home before coming to meet him. She lived in Arlington near the blue line, convenient for stopping before continuing on to his station.

At the bottom, they embraced momentarily and kissed. She asked, "Been here long?"

"Just got here. You look terrific by the way." She wore sneakers and he wore Khaki shorts with a white polo shirt. They made a handsome couple. Both were tall and fit.

They walked together along King Street toward the River holding hands. It was almost a mile to the historic part of Alexandria along the Potomac. They walked slowly past small shops along the street that had been renovated from historic brownstone houses. For more than a century after the civil war, the older parts of Alexandria decayed before the town began an aggressive renewal program. The characteristic antique two-story buildings were derelicts only thirty years earlier, but now represented some of the most expensive real estate in suburban Washington.

As they crossed Washington Street, the sidewalk sloped downward toward the river. A concert by Town Hall provided background music as they ambled past, and the river smell became more evident. At the end of the street, the WW II Torpedo Factory housed artisans in all art forms. The factory had once been used to build and test torpedoes in the Potomac River. Street performers entertained the crowds along the waterfront.. Hunter and Laurie came here often. King Street in was near to his apartment and they frequently wandered along its cobbled length toward the river, looking in various boutiques, but seldom bought anything. Their destination was the Chart House restaurant on the river. The evening was temperate enough by the water for them to eat outside on the deck.

After seating, she said, "Hunter, I'm glad you called me away. I was in a rut and you saved me."

"That's me, always ready to save a lady in distress."

"I hope that only means me!"

"You're the only lady for me, sweetheart."

He ordered an ice tea, and she had a diet coke, declining to look at the menus for a few minutes. The sun had dipped enough that the headlights and taillights across the distant Woodrow Wilson Bridge provided a brilliant display on the placid water. A replica side-wheeler boat departed the dock below, heading up river toward Georgetown with hundreds of people aboard. Hunter and Laurie were enjoying the ambiance.

She had an inquisitive look on her face. "Can I ask you a question, Hunter?"

"Sure."

"Do you ever date anyone else?"

"Laurie, I haven't even thought about anyone but you since I got here, and you know there's no one for me in California."

"So, we've known each other over two years, dated casually until about a year ago, and now see each other as often as we can."

"Yeah, isn't it great!"

"What's next, Hunter? Are we ever going to go further in our relationship?"

He thought for a moment before answering, and she was growing more distressed by his delay. "I...I hadn't thought too much about it. Correction, I think about it all the time, but I'm not sure what to do. I guess I'm so happy now that I don't want to risk losing you."

"How would you lose me?"

"I guess I'm nervous about assuming too much and being pushy."

"So, you're afraid to go the next step?"

"Laurie, I want this to last forever and don't want to go too fast and scare you away. It's happened to a couple of my buddies."

"Oh, you take your cues from lame sailors and border agents?"

"I guess I'm afraid."

She smiled and took his hand, "Don't be."

He put his other hand on the table to take hers when his phone rang. He let it ring, staring at her in silence. When it ended, he started to speak, when it rang again. He dropped her hand saying, "Excuse me."

He answered "Kohl."

Laura watched his expression change, only able to hear half of the conversation. He said, "Claire. Claire, calm down ... What do you mean they found it? What does it mean? Look, I'll call you later ... Yeah, I'll try ... You call me when they get it up ... Okay. And Claire, I love you, sweetheart. Try to be tough until we know more."

Laurie was staring at him as he put the phone back into his pocket. "So, who's Claire? You just called her sweetheart."

He didn't look at her immediately. "She's my sister in California."

"Oh, you look worried?"

"Yeah. It's kind of a bad situation." He took a deep breath. "She's calling about her husband."

"Is something wrong with them?" She was holding his hand on the table again.

He had a distressed appearance. "It's kind of a long story."

She squeezed his hands. "I'm not in a hurry."

He started. "My sister Claire works for the Governor in California, managing the state's counter-drug program." Laura had known this from earlier conversations, but didn't know his sister's name was Claire. "Anyway, she's married to a State Attorney named José Rivera. José drafted a state law to permit some drugs that are currently illegal to be produced and sold in California under state controls. The idea was to cut down the illegal trade that is killing people and costing the state so much money to fight. Something like twenty percent of the California's budget goes to enforcing the federal drug laws. It's probably higher when other factors are added in.

"José was expecting the federal courts to challenge the state law when it passed and was working with our delegates in Washington to change it to make this a state issue.

"About two years ago, José was flying from San Francisco to Washington but never got on the plane."

He stopped for a moment and she looked at him, fearful of the answer to her next question. "What happened, Hunter?"

"Nobody knows. He just disappeared. Laurie, that's why I'm here."

"I don't understand. You're not a lawyer."

"Yeah, but Claire said they needed someone in Washington to keep the California delegates in line. But, after I got here, one of the delegates, Senator Jenson, decided to make this a federal initiative."

"That seems like a good thing."

"Maybe not. It takes the wind out of the California effort and will roll around the conference rooms in DC for decades without ever getting adopted. Meanwhile, nothing changes in California."

"So, are you supposed to kill the federal bill?"

"No. Certainly not. If it passes in usable form, it could solve the state's financial problems, but more than likely, it will only put more burden on the states.

"José expected this to end up in the Supreme Court and was actually setting the stage for the Feds to challenge the state bill as soon as it arrived."

"He wanted the Fed to challenge the state law in court?"

"I think so. I'm no lawyer, but I think that was his strategy. He's a brilliant lawyer. My sister's a lawyer, too, and took over José's work. They work in the same department."

She smiled down at their hands then looked up. "You know, this all sounds pretty complex. Why are you involved in a legal showdown?"

"Claire was scared when José disappeared. She took over the legal work but couldn't risk being the advocate in Washington. She's got two kids and we all think José is dead."

"But, still, why you?"

"I sort of volunteered and talked her into it. She needed the Governor's approval to hire me, and I pressed my case in Sacramento."

"I don't get it, why would you want to get involved?"

"Laurie. The State is being overrun by drug people. They probably control some government people and are spreading death across the state."

"You make it sound like a war."

"Maybe, we get the aftermath on the streets. I'm just trying to win the peace, eliminating the illegal trade."

"So, by doing your job, you're threatening the drug trade in California?"

"It might be even bigger than that. If we can get it done at the federal level, done right, we can solve it for the whole country. But assuming this is not gonna happen, the other border states are watching California and might do the same thing. The big key will be if the Supreme Court says it's constitutional for California to legalize drugs."

"So, why do you need to call her back and not talk in front of me?"

"She's scared again. They just found Jose's Mercedes dumped at sea off the California coast."

She gripped his hand hard. "What does it mean, Hunter?"

"We don't know yet, but it's reopened the investigation that he was killed by the mob. I guess there was always a small hope that he just disappeared on his own."

She looked at him with worried eyes. "Hunter, I don't want you hurt."

"I'm pretty good at taking care of myself ... now, let's talk about moving to the next step."

Claire

Claire Rivera had lived with the nightmare that José was murdered in cold blood, and she would never see him again. Over time, she supplanted the terror of it and buried herself in his work. It would be four more years before the courts would declare him dead, so she continued to raise their children on her salary alone without the insurance benefits they had arranged to protect each other.

When divers discovered his car, it rekindled her rage. She wasn't able to be mad in the beginning. Her grief overwhelmed all other feelings. She was also fighting the whispered rumor that he had simply disappeared because of some fictitious dispute between the two of them, or an affair. It was all false, but it kept her mind focused elsewhere. Now, the realities were dead center again, confirming her worst fears. She could have accepted him suddenly reappearing after a hiatus in Mexico, but she knew in her heart that it would never happen. Now, the rest of the world would also believe it. The car was a solid clue that José had been killed by people with immense means. They had disposed of his car far out at sea. She needed no other proof that it was mob related. Someone, she suspected who, had gone to enormous steps to have Jose's disappearance remain a mystery.

Claire and Hunter grew up in Ventura County, north of Malibu along the coast. They both went to public schools and lived a carefree life without many demands. She was a top student and was admitted to UCLA, studying sociology. She focused on academics and decided to continue in the School of Law where she met a fellow law student that she would eventually marry after graduation. José Rivera was a first generation Mexican-American who hoped to work on immigration laws after graduation. His determination to improve the well-being of Mexicans fit sympathetically with Claire's social agenda. They were deeply in love throughout their married years. After graduation, José took a position with the State's Attorney office in Sacramento, and Claire followed a year later. Their jobs migrated slightly away from their plans and became focused on the drug problems in urban areas. Part of the solution required changing American drug policy. They both felt passionately about it.

The FBI office in San Francisco now took over the case, following the discovery of Jose's car. He was a state official who had disappeared two years earlier while leading a campaign that could destroy illegal drug distribution. Mob businesses were threatened by Rivera's actions. Drug smugglers were suspected of killing José, and the largest distributor in the western states operated in the Bay Area.

Luciano Peña

Luciano Peña's family had been commercial fishermen operating from Fisherman's Wharf for four generations. His great grandfather journeyed up the coast from Baja California in 1915 when the Panama-Pacific International Exposition began, celebrating the opening of the great canal. At that time, the Bay offered immense fishing profits for anyone willing to brave the rough Pacific outside the "Golden Gate". Initially, he operated a single Monterey Clipper boat, but the Peña family expanded the business over generations to own a fleet of ocean-going factory ships, capable of pulling fifteen-mile-long nets. They had fish processing and freezing plants aboard, able to stay at sea for months and fish north to the Bering Sea down to South America.

Peña now operated three ships, all over one hundred fifty feet long. At least one was rumored to have double bottoms in its freezer holds capable of storing tons of cocaine and other illicit drugs. Authorities never discovered how the drugs were loaded under tons of frozen fish. The Peñas had been law abiding citizens until the youngest, Luciano, decided that vastly more money could be made from drugs than fish. He graduated from Cal Berkeley, majoring in business, and understood the essential elements of a business plan. As the only son of the Peña fishing company owner, he inherited the business. When his father retired, Luciano took over. He had been forced to work on the fishing boats throughout his youth and hated it. He knew the numbers and figured there was far more money to be made using the boats differently. He was designing ship modifications even before he graduated. His father and grandfather were alive then but never knew Luciano intended to corrupt the family business. Twenty years later, both had passed away, content that "Luca" had been a far more successful and wealthy fisherman than either of them dared to dreamed.

Experience proved Peña correct when the Drug Wars made less sophisticated transportation techniques obsolete. His fleet was unique, representing millions of dollars of investment in the technology to transport tons of drugs, undetectably, in each ship. The investments in ship modifications were recovered after the first shipments to the States. With this success, he overwhelmed small-time distributors, and his syndicate grew to control distribution throughout Northern California, Oregon and Nevada. His undeclared fortune was in the hundreds of millions, which was difficult to hide, even as he claimed to own the most successful fishing fleet on the West Coast. His accumulated wealth reflected the ruthless means required to control drug traffic in the western United States.

Protecting this business was an obsession with Luciano. He spent millions each year keeping key politicians and appointed officials in office. These were people dedicated to continuing the War on Drugs, the "war" that made Peña and others wealthy. José and Claire Rivera were at the center of an effort to legalize drugs in California, and, possibly in the whole country, thus ending the war. They had to be controlled or eliminated. The most foolproof way to eliminate the threat would have been to bribe the Riveras, but it was risky. There was nobody Peña trusted to negotiate with them, so another means was used.

Peña kept an army of killers employed to protect his empire. Eliminating José, would put Claire in check. Of course, Claire knew about the Peña crime syndicate. The FBI had codenamed his network as "Trawler", and Peña was known as "Kingfish." She was sure that Peña had murdered José but also knew he had the means to cover it up. It was one thing to butcher a competitor and his family, as Kingfish did personally sometimes, but it was a different matter to murder a respected bureaucrat. Kingfish had been careful to cover his tracks. With the discovery of the car, the FBI was again hopeful of finding clues to Jose's disappearance.

At home that night after talking to Hunter, Claire's phone rang. "Hello."

"Mrs. Rivera? Claire Rivera?"

She didn't recognize her voice. "Yes. Who is this?"

Mrs. Rivera, this is Special Agent Kasey McDougal with the FBI here in San Francisco."

"Oh, hi."

"Mrs. Rivera, I'm leading the investigation into the disappearance of José Rivera. Is he your husband?"

"Yes, but I didn't know the FBI was involved. This is the first action I've seen in the two years since José disappeared."

"I know, Mrs. Rivera. It hasn't had much attention before now."

"You mean because Jose's car was located?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Claire felt some relief. At last, someone was opening and investigation on José. "What can I do?"

"Mrs. Rivera, I'd like to talk with you about the case when we have the car. The bureau's hiring a barge and dive team to recover the vehicle."

The kids were doing homework in their rooms, and Claire sat on the sofa. "Well, of course, I'll do anything I can to help."

"Good. Look, if possible, please think about anything that might lead us to someone who might have harmed Mr. Rivera. I know from talking to the state investigator that he was working on a drug bill in the state, so it's probably our best place to start."

The FBI contracted with a local kelp harvesting company for a barge crane to lift the car and transport it back to the old Alameda Navy Piers for forensic examination. It took a few days for the weather to cooperate since the large square barge could only operate in calm water. A team of Navy salvage divers was flown up from San Diego with special inflatable bladders that would help lift the car. The divers would also place slings under the car.

Claire didn't hear back from Agent McDougal for several days and then got a call at work in Sacramento.

"Mrs. Rivera, could you come to Oakland tomorrow, to the FBI field lab?"

"Ah, yeah, sure. What's this about?"

"Ma'am, you should bring someone with you to help drive."

"Tell me what's going on."

Kasey paused for a moment. "Ma'am. We need you to identify some personal items found in the car that might belong to Mr. Rivera."

Claire tried to remain calm. "What time?"

"I'll be there all day, Mrs. Rivera, but try to arrive before noon."

"Alright, just give me the address."

Claire went to bed early that night after calling John Richards to drive with her. José Rivera was a state official and his disappearance was possibly a crime related to his work. She sensed that something horrible was ahead, and John was a friend with the state police.

Claire and Richards left at seven o'clock the next morning.

She tried to hide her despair. "John, thanks for doing this with me."

"Hey, Claire, it's no problem. We all want to know what happen to José. How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay."

Morning traffic was congested along I-80 West. John said, "How are the kids, Claire?"

She smiled but looked out the side window, lost in thought and apprehension. "Oh, you know what it's like, John. Both are in grade school and trying to be more grown up than they are."

"Yeah. My boys are in high school. They're good guys, but it takes a lot to stay involved in their lives, particularly since they don't want you around most of the time, except when they need money." He chuckled silently. His sons lived with his ex-wife.

She shifted subjects. "What do you think they found, John?"

He suspected more than he wanted to say. "We won't know 'till we get there, Claire. Don't get worked up before then. It'll be at least two hours before we get there at this pace."

The old de-commissioned yard was located along a long inlet from Oakland, across the bay from San Francisco International Airport. It was closed to unofficial visitors, a secure place to examine large evidence.

The FBI field lab was a mobile van parked inside a large warehouse. She was visibly nervous. "Wow. These warehouses are immense."

"Yep. Some are big enough to hold complete destroyers, but I don't think it's been used for anything active since World War Two."

They parked outside the massive closed doors of a building identified only as 520. The small door at the center was open. Claire's knees shook as John offered her his arm, walking to the door.

"John, this is foolish. I'm not eighty."

"Don't fool yourself, Claire. You have every right to be nervous. No one is expecting anything different."

Inside, the van faced away from the door, and there were several folding tables and chairs set up alongside. Beyond the van, there were blue tarps suspended by poles, forming a screen.

She said nervously, "I wonder if Jose's car is behind there?"

"Let's keep walking. It smells like something washed in from the sea, so I guess the car is back there."

She gripped his arm a bit harder, as a woman approached, "Mrs. Rivera?"

"Yes."

The woman extended her hand, "Hi, I'm Kasey McDougal."

She showed identification and introduced herself formally to John and gestured for all to sit at one of the tables. Kasey sat across from both of them.

"Mrs. Rivera, we have your husband's car, and a team of forensic examiners is going through it now."

Claire asked, "Did you find anything yet?"

"Yes we have. The ocean did a pretty good job of destroying most of it, but...well there's something else." She was reluctant to talk.

John said gently, "Ah, Kasey, I'm leading the investigation for the state. Is there something you want to tell us?"

Kasey looked at him and spoke firmly, "Yes, John, but I'd like to talk to you privately first."

Claire sucked on her upper lip without looking at either of them. John nodded his head, "Claire, would you excuse us. I suggest you go sit in the car for a moment."

It wasn't really a request, and he walked her back to the door. Outside, she lifted her head and walked alone toward the car. Fear and disgust tore through her.

John returned to where Kasey was standing. "Okay, what's the situation?"

"Come with me."

She led him to the blue curtain and pulled a flap aside for John to enter. Inside, there were two vehicles. One was the white Mercedes, covered with green algae which smelled awful. The other was a plain white delivery van without windows marked "Oakland County Coroner."

He nodded as they walked closer, "You found him?"

"We think so. It's hard to tell. We need a positive ID, but there's nothing she should see."

He simply said, "Got it."

At that point a man in a white coat approached, stripping off blue latex gloves.

John had seen some awful things after twenty years as an investigator. He was six-three and in good physical shape for a mid-forties man, but he still felt uneasy about the Coroner's body language.

Kasey introduced the two men, and the Coroner spoke first. "Okay, Detective, the body was locked inside the trunk of the car. It's pretty decomposed and – eaten – but it's clearly a homicide."

"Any idea how he died?"

"I couldn't say yet. We need to x-ray for possible bullet frags or bone lacerations, but I don't think that's it."

"What do you think, doc?"

"Well, there's a lot of duct tape and tie wraps, and from the contours of the body, I'd say the victim was alive when the car sank in the ocean."

John wasn't taking notes yet. "So they drown him."

The Coroner shook his head. "That's my preliminary assessment, but there's not much to base it on. Do you want to see the body?"

"Not particularly." Kasey didn't say anything but looked away, also not interested.

She spoke, "John, we need to identify the victim."

"How much is there to identify?"

The Coroner said, "From the suit and hair, we think it's a man."

John looked at him. "So, you need his dental records?"

"Yes, I suppose we do. But we'll also use DNA from other family members."

Kasey spoke up, "John, let's go out of here and get Claire to sign a release and give us their dentist information."

He shook his head, and they went back through the curtain. John walked slowly out of the warehouse to get Claire. He felt sick for her. She saw his expression and opened the car door. She walked past without speaking.

Inside, they all sat at the table again, and John spoke first, looking directly at her. "Claire, it looks like José was in the car."

She gasped and looked around, trying to decide if she should rush inside the curtain. "What...what do I need to do? Can I see him?"

Kasey responded, "Claire, it's not a good idea. The sea...well, try to remember him as he was."

John spoke, "Claire, we're going to need Jose's dental records." There wasn't any gentle way to say it and some swabs from one of the kids.

Claire couldn't speak as tears cascaded down her face. She took some tissues from her purse and said, "I'll arrange it, can we go now?" She didn't want any more details.

High Morals

His office door was closed as he spoke on the speaker phone, "Yes, Senator. I appreciate the draft Fisheries Bill sent by your staff. My lawyer is looking at it now."

Senator Jenson replied, "You know, Luca, I'm really looking forward to your response. Some of our state's fishermen are complaining about quotas and shorter fishing seasons."

"I know about their complaints, Senator. It doesn't affect my captains much. They fish mostly south of American waters."

"Well, Luca, we want to keep our friends happy, so anything you want to add -- just let me know."

"I will do so, Senator."

Jenson asked, "So, are you coming to my fundraiser in Los Angeles next month?"

"I will not be there, but I am buying three complete tables, so you may give the dinners to anyone you wish."

"My, oh my, Luca, that's very generous. I think my campaign is asking five thousand a seat, and there are eight seats per table. You're extremely generous."

"Not at all, Senator. We need you in office to carry on the good work."

"Well, I'm flattered. Is there anything else I can do for you, Luca?"

"How's the Appropriations Bill coming – does it still try to liberalize drugs? You know my family has always been against such ideas. Drugs are our number-one menace to society and must be stopped at all cost."

"From what my staff tells me, Luca, the language is still in the bill coming out of committee. I think this is a good thing, as we've discussed before. My staff watches it closely and will let me know if anyone tries to delete it before we vote on the floor."

"Good, I want it to get out of committee this time for sure."

"You know, Luca. I can't guarantee it, but I've got a lot of leverage with some of my colleagues, so we're pretty confident it will make it to the floor of the Senate."

"That's what I like to hear Senator. I have a son and a daughter and want them safe from drugs."

"You're a great patriot, Luca. One problem, though. Once this sees the light of day, it will be all over the media, and the chance of it surviving in conference with the House will be impossible, if you get my drift." Both understood the strategy to kill the initiative.

"That's reassuring, Senator. Once these hippies get shot down through national publicity, no one will try this stunt again for a hundred years!"

"If, by some miracle, it makes it through the Senate and House Bills without the press attention, I'm on the conference committee, and it won't survive.

"That's important to me, Senator (and why I pay for your services)."

"Have a good day, Luca."

"And you, as well, Senator."

Jenson didn't have enough horsepower on his own, so Peña needed everyone he could buy to protect his business.

After the call, he left his office on the Embarcadero, in the financial district and had his two body guards drive him in his Bentley to the wharf, under the Oakland Bay Bridge to meet with the captain of "Ocean Queen," his smallest and oldest trawler. Small was a relative term since the ship was still over a hundred feet in length and carried twenty tons of net stacked fifteen feet high on the stern ramp, which had been useful hiding a certain car.

As always, his personal guard, Ramon, went up the ramp first checking the route to the bridge, where the Captain, Jess Cregan, was waiting. Peña stormed into the bridge house after Ramon checked for any unwanted spectators. Cregan was usually defiant, but followed orders. He stood five-ten weighing two hundred twenty pounds. He was late thirties, single with shoulder-length red hair and full, unkempt, facial hair. When he rode his Harley, it all streamed behind. Prison tattoos covered both arms. He grew up on the Peña boats between prison stays, proving his loyalty many times to his boss.

Luca by contrast, was shorter, slightly older with dark neatly trimmed hair and beard. His had no tolerance for mistakes and had grown brutally sadistic after years. He stopped short of Cregan and adjusted his suit coat before speaking. "Okay, Red. You tell me how they found Rivera's car?"

"Boss, I did everything right. I dumped him way out at sea like you said. Nobody should have found him."

Luca stuck a finger into Cregan's chest. Normally, the captain had a hot temper and didn't tolerate any physical contact, but Ramon was standing nearby and would break his arm or worse if he moved. Ramon was a head taller, weighing over three hundred pounds of muscle, developed after years of workouts in the Folsom Prison yards. Ramon and his men did most of the dirty work for Peña. Cregan often disposed of the waste.

"They did find him, Red! You fucked up."

Cregan stepped back a few inches. "Boss, please. I did everything right."

"It wasn't right if two abalone divers found him! How come you didn't dump it in deeper water?"

"Boss, I couldn't drop him in the channel. Fishing trawlers would snag him. I had to use the islands where the rocks keep them away."

"How deep did you drop him?"

Cregan was familiar with Peña's temperament and had seen him kill his most loyal men for small mistakes. "Boss, that's just it. The rocks are steep and I had to get close to the cliffs to be sure the car landed on the slopes, not on the bottom. It's hard to maneuver so close. I checked the charts and sonar, it was a couple hundred feet under the bow, but I guess it wasn't deep under the stern. We were tangled in kelp and I didn't want to wreck the ship, especially with our load still aboard."

"You fucked up, Red." Peña stepped forward and put his hand behind Cregan's neck, trying to sooth him while the burly man sobbed. "You know I can't let others know that it's okay."

Cregan just cried as Peña moved close to his face. "Thank you for all your good service, Red."

Luca turned, glancing briefly to Ramon before exiting the bridge. He heard muffled screams as he walked down the gangplank. Ramon followed a minute later folding a knife.

The two men sat in the back of the motionless car, deciding what to do next. Then Peña ordered, "You should see your buddy from Folsom on Sea Fury, another Peña ship. Tell him he's now captain of the Queen. Tonight, he should go shark fishing down toward Monterey. Tell him to sink Red's motorcycle with him."

Managing a drug smuggling operation was one of the most dangerous jobs for Peña. In the final analysis, everyone in his business was a criminal, most were murderers. This required ruthless measures to control them. After dealing with Red, Peña called his mistress, "Hey baby, how 'bout we go to Vegas for the weekend? I got a little business there that won't take long, and we could do some gambling and take in a show or two."

"Luca, I'm off at noon today and have all weekend free, I'll be ready."

"Okay, doll. My driver will pick you up at two." Peña always kept extra clothing in the luggage compartment of his jet. He called his wife and explained that he would be going away for a couple of days to negotiate a seafood distributor contract and would be back late Sunday night. Melanie never questioned his actual purpose. She was content under the illusion of his busy schedule and high-level business transactions that took him away often on weekends. She never wanted to know who accompanied him.

The plane departed at four with the pilot and Ramon in the cockpit, because Peña's girlfriend was frightened of the big body guard. For his part, Ramon smiled to himself over the effect he had on his boss's women. He had the same effect on most men. Peña abstained from drinking on the two-hour flight, but his partner had several glasses of white wine. She was just a child in many ways. She enjoyed the high-rolling lifestyle, travelling with Peña even if he was twenty years older. He gave her everything she wanted and took little in return, just her affections.

When they arrived at Las Vegas, a large white limousine was waiting. Ramon sat in front again, while Peña sat in the back, groping his girl on the way to the Bellagio. When they arrived at the grand entrance to the most luxurious Vegas hotel Peña said, "Here, my dear, take my credit card and check in." He handed her some freshly folded hundreds, "And here's a grand to play with while I go do my business. We're staying in the bridal suite on the top floor. Enjoy yourself, go to the pool, play the tables, do whatever you want, and I'll return late tonight for dinner and a show."

She kissed him passionately. "I'll be all warmed up for you tonight, Luca." The hotel valet already had their bags on his cart and escorted her inside as the car departed.

An hour later, Peña and Ramon were driving down a dusty dirt road toward an old borax mine to meet Victor Morales, his Nevada distributor. When they arrived, Morales had unexpectedly brought two men with him. Morales wore a business suit, but the other two looked like ex-cons. Peña told the driver to stop a hundred feet away. Morales's men moved along both sides of the car, partially concealing them and the weapons they carried.

Ramon exited the car first then Peña opened the rear door on the opposite side when Ramon moved closer to Morales.

Morales ignored Ramon, addressing only Peña, "Hola, mi Amigo. What a pleasant surprise."

Peña smiled, but didn't say anything until closer to Morales, motioning with his hand. "Hello, Victor. Who are your friends?"

Morales looked briefly at the two ugly Mexicans, standing erect behind the car. "Who, them? Just some friends I brought along in case there was a party." Meetings like this were rare, and Morales had reason to be nervous.

"Victor, I'm surprised. When we met before, you and I were nice and friendly without all the muscle."

"In the past, Luca, we met at some nice club, not out in the middle of nowhere."

Peña smiled and looked down, kicking some loose dirt. "Well that's a good observation, Victor."

While this dialogue was happening, Ramon moved closer, beside the car, almost even with the two Mexicans who looked at him nervously. Victor was concentrating on Peña without concern about his two hired killers. Peña looked up as though ready to speak when Ramon pulled his gun and shot the nearest man. The second man grabbed a shotgun that was leaning against the car and ran several paces across the dirt before stopping to aim and shoot. The shot had no effect. Ramon laughed at the ignorant fool shooting a cut barrel shotgun that loses effect from fifty feet. Ramon fired his 357 magnum, hitting the man in the torso. He then walked to the first man who lay wounded on the ground who looked bewildered and began pleading. The attack had not been provoked, they hadn't threated anyone. Ramon fired twice into the Mexican's face.

Victor was stunned and unable to move while Ramon walked to the second man who was crawling, leaving a trail of blood. Ramon fired twice through his upper spine before turning toward Morales.

Morales stood petrified. Executing men was nothing new, but it wasn't provoked this time. He'd killed people in the past, but never like this. He backed away as Ramon moved, until Peña signaled to stop. Ramon reloaded the gun, careful not to take his eyes from Morales.

Peña spoke calmly, "Victor, Victor. Now there is no reason to be so jumpy. If these men were friends, then I am truly sorry. You see, Ramon is my guardian angel and doesn't like others with guns around me. Do you have a gun, Victor?"

Morales was stunned, nodding, "Yeah, Luca. I got a gun."

"Okay, Victor. I suggest that you lay in on the ground very carefully so that Ramon isn't nervous. Please use your off hand."

Victor awkwardly fumbled with his left hand to remove the gun from his left-side shoulder holster. Ramon stood balanced to shoot if anything alarmed him. Victor looked like he could cry. He lifted the gun free in an exaggerated movement, holding it in his fingertips. He bent down and set it on the dirt then stood up.

"That's better." Peña had a small smile on his face.

Morales looked nervously between Peña and Ramon. "Luca! What's this about?"

"Well, Victor, I'm glad that you asked. You see, Victor, you haven't taken much of my product recently, but I read how Nevada is moving a lot of stuff. That means you. What am I to think?"

"Look, Luca. I don't know what you want from me. Maybe someone is moving in on me."

Peña was condescending. "Victor, you know that's not true. Why would you allow that to happen? You were the main man in Nevada before I recruited you. I know you're still the main man."

Morales continued to sweat profusely in the desert heat but didn't speak. Peña spoke again. "Look, Victor, I have a beautiful young woman waiting to have dinner with me, so we shouldn't waste time. I just wanted to tell you that I'm reorganizing. You and I both know that you're now working for Mojo. Don't try to deny it. I believe it, which is all that matter's under the circumstances. So, consider this your termination notice." He nodded at Ramon, who shot Morales in the legs. One bullet went through both thighs.

Morales fell to the ground in agony, screaming. "Luca, Luca, please!" Ramon came closer and kicked the gun away then holstered his own weapon. Peña stepped backward, to avoid any blood spatters as Ramon finished the job with his knife, working slowly. The screaming and blood flow continued for several moments as Ramon sliced away. Morales eventually went silent. Peña observed from a distance then told Ramon to leave the mess as a warning. "Ramon, it's time to go, I have a date and you need some new clothes my friend. I hope you enjoyed this as much as me."

Stubbs

Congressman Douglas Stubbs had his office in the basement of the Rayburn building. Office locations were a status symbol, defining much about how the delegates were regarded in Congress. Stubbs was serving his first term but had strong mentorship and support from the rest of the San Diego Republican delegation. His father had been mayor of the city and helped launch careers for the more senior Congressmen while junior was still in school. Stubbs served as a majority member on the powerful House Appropriations Committee (HAC). He would be vital to supporting the liberalization of drugs in California. It was an uphill battle for Hunter, since the conservative platform promoted the war on drugs.

Hunter waited patiently for Mickey Wallace, one of Stubbs' legislative Assistants, to finish her first meeting of the morning. The receptionist offered him coffee, which he declined. This was standard procedure with Mickey, so he never scheduled meetings if he couldn't stand delays.

At ten-fifteen, Mickey opened one of the doors into the small waiting area and said goodbye to a group of Asian gentlemen. She saw him and extended her hand. "Hunter, how are you today. Come on in."

She escorted him to her small cubicle, which was crammed into an office with several other legislative aides. "So, what brings you by today?"

Mickey was short and stocky, and had the demeanor of a tough disciplinarian. She had worked for another congressman for ten years before Stubbs was elected, and her old boss lost. She had curly brown hair which accentuated her round face and double chin -- much too early in life. She made no effort to dress fashionably and seemed to enjoy projecting a "hard ass" attitude.

"Hi, Mickey, thanks for seeing me on short notice. I wanted to know if you looked at the Senate language I sent over?"

"Hunter. You know we have a problem with it."

"Mickey, I know that, but it's something the voters in California would support."

"Not in our district."

"I think you could be wrong. Have you ever canvased them with this idea and explained the benefits."

"Look, Hunter, we can't support a bill that looks soft on drugs."

"Mickey, it's not soft on drugs. It shifts the emphasis to local police like all other substance abuse and to funds education instead of DEA. Not only that, it turns it into a regulated industry which employs Americans and generates huge taxes. Nothing about it condones drug use, it's just like alcohol. Fences on the border don't work. It's costing hundreds of billions each year to fight the Drug War, and we haven't won after thirty years. More people die fighting the drug war than were killed in world war."

"It's not an easy sell, Hunter."

He was frustrated. "Apparently not here."

Stubbs needed to be on the good terms with the Governor. Mickey said, "Look, the Congressman might support it if the other San Diego delegates go along. Maybe the Governor could help your cause."

"All right. I understand where you're coming from. If I can get a couple others, will the Congressman help?"

"We'll see." She stood, "Thanks for coming by, Hunter, and remember our fundraiser next month."

"Thanks Mickey." Yeah, like I'll recommend the state PAC for Stubbs.

He was walking toward the Capitol South Metro station when his phone vibrated. He looked at the display before going down the escalator, out of coverage. Claire sent him a message, "call-urgent!"

The Metro was almost empty at midday, so he took the first train, the blue line, which would take him all the way to King Street without transferring. It was a longer distance than transferring to the yellow line, but he wouldn't need to change trains a Metro Center. The ride was mostly underground until Foggy Bottom station in Georgetown, where it went above ground until reaching the Pentagon. He called Claire on her mobile phone.

"Hunter ... José is dead." She wasn't crying but was subdued.

"I'm sorry, sis. When did you find out?" They'd suspected it for two years.

"The FBI found his body in the car yesterday. I would have called last night, but I had to tell the kids, and it was rough. They both stayed home today."

"Are you at home?"

"Yeah, I stayed with them."

"Look Claire, I don't know what to say. When will you have the funeral?"

"I don't know yet. He'll be cremated and I'll probably just have a memorial service in a few weeks. Right now, I'm just waiting for a death certificate so that I can get the insurances going. It's been rough living without both incomes."

"I know, kid. What did you find out?"

"José was trapped in the trunk of his car and drowned." He was stunned that she could be so graphic.

"Aw, Claire. I'm so sorry. Look, I'm gonna lose you underground, I'll call later. Hang in there."

Her response, if any, was lost when the train went below ground again.

Memorial

The official report on José Rivera's death was murder by drowning. Kasey McDougal called John Richards and sent him a copy of the Oakland Coroner's report. The ocean had destroyed any useful forensic information, so all they knew for certain was that it was a homicide, and the method used. After two years, they weren't even sure where José was abducted, or how the car ended at the Farallons. The media was given full details in case someone would come forward with any information.

The body was released to the mortuary Claire contacted in El Dorado Hills, near their home. A memorial was scheduled a week later.

Hunter was packing for the trip when his phone rang. "Hi, Sweetheart."

"Hi, Hunt. Are you ready to leave?"

"Almost, I'm flying in the morning."

"When's the service?"

"It's on Saturday. I want to get there sooner to help Claire. I think she's planning a get-together at her house afterward."

"Hunter, I'd like to come out with you."

"Gee, Laurie, umm, I'd love it, but do you really want to sit through a family funeral with a bunch of strangers?"

"You're not a stranger. Anyway, I could fly out on Friday if it's okay."

"Sure ... absolutely."

"Okay. I'll let you know my schedule after I make reservations."

"Thanks, Laurie. I love you."

"Me, too."

He slept well and took the Metro to Reagan National Airport for his morning flight to Sacramento. He had to fly to Denver first then change planes, so didn't arrive until late afternoon. Claire met him at baggage claim.

He saw her waiting by the escalator and waived. They embraced at the bottom. "Oh, sis, I'm so sorry."

She shuddered a little but wasn't crying. "At least it's over, Hunter."

He put his arm around her as they walked together out toward the parking garage. They were quiet until outside, then she spoke. "Things are under control here. I just want to get through the next few days, then on with the rest of our lives. It's been tough without answers for the kids. Now that they know their daddy died, I don't think they know what to think of it. It's hard enough for kids to process death of a parent, but it's even more unreal when you tell them it was murder. They don't understand why someone would hurt their sweet dad. I don't understand it."

"I know, sis. Maybe having Uncle Hunter here will help."

"It might. You're kind of a hero figure to them. Big Navy SEAL, destroyer of terrorists."

"That seems like a long time ago."

"You're barely in your thirties, Hunt."

"Yeah, but it's been over five years since I took off my uniform."

She smiled. "Not really. You just changed from blue to green in the Border Patrol. From what I read in the office when you were on the border, you were in some pretty nasty fights with drug smugglers."

He chuckled. "Yeah, they're as mean as Taliban."

"Anyway, Hunt, I think the kids will be especially glad that you're here."

He smiled, "Oh, by the way, Laurie is coming out tomorrow."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, I told you about her."

"This is sweet. We'll get to meet her. You must be pretty special to her."

"She's pretty special to me."

Claire's kids, José Jr., nine, and Miriam, seven, were both excited to see their Uncle Hunter. To them, he was a kind of action figure that was always off saving the world somewhere. He took their minds off of their father, at least for a while.

That night, he got a text message from Laurie and borrowed Claire's car in the morning to pick her up at the Sacramento Airport.

He met her at the same spot as Claire a day earlier. They embraced like two young lovers leaving on vacation. Hunter asked, "So, how was your flight?"

"I had a whole row to myself from Dallas to here. It was a great comfortable flight."

Unlike Hunter, Laurie had a large suitcase. It occurred to him that they hadn't discussed return plans. He lifted the heavy load, "Wow, girls never pack efficiently. You have to bring the whole closet."

"You've never seen my closet. This barely made a dent."

He just smiled. "Claire and the kids are anxious to meet you."

"Oh, Hunter, that reminds me. I need to get a local hotel room."

"Not in our family. You get the guest room at Claire's."

"Umm, where do you sleep?"

He smiled before answering. "Actually, I'm bunking with JJ (José Jr.). He's got a bunk bed for sleepovers."

"Will you fit?"

"Probably not. But he's got a big floor."

She smiled.

At home, Laurie was an instant hit. That night at dinner, Miriam called her "Aunt Laurie".

Except for the occasion, it was like a vacation visit from a favorite aunt and uncle. It was obvious to Laura that Hunter was loved deeply. It also caused her to wonder if he would stay in DC. They'd never approached the subject in any discussions. Both avoided it as their relationship grew. It was quickly becoming a pivotal uncertainty between them.

When JJ went to bed at eight, Hunter tested the bed, which was about six inches too short. Claire had an air mattress for him. She went to bed around ten, leaving Hunter and Laura to themselves until almost midnight before they retired. They both slept soundly, thinking about their first trip together. In the morning, Hunter and Laurie made a quick breakfast and cleaned everything up for the caterers that would arrive at noon.

Even though there was no grave involved, Claire wanted an outdoor event. She and José had enjoyed hiking in the Sierra foothills with the children, and she picked their favorite park on Folsom Lake. It was a warm summer day and people arrived early, just to amble through the trees or sit on the grass. The sky was clear, with thin cirrus clouds and a mild breeze through the pine and fir trees, scenting the air. It was the kind of day José loved when they would hike or camp in the mountains. Claire felt the beginning of finality and closure.

The Governor came in caravan most of his senior administration. Neighbors appeared that Claire barely knew. Jose's large family all came. John Richards came alone. In total, more than a hundred people showed up. Father Joseph Priestley, Father Joe, delivered a warm and spiritual sermon even though Claire opted for cremation against church doctrine. Before the service began, Claire introduced Hunter to John Richards. He was Jose's friend and now leading the state's investigation.

A dozen people spoke, including the Governor, who cited Jose's brave leadership to resolve the drug violence. A campaign that had cost him his life. After the tributes, Claire greeted everyone as they stood patiently in a loose line to wish her well. Hunter and Laurie stood under an oak tree talking to Richards. It was there that Hunter saw a sun glint reflected from the far end of the parking lot, several hundred yards away. Someone was using a long-range lens. He excused himself. Richards and Laurie wondered what he was doing. He said he needed to check on something.

Rather than walk directly, he walked to a nearby restroom set back in the trees, but instead of going in, he passed it and continued moved behind brushy areas, hidden from view. A frontage road formed the lower boundary of the park. He walked toward the park entrance. Dense undergrowth and fallen trees concealed him until he was at the entrance.

He walked quietly to where the cameraman was working. The sound of a shutter echoed between the first two rows of cars. Walking as quietly as he could in dress shoes, he approached a black utility van. Rounding it, he heard the shutter click several times before the man saw Hunter in his side view mirror. The van rocked slightly on its suspension and the engine started.

Hunter ran to the passenger side and yelled, "What's going on here?"

At that moment, he was staring into the barrel of a handgun as the driver pushed the accelerator, lurching backward. The shooter fired as Hunter dove. The shot echoed up the valley, as Hunter scrambled to his feet, chasing the van, noting the license number. The driver didn't shoot a second time.

The first person to run to him was John Richards. "Hunter! What happened?"

Hunter brushed dirt from his trousers. "That guy was taking telephoto pictures, John. I don't think he was a naturalist."

"Did you get a look at him?"

"Yeah. He's a skin head, mid-thirties, tattoos on his arms, not professional types – prison types. He wore an old sleeveless workout shirt and worn-out jeans."

"You saw that while he was shooting at you?"

"I only saw him for a half second, then ducked. I could pick him out of a lineup."

Laura arrived, followed by several others, including Claire. The kids were somewhere up in the park with other people. Laura wrapped her arms around him. "Hunter! Oh, God, are you alright?"

She buried her head in his chest as he stroked her hair. "Laurie, I don't know who it was. I just wanted to see why he was taking pictures."

She asked, "Was that a gunshot?"

"Yeah, he didn't appreciate me."

Claire said, "John said a man was taking our pictures, Hunter."

"That's what I saw, sis."

"Why? Why would he take our pictures?"

"I don't know, Claire, but I think it's time to be extra careful."

People began leaving a few minutes later. The Governor was escorted away without talking to Claire again. Claire's children tried to ask about the gunshot, but it was described as a car backfire.

The drive home took less than fifteen minutes, and the caterer was ready when they arrived. Claire and José had purchased their home new when she was pregnant with JR. It was more than they could afford as young state-employed attorneys, but both expected their incomes to rise quickly in their early years. It was designed for entertaining with a huge family room-kitchen combination, extending to a patio in the back. Fifty people could be entertained, and they had a few more than that.

Hunter became the de facto bartender, and Laura helped when she wasn't pulled away by curious friends and family. It wasn't long before rumors of Hunter's impending marriage were circulating. He smiled at the thought, and she didn't seem to mind, enjoying his discomfort. Hunter was known to be a free-spirited adventurer in his youth, and many of the guests were amazed at the transformation in him since he moved to Washington.

Sue Ann Kohl was Hunter's first cousin, four years younger, who had a crush on Hunter since she was barely able to talk. "Hunter! Pour me a glass of red wine, please."

"Hi Sue Ann, it's nice to see you."

"So, cous'. I met your girlfriend. She's nice. How did she tame the wild beast?"

Sue Ann knew about Laura from her visit to Washington the summer before. Hunter let her stay at his townhouse with him for three days. He showed her some of the highlights, but she also ventured out on her own when he was away. She tried, at least once to get him aroused, but he kept her away and talked to Laura on the phone often.

"I've changed, Sue. Ain't no wild beast any more. I wear a shirt and tie and fight with words now days."

"Yeah, right. How long's that gonna last?"

"No, really. I sowed my wild seeds and just want to be a respectable bureaucrat."

Sue Ann sat on a stool opposite him at the breakfast counter. "So. When are you and Laura getting married?"

"We haven't talked about it."

She smiled coyly, "You gonna pop the question soon?"

"Why so interested?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just still living in my fantasy world, I guess."

He chuckled, "So, Sue. What's going on in your life? You got a job yet or anyone special in your life?"

Sue Ann was a petite thin blond with large breasts and an impish grin. She was attractive from any angle and seldom discouraged advances from men, which happened often. She'd recently graduated from Stanford at twenty-four, spending extra semesters making up for classes missed when partying. Hunter had always worried about her. She was too carefree and careless. He'd seen too much violence in his world and feared she was too naïve and vulnerable.

"Yeah. I work for a software company in San Jose and date a few guys. I'm not in any hurry. I thought they would change the law, and I could marry my first cousin, but I guess it's not going to happen." She was smiling at him as she took a sip of wine.

"No one serious?"

"Oh, I don't know. Most of the guys I know are too nice. I don't always want nice." She was teasing him.

Laura walked up and Hunter said, "So, Laura, I guess you've met my favorite cousin, Sue Ann.

She smiled and sat next to Hunter's cousin. "Yep. We met out on the porch. She told me all about her hero cousin, the Navy SEAL and Border Agent. You've been holding out on me."

"I'm not as bad-ass as Sue Ann makes me out. She has a habit of fantasizing."

Both women smiled and Sue Ann winked at Laura. "He ever tell you about Pakistan?"

Hunter interrupted, "Alright, I'm closing the bar and going out back to mingle. You girls can speculate all you want. I couldn't talk about it even if it was a lie."

Sue Ann giggled and Laura stayed sitting by her while Hunter took his beer and departed.

Outside, near the back of the yard, Richards was alone, looking into space toward the Sierras. Hunter wanted to talk to him away from others.

He patted John on the back and stood next to him, looking in the same direction. "So, John. I appreciate you being Claire's friend. She needs someone who understands the criminal world."

"It's my job and my pleasure, Hunt. José was a good friend and I feel some responsibility for Claire. I wouldn't want anything bad to happening to her."

Hunter looked at his feet. "So, what about the surveillance today?"

"You saw it, Hunter. Someone's building a file. I imagine it starts with Claire and branches into everyone who's related or works with her."

"How you gonna protect her?"

"It's not easy, Hunter. Partly, she's strong headed and would make police protection miserable. The best thing would be for her to drop the Drug Bill and do something else in the legal department."

Hunter grimaced, "Won't happen. I know my sister. She'd rather fight than retreat."

"Talk to her, Hunter. This is gangland warfare at its worst."

"Look, John, she's not gonna give up Jose's work and push it onto someone else. Good or bad, she's with it."

Richards looked at Hunter. "What about you? You picked up the other half of Jose's work in Washington. Someone took your picture today too."

Hunter had his hands in his pockets, looking beyond the fence and shuffled one foot in the grass. "I don't know, John. I sure wish they'd come after me and leave her alone."

"Hunter, I don't want to be insensitive, but she's the softer target."

Claire walked up behind. "So, what are you two guys doing? Come ... come have some food!" She herded them both in the direction of the dining room.

Costa Rica

Luciano Peña had grown in stature with the other drug lords. After twenty years of meteoric rise as their primary western distributor, they all listened closely to him. He was respected. He was smart, which and had invested in ships that could fool American DHS. He had politicians in his pocket. He had also proven himself as a violent leader, the only law they respected.

When Peña called an assembly of his suppliers in Costa Rica, they all agreed, subject to careful security precautions. This meeting was the beginning of a mega cartel, more powerful than any other organization in the underworld. Although officially headless, Luciano was the de facto leader since he took their products to market.

It took months to organize, but the summit was finally underway. The Peña ships carried more cargo than any land-borne channels, which also made Peña an enemy to hundreds of smaller smugglers. He was careful, far more careful than when he stayed at home six hundred miles north of the border.

He reserved the entire resort. Hotel Parador is a secluded luxury hotel on the Pacific coast. It offered lavish suites for "guests", affording privacy with lesser rooms for security personnel. There is only one narrow road through the jungles, which was closed for their meeting. Entry from the sea is blocked by jagged cliffs. There were enough concealed weapons at the resort to equip a small army.

The meeting lasted one day and there was no written record. This was between Latin crime lords. The purpose of the meeting was to agree to fight any form of drug legalization in America. All of the members had "friends" in the Government. But the hardest discussion was about controlling the gangs along the borders and to minimize violence during the summer. Most of the members objected, and Mexican distributors complained the most. Some threated violence against the other cartel members for even suggesting that they back off. In the end, most of them understood that American attention to drug violence threatened their business. The obstinate distributors would be dealt with by Peña and his allies.

Most of the cartel members left that night without staying at the Parador. They were safer on their home turf. Peña had a helicopter to his trawler offshore. He spent the night on the ship while it cruised north and flew ashore in Acapulco, where his private jet waited.

He was back in his office by lunch time. That night, he and Ramon were aboard his Trawler Ocean Queen, piloted by its new captain. The ship was motoring at slow speed around Yerba Buena Island in the center of the Oakland Bay Bridge with three other men aboard. One of them was the man Hunter chased from the parking lot. The other two were contract assassins, working with the photographer's firm. All were ex-convicts. The men were identified only by number.

Mr. Uno, the photographer, laid several dozen pictures on the chart table, identifying the various Rivera family members, relatives and friends. Over the next hour, plans were agreed.

Return to Washington

Hunter and Laura flew back on the same flight through Chicago. The trip had helped firm their relationship. They had taken a private tour of the California state capital with Claire as their guide. It was Monday night when they landed at Reagan National in Washington.

After getting Laura's luggage, Hunter said, "Come to my place. We'll have dinner; then I'll drive you home."

She smiled. "Okay."

He put his arm around her. "Let's go."

The trip to Sacramento had crystalized their feelings for each other. Hunter had never loved anyone before. He'd had a few girlfriends, but he was constantly on deployments, so nothing serious ever developed. Laura was his first true love.

She'd had a steady boyfriend in high school on the Eastern Shore, one of the most placid locations in the Metro DC area, but they split up when she went to college. He'd stayed on the family farm. She started the phone relationship with Hunter shortly after moving to Washington. She was never interested in anyone else.

She learned a lot about Hunter on the trip to California, both from his interaction with family but also from talking to Claire and Sue Ann. The women in his family communicated freely, and she fit right in.

They had a simple dinner of grilled pork chops and spinach salad, since neither was particularly hungry after travelling all day. After they cleaned his kitchen together, he poured one more glass of red wine, which they drank on his balcony overlooking the Potomac and the Capital beyond.

He said, "Sweetheart, I'll drive you home.

She had an cherubic smile. "Why? You want me to leave?"

He kissed her cheek. "You know that's not it. I don't want to pressure you."

"Hunt. Wasn't it my idea to come here tonight?"

He smiled, "Yeah, just checking."

The rest of the night was magical. She left her suitcase at his apartment in the morning and would pick it up again "sometime soon."

That day, he didn't have anything specific planned so he called Leigh Bryant, and they made plans for lunch in Rosslyn. Most impromptu Washington meets happened over lunch, and Hunter had an expense account.

The Tivoli restaurant was popular; adjacent to the Rosslyn Metro station.

Hunter was sitting at a table when Leigh arrived. She looked smart in a dark-blue suit. Even in sneakers, Leigh was almost as tall as him. She was ten years older and a seasoned professional on "The Hill" with pre-maturely greying hair to prove it. Leigh worked on the staff of a Congressman from Tennessee for sixteen years, from the time she graduated from U. Mass Amherst. She became his Executive Assistant over time and managed the corral of junior aides. Around Congress, the EA's worked as surrogates for their elected members, wielding immense power, often controlling the legislative agenda and helping negotiate committee positions in the quid pro quo of politics. Leigh had mastered the skills of Congress far more than ninety percent of the electorate.

When she got married, later than many, she was pregnant within months and considering a change. When the congressman failed to be reelected, Leigh saw the chance to parlay her experience into consulting on a part time basis to be a full-time mother. She looked good to Hunter. She wasn't a skinny pole any longer. Family life agreed with her, and she was clearly enjoying her new career at home.

He stood and kissed her cheek, another Washington formality he'd learned from her. "Hi, lady, you look great!"

"Hi yourself, Hunter. How goes the battles on The Hill?"

They chatted lightly until their orders were taken then Hunter said, "I'm not sure how it's going, Leigh. I'm doing okay with California delegates except in San Diego. You'd think those would be the ones behind it."

"Why?"

"Well, they see the violence every day in their districts."

She smiled before answering. "No, not really. The bad stuff happens out in the desert, way away from the city. The city of San Diego is quiet."

"Still, why won't they support limited legalization if it would stop the Border War?"

"Ever do a headcount at the San Diego Border Patrol Sector? I bet between San Diego, El Centro and San Ysidro that they have five thousand people employed by CBP (Customs and Border Patrol). Throw in DEA, and you probably have another thousand. Those are a lot of voters who want to keep their jobs. No one in Government really wants the war to end. There are Washington empires depending on it to support their people."

He shook his head. "Yeah, at a hundred billion a year. This doesn't even account for the gang killings across the US and our prison problems."

"Look, Hunter. My advice is to look for support outside the border regions. Avoid law enforcement advocates in general. You're attacking their wellbeing. Go after members that don't have a stake and genuinely want to correct the budget deficit and stop violence."

"You know, you always bring a rational side. When I was in the BP (Border Patrol), I watched buddies gunned down in ambushes. I survived two myself. It's seems insane that our Government wouldn't want to end it."

"Don't blame the Government. There are plenty of members that will listen to you. You just need to target the right ones. I'm not just talking about California delegates. Anyone on the right committee is fair game."

"Where should I start?"

"You start by eating lunch. I'll go back home and email you a list of people you need to focus on. You still need to press your state delegates, but you need to go a lot farther away. I'm gonna send you a list of people in Congress that want reform."

He smiled and they talked on a personal level through lunch. Neither wanted dessert, but did have coffee. Like most Washington power lunches, it lasted until two o'clock. Hunter had a fundraiser to attend at the Capitol Hill Club that night. He really didn't want to attend, but part of his job was representing the state employee's PAC (Political Action Committee). Tonight, he would drop an envelope into a fish bowl and have hors d'oeuvres for dinner with a dozen disinterested staffers then ride back on the Metro, as quickly as possible. He wanted to talk to Laurie before it got too late.

That evening, after he finally got home, he looked at the list of people Leigh had identified. Many he'd never heard of but trusted her advice completely. Then he called Laurie, and they had a warm cuddly conversation, as cuddly as could be on the phone before she went to bed. He stayed up until midnight, preparing an action plan from Leigh's list.

Sometime in the pre-dawn morning, his phone rang. "Hello."

The man spoke. "Is this Hunter Kohl?"

"Who's calling?"

"That's not important, Mr. Kohl"

Hunter was still half asleep. "Look, I don't have time for games."

"Oh, this is not game, I assure you, Mr. Kohl."

"What do you want?"

"First, Mr. Kohl, I want you to listen to someone we have here."

Hunter didn't have time to respond before she screamed. "Hunter! Hunter! They have..." Her sounds were muffled after that.

Hunter's fury exploded. "Who was that!"

He heard some vague dialogue and a scuffle before the man spoke. "Well, Mr. Kohl, what do you think?"

"Look asshole, who was that?"

"Don't you recognize the voice of your loving cousin?"

Sue Ann! "What do you want?"

"It's quite simple, Mr. Kohl. We simply want your attention. Nothing more. You see, we expect you to play ball with us when the time is right. Do you understand?"

"What about Sue Ann! What about my cousin?"

"This time, Mr. Kohl, we are throwing her back. It won't happen again. When you hear from us again, you will be given instructions. Remember your dear brother-in-law."

"You bastard!" The line went dead.

She was still in her pajamas without shoes or coat. She never saw or heard the men who broke into her apartment when she was asleep. Before she knew what was happening, her hands were taped together at the same time as her eyes and mouth were sealed with tape.

She was thrown into the trunk of some large car and taken to the harbor. The evening foghorn sounds and smell confirmed that she was carried aboard a boat or ship. The vessel cruised for over an hour while she coiled terrified against cold steel walls in some unseen metal room.

Then someone talked to Hunter. She screamed on cue as they ripped the duct tape from her mouth, pulling a handful of hair with it. Her eyes were completely sealed. She could smell the body odor and bad breath. She cried the whole time in the room, fearing being helpless and raped. She had almost no clothing on.

In Washington, Hunter was going mad. He called Claire, who was also asleep. "Hunter, what's wrong?"

"Claire! I just wanted to see if you're all right."

"Yeah. I'm fine. What's wrong?"

"Claire, they took Sue Ann."

"What! Who! Oh, God, Hunt. What should we do?"

"Look, Claire. Check on the kids and make sure everything is locked. Then call John Richards."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, Claire. I don't know."

As soon as he hung up, he thought about calling Laura but decided not to scare her. The man on the phone made his point, and it was close to dawn anyway. He'd talk to her during the day and try not to scare her. He wouldn't sleep again that night.

After dressing in the morning, he didn't look again at the list Leigh sent, and didn't go out. He was mad and concerned for his family and friends. He wasn't scared for himself. Let them come. He was scared for people he loved.

Around noon time, nine o'clock in California, Richards called him. "Hunter, we got her."

Hunter let out a breath. "Is she...is she okay, John?"

"She's pretty banged up and scared, Hunter, but she should be okay. She's going to be shaken for a long time though. She could have died."

Hunter felt rage developing again. "What did they do, John?"

"Someone, some men, kidnapped her from her bedroom, Hunter. They taped her all up with duct tape and treated her like garbage, throwing her into a car trunk. She's a good looking girl, Hunter. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, she would have been raped, but these guys had other orders."

"Yeah. I know some of it. I'll tell you more in a minute. Tell me what they did to her."

"They took her onto a boat, a good sized one from what I can figure. Anyway, after she talked to you, they dumped her in a zodiac off Half Moon Bay and threw her overboard closer to shore. She was still taped up and they didn't care if she drowned.

"Anyway, she struggled in the water until the sea loosened the tape and she got free. She had to swim to shore in some rough stuff, but made it. I don't think most people would have survived, Hunter. After that, she was freezing wet and stumbled up onto the coast highway where a man helped her. She's in a hospital with her parents. Claire is heading there now."

Hunter sat with his hand supporting his forehead. "Thank God."

"What's this all about, Hunter?"

"John, I'm not sure. I think it was a warning. He mentioned José. He said he would be back in touch."

"So, he's scaring you?"

"Yeah. I think that's the idea."

"Hunter, I think I'll talk to Claire and get you stationed back here again."

"I don't think so, John. Not until we know what this is about. I don't think they'll touch anyone until I get some instructions."

"What if he never calls back? What if there're no more instructions?"

"Well, then maybe everyone will be safe."

"Yeah, but we need to catch them."

"I know, John."

"Hunter, we're bringing the FBI into this, and they'll look real close at any evidence. You need to send me your phone log info. I don't think these guys are stupid enough to use a traceable phone number, but we need to check anyway."

After the call with John, Hunter called Claire.

She answered, "Hello, Hunter."

"Claire, where are you?

"I'm about at Vallejo on I-80. I'm going to the hospital in San Francisco."

"John said she was going to be okay."

"I think so, Hunt. What happened?"

He explained the phone call and all she could say was, "That Bastard!"

"You know who it is, Claire?"

"Yeah, so do you."

"Peña?"

"Who else, Hunt?"

He didn't mention anything about José. "Yeah. It's gotta be him."

"Think about it, Hunter. We all know he's behind Jose's murder. Now, he's coming after us."

"The FBI's getting involved."

"Yeah. John told me."

"You think they got anything on Peña?"

"I don't know. I think they've had his gang under surveillance for a long time. I don't know where we fit into this. Even if they have stuff on him, they haven't moved yet, so I bet they've got squat."

Hunter knew something about the California drug trade from his experience and training with the Border Patrol. "Peña's got a lot of money and covers his tracks."

She added, "Yeah. José always said he was the most dangerous guy on the west coast and the most difficult to catch."

"Look, Claire. John said he would ask you to get me moved back to Sacramento."

"You want to come? We might all feel a little safer if you came back."

"I dunno, sis. Peña wants me for something, and I think it's in Washington. I better stay here for a while.

"Look. I want to call Laurie, so kiss Sue Ann for me and tell her I'll call her."

"Be careful, Hunter."

"You too, sis. Have John come by and double check your security at the house. I think you better keep close track of your kids, too."

"Now you're really scaring me."

"Sorry, Claire. I just want to be cautious until someone nails this maniac."

Competition

Victor Cabrillo Meléndez didn't like being ordered around like some peasant. He gave orders, not the other way around. He was the biggest Mexican drug smuggler in Jaurez after assassinating his boss Enzo Amador Perea. Meléndez was called "El Señor de Los pájaros" (Lord of the Birds) because of his fleet of jets used to transport drugs. The U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration described Meléndez as the most ruthless drug trafficker in Northern Mexico. In only two years, he went from being an illiterate enforcer to drug lord, following a bloody trail.

With his new wealth, Melendez moved his family north of the border into El Paso, where their security was easier to manage and his children could attend American schools. He was popular with the city government, providing multi-million dollar gifts for various projects. He was always under the watchful eye of local law enforcement, but he was careful to keep his illegal activities in Mexico.

Meléndez was sitting on his patio in the shade, sipping Fortaleza tequila in the late afternoon warmth. It had been a day of relaxation with his lieutenants controlling things in Juarez, preparing for his next shipment. He dozed on and off all afternoon enjoying the sweet desert smell carried by the breeze. The sky was deep blue, without any pollution. It was an ideal day in west Texas!

Then his phone rang. It was the El Paso County Sherriff. Something went wrong with security for his son, Miguel, who was twelve years old. According to the deputy that called from the scene, the boy's transport car was hijacked coming home from a soccer game. The driver and bodyguard were both gunned down. Meléndez would not have involved the police in Mexico, preferring to use his own resources to find the boy, but this wasn't Mexico. The American authorities came to his house asking questions, treating the hijacking as a kidnapping for ransom. Meléndez cooperated, but knew it would be resolved privately.

Luciano Peña didn't know how close Meléndez was to his only son. From birth, Miguel was shielded from any knowledge of his father's "business." Meléndez murdered people in cold blood, sometimes torturing them for information or as a deterrent to others. He grew up surrounded by violence and used it as his only tradecraft. But when Miguel was born, he made a pact with his wife to never disclose his real profession. Since taking over the cartel and moving to El Paso, he lived behind a façade of respectability. Miguel would learn the truth soon enough, but not yet. Melendez was enraged that his boy was exposed to the violence by Peña, who didn't respect him as his peer. Just because Meléndez fought through the ranks to get the cartel, didn't make him any less of a "Jefe" (boss). But taking Miguel went too far. Miguel was only a child, small for his age and deliberately naive. That Peña would make him a pawn in their world was unforgivable. As evil as their business was, families were off limits.

That evening, Meléndez received a text message telling him to look for instructions in his mailbox. He sent one of his guards to the end of his private gated drive for the envelope. Neither Meléndez nor his family ever opened the mail box.

Without using any names, Peña gave instructions to meet for discussion of a possible collaboration. If Meléndez agreed, he would get his son back, unharmed. He must come to the Holiday Inn on Mission Avenue, room 2011, at eight o'clock that night. In drug-speak, this was an ultimatum, and he had no choice.

Meléndez kissed his wife, whispering a long goodbye and then drove away inside a large Expedition truck with blackened windows. There were five guards with him. He lived outside of town, close to the airport on a private ranch. The trip into town took half an hour. When they arrived at the hotel, one of his men that could speak passible English went into the lobby for a room map of the old two-story motel. The rooms were all open to the outside with uncovered walkways. They drove around the east side, reading the numbers on the second-floor doors. Room 2011 overlooked the parking lot. Meléndez arrived early to observe, but there were already two guards standing by the door.

He instructed the driver to park two rows back in the lot, facing the hotel. The two large men standing beside the room door could see the truck and remained stationary. After ten minutes, it was eight o'clock, and no one had entered the room. Truck doors opened, and two mean-looking men walked through the lot and up the outdoor stairs to the walkway along the second floor. Meléndez stayed hidden from view.

Words were spoken between the men, but Meléndez couldn't hear. The guards made a gesture and the Meléndez men opened their coats. They did not give up their guns. Peña's man, a head taller than all others, waived one of the Meléndez men away letting the other one approach the door, which opened and closed quickly. After some further unheard dialogue, Peña's men resumed their positions, and the others returned to the truck.

Melendez watched everything. He knew it was a trap of some sort and told his men to be alert. His man confirmed that he saw the boy inside and was told that Peña would show himself after Meléndez freed the boy. No other Meléndez men would be allowed in the room.

He hesitated, but had no choice. Miguel was alive, and terrified. He was sitting alone in the dark on the edge of a bed, facing the door. Meléndez's only protection inside the room would be weapons concealed under his sport coat. They had been used to kill many times and he was sure that Peña himself was no match if he came alone. When Meléndez freed his son, he would enjoy killing Peña slowly with a knife, once the boy was out of earshot.

One guard opened the truck's rear door and Meléndez stepped out slowly, buttoning his sport coat. As a former enforcer, he was big with poor teeth and a large scar on the right side of his face. Muscles were now soft, yet his size would intimidate most men. Still, one of Peña's guards was much larger and didn't look fat. Meléndez looked in all directions instinctively before moving away from his armored car, not wishing to be shot by a sniper. He signaled his most trusted guard to walk with him and the others to stay ready to shoot Peña's men. He walked quickly to the stairs, skipping steps, climbing to the second floor. He wasn't an easy target.

As he approached the room, the giant stepped in front, blocking the door. Meléndez would enter alone. When he agreed, the guard backed away, and Meléndez was allowed to pass.

The door was partially opened, but the single front window curtain was pulled closed, blocking any sunlight inside. There were no interior lights on. Meléndez pressed his hand against his coat, feeling the reassuring metallic bulge under his arm. He stood in the doorframe and pushed the door completely open. As shards of sunlight filled the room, he saw his son. His boy was sitting upright on the edge of the bed facing him. His legs and arms were bound with tape and his mouth was covered. When he saw his father, Miguel tried to say something, but nothing could be understood under the tape. He was shivering and tears flowed freely. He had wet himself. Meléndez was enraged. Peña would pay with his life! Miguel's eyes pleaded to his father, who moved to free the boy.

Outside the room, men were at the stairs when the explosion blew out the window in room 2011. There was not going to be any collaboration between Peña and Meléndez.

Ramon had a brief discussion with the Meléndez man before they separated. The gang was now under Peña's control. Ramon sent a text message to his boss, "Se hace" (it is done).

For Luciano Peña, it was another day at the office.

Sue Ann

Sue Ann Flannigan was the daughter of Hunter's and Claire's mother's brother, Bob Flannigan, a first cousin. The Flannigans had always lived in San Jose, where Bob was an Engineer at NASA Ames Research Center. Sue Ann loved an active California lifestyle, including mountain biking and rock climbing. She was small but muscular, so she could keep up with the men.

She wasn't seeing anyone seriously as far as Hunter knew, but had numerous male friends. She grew up as a free-spirited girl. She was always playful around Hunter and Claire, spending several summers with them in Southern California when growing up. She was like their little sister.

Claire got to the hospital just as "Uncle Bob" and his second wife were leaving for lunch. They talked briefly, then Claire and Sue Ann were alone.

Claire brought flowers from the gift shop and hugged her cousin. "Aw, Suzy, how do you feel?"

"I'm not bad, Claire. I don't know why they want me to stay here all day. I got some scrapes and bruises, but nothing worse than a day at Yosemite with the guys."

"Just take advantage of it, girl."

"Claire, you just missed the Fibby's (FBI). They questioned me. I had to ask Dad and Stella to leave."

"Did they hurt you badly, did they...you know?"

"No, they didn't do that. I thought they would for sure. They got really close sometimes and one touched my breast, but he got slapped around and yelled at in some pretty crude Spanish."

"Were they Mexicans?

"I don't know. They smelled bad, but that's not surprising for a lot of guys. I think one had serious dental problems though. His breath -- yuck. I don't want to talk about it."

"Were you scared?"

"Yeah. Scared as hell. You know, after José – I'm sorry, Claire."

Claire sat down after placing the flowers on a small work table. "These guys are animals, Suzy."

"Why do you think they called Hunter? I tried to warn him, Claire, but they taped me up again fast."

Claire looked at her. "I talked to him a couple times. There doesn't seem to be any reason yet."

She was released from the hospital at five o'clock that evening and went home with Claire to Sacramento. She told Claire that she wanted to be as far away from her apartment as possible and would probably never go back to live there.

In Washington, Hunter called Laura and told her what happened. He felt helpless across the country from Claire and Sue Ann. She absolutely needed to stay late at the office that night, but asked to spend the night with him again, maybe several nights, until it was all resolved. His fear turned to excitement. He cautioned her to walk in a group to the Metro and call him so that he could meet her at his station. His caution was scary, but she remembered the photographer at the park. If they wanted to get at Hunter, she was a target.

He didn't leave his apartment that day and called Richards in the afternoon.

Richards didn't know much. "Hunter, the FBI interviewed Sue Ann, but I don't think she's much help. She was asleep when some men jumped her. They taped her eyes and mouth along with her arms and legs. One minute she was asleep, and the next she was blinded and gagged. Someone threw her over his shoulder and dropped her in a car trunk. From what she could hear and smell, it sounds like they took her to a dock on the bay, about half an hour away then out to sea on a large boat or ship. There wasn't much engine noise, and she was pushed against steel bulkheads. She could feel some low-frequency engine vibration, which means a large long-stroke diesel, and the motion was pretty subdued for a boat on the open sea. It had to be a big boat."

Hunter commented. "Peña. It was Peña."

"I can't comment on that, Hunter."

"You don't have to, John. I'm not a cop so I can speculate all I want."

"We're certainly checking all angles." In truth, Richards and the FBI suspected Peña also but had to keep an open mind for other possibilities. Peña had two boats at the dock early in the morning, but one had departed on a two-month fishing expedition to South America. An investigative team was asking questions around the Embarcadero, checking on anyone that might have seen a trawler leave around midnight. Richard's had a preliminary report from the FBI that Peña's two boats were tied up all night and the big one only left after sunrise.

Richards continued. "Some things seem too obvious, Hunter. That's why we need to be careful about jumping to conclusions."

"Like what?"

"Well, if Peña took her, why use a boat at all? That would obviously point back to him."

Hunter answered. "He likes being alone on the ocean for his dirty work."

"Yeah. But why risk it if you were going to turn her loose. She would know she was on a big boat even all tied up."

"He probably expected to kill her."

"If he did that, he would have dumped her way out at sea with some weights attached, not send a dingy near shore where she could get free. It doesn't add up."

"I don't know, John. I want to believe it's him."

"It's one of those things about police work, Hunter. We need to follow the evidence, and so far this still has a lot of questions."

"That's where I have the advantage, John. I don't have to answer to anyone but myself."

"Hunter, we're friends, and I'll pretend that I didn't hear that."

"What about protecting the girls, John?"

"I checked Claire's place, and Sue Ann is staying with her for a while. I'll be close by."

"Okay, John. Let me know if I need to be there."

They said goodbye, and Hunter got his place ready for Laura to arrive. He was worried about all the women in his life, plus Claire's children. He would take action himself if the police didn't move quickly enough.

He neatened up a bit and had a frozen pizza ready before walking to the station. Laurie looked fresh and terrific exiting the train. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Look so good after working all day."
She smiled but didn't answer. She didn't want to spoil the illusion after going home before coming to him.

They talked most of the way to his place with his arm around her waist for some of it. At his apartment, she asked for more details about Sue Ann, which he answered. She asked, "Are we in danger here, Hunter?"

"Laurie, I wish you weren't involved, but we need to be careful."

She hugged him in the kitchen. "You mean you wish we weren't in love?"

He wrapped his arms around her. "You know the answer to that."

After dinner, Laurie got ready for bed, and he sat on the sofa within hearing range. He called Sue Ann.

When she answered, He could hear Claire and the kids in the background. "Hey, how are you doing?"

"Oh, Hunter. I was so scared when they made me talk to you."

"Sue Ann, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Hunter. How are you doing? Do you know what they want?"

"Not yet Suz', but I figure it's something to do with my job here in DC."

"You need to be careful."

They talked a bit longer and then to Claire about safety measures. Richards had come over and checked the house. He even offered to sleep on the couch, but the women felt they were safe enough together. The call ended, agreeing to talk every day for a while.

On the Hill

There were no calls that night and they made love, slowly and unhurried, easing the tension. In the morning, he was energized for work. He walked Laura to the Metro then returned to his apartment to review the list of Congressmen and Senators that Leigh Bryant provided. It was comprehensive, listing members mostly outside California or the other Border States. He called her mobile phone.

"Hi, Leigh."

"Hunter, did you look at my list?"

"Yeah, it's interesting. I think I see your strategy."

"Look. You need to spend your time building consensus. Members of the Appropriations Committees are the most important, but there are also some others that wield a lot of influence. Some of these folks campaigned on streamlining drug laws and focusing on regulation of drug potency and treatment programs."

"So, why is Sandra Blithe on the list?"

She chuckled. "Sandra Blithe has run unopposed for almost thirty years in the Senate. She hasn't got an original idea in her head. She's a Democrat from Rhode Island and pretty much able to be on any committee she wants. She's not active on any of them, but all of the members know she could bump them off if she wanted.

"She needs a cause this year. For the first time in decades, she's being challenged in the primary by a young guy who's popular with their liberal base. She's no better than fifty-fifty for even getting the nomination. Nobody will feel bad if the old lady gets put out to pasture gracefully.

"She doesn't want to go, so she needs a rallying cry, and the young liberals populating her state are all clamoring for decriminalization of marijuana."

He smiled. "She's kind of old to be pushing a drug agenda."

"That's the whole point. She's a child of the sixties, a flower child, and a hippy. At least that's something that she could sell to younger constituents. Her team's running scarred right now, and I think she'd support your message if you sell it to her. Tell you what, I'll set you up with her, and you see if she bites."

"All right, I'm game. When?"

"I'll call you back."

A few minutes later, Leigh called him about an appointment later that day.

She asked, "Can you make a two o'clock?"

"Sure. What do I need to prep?"

"Just bring the current language in the Senate bill. Ask for Ben Willis. He's her current Homeland Security Legislative Assistant. He's a military intern, probably a Light Colonel or Navy Commander. They serve in a Pentagon exchange capacity for one year to learn how to work with Congress -- usually headed for L&L (Legislative Liaison) in the Pentagon. Congress gets them for free, so you find a lot of them on the Hill. They're not supposed to work on Defense bills or anything involving their branch of service. You treat him like any other staffer.

"Go to Russell, Room 201. Seniority has its privileges."

The Russell building was the oldest of the three Senate Office Buildings with huge hardwood-paneled offices, far more ornate than Dirksen or Hart.

"Hey, Leigh. This is good stuff. I'll get over there and let you know how it goes."

"Yeah, do that, and then we'll strategize on the next one."

For the rest of the morning, Hunter felt a renewed sense of mission. He printed a summary report with statistics and the outline of a proposed new drug program.

He showered and ate lunch before walking to the Metro. Events of the past week were still fresh in his mind so he looked more closely at people nearby and the cars on the street. Nothing seemed out of sync with the normal activities as he walked up hill to the station. The train cars were no more than ten percent full, and he was the only person waiting on the platform at King Street. He timed it perfectly, and the yellow train arrived within two minutes.

Half an hour later, on Capitol Hill. He'd been there almost daily since coming east, but still found it to be a grand spectacle, overshadowing the dysfunctional relationship between the administration and the legislature.

The Russell Senate Office Building is one do the most imposing sights besides the Capitol itself. Hunter bypassed the information desk and walked to the second floor. At room 201, he was impressed that Senator Blithe's waiting room was as large as the entire office of Congressman Stubbs, complete with three receptionists, which seemed excessive for a Senator with no significant committee assignments. Seniority had its perks in Washington. Willis came out to greet Hunter immediately after signing in.

"Mr. Kohl, welcome to the Senator's office. I'm Ben Willis, please come with me."

After shaking hands, Hunter was impressed by Willis's demeanor. He was tall, with a military haircut and a suit that was probably too expensive on his salary. He was a few years older and looked to be in excellent physical condition, not like most of the over-worked bureaucrats he normally met.

Willis took him to a private office which had numerous pictures of the Senator standing by airplanes and bridges, and shaking lots of hands. She had aged in the office over thirty years. Willis asked, "Can I get you something to drink?"

Hunter smiled, "No, I'm fine, but help yourself."

"How about some bottled water if I have one?"

"Sure."

Willis opened a door on the credenza behind him to find a concealed refrigerator. Hunter noticed beer in addition to soft drinks.

They talked a little about themselves, and Willis eased up when he learned about Hunter's background. He'd been in the trenches of the drug war.

"So, Hunter, I understand from Ms. Bryant that you want our support for changing the way we treat illicit drugs?"

"That's right, Ben. I represent the California Office of Drug Enforcement. As you know, there have been many attempts to change the way we treat the drug problem in the past."

"Yeah. We deal with it in the military and I did some on-line work before you came over."

Hunter liked his directness. "Then you know we spend billions each year and haven't solved illicit use in America."

"Okay. So, what do you want from the Senator?"

"I'd like to ask the Senator on behalf of California to support changes to our policies on regulated substances. We'd like to have certain drugs permitted for controlled distribution, kinda like tobacco and alcohol."

"What about the kids in school?"

Hunter nodded. "We would do more to curb illicit use if we started a program to control the distribution openly; spend the money used to fight it to educate against it. Again, kinda like the way tobacco companies do."

"What about the DEA and ATF? What would they do under a new policy?"

"The DEA could be downsized or eliminated if we had regulated production in The States. Enforcement duties could move into FDA and ATF."

"What about more users having access to mind-altering drugs."

"More than what? Right now, no pushers check IDs. We're not making them more available under this bill. We'd finally have some control over distribution. Today it's illegal and uncontrolled. Statistically, the "war" hasn't been effective."

"Yeah. But if it was legal and cheap, and you could buy it at Safeway, a lot more would use the stuff."

"Who said it would be cheaper? The Government could impose taxes and tariffs, just like on cigarettes and booze. The prices would depend on how much goes back to the Government. But the biggest difference is that the drug gangs all over our cities would disappear and border violence would stop. We spend enormous money and lives to stop illegal drug trafficking, and Americans pay huge money, which goes to murderers for distributing it. Take away that expenditure and put taxes in place of drug dealer profit, and we've got a program that pays for itself, including more publicity campaigns against drugs. Another side benefit is that drug crimes wouldn't be filling our prisons to overcrowding anymore.

"If we had legitimate farmers harvesting in the US, like tobacco farmers today we could pay less in farm subsidies instead of Americans giving hundreds of billions in drug money to farmers in South America and Mexico.

"But, the big benefit is FDA controls of dosages and purity. Take amphetamines, for example. You can buy Sudafed over the counter and get high if it's abused, so there's not a big difference."

Willis took exception. "Sudafed has a legitimate medical purpose."

Hunter agreed. "Yeah. If that's why it's purchased. But also look at so-called energy drinks. Look at Caffeine. All can be abused."

"I don't know, Hunter. This could backfire."

"Sure it could, but our surveys show that most Americans are fed up with the violence and the subcultural aspects today. Most would support change from being illegal to a regulated policy."

"It's not politically popular."

Hunter looked at him. "Hum, how would anyone know unless they tried? Everyone thinks the old kick-ass way is the right way. If they knew the expense and the failure truths, it would change minds. What about the hundreds of thousands of people that have died in the violence because of American policy?"

Willis heard all he wanted. "Look, Hunter, I'll talk to the Senator and get back to you."

Sensing a brushoff, Hunter added. "Ben, also think about this. Senator Blithe could lead one of the most important shifts in policy in fifty years. This could re-launch her career."

"Well, we don't think she's seriously threatened."

Hunter had only slightly more political experience than Willis. "I wouldn't be so sure. Even the party is looking for new blood. The Senator has a lot of influence that could make this gain traction. I think younger voters would like this initiative."

"I'll convey your thoughts, Hunter."

"Okay, but try to do it in a way that lets her see the benefit to her re-election. What other new platform does she really have? I think you'd be handing her the votes."

Willis wanted to play a more seasoned role, but started to appreciate Hunter's council. Thanks Leigh!

They adjourned and Willis said he would call back in a day or two.

Outside the building, Hunter found an open bench in the park leading down to Union Station and called Leigh to report.

"So, Hunter, did Willis bite?"

"I don't know, Leigh. I don't think he understands the political angle I gave him."

She chuckled. "A lot of them don't understand, that's why most stay a year and leave in frustration. Some of us learn to speak the language and get to make a career out of it."

"He wasn't too impressive."

"All right, Hunter. Go back to your office and let's look again at the House side. In the meantime, I'll call Amy Letourneau. She's Blithe's Washington Staff Director. I've known Amy for twenty years, and I'll fill her in."

"Don't we give Willis a chance?"

"She doesn't work like that. She's cool and will know Willis' inexperience. She'll just have a private conversation with Blithe."

"You know, Leigh, I could never replace you here."

"I'm not worried, Hunter. You're not the kind of guy who would stay in DC. You have too much integrity, and you're more as an action guy."

He smiled. "As smooth talking as always – thanks, Leigh."

The Proposition

Mohamed (Mojo) Al-Zeid, born Franklin Redding, was the largest drug distributor in Los Angeles. Working with East LA street gangs, he imported cheap cocaine manufactured in Nicaragua and managed an army of dealers, mostly illiterates. His empire was growing in the eastern states to include Ohio, Missouri and parts of Texas and Oklahoma. He'd been careful to avoid competing directly with Peña who controlled western territories outside LA. Both Peña and Al-Zeid avoided direct confrontation, but there were occasional conflicts between their dealers when they tried to expand into common areas. Biggest firepower always won.

As a youth, Mojo was expelled from Montebello High Technical School for distributing small amounts of cocaine, using street-gang friends. One of his teachers, who introduced Mojo to a cousin in the Tijuana Cartel, went to prison for drug dealing. After he was expelled, Mojo became a full-time drug dealer.

He became the major drug supplier to the LA gangs operating openly by selling barely above his cost, cornering the market in the nineties. He didn't bypass the Mexican cartels as Peña did with his own ships, and didn't make the profits Peña could command, but he competed well based on a low-price strategy. In just over ten years, his gross sales were approaching Peña's, even if his profits were less.

After ten years, Mojo was moving hundreds of kilos of cocaine worth more than a million dollars in a single week. He undercut other dealers and built a criminal empire that spread throughout the Midwest. He spent two years of a three-year prison sentence at Chino State Prison, but managed to keep his grip on the territory and actually grew it, while behind bars. It was rumored, but never proven, that some of the prison guards were on his payroll.

He learned how to avoid prosecution after his prison experience. His "office" was now in the back of a stretched black Hummer limousine with blackened windows. The car was specially built to his specifications with half-inch-thick bulletproof windows. They could protect against high-power rifle bullets, hammers, baseball bats, axes, etc. All side and roof panels had special bulletproof Kevlar fabric layered inside and the floor was structured to protect against grenades and other explosives. The gas tank and battery were relocated and armor-protected against explosion. The seven-hundred horsepower engine was protected on all sides, and the tires had solid cores.

Communications were state-of-the-art wireless with both microwave and satellite capabilities. There was a specially-designed console with television, video conferencing, internet, telephone and dedicated two-way communications. Everything was capable of being encrypted.

Mojo normally travelled with two guards in the driver's compartment and a single body guard in the back who also managed the communications console. Automatic rifles and handguns were stored under the seats. Ahead of the console was a private compartment with a bar and foldout bed. Except for brief stints at his hillside house, overlooking the ocean in Palos Verde, and his ranch in Nevada, Mojo spent most days cruising the streets around LA, always in motion.

Mojo hated to fly but also owned a newer GulfStream business jet with transcontinental capability, complete with a full bath and bedroom. Today, they drove in caravan with a second armored car from Los Angeles on a seven-hour trip along I-80 to Calexico. It was a small California town, just across the border from Mexicali, the Baja California state capital. Mexicali was the main portal for cocaine shipments to his Al-Zeid gang. One of the keys to Mojo's success was to keeping his Mexican operations away from the larger drug portals passing through Jaurez and Tijuana.

Mojo had a small gang in Calexico, led by Luis Chavez, to smuggle the drugs around U.S. Customs and Border Patrol personnel stationed at the border crossing. Originally, the Chavez gang would send the entire shipment to Los Angeles for Mojo's people to repack and send to his mid-point distributors around the country. But for the past three years, as the size of the Al-Zeid cartel grew, shipping was done directly from Calexico, by Chavez, to the distributors farther east. Mojo never liked Chavez nor trusted him. The two-time convicted felon had no loyalty. Over the past year, small amounts received through Mexico were missing from re-shipments sent across America. Chavez had been smart in the beginning by only cutting from the gang in Kansas City, and Mojo made changes there. But then other distributors were coming up short and Mojo figured Chavez was the thief, not them. It could have been some of Chavez's men, but Chavez was in charge and therefore guilty of stealing from Mojo. In the drug trade, there are no minor penalties.

The trip to Calexico was timed to coincide, more or less, with Mojo's routine visits to bring money to pay his gang. The meeting with Chavez always happened at an unused produce warehouse south of El Centro.

As Mojo's caravan arrived, the rusted chain link gate was open. The warehouse was actually a large open structure with a tin roof about the size of a football field, supported by wooden poles. The five-acre area was surrounded with chain link fencing, overgrown with tumbleweeds. The it was all unpaved, and the cars made dust clouds driving to the back of the lot. The second black car turned white behind Mojo's limo.

Chavez and six gunmen were leaning casually against their pickups when Mojo stopped fifty yards away. Chavez and his gang moved slowly toward the caravan, but stopped forty yards away, too far for effective handgun fire. All of Mojo's men formed together by the limo, before he opened the door and stepped into the desert sun. It was blazing heat.

Mojo wore black slacks and a glimmering silver dress shirt, open at the collar to display his gold chains. He was tall, over six-one, muscular, with a shaved head. He wore huge dark glasses after the subdued interior lighting.

Four men aligned on either side of him, stepping in cadence as he walked toward the Calexico gang, stopping twenty yards away.

Mojo smiled, showing his perfectly capped, unnaturally white teeth. Hi raised his hand in a weak gesture. "Hola, Lois."

Chavez didn't move. "Hola Señor. Dónde está el dinero (where's the money)?"

Mojo stood erect without expression. "We have something to talk about, Luis."

Most of Chavez's men understood English well enough.

Chavez stood defiantly with both hands to his sides, leaning slightly right. He was much shorter, but heavier than Mojo. He wore dirty jeans and a faded open-collar cotton shirt with buttons stretched near breaking down the front. His round face was scarred on both sides and long black hair laid slick across his forehead, disguising another vicious burn, rumored to be from a branding iron. He was in his late-thirties, Mojo's age, which qualified as a senior citizen in the drug trade.

He answered, "What is that, Jefe?"

Mojo glanced both ways at his me, who drew handguns from shoulder holsters under black sport coats. Chavez's men were all unarmed and started backing, but their boss stood fast. Mojo answered, "Luis, you've been a bad boy.

Chavez sneered. "What you mean, black boy?"

"I mean you been skimmin' from me."

"Prove it!"

"You see, Luis. That's the part about my job that's easy. I don't have to prove anything. When my man in Kansas came up a little short, he went floating headless down the Missouri River. But, that was a regrettable mistake on my part. When Cleveland was short, I figured it wasn't a coincidence, so he's still alive. But that leaves you. I figure you been skimmin' for 'bout a year now." Mojo walked closer to Chavez, who continued to stand defiantly.

Chavez knew he would be killed if he did nothing. He yelled something in Spanish over his shoulder and his men all bolted for weapons in their trucks, but an alert younger man screamed something else, and the men all stopped. Mojo's men just watched in amusement, ready to fire if any of them picked up a gun.

Chavez turned and yelled vindictive slurs at the men behind him; then he waved his arms at all of them, screaming for them to obey. They didn't seem to know what to do, and the young man calmed them all down. Most were panic stricken, but frozen in place.

Mojo and his gunmen stood fast, expressionless, letting Chavez exhaust his energy. When none of the Mexicans in the gang moved, Chavez started to run toward the nearest truck, but was stopped by a bullet in the small of his back from one of Mojo's men. He fell in the dirt with one hand gripping the wound. Some of his men ran behind their trucks but didn't want to fight. Mojo and two of his men walked up to Chavez, lying on his stomach. One of the men handed his gun to Mojo who knelt down beside Chavez, facing him. "Luis, we had a deal, and I paid you well, and this is how you repay me? It gives me no pleasure to kill you but I have to show an example. I know you understand."

Chavez didn't speak or cry. He just hissed and showed hatred as Mojo shot him in the back of each knee. Chavez crieded out, but there were no tears as two of Mojo's men used a nylon tie wrap to bind Chavez's hands behind him. They turned him over, facing the sun. Chavez tried to squirm, but it was useless against the restraints with two legs severed at the knees. Mojo said something to one of his men that the Mexicans couldn't hear. The man pulled a larger wrap from his pocket and placed it around Chavez's neck. The fat Mexican tried twisted violently. Then Mojo's man pulled it tight, lifting Chavez off the ground momentarily. They all stood around as Chavez's eyes bulged, and his face turned bright red. He rolled and squirmed. No sound came from Chavez as blood vessels in his neck turned purple trying to push past the garrote. He stopped moving after a couple minutes, and died sometime after that, but no one was looking at him as Mojo signaled all of the remaining gang to come stand around the body together.

"I want you all to understand what happens to people who steal from me. Luis was a friend for many years, so I was merciful. I won't be so easy and quick if any of you cross me. I'm putting this man in charge of the gang now." He looked at the young man who took control when the others panicked. What's yo' name, boy?"

"Philippe, Jefe."

"Okay, all of you. Philippe is now is now in charge. If any of you disobey him, steal from me, or try to leave the gang, Philippe will get instructions from me on how to deal with you. Do you all understand?"

Philippe asked, "Jefe, they not all speak good English. Can I tell in Spanish?"

Mojo nodded. He knew they all got the message, but wanted Philippe to show he was in charge.

Minutes later, Chavez's body was thrown into the bed of a truck and covered with an old tarp. He would be buried in the desert after dark. Mojo and his entourage left for the return trip to Los Angeles, stopping at the first carwash along I-80.

The trip back to Los Angeles was boring, looking at farmlands throughout the Imperial Valley for hours. Al-Zeid rested after a long day. He never liked killing, especially if it was someone that he had depended on for so many years while his business grew. Oh well, times change, and he was still expanding, so more improvements in his people would be made.

His mobile phone rang, and it showed an area code 415, the Bay Area. He answered cautiously. "Hello."

Her voice was unfamiliar, "Is this Mr. Al-Zeid?"

"What you want, lady?"

"Mr. Peña would like to talk to you, please hold."

There was a very brief pause, then, "Mohamed, how are you?" His voice was familiar.

"Oh, Luca. I don't want to disappoint you, I'm fine."

"Well, my friend, I was hoping that would be the case."

"Why you callin' me, Luca?"

"I have a business proposition for you. Can we meet?" It would be a very foolish error to discuss "business" over the phone.

Mojo responded, "Maybe I could meet you. Where?"

"You want to come to San Francisco?"

"No. You want to come to LA?"

"I don't think that would be smart."

Mojo answered. "There is an old airstrip in the desert. We could meet there. You, me and pilots only."

Luca responded, "How will I find it?"

"You depart south tomorrow at twelve o'clock, and I'll text coordinates to you."

"All right, Mojo, but no tricks."

"You have my word, Luca."

The House

Hunter awoke alone at six o'clock in the morning. Laura had stayed through dinner then took her suitcase back to her apartment. She wasn't going to live scared. He rolled out of bed and stretched. A faint blue haze was just beginning to show outside his bedroom window. He never pulled the blinds down, to let in the sun if he overslept. He never did oversleep, but it was his way of insuring against it. He was getting out of shape, for him, which he hated. He'd been a fitness fanatic since high school and taken it to an extreme level in the military. He had maintained that level faithfully with the Border Patrol until taking the state job and moving to Washington. He was still in better condition than any civilians his age, but it was hard to maintain a workout program whenever he travelled back to California. He only succeeded to work out three times in the last week.

He loved the quiet piece in the mornings. He put on his swim trunks, tank top and running shoes before making the bed. The bedroom and his office, the other bedroom, were both on the second floor. Downstairs of his rented townhouse. He drank a large glass of orange juice before stepping outside onto the sidewalk, beginning his stretching routine.

The morning air was refreshingly cool, much nicer than it would be in two hours when the sun rose higher. He started his run at a slow pace, west on King Street, heading in the general direction of I-395. The first mile sloped gently uphill until he passed Ivy Hill Cemetery then flatted for the next mile and a half to the Washington Sports Club. At the midpoint of his run, just past the cemetery, he increased the pace to a sprint, raising his pulse to one-thirty. It took thirteen minutes door to door to reach the club. He began slowing near the parking lot and was walking when the double glass doors opened automatically. The desk manager smiled, "Hi Hunter, missed you yesterday."

"Hi, Cindy. I got a little distracted yesterday."

"Is it swimming or machines today?"

"I'm gonna swim." He alternated programs each day. There were gyms closer to his apartment, but WSC had an Olympic-size pool with six lanes. He could get a dedicated lane this early in the morning. In the men's locker room, he stripped off the shirt and walked through the shower, into the pool enclosure. The chlorinated air was refreshed continuously and separated from the rest of the facility.

The water was around eight-two degrees, just as he liked it. Cool enough to remain energized, but not cold enough to sap energy. There was an oversized timing clock midway along the sidewall that he used to pace himself. It took him exactly twenty-four minutes to swim one mile.

He passed back through the showers before exiting the club. The run back was slightly faster, owing to the down-hill last mile. In total, the workout took one hour, opening his front door before seven-fifteen. He showered again and ate breakfast before eight ... totally invigorated.

At eight-fifteen he called Leigh, who was doing laundry and watching her baby attempt to crawl. She welcomed the respite when Hunter called.

After pleasantries, he began, "So, tell me about Congressman Romanoff from Ohio."

"He should be an easy ally, Hunter. Cleveland has one of the worst drug problems in the country. The Governor and mayor are draining the state's treasury, arresting everyone. Their jails and state prisons are stuffed to capacity. Criminals are being released back on the streets, even murderers, because of overcrowding. Romanoff is very senior in Congress and on both Ways and Means, and Appropriations. He's been vocal about the need for drug education and treatment rather than harsher criminalization. He gets re-elected by large margins. As a Republican, he's not afraid to go against the party and promised his voters to stop the gestapo crackdown in Cleveland -- his words. The best way to do it would be to decriminalize drugs and switch to a workable plan."

"Okay, who should I see?"

"His LD (Legislative Director) is Michelle Hicks. Call the main office number and ask for Michelle. She's easy to work with and will take your call if you say it regards drug policy and you're from California."

"Okay, sounds easy enough. I'll call right now."

"Wait 'til after ten. She takes the Metro to work and has to get her kids off to school."

"Got it."

It wasn't too early to call Laura, who was already in her office on Independence Avenue.

"Good Morning!" She sounded cheerful.

"Hey, girl. You sound good today."

"I feel good, Hunter. So, did you work out this morning?"

"Yeah. It felt good. I made all my times."

"You know, you don't have to jump out of airplanes or climb mountains in Afghanistan anymore."

"So, you saying you like the softer Washington types?"

"Nope. I only like you – just the way you are."

"So, how 'bout lunch today, I'm planning to be on the hill this afternoon."

"Sure."

They agreed on a place and time to meet, then Hunter went on line to research Congressman Romanoff and his LD, Michelle Hicks.

He was surprised at the amount of unofficial information available on Aaron Romanoff. The tabloid hits alone were overwhelming. The themes were all the same. Romanoff was an arch-patriot who was retired as a young Air Force Pilot after injuries received when his A10 "Wart Hog" was shot down in 1992 over Iraq, while attacking Hussein's Republican guard. He evaded capture for hours until rescued by helicopters under heavy fire. Romanoff was a freshman Congressman at the time, serving in the Air Force Reserves.

He graduated from the Air Force Academy and remained in the reserves after completing his obligated service. He flew fighters and could have resigned from the reserves when elected to Congress but wanted to deploy with his unit during the Persian Gulf War.

After returning to the States and recovering from his wounds, he was re-elected after serving almost no time in Washington during his first term when he promised never to fly again. He was enormously popular with his constituents and never faced serious competition in any electoral race. He was also enormously popular with women. Handsome and sincere, he had numerous high-profile romances, but never married. He was rumored to be the father of Michelle Hicks' oldest son, but neither would say anything about it. Michelle was a single mother who claimed to have been artificially impregnated, and any resemblance of the boy to the Congressman was purely coincidental. Some articles speculated that Romanoff had simply been the donor. Romanoff and Hicks had been together in Washington for over twenty years and were seen together often.

Hunter could only smile when calling the Congressman's office for an appointment. He was transferred to Michelle immediately, and she politely agreed to meet him at two o'clock, as he requested. After a pleasant lunch with Laura, he took the Metro to Capitol South, a short walk to the Cannon House Office Building. Like the Senate, there are three House office buildings. Cannon is the oldest, built in 1908, and the grandest. Like the Senate side of the hill, seniority determined the office priorities and Romanoff had one of the most spectacular. Entering the rotunda, Hunter smiled about the contrast compared to his visit with Stubbs in the Rayburn building. He stood momentarily admiring the marble columns supporting a coffered dome and foot-worn marble staircases. The ambiance was breathtaking.

Romanoff's office was a marvel of efficiency compared to Stubbs. The receptionist had his name entered in her computer and summoned Michelle the moment Hunter arrived. Michelle Hicks was not only strikingly beautiful, her tall lean figure, neatly clad in a man-style business suit, complimented her professional reputation as a Washington insider. "Mr. Kohl, welcome to Congressman Romanoff's office."

After shaking hands, she held the door for him into a small private office immediately off the lobby. "Can I offer you a drink Mr. Hunter?"

"No, I just had a large lunch, but thank you."

She smiled and sat down opposite him. "Can I call you Hunter? I'm Michelle to everyone around here."

"Ah, sure."

Before she could say anything more, the door opened and Aaron Romanoff stepped in. Hunter recognized him from all the articles he'd read on line.

Romanoff extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Aaron Romanoff. Can I join you?"

Hunter looked at Michelle. "Absolutely, Congressman."

"Call me, Aaron. Everyone else around here does."

Hunter smiled at the easy demeanor of the senior Congressman. "Sure, Aaron. I appreciate the cordiality."

"Well, this is Michelle's meeting, so I'll let her do most of the talking."

She gave a quick nod. "So, Hunter, you want to talk to us about changing U.S. drug policy, is that right?"

"Yes. I've got some statistics..."

Romanoff interrupted. "Don't bother Hunter. I'm already aboard. I've been after my colleagues to get a new approach in place, and I gather the Senate staffers added something to the SAC (Senate Appropriations Committee) bill?"

"Ah, yes, That's right, sir."

Michelle asked. "Hunter, can you get us the language to review?"

"Yeah. I've got it with me, at least as it's currently written."

"That's what we need."

He pulled the single page draft from a folder with three lines highlighted. Michelle took it and opened the side door, asking someone to copy it.

Romanoff said, "Okay, Hunter. We might want to change it a little, but I'm sure it's better than anything I've tried before. Now let's talk about strategy. Who do you have on this side of the Hill to support it?"

"You're the only one so far Congressman, I just started making contact after the SAC did their thing."

"Good. I want to drive this from our side. Michelle, I want you to take this to the HAC (House Appropriations Committee) staff and get it added."

She read it carefully, "I think we can improve on it, Aaron. Hunter, will you work with me on this?" He nodded in agreement, somewhat mystified about how quickly this was evolving.

Romanoff asked, "Okay, Hunter. How about the California delegates? They need this as badly as we do in Ohio and there's a lot of 'em. Call me Aaron."

Hunter smiled. "Ah, well, Aaron, I've only talked to Congressman Stubbs office and didn't get a warm feeling."

He looked at Michelle, "Who's Stubbs?"

She responded, "Aaron, he's one of the freshmen from San Diego. He brought his staff mostly with him from California, and they don't know how to do anything unless the Whip tells them."

Romanoff shook his head remembering. "Yeah. I know who you mean now. He's a flyweight. We've got some good friends on the coast. Mia Percy from San Francisco is a real ball buster and she's been looking for support. If we can keep the Senate on track, I think we can get the House votes on our side."

The meeting ended a few minutes later with an action plan. Michelle and Hunter would work together, building support in the House. The House has four-hundred thirty-five members and the Senate has one hundred. In both chambers, a small majority can control the outcome, and Romanoff was king in Hunter's mind. He'd owe Leigh another dinner.

Rendezvous

Safety precautions had to be taken. Neither Peña nor Al-Zeid trusted telephone communications any more than they trusted each other. Nobody could be totally secure. It always excited Peña to arrive at his private hangar at San Jose International. He owned his plane, which was never used for drug smuggling. It was only for status and ego. When his limousine drove onto the airport, people watched with envy as he boarded without any security delays and could be airborne in three minutes.

His pilot had been instructed to fill the fuel tanks in case they had a long flight. He had no idea where Mojo was taking them, but assumed he would stay within driving distance of his LA home. Mojo didn't fly unless travelling back east. There were thousands of private airfields throughout Central and Southern California. The text message just said fly down the San Joaquin Valley and call near Bakersfield for destination coordinates.

He had his regular pilot in the left seat and Ramon sitting in the co-pilot seat. It was a clear day around eleven o'clock when they departed. Its cabin was tall enough for Peña to stand, but Ramon had to stoop to move around. He could not sit up front for long periods.

Ramon lay on the couch across from Peña, sleeping. The man had no interest in reading or talking, which was one of the reasons Peña trusted him. Literacy tended to create ambition, and Ramon had only one use in life. Peña watched the coastline disappear as they crossed over the coastal mountains into the valley framed by the Sierras to the east. The central valley of California produces over ten percent of America's agricultural products. The valley is emerald green as far as anyone can see from the sky, producing grapes (and their by-products), cotton, almonds, citrus, and all types of vegetables. Large groves of oranges, peaches, garlic, and tomatoes spread across vast farms.

Once over the valley, south of Fresno, Peña sent a text message from his phone and received a numeric answer in less than a minute. He wrote the coordinates on a piece of paper and went forward to the pilot's cabin. The flight computer would find the field.

On the ground, Mojo's limousine was driving over the crest of the Grapevine Pass in the Tehachapi Mountains on I-5. His driver was alone up front, and he had one bodyguard with him. The vehicle drove smoothly enough that he enjoyed watching a re-run of the Laker's game from the night before. At the base of the mountain range, the freeway flattened for hundreds of miles of fertile plain. They took the first exit onto route 166 west toward Maricopa. There was a private grass airstrip isolated in the middle of a lemon grove where they would meet. The grove hid more than a hundred acres of cannabis growing between rows owned by Mojo.

Nearing the airstrip, Peña's pilot did several spiral turns at lower altitudes as Ramon examined the perimeter carefully. Finally, the pilot was cleared by Peña to land on the two thousand foot strip, barely long enough to approach safely. After landing, the plane taxied back to the middle of the runway, stopping opposite the limousine. After some moments, the plane door opened. Peña stepped from the plane as Mojo closed the car door, walking alone to mid-field. It was equally safe or equally dangerous for both men.

Luca extended his hand. "Mojo, my dear friend." They embraced, checking for weapons. Neither was obviously armed.

"Luca, buddy. What's happening?" Both men kept moving their heads slightly, watching for anything alarming. Mojo was almost a head taller than Peña and a physical match would be completely one-sided, but this was a business meeting.

Luca began, "Mojo, how's business?"

"Ain't nothin' better now, Luca. Growin' bigger each year."

"Mine as well, my friend. We will be encountering each other more frequently soon as we both expand our territories."

"I know you's right, Peña. So, what you gonna do 'bout it. You gonna quit and retire, or wait till we have a showdown?"

"Well, Mojo. I think we should avoid that. I want to offer you a proposition."

Mojo smiled. "You mean, let's-make-a-deal kind of proposition?"

"Precisely."

"Okay. Lay it out."

Luca looked at him. He had never respected Mojo for his intelligence. The man was reckless and had just been lucky, avoiding prison. Peña knew Mojo's drugs came through Calexico, away from the high-visibility portals, but that wasn't the result of superior wisdom, he was just afraid of flying farther from LA. Tijuana was saturated with petty criminals, DEA and Border Patrol. Calexico was quiet. It didn't take a genius to figure it out.

On the other hand, the supply was limited, which Peña could help. He explained. "Look, Mojo, I import more coke than anyone this side of El Paso. I could get more. You have a good distribution chain. I say let's combine forces. You guarantee to move my product, and I'll give you all my distributors outside Northern California."

Mojo stared at him, thinking. "You mean you's gonna stop competing in Nevada and Arizona and give it to me if'n I buy ever' thing you bring in?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"What's the catch?"

"There isn't any. You're good at distribution, and I'm best at shipping supply. It's a good match."

"Who's the boss?"

"You and me, both. I don't want to know anything about your business, and you won't know how I get the goods. It's a perfect match."

Mojo seemed skeptical. He didn't like being manipulated. "How's I know I can trust you?"

"Look, Mojo. Why would I betray you? I make a good buck moving the big shipments, and they'll only get bigger with our territories under your control. I'll get more deals from the producers, and the Mexicans will get less. That's all."

Mojo stood silent for a moment, then said, "Sounds promisin', Luca. How do I know I can trust you?"

He answered. "How do I know about you? It's pretty simple, really. Once we're mutually dependent, I don't have distributors, and you need me for all your supply. That insures our cooperation."

"How's I know you won't cheat me? I don't like bein' cheated. I move my stuff cheaper'n you. I could lose my business if'n you raised my cost."

"Look, Mojo. I have as much or more to lose if we aren't fair. You can talk to any of my people after we deal, and they'll tell you I never cheat them. That's a ticket to the morgue in our business."

"You got that right." Mojo wasn't smiling, but he was looking at Peña seriously.

They'd been on the ground long enough. Peña finished. "You have my proposition. Let me know in a week of it's a deal."

Mojo, nodded, "In a week."

They both turned without shaking hands and went back to their transports, while bodyguards watched closely.

Questioning

The Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Basin is characterized by tiny historic towns, meandering creeks, beautiful natural areas, and delectable blue crabs. It's isolated from the rest of the state and Capitol region by the Bay Bridge, retaining its farmland and quaint bed-and-breakfasts.

Laura Malone grew up on the shore of the bay. Her parents operated a small farm and opened their massive Victorian house for carefully-screened guests as a B & B when the girls, Laura and her older sister, were college age. Her parents also worked for the Government in Annapolis. She grew up in a tranquil environment, free of most concerns. The schools were small and intimate, but didn't prepare her socially for college. She nearly panicked when entering her first lecture hall with more than a hundred students, but she was ahead in most subjects and had an easier time than others, achieving top honors. She graduated summa cum laude. She was attractive and popular, but avoided the wilder aspects of campus life. Her focus was always on a career, and college was simply a stepping stone.

After graduation, with a degree in accounting, she applied for several positions in Government, hoping to move to the Capitol Region. The FAA hired her as a trainee in their expanding procurement department. The FAA provided purchasing services to all branches of Homeland Security. Her parents helped her move into an apartment near the center of Arlington, close to the Orange and Blue Metro Lines. It was a lively area, near the Courthouse and one of the safest areas with an abundance of young people, entertainment and shopping. As a country girl, they wanted their daughter to be safe more than anything else. It was also a great location with direct train routes to her office.

She made friends with younger single people at the FAA and immediately started enjoying activities with groups her age. There were no men that she found engaging enough to date seriously, but had many friends of both sexes. She had a problem with her boss, Edward "Buzz" Finney. Buzz was a fifty-ish overweight bureaucrat with a shaved head and scruffy grey-brown goatee. He was actually shorter than Laura, but didn't relate that way. Her first day on the job, Buzz had insisted on spending the day with her and continuing for a week, "tutoring" her on her role. He'd been in the profession for over twenty-five years, having started as an Air Force enlisted administrator who never went to college. He could recite procurement regulations and FAA processes like an encyclopedia, but he was of very little professional help. He wanted to sit uncomfortably near to her. He also enjoyed Korean food for lunch, adding to her discomfort,

Several of the girls warned her about Buzz's behaviors toward women, but she didn't know how to push back. She eventually talked to her mother, after thinking that she might have to resign. She hated the repulsive little man. Every girl in the department hated him, and most of the Administrators were women. She had been there almost a month when Buzz slid close enough to rub his thigh against hers. She squirmed away, but other body parts came into contact. He said, "You know, Laura, I'm an excellent cook. I cook sushi and crepes and elegant sea food. I know you'd love it. We should start hanging together outside work. She nearly vomited and pushed him away. He had a horrified look on his face as she stormed off to the personnel office. She'd had enough of his harassment. It would be bad enough if the man had any attractive qualities, but he was repulsive in every respect.

A short time later, he was alone in his office when an HR representative who spent an hour investigating allegations of sexual harassment. Several other girls were asked to come to HR for private interviews. Laura was given two days off with pay then called to meet with the head of Human Resources. At that meeting, she was told that the investigation had concluded that she was correct, and Mr. Finney had engaged in inappropriate actions toward her. In fact, they found other cases. He had been dismissed temporarily, pending disciplinary action. In the Government, this meant that he could be terminated.

There was an alternative solution that would be considered, only if she agreed that it was appropriate under the circumstances. Mr. Finney had never participated in any form of Gender Sensitivity training, even though it had become mandatory for all supervisors. Scheduling slots in the programs was voluntary, and it was up to the individual to fulfill the requirement in a "reasonable" time after promotion to supervisor. No one monitored this requirement, and it was common for them to be overlooked altogether. So, the option was that Mr. Finney could be terminated after almost thirty years of Government service, including his military time, or he could take the course and be monitored under probation for three years. He would also have restrictions on closed-door meetings with female subordinates. It was up to Laura to agree to the latter course.

She didn't like Buzz, but she also didn't want to be responsible for his termination. He'd never touched her. She accepted the re-training option and felt good about her decision. She didn't want to hurt anyone. Three weeks later, Buzz Finney resumed his manager's roll, but kept his distance from all the women. Laura was a hero in her department.

Soon after the incident with Finney was settled, she met Hunter over the phone. He was new with the Border Patrol in San Diego, which she supported. Neither he, nor Laura, knew much about Government Acquisition, so they struggled through several small purchases together and started a cyber-friendship. Even though he was a few years older, they were both starting new careers and sharing some of the same challenges adapting to tight procurement procedures.

Hunter had been injured as a Navy SEAL and was convinced to quit the Navy by his sister. The Border Patrol was hiring, and he found the transition from one uniform service to another easy. He liked the Border Patrol but missed the equipment ("toys") the Navy teams had. Laura got to hear his complaints as he worked through the system to buy some of the basics he wanted, such as Kevlar and GPS. She not only learned how to function as a buyer, she learned a lot about the man. When he moved to Washington, both wondered if their relationship would grow.

She was overwhelmed when they first met. He was tall, handsome, and commanding, but also a very caring person, always sensitive to her feelings and moods. After two years, her attraction to him, and his to her, had grown strong.

But the trip to California had frightened her. His brother-in-law was murdered. The whole family was photographed by some dangerous person with a gun. Then Sue Ann was kidnapped and almost murdered. There were threats made, and Hunter was concerned about her safety. This scared her. She didn't question her love for him, but the fear remained. Laura wasn't an adventurous person and needed a fair amount of nurturing. Hunter liked this about her and was an ideal protector, but now, now there was someone tangible making threats about killing his family. She would be included in the mix.

She was nervous occasionally, especially after dark. Hunter wanted her to move in with him, but she wanted to prove to herself that she wasn't going to be intimidated. He called her frequently, and they spent most of their free time together, yet she still felt the necessity to live her life as she chose, not through fear. She wanted to be able to take care of herself.

Before leaving work at six-thirty, she called him as planned.

He said, "So, you still planning to come over to my place for dinner?"

"Yep. Do I need to pick anything up from the store?"

"No. I think I've got it all set."

She had been thinking about something for quite a while since California, "Hunter, could you teach me some self-defense?"

He understood her anxiety. "Laurie, I can teach you some things that will surprise most attackers, if you want."

"You mean like Karate?"

"Sort of. We don't really label in the military, it's just a combination of a lot of things. How are you dressed?"

"I'm casual today, loose jeans and a blouse."

"Good. Come on over, and we'll eat, then wrestle around in my living room."

She smiled. "Just self-defense – at least to start."

"That's what I meant." He was smiling, too.

Reconciled

Saturday morning, Sue Ann (Suzy) was having morning tea with Claire. She'd been staying in Sacramento for over a week, and it was time to go home.

Claire said, "You know cous', it's nice having another adult here. I don't want you to leave until you're good and ready. It's also nice having a teacher around to help the kids with homework."

Suzy smiled and put her hand on Claire's. "I know you would keep me, Claire, but I can't be scared forever. It's time to go back. Mom and Dad will meet me in Santa Clara and help me clean up after the police went through my place. I just bet the refrigerator is crawling away."

"Well, sweetheart, I just want you to feel you can be here any time for as long as you want."

"I know, Claire. I really like it here and appreciated it. The school has been great, too, and told me to take as much time as needed. But to tell you the truth, I need to get back to work. I get depressed hiding out. Besides, I don't think lightening will strike twice on me."

"I hope you're right, Suzy."

"It'll be okay. I talked to my landlord. I think he's got a crush on me. Anyway, he put in super deadbolts and re-keyed my place. He even put in a security system for me and is paying for the monitoring service himself. He even put cameras in the parking area. I've got the safest place in the Bay Area now."

"Well, I hope so."

Sue Ann packed her new BMW and waved goodbye to everyone around ten o'clock. She claimed the car was her one indulgence on a teacher's salary. Once on the interstate, she called Hunter.

He saw her number, "Hey. How you doing, kid?"

"I'm good, Hunt. What's that sound in the background?"

"Laurie and I are on the mall (Washington Mall) listening to the country bands trying to outdo each other. Great day for a little shit-kickin' music and barbecue."

"Say hi to your girl for me."

"I, will. So, where are you? You still at Claire's."

"I'm driving home to San Fran."

"You feel okay, Sue Ann?"

"I'm fine, Hunt. I actually feel like I beat death. It's exhilarating!"

"Yeah, well. Just don't go forgetting to be careful for now on until we fix this thing."

"I'll be careful, cous'. And kiss Laura for me. It sounds like the bands are going ballistic."

"Yeah. We're right in the middle of it."

"Okay. Take care."

"Bye, hon."

The night before, Hunter and Laura worked on some defensive moves for Laura – before her defenses let down. She now knew all the major male vulnerable parts from the groin to knees to collar bones, fingers, eyes, solar plexus, and kidneys. But mostly, they talked about avoiding bad situations and signaling for help. Hunter also gave her a whistle and would buy pepper spray over this weekend. She would stay with him until Sunday night.

Her training went extremely well. She was a swimmer and took dancing lessons as a girl before going to college. She impressed him with her flexibility and balance able to do things he showed her about breaking holds and incapacitating a man. He could sense her self-confidence as they walked in the crowds around the massive park between the monuments and Smithsonian.

"It's really beautiful here today, Hunter. I'm glad we came down."

"Yeah, it's special here, a lot different than California."

"Do you miss it?"

"Yeah, kinda. Mostly, I just would like to be closer to my family right now. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do. If you hadn't gotten involved with lobbying for the drug bill, your family wouldn't be in danger."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and turned her to face him. "But, I wouldn't have met you either." They kissed.

"Do you think you could ever stay here, Hunt?"

He didn't answer quickly. "For you I would, but I don't know what I'd do for a living." They started walking again, holding hands.

"You could be a lobbyist. You're pretty good at it."

"No, I'm not. I get my guidance from someone who really knows what she's doing. Besides, I feel like an influence peddler, buying votes."

A slight smile appeared on her face. "That's what I mean. You're a good influence peddler."

"Well, I don't think it's what I'm cut out for in the long run. Claire asked me to do it, so I'm here doing it."

"You don't sound sure."

He stopped and looked at her. "Laurie, I want to be where you are. That's it, pure and simple."

She smiled quickly then turned to keep walking without saying anything.

Evidence

Monday morning, Kasey McDougal was in her office on Golden Gate Avenue, reading emails on their secure network. The crime-lab report was completed for José Rivera's Mercedes. She read it in detail then sent a copy to John Richards in Sacramento.

He called her half an hour later.

"Hi, Kasey -- interesting report. Your guys are good. I didn't think anything would be left after the sea creatures worked over the car."

"Yeah, John. So, what do think is the most interesting?"

"Hum, I'm still reading but I'm surprised that his wallet was intact, nothing apparently taken. His money, credit cards, driver's license. They were all there."

She commented. "Did you see what they found under the algae?"

He paused. "Yeah. It says there was a grid pattern etched through the paint leaving a distinctive oxidation (rust) pattern. The lab experimented with three hours of low vibration, simulating a fishing boat under power, and concluded that the car was under more than four tons of netting. The netting weave dimensions were calculated."

John sat back with his headset connected to his phone. "Hey. It gets better. The undercarriage of the car has distinctive creases along the under-side of the rear door sills, and the tailpipe is crushed in the middle, presumed to be caused when the car's rear wheels rolled over the stern of the ship, and it teetered before being pushed overboard. The lab was able to compute the curvature of the ship's stern. They even gave a drawing. There's even some paint residue on the undercarriage that is a marine-grade black paint."

"John, do you know what this means?"

"Yeah. I think so, Kasey."

She added. "All right, we can't say anything. We're building a case and I don't want any leaks to scare away the killer."

"It won't come from me, Kasey."

John was not told that the FBI had initiated passive monitoring (wiretap) of cellphone calls from Peña's registered phone. Unfortunately, he only used it for family calls, not business. Kasey had tried to get court permission using the new technology to activate the microphones on Peña's phone to listen to conversations taking place near him, but her request was denied after several weeks because the NSA (National Security Agency) wouldn't authorize using the technology.

Peña frequently communicated with dealers using online encryption tools. So far, the FBI had been unable to break these coded messages. The FBI had been watching Peña's ships for a couple years and had hundreds of surveillance photos. The largest ship, the Ocean Wanderer, had been gone for weeks, but Sea Fury was in port, recently returned from a "fishing" trip, and Ocean Queen was in port frequently, only used for local coastal fishing. As the smallest of the fleet, the "Queen" was the most likely candidate to have dropped the Mercedes close to the island cliffs.

From previous surveillance photos, Kasey had a technician verify the netting and stern geometry of the Queen. Unfortunately, the resolution wasn't enough to verify the net gauge on the ship, and the stern was partially covered by the stacked net. The ship had just finished a two-year overhaul period in the shipyard, where the hull was sandblasted and repainted. It wasn't possible to verify the paint sample from the car.

That evening, Luciano Peña was in his office late, monitoring a delivery from Ocean Wanderer ("Wanderer") to his distribution team in Los Angeles, who would hold the shipment until he completed the deal with Mojo. Wanderer had been fishing off the coast of Chile until the hold was full, then stopped in Nicaragua for fuel and twenty thousand kilos of cocaine, costing him more than thirty million dollars. The secret loading and unloading process was a masterpiece of engineering. When Peña attended Berkeley, he'd read about the Hughes Glomar Explorer deep recovery ship, which was launched in 1974 to secretly recover a sunken Russian submarine for the CIA. This gave Peña the idea for installing chambers below the freezer holds on Wanderer and Fury. In Nicaragua, several water-tight containers were lowered at night by a barge in a deep cove near Puerto Sandino. The following night, Wanderer used its ASK (Auto Station Keeping) System, copied from the Glomar Explorer, to position above the containers and divers secured them to cables from inside the hull, then massive hydraulic systems closed the clamshell bottom of the hull, securing the load.

Wanderer was intercepted by a U.S. Customs Boat off San Diego at dawn and subsequently cleared into American territorial waters. The first stop would be at the Port of San Pedro that evening. It was after dark as the captain docked beside a large crane used to lift pallets of frozen fish and from the holds. These cranes worked around the clock and could move up and down the row of moored ships on railway tracks. The captain had called ahead, and there was a large refrigerator truck waiting for Wanderer's catch. While part of the crew managed the offloading process, two men were setting the illicit load on the harbor floor below the ship. This was the only time Peña worried. After the catch was off and everything was quiet on the dock in the early morning darkness, the ship moved away from the birth. Small floats, showed the cranes where to hook the other cargo before lifting it into a waiting dump truck. It was all done precisely in less than three minutes, but no one saw the camera man on top of a nearby warehouse.

Luca held the ship's captain responsible for everything and would exterminate the crew if anything went wrong. He'd never lost a shipment. The only way to prevent it was to threaten total extermination of every man's families by torture if they talked. Peña risked his ships, his business, and his family with each delivery. For this, he received a ten-fold return on his investment. His crews were paid several times more than ordinary fishermen.

Around ten o'clock in the morning, he received a text message from the captain, "Fish delivered to San Pedro, departing for Monterey." If he had not received the message before noon, he would have gathered his family at the airport and departed immediately for Mexico. He had several hundred-million dollars in untraceable accounts and could retire in luxury.

Luciano Peña had met Melanie Millbury at Berkeley, where she majored in political science and had plans to become an activist attorney for human rights. Peña mesmerized her. Her family lived in Chico, California, where her father was a logger, and mother worked in a bakery. They scraped by to pay for Mel's education and she rewarded them by her admission to California's flagship university. Peña brought the promise of wealth from his family business. They were married in 1992 after graduation. Mel never went to law school and soon was pregnant with their son, Luke. She was active outside the home until the children took most of her time. By 2000 when their daughter, Monica, was born, the business was skyrocketing, and they moved to their mansion.

Mel never questioned Peña about rumors of mob activity. She accepted that armed guards were necessary to protect the family. They weren't the only wealthy Californians with bodyguards. She never asked Peña about his business. If some of her friends insinuated anything, she replied that fishing had become lucrative under Luca's leadership. They were a model family. She didn't care much for his constant public appearances. He liked the flattery in the limelight, but she wanted a quiet life. Luca had been good to her, if not entirely loyal. He was away one or two nights every week, and there were signs that he was philandering, but her life was otherwise full and happy with the children, and he had even provided well for her parents in their retirement.

Congress Action

Hunter's phone rang as he finished showering after his morning workout. Brian Collie was hyper. "Hunter, Ben Willis was just down here from Senator Blithe's office. He demanded to see the draft bill, specifically the drug legalization language."

"Is it a problem, Brian?" He didn't mention that he'd met with Willis the week before.

"I don't know, Hunter. Senator Blithe doesn't get involved in much lately, and she's not even on the committee. Her EA (Willis) came in here like he owned the place."

"Look, Brian. I know Willis. He's even rougher around the edges than I am. He's a military intern, trying to learn the ropes."

"Well, he needs to learn that Blithe doesn't run the Appropriations Committee! She gets one vote on the floor, and that's it."

"I think she's an ally, Brian. I'm only guessing that he's acting like a soldier and not PC. He's just doing what his boss says. I think she'll get some others to support it."

"Hunter. She's been around here a long time. She's a wild card. I can't imagine an old-line legislator suddenly shifting off a thirty-year policy. She could do some real damage if she calls in chips from her cronies. These guys keep markers forever."

Hunter decided it would jeopardize the relation with Brian if he disclosed his discussion with Willis and Leigh's discussion with the Senator. He couldn't afford to have his link to the committee staff cut off. He advised, "Look, Brian. I'll do some snooping around. If I find anything out, I'll tell you."

"That's what I was hoping, Hunter. You've got more latitude than I do. While you do that, I'm bringing it up with the Chairman."

Hunter cringed that someone would get cold feet. "You do that, Brian. I'll get on this and call you when I find anything out."

Hunter hated to lie. He knew what was happening and he lied outright to Brian. He'd witnessed the political shell games since he'd gotten to Washington. He hated it. It was the main reason he had doubts about staying there. Everyone played games.

He also lied to Laura, at least he'd hidden the truth, which was the same thing to him. He hadn't been honest with the girl he loved. He came within an inch of asking her to marry him over the weekend but held back. In the recesses of his mind, he needed to tell her about his plans.

Hunter went to college a UC San Diego on a Navy ROTC scholarship. He would have preferred an Army scholarship, but the best offer a was Navy. After graduation, he went to OCS (Officer Candidate School) and was commissioned four months later. He wanted a career that would keep him active and physically fit. He volunteered for SEAL training, where he excelled. He trained with every branch of the military. He was parachute qualified, expert in underwater demolition, explosives, communications, all forms of weapons, and small team operations. He'd swum out of submarines, jumped from airplanes and helicopters and done almost everything imaginable as a warrior. In his last mission, he was wounded by an RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) that let shrapnel wounds all over his body. Nothing vital was hit, but his body had the telltale scars. He had small hearing loss, but nothing noticeable. Laura questioned the scars, but he evaded her, answering only "battle damage."

Having fulfilled his obligated service and faced with the option of transferring to regular line duties, Hunter decided to leave the Navy and joined the Border Patrol in San Diego, but he missed the SEAL camaraderie.

He'd grown up near the Mexican border in Southern California with many Mexican friends. He spoke Spanish. He looked at the border enforcement role differently than most. He wanted the Mexican laborers to be protected. He also hoped that he could help stop drug smugglers. After four years, he didn't save as people as he once hoped. When José disappeared and Claire begged him to take over the lobbying role, he was ready for a change. He didn't want Claire taking the same risks as José. Hunter had a better chance of survival. He also wanted the chance to meet Laura in person.

She complicated things. She was now in danger just by knowing him. He'd brought her into his life without even thinking about danger to her. He hadn't foreseen the risk of collateral damage when he took it. He loved her, and he couldn't protect her all the time. Mobsters always seemed to have unlimited resources and could get at anyone. They got to him through Sue Ann. Laura was defenseless against them.

He jolted back to reality when his phone rang again. He mellowed, hearing her voice. "How are you today, sweetheart?"

"I'm good. Did you work out this morning?"

"Yep. It felt good, but I had to run in the rain."

"It happens here."

"Yeah, not like California."

She laughed. "Yeah, that's the truth. So, what's your plan for today?"

He smiled. "I don't really have one."

"You want to come by my; maybe meet some people?"

"I'd like that."

He could hear the clatter of the Metro train arriving at her station. She spoke quickly, "Come by at noon then we can have lunch, too."

"So, you have an ulterior motive."

"Hey, you're the guy with the expense account. Anyway, gotta go ... bye"

He smiled thinking about her. In fact, he didn't have anything planned until he checked email. Leigh sent a text. "Call me ASAP. HAC issue."

The House Authorization Committee did the same function for House members as the SAC did for Senators. With over five hundred elected politicians all trying to get their piece of pork, the senate and house bills were not the same at first. Then it was up to a small number of committee members to meet "in conference" to hammer out final language. Hunter had learned that part of his job was to work between the two staff's on language that would survive in conference. He called Leigh.

"What's up?"

"Hunter, Romanoff is pressing the House committee for the draft language. You need to get the staffs talking and sharing draft language."

He hated his lack of experience, "I don't know the House side."

She knew he'd never met the House staff. "It's not a problem. I'll set it up. When are you free?"

"After two this afternoon."

"I'll call you back."

He didn't hear from her before leaving to meet Laura. He let the blue line train pass and waited for the yellow line ten minutes later, but would get him closer to FAA Headquarters, faster. Hunter was seated alone on the train until it reached Crystal City. There, four other people took seats spread apart. He arrived minutes later at Archives station. No one followed him out.

Above ground, a light refreshing rain fell. Laura's building was a short block away. He wore a business suit just in case Leigh called. Laura met him at the reception desk and was about to take him inside when his phone rang. Leigh.

"Hunter, can you be at the Rayburn building at two?

"Who do I need to see, Leigh?"

Laura stood by.

Leigh gave him instructions and also some "political insight" that would help. He was to meet with Gloria Morrow in room 1051.

"Thanks Leigh. I got it. Call you later."

He looked at Laura, "Sorry. Business."

"No problem. Do we have time for a quick tour?"

"Yep. We don't need to rush. I'm only two Metro stops away from my two o'clock."

They had time for a quick twenty-minute tour of the Procurement Department. Most of the people were at lunch, and there were no lingering introductions. They had lunch in the cafeteria.

Washington is a transient establishment. Hyperactivity with Government, military, foreign diplomats, countless organizations and the mercurial industrial and service companies that support it was constantly churning with people coming and going. Laura was one of the rare people who actually had roots in the Capitol region. For her, it wasn't a temporary gig. She had always intended to fulfill her career and family ambitions with the Government in DC.

Hunter, on the other hand, typified the majority of people who came to Washington as a building block in their careers. Most of these people lasted a few years before they left. He was typical. He didn't have any strong reason for being there except to satisfy his sister until something happened, pro or con, to drug policy. With the massive drug violence, growing debt and general dissatisfaction with Government leadership on all levels, something had to change in drug policy. No one expected the status quo to continue. Hunter's immediate mission would end at some point.

They both knew his job could evaporate, probably by the end of the fiscal year. Hunter could be leaving Washington in less than two months, unless he stayed, most likely as a junior marketing representative for some company. Laura knew he would be miserable in a corporate job. Their love would only sustain them for so long. It was a big hurdle if she didn't follow him. It was a mental tug-of-war that needed to be resolved. She knew Hunter was struggling with "asking the question." The threats on his family had sidetracked them, but the tension had mellowed slightly after a few days.

The cafeteria was immense, and they were able to get a private table together far away from others. They held hands off and on before Hunter asked. "Say. I want to take you out for a special dinner this weekend."

"I may have to work."

"Laurie. You don't have to work until you drop. Work in the morning, and we can have dinner late if you want. It's important."

She took a deep breath. "I'd like that, Hunter." She knew that important could mean a couple different alternatives.

Hunter left shortly after eating. He hadn't planned to frame the weekend invitation quite so conclusively. Something in his mind pushed him to a decisive point that he'd avoided. It felt exhilarating, and he almost ran to the Capitol, even though he had spare time. Had he just told her that he planned to propose? It was central to his hopes for the future, but the reality scared him. What was his plan for leaving DC? He needed to crystalize his thoughts before Saturday.

The weather was cloudy but rain-free as he walked seven blocks to the Rayburn Office Building by the Capitol. The rain had knocked some of the humidity down. Most of his peer lobbyists would take taxis, but he still enjoyed walking through the Mall area toward the Capitol. He had the time. He was still a newcomer to Washington, but so were a third of the Congressmen. It was a humbling thought that laws were being decided by freshmen, but maybe that's the way the Founding Fathers intended laws to be made. Professional politicians filled senior positions on the committees. Real courage was so hard to find among politicians. Hunter saw it every day. He valued the insight he'd gained but disenchanted by politicians at the same time. After losing himself in self-examination, he nearly walked past the entrance of the building on Independence Avenue.

Laura returned to her office feeling nervous about an "important" dinner with Hunter. She had several days to think about it, but it wouldn't help. She needed to solidify her own feelings and plans. Unless Hunter was sending the wrong message, she would need to make some hard decisions, fast. She had invested two years getting to know and love him, and after Saturday their relationship could be heading toward marriage, or over. There was no such thing as "just friends" at this point. She didn't have any close personal friends that she trusted for this kind of advice. She needed to decide this on her own as a headache developed.

Inside the Rayburn Building, Hunter's instruction was to call Gloria Morrow, on the HAC professional staff. Minutes later, she came to meet him, all business. She was older than most staffers on the hill. Obviously, she wasn't using the position to catapult into something else. She carried a tablet of lined legal-sized paper. She was mid-forties, five-three and stocky, which fit her demeanor. She had a cold dry grip when they shook hands then she immediately led him away to a huge unused committee room. It felt odd to him, sitting in a room large enough for a big wedding reception. She wasn't taking him to her office. She didn't offer refreshments, nor ask him anything off subject.

"Mr. Kohl, I'm pleased that you stopped by. My boss got a call from Ms. Bryant, whom I assume is your boss?"

"No, ma'am. Leigh is a consultant for the State of California. I work directly for the state. She knows how things are done in Washington, and I use her as an advisor. She suggested that I talk to you and helped me make the appointment." He couldn't tell if she was perturbed by meeting with him or just disagreeable. People in Washington learn to avoid expressing their true impressions.

"Tell me, Mr. Kohl, how can I be of service?"

"Well, Ms. Morrow. I work with a Department in the California State House that is interested in revisions to the current Federal drug control policies and would like to see changes that would legalize and regulate milder drugs, Marijuana and Cocaine, for example."

She snickered, "Something we might expect from California."

He was taken aback. "Look, ma'am, I just spent four years on the border. My boss lost her husband, murdered, over this. This is about thousands of people dying each year, some trying to smuggle drugs and others fighting in gangs in our cities."

"Mr. Kohl, do you have any idea how many kids would suffer through easy access to drugs? I've seen the statistics."

Hunter had seen them, too. He wondered what experience lingered in her background that was so polarizing.

"Ms. Morrow, we hope that regulating legal sales and freeing funding for education and treatment would save more children than today's situation. We would spend less in money and lives and quadruple the social programs to stop the drug epidemic. The so-called war isn't solving anything."

"I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Kohl, that we on the staff work under the direction of the elected members and don't make policy."

"Yes, ma'am. I know what you do. I'm just here to provide my services any way possible."

"What can you give us?"

"I work on both sides of the hill and work closely with the Senate staffers. I'm sure you know that they're drafting language for a change in policy in their Appropriations Bill."

She responded scornfully. "We were recently told to put something into the HAC bill also."

Romanoff had gotten to the staff. "Ms. Morrow, you probably know Brian Collie on the SAC professional staff?"

She sneered. "He's one of those new wiz kids from an Ivy school. I know who he is but haven't ever spoken to him."

Hunter was starting to understand her enmity. He could understand jealousy. "Ma'am, if it would help, I have a copy of the SAC draft language if you'd like to see it."

"Were you told by Collie to give this to me?"

"No, ma'am. I just thought it would make your job easier if the members wanted something that wouldn't scrub at the conference."

She took the draft from him and scanned it quickly. "This isn't good language for a bill. What if I draft something different?"

"Ma'am, I'm just here to help, and to monitor things for the state." He was hoping that complete honesty might help defrost her.

"I don't think this is well-worded."

"Ms. Morrow. If you have something better to offer, I would be happy to help sell it across the hill."

She was offended. "That's my job. You don't work for the Government, Mr. Kohl. As far as I'm concerned, you're just another parasite we all pay for in things we buy. I don't like lobbyists, Mr. Kohl, messing around in our business."

"Well, ma'am. As far as I know "our business" is the business of the people. I represent the people of California, and you could consider me to be a watchdog for those people."

"Well, Mr. Hunter, we can certainly disagree there."

He knew how to control his temper, but also knew it was time to leave, fast before this disintegrated further. "Ms. Morrow, Here's my card. I can be of service if you choose me to help you. Otherwise, at least you'll know who's stirring the pot."

"We don't need any outside interference, Mr. Kohl."

"Well, I'm sorry ma'am, that's what the good people of California sent me here for. I'm going to be building up support with the members on our behalf. I thought you'd like to know that I'm out there."

The meeting ended when she closed her notebook. His card was thrown loosely inside her papers, probably to be lost.

He didn't offer to shake hands and walked out ahead of her. There was no reason for disingenuous courtesies at this point. Outside the building, walking toward the Capitol South Metro Station, he called Leigh to report.

She asked, "How'd it go."

He half smiled. "She's a real ball buster, Leigh."

"I don't know her. She's been a minor scribe for the staff for a long time. There are people like that in Government who have perpetual grudges. They forget that Government jobs are supposed to be earned through merit and fairness."

"I don't know what she's gonna to do, Leigh."

"Did you give the SAC language to Romanoff?"

"Yes." He'd given it to Michelle Hicks, which amounted to the same thing.

"Good. Your new friend Ms. Morrow will do what's she's told, or she'll find herself back in the steno pool. Romanoff doesn't take any grief from staffers, unless she's really attractive."

He chuckled as he walked. "Leigh. I'm shocked that you would say that."

She laughed. "Yeah, I've been reading about Romanoff's exploits since you were in grade school. He's come close to ethics sanctions more than once. He actually got accused of statutory rape with an intern a few years ago, but she got promoted to some other Congressman's office with her parent's consent. Mostly, he stays above legal age, but the guy will jump anything sexy. It sounds like Ms. Morrow is safe."

"She's more than safe, Leigh."

"Good, then she'll do what's she's told. Check in with Romanoff's office in a few days."

"Okay. Thanks, I gotta go. I'm heading underground."

On the west coast, Luciano Peña was preparing his acceptance speech as the first elected president of the San Francisco Commercial Fishermen's Association. It was a sham to him, but it was important to maintaining the veneer over his true enterprise. He was alone in his office with the door closed. His young assistant, Roxanne, was sitting behind her desk outside his door, trying to ignore stares from Ramon and another guard. She was not hired for her administrative skills. Peña had other needs that weren't always satisfied at home. She knew his special pleasures, but the two "animals" sitting across from her terrified her. She knew they would never touch her as long as Peña was pleased. She'd asked him before to have them stay away, but they were still there. She tried to appear busy, shopping online at her computer when the phone rang.

She used the intercom to announce. "Luca, it's Senator Jenson, calling for you. Jenson was the California ranking member of the Committee on Commerce, Science, and Transportation: Oceans, Atmosphere, Fisheries, and Coast Guard.

Luca answered, "Senator, how are things on the Committee?"

"They're fine, Luca. We're busy doing the people's work trying to keep the oceans open for my good friends in the fishing industry in California."

"Well, we appreciate your good work, Senator."

"Thank you, Luca. I'm told you were elected President of the SFCFA – did I get that right?"

"That's correct, Senator."

"Okay, Luca, I have one other piece of information. That draft language floating in the SAC bill (Drug Policy revision) is gaining support in the HAC."

"That is interesting, Senator."

"Yes, I thought you should know, Luca."

"I appreciate that, Senator."

"You are indeed welcome, my friend."

The call ended, and Peña now had a large problem. It was one thing to craft a bill for publicity and media exposure in order to have it killed through public outrage. But now, with bipartisan support, it might have a chance of making it into law. Something had to be done.

He yelled, "Roxanne. Get me the Mayor (of San Francisco).

The Major was elected mostly because Peña contributed huge amounts of money to his campaigns and for funding high-visibility projects where the Mayor cut ribbons. Peña also arranged rendezvous with his "special lady" friend. Peña only shared her with the Mayor.

Roxanne came to his door, being sure to look sexy in her miniskirt and see-through blouse. "The Mayor went home from work, Luca."

He let out a frustrated shrug, "Roxanne, I don't care if you have to pull him out of the men's room. Call his cell phone. Call him at home. Tell him I want to talk to him – now!"

She huffed, but did as she was told. Moments later, the Mayor was on the line.

"Mr. Mayor, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Luca. It's delightful to hear from you, I'm heading for LA in less than a hour." He was in the back of a limousine heading toward the airport.

"Mr. Mayor, I'd like to ask a favor of you."

"Sure, Luca, anything."

"I'd like you to call your Congressmen friends and find something out for me."

"What would you like to know, Luca?"

"I heard that the Senate Appropriations Committee is preparing language to legalize drugs."

"I heard something like that too, Luca."

"Yes. Well Mr. Mayor, could you find out who on the House side is supporting this?"

"Well, sure, Luca. That shouldn't be a problem. I'll make some calls tonight."

"Thank you, Mayor. Have a safe flight to LA."

Surveillance

Ocean Queen departed her berth on Pier 26, directly under the Oakland Bay Bridge at three o'clock in the morning with the receding tide. The new captain, Pete Korb, was a felon who spent most of his youth smuggling small amounts of marijuana from Mexico to Southern California. He began in high school with an old eighteen-foot runabout that was given to him by his uncle when he went to jail. His father had been murdered over some labor dispute with the local painter's union before he could remember him. Pete never finished school after his first trip to Mexico in the small boat. He'd risked his life at seventeen out of youthful disregard for the danger. He drove the boat to Ensenada with another dropout. Any of the boat trips could have ended disastrously.

Pete learned the smuggling trade young. In less than a year, he scrapped the old boat and bought a new thirty-foot boat with two huge engines. It could make thirty knots all the way to Cabo San Lucas on one load of fuel. In a sprint, he could hit sixty. By refueling, he could get to Central America.

By the time he reached twenty, he had three boats and crews working for him. He handled the money transactions and let the other's take the risks. Life was good for five years, until his boats were seized in a DEA operation, and the crews testified against him. He spent ten years at San Quentin Prison, learning to survive against murderers and other vermin. He entered prison as a boy, but quickly learned to protect himself. One man tried to rape him and found out, how adrenalin and sheer terror could transform a boy into a killing machine. Pete slammed his heal into the man's temple then stood on his throat to kill him.

Ramon Vasquez and Pete met in prison. Ramon got Pete the job on Peña's boat. Pete had no other prospects and had the right experience. In four years, he learned to captain the big ships and was eager to take command of the Queen. His first night on the job, dumping his predecessor's body overboard, was a lesson not to cross Peña.

The early morning departure with the tide was normal procedure for all fishing boats. The Queen would leave port early in the week, fish along the northern California coast as far north as Portland then return at the end of the week, usually with a full hold of fish. Pete was an experienced boatman when he went to prison, but had learned to navigate and operate the nets on the job with Peña.

At dawn, ten miles west of Point Reyes, the huge trawl net began unrolling over the stern. It took ten minutes to un-reel a half mile. Side plates were deployed to widen its mouth, as the ship maintained three knots, essentially stationary against the Pacific current.

Queen was the oldest of the fleet and not converted for drug smuggling. It had the latest equipment for fishing. The sun was just dawning over the coastal mountains when Pete relaxed with a cup of coffee. Deploying the nets takes precision and coordination from the crew. He didn't know most of these men but assumed they were all criminals like him. With that qualification he could only observe them on deck to see if they had any fishing boat experience. Luckily, the nets went off smoothly, and the next few hours would be peaceful. He sat back in his chair, relaxing with his feet on the steering console, which was managing itself. It was a calm morning until the deck foreman came to the bridge. "Hey, Skip, there's a fuckin' chopper trailing us."

Pete hurried down the ladder to the main deck and saw it approaching from behind. The shiny paint and glass canopy glistened in the morning sun. Queen didn't have a helipad like the two larger Peña ships. As it got closer, Pete walked to the stern and stared upward, expecting to see some markings or signaling from the aircraft. The helicopter was a plain white Bell 206 with a stabilized camera pod underneath. It hovered about a hundred feet above the stern then moved from one side to the other. Pete waived his arms but got no response from the pilot or crew. The whole encounter lasted less than a minute before the chopper departed. He wasn't sure what to make of it. He went back to the bridge alone, trying to figure out what to do next.

A few hours later, the FBI crime lab issued a report. Kasey McDougal had an electronic copy before the end of the day. She decided not to send a copy to John Richards, but called him.

"John, we have preliminary analysis that could prove Peña's boat, the Ocean Queen, transported Jose's car. The dimensions and shape of the stern appear to be identical to the creases on the car."

"What do you mean 'appears' identical, Kasey?"

"We took video from directly above, to get the geometry. Then we got a good dimensional reference when one of the crew on deck. He's known to us, and the lab was able to compute the stern arc dimensions based on that relationship."

"So, you gonna execute a warrant to go on the boat?"

"No, not yet, I need more evidence, involving Peña himself."

Sigh, "How much more?"

"I don't know, John, but we don't want to have him crawl into a shell prematurely, or run for it."

Union

Luca wasn't in the office when his assistant, Roxanne, called. "You had a call from a guy named Mohamed Al-Zeid. He really freaked me out, started coming-on over the phone."

"Don't worry about him, Roxanne. He's not coming anywhere near San Francisco. I'll call him, and you can go home, we won't have any play time tonight." Peña promised his wife to attend his daughter's school play.

He called Mojo. "Hey, what's up?"

Mojo replied, "We should meet."

They would not discuss business over the phone. Luca answered, "How about Santa Barbara tomorrow, I'll make arrangements. You be in the area by two o'clock, and I'll have someone contact you about the location. I'll have only my driver with me. I suggest the same for you." Luca then called Roxanne on her mobile phone. "I want you to arrange the best suite at the Biltmore in Santa Barbara."

The union with Mojo's operation would be complex. Peña had his own western distributors that wouldn't work for Mojo. None of this would be written down. Peña still needed an escape plan if Mojo was compromised. On balance, his risks were slightly less with a union, and he wasn't worried about Mojo planting a bomb under his car. He would sleep well tonight.

Driving toward home, Peña called Senator Jenson late at his home number. Peña was probably the only constituent who had the Senator's home phone number. It was after ten o'clock in Washington and Jenson didn't answer, so he called Jenson's mobile number, which answered on the third ring. "Hello, Senator. Did I catch you sleeping?" From the background discussions, Peña knew Jenson was at some kind of function.

"Why no, my friend. Let me step outside for a moment." It struck Peña that Jenson didn't want to acknowledge him in public ... he clearly recognized the voice. There was a long pause with muted dialogue before he could hear steps on a hard surface, and the background noise faded away. "So, Luca how are you?"

"I'm fine Senator, and how are you?"

"Oh, I'm at one of those obligatory party functions at Congressional Country Club. We're all conspiring about how to take back the White House."

"Well, I know it's late, but I just wanted to see if our favorite language is continuing in the draft Appropriations Bill?"

"Well, Luca. Not only is it intact, but Senator Blithe's staff is nosing around to see who's supporting it."

"Can she make a difference?"

"Well, yes, she's well-connected. Doesn't campaign for much, but she could be a powerful influence on how this goes. She won't support it half-heartedly. It's all or nothing."

"Well, let's hope for a favorable outcome, Senator."

"Yes, and I had an interesting chat with Congressman Romanoff. His staff recently called the Senate committee staff about the language in our bill. It seems that Romanoff wants to raise the issue in the House."

Luca asked, "Who's Romanoff? I never heard of him."

"Oh, he's a darling of the Ohio Delegates, a war hero from Cleveland. He's a bachelor with a colorful lifestyle. He's always in the tabloids that ladies read. Sometimes the news is good and sometimes scandalous, but he's got a huge popular following. He doesn't get any real competition for election in his district and has built up a lot of credits with the members, if you get my drift. If he gets behind something, he generally gets his way."

"Sounds like he could be a powerful ally, what can we do for him?" Peña felt a headache developing.

"Well, Luca. He's got a little problem that could probably use your help."

"I'm always there to help, Senator."

"I know you are, Luca. You see, Aaron Romanoff is being investigated for indecent assault, statutory rape, on one of his Cleveland office interns. She's only sixteen. This could undo him in this year's election if the Cleveland DA indicts him."

"Well, that's interesting."

"Yes, it's in all the news here in Washington now. It should be all over the country soon, once the DA files in Cleveland."

Luca said, "This all revolves around the girl's testimony, I assume?"

"Yes again, Luca. She's the only witness. She claims to love the Congressman, but her parents are pressing it. I think they want to extort money for Romanoff while he's running for reelection."

"Is the Congressman wealthy?"

"Not that I know of."

Luca surmised, "Interesting. So, Romanoff can influence the House, if he weren't distracted with this legal stuff?"

"Indeed, Luca. Indeed."

In the cryptic speak of open communications Peña and Jenson were cautious about revealing their real meanings. Peña didn't know anything about Blithe. She wasn't in the news, particularly in California. Romanoff was a problem. His drive to Pacific Heights was only ten minutes from his office. As usual, he didn't enter his home compound until the guard walked to the gate and signaled.

Pacific Heights is the most scenic hilltop area in the city with mansions and huge estates on some of the most expensive real estate in America. From Peña's hilltop on two walled acres, they enjoyed views of the Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco Bay, Alcatraz and the Presidio. The area is one of the first exclusive areas to be developed during the gold rush but was destroyed and reconstructed after the 1906 earthquake. It was characterized by massive mansions. Several foreign consulates are located in Pacific Heights, and the boutiques and restaurants offer the finest cuisine and exclusive shopping on the West Coast. Peña's children attended elite private schools near home.

Peña loved his daughter, Landra, above all others. He had spoiled her for twelve years, and she adored him. His wife loved her husband's devotion to the children, even if he wasn't completely faithful toward her. No security personnel were allowed inside the house unless an alarm sounded. This was their private sanctuary. His driver parked in front in the center of the circular driveway and opened Peña's door. Peña entered the house alone through the massive front door onto a seemingly endless expanse of marble floors and went to the private master's wing where his wife would be completing her glamour rituals. He would change into more formal clothes for the occasion. He didn't worry about Blithe, Romanoff, or anything to do with his business once inside his house. It was all about family. He had long-ago hidden enough wealth off-shore to live in carefree opulence for several lifetimes. His children had trust accounts that would assure their lifestyles and his grandchildren.

He had only one concern in life. If the Feds ever convicted him, he would be locked away for several lifetimes and probably forfeit much of his wealth. His exit strategy had many contingent plans, but all centered on his airplane being ready to fly in minutes. Shortly after buying the mansion, he had a heliport constructed for rapid evacuation. With all of his well-paid friends in Government, he didn't worry about surprise visits from the FBI. Even in a secret assault, he would be airborne before anyone could breach his reinforced gates and walls. His security people were prepared experienced. The security measures were overdone, but it was one of the reasons he slept soundly each night when he was home. His only vulnerabilities were the nights he stayed out with his female friends.

Melanie had driven Landra to the school earlier and was impatiently waiting for her husband, who was behind schedule. She passed him without speaking when he entered the bedroom. He was in trouble for being late. He changed quickly and they arrived at the school just in time for opening curtain. Mel was irritated because the only seating was in the back rows. Landra had the supporting role of Diana Barry in the play, Anne of Green Gables. Stage lighting prevented the cast from seeing anyone in the audience. Five minutes into the second act, scene two, "The Sitting Room," Peña's phone vibrated, further irritating his wife. He was thankful that Roxanne just left a text message and hadn't called. Best Ocean Suite at the Biltmore in Santa Barbara under Mr. Luciano. Limousine at airport. Ramon flies commercial ahead of you. She was good about using a name for the reservation that wouldn't trigger surveillance. Roxanne was trained well in this respect. She had poor administrative skills otherwise, but she didn't question his business and had a wonderful body which she shared freely with Peña . As the play droned on, he imagined himself in her embrace. She was paid well for someone with minimal skills and who understood that she would never be important beyond her boss's physical needs. Peña had a slight smile on his face imagining Roxanne nude that Melanie mistook for enjoyment, watching his daughter.

After the play, the auditorium lights came on and hundreds of people filed out politely, several stopping to greet the Peñas. They stood by their seats, letting everyone pass before walking toward the stage. The Drama Teacher and school principal were with the cast, handing roses to each of the performers. Peña was proud of Landra's performance. It took courage as a twelve-year-old to perform live in front of an audience of adults. They mingled for a few minutes, then left after most of the audience had driven away. Peña's driver was parked directly in front of the entrance, holding the rear door for them. Most of the cast and parents went out to celebrate, but Peña instructed the driver to go directly home for security reasons. Melanie was disappointed, but understood. Landra was just disappointed.

Early the next morning, he went to the office where Roxanne was seated behind her desk. "Good morning, Luca. Can I bring you some coffee?" She had a perky smile.

He stopped beside her and stroked her delicate face. "Yes, my little flaʊər (Spanish flower), I want to do some dictation this morning." He was pleased that she wore a short tight skirt.

She followed him into his office moments later with a cup of black coffee, closing the door. Roxanne had no idea how to take dictation. It was a code instructing her to sit on his lap so that he could massage her thighs while doing her. It was how he enjoyed his morning coffee.

Dictation lasted only ten minutes, then he needed to leave for the airport. When he didn't have pressing business most mornings, Roxanne performed other dictation services. Peña kissed her quickly and asked for her to call his driver. He enjoyed watching her stand slowly to adjust her clothes, smiling at him the whole time. She had the ability to arouse him at will. She had a sexy way of walking away that would distract any red-blooded heterosexual male. He just smiled and shook his head slowly, pursing his lips. A minute later, he was adjusting his suit coat, exiting the front lobby door where his driver was waiting to take him to San Francisco International Airport. Another bright California day was forming as the heavy coastal fog rolled back out to sea over San Mateo, as they drove over the legal speed limit south on Highway 101.

The trip to his private hangar took twenty minutes. He made no phone calls, still savoring his morning coffee. Roxanne had worked for him for a year, learning the essential job elements quickly. He didn't know or care anything about her personal life as long as it never interfered with work. She earned nice bonuses each month, based on "performance," and would get a special Christmas present this year. He had always had terrible luck with assistants before her. Young girls always seemed to bring personal problems with them. He couldn't tolerate it. They would talk endlessly on the phone, or text, or cry. This was unacceptable. His selection criterion was based on physical attributes, but it was also one of the qualities that caused. Until Roxanne, he never had anyone that was totally acceptable. Most lasted only a few weeks. They either refused his personal needs or wanted something more from him. It was extortion of a peculiar type. Two girls carried their demand too far, threatening his family life. One was the girl immediately before Roxanne. In both cases, Ramon was told to have some fun and take care of the problem. The girls quietly disappeared, and he wouldn't be hearing from them ever again, anchored to the bottom of the Pacific. Ramon always seemed happy after these jobs.

The pilot had prepared the jet and fueled up early in the morning. The hangar door was open when they arrived, and the plane's ramp extended. "Good morning, sir. Will you be traveling alone today, sir?" Sometimes his assistants would travel with him.

"Yes, we're down and back today, all business. We can leave at any time."

Luca didn't spend any time socializing with the pilot. Like his personal assistants, he found it difficult to retain good pilots. They were always waiting for bigger airline jobs. It wasn't the money. It was an ego thing with them to fly bigger jets. Only once before did he need Ramon's service to "dismiss" a pilot that got suspicious of the business and hinted that he wanted to be part of it. Flying his products would be far riskier than using his ships. The pilots were never told about the ships, but one pressed hard about using the airplane. He was let go, in a manner of speaking, by Ramon. Like his assistants, pilots usually lasted less than a year. All were males, and Peña had no reason to know them intimately. Most were smart enough not to pry into their employer's business.

They were wheels-up at ten o'clock, exactly as planned. The flight to Santa Barbara would take a little less than an hour, then the limousine ride would be twenty minutes to the Biltmore. He relaxed on the flight, thinking about Roxanne, when his phone vibrated. The display said new text message-Mojo. It didn't say much, just "Where?" Peña sent a return message—"Biltmore, arrive 1200." He had sent Ramon ahead earlier in the morning to meet him at the airport and do a security check before landing.

Somewhere off the Coast, Ocean Wanderer was loitering until nightfall before entering Half Moon Bay. Peña didn't expect any trouble with the delivery, but large shipments were the main targets of the Feds, and nothing could ever be assumed. If there was trouble tonight, he wanted the plane fueled, and the pilot standing by. The boat was equipped with an automatic alert system that would sound an alarm in Peña's house and on his phone if anything even seemed abnormal. The Captain of the "Wanderer" was his most experienced and most loyal. For now, he had no reason to worry as long as the boat remained in international waters. It occurred to him that he was becoming more paranoid with age and fortune.

Ramon reported the airport clear when they started the descent. The approach was from the east, following the coastal mountains before turning onto final approach heading. The plane landed smoothly. Santa Barbara Airport handles eight commercial flights per day. Most of airplanes coming and going are small private planes. Peña's business jet was cleared for landing directly from approach with no other air traffic in the area. The pilot taxied to the visitor tie downs and shut down the engines as the limousine arrived. When Peña stepped down, it was completely quiet on the airport, no aircraft noises anywhere. The car pulled up next to the plane, and Ramon stepped out of the passenger side to open the rear door for his boss, always remaining alert for anything threatening around the perimeter. They departed immediately.

The ride from the airport to the Biltmore took less than twenty minutes. The pilot was told to stay by the plane and be prepared to leave at any time. They still had plenty of fuel to return back to San Francisco. The Biltmore was located along beautiful Channel Drive in Montecito, the exclusive community south of Santa Barbara. Its expansive single-story Spanish architecture is spread across twenty acres of pristine beach with the offshore Islands filling the western view and the nearby coastal mountains to the east. It's truly one of the most magnificent locations in California, and Peña reserved the Grande Suite with ocean views on three sides surrounded by manicured grounds in every direction. As they approached, he regretted that he would not spend the night. It was the location that he shared with Melanie on their honeymoon, and she would never forgive him for coming without her, if she knew. But this was business, dangerous business if anything went wrong.

The car stopped at the lobby entrance, and the driver would park nearby for the remainder of the day, in case needed. Ramon led the way through the open oaken doorway, walking on gleaming terracotta tiles. With Ramon ahead, Peña was completely hidden from the front. Ramon slowed when he saw a familiar man standing at the corner of the lobby near a glass wall overlooking a tropical pond. The big black man wore a suit to disguise his weaponry. Ramon recognized him as one of Mojo's men and left Peña at the front desk to register while he went to stand by the other bodyguard. Mojo's man had a shaved head and distinctive gold chains around his neck, visible through his open collar. There was no mystery about his physical state or weapons cache. He was amply prepared in both regards. Ramon was fifty pounds heavier, six inches taller and equally armed. Standing next to each other, Ramon asked in a deep gravelly voice, "Where's your man?"

The bodyguard kept his eyes on Peña across the lobby and simply twitched his head toward the lounge chairs outside under the covered veranda. Ramon looked briefly then returned to focus on the man next to him. When Peña finished checking in, with no luggage, he walked toward the two men, handing a key card to Mojo's man. "Tell him to join us." Then he and Ramon walked away, but Ramon never lost sight of the other man, who watched him just as cautiously.

The suite consisted of a bedroom adjoining the great room with a bar. It had two bathrooms with Jacuzzi tubs. Sadly, none of the luxury amenities or accommodations would be used. The bed served for Peña to lay his coat. Ramon walked around each of the rooms looking behind doors, under beds and behind curtains. He had no professional security training and didn't know what, exactly, to be looking for, but it kept him occupied while Peña relaxed. Moments after arriving, there was a knock at the door. Ramon initially pulled his gun, but Peña signaled him to put it away. The giant man peered through the fish-eye lens in the door and saw only Mojo and his bodyguard grinning at him. At Peña's signal, Ramon opened the door, and Mojo entered quickly with his man close behind.

Mohamed Al-Zeid, Mojo, walked quickly to Peña, who stood in the middle of the room, smiling broadly. "Luca, my friend. How are you?"

Peña answered, "Fine," while both men embraced in the ritual pat-down each expected. It was a silly way for two men to act, but something both learned in the trade.

Peña gestured for Al-Zeid to sit with him. "Can I order something delivered to the room?"

Mojo snickered, "Not unless you got some sweet young beach bunny's standing by."

Peña smiled, "Not so lucky today, my friend. So, tell me, do you think we should ask our companions to take a walk together?"

It was Al-Zeid's chance to chuckle. "Yeah, that would be a good. These two walking together in the halls of this glorious establishment would cause ever' one to panic. I trust my man, do you?"

Peña nodded in agreement. "I trust Ramon with my life, so we can proceed."

For the next two hours, the two largest drug criminals in the western United States set up the parameters for their new consortium. Both were satisfied that their personal wealth and safety was enhanced by collaboration. They shook hands. There would be no formal agreements or anything in writing.

At the conclusion, Al-Zeid said, "So, this should be good for us and our distributors, Luca."

Peña became very serious. "Mojo, I have told you about my agreements below the border to stop the violence. It's important to get through the next election without passage of new policies legalizing drugs."

"Hey, Luca. I'm hip, I don' need no stuff from Mexico no mo' if yo' supply is good."

Peña continued. "We got another problem. There's some people in Congress that are starting to back the California reforms because they need votes. It's the killing and money they spend fighting our people that they want to change."

"Ain't gonna happen."

"You say that, but you need to see the big picture."

Al-Zeid took offence. "You sayin' I'm too dumb to un'astand?"

"Look, Mojo, I mean there's a real chance our businesses could be lost if marijuana is legalized, particularly in California."

Both men were standing, and Peña was trying desperately to get the other man to understand without maddening him. Mojo responded. "So's what we gotta do 'bout it?"

He seemed to be calming down and listening as Peña explained. "We need to turn off the zeal. Certain Legislators need to change their minds."

Mojo showed his big toothy grin. "One of my specialties."

Peña remained serious. "Look, Mojo. We gotta use some finesse here. This whole thing could blow up. We can't go whacking national figures. It's not the same as offing the scumbags we do every day. Nobody cares about them; they're dog shit. The police cheer for us. This is different."

Al-Zeid ran his thick tongue around the inside of his closed cheeks. "Alright, Luca. What you mean finesse?"

Peña took a deep breath, finally getting through to the street thug. "You got people in the East, right?"

"Yeah. You done a purdy good joba' keepin' me outa the west, so's I moved my trade east -- got some fair people."

"Good. Here's what I have in mind."

It took about half an hour to set things in motion. The plan was actually quite simple, but he had to explain it several different ways to Al-Zeid for him to understand it in a way that wouldn't cause him to take extreme actions that would lead to their destruction.

It was nearing three in the afternoon when all four men walked through the lobby together. Their business dress and menacing appearance drew glances from everyone, but no one dared to stare. None of the lobby staff said a word about wishing them a pleasant evening as they would any other guests going out to local destinations or dinner. The room was paid for and would go unused. Both limousines were parked together.

As they approached their cars, Peña extended his hand to Al-Zeid. "Live long and prosper, my friend."

Mojo smiled through his pearly teeth, "You, too, Luca."

Romanoff

Aaron Romanoff led a charmed life. In his mid-forties, he wasn't married and, more importantly, wasn't obliged to support anyone else. His constituents in Cleveland loved him or loved the idea of him. As a young man, he'd always wanted to fly jet fighters. His parents were active in the Republican Party, and they were successful getting their long-time family friend elected for several terms. Their support of the Congressman was unwavering and their friendship grew stronger after several years in Washington. Aaron didn't have bad grades, but he wasn't the top of his class either. He was active in sports, but never a star. His father and the Congressman had a lot to do with helping Aaron rise through scouting to Eagle Scout without much effort. The one thing Aaron excelled at was girls. He was extraordinarily handsome.

When Aaron was a senior in high school, he got his dream shot. He received an appointment to the Air Force Academy from their Congressman friend. Just as in high school, he didn't excel at anything, but wasn't at the bottom either. He was an average Cadet. His curriculum was centered on International Studies, which eliminated many of the technical career fields. This opened his chances to enter flight training. He had another advantage in flight school because his parents had paid for flying lessons from the time he was fifteen, so he entered the Air Force Program as a licensed pilot. Although most Cadets that meet the physical requirements with 20/20 vision get to explore basic aviation, few matriculate to the top of the class and really get to fly. Fewer yet get to fly fighters. Aaron was at the top of every category in his flight evaluations and realized his dream. He became a fighter pilot.

After completing his obligated service, he was encouraged to return to civilian life in Cleveland by his parents and the retiring Congressman. They didn't force him into politics, but he had powerful endorsements and a ready-made campaign committee made up of party leaders and his parents. He wasn't actually flying much anyway with budget cuts, just enough to retain his flight status, so continuing an active Air Force career lost its luster. He returned to civilian life and retained his flight status with the Michigan Air National Guard. The 107th Fighter Squadron flew his favorite airplane, the A10 "Warthog." The Selfridge Air National Guard Base was only a few hours away for weekend duty, and he got to fly more hours in the Guard than on active duty. He had the best of both worlds. He was able to pursue a career in politics, and continue flying fighters.

Aaron campaigned with the Congressman by his side, and his parents rallied the electorate in the background. The seat was technically open with the retirement of the Congressman, but no opponents stood up to contest his anointed replacement. Aaron won the primary uncontested and the general election with a thirty-point margin over his opponent. Another advantage with the retiring member support was his top notch staff, plus getting into the office selection process ahead of other freshmen. He was well ahead of his peers entering Congress for a first term, just as he had been ahead of other Cadets in primary flight training.

He was seated in Washington in February, 1998 and selected for several important committees, with the help of his mentor. But in August, his reserve unit was mobilized for deployment to Iraq. Aaron could have avoided it as a member of Congress, but didn't. The chance to fly in combat was overpowering to the fighter jock. No one expected the war to last long, and his advisors believed that serving in the war would enhance his credentials. Here again, the retired Congressman became an important factor in maintaining his presence on the Hill.

For several months, stationed in Saudi Arabia, his team practiced close air support of ground troops with their aircraft.

The single-seat A-10 Thunderbolt II, popularly called "Warthog," is designed for close air support (CAS) of ground forces by attacking tanks, armored vehicles and other ground targets while flying at very low. The entire airframe is built around an enormous 30mm cannon that actually extends from the rear of the plane underneath the pilots legs and out the nose. The plane has more than a thousand pounds of armor to protect the pilot and engines from ground fire. Unlike conventional fighter aircraft, the A-10 was designed to take hostile fire.

When the orders came, Aaron was the lead pilot on four sorties that night. At dawn on the second day, He and his wingman were protecting troop vehicles that came under attack by an armored cavalry unit with massive firepower. After a strafing run below five hundred feet, his plane sustained severe battle damage. The engines were still functioning, and he had half his ammunition still aboard. His wingman told him to abort after seeing the damage, but Aaron made a second pass even lower and slower to destroy as much of the enemy tanks as possible.

Midway across, an SA-18 shoulder-launched missile hit him, taking off the entire rear part of the jet. He ejected as the plane exploded, and his parachute opened a hundred feet from the ground. He landed hard, spraining both ankles. He shook off the affects and hobbled to a smoldering enemy tank, diving under the hull between the tracks. His only protection was his Berretta pistol. His wingman flew in a wide arc above, radioing for more gunship and rescue support. When the parachute collapsed on the ground, enemy troops left their cover positions and charged toward the downed pilot. The wingman didn't hesitate, despite the lethal SA-18s, he attacked. He pushed the throttle forward momentarily, pointing the nose down, then leveled at only one hundred feet while decelerating. He leveled his wings and fired along just in front of the charging soldiers. The recoil of the cannon jolted the airframe, but his aim was perfect, forming an explosive wall a hundred yards long. The 30mm Gatling-type cannon is the most powerful machine gun ever flown, firing depleted uranium armor-piercing and explosive rounds. Each round blew huge craters and killed anyone within a forty-foot circle. A dense curtain of dust formed, shielding Aaron.

Within less than a minute, other aircraft joined in the annihilation of ground troops surrounding him. The American convoy stopped and deployed several infantry soldiers. The remaining Iraqi's ran under withering fire, but one stopped to peer under Aaron's tank. In the weak dawning light, he didn't seem to recognize the silhouette of the airman lying prone, facing him. Aaron supported his gun in both hands with elbows extended on the ground, not intending to fire unless he had to. It took a full second for the soldier to recognize his enemy and instead of running, he fired an automatic burst from his AK47, hitting Aaron in the top of his left shoulder as the Berretta fired several times, killing the Iraqi. At first, Aaron didn't realize he was shot, but quickly felt the pain. The bullet had fractured his Clavicle and penetrated a lung, cutting an artery.

He should not have survived the wound and had no recollection of anything after that until he awoke in a military field hospital. Days later, he was flown to San Antonio Military Hospital. It took six months of rehabilitation to regain ninety percent of his arm mobility and strength, but his flying career was over. He returned home with a minor disability and was released from all further military duties. He had survived air combat and satisfied any urge to fly again. Back home, he was welcomed as a hero with re-election, something that had repeated ten more times since then. He was never seriously challenged in any election.

Aaron enjoyed his bachelor status. As a single Congressman, he was cited repeatedly in the tabloids as one of Washington's most eligible bachelors, although he never felt particularly "eligible." He owned a townhouse on a quiet street in Old Town Alexandria midway between the Braddock Road Metro Station and the Potomac waterfront. He entertained "guests" often, frequently lasting overnight.

In Congress, he was noted as a free-thinker. He would deviate from conservative dogma frequently on social issues, always voting his conscience. Few members of Congress had his fortitude. As a result, legislators from both sides of the aisle looked for his support on bills. Congressman Romanoff was noted for becoming passionately aggressive if he believed in something. He was both cherished and feared by his colleagues. Since he seemed invincible in the polls, there were no threats by PACs to withdraw support or throw in with an opponent. It just didn't work with him. The House never had the courage to re-address the War on Drugs, but when the Senate took the initiative, Aaron was "all in" to get the House to go along. His seniority and connections could virtually assure passage in the House if the Senate supported it.

As the week progressed, the late summer weather was turning slightly chilly in the morning. His routine was to leave his house at six o'clock wearing sweats and carrying a small bag containing office attire. His sport coat and tie selection stayed in the office. He walked to the Metro and rode with the early-risers in partially filled train cars. Some of the faces looked familiar over time, and none would think he was a Congressman. The member's gym was located in the basement of the Capitol building. He'd followed this routine for twenty years.

He'd slept alone that night and ate a light breakfast of toast and orange juice. He didn't bother to shave or shower. That would follow his workout. As he looked out the sidelights of his front door, the sky was just beginning to show hints of a rising sun, with no rain clouds. He grabbed his workout bag and stepped onto the stoop, testing the lock on his door before stepping down to the red-brick sidewalk. The Metro station was slightly uphill, about four blocks away. He was usually alone on the street at this time of the morning except for occasional joggers.

No one was moving when he started toward the corner, but there was one runner stooped ahead of him, tying his sneaker. As he approached the man, something undefinable seemed odd. His shoes were brilliantly white, obviously unused. His long thick black hair didn't seem natural. As he walked closer, he saw small tattoos on his fingers, not a typical Washington professional.

Aaron picked up his pace passing within three feet of the jogger. Instinctively, he turned his head slightly, noting the man's quick motion in his peripheral vision. Aaron was only two paces past when a silent siren went off in his mind. Without looking back, he ran over the corner curb, diagonally across the quiet intersection. He was only twenty feet away when the sound of the first shot echoed off the old brick brownstones. The man missed. He fired three or four more times as Aaron jinxed and accelerated. All shots missed.

The man shouted an obscenity unheard by Aaron as the distance increased between them. The shooter tried to balance his gun on the roof a car parked at the curb, but Aaron was across the street, shielded by other cars, preventing a clear shot. The gunman failed. It's incredibly hard to hit a moving target. Aaron knew it, but wasn't thinking about it. His physical conditioning saved his life.

On the opposite side of the street, the gunman threw his wig into his car and pushed the gun into his waistband. "Shit, shit," were his only words. Being a career drug dealer and ex-con with no respect for human life didn't guarantee that he was also an expert with firearms. He knew how to murder helpless people on their knees, but that was the limit of his marksmanship skill.

Aaron reached the top of the street, opposite the Metro station, slightly winded. He looked around for the first time and didn't see anything alarming. It wasn't the first time he'd had bullets fired at him, and he was pissed.

An hour later, Hunter was finishing breakfast and turned on the news. Most was routine, the weather would be overcast and mild with the possibility of a light rain in the afternoon. Congress was anticipating a struggle to get the fiscal budget approved and threatening, again, to go into extended sessions and continuing resolutions if agreements could not be negotiated. This probably meant that the drug policy changes would not be deliberated until the end of the first quarter in December. He saw his minimum term in Washington extending five or six more months. He didn't really want more time. He had to make a commitment to Laura, one she would accept or not, but he couldn't keep stringing her along. She had an expectation after he suggested a special date. He was indecisive. He still hadn't decided what he would say to her.

There was also a breaking news alert. Congressman Romanoff had been assaulted. It was an assignation attempt. The news team was at the scene on Pendleton Street, describing how the Congressman had avoided gunfire at close range. Witnesses had seen a skinny skinhead-looking gunman remove a wig and drive away in a newer sedan.

The story had a familiar ring to it. It could be a coincidence that both he and Romanoff were threatened when they became active with the drug language, but he didn't think so. At eleven o'clock in Washington, Hunter called John Richards. "Hi, John. Did you hear that someone tried to gun down Congressman Romanoff today?"

"I might have heard something on the drive in this morning, Hunter. He's from some place in the Midwest, isn't he?"

"Yeah. He's from Ohio."

"So, what's that to us?"

"He's just picked up the ball on our drug bill in the House. He's a real activist guy. I think there could be a connection with Sue Ann and the guy taking our pictures."

"Don't you feel a little paranoid, Hunter?"

"Better to be cautious, John."

"Alright, Hunter. I'll relay your concern to the FBI, and they may want to advise Romanoff. Was Romanoff given any kind of a warning?"

"I don't know, John."

"'Cause they didn't try to kill you."

"Yeah. It's a little different, but I still don't believe in coincidences."

That night, Hunter received a call from the FBI asking him to come to the Justice Department in the morning and ask for Special Agent Bryce Levi.

He talked with Laurie late into the night, but didn't mention the meeting with the FBI or Romanoff. She was scared enough already. In the morning, after his workout, he dressed in a suit and left for the Hoover Building on Pennsylvania Avenue. He arrived at ten, precisely on time. After passing security, he was met in the lobby by Bryce Levi who took Hunter to an office on the second floor.

Bryce offered him a water. "Hunter. The reason I asked to meet with you is because our San Francisco office thinks there might be a link between something they're working on in California and an attempted shooting that happened in Alexandria yesterday."

"Yeah. I know about it all."

Bryce inquired, "You had a relative kidnapped and some threats made?"

"My cousin. They nearly killed her, dumping her out in the Pacific at night. Then I got a call warning me to standby for instructions from the guy who did it. I work here in Washington as a liaison officer for California."

"What kind of instruction?"

"Well, that's just it. I don't know. I'm only here for one reason, to campaign for change in our drug policies. Last week, I met with Congressman Romanoff, and he got excited about it. People tell me he's now pushing it pretty hard."

"So, you think the mafia is after you and the Congressman?"

"The State Investigator and the FBI in Northern California have someone in mind. There was a State Attorney who was killed before I came aboard. He was my brother-in-law, murdered when leaving to come back here on a lobbying trip. I was in the Border Patrol then, and the state asked me to work for them, stationed here, until Congress decided the outcome."

"So, you're a lobbyist and this is personal to you?"

"If that means being a mouthpiece for the state without understanding much about the process, then I guess I am."

"Most lobbyists are lawyers."

Hunter smiled. "Technically, I'm a liaison officer, probably because I'm not a lawyer. Surprisingly, most of the people doing my kinda work aren't lawyers. I guess it's to save money. You don't really need to be a lawyer at the level I work at."

"So, why were you threatened?"

"I guess that someone is planning to use me in some way."

"So, how do you think this relates to the Congressman?"

"I wish I knew. It's just that he's done his thing here for twenty plus years, then I came along and – wham – someone tries to knock him off. If I wasn't messing around in provocative shit, I'd assume he ran into a jealous boyfriend, but this sounds more like a professional hit."

"Most professionals don't miss."

"Okay, so it was a semi-professional hit. It was planned and cold blooded. Only an experienced killer without a lot of brain power would do it this way. The guy was cool and patient, even if he was a bad shot. He was a back shooter, so wasn't particularly confident in a fight."

Bryce shook his head in agreement. "It kind of squares with our west coast office. The mafia doesn't tend to miss, but the drug gangs are a lot less sophisticated. They kill more often, but it's always crude. They don't have the kind of structure and code that demands better discipline and training. In truth, the mafia doesn't really like drugs. They make money shaking down the distributors. They let the drug gangs kill each other off, and just stay out of the way unless some punk tries to work around them."

Bryce continued. "Like you said, Hunter, the hit on the Congressman was more than some petty dispute, but not mafia. That mostly leaves druggies."

Hunter smiled, "So, I guess we ended up on the same sheet of music?"

Bryce had a notepad with him, but hadn't written anything. "Yeah. It seems that way."

Hunter asked, "So what does that mean for the Congressman? I want him to keep pushing the bill and even bring in some more supporters. How will he keep safe?"

"That's Government business, Hunter. You just watch out for yourself."

He left the building before lunch and called Leigh. She had a screaming baby in the background. "Is this a bad time, Leigh?"

"No, Hunter. There's not really any good times, just give me a minute." After a short pause she said, "So, what's cookin'?"

"You hear about Romanoff yesterday?"

"Yeah, absolutely. Anything to do with you?"

"I don't know, Leigh. He just got aboard supporting the drug policy change and someone tried to kill him. I'm not sure he'll be as friendly after an attempted hit."

"He's tough, Hunter. I bet it only makes him more determined."

"So, what should I be doing? I'm concerned about trying to bring other people into this if it's putting their lives in danger. Romanoff slipped the shooter, but I don't know if anyone else would get away."

She thought for a moment. "Yeah, I understand your concern. I think you need to talk to Michelle Hicks about it. Romanoff may want to be in the lead on this to keep other Congressmen out of sight. He's a pretty honorable guy. I think he'll be even more aggressive and want to be the one attracting attention. But, I could be wrong. Talk to Michelle."

"Alright, Leigh. Thanks."

He started walking diagonally across the mall, unsure if he should call Laura for lunch, or call Michelle. He called Michelle. She couldn't talk, but agreed to meet with him at two. He called Laura and diverted course slightly, walking toward the FAA building.

He loved every moment with her, but today it felt awkward. There was anticipation around their forthcoming dinner on Saturday. It would be simpler just to avoid her until then, but the urge to see her overpowered logic.

After some benign discussion, she asked, "So, what are you up to for the rest of the day?"

"Well, after lunch, I'm meeting with Michelle Hicks again in Congressman Romanoff's office."

"You gonna talk about the shooting?"

"I want to find out if he's backing off the drug language."

She looked at him, understanding his dilemma. "Hunter, you can't blame him if he's now a target, too."

"I agree, Laurie. I just need to know where we stand on the language. That's my job. If Romanoff bails out, I need to find someone else to lead it."

"That would just put them in danger."

"Maybe, but it's my job, and I believe in it."

"Some job. Is it worth people getting killed?"

"People are getting killed every day over drug violence, Laurie. I'm trying to save lives."

"No one in California could blame you if you resigned."

"Is that what you want? Besides, I don't think anyone would take this position if they knew what the risk might be."

She took his hand and looked into his eyes. "You took it."

"I couldn't help it. It was personal. José had been killed, and I couldn't let my sister risk it." Technically, José was just missing until they found his car two years later.

"Maybe you should just let it rest now. If it goes any further that will be great, but you shouldn't risk anything more."

They ended the lunch knowing that nothing had changed. Laura was concerned, which he already knew. She also knew that he wouldn't run from danger. Was that a weakness? Was that a mistake? He didn't know. He also didn't like the idea that his job put a strain between them.

Vigor

Ten minutes after leaving the FAA building and walking along Independence Avenue up Capitol Hill, he was sitting with Michelle Hicks in her office.

She was more reserved than last time. "Hunter, what can I do for you?"

"Michelle, I heard about the attempt on the Congressman and wanted to know if this changes anything about his support of the drug policy changes we discussed."

"You think that has something to do with the shooting?"

"I don't think it's coincidental."

She responded, "Well, I don't know what that means, but the press is making some pretty wild speculations."
At that point Congressman Romanoff opened her door and stepped in. "Well, hello again, Hunter."

They shook hands and the Congressman sat down, intending to participate. Michelle said, "Congressman, Mr. Kohl is here about your interest in the drug policy. He thinks there may be a connection to the shooting."

Romanoff smiled and looked at both of them in sequence then said, "Well, it's better than some of the stuff out there about jealous husbands and boyfriends."

She responded. "Aaron, Congressman, this is a serious matter. It could be dangerous and it could hurt your career."

There was a particular intonation in her voice and the way she looked at him that clued Hunter about their relationship, aside from the office relationship.

Romanoff smiled. "I don't think so, Michelle." He then looked at Hunter. "Mr. Kohl, can I call you Hunter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, in here, I want you to call me Aaron." Michelle looked incredulous.

He continued, looking at her. "You see, Michelle, I had a nice chat with the Secret Service this morning. They're now shadowing me wherever I go. It seems that Hunter and I have a common problem." He looked at Hunter.

After a few moments, she said, "Aaron, I don't know what Mr. Kohl – Hunter – has to do with this?"

Hunter pursed his lips and looked at the table as Romanoff answered. "Well, we've both been attacked for the same reason. Is that right, Hunter?"

"I believe so, sir."

Romanoff insisted. "Aaron."

Hunter acknowledged, "Yes, Aaron. There's a good possibility that threats to me have something to do with you."

Romanoff smiled. "There. You see Michelle. Isn't this great!"

She was mystified. "Aaron. Are you nuts? What's to smile about here?"

"Michelle, I want you to call a press conference this afternoon. It should get a lot of coverage with the attention I'm getting in the press today."

"What are you talking about, Aaron. What's this about?"

He looked at Michelle and Hunter, "I'm going to announce my whole hearted support of drug reform and use the shooting incident to drive the point home. The drug lords that think they own our streets are gonna be out of business. If they want a fight, I'm their man."

She pleaded. "Aaron, this isn't some petty scandal, this could get you killed."

"It damn near did, Michelle. That's why I'm going to fight this through. There are only two ways to go. I either withdraw my support, or drive it through Congress." He looked at Hunter. "If we win, the drug gangs on the continent will be out of business."

She responded. "Very macho ... and very dumb."

"Why? My constituents will love it. Hell, maybe the whole country will love it."

"So now you want to run for President?"

He glanced at Hunter then put his hands on her shoulders. "Look, hon, I don't like being a paper tiger. I believe in this and it's gonna create some murderous enemies. I can't run from this. I think we can win. With the new Appropriations bill, we could actually stop the drug war on our borders and in our cities. You think I wanna let someone else get the credit? Hunter here is good at what he does. He'll just go find some shmuck to back the House language, and I'll miss the chance of a lifetime; a chance to do the right thing."

Hunter sat silently watching the interplay between them. They were obviously more than just officemates.

Romanoff looked at Hunter. "Hunter are you up for this? I understand you've been operating under this same cloud."

"Ah, yes – Aaron – I'm sticking with this. My families' been threatened, my girl's been threatened, and I just waiting until someone tries to ambush me, too. But, I signed on for this thing, and I'm seeing it through."

"Good. Do you need anything from me?"

"Aaron, if you're leading the charge on this, I'm here to go knock on every door in Congress if I have to."

"Okay, I want you and Michelle to coordinate the lobbying effort. She's really good at working the staffs on the Hill. You concentrate on the Senate and give her a hand in the House when we need the California-factor brought in."

Body language said the meeting was over. Hunter stood and extended his hand first to Romanoff, then to Michelle. You've got my full support, sir."

"Good, now I've got a news briefing to write."

That evening in his apartment, Hunter was still trying to understand what was occurring in his relationship with Laura. It had grown over two years and reached and intense level in the last month. But since then, it plateaued and seemed to be cooling rapidly. He was in a tailspin and needed to get out of it. Partly it was nothing he could control, but most of it centered on his ambivalence about the future, the future with her. He wanted to call her but feared it would only dig his hole deeper. Their relationship seemed to be disintegrating overnight, and he felt powerless to change it.

He was eating a mixture of Asian foods purchased at the local market and watching the evening news when it was interrupted by a news conference called by Congressman Aaron Romanoff. Speculation had been growing all day about the reasons behind the attempt on Romanoff, placing the Congressman at the pinnacle of conjecture in Washington. He was either in the best or worst position of his career. After some introductory remarks by the broadcaster, the feed went live to the rostrum where Romanoff was beginning to speak.

"First of all, I'd like to apologize for interrupting evening broadcasts, and folks eating dinner. I'll keep my comments brief and answer questions at the end.

As you all know, I was attacked by a gunman this morning as I was leaving my home. It's been in the news all day long across the country, so you've probably all heard about it. I'm also sure that you've all been exposed to speculation about this attack, so let me set the record straight.

"The attack this morning was against me, and no one else. It was not, I repeat not, about anything involving my personal life, although that has made interesting reporting over the past several years. This was about my actions in the Congress.

"Recently, I initiated an effort to have language enacted into law that would repeal the War on Drugs and regulate legal use of certain ones similar to the way tobacco and alcohol are regulated. The current policy has been failing for decades costing hundreds of thousands deaths and a trillion dollars, with no significant results. It's time for a different approach.

"I'm not going into details here. There will be weeks of media coverage of this issue to come. The purpose of this meeting is simply to clear up the fact that this was an attack by vicious criminals who will lose their grip on unfortunate Americans. These murderous gangsters were trying to eliminate me, or at the very least scare me off their turf. They exist only because of current policies.

"Well, I'm here tonight to tell the American people that the drug dealers in this country are not going to win, and they're not scaring me off. I intend to fight for reforms that will put them out of business, that will ruin their businesses and end the horrible scourge in our cities caused by the back-alley drug dealers."

Romanoff paused for a moment to let it all sink in. "Let there be no mistake about what I'm saying. You illicit drug dealers, distributors and manufacturers that prey on Americans – you're all going down! If you think you can end this with me, you're wrong."

The speech was followed by several questions about how he escaped the gunman. Romanoff just answered, "I ran like hell and hoped he was a bad shot." The man was a master at crowd-pleasing rhetoric. He came across as powerful and steadfast. He had been right in their meeting earlier in the day. This attack helped his future in American politics and also helped assure popular support of the policy reforms. Peña's own actions (or someone like Peña) were helping lose their own battle.

His phone displayed "Laurie."

"Hello."

Her voice was firm, "Did you see the Congressman's speech?"

"Yeah. I thought he did pretty good."

"Did you talk to him about it today?"

"He mentioned it when I was in his office."

"Hunter, I think he just moved your success probability up a lot."

"Yeah, I guess it just takes a few well-placed gunshots."

"Very funny."

He could sense that she wanted to talk longer, but he was afraid where it would take them, and he was conflicted enough. He wanted another day to think. "Look. I'm kinda busy tomorrow, but I'd like to pick you up at five on Saturday."

"Oh, so early?

"I'm thinking about going to Annapolis, something along the harbor."

"Um. Sounds romantic."

"Somehow, I picture you there." He wasn't sure, but she seemed excited.

"Okay, see you at five!"

He was contemplating the signals he just sent her when the phone rang again. This time it said "Leigh."

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself. Did you see the speech?"

"Yeah."

"Looks like you got it under control in the House."

"I don't know, Leigh. After two years, it all seems to be falling into place too easy."

"It's simple, Hunter. This is an election year. All the House members want to be reelected. The big bills always happen on the even years so Congressmen can get all the points back home when it matters. Off years are boring."

Saturday

He knocked on Laura's door and waited half a minute for her to open it. She said, "Hi" and gave him a kiss before turning to finish getting ready. "Come on it, I'm almost ready." As she turned away, he saw that her dress wasn't zipped all the way. "Get comfortable on the couch, I just need to finish my hair and put on my shoes." For some reason, this took several minutes. When she emerged from the bedroom, she looked fantastic in a light blue summer dress with a floral scarf. She wore a three tier necklace that emphasized her long slender neck.

He was speechless, "Wow, you look gorgeous." It occurred to him that he'd never seen her in heels, and she seemed to be almost as tall as him.

She turned. "Zip me up please."

He did as instructed, fumbling with the hook at the top. Her skin felt incredibly supple and smooth, more than usual. The whole effect was mesmerizing.

She turned back to face him and picked up a small white purse on the end table near the door. "So, where are we going?"

He smiled, "Annapolis."

"Where in Annapolis?"

"It's a surprise."

A week earlier, Hunter made reservations for the upper deck at the Hell Point Seafood restaurant on Dock Street, overlooking the Annapolis Harbor. It was one of the most romantic locations in the quiet seaport village, surrounded by quaint shops, near the Naval Academy and the State Capitol building. He wanted the atmosphere more than anything else. The restaurant got poor reviews but generally not for the food per se, which was judged somewhere between fair and good, not excellent. The criticism usually cited the price and slow service. For this evening, the price wasn't a major consideration and slow service meant more quiet time together.

It was a mild late-summer evening, which meant parking along Dock Street would be impossible on Saturday night. Locally, the street was called "Ego Canal" because yachtsmen around the Chesapeake liked to dock there for a few hours, showing off. Fortunately, the restaurant offered valet service, which was another benefit.

He kept the top up on his car for the hour-long drive, even though it was ideal top-down weather. Most of the drive was quiet. He still didn't know exactly what he would say tonight.

Near six o'clock, he exited Rt. 301 before crossing the Severn River, taking West Street toward the harbor, directly past the State House, turning downhill on Main Street to the harbor. At the bottom of the street near the water, he jogged left then immediately right onto Dock Street. Driving was very slow with tourists meandered in the tranquil air. The final hundred yards took more than a minute.

The restaurant was the two-story building at the end of the dock, with second-floor glass walls offering an unobstructed view of the harbor with the Chesapeake beyond. A valet opened Laura's door before Hunter was out.

Inside, they were escorted immediately by the hostess to the second floor, to a corner table at the front, over the water, away from the dying sun. It was a perfect romantic setting.

From the reviews, Hunter knew that the synchronization between wine service and dinner orders was a problem for most patrons. When the waiter arrived, he asked for the wine menu, and they would defer ordering dinner. The wine arrived in less than five minutes and the wait staff gave them privacy. They let the Pinot Noir breath for several minutes.

She spoke first. "Hunter, this is beautiful."

He lifted his glass, which she mirrored. "You're the most beautiful part of this evening."

She smiled and looked out the window, offering her hand across to him. He continued. "Laurie, I want this to be a special evening." She squeezed his hand gently and smiled but didn't say anything, she knew he was struggling. "Laurie, you know that I love you, and I want to spend my life with you – forever."

He paused, waiting for her to respond. "Hunter, is this a proposal?"

He smiled and looked away momentarily. "I've thought about this a lot Laurie, and I don't know what I have to offer you."

"Hunter, I've thought about too, a lot recently."

He interrupted. "Laurie, I'm asking you to marry me, but I'm not sure what would be next."

At that point, the waiter returned and took their order. Hunter suggested the crab cakes to her based on reviews, which she ordered. He ordered the prime rib, medium-rare, which also had good reviews. After the waiter left, Hunter continued. "I want to spend my life with you more than anything else, but I don't want to be unfair about it."

She tightened her lips together. "Hunter, I don't know where you're going with this. Isn't it enough just to love each other? I do love you and am saying YES with all my heart."

He looked into her eyes. "Laurie, I can't stay in Washington. The legislative schedule is winding down and I've got maybe two more months here, at most. The state won't support my job here after that, and I don't want to stay anyway."

"So, what will you do?"

He looked down. "I don't know. I'm pretty sure I can get a job with the state with my connections, maybe in law enforcement."

"Look Hunter, I like working for the Federal Government here in Washington, and I like being close to my parents, but I can find something in California, too. There are lots of Government jobs in California. We could live almost anywhere."

He took her hand again and smiled, looking into her eyes. "I thought you'd never leave here?"

"I've thought about this a lot, too, Hunter. I've even talked to my mother about it. Being with the man I love is more important than where I live. I think I just needed to be sitting here with you tonight to be able to finally say it."

She paused then continued. "Now, are you asking me or not?"

He wanted to shout out loud with joy. He leaned forward as far as the table allowed. "Laurie Malone, will you marry me?"

She tilted her head. "Yes."

He kissed her hand and pulled a ring box from his pocket. Several people at tables nearby had sensed the occasion. There was a quiet applause as he slipped the ring onto her finger. They were both smiling and mouthing "I love you."

The rest of the evening was magical. Rather than retrieve his car immediately, Hunter and Laura walked around the dock area and up Main Street, stopping in shops offering unusual treasures to the visiting tourists. Hunter would normally bypass them, but tonight it was about her and their future together. Like all of their relationship so far, there was no rush to set the wedding date. The only timetable facing them was Hunter's return to California after congress recessed. He'd finally found the sponsorship the state needed. Tonight, none of it was important. They had committed to each other, and that's all that mattered.

On the drive back to Northern Virginia, they held hands for an hour not wanting the evening to end. At her apartment, he walked her to her door, and they kissed more passionately that ever. She didn't invite him in, and he didn't question it. Their lives were about to change forever, and both wanted to savor the moment in their own way. They would live together forever. For now, it was enough that she had the ring.

Twenty minutes later, he was feeling light headed with joy when he found a parking space immediately in front of his townhouse apartment. He skipped up the front steps and unlocked the door, entering without looking around. He closed the door and that's when he saw the man sitting with his legs crossed. "Who ..." an unexpected blow to the back of his neck dropped him to his knees. Then massive vice-like arms gripped him from behind and lifted him over the back of an overstuffed chair, facing his intruder.

Hunter's head bent down as lightning bolts rippled from his upper back to his head. It was horribly painful, and he wasn't aware of anything for several seconds. As the pain subsided, he rubbed his neck and looked up. He wasn't dead, so someone wanted to talk.

As his eyes adjusted, he moved his head side to side, trying to loosen the spasm. He saw the man seated before him across the coffee table and someone twice his size sitting, facing him from the side. He looked at the big man, sizing him up then realized he had a gun dwarfed in his massive hand.

The man across spoke. "Welcome home, Mr. Kohl."

Hunter continued rubbing his sore neck, now looking at the smaller man dressed in a business suit. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Who I am is unimportant. What is important is that you pay very close attention to me."

Hunter put his hands on the arm rests of his chair. "Nothing I'd like better, pal. How 'bout coming a little closer."

"Very brave of you, Mr. Hunter, particularly with a gun pointed at you."

Hunter smirked. "It's just a gesture of kindness, asshole. I'd love to show you some hospitality -- my style."

The man raised his hand. "Very brave for a bureaucrat wannabe. But enough small talk. I hope you realize how serious I am being?"

"What do you want?" Hunter's gaze moved in an arc between the two men. At this range, he couldn't dodge a bullet, even if the monster was a bad shot.

"It's very simple, Mr. Kohl. I want your cooperation on Capitol Hill."

Hunter remembered the voice. "You're the prick that kidnapped my cousin."

"Very astute, Mr. Kohl. So you know my capabilities."

Hunter chuckled. "Don't flatter yourself, jerk. It doesn't take much capability to overpower an innocent girl with some well-trained gorillas." Ramon started to rise in anger when Peña signaled him to sit.

Hunter chuckled again. "Why not throw him a banana."

Ramon grinned when he thought about how he would someday kill this macho bastard.

Peña continued. "You see, Mr. Kohl, no one will ever be able to prove I was here, but you will be following my orders from now on."

"Go to hell, runt!"

"Mr. Kohl, you do not need to be rude. Let me assure you that I have had many people say disparaging things to me, but most of them were in the process of dying."

"That doesn't scare me. Give it your best shot. I'm not that easy to kill."

"I don't think you get the whole picture, Mr. Kohl. You see in my business, we include the families in your little network of friends. Remember your cousin. She was just a warm up. I'm not always so easy going."

"What do you want?"

"Alright, let's begin. Tomorrow, you will begin to reverse your effort to change federal drug policies. All those good Congressmen and Senators you've been cultivating need to change their minds. Simple, isn't it?"

Hunter rubbed his neck again. He wanted to say, "Or what?" but he knew the answer. The threat against his family was obvious.

"What do you expect me to do? I can't just go visit the Hill and say it was all a joke. They all know I represent the state and it's not my personal request, it's the state's. The state isn't changing its position."

"I don't expect it to be easy, Mr. Kohl, but you'll need to find a way. And rest assured, Mr. Kohl, I have eyeballs around you that you won't ever see. I'll know if you succeed or fail. I suggest that for the welfare of the Kohl family tree, you succeed."

The shorter man stood, indicating to his henchman that it was time to leave. Hunter didn't expect the second blow, causing him to thrust forward onto the table. He never lost consciousness, but his head felt like it exploded, and his vision was blurred. He rolled onto the floor, starring at the ceiling, unaware they had gone. He was alone.

Moments later, he rolled over and pushed to his feet. He reached into his pocket for his phone and pressed her speed dial number. "Hunter, what's wrong?"

"Keep your door locked, Laurie. I'm coming over."

Without resting, he stumbled through his front door, down the steps and into his car. The drive over was a blur, and he wasn't even sure if he was conscious the whole time, but he made to her place. She was watching from the window and saw him labor up to her door.

"Hunter! What happened?"

He gripped the back of his head as she helped him inside."

"Close the door, Laurie, and lock it."

She helped him sit down and looked at the back of his head which was bleeding. "Who did this to you?"

"The same creep that kidnapped Sue Ann."

"Oh, Hunter, what did he want?"

"Can you get me some Advil, four capsules?"

"Sure." She was only gone minute to get the pills and water. Then she left again for some hydrogen peroxide and gauze. He took the pills while she tended to the cut on his head. She said, "this isn't too bad."

He tried to smile. "My thick skull."

"What happened, Hunter? What did he want?"

"He gave me some instructions and threatened my family."

"Oh, Hunter! What will you do?"

"I don't know, Laurie, but I need to rest for now. I need to think about this, but first I need to call Claire.

Laura brought her mobile phone and went to get an ice pack for Hunter's head while he called Claire. "Claire, I've got some wonderful news and some cautions."

"What's going on, Hunt?"

"Laurie and me are getting married!"

"Hunter, that's wonderful. When?"

"Ah, we haven't set a date yet, I just gave her the ring tonight."

She was apprehensive about what else he would tell her. "Hunt, that's terrific. Give her a kiss for me. Are you two moving back to California like you planned or are you staying in Washington?"

He looked at Laura, "We talked about it, and she's coming with me."

"Gosh, Hunt. You'll need to get a real job now."

He smiled even though his head felt split open. She went on. "So, tell me the bad news."

"Sis, I had a visit with our friend from California. He wants me to come over to the dark side."

He could hear her suck in a deep breath. "Did he threaten you?"

"No, not directly." He knew that would scare her.

"So, he threatened us again."

"Yeah. He's using my family to get to me. That means Sue Ann, you, the kids." He looked at Laura. "And Laurie, too."

"Hunter, I'm calling the police."

"No, don't. He's not stupid enough to leave any proof other than my word. He's a big time donator to every crook in the state. It would be my word against him. He'd barely get questioned."

"What are we going to do, Hunter?"

"I don't know yet. I'll have a plan by the morning. For now, call Sue Ann and have her come stay with you. Then call John Richards and ask him to protect you. It will take a few days for our friend to figure out what I've done, so just let me work it out."

"All right, Hunt. I'll call Suzy now."

After the call, he rested his head back in the chair with the ice at the base of his skull. He had a massive headache that would keep him awake most of the night. Laura didn't try to engage him in conversation and brought him a blanket to rest. She left him alone to sleep there over night and left the bedroom door open if he would be more comfortable in her bed. He didn't move all night.

At five o'clock in the morning, Hunter stood beside her bed and bent to kiss her. She murmured something and rubbed her eyes, "Hunter...it's so early. Why are you dressed?"

"I've got to go, sweetheart. I'm going to California to take care of some things."

She sat partway up. "What do you mean?"

He looked past her, "I've got to go help Claire take some security measures."

"She's got John Richards, Hunt. Why do you need to go?"

"It's just something I have to do, Laurie. I won't be gone too long."

"How long?"

"I don't know, maybe just a couple days, maybe a week."

She was still tired but didn't think he was being completely honest. She also knew he wasn't going to say more. "Have a safe flight and call me tonight. I love you."

"I love you, too, Laurie. Please keep an eye out until I get back.

It was still black when he got to his apartment. There were no lights on, and he was especially cautious entering this time. He would probably never feel completely safe there again. He pulled two large suitcases from his office closet. One hadn't been opened for years, since leaving the Navy. The other had some equipment that he'd used more recently in the Border Patrol. He used the small amount of available space in both to pack minimal clothes for the trip.

He went on line to check flights and was able to book a seat on American Airlines out of Reagan National that left at eight-twenty in the morning. Together, his bags weighed over a hundred pounds. It was barely six o'clock when he left, pulling the two suitcases up the hill to the Metro station. Both trains, the yellow and blue lines, went to National.

At National, he paid the extra baggage fees and checked his luggage. He would not have been allowed to carry either one on the plane, even if small enough. It was too early to call Claire, so he sent her a text message, "Will arrive SMF (Sacramento airport) at two-oh-five today. Will call if I don't see you waiting there. Love, Hunt."

He stopped at a newsstand for more Advil and took four more with a black cup of McDonald's coffee. He was able to get a window seat and used a rolled up shirt for a pillow, sleeping most of the way to Dallas, where he would change flights. He still didn't have a good plan but was working on it.

The plane arrived at Sacramento on time. Claire met him at the usual place at the base of the escalator. They hugged, and he said, "I checked luggage this time."

When she saw his two large bags she commented. "You didn't pack light this time. Are you moving in?"

"Ah, nope. Just some tools of the trade." He regretted the implication immediately.

Claire stopped him and looked up into his eyes. "What trade is that, Hunter?"

"Just some old Navy gear." He tried to walk past her, but she sidestepped, blocking his way.

"Hunter, you can't take this on by yourself. This is a police matter."

"What, Claire? What's a police matter? What can anyone prove?"

"I don't want you hurt, Hunter."

He put down the handles to the bags and placed both hands on her shoulders. "Neither do I, sis. Neither do I."

He loaded the bags into the back of her mini-SUV and let her drive while he dialed his phone. The man answered, "Richards."

"John, it's Hunter."

"Hi, Hunter. Claire said you had another run-in with the voice?"

"Yeah. You might say that. Can you meet me at Claire's this afternoon?"

"Sure. What time."

"As soon as possible."

They agreed to meet in an hour.

Relaxing in the car, he said, "I hope I didn't upset you too much with my call last night."

She glanced at him briefly while driving. "Hunter, you can't scare me any more than I am already. Look what this maniac has done to our family."

"I want this to end, Claire"

"So, do I Hunter, but these are dangerous people. They wouldn't hesitate to kill us all."

He looked at her. "I know what kind of people these are, Claire. I've dealt with bad guys my whole professional life. They're basically bullies – cowards. If you let them push you around, they only push harder."

"Maybe we should drop this whole idea of ending the drug wars."

"Won't work. This guy thinks he's using me to kill the effort in Washington. I'm on the other side now and can't quit."

"How can you stop it, Hunt?"

"Can't, that's the problem. I think the guy is looking for a scapegoat or is just insane. Either way, he's threatening my family if the laws change."

She grimaced. "If you hold him, Hunter, I'll shoot him."

"That's my sis."

Recon

They arrived home a few minutes later and Claire tried to help him with one of his bags, but couldn't move it. He smiled, "I'll take this one in and get the other one."

"Good. You're in the guest room now, but JJ is not happy."

"I can sleep on his floor or on the couch. Sue Ann should get the guest room."

"She's not coming."

"What? It's not safe for her to be in her apartment. She should at least stay with her parents."

Claire followed him into the guest room. "Yeah. I know it, and you know it, but you also know Sue Ann. She's going to do whatever she damn well pleases, no matter what we tell her."

He opened the first bag on the bed pulling out some clothes on hangers, without letting Claire see inside. "What's her problem? She should understand the threat more than anyone."

"Yeah, you'd think so. She's got this secret boyfriend who says he'll protect her."

"When did this happen?"

"I don't know; could have been since yesterday or two years ago. You know her."

He shook his head and was settled in minutes, waiting for John to arrive.

He knocked on the door shortly after Hunter finished unpacking. Claire, John and Hunter all sat in the living room while the children played in their rooms and the back yard.

After pleasantries, John spoke, looking at Hunter. "I hear you had a visit from someone who threatened you?"

Hunter responded, "Yeah. It was the same guy who kidnapped Sue Ann. They all knew they were discussing Luciano Peña but pejorative discussions could damage the legal case the FBI was developing.

John opened his briefcase and removed a manila folder. He laid a large glossy photo down and asked, "Hunter or Claire, have you ever seen this man before?"

Claire shook her head no, but Hunter responded. "That's the man who was in my place yesterday making the threats. He also had a big man, a very big man, with him who rabbit punched me from behind."

John shook his head. "You mean this guy?" He laid another large picture of Ramon Vasquez beside Peña's."

"Hunter didn't even need to look closely. "Yeah. That's the monster."

John continued. "Good, you've just identified Luciano Peña and Ramon Vasquez. You know who Peña is. Vasquez is his primary enforcer and body guard. He's a heartless murderer who enjoys killing with a knife. He is abnormally large, over six eight and spent twelve years in prison building up his body. This is not someone to mess around with."

Hunter looked at Claire then John. "So, you know that he broke into my place and threatened everyone in my family if I didn't kill the drug language."

John asked, "Can you do that?"

"I don't know John. I could stop answering the phone and become invisible, but I can't very well run around destroying the work we've done. The state would fire Claire and me, and we'd never succeed anyway. The Congress will decide soon and my influence on the negative side would be laughable."

"So, what are you going to do?"

Hunter looked at him. "Before I answer, John, is there anything the law is doing about this guy?"

John looked down briefly, "Hunter, we're building a case. The FBI is leading the investigation. We have some circumstantial information, but not enough to go after Peña. Sue Ann couldn't supply anything. We got some forensic stuff from Jose's car, but not enough alone. You've had the only face-to-face with him, but it wouldn't stand up unless someone else could verify it. At most, he's guilty of breaking and entering, and my guess is that he's had you under surveillance and used your hidden key to open the door. So it boils down to simple trespassing. He wouldn't even get a slap on the wrist."

Claire asked, "So, what should we do, John?"

He sat back and looked at her. "Claire, we need to keep you safe as possible. I can submit a request to the state to have a protective detail assigned, but they won't protect you and Sue Ann and the kids all the time -- too much manpower. To do it at all, you'd all need to stay in one place all the time.

"I know you can't do that. So about all I can offer is to move in myself when not at work and act as night watchman. Sue Ann would need to find her own way."

Hunter asked, "John, what does the FBI need to get this whack-job off the street for good?"

John smiled. "Hunter, we need to catch him in the act of a class one felony. He's been building his empire for twenty years and hasn't even gotten a speeding ticket."

Hunter persisted. "What do you need to convict him?"

John and the other two spent another half hour talking about the kind of evidence or circumstance that would put Peña away for good. Hunter grew more agitated at the roadblocks to justice, and John became wary that Hunter would do something as a vigilante or freelancer. As dialogue became intense, John was concerned, "Hunter, I advise you not to do anything outside the law. It's not only for your safety. Peña is a major flight risk – literally. He keeps a private jet ready at SFO (San Francisco International Airport) all the time and has a fortune in offshore accounts. If he gets spooked, we lose him for good.

Hunter hadn't been gone from Washington long enough for Claire to be in immediate danger. John would be a frequent evening guest for a while and could sleep over if Hunter wasn't around. Hunter only had a few days to work before his absence was an issue. He frequently went back to California to work with the state staff, so his being with Claire for a few days shouldn't alarm Peña, but he'd have to work fast.

Enterprise Rental Car drove a plain-looking Ford Fusion to Claire's house around four o'clock in the afternoon, and Hunter rolled one of his large bags to the front door. Claire asked, "Are you going somewhere?"

He glanced at her momentarily then opened the door. "I've got to go out for a while. I may be gone until early morning, so keep everything locked. I took the extra key."

Before Claire could inquire further, he closed the door behind him. She had no idea what he planned but worried about her brother. She knew he'd done dangerous things before, but never against someone like Peña. She thought about calling John but didn't know what she would say.

Hunter was on his way to San Jose. He needed to check on Sue Ann, and then do some reconnoitering around Peña's boats and office. One thing John suggested that would bring the drug boss down would be to catch him with a large drug shipment. The FBI was sure that his boats were involved somehow, but they were never able to catch him, even after searching them. Peña was doing something unconventional, but they didn't know what it was. Hunter wasn't restricted by messy legalities like search warrants. He wanted to know how it was done to help snare Peña. He also wanted to know where he lived and all about his family

Two hours later, he merged onto Highway 101 from I-880, heading north less than a mile to his exit in San Jose. Sue Ann might be with her parents, but if not, he was going to do some convincing to get her to stay with Claire. He'd only been to her apartment once before and was driving from memory. The area near NASA Ames is congested with apartments and most looked the same to him. He thought he was at the right complex and remembered that her building wing was closest to the entrance. He drove around a couple times looking for anything familiar then parked in a lot near the one he remembered.

He called Claire. She recognized his number. "Hi, Hunter. You gonna tell me what you're up to?"

"We'll talk when I get back, sis. Right now, I need Sue Ann's address."

"Checking up on her?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, hold on, and I'll get it."

Before she came back on line a black limousine pulled up near the building.

Claire came back on line. "Okay, Hunt. You want to copy this down?"

"I'll call you back, sis." He hung up.

The car had blackened windows, and it was impossible to see even a silhouette inside at dusk. The car was curiously out of place, unless someone was going on a special date. But given the proximity to Sue Ann's place, at least the location he remembered, he watched with curiosity. He was a couple rows from the building in a dark space under trees. The passenger door of the limo swung opened, and the big man who sucker-punched him in Washington walked back to the rear passenger door, opening it just as she emerged from her ground-floor apartment. Sue Ann was dressed elegantly and slid immediately into the rear of the car. When Ramon Vasquez returned to the front seat, the limo began turning in a wide arc that passed behind the first row of parked cars, passing in front of Hunter's row. He ducked as the limo sped past. What's going on?

The limo took the nearby ramp onto 101 North with Hunter trailing a few car lengths behind. The freeway was six lanes wide at this point, and he was able to drive several lanes over, alternating his perspective and distance, but never letting the limo out of sight. If she was being kidnapped again, there wasn't any struggle. They were driving toward San Francisco.

The limo drove forty miles to the airport. Hunter eased over to the right lane and followed through the signal at the bottom of the ramp leading directly to the airport frontage road. Without freeway traffic to conceal him, Hunter kept a long distance behind the limo and didn't turn on his headlights even though the sky was slate grey. When the limo stopped, Hunter pulled to the side of the road obscured by a huge eucalyptus tree and watched Ramon open a key lock to a gate onto the airport. This part of the field was miles away from the commercial terminals with dozens of hangars with company logos built side by side. Ramon locked the gate behind them.

Hunter ran to the back of the car and reached into his bag for binoculars. He then climbed onto the roof of the car for a clearer view. Even though it was dark, the airfield was lighted around the hangars and he watched the limousine drive through one of the huge open doors. Inside the well-lit hangar, Ramon opened her door again and she exited like an heiress. The rear door on the other side opened and there he was. Judging from his stature, Hunter was sure that Luciano Peña was escorting Sue Ann up the steps into a smart-looking business jet. At the top of the stairs, she turned and kissed him, and he caressed her butt before disappearing inside. Ramon did not follow, as the pilot raised the stairway and closed the door. Moments later, the plane taxied out and moved rapidly down the taxiway toward the active runways, disappearing from his line of sight. Hunter couldn't believe what he had witnessed.

Traitor

Sue Ann Kohl had met Luciano Peña at a dedication ceremony at the Stedman Academy in San Francisco where she taught. Luca Peña and his wife were being honored for their contribution of a new library for the school. The mayor came to give a speech and several people she'd seen on the news were present. Most of the faculty attended and there were several news stations taping the event and interviewing people. In the social setting that followed, Luca and the Mayor circulated together, obviously close friends. Sue Ann was enthralled when they stopped to talk with her and Luca kissed her hand. She was young and single and paid no attention to the fact that Mrs. Peña had departed. Mr. Peña said, "Ms. Kohl, someone as lovely as you would make an excellent ambassador for education at the Mayor's fundraiser next week. May I invite you?"

She was flattered, not knowing what to say. "Well, gee, Mr. Peña, I don't know what say. I don't have any money to contribute."

"Please, call me Luca. You don't need to bring anything more than your charm. I will be hosting the event, and the donations have already been made. You might enjoy meeting some of the people that will be there."

"Well, then, in that case, Luca, sure. Where will it be held and when?"

"It is next Friday night. I will be pleased to send my car and driver to pick you up."

She was overwhelmed. "Luca, I am deeply honored and would love to represent the school."

"Delightful, my dear. Actually, you will attend as my personal guest. I'm sure the academy has rules against endorsements, so you will just be representing you."

She smiled broadly. "In that case, I can really be myself."

"Exactly."

She gave him her address and phone number, and he gave her his private mobile number if she needed to contact him for some reason.

Luca's "car" was a twenty-foot-long Lincoln limousine. She had never travelled in luxury before and was soon speeding down the highway in a long black limousine, alone in the back seat. She felt underdressed despite wearing her best evening gown. The fundraiser was at the Mayor's private residence in Pacific Heights, near Luca's home. When the limo arrived, there were several cars in a queue on the street, and Sue Ann could count at least a dozen sets of taillights ahead. The street was closed with police admitting one car at a time to deposit guests. Luca's driver steered into the left lane, bypassing all the other cars and was signaled into the circular drive in front of the house where a few other luxury cars were parked. The cars on the street were directed into a vacant lot beside the Mayor's property.

Before becoming Mayor, Lew Cornish founded a software company in college and made a fortune selling it before his twenty-fifth birthday. He was one of San Francisco's most well-publicized bachelors and philanthropists. He ran for Mayor at the age of thirty-five because he wanted to make fundamental changes in city government. With personal wealth, he was widely considered incorruptible, which played well with the electorate. He had been re-elected for a second four-year term and was now running for his third term. The elaborate five-thousand dollar-a-plate gala fund raiser was mostly for show and mingling with the elitists around Silicon Valley. The Mayor could afford to pay his own minimal campaign expenses and worked for only a one dollar salary, further expanding his popularity.

Sue Ann was in awe of the mansion as they drove inside the compound. Before she could move when the car stopped, the door was opened by a young man in a tuxedo, "Welcome, Ms. Kohl."

She was speechless and just smiled as he offered his hand. She accepted and was further shocked when he offered his arm to escort her inside. She was part of a procession of mink coats and jewels that she could only dream about. Inside, Luca broke away from a discussion with someone she recognized from media coverage and came to her with his hand extended, thanking the escort. He gently pulled her closer and kissed her cheek, a courtesy she had not experienced before. "Sue Ann, it's wonderful that you came. Come, let me introduce you to some people, then we'll find the guest of honor."

The whole evening was a blur. When it was over, it was as though she had lived a Cinderella evening. The guests all started leaving around ten o'clock. She met many noted celebrities over the evening and was never far from Luca's side. He felt responsible, as the chaperone, for the lovely young single girl amongst all the socialites of the city. His wife did not attend.

When it was over, Luca accompanied her home and walked her to her door. Her head was spinning from the surreal experience. He was beside her when she stuck the key in the door lock. "I hope you had a wonderful time tonight, my dear."

She turned to face him, "Oh, Luca. It was incredible. I can't imagine anything so special. I'll remember tonight for the rest of my life."

He surprised her by kissing her. "Let's plan on more. Shall we?"

Without thinking about his marital status, she said, "I'd like that."

He departed, leaving her feeling like the Princess of California.

The next Friday morning, Luca called her, leaving a message on her mobile phone while she was teaching. "Hi, it's Luca. I'm taking the jet up to Tahoe tonight for dinner, and we could see a show if you're up to it? Call me back."

She checked messages on her cellphone in the teacher's lounge at noon -- He has his own Jet! She could hardly believe it. She called him and accepted immediately. "Good, I'll send my car at five-thirty. We'll have dinner at seven and I'll arrange a show. We should have you back home around one or two."

"Oh, Luca. You're unbelievable."

Their liaisons continued to gain intensity over the next several months, with occasional longer "business trips" together when her teaching schedule permitted. Sue Ann never thought much about Luca's family life, simply because it didn't seem to interfere with his desires toward her and his lavishness. She was enthralled by his generosity. After their first weekend together in Las Vegas, he gave her a new BMW X3 as a gift. There were other gifts of jewelry, and he frequently let her use his credit cards for clothing and luggage when they travelled.

Throughout his whirlwind advances toward her, she never questioned his source of income. She knew he came from family wealth developed over generations and owned the largest fishing fleet on the west coast, but she had no idea if this was the only source of income. She didn't care. She was young, and her life went on hold regarding any other possible entanglements. Deep down, she knew that Luca would never marry her; he loved his family. His wife seemed to tolerate his extramarital flings so long as he maintained her lifestyle. She didn't raise questions and just savored the present.

After several months, Luca had suggested that Sue Ann spend some time with Lew Cornish as his escort to various public functions, which always ended in intimate overnight stays. The free-wheeling excesses of this rarified society were simply mesmerizing to her. She knew it was only temporary and just wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. Someday, when she was beyond her prime, she would be able to brag about her affair with the mayor and flying around with her boyfriend in his private Jet, her fancy cars and other gifts. She was living the life of a celebrity that no one she knew could imagine.

After a few months, the relationship shifted when Peña became more serious and demanding. She found out that not all of his acquaintances and business partners were the pillars she'd met. She began to understand why Peña traveled with Ramon. She was certain that Peña was a legitimate businessman, but he had dealings with others that were probably on the fringe. She was conflicted when he began inquiring about her family, particularly about her cousin Claire. He explained that "some of his friends" in the philanthropic community and mayoral contributors were hopeful that the state would not rush to liberalize drugs. They saw a backlash effect that she couldn't fully comprehend. She started finding out details about Claire's progress for Peña, not understanding the gravity of his interest. It was really just some harmless insight that she could share with him as a kind of repayment for his kindnesses.

What she did not know is that the private investigator that Peña used had identified Sue Ann as a "target" for influence when they first investigated José Rivera's role in the state's plan. Meeting her at the school function had not been an accident. José had been the champion of reform for the state, the main driver behind the initiative. His wife Claire was his co-worker, but of unknown influence. After eliminating José didn't stop the initiative, Peña needed to go after Claire, but she wasn't alone. Claire had split Jose's role with another man, coincidentally, her Border Patrol brother, Hunter. After disposing of José and targeting Sue Ann, Peña had cultivated the relationship with her to the point that he didn't need to risk another visible disappearance. He didn't want to kill Claire Rivera and draw attention back to the drug trade – his trade. He had always been careful to avoid even circumstantial attention to his hidden business. He wanted to scare the family and kill the initiative in Washington as reported by Senator Jenson. His investigators confirmed that Sue Ann was cherished in the family like a younger sister. They would not risk losing her over the drug issue. He often reflected on how skillfully he had manipulated her, usually when he was taking his pleasure with her. It couldn't be any sweeter. Pretty women were so easily manipulated.

Hunter was stunned when he saw her with Peña. He drove back to her apartment, unsure what to do next. He needed an explanation. The plane arrived back in San Francisco after midnight. The happy couple had celebrated the evening passionately on the fold-out bed in the plane during the return flight. Peña kissed Sue Ann goodnight in the hangar, then sent her home with his driver. Ramon used the auxiliary car to drive Peña home. She slept in the back of the limo during the ride. The combination of long day, robust dining, heavy drinking and exuberant sex had exhausted her. She wasn't even aware when the car stopping and the driver opened the door. He gently nudged her awake. He didn't want to be punished by Ramon for irritating the boss's girlfriend. He guided her to the door, careful not to touch her in any offensive way and waited until she was able to unlock it. She said nothing as she closed it behind her.

Inside, she leaned against the door and removed her heels. She could barely stand with the cumulative effects of the evening. Before moving, she turned on the entry light and walked past the living room. She didn't even see him sitting on the couch. "Hi, Sue Ann."

She yelped, "Hunter. What! What are you doing here?"

He stood slowly, "Oh, I just thought I'd see what my little cousin does for amusement."

She looked bewildered. "Did you come all the way from Washington to snoop on me?"

"That's not why I came, cous'."

She moved closer and sat in a chair opposite him, brushing hair away from her face. "I don't get it?"

"You want to tell me how long you've been with Luciano Peña?"

"How do you know about Luca?"

"Luca? He's Luca?"

"Look, Hunter, he's a very important business man in San Francisco. I'm just lucky enough to be his girlfriend."

He looked at her for several moments before speaking. "You're his girlfriend? After he nearly drowned you?"

She had an astonished look on her face. "What do you mean, Hunt?"

He stood rigidly. "You know, Sue Ann, I would have died for you. I would have killed to save you. How could you do this to the family?"

She acted dismissively. "I don't know what you mean!"

He sat and looked at her calmly. "Sue Ann, I don't think you intentionally got involved in the middle of this. I hope not."

"Hunter! I want to know what you are accusing me of. Tell me!"

"How about a fake kidnapping?"

"No. No, it was real. What are you saying?"

"I'm saying your drug lord boyfriend got you to fake the kidnapping to throw me off track."

She looked serious. "How can you say such a thing, Luca would never. He wasn't involved, it was some drug criminals!"

Hunter cut her off. "Cut it! The whole kidnapping thing was to get me to do his bidding."

"Hunter, I'm not following you. Luca is a fine, decent, business man."

"Tell me you didn't stage the whole kidnapping."

She looked away. "He has some friends, they needed his help. He only asked me to be part of a little white lie."

He could tell she was in denial. Worse, she was in danger by even associating with Peña, the mobster.

She had a pleading look, sitting in a stupor across from him. He couldn't risk telling her about Peña killing José. Her reaction could put her in mortal danger. She was starting to whimper. "Look, Sue Ann. I know you would never deliberately try to hurt anyone, but you need to understand that you're dealing with one of the most dangerous people in the state, maybe the country.

She shook her head. "You don't know what you're talking about, Hunter. Luca is wonderful. He's important to the city. He's a friend of the Mayor for God's sake."

He looked down momentarily in bewilderment. Could she really be this stupid? "He's also the largest drug smuggler on the west coast."

"You're crazy. He's a successful businessman."

"You mean the fishing boats?"

She just stared at him, so he continued. "Sue Ann, he brings drugs up from Central America in those ships."

She had tears in her eyes. "That's impossible, Hunter. The Coast Guard searches all the ships. He would never be involved in something like that. He doesn't need to be."

"Sue Ann, I want you to think about this for a few days. For your safety, you need to act perfectly normal and not let Peña know that I talked to you. But most of all, you can't tell him anything more about the family. If he asks, I want you to tell me."

She just stared blankly, so he admonished more firmly, "Do you understand me?"

"What am I going to do, Hunter?"

"You've got to play along with this for a few days, Sue Ann. I'll try to work something out."

He walked past her, out the front door without looking at her or speaking. He didn't know whether to hug her in sympathy, or slug her. He did neither.

The drive to San Francisco Bay was filled with emotion. What if Sue Ann was a knowing partner in Peña's drug empire? Could she really throw away her family for whatever Peña gave her? Talking to her hadn't cleared up anything and might have blown the whole thing up in their faces. Peña might be on his way out of the country right now! It was probably just sleep deprivation, but he felt unsure about what to do next with her. His head ached and he wasn't close to being done. There was a long night ahead.

Covert Information

It was almost four o'clock in the morning when he arrived at the Embarcadero on the waterfront. He wouldn't be able to do everything he planned. There wasn't enough time. He would return. His main mission for the night was to check the ships. There had to be some clue about how Peña eluded capture. He had an idea, but needed to do some under water work to prove it.

It was impossible to avoid attention of the police or other security people along the wharf until he got near the commercial fishing docks where the boats were preparing to ship out before dawn. He knew the basic layout of the docks from Google Earth aerial shots and the relative location of Peña's three ships according to their assigned berths. Since the ships were different lengths, they had specific locations along the docks to fit with other ships. He drove down the dock, weaving around pallets of supplies that were being winched aboard some of the boats. Near the end of the dock, in the dark shadows near the Oakland Bay Bridge He saw Sea Fury in her berth. Ocean Queen was next to it. Ocean Wanderer was in the last slip at the end of the wharf. Both the Fury and Wanderer had lighted decks. All the commercial boats tied up along the dock had lights to discourage trespassers. These ships didn't contain much that common burglars could carry away, but the electronics aboard were worth thousands of dollars. On most of the ships, there was at least one crewman sleeping aboard as a security measure, unless the whole crew was preparing to get underway. He assumed both of Peña's ships had guards. John Richards' words played over and over in his mind. Peña must not get spooked. He already had concerns about Sue Ann, and he needed to avoid causing more damage exploring the ships

Minutes later, he had parked beside a darkened warehouse, leading out into the bay, a quarter mile south of Peña's boats. He was nearly invisible entering the water with every inch of his body and equipment colored black. He maintained his equipment in perfect working order since leaving the Navy SEALS. The outgoing surge took hold of him on the surface as he drifted within a hundred feet of Ocean Wanderer before silently lowering his head below the surface, exhaling to drop, rather than doing a classic jackknife to sink. SEALS are trained for harbor recon at night without creating even a ripple in the water. Anyone who knew where to look would never have seen Hunter approach, then submerge. Once sufficiently deep, he used his depth gauge to level at fifteen feet. There was no light in the water, so he could only use his phosphorescent gauges to navigate. He had timed the current speed, and used his watch to estimate when he was opposite the Wanderer. He slowly surfaced to verify his location and found himself directly behind the ship. He submerged again and used his swim fins to neutralize the current drift while moving under the hull. He carried glow sticks for illumination, but would not risk being seen from the surface. His CCUBA" (Closed Circuit Underwater Breathing Apparatus) gear concealed all of his exhausted air, replenishing it with oxygen. There was no evidence of his presence from the surface.

Part of SEAL training involves underwater explosive placement on ship hulls. During training, the men learn general ship construction and points of most vulnerability. Hunter understood the basic construction of the fishing vessels and was looking for a specific anomaly. He passed under the rudder, between the twin screws (propellers) feeling his way along the center of the bottom of the hull, the keel. Wanderer's hull was amazingly clean and free of barnacles. He was able to feel the welded seems holding the steel plates together. The engine room was near the aft end of the ship, near the screws. As he moved farther forward, he was under the hold area of the ship. That's where he felt it. There was an un-welded seam between metal plates. He used his full arm reach to gauge the length of the seam, which was about twelve feet long, two full body extensions. At the front end of the seam, he found a corner with the seam continuing perpendicular to the keel, about six feet long, to another corner and seam parallel to the keel seam. Feeling along this seam, he found a heavy welded hinge, about a foot long. There were three hinges along this seam. At the corner again, he followed the seam back toward the keel, to the point where he began. The hull had a clam door twelve feet long and six wide on the right (starboard) side. When he investigated further, the center seam along the keel was also the bottom of an identical door on the port side of the ship. This meant a twelve-foot square clamshell opening in the bottom of the ship. He had suspected it, and now had proof.

He swam underwater past the stern of Wanderer and cautiously surfaced, facing the ship. He repeated the survey of the Ocean Queen, and did not find the opening. Sea Fury was large enough for the same hull modification as Ocean Wanderer.

He had one more task, which was the most dangerous of all. He needed to climb aboard deck on the Queen. Anyone protecting the ship would be watching the dock side. At least that was his theory. At the stern, in the dark, he was able to thrust upward with his fins enough to grab a piece of the net, piled over the transom (back of the ship). He pulled himself upward enough to release his weight belt and hook it on the net. He did the same with the rest of his swim gear. His black wetsuit made it very difficult to see him as he crawled over the net, piled eight feet high. He still wore a combination bullet-proof utility vest. It took almost ten minutes to get accurate measurements and geometry of the ship's stern. Then, he disappeared into the blackened bay after finishing his reconnaissance.

Report

Claire was cleaning up after weekend breakfast with the kids when Hunter drove into the driveway. She opened the door for him, and he looked bone-tired. "Hi, sis. Anything going on?"

She looked at him strangely. "No, Hunt. Where have you been all night?"

He walked past her toward the bedroom. "Don't ask." He was relieved.

"Did you see Sue Ann?"

He stopped at the guestroom door and turned, facing her. "No, she wasn't home."

"Okay..." She decided not to pursue it further. He was in no mood to talk.

He started to step into the guest room then stopped. "Call John Richards and see if he can come by at one o'clock. I wanna get some sleep."

Before she could say anything else, he closed the door.

Four hours later, he still hadn't gotten restful sleep. Thoughts about Sue Ann kept colliding with other facts. He worried about Laura alone in Washington. He'd been warned and decided to go tactical presuming that Peña wouldn't expect him back in California immediately. Now, he didn't have a good plan. It had always been easier in the military and the Border Patrol because he had a specific missions and adversaries that were identifiable and predictable. This was an intangible war. The top adversary was known, and the odds favored him a thousand fold. The Kohl side of the equation had Hunter and the law if they could ever act on anything. In the meantime, Peña had the freedom to act, seemingly at will. He was tossing in the bed when Claire knocked on the door. "Hunter, John's here."

A few moments later, Hunter appeared unshaven and uncombed wearing jeans and a Redskins tee-shirt. The scent of fresh brewed coffee was appreciated. John was standing in the kitchen with Claire enjoying a cup when Hunter stumbled in. "Hey, John."

"Hey, yourself, Hunter. You look like you're twelve hours out of sync with the clock."

He just shook his head. "At least."

Claire handed him a cup of black full-roast. "You wanna sit on the patio?"

Hunter nodded his head again. It would be best to talk outside earshot if the kids happened to be around the house.

It was a cool-ish sunny day in the Sierra foothills, one of those days that should be appreciated as winter approaches. John was dressed in dockers and a plaid flannel shirt, looking like he had been planning to do something other than yard work over the weekend. Hunter began, "John, I'm sorry to interrupt your weekend. I've got some information that could help you a lot, putting Peña away."

"It's okay, Hunter. I sometimes go to see my daughter at college, but this is important, and I can call her tomorrow. There's only so much face time she'll tolerate between allowance checks."

They all smiled. Hunter nodded and said, "I know how Peña moves his drugs."

John had a small pad that always seems to appear when a detective is present. "Go ahead, Hunter."

"He has twelve-foot trap doors cut in the bottom of his ship's hulls. I confirmed it on Ocean Wanderer. Sea Fury is gone right now, but she's big enough to have the same hull mods."

"What about his other boat, Ocean Queen?"

"She's too small. The hull is original. I can sketch the location of the openings pretty accurately. They're right under the ship's freezer tanks."

John was righting notes. "Dare I ask how you know this?"

"Let's just say I took a midnight swim last night and bumped into a couple hulls."

Claire protested. "Hunt, are you crazy. They could kill you if they knew you found this."

"I'm pretty good in the water, sis. Besides, something has to be done to put these guys away."

John nodded his head. "Yeah, this is really hot stuff, Hunter. I'll get a hold of the FBI right away. Maybe we've got enough for a search warrant now. Anything else?"

Hunter looked quickly at Claire then back at John. "I've got all the stern rail dimensions of Ocean Queen. If they match the crease marks under Jose's car that should prove Peña killed him."

John looked reticent. "Hunter, this is more difficult. I'm not sure the DA will risk a warrant on the boat if the defense can argue that it was prompted by illegal trespassing. I assume you weren't invited aboard?"

Hunter rubbed his temples. "Look, John, what's it gonna take to get someone aboard that boat legally and get the evidence to cook this guy? Can't you just say you got some close-up drone footage?"

"It's not that straightforward, Hunter. Even if we could get the dimensions admitted, I'm not sure it would prove anything conclusively and would probably be a signal for Peña to boogey out of here. I mean, the guy's not stupid enough to have been on the boat when the car was dumped...sorry, Claire."

Hunter was frustrated. "Look, I don't want to be the only one with this information, so I'm giving it to you, and you and the FBI can use it any way you want."

John wanted to be encouraging. "Look, Hunter, the ship hull doors are key, but it would still be best to catch him in the act."

Hunter was tired and irritable. "Okay, John. I don't know how we'll do it, but I'll think of something."

John leaned closer, glancing at hunter, then Claire, and then back at Hunter. "Look, Hunter. You've got to stay out of this. You're interfering with a federal investigation, which is a crime. I'm only telling you this as a friend. You could also get killed or cause Peña to bolt out of here. If either happens, it would be a tragedy. I want you to go back to Washington and let us handle it."

Hunter looked at his clenched hands. "John, I've just given you the best intel you've had yet. I'm not giving up on this. Without me freelancing a little, you're not getting anywhere."

"Hunter, I've said my piece." John looked at Claire. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him, Claire." Then he stood to leave. She pursed her lips and didn't say anything, walking Richards to the front door.

Claire was returning back to the patio when the phone rang. Hunter was too tired and upset to listen to her side of the conversation from the kitchen. It was a short call, and she returned to be with Hunter. "Sue Ann is coming up tomorrow. She wants to talk to you."

He exhaled, "Oh, Great."

Tracker

Navy SEALS have a long tradition as unconventional warriors. They train with Army and Marine Special Forces to fight alone in small units or as individuals in hostile locations. SEALs specialize further in maritime incursions, attacking from the land or water, or often underwater. They speak a language that only SpecOps people understand, and remain close-knit for life. They never stop being Navy SEALS.

Hunter made a call to Naval Special Warfare Command (NSWC), Coronado, in San Diego. "Let me talk to Commander Hollis."

After some interrogation by the Petty Officer answering the phone, there was a brief pause. "Hollis." Each SEAL Team is commanded by a Navy Commander (O-5) who has a number of SEAL platoons and equipment under his command.

"Jim. It's Hunter Kohl."

"Hunter! How's it going lieutenant? You still with the Border Patrol? Pity the poor Mexicans." Hunter had been a platoon leader under Hollis who was a Lieutenant Commander when Hunter left the teams.

"Jim, I'm leading a soft life. I work for the state now. I'm kind of a lobbyist in DC."

"Are you kidding me? You've got the social graces of a whale. How did that happen? I thought you wanted to go fight the drug war single-handed."

"Well, in a way, I am, only it's with my mouth instead of a gun."

"Amazing, Hunter. You ever get to San Diego?"

Hunter chuckled then retorted. "Are you ever in San Diego?"

"Good point. You caught me in one of our rare "training" periods."

Hunter smiled to himself. "Good. I've got a very special training request I'd like to make."

"You name it, Hunter. As long as it's legal, or we won't get caught, I'm in."

Hunter said, "I don't know if it's legal or not, but do you still have some ship trackers?" One of the missions of the SEALS is to enter harbors undetected and attach transponders to the hulls of certain ships to monitor their movements."

"Yeah. We can do that."

"Good. How'd you like to send three units north to SF Bay? I want to track some druggies."

"Is this for national defense?"

"It's helping fight the War on Drugs."

"Close enough. When do you need 'em?"

"I need three ASAP."

"Okay. Can you be at Travis AFB tonight after oh-dark-thirty? I'll check with North Island and have one of my guys come up. He'll bring his gear, also."

"That's great, Jim. Just let me know when to be there. I'm about an hour away in the off hours."

The call ended, and Hunter went back to sleep, he was going "tactical" again and loved it. He was finally doing something tangible. If the feds need to catch Peña in the act, Hunter would lead them to him. He worried about Sue Ann, but there wasn't anything he could do for her at the moment.

He slept for three hours before his phone beeped with a text message, telling him to be at Travis at OH-DARK-THIRTY (00:30AM). His watch said nine o'clock at night, and he decided to shower and eat something before driving back to the Bay Area.

The traffic was light as he meandered off I-80 at the Vacaville exit, following the signs to Travis AFB in Fairfield. At the gate, they had his information, and he was directed to the transit terminal to meet the Navy flight. As part of the Military Airlift Command (MAC), Travis is a busy airport around the clock. When Hunter arrived at the terminal, three planes were in the process of arriving or departing. One of them was a Navy C130 Hercules used for parachute drops. It's coloring and pale gray markings distinguished it from the USAF aircraft.

The big plane taxied with two of its four turboprop engines, until stopping far to the right of other aircraft. The loading ramp was lowered in the rear and a lone sailor in Camo Battle Dress walked down with a duffle bag over his shoulder and carrying an equipment case in his other hand. Hunter went out to meet him and help with his gear. Petty Officer First Class Calib Leeks introduced himself. "Hello, sir, it's good to meet you. Commander Hollis told me some stuff about you. I was still in boot camp when you were with the team."

Hunter smiled and took the Pelican Case, "Good to meet you, Leeks. You good for a swim tonight?"

"Yes, sir! Sure beats hanging around the ready room waiting for the phone to ring."

Military life is often solitary. These elite fighters spend endless hours training and waiting for assignment -- always waiting. Sometimes, weeks go by without a mission. Boredom is a major problem and why so many leave the service after their first enlistment is over. They crave action, but ninety percent of their time is waiting, followed by short intense missions, then back to waiting. Hunter understood why Leeks was thrilled to be doing something, anything, to break the monotony. Covert night ops in harbors were a pure adrenalin rush.

They reached the Embarcadero district around two o'clock, parking in a lot near Fisherman's Wharf where Hunter diagramed the berthing layout for Leeks. They discussed the best location to place the transponders under the hull to avoid being seen from the surface, or near the clamshell doors, where divers might work. Hunter checked the tide table, and they discussed the best location to enter the water undetected and use the current to carry them under the Bay Bridge to the vessels, as Hunter had done the night before. Once the op began, there would be no voice communications. They would need to be fully rehearsed and act independently, then escape unseen in the dark. This was SEAL work at its basic best.

Thirty minutes later, on a rocky edge of the Bay, east of the bridge, they entered the frigid water, which was completely black in the moonless night. It was exhilarating. Cold water in their suits was the first tangible sign that the op was beginning. Their underwater equipment was weighted to be slightly negative buoyancy, so that they could submerge easily when necessary. At the beginning of the op, they kept only their heads slightly above water, breathing surface air. If anyone could have seen them in the water, they would look like two harbor seals, submerged except for their black heads. They pushed the transponders ahead of them in small buoyancy bags that allowed enough water to enter that the unit would almost sink, offering the least resistance to the swimmer.

The approach took thirty minutes from a mile away. Both men stayed about arms-length apart, not to lose sight of each other. The swim out was effortless with the receding tide doing most of the work. The swim back would be against the current, requiring all their strength to counteract four mile-per-hour outbound water.

At the first hull, Leeks disappeared below the surface and Hunter continued another hundred feet to Ocean Queen. He exhaled and sank two feet before using his fins, turning toward the ship. He watched his depth gauge. At four meters, he swam vigorously for thirty seconds on course one-eight-zero then rose carefully, feeling for the bottom of the hull, without being able to see it. Within seconds, his neoprene glove touched metal. Using his hands, he pushed left, guessing that the centerline was that direction and found the keel. He inverted and swam along the keel toward the stern of the ship until it began curving upward, several feet ahead of the rudder.

He pulled the first transponder from the bag and placed it against the bottom of the hull, next to the keel. Strong magnets along with suction cups held the unit in place. From experience, he removed a tab by feel, allowing sea water to enter the fuel-cell port. He then repeated the process under Fury berthed beside Queen. When finished with the second transponder, he descended a few feet and swam for twenty seconds at three-six-zero degrees, back out into the channel. He surfaced silently and swam against the current, using a special butterfly stroke, without creating any surface disturbance. It was the most basic skill learned and practiced every day by the SEALS. Their most powerful weapon in hostile water was stealth. It took about two minutes to reach the stern of Ocean Wanderer, where Leeks was waiting. The two began the long strenuous swim back to the launch point, against the current. They remained completely undetectable.

Once past the Bay Bridge, they slid onto the rocks and moved silently in the dark back to Hunter's car. They stripped gear and redressed beside the abandoned warehouse, and were driving away minutes later. Hunter said, "How did it go?"

"No prob, L-T. Everything went as planned."

Hunter smiled. "Look, I'd buy you a beer, but the bars are all closed at two o'clock."

"No problem, sir. If you'll get me back to base, I'll get my ride back home."

Half an hour later, they were in Fairfield, California, nearing the Travis terminal. Hunter extended his hand, "Leeks, it was a great pleasure. I'll touch base with Hollis and give a report."

"Thank you, sir. The transponders should be at power by now. As soon as we get positive position lock, we'll start streaming position information to you. You gotta work out a private IP address with the Commander."

"Will do, Leeks, and thanks."

Hunter was back in bed at Claire's by five in the morning after returning the car.

Conspiracy

Hunter went to the bathroom for more Advil before returning to the guest room to sleep, waiting for his cousin to arrive. He had no idea what more to say to her and really didn't want a scene in front of Claire and the kids. Instead of sleeping, he called Laura. "Hi, babe. I just pulled an all-nighter and wanted to hear your voice."

"What's going on, Hunter? You sound depressed."

He sat on the bed with his forehead resting in his hand, rubbing his temples. "Actually, I had a good first day. I learned a lot. I guess I just want this guy Peña out of our lives. The wheels of justice are moving too slowly."

"He's a mobster, Hunter, a Killer; just stay away from him and be safe."

He exhaled. "Laurie, I don't know how to do that. He's crushing me in a vice and threatening my family." He didn't say she was in danger, but they both knew it.

They talked for a few more minutes then Hunter lay on the bed and closed his eyes. He didn't know how long he slept before muffled voices began registering. He felt sluggish, and dreaded awakening Moments later, he walked into Claire's living room where she and Sue Ann were talking about unrelated family matters.

Claire spoke first, "Did you get some sleep?"

Hunter ran his hand though his hair, "Yeah. I feel pretty good." He avoided making eye contact with Sue Ann, which alerted Claire.

Sue Ann was silent while Hunter sat with them, finally looking at her. "Well, fancy seeing you again."

Sue Ann looked down as Claire spoke. "What's going on here?"

Hunter looked at Sue Ann, "You want to tell her, or should I?"

Sue Ann sat up straighter and glanced at him before addressing Claire. "He's right to be mad at me, Claire. I've been a bad girl."

Claire looked at her, but didn't speak as Sue Ann continued. Hunter sat back and looked elsewhere. "The short of it is that I've been dating Luciano Peña for almost a year."

Claire gasp, putting her hand to her mouth.

Sue Ann went on. "I didn't know who he was. I should have done more homework, but, I don't know, maybe he just swept me off my feet. Headline\--Poor school teacher romanced by millionaire playboy and his friends. I didn't look deeply." She started to cry, but continued. "At...at first, he just gave me everything and we went everywhere. There was the jet, the gifts, the travel. It was all so unreal, so storybook. I feel so ashamed and mad because he could buy me. He used my affections because he could buy me! She was sobbing. "I didn't ever want to be a bad person. I just wanted to be special, but he was just using me."

Claire's disbelief turned more sympathetic. "What about the kidnapping, Sue Ann. What about that?"

Sue Ann looked at Hunter then Claire with red swollen eyes. "I thought he was just doing some friends a favor. I swear Claire, I was horribly conflicted. Luca never asked me to do anything before except be his lover. I thought I was living a fairytale. But then he said he needed something in return from me. It made me sick, but I did it. I did it! I scared my family for him. I swear it changed our relationship, but I didn't stop seeing him. He hasn't asked for anything since then."

Claire was looking past Sue Ann. "You're still seeing him?"

Sue Ann nodded. "I shouldn't be, I guess." She wiped her eyes on a napkin. "I should have broken it off, but like I said, I still wanted to play the princess."

Hunter had been watching the exchange. He said, more gently than hours earlier, "Sue Ann, there's something we didn't tell you that you need to know. It's very confidential and could blow the lid off the investigation into Peña and Jose's murder."

She stared at him. "What? What do you mean?"

Claire interrupted. "Suzy. Luciano Peña is the biggest drug smuggler on the west coast. He's a murderer. He killed José." Tears formed in Claire's eyes. "He locked José in the trunk of his car and dumped him in the ocean like garbage to drown. That's your lover."

Sue Ann gasp and cried uncontrollably. Hunter went to the kitchen for a glass of water, unsure if it was wise to confide in her.

He returned and handed her the water. She was shocked in disbelief. "Look, Sue Ann, the law has known about him for a long time. We recently made the connection with José. The state police, the FBI, they're building a case against him to put him down for good."

She composed herself, somewhat. "I want to help. This man's an animal. He didn't care for me. Hell, he doesn't even care for his wife. I want to cut off his balls!"

Hunter remained serious and Claire was standing, looking out into the backyard. He said more, softly, "Look, Suzy, you need to be extremely careful. If he even gets a hint that you know about any of this, he'll kill you." He took her hand and made her look at him. "He'll kill you. He'll kill Claire, and he'll come after me. Do you understand?"

"What should I do, Hunt? I can't just stop with him. He'll know, he'll know!"

"Suz, this is the hard part. You need to play along until it's over."

"How can I do that, Hunt? This man's a murderer. He killed José. I could never look at him again."

"Look, cousin, I don't care what it takes. If you have to blame yourself for all of it to remain focused, then do it. You do whatever is needed to keep on task. If you blow it, you'll be the first to die, and then there'll be the rest of us."

She sat looking at him, breathing deeply, then looked at Claire. "There really isn't another choice, is there, Hunter?"

He paused then said, "No, Suzy. There really isn't a choice."

They all talked superficially for a few minutes, but the strain prevented any longer stay, so Sue Ann left to drive back to San Jose.

Claire spoke to Hunter after she left. "Hunt, I don't believe this. She's been sleeping with the devil and maybe even putting us all in bigger danger."

"She's been played by a master, Claire. In a way, you can't blame a girl for wanting to live a dream. Hell, we could all get fooled if someone came on like this bastard."

Claire's expression didn't change. "She's in real danger now, Hunt."

"Sis, she's been in danger since she first met this maniac. Now, she just needs to stay focused until this is over."

"How long will this take, Hunter? How long?"

"I don't know, sis. The law works slowly. I don't know if we can wait that long."

"Hunter. I don't like the look on your face. I've already lost a husband. I don't want to lose you."

He shook his head. "I know, sis. I know. I need some more rest. Wake me in a couple hours." He didn't wait for her response and went back into the guest room, closing the door.

Setback

He slept past noon, then packed for his return to Washington. Most of his equipment would stay locked in his largest suitcase in Claire's closet. He called Laura, telling her that he was flying the "red-eye" back and would arrive at Reagan National at seven-thirty Monday morning. If things went on schedule, which they tend to do on overnight flights, he would be in his apartment by eight-thirty and get a couple more hours sleep before trying to work. They planned to have dinner together. Fortunately, Hunter had been conditioned to sleeping on airplanes, and the commercial liners were more comfortable than military planes.

He didn't talk to Sue Ann again before departing and advised Claire to keep tabs on her. He was worried that Peña had survived so long because he couldn't be deceived. He also had no qualms about ending problems violently. In his world, he didn't need evidence, search warrants, or juries to find someone guilty and punish them. There were no prisons in Peña's world.

Hunter boarded the US Airways flight at ten-thirty that night. Claire took him to the airport and gave him an exceptionally long hug. She didn't even know what all he'd done in California, except to uncover Sue Ann's treachery, but she did know that he had been away late and used his military equipment. She just hoped he wasn't planning to fight Peña. She'd heard the discussion with Richards and knew Hunter's frustration. As a lawyer, she respected the law, but as a victim in Peña's campaign, she respected Hunter's abilities even more. She just wished he wasn't alone. The Government wouldn't help until they had an ironclad case against Peña. Another part of her wanted to see Peña suffer the way they were suffering under his threats -- the way José had suffered.

Hunter had a window seat. His body relaxed to the drone of engines when they started. He would sleep for the entire flight if left alone, and the PA system was silent. Once the cabin lights were dimmed, he started dreaming of Laurie. He imagined walking down the aisle with her. His dream lasted longer than an actual ceremony and he awoke as the captain announced that the flight attendants should "prepare the cabin for landing."

National is a busy airport on Monday mornings with people coming and going in the heart of the Capitol. The plane wasn't particularly full, so he was off quickly. Without his luggage, he headed for the Metro. He didn't even notice the man following him. Number Two from the enforcement company had managed to purchase a ticket on the flight without a reservation after following Hunter from Claire's house. His partner, Number Three, was curbside with a car.

As Hunter came to the escalator up to the Metro, she was waiting for him.

Laura smiled at his shocked expression. They embraced. "What are you doing here? This is a surprise. Wow, it's really early!"

She smiled and put her arm around him, walking toward the garage. "I figured you'd be surprised. You flew all night and I thought I'd save you a little time and energy. My car is in the parking garage."

Number Two was close enough behind to hear most of it. He didn't follow them. He met Three and they drove to Hunter's apartment. They'd been there before. The assignment was to monitor and report, nothing violent for now.

Hunter sat in the passenger seat as Laura pulled out of the ground-floor entrance into the circular drive around the airport before exiting on to the George Washington Parkway. He put his head back, but couldn't close his eyes. They talked quietly driving toward Old Town, Alexandria. She didn't want to exhaust him, but he wasn't tired. When they arrived, the street had numerous parking spaces, so she parked directly behind his car. Two and Three were out of sight, about a hundred feet up on the opposite side. Two said, "I wonder if the fool moved his spare key?"

Hunter didn't indicate anything about it. He pulled his key ring from his pocket, letting Laura in ahead of him. There was no hidden key outside any longer.

Inside, she said, "Get comfortable, I'll make you some breakfast."

He put his arms on her shoulders. "Do I have time to shower and brush my teeth?"

"Yeah. Brush your teeth and use some mouthwash."

He smiled and went to the bathroom to run the shower. Fifteen minutes later, he appeared in clean clothes, looking refreshed. "Okay. Where's breakfast?"

She pulled a chair from the table. "Sit."

He did as he was told, and she brought him fresh coffee. "All you have is toast and some eggs."

She was standing next to him, and he put his arm around her waist, resting his head on her hip. "You know I love you so much. You're all I could think about in California."

She smiled. "So, you gonna tell me what you did out there?"

"No. I just visited my sister and my cousin."

She didn't believe him. "You made a mad dash on Friday and took a redeye back on Sunday. That's not a visit. That's an agenda."

He bit into his toast and smiled up at her. "I had some family business to take care of."

"Oh, when do I get to be part of this family?"

"When it's safe."

She sat down with her own cup of coffee. He asked, "What about work for you today?"

"I left a message for my boss that I would be late."

"You're something else. Are you going to meet me at the airport after we're married?"

"Probably not." She giggled.

His phone rang. "Hello."

"Hunter." It was Leigh Bryant. "We need to start playing damage control."

"What do you mean, Leigh?"

"Well, after you disappeared on Friday, I called Amy Letourneau, you know I told you I've known her forever. She's Senator Blithe's Office Director."

This didn't sound good. He said, "I remember."

"Hunter. Blithe is backing off the Senate bandwagon. She's scared after Romanoff was attached. He said in his press conference that it was the reason he was almost killed."

"Should I call Ben Willis?"

"Won't do any good. Amy said it's off the table. She's looking for something less dangerous to support."

Hunter was running his hands through his cropped hair again. Alright, I'm going to call Brian Collie and make sure the language is still attached. Then we'll need to come up with plan B."

"Hunter, we're running out of time. If this goes out of committee in the Senate, they'll vote in full session by Friday."

He responded. "That's why I need to check with the committee staff. If it's already out of the bill, then we lose. If it's still in there, we can try something.

She had more. "It gets worse, Hunter. Romanoff hasn't done anything on the House side to get the language added. I think he's got cold feet."

"Oh, great. So all the fancy influencing we've done came unraveled?"

She answered, "Seems like it, Hunter. You need to check with his staff to find out what's happening."

The call was ending. "Okay, Leigh. Thanks for the heads up. I'll get to work on this right away."

"Good Luck, Hunter."

He would need more than good luck. Romanoff had turned from hero to coward. It didn't seem like him.

The Bribe

A week earlier, Number Two was in Cleveland delivering a briefcase filled with five hundred thousand dollars to Mr. Carl Keesler. It was a private settlement that had been offered by an interested party, according to Number Two, for Mr. Keesler's daughter to drop all charges against Congressman Aaron Romanoff. It was explained in the press that it had all been a misunderstanding that had been blown out of proportion by the media. Keesler's daughter had misinterpreted one of Romanoff's kind gestures incorrectly and was now recanting. In fact, she was willing to re-join the campaign staff if the Congressman would have her. In a press release from Romanoff's Cleveland office, he stated that he was grateful that it was cleared up and wished the Keeslers well. In the future, however, he would no long accept any member of his campaign who was under eighteen.

In exchange for the payment, Romanoff agreed to participate in a charade, a drama act in public. He agreed to meet with Number Three in his townhome to work out the details. Fortunately for the Congressman, Number Three proved to be a man of his word and an excellent shot. He promised to miss the Congressman during his run for life. Three was true to his word, and the whole scene was fully believable. The escape from death elevated Romanoff in the polls once again. Then his brave statements on drug reform gained more favor with the electorate, and he was back in the high seventies for percentage of party voters. He went from marginal to unstoppable with the aid of Luca Peña without ever knowing who his benefactor was. Of course, Senator Jenson had outlined the whole strategy, even if it did mean a seat for the opposite party in Congress. Although it was never discussed, the opposite scenario could have occurred if Number Three had actually aimed at the Congressman. Peña was more accustomed to the latter approach to problem solving and reluctantly gave up half a million in cash. He was learning diplomacy, Washington style.

Hunter called Brian Collie on the Senate Appropriations Committee Staff. "Hey Brian, it's Hunter Kohl.

Brian didn't sound enthused to hear from Hunter. "Oh high, Hunter. What's going on?"

"Brian. I wanted to check on our language in the Bill."

"Ah. I can't be specific, Hunter."

"Brian, what do you mean? You've been helpful throughout this, but now you won't talk?"

"Look, Hunter. Something's going on. The Ranking Member (Jenson) asked to review the language. He was the author for Christ's sake. Something changed his mind. Months ago, he wanted it to go to vote in the Senate. Now I'm not sure."

"When's it going to be voted out of Committee, Brian?"

"It could be this week, Hunter."

"I'll call you back."

Laura saw the pained expression on his face. She asked, "What's wrong, Hunter. What did he say?"

Hunter stood and walked into the living room then sat on the couch, looking at her. "Laurie, I don't know. Last week, we had it all under control. Now, it's all gone to shit. I don't know what's going on. I'm calling Leigh back." He had his phone in his hand.

She answered on the first ring. "Leigh, It's bad. Everyone has bailed on this. I don't know what to think?" He hadn't told either Leigh about Peña's visit. He was supposed to kill the bill, but it was already dead.

Leigh thought for a minute. "Hunter. If I remember the strategy from José, the state gave up the initiative when the Fed took over. The state wanted to see if the Fed would do this nationwide, but if it got killed at the federal level, then it would clear the way for state's rights. Wasn't that the strategy?"

Hunter agreed. "I think it was Leigh, but that assumed that the Fed would actually discuss the issue. Right now, it won't even get out of committee. Not only that, if it gets out that Blithe, Romanoff and Jenson now oppose it, or at least don't support it, it'll be hard to get any senator to act defiantly."

"Hunter. You don't have time to change things this year. If they vote this week, it's another year before anyone will take it up, and it's an off-election year for Congress. You probably lose two years."

"Leigh, I can't handle two more years." He was looking at Laura, wishing he'd never said it. He knew Washington was fickle, but something else was going on.

They concluded the call, and Hunter sat staring at Laura, holding his phone. She broke the silence. "So, is the language dead?"

He nodded, "Yeah."

"What does that mean, Hunter? Are you leaving now, or will you stay through and try again?"

"I don't know Laurie. I need to talk to Claire and see what the state wants to do. Actually, I kind of see this as my failure. If they had the right kind of person, someone like Leigh Bryant working on this full time, instead of a rookie like me, maybe we'd have a more solid plan."

"Hunter. Don't be down on yourself. I think there're things bigger than any of us at work here. Think about all the threats. That guy, Peña, must've thought you were trouble for him. Look what he did to your cousin."

He wasn't looking at her, but was thinking about his cousin. "Yeah, Sue Ann. I need to tell you the rest of the story." For the next thirty minutes, he told her about Sue Ann's confession, and they discussed what a madman like Peña was capable of.

She was quiet and more scared than ever. He couldn't help it. She needed to be careful. He added, "Look, I need to make some calls on some things. I'll walk you to your car."

She agreed. "Okay, Hunter, but I'd like to spend the night here tonight."

He couldn't tell if she was scared or wanted to console him. "I'd like that."

"Good. I'll stop by my place tonight and come by for dinner. You can cook! She was smiling.

"I'd love to."

She added, "I've got a ton of work, so my computer and I will be busy all night, but at least we'll be together."

They were watched, leaving his apartment. The two men didn't care about the girl, their job was watching Kohl. When Hunter returned inside, his phone rang. "Hello."

"Hunter, it's Jim Hollis."

"Hey, Commander."

Hollis was cool, "Petty Office Leeks said you planned a perfect op."

Hunter smiled. "Pretty easy, Jim. It was almost identical to Panama. He's a good man, Leeks."

"Yeah. He's one of our best and brightest, but we've got a lot of those. Reminds me of you."

"Well, thanks, Jim. We're doing a service to major crime reduction, and it was fun going tactical again."

"Excellent, Hunter. I wanted to give you an IP address to tag into for the GIS on your targets."

"I'm good to go Jim, what's the numbers?"

Hollis gave him the computer numbers to retrieve the data, coming from the transponders then said, "They haven't moved yet."

Hunter responded. "It might be a while. I don't know what the schedules are."

"It's okay, Hunter. They transmit for months with those ocean-powered cells. We just need to get them off before the next yard haul."

"I think we're good to go there, Jim. Both bottoms were clean. I don't think they're coming out for at least two years. When do you need the tracker's back?"

"Well, you know, Hunter, we never know. I've got one or two locked away, so it could be never. It could be next week, but I think you're okay for a few months."

They talked briefly about the team and some of the people Hunter knew. Some were still aboard, some had transferred, and a couple had followed Hunter out of the Navy – both were Government contractors working as Mercenaries in Afghanistan making huge salaries. Hunter had never wanted to be a hired killer. In fact, he really didn't like that aspect.

After talking with Hollis, he called Claire in her office and explained the new situation.

She responded. "Hunter, it was always a long shot. José never expected them to carry it this far. The original plan was to get it through the state and fight it in the Supreme Court if the Fed challenged the constitutionality. We're probably back to that plan. You've been amazing getting it this far."

He wasn't pleased with himself. "Claire, I've been here almost a year, and it seems like a waste."

"Look, Hunter. In politics and in the law there are no certain outcomes. If you continue to work for the state, you'll need to get used to some failures. But look at it this way, you've gone the distance in Washington. Most of our state bureaucrats have never had that experience."

He grinned. "Next you'll want me to go to law school."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Forget it, sis. I'm not the student type. So, what do you think about Sue Ann?

"I don't know, Hunt. I haven't figured it out yet. I feel sorry that some rich guy could buy her. I just find it hard to believe she would go as far as she did."

"Look, she was family before she was a traitor. Let's keep an eye on her. She may be in extreme danger now that she knows the truth."

Claire continued. "Hunt. I think I've got to tell John Richards about Sue Ann. He's working with the FBI and they need to know she's come forward to us."

"I know, Claire. I think you have to tell John. No way to avoid it if he's keeping us in the loop and pressing for Jose's killer. I just wish...I don't know, something's odd."

"About John?"

"I don't know, just something clicked when we talked to him yesterday. It's like he's taking it too slow."

"Hunter. He's being cautious. Peña could rabbit out of here if they don't have him boxed in concrete. John just doesn't want another high-profile California case going south because some prosecutor is shooting blanks."

"Yeah. You're probably right."

Stalemate

There was nothing he could do. A few phone calls confirmed that the language in the Appropriations Bill was out. All he could do now was wait to confirm it. Laura spent most of her nights with him. She probably wasn't in much danger now, but he felt better having her with him. The threats from Peña were still lingering in the background. There was nothing that he needed to do to kill the language, but he still worried.

Claire told Richards about Sue Ann's deception. She didn't know about the transponders on the ships. That was Hunter's private undertaking that might be on the fringes of the law. He didn't want to compromise his sister, the state attorney or the FBI. He had the ability to track the ships, and he would decide how and when to use the information.

At the end of the week, on Friday, he checked the location of the ships. Ocean Wanderer was at sea, heading south. Ocean Queen hadn't moved. This would be the first chance to map the route of Peña's drug trade.

That night, he took Laura to the Kennedy Center where the Prague Philharmonia was performing. It wasn't his natural inclination to attend formal concerts, but it was one more dimension to explore with Laura. She seemed to like it, which justified the expense, but it wasn't likely to be something they would do again anytime soon. They returned to his apartment late, and he checked the street in both directions before unlocking the door. "Stay out here while I do a quick recon."

She just nodded, understanding why he was cautious. It took half a minute for him to check both levels and turn on several lights. That night, they finished a bottle of red wine and shared a passionate bed.

He rose at six in the morning, curious about Peña's ship's progress. Ocean Wanderer was in international waters off San Diego, but Ocean Queen had also left port. It was about three in the morning in California, and the ship was at the mouth of SF Bay, heading due west. He made coffee and thought about running, but it was Saturday, and he wanted to monitor the ships, even if they only moved at twelve knots. Laura slept until almost ten o'clock, secure in his apartment. Ocean Wanderer had progressed past Ensenada and Ocean Queen had reversed course at the Farallons, apparently heading back to port in San Francisco.

He watched both ships for several hours, off and on, until Laura and he left for the afternoon to visit her parents on the Eastern Shore. It was after ten o'clock when they returned to the Capitol region, and he dropped her at her apartment. There were still some limits to their "togetherness" that he respected.

Before going to bed, he checked the transponders. Wanderer was nearing the Costa Rican coast by Puntarenas. Queen was tied up again at her dock. He recorded the time and date of Wanderer's progress. He ignored the Queen except to note its brief excursion offshore.

Earlier in California, Sue Ann had awaited Luca's car on Saturday night. He had invited her to an installment ceremony as President of the San Francisco Community Fishing Association. It would take place aboard his ship, the Ocean Queen, where he would meet her. Her enthusiasm was gone since learning the truth about her boyfriend, but she was determined to help convict him of Jose's murder.

When the car pulled up to the ship, and the driver opened her door. She was dressed in an expensive sleek dark blue cocktail dress that Luca had bought for her. She wore the expensive-looking jewelry and shoes they bought together after selecting the dress. It was his favorite gown, showing her figure to full advantage. She had visited the salon to have her hair put up. She looked stunning, like the centerpiece celebrity she had become.

The driver escorted her to the gangway and stood, admiring her walking ahead. Halfway, she turned and asked, "Where is everyone?"

The driver responded, "We're a few minutes early, ma'am, I'm sure Mr. Peña will be along shortly."

She complained. "It's cold out here tonight."

The driver continued standing on the dock at the end of the walkway. I'm sorry ma'am, but the galley is just through that hatchway at the end of the plank, that's where everyone will meet. It's warm, and I imagine the caterer has everything set up if you'd like a drink while you wait.

Something alarmed her. She wasn't sure what it was, but she had never felt alone with anything involving Luca before. He always said that security was a concern because of his wealth. Why was she alone on the gangplank?

She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to be alarmed in front of the driver who was blocking her exit. She hesitated, then turned and walked to the watertight door, leading inside the ship. Inside, she was alone until she heard footsteps coming down a stairway (ladder) from the bridge deck above. "Oh, hello, ma'am. I'm Pete Korb, captain of the Queen, and I think you know the man behind you."

She whirled around just as Ramon locked her in his powerful arms, squeezing her so that she could hardly breathe and couldn't scream. While she was suspended, Korb brought a coil of thick rope and began circling her legs, then upward, tying her arms tightly to her sides, so tight that breathing continued to be difficult.

Once she was completely immobile, Ramon laid her gently on the deck, face up. She fought the bindings but was tied so tightly that movement was impossible. "What are you doing!"

Korb spoke. "Sorry ma'am, but the boss's orders. He told us to be gentle, so I hope you're comfortable."

"I'm not comfortable. I'm terrified. I want out of here. I want to go home!"

Korb said, "Ma'am, if you'll just relax, this will be easier on all of us."

Ramon towered, standing by her feet, bending his neck to fit inside the overhead space. He didn't speak, but had the look of someone who lost a million dollars. He obviously wanted to take advantage of the beauty under his control, but Peña had forbid it.

She yelled, "What are you doing? What's happening?"

Korb had moved closer to the ladder. "Ma'am, we're taking a little boat ride. I'm sorry that you can't be more comfortable. Ramon will keep you company for the next few hours."

Terror overtook her, "Three hours? What happens in three hours?" Tears streamed freely down her face.

Korb never answered. He was on the bridge and began sending commands below. The ship vibrated then began moving moments later.

She pleaded. "Ramon, Ramon! I'll do anything for you. Let me go. We can be together. I know you want me."

He just smiled and walked across the galley for a chair opposite her head where she couldn't strain to see him.

The ship seemed to glide momentarily, then shuddered, and she could sense forward motion. After several minutes, the deck under her began rising and falling gently as the ship approached open sea.

She lay there, losing sensation in her arms and legs compressed by the bindings. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about what was coming. Luca had not come. She was alone and scared. Through the porthole, she could see glimpses of the full moon, which only worsened her fear.

A few hours later, it was hard to gauge time, the engines stopped, and the ship floated idly for several minutes before Korb came down from the bridge, saying something to Ramon that she couldn't hear. Korb walked past and opened the door. Ramon appeared over her and lifted her from the deck as she tried helplessly to squirm. There wasn't anything she could do against the binding. Ramon carried her in the moonlight to the rear, near the nets. He set her down while both men tied another rope around her. It was tied to two concrete blocks. The reality hit her again, even if she knew it all along.

She screamed. "No! No! Please just shoot me. Kill me quickly...please! She pleaded, but neither man seemed to notice as they completed their work.

Korb was on his knees and bent over her, brushing her hair. "Mr. Peña wanted me to say thank you for him. He wished that you and him could've continued, but...well, you know." He nodded to Ramon who picked her up while Korb carried the blocks.

Her bellowing was silenced a second later when she disappeared into the black sea nearly a thousand feet deep, according to the depth sounder. Their work was done, and they returned to port.

Some days later, Claire called Hunter worried about their cousin. "Hunter, she's not around."

"What do you mean, sis? Did you check everywhere?

"Hunter. Uncle Bob called me. They haven't heard from her in a week. They called her school. She's been gone all week. Uncle Bob went down to her apartment, and she isn't there. He said some food in the fridge was going bad."

"Okay, sis. I'm calling the FBI."

"Should I call John?"

"Yeah, but I want to get some answers from the Feds. They're supposed to be working on the case, but I don't see any activity. They never call me."

"Okay, I'll call John."

He hung up and called the SF office of the FBI, asking for Special Agent Kasey McDougal. The call transferred immediately.

"This is Kasey McDougal."

"Hi, Kasey. This is Hunter Kohl. We met during the summer when you were investigating José Rivera's murder."

"Sure, Hunter. I remember you. What can I do for you?"

"My cousin, Claire's and mine, Sue Ann Flannigan, is missing."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Hunter, but that sounds like a local matter."

He was surprised. "Even after what she admitted about her fake kidnapping?"

"I'm sorry, Hunter. I don't understand."

He became suspicious. "You know the story. She faked a kidnapping so that I would be forced to help her boyfriend Luciano Peña.'

She said patiently, "I'm not following, Hunter. How did your cousin get mixed up with Luciano Peña?"

"Didn't John Richards share the information with you?"

"I haven't spoken to John since your sister met us at the forensics lab in Alameda."

"You mean he didn't tell you that Peña tricked Sue Ann into a romance and that he forced her to pretend being kidnapped to scare the rest of us?"

"No, Hunter. Do I need to call him?"

"No, don't do that. I need to check some things out first."

She was emphatic. "Alright, Hunter but it sounds like there's some important evidence in the case that I need to have."

"Kasey. You'll get it all as soon as I know what's going on."

"Alright, Hunter."

New Game

He called Claire immediately. "Sis. Don't talk to John about anything."

"What! Hunter, he's our friend. How can I avoid him? He was Jose's best friend at the state house, and he's helped me all along since we lost him."

"Claire, I can't be specific. Hell, I don't know enough yet, but something is rotten in Denmark!"

"Has this got something to do with Suzy?"

He paused. "I think so."

She gasped. "Oh, Hunt. Do you think they hurt her? Do you think she could be...dead?"

"I'm gonna find out, sis."

She knew him. She knew how he could react. "Hunter. You need to stay safe. Let the police handle this!"

"You have a lot more faith in the law than me, sis. I'm a pragmatic kind of guy. Money can do a lot of evil, so I don't trust anyone right now. Maybe I'm just jumping at shadows. You've known John a long time, a lot longer than me. I don't know why, but I've got to find out which side he's on. Peña's got a lot bigger fish in his pond, so don't exclude John. It might save your life."

"You're freaking me out, Hunter. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet, but is the guest room still open?"

"Sure, I'll make sure the sheets are clean."

"I'll call you back, sis."

The next call he made was to Laura. "Can you take a few days off and go stay with your parents?"

"Hunter. What's going on?"

"Laurie, I need to go back to California and straighten a few things out. I don't want to worry about you."

"Hunter, I'm a big girl. I'll be careful. I always have my pepper spray with me and I won't travel alone."

He couldn't be in both places at once. Had to decide between staying for her or be with Claire and the kids. And he needed to do something to stop the maniac in San Francisco. He was going after Peña, even if the law couldn't touch him. He wasn't the law. "All right sweetheart, but be extra careful. I don't know who could be the next victim."

She was tense but composed. "I will. You call me a lot when you're gone, okay, I mean a super lot, Hunter. Don't let me get lonely."

"I'll call often, doll. I love you!"
He packed his travel bag quickly. He didn't have a reservation, but lots of airlines flew west, and he'd get to California even if he had to hop from state to state.

It was just before noon when he left the apartment carrying his oversized travel bag. The streets were quiet as he walked up the hill toward the Metro station. Before he reached the first corner, a car screeched to a stop ahead, and a man jumped out without closing the door, blocking the middle of the wide sidewalk. "Where do you think you're going, Kohl?"

Hunter quickly sized him up. Average height, skinhead, prison tattoos, extremely wiry, and probably had some scars hidden under his tight tee-shirt. He recognized the man, Number Three, taking pictures from the van at the park in California. Hunter placed his travel bag on the ground beside him slowly, standing inches from the man, looking slightly downward at his face. "I don't know you, so I'd suggest you get out of my way." Actually, he didn't want this creep in Washington with Laura.

The second man was bigger, almost Hunter's size, with the same evil persona, but not as buff compared to the aggressive one. The big man moved from the driver's side of the car to the front fender near the curb, about six feet from Hunter and the smaller man. Both men had confident sneers, too confident. Hunter repeated calmly, "Get out of my way."

The smaller man made a small motion, almost undetectable, flipping his hunting knife open. Hunter recognized it and punched with lightning speed using an upper-cut closed fist, landing an inch below the man's sternum, lifting him six inches in the air. The strike was capable of bruising or stopping the man's heart. While in the air,, Hunter twisted the body and threw him into the other man who was momentarily stunned by the fast attack. Before the big man could reach the gun in his belt under his windbreaker, Hunter had it in his hand as both men tumbled into the street. With a swift kick, the second man's head whipped back hard enough to compress his spine. Neither man was moving as Hunter took the keys from the ignition and opened the trunk.

In less than a minute after the assault, Hunter was driving the rental car down King Street, heading for the GW Parkway and one of the large turnouts south of Alexandria. There was no noise from the back for twenty minutes before he turned onto an overlook high above the Potomac River. The summer temperature inside the trunk, with two bodies contorted was over one hundred-twenty degrees, and the air was stifling.

With no one else around, he backed into a parking space and opened the trunk lid. The inside smelled putrid. The larger man was foaming at the mouth and probably had a broken neck. Hunter jerked him out and laid his limp body over the guard rail, removing his wallet. The man made a slight gurgling sound in protest as Hunter leaned close to his ear. "Alright, scumbag, I know who you are. If I ever see you again or have any reason to believe you're alive, I will kill you again. You will die a horrible death." The man was nearly lifeless as Hunter lifted his legs, tossing him down the steep incline to the river a hundred feet below. He doubted that he could survive in the water.

The smaller man was in slightly better condition, but still helpless. Hunter threw him across the rail and removed his wallet. He didn't look at either ID yet, but this one, at least, knew what was happening. The bigger man was probably paralyzed at the neck. Hunter made the same threat to the man and watched him tumble head over heal down to the water beside the other motionless body. Both floated face down in the river, unmoving. He doubted that either was alive, but this was the closest to any kind of chance he was giving them. He threw the gun and knife far out then drove the car to National Airport.

He booked a flight on Delta leaving at two-twenty that afternoon. He called Laura telling her when he would arrive and reaffirmed his love for her. After takeoff, once the plane was at cruising altitude, he asked the flight attendant for some ice in a plastic bag explaining that he had injured his foot. He felt more secure for Laura with two of Peña's men off the streets in Washington. It would be hours or days before anyone realized that these two were gone. He put his head back and rested while the ice soothed his foot.

In Denver, he changed planes and called Claire telling her his arrival information. He would rent a car.

When he arrived, he jumped aboard the Avis shuttle that had a sign saying "cars available." In ten minutes, he was driving out of the lot, dialing Laura. She answered, "Hunter! How was your flight?"

"Hi, lover. It was long, but uneventful, just the way I like it. How are you?" Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine, Hunter. Nothing even mildly upsetting going on here."

"Good. Let's keep it that way. Look, doll, I'm on my way to Claire's, so I'll call you later."

They said goodbye, as young lovers do, then he called John Richards instead of Claire. He answered, "Richards."

"John, it's Hunter Kohl."

"Hey, Hunter. I'm surprised to hear from you so soon. I assume you're still in DC?"

"Nope. I just landed in Sacramento, John. How 'bout we get together?"

There was an almost imperceptible hesitation in John's voice. "Ah, sure. I'll come over to Claire's house."

Hunter responded quickly. "No. Not at Claire's. Let's meet at the park where Jose's service was held." He didn't know many private locations around Sacramento.

John responded. "Look, Hunter. Let's get something to eat. How 'bout the Denny's by Claire's place. We can both find it."

Hunter thought John didn't want to be alone in a private location. "That would be fine, John. I can be there in fifteen."

"Get a table, and I'll be there in twenty."

Hunter arrived at the restaurant before John and requested a booth that was slightly more private than others. None gave much privacy. He didn't know what he would say to John. He was ten years older than Claire and probably had a crush on her. His attention to her well-being was more that simple family friendship. Hunter didn't have much intuition about the attraction, but there were enough signs from John. He hoped he was wrong about things.

John arrived a few minutes later, wearing a sport coat even in the early evening heat, characteristic of lawmen concealing their shoulder holster. The waitress attacked them, taking their orders almost before they could look at the menu. After they were settled and somewhat alone, John said, "Well, this is a surprise, Hunter. You're back so soon?"

Hunter looked at his glass of water. "I had to come back, John. I needed to find out what happened to Sue Ann. I think she was murdered."

"Why do you think that?"

"Claire knows her, and I know her. She's gone, and no one knows where she is. Not even her parents."

John was earnest in his response. "There could be a hundred explanations, Hunter. There's no reason to think she's been murdered."

Hunter looked at him. "Oh, no? Given her history and threats against us all, there's every reason to think she's dead. It's the first thought in my mind."

"Why don't you give it some time."

"I have, John. I just spent eight hours flying and nothing new came up."

John fumbled with his glass. "You need to give it more time."

"Why, John? Do you think anything will change?" Hunter was watching him intensely.

"Hunter. How would I know?"

Their food arrived, and the next few minutes were spent quietly as both men ate guardedly. Hunter finally asked. "John, did you tell anyone about Sue Ann's confession?"

Richards put down his utensils. "What are you saying, Hunter?"

"John, my baby cousin was murdered, and that information would get her killed. I just need to find some answers."

Richards began eating again, slightly more rushed. "Let the police find the answers."

Hunter wasn't eating. "Did you tell anyone? John, you know Peña has people in government and probably even some cops on the payroll. Did you tell anyone?"

Richards placed his fists on the table holding his knife and fork. "NO!"

Hunter looked away. "Alright, but I assume you shared the information with the FBI?"

"Yes, of course I did."

Suspicions

The dinner meeting with Richards ended quickly. Neither wanted dessert or coffee. Hunter told him that he would be staying at Sue Ann's apartment. If John had anything to do with her disappearance or associated with someone that informed Peña, Hunter had made himself a target. Anyone piecing together two missing men in Washington and his snooping around in California would see him as a threat, and Peña had only one way to deal with threats. Hunter didn't want to be near Claire on this trip.

He drove to Claire's house for the rest of his gear and cautioned her again about talking freely to John Richards. He hoped he was wrong, but his worries were growing. Claire worked near John's office and would need to be on her best theatrical behavior.

The drive to San Jose would take more than two hours, which he used partly to call Laura. It was very late, but he wanted to hear her voice. They talked for almost half an hour. He never mentioned the street fight, and she didn't bring up anything from the news. DC averaged three murders every night, so the punks that attacked him might not attract much special attention, or they hadn't been discovered yet, which seemed unlikely. She didn't mention it, and he didn't inquire.

Hunter knew he was placing himself in the crosshairs for Peña. He wanted it that way. Halfway to Sue Ann's he pulled off at a rest stop along I-80, parking in a shadowed area. It was after midnight and aside from the sleeping truckers, there weren't any cars nearby. After glancing around, he opened the trunk and went into his equipment bag. He pulled the holster with the Beretta and spare magazines from the bag. He was still licensed to carry the weapon in California from his days in the Border Patrol. The pistol was slightly heavier and larger than some makes, but he'd learned to use it instinctively without aiming. It was one reason he'd survived SEAL operations and at least once on the border.

It felt reassuring to have the gun ready under his loose-fitting shirt. He arrived at the apartment after midnight and drove slowly around the parking lot. There were no suspicious cars, and he parked near Sue Ann's door. Once secure inside, he closed the curtains and turned on the lights. He braced the front door with a chair and some noise making utensils, then checked progress of Ocean Wanderer. The Queen was still tied at the dock in San Francisco.

He slept with his gun, and nothing happened that night. In the morning, he called Kasey McDougal, asking to meet. Two hours later, he was sitting in a conference room looking out the 13th Floor at 450 Golden Gate Avenue. The view was magnificent if he could have enjoyed it.

Kasey was joined by a junior agent carrying two thick case files. One was on Jose's murder, and the other was a racketeering file against Peña. After introductions and other pleasantries, Hunter began. "I wanted to share some information with you and hopefully have you give me some help in exchange."

Kasey was businesslike, "Mr. Kohl, this is a Federal agency, and we don't disclose information."

He answered. "I know the protocol, but I hope you'll look at me as kind of a teammate. I can get intel that you can't on your own."

She wrinkled her mouth. "In that case, it's probably information that we can't use."

He asked. "What do you know about the modifications to Peña's ships?"

She looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I gave information to John Richards about the hull modifications to Peña's ship, the Ocean Wanderer. If he gave it to you, then it's from another police agency."

She looked at her associate, then back at Hunter. "Why don't you repeat what you've given to Inspector Richards."

"Where should I begin?"

"The last time we spoke was at the forensic site when he escorted your sister."

Hunter was bemused. "He hasn't spoken to you since then?"

She looked intent. "Once again, Mr. Kohl. Let's just assume some pieces might be missing, and we'd like to be sure we've captured it all."

He slowly nodded his understanding. "Alright, but I'd like a couple things. First, call me Hunter. Second, I'd like to have you think of me as a quasi-law officer. Until a year ago, I was in the US Border Patrol, and now I work for the California Governor's office as a liaison officer with Congress."

"Fair enough, Hunter. That's grey enough that we may be able to use your direct input – as long as it's legally obtained. You can call me Kasey."

"Well, you'll be the judge of legal matters, Kasey. I'm just relating the facts."

Over the next half hour, Hunter reviewed each incident since the shooting at Jose's park service. He laid out Sue Ann's admission, and the fact that she was Peña's lover. He said she was missing, and he presumed she was murdered. He also stated that John Richards was the only person besides Claire and him that knew of her relation with Peña"

Kasey took copious notes and nodded at references to Richards. She said. "Our main interest right now is the alleged racketeering by Peña."

Hunter said, "If you check his boats, you'll find the trap doors."

Kasey responded, "Yeah, but it's not enough. We need to catch him transporting drugs."

He looked at her and her assistant for several moments before speaking. "How about if I could track every movement they make at sea?"

She stared at him. "That would be some pretty fancy surveillance. I couldn't get it authorized or admissible. If it led us to discovering his crime, it would get thrown out."

He was frustrated. "You mean that the modifications to his ships, and the trail from port to port isn't enough to get a warrant to search them, maybe at the same time as the drugs are being unloaded?"

"The way we learned of modifications and the trailing of the ships is not admissible information. Therefore, anything we could get from a warrant based on that information is not admissible."

"Kasey, you're tying me all up."

"Welcome to the US legal system, Hunter. If this was terrorism, we could use the Patriot act, but it's not."

"Look Kasey, I respect the constitution and all, but there has to be some way to catch this guy."

She was frustrated. "Welcome to my world, Hunter. We know Peña is the biggest drug merchant on the west coast. We know he's a murderer. I don't doubt that he killed your cousin. He's killed other lovers. We know all kinds of stuff about Peña. We just can't prove any of it."

"I've told you how to prove it."

"Yeah, I know, but I can't search based on any of it – it would blow the whole case."

"Kasey, what can I do?"

"Hunter, I don't know. I can't let you get involved. These guys are killers."

"That's nothing new to me."

"Yeah, well, maybe, but the FBI is not going to sanction anything you do as a freelancer."

"What can you tell me, Kasey? I'm going to follow the boats for now to find out how the drugs get transferred. Any idea where I should look?"

Kasey excused her assistant, saying the meeting was over. When he left, and the door was closed again, and she said, "Hunter, I don't know if this is useful to you or not, but Peña just started a pact with another big smuggler. This time, the guy's in Los Angeles. He's Mohamed Al-Zeid, goes by Mojo. He and Peña were enemies, but they now seem to be cooperating. Mojo has distribution all the way east, but he gets his stuff smuggled through Mexico. Peña on the other hand is a smuggler using the Pacific. He distributes too, but clashes with Mojo frequently. We think Mojo now does all the distribution, or most of it, and Peña supplies all his goods. This is all new intel, so this marriage is probably fragile since these guys have been mortal enemies for years and don't trust each other. You can read all about Mojo on the internet, he's not private like Peña. We'll probably get Mojo sooner than Peña, and he might bring Peña down with him."

He thought for a moment. "So, Kasey. If one of Peña's ships just left Puntarenas with a load for Mojo, where would he deliver it?"

She grinned slightly. "Most likely around LA Harbor. Lots of ships come and go, and there are isolated docks in some locations. Peña could unload the drugs along with fish at some of them."

Hunter said, "Alright, then I think I'll drive south and visit some of the marinas."

She started to protest, but he left before acknowledging any of it. An hour later, Hunter was driving south. It would take over six hours to reach the LA. En route he called Laura, killing an hour of monotony driving through the farmlands around Fresno and Stockton. She was taking precautions. When he called Claire, she asked where he was, and he wouldn't tell her. He said it was "for her own good." She confirmed that John had been inquiring about Hunter's plans. Hunter reminded her to keep quiet.

It was nightfall when he entered the outskirts of LA County, still an hour from the massive harbor. He stopped at a Mexican restaurant in West LA. Inside, he ordered a taco salad and used his laptop to check the Wanderer's location. As Kasey speculated, the ship had turned toward the harbor.

After eating, he followed I-405 south to the Harbor Freeway, leading to San Pedro, near the entrance to the harbor. The ship had docked a quarter mile farther out toward the mouth of the harbor in the commercial berthing area. The GPS data from the tracker gave one meter resolution, guiding him directly to the ship. He stopped hundreds of yards away on a dirt shoulder littered with old beer cans and even an old mattress. His rental car was out of place. All of the steel buildings were rusted through their galvanized finish. There was a strong smell of old bilge waste and decaying sea life.

He walked along the shoulder-less road toward where Wanderer was berthed. He was dressed in old jeans and could pass for a dock worker. Halfway along the dock, Wanderer's crew was attaching a cable from a dock crane to a fish crate in the hold. No one paid attention to him as he passed in the shadows behind the crane in the shadow of a storage building. The crate lifted as he passed by. Anyone seeing him would think he was walking to one of the boats farther down the dock. He reached the end of the dock five minutes later and lingered, overlooking the channel. The crates being offloaded from Wanderer held fish.

After a short period, Hunter began retuning down the dock. The dock was covered by crates stacked high and he walked behind them. He stopped near Wanderer's stern to observe. All the crew were in the hold and only one man in waste-high rubber boots was on deck. He stayed in the shadows about fifty feet away from the ship.

The offloading process continued for half an hour. He leaned against the shed, watching. He only saw fish being moved but there was no way to know what could also be in the crates. Half an hour later, the hold was locked closed and the gangplank removed. The driver of the truck then departed, and the ship was ready to depart. He continued watching.

It was after midnight when the ship turned on its bow and stern lights. Thick diesel fumes spewed from the stack. Several deck hands jumped to the dock to release lines, then jumped back aboard as the ship used its side thrusters to push away from the dock. He hadn't seen anything useful -- at least nothing was obvious. The dock was quiet, but the yard crane remained in place with its engine idling.

Wanderer was in mid-canal and backing away when he saw it. A small orange ball floated where the center of the keel had been. Hunter moved farther into the shadows as a huge dump truck backed down the dock, stopping by the crane. The lights were off and the scene was completely silent as Wanderer disappeared into the harbor. For several minutes, it appeared that all equipment on the dock was parked for the evening. Then the crane roared back to life. It lowered its giant hook into the oil-slick black water to grab the marker buoy. It took two tries to hook it, then hoist a sealed crate from below, lowering it fast into the truck in one sweeping arc motion. Someone in the bed released the crane and was back inside the truck cab in seconds, as it began moving toward the street. There was no way for Hunter to follow it.

The truck turned right leaving the dock and was gone. Hunter waited a moment until the crane shut down its motor. He left the shadows between crates and walked under the crane, toward the street. He looked like most of the crewmen he'd seen aboard Wanderer and could be from any of the ships farther down the dock. Above him, the crane operator was preparing to climb down when he saw Hunter through the platform floor grating. He went back into the crane control room.

Hunter began walked faster toward the street but a door to the shed ahead of him opened and three dock workers emerged, all looking at him. They didn't look friendly. They spread out in front of him, and he kept walking toward them. About ten feet away he said, "Is there a problem?"

He stopped without getting any closer as two flanking men moved farther to either side as he faced the man in the middle who asked, "What are you doing on the dock?"

"I'm on the boat down there." He gestured with his thumb toward the end of the dock behind him.

"What boat's that?"

Hunter had no idea. "Ah, you got me there."

The obese man had greasy shoulder-length black hair and unshaven face. His jeans sagged from weeks without washing. His big hairy arms hung ape-like from a cutoff dark shirt. Hunter glanced left then right. All three men were positioned about five feet away. He was blocked, and had the sensation of the crane operator closing from behind. At least one of the men carried a large wrench, but the darkness could have hiden more weapons.

Hunter held up his hand. "Look, fellows. I don't want any trouble. I just want to get into my car and drive away."

None of the men moved, and the man on the right said, "You a Fed? You a nark or one o' them DEA guys?"

"I'm none of that. I just wanna leave in peace."

The middle man spoke again, moving closer. "I said, what'cha doin' here, boy?"

Dialogue was over. "Would you believe I just wanted to take a walk?" He added..."Didn't think so."

He jumped at the man to his right with the wrench, catching him off guard, and the other's charged. He threw the man over his right hip, followed with a SNAP KICK to the stomach of the center man. Sensing motion behind, he did a REAR LIFT KICK to the groin of the man followed by an ELBOW SMASH to his face, knocking him backward into the shed. The fourth man, charging from the left missed with an ax, as Hunter ducked, followed by a crushing side blow to the man's knee, breaking the joint. He finished the first man with a kick to the face. The crane operator charged, and Hunter used the momentum, grabbing his shirt and accelerating to the edge of the dock, then throwing the lard sack into murky water ten feet below. He charged back into the center of the group where all were struggling to get up or regain balance. The first to rise got a shuto chop to the throat, crushing his windpipe. Hunter snapped into a front face kick of another man then back kicked a man grasping him from behind. As the man released, Hunter finished him with a hard punch to the midsection followed by a knee to the face and a stomp to his neck on the ground. Two men were down with lethal windpipe damage, and one was slipping below the harbor surface, trying to grasp mossy pilings while sinking in sodden work clothes. The final man was crouching near the shed as Hunter side kicked him to the head, then stomped his temple. He walked away unhurt,. Now, he knew how the drugs were delivered.

The next morning, Mojo's big limousine pulled onto the dock. He was led inside the shed where one man remained unconscious and two were leaned up against the side. One had a broken leg and both had severe throat damage and couldn't talk. The crane operator was missing.

He looked at the guard who phoned the alert to him earlier. "Wha' happened here?"

"I don' know, boss. I found 'em dis mornin' lyin' ou'side and brung 'em in here. They's all beat up."

Mojo walked up to where the unconscious man was lying. "Give me a gun. This turd's dyin' slow, and we don' got no medical plan." He shot him in the heart and face. Then he walked up to the man with the broken leg and crushed throat. "This'n ain' gonna be useful for nothin'." He backed up to avoid staining his clothes then shot him twice in the chest. The third man's eyes bulged with fear as Mojo stood inches from his face. "You talk, boy?" The man gurgled something and held his throat. Mojo turned his back and walked away. All he said was, "Damn." He turned and shot the man twice then threw the gun back to his guard. "Reload that thing cas'in we get mugged or somethin'. If'n any o' these is movin' in a hour, shoot 'em again. They can be bait.

Hunter was arriving back in San Jose during morning rush hour. He called Kasey McDougal and said that he witnessed the drug delivery. He didn't disclose exactly where he'd seen it, but he described the whole process.

She said, "Hunter, I don't know how you do it. This is excellent intelligence. I think we're getting close to making the case for seizure. I checked with my DEA friends, and I think your undercover work can be classified as government authorized. I just need to find out how to authorize after the fact. It should all work out."

"Thanks, Kasey. I hate to think that it's all wasted effort, I've had enough of that in Washington this year."

She asked, "So, you ever think about joining the bureau?"

He smiled. "Yeah, actually I have. I need to find another line of work and the FBI or ATF seem like good choices. Of course, I'd like to see what the state could offer. California's my home you know."

"Alright, so what are you up to now?"

"I gotta get back to DC and check on something (someone). I don't think Peña's people know I'm here, so I wanna get back." Of course the missing killers watching him in DC and possibility of John Richards being a snitch worked against that theory.

Deceit

Hunter Kohl had two women in his life to worry about and two children. He'd had another woman, his cousin, but she was lost. He needed to protect those remaining. He couldn't choose between Laura and Claire; no one could expect him to do that. He worried more about Laura's vulnerability while Claire at least had John Richards to protect her. John would move in with Claire if offered. But now John could be bad. Claire might be most vulnerable. Could Peña strike effectively in Washington? He had his two hired killers, but they were gone. Would there be more? Peña's only motive for hurting anyone close to Hunter was to force him to do as he was told, but there wasn't anything to do now. The bill language was gone. He needed to sleep desperately on the redeye back to DC, but his thoughts wouldn't rest.

This time, she wasn't there to meet him. He didn't call her late at night after he confirmed his flight. Why scare her? He'd unloaded his gear with Claire and gone directly to the airport. He had a massive headache, and his eyes burned from lack of sleep. Instead of the Metro, he took a cab home to Alexandria. It was an extravagance, but the thought of waiting for the train and then walking down King Street was overwhelming. He needed sleep. Sitting in the cab heading toward Old Town, he called Laura. She answered, "Hi, where are you?"

"I'm back in DC, just arrived."

"Oh, Hunter, another redeye?"

"Yeah. I hate flying."

"You need to sleep. I can hear it in your voice."

He rubbed his sore eyes. "Yeah, I need a few hours anyway."

She loved the idea that he was back near her, even if he was asleep. "Look, sleep all day. I'll come over after work and make supper for you. I'll even spend the night if you're up to it."

"Are you kidding, I'm always up to it."

"See ya' tonight."

He paid the cabbie in cash and opened the door without bothering to look up and down the street. He didn't figure anyone would be stupid enough to try him again. He regretted leaving his weapons in California, but he wasn't going to lug them around and they made more sense stored at Claire's place. He stripped, brushed his teeth and fell into bed. His window shade didn't darken the room much, and it felt unnatural sleeping in the daylight.

Two hours later, he was dreaming and some distant ringing noise penetrated his subconscious. His phone was ringing! He rolled out and went to retrieve his mobile phone, following the ring tone. "Hello"

Her voice was entirely too chipper. "You sound asleep!"

"Hi, Leigh. Yeah. I just got in from California."

"Hunter. Did you take a redeye. Those'll kill you."

"Tell me about it."

"Look, I'm sorry to bother you. You need to get over to Blithe's office. She's back on the language."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone smacked her around in the primary. She's desperate for a cause, and you're it!"

"She's back aboard?"

"Yeah. Now they need all the backup facts you can force-feed in twenty-four hours."

He rubbed his temples. "Okay, Leigh, but it doesn't change the House, and I heard that Senator Jenson is thinking about removing it from the SAC."

"That's old news. Blithe is senior to Jenson, and she'll get one of the other SAC member to put it back in and go dancing through electorate heaven together. Jenson will look like a fool if he's not behind this."

He scrunched his eyes. "Great. Think about the House strategy, and I'll call you later."

He wanted to flush the phone as he started the shower, but this was "flash traffic" (Naval slang for top priority messages) as far as he was concerned.

When he finished drying, he called Ben Willis in Blithe's office and got an immediate appointment, as quickly as he could get there.

An hour later, he was in Blithe's office for a strategy meeting that lasted two hours – huge by Washington standards. Before he could talk to Leigh again, Amy Letourneau who was Senator Blithe's Office Director joined Hunter and Willis. They would handle the Senate side, but Hunter didn't have any support in the House since Romanoff backed away.

Amy said, "Who do you know in the House Appropriations Committee, Hunter?"

"I know Romanoff and Congressman Douglas Stubbs from San Diego. Stubbs in on the HAC"

Amy responded. "Good. We'll get Stubbs to enter the language and fight for it. Romanoff will have to support it if he's true to his little speech. It's one thing to neglect a promise, it's another to out and out refuse to support something promoted in his press conference. His opponent would cut him to ribbons, and he can go back to chasing little girls in the park after the election."

Hunter shook his head. "I've met with Stubbs, and he won't support it."

She smiled. "Look, Hunter. Leigh Bryant probably told you that I go back a long way in this town. Trust me. We'll earn Stubbs heart and soul."

Hunter shook his head while Willis looked on, enthralled by the process. Hunter said, "I don't know Amy. He's pretty weak as an individual."

She smiled again. "It doesn't matter, Hunter. Senator Blithe has a unique relationship with the President, the leader of our party. If the President calls Stubbs, Stubbs will salute and say yes, sir."

"I don't get it, Amy. The President? Will the President really go public supporting this?"

"Absolutely not! He can't risk offending life-long conservatives. He'll just instruct Stubbs to lead it and the President will sign the Appropriations Bill, which just happens to have this teeny obscure language legalizing drugs. It will happen so fast this late in the budget cycle that no one will have time to study the bill. It'll just be one of those little things that slipped through. The President will be blameless."

He chuckled. "Unbelievable."

"Oh, believe!"

He left the office not fully comprehending what had transpired. The impossible was about to happen. He walked down the hill to Union Station and called Leigh to outline the strategy. She was tickled. "See. Miracles do happen sometimes, even in the US Congress."

"Leigh, I still don't know how this happened, but right now, I don't care. I'm going home and rest. Tonight my girl is cooking me dinner. Later on, we'll make a decision to make love or sleep. Right now I vote for sleep, but don't tell anyone, it would destroy my macho image."

Caldron

"What do you mean, Senator? How can the language be back in the bill!"

He responded, "Please be careful, Luca. We should try to keep this discussion uncensored (encrypted)."

Luca was bright red and screaming as Roxanne closed his office door for his own privacy. "Look. This can't change overnight. I support you so that you watch out for my interests. They are your interests also."

Jenson responded. "Luca, I understand why you're upset. I'm upset."

Peña cut him off. "Yes, I'm upset, and I don't give a shit who's listening. You're in this as deep as me. You get this killed or...just get it done."

"Luca, you can't order me around like one of your thugs. I'm a U.S. Senator!"

"I don't give a shit who you think you are. You are whatever I make you to be. If you don't get this reversed, you'll be out of a job. You might even be in jail."

"This conversation is over, Mr. Peña"

Senator Jenson slammed the phone on his home office desk. He wasn't used to being spoken to this way. Luciano Peña was his biggest campaign contributor, but that didn't give him the right to order him around! All he had done was report the events. Somehow, one of the other SAC members had insisted on endorsing the language that Jenson was in the process of removing from the bill. He was careful not to simply instruct the staff to remove it. He was "reviewing" it. He was planning to review it through the deliberative session at the SAC without ever re-entering it, but now it had someone else's endorsement. He didn't know who, at the moment, but would find out. He couldn't come out negative against language all knew he'd sponsored. That would be too overt. He had reported the situation to Peña, which was something the Senate code of ethics would not condone. Didn't Luca appreciate the favor he was doing him?

In San Francisco, Peña was seething. He was beyond mad. This was a very dangerous disposition. In his business, it was imperative to remain objective. Otherwise, you could lose your head – literally. He screamed. Roxanne! Roxanne, get Mr. Number One on the phone. Do it now!"

All of his rage was centering on the state lobbyist. He had been warned. He must be defying Luca's orders! He would pay. His family would pay. They all would pay!

"Roxanne! Get Ramon in here!"

In Washington, Hunter was sitting peacefully in a Blue Line coach relaxing to the rhythmic clatter of the rails and gentle swaying as the Metro train passed by Arlington Cemetery. He was enjoying the view. There were only two elderly people, a couple, in his car. The sky was crystal clear, and the afternoon sun radiated through puffy white cumulous clouds. It was the most relaxed he'd felt in days. He needed to sleep and would enjoy a few hours before Laura came for dinner. His calmness and tranquility lasted only minutes as the car went underground again nearing the Pentagon. He knew the risk he was taking now with Peña. He couldn't control it; there was no way he could kill it. Hell, he couldn't even help it succeed. The process had a new momentum that he'd started almost a year ago. He had no way to predict that Blithe would do an about-face. If he had done anything at all, it was giving Stubb's name to Amy Letourneau. Peña wouldn't know that. Hunter really had nothing to do with these events now. But Luciano Peña wasn't a tolerant man. He was a distorted monster. People like that are unpredictable, or maybe they're totally predictable. Hunter would need to prepare, but right now he needed to rest.

As he exited the King Street Station in the early afternoon, he slowly scanned the parking lot and the streets converging at the station. He looked at the pedestrians and even looked at the office and hotel windows nearby. Nothing seemed out of place. There was no refinement in Peña's methods. He used common street thugs, ex-felons to do his dirty work. The two attackers that came at him days earlier stood out like frogs in a punchbowl. Nothing alarmed him as he proceeded down the street to his apartment.

When he got to his bed, he dropped his clothes on the floor and collapsed. If his phone rang, he wouldn't hear it. He slept soundly until conditions changed. The sun was going down, and it was dark in his bedroom. He glanced at his watch – seven. Where was Laura? His mobile phone was sitting on the counter in the kitchen. There were no missed calls. He called her number, but she didn't answer. Peña's warnings resonated in his mind. He was alarmed and not sure what to do. Should he go to her place or stay? What if she came and he was gone? He tried her number again. He tried it every few minutes for an hour. He called work. He called her boss, Buzz Finney, at work. They were all gone. He grabbed his keys and drove to her apartment in Arlington. She wasn't there.

He tried calling Claire. She didn't answer her home phone or her mobile phone. He called her office and went to voicemail. He felt completely isolated. In desperation, he called another number. He answered, "Richards."

"John, it's Hunter."

Richard's tone was level and firm. "Well, Hunter. I didn't expect to hear from you."

"John, she's not answering any of her phones."

"Claire?"

"Yes, Claire. Look, some things have happened here in Washington. She could be in danger. If you really care for her at all, she might need your help."

"Okay, Hunter. Look, I'm late for a flight, but I'll drive by her place on the way to the airport. I wouldn't panic over some missed calls."

Richards made it sound like it was no more serious than a trip to the grocery store. "John, please. She's in danger. Please help."

"Okay, Hunter. Gotta go, bye."

The line went dead before he could say anything else. Had he just made things worse? Richards could be part of Peña's underworld. He didn't seem worried at all.

Hunter couldn't leave Laura and fly back to California again. This was insane. He felt isolated, unable to help people he loved. He needed to take action, but where, against whom? He had a miserable night worrying. He called his two women throughout the night. He even called the police precinct near Claire's home for a wellness check. They reported no one home and no sign of forced entry. Claire and the kids were gone! On a long shot, he called the Flannigans. They had their own grief that was building worse each day that Sue Ann was missing, but he had to see if Claire was with them. They hadn't heard from her either. He was furious that a monster like Peña could just rip his family apart. The only solace that night was his fictional plan for Peña and his family. An eye for an eye was fair. He would never be able to hurt innocent people, but the thought of revenge wouldn't leave him.

Earlier, while Hunter was sleeping, Laura left the FAA building at five o'clock, heading to his apartment. She had become more cautious and checked her surroundings constantly. There were tourists and professional people congesting the sidewalk as she walked to the Metro. At one point, the crowd had dissipated somewhat, and she looked behind her. There were two men in business suits walking side by side ten feet behind. Something about their cadence, in sync with hers, was alarming.

She looked forward, processing the image of the men behind. She altered course, crossing on to the mall (the giant grass park spanning a block wide from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol) and walking away from the Metro. She glanced sideways and could see both men in the same relative position. There weren't many people walking across the grass, but there were enough that she figured the Park Police would be somewhere in view. Where were they? The men weren't going away!

She walked faster, and the men closed the distance behind her. Her pulse raced, and she was perspiring, wishing that Hunter was with her, or even Buzz would be comforting. She was alone and had to do something, she had to act. She reached in her purse and grasped her cell phone, fumbling to dial nine-one-one. She didn't want to go beyond the middle of the mall, making it more difficult for the men to get her to a car along the parallel streets. She stopped and turned to confront them. "I have mace in my purse, and I've called the police!"

In California in the early afternoon, Claire had both kids in her car as she pulled into her driveway after work. His car was parked at the curb. John was waiting for her. She stopped by the front door, quickly unlocking it and pushing the children inside before confronting him. "John!"

The following morning, Hunter hadn't slept well. He dozed on the couch, trying to figure out what to do. The FBI had been useless until now and would only get the police involved. They wouldn't do anything for forty-eight hours. He decided to call Laura's parents. It was a desperation move and would probably end his chances with her once he explained the danger he placed her in. But he needed to do everything possible to locate her and save her if he could. He needed a shower to clear his thoughts and ran the water. He felt helpless.

After finishing and dressing, he was about to dial the Malones when there was a knock at the door. It was a man's knock, a powerful knock. He wished he had a weapon. Looking through the peep hole, two men in suits stood outside. Either Peña had new higher-caliber assassins or this was something else. He opened the door cautiously, and the front man actually stepped back slightly, reducing the threat. Hunter asked, "Can I help you?"

"Mr. Kohl?"

"Yes."

"May we show you some identification, sir?"

"Yeah, sure."

Both men pulled badge holders from their coat pockets. "Mr. Kohl, we'd like you to come downtown (Washington DC) with us."

He sat in the back of the dark Suburban for the twenty-minute drive into the training building on Murray Drive in DC. The United States Secret Service doesn't maintain a defined headquarters location, but was assumed to be located in the Executive Office Building next to the White House. The mission of the USSS is complex, most obviously involved in protective services, but that is only a small part of the overall mission. Their broader mission is to safeguard the nation's financial infrastructure and payment systems to preserve the integrity of the economy, and to protect national leaders, visiting heads of state and government, designated sites and National Special Security Events.

Security at Murray Place was high, but the agents in the front of the vehicle were waived through without stopping. They parked under the unmarked building and took the elevator to the third floor. Hunter was escorted to a large expensively furnished office complete with an entertainment wall, floor to ceiling windows with interesting vibration devices and hurricane shutters, and flags positioned on either side of the credenza. The name on the door said Deputy Director J. Paul Fleming.

He was left alone after one of the Special Agents brought him his first black coffee of the day. The office door was closed. There were numerous certificates and citations framed on the wall behind him, and he stood to look more closely when the door opened, and he entered. Hunter nearly dropped his coffee. "John!"

They shook hands. Hello, Hunter. Surprised?" John was smiling.

"John, I don't get it. Who's Paul Fleming?"

John smiled, gesturing Hunter to sit while he went behind the desk for the oversized executive chair. "He's me. Although, I haven't used the moniker much lately."

Hunter was astonished. "You're Secret Service?"

"I've spent most of my career here, Hunter."

"John, what's going on? Should I call you John or Paul?"

"Call me either. I've been Paul in the Service, but John to my friends. It's kind of a lawyer thing I didn't want; I've never practiced law in the traditional sense, but the bureaucracy likes to use middle names when JD shows up behind your name."

"John, this is all a mystery to me. What's going on? I'm worried about Claire, I'm worried about my fiancée."

"Rest on that, Hunter. They're under the care of the USSS, safe and well."

Hunter lowered his head in relief then looked back at John without speaking.

John continued. "I want to give you an explanation. You deserve it. But first, I need to go through some formalities so we can throw your ass in jail if you disclose any of what I'm telling you."

"What formalities?"

"How about swearing in as a Special Agent of the Secret Service?"

"Are you serious?"

"Completely. You will continue doing whatever you need to do for the state, but you would also report to me. When the time comes, when we both agree it's the right time, you can be a full-time agent or resign. But for now, I need you on my team."

Hunter had only a vague notion of where this was going. "I'll agree."

John called a couple people into his office. One had some paperwork and a seal. The other person was a witness. Hunter was given an oath to recite and asked to sign several documents. When it was all over, and they took his picture standing in front of the flag, John said, "There's an official ID that goes with this, but I'll be keeping it here in my office. You won't have anything that will identify you."

Hunter sat again, looking at John. "Okay, I guess I'm official now."

"Yep, you're one of us. When this is over, if you want to stay with the Service, you'll need to go through some training programs, but I'll defer it for now. We're in the middle of an op, and your prior training is good enough."

"So what about my ladies?"

"We have Claire and your fiancée at safe houses with constant guards on duty. No one knows where they are except a couple of us in the Service."

"How about me?"

"Not now, maybe once things settle down."

Hunter nodded, "You mean with Peña?"

"Yeah. He's on the rampage now, which is why I gathered up the innocents."

"John, I had you figured all wrong."

"Good. That's the way it needs to be. For now, I'm just the State Investigator with questionable loyalties. It's important that we continue to relate this way."

Hunter asked, "How about the FBI, do they know about you?"

"They know. But it's important that you continue to play in our little charade. I don't want them to know about your involvement in the op."

They talked for another hour about strategy and tactics. Basically, the USSS began an investigation of corruption in Congress and ultimately started investigating Senator Jenson. Some of his financial metrics showed enormous financial wealth and campaign contributions that didn't "fit" any rational model. This led them to Peña. The investigation had gone on for three years, and John spent most of his time in Sacramento. His Washington office was referred to as his shrine, although most of the Service's staff was deployed at any given time. He really was divorced but didn't have any children in college, as Claire believed.

Hunter asked a burning question. "What happened to José?"

John was reluctant to answer. "Hunter, this isn't easy. José was at the center of the Jenson investigation. He basically introduced the Senator to Peña after determining that Jenson was of low moral character, shall we say."

Hunter hesitated. "Was José corrupt?"

John waited a moment then looked directly at Hunter. "As bad as they get. He played a fool's game. Peña keeps a lot of officials on his payroll at various levels. José had some kind of distant family relationship to the Peña's and got close to Luciano after he got involved with the state. I guess Peña figured he'd be worth something someday. Kind of a sleeper. Anyway, José got greedy. Having kids sometimes causes financial distress, particularly when your wife takes off to raise them for a while.

"Anyway, we think José threatened Peña about starting this legalization process if he didn't get paid off. The payoff came in the wrong form. José just didn't know who he was dealing with."

Hunter pursed his lips but didn't ask the next question, which John answered anyway. "Claire didn't know any of this. She's completely clean."

Hunter exhaled, "Thank God." Then he asked, "John, I need to know about my cousin, Sue Ann?"

"Sorry, Hunter. We don't know for sure. She was a promiscuous girl who got suckered by Peña's wealth, and couldn't handle it once she was in deep. He doesn't have any past girlfriends, they all disappeared. Sorry, Hunter, we didn't know he would hurt her."

Hunter was determined, now that he had some answers. "John, how do we get this guy? I wanna bring him down."

John nodded. "Hunter, I know what you mean. It's against policy to let you work on the case. I can only get you involved to the extent that you're already in it."

"That's neck deep, John."

"I don't need to tell you to be careful, Hunter."

"I know. Two guys already tried to jump me."

"Yeah. We know. They were part of a small group of ex-cons and SpecOps types that work as assassins for the highest bidders. Peña uses these guys for recon and killings. They all address each other by numbers rather than names."

"You know about them?"

"We've got a lot of taps going. That's how we get most of our intel from Jenson. Peña is more careful, but we still get some of it. The guys you met were both lifer's from Folsom out on parole."

"I think I killed them, John."

John nodded. "Yep, you killed both of them. We fished them out and buried them as John Does. They won't bother you again."

"I didn't have a choice, John."

"We're not asking, Hunter. Just try to keep the body count manageable."

"You think there'll be more?"

"I think it's unavoidable, Hunter. These aren't the kind of cases that make it to court. We'll gather all the facts we can and try to build a case, but the bottom line is that these guys working in the drug culture live in a single dimension dominated by violence. They strike out when problems occur and kill each other. We call it a war, but these aren't warriors, they're just dumb killers. They can't plan strategies or tactics, as we think about them. They just pick up a gun and shoot someone. They never think about repercussions. They're predictable, and I predict that it will all end bloody."

They worked out some further details, mainly dealing with communication channels before Hunter was driven back to his apartment. It would be a few weeks before he saw Laura and Claire again, but they were safe. They were also being briefed on some parts of the USSS operation. For now, they were only told that Hunter knew they were safe. They were not told that he was on the team.

Hunter had mixed emotions. He knew his family was safe, at least after Sue Ann. Basically, the Secret Service was telling him to wait and see what happened -- which he couldn't do. Peña would come after him. He knew more about the case after talking to the FBI and John. He didn't have any specific instructions, so could do anything natural to him. He had to take this directly at Peña and not sit waiting for some sniper to lay him out. He had an idea to stir the pot, even if the Feds couldn't move. The escorts circled the block before letting him off at his apartment.

In California, Peña was madder than ever. Number One reported that Kohl's girlfriend was gone, and Ramon reported the same about Claire. Kohl must be playing games, games that he couldn't win. Did he really think he could hide his treasures while he played cowboy. Kohl had to die.

Offense

He was tired. Days of odd schedules, overnight flights and sleepless nights wore him to the edge. He could hardly think clearly. It was like SEAL "Hell Week" \-- almost. He needed to rest, but he couldn't risk staying in his apartment, or even being followed to a hotel. His best option was another flight to California. This time, he drove to Dulles, mostly to shake off anyone following, and more flights were available. He would fly to Sacramento for his equipment first. If they found him there, at least he would have his weapons.

The Dulles extension was nearly void of cars, as he drove the final six miles to the airport above the speed limit. No one followed him. He parked in the long-term lot, taking the shuttle to the main terminal, and looked at the master display for flights to Sacramento. He went directly to the JetBlue counter and bought a standby ticket on the next direct flight. It wasn't going to be as quiet as an overnight flight, but right now he could sleep anywhere. The flight was originally booked full, but only two-thirds of the passengers showed up. He was able to secure a window exit-row seat for twenty-five more dollars. Once aboard, he asked for a pillow and blanket, surprised that they actually had at least one of each available. As soon as the wheels were up, he was asleep. He had no idea when the plane was scheduled to land, nor did he care. He slept for six hours. Knowing that Claire and Laura were safe made the difference. On final approach, he stretched and felt more relaxed than he had for days.

After landing, he rented a car and drove immediately to Claire's house. This time, he parked inside her garage, out of sight, while getting his gear. He then drove on to Sue Ann's apartment. He still didn't have a precise plan. Most of it was outside his control.

The late afternoon sky was painted a dozen shades of grey as dense rain clouds rolled in from the coast. San Francisco was cold and wet, and he drove into the worst weather the bay area had seen in months. For no logical reason, the weather gave him a sense of security. There was no reason for it given the kind of people he was dealing with. The stormy weather helped obscure night operations. It didn't matter. He was rested and had his equipment.

After passing through a Jack-in-the-Box drive through, he cruised into San Jose after dark during a heavy squall. It was difficult to recon the parking lot in the deluge, but the risk was low that Peña would put men outside a dead girl's apartment now. He had no reason to expect Hunter to be there. Hunter parked in front of Sue Ann's building to unload his gear, then moved the car to a marked space, running back through standing water.

Inside, he closed the blinds and turned on some lights the set up his laptop. Once on line, he confirmed that Ocean Queen and Wanderer were both in port. Sea Fury was off the Central American Coastline.

At the Embarcadero, Peña stayed late in his office. Roxanne was with him and the doors were locked for "dictation" until six-thirty, then he called Ramon and Pete Korb for a meeting. Ocean Queen didn't need to go to sea for any particular reason and Korb had proven trustworthy. When the men arrived, Peña broke out a bottle of Scotch whiskey that neither of the two cared for, but they all had a drink. Peña said. "Mi Amigos, our future is in jeopardy. If certain laws are passed in Washington, my business, our business, is ruined."

Ramon just grunted and kept silent. Korb said. "What can we do, boss?"

"I have a friend in Congress that will try to get it delayed. In the meantime, we need to get rid of this Kohl person who is not following my instructions. He has hidden his family to protect them, but I will find them. When I do"...he just looked at Ramon who smiled.

While they were talking, Peña's phone buzzed. He looked at the display and signaled the others to fill their glasses again. "Hello, Senator."

There was a long pause, then Peña continued. So, this cop, Inspector Richards, he's asking you questions?" Peña listened to another long monolog. "I see, Senator. What are the chances for a delay?" Both other men listening to this side of the conversation knew not to be inquisitive. "Alright, Senator. You don't worry about him...yes, yes, it will be taken care of...goodbye, Senator."

He clicked the phone off and took a long swig, addressing the two across his desk, "Men, we have some good news, and some other good news."

Korb asked, "What is it, Luca?"

"My friend in Washington thinks the bill will be delayed and rewritten, and he can get the language out." They stared at him, knowing nothing about legislative jargon. "But, there is one problem."

After explaining, Korb asked, "You want to do, boss?"

Peña didn't answer immediately. He just stared at his glass and swirled the whiskey. "I have a plan."

Fifty miles south, Hunter wasn't as tired after the flight, but he rested for some hours to get an early start, before dawn -- it could be a long day.

It was still dark in the morning when his phone rang. "Hello?"

"Hunter, it's Leigh." Her voice was surprisingly energetic, but then he realized she was three hours ahead on the east coast.

He ruffled his hair and sat up. "Oh. Hi, Leigh."

She responded, "You sound like you just got up."

"I'm not in Washington, Leigh."

"Oh, that explains it. Look, something has happened."

She had his attention. "Tell me."

"The SAC is having difficulty agreeing on the whole package. They're out of time, and the staff is madly drafting a continuing resolution."

"Oh, great. They did it last year. How much time are they buying?"

"It looks like through first Quarter. They'll kick the can down the road through December."

"Any chance that the CR would have our language?"

"No. The CR is a bland bill. It just sets spending levels for continuing operations and entitlements, no new things. It gets beyond the elections in November, and people like Blithe and Romanoff don't have to sweat results."

"Why is this happening?"

"Welcome to Washington, kid."

"What should I do, Leigh?"

"Just watch on the sidelines, Hunter. If it makes you feel better, call Brian Collie to get the latest, but don't expect any miracles. The Congress is dysfunctional and CRs are a way of life. It should never happen. They should have the spending bills out by June and start working ahead for next year. Instead, the do-nothings can't get the job done, and this is what we get."

He just shook his head. He had other problems to solve right now and needed to neglect his "real job" for a few days. It wouldn't make any difference. Peña was winning again.

Hunter called John, who asked "You're on the west coast again? So am I."

"Oh, look, sorry, it's only four-thirty. I thought you'd still be in DC enjoying that gilded office of yours."

"Yeah, it's nice, isn't it? I get to visit it once or twice a year. So, what's up?"

"You hear that the Congress is stalled and heading for a CR?"

"Yeah. I think our friendly Senator is stirring the pot, maybe Romanoff also."

"John, that just means that Claire and Laura are in danger longer. Our Kingfish friend will try harder to get them, to get to me."

John sounded frustrated. "Hang in there, Hunter. I'm trying to get the Senator out of the way, maybe even this week. Don't know if it'll make a difference, but it's all I can do."

John then asked, "Where are you?"

"I'd rather not tell you right now, but I'll be it touch soon."

He hung up. John was right. There wasn't much anyone could do if the Congress didn't act.

For the next three days, he monitored Fury's progress. The ship followed the same course as Wanderer. When it was about a day out from Los Angeles, Hunter loaded the car and drove south. He left before dawn when coastal fog was still blanketing the highway. The temperature wasn't supposed to get much above fifty. He knew that Fury wouldn't dock until after dark, after government inspectors went home. He hoped they would use the same off-load scheme.

Peña was in the office early, before Roxanne arrived. There was a phone message to call Number One.

"What's going on, One?"

"Your man (Hunter) is not in his apartment. Two and Three are gone, too."

Peña wasn't interested in details. "So, find him!"

"I went to the girl's address, too. It looks like she's been gone away, according to neighbors. Maybe they skipped town together."

"Look, this guy can't stay invisible forever ... find him and earn your pay."

"Look, Mr. Peña, we provide the highest quality professional service. Don't pretend to order us around like your own people."

"I'll order you around any way I want. You lowlife scum are from being professionals. Now just do as you're told or I'll find someone else who can. Sounds like you need some replacements. Get better people this time!"

"Numbers Two and Three are the best, I don't want you disparaging them."

"Fuck you! You guys have disappointed me too many times. Just find the mark and get it done!" He slammed the phone down.

Hunter reached the San Pedro dock after dusk. The days were getting shorter. As he drove past on the frontage road, he could not see the channel. Fog diffused the few ship lights along the dock, creating a kind of yellowish-grey corona affect. Water conditions were the same as before, murky, black and scum-covered. He could smell the harbor a mile away. Later, he would irrigate his ears with isopropyl alcohol.

He drove farther down the frontage road which ended in a dirt field with ruts closer to the mouth of the harbor. The area was devoid of anything structural, except for some old decayed piling clusters offshore. In the 1920's and 30's the hills of San Pedro and Long Beach were pocked with oil wells that produced thick oil sludge. Large ships, deeper than fishing trawlers, would moor against the pilings, and oil would be transported by giant hoses. These wells had ceased working fifty years ago, but the remnants still scarred the hillsides and harbor.

There was a stone jetty at the mouth of the San Pedro Channel into the Harbor and the open Pacific beyond. He parked close by near two rusty pickups by the rocks. There were signs, warning against eating anything taken from the harbor, but desperate people ignored them. Hunter opened his laptop checking progress. Sea Fury was still a couple hours out. He jumped when someone tapped on the window beside him, flashing a light beam through the window. He pushed the "down" button. "What's the problem, officer?"

"Sir. Can I ask what you're doing here? You don't look like you're fishing."

"No. That's right. I had some time to kill, so I came down here exploring. I wanted to do some computer work while I'm waiting for my brother coming in on a fishing boat."

"Okay. But be watchful. there's also some dangerous people around here."

The young officer seemed content after flashing his light around the interior. "How much longer you plan to be here?"

"Ah, probably a few hours. His boat's supposed to be in the channel around midnight. I thought I'd sleep a little until then."

"Suit yourself, sir. Keep the windows up and the doors locked. I'll be around from time to time checking up. If anyone pulls up beside you, my advice would be to leave and find another spot to wait."

"Look, I appreciate it. Thanks."

"Have a good night, sir." He hoped to be out of the area before midnight.

Farther North, in suburban Sacramento, John Richards (Paul Fleming) arrived at his rental house after dark and stopping for groceries. He pulled into the carport and carried the bag toward the back door. That's when they grabbed him. One man in front of him with a gun and another behind with vice-like arm strength held him, disarmed him, threw him to the ground and bound him with duct tape. When he was helpless and silent, the big man carried him over his shoulder, tossing him roughly into the trunk of a car.

Hunter closed his computer after checking the tide table and waited. He had half an hour to kill and wanted to gauge the timing of police patrols. Where were you guys on the docks last week?

At nine o'clock, he checked Fury's position one more time then put his laptom in the trunk. Both pickups had departed. He was alone in the dark, surrounded by fog and the perpetual sickening harbor smell. He would wash all his equipment with bleach in the hotel later. A foghorn blared from somewhere across the mouth of the harbor. There was a vague rotating spotlight, but it was otherwise dark and forbidding by the jetty.

He grabbed his gear, including an submersible tool float. It was freezing cold as he stripped and concealed his clothes between rocks. He sat on one, pulling the wetsuit on by feel in the darkness. It was rare that SEALS operated in lighted conditions. He'd practiced this hundreds of times.

Once ready, he stepped off a rock into shallow water, barely up to his knees. With the float beside him, he walked backward into deeper water, hoping to avoid broken bottles and rusted edges. Old harbors were full of structural debris. He'd had more teammates injured seriously by rusty beams or broken pilings than by enemy weapons.

In deeper water, he swam more freely, pushing the float. He stayed close to the edge of the channel for reference and to avoid ships underway. At the dock he dropped below the dark slimy surface. He surfaced under the dock and tethered the float to a piling encrusted with barnacles and mussels. He waited, resting with arms across the float. The foul stench underneath was to breath, with dead fish and floating trash surrounding him. In this weather, the trawler would need to use radar to locate the mouth of the canal.

Hunter checked his watch periodically and waited about half an hour before hearing a ships horn. Moments later, a searchlight showed that Fury was edging cautiously into the canal. It was tight quarters in the fog at night. Most trawlers would have anchored out, waiting for daylight.

Ten minutes later. Fury was tied at the same spot used by Wanderer days earlier. Hunter waited until the running lights were off before opening the tool float. He wrapped his legs around the piling while securing a belt around his waist. Even though the tools were all made with titanium to be the light, the belt was an anchor on him. He put his weight belt inside the sled.

He drifted silently into the middle of the canal keeping his head above water. He checked compass angles and gauged the distance to Fury at three hundred feet and set his watch ring to zero, before descending. With zero visibility, his only references were the compass and watch. He knew his pace and estimated the tide. In seventy seconds he was roughly opposite Fury and changed course for the ship. He done this kind of dive before in unfriendly foreign ports. Near the hull, dim light showed directly under the keel. The clamshell was open!

He swam closer and touched the edge of one hatch cover. His rebreather didn't exhaust any bubbles. The container was being lowered. He watched the dim form move downward, settling ten feet below the hull. Hunter treaded backward, farther into darkness. The dim light began fading as the doors closed. The small buoy floated against the ships bottom. The buoy's tether kept it under the keel until the ship moved.

Hunter was alone again in complete darkness under the hull after the clamshell closed. He swam slowly, feeling for the container. It was a fiberglass cube, about four feet square with hinges on one side and latches on the other. All three latches opened quickly. When he lifted the lid, there was sudden release of air. He stopped for a moment, alert for sounds above. The box wasn't water proof, but it hadn't been full of water when he opened it. Nothing happened and the doors in the hull stayed closed. Inside the box were bricks that he assumed was cocaine. They were sealed to prevent moisture. He estimated the inside load to be about a cubic yard. He lifted the first brick and swam ten feet out in the channel before dropping it then returned to the box. It took him about twenty minutes to remove the top layers, about one foot of the load. He then closed the lid.

The ship's engine resonated. His work was done, and he needed to escape. It would be several more minutes before the ship actually moved, and he swam fast toward the end of the canal. The tools made it harder, but Fury was still at the dock when he got to the float. He exchanged belts and rested while Fury went maneuvered to leave. As the ship moved into the darkness, he left the pilings and swam back to the jetty.

Trade War

Luciano Peña could be more careful. He had more time now that Jenson had delayed things. He would catch Hunter Kohl and make fish food of him eventually. He would find his sister and girlfriend. Then Kohl would give up. But for now, he needed to find out everything he could from the Richards. Ramon was guarding the prisoner. Peña could wait until Richards told them everything he knew about Jenson and about Kohl's sister. He stayed late in his office and told his wife that the fishing was excellent and the association demanded more of his time than he wished. In reality, he was enjoying Roxanne finish her dictation before Captain Korb showed up. He nearly screamed in exhaustion when she finished. He felt weak. She amazed him. How could such a young girl know so much? She was his best assistant yet.

He bent from his chair and held her face in his hands. "My dear, you amaze me. Remind me to be extra special to you this Christmas. I think it might be time for you to get a new car.

She gave him a huge smile. "Oh, Luca. You're so nice to me!"

He gasp, holding her back. "No dear. Luca junior is all done for today. You did wore him out. Now I need to see Korb, he's on his way over."

She stood up re-did her clothes. She and made sure to look professional in case she passed Korb on the way out. She kissed Peña again. They could hear Korb entering the outer office when Peña said loudly, "That will be all, Roxanne. We can finish dictation in the morning."

She smiled over her shoulder before leaving the office. At her desk, she gathered her purse to go home. "Hello, Captain Korb. You can go right in." She walked out for the night.

Peña yelled, "Korb, get in here!"

Korb had an attitude like most career felons. He didn't like being ordered around and walked into the office with a deliberately slow cadence.

Peña pretended to be reading something on a computer screen. "Come in, Korb, and sit."

Korb moved to the chair opposite Peña that always seemed slightly lower. "We got your man, Luca. What do you want from him? It would be easy to take him for a ride to the Farallons."

"Not yet, Korb. First, you gotta find out what he knows. Find out everything. Find out who else knows. Find out where his files are."

"His files will be at work, Luca. We can't get 'em."

"Can you burn it down?"

"No. It's at the state capitol. We can't get to his office."

"Okay. Then find out if he knows where the Rivera woman is. He knows her; he probably fucks her."

Korb stood up. "Okay, Luca. Anything else?"

"Yeah. You did good, Korb. You and Ramon did real good. Remind me to reward you. Maybe if we catch the woman, you can have her. If you don't want her, I'll get Roxanne to do something special for you."

"Thanks, boss. We missed a real special piece o' ass with the cousin. What a waste."

"We'll make it up this time, Korb ... this time."

Korb left to work to their captive.

Days earlier, Senator Jenson was in the Chair of the Senate Appropriations Committee listening to each of the members from both parties expound their special interests in the bill. The biggest issue was always the defense budget. It represented about sixty percent of the budget each year. All the other departments got peanuts by comparison. The entitlements such as pensions, Medicare, Social Security and hundreds of other legal mandates got most of the other money. As Jenson listened to the palaver from the various Senators, he shifted debate between issues and totally confuse the process. The discussion would cause the Bill to stall. If it didn't pass the Senate, there wouldn't be funding for the new fiscal year beginning October first. That would lead to a Continuing Resolutions at the last minute to keep basic services running Senator Jenson had the ability to delay voting on a bill.

Claire and Laura were in protective custody in a Government complex outside Alexandria, Virginia. They didn't have to live in the same facility, but they wanted to be together. John promised it was for a short period. There were guards when they stayed inside the facility, but they needed to be cautious outside. Claire's kids went to school in Fairfax County under false names.

Peña was determined to find them, to get Hunter Kohl, but he also needed to protect Senator Jenson. His latest prisoner could be the key to success in both cases. He was at home late that night when his phone vibrated. He normally ignored it, but it displayed "Mojo."

"Why are you calling me?"

"Yo, I gotta problem man. I's yo' problem."

"Tell me what it is."

"Yo' shorted me one hundred thirty keys."

"I didn't short you anything, pecker head."

"Who yo' callin' pecker head?

Peña didn't like calls at home, especially from idiots. He especially didn't like being called a thief. No one had ever done that – and lived. "You asshole. Stop bothering me and move the goods. I got a lot riding on this. That shipment cost me huge, and you're gonna pay up." Peña figured it was a tactic to undercut him.

Mojo said, "You pull this shit on me, yo' a dead man."

For the second time in days, Peña was hot. No one, especially his wife and kids had ever seen him lose his temper. He always had things going in the right direction. Now things were colliding and he didn't need some ignorant drug pusher squeezing him. "Mojo, if you say one more word, I'll feed you your balls. You got one day to get me thirteen million, or you're a dead man."

"You ain' gettin' shit from me. I figure the rest of the goods is a separation bonus. Come and get it, if you can."

Peña threw his phone against the wall. His wife looked at him cautiously. She knew not to pry, but it would disturb the children to see him. Instead, he went outside and signaled for his car. He would sleep at some hotel and group his men in the morning for battle. He couldn't believe it. He had just handed the entire distribution organization to Mojo. These things can't be reversed. Most dealers were psychotic enough without being whipped between powerful bosses. The structure for drug distribution was only as good as the guy with the bigger gun. Peña had told his distributors and dealers that Mojo was the main man. He couldn't reverse that. The only choice now was to replace Mojo. The prospect was getting more real by the second. He would enjoy slicing his heart out and feeding it to him.

Mojo still had the rest of the cocaine shipment inside the container, almost eight million dollars' worth. He also had all the distributors in the West that Peña had given him. Hell, even if Peña didn't cheat him, this was a good situation. He just needed to kill Peña to finalize his empire.

Hunter had arrived back to Sue Ann's apartment after spending the night in a cheap hotel in Los Angeles. It had taken hours to clean his gear and equipment from the harbor slime. The equipment float had to be scrubbed in bleach. It all hardly fit in the bathtub. He'd started something in the drug world, but it wouldn't be obvious for a while. He didn't know what would happen, but those drugs had to be worth a small fortune. Hunter wanted Peña put away or killed. He wanted his sister and lover to be safe, wherever they were.

In the morning, he called John's cell phone again. It rang several times, and he was going to give up when someone unfamiliar answered, "What?"

Hunter didn't know what to say initially. He used speed dial, he didn't misdial. "Who is this?"

The line went dead. Who had he just talked to?

In San Francisco, Captain Korb, left his "guest" and walked to the bridge phone to call Peña. "Luca. I just got a call from Kohl on Richard's phone. He has it programmed."

Luca was excited. "Bring it to me, immediately."

So, the detective knows more people in the family, more than just the sister. He knows Hunter Kohl. This will be interesting. The detective just became more valuable.

Hunter called the Murray building in Washington. "Is John Fleming there?"

Negative. "Let me talk to someone who knows about his work in California; this is Hunter Kohl."

After a brief period on hold, "This is Director Hendrix, what can I do for you, Mr. Kohl."

"Sir, I'm working with Paul Fleming, although out here in California he's John Richards."

"I can't talk about that, Mr. Kohl."

"Yeah. I know. But look, John is missing. I just called his cellphone, and some unknown creep answered. I think he's in trouble."

"Thank you, Mr. Kohl, we're already looking into it."

"Sir, look, respectfully. John hid my sister and girlfriend for protection. If he (Peña) has John, they could be in danger."

"We'll look into that, Mr. Kohl."

"Look, sir. I know you have your protocol, but I need to know where they are."

"Mr. Kohl, protection is just that. If Deputy Director Fleming is compromised, we will look into the matter of protection and take appropriate measures. I'm sure you understand it's for your own good if you should be compromised as well." This was the first acknowledgement that Hendrix even knew Hunter was an agent. The call ended, and he got no more information.

Fifty miles north, Captain Korb stood at the opening into the Ocean Queen's refrigerator hold with Ramon in the background. "Tell me, Inspector Richards, are you comfortable?"

John was hunched over naked against the steel wall in the giant sub-freezing hold of the ship. Pallet crates of fish would normally be lowered into the freezing chamber for storage during extended trawling voyages. Richards had been untied and stripped twelve hours earlier before the freezer was energized after Korb met with Peña. It had taken an hour for the space to reach twenty-seven degrees. After an hour at a freezing temperature, his feet and backside were frozen to the metal. He couldn't fall or sit. All feeling drained from his body. He was blue, except for his lips and eyelids that shined ruby red. Korb panicked thinking he'd gone too far without answers. He'd threatened and harangued Richards for half an hour while the temperature dropped, but the man remained silent. Now, he looked dead.

Korb threw the freezer door open and rushed with Ramon to revive Richards. Luca would not tolerate killing Richards without finding Kohl or his women. Ramon pulled Richard's body from the wall and got no response. He was still limber enough to bend over his shoulder when carried to the crew quarters to warm. They wouldn't know for another hour if the man would regain consciousness. Korb frantically threw blankets on Richards and tried to leave the space more than once, but Ramon blocked him. Ramon had his orders, too.

Hunter went on line and saw Sea Fury entering San Francisco bay. Ocean Wanderer was backing out of its berth. The shipment cycle seemed to be accelerating with both ships in motion at the same time. Was Peña really shipping more drugs to his collaborator in San Pedro, or was something else happening?

Later that night, Richards started moaning and hallucinating. Korb slapped him several times but couldn't bring Richards back to reality. "Come on, you bastard. You can't die. Talk to me!" He slapped him repeatedly until Ramon stopped him. Korb looked at Ramon and pleaded with his old cellblock protector. "Ramon, it was an accident. He was weak. How was I to know?"

Ramon released his grip and stared at the Captain. Korb regained some composure and continued trying to revive Richards whose organs had stopped functioning and was dying of the exposure. He wasn't dead yet, but the process was irreversible. Korb had gone too far with his torture, with no results. He shook Richards again. "Come on, you pig, talk to me!"

Hunter arranged his make-shift security chair and noise makers in the apartment, placing his Beretta on the nightstand before collapsing in bed. He could shower in the morning and assess things then. He worried about John, but he also worried about Claire and Laura. John knew where they were hiding, and Peña probably had John. At least he had his phone. The night was stormy again and rain beat against the windows, keeping him from sleeping. He tossed, thinking about his women and about Sue Ann. He had to stop the monster.

In the morning, he showered before dawn. He hadn't slept much, but he wasn't tired either. The sun blazed through the remnants of clouds shortly after he dressed. He sat briefly, watching the morning news. His phone rang and he looked at the display before answering. "Hi, Leigh."

"Hi. You back in DC yet?"

"No. I'm still in California."

"Good, I was going to call earlier but thought you might still be there."

"What's up?"

"Did you see the news yet?"

"No.

"Your friendly California Senator, Jenson, got hauled away by the Feds from his home this morning at three A.M. No one's sure if it was the FBI or Secret Service."

Hunter sat down. "Are you kidding? What does this mean, Leigh?"

"I don't know yet, Hunter, but it might mean there's still time to pass the bill if they can get it on the floor today or tomorrow."

He shook his head. "Unbelievable! Do I need to call anyone?"

"You should, but don't bother. I'll take care of this end. You take care of your business then get back here as fast as you can."

"I will."

He was conflicted. His job needed him in DC, but his family welfare meant he should be here. Family wins.

Peña heard the news around noon time and was furious once again. His cozy business life was unraveling all around him. He didn't know what to do first. He called Number One.

"What can I do for you, Luca?"

"Are you on your way to DC?"

"I'm going to the airport today and will fly overnight. There're no good flights to the east coast after one o'clock. My flight leaves at ten-thirty tonight."

"Do you have everything you need?"

"I should have."

Peña didn't smile. He wasn't smiling about anything lately. He screamed at his daughter earlier at home, and his wife threw something at him. He had two enemies, Mojo and Kohl. Mojo would be taken care of like normal business. Kohl was ruining his business and was more important. He would get him soon.

In Washington, the kids were in school and Claire had Laura over to her apartment for lunch. They tried to keep each other company. Partly, they were both scared that they were targets of the maniac in California. José had been murdered and Sue Ann was probably dead. Hunter hadn't said anything about her, but they both knew he thought Peña killed her, too. When John Richards first told Claire that he was in the Secret Service and needed to protect her, it was the first time she felt genuinely scared. But now, their temporary stay in protection was starting to feel overdone. It was like being locked away. John would call every day, but stopped two days ago. The ladies sat at the dinette table in Claire's three-bedroom apartment.

Claire was eight years older than Laura, but they shared so much recently that they felt like sisters. Claire said, "Have you heard from anyone lately?"

Laura pursed her lips. "Claire, it's really frustrating. I know they said Hunter wouldn't be told where we were, but why did they take our cellphones? Don't they trust us?"

"Laura, they probably know what they're doing. I'm getting a little worried because John hasn't called. At least he's a connection to the outside. And, I know how you feel. My kids are going crazy. They want to be home in their own rooms with their friends. This is like prison to them. I told them that we'd be leaving soon, so they aren't even trying to make friends at school."

Laura said, "I work less than an hour from here, but haven't touched anything on my desk. I don't even know if I have a job anymore."

"John said that was all taken care of."

"Yeah, I know. At least you have your kids. I don't have anyone. I wish I could talk to Hunter."

"You going out today?"

"I have to, Claire. I'll buy some groceries or just walk around."

The ladies were told to stay near the compound and be inside before nightfall. They weren't allowed to drive unless an "agency" car took them, so they just stayed within their walking area.

Hunter began watching CNN and CSPAN to track the Appropriations Bills. Everything was done except the Defense Spending Bill, and it would come out of Committee late in the day. Tomorrow, the Senate would vote on it. If it passed, the bills would go to conference with the House with a small group of negotiators to reconcile any differences. All of the individual department bills had already been reviewed by both Houses of Congress but held in suspension until the massive defense bill arrived. Both sides of the Hill thought they could have a comprehensive Appropriations package to the President for signature before the end of next week, on the last day of the Fiscal Year. It was an election year and all of the House members and one third of the Senate were up for re-election. No one wanted to leave this fundamental responsibility undone as they had the previous year. At least half of the incumbents would fall victim to campaign rhetoric from their opponents if the Bill failed, and they needed an emergency CR instead.

Leigh had seen it all before, but this process mystified Hunter. So much of the law had nothing to do with fundamental needs of the American people. It all had to do with politics. The defense bill didn't reflect the needs of the defense department. Hell, the troops went to Iraq and Afghanistan without body armor and with soft-sided HWMMVs – but an overabundance of airplanes and ships. The squabble that many referred to as "healthy debate" had no relevance when it came to the end of the fiscal year under the cloud of an election year. It was all too complex, and Hunter appreciated Leigh's experience.

She understood motivating factors of several key members that he could never learn -- he would never want to learn. Some people enjoyed the intricacies of federal governance, but he hated it. Even worse, the process had little to do with reflecting the so-called "will of the people." It was all about individual egos and greed of people who chose politics as a profession, something the founding fathers had tried to avoid.

He watched the progress of Peña's ships as Wanderer circled back from her brief stop in Central America en route to San Pedro. From all appearances, watching the traces on his computer, Peña was following the same routes used before. If it maintained course and speed, it would dock in San Pedro late that night.

Luciano Peña was in his office meeting with his remaining ship's crews, drivers and Ramon. He laid out a plan for them all to go south with him to take care of Mojo. Once that was done, he would deal with any dealers that objected. Most of his people would leave tonight by car. Peña and two guards would fly in the morning. Ramon would stay behind and guard Peña's family. Roxanne seemed disappointed that Luca ignored her, but he was getting the excitement he needed by meeting with the cutthroats and walking tattoo posters behind closed doors. They were all repulsive humans. Her only instructions were to keep the door closed and don't interrupt them for any reason.

That evening, Hunter watched the trace of Ocean Queen leaving the dock on another trip to the Farallons. His heart sank. Some hours later, after midnight, Wanderer entered the berth at San Pedro. It was the same berth used twice before. Hunter wondered if they just overlooked the missing drugs. He'd done the math. He scuttled over five million dollars in the harbor. How could that be overlooked? Even for a man like Peña, it was a lot of money.

The process in San Pedro had been going on before Peña collaborated with Mojo. His team was in place and wasn't going to change. The only difference was that Mojo wouldn't know the shipping schedule, and the person receiving the shipment was his main LA Distributor, who now worked for Peña. Everything went smoothly. This time, Hunter wasn't waiting below to pilfer the shipment. The dump truck backed onto the dock when signaled and the load transferred as it always did. Nine hundred kilos of uncut cocaine sat in a cube in the bed of the truck, worth fifteen thousand dollars per kilo. Total value of the shipment was thirteen million dollars that Peña gave on credit just to get the distributor rolling with higher-volume sales to other dealers that Peña identified. He was attacking Mojo on the most basic level and would soon attack him physically.

The truck started down the dock without lights. At the end, just as the driver was planning to turn onto the frontage road, Mojo's long black limousine blocked the exit. Several men jumped out with MAC-10 Machine pistols. The driver/distributor panicked and shifted into reverse but there was no place to go far. The crane blocked the dock. He jumped from the cab and immediately fell to his knees.

Mohamed Al-Zeid stepped from the car and quickly walked up to the quivering man, signaling one of his men to take the dump truck away. The man begged as Mojo grabbed his collar and lifted him to his feet, pushing him to the edge of the dock near the road. The man pleaded, "Mojo..." He never finished when the knife slit his throat, and he fell backward into the black slime. Mojo and the drugs were gone in seconds. He would make his largest profit ever with drugs stolen from Luca Peña. He savored the thought driving toward his home in Palos Verdes, not far away.

The following morning, Peña's men arrived with equipment in San Bernardino after driving since midnight from San Francisco. They were waiting at the airport when Peña and his two guards landed at San Bernardino airport. The engines on his jet were still winding down when Peña and his guards headed toward the empty car driven down from San Francisco with more equipment. The pilot was told to stay with the plane for a departure in the afternoon.

They left the airport in convoy for Victorville located at the southwestern edge of the Mojave Desert. Before the collaboration with Mojo, Jesus Ruiz was Luca Peña's main distributor in Southern California. Ruiz was waiting for Peña and "friends" to visit him before noon at his high-desert fortress. He ran a heavy equipment business from a very private location in a gorge defined by steep mountainsides. The entrance was protected by a huge unmanned iron gate spanning between massive concrete pillars that could stop any car trying to ram. The gate was standing open for Peña's caravan. They drove up the curvy quarter-mile dirt road to Ruiz's massive equipment building. In addition to maintenance on earthmovers and backhoes, the building had some unique hidden storage facilities and drug "cutting" rooms. Ruiz stood in a large open garage door when they arrived.

When Peña's car door was opened, Jesus met him with a familiar Latin hug and welcoming remarks in Spanish, which Luca had never learned, much to his parent's disappointment.

"Luca, my friend, and your friends, welcome to my modest business."

Luca handed his sport coat to one of his guards. "Jesus, my friend, there is nothing modest about you're business. Business is good, no?"

"Never better, Luca, although I'm not sure Mojo and I will get along as well as you and I."

"Well, Mi Amigo, I want to talk to you about that. I know that you were told to work for Mojo now, but that's why I'm here. Can we go inside to talk?"

"Certainly, my friend. Does this mean we are back in business?"

The two men departed for an office and Peña's men moved the cars inside the equipment building. Jesus was alone and most of his equipment was parked on all sides of the building. He had once been the largest earthmoving contractor from Victorville to Palmdale, but business was slow with the recession. Peña worked with Jesus for twenty years, beginning as a small local dealer. They had always trusted each other, and Jesus became Peña's largest distributor. His unusual location and equipment gave Jesus the ability to bury his problems, literally. The only law enforcement in the rural desert was the County Sherriff who was responsible for thousands of square miles of desert territory. Jesus was completely isolated with no neighbors to complain. He had never been in trouble with the law.

The setup was brilliant in its simplicity. Mojo had a distribution network before collaborating with Peña and was cutting Jesus back to be a local dealer. He had a legitimate reason to complain. At the same time, Peña would need someone to take over Mojo's operations now that their relationship was over. Jesus was trusted and motivated to cooperate with Luca Peña.

Mojo was travelling in caravan toward Escondido when Jesus called. Jesus wasn't happy and demanded to meet with him or he would use his network against Mojo. He would be a competitor. No one ever threated Mojo. He ordered his cars to drive to Victorville immediately!

There was no way to know exactly when Mojo would arrive, but they had enough time to set the trap. Equipment could be moved. Some of Peña's men were given quick lessons on driving the huge machines.

It was early afternoon when Mojo's three cars approached Jesus's land. The late afternoon sun shone brightly with no clouds. It had not rained for almost sixty days and the dirt road created dense dust clouds behind each car. The early fall temperature was approaching eighty-five, which was warm for the elevation. At night, it would be cold enough to snow if there was any precipitation. It almost never snowed.

Mojo's cars stopped at the open gate. Several men, including Mojo, got out and talked without driving through. Peña was watching with binoculars from a fire road carved part way up the side of the mountain above the equipment building. For several minutes, nothing happened, as Mojo talked to his men. At one point, he used his cellphone, which was useless in the mountains. From Peña's vista point, he could see the agitation at the gate, but he was counting on Mojo's arrogance to disregard subordinates.

Finally, the first black Suburban drove through the gate. The limousine and the other Suburban remained outside. The trail of dust from the first vehicle signaled its location throughout the gorge, even when it was obscured from direct view. It stopped at the equipment building, and no one left the car. It sat for several seconds before continuing to drive around to the back. There were no open doors and no passenger vehicles in sight. It drove around front again and stopped. For a minute, nothing happened. Soon after, the limousine drove through the gate followed by the security truck in blinding dust close behind. Unseen by the caravan through the dust, Peña's man moved from brush cover and closed the gate. He then jumped up onto the CAT9 Dozer and began moving slowly up the road behind them, sealing their exit. There was no other way out of the canyon.

When the limousine and security trucks were together in front of the equipment building, two men began trying to open doors and pounding for Jesus to open up. They signaled that no one was answering. Then the discussion stopped as the bulldozer came up the road. Both men went back to their trucks. From above, the caravan looked like a circled wagon train waiting for an Indian attack. Peña used a portable radio to communicate.

In unison, several big machines started moving around them. Jesus drove a huge earthmover, and two other machines closed around the cars. The scene was quickly obscured by dust that no one could see through. Again, none of the black vehicles moved. When the dust began dissipating, Mojo was encircled by heavy machines that were parked with nobody visible. Peña's men were in defensive positions, prepared for an assault by Mojo that didn't happen.

Inside the equipment building, Peña's men steadied a Rocket Propelled Grenade. On the hillsides and behind some of the equipment, men pointed sniper rifles.

The cars didn't move. When ready, a small service door opened at the side of the building opposite Mojo's limousine and the RPG hit the middoe side of the car. The explosion lifred the massive car off the ground. Doors flew open and two men tumbled out, crawling on the ground. They tried to rise with MAC-10's firing randomly, hitting some of the equipment, but mostly shooting in the air. Shots were fired by Peña's snipers, and both died. Mojo's car was billowing black smoke, and he had to get away. He rolled out on the ground, bleeding and disoriented from the blast. A shot from the mountain spun Mojo around. The .30-06 shattered his right hip. Peña ordered the shooting to stop and walked down from his mountain perch. His men moved closer but were still concealed, waiting for the security car doors to open. They had more RPG rounds, but held fire.

Peña stopped yards away with Jesus, then walked past the equipment to where Mojo was squirming. Mojo's security guards were inside the bullet-proof Suburbans. Peña's men would kill anyone that showed himself. He walked next to Mojo, who cursed and tried to roll over on his belly. His lower right hip was blown away. Peña usually didn't have a gun, but he picked Mojo's up and blew dirt off. Mojo started to say something when Peña shot him through the temple. He stepped closer and fired several more times into the corpse, as a signal to the guards hiding in the armored cars. Then he signaled for his men in the building to bring another RPG. Standing only thirty feet away, the rocket was aimed at the lead car, waiting for Peña's instruction.

Peña yelled, "You men in the cars. Throw out your weapons and step out where I can see you. Nothing happened quickly, and he was about to shoot the rocket when the doors opened in the front vehicle, and men came out, leaving their guns inside. They stood near the car until ordered to move away as a group. Peña then had the RPG aimed at the second car, and they surrendered also.

Peña's men kept their positions with rifles pointed at Mojo's guards. He was standing in front of the body. "You men, you have a choice to make. It is a choice to live or to die. If you chose to live, you will be well-compensated, working for Jesus Ruiz. If you do not want to be loyal to him, then you can leave now and disappear. You will not be trusted. We run a business based on trust. Mojo broke that trust. You see what happens when you break the trust. Those that want to leave can get in the first car and drive away." He signaled for one of his men to collect the guns from the car. "You men that want to be part of the new organization and take orders from Jesus can stay." He signaled for those leaving to move, but all remained still. He walked closer to them. They all had the hardened look of the East LA gangs and ex-cons. He walked past them all, then back to the middle and shot one fellow in the head that sneered at him. All the men jumped, startled.

"That man, pointing with the gun to the dead guard, he will serve as an example to all of you. If you cross me, or your new boss, you will die."

Nothing was said by anyone. "Now, get this trash out of here. You can help bury them up in the canyon. The men picked up the bodies and threw them into the scoop of a nearby skip loader. Jesus was smiling from the background.

"Thank you, Luca. I never met Mojo in person, and he's not somebody I could stand for long. You've done me a service and a great honor."

Peña put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "We will do some good business together, Compadre. Bury them deep, and bury that, pointing to the destroyed limousine, with its owner."

"No problem Luca, I have miles of desert there (gesturing farther up the canyon from the building). I'm sure I can handle a few more graves."

"Oh, one more thing Jesus, Yesterday, last night, Mojo stole nine hundred keys from me in San Pedro. I want you to find it. You owe me thirteen million dollars for it. He had an earlier shipment of the same amount that he tried to steal. I want you to find it, and you can have half for free as a reward. That piece of shit there, pointing toward Mojo's body, took two shipments that cost me most of my cash, I want it back."

"I have some good men, Luca, some bad hombres that will find it. You'll get your money back."

"Thank you, my friend."

Peña's men put the weapons in the trunk of a car and left for San Francisco. He returned to the airport for the flight home. One problem was solved.

Jericho

"What's going on!" Peña was frustrated. He'd waited to the following morning to call Senator Jenson. He tried his home office and his mobile phone. Both went to voice mail. He waited half an hour, more than he had ever needed to wait in the past, but Jenson was ignoring him. Has something gone wrong, and Jenson was afraid to talk to him! In desperation, he called the Senator's office, but was told that the he was not in the office currently. When he asked, the receptionist said he would be gone for an undetermined time. Luca demanded: "Is he sick?" "Is he in California?" "Is he on vacation?" She refused to give any details. He demanded to talk to Jenson's Legislative Director.

"This is Sharon Wallace."

"Hello, Sharon, this is Luciano Peña, I'm one of the Senator's constituents and contributors."

"Yes, Mr. Peña, I recognize you."

"Good, now I need to speak to the Senator, it's urgent."

"That won't be possible at the moment, Mr. Peña."

"Look, I'm getting tired of the run around. Where is he?"

She paused. "Sir, have you seen the news?"

Peña had a sense of foreboding. "No, tell me."

"Well, sir. We're still trying to get details, so I can't tell you any more than what we see on the news here in DC."

"So, what's that?"

"Mr. Peña, the Senator was arrested early yesterday morning. We don't know the circumstances, but we expect him back in the office at any time."

Luca was furious, "When!"

"Well, sir. We don't know."

"Tell him to call Luca Peña immediately when he comes in."

Peña was too upset to be rational, too upset for his morning dictation with Roxanne. He called a number that only he knew.

Number One answered, "Hello, Luca."

Luca had a nasty tone. "Tell me you got them!"

"Not yet."

"Well, get them!"

"It's not that easy, Luca. This place has tight security, tighter than your house."

"So what are you doing, just sitting, costing me money?" Luca was feeling pressure on several fronts. His money was extended in two unpaid shipments, and his whole business was in jeopardy with Jenson out of the picture.

Number One remained calm. "Look, Luca. We've been sitting here on our ass checking everyone that comes and goes. It's only a matter of time."

"I don't have time!"

"Luca, there's nothing more that can be done. I hope we will have good news today."

"Good, I'm sending my plane. Bring them to me today."

"Do what you want, Luca."

Luca had become irrational. Even if Kohl could do something, they were out of time. Kohl was just a symbol now, a target of Peña's frustration. He would enjoy torturing and killing his women in front of him. He would have them cut into bait for the sharks. Kohl would see it all. Kohl would plead. Peña would savor every minute of it. The thought of his revenge eased his anxiety slightly, "Roxanne, get in here!"

In San Jose, Hunter tried to piece together what he knew and didn't know. He didn't know if the strategy to create a war between drug pushers had worked. He didn't know for sure that the drug language would pass. He didn't know if Jenson would be released in time to stop the legislative process. He didn't know where Laura and Claire were hiding. He didn't know for sure if Sue Ann and John were alive or dead. He didn't know anything. His actions were based only on intuition. He had no facts. The women were in danger. He was sure of that.

He spent the day doing more on-line research about Luciano Peña. Amazingly, the man had never been arrested for anything. He was a pillar of society. He lived in Pacific Heights. He was friends with the Mayor and state politicians. He knew all the Bay Area elites. How could such a monster maintain this façade?

According to Leigh, Blithe and Stubbs were using their influence to perfection. The Senate Defense Bill, the last of the Appropriations Bills, had gone to the floor of the whole Senate for approval with the redefinition of "substance control" embedded. The House Bill was very similar to the Senate in most respects and identical in the drug language. The House Bill had passed the floor vote and was waiting for the Senate to act on it. There would be a conference between the houses, but it wasn't expected to be lengthy or difficult. The President could have the final Appropriations Bill for signature within forty-eight hours.

Hunter hoped that passage of the Bill would finally end Peña's dominion. The man would return to being a fisherman, or leave the country, or go to prison. Anyway, it would be over unless the man was a vindictive bastard. The sun had fallen in the late fall evening, and the coastal fog had rolled in over the mountains. Then his phone rang, it said J. Richards. "Hello."

"Well Mr. Kohl, it's time to settle some scores."

"Look, Peña, it's over. You lose."

"I am MISTER Peña to you, you puny civil servant! You think you can win against me! Well, I have a little surprise for you. You know a young lady, an attractive young lady named Laura Malone?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I have her."

"Look you two-bit drug dealer, if you harm her..."

"Shut up! You do not make threats to me. No one does that!"

"What do you want, Peña?"

"I want you, that is all. I will take you in exchange for the girl."

"Look, you maniac. It's over. You have no more argument with me!"

"Oh, you're wrong. I have a debt to collect. You have been warned. I always collect my debts"

Hunter didn't say any more. The man was irrational. Peña continued. "You will come to my boat docks tonight at midnight. That is the only instruction you will be given. It is quite lonely there at night, so come alone. We will know if you are followed."

The plane with Laura aboard would land around nine and Ramon would bring her to Peña. Hunter had less than four hours to act.

Earlier that day, Laura had been impatient and went out of the complex on foot to the local mall for a walk. The guards had recommended against leaving, but it was the middle of the day, and she wasn't going far. Chances of anyone recognizing her were a million to one.

Her statistics were wrong. A white windowless van with three men had her picture and her address. They were waiting for her to venture out. They were waiting for both women. One was as good as the other and almost as good as two. Peña wanted a hostage, and she walked right into their trap.

There had been a struggle on the sidewalk, which many people witnessed. Two men jumped from the van and attacked her. She screamed and fought back. She wasn't easy. Before anyone could help, they had her inside and drove off. Some witnesses said she was injured in the attack, but still struggled violently. It was a plain white van, but no one got a license number. In an hour, the van was abandoned on Stafford Airfield, south of Quantico with their cargo wrapped like a mummy in duct tape.

Hunter knew what he was going to do, and he hated it. It wasn't the danger; it was the moral principal. He'd had the plan in his mind for days, or weeks, but never brought it to the surface. Now he had less than four hours to act. The one thing Peña would value was his family. That was clear from some of the publicity and the donations, but it also made logical sense. Paternal instinct trumped all. This is what Peña was using against Hunter, love of family. Peña forced Hunter into an action he dreaded.

The plane landed and taxied to the hangar where the doors were closed. Laura's restraints had been removed in the air. She was sitting with three mean-looking men who forbid her to talk and basically ignored her except to hand her a first-aid kit for minor cuts. She was mostly suffering from large bruises over most of her body from the rough treatment and collision with the van door when thrown inside. She knew who they worked for and that he killed people.

As the plane crossed the California border, they applied new restraints. They wrapped her arms and feet in duct tape. They also taped over her eyes and mouth. She was helpless and scared. When the plane stopped, she could hear the echo from inside the closed hangar and smelled jet exhaust. Two men carried her down the stairs and laid her on the backseat of a large car. She couldn't see any of it, but it was a long car seat.

Hunter gathered his equipment, including some things he'd acquired that day. With the awful thing he planned, he couldn't use conventional weapons. He had an idea where Laura would be, but he couldn't take a chance on being wrong. He needed leverage on his side too. He dressed in black combat fatigues. Forty-five minutes later, he was on the outskirts of Pacific Heights, reconnoitering. He parked one street away from Peña's house, across Lafayette Park. He waited until nobody strolled nearby in the cold damp evening before leaving the car and moving into the shadows, carrying a black bag. It was late and most people were already in bed. There was no traffic. The park's foliage made it easy to hide, moving to the edge of Peña's estate.

The front entrance was built like a fortress, and he assumed there would be guards inside, all Peña's men. Near the west side, the fence was an eight-foot concrete wall, plastered in stucco to look like the adobe walls of California missions. The house was about fifty yards beyond with manicured evergreens planted along the wall from inside. He laid the bag on the ground and clipped his holster to his utility belt. The black Velcro holster was designed to split open if he needed to draw quickly. His fixed-blade knife normally went across his chest, but tonight it was fastened behind with the gun.

His main weapon was a hunting bow. SEALS train with them, but he hadn't used one for a few years. His skills weren't needed since going to Washington, but he felt adequate at short range. The bow had a seventy-pound pull weight and small enough to sling over his back. With the pulley system, it had a lower draw weight for precise aiming at full extension. Nine arrows with razor-sharp broad-head tips carried in quick release clamps to it. He didn't know how many guards would there, but he definitely didn't want a firefight around all these houses, especially with a single handgun.

He tugged on everything once more then jumped, grabbing the clay tiles on top of the fence. He pulled up slowly, praying the tiles held. When chin-high, he reached over the top and swung a leg up. He was over the fence in seconds, hidden behind evergreen shrubs. He waited and listened. No guards were at this end of the house and the lights were out. It was late for anyone to be awake.

He moved to the side of the house, hiding in the foundation plantings. After a moment, he moved to the corner. Behind the house was a huge patio with a swimming pool. A man was sitting at a picnic table, smoking a cigarette. Hunter wondered what Peña would do if he knew that man was this relaxed. He moved along the side to the front. There were exterior carriage lamps around the front and surrounding the circular drive. One man was sitting by the front door and another was walking slowly along the edge of the driveway, bored. There had probably never been a serious threat at Peña's house.

Hunter moved to the back again. The house didn't have motion sensing lighting, probably to avoid disturbing the family, since guards were always around. At the back corner, the man sitting by the pool seemed to nod. He wore a sport with no visible weapon. The coat looked unnaturally large, enough to hide a gun. Hunter moved silently, getting behind the man, watching his head. The man shifted slightly, and Hunter froze. In the dark, dressed all in black with face paint, he was invisible. The man slouched further and actually looked like he would sleep in the pool chair. Peña would kill him if he knew.

Hunter stopped forty feet way. He removed an arrow slowly from its rubber holder and nocked it on the bowstring. He did everything without sound as he drew the string back to rest in a familiar location under his right jawbone. He sighted above the arrow rest and took a shallow breath. The bow fired with more force than any conventional bow and made a small swishing sound as the pulleys rotated. Flight time of the arrow was less than ten milliseconds. Even if he heard it, the man couldn't have reacted.

The arrow pierced the chair cushion like it wasn't there. The man's head jerked upward involuntarily as the arrow passed through his chest, almost exiting. His nerves seized with his heart sliced from behind. Broad head arrows kill without the traumatic shock of a gunshot. A sharp hunting arrow could pass unnoticed completely through its prey sometimes with lethal results. This arrow split the sternum and didn't exit, although most of it extended from the front. Hunter ran up to the man with his knife, ready to finish the job, but it wasn't necessary. He was paralyzed from shock and would die in seconds. The corpse remained sitting.

Hunter moved to the front. The two men, up front were a more serious threat. He watched for several seconds then moved toward the gate, outside the view of the man sitting by the door. He waited in shadows as the pacing man returned from the other end. It was a senseless exercise from a security standpoint, but probably helped overcome boredom. Hunter waited in the shadows, melding with the shrubs near the gate. The man would come to him. He would time the shot so the man on the porch wasn't alerted. He waited. Impatience would destroy his mission, destroy Laura. He gnashed his teeth and crouched back into the bushes, slowly placing an arrow on its rest.

The man kept walking toward him. When the man was about forty feet away, Hunter drew back and held the string against his cheek, under his jaw, waiting. The pulley system allowed him to hold in this position for more than a minute before his arm would quiver. The man kept walking directly at him. He was within lethal range, but Hunter held fire. Ten feet away, Hunter let fly, hitting the center of the chest. Only the feathers were visible. The man froze and seemed to rise on his toes as Hunter leapt and caught the man before he could fall. The man's eyes were bulging, and he seemed to exhale continuously when Hunter laid him down quietly. One guard to go.

He crept back toward the west corner of the house then turned along the front, moving toward the entrance. The man was hidden from view, and Hunter stayed close to the mature landscaping. The entrance of the house was bracketed on both sides with huge Bougainvillea vines extending six to eight feet out from the wall and up trellises to the second-floor roof. He placed another arrow on the rest. At twenty feet, he could see the man's silhouette through the shrubs. He checked footing. He needed to step out into the light to get a shot. The man reached in his coat pocket for a cigarette, temporarily distracted. Hunter moved in a low crouch away from the wall. He aimed and fired quickly at the guard's head, but hit low, through his throat. The man jerked out of his chair, gripping the arrow shaft, unable to scream. He flailed against the door, and Hunter leapt onto him with his knife, shoving it under ribs in the back, throwing him away from the entry onto the lawn. He was squirming but mortally wounded.

Hunter tried the front door, which was locked. It took two hard kicks to break the hinges from the hardwood frame. He ran in looking in both directions for bedrooms. There was a small noise at the end of the hall and he ran to it, smashing through the double doors into the master suite. She fumbled with the nightstand drawer, pulling hard in an awkward angle, near panic. It opened, and she reached for the gun. He slapped it away, dislodging the weapon. She screamed, and he threw her down, reaching for tie-wraps in his leg pocket.

She cried and yelled. "Guard, guards!"

"Go ahead and yell, lady. They can't come."

She squirmed defiantly, making it difficult to restrain her. "You can't be here! Do you know who I am? Do you know who my husband is?"

He knelt beside her. "Of course, I do. Why do you think I'm here?"

She tried to roll him off and kicked her feet.

"Mommy!" A young teenage girl jumped on Hunter, and he threw her onto the bed.

He jumped on her and she kicked viciously. He didn't want to hurt her. He was finally able to tie her feet. Tie wraps can't be undone except to cut them off. He left her hands free while moving back to the mother and tying her feet together. Melanie Peña wasn't yelling any more, just sobbing uncontrollably. He hated what he was doing, but didn't have a choice. The girl, Landra, was trying to tug on the foot ties but without any success. He slipped onto the bed beside her. "Give me your hands!"

"No."

"Give them to me, or I'll tie them behind your back. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to."

He tied her hands as gently as possible when she asked, "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

"It's not important, and you'll figure out the rest." He looked down at Melanie, "I don't mean you any harm, but I don't have any choice at this point. Where are your car keys?"

She became defiant. "I'm not helping you. You can go to hell."

He pulled the gun from his belt. "Have it your way, lady. How about I shoot her in the leg?" He was serious.

"No! I'll tell you."

He helped her to her feet, sitting her on the bed. "Is there anyone else in the house? Be careful how you answer. If you lie to me sombody will die."

She spat back words. "There's no one else!"

"Where are your car keys?"

He carried each female to the S600 Mercedes in the garage, sitting them in the back seat. The garage door opened by pushing a button on the rearview mirror. He turned before driving out. "We're going for a short drive down by your husband's boats. If you do anything foolish, remember that I have a gun. I'm a desperate man, that's all you need to know right now, and I won't hesitate to shoot either of you."

The two passengers huddled together with their hands tied in front and their feet bound. Both were in tears. He knew Mrs. Peña was probably capable of anything right now after threatening her daughter. There was nothing he could do about it.

It took almost ten minutes to drive through the Embarcadero, to the docks beyond. He looked at his watch and was an hour earlier than instructed. He parked the black car as far from the ships as possible, yet able to see all three clearly under the dim dock lights. He turned. "I'm going to make a call now. At some point I will allow you to talk freely, but I want you to listen first."

Melanie yelled, "Go ahead and call, but don't expect us to be quiet." Landra sat quietly staring at him.

He said, "Remember that I have the gun." He glared at them both. "I won't hesitate! If you keep your mouth shut, you will live, but it will all depend on your husband."

"My husband! What has my husband got to do with anything?"

"Just stay quiet."

He opened his call log in his cellphone and called the last number. It rang four times, then he answered. "Hello, Mr. Kohl, you're early."

Hunter looked sternly at the back seat. "I want to know that Laura, my fiancée, is alive." The women stared at him but didn't say anything.

He pressed the speaker on his phone. There was a sound of scuffling or sliding on a hard surface, he wasn't sure which. Then there was a sound of tearing and a yelp—as they ripped tape from her mouth. Peña's voice came back on, "Talk, bitch! Say something to your lover. Tell him to save you. Tell him!"

She yelped again, "Hunter, Hunter, is that you?"

The sound of distress in her voice infuriated him. "Yes. I'm here, sweetheart."

Peña said in the background. "That's enough, get her out of here."

The women listening were shocked. They sat quietly, listening. Peña continued. "Okay, now you have your proof. If you come to me now, I will set her free. If you don't, she's at the bottom of the ocean like your other friends."

Hunter responded. "Mr. Peña, as if to remove any doubt with the women in back, you don't have any complaint with me or my family. The drug reform laws are set. I can't change it now."

"You, fucking bureaucrat! You want to destroy by business. Well, I will tell you. I will destroy you like everyone else who's ever crossed me."

Hunter answered. "Time for talk is over. Listen!" He held the phone up and pointed the gun at Melanie."

She was still stunned from hearing her husband, a man she didn't know. Or maybe he was a man she had avoided knowing. But now, their daughter knew the truth. Her daddy was a murdering drug dealer by his own admission. He was ransoming Hunter's fiancée in order to kill him. How evil could one person be? She had been raised by evil. "Luca?"

Hunter muted the phone. In a short moment they heard a sullen reply from Peña. "Mel...Mel is that you?"

Hunter unmuted the phone. "It's me, Luca. He has me and Landra."

Peña was barely able to control his rage with this wife and daughter listening. "What's going on? Where are you? Where are they, Kohl?"

"They're with me, Peña. They're both shocked, but they're both with me and healthy for the moment." He looked at both women who didn't show any defiance.

"Kohl, what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm trading with you, Peña. It's a two for one deal."

"This won't end it, Kohl."

"Oh. I think it will, Peña. You get your women, if they'll stay with a murdering drug smuggler " He glanced at the women who were in shock.

"You and I will need to settle this later, Kohl."

"Whatever you say." He wanted to use much coarser language, but he didn't want to taint the effect the dialogue had on the women.

"Where are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"How can I get your woman to you?"

Hunter found it hard to ask. "Can she walk?"

"She ... ah, has some damage but she can walk short distances." The daughter, Landra, was crying.

Hunter ordered. "Undo her and walk her to the pier."

"What makes you think she's on one of my boats?"

"Because you do all your murdering on your boats and dump the evidence at sea." Melanie was staring wide-eyed in disbelief. Peña didn't deny any of it.

There were some muffled noises in the background. Peña then asked, "Where will I get my family?"

"I'll pick up Laura and drop your women at your home if we're not followed."

"How do I know you will keep your word?"

"I'm not the criminal here, Peña. You only have my word. I didn't start this, but I can sure as hell end it. I've never broken a trust. That's the only answer you get."

Peña was painfully aware that his wife and daughter had heard all of this. He was about to say something when Melanie yelled from the back seat. "Luca. You let that poor girl go! Do it now, and stop asking questions! If you value whatever you have left in life, do something right!"

Hunter kept staring at the boats. He didn't acknowledge Melanie's pleading, but he suddenly felt ashamed that she and her daughter were in this. Their lives, their illusions, were shattered.

A deck door on Ocean Queen opened, and Peña's big man came out with his hand wrapped around Laura's upper arm. Her hands were tied and she stumbled trying to walk. He could hardly control his fury seeing her condition, but her only chance of survival depended on him maintaining control. Peña's wife and daughter saw her also. Ramon half dragged her to the end of the pier and left her there with her hands tied. Hunter was tearful as he drove from the dark corner of the dock toward Laura. He didn't know if Peña could be trusted. He feared that she would be shot down in front of him as he approached just to satisfy Peña's sadistic blood-lust. He pulled opposite her with his gun in his hand. He wouldn't use in on the woman, but he needed it for show-of-force if something happened. "Untie me." It was Landra. "Untie me, and I'll get Laura in the car."

He wasn't sure what to do. "Come on, untie me. She's hurt!"

Logic told him to stay on plan, but instinct told him he should listen to her. Instinct won. He reached across the seat with his knife and cut her restraints. She rubbed her wrists then jumped from the car and helped Laura into the front seat. Landra was gentle helping her sit down then lifting her legs inside. Hunter was outraged seeing Laura bruised and hurt. He could only pray that she hadn't been abused otherwise. He cut the tape from her wrists, and she curled over next to him. They embraced momentarily, but he needed to get out of gunshot range.

Hunter could only imagine what Peña was thinking, watching from the bridge of the ship. He was startled when Landra got back into the car. "Now, untie my mother."

Hunter did as she asked, even though they were still in proximity of Peña and his men. He said, "I'm sorry I got you into this."

Melanie rubbed her wrists. "I'm not. Now please take us home. I want to pack some things before we leave."

No one said anything else as he sped away.

Near Peña's house, he explained that they should not look in the yard for the guards. They were "gone." He stopped at his car and left the engine running as he walked around to help Laura out. Melanie and Landra got out of the back seat and helped him. After Laura was in the rental car he spoke to both women. "Look. I am so sorry to have gotten you involved in this."

Melanie put a hand on his cheek. "I'm not, Mr. Kohl. I only wish there is more we could do."

He smiled, "What will you do now?"

"Oh, we'll get some things and go to a hotel out of town. In a few days, Luca will transfer money to a new account, and we'll never see him again."

She looked at Landra who said, "Me, too."

Melanie then said, "Luca has a mean streak. You need to be extra careful now."

He nodded. "I figure."

She kissed his cheek, and the two women left in the Mercedes. Hunter took Laura to Sue Ann's. On the drive down U.S. 101, Laura held on to Hunter's right arm, resting her head on his shoulder. She didn't talk, and Hunter didn't force the issue. He was still enraged. He took satisfaction that Peña lost his wife and daughter as payback, but he would always feel awful that they went through it. He was conflicted and wished there was someone to unburden him. Laura was not that person tonight. He hoped she would never need to be fearful of anything again. He felt sick that Peña was still a free man.

She said, "It's not over, is it?"

He hesitated. "No."

"Hunter, I want to help get that animal behind bars or dead. He's not someone that should be free."

He smiled at her guts. "I have a plan, sweetheart, but it could be dangerous."

"I don't care. We'll never live free as long as he's out there. I want to put him away."

He nodded. "Okay. Tomorrow, I'll call the FBI."

The Case

At one o'clock the next day, Hunter and Laura were in Kasey McDougal's office, laying out the case. Both had heard Peña admit killing people. They knew it included José, Sue Ann and John Richards, at least. John Richards was actually Paul Fleming of the Secret Service, investigating Peña for José Rivera's murder. Hunter admitted to being a sworn Secret Service Agent, working undercover. In this capacity, he discovered the trap doors on Peña's ships. He had also found a large shipment of cocaine delivered from the ships and would lead the FBI to almost two hundred kilograms stacked at the bottom of San Pedro Harbor. He diagramed the precise location. He had placed tracking beacons on the ships and could map their movements to Central America then back to the exact location where the drugs were lying on the bottom near the docks. Finally, they could convict Peña for Laura's kidnapping. The case against Peña was finally rock solid. When the meeting ended, Kasey left to prepare the charges that would put Peña away for the rest of his life. With the unrecovered cash he'd used to finance the two drug shipments to Mojo, his personal wealth was almost gone. Until Jesus Ruiz paid up, he only had a few million stashed away. Everything else was in real estate, ships and his jet, that couldn't be converted to cash quickly and would be seized. Melanie would take most of his cash.

Hunter left feeling satisfied. Neither of the Peña women were discussed. He was sure Peña would secretly clean up the guard's bodies and weapons on his estate. It would be ironical if the dead guards were on Ocean Queen when the FBI struck.

The next morning they were on a plane to Washington. The final Appropriations Bill was with the President for signature with two days to spare in the fiscal year. Overall, Hunter felt satisfaction with the way the past year turned out. He would forever miss Sue Ann. John was another matter. He was a pro and knew the risks. Hunter did not hold him responsible for disclosing the safe house. Everyone has their limits, and John died trying protect them. He surpassed the limit.

Laura and Claire moved to the Eastern Shore to be with the Malones until Peña was behind bars. They understood the risk, but insisted on protecting both of them. Laura was now the strongest prosecution witness.

The FBI swooped down with warrants to arrest Peña, Ramon and Korb. Other warrants were issued to inspect the ships. They would find substantial forensic DNA evidence of John Fleming in the hold of Ocean Queen. The stern would be measured for evidence of Jose's car. Sue Ann's finger prints would be in Peña's limo and his fingerprints on several of her jewelry pieces. Korb was caught on the ship and arrested.

Luciano Peña had survived many times through cruelty. Everything was coming down hard, and he suspected the law to be after him slightly faster than the wheels of justice were actually turning. After cleaning up the mess at his property, he was frantic to know where his wife and daughter had gone, but she wouldn't answer her phone. He also knew his business was done. He left a message with Roxanne to destroy his computer by throwing it in the harbor. After the bodies from Pacific Heights were taken to the Queen, he ordered Korb to dispose of them and for Ramon to come with him to the airport.

En route in the early morning, before dawn he called Jesus many times, but he didn't answer the phone. The pilot was waiting to fly to San Bernardino, ahead of any commercial airline traffic.

Flying across the Tehachapi Mountains, Peña called Ruiz again. This time he answered.

"Jesus, where have you been?"

"Luca! You know what time it is?"

"Yeah. It's daytime, the sun is rising in the east. I can see it from twenty-four thousand feet."

"You're flying?"

"I left town early after a long night of work. We'll land in San Bernardino in about half an hour. I'm coming up to see you. I need my money – now!"

"Luca, I haven't moved all the goods yet. You said I should sell it and then pay you."

"Well, the deal changed, Jesus. I'm coming now."

"Luca, I don't have much, a couple million."

"You got an hour and a half then I'm bringing Ramon with me, and you owe me twenty million, more or less."

"Where can I get that much cash so fast?"

"Jesus. I don't know, and I don't fucking care. Just have it ready, I don't plan to stay long."

Jesus started to protest, but Peña hung up. He had a headache and closed the window screen, missing a beautiful sunrise.

The car driver in San Bernardino was a contract limo driver, not one of Peña's men. There was no time for arrangements. Unknown to him, the FBI and state police already had his ships and office impounded. Korb was in custody, and the freezer on Ocean Queen contained three bodies, all murdered by some kind of sharp object.

When Luca arrived at Ruiz's property, and the gates were open. There was no equipment parked at the entrance this time.

They drove up the dirt road and stopped in the same location as Mojo, days earlier. There were no people in sight and all of the wreckage from Mojo's caravan was gone. It looked deserted, but the gate wouldn't be open.

Ramon exited the car and stood looking in all directions. Ruiz did not show himself. He moved toward the building. If the steel utility door was locked, he would rip it out. When he approached the door, there was no sound except the desert breeze up the canyon and a Peregrine Falcon circling above in a thermal. He pounded on the door with a massive fist, waiting to hear footsteps. There was nothing. He pounded again, then jerked forward, throwing his weight against it as the sound of a gunshot reached them. The door didn't move. Ramon turned around with a large red spot in the center of his shirt. He looked enraged as the second shot hit dead center.

Ruiz was firing a semi-auto M14 7.62mm rifle with 7x scope from two hundred meters away in a hidden perch on the nearby hill. He watched through the scope, amazed that the big man didn't fall. He was sure he'd hit him. As Ramon stood, unmoving, Ruiz aimed higher and fired again. It was another excellent shot, hitting Ramon on the side of the head, behind his eye. The giant was dead, falling stiff, face down in the dirt.

Peña didn't immediately understand what happened, watching from inside the car. He saw Ramon fall in disbelief. Ramon was indestructible – except from high-powered sniper rifles. The driver also saw Ramon fall and panicked, flooring the car, spinning in the dirt as another shot disintegrated his window. He wasn't hit, but glass shards had ravaged his upper body, hands and face. He screamed and fell out of sight in the front seat.

Peña wasn't armed and jumped from the unarmored car yelling with his hands in the air! "Jesus! Jesus! Don't shoot! What do you think you're doing!"

His body flew backward with the shot to his chest. He squirmed on the ground and tried to crawl when a second shot ripped through his lower back. He was mortally wounded and would die in minutes.

Jesus Ruiz stood on the hillside from behind a cactus cluster. He said to himself, walking down the hill. "There's a new boss in town, Luca."

Epilog

The FBI seized all Luciano Peña's assets on a drug conspiracy charge. Peña's body was never found. Melanie transferred over two million dollars to a different account before the Government seizures and was able to resume life with her daughter under new identities.

Claire resumed her life in Sacramento, finally at peace with everything that had happened over the past few years. Laurie and Hunter went back to Washington. The drug reform language was lost in committee with so many stakeholders facing re-election. Hunter's future with the state was uncertain, as well as his future intentions about leaving Washington.

Laurie finally forced the issue and proposed to him, which he accepted enthusiastically. He never felt so much joy before saying "yes." It also crystalized his decision to stay with the Secret Service. They planned a spring wedding for the following year.

THE END

