

Hostile Takeover

A Romantic Thriller

By

J. Dee German

Synopsis

Alex Lucas and Kirsten Hanssen grew up together playing and skiing in the Colorado Rockies. As adults they remain friends even as Alex's job as a Secret Service agent keeps them apart much of the time. When Alex goes undercover to expose a billionaire's attempt to turn the nation into a socialist utopia he is forced to go on the run to escape both Government agents and the billionaire's assassins. In his quest he uses his skills as a computer hacker to struggle through a maze of hidden financial accounts and payoffs as he tries to prevent a hostile takeover of the U. S. Government.

In the meantime Kirsten has given up her attempts to win over Alex romantically and begins a relationship with man she met on the ski slopes. But after they move in together he reveals his controlling and abusive nature. When Alex comes to rescue her she joins him in his flight to elude capture while resuming her personal quest to move her relationship with Alex to a more romantic level.

They travel throughout the southwest gathering evidence to expose the billionaire's conspiracy to take over Congress and impeach the President. Along the way they discover a terrorist training camp in northwestern Georgia that is part of the takeover plan. While on a surveillance mission to the camp Alex and a friend are captured and tortured. They manage to escape just before the President sends in Air Force drones armed with Hellfire missiles to destroy the compound.

Meanwhile, back at their hideout in the Colorado Rockies, the leader of the assassins is coming after Kirsten. Using her wits she manages to turn the tables and defeat the assassin. When Alex returns he vows to get out of the secret agent business while they plan their future together.

Hostile Takeover is a fast-paced story of romance, danger, and political conspiracy that will captivate you to the very end.

About the Author

J. D. German retired from a 43-year career as a research scientist to a lake home in south-western Georgia. His career focused on the development of laser and optical devices for the several Government agencies, some of which show up as the "gadgets" that Alex Lucas uses in this story.

After his retirement he worked as a part-time technical consultant, but searched for something else to keep his A.D.D mind running at full speed. So in 2015 he wrote his first novel, The Hermetrius Conspiracy, and published it on the Smashwords website as a digital E-book. Since then he has published four additional novels and two non-fiction books, also available on Smashwords.

He has just started a new work of fiction titled The Priceless Linen, about a historic artifact known as the Shroud of Turin, which could be the cloth used to cover Jesus as he was placed in the tomb after his crucifixion.

You thoughts, questions, and comments about Hostile Takeover and my other books are welcome. My email address is jdgerman.author at aol.com.

E-Books by J. D. German

Fiction

The Hermetrius Conspiracy – Lynn and Jack Preston Series #1

The Forsetti Solution – Lynn and Jack Preston Series #2

Revenge, Inc. – Lynn and Jack Preston Series #3

The Malthus Strategy

Hostile Takeover

Peacekeeper

The Priceless Linen: A Fictional History of Christ's Burial Cloth

Non-Fiction

Christian Principles – Food for Thought

Random Thoughts of an A.D.D. Mind

The above books can be downloaded free from smashwords . com / profile / view / jdeegerman (no spaces). They are available in formats that can be read on a PC, tablet computers, and E-readers.

Cast of Characters

Alex Lucas – 36, 6'2", 210 lbs, slim, wiry, quick, with thick brown hair and steel gray eyes. He is an agent of the U.S. Secret Service with a PhD in computer forensics where he works as a Financial Crimes Investigator. He lives in Golden west of Denver.

Kirsten Hanssen – 35, 5'11", 125 lbs, long blonde hair, blue eyes, slim but shapely. She's an Economics Professor at Colorado University in Boulder.

Rex Sorenson – 72, 5'4", 220 lbs. As CEO of RexSor Corporation he is the fourth wealthiest man in the world and a ruthless corporate raider who got rich by destroying companies to make money. Goal is to destroy the U. S. capitalist economy and replace it with utopian socialism.

Retired Admiral Martin Matheson – The newly elected President of the United States whose conservative philosophy got him elected on a platform of revived old-line nationalism, reduced Government control of individual choices, and opposition to the liberal belief that it's our job to help out every country in the world regardless of their politics.

Members of Sorenson's Socialist Utopia Council (SUC)

  * Gloria Zeigler – Head of media control.

  * Elizabeth Goldsmith – Former Federal judge who is to rid the court system of constitutional conservatives, starting at the top.

  * Michael Griffin – In charge of getting control of Congress and removing heads of regulatory agencies.

  * Sakhir Kurian – Head of clandestine operations. Former Isis leader who is a ruthless assassin, killing anyone standing in Sorenson's way.

  * Gordon Koontz – In charge of raising money to fund the SUC by any means necessary.

Geraldine (Gerri) Tomblin – 6'2", brunette, runner, elegantly tall and slim. Works in financial department at RexSor Corp. Ordered to get close to Alex Lucas to see if he is a Government undercover agent. When she crosses Sorenson he has her killed and frames Alex for the murder.

Minor Players

Robert (Bob) Joiner – Alex's boss at Denver Secret Service office. When he makes inquiries into the suspicious death of a conservative U. S. Senator he puts his life in danger and he and his wife, Sherry, flee to their mountain home in the Rockies.

Madison Taggart – FBI director appointed by Pres. Matheson, First official killed in takeover.

Henry Owens – FBI Personal Security Director who investigates Madison's disappearance and help Joiner find out what happened to the Walker murder evidence..

Hiram Walker (Ch 15)– Conservative congressman from Virginia who was poisoned at Sorenson's orders.

Earl and Ruthie (Ch 21)– Own the gas station and country store in Estes Park where A & K spend the night on the run from Ft. Collins to Salt Lake City.

Jacob and Betty Levitz (Chap 30) – Former Asst. Attorney General who was fired for refusing to file impeachment charges against the President Matheson.
Prologue

The boy and the girl ran out of the village and started up the ravine leading to the hunting grounds. As soon as they entered the darkness of the forest they stopped talking. They didn't want to scare away the deer. As they climbed, the boy, Alex Lucas, kept his eyes peeled for sticks. They had to be just right or they wouldn't work. He only needed two of them, but they had to be curved just right and most importantly, long enough. Hunting deer was serious business.

He heard a bird whistle and looked around for Kirsten – that was her signal – then joined her in the clearing. She held a stick in each hand – both of them perfect to use as imaginary bows – and held out the longer one to him. He smiled, shook his head, and took the shorter one. She should have the best weapon; she was a better shot

Weapons in hand they crept silently through the trees, their handmade leather Indian moccasins touching softly on the forest floor. For the next two hours they hiked toward their favorite hunting place; a grove of pinion pines around a spring of crystal clear water. The deer favored this spot, especially early in the morning. As they approached the large granite rock, the one shaped like a bear, they crawled the final few yards. Kirsten raised up just enough to see the watering hole, then slowly sunk back down and held up three fingers. Lucas nodded, looked her in the eyes, and mouthed the word "Now!"

They both sprang up, bows ready to shoot and release their imaginary arrows. The three deer instantly raised their heads from the water and froze – but only for an instant. Then they plunged into the forest, their white tails bobbing as they disappeared into the trees.

They smiled and gave each other a high five. "I got mine, how about you?"

Alex shook his head. "Mine jumped sideways just as I let the arrow fly."

"My kill should be enough to feed the village for a day or two. We'll come back tomorrow."

Kirsten issued a challenge. "Race you to the Glen!" and took off up the side of the mountain with Alex on her heels. By the time they were both at the top of the ridge, they had to stop to catch their breath. The altitude this far up in the Rockies was close to ten thousand feet and, even though they both were born here, they couldn't keep up the pace for long. When their breathing slowed down to near normal they looked at each other and jumped onto the downhill side of the ridge, sliding side-by-side on a bed of leaves down to the place they called 'the Glen.' It was a small mountain meadow where the grade leveled off to a very shallow slope, allowing the creek that ran through it to slow down to a murmur rather that the roar produced by most mountain creeks.

They had stumbled on the place two years ago when they first discovered their passion for hunting deer without killing them. One of the bucks led them on a chase up over the ridge and down to this idyllic vale, shaded by trees and surrounded by rocks that had rolled down from the high peaks above. Since then, they always ended the deer hunts at the Glen. It was so beautiful that they couldn't come up with a name for it, until Alex remembered stories of old Ireland his grandmother told him on her knee. She talked of a Glen where peace ruled and faeries lived; a magical place she herself discovered as a young girl. The description seemed to fit this place perfectly, so they named it the Glen. They even thought they felt the presence of faeries now and then.

Kirsten pulled her backpack off and laid lunch out on a rock – two sandwiches she made herself before dawn, some shortbread cookies her mother baked, and a thermos of iced tea, sweetened like they do in the south. That's how Alex liked it. They both leaned against a rock and enjoyed the peacefulness while they ate. When they were finished, Kirsten put the plastic bags and paper cups into the backpack and buckled it shut.

They sat for a few minutes before Kirsten asked, "What do you want to do when you grow up?"

"You asked me that a couple of weeks ago and I've been thinking it over. I'm pretty sure I want to be a spy."

"A spy? Why?"

"I don't know . . . The excitement and action I guess. The opportunity to protect my country against terrorists and people who want to destroy our Government. . . . How about you? What do you want to be?"

After a long pause, Kirsten asked, "Do you remember the last scene from The Princess Bride movie – a final kiss with the two of them sitting on their horses?"

"Yeah, I think I do."

"What did you think of it?"

"It seemed a little sloppy to me. When they opened their mouths it was kind of gross."

Kirsten paused again, trying to get up the nerve to ask him.

"Would you like to do that with me?"

"Uh . . . I Guess. But where are the horses?"

"We can sit on that log and pretend we're in the saddle."

They settled into position astride the log and looked at each other.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Okay. What do I do."

"Just lean toward me and close your eyes."

Kirsten kept her eyes open as she put her hand behind his neck, pulled him to her, and touched her lips to his.
Chapter 1 – Shocker!

Monday, 7 November 2016

Alex Lucas drove up the steep winding road to his home west of Golden, Colorado and parked his Ford Raptor pickup in front of the garage. The four-wheel drive vehicle was a necessity in the winter – it was the only way he could get up to his house in the snow, and it was also great for taking him off-road to high mountain trout fishing streams. He got out, briefcase in hand, and climbed the steps to the front deck of his small, mountain-style house. He usually paused on the deck to look back at the Rocky Mountains. His most important house-hunting criteria when he moved to Denver was a view of the magnificent mountains. After growing up in the ski village of Crested Butte, Colorado he felt incomplete when he wasn't near mountains. During his last assignment in Washington, D.C. he sometimes hiked into the nearby Appalachians, but those were just hills. They couldn't quench his longing to be back in Colorado mountain country.

He sent up a silent prayer to God, thanking Him again for the surrounding beauty, and unlocked the front door. As usual it was late when he returned from his job at the Financial Crimes Investigation Division of the U.S. Secret Service Agency in Denver. It wasn't the 45 minute drive that made him late, it was his work. He got so focused on solving the latest case of computer fraud or overseas money laundering that he couldn't break away from it until well after quitting time. He enjoyed the satisfaction of unraveling the twisted routes people created to hide their illegal financial activities – shell companies, multiple transfers through several offshore banks, encrypted financial records, false identities. And they came up with new approaches all the time. Those were the most challenging cases; the ones that Alex loved to work on.

After changing into casual clothes he took a Coors from the refrigerator and sat down at his computer – the latest, state-of-the-art laptop model. He often got hit with an idea about an investigation while he was at home and wanted to jump online to chase it while it was still fresh in his mind. The powerful computer was also necessary to support one of Alex's tools of the trade – surreptitiously entering other computers to access, or change, files and software – a practice commonly known as hacking. Alex discovered in high school that he had a gift for getting computers to do his bidding, often writing his own operating software that worked better and faster than anything available on the market. He pursued it further in college with a degree in computer science and electrical engineering.

This evening he wasn't doing anything more challenging than reading his email. The first email he opened was from his mom with a reminder that his father's birthday was coming up on November 24th – the day after Thanksgiving this year – and asking him to come back to Crested Butte for it if he could get away. He didn't often take time off because his mind kept working on cases no matter where he was, so a relaxing vacation was out of the question. But this was family, and family was more important than just about anything else. He quickly typed an answer that he would be there unless his work took him on a trip somewhere to solve a case.

The next email was from Kirsten Hanssen. He smiled as he opened it. They had remained best friends continuously since their childhood days roaming the mountains. Her message was simple.

What's up boyfriend? You going back home for your dad's birthday? Maybe I can make it too.

He typed the same answer he gave his mother, then added a second paragraph.

I'm having a party Tuesday night to watch the presidential election returns. Just you and me. Wanna come?

Her answer came back a few minutes later.

Whoopee, that sounds like a thrilling evening . . . not really. Everyone knows who's going to win. There's no way a candidate without any political experience is going to beat the well-funded lying bunch of thieves running on the liberal ticket. It looks like America will continue its inexorable march toward socialism. But the election isn't the main attraction at your party – you are. Of course I'll be there. And I'll bring dinner. See you around seven?

He answered that seven o'clock was fine and made a mental note not to get so engrossed in his work that he would be late getting home. Then he realized that he seldom recalled the dozens of 'mental notes' he made, so he sent himself an email with a reminder.

In spite of the email, he didn't remember to leave on time Tuesday afternoon. But the mental note popped up in his head thirty minutes later. If I don't get stuck in traffic I can just make it home in time to shower and dress before Kirsten gets there, he thought as he crossed the South Platte River on the way out of Denver. But just as he had that thought the traffic started to slow down. Damn!

As he rounded the last curve and his house came into view he saw Kirsten's car already in the driveway. He looked at his watch and saw that he was only ten minutes late, so he didn't feel too badly about it. It looks like she already let herself in with her key, so at least she didn't have to sit out here in the car. He started to grab his briefcase to go up the steps and stopped. Tonight's not about work. I'll leave it in the car.

As he closed the door behind him she called from the kitchen, "It's about time you got here. I'll have dinner ready in a few minutes."

He went into the kitchen and saw her standing at the stove with her back to him, humming as she worked. He paused to look at her and thought, She's a classic Norwegian beauty. Just under six feet tall, long blonde hair, blue eyes, slim build – shapely but not skinny. And she takes good care of herself with daily workouts and jogging, to stay in condition for winter skiing

That brought back thoughts of the two of them racing down the ski slopes of Crested Butte mountain when they were teenagers. She usually won, which didn't bother him. Besides, watching her from behind as she twisted through the moguls was enjoyable.

"Sorry I'm late. I'm going to grab a quick shower before dinner."

"Okay. But don't take too long or dinner will get cold."

When he stepped into the dining room ten minutes later she had dinner laid out on the table, ready to eat. Just like she used to lay out our lunches in the Glen, he remembered.

"Don't just stand there. Have a seat."

"What are we having?"

"Slices of deer tenderloin fried in bacon grease, fresh green beans from my garden, and a tossed salad."

"Mmm. I love deer backstrap, especially the way you fix it. Did you shoot this one yourself?"

"No, I couldn't find a long enough stick for a pretend bow. I bought this from the wild game processor the last time I was home." They both smiled at the joke . . . and at the shared memories.

"I wonder if this was one of the deer we hunted down as kids?"

"It could be. They can live up to 25 years. Those were fun times, weren't they."

"Yes they were. Do you ever wish we could go back and be kids together again?"

Kirsten though for a minute. "Not really. But I relive those days often in my memories and dreams. . . . Remember our first kiss?"

"Yeah, but it didn't do much for either of us."

"Well, we were only ten at the time and the hormones hadn't started flowing yet. But I'm glad. I wanted to stay your friend and not ruin it later with pretend love and fumbling sex."

"That worked out well for us. We've been closest friends ever since; we've shared everything with each other. We're soul mates, but not the lover kind."

"That almost happened right after college, remember Alex? We were camping along the San Juan river. We'd gone there to catch some trout but got caught in the rain instead. You had hung your sleeping bag over a branch to air out and it got soaked. But mine was still in the tent, dry. We ended up sleeping together in one bag and almost gave in to passion. But you stopped it before it got out of hand."

"I didn't want to ruin a great friendship."

"I still remember how you felt against me."

"Fortunately we both found others to share that experience with. . . . How come you never got married? With me it's always been my job – on the road for weeks at a time, working late at night, immersed in solving financial crimes even when I'm at home. It wouldn't have been fair for a wife to have such a small piece of me."

"I've had a few relationships that got serious, but I was looking for a life partner to be my friend, and none of them could compete with you in that department."

Alex thought it was time to change the subject. "Well the election results should be coming in by now. Let's clean up the kitchen and go see how much the bad guys are winning by."

Later, as they watched the number of electoral votes climb toward a winning total for Judge Elizabeth Goldsmith they didn't pay much attention. The first results were coming in from the large east and west coast cities where she had the strongest following. Her past career as one of the most liberal judges in the federal court system made her very popular in those citadels of leftist thinking. Even though her Republican opponent, retired Admiral Martin Matheson, had a core of support throughout mid-America, none of the political analysts expected him to come close to defeating the judge.

They talked, laughed, and psychoanalyzed their acquaintances while waiting for the final tally. When they took a break to get a piece of the pecan pie Alex had baked the night before they noticed the judge's lead was fading. They sat back down side-by-side on the couch to watch what was happening.

"Maybe Matheson's message about restoring the U.S. to the old values like nationalism and constitutional supremacy took hold with everyday people. Maybe they finally had enough of more and more Government control over their lives and property."

"I think you're right Kirsten. The country is headed toward pure socialism under the present regime, and Judge Goldsmith will take us there even sooner.

"It would be nice to see some of the changes Matheson wants to make, but a few of his plans go a little too far toward the right, just like some of Goldsmith's ideas go way too far to the left. I suppose the best answer is regulated capitalism where the Government makes rules to control run-away greed. The key is how much regulation to allow without standing in the way of innovation and economic growth. It would be nice to return to earlier times when there was a reasonable balance."

Alex shook his head. "It doesn't look like that will happen any time soon. Judge Goldsmith and the liberal Congressional candidates get huge amounts of money from Rex Sorensson, the socialist billionaire. He has a dozen organizations passing out money so it can't be traced back to him.

"He's a real bad character. He manipulates the stock market by spreading rumors to raise stock and mutual fund prices, then short-sells all his shares at once, causing the stock price to plunge. Then he buys it back for pennies on the dollar. He does the same thing with the economies of entire countries. He single-handedly almost broke the Bank of Italy a few years ago by dumping millions of lira in a single day."

"What happens to the retirement savings of the mutual fund owners?"

"I saw a TV interviewer ask him that question a couple of years ago. His answer was, 'That's not my concern. I'm only interested in making money.' He also said that the American capitalist economy was based on greed and must be demolished. He thinks it should be replaced by what he calls utopian socialism."

"What? His entire fortune was built on pure greed! Sorensson must be a lunatic."

"I won't argue with you on that, Kirsten. But he's a lunatic with the power to buy the presidency and all the congressional seats he needs to essentially rule the country from his estate outside Atlanta."

"Why can't the Government stop him? We have laws against manipulating investments."

"Two reasons. First, all his investment companies operate outside the U.S., so the Security and Exchange Commission regulations can't be enforced."

"What's the other reason?"

"Our president for the past eight years, Dante Barnett, was bought and paid for by Sorensson to start the process of dismantling capitalism and the free market economy. Barnett put Sorensson's hand-picked people in charge of all the key Government agencies. They make up their own laws without any say-so from Congress."

"Maybe we should move back to Colorado. It will take longer for this shit to reach us there. Besides, all the people out there have guns. . . . Maybe we could create a hidden village in a remote mountain valley as a sanctuary for real Americans. . . . Kind of like John Galt did in Atlas Shrugged."

An hour and a half later they couldn't believe what they were hearing. Gen. Matheson had overtaken the Judge and gotten all the electoral votes he needed. He won!

Kirsten laughed. "What a shocker! Rex Sorensson is gonna be really pissed."

Alex added, "And that will make him really dangerous."
Chapter 2 – The Council

Wednesday morning, 9 November 2017, RexSorCorp Headquarters, Atlanta, Georgia

Rex Sorensson was on an encrypted video link to Elizabeth Goldsmith's Manhattan town house. "I don't give a rat's ass if she was up all night, wake her up! . . . "She should be sober enough by now. Fix her some coffee and tell her I want to talk to her. NOW! . . . . . "

Sorensson's patience was about to snap when she came on the screen. He looked disgustedly at her disheveled hair, smeared makeup, and dull eyes. "H . . . hello, Rex. I was expecting your call."

"I'll bet you were! How in the hell could you lose the election? I had everything set up for you. All you had to do was keep out of trouble and smile a lot. But no, you had to get caught lying to the Senate Judicial Committee. I had to buy off several newspapers, magazines, and television networks, and pay an army of internet fake news sources to get that issue buried. . . . . . No, you were not defeated by the TNC news network. The people who watch that wouldn't have voted for you anyway. . . . . Stop your sniveling."

"But what do I do now? No one listens to a loser."

"Don't worry about that. I'll have the news networks believing you were raped by Admiral Matheson when you worked for him at the Pentagon."

"But I never worked for him, or anyone else, at the Pentagon."

"That doesn't matter. My people will spin a tale that anyone would believe. So pull yourself together; I still have plans for you – and they don't include public drunkenness. You and ex-President Barnett will lead the attack on the Admiral's plans and his character. We will have him impeached before his first year is up.

The next morning Sorensson walked into the large conference room on the top floor of the RexSorCorp headquarters building in Atlanta. He dropped several thick file folders onto the conference table with a loud smack that startled the six people sitting at the table.

He looked each one in the eye and held the gaze for a second or two. The last person he looked at was Howard Sinett, and he didn't break that gaze. Howard squirmed in he seat until Sorensson broke the silence.

"You were in charge of keeping the media in line, Howard. You failed. You're fired. Get out!"

As Howard left the room with his head hung down another person entered and took his seat at the table. Sorensson locked eyes with her and held it – not because he was trying to intimidate her, but because she had such lovely eyes.

"You all know Gloria Ziegler, President Barnett's Communications Director. She is now the head of our Media Control Department." The other's smiled and nodded to acknowledge her. Her selection wasn't a surprise to them. She was very close to Rex.

Sorensson looked up to address the Socialist Utopia Council – his personal cabinet of subordinates charged with turning twenty-first century America into a purely socialist entity. "Last night's election results were a surprise to us all. Not only did Matheson win the presidency, but his party won a sizable majority of congressional seats. This will not keep us from our goal, but the delay is unacceptable. We must turn things back around – quickly. My plans include impeaching Matheson as soon as possible and getting rid of his supporters in Congress. I have put together a folder of immediate action items for each of you. I want daily progress reports. Any questions?"

Most of the group knew this was Sorensson's way of saying the meeting was over, but Gloria needed to get up to speed. "What will we impeach the Admiral for? It has to be serious enough to get him removed."

Sorensson showed some patience with her. "We'll make something up, then sell it to the American people and Congress. And we'll create irrefutable proof that he's guilty."

"What about his cronies in Congress? How will we get them ousted?"

"By creating scandals; scandals so terrible that no one will want them to stay in office. Several of them have past activities they're hiding. We'll blackmail them. We may have to resort to more extreme measures for the stubborn ones."

"Couldn't we wait until the med-term election to replace his supporters politically?"

"Last night proved that a political approach won't work. It's time for a hostile takeover."

Rex Sorensson was the fourth wealthiest man in the world. Starting with an investment company when he was just out of college he bought and sold stocks, learned how to threaten or bribe to get ahead and, by the age of fifty two, was buying and selling entire companies. He was what many called a corporate raider – buying companies, breaking them up to sell the profitable divisions and close those that weren't. When he wanted to acquire a privately owned company and the family didn't want to sell, he would find away to threaten them or, occasionally, make sure the CEO met with a terrible accident. Now, at age 72 his target was the biggest company in existence. The United States Government.
Chapter 3 – Powder

Alex had a bag packed for the weekend back in Crested Butte. Kirsten drove up just as he was putting it in the back seat of the Raptor. She pulled her Miata up next to him, set her three bags on the driveway, and locked the car.

"You're just in time. And I see you're traveling light, as usual. Why do women take so much luggage with them? It's only four days – two outfits, a change of underwear, an extra pair of shoes max – what else could you need?"

"I added some ski clothes. Mom said the slopes opened today and I thought we might get a chance to ski."

"Good idea. Give me a minute to pack another bag and throw my skis and boots in the back."

It didn't take long to leave Golden behind for some beautiful fall mountain driving. The forest was mostly evergreens, but now and then they saw a valley of golden aspens, made all the more beautiful by the surrounding dark green ponderosa pines. They were quiet for most of the first hour, enjoying their return to mountain country. As the silence drew on Kirsten looked over at Alex behind the wheel. "You're quiet today. Deep in thought?"

"Sorry. . . . Yeah, I started a new case last week that has me stumped."

"Well . . . Don't leave me in suspense."

"You know I can't reveal the details of my investigations."

"So, change the names to protect the innocent. . . . and the guilty."

"Okay. You're good at seeing through the fog to find a solution. . . . A very rich man, let's call him Jones, makes a lot of money bringing in drugs – serious stuff – from Mexico, and distributing it throughout the U.S. He has a series of distributors who pass it on to more distributors, who shuffle it on to suppliers, who deliver it to dealers. The dealers are easy to catch using undercover agents, but Mr. Jones has a staff of high-priced lawyers – all with untraceable connections to Jones – who get the dealers off with minimal time in jail. And many of his dealers are teenagers who can't be charged as an adult and are back on the street in a couple of days. Hell, we can't even spank them first.

"The key here is that Mr. Jones has so many layers of separation between him and the street handlers that the law can't touch him. But he's vulnerable in one area – getting rid of the huge profits without paying taxes. If he files tax returns his accountants have to show where it came from – create a legal source for the income. When you're talking a billion dollars or two a year, that's almost impossible to do."

"So how do they hide it? They can't just put it in a bank."

"Ah, here's where I come in, your friendly neighborhood financial analyst. Mr. Jones spreads it among dozens of off-shore investment accounts, all under fictitious names. That in itself is a challenge to investigate, but they bounce it among several international investment houses before it finally appears in the offshore holding accounts."

"So how do you unravel all of it?"

"It's like how do you eat an elephant – one bite at a time. I have to peel back all the layers, an account at a time, to create a chain of evidence to the final deposit."

"So where are you with Mr. Jones."

"I'm almost there. I believe Jones' account is at Credit Suisse in Zurich, but his lawyers are trying to block the U.S. Government from gaining access."

"I thought all the Swiss bank accounts were totally secret."

"That's how it used to be, but in 2009, under pressure from the U.S. and other countries, Switzerland changed the bank secrecy laws to allow foreign governments to access accounts of its own citizens. The problem is it takes a court order by a Federal judge here in America, and that's what Mr. Jones lawyers are trying to prevent."

"So Mr. Jones is a U.S. Citizen?"

"Yes. He was born in Miami, but he runs his illegal activities from a remote location in a Central American country."

"So what's got you stumped? Getting the court order?"

"No, the U.S. Attorney's office will pursue that for us. Once he gets the warrant I can fly to Switzerland and bring back the bank records. The problem is that I don't have the alias names and account numbers Mr. Jones is using. I traced the flow of drug money to a bank in Singapore but I lost the trail there. Thirty-two million dollars was deposited into an account there, but then it disappeared, with no record that the account ever existed."

"If there's no record the account exists how do you know that's where the money is?"

"I can't tell you that, but let's just say I used certain computer skills I learned in my reckless youth."

"So you're one of those hackers who hangs around on the Darknet messing with people's computers?"

"That's where I spent most of my time online back in high school and college. Now I just go there every now and then when nothing else will work."

"So you're almost a spy."

"Spy?"

"That's what you said you wanted to be that day in the Glen, when we were ten."

Alex laughed. "I'd forgotten about that. Now that you reminded me, I don't recall your answer when I asked what you wanted to be doing when you grew up."

"Oh yes I did."

Alex replayed the day in his mind, but couldn't remember her answer. "No, I don't recall that."

"That's because it wasn't a spoken answer."

"Oh yeah. So your answer was the kiss we shared. . . . That's what you wanted to do when you grew up? How . . ." Alex had a flash of insight. "Ohhhh. I get it."

She just nodded at him and smiled.

Three hours later they drove into the snow-packed driveway of Alex's childhood home.

"It looks like dad got the snow blower out this morning. They got almost a foot of new powder last night."

"I hear the ski slopes calling my name."

"It will have to wait 'til morning. Mom's probably taking the turkey out of the oven about now."

As he opened the front door he leaned over and whispered to Kirsten, "Prepare to suffer the torture of a thousand hugs." He didn't even get the door closed before his mother wrapped her arms around him in a death grip.

After the usual greetings and socially mandated questions – how are you doing, how was the drive up, were the roads on Monarch pass cleared, what did you think about that election, are you two seeing much of each other (this from his mother to the two of them) – things got back to normal. Kirsten joined Lucas' mother, Elaine, in making the final preparations for the Thanksgiving meal while Alex and his dad watched Colorado and Colorado State battle it out on the football field. When he was still living at home, he and his dad never missed this traditional televised rivalry.

When Elaine let everyone know that it was time to eat they sat down at the table and bowed their heads while Todd gave the blessing and asked god to protect the new President from the troublemakers. Kirsten had started joining them at Thanksgiving six years ago, just after her parents were killed in an icy collision on Monarch pass. The memory always tempered the joy she felt as her adopted family shared the Thanksgiving holidays.

Alex's mother got up and started clearing the dishes from the table, but Alex stopped her. "You and dad go relax. Kirsten and I will do the dishes."

His mother started to protest, but he added "You prepared the meal so we clean it up. House rules."

"It's my house and I don't have a rule like that."

"Well, you should. Now go sit down."

From her chair in the living room Elaine could see her son and Kirsten standing side by side at the sink with their backs toward her. They make such a lovely couple, she thought. They will make beautiful grandchildren someday – once they realize they were made for each other. That got her thinking about how Alex helped pay for his college expenses by working as an advertising model in Denver. At six-feet two, a little over two-hundred pounds – muscular but not buff, with thick brown hair and steel-gray eyes he was the perfect image of a rugged outdoorsman. Most of the magazine ads he appeared in included either a horse or the latest off-road vehicle, often with a snowy mountain in the background.

After the dishes were done they sat back down at the table to enjoy a game of Scrabble© – another family tradition. Although the conversation included lots of laughing and jokes, Alex's mother managed to slip in her usual "Are you seeing anyone Alex?" and "It must get lonely up there in Boulder, Kirsten." She was always hopeful that the two of them would get married and provide some grandchildren before she was too old to enjoy them.

The next morning Kirsten and Alex were up early putting on their long underwear and other warm clothing for a day on the slopes. While she was fixing eggs and bacon he took his coffee out to the garage, pulled Kirsten's skis off the wall rack, and gave them a good coat of wax to keep the snow from sticking. Then he went out to his truck and brought his skis in for a wax job. When they finished breakfast they headed up to the ski area, bought lift tickets, and rode the chairs to the top of the mountain.

After stepping into their ski bindings they paused to take in the beautiful view of dozens of snow-capped peaks leading off to infinity. As they looked down at the dozens of trails they could take she said, "Let's go over to the Teocalli Bowl and ski some double diamond drop offs?" He pushed off with his poles and hollered "Last one down buys lunch."

By early afternoon they were running out of energy, so they decided to make one last run through deep powder. As they skied off the lift Kirsten took the lead through powder up to her waist, weaving in and out of the towering pine trees. Alex lost sight of her in the trees, but followed her tracks. Halfway down he saw a ski, a pole and her red mitten sticking up out of a pile of powdered snow. He veered left and sped down to her. As soon as he stopped he was out of his skis and kneeling down beside her. He was going to ask if she was okay, but she was laughing so hard he couldn't get a word in. He brushed the snow away from her face. "How you doing down there?"

"Oh, I'm great. Nothing broken, nothing twisted. But I'm still attached to my skis. Reach down and release the bindings so I can get out of here." Once her legs were free she wiggled around to try to get her feet under her but kept falling back into the snow pile. She reached her arms out to Alex. "Don't just stand there. Help me up."

He took hold of her hands and heaved to get her upright. Like an apparition, she rose up from the snow just as he lost his balance, falling backwards and pulling her down on top of him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes. "I'm in no hurry to get up . . . How about you?"

"No hurry here. You feel good like this. . . . but at some point frostbite will set in and we won't be able to get up. The ski patrol will find us in the morning frozen together in an eternal embrace."

She paused a moment, then lowered her head and kissed him. He couldn't help but return it. After a few minutes, when it began to get passionate, she lifted her head. "I figured that while I had you captive I would take advantage, if only for a minute or two."

They both laughed as they clambered to their feet, put their skis back on, and headed for the lodge.
Chapter 4 – Follow the Money

On the drive to work Alex's mind was usually busy lining up his activities for the day. But this morning it was thinking about the weekend with Kirsten and, in particular the skiing, . . . and even more specifically, their kiss. He could feel the warm feeling inside start to rekindle as he thought of their embrace. Am I doing the right thing keeping our relationship limited to the friendship level? Couldn't we be friends and lovers? . . . No, not lovers. That would kill the friendship eventually. But maybe if we were married. . . .

Alex spent the morning exploring ways to get into the computer records of Credit Suisse. He tracked the money transfers as far as DBS, the Development Bank of Singapore, and through some creative hacking found documents transferring the $320 million dollars to Credit Suisse. But when he got into the Swiss bank's incoming transfer records, there were no transactions from Singapore. So if the money wasn't in Singapore or Zurich, where was it?

He decided to go for a walk to clear his head, and pulled his cell phone for its lock box on the way out the door. They weren't permitted inside the Secret Service offices so everyone had a small lock box just outside the entrance to the secure area. It was almost lunchtime so he walked the few blocks to the Denver Pavilions Shopping Center to eat. After reviewing the list of restaurants at the entrance he settled on the Corner Bakery Café – they made a great Rueben sandwich. Halfway through lunch his cell phone rang. He saw it was from Kirsten and thought about not answering. Talking with her will take my mind away from work to other thoughts – pleasant but distracting. But almost like his hand had a mind of it's own, his thumb pressed the answer button.

"Hey boyfriend, what's up?

"Still working on the 'Mr. Jones' thing. There's got to be a way I can break this case."

"Other than hearing your sweet voice, that's why I called. I've been thinking about it and I think your best move is to backtrack."

"Backtrack how?"

"Remember when we tracked deer through the mountain brush. We would follow their footprints, but sometimes they just disappeared. We'd turn around and backtrack to where the prints were solid – that was where they changed directions with a long jump. So we searched within a fifty foot circle until we found where they landed and tracked them from there."

"So what does this have to do with Mr. Jones?"

"I think you should backtrack from the Singapore bank to the previous bank that had the money. Maybe it jumped sideways from there."

"That's great, Kirsten. Want a job?"

She laughed. "No, I'll just be your secret advisor whenever you get stuck."

"Thanks. You may have 'broken the case wide open' as they say on TV. I need to get back to the office and check this out."

"Okay. Bye."

Back in the office Alex pulled up the list of banks the money had been transferred through on it's way to Singapore. He found the one he was looking for, the Islamic Bank of Dubai, and printed out a list of all the international transactions on the date the money was supposed to go from Dubai to Singapore. He found the transfer order for the $320 million going to Singapore, signed by Yousef Al Majid, VP of the international banking division. He studied it for discrepancies but found nothing out of the ordinary. Whatever's going on there they've covered their asses with apparently legitimate paperwork. I'll have to hack a little deeper into Mr. Al Majid's computer. Maybe I'll find some direct communications with the drug kingpin.

Usually the tough part of breaking into a personal computer is figuring out the password. There are an infinite number of possibilities, but some people ignore the advice of computer experts and choose something that's easy to remember – a birthday, anniversary, pet's name, spouse's name – all relatively easy to find out through a background search. In his early days as a hacker Alex wrote some software that could slip into a computer through a 'back door' and search all the digital information looking for sequences that are used frequently. Now he used it that approach against Al Majid's computers – both his desktop at work and his laptop at home. It was in the laptop that Alex struck pay dirt – encrypted email exchanges with someone who called himself El Jefe Rey – Spanish for The Boss King.

Alex downloaded them all to his computer where he could work on cracking the encryption code without risk of being detected. Modern encryption techniques are very difficult to break, and even if you break it for one document it won't work on any other documents from the same computer. The seventeen emails he had downloaded could take days, even weeks to decode. There's got to be a quicker way, he thought. Maybe I can find out something about Al Majid's personal life I could use to pressure him to tell me where he sent the money. Alex's conscience whispered 'Isn't that blackmail?' But he quickly silenced it by reminding himself of the thousands of people El Jefe Rey got hooked on heroin.

To find some personal dirt Alex dug deeper into the banker's personal computer, beyond the emails he already downloaded. He searched through dozens of unprotected files and documents and found nothing. If he has something on his hard drive he wants to hide, they would be protected by firewalls. That's where I need to search.

Ten minutes later he found it. A separate partition of the laptop's hard drive that was sealed off with the latest in firewall technology. Most hackers would be defeated by it, but with his PhD in computer forensics Alex broke through quickly. And what he found was a bonanza – pictures of the Arab banker sexually abusing children, both girls and boys. Apparently Al Majid was proud of his conquests because in most of the photos he was looking directly at the camera and smiling.

This stuff is terrible. Someone this evil deserves life in prison. Or to have his head chopped off by an ISIS terrorist. . . . What should I do with this information? Report it to my boss? . . . No, I got this illegally. I'd lose my job. . . . . . . . Well, the first thing I need to do is use it to get the account numbers at Credit Suisse. What I do after that is something I'll worry about later.

Alex downloaded all the photos directly onto a DVD disk. He didn't want that filth to pass through his computer. Then he selected four of the worst images and inserted them back into Al Majid's laptop and added an anonymous message. When the pedophile opened his laptop tomorrow he would have a surprise waiting for him.

Yousef's servant entered his bedroom precisely at 7 a.m. and lightly touched his shoulder, then turned and left the room. That was all it took to wake him up. After showering he went into the dining room and sat down to his usual breakfast of Turkish coffee with a plate of seasoned scrambled eggs covering a thick patty of fried Nablusi cheese and a large platter of assorted Arabic pastries. As he ate he opened his laptop to check the financial news. When it had booted up the screen shocked him.

"No, No, No! How did this get here? Who did this to me?" He quickly looked around to see if it was a police trap, if they had set this up to arrest him as soon as he opened the computer. But he was alone. He quickly closed the laptop and hurried to his room. After locking the door he sat at his desk and reopened the screen. The four photos of him abusing young girls were still there. He shut down the computer, waited a few minutes, and started it up again. The incriminating pictures filled the screen. He clicked on the images and tried to close them, but there he was, staring out at him with a stupid smile on his face. He tried again to delete them by double clicking on the screen. This time a message filled the display.

Mr. Al Majid: I hacked into your computer and found dozens of photos like these hidden behind a firewall. Such defenses are useless against my skills. Unless you follow my orders these photos will be sent to the president of your bank and all the major banks that do business with the Islamic Bank of Dubai. The effect will be devastating to your employer and will probably put them out of business. Your career in the world financial market will be over.

To avoid this fate here's what you must do. You approved a money transfer of $320 million to the Bank of Singapore on 10/13/2016, but the money never got there. I have emails from your office computer discussing this transfer with a man who calls himself El Jefe Rey – a major drug importer to the U.S. You will send me the details of where this money actually went, along with the account numbers, to: yournightmare@justiceleague.com. You have until noon Dubai time today.

Yousef began to tremble in fear. If I don't do what the message says I'll be ruined. If I do send the account information and if El Jefe Rey finds out, he will kill me. . . . No, first he will torture me painfully and long. . . . What should I do? These thought terrified him even more. He curled up on the bed in a fetal position moaning and crying. He couldn't stop shaking. The terror finally made his mind check out – all thinking stopped. He wasn't asleep, he was what doctors would call catatonic.

Three hours later it all came crashing back to him. His eyes popped open as he looked at the bedside clock. "No! I have less than an hour to send the information. I have to get to work!"

At ten minutes after 8 p.m., noon Dubai time, the message arrived in Alex's temporary Darknet email account. As he read it he smiled. Instead of moving the money to another intermediate bank, Al Majid moved it to its final destination – Credit Suisse. He broke the $320 million into three parts and put it in separate accounts. With these account numbers Alex could go to Switzerland and come back with everything he needed to make a case against Arturo Diaz – El Jefe Rey. Alex picked up the phone and dialed his contact in the Attorney General's office to get a warrant executed.

Chapter 5 – Switzerland

Arturo Diaz ran his drug empire from a 500-acre hacienda outside of Medellin, Columbia. The place was a virtual fortress defended by a small team of ruthless mercenaries. His Chief of Security, Maj. Charles Casey, had previously commanded a Seal Team Six unit in Afghanistan. After being dishonorably discharged from the Navy unit he put an ad in Mercenary magazine, expecting to find a position with much higher pay and a free hand to run things his way. After Arturo had to execute his previous security chief for stealing a shipment of cocaine, he offered the post to Casey. Since then El Jefe Rey had come to trust him completely and put him in charge of the day-to-day operation of his business.

Casey didn't bother Arturo often when a problem arose, but this latest news was important – important enough to interrupt El Jefe's supper. He sent a servant into the dining room to request an audience and was immediately summoned.

"What is it, Casey, that you must interrupt my meal with these two lovely ladies?"

"It is better that we speak alone, El Jefe." When the women and servants had left the room he continued. "I have received word from our Dubai banker that his computer was broken into and certain compromising information was stolen. The thief threatened him with exposure if he didn't reveal the numbers of your Credit Suisse accounts. With this information the U.S. Attorney General might have enough evidence to indict you."

"That fool! Have him taken care of immediately. Not a suicide, but a bloody murder to send a signal to others who might think of betraying me.

"Consider it done."

"Who is behind this attack?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll have the bank notify us if anyone inquires about those accounts. If the Attorney General is behind it, he will send someone to Switzerland with a warrant to access your accounts. I'll have people waiting."

"Good, Let me know when it's taken care of."

Two days later, warrant in hand, Alex landed at the airport in Zurich and took a taxi to the Credit Suisse building. After working his way through several levels of administrative defenses he was finally ushered in to see the head of international banking. He was greeted by a tall, thin man who introduced himself as Herr Gustav Schuler. "Welcome, Mr. Lucas. We look forward to helping you identify those responsible for international banking fraud. I presume you have the necessary paperwork?"

Alex extracted the warrant and several other government forms from his briefcase and handed them over.

"These look to be in order, but of course I will have to have our legal department review them to be certain everything is in order. It's rather late in the day so they won't be finished until tomorrow morning. Where are you staying here in Zurich in case we need to contact you?"

"I have a reservation at the Hotel Schweizerhof."

"Good. Call me in the morning and I'll let you know when you can pick up the account information."

"Thank you Herr Schuler. I'll see you tomorrow."

Alex took a taxi to his hotel and checked in at the front desk. The desk clerk was cordial and spoke perfect English – not the British version but good old American, probably from Texas based on her accent. Alex slipped into a Texas accent he used now and then for undercover jobs. His Secret Service training included three foreign languages and several dialects of American English. During an investigation speaking with the local accent puts subjects at ease. The attractive blonde receptionist noticed.

"You sound like a Texan. Where are you from?"

"I grew up in a small town a couple of hours southeast of Dallas – Streetman. You probably haven't heard of it since the population is only 206."

"Is that a little south of Corsicana?"

"Yes, it is. How do you know of it?"

"When I was a kid we used to drive through there when my daddy and me went fishing at the reservoir."

Alex picked up on it. "Yeah, my brother and I fished there too when we were growing up."

The woman smiled. "My name is Kathy. If there's anything I can do for a fellow Texan, just give me a call." When she slid his key card envelope across to him he saw a telephone number written below the room number.

He smiled back at her. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

Kathy watched him walk toward the elevators. My kind of man, she thought. Tall, well-dressed, with hints of muscles showing through his shirt, thick brown hair . . . and those eyes – the color of gray storm clouds. Yep, he's definitely my type. Maybe I can talk him into to staying an extra night . . . at my place.

When Alex got to his room the time change caught up with him, so he took his jacket off, loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes, and stretched out for a nap.

It was just past four a.m. when something woke him up. He didn't know what it was – a noise maybe? He lay still for a few minutes, waiting to see if it happened again. . . . With the drapes closed I can't see much of anything, so I'll focus on what my ears are picking up. . . . Nothing unusual there at the moment. . . . But I can sense something – danger maybe?

Then another of his senses confirmed his feeling of a presence in the room – his nose picked up the scent of someone's bad breath. He had smelled something similar in many of the foreign countries he visited; countries where dental care was a luxury. Immediately his heart rate sped up, his blood pressure rose, and his mind began generating scenarios of how he would respond to an attack. Maybe it's just a thief looking for some drug money, but he won't find any because my wallet is under my pillow. I'll lay still until he – or she leaves. But just in case it was something more serious, his mind and muscles were primed and ready for immediate action. And that's when he heard a new sound from the right side of the bed – the sound of a revolver being cocked.

He quickly slid out the left side of bed and dropped to the floor, just in time to hear the muffled sound of a gun being fired through a silencer. The bullet hit the pillow where his head had been a few milliseconds earlier. The old-world decorating style at the hotel meant that there was enough clearance under the bed for him to slide into. He heard 'fssssst . . . fssssst' as two more shots were fired from the silenced handgun.

It's so dark the killer doesn't know I'm not still in bed. What's his next move? . . . The lights. He'll turn on the lights to see if I'm dead.

From his position under the bed Alex could make out the killer's shoes with the hallway light coming in under the door. When he saw the shoes turn away from him and walk toward the main light switch he counted to three, then sprang from under the bed and slammed the man in the back with a full body block just as the lights came on. Alex heard the air whoosh from the assailant's lungs as he crashed into the wall. Alex tried to pin his gun hand against the wall but the man was well trained and reacted immediately, pushing himself backward off the wall into Alex. He kept the pressure up by back-pedaling, propelling Alex backwards until he sprawled onto the bed.

As the assailant whirled around to aim his gun Alex lashed out with his foot and kicked the gun loose. He dove onto the bed to pin down Alex's body, but as he hit the mattress he realized there was no longer anyone there. Alex had rolled to the side and was now on his feet in a martial arts fighting stance. The assailant pushed himself upright and assumed a similar position. They stood facing each other, frozen for a second or two, before the would-be assassin launched his attack.

Alex easily dodged the head kick and countered with a kick to the knee, which wasn't very effective because Alex was barefoot. As a distraction Alex started asking him questions.

"What's your name?"

"Screw you!" the man said with a thick accent. Probably Russian, Alex thought.

"I'll call you Ivan," Alex replied as they circled each other, look for an opening. "Or maybe I should call you Ivana since you fight like an old woman."

That goaded the Russian into launching an ill-timed assault with his fists. Alex deftly side-stepped the charge, much like a bull fighter would. "Come on Ivana. You can do better that that."

This angered the attacker so much that he ignored his martial arts skills and charged with his head down and arms extended, ready to grab hold of Alex's throat.

Just what I was hoping for, thought Alex as he brought knee up and smashed Ivan's face. The man staggered backward, the fight knocked out of him temporarily.

Alex's lightning-quick mind ran through his options. If I disable him and call the police, I'll be here for at least a day or two while they investigate. If I kill him with my bare hands I'll have to dispose of the body somehow. I can avoid the complications by letting him leave now, but I'll have to explain the bullet holes in the pillow . . . or maybe not. I can swap this pillow for the extra one on the top closet shelf. The damage won't be discovered until someone else needs a spare pillow, so the damage can't be traced back to me. . . . But if I let him loose he'll keep trying to kill me. Unless I can disable him somehow.

Before the man could gather himself for another charge Alex feinted an attack with his hands, then stepped back and kicked him in the side of the head with his heel. Alex watched his eyes roll up into his forehead as he crumpled to the floor unconscious. Alex calmly walked over to him and, just as he returned to consciousness, and broke both wrists. The man opened his mouth to scream but Alex stamped his heel into the man's solar plexus, taking his breath away. Then he went to his suitcase and took out the roll of duct tape he always traveled with – you never know when you might need it in an emergency – like this one.

He taped Ivan's wrists and ankles together and added a piece across his mouth to keep him quiet. Leaving him on Alex went out into the hallway and walked until he found the door to a linen closet. It was locked but with his billfold lock pick he opened it in a few seconds. Then he went back to his room and, after a glance up and down the hallway to be sure it was clear, he dragged Ivan to the linen closet, stuffed him inside, and closed the door.

When Alex returned to his room he quickly packed his suitcase, checked out of the hotel, and flagged down a taxi to take him to the airport. Alex put his suitcase in a storage locker to be picked up before he boarded a plane back to Denver, then went into the men's restroom. He took out the cell phone he had taken from Ivan's pocket. He looked at the call directory and called the last number Ivan had talked to. After it a few rings the voice mail robot asked him to leave a message.

"The gentleman who owns this phone is currently indisposed and needs your help. You will find him in the sixth floor linen closet at the Hotel Schweizerhof. He will need medical attention."

Then Alex opened the back of the phone, removed the SIM card, and flushed it. After wiping off his finger prints, he tossed the phone into the trash can and headed for the airport restaurant to get some breakfast. After that he went up to the United Airlines Club lounge to kill some time before the bank opened at 8:30.

An hour later a news item on the lounge TV caught his attention:

Just minutes ago the body of an unknown male was found floating in the Limmat River on the east side of Zurich. Full details are not yet available, but our reporter has learned that the victim's hands and feet were bound with duct tape, and the subject had a bullet hole in his forehead. We'll bring you more details as they become available.

Alex was startled by the news. They didn't waste any time getting rid of Ivan. Can they tie it back to me? Did I leave any fingerprints, maybe on the duct tape? They might get a heel print from where I kicked him in the temple, but no one has a record of my heel print. I'd better stay here until I leave for the bank.

At 8:31 Alex walked through the bank door and stopped in front of Schuler's desk. When the banker looked up and saw Alex he visibly reacted with surprise. . . . "Mr. Lucas. I . . . I didn't expect to see you . . . so early this morning."

"Do you have the documents I requested?"

". . . Yes, I do. Give me a few minutes to put them in an envelope. Please wait out in the reception area."

Something's not right here, Alex thought. Why is he so surprised to see me? And why didn't he have the documents ready? Alex chose a seat in the reception area with a view into Schuler's office. What he saw now confirmed his suspicions – Shuler was on the phone talking excitedly with someone. Did he think I was supposed to be dead? Is he somehow in on it? Alex picked up a magazine from the table beside him and pretended to read while he observed Schuler. Like many people, Gustav Schuler used hand gestures and facial expressions when talking on the phone, just as if he were talking to someone in person. It was a kind of sign language if you knew how to read it.

He's shaking his head 'No.' . . . Now he's shaking it more emphatically. . . . the other party wants him to something and he's refusing. . . . Now he's pleading, Alex could almost see his lips saying "Please, please don't ask me to do this." Finally Schuler nodded his head in reluctant resignation and hung up the phone. He glanced over at Alex to be sure he wasn't being watched, then went over to one of the half-dozen filing cabinets in is office. He busied himself with that for several minutes, until his phone rang. He picked it up quickly, nodded his head, and hung up, without speaking a word. He was getting instructions.

Schuler finally leaned out the door and invited Alex back into his office. "I think you will find everything in order, Mr. Lucas. If I can offer any more assistance, please let me know."

"Thank you for your help, Herr Schuler. I think this will be all we need . . . for now. We may have something else to discuss in the near future, however." Alex intended this to be a veiled threat and, based on the look of fear that immediately showed on Schuler's face, he got the message.

"I have taken the liberty of ordering a taxi to take you to the airport, Mr. Lucas. It is waiting out front."

"Why thank you. That's very kind of you. But before I leave, could you direct me to a rest room?"

"Certainly. Go down that hallway. It's the last door on the left."

They shook hands and Alex set out for the restroom, certain that the taxi would be a trap. As soon as he entered the restroom he looked around for an escape. There was a window but it was too high to reach. How can I get up there? All I need is an extra three feet. . . . He spotted a tall trashcan next to the door. He took the lid off the can, put it upside down just beneath the window, and climbed up on it. With the added height Alex was able to unlatch the window and swing it open just enough to wriggle through it. He landed in an alley behind the bank with the document envelope tucked under his belt, looked both ways to be sure he wasn't spotted, and set off at a brisk walk away from the bank. After several blocks he flagged down a cab and asked to be taken to the airport.

After a couple of tense moments when he checked in at the airline counter and then passed through the security check station, he felt comfortable that he wasn't a wanted man – yet. But he didn't completely let his guard down until his plane was several miles from the Zurich airport headed for home. Then he took out the bank documents and studied them for several minutes. This is it! It's all the Attorney General needs to have El Jefe Rey extradited and tried in the U. S.
Chapter 6 – The Plan

Rex Sorensson reassembled the five-member Council – the Socialist Utopia Council, SUC – two weeks after they received their assignments from him. He sat at the head of the table and looked each one in the eyes in turn, holding his gaze until they looked away uncomfortably. He had learned that the best way to start a meeting was to intimidate all the others before a word was spoken.

"As you know from the packets I gave you at the first meeting, our plan for a hostile takeover of our country's Government begins today. Each of you was given an assignment to develop a plan for taking over a specific faction of the capitalist machine that is controlling this country. I have received your responses and, for the most part, approve of your planned activities. This afternoon each of you will address the council to offer your plan for critique and discussion. We will begin with the court system.

Former Presidential candidate and ex-judge Elizabeth Goldsmith cleared her throat and began her summary. "The strongest weapon the capitalists have against us is the preeminence of the Constitution. Every time we take action to limit their power they appear on TV accusing us of violating that sacrosanct foundation for the government – a document created over 200 years ago that has no relevance to today's issues.

"Over his previous two terms as President, Dante Barnett was able to put socialist-minded judges in more than half of the federal court positions, and use executive orders to bypass Congress to create new laws to move the country closer to full Government control of all areas of society and the economy. Unfortunately Martin Matheson as the new President has made removing those judges and rescinding the executive orders a priority. We must stop him immediately, before he unravels all the progress we have made.

"My plan is to attack! Attack every single decision President Matheson makes, and file immediate injunctions to prevent the changes from taking place. Admittedly these will only be delaying actions, but if we file the challenges in federal court districts headed by the remaining liberal judges friendly to our cause, we can tie up his directives for months, even years. To make this happen I have assembled a team of legal experts with extensive experience in clogging up the court system, led by the former head of the American Liberalism Association, Thornton Agee. He has assured me that the team will have the first court actions ready to file within a week.

"Another aspect of my plan is to attack from several directions at once, like a pack of dogs. We will simultaneously file injunctions, civil lawsuits, motions to dismiss, writs of mandamus, summons for multitudes of witnesses some of whom don't even exist. The legal system offers dozens of ways to delay court actions . . . and we will use them all.

"In the meantime we will be grooming more liberal judges to take over vacancies that will frequently appear, especially among the most conservative judges. The key here is to create the impression in the media that our selections are conservatives. Then when Matheson appoints them to a judgeship they will change their stripes and support our agenda.

"That's it for now – that's our plan to take over the court system. Are there any questions or comments?"

Sakhir Kurian , head of the clandestine activities team spoke up. "What exactly did you mean when you said that more vacancies would appear among the conservative judges?"

"There are many ways to create a vacancy – illness, scandals, accidents, attacks on the street."

"That's what I thought you were getting at, Elizabeth. You'll need to coordinate your plans with me since our team will carry out most of those actions."

"Certainly, Sakhir. But I don't want to be cut out of the loop on this. Everything must have the appearance of random occurrences. And we need to keep your people protected from the law. We don't want any bungled jobs, like Watergate, here."

"Agreed."

Sorensson turned to his new head of Media Control and smiled. "Gloria, you're up next."

"Thank you, Rex.

Gloria eased herself out of her chair with the feline grace of a woman who knows how to use her body to sway men's thinking. She walked to the front of the room and used the remote to start the display for her presentation. All eyes were on her, but not necessarily because of what she was about to say. She was an expert at holding men's attention.

"I don't need to remind you of all the media mistakes we made in the election process. This first slide shows all the personal attacks we set up to show how unqualified Matheson was to lead the country."

  * We had most of the television news organizations running everything we fed them,

  * We organized dozens of 'spontaneous' demonstrations against Matheson,

  * We created a false history that showed he was a sexist, anti-woman racist,

  * We pressured him to release his tax records that would show how little he paid in taxes, ignoring the charitable donations and huge capital losses in his business dealings that offset most of his income.

  * We tried to bribe an IRS employee to get us copies of his tax returns.

"All the experts agreed that there was no way Matheson would even come close to winning the election. So what was the problem? These tactics should have destroyed the man's reputation. And it did indeed do that – but only in the large cities – New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, Houston. Those were enough to give Judge Goldsmith the majority of the popular vote. But the interior of the country didn't fall for our campaign against the Admiral. Over two-thirds of the nation's counties voted in his favor. They apparently didn't fall for the fake news attacks.

"So how can we put together a new approach that will turn everyone against him? I have a three point plan that will focus on his screw ups.

"The first action will be to eliminate the one TV news network that exposed the truth about everything we tried to blame on Matheson leading up to the election. Mr. Sorensson arranged for new corporate officers to take over the TNC cable news business who are much more liberal than the outgoing CEO. But there's only so much they can do with their well-known news anchors presiding over what America hears. If we have them replaced with no-name people most of the viewers would quit watching. We don't want that, we want the well-liked TNC news personalities to tell our version of the news. Two or three of their leading broadcasters will never go along with that, so we will create fake scandals – sexual perversion tales are the most effective – to force them to quit.

"The second point of my plan will be use the media to help block all the legislation the Admiral promised the American people. When he tries to repeal the health care system that President Barnett created, we will supply data showing how many widows and orphans will be left without health care. When he tries to get tax cuts passed we'll claim that it will help the rich and hurt the poor. This always works. When he tries to get funding for the border fence there will be major immigrant riots in several cities. He will run into a roadblock of our making at every turn.

"The final part of my plan is to use the media to help control individual members of Congress – the ones who will support Matheson's attempts to pass new laws. Our investigators will uncover every bit of dirt they can. If they can't find any they will make it up and payoff fictional victims to come forward with their sordid tales. The actions we will take against specific Congressmen and Senators will be Mike Griffin's responsibility. He'll talk about his plans later."

Sorensson smiled at Gloria. "Thank you, Gloria. Any questions?" The six members of the council all shook their heads no.

"Good. Let's go into Mike's ideas for controlling Congressional members and the heads of the major agencies."

Michael Griffin stood up in front of the group and spoke from some hand-written notes. "As you know, Mr. Sorensson has had a team of investigators digging into their lives – past and present – to find things we can use to force them to see things our way."

Sorensson broke in. "Let's call this what it is. We're talking blackmail here, folks. And since Mike was President Barnett's Chief of Staff for eight years, he knows how to put pressure on anyone at the top level of government."

"Thanks for clarifying that, sir. When my investigators uncover useful blackmail information about a one of our opponents he or she will receive an anonymous email with the details of their transgression, threatening to expose it to the public if they don't change to our way of thinking."

Gloria interrupted with a question. "What if we can't find anything nasty enough to pressure them with? Or what if they refuse to give in to our pressure?"

"If we can't find anything bad enough to force them over to our side, we'll send in a professional to lure them into an affair, then get photos with hidden cameras. For those who refuse to see things our way, more drastic measures may be necessary. They may meet with unfortunate accidents. Sakhir Kurian will talk about some ideas he has for deleting reluctant Government officials."

Sorensson asked if there were any question but no one spoke up because no one wanted to know the details of these operations – or what Sorensson meant by the word deleting. It would make them what the law called 'an accessory before the fact,' which would make them accomplices to the criminal activities of Sakhir's men.

"Good. Sakhir, you're up."

Sakhir Kurian unfolded his tall lanky frame from the chair and walked up to the front. His beady eyes, hawk-beak nose, and dark complexion gave him a sinister look that would terrify anyone he threatened. He spoke without slides or notes. "My job is clandestine operations. It's called that for a reason – everything my team is involved in must remain a secret, not only from outside agencies, but from everyone on this council – except for Mr. Sorensson, of course. That is necessary to protect you individually from Government prosecution. So I can't tell you anything about my methods for eliminating stubborn lawmakers and Government officials. But I can explain why I am qualified to do whatever is necessary.

"I was the leader of an ISIS group in Syria. I'm sure you have seen some of my work on the six o'clock news. I was betrayed by one of my men who told the U.S. military commander where I was, then helped them capture me. His reward was a new life in America. I was sent to the Guantanamo prison in Cuba, where I behaved like a perfect prisoner while secretly organizing an escape with a few other ISIS inmates. While they were transporting us to a hearing in front of a military tribunal we attacked the two guards and killed them, threatening to do the same to the bus driver if he didn't cooperate. Once out of the city we killed the driver and drove the bus off a cliff into the sea, then scattered in different directions."

I had connections to an ISIS sleeper cell in the U.S., so I called him on the driver's cell phone and arranged to be smuggled into the country. They provided me with a false identity, cash, and a credit card that allowed me to disappear among the population. The first thing I did was find the man who had betrayed me in Syria and dealt with him. . . . by cutting off his limbs, one by one. I kept him alive for three days, making sure he suffered terribly for his unfaithfulness to our cause. I eventually needed a source of income so I took out an ad in Soldier of Fortune magazine offering my services as a bodyguard. One of Mr. Sorensson's men called me in for an interview, and here I am."

Again Sorensson asked if there were any questions. After a short silence Gordon Koontz spoke up.

"Your English is very good Mr. Kurian. How did you learn to speak it so well?"

"I learned in the Cuban prison that I had a gift for languages. I watched American television programs and could imitate anyone's voice perfectly, down to the regional accent and social status. Once I taught myself to read and write English the prison library provided all the material I needed to learn to think like a member of American society."

"I trust there are no more questions," Sorensson said in a stern voice. "If not, we'll hear from the last member of the Socialist Utopia Council – Gordon Koontz. Gordon has been the Chief Financial Officer for RexSorCorp for the past several years and is an expert at moving money around undetected. He was the Former head of Koontz Investment Bank, but was fired when he got caught embezzling money from clients accounts. I recognized his talent and paid off the right people to keep him from being prosecuted. He is here to create the money the SUC will need to carry out our plans for the hostile takeover of the country."

"Thank you Mr. Sorensson. Myself, like Mr. Kurian, would not have been caught at my craft except for a traitor. One of my associates discovered a fraud scheme I was running and threatened to expose me if I didn't pay him hush money. I refused and he turned me in to the Attorney General's office. That's when Mr. Sorensson approached me and offered to make arrangements to have the case dropped if I would accept a job as his CFO.

"My plan for raising the money to fund the operations of the SUC is to make the capitalists who are against socialism pay for it. I'll siphon off money from their accounts and transfer it through several shell companies to SUC's hidden accounts. I calculate that we can bring in over five million dollars from just the Congressmen who oppose us. If I add in the money I will embezzle from other opponents – the rich businessmen and companies that fund their political campaigns, conservative judges, and other key Government officials – I can raise at least $250 million to operate with."

Gordon smiled, waiting for the compliments for his brilliant plan. But all he got was a comment from Elizabeth Goldsmith. "Your plan will never work. As soon as the people you are stealing from see their monthly statements, they will know what's going on. They will probably close their account and open up a new one."

"The withdrawals from their accounts will show up as a new service charges added by their investment firm. It will start out as half a dozen new relatively small service charges and grow to thousands of dollars over three or four months. If some of them notice the charges and switch to another investment account, we will just follow the money and start adding fees to the new account and continue stealing their money."

Michael Griffin had another question, "How do you plan to break into the individual accounts? The security at those firms has gotten unbeatable because the recent personal information thefts."

"I have on my team a first-rate hacker, Ben Larson, who has been doing this work for RexSorCorp for the past few years. He transfers funds from competitors' accounts into Mr. Sorensson's anonymous accounts. Nothing he's ever done has been traced back to RexSorCorp or to Mr. Sorensson himself."

Sorensson looked around the table solemnly. "All of what you have heard today must remain an absolute secret. My plans are never to be spoken about to anyone outside this council. If any of you divulge any information about the existence of the council or our activities, you will be dealt with. No one will ever find your body. Is that clear?"

The five council members replied, almost in unison, "Yes sir!"
Chapter 7 – The Breakup

Kirsten skied off the chairlift at Vail's Blue Sky Basin to the top of a steep trail marked double black diamond, meaning only the best skiers should attempt it. She had been skiing double diamonds since she was eleven and found them the only thing that challenged her. She surveyed the beautiful rocky mountain peaks surrounding the Vail Ski Area and wished Alex was here to share the view – and the skiing. She hadn't heard from him since he went off his latest business trip and missed talking with him. She understood that his work kept him busy when he was traveling, but he could at least send her a text.

She took a deep breath of the thin mountain air and charged down the slope, taking the most efficient route through the moguls. About half-way down the slope another skier overtook her and cut right across her path, almost causing her to fall. The tall masculine shape didn't even pause to apologize. Damn it! Another guy who thinks he owns the slopes, ignoring his effects on other skiers.! I'm going to teach him a lesson, she thought as she raced after him. Thirty seconds later she skied in front of him, almost hitting the tips of his skis. That brought him to an uncontrolled stop as she reversed her course and stopped in front of him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!! You could have smashed into me and injured us both. You're a hazard. Go back to the bunny slope where you belong!"

"I'm just doing what you did to me back up the hill."

"That was you I cut in front of? How did you catch me?" he asked incredulously.

"You mean how could a mere woman catch up with a conceited 'I own the slopes' male?"

"N . . . No. I didn't mean that like it sounded."

"Well, how did you mean it?"

"I, ah . . . I guess I did mean it that way. Please accept my apology. It's just that I've never seen a woman who skies like you do." He took off a glove and reached out his hand. "I'm Brandon, Brandon Peters."

She didn't return the gesture. "I'm Kirsten Hanssen."

'Can I buy you a drink at the lodge to make up for it?"

"Okay. But it will be the most expensive drink on the menu. Race you down?"

They both took off down the trail to the lodge. By the time Brandon got there she was already taking off her skis.

Alex had been back from his trip to Switzerland for two weeks. When he got back he wrote up his account of the events, emphasizing his success at getting the goods on El Jefe Ray and barely mentioning the attack in his room. Today he found himself summoned to Bob Joiner's office – his supervisor at the Denver Secret Service office.

"As usual, Alex, you completed your mission with the best results we could have hoped for. Arturo Diaz – El Jefe – will be extradited to the U.S. shortly to face trial. His lawyers are already trying to work out a plea deal – reduced prison time in exchange the names of the other leaders of the drug organization. Congratulations."

"Thanks, Bob. Just doin' my job."

"About that. I have a report from our agents in Zurich asking if somehow you were involved in the murder of a Russian thug found floating in the river wrapped in duct tape."

"Why would they think that?"

"It seems that a hotel maid found a pillow damaged by bullet holes in your room after you left. When the police investigated they found three spent bullets lodged in the mattress. It seems you left something out of your report."

Alex looked up sheepishly. "Sorry boss. The Russian tried to shoot me in my sleep but I got the upper hand. I wrapped his hands, feet, and mouth in duct tape and locked him in a linen closet, then called the number on his cell phone and told his people where they could find him. Then when I was waiting in the airport I saw a news flash about the body in the river. But I didn't shoot him – I didn't have a gun. I taped his gun to his back before I moved him to the closet."

"I guess that's the price for failure when you're in the Russian mob. But I'm going to have to put you on administrative leave for a week or two until we sort this out with the Swiss. Go on home. I'll call you when it's cleared up."

"But what will I do?"

"It's winter. Go skiing."

Alex stayed in his home for the rest of the week. On Friday he called Kirsten to see if she wanted to go skiing the next day.

"Oh . . . Hi, Alex. I . . . didn't know you were back. . . . Did you get the guy you were after?"

"Yep. He will be in prison for a few years and his organization will be dismantled. Thanks for your help on this."

"I'm glad I could help."

"Listen, the reason I called was to see if you want to go skiing with me tomorrow. Maybe at Aspen?"

"Oh, I can't this weekend. . . . But we need to talk about something. Could you come over tomorrow afternoon. Say about four?"

"Yeah, I can do that. I'll bring some beer."

"Good. It will be good to see you again."

After they hung up Alex paused. She sounded funny. Different. Like something is wrong. I wonder what it could be? I guess I'll find out tomorrow.

Alex didn't sleep well that night. He lay awake trying to think what was going on with Kirsten. She sounded uncomfortable. Has she quit her teaching job? Maybe she's moving away – to a new teaching position somewhere else. . . . Oh! Maybe she's sick! I hope it's not cancer. That would be awful. I don't know what I would do without her in my life. . . . That's selfish thinking. If she has cancer – or something worse – I shouldn't be worrying about my life. He tossed and turned all night, fighting dreams of Kirsten sick in a hospital bed with tubes in her arms.

Alex arrived at her house early, anxious to face whatever was wrong with Kirsten. He concerns weren't reduced when she opened the door. She wouldn't look him in the eye. "Come on in Alex and have a seat."

He sat in his usual place on the overstuffed leather couch, but instead of sitting beside him, she took the chair across from him.

"What's going on Kirsten. You're not yourself."

"Alex . . . I . . . I've met a man, someone I like very much." She rushed forward with her words, trying to get it all out before Alex could say anything. "I met him on the slopes at Vail-He almost ran off the slopes. I caught up and told him off. So he bought me a drink to apologize. Then we went to dinner, and one thing led to another. I really like him Alex." She took a deep breath and started in again. "I know we both sort of thought we belonged together and would get married someday but that doesn't look like it will ever happen . . . I need someone in my life Alex. Someone who be there for me, full time."

Alex sat wide eyed with nothing to say. A jumble of thoughts ran through his head but he was too shocked to sort them out now.

"Say something, Alex."

"Uh . . . I'm happy for you Kirsten. I know with my job I could never be there full time for you. You deserve to be happy. . . . But, I just thought . . ."

"We can't keep going on as we were forever, Alex. We either had to move forward in our relationship – of go our separate ways."

"I see that. I just wish I had . . . What's he like?"

"That's why I wanted you to come over this afternoon. I want you to meet him. He'll be here in a few minutes. He's a wonderful guy. You'll like him."

They sat in silence until the door opened without a knock and Brandon Peters strode in like he owned the place. Alex rose and stood there, not knowing what he should do. Kirsten quickly broke the awkward silence.

"Brandon, this is Alex, my best friend since childhood. Alex, say 'hi' to Brandon Peters."

Brandon immediately sensed there was something between the two of them and walked over to Kirsten to put his arm around her waist. Alex thought He's quick to mark his territory in the presence of another male. Alex took an immediate dislike to him, but held out his hand anyway. Brandon delayed reaching out to Alex, perhaps to show he was in charge. They finally shook hands and gave each other looks that said 'she's mine.'

Kirsten once gain broke the mood by announcing that she had some dinner prepared for the three of them. Alex didn't know if he could stand to be with this guy through dinner, but he wanted to learn more about him. 'Sure, Kirsten. That sounds great. I'll go get the beer I brought."

When he came back in Kirsten and Brandon seemed to be in a whispered argument, but they stopped when they saw him. Brandon sat down at the empty table and watched while Kirsten set the table and put a large plate of spaghetti in front of Brandon. Then she served Alex and herself.

"This is Brandon's favorite dish, Alex."

"Mine too," Alex replied, even though he disliked spaghetti and Kirsten knew it. She gave him a puzzled look before she sat down.

As they started in on their food Alex waited until Brandon had a large mouthful of noodles and sauce. "So what do you do, Brandon?"

Brandon struggled to swallow his food before he replied. "I'm a financial advisor. I help people decide where to invest their retirement savings to get the best return."

"That sounds interesting. Do you charge for this service?"

"Of course I do," Brandon replied, somewhat sarcastically.

"How much? I mean what percent of their gains do you get?"

Brandon almost choked on the next mouthful of spaghetti. "It varies, depending on the agreement I have with my clients."

"So you must make a pretty good living at it, then."

Brandon went into the typical male 'mine is bigger than yours' response. "Yeah, I do pretty well. Last year I took in just short of a million dollars, and this year it looks like I'll double that."

"What do you do with all that money? . . . Other than pay taxes on it."

"I have a 5,000 square foot home in the Cherry Creek neighborhood, two cars – a BMW i8, and a 1992 Lamborghini LM2 truck. I have to show my clients that they can be as wealthy as I am if they will follow my investment advice."

Now Brandon had to see how big Alex's was. "How about you? What do you do?"

"Oh, I work for the Government."

"There can't be much money in that."

"I enjoy my work and earn enough to get by."

Brandon put a smug look on his face. This poor guy isn't even in the game. I don't have to worry about this loser.

When they had finished dinner Alex got up to help clear the table, like he always did. Brandon said loudly, "What are you doing? That's woman's work. MY woman. She doesn't need your help."

Alex looked over at Kirsten and saw her signal him to stop with a slight shake of her head. Alex had seen enough of this guy to know he was a controlling chauvinist, and definitely not who Kirsten needed to have a relationship with.

He left the kitchen and headed for the door, saying "I've seen enough here. Time for me to leave."

Kirsten gave him a stern look. She understood what Alex meant, but it went right over Brandon's head. As she saw him out the door she mouthed "I'll call you tomorrow."

Alex didn't sleep at all that night. Memories of all they had done together kept running through his mind like a movie in an endless loop. After that came the anger. How could she do that to me? Cut me loose and replace me with a chauvinistic, conceited jerk. He's not good for her. I wonder why she let him into her life at all? . . . Oh. Yeah. She wanted a close relationship with me and I wouldn't go there.

That led to recriminations and thoughts of all the opportunities that he had passed up. What will I say when she calls tomorrow? What if I apologize and tell her I'm ready to get close to her, to love her? Would she believe me or just think it was a temporary response to her relationship with Brandon?

Brandon's name in his thoughts brought back the anger again. I hate what she's done to me. She's not who I thought she was if she hooked up with that guy. . . .Hooked up? Is she sleeping with him? An image flashed through his mind of the two of them in bed – making love. His anger grew worse with that thought. When she calls tomorrow – today, I won't even answer the phone. . . . No, better than that I'll hang up on her! That will teach her.

He threw the covers back and went into the kitchen to pour a double Scotch on the rocks. That settled his anger somewhat and got his thoughts going in another direction. He had often thought of the two of them eventually sharing a life together, but now that was erased. He tried to imagine a life without her but only saw emptiness. No future except working for the Secret Service until he retired. Maybe I'll meet someone else. I'll never find a woman with Kirsten's qualities, but I could lower my expectations a bit and find someone to settle down with. . . . Settle! Is that what she's doing with Brandon? Settling? If I settled for anyone less than Kirsten I would constantly be comparing her, seeing how she doesn't measure up to who I really want. That kind of relationship would never last.

Morning finally came, so he got up to wait for her call. He made some coffee, ate a cup of yogurt, and tried to find some busy work to keep his mind off the situation. When she hadn't called by noon he picked up his cell phone to call her, but hesitated before he pushed the last button. No, I won't call her. She created this mess. The ball's in her court. I won't go begging to her.

He was in the middle of cleaning his hand gun when the doorbell rang. He went to the door and looked through the peep hole. Probably just another Jehovah's Witness. I wish they would leave me alone. When he saw that it was Kirsten he hesitated, not wanting to have this conversation. But when the bell rang again he opened the door.

"Hi Alex. I was afraid you weren't home." Alex just stood there.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"I thought you were going call."

"No, we need to talk about this face to face," she said as her face got a serious look on it.

"Okay. Come on in."

"Thanks."

Alex sat on the couch, hoping she would sit beside him, but she sat in the chair just like yesterday. After looking at each other for several seconds, Kirsten cleared her throat.

"I didn't mean for this to happen, Alex – falling in love with Brandon. We met skiing at Vail and one thing led to another until . . ."

"Love? You love this guy? . . . Are you sleeping with him?"

She blushed and looked down at the floor. "Yes, I am, Alex."

"For god's sake, how long have you known him?"

"Almost four weeks."

"How could you jump into bed with him so quickly?

"I needed someone. I let you know for years that I wanted our relationship to move to that level, but you kept resisting."

"Me! So it's my fault that you're screwing him?"

"No, that's not what I mean . . . well, yes it is. I needed you – both emotionally and intimately. But you were always somewhere else – traveling, being a spy or whatever. And what about the times we got passionate and you pulled away. I created those situations to get you to make love to me, but it was a wasted effort. You rejected my attempts to show you that I was ready."

"But we talked about waiting until we were sure we wanted to live together, and you agreed."

"I went along with that because it was what you wanted – not what I wanted. I thought you would eventually come around and take me into your bed. . . . But I finally got tired of waiting. When Brandon and I met, it was like fate had brought us together. Here was a charming, caring man who looked at me way I wanted you to look at me. We were meant to be together."

"No he's not! He's a scheming, possessive controller who thinks he's God's gift to women. In the short time I was with him at dinner last night, his real character – or lack of it – popped out all over him. Why can't you see that?"

Kirsten's anger broke out. "No he's not, Alex! And the way you sniped at him last night was mean. That's a side of you that I've never seen. All I wanted was for you to like him – to let me know our relationship is okay with you."

"Okay with me? How could it be okay with me. You just wanted my approval, wanted me to 'bless' this change in your life that will destroy who you are. He will turn you into to someone I won't even recognize."

Kirsten didn't respond, because in her heart she knew he was telling the truth. After several seconds of silence, Alex asked "So this is it for us? All those good times and memories don't count for anything."

Kirsten jumped to her feet. "No! They don't! I have left them behind and you need to also. I don't ever want to see you again, Alex. It's over!"

"I hope he's good in bed, because that's the only thing you'll get from him."

As Kirsten headed for the door Alex yelled, "And I want my house key back! Leave it on the table."

Chapter 8 – New Assignment

In the three weeks since Kirsten dumped him Alex was finally able to get through the day without alternating bouts of anger, sadness, and remorse. He was now back at his job, going through the financial records of several wealthy investors suspected of illegal money transfers. A couple of them were connected with organized crime and were using their investment accounts to launder mob money. The problem was uncovering the hidden transactions that would lead like a trail of bread crumbs back to the source of the funds. These criminals had their own financial wizards every bit as good as Alex, so it was a cat and mouse game with Alex trying to get one step ahead of crooked accountants.

This afternoon Alex had followed a large deposit into the account of a billionaire industrialist, but three minutes later the money disappeared, transferred to another offshore account. When he went back to the account to see where the money went, there was no record of the deposit. It was like it never existed. But one of Alex's strengths was a dogged determination to not give up, so he ran his new computer program that would survey thousands of deposits into dozens of foreign banks known to deal with financial crooks, looking for the exact amount of the cash involved. It would take the rest of the day to finish the search so Alex got up to stretch his muscles with a walk around the block when his desk phone rang. It was his boss asking him to come up to his office.

He was about to knock on the door jamb when Bob said, "Come on in, Alex. Let's talk."

Alex sat down in front of the desk. I hate it when someone starts a conversation with 'Let's talk.' That usually means I'm about to get dumped on. "What's up, Bob?"

"A couple of things, actually. First, you have been really withdrawn lately. Is something going on I should know about?"

"I'm just going through some personal issues. A breakup with a gir . . . with a friend. But I've left that behind. What is the second thing you wanted to talk about?"

"I need to know for certain that you have come to terms with the relationship issue."

"Yes, sir, I have."

"Good. Because for this next thing it would be best that you have no close ties to friends – or a woman, if I read you right."

"As I said, I'm good to go."

Bob got up and closed the office door. "We need someone to go undercover in an organization that has a lot to lose if their financial fraud is uncovered. If they discovered that we put a plant in their financial organization, it could be very dangerous – for both the agent, and for anyone close to him."

"Like I said, I'm good to go – wherever you want to send me. . . . So what do you have in mind?"

"The organization, and the powerful tycoon who runs it, is deeply involved in politics. We're certain that they funded several fringe liberal candidates – the far-left gang that wants to turn the country into a fully socialist society. Now, although I disagree with their politics, there's nothing illegal with contributing to candidates of any political persuasion – as long as it's done within the laws governing campaign financing. But what this organization is doing is definitely against the law – channeling huge contributions directly into offshore accounts of the candidates, paying off the media to make up false news and run with it, bribing government officials to let the candidates off the hook for past crimes they have committed – the list goes on and on."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"We have a plan that will put you into the top-level financial office of the company. After you have gained their trust, you can start exploring the financial dealings to find something we can use to send the company president, and everyone else who is in on it, to prison for a long time."

"Sounds like fun. Who are we after?"

"Rex Sorensson."

Alex almost came out of his chair. "Sorensson? When you said it was a dangerous mission you weren't kidding. That guy has a small army of 'enforcers' that makes sure everything goes the way he wants it to. A couple of them were implicated in the murder of a rival businessman a few years ago, but Sorensson's team of Harvard lawyers got them off. The government's star witness disappeared. After the charges were dropped the witness turned up living in a mansion on a Caribbean island. It must have been a big-time payoff."

"That's the kind of stuff we want to know about. We're working with the FBI on this. If you find evidence of criminal activities outside Sorensson's financial dealings, we'll turn it over to them."

"Will the FBI have someone inside the company along with me?"

"Not that we know of. If that changes we can get word to you."

"Okay. Now that I know what I'll be doing, tell me how the hell you're going to get me inside. Sorensson is so paranoid he probably won't hire anyone without a full background check, lie detector test, and spies throughout the company looking for suspicious activity. I can fake my way past the lie detector, but unless you can create a deep background on a false identity for me, I'll never get past the background checks."

Bob smiled. "You won't need a new identity . . . You'll go in as yourself!"
Chapter 9 – The Setup

The following week Brandon was reading The Wall Street Journal over his morning coffee and toast. Kirsten sat silently across from him at the table – Brandon didn't want to be interrupted during breakfast. The first couple of times she stayed overnight at his house she made bacon, eggs, and toast for him, but he only ate the toast. She also tried to have a conversation, but he made it clear that it was an intrusion by the hard look he gave her. Kirsten was a morning person and woke up with her brain running ninety miles an hour, and her mouth eager to catch up. But she wanted to please Brandon so she stifled her urge to talk. So when he exclaimed "Holy shit!!!" it got her attention.

"Your boyfriend is a crook! This Journal piece says he was fired from his Government job. Listen to this:

"Alex Lucas, a top financial fraud investigator for an unnamed Government agency, was forced to resign yesterday as a result of personal financial fraud. It was learned that Mr. Lucas was helping those he investigated hide their crimes by showing them how to bury the illegal financial transactions in ways that no auditor – Government or otherwise – would be able to discover, effectively making the transactions invisible to investigators.

It was further discovered that Mr. Lucas used his expertise in computers to hack into financial accounts and Government records undetected. One unnamed source, a member of the Darknet underground, stated that Alex Lucas was one of top ten hackers in the country.

The agency investigators also found that Lucas was well compensated for his work. An account in his name was uncovered at a little-known offshore bank with deposits over the past six years totaling over ten million dollars. Mr. Lucas has been arrested and is being held without bail at the Central Detention Facility in Washington, D.C.

"I knew there was something fishy about that guy. I hope they put him away until he's an old man. That should get him out of your mind."

Kirsten finally broke through her shock. "You're just teasing me. Alex would never do something like that."

"Oh no, I'm not lying. . . . Here, see for yourself."

Brandon chortled while she read the story – twice. Then she threw the paper on the floor and left the room with tears in her eyes.

Two weeks later Rex Sorensson was in the middle of fun and games with Gloria Zeigler when his private cell phone rang – the one that only his closest associates could reach. Sorensson stopped what he was doing and reached for the phone on the bedside table.

Gloria pouted. "I hate it when this happens. It takes me forever to get back in the mood."

Rex shot her a harsh look and answered the phone. "Sorensson here. What's up Elizabeth?"

"I just found out something important from my network of informants in the judicial system."

"Well, what is it?"

"It's something I should tell you in person. . . . If you're not busy I could come over and we can discuss it over a glass of wine. Then maybe we could . . ."

"Look, I know you have a thing for me, but it's not going to happen, so give it up. What have you found out?"

"Gordon Koontz's hacking wizard, Ben Larson, has been arrested by the Federal Drug Enforcement Agency for attempting to smuggle fifty kilos of pure cocaine into the country aboard his yacht. The Government claims they have satellite photos of the boat rendezvousing with a speedboat out of Cancun known to be a drug transporter. When they got a warrant and searched the yacht they found the coke hidden behind secret panels in the wall."

"That idiot. Arrange to get him bailed out. Gordon needs him to keep our accounts hidden."

"I already checked. Since the fifty kilos were worth over a million, 3.4 million to be exact, he's being held without bail and without visitors. I wasn't able to find out where they're keeping him. Probably a safe house somewhere until they can get him to give up his drug supplier."

"Dammit, what am I supposed to do? Halt all of my financial business until I can find another hacker? And what if, instead of rolling over on his drug contacts, he rolls over on me! He knows enough to send Gordon and me to prison. You have to find out where he is so I can take care of that problem. In the meantime I'll have Gordon find another computer guy. It won't be easy – Larson was one of the best."

"I'll call in some favors and find out where Larson is. Are you going to spring him loose?"

"Not for you to know. Deniability and all that."

Gordon took the news hard. I can't operate for more than a few days without a computer whiz. That will cost Sorensson millions every day. I got lucky when Sorensson found Larson. If I could talk to Ben he could recommend a replacement but no one knows where he is. I don't even know where to begin looking. From what I've read the Russians have some good hackers, but we can't trust them.

Gordon lay awake in bed that night wrestling with the problem, but couldn't come up with a solution. Maybe I should withdraw the money from my own account and disappear. Sorensson's financial empire is about to come tumbling down around him. . . . But where could I go where he or the federal investigators can't find me. . . . No, I'm stuck with the problem. As he was just on the edge of falling asleep a thought flashed into his mind. Something he read in the Journal a few weeks ago. About a federal financial analyst who was caught helping out the bad guys. He jumped out of bed and went to his study, where he kept a month's stack of old Wall Street Journals.

It took him most of an hour to find what he was looking for, but there it was. Alex Lucas. And it looked like he had just the credentials they were looking for – great computer and hacking skills, and total disrespect for the law. He wanted to call Sorensson right then but knew he wouldn't like a midnight phone call. Gordon was about to give up until morning when a new thought hit him. If he wanted to get Lucas out of jail to work for him, Elizabeth was the one to talk to. She knew the judicial system and had a lot of pull. She could even bring in some top law firms to get the case against Lucas thrown out on some technicality. . . . And he didn't mind waking her up.

Two days later Alex was released with the official reason that there was insufficient evidence to prosecute. But he could never work for the Federal Government again – perfect for what Gordon had in mind. When Gordon explained his plan, Sorensson was suspicious. "Our guy gets arrested and the perfect replacement just happens to be available? I don't like it."

"Well, until we find someone to do this job you're loosing millions."

". . . Alright. But I want him watched closely. Someone who will work with him, be his assistant."

"I have just the right person, sir. She works in corporate finance at RexSorCorp."

"Is she attractive?"

"A little tall and thin, but otherwise she looks okay.."

"Good. Maybe she can get into his bed and we'll have him covered 24/7."

After his release from the detention center Alex checked into a top-floor executive suite at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Tysons Corner, a wealthy Virginia suburb 45 minutes from downtown D.C. The cost – $500 per night plus room service and other amenities – was being picked up by the Secret Service as part of Alex's cover story. A swindler with millions of dollars in the bank who knows the law can't touch him would be a big spender. They moved Alex into the hotel under an assumed name to make it difficult for Sorensson's men to trace him. Playing hard to get would increase his credibility. However, they did leave a crack in the door when they allowed Alex use his personal debit card one time at an ATM in the Galleria shopping center near the hotel.

Alex was looking forward to living it up for a few days after the time in the detention center, but two days later Gordon Koontz knocked on his door. Staying in character Alex looked through the peep hole and said gruffly "Who is it?"

"I'm Gordon Koontz, chief financial officer of RexSorCorp."

"I've heard of you but I've never seen you. It's more likely you're a reporter trying to get a scoop. . . . Go away!"

"But it's very important that I speak to you, Mr. Lucas. Mr. Rex Sorensson sent me personally to make an offer for your services."

"Like I said – Go away. Come back tomorrow after I've had time to check you out."

"But sir, I must . . ."

Alex picked up the phone and dialed the front desk. "I'm calling security. If you don't want to be thrown out on the street you better get moving."

At 8 a.m. the following day Alex answered the knock on his hotel room door by opening it wide and inviting Gordon Koontz in. "I ran a background check on you and liked what I saw – a financial wizard who is probably helping Sorensson hide questionable financial dealings. I can relate to that. Now, tell me why you're here."

"I also did my homework on your background and saw things that interested me – and Mr. Sorensson. You have a PhD in computer forensics, you are a first rate hacker, and you know how to bury certain financial activities so deep that the Government will never find them."

"Yes, I can do those things, and much more. I can manipulate the financial accounts to make money disappear or to add money I stole from elsewhere to make it look like a bribe, payoff, or undeclared taxable income. If you want, I can even initiate an IRS investigation that will cost millions in legal fees, fines, and lost business. . . . So I repeat, tell me why you're here."

"For the past few years I have had an assistant, Ben Larson, who performed those kinds of services for Mr. Sorensson. Unfortunately, he was recently arrested on drug charges, which left me with no one to fill that position."

"I've heard of Mr. Larson. He's good, but not as good as me. . . . So I take it that you are offering that position to me?"

"Yes, that's correct. I'm authorized to offer you a salary of $200,000 per year, with bonuses for successfully completing specific assignments."

"No. It will take at least $250,000, with 25% annual raises for the next five years."

"I'll have to discuss that with Mr. Sorensson. I'll get back to you in a day or two."

"Fine. But I have other offers I'm considering, so don't take too long."

"If Mr. Sorensson is available today I can let you know by close of business."

"I'll await for your call."

The following Monday Alex started his new job as a computer criminal for RexSorCorp. Gordon took him up to meet Rex Sorensson, then showed him to his spacious corner office. "I provided you with the latest in high-speed computers and internet service. If you need anything else, just let me know. We want you to be up to speed on as soon as possible so you can start tackling the backlog of work created by Larson's absence. Now I'd like to introduce you to your assistant."

Just outside Alex's office door, behind a large desk, an attractive woman sat behind a computer just like the one in Alex's office. She immediately rose and extended her hand. "I'm Geraldine Tomblin, Mr. Lucas. Welcome to RexSorCorp."

"I'm pleased to meet you Ms. Tomblin."

"Call me Geri. I like to be on a first name basis with those I work with."

Playing his role as a self-important jerk Alex replied, "And you may call me Mr. Lucas."

"Gordon has asked me to show you around this morning . . . Mr. Lucas. Would you like to begin the tour now?"

"Please. Lead the way."

As Geri led the way to the elevator Alex looked her up and down from behind. She's got a nice figure. Tall, slim but shapely. Walks with a certain grace that most women haven't learned – no sign of a sexy hip swing. And the raven black hair is a nice touch. I wonder if it's natural or from a bottle. How about her eyes? I didn't pay attention when we met. I'll have to check those out. . . . What color would go with her face and hair? Brown? No, too dark. Blue would go well with her fair complexion.

At that point they arrived at the elevator, where Geri turned around to say, "We'll start on the twelfth floor. That's where the computer servers are located."

Green! Her eyes are green. Perfect. They contrast nicely with the black hair. And I like her short haircut – no styling or curls – or spray net. She just lets it fall naturally so it moves a little when she turns her head.

As she pressed the elevator button he noticed her hands. Long, slim fingers that she used as gracefully as she walked. She'll be interesting to work with. Maybe I'll back off my jerk routine a bit to soften our relationship. . . . Relationship? What brought that word to mind?

"Um, I think I owe you an apology, Ms. Tomblin, for the overly formal introductory comment I made. Please feel free to call me Alex."

"Thank you, Alex. And it's miss, not 'mizz'."
Chapter 10 – Undercovers

Alex's first step in his plan of attack against Sorensson was to install his own custom software on the server. The program would lie hidden in the mainframe and allow Alex to examine the memory, documents, and emails of every computer within RexSorCorp. He set it up to automatically search for key words, phrases, and number sequences related to financial data and send it to the personal computer in his new Atlanta apartment. The transfers would be undetectable, so any corporate spyware Sorensson used to monitor employees' computer activities would be useless.

Since Alex expected Sorensson's spies to sneak into his apartment to plant spy software on his personal computer, he installed a hidden block of memory to store the data he downloaded from his work computer. He also had been warned by his contact in the Secret Service to look for audio and video bugs around the apartment. If he found any he was to leave them in place so he wouldn't give away his cover as a financial wizard/criminal.

Once he had all the protection programs in place Alex started in on the backlog of financial operations left by Ben Larson. The Secret Service gave him permission to continue the illegal financial activities of RexSorCorp. Alex knew how the Government worked so he insisted on a signed document by the director of the Secret Service absolving him of all responsibility for the financial crimes he had to commit to put Sorensson in prison. In exchange, he agreed to create 'back doors' into all the transactions so that the Government could have access to the evidence to prosecute Sorensson after the sting was over.

Alex was better at this job than Ben Larson – much better. He increased the undocumented income of RexSorCorp by 28% in the first month – and received a bonus of $8,000 for his performance. He opened a bank account to hold his RexSorCorp salary and bonuses until the undercover operation ended, when he would turn it over to the Government in return for his back salary as a Government employee.

Gordon set things up so Geraldine Tomblin shared the office with Alex, telling him "I expect you two to work closely on resolving financial matters. While you're at it why don't you teach her some hacking fundamentals."

"No problem working closely with her on corporate finances, Gordon, but my hacking skills are a different story. They're what make me uniquely qualified to do what I do . . . and to get paid big money. Giving away the tools of my trade could put me out of a job."

"I understand that, but I was hoping to groom her to eventually be your replacement. Then we can promote you to do bigger and better things for RexSorCorp."

"I'm independently wealthy, Gordon. I only do this for the fun of it. I don't want to be promoted."

"Whatever you say, Alex."

Shortly after that Geri received a call telling her Mr. Sorensson wanted her in his office immediately. She was apprehensive as she rode the elevator up to his top floor office suite, but when she was ushered into his office he got up from his desk to greet her.

"It's great to finally meet you, Ms. Tomblin. Come in and have a seat beside me on the couch."

Geri's apprehension grew. I hope this isn't what it looks like. I don't mind sleeping with my boss, but I find Sorensson repulsive. He reminds me of a frog. . . . But if I kiss him maybe he'll turn into a prince. She giggled out loud at the fairy tale thought.

"Did I say something amusing, Geri? I understand that's what you like to be called."

"No sir. It was just a silly thought I had. Forgive me."

"I enjoy a woman with a sense of humor. It adds to her attractiveness."

"What did you want to see me about, sir?"

"I'll be frank, Geri. If I asked you to make love to me in return for a promotion, would you do it?"

"Would that include a bigger salary?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll do it. Are we going to make love here in your office? This couch feels comfortable." Geri stood up and started unbuttoning her blouse.

Sorensson motioned her to stop and button back up. "You haven't let me finish my request. What if I asked you to get in bed with another person for business reasons?"

"I . . . I guess it would depend on who it is. If it's a woman, count me out. I draw the line there."

"No. No, it's a man. A rather good-looking one at that."

"I'm not certain if I would do it Mr. Sorensson."

"What if, along with the promotion and pay increase, I added $5,000 a month, in cash, tax free?"

Geri smiled. "That would definitely entice me to do it. Who is the man and when do I start?"

"Your working associate, Alex Lucas."

Shock showed on her face for a moment, then she smiled. "Just what do you have in mind?"

"As a new employee, and a former Government employee, I'm not sure I trust him. He could be an undercover agent trying to gather information about my financial activities. I want you to keep a close eye on him – both day and night. The nighttime part will mean inviting him to move in with you. We'll provide a nice apartment for you in one of the nicer condominiums near RexSorCorp, and a credit card you can use to personalize the décor and buy the food and liquor he favors."

"What if he doesn't want to move?"

"That will require seduction, and I suspect that you are very good at that."

Geri blushed slightly. "Yes sir, I am."

Geri Tomblin proved invaluable in helping Alex uncover the financial information he needed. They spent more and more time together in his office brainstorming new ways to make Rex Sorensson richer. She often would call the dining room to have lunches sent up to the office so they could have a 'working lunch.' Alex didn't notice that she slowly started to increase her physical closeness to him, but he liked her perfume – and her mind. She was quick to challenge him on the logical flaws of some of his ideas, and usually had a suggestion how to improve upon it.

One late Friday afternoon they were deeply engrossed in a tough problem they couldn't figure out how to solve. Geri put her hand on his shoulder and said, "Look, we've been at this all day. We're both tired and need a break. Why don't you come over to my place and I'll put together a dinner for us, and we can continue this afterward."

Alex's brain tried to flash a warning signal but his body had other things in mind. "Sure, that sounds great. How do I get to your place?"

"Come with me. I'll drive. Then I can bring you back for your car later."

On the drive to the Winston Condos, a high rise north of downtown Atlanta, Geri was animated, telling hilarious stories about some of the people she worked for in the past. She has such an enchanting laugh, Alex thought. He came up with some amusing anecdotes himself and by the time they reached her condo that both had tears of laughter in their eyes. Alex was so enthralled with her personality that he didn't notice when she first rested her right hand on his thigh. As they turned into the parking garage she gave it a slow, sensuous squeeze – that got his attention. He put his hand on top of hers and squeezed gently to let her know he had received the message.

The next morning Alex woke up under the sheets with Geri snuggled up to his back. It took him a moment to remember where he was, then his lips formed a smile as he remembered the night before. She was just as amazing in bed as she was walking down the hall in front of him that first day. Graceful, yet passionate. A truly amazing night.

She started waking up then, moving against him as she stretched. "We're in no hurry to go to work this morning, are we?"

Alex smiled. "It's Saturday. No work until Monday."

"Why, whatever shall we do until then?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something.

Sorensson turned to his security chief, Sakhir Kurian, and said "Well, that was entertaining. You planted the spy cameras in all the right places. I'm surprised to see that they have any energy left for wake-up lovemaking. I wish I could still do that."

Kurian grinned, letting his boss know that he still was virile enough to do it.

Sorensson continued, "Now that she has lured him into bed at her place she can keep an eye on him in case he's not what he seems to be."

"Still suspicious sir?"

"Always. I'm suspicious of everyone, Sakhir . . . even you. I didn't get where I am without a bit of healthy paranoia."

"Yes, sir. Are you ready to talk about my next assignment?"

"Ah, yes. We need to move on that, don't we. . . . Here's a folder with all the information you need. Elizabeth's contacts have located your target. I want him eliminated as soon as possible. Memorize it, then burn it."

"Yes sir. I'll get someone started on it right away. I know a sniper who owes me a favor."
Chapter 11 – Sniper

The witness woke up to the sound of singing birds and the smell of pine in the air. He had learned to recognize the call of the mocking bird – and the cardinal in the background – from an ornithology web site. Enough of a breeze was blowing that allowed him to hear waves lapping gently on the shoreline of a lake in southwestern Georgia. The remote lakeside house offered isolation and protection – two essentials for keeping a witness safe until the trial.. There was a chill in the air so he put on jeans and a flannel shirt and stepped out onto the wide front porch overlooking the lake.

Across the lake another man was enjoying the morning, but not for the same reason. The thick brush beneath the pine forest offered him perfect cover for what he had to do. He opened the case of a Winchester 30 caliber magnum sniper rifle – the favorite of legendary long range sniper, Chris Kyle. After assembling the parts and affixing the thirty-two power scope he crept through the underbrush until he had a clear line of sight to where his target was staying. It was still early in the morning, just after sunup, so no one was in sight. But the widening plume of white smoke from the stone chimney told that someone was trying to warm up the cabin before breakfast. He had no idea when, or even if, his target would appear. But he was trained to be patient for as long as it took.

As he adjusted the scope for windage and range the front door opened. The target stepped out on the porch and raised his arms in a stretch. The sniper scanned the scope left and right, making sure none of the protection detail had emerged yet. Everything was clear. They had violated the number one rule of witness protection – never leave the subject alone without protection. The sniper took advantage of their inattention, settled the cross-hairs on the victim's forehead, and pulled the trigger.

FBI agent Simon Lowe was just pouring a cup of coffee for himself and his partner, Nick Houston, when the shot rang out. They froze as the crack echoed throughout the surrounding trees. Then, at the same instant, they hit the floor.

"Where is Possum?" That was the code name for the protected witness. Nick scrambled across the floor and looked into his bedroom. "Not here. Check the bathroom."

"The door's open. He's not in there." They both ran to the front door and flanked the heavy oak slab.

"I'll go first. On three. One . . .two . . . three." Simon opened the door and Nick charged through, gun raised ready to shoot.

He shouted, "Witness is down! Head shot! Stay inside," just as Simon appeared in the open doorway. Another shot cracked as Simon was pushed back through the door by the force of a high-velocity bullet through the heart. Nick immediately dove off the porch to the cover of a firewood pile. Another bullet took a large chunk out of the top log in the pile. Nick slid back into the darkness underneath the porch. He crawled slowly toward the end of the porch, then jumped up and ran around the corner of the cabin heading into the forest cover. Another splinter of wood flew in the air above his head just before he was out the sniper's sight.

The sniper cursed as he set out for the cabin on the trail around the lake. I can't let him get back inside to his radio or he'll call in reinforcements and I'll never get away.

Nick went through his options in his head. I need to get to my radio, but this place doesn't have a back door. Maybe I can get in through a back window. . . . No we locked all of those. I've got no choice but to go after the sniper. I need to capture him alive so we can find out who hired him.

Nick was jogging as quietly as he could, staying away from small branches and leaves that would give his position away. The sniper was running carelessly, trying to get to the cabin before the remaining FBI agent could get to the radio and call for help. Nick heard him coming through the trees ahead so he ducked into a thick stand of scrub oak and waited. As the sniper came into view Nick leveled his Sig Sauer P226 pistol and shot him dead center in his left knee cap. As the target collapsed Nick was on his feet running to disarm him, but he was too late. The sniper raised his gun toward Nick but couldn't hold it steady because of the excruciating pain in his knee. He reversed the direction and shot himself through the head. Nick pulled up short and stood for a moment, wondering if he could do such a thing to avoid capture.

After going through the sniper's pockets and finding nothing he grabbed him by his coat collar and dragged him back to the cabin. He called his office in Tallahassee and reported the incident, then sat down beside Simon and wondered what he would tell the dead agent's wife.

Later that evening Alex received an encoded email from Bob Joiner telling him that his predecessor at RexSorCorp, Ben Larson, had been shot by a sniper. It ended with the warning "These guys mean business. Watch your back."
Chapter 12 – Addicted?

Within three weeks after starting to work for RexSorCorp Alex had found several suspicious financial transactions, but he didn't have enough details to prove crimes were being committed. He continued to carry out Gordon's instructions for snooping into Government and competitor's computers, along with selected senators, congressmen, and governors, looking for hidden information that could be used to coerce them into doing Sorensson's bidding. But so far he hadn't been asked to transfer money to anonymous accounts.

There was one thing he found that puzzled him. Once or twice a month money was transferred into a bank account belonging to SUC – that was it. No name or contact information, just SUC. After two days of using all of his hacking tricks he didn't know anything more. What else can I do here. There's got to be a way to break into that SUC account. Maybe Geri knows something about it. I'll take her out to dinner tonight and ask her about SUC.

He went over and sat on the corner of Geri's desk. "What are we planning to do for dinner tonight."

She gave him a mischievous smile. "Maybe some fast food followed by our usual desert?"

"I can only take so much of that desert without recuperating."

"So, you want the night off?"

"Just from the desert. How about dinner out followed by a relaxing movie video back at home?"

"I'm happy that you called my place home. When are you going to give up your place and move in for good?"

"I'm comfortable keeping things the way they are."

Geri made a fake pout, sticking her lower lip out. "You don't love me anymore," she wailed.

"Of course I do, sweetheart." Do I really? It's not love for me . . . yet. I hope she isn't thinking marriage. It's way too early for that.

"I know you love me, Alex. I was just kidding. So where are you taking me for dinner?"

"How about Chops Lobster Bar? It's a little late to get reservations, but if we get there before seven they should have some tables available."

They had a rule – no business talk until dinner was over. As the waiter collected their plates Alex ordered two coffees. After their first sip Alex brought up the account he had discovered. "I was looking over some account information today and I came across one I didn't recognize. It's an account at Atlanta Bank and Trust in the name of SUC. I was hoping you might know something about it. Mr. Sorensson deposits money a couple of times a month from his personal account at Silicon Valley Bank."

"So the account belongs to someone named suck?"

"No, SUC. It's apparently the initials of a company or organization of some sort. Like SVB stands for Silicon Valley Bank."

"That's new to me. But I only handle RexSorCorp finances, not Mr. Sorensson's personal accounts. Why are you looking into his personal finances?"

Alex had already thought up an answer to the question. "It's just something Gordon asked me to check on. It's not important."

"Well, I'll keep an eye open for anything related to this SUC account."

Two days later, when Sorensson called Geri to his office for an update on any suspicious activities, she reported that nothing unusual had happened with Alex.

"You are certain of that? Nothing the least bit out of the ordinary? No undocumented computer activities?

She hesitated for a second. "No. . .. Nothing I can think of."

"You hesitated. There is something, isn't there!"

"It's . . . It's just that he seems to be loosing romantic interest in me a bit. I think I've been overtaxing his libido."

"Well, give the man a rest, but not too much of one. We want him to be addicted to you. That's all for now."

As Geri walked toward the elevator she wondered, I should have told him about Alex's interest in that SUC account. Why didn't I? . . . Am I getting addicted to Alex?

A week later Geri was opening the latest batch of RexSorCorp's financial mail when something caught her eye. It was a letter addressed to Mr. Sorensson himself from Atlanta Bank and Trust, with 'STATEMENT ENCLOSED' stamped on it. It must have gotten mis-sorted somewhere along the line and sent to the finance department instead of Sorensson's incoming mail. She put it in the tray on her desk to send it back to the mail room and continued opening the rest of RexSorCorp's mail. When she finished sorting and gathered the envelopes to take up to Gordon Koontz's office she saw Sorensson's letter again. Alex was out of the office, so she picked it up and added it to the bottom of the stack for Gordon. In the elevator she kept it hidden under the other mail as she folded it twice and slipped it under the wide leather belt she was wearing.

On the way back to Alex's office she stopped in the ladies room, claimed a stall for herself, and pulled out the letter. If I open this, I'll have to throw it away somewhere because I could never seal it back the way it was. She had tried steaming an envelope open once, like they do in the movies, but it didn't work. The envelope and the letter inside were wrinkled by the steam. I guess I could tear it up and flush it after I open it. But if it has something about SUC in it Alex will want to see it. In the end she left it unopened and tucked it into her bra. When she got home she put the envelope underneath her jewelry box – she hadn't yet decided what she would do with it.
Chapter 13 – The Hostile Takeover Begins

Madison Taggart sat at her desk and looked around the spacious office. Whodathunk I would end up here, she thought. Last December I was a congresswoman from South Carolina and now I'm the head of the most prestigious law enforcement agency in the country – probably the world; the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She wasn't sure why President Matheson chose her as one of his first appointees after the election. She didn't think her performance in Congress was all that noteworthy. She simply based her decisions on the Constitution and the principle that less Government interference in people's lives was a good thing. And she had no experience at all working in the FBI or other law enforcement agencies – she was an outsider. But maybe that was the point. Put someone in charge whose decisions wouldn't be influenced by how things were done in the past.

The previous FBI director left her with lots of messes to clean up. He got the Bureau involved in several actions that weren't legitimate activities; that were outside their mandated mission. Now she had to untangle the Bureau from politics, international investigations, and probes as special favors to those in power. She also realized the Bureau was top-heavy – too much management that was draining the budget in non-productive ways. She wanted to cut the management staff by 30% but was running into strong internal opposition – everyone wanted to keep their cushy job, including the Deputy Director who was a holdover from the previous administration. She would have to replace him soon, before he tried to put things back the way they were.

As Madison, Maddy to her friends, was going over some notes for her appearance before the Congressional Budget Committee her assistant called her to say that her car was ready. She sighed, knowing the morning would be wasted with irrelevant questions designed to make the members of the committee seem important and more powerful.

When she reached the limousine waiting in the underground parking garage the driver/security guard opened the door to reveal that she had company – her director of staff security, Henry Owens.

"Good Morning Director Madison. Lovely day, isn't it."

"Skip the social niceties, Henry. Why are you in my car?"

"Because I have something to discuss with you and I can't seem to get an appointment at your office."

"Is this about the same old question?"

"Uh . . . Yes ma'am. It's about your refusal to use the limousine and security guard for travel to and from work. Driving yourself in your personal car is extremely dangerous, especially with the increase in domestic terrorism. You must have security whenever you are on the road."

"You know I see that as an unnecessary waste of money, Henry. But if you really think terrorists might target me, do you think one bodyguard would make a difference?"

"Probably not, but his presence is a deterrent. Terrorists know that they are risking their life if they come after you when you have protection."

"Risking their life? Their goal in life is to die a martyr and get seventy-two virgins in the hereafter. They're all suicidal. So I repeat – what difference does one body guard make?"

"Ma'am, it's official policy that all high-level officials will be driven everywhere in an armored limo with at least one security guard."

"I would ask you how much all those limousines are costing the Government, but you don't know the answer. I'm not sure anybody does. My job, as well as the jobs of the other privileged officials, is inherently risky. We accept that risk when we accept the job.

"But . . . but Director. . . . If an attack on you is successful I'll get blamed."

"Blame! That's really what this town is all about. Everyone wants to make sure they don't get blamed for anything. Give it up, Henry. I will continue to drive myself back and forth to work." They continued on to the committee meeting in silence.

Rex Sorensson was addressing the members of his Socialist Utopia Council concerning the slow progress on their assignments. At the moment he was focusing on Sakhir Kurian, head of corporate security and clandestine activities.

"Why haven't I seen results from your group, Mr. Kurian? Your target was supposed to be eliminated by now. What's holding you up?"

"We haven't been able to determine the best approach, sir. There are so many factors to consider - where and when the target is most vulnerable, how to make it look like an accidental death, ensuring our operatives don't get caught – the list goes on."

"Make your decision today and move on it, Sakhir! I want to see results by this weekend! Do you understand?"

"Yes sir. Consider it done."

"Mike Griffin, how are you coming with creating a career-ending scandal for the Speaker of the House?"

"We have everything in place, sir. It turns out we didn't need to create a scandal. Speaker Chavez had one ready made for us. Six years ago he fathered a child by a 15 year old girl. We have solid evidence that he has been making monthly support payments to the young woman since the birth."

"Good work, Mike. Coordinate with Gloria on leaking this to the press in the next couple of weeks. Gordon, how is your new financial computer whiz working out?"

"Very well, sir. Lucas is truly a genius at what he does, moving money around so the IRS has no idea what's going on. We're keeping a close eye on him. He and the woman are together at work all week and spend most nights and weekends at her apartment. If she finds anything suspicious going on she will alert us immediately."

"Great. The rest of you are progressing well with your assignments, but keep the schedule in mind. We don't want all of our attacks to happen at once."

A few days later Madison was on her way home after a late night at the office. She had gotten free of the dwindling downtown traffic and was headed northwest along the Potomac River on the George Washington Parkway. She enjoyed this part of the drive, especially this time of night when there was little traffic. The heavily forested divided highway hid the oncoming traffic from view, and tonight she could see only the lights of a single car a half mile behind her.

As she came to a break in the trees she could see the moon reflecting off the river fifty feet from the roadside. She was distracted by the view and didn't see the car behind her accelerate to pass her. As it drew ahead of her the car suddenly veered into her left front fender, causing her to jerk the wheel to the right. When it hit her a second time it was too late to correct. Her car went over the steep bank into the river.

She had read what to do in this situation and was prepared, Before the car sank she got the window rolled down, While it was on its way to the bottom she held her breath and wiggled out through the window. She gasped for breath as she broke the surface and looked up to see the car that hit her parked at the edge of the highway. Thank god they came back to help me. Just wait 'til I give them a piece of my mind.

Right after she cried "Help. I'm down here!" a shot ring out and her world went dark.

Henry Owens woke up at 3:25 a.m. to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He cursed as he looked at the clock and answered, "What's so damned important that you had to disturb my sleep. Can't it wait until morning?"

"Owens, this is the Deputy Director. You need to come over here immediately. . . . Madison Taggart is missing."

"What!! Where, when.?"

"Her husband called the service desk shortly after two a.m. to report she hadn't gotten home from work yet. I checked and she signed out at 11:30 p.m. It's a 45 minute trip, so she should have been there before midnight. It's probably a car accident. I have the state and local police along her route checking now. The rest of the staff is on their way here."

"I'll be there in thirty minutes."

When Deputy Director Howard Watson had the staff and department heads gathered in the conference room he announced, "Effectively immediately, I am the acting Director of the FBI. Until Director Taggart is located, you will cease any activities she assigned you. Are there any questions?"

One of the department heads loyal to Director Taggart spoke up. "Isn't that a bit premature, Howard? I mean, she's only been missing for seven and a half hours."

"Her disappearance could be the beginning of a major terrorist attack. We can't be without a leader even for an hour. . . any other questions?"

"What are we doing to locate her? Do we have a task force put together yet?"

"We have no idea where she is. She may have stopped off at a bar and passed out."

Owens spoke up with anger in his voice. "First, Maddy Taggart doesn't drink . . . ever. Second, I had a GPS tracker put on her car last week because she refused to ride in her limo with a bodyguard. My people are checking the data as we speak. I should have a the current location of her personal vehicle in a few minutes." Everyone except Howard Watson looked relieved.

The next speaker was the Assistant Director for National Security. "We have to assume this is part of something bigger until we know otherwise. Accordingly, Acting Director Watson has declared an Alert Level 3 for the headquarters here in Washington and all the major field offices. All agents will be called in to their respective offices to be sequestered until further notice. The call has already gone out and we expect the agents will be in place before the day is over."

Someone came into the conference room and put a slip of paper in Owens' hand. "I have the information on the Director's vehicle. She left the parking garage at 11:35 p.m., crossed the Roosevelt Bridge at 11:47 and started north on the George Washington Parkway. At 11:55, as the vehicle approached the scenic overlook opposite the Potomac Overlook Park, the signal stopped. No further transmissions from the GPS tracker were received. I have a team on their way to that location now."

Watson spoke to re-establish his dominance role. "So what happened, Owens. Did she find the GPS unit and smash it? Maybe she was going to see her lover and didn't want to be tracked."

"Madison Taggart going to see a lover doesn't make sense. It's more likely the car went into the river." Owens replied. "But any conclusions at this point are just guesses. Let's wait until my guys get there. If they find anything I'll go out there myself."

Owens arrived at the site shortly after noon, just as two divers were entering the cold waters of the Potomac River. He walked up to the lead investigator and asked, "What have you got so far?"

"Broken brush showing the path of a vehicle down the bank to the river. No skid marks. Nothing visible under the water. Until we find the vehicle we don't know if it's the Director's car. The current probably carried it downriver. The divers will start at the apparent entry point and move down from there. The current is pretty slow, so it shouldn't take them long if it happened recently. If it's a day or two old there's no telling how far downriver the vehicle might have gone."

"What we're looking for happened about twelve hours ago."

"Based on the water flow that should put it somewhere between a quarter and a half mile downstream. If it moved over toward the middle of the river it will widen our search area."

"I'll be here until you find it."

"Roger that, boss. I hope we find it before dark."

Sunset was just beginning when the divers sent a flag marker up to the surface. The D.C. Metro police boat rushed to the scene and dropped an underwater camera to the divers. Owens and his investigator were watching on the monitor, anxious to see if it was the model that Director Taggart drove. As the underwater lights came on they saw that it definitely was the correct model – a 2014 Acura MDX. When the camera was moved around to the rear it was confirmed – the license plate belonged to the FBI Director.

"Shit!" Owens exclaimed. The police boat had established an audio link with the divers, so Owens asked the key question they were all waiting to know. "Is anyone in the car?"

The camera and light moved to the driver's window. "No sir. The window is open, but the seats are empty."

Owens looked at investigator. "Maybe she got out and made it to the shore. Get a search party out here immediately to explore both banks. Both on foot and in small watercraft. Start the search at the point of entry and work downriver."

"It will take an hour or so to put it together, but we'll get on it."

It was dawn before the search teams got into gear. Two hours later Owens got a call on his cell phone. "Sir, you need to get down here. I texted the GPS coordinates."

"What have you got? Did you find her?"

"I don't want to comment on this unsecured line. Just get here as soon as you can."

When Owens got there he saw the body of a woman lying on the bank.

"We found her snagged in the trees along the bank and pulled her up here."

"Did she drown?"

"We'll have to wait for the Metro medical examiner for the official cause of death, but I'd put my money on the bullet hole in her forehead."
Chapter 14 – Aftermath

President Matheson sat behind his desk in the Oval Office slowly shaking his head from side to side. Special Agent Owens had just presented the FBI findings on Director Taggart's death.

"I just can't believe Maddy is dead. She was so energetic; and dedicated to our vision of the future for the country. I have no idea who can replace her. . . . Does the FBI have any leads on who was behind this?"

"Since taking office Director Taggart has concentrated on uncovering terrorist training camps within the United States, especially those with ISIS connections."

"So what are you saying? That ISIS terrorists are behind this?"

"The FBI isn't in the business of speculating sir – but personally ISIS would be at the top of my list. And Al Qaeda would be a close second. Either way it looks like part of the increasing terrorist attacks inside the U.S."

"Dammit Owen. We've got to put a stop to this. . . . How many suspected terrorist camps is the FBI tracking?"

"By the latest count twenty-three sir."

"Why can't we arrest them and shut them down?"

"There isn't enough evidence to prove that they're affiliated with a terrorist group. A good lawyer could not only get them freed, but would probably sue the Government for harassment and win a big settlement, which would fund future attacks."

"We are tightening the immigration laws to keep out high-risk individuals. That should reduce their numbers."

"Even if we stopped all immigration from countries with known terrorist ties, there are still several thousand suspected terrorists already living here. All they need is money to buy explosives and weapons, and that funding has increased ten-fold in the past few months."

"Where is the money coming from?"

"It's not clear, Mr. President. The FBI has financial investigators trying to trace the sources, but so far nothing has turned up."

"Well, keep trying. If we can cut off their funding we can stop these attacks. In the meantime keep the details of Taggart's murder quiet, especially the possibility of a terrorist connection."

"Yes sir."

Sorensson was having breakfast the next morning while watching the latest news on the TNC channel. He hated them because they often exposed the lies – they called it 'fake news' – that he paid his people to create. But he knew he could depend on TNC to provide reasonably accurate information about what was going on in the country and the world. Besides, it was always good to keep an eye on your enemies – and TNC was definitely an enemy of socialism.

With his first sip of coffee he saw what he was looking for – coverage of Director Taggart's 'tragic' death. He watched video coverage of her car being lifted out of the Potomac by a crane and heard the talking heads say that she apparently drowned after being thrown from her car, but the cause of death was still under investigation. He only half paid attention as they ran footage of the Director's earlier career and her efforts to root out terrorists, but when he saw the flashing "Breaking News" banner he refocused.

"It has just been revealed to TNC News that Madison Taggart was apparently shot in the head." A close-up image of Taggart's face was displayed showing what appeared to be a bullet wound in the forehead. "This photo, taken by an unnamed rescue worker with a cell phone, clearly shows a circular wound in the center of her forehead. The worker stated that "he had seen several bullet wounds in his line of work and this definitely looked like one, probably a nine millimeter."

Sorensson swore and pushed his breakfast tray off the table, splattering eggs and coffee over the carpeted floor. "That idiot! I gave Kurian a simple order – have her killed and make it look like an accident. So why in the hell would his goons shoot her." He pressed the intercom button. "Get Kurian up here . . . Now! . . . Right now!"

"Yes sir." his assistant answered.

Because Kurian was still in bed when he got the call he didn't appear for another forty-five minutes, which gave Sorensson's anger time to subside a bit.

"Have you seen the news this morning!"

"No sir. I . . . was busy."

Sorensson replayed the video of the latest news flash. "Those idiots you hired shot her in the head! In what universe does that look like an accident?"

"Sir, I gave them strict orders to . . ."

"Which they were too stupid to follow. Where did you get these guys anyway?"

"I found them on the Darknet classified ads. There were several killers for hire listed, so I contacted the first two on the list."

"Killers actually advertise for work?"

"Not directly. They use coded sentences that speak only to others in the business – like me."

"Well, you're going to have to take them out. Personally! Don't hire this out."

"Yes sir, I'll take care of it."

"There's no way they can be traced back to us, is there? You didn't pay them already, did you?"

"Uhhh . . . Yes sir. People in this business require prepayment. But I did it from one of the SUC blind accounts that Gordon Koontz set up, so it can't be traced back to us."
Chapter 15 – Who's Next?

Two days earlier

Alex needed more time alone on his computer to continue his search for illegal financial dealings by Sorensson and his company. He had spent the first month after going undercover showing off his gift for hacking into government, corporate, and personal accounts of those with financial connections to RexSorCorp. Koontz now trusted him fully and had given him access to most of the corporate accounts, where he found several minor illegal transactions but nothing like the large-scale fraud he was looking for.

But Sorensson's personal financial dealings were a different story. The bank statements he found online showed nothing unusual for a multi-billionaire who donated to dozens of liberal causes and political candidates. Alex had tried to follow the money after it left Sorensson's account but eventually he hit a dead end. He wanted to continue this approach with some of the other recipients, but he didn't have enough time alone – Geri was always nearby. He was able to find a few minutes here and there, like when she was in the shower, but it wasn't enough. He needed a few days away from her to get on with his spy work.

Once, when she had gone out shopping, he was still at his computer when she returned home.

"Why are you on that computer all the time? Are you watching naked ladies? . . . Maybe that's why you aren't interested in making love as often as we did at first."

He swung the monitor around so she could see that the screen was full of financial data, not naked women. "No porn dear. You're the only naked lady I enjoy looking at. . . . I'm just working on new hacking techniques that will get me deeper into well-protected accounts. . . . There's nothing sexy about that."

"Good. Why don't I go get a shower and meet you in the bedroom so you can enjoy my naked body. I have a reward for you afterward."

Alex wasn't really interested, but he needed Geri to help him find what he was looking for. "You know how to drag a man away from his work, don't you. I'll be up in about five minutes."

Afterward they were sitting in bed propped up on pillows when Alex asked, "Okay, what about the reward you promised?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. Wait here."

Geri slipped on her robe and retrieved her purse from the front hall. As she rummaged through it she thought, Am I doing the right thing here? Why would he want information about SUC, whatever that is. . . . But he'll be pleased that I did a favor for him. I want a closer relationship, not just in bed. She pulled out the unopened letter and handed it to him.

"This came in our office mail by mistake. I remembered you asking about deposits into an Atlanta Bank and Trust account registered to SUC."

Alex read the front of the envelope and thought, this could be the break I'm looking for. He wanted to tear it open right away but didn't want Geri to know how eager he was to look at it, so he said, "Oh yeah. I forgot all about that SUC thing. I'll open it tomorrow. But thanks for thinking of me. . . . So what do we want delivered for dinner? Chinese?"

In the middle of the night Alex woke up to his mental alarm clock, looked over at Geri to be sure she was asleep, then took the letter from the bedside table and headed for the bathroom. After locking the door and turning on the light he quietly tore the envelope open and looked at the bank statement. This is amazing! Sorensson has been channeling large amounts of money through this account. And look at all these recent cash deposits! Where are they coming from? I can't trace the deposits but there are some withdrawals transferred to other accounts that I might be able to run down. He spent the next few minutes memorizing all the transactions and account numbers, then re-folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. A knock on the door startled him.

"Hey, what are you doing in there. Are you okay?"

"It's the Chinese food. It want straight through me. I'll be out in a minute."

"Well hurry up. I have to pee."

He pushed the envelope down into his boxers, flushed the toilet, and sprayed a liberal amount of room deodorizer around to cover up the lack of smell. He opened the door and let Geri in. He didn't want her to see the opened letter so he went into the living room to put it in his briefcase. He just got back under the covers when she came back into the room and joined him. He curled up on his side and she slid up behind him spoon fashion and put her arm over him. "You feel so good next to me, Alex. It's like you belong there. I think we might be soul mates."

Not likely, Alex thought. I know who my soul mate is, even though I lost her.

When they got to work the next day Alex went straight to his desk and entered the SUC account data he had memorized into a secret file on his computer. Last week he had started work on another program that would take him even deeper into the corporate accounts and give him access to Sorensson's personal computer. For the next few hours he focused on completing the software so he could hunt down the SUC connections at work without being discovered. After he had it working he was tempted to begin his SUC search immediately, but with Geri in the room most of the time he had to be careful. If she walked by his desk she might see something on the screen that would make her suspicious.

He went back to his usual RexSorCorp work while his mind was looking for a solution to this problem. It came to him ten minutes later. He added a sub-routine to his program so that whenever he pressed the F1 and F2 keys simultaneously the screen would immediately jump to a 24-hour news web site. When he tested it the first time he was shocked.

"Oh my god! Did you see this Geri? FBI Director Taggart is dead."

She came over behind him and looked over his shoulder at the screen. "Is that a bullet hole in her head?"

"That's what they're saying. The medical examiner will have to make the official determination, though. . . . Here's another news flash. An unnamed source in the White House is saying that it was definitely a terrorist act. I wonder where they got that information?"

As he watched the same news report Rex Sorensson smiled. Gloria Zeigler planted that bit of fake news with perfect timing. I wonder how much she had to pay network news anchors to make that their lead-in story. Now it's time for the next few moves.

A week later Hiram Walker, the conservative majority whip in the House of Representatives, was having breakfast with his wife at their Virginia country estate. The new kitchen maid interrupted their conversation to ask if they would like more coffee. Hiram's wife smiled at her and answered "Yes, I think we would, Imelda. Remember that I take decaf but Hiram likes the real stuff."

"Yes ma'am."

A few minutes later she reappeared with two carafes of coffee. After refilling each of their cups she was returning to the kitchen with the carafes when Hiram asked, "Would you leave mine here. I might have another cup."

Imelda hesitated. Her instructions were to take the carafe back to the kitchen and immediately wash it thoroughly.

"Imelda?"

"Yes sir. I'll leave it on the table."

When she left the room she headed straight to the servant's restroom and changed out of her maids uniform into her street clothes. Then she quietly left by the side door and walked quickly down the back driveway to the delivery gate, where someone was waiting to drive her away.

"How did it go? Any problems carrying out my instructions?" Kurian asked.

"No sir. Everything went as planned. . . . Can you tell me why you had me do this?"

He looked at her sharply. "No! The money you will be paid is for absolute secrecy. Tell no one of this."

"Yes sir."

As he drove on she started making a mental list of everything she would buy for herself . . . and her family. She had no idea that this was her last hour of life.

Congressman Walker reached for his fresh cup of coffee. It had cooled to the perfect temperature for his tastes – lukewarm. He raised it to his lips and took a big swallow, then another for good measure. A strange feeling started to overtake his body even before he set the cup back in its saucer. He looked at his wife and started to tell her he might be having a heart attack but found his mouth wouldn't move. He needed to take a breath but when he tried nothing happened. Within a minute his entire body became rigid – he was completely paralyzed. He was dying of asphyxiation and couldn't do anything about it. The succinylcholine poison did it's job and, by the time the coroner got the body, would leave little trace of it's presence.

When Alex saw the news report about Congressman Walkers death of an apparent heart attack he didn't spend much time thinking about it – other than to wonder how old he would be when his own fatal heart attack struck. He was concerned that Walker's influential support of President Matheson's moves to undo the liberal policies of the past administration would be weakened, especially if his replacement takes a more liberal stance on the President's legislation. He made a mental note to get into the coroner's computer to see what the final ruling on cause of death would be. Then he went back to work on cracking the SUC case.

The next afternoon Virginia Lieutenant Governor 'Scooter' McClellan was appointed by the Governor to fill out the remainder of Walker's term. McClellan had a long record of proclaiming the superiority of a socialist society.
Chapter 16 – Creating Havoc

Two weeks later Sorensson was reviewing the progress his SUC team had made on the hostile takeover plan. Things were moving quickly, but not fast enough to please him. The entire plan rested on a succession of eliminations to knock the Government off balance and create growing fear in the minds of the populace that the new administration wasn't able to keep them safe. The public had to see a tidal wave of disturbing news – a disintegration of the tenants of capitalism that would cause the economy to collapse. Only then could the Socialist Utopia Council move in and save the day.

As he walked down the hall to the conference room he was hoping one of his five council members would have a pleasant surprise for him. He wasn't disappointed when Elizabeth Goldsmith led off with her report.

"As you may recall, the main thrust in my early attack on the president's agenda was to lock everything he tries to do up in court. We have been quite successful at that. The first bill he tried to introduce to Congress was to replace the current Government health care plan. With Gloria's help in a media blitz to create the belief that it would leave thousands of poor people without coverage, we got the Federal District Court to issue an injunction requiring further studies to determine the potential negative impacts of the bill should it become law. That will delay congressional action for at least six months.

"And, again with Gloria's media connections, we released data showing the new tax bill would help only the very rich and cause a major economic depression. Several members of congress – the ones who owe Mr. Sorensson big favors – have introduced a resolution requiring the Congressional Budget Office to do an in-depth study on the long-term effects of the proposed tax cuts."

"So President Matheson is zero for two on his campaign promises." Sorensson noted.

"That's correct, sir. And we will use the results of the CBO report – which we are assured will be favorable to our position – to bring a lawsuit against Matheson for lying to the American public for the purposes of stealing the election."

Sorensson shook his head. "That won't fly. Every politician lies to get elected."

"But it's never been taken to court. Loosing politicians look the other way after the election because they are all guilty of lying. This will be the first time an election winner has been called into account for the lies told to get elected."

"Can we make that stick?"

"Maybe, but even if we loose the case it will turn public opinion against him as soon as it hits the news. We'll call in witnesses to testify about every possibly illegal action in Matheson's life – sexual harassment, kickbacks from contractors, bribes – anything our lawyers can dig up."

"That's great news, Elizabeth. Gloria, other than helping Elizabeth with her activities what have you got going."

"Well, our attacks against conservative news anchors is ramping up. We have paid off women who knew them in their early careers to claim sexual harassment and even rape. Most of it is made up, but in a couple of cases women came forward with what could be real claims of abuse. The problem is proving their side of it – that they didn't lead the guys on and get pissed when it went too far. We are making up for the lack of hard evidence by having several women make claims against each of the subjects. People may hear one claim of harassment and wonder if it's true, but when several women make the same claim the public starts to believe them. And if the public believes them, the network's only option is to replace their news anchors with someone less controversial. We're working behind the scenes to replace them with socialist oriented news anchors."

"Good work. Any problems to discuss?"

"Paying the women to lie could get pretty costly. Once they are paid to make the initial harassment claim they might ask for a lot more money to keep quiet."

"For me that's not a problem at all. How are you getting the money to them?"

"The safest way would be cash because it can't be traced back to us, but it would be too easy for some reporter to hack into their accounts an see the unusually large deposits. So I had Gordon set up anonymous bank accounts that the women can access with a debit card."

Sorensson nodded his approval. "That should keep our involvement under wraps. Michael how are you coming along with getting rid of the congressional leaders and Federal agency chiefs who won't see things our way?"

Griffin cleared his throat. "Thanks to Mr. Kurian the head of the FBI is gone. The agency will be headed by the Deputy Director for now. We have enough stuff on him to keep him in line. Also, Hiram Walker conveniently had a fatal heart attack, so that got rid of his interference."

Sorensson looked at Griffin. "I presume you had Sakhir take care of that for us?"

Griffin smiled and nodded his head.

"And that brings us to Gordon. Are you keeping the money for these operations rolling in?"

Koontz nodded his head vigorously. "Yes sir. The income has far exceeded our expectations. That new computer whiz we hired is the best hacker I have ever seen. He can sneak into the investment accounts of a dozen rich conservatives every day and siphon off just enough money to keep the detection software from flagging suspicious activities."

"Well, you all have put my mind at rest . . . for now. But continue your work. We need to create enough havoc to blame on the President that the public will be begging their legislators to impeach him."
Chapter 17 – Paydirt

Kirsten was getting ready to head for the university but had to do some touch-up work on her face first. The swelling below her left eye had gone down thanks to the ice packs she kept on it through the night. But the discoloration was a little harder to hide. She would have to cover it up with the liquid makeup she kept around for occasions like this. She would have to get a new bottle soon – Brandon was smacking her more often than he used to.

As she smoothed the makeup on she thought over her situation. I should have seen what he was really like before I moved in with him. He shows affection and caring when we're with others but if I do anything to anger him I pay for it when we get home. And it's getting worse because of his drinking. He's a mean drunk.

I should just leave him, but he's made it clear that he will never let me go. He'll come after me and hurt me. Maybe he would even get mad enough to kill me. I wish I knew where Alex was. I need him. I need his help. But I wouldn't blame him if he brushed me off after the way I treated him.

She put the finishing touches on her face, picked up her purse, and left for work.

Alex was laying in bed with Geri after another round of exhausting lovemaking activities. The woman's insatiable. It's like she's using sex to hold on to me . . . no, to cling to me. If I were 15 years younger maybe I could keep up this pace, but at 36 I'm having trouble keeping up with her. Maybe I can fake a medical problem – like an enlarged prostate or something. But that's something older guys get, so she might not believe me. I can't say anything to make her back off; I need her help to go after Sorensson.

He lay on his back quietly for another twenty minutes until he heard her snoring lightly. Well, that's one benefit of all this lovemaking – she goes to sleep afterward for at least a couple of hours. Alex slid out from under the covers stealthily and tip-toed to his room. After putting on some sweats and a T-shirt he sat down at his computer. He had finally broken into the SUC account this afternoon at work and couldn't wait to have a peek at the financial transactions. He wouldn't be able to dig too deeply in an hour of two because as soon as he heard Geri stirring he would have to shut it down.

The first thing he noticed was that there were no names associated with the account – no individuals, no corporations, no social security numbers. Everything was untraceable. He focused on the money transferred into the account from RexSorCorp first. At the SUC account end there was nothing to show where it came from – no link to Sorensson or his company. But he knew from exploring the RexSorCorp account that frequent withdrawals were transferred to the SUC account. Large amounts would leave the RexSorCorp bank and show up later that day as a deposit for the same amount in the SUC account. But here's where it got peculiar. Within thirty minutes the money was gone – transferred to yet another account at the First State Bank of Reynoldsville Georgia.

It took him longer to hack into the Reynoldsville bank because they were using accounting software purchased from Russia which Alex wasn't familiar with. But he stuck with it and was just about to open up the bank's books when he heard the toilet flush. He pressed the keys that popped up the news screen and pretended to study it. Geri stuck her head in the door and asked, "When are you coming to bed? I need to cuddle."

"In a couple of minutes, dear."

"What's so interesting in the news that you have to watch it in the middle of the night?"

"I'm looking for things that could affect the stock market when it opens so I can pounce on some bargains and grow Rex's fortune."

"He's got enough. Come to bed."

"Just a couple more minutes."

When she left Alex quickly opened the numbered account that the SUC money went to and saw what it was used for. There were several debit cards issued on the account which were used to make random withdrawals of varying amounts from banks across the country. The withdrawals ranged from a few hundred up to several thousand dollars. If I can just tie these withdrawals and dates to activities that Sorensson would be likely to fund I might find something criminal going on.

"Alex, get your butt in here or I'll come out there and drag you."

He closed his secret hard drive sector and turned off the laptop. "I'm on my way, Geri."

When Alex got to work the next morning he couldn't wait to dig deeper into the Reynoldsville bank account, but he needed time away from Geri to do it. He thought about places he could take his laptop to get online and came up with two possibilities – an internet café or the public library. This time of day the cafes would be crowded so he opted for the public library. Now he had to come up with an excuse to go out for two or three hours. He cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Geri, I need to do some research on this company I'm looking at. They have been cited several times by the Securities and Exchange Commission for violation of federal regulations. Some of the early charges date back to before computer records so I'll have to dig through some dusty old books at the public library."

"You'll have better luck at the Macmillan Law School library at Emory University. I would try there first. . . . I know. Why don't I come with you and we can get it done twice as fast."

Alex had to think fast. "No, I want you to do some work here for me." He mentally reviewed the projects he was working on and picked one. "I hacked the account of Secretary of State and found some unusual deposits – large amounts that appear every few weeks. Would you have a look at the account and see if you can find where the money is coming from?

"Sure, that sounds like fun. See you around lunch time?"

"Why don't I meet you at the deli? Around 11:30?"

"It's a date."

As Alex got on the elevator Geri picked up the phone and dialed the number they gave her.

"Yes?"

"A message for Mr. Kurian. The subject has just left the building headed for the Emory Law Library." She paused for an answer but just heard a click as the other party hung up.

Geri took the file Alex gave her and looked it over. She recognized the name – Amanda Winston, the current Secretary of State. Alex might be on the something here. Most of these deposits are for several thousand dollars. They don't come in every month, the deposit dates seem to be random. Maybe they correspond to dates the Secretary traveled – cash payoffs to officials in other countries? Or maybe she just likes to party when her husband's away. Let's see if I can work my way back to the source.

Shortly after that Alex signed into the law library internet server from his laptop and got his hacking software package up and running. In a few minutes he was an invisible entity probing the Reynoldsville Bank records. He made a list of all the ATM withdrawal dates and amounts. He would put them on a spreadsheet later to look for patterns that might connect with events in the news. Next he focused on some large withdrawals done through Electronic Funds Transfers. He was able to trace most of the recipients but again no obvious pattern emerged. The money went to companies like Pro-Guard, a personal protection business. Another went to a firearms dealer. And an apartment cleaning service he had never heard of received occasional income in amounts that were way too large for the usual housework cleaning.

It was almost time to leave for lunch when he came across a transfer to the Winston Foundation. It took him a second or two to connect the dots before he realized the foundation was set up by Amanda Winston and her husband. Wow! This is big. This could lead to some real serious stuff. . . . Uh oh. Geri might follow the assignment I just gave her back to the Reynoldsville account. I have to stop her.

As he left the Law School he phoned the office. When Geri answered he said, "Drop what you're doing and meet me at the deli. I finished a little early."

"I'm just getting into some juicy stuff here. I hate to quit now."

"You can get back to it after lunch. See you in ten minutes."

Geri was excited to tell Alex what she found, but stuck to their 'no business during a meal' rule. As he took the last bite of his Ruben sandwich she pushed her salad aside and jumped in.

"You won't believe what I found in Secretary Winston's account – well, not her account actually, but the Winston Foundation account."

Alex gave her his full attention.

"First of all, some of foundation money is leaking out of the account. Small amounts, but lots of them."

"Who's it going to?"

"This is the fun part. . . . It's going to her husband's investment business. She's taking donated money and using it to build up the family retirement fund. There are all kinds of laws they're breaking with this scheme."

"Great work Geri! Write this up in a brief report and I'll give it to Gordon."

"Like the TV ad man says . . . ' But wait! There's more!' I found the source of the money coming into the foundation."

Alex felt his stomach tighten. "Where is it coming from?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"It's a bank in downstate Georgia, in a place called Reynoldsville."

Alex sat frozen for a few moments, going over the possible outcomes of her results – none of them good.

"Well? . . . What do you say to that, Alex?"

"T-that's great. Did you find out anything else?"

"Yes. The withdrawals from the account are weird. Lots of ATM extractions from several different cards. But the most interesting thing is where the deposits into the account are coming from – an account at the Atlanta Bank and Trust."

Alex paused before he asked the final question. . . . "Who does that account belong to?"

"I was just about to find out when you called. And I'm anxious to get back so I can find out who is paying off Secretary Winston.

"Oh, one more interesting point," Geri said as they stood to leave. "I can't find any information about the Reynoldsville Bank – online or anywhere. And when I checked Google Maps I found that the town almost doesn't exist. A population of 114, a discount store, a gas station, and a couple of churches. In the satellite view I couldn't see anything in the town that looked like a bank."

As they walked back to the office Alex came up with a plan to keep the lid on the bank thing. "I'm worried about the Reynoldsville Bank connection to Secretary Winston. If they find out what you uncovered, they might come after you."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because more than one person has disappeared when they went after Winston interests. We need to keep this between you and me, at least for now. Shut down your activities and erase all your work on it from the computer. The company computers aren't safe – the IT guys can look at anything we have on them. . . . Promise me. No more work on Winston."

Geri answered, "You're right, Alex. I'll dump everything as soon as we get back," as she thought You should know better, Alex. My woman's curiosity won't leave me alone until I know the answer.
Chapter 18 – Searching for a Link

The following day Geri decided to do some lunchtime shopping. When she stepped out the door of the RexSorCorp building she heard her name called. When she looked around she saw Sakhir Kurian beckoning her to his black Mercedes, holding the back door open. "Get in."

"No thanks. I doing a little shopping and I don't need a ride."

"Get in!"

She thought about running back into the building but realized he could take her anytime he wanted, so she got in. Kurian drove in silence to a nearby wildlife sanctuary and parked among the trees. He got out of the driver's seat and slid in next to Geri in the back.

Damn. Another one of Sorensson's staff wants to screw me. I hate doing it in the back seat of a car. I'm too tall for that. She started to unbutton her blouse.

"Stop! That's not what I'm after . . . although it's nice to know that you would give in so willingly. Give me an update on Lucas. What's he been up to. Anything suspicious?"

She breathed an inward sigh of relief. She hated this arrogant jerk. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

He stared into her eyes. "That's your answer? Are you certain he hasn't been up to anything?"

"Yes sir. . . . No, wait a minute. He went to the Emory law library yesterday. . . to do some research on old SEC filings against some company he's trying to get money out of."

"And why didn't you tell me this when I first asked?"

"I, uh, assumed you knew since I reported it as soon as he left."

"Very good. Now what about you? Have you been up to anything I should know about?"

She thought of her investigation into the Winston finances and panicked. Should I tell him? Alex said not to talk to anyone. She felt the color drain from her face as she looked up and said "No sir. Just the usual activities in bed with Alex."

"I know about those, Miss Tomblin. I watch them on the cameras we hid in your apartment. I have the office bugged too, so if you two decide to do it on your desk I'll have a front row seat." Geri's color changed from white to red as she blushed in shame.

"I'm talking about something you were doing on your computer. And remember, I know everything – every key stroke, every place you visited online . . . like the First Bank of Reynoldsville."

Her face instantly turned white with fear. "I . . . Alex gave me some information he wanted me to pursue . . . and it led to the Winston Foundation, then to that bank."

"And what did you discover in that account?"

"Nothing surprising. Just a few large deposits and several cash withdrawals."

"Did you try to find out where the deposits came from?"

"No sir. I had no reason to follow the money further," But I intend to do just that as soon as I get home tonight. Now my curiosity is really pushing me.

"Good. You told me everything . . . Maybe. Have you told Alex any of this?"

Oh my god. What should I say? "No, Alex knows nothing about it yet. I was going to tell him this afternoon."

Kurian stared at her for several seconds. "I don't believe you, Miss Tomblin. I can tell when I'm being lied to. What did you tell your lover boy?"

When he was met with silence he added, "You have two choices here. You can tell me what I want to know; or your body will be found floating in the Chattahoochee river tomorrow. Which will it be?"

"I told Alex as soon as I found out yesterday. I told him everything I knew."

"What did he say about it?"

"That the Winston's were dangerous people and I should keep everything quiet."

"That's good advice, Geri. Tell no one, do you understand? And by the way, I hope you know by now that I am also dangerous people. I expect to be told everything, as soon as it happens!"

"Yes sir."

When Geri got back to the office Alex could tell immediately that something was wrong. She was nervous and fidgety, and wouldn't look him in the eye. He needed to explore this.

"Did you have a good shopping spree, Geri? Maybe find another one of those very sexy negligees – the ones I can see through – almost?"

When she kept looking at some papers on her desk with no answer, he asked, "Geri? Did you hear what I said?"

She looked up, as if he had startled her. "No, I'm sorry. My mind was on something else. Now did you say something about a negligee?"

"Well, yes, but something's bothering you. Can I help?"

"No. But I do have iPhone photos of some baby doll nighties I was looking at. I couldn't decide. Let me get them on the screen and I'll show you." Her fingers danced over the keys quickly and she held it up in front of his face. It was a text message.

Can't talk here or at home. We're bugged. Tonight we'll walk and talk.

Alex pointed to her iPhone screen. "Wow. You have a good eye for what I like to see you in. I like this first one, but you'll look better in it than she does. She's too busty for my taste."

"That's the right answer, dear."

Alex went back to his computer, where he had popped up the news site when Geri came over. He started to open up the secret files but he stopped in mid keystroke. If she's talking about cameras they might be able to see my screen. But if they can wouldn't they have stopped me by now? Or maybe they're waiting to see where the Reynoldsville thing leads me. I need to know where those cameras are.

"I missed lunch while you were gone so I'm going to get some fast food and run a couple of errands."

Geri didn't ask to come along. She figured he was working on the bug problem.

Alex was headed for the Atlanta Spy Shop in the east suburbs. As he was leaving the parking garage it occurred to him that if they were being bugged they were probably being followed. He thought through his driver's escape-and-evade training and began executing it. The key in this situation was to lose the tail but not let them know you are trying to lose them. As he drove he passed several fast food places before he found what he was looking for. He pulled up to the drive through and ordered a corn dog and a bottle of water. He really wanted coffee but he could picture it splashing all over him as he made some quick turns.

As he left the window he pulled up to the exit driveway and took out his cell phone so it would look like he was talking to someone. He kept watching the busy four lanes of traffic whizzing past then saw the perfect opening coming up – a space between the traffic he could fit through if he was quick enough. He waited for the right moment and stomped the gas pedal. The car zoomed between both southbound lanes of traffic and into the center lane heading the other way. As he looked into the rear view mirror he saw a black Mercedes stuck at the exit with no opening to get back on his trail.

Twenty minutes later he arrived in the spy shop parking lot. He looked around to be sure he wasn't being watched and ducked down under the dash on the passenger side. He didn't have a light so he had to hunt for it by feel. There it is. I'll need my Secret Service credentials to get what I want in here.

He was greeted by a muscle-bound man at the door. Probably the bouncer, he thought.

"I'm looking for something that I can put in my chicken coop to see when the foxes sneak in. Have you got anything?"

"Do you have a picture of the coop," he asked?

"Yes, it's right here." Alex held up his Secret Service Identification card. The man squinted at it and moved it around to get more light on it. Clever. The card is being photographed. By the time I get to see what I'm after they'll have verification of my I.D.

"Yes Mr. Smith, I think we can help you out. Follow me."

He led Alex to a door in the back and pressed a buzzer. "Look up into the camera above the door, please."

Alex did as he was asked and heard the lock click open. There was a black curtain hanging inside the door to block the view of the room when the door was open. As the door shut his escort moved aside the curtain and directed him to a desk in the back corner. "Mr. Jones will see what he can do for you."

As he approached the desk Mr. 'Jones' rose to greet him. "What's on your shopping list today?" Alex thought he recognized the face from many years ago, and when he heard the voice he knew who it was. A secret service agent – one of his teachers at the Glynco Georgia Law Officer Training Facility. He saw recognition in the man's eyes, but only for a fleeting second. They continued on as if they were strangers.

"I'm in a situation where both my work office and my living quarters are bugged. There are probably video cameras as well as microphones. I need to know where they are and disable them for brief periods – something that seems like an electronic malfunction."

"I believe I have just what you're looking for. Follow me. . . . This device is called a Spy-Finder. It was developed by a small company in Albuquerque for the FBI in a configuration that looked like a small digital camera. We needed something more covert so we packaged it into a flat wafer that sticks to the back side of your cell phone. It sends out infrared flashes that are invisible to the video cameras. You hold it up in front of like you're texting and watch the scene on the screen. If there is any optical device in the field of view you will see a small flashing light at its location. And it doesn't matter if the camera is turned off. It works using the cat's eye effect – a retro-reflection from the focal plane of the camera which is present as long as there is not a closed shutter blocking the lens."

"Perfect. Let me have two of those. Now how about disrupting the bug's signal. How do I do that?"

"That's also not a problem. The fob on this key chain will send out a broadband radio noise signal that will block transmission from all camera and microphone transmitters within five hundred feet. It won't disrupt television signals because they come in over cable. All you have to do is push these two buttons at the same time. It will continue broadcasting until the two buttons are pressed again."

"Perfect, Mr. Jones. Please send the bill to my employer."

"Glad to be of service."

That evening after supper Geri said in a voice loud enough for the microphones to pick up, "I think I'll go for a walk. I haven't been getting much exercise lately. Wanna come along?"

"Sure. I'm getting a little soft myself. Let me get a jacket. There's still a winter chill in the air."

"Have patience, spring is on the way."

Once out of the building Alex guided them to a nearby shopping mall. The noise of the crowd there would block any attempt to use a long distance 'shotgun mike' to listen in on their conversation. Geri put her arm in his as an excuse to pull him closer so they could talk quietly.

"So what's going on. What has you scared?" Alex asked.

"Kurian pulled up and forced me into his car as I was leaving for lunch. He drove to a secluded spot and said to tell him everything that's going on. I told him about your trip to the law library, but he said he already knew that."

"So he's having me followed. I'll have to be careful. . . . Did you tell him anything else? Like about the Reynoldsville account that was sending money to Winston?"

Geri looked at the floor and didn't answer.

"So you told him, huh."

"He already knew. It's like you said. His IT people can see anything we do on the computer – 'Every keystroke' as he put it."

"I figured we were being watched but had no idea it was that advanced."

"The computers aren't the only thing being watched. He has hidden cameras in our bedroom and watches us when we make love."

"Sick bastard. . . . I have an answer for that. I picked up some toys this afternoon that will let us see where the cameras are and block the transmission to the security station. We have to use that one sparingly, though. They'll get suspicious if the cameras and mikes cut out too often."

"So that's all that happened? Did he ask what I know about it?"

"I tried to keep it secret but he threatened me if I didn't tell him."

Alex thought for a few minutes. Things could go bad quickly from here. Should I tell her I'm working undercover? . . . Can I trust her? . . . But if I tell her, what then? I can disappear anytime now that I know about the two bank accounts, but Kurian won't be easy on her. Should I take her with me – get her into the witness protection program? . . . No, I can't leave yet. Not until I know who SUC is and what they're up to. I'll have to stay on until I find out.

Back at their apartment Alex pulled out his cell phone with the Spy-Finder attached and walked around the bedroom looking like he was texting on his phone, while in fact he was locating hidden cameras. He found three, giving whoever was watching a view of their lovemaking from all angles. Next he went into the bathroom and didn't find any cameras there, but he did spot what he thought was a hidden mike in the lighting fixture.

He needed to tell Geri what he found, but the bugs would pick up any conversation. And if they communicated by writing on a tablet Kurian would wonder what was going on. He thought for a few minutes then asked Geri if he could add a new software update to her laptop. He inserted a program that would let their two computers communicate text messages using the 'Blue Tooth' link. Since it had a range of only about thirty feet, and was encrypted, no one could eavesdrop on their messages. Finally he ran a scan on her laptop to check for a keystroke monitor but found none.

As he handed the laptop back to Geri he said "You got an email message while I was working on it. You'll want to check on that." He then went into the other room and turned on his laptop. When Geri opened her mailbox she found an email that had no sender information. She thought about sending it straight to the trash bin but realized it might be from Alex so she opened it. She followed the instructions to start up the Blue Tooth link and immediately saw a message from Alex in the other room.

"We will use this secure message link to talk to each other about things we don't want Kurian to find out. I found cameras in the bedroom, living room, and kitchen, but none in the bathroom. I think there's a mike in there through, so be careful what you say.

"I'm going to work on my computer to continue searching for SUC information, so I'll be up for awhile."

Geri read it and smiled.

"With the bedroom cams watching us how are we going to make love?"

"I guess we will have to give up sex for awhile."

"Maybe not. I hear sex in the shower can be fun. We'll have to give up our vocal expressions of passion though. On the other hand, it might drive Kurian nuts to hear us and not be able to watch us. See you in the shower later, sweetie."

For the next few hours Alex tried every hacking trick he knew to find out the identity of Mr. SUC, whoever that was. His first thought was that the initial 'S" could stand for Sorensson, so he narrowed down the search with that, but without any luck. He was about ready to give up when he realized he had only been searching through information from the past ten years. Maybe it goes back further than that. The earlier information won't be in computer databases because everything was filed on paper back then. But a lot of the indexes to those files have been retro-actively added. I wonder what happens if I extend the search back to . . . oh, let's say forty years, to 1978.

The search took much longer since there was so much more information to search. While he was waiting he got a message from Geri.

"I'm going to take a nice long shower. Care to join me?"

He was about to reply that he was too tired, but then he visualized the two of them in the shower. That created a spark, so he replied,

Give me five minutes.

By the time they had finished he really was tired. Going through the required maneuvers, standing up, while avoiding shower spray in the face was taxing. He forgot about his computer search and went to bed with Geri.

Saturday morning he was halfway through his first cup of coffee when he remembered the search he started the night before. He hurried over to his computer and woke the screen up. There it is! I found it.

After reading through the document he told Geri to check her email. She got the hint and opened up her laptop.

"You won't believe what I found. It's a PhD dissertation written back in 1977 by Rex Sorensson where he lays out a plan to achieve the perfect socialist nation – a socialist utopia. That's what SUC is; a company or corporation whose goal is to turn America into a socialist utopia. And there's a chapter on ways to achieving it by eliminating important opposition figures. He talks about payoffs, blackmail, getting the news media to willingly print your propaganda, and in extreme cases resorting to what he terms 'elimination.'

"I think this is what we're seeing now – the FBI Director's murder, Congressman Walker's so-called heart attack, the fake news stories about sexual misconduct and alleged kick-backs against conservative officials, it's all in here."

Geri responded immediately.

"If Sorensson is behind this stuff how do we prove it?"

Alex replied, "Look at the bank transactions and connect the dots."

Two days later Alex had done exactly that. Just prior to the moves against conservative leaders he found large withdrawals from the Reynoldsville account. It was still not enough to indict Sorensson, but if he could find out who the money went to – those who actually committed the crimes – the Justice Department could arrest them, then plea bargain to get them to talk about who was behind it. He was about out of ideas but then remembered an earlier thought. Maybe the withdrawal dates would correspond to events he could find in the news. It was a long shot but he gave it a try.

He started with a $25,000 withdrawal the day before FBI Director Taggart was killed and searched the local news stories for two weeks before and after the murder. There were lots of stories but none that he could connect with the Taggart killing. He went back through them deleting all that were clearly irrelevant and examined the remaining few more closely. One of them caught his eye. He hadn't even noticed it when it originally appeared in the news. It was about Ben Larson, the hacker he replaced at RexSorCorp. The FBI had convinced Larson to testify about the company's financial dealings and put him in protective custody at an undisclosed location. But Larson and an FBI agent were killed by a sniper, Antonio Francini, who was also killed.

Alex was excited. This is good stuff. Sorensson would want Larson out of the way because of all the illegal stuff he was doing for RexSorCorp. And now I have the name of the sniper that I can try to link back to a withdrawal from Reynoldsville to pay for the killing. There couldn't be too many people with the name Antonio Francini in the area.

An hour later Alex was looking at the transactions in the sniper's bank account. Two days before the shootout there was a deposit of $10,000 – and three days later all transactions in his account stopped. When he went back to the Reynoldsville account funded by SUC he found a cash withdrawal of the same amount on that date.

A perfect match. Sorensson – more likely Kurian – paid the sniper to kill Larson. It's not enough evidence to tie Sorensson to it, but it's a start. Okay, what do I do next? I need to see if I can link other people to Reynoldsville withdrawals. But who? The only other name I know who might be involved is Sakhir Kurian. . . . If he's involved other RexSorCorp people might have received a payout for something illegal. I'll look at all their bank accounts.

It was almost midnight when he finished searching the bank accounts of the corporate officers, but he didn't find anything suspicious. Who else might be involved? The company bigwigs probably don't want to get their hands dirty. . . . Maybe they had the people under them do it – their assistants.

He expanded his search to the next level down the management chain, but again came up with no unusual deposits. Did I miss anybody? he wondered. I didn't include Geri. She wouldn't be involved in this. . . . would she? Let me check.

When he hacked into her bank account he was shocked. Two months ago there was a $5,000 deposit into her account. And a month later there was another one. She's being paid for something. Let's see when it started. . . . That's the exact date I started working here! She's being paid to spy on me – and probably to go to bed with me! Man, am I a sucker. I should have been watching for something like that. But I guess I wasn't thinking with my head.

He was so angry he jumped up from his desk and stormed into the bedroom where Geri was just falling asleep. "You whore! You're being paid five thousand a month to screw my brains out and keep an eye on me. That's why you were moved into my office at work. Sorensson is behind this, isn't he? Or is it Kurian?"

Geri figured the best defense was a counter-attack. "You called me a whore! And after all the times I told you I loved you. If you love someone it's not prostitution, it's making love."

"Not if you're being paid for it, Geri! You're no better than a street slut!"

Geri's attack faltered as tears started rolling down her cheeks. "No, no. It wasn't like that. Mr. Sorensson asked me to keep an eye on you, that's all. I was doing it for the company."

"Look at that. You can even cry on cue. I'll bet you learned that from the same school that taught you how to please a man!"

"But . . . but, I was good at that, wasn't I? I wanted to please you because I love you. . . . I didn't at first, but the more we were together the closer I felt to you."

"Well, if there is love involved it was a one-way street. If you love me like you say you do then you need to tell me the details. What were your instructions from . . . who? Sorensson, or Kurian?"

"It was Sorensson. He called me into his office and asked me to watch you to make sure you weren't an undercover Government agent."

"So was seducing me your idea?"

"No, not exactly. He said I could keep an eye on you day and night if I lured you into my bed."

Alex paced around the room as he thought what his next move should be. Geri will certainly tell Kurian, or Sorensson, that I know she's been spying on me – that her cover is blown. But my cover is still okay if I handle this right. I'm just a guy who caught his woman lying to him – using him. Maybe I should go to Sorensson first and tell him I want her out of my office and my life. . . . But he will question how I found out about the money, so I can't do that because he'll realize that I've been doing my own spying on him and his management.

He was still trying to come up with another option when Geri spoke up. "I won't tell anyone, I promise. We can just keep going like we have been – without the lovemaking if that's what you want. They will never suspect a thing."

"That may be the best idea for now, at least until I can come up with a better plan." Alex sat on the edge of the bed to think some more but nothing was coming to him.

"It's late and I'm too tired to deal with this now."

"So, are you coming to bed with me?"

Alex gave her an incredulous look and answered "You can't be serious! I'll never sleep with you again. I'm going to the guest room," as he left her on the bed, still crying.

Geri had already gone to work when Alex got up the next morning. He showered, dressed, and headed for work in his own car. When he got there she wasn't at her desk. At least she has the good sense to steer clear of me. He opened his computer and went to the Reynoldsville Bank site to check on one more thing. Yep, there it is. Her $5,000 deposits are coming out of the account that SUC is funding. I've got to find the link between SUC and Sorensson. Once I have that I can go back to my Secret Service job and get out of this mess.

He went back to his work as a RexSorCorp hacker, but just before noon he got a text from Geri.

Alex. Come to my apartment. We need to talk. Come now. It's important.

Alex was in no mood to argue with her further, but decided to go see what she wanted.

With the lunch-hour traffic it took him half an hour to get to Geri's place. He unlocked the door and called her name. . . . No answer. He called again as he walked back to her bedroom and opened the door. "Oh my God!!" he cried. "They killed her!"

Geri was laying across the bed naked with her throat slit, blood still dripping onto the floor. Alex went over to the bed and felt her pulse just in case, but she was already dead. With the blood still flowing this must have happened just a few minutes ago. I should call the police . . . but they'll arrest me for it. And I don't have an alibi – I was on the road headed here. I've got to get out of here – leave town and go into hiding until this gets sorted out. . . . They must have found out about our conversation last night, but how? . . . Oh shit! I was so mad I forgot about the cameras and mikes. They listened to the whole thing. Now she's dead, and it's my fault. I screwed up!

Alex went straight to the front door and out to his car. He peeled a little rubber when he hit the street and sped away as he heard sirens in the distance. He knew he only had 30 minutes or so before the police would put up roadblocks. He would take the interstate to get away fast, then turn onto smaller highways. It would take them longer to get those blocked off.

A lady walking her dog heard the squealing tires and watched Alex's car as it disappeared around a corner. "I wonder what that's all about, fluffy," she asked the dog.
Chapter 19 – Escape and Evade

Alex figured the fastest way out of town was to get on I-20 heading west and then start using country roads to continue his escape. He didn't know where he was headed yet; that would come later. Right now his mind was overloaded with two immediate problems – get some cash and find another vehicle. His license number would be sent out to all surrounding states shortly after they got the roadblocks in place.

First the cash problem. He had an account at the United Community Bank to keep the money RexSorCorp paid him until the operation was over. In the three months he had been working there he had a little over sixty thousand dollars put away. He spoke into his smart phone and asked for branch bank locations and watched a map pop up on the screen. He traced his route on I-20 and saw that there was a branch bank in Douglasville, half an hour away. He didn't want to stay on the interstate that long but he would have to take the chance that the initial roadblocks wouldn't be set up that far outside Atlanta. They might send up a helicopter to look for his car, but the traffic around him was heavy so it would be difficult to pick his car out of the pack.

While he waited in line at the teller's window he was worried that someone at the bank might recognize him. Certainly his photo has been on the Atlanta television news by this time. Then he thought of another bad news scenario. What if the authorities had frozen his bank account already? . . . No, they would need a warrant for that so it would take them a at least a couple of hours for that. When it was his turn with the teller he told her he wanted to withdraw $25,000 from his account – in cash. She stared at him for a moment, then said he would have to speak with the bank manager about that.

Uh oh. I think she recognized me. The bank manager is probably calling the police right now. I have to get out of here. . . . But I need that money. I'll have to take my chances.

As he approached the manager's desk he looked for signs of nervousness on his face, but he seemed calm. "What can I do for you today Mr. Lucas."

"I'm going on a long road trip. Up to Canada, then down through Mexico and Central America, and I want to use cash rather than hunting for ATMs wherever I go. I figure it will take around twenty-five thousand dollars, so I would like to withdraw that amount from my account."

Alex watched the manager look at the computer display and nod his head. "Yep. This is you alright." He pushed a form and pen across the desk. "Now if I can just have you fill out the withdrawal request I can check your signature and have the money for you. How would you like that?"

Alex signed the form as he thought about it. "It will have to be smaller denominations or no one will take them, especially when I get south of the border. Make it a mixture of hundreds, fifty's, and twenties. Can you take care of that – quickly? I have an impatient woman waiting in the car."

"Certainly. Give me a few minutes to get it from the vault."

Five minutes later Alex walked out of the bank carrying a complimentary canvas bank bag with the cash in it. He had two more things to do before he got back on the road. He needed to keep the money with him at all times, but carrying around a canvas bag with a bank logo on them would attract thieves and muggers. He checked online for thrift stores in the area and called several until he found what he was looking for – a well-worn leather backpack.

The last thing he needed was a phone that couldn't be traced to him. He stopped at a Wal-Mart and picked up a prepaid smart phone. Now for the final step – getting as far away as I can. No more interstates, though; just state and county roads. But where am I going? As he drove out of the parking lot he asked his smart phone to show a map of routes to the south and west out of Georgia.

Two hours later he was on state route 34 headed west. The longer he drove the more he worried about the local and state police looking for his car. I could trade license plates with a car in a large parking lot, like a mall. But I can't do that until it's dark, and even then there's a chance of being caught. . . . Or I could steal a car. My training taught me how to bypass door and ignition locks, but that's risky too. . . . If I come across a small-town used car lot I could trade this car in on another. But I would need the title for that and the Government has the title on this vehicle. Maybe I'll see a car or pickup for sale in someone's front yard. Out on these country roads that's pretty common. But then what would I do with this car? As he drove he continued to think up options, only to reject them for one reason or another.

Just before he crossed the state line into Alabama he passed a farmhouse with a large red shed out back. It took him several seconds to register what else he saw. He found a place to turn around, headed back to house, and turned into the driveway. There in the front yard was a motorcycle with a 'for sale' sign on the front. When he was in college he did some riding on a friend's bike, so he knew how to handle them. He got out of the car and walked over to the bike. As he was walking around it a man in his late fifties came out to meet him.

"Howdy. You interested in a motorcycle? You don't strike me as a motorcycle man, what with your business suit and all."

"I did a lot of riding in my younger years, before I settled down and got married. But my wife died last month and I want to get out on the open road for awhile to have some head time. I need to get over her death."

"I'm sorry to hear about your wife. I'm Tom Corker by the way."

"I'm Jerry, Jerry Barker. Tell me about what you got here."

"Well, it's a '98 Harley Electra Glide with fifty-two thousand miles on her. It's got those two oversized saddle bags, which are great for holdin' your stuff on the road. That engine is a V Twin – over thirteen hundred CCs. – and the five-speed gear box. And it's got that full windshield to break the wind."

"What are you asking for it?"

"I need to get at least four thousand out of it."

"That sounds a little low. Is there something I should know about it? Was it in a wreck or something?"

"No, it's in good shape. It belongs to my son, but he's in prison over in Alabama. I cosigned for the loan, and now I'm stuck with payin' it off. And that'll take four grand. . . . Since I don't know ya I can't take a check. It'll have to be in cash."

Alex thought for a couple of minutes, playing out the role. "You won't take any less for it. will you? I have the cash with me. How about $3,800?"

Tom scratched his chin as he thought about it. "I guess I can do that. When do you want to pick it up?"

"Well, that's a problem. I want to drive off on it now, but then I'd have to leave my car and come back later to get it. I might be gone for a couple of months."

Tom looked back at his shed. "I have some room in that ole shed, but I'd have to charge you – say $200 a month. . . . Up front?"

"That sounds fair. Go open the doors and I'll drive it in."

The two of them walked back to the Harley after putting the car away. Alex sat on the seat to get a feel for it. Tom pulled the keys out of his pocket and said "Start 'er up. See how smooth she runs."

"This is perfect. Let me get my stuff out of the car and get you paid. Then I'll hit the road."

"Whoa. Yer not going to ride in them clothes, are you?"

"I didn't think of that. I guess I'll stop in Montgomery and pick up some clothes and boots."

Tom smiled. "I might be able to help you out there. My son is about your size and I still have his gear, helmet and all. He's got no use for them. I'll throw them in for another $200."

"Great. I appreciate it."

"The gear is hanging on the wall in the shed. Help yourself. . . . Oh, I almost forgot. Here's the title. I already signed it."

Thirty minutes later Alex was roaring down the road on his Harley wearing leather pants and jacket, and a helmet with a shaded face shield. His old clothes, laptop, and bag of money were locked in the saddle bags. Now all he needed was a destination. But at some point he had to change his appearance. The smokey face shield on his helmet would keep him hidden until he got farther from Atlanta.

By 8 p.m. he reached Meridian Mississippi and rode until he found a small mom-and-pop drug store. He took off his helmet and entered, trying to duck his head to keep any cameras from getting a good view of his face. He went up and down the isles collecting what he needed – a Wahl hair clipper, a pack of razors, a can of self-tanning spray, a package of large sewing needles, a can of wart freeze off, a bic lighter, some anti-biotic ointment, and a gold circle earring from the jewelry display. As he headed for the register he picked up several snacks and candy bars. The woman behind the counter didn't show any signs that she recognized him. She's been working so she probably hasn't seen the evening news. I wonder if she will recognize me on the ten o'clock news. I'll tell her something that will throw the cops off track.

"I'm headed for New Orleans, but I don't like driving my bike on I-59. Do you know of a less busy road that will get me there? I'm looking for a scenic route."

"In that case you could take U.S. 45 down to Mobile, then head west on U.S. 90. That will take you along the Gulf coast – real pretty drive."

"That sounds like just what I'm looking for. Thanks, ma'am.

He headed west on U.S. 80 until he came to a run-down motel in a small town called Chunky. Since these places aren't part of a chain they don't ask for a credit card – they deal in cash only for customers that usually don't stay more than an hour. As Alex paid for his room he looked around for surveillance cameras, but that was a luxury the owners couldn't afford.

In his room he laid out his purchases and went to work. He cut his hair as short as possible with the trimmer, then shaved it completely bald. Next he applied the self tanning spray to his head, face, and hands to darken his complexion. When he was satisfied with his appearance he took out the wart freeze and the largest needle. After lightly freezing his left earlobe he heated the needle and pushed it through the lobe. He smelled burning flesh briefly as the needle cauterized the wound. After applying some ointment he opened the end of the ring and put it through the pierced hole. It was a little painful as the lobe warmed up, but nothing he couldn't handle.

Finally he stripped down to his boxers and T shirt, turned on the TV, and stretched out on the bed. He clicked through the channels until he found a network news program and watched to see if he had made the news yet. Ten minutes later his face appeared on the screen as the news anchor reported the story.

A gruesome murder in Atlanta, Georgia has the city on edge. The police received an anonymous call shortly after noon reporting a loud domestic disturbance at the Winston Condominium Apartments. When they arrived they found the body of a woman, Geraldine Tomblin, with her throat slashed. The lead detective on the case released a statement naming the woman's live-in companion, Alex Lucas, as a suspect. Mr. Lucas, seen in this photo, was seen by a neighbor, Helen Shoemaker, speeding away from the scene shortly before the police arrived. The FBI has been called in to lead the search for Lucas.

Alex's face was replaced by a video of Helen Shoemaker telling a reporter about what she and her dog Fluffy had witnessed. That didn't interest him so he turned the TV off. As he lay on the bed trying to get to sleep all the events of the day ran through his head – over and over again like a non-stop movie. The thing that bothered him most was the image of Geri with her the open cut on her throat still dripping blood, and the fact that he was responsible for her death.

Alex awoke with a start and looked at the outdated clock radio that told him it was 6:38 a.m. He hauled himself out of bed, showered, dressed, and put his earring back in. The puncture was still a little tender, but the pain had faded. He opened his laptop and picked out a route to the destination he decided on – Boulder. He wanted to explain to Kirsten that what she saw on the news was a lie, that he had been framed.

After eating the rest of the snacks he wiped down everything he might have touched in the room, and gathered up his laptop, money bags, and helmet as he left. Four hours later he was approaching Monroe, Louisiana and getting hungry. The snacks he had for breakfast were long gone and he wanted a big meal, maybe a fat, juicy hamburger plate with fries, salad, and desert. The problem was that he couldn't walk into a family restaurant dressed in his motorcycle leathers without attracting attention – something he definitely didn't want. So he consulted his smart phone and found a place called Biker's Grub and Booze just west of town. He wouldn't attract any attention there.

As he pulled up to the place he saw a dozen of so bikes out front, most of them Harley's. He got off his bike, shouldered the backpack, and entered. As he expected the place was dark, smokey, and smelled of marijuana and sweat. After looking around he chose a booth in the corner that would let him sit with his back to the wall and give him a view of the restaurant, bar, and pool tables. He slipped off the backpack and shoved it into the inside corner of the bench seat. No one could get to it without going through him.

When the waitress approached he scanned the menu and placed his order. Then he surveyed the other customers. Mostly bikers, both men and women, dressed in an assortment of biker clothes. The biker clothes looked old and warn, so these were the genuine thing. No urban cowboys here. Just after the waitress put his plate in front of him one of the women sauntered over to his table. Short brown hair, nice face, tall, slim but with curves in the right places, and dressed in bib overalls tight enough to reveal those curves.

"Hi there. You new around here? I haven't seen you before. . . . My name's Isabella." Trying to stay in character as a biker Alex looked her up and down, then returned to his food.

"Have you got a name?"

Alex thought, Damn. I should have thought up an alias already. What's a good one? John? No, too common, Dirk? No, too Hollywood. Brad? No, it doesn't sound like a biker's name.

He finally answered "Pete."

She smiled at him. "As in Peter? What's your last name, Dick?"

He gave her his best stone-faced 'Not funny' look and didn't reply, hoping she would take the hint and go away. She didn't. She sat down on the bench facing him.

"Do mind if I sit down?"

"Looks like you already have."

Alarm bells went off in Alex's brain. What's she up to. Is this a scheme to get my billfold, or maybe even the backpack? He shifted to a position so he could get on his feet quickly, laid a $20 bill on the table to pay for his lunch, and grabbed the backpack strap with his left hand.

She leaned in close to him. "You're a good lookin' guy. I don't see a wedding ring. You got a girl?"

Alex ignored her and started to slide out of the booth when one of the bikers came over and grabbed Isabella by the arm and yanked her to her feet. Looking down at Alex he said, "You making a pass at my woman? Nobody does that and walks away."

Alex gave him a hard stare and got to his feet just as a huge fist was about to hit him in the face. Alex quickly ducked under it and gave the guy an uppercut to the testicles. Most fighters expected a knee but his fist was just as effective. The biker grabbed his crotch, screamed and fell over backwards. A second biker immediately took his place and grabbed Alex by the shirt, but he was primed and ready. Making a wedge out of his arms he drove them up between the man's arms to break the hold. As the man was getting ready to deliver a head-butt Alex brought the heal of his hand up hard and fast to hit him below the chin. His open mouth slammed shut on his tongue, almost severing the tip of it.

A third biker was moving in but Alex slammed his biker boot into a knee and watched it bend backwards with a pop. As Alex swiveled his head left and right to see who else would try, he caught movement behind him. The woman was reaching for his backpack, so he grabbed her hand and bent it backward until he heard a pop. When she screamed and backed away Alex took the backpack and ran for the door. As he passed through it he felt someone grab his jacket. He slammed the door as hard as he could on the arm, broke lose, and jumped on his Harley. As the engine roared to life several other bikers streamed out the door. He looked at their bikes side-by-side next to each other, and kicked over the one next to him. The others fell like dominoes as Alex reached the highway and hit full throttle. He watched the rear-view mirror for the next few miles but didn't seem any of them coming after him. He kept up his speed for several minutes, hoping he wouldn't see a police car.
Chapter 20 – Hanging in the Wind

Five hours later, after skirting around Dallas, Alex rolled into the Parker Inn Motel in Bowie, Texas, which was almost a carbon copy of the motel in Meridian – no cameras, no coffee brewer, and this time no cable. He checked in and headed for the Long Branch Café next door to get some carry-out for supper. He didn't get any surprised looks or stares when he walked in so he figured bikers were common here, which meant that if the bikers from Monroe were trying to catch up, they might stop here. His motel room was on the back side of the motel where his motorcycle would be hidden from the road, but he decided to put it in his room as soon as he got back from the restaurant just to be safe.

As he approached the room he saw a shadowy figure stand up from behind the Harley and run down the alley. With his carry-out in his hand and backpack looped over his shoulder he couldn't pursue the culprit, so he put the food on the bed and rolled the Harley into the room. After locking the door he inspected the motorcycle carefully to see if there was any damage. He found none but he did find something else that surprised him – a GPS tracker transmitter. Someone wanted to see where he was going. Who wants to track me? If they wanted to arrest me – or if it's the bikers, beat the crap out of me – they would have already grabbed me. That rules out the FBI. And the bikers would have no reason to follow me. . . . But maybe it's Sorensson! He wants to see what I was up to at RexSorCorp and if I'm still investigating the Reynoldsville account. But how could he do that? . . . There must be some spyware on my laptop. But who could have put it there . . . Geri! She had plenty of opportunities, but I don't know if she had the skills to get past my firewall and install the software.

He went back to his bike and inspected it more closely, looking for more tracker transmitters. People who plant these things usually plant one in a sort-of-obvious place, then put another in a more hidden spot. After searching every square inch of the bike he realized it might be in the Saddle bags. He found the second tracker in an empty saddle bag and found that the empty bank money bags were gone!

Once he and the bike were locked safely in the room he opened his laptop and ran Houndog – a program he wrote a few months ago to sniff out hidden bits of code. Several minutes later the screen showed what he expected. The spyware was imported a little at a time and reassembled itself after all the pieces were in place. That's why his firewall hadn't blocked it.

He opened up the take-out container with his lukewarm supper, sat on the bed, and went through his options. I could remove the trackers and stick them on a semi rig out in the parking lot. That would send them – whoever 'them' is – chasing off in the wrong direction. Or I could put each one on a different truck - that would confuse them big time.

So what should I do with the spyware? The only person who could have gotten to my computer to install the spyware pieces was Geri. She must have done it while I was showering. It would only take a few minutes each time. From the code structure I can see that it captures all of the internet URLs I visit, stores them, and then transmits the list every night at 3 a.m. to another computer belonging to one of 'them.' It also transmits my location from the computer's GPS software – that's how they found me here. If I erase the spyware they'll know that I discovered it, but I can modify it to send back false information. That will keep them confused.

Alex finished his dinner and set to work modifying the spyware. He set it up to send phony web sites and email addresses back to whoever was monitoring the information. He adjusted the computer's GPS to make it look like he was headed back to Atlanta – that should give Sorensson something to worry about. When he was finished he laid on top of the bed covers and went to sleep. He woke up several times from nightmares about what Sorensson's men did to Geri. He finally couldn't get back to sleep for fear that he would see her body with blood dripping from the gash in her neck. In one of the dreams she sat up on the bed and faced him. "You did this Alex!" As he got out of bed and headed for the shower he made a vow to himself that before this was over he would find out who killed her and get revenge.

He spent the next night in Raton, New Mexico, his last stop before reaching Denver. He wasn't certain what he would do when he got there. That would depend on what happened when he called his boss at the Secret Service office the next morning. Hopefully Bob would be able to get him off the hook for the murder charge. If he couldn't fix things immediately maybe they could put him in protective custody until it got sorted out.

The next morning he stopped by Wal-Mart to buy two more throw away cell phones. He also bought a small metal box for filing 3 x 5 index cards to put the trackers in. The metal would block the signal for now until he came up with a way to lure Sorensson's thugs to him.

After a sausage and egg biscuit at McDonald's he headed north through Raton pass. He pulled off to call Joiner but found there was no cell phone signal up there. He went on to Trinidad Colorado, once called the sex change capitol of the world by CBS news, and steered into the far corner of a supermarket parking lot to make the call to Joiner's cell phone. When he didn't answer it went to voice mail. Alex didn't want to leave his burner phone's number so he hung up and dialed again. Still no answer. On the third try he answered.

'Who the hell is this? I don't recognize your phone number and I don't want to buy whatever it is you're selling. Don't call again!"

"Bob, don't hang up. This is Alex. . . . Bob? . . . Bob? . . . Damn, he hung up."

Alex tried again but Bob was ignoring the call, so he called again.

"Dammit! I told you to leave . . ."

"It's me, Alex. Don't hang up."

There was a suspenseful pause before he responded. "Where are you Alex?"

"I can't tell you that. Not yet. Not until I know where the agency stands on my situation."

"What situation?"

"Don't play dumb, Bob. You know the trouble I'm in. You also know I didn't murder that woman. Sorensson had me framed for it."

"Tell me what happened in Atlanta, Alex."

"Quit stalling! I know your techies are trying to trace my call to the nearest cell tower. And I know that I have another 17 seconds before they lock onto it. So can the agency protect me from this or not."

After a pause Bob sighed and said "We can't do anything here Alex. Not until they catch the real murderer. Stay away from here. Go hide somewhere."

"So you're going to leave me hanging in the wind?"

"My hands are tied on this."

"Just so you know, I have what you need to put Sorensson away, but you can't have it until I'm cleared. . . . Time's up. Bye."

Alex left the parking lot and headed north again. Not to Denver, but to Boulder. He had to tell Kirsten that he didn't do it.
Chapter 21 – Reunited

Kirsten lay in bed, pretending she was asleep. She heard Brandon making noises in the walk-in closet as he got dressed for work. Before he left the bedroom he leaned over Kirsten, kissed her bare shoulder, and said "See you this evening, honey."

She froze at the touch of his lips, afraid he might continue where he left off last night. She didn't relax until she heard the car start and leave the driveway. Then she wrapped the sheet around her and went into the bathroom to survey the damage in the mirror. Oh my God. This is worse than the last time he beat me. She touched the swollen purple bruise over her cheek bone and winced in pain. The bridge of her nose was also starting to swell as she gently moved the cartilage back and forth to see if it was broken. Finally she examined the split lower lip. It had bled some during the night and probably left a stain on the pillow case. I need to get that in the laundry before he sees it or I'll get another beating tonight.

She ran a wash cloth under hot water and gently wiped the blood away. When the wound didn't re-open she concluded it wouldn't need stitches, but she couldn't go to work looking like this. Her co-workers were beginning to wonder about all the 'sick' days she's been taking. Most of them, the women anyway, probably knew what was going on because of the extra-heavy makeup she used to cover the bruises. But it wouldn't hide the swelling she saw in the mirror this morning.

After a shower Kirsten put on yoga pants and a T shirt that had a cartoon skiing scene with the words SUPPORT THE SKI PATROL – GET LOST. That brought her mind back to when Alex had bought it for her on a ski trip to Aspen. Why did I push him away? I'm so stupid. . . . I wish he would come back and take me away from Brandon. But I ruined that. He's gone and I don't know where. He won't even answer my emails.

She wiped a tear from her eye and started on the housework. Brandon demanded a spotless home with everything exactly where he said it belonged. She hated his obsessive compulsive personality, but she had to go along with it to minimize the abuse. She often thought about leaving Brandon, but he told her that if she ran out on him he would track her down and 'beat the shit out of her' in his words. She thought about going to the police but that would have the same result. So she kept going, praying that he would tire of her and find someone else.

When Alex got to Colorado Springs his stomach told him it was time for lunch, so he rode through the drive-up window at Taco Bell. He put the food in one of he saddle bags and went to a nearby park to eat. When he was done he took out his smart phone and looked at his options for getting to Boulder. He wanted to stay off I-25 and bypass Denver just in case the agency tried to intercept him. The route he selected, called the Front Range Road, went west out of Colorado Springs then swung north along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains all the way to Boulder. There wouldn't be much traffic and little chance of getting stopped by the law. The road wound through the foothills, so it would take him longer, but he would be there by mid-afternoon.

When he got on the road he let his mind go over different scenarios of his reunion with Kirsten and the conversation possibilities. What if she slams the door in my face before we talk? Maybe I should send her an email first. No, the agency might be monitoring it in case I try to get in touch with her. I could call her. But we need to talk face to face. . . . Wait a minute. I'm a bald-headed biker with a ring in my ear. She probably won't recognize me at first. So I'll have to tell her right away. Of course she might not open the door for a biker. Maybe if I add a ball cap and sunglasses . . . and remove the earring. But if the agency is watching her place I'll be giving up most of my disguise. . . . I'll show up as I am and play it by ear.

The view from the front range was spectacular. The high plains to the east and the snow covered peaks to the west. He even got a glimpse of the Air Force Academy down below as he passed it. He thought, God's beauty doesn't get any better than this, as he inhaled the pine-scented clean air. The words to John Denver's song Rocky Mountain High ran through his mind. "I love Colorado! I hope I can move back after this is over," he said out loud. Another of Denver's songs came to mind and he rode on singing "I guess he'd rather be in Colorado. He'd rather spend his time out where the sky looks like a pearl after a rain . . ."

Alex went by Kirsten's old apartment but the woman he saw out front planting some flowers definitely wasn't Kirsten. He guessed she had moved in with Brandon, if they were still together. If she wasn't at his place he would have to do some detective work to find her.

As he rode his bike through Brandon's neighborhood in Cherry Creek he saw Kirsten's car in the driveway and breathed a sigh of relief. He rode on past and parked the Harley at a convenience store two blocks away. He said a quick prayer and started walking to her house, thinking again about the possible ways this could turn out.

Kirsten had the house ready for Brandon's inspection before three o'clock so she was at her desk writing a paper titled The Impact of Wealth Hoarding on Political Ethics to publish in the Journal of Political Economics. She was focused on her work so she didn't hear the motorcycle pass by.

Kirsten was on a roll with her writing. Sometimes the ideas and words just wouldn't come to her, but today things were popping into her mind faster than she could capture them on the computer screen. She finished the page she was on and started on the next when the doorbell rang. Dammit. I don't need the interruption right now. I'll ignore it – maybe they'll go away. When the bell range again she had second thoughts. It might be something Brandon ordered – I better get it.

She looked through the peep hole in the front door and saw a rough-looking character – dressed in a leather jacket and pants, shaved head, and an earring in his left ear. She hooked up the security chain and opened the door a crack. She had a better view of the man now and her first impression didn't change. He looked like he was from a motorcycle gang.

"What do you want? Are you delivering something?"

He took a breath and said in a rush "Kirsten, it's me. . . . Alex." The door slammed in his face. Well, there's my answer. I wish I had a plan B. As he turned to leave he heard the chain rattle. He turned back just in time to see the door open and catch Kirsten as she flew into his arms, almost knocking him backward off the porch. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and nestled her face against his neck.

"Oh, Alex, Alex, Alex. It's really you."

Alex didn't know what to say. Most men don't in these situations. So he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her long and hard. That's when she started crying.

Are those tears of joy or anger? Men never knew for sure where they stood with their women. But when she leaned back and looked at his face he knew it was joy. After a few seconds she lowered her arms, stepped back, and looked left and right to see if any neighbors were outside. She turned, grabbed his hand, and said "Get inside. Quickly."

When the door was closed and locked he said "So I guess you heard that I'm a wanted man."

"No. I mean yes. . . . But that's not why I pulled you inside. Brandon has the neighbors keeping an eye on me. He told them I was a drug addict and he needed to know if anyone came to the house to sell drugs while he was gone."

"He's a real jerk." Alex avoided the urge to add 'I told you so." As he focused on her face he was shocked. "My god! Did he do that to you?"

"No, I ran into a door. . . . Not really. He's a mean, angry person. If I don't keep everything just the way he wants it he smacks me around."

"That's not the Kirsten I know. Why don't you go after him with baseball bat? Stand up for yourself."

"He ground me down, Alex. Anytime I say or do something he doesn't like, I get beaten. I've learned to lay low and avoid provoking him. It reduces how often I get assaulted."

"Assaulted? Do you mean that in the . . ."

"Yes. He sexually abuses me."

"Where is that bastard? When does he get home. I'm going to beat him senseless."

"No, Alex! He will take it out on me when he recovers. And he can afford lawyers that will have you put in prison for assault."

"Compared to what I'm facing now, he would have to wait in line."

"I read about that in the online news. About the woman who had her throat slit in Atlanta. How can they pin that on you?"

"That's where I have been for the past few months. Operating undercover for the Secret Service to collect evidence against Rex Sorensson. I infiltrated his organization and was pretty close to completing my assignment when he had Geri – Geri Tomblin – killed and framed me for it. If I hadn't gone on the run and changed my appearance I'd be in jail now."

"But the agency would back you up on this, wouldn't they?"

"They don't want to reveal that they had an agent inside Sorensson's organization. Bob Joiner, my boss, said the only way out of this is for me to find the real murderer."

"That's not right! They sent you in to spy on Sorensson. It's their responsibility to protect you."

"That's not how it works. I knew that going in. I need to get evidence to nail the murderers, or I'll have to stay on the run – from the FBI no less. Not an easy thing to do."

Kirsten thought for a couple of minutes, then looked up at Alex in alarm. "You don't think they're watching this place, do you?"

"No. Not yet anyway. I'm sure they know about our past relationship, but finding that you're living with the jerk will take some time. . . . The real thing I'm worried about is Sorensson's men. If they locate you they'll capture you to bring me to them. And it wouldn't surprise me if Sorensson has a snitch in the FBI. When they find out where you are, Sorensson will know shortly after that. And they would torture you and even kill you if they thought it would lead them to me."

"Oh my god, Alex. What should I do?"

"We need to get you out of here to someplace safe. Today!"

"But I can't just leave. Brandon will come after me."

"Listen to yourself, Kirsten! You don't have to worry about him anymore."

"I know, but part of me is afraid of what he will do if he finds me. I can't just snap my fingers and have the fear disappear. I've lived with it for too long."

"I didn't make myself clear. You won't go into hiding – we will go into hiding together. I'll never let him close to you again."

"You would do that for me? After the way I treated you?"

"Of course. I love you and never want to be separated again."

She answered through a new flood of tears, "I . . . I don't know what to say – except to thank you for rescuing me. . . . I love you too, Alex. I always have.

"We need to get moving. What time does Brandon get home?"

"That depends on whether or not he stops off to visit his mistress on the way. He's never home before 6:30."

"Good. We've got a couple of hours. Pack the bare essentials in a trash bag. I have plenty of money so we can stop and get whatever else you need."

"Do I take my car?"

"Only until we're clear of the area, Then we'll put it in storage and use the motorcycle. Sorensson's people may know I'm using a bike, but no one in the Government knows about it."

"How will we do that?"

"You'll ride on the seat behind me. I might even let you drive after a little training."

"Fantastic! I get to be a biker chick."

While Kirsten sorted through her clothes deciding what to take, Alex walked back to the Harley and retrieved the file box with the trackers in it. Back in Brandon's house he switched them on and put one in the garage and one in the bedroom. Maybe Sorensson's thugs will even the score for Kirsten.

When she was ready to go they put the trash bag in her car and set out for Fort Collins, an hour north of Boulder. Alex told her to take U.S. 287 and stay off the interstate. He would take his bike back onto the front range road to stay out of sight as long as possible. He told Kirsten to stop at Wal-Mart and get a backpack large enough to hold all the stuff she brought. After that she was supposed to go to the public library on Peterson Street and wait inside for him to get there.

Kirsten was sitting on a bench just inside the library door watching for Alex. She was getting worried because it was taking him so long. She was about to doze off when she heard the roar of the motorcycle as it turned in off the street. As Alex circled around the other cars in the parking lot her cell phone rang.

On the second pass around the parking lot Alex confirmed what he first suspected. The black van in the corner must have followed Kirsten. He could see two men in the front seats who were probably waiting for him to show up, but they didn't know about his biker disguise. He dialed Kirsten.

"Don't react, but somebody followed you here. The men in the black van are watching to see if I show up. As I approach the front door on my next loop around the lot I want you to come out quickly and jump on the seat behind me. Then hold on. . . . Got it?"

"But what about my car?"

"We'll leave it for now and worry about it later. . . . Here I come."

Alex stopped in front of the door as Kirsten sprinted for the bike. Alex shouted "Hold on!" as he accelerated back onto the street. Kirsten was holding onto the backpack and only had one arm to wrap around Alex's chest, so she was almost thrown backward off the bike. But when the acceleration eased up for a gear shift she recovered and wrapped her hand around his waist, grabbing the front of his belt.

On his way into town he had plotted a zigzag escape route on his smart phone just in case, and was now making a series of turns, followed by straight stretches where he got up to 80 mph. He didn't believe the men in the van could react fast enough to follow him but he kept up the pace until he turned west up into the Rocky Mountain National Park. The road was nothing but a series of sharp curves as it snaked its way into the dense pine forest.

He could feel Kirsten shivering against his back so he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer. She shouted something in his ear he couldn't make out above the exhaust noise, so he slowed down.

He turned his head back and yelled "What did you say?"

"I said where are we going? I can't take much more of this."

"I don't know. I didn't expect to be coming this way. I think Estes Park is a few miles up ahead. We should be able to find a place to spend the night there."

Ten minutes later they pulled into a gas station and country store at the outskirts of town and hurried inside. In answer to the copper bell over the door a white-haired man came out to greet them.

"Howdy folks. A mite cold to be ridin' a motorcycle, isn't it? Come over by the fireplace and warm up a bit. . . . I'm Earle, by the way."

Alex reached out to shake hands. "I'm . . . ah . . . Bill, Bill Cody and this is my wife, Barbara."

"Like Buffalo Bill Cody? Yer not related are you?"

"No, I get that question all the time. I wish my mom had named me Bob or Henry."

Just then a woman hobbled into the room, obviously from pain in her knees. "What a nice young couple. I'm Ruthie, Earle's better half. So you're named after Buffalo Bill, are ya?"

"No ma'am. I was just explaining to your husband here . . ."

"And you're Barbara. Do you go by Barb?"

"No, I use my full name, Barbara Jean. Most people call me Barbara Jean except for my husband. I let him call be Barbara . . . or sweetheart, or honey. We've only been married for . . ."

Alex broke in. "Maybe you can tell us where we could get a room for the night."

Earle answered, "Ya, we may be a small town but lots of tourists come here, so we have three motels – a Hampton Inn, the Ramada, and a Best Western. All of them will have rooms available this time of year."

"Well, I was looking for something a little more rustic and . . . a little cheaper." Alex looked down in pretend embarrassment.

"There's some vacation cottages, but they don't open until May. I could lend you a few bucks if you need it. You can mail it back when you get to where you're goin'."

Ruthie broke in. "Don't be ridiculous, Earle. They can stay here. The back bedroom hasn't been used since our grandson, Walter, left for Iraq."

Kirsten shook her head. "No, ma'am. We wouldn't want to impose on you. We'll keep going until we find something else."

"Why dearie, there ain't nothing else. Not until you get to Grand Lake, and that's two hours away over some of the twistiest roads you'll ever see. Besides, night is settin' in and the temperature's supposed to go down into the teens tonight. It may be spring in the rest of the country but up here in the mountains winter hasn't let go yet. Com'on back, I'll show you your room."

She opened the door to a small but clean room with an old single bed in it.

"The bed is small so it will be a little tight for the two of you – unless you snuggle. But I'm sure that won't be a problem, will it," as she gave them a knowing smile. "It'll get cold tonight but that feather comforter will keep you warm." As they went back to the living room Ruthie leaned over and whispered something in Kirsten's ear.

Earle was in the kitchen making noise with pots and pans. "You two haven't had supper yet, have you."

Alex and Kirsten looked at each other, not wanting to be more trouble to the couple, but Ruthie shouted "Earl, make extra. They're eating with us."

"I'm already on it, dear. I need some help in here, though."

Ruthie excused herself and went to help. Alex leaned over to Kirsten's ear. "What did the Ruthie whisper to you in the hall?"

"She said that both of them take their hearing aids out at night, so if we wanted to . . . get intimate, they won't hear a thing." Alex laughed while Kirsten blushed.

"She really said 'get intimate'?"

"No, the euphemism she used was 'fool around.'"

After supper Earle and Ruthie gave their apologies and went up to bed. Alex and Kirsten sat in front of the fire, finishing a glass of Mogan David concord wine from a bottle Earle brought out for this 'special occasion.'

"This would be a good fruit syrup to pour over ice cream," Kirsten commented.

"I guess that would make it Kosher ice cream."

After a brief silence Kirsten brought up what was on her mind. "Who were those guys in the van?"

"They were most likely FBI agents who followed you from Bolder. They may have had your house under surveillance or else they put a tracker on your car. If they were someone Sorensson sent to see if I made contact with you they would have shot us at the library."

"Sorensson? Who is Sorensson? And what has he got to do with it?"

I just told her something he shouldn't have, but now that the cat's out of the bag I might as well tell her the whole story. So he started with his undercover assignment at RexSorCorp, and the leads he had so far. He ended with the murder of his assistant by Sorensson's cutthroats to frame him for it.

"So who was Geri? Was she more than just your assistant?"

Alex thought about lying, but he realized that if there was any hope of he and Kirsten getting back together, he would have to be honest. "I was having an affair with her. . . . No, that's not right. It was more than that. We were living together."

"Did you love her?"

"I thought I might be falling in love, but I kept comparing her to you and she fell short of what I wanted."

After an uncomfortable silence, she ducked her head and said quietly, "That's what happened to me with Brandon. He was so attentive at first – loving, caring. He knew just what I was looking for and pretended to be the answer to my dreams, but after I moved in with him he changed. He got more demanding and eventually started physically abusing me. I don't know why I didn't see that."

"It was a hostile takeover, Kirsten. He came at you fully armed with charm, flash, flattery – everything a lonely woman would fall for."

"But it was still my fault. I should have seen through it. . . . You tried to tell me but I was too mad at you for telling me something I didn't want to hear. . . . I'm so sorry, Alex."

He reach over and pulled her over next to him on the couch. "We have both done things we wish we hadn't. But we shouldn't let that affect our future relationship. Let's forget it and move on. I love you and want us to move forward."

Kirsten responded through a new wave of tears. "I love you too, Alex. You're such a great friend. I don't deserve you."

Friends. Did she mean that's as far as she wants our relationship to go? I screwed up big time when I let her push me away. . . . But if it's only friends for now, I'll take that. It's better than no future with her at all. I should say something a friend would say.

"I'll always be here for you, Kirsten." That sounded lame. Try again.

"I mean, I'll be for you whatever you want me to be." That was even stupider. I sound like a soap opera.

She looked up at him. "Shut up and kiss me."

They sat together in front of the fire until a chill set in. Finally Alex said, "I think it's time for us to get under that feather comforter." No, no, no. that sounds like I want to 'fool around.' That's not what I meant. . . . Well, maybe a little bit.

"I second that motion. I need a shower first, though."

"Okay, go ahead. I'll take mine in the morning. I'll get under the covers and warm them up."

There temperature in the back bedroom was even colder. Kirsten went through her backpack looking for something to sleep in. She mumbled to herself "Damn. I didn't pack anything to sleep in. A bra and panties won't do it."

Alex was sitting on the bed, waiting for her to leave the room so he could strip down to his undershirt and skivvies. "What was that? . . . Were you talking to me?"

"No, I was talking to myself. I do that a lot."

"So what did you say to yourself?"

"I said I forgot to pack something to sleep in."

"I think I can help you out." Alex rummaged through his own backpack and came up with a red plaid flannel shirt. "Will this do?"

She took it and felt the fabric. "It's heavy fabric. It should keep me warm." She took the shirt and her backpack and closed the bathroom door behind her.

She stayed in the shower until the hot water started to run out, then got out and toweled herself and her hair dry. Then she slipped her arms into Alex's shirt and hugged it to her body. This feels good . . . and smells like Alex. I love it. She dumped her backpack out on the bathmat, looking for something to cover the rest of herself. She was in such a hurry when she packed that she left out sweat pants and yoga pants. All she had was the jeans she had been wearing all day. She looked through the panties she grabbed from her dresser and found nothing but bikini thongs – except for the pair on the bottom. They looked more like what her grandmother wore – up to the waist and thick enough that you couldn't see through them. "Not any worse than a bathing suit" she sighed and stepped into them.

Alex was sitting up in bed wondering how the two of them could possibly fit on this bed. He imagined several different geometries – even head-to-foot – and concluded that spooning was the only thing that would work. Will that be too close, too intimate for her? He thought. Maybe I should go sleep on the couch. But there's no comforter in there. His thoughts were interrupted by the bathroom door opening. Kirsten stood there for a moment, with the flannel shirt ending just above her knees. It took Alex's breath away.

"Are you trying to seduce me Mrs. Robinson," he joked?

It took Kirsten a moment to realize it was a line from the movie The Graduate. She couldn't help but laugh, in spite of her anxiety about where this night was going. She hurried over to the bed and slid in beside Alex under the comforter. They lay on their backs, side-by-side, even though Alex had to let his left foot stick out from the covers and rest on the floor. She reached over to hold his hand, afraid that anything more would be rejected.

They lay there silently for several minutes, each captive to their anxieties and worries. Then, as if from a signal, they both rolled over towards each other and hugged. Should I kiss her? I know what it will lead to – for me anyway. Maybe she's not ready. As if in answer to his mental question she rolled over to her other side and nestled into him spoon fashion.
Chapter 22 – New Pajamas

Alex was awakened by the smell of frying bacon. He looked at his watch and saw it was only 6:30, but he wanted to get an early start. Kirsten was still curled against him so he slowly tried to disengage without waking her.

"Where do you think you're going? Come back here."

"Okay, for a few more minutes, but we need to get on the road early."

"Where are we going today?"

"We can make Salt Lake City in about seven hours. I want to stay there a day or two so I can check Sorensson's secret bank account for new activity, and see what other evidence I can gather. And I have to find out who killed Geri so I can get off the hook."

"Can we get me some new clothes there? Especially some new pajamas?"

"I kind of like what you're wearing, but we definitely need new cloths. Whoever was watching you at the library knows my new look, so my cover is blown. I don't want to go into large stores for clothes; there are too many cameras."

"What about a second hand store – like Goodwill?"

"Perfect. Find out where the Goodwill store is in Salt Lake while I shower. Also, look for some WiFi coffee shops where we can get online. We'll want to keep moving around among several hot spots so we don't get noticed." He gave Kirsten a final hug and left the warm bed.

When they emerged from the back bedroom Ruthie greeted them with a cup of coffee in each hand. "Good morning! I have bacon, biscuits, gravy, sausage, and eggs any way you like 'em. Have a seat and I'll bring you breakfast."

Earle joined them just as Ruthie was putting the food on the table. "Did you folks sleep good?"

"Yes, we did. That comforter really kept the cold out. . . . That and my other 'comforter ' kept me warm all night."

Ruthie and Earle gave each other the look that said 'We know what you mean.'

Earle turned to Alex. "I saw that yer lady didn't have a helmet. Isn't that against the law?"

"In some states. I don't know about Colorado, though."

"Yep, it's illegal here. But I can help you out there."

"No, like I told you last night, we won't take any money from you."

"I didn't mean money. Walter used to ride. He sold the motorcycle when he joined the Army but he left his helmet behind. It's probably a little on the big side but Barbara can have it."

Kirsten answered. "Thank you, Earle, but you two have been too good to us already. I can't accept the helmet."

"Well, if you don't take it I'll end up selling it at a yard sale for ten dollars."

She turned to Alex. "Honey, do you have ten dollars we can spare?"

"Sure. Since we didn't have to rent a room last night we have a little extra."

Earle tried to protest until Ruthie kicked him under the table. She knew that it was hard for most people to accept charity, and the money would allow the couple to hang on to their pride.

After breakfast Earle brought the helmet in from the garage for Kirsten to try on.

"It feels like it fits okay, Earle. Thank you so much." Kirsten said as she went over to hug Earle then Ruthie, who handed her an old metal lunch box and a beat up thermos. "I packed a couple a sandwiches for you, dear, along with some coffee. You two be careful, now. And if you are ever back this way stop and stay a spell."

They said their goodbyes and climbed on the Harley. It was a little hard to start from spending the night out in the cold but Alex finally got it running smoothly. With a final wave to the friendly couple they set out for Salt Lake City.

After almost eight hours of a long cold ride they rolled into Heber City, Utah about an hour east of Salt Lake City. Alex followed his smart phone GPS to Samuel's Used Car & Truck lot. There they picked out an eight-year old Dodge pickup for just under $3,000. The salesman was insisting on a price of $3,995 until Alex told him he would pay in cash. For a $50 deposit he threw in a thirty-day dealers license plate.

When the deal was done, Kirsten followed the Harley in the truck to the Heber Valley Thrift Store. There wasn't a large selection to choose from, but they both bought jeans, flannel shirts, and sweatshirts. Alex added a pair of cowboy boots and a beat up cowboy hat with a flat crown – the style gamblers wear in western movies.

The next stop was a self storage rental place south of town. Alex had Kirsten go into the office and pay for three months rental on a space large enough to keep the motorcycle, then pulled around to the roll-up door in the car. Alex drove the bike into the space and Kirsten brought their thrift store clothes inside. They rolled the door down, changed into the clothes, and drove away in the truck.

Finally, dressed in clothes like the most of the local citizens wore, they checked into the Heber Valley Bread & Breakfast that Kirsten found on Alex's smart phone. It was in a secluded spot north of town and the owner had no problem accepting cash in advance without any I.D. Alex walked in with his hat pulled low on his forehead and glanced around for video cameras. The place was old with none of the modern hotel technology, not even WiFi internet. But that was fine because he didn't plan to go online from a place where he was staying.

They took their backpacks up to the second floor room and locked the door. Kirsten flopped down on the bed.

"What a day. I don't ever want to ride on a motorcycle again! My butt will never be the same."

That drew Alex's eyes to that part of her anatomy. "It looks fine from here. But I could give you a massage later if you like."

"Not a chance, buster. You won't see me naked until we can sleep together in the full sense of the phrase. . . . And by the way, thank you for not carrying our cuddling too far last night. When we finally do decide it's time, I want it to be really special – not cramped together in a bed that's too small."

"Well, if you sleep in that flannel shirt of mine again I might not be able to resist."

"Your T shirt and boxers don't leave much to the imagination either. I saw a Wal-Mart in town. Can we go get some PJs and stuff?"

"I suppose so. I look different enough, and we're a long way from Atlanta and Boulder. But I get to help pick out your sleepwear."

"You have a one track mind, dear . . .but I like it."

The next morning they drove the truck into Salt Lake City so Alex could search for more online evidence against Sorensson, Koontz, and Kurian. He was sure that Sakhir Kurian was behind Geri's murder, and probably the deaths of the FBI director and the senator. But he had to find enough evidence to convince the FBI of that. Kirsten had mapped out several public WiFi locations around the city; Alex didn't want to spend more than an hour or two in the same place so they kept moving around.

When he and Kirsten had their coffee and their laptops open he set up the blue tooth communication link that he and Geri had used so they could text back and forth offline.

"Okay, what can I be doing while you play cyber detective?"

He typed an answer.

Do searches on everyone involved in this situation. Start by trying to find a connection between Sakhir Kurian and Antonio Francini. Kurian is head of security at RexSorCorp and Francini is a professional hit man who killed a Government witness.

Next look for any new information about FBI Director Taggart's murder. I think the killers might be the same ones who killed Geri. If you can get some names of suspects I'll hack their bank accounts and search for unusually large deposits.

The deputy FBI Director under Taggart, Howard Watson, is now running the FBI and has started reversing some of the policy changes the President asked her to make. He may be working for Sorensson. I'll see if I can find a connection between them.

Then – I hate to ask you to do this – find out more about Geraldine Tomblin, Geri. I want to see if she had any connections with Sorensson or Kurian that wasn't work related. And check to see if her parents came to the funeral.

She looked up and raised her eyebrows in surprise. Then smiling she typed,

"Will I find any photos online of Geri and you making whoopee?"

"Maybe. She found out just before she died that Kurian planted cameras in her condo. If the press got hold of them . . ."

He looked up and saw a flash of anger in her eyes and made a mental note to keep his relationship with Geri out of their conversations. He ducked his head and went back to work on his computer.

Their next stop was at a Panera Bakery & Restaurant, which offered both WiFi and food, so they ordered lunch and set the computers aside.

"Alex, there's a lot more going on than I thought. I have lots of questions, like why would Sorensson have the FBI director killed, and who is the Government witness that was killed by Francini, and . . . and why do you carry that old backpack everywhere we go?"

"I'll start with the backpack. On my way out of Atlanta I withdrew $25,000 from my bank account so I could disconnect myself from banking at ATMs while I was on the run. There's about $16,000 left.

"I can't talk about why Sorensson would have Madison Taggart killed, if it was him. My only evidence is a suspicious financial transfer. But if I tell you any more you could be in legal trouble yourself, so that's enough for now.

"I can tell you about the Government witness, though, since it was in the news. Ben Larson was doing the financial hacking for Sorensson before I came along and got the job. He agreed to testify against everyone involved, so the FBI took him to an isolated safe house that turned out to be not so safe. Francini showed up with a sniper rifle and took him out. . . . But I wonder how Francini knew where Larson was being held? Sorensson's tentacles must extend inside the FBI. If so there's another connection to look for."

She reached over squeezed his hand. "You're like those undercover cops I see on TV. What you do is dangerous work, Alex. I want you to stop."

"When I get out of this fix I'll look for a new line of work." He held his right hand up like he was taking an oath. "I promise."
Chapter 23 – The Benefactor

Two Weeks Earlier

Claire Colson opened the latest medical bill from the UNM Hospital and groaned. Another past due notice. "How am I going to pay all these bills for Becky's treatment. And these are just the deductibles. My health insurance is picking up 80% of the costs and I still owe over eighteen thousand dollars. I've maxed out three credit cards and I'm behind on those payments. And it doesn't look like the expenses will stop any time soon. I have no idea how long the treatments for her cancer will go on." She stopped talking when she realized that only the cat, Ivan, was there to listen.

Her job at the auto supply store paid a living wage – if you didn't have huge medical bills. She was good at her job and expected to be managing the store in a few months. In the Navy she worked as the supply sergeant for the motor pool and learned all about car parts, what they're for, and where they go on the vehicle. Here in the store she could locate parts and answer questions about how to install them before anyone else on the staff could find it on the computer. But even if she made manager, it would only pay $120 more a month than she made as a counter clerk – not nearly enough to get her out of debt any time soon. And if the treatments lasted much longer, she would never get out of debt without going to bankruptcy court.

She added the hospital letter to the stack of unpaid bills and went to the kitchen to scrape up some supper. She was almost out of the Hot Pockets and frozen burritos she and Becky had for dinner most nights. With another five days until payday she would have go to plan B – Raman noodles. They were filling, but she didn't think there was much nutritional value in a serving. The peanut butter sandwiches she made for lunch every day helped in that department, but she was still loosing weight. She used to have a figure that drew man's stares whenever she walked by, but now they glanced at her and looked away.

As she sipped on her cup of noodles she thought back to how it used to be; back when her husband was alive. But two years ago he had been sent to Iraq with his infantry unit and didn't come back. They said it was an IED that killed him instantly, but she always wondered if the officer who came to her door with the black arm band told her that so she would believe he hadn't suffered. She thought about getting in touch with his Marine buddies to hear what really happened, but decided she liked the officer's version better.

She never had a chance to grieve. Becky's cancer was diagnosed a month after they buried Paul. The pediatrician at the Camp Pendleton told her that the Cancer Center at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque would be the best place to treat Becky's type of cancer. After an initial visit to get her enrolled in a treatment program Claire rented a U-Haul truck and moved to Albuquerque. Now they lived in a one bedroom apartment near the university.

She finished her dinner and tuned the radio to a blues station that matched her mood. She swayed with the mournful beat and let the music resonate with her grief. She only allowed herself to cry at times like this and usually felt a little better afterward. But tonight, with the latest batch of bills fueling her hopelessness, the music made her depressed. A glass of wine might have helped but she couldn't afford that anymore, so she turned the music off, checked on the sleeping Becky, and went to bed.

Yolanda Elena Segura, A.K.A. 'Miss Kitty' to the customers, was doing what she did every Friday and Saturday night – pole dancing at The Leave it to Beavers Gentlemen's Club in Chula Vista, California. The San Diego Naval Base was nearby, so the club was packed on weekends. She also worked there whenever a Navy ship came into port to disgorge a hoard of horny sailors. She often made more on those nights than all the weekends combined. The pay for pole dancing was miserable, but the money that was slipped under her G-string, along with the big tips for lap dances, gave her enough to get by on, if she didn't drink it all up at the local bars. On a good night some reasonably good looking soldier would ask her to go to a motel room with him. If he was drunk enough, she would agree, take him back to the room, give him what he wanted, and wait until he fell asleep. Then she would clean out his wallet and leave. Once or twice the men complained to the police, but she told them that the money was payment for services rendered

She wished she would meet a young man with money so she could seduce him into marrying her. Then she could lead the extravagant life she longed for. But on this particular night it didn't look promising . . . until a well-dressed man at a corner table beckoned her over. I won't mind giving him a lap dance. If I tease him long enough maybe he will invite me to leave with him, maybe for good?

She ignored him until he beckoned her again, more urgently this time, then sauntered over using her sexiest walk. "Hi there. Is there something I can do for you?"

He looked left and right, as if afraid someone he knew was looking, then answered "Yes, but not here. Can I take you back to my yacht in San Diego Harbor? I'll pay you $500."

Yacht? $500? This sounds promising. She faked reluctance, hoping he would up the ante. "Right now? I'm not sure. I don't even know you. I don't usually do that kind of thing."

"Okay, $1,000."

"Alright. I'll make an exception in your case. But I need half now – in cash."

"I'll pay you when we get in the car."

"Let me tell my boss I'm sick and have to go home. What's your name?"

" . . . Mitch, Mitch Morris."

He's lying, but I'll give the name to the bartender just in case I don't show up tomorrow.

After she changed into the little black dress she kept in her locker for times like this he led her out to an Audi A6 sedan and opened the passenger door for her. Before she got in she glanced in the back seat to be sure no one was lurking there. She learned about that the hard way. She was still a little apprehensive – you never knew when these guys could turn on you. But she relaxed as they walked along the dock to his yacht. "My, what a big boat you have Mr. Morris."

"Wait until you see what I have done with the bedroom, Yolanda. Step in and I'll give you a tour." He held her hand as she stepped over the gunwale.

"Oh my, this is impressive, Mr. Morris. Can I call you Mitch?"

"You can call me anything you like. Let me show you to the bedroom."

As her led her down a hall an alarm bell went off in her mind. Yolanda! How does he know my name? No one at the club knows me by that name. She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "What's going on here. How do you know my name?"

"Oh, I know a lot more about you than just your name. I know enough about you to send you to jail . . . if I choose to. But don't be frightened. I brought you here to make you an offer – 'an offer you can't refuse' as the Godfather said."

"Will you promise to take me back to the club afterwards?"

"Of course I will. I don't want to harm you. I have big plans for you. Plans that will put you in front of TV cameras nationwide. And you will get paid $10,000, in cash, for your effort. Here's what I have in mind."

He went on to explain what she was to do, then gave her shopping money and instructions on what she would be wearing for the next few weeks.

Claire sat on the park bench watching Becky play with the other kids. She had spent the past two years in and out of the hospital so she really enjoyed playing outdoors. Claire covered the afternoon and evening shift at AutoPlus, which gave her time in the morning to spend with her six-year-old daughter. Whenever the weather permitted she took Becky to the playground. The kids there shunned her at first because the chemotherapy had made her bald, but it wasn't long before they welcomed her into their games.

She was reminiscing about times she and Paul would take Becky out in a stroller to another playground – the one at Camp Pendleton near in the base housing area. She had finally gotten to the point that she could recall these memories without the tears they used to bring. Her memories of Paul, their happy times together before he was killed in Iraq, were painful. She looked up as a frumpy middle-aged woman approached the bench. She must be the grandmother of one of the kids, or maybe a nanny, she thought.

"Do you mind of I share the bench with you? I'm waiting for my son to meet me here."

"No, please join me. I like company. It keeps the sad thoughts away."

"With a lovely little girl like Becky you should have nothing to be sad about"

"How do you know her name!"

"While I was learning about your background online her name came up. How are the cancer treatments coming."

"Do you know about that too?" Claire was getting alarmed and tried to get Becky's attention so they could leave.

"I also know about the financial position her illness has put you in."

Claire started to get up but the woman put a strong hand on her shoulder and pushed he back down. "Don't leave yet. We have to talk."

"Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"Look. Here comes my son now. He will explain it to you."

A tall, dark haired man approached and sat on the other side of Claire. One look at him and she wanted to run, but she couldn't leave Becky behind. "Who are you!"

"Who I am is not important. It's what I can do for you that matters. I work for a very rich benefactor who helps families of sick children. I find worthy families for him and he pays their medical bills and other debts. You have been selected."

Claire's eyed him suspiciously. "How do I know this isn't a scam of some sort?"

The woman opened her purse and withdrew a roll of cash. "There's five thousand dollars here that you can use to catch up on your overdue bills," she said as she held out the money. "Take it. Think of it as a down payment on what's to come."

"I . . . I don't know what to say." Claire pulled a tissue out of her purse as she started to cry.

"A simple thank you will do."

"How does this work? Do I have to sign any papers or something?"

The dark man answered. "No, your bills will be paid by an anonymous donor. And he will continue to pay for Becky's future medical treatment."

Claire felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her as joy replaced her sadness.

"There is one condition, however. You will need to go public about the times Admiral Matheson sexually abused you when he was at Camp Pendleton."

"Do you mean the President? I've never met the man. How could he have. . . . Oh! You want me to lie about it. No, no. I can't do that. Especially about the President."

"Then I'll need the five thousand back. And I'll have to find another worthy recipient."

"No, that's not right. You can't promise me all that money then take it away."

"What money? Did I say anything about money? You must have misunderstood."

When the woman held out her hand for the roll of bills Claire started to hand it over, then pulled it back. Thinking of Becky she asked "What is it that you want me to say?"

The man continued. "Tomorrow morning someone will knock on your door at nine a.m. to go over the story with you. He will coach you about when and how to show emotions that you don't have. You will learn the script we provide and practice responding to questions from the press. He will come back every morning until you are ready for your public announcement. Is that clear?"

Claire paused once more. She was at a fork in her moral road. This was the last chance to do the right thing. Finally with a sigh she nodded her head.

"You need to say it out loud – loud enough for my wireless microphone to pick it up. Everything we discussed is being recorded. As insurance that you won't change your mind."

Another pause, then. "Yes, I will do what you ask."

The woman and man rose to leave. "Wait! When will my bills be paid?"

"As soon as you announce that you are planning to bring charges against Matheson for the terrible things he did to you."
Chapter 24 – Connecting the Dots

Back to the Present

Alex and Kirsten were back in their room at the B&B going over what they had learned that day. It wasn't much but it added to the circumstantial evidence Alex had already accumulated.

"Okay, you go first Kirsten."

"Well, I haven't found out much about Geraldine; Geri. She worked in the financial department at RexSorCorp for a few years, but I couldn't find anything sordid in her past – darn it. I was hoping to see an arrest for prostitution, because that's what Sorensson had her doing to you. You know that, don't you? She was . . ."

Alex cut her off. "So we have a dead end there. What about Sakhir Kurian? Anything on him?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't finished with Geri yet."

"Water over the dam, remember?"

"Alright. I'll leave it alone." She punched a few computer keys to bring up the information. "He first shows up as the security chief for RexSorCorp two and a half years ago, but nothing before that. It's like he didn't exist. So I figured that maybe he didn't. Maybe he changed his name or something. I downloaded his photo from the RexSorCorp bio and did a facial recognition search on him. And guess where I found him? . . . In the Guantanamo Bay detention camp records – under the name of Hakim Bashira. He was captured in Iraq fighting for ISIS and sent to that facility in Cuba, but the previous president ordered him released three years ago. He dropped out of sight for six months; then he showed up at RexSorCorp as Sakhir Kurian."

"That's great work, honey. I'll see where I can fit that into the puzzle. What about the Taggart investigation?"

Kirsten looked at him for a moment, then smiled at his term of endearment. She went on with her account of the day's results. "There was nothing about any suspects in her death. All I got was the name of the FBI agent in charge of the investigation, Henry Owens. Maybe you can do something with that."

"If there's a list of suspects it would be on Owens' work computer at the FBI. I could hack into it but not without setting off alarms that could lead them back to us. I'll try to get into his personal computer tomorrow. He might have some work stuff on it."

"Are they allowed to do that? Put classified information on their own personal computer?"

"It's against regulations, but most agents do some work at home - Hillary did."

Kirsten asked about his progress. "What about your hunt for links between the players? Did you find any connection between Sorensson and Howard Watson, the new Secretary of Defense . . . honey?"

After flashing her a brief smile Alex went on. "If Watson sent the FBI men who almost caught us in Fort Collins there must be a connection to Sorensson. It took me quite a while but I finally found a link back in Watson's college days. He was at Harvard while Sorensson was working on his PhD. They both were part of a radical group advocating pure socialism as the future of the United States. Now I need to find out if Sorensson is getting money to him."

"So you think Sorensson might have put Watson in place as deputy director almost a year ago to step in when Taggart was killed? If that's true he's been getting his people lined up to take over for quite awhile. Have there been any other suspicious deaths of conservatives where a liberal took their job? "

"Let me think. . . . Yes! Hiram Walker, the conservative congressman who died of a heart attack. The Governor gave his seat in congress to the guy who was Chief of Staff for ex-president Dante Barnett. That guy's politics are way past liberal. This could be another example of Sorensson's long-term planning."

"Is there a way to find out more about Hiram Walker's death? He's probably been buried already, and if the coroner didn't do an autopsy any evidence of Sorensson's involvement will be underground."

"I can't think of a way right now. I'm too tired. We'll follow up on these threads in the morning."

Over breakfast at the local Denny's Alex made a list for each of them to work on, then they took their computers to yet another WiFi coffee shop to start work on the list. Alex started with Henry Owens' personal computer, hoping to find some new information about Secretary Taggart's murder. He expected some pretty powerful firewalls to block his hacking attempt but all he found was the standard Microsoft security block which took him all of thirty seconds to crack. It was amazing how people who worked with Top Secret information at work all day would bring something home to their computer and not have effective security measures installed. Of course there was nothing Owens could have done to keep Alex out – he could break into any computer given enough time.

Owens' laptop didn't have much about the murder except for a list of four suspects – 'persons of interest' as the FBI called them. His investigation of them wasn't moving very quickly. Without a warrant to search their homes and vehicles there wasn't much to go on. Alex thought about it and came up with a way to speed things up. He sent each of the four suspects a text message that read "I know what you did to Taggart." Within a couple of hours two of them texted back asking who is Taggart, so he crossed them off the list. He decided to call the other two and pretend to be someone soliciting donations. He got no answer on the first suspect, but when he called the other number a woman answered.

"Good morning ma'am. This is Geoffrey Hatcher with the American Cancer Society. May I speak to Mr. Albert Romano please?"

"He . . . he . . . passed away recently. And I'm not interested in charities right now. Maybe after I sort out his financial account I'll have some to spare. Call back in a couple of months."

"My condolences, Mrs. Romano. Did he die of cancer? Because if that's the case, donations from people like you might have prevented his passing."

"No, he died in a car accident. Someone ran him off the road at night into a concrete barrier."

"I'm sorry to have bothered you in this time of grief. God bless you."

Alex realized that, if Romano was hired to kill Taggart, he signed his own death warrant. Sorensson wouldn't leave any loose ends that might be traced back to him. Encouraged by this new information Alex did a search on the other suspect and found that he lived alone and had fallen in the bathtub two weeks ago died of a head injury. Yeah, right. That was no accident, he thought. But I'd better get into their bank accounts to look for payoffs before the accounts are closed.

An hour later he found what he was looking for. Both men had a $12,000 deposit show up in their bank accounts two days before Taggart's murder. The money was transferred through offshore accounts from Sorensson's Reynoldsville account. Again, this wasn't enough to nail Sorensson with but he sent the information to the FBI internet tip line. Maybe they could do something with it.

Then he sent Kirsten a message asking her to dig deeper into the killers' backgrounds to look for some connection. She was sitting just across the table from him but he wanted to limit their conversation about what they were up to. She sent him a Bluetooth message about the results of her investigation of Hiram Walker's death:

"I checked the county sheriff's office and coroner's records for info on Walker's death. There was no autopsy. An hour after he was delivered to the coroner the FBI showed up to collect the body and all the evidence. The sheriff was pissed at being kicked off the case but the FBI agent told him that it was standard procedure when a congressman or senator dies. Sounds fishy to me."

Alex replied,

"I agree. I'll try to find out what evidence was taken from the home and what the FBI forensics lab found out about it."

By the end of the day Alex found more suspicious details about the case. The items removed from Walker's house went straight to the FBI evidence locker and the forensic analysis was put on an indefinite hold. Someone didn't want it looked at. More proof that Sorensson could pull strings inside the Bureau.

That evening in the B&B they were going over what they had uncovered. Alex showed Kirsten a list of the items confiscated by the FBI. "I don't see anything incriminating here. The clothes Walker was wearing, all the medications in the house – and look at this. They took the dishes from the table and cooking utensils from the kitchen. Why would they do that?"

"Maybe food poisoning contributed to his heart attack . . . Or maybe somebody poisoned him! And the FBI took everything that could be used to prove it. I bet this is a cover up, Alex!"

"You might have something there. The poison would show up in an autopsy but I didn't find anything about the FBI coroner doing an autopsy."

"If it's a cover up wouldn't they hide the autopsy results, classify it top secret or something?"

"That's it! I didn't hack into the classified files. Give me a few minutes."

It took Alex longer than he expected. The FBI internet security was the latest state of the art, and breaking into the Top Secret files was even tougher. But security firewalls finally collapsed under his assault. He quickly navigated to the forensics data storage area and was shocked by what he found.

"Look at this Kirsten. Walker was poisoned with succinylcholine. It mimic's a heart attack and fades quickly from the body. It takes a special forensics lab to detect it in the blood."

"But who did it . . . and why?"

"Congressman Walker was the conservative leader in the House of Representatives and a major force in getting President Matheson's agenda through Congress. Loosing him was a big blow, What's worse his replacement is a hard line socialist! He can undo everything Walker accomplished in a couple of months."

"Sorensson definitely has to be behind this. We have to find some way to prove that, but with the FBI hiding the evidence that's going to be difficult."

Kirsten smiled at him. "I notice you didn't say impossible."

"You know my philosophy – nothing is impossible. Maybe incredibly difficult, but with enough work anything can be overcome."

"Okay, smartass, how you gonna overcome this problem?"

"Another tenet of my personal philosophy – there are no problems; only issues to be dealt with. And I have an idea how to deal with this one."

Kirsten laughed and quoted a Shakespeare line. "A rose by any other name is still a rose. You can't make problems go away by calling them something else."

Bob Joiner poured a cup of coffee in the break room, took it to his office, and sat down heavily in his broken down desk chair. Everything in this place is old and broken. Why can't the Secret Service afford to get some new furniture. It doesn't even have to be new, just much better that what's here. A year earlier Bob had found the perfect desk chair at a used furniture store. He paid for it with his own money, knowing it would be sold long before he could get approval to buy it with Government funds. He enjoyed it for exactly two weeks before the memo came down from the front office citing a regulation that forbids the use of personal furniture in Government facilities. He stormed up to the head of the office and demanded to know why he couldn't use his own chair and heard the old refrain "I don't make the rules, I just enforce them."

So on this morning he was moving his butt back and forth, trying to find a spot on the seat cushion with the least lumps as he opened his desktop computer. He always started his day by going through his emails in case there was something other than bureaucratic BS in them and immediately sat up straight as he opened one from Alex Lucas.

Bob. I have found proof that Congressman Walker was murdered – poisoned with succinylcholine. The FBI grabbed the body and all the evidence to protect whoever was behind it – Sorensson is my guess. I can't prove it – yet – but I'll keep digging until I find a link. In the meantime could you try to get the FBI to release the results of the forensic investigation? I believe someone inside the FBI is covering it up. Watch your back.

Alex

Bob immediately understood what this meant – there is a cover-up conspiracy in the FBI, and if he took this to his boss he would be told to forget it and get back to his assigned work. Since the days of J. Edgar Hoover, no one went up against the FBI without consequences. He quickly copied the email to a hidden disk sector on his hard drive – something Alex had set up for him 'just in case.' No one could hack into those files; well, Alex maybe, but no one else. He spent the rest of the day looking busy but thinking over his options for what to do about it.

On the drive home he finally decided on what he was going to do with Alex's information. He would call a close friend in the FBI and ask him to quietly see what he could find out about why the Walker investigation was invisible. Bob had gone through the FBI academy with him before switching to the Secret Service and they had kept in touch in the years since then. Henry Owens – Hank – would help him out on this.

Two days later Joiner got a return call from Owens. "Bob? Hank here. We need to talk but not over an unsecured line. Can you meet me in 45 minutes at the bar we used to go to back in the academy days?"

"You mean the . . ."

Owens cut him off. "Don't say it on the phone. We don't want a reception committee waiting for us when we get there."

Joiner paused. "That bad, huh?"

"Oh yeah . . . . Really bad. . . . And stay alert. You might pick up a tail."

Joiner entered Smokies Bar and Grill and stopped just inside the door. Just like in the old days it lived up to it's name. A haze of cigarette smoke – mixed with the distinctive odor of marijuana – filled the darkened room. Not much change. Smokey was still behind the bar filling beer mugs that were picked up by waitresses six at a time in one hand for delivery to the tables. The waitresses were closer to naked than they were back then, but otherwise it was the same. He let his eyes get accustomed to the dim light and looked around the room for Owens. He was sitting in the darkest corner of the room with his back to the wall where he could see the entire room – stuff they taught you in the tradecraft course at the Academy. When Bob spotted him he signaled with a slight raising of the chin. Joiner went over and slid in beside him with his own back to the wall.

There were already two beers on the table to help them blend in. After a final scan of the room the two of them leaned forward with their heads close together so they could speak softly. Joiner spoke first. "Well, what did you find out, Hank?"

"You really put me on the spot with this, Bob. The details on Walker's death are locked up tighter than a solitary cell at San Quentin. They even have the Congressman's body in cold storage. His casket at the burial was filled with 275 pounds of sandbags. The succinylcholine was mixed with his morning carafe of coffee – which is locked up with the rest of the stuff the FBI team carried off. I took some real risks getting this information. I've kept your name out of it, Bob, but if they find out that I've been asking questions they might make the connection to you."

"So who's behind this cover up? And why are they doing it?"

"I have a theory. Walker's death, combined with the murder of Madison Taggart, and personal attacks on conservative members of Congress is part of a pattern. I think someone is eliminating President Matheson's support base in the Government and moving their own liberals in to replace them. Our investigation of these cases has been halted by direct orders from the acting FBI director, Howard Watson. He's a holdover from the former president's liberal administration. Taggart was going to fire him, but her murder put an end to that. With Watson in power any investigations into the corruption in the last White House has ground to a halt. The big question is who is the puppet master pulling the strings? Who is the head crook?"

"One of my men, Alex Lucas, believes Rex Sorensson is paying the bills. But he hasn't been able to find any solid connection between him and what's going on."

"Alex Lucas? Wasn't he the one who jumped the fence and went to work for Sorensson?"

"Actually, he was undercover gathering evidence so we could bring Sorensson to trial, but he was framed for murdering a woman he was living with and has been on the run from the law and from Sorensson's thugs ever since then. He's primarily a forensic accountant, so he's looking into bank accounts and money transfers to find a connection with Sorensson. Maybe he'll come up with something on Watson that will unlock the conspiracy."

"I hope so, because I can't risk digging deeper. . . . Say hello to the wife."

"Same here. Thanks Henry."

As soon as they were out the door the bar maid went over to their table to collect the beer mugs. As she wiped the table off she slipped her hand under the edge where the two had been sitting and removed a small digital recorder. She told her boss that she wasn't feeling well and needed to leave. She couldn't wait to give the device back to the man who gave it to her to plant. She would exchange it for the $1,000 he promised her.
Chapter 25 – Movin' on

Kirsten and Alex were back in their room at the B&B after another day online at the public library, looking for something to connect the recent events to Sorensson. Alex had set up an untraceable email account so Bob Joiner could communicate with him without giving away his location. This morning Joiner sent him a one word message – "Watson." In the context of his investigation into the FBI cover up Alex knew he was referring to the acting director of the FBI. And after exploring Watson's financial activities Alex knew he was working for Sorensson. Over the past four years money from Reynoldsville had been funneled into several accounts connected to Watson.

"It sounds like you have solid financial evidence linking Watson to Sorensson, Alex, but is that a crime? It seems to me that at best it's a scandal, and that won't put anyone in jail."

"You're right, Kirsten. Chasing financial crimes has been my job at the Secret Service for so long that I've been limiting my thinking to that area. I need to think beyond that; look for more concrete evidence of Sorensson's guilt. Maybe I can find something hidden in RexSorCorp's computer – a communication – some emails from him ordering the murders maybe."

"Do you think he would be that careless?"

"Good point. But if I could get something on those close to him, maybe. If Sorensson gives his people nothing but verbal orders, at some point they might get written down. But by who?"

Kirsten thought for a moment as the TV news played in the background. "Kurian! As his security chief he would be the most likely person to carry out the illegal stuff. I'll bet he's the one who hires the killers. How can we link him to the crimes? If we can find something that would put him in prison and turn it over to the FBI, maybe he'll talk about Sorensson's crimes for a plea deal."

"Yes, I think you have hit on the weak link. We need to connect him to the criminals with something more that finances. . . . If I wanted to find hired killers where would I go? . . . The Darknet!! They have a section for anonymously posting classified ads for all sorts of illegal activities. If Kurian went there to find assassins for hire, his ad might still be posted, even though the people he hired are dead now."

"And you know how to get into the Darknet?"

"Oh yes. I've kept up my 'membership' since my college days. I still have some friends there I keep in touch with."

"Does your employer know that?"

"Not a chance. I'd lose my security clearance in a second if they knew anything about . . ." Alex stopped talking and looked at the television screen.

"But what can you . . ."

"Shhhh. Watch this news story."

Late breaking news. Two woman have come forward claiming that President Matheson sexually assaulted them before his run for office. If this is true it could mean impeachment for the President, possibly even criminal charges against him. We will have interviews with each of them in a special newscast airing at 8 p.m. tonight. Stay tuned.

Both of them were shocked at the news. "This can't be true, Alex. . . . Can it?"

"Men in power have a tendency to use it to get whatever they want. He certainly wouldn't be the first."

'But if he's impeached, that doesn't mean he'll have to leave office. Look at what happened with Bill Clinton. He got away with it and came out almost a saint."

"On the other hand, there's Nixon. . . . I'll phone in a pizza delivery so we can eat while we wait."

When eight o'clock came they were sitting up side by side in bed glued to the TV as Meagan O'Hara opened the new special.

"As reported earlier, two women have come forward with claims of sexual impropriety against President Martin Matheson. In two separate instances happening months apart Yolanda Segura and Claire Colson have leveled accusations that Admiral Matheson raped them repeatedly. Here now, in exclusive interviews, the women tell their stories.

"Yolanda, tell us in your own words what happened between you and Martin Matheson."

The camera panned to an attractive woman in her thirties with bleach-blond hair in a dress that was two sizes too small.

"Well . . . I was working at a club in San Diego. When the club closed I was walking to my car when a man approached me and invited me to have drinks at his house. I didn't know the man so I said 'no' and turned back toward my car."

"Let me interrupt for a second. Was that man Martin Matheson, a U.S. Navy Admiral stationed at the San Diego Navy Base ?"

"Yes, but I didn't find that out until later, when he took me to his house."

"So you decided to go with him – voluntarily?"

"No. When I refused he grabbed my by the arm and pulled me into his car – in the back seat. He locked the doors and told me to sit still and shut up, which scared me so I did."

"What did he do when he got you to his house?"

"He forced me to go down to the basement and put me in a room. It had a big bed and a bathroom. Then he left and locked the door. He came back later and . . . and . . . I can't . . . tell it."

"Please go ahead, Yolanda. The country needs to hear this."

"He forced himself on me and raped me. When I cried out he slapped me and threatened to hurt me if I didn't do exactly as he said."

"Did he let you go afterwards. Did he take you back to your car?"

"No. He kept me there for three days forcing me to have sex with him two or three times every night."

"That's terrible, Yolanda! You poor thing. . . . When did it stop?"

In the morning, after the third day, he told me to get dressed because a cab was waiting to take me home. He gave me $300 and told me that if I ever said anything he'd kill me."

"Did you go to the police afterward?"

"No. I was afraid of him."

"We thank you for sharing this terrible ordeal with us and the country, for revealing this man for the monster that he really is."

"We'll be back to hear from the second victim, Claire Colson, after this brief break."

"Do you think she's telling the truth, Alex? It didn't sound sincere to me, like she memorized it."

"Not quite memorized. More like coached, rehearsed – like lawyers do with witnesses before they testify."

"And I didn't see even a hint of tears. No woman could recall something that bad without getting choked up. I'm going to check out her background tomorrow on the internet."

"I'll do the same for her bank account."

Meagan O'Hara came back on the screen after the commercials were over.

"Next we have the interview with Claire Colson coming to us from WABQ in Albuquerque where Mrs. Colson lives with her daughter , Becky.

They both watched as an attractive black woman named Claire, with a lawyer at her side, claimed that while she was in the Navy Admiral Matheson had ordered her to have sex with him on several occasions. She went on with the details – dates and places – breaking out into sobs now and then to demonstrate how emotionally devastated she was.

She answered some questions from the interviewer, then her lawyer eased her away from the microphone and took over. "Three years ago Admiral Matheson used his power to force Mrs. Colson to do his will. As you can see, she has been emotionally crippled by the actions of this morally corrupt man who is now our President. Her husband is no longer with her and with a six-year-old daughter, she struggles to pay her bills every month. I will issue a statement tomorrow concerning the legal actions Mrs. Colson plans to take."

Alex thought for a minute. "Something was different about her. She seemed almost frightened that she might not say exactly what she had rehearsed. Like maybe she was threatened if she didn't do this."

"Yes, and her sobs were pure theater. She had to cover her face with her hands so we couldn't see her dry eyes. That's what stage actresses do when they can't cry on cue."

"Well, we have our research work cut out for us tomorrow. But we can't stay here another night, we need to keep moving. The pizza delivery man look at me suspiciously. I don't think he recognized me, but he studied my face like he was trying to recall where he saw it before. We'll spend the morning chasing down what we can find about these women, then we'll leave for San Diego. After that we'll go on to Albuquerque. I want to talk to these women in person."

As Alex was taking their things out to the truck the next morning he heard a sound he didn't recognize. Sort of like a power lawnmower or a weed whacker, but different; higher pitched. And it sounded like it was coming from above. He tilted his head back so he could see under his hat brim and located the source. It was a quadcopter. Probably some kid playing with a new toy, he thought. He went back to loading the plastic bags with their belongings, then stopped to take another look. It's too big and too high up to be a toy. And it's got a camera turret underneath. Damn, they found us!

He walked slowly back inside, not letting on that he was disturbed by the surveillance drone, and pulled Kirsten out of the shower and handed her a towel to cover up with. She gave him a shocked look, then smiled. "So this will be the honeymoon suite after all, huh?"

"No, sorry. But you have to get dressed right now. I think there's a Government surveillance copter over us. We need to get out of here."

As she was dressing he explained his escape plan. "You go on out and get in the truck, making a show of waving goodbye to me. Drive to the Wal-Mart south of town, park the truck, and go inside. Keep an eye on the rear view mirror to see if you are being followed. If you are, keep on going. Don't stop."

"No! I can't leave you behind! You're coming with me."

"No, I have to stay to see if the drone hangs around. After awhile I'll go out the back door into the woods and make my way to the used car lot to pick up another vehicle. I'll call you on the burner phone when I'm in front of the Wal-Mart entrance. Buy some new clothes and change into them while you're there. You come out causally and get in the car, then we'll get out of here."

"Can I buy us some respectable clothes while I'm there?"

Forty minutes later they were headed south on I-15 headed for southern California. Alex asked "You're sure you weren't followed to Wal-Mart?"

"I didn't see a big black SUV with tinted windows behind me. That's what they always drive in the movies."

"If it's Kurian's men after us they wouldn't be that obvious. I'm not even sure the drone copter was looking for us. If either the Government or Kurian knew where we were they would have come and grabbed us . . . or killed us."

"Maybe they had information that we were in the area and were using the drone to pinpoint our location."

"If that's it I hope we got away before they found us. We need to keep an eye on the traffic around us just in case."

Kirsten look around the interior of the car and said, "Can this car outrun the bad guys in a chase? You really picked an old one, didn't you."

"Samuel didn't have much to choose from, so I got this sixty-eight Dodge Charger – one of the early muscle cars. It may not look like much but the engine's in good shape and can leave behind just about anything that's after us. And I got it for only $1,400. We need to preserve as much of our money as we can – I don't know how long we'll be on the run."

"Did Sam ask what happened to the truck you bought from him?"

"Yeah. I told him my wife ran off with it and I needed the Charger to catch her."

Kirsten turned and punched him in the shoulder.
Chapter 26 – One More Chance

RexSorCorp Executive Offices, Atlanta, GA

Sakhir Kurian was alone in his office with his cell phone turned off and his desk phone disconnected. He had failed again to capture the man who knew too much about RexSorCorp financial activities. Kurian appeared fearless, afraid of nothing – except the wrath of his boss, Rex Sorensson. He knew Sorensson could turn on him in an instant if he didn't deliver on his demands. And when the CEO of RexSorCorp turned on one of his staff they tended to disappear. Kurian didn't want to join that club. He knew that disabling his phones wouldn't delay the inevitable, but he was buying time to come up with a plan – one that would give him one more chance to deliver Lucas, dead or alive.

As he struggled with ways to locate Lucas and that woman traveling with him, Kirsten Hanssen, two men pushed through the office door and stood in front of his desk. These were his men, people who worked for him and served as body guards for Sorensson.

"What do you want? I didn't hear you knock. Get out. I don't need you right now."

"We have instructions to deliver you to Mr. Sorensson."

"Well, I'm busy right now. Come back later."

"Mr. Sorensson wants you in his office immediately."

Kurian tried to stare them down. "You work for me, not Sorensson. I'll go see him when I come up with a new plan."

The two men walked around his desk and, with their hands under his arm pits, lifted him to his feet. "Will you walk or do we have to drag you down the hall?"

Kurian shrugged out of their grip, straightened his jacket with a shrug, and led the way out the door.

When they got to the large oak double door of the CEOs office the men flanked the door as Kurian entered.

"It's about time you showed up. Were you ignoring my calls on purpose?"

"No sir. I was in the middle of devising a new plan to guarantee the capture of Lucas and his woman friend."

"After the last fiasco I don't know if I should give you another chance. Tell me how you let them get away yesterday."

"A pizza delivery man saw a couple he recognized from the news at a bed and breakfast outside Salt Lake City. Instead of calling the police immediately he posted it on Facebook – bragging that he found the most wanted man in America and was going to call the FBI the next morning and claim a big cash reward."

"The FBI didn't offer that reward, I did."

"That's what he found out when he went online to see who he should report it to. He was directed to a phone number here in the security office. We assured him that we would report it to law enforcement authorities and would send someone immediately with the $5,000 reward."

"So what happened next?"

"I sent a team out there to check out the lead. But when we showed the pizza guy Lucas' picture, he wasn't so sure it was the man he delivered to. I told my team to verify it was Lucas before we moved in to capture him, so they hired a man in Salt Lake who runs an quad copter camera drone service to fly over the place and try to get some photos of the couple."

"So, did he get some good photos?"

"Yes sir, but by the time he landed the drone and downloaded the photos it was too late. Lucas and Hanssen had already fled."

"Did he at least get a picture of their vehicle and license plate?"

"He did, and we put people watching the roads out of town looking for it, but the truck he was driving never left Salt lake City. There are only a few roads out of town and we covered them all. We don't know what happened to them."

"Then they're probably holed up in town somewhere. Get someone to check all the hotel registries."

"There's a problem with that. Lucas isn't using any credit cards. He deals in cash at small establishments that don't require I.D. It will take my team awhile to check out all the hole-in-the-wall motels in the area."

"So once again you have failed, Mr. Kurian. . . . I have no more use for you. The gentlemen at the door will escort you off the premises."

"N . . . No, wait! I have another plan to catch them. It's foolproof."

"So far you have repeatedly demonstrated what a fool you are. . . . But tell me anyway and I'll decide whether to give you one more try."

Kurian was thinking quickly. What can I offer him? Where will Lucas go next? . . . He's looking for a way to implicate Sorensson in the attacks against President Matheson. . . . How can he do that? . . . The women claiming sexual harassment! Lucas must have seen them on TV last night. If I were Lucas I would want to talk to them.

"Here's what I have in mind, sir."

Alex and Kirsten stopped for the night in Las Vegas at an old motel at the outskirts of town. The billboard 20 miles back up the highway advertised both rooms and honeymoon cabins, and it had WiFi. At Kirsten's insistence he rented one of the cabins for the night. The desk clerk told him that for another $30 he could have a bottle of champagne delivered to their cabin, but Alex declined.

As they approached the cabin door Kristen stopped. "You are going to carry me over the threshold, aren't you."

He looked at her suspiciously. "You haven't changed your mind about waiting, have you?"

"Not yet. I just want to have all the other honeymoon stuff done so on the real one we can concentrate on the important activities."

He laughed. "Okay. You win." As she stood in front of him he quickly bent over and picked her up in a fireman's carry over his shoulder and entered the cabin.

"That's not exactly what I had in mind. I should make you take me back outside and do it again the right way."

"Sorry, one per customer."

After getting settled in their 'cozy cabin' as the billboard called it Alex got both of their computers talking to the WiFi server and they both went to work finding out everything they could about the women who accused Matheson.

Kirsten had no trouble finding information about Claire Colson. She left the military soon after her husband was killed in Iraq and moved to Albuquerque with her daughter. "Not much here about Claire. She lives a pretty routine life – working at an auto parts store, two maxed-out credit cards and, according to her Facebook page, no men in her life. What did you come up with on Yolanda what's-her-name?"

"I'm still digging – high school dropout, works as a dancer at a men's club mostly on weekends, arrested for prostitution three times but never convicted, several speeding tickets, divorced twice, no kids, lives in a low rent apartment in Chula Vista, drives a 2012 maroon Honda Civic. Her credit card charges indicate that she spends a lot of time in bars so she may have an alcohol problem."

"So what's our plan? We just gonna knock on her door and ask questions?"

"No, we're just a couple of strangers. She would be suspicious."

"Maybe we could pose as TV news reporters. I could be the sexy woman reporter and you could carry a video camera."

"Her lawyer probably told her not to talk to the press unless he's with her. We need to do it when she's not on guard, someplace where she feels comfortable."

"How about a bar? We could find out where she goes to drink and I could buy her a few drinks to loosen her up, then get her talking."

"No, that would be too risky, Kirsten. I'll do it?"

"It would never work. She would see you as a potential client for what she sells and talk about stuff to get you hot so she can lure you back to her place. . . . No, she needs a woman to spill her guts out to."

"Well, maybe, but I don't want you in a place like that. We can think of something else."

"Not even married yet and you're trying to be the boss of me. It's a great idea and I'm going to do it."

"Not until I see the place. If it's too scary we'll figure out another way to get to her."

The next day it took them five hours to get to San Diego. They waited outside the Riverside Apartments watching her car for another two hours before she came out, got in the car, and drove off. They followed her from a distance until she pulled into the parking lot of the neighborhood watering hole. They drove on past, circled the block, and parked at the business next door. Alex watched the customers come and go for awhile, then declared it 'safe' for Kirsten to enter.

"Here's the deal. Call me now on you cell phone. . . . Okay, I have mine on speaker and I can hear you. When you get in there keep your phone in your hand so I can hear the conversation. If you are threatened in any way, say a code word and I'll be inside in a few seconds."

"What's the code word?"

"Something that won't come up in a conversation. You pick one."

Kirsten thought for a moment. "Rumplestiltskin."

Yolanda was sitting at the bar – alone for now – sipping on a vodka martini. The men would come in around five, when their work let out. As usual, she would pick one out and flirt with her eyes until he come over with some pickup line, not realizing he was the one getting picked up. She wasn't here to sell herself to these men, she was just looking for company and conversation. These working men didn't have enough money to make it interesting. Occasionally she would meet one who was special – a genuine nice guy looking for company – and she would invite him home for a 'freebie.' The really nice ones turned her down politely, usually saying they would like to get to know her better first.

Tonight she was thinking about how her life would change once she got paid for claiming Admiral Matheson raped her. The man in the yacht told $5,000 would be deposited in her account once she gave her first television interview, and he was true to his word. What really interested her was the additional $25,000 she was promised after she filed charges against the President and gave her deposition to the court. It wasn't enough for her to change her life style, but she planned to balk just before the legal proceedings started and demand $100,000 more to continue. If she threatened to announce the whole thing was a lie they would have to cough it up. That would be enough money for her to move to Las Vegas and become a high-priced call girl instead of the whore she was now.

She was so lost in her thoughts she didn't notice the woman who sat next to her until she ordered double whisky straight up. The way she slurred her speech, Yolanda thought this wasn't her first tonight. When the bartender set up her drink she picked it up with shaking hands and tried to drink it in one swallow, spilling half of it down her shirt. Yolanda felt sorry for the woman because she had been there before, after her last husband left her. She looked her over – probably a nice figure under that sweat shirt, blonde hair that looked she hadn't combed in today, a hurt look on her face. She turned to her and asked, "Haven't you had enough for now? Let me buy you some coffee."

The woman turned her head, struggled to focus her eyes, and answered, "Not nearly enough yet. I need to get the bastard out of my mind. . . . He ran off with my sister, the bitch. . . . Tha's not right. He's not the bitch, she is. And he didn't even pay the rent first."

Yolanda signaled for a cup of coffee. "Come on, honey, you need to drink this."

The woman held the mug tightly in both hands to steady it and managed to take a drink without spilling this time. Yolanda let her finish the coffee then said, "You need to talk to a friend. Let's go over to that table in the corner and you can tell me all about it. . . . Getting it all out will make you feel better."

The woman nodded her head so Yolanda helped her up from the bar stool and led her to the table. She signaled the bar tender for another round of coffee for both of them.

"So who was this guy, uh . . . what's your name?"

"Kirs . . . no, that's not right. Chris."

"So who was this guy, your husband?"

"Not yet, but we were engaged."

The woman saw Yolanda look down at her finger for a ring and quickly said, "He said we were going to get married, but he couldn't afford a ring yet."

"How long did you know him for?"

"Three months. Three whole months."

"Did you love him?"

"Of course I did! That's why I let him live with me."

"So you miss him a lot?"

The woman thought for a couple of minutes. "I guess I do. . . . But it's kinda nice not having him slap me around."

"Finish your coffee and tell me more about him."

Kirsten drained her cup and told a story about how the first time she went out with him he invited her back to his house and raped her.

"He raped you?"

"Yes . . . well, sort of. We were just foolin' around and when I told him to stop he wouldn't."

"Why didn't you report him to the police?"

"They never believe the woman."

Chris/Kirsten looked at Yolanda closely, more focused this time. "You look familiar. Have seen you somewhere?"

"No, I don't think so."

She looked more closely. "Yes! I remember. You were on the TV news. You were held prisoner and raped by President Matheson . . . before he was president."

Yolanda look down at her lap. "Yes, that was me."

"Oh you poor woman. You've suffered much more than me and here I am telling you my troubles. You're the one who needs to be telling me your story, not the other way around. . . . Tell me what it was like? Being raped all those times. Were you angry enough to want to kill him? That's what I would have done."

Yolanda wanted to get Chris focused on her problem again so she leaned over and said quietly, "It didn't really happen. I made it up."

Chris looked at her like she just betrayed all the abused women in the world. She seemed shocked at Yolanda's revelation.

"Why would you make something like that up?"

Yolanda hesitated. "For the money. I was paid a lot of money to claim Matheson did those things. I never met the man."

Out in the car Alex smiled as he heard, checking to make sure his smart phone was recording it all.

"That doesn't seem fair! I get raped and I'm left with a rent bill, and you don't get raped and make a bunch of money." Kirsten picked up her phone, threw a five dollar bill on the table for the drink and coffee, and walked out in a huff.

After she left a muscle-bound man from across the room dialed Kurian's private number. "I've been watching the stripper and haven't seen anything. Lucas hasn't shown up yet, so I'll hang around for the rest of the night and see if he shows up."

"Did anyone talk to the Segura woman?"

"Only a drunk woman. Segura seemed to take an interest in her – bought her coffee to sober her up. Then they chatted for awhile before the woman left."

"What did the woman look like?"

"Scraggly blonde hair, tall, slim, wearing a dirty sweatshirt."

"You idiot! That was Lucas' girlfriend! Go outside and look for her. If you see her follow her. She will lead you to Lucas."

"Yes sir."

Kurian's hired thug ran outside to the parking lot and looked around. No sign of the woman, and no cars leaving. Where did she go? He didn't notice the old Charger leaving the Walgreen's parking lot next door.

It was almost dark when Alex pulled into the parking lot at the 'Historic Route 66 Motel' on Central Avenue in Albuquerque. The place was probably built back in the 1950s when Route 66 was the main highway between Chicago and Los Angeles. Now it looked really run down, with stucco peeling off the walls and a flickering neon sign badly in need of fresh paint.

Kirsten's comment was "Ugh. This looks terrible. Do we have to stay here tonight?"

"I'm afraid so, at least until I can find something a little more upscale that won't ask for I.D. or a credit card. And there's a café down the block that advertises WiFi. With some luck we'll only be here one night. We'll go to the café first thing in the morning and dig up what we can about Claire Colson, then pay her a visit and find out who is paying her to make her claims against Matheson."

As Alex got out of the car to go to the office Kirsten smiled mischievously and said, "Maybe you can get us the honeymoon suite."

They both searched most of the next morning for information linking Claire Colson to Kurian or Sorensson but came up with nothing. No unusual deposits in her bank account, no large purchases, a maxed-out credit card, and late payments on all her bills. If she was being paid to fabricate sexual harassment stories about the president it was hidden really deep.

They were discussing the disappointing results over their fourth cup of coffee.

"I just don't understand it, Kirsten. There's got to be a payoff somewhere. . . . Maybe she's telling the truth. Maybe Matheson did those things to her."

"I'll still go with what my gut says. Her body language clearly said to me that she was not telling the truth. She's telling a story someone created to cause the most damage to Matheson. To set him up for impeachment."

"Well, if she's not doing it for money, what other reasons could make her agree to go public with a made up story?"

"I don't know. . . . Wait! What about blackmail. Could she have done something terrible they're threatening her with? . . . The news report said her husband left her and her daughter. Could she have killed him!"

"No, I checked up on that. The news report implied that he left her, but his military record shows he was killed in Iraq while on deployment with his unit."

"What about Claire's daughter? Could Sorensson have had her kidnapped?"

"Great question, Kirsten! I didn't look for anything about the daughter. If I knew what school she goes to I could hack into their attendance records and see if she's been absent. Let's find the closest elementary school to Claire's residence."

They both went to their laptops to search. It had become a friendly contest between them to see who could be the first to get to the information they were after. Besides being fun it improved Kirsten's proficiency with Alex's unique hacking approach. Kirsten got there first this time.

"I found it. Monte Vista Elementary in the University neighborhood. Give me a second to get into the attendance records. . . . Nope. No absences in the past few weeks. . . . Hmmm. That's strange."

"What?"

"Going back further in her record there are some periods where she missed several days at a time, sometimes for as long as two weeks. And the reason for the absences are all the same – Code 21. I wonder what that means?"

"Give me a second. I'll look it up in the public school regulations. . . . There it is. Code 21 means the absence was excused for medical reasons. I wonder why Becky is sick so often? Let's search the local hospital records for her name. I'll start with the closest one, the University Hospital

Five minutes later Alex found what he was looking for – but wished he hadn't. "The girl has cancer. Pancreatic Cancer. For the past two years she's been admitted to the Cancer Center periodically for chemo and radiation treatments."

"That kind of cancer is serious stuff. My roommate in college came down with it and died seven months later – in spite of chemo and radiation treatments. The probability of long-term survival is pretty low."

"How sad. I wonder how Claire is paying for Becky's medical care? The job at the auto parts store doesn't bring in a lot of money."

"I don't know, but I'll look at Claire's hospital financial records and see what her cost share is." Kirsten worked silently, wondering how it would feel to lose a child. Or even to have a child. Alex better get this situation resolved soon so we can get married and start a family. I wonder if he even wants kids? We've never discussed it.

When she found the records Kirsten looked up at Alex with a surprised look on her face. "This is interesting. Claire has been paying her hospital bills every month, but never in full. She's been falling further behind for the past two years – until last month. Her bill was paid in full. Where did she get the money?"

"Wherever it came from it didn't pass through her bank account. Someone paid it for her. How much was the payment?"

"Almost nineteen thousand dollars. $18,789.63 to be exact."

"Hold on a minute while I check the Reynoldsville Bank account. . . . Yep, there it is. That exact sum was transferred out of Sorensson's account last week. Claire's being paid off to lie about what Admiral Matheson did. This is great information, but we need her testimony to go after Sorensson. Let's pay her a visit."

It was just after noon when Claire finally got the apartment cleaned. With Becky's illness the place had to be cleaned thoroughly every day to keep her from getting a cold or the flu that could compromise her immune system. Even dust allergies could put her back in the hospital. When something was going around at school Becky had to stay home until it passed, and when Claire got a cold she had to wear a surgical mask to protect her daughter.

With the housework done Claire moved on to the next item on her list – a daily jog though the University campus. She started jogging with her husband before . . . before she lost him and gave it up right after that. But when she became depressed her doctor recommended daily exercise as a way to combat it. It worked pretty well as long as she kept it up, but whenever she missed a few days she felt the black whirlpool of depression pulling her back down again.

She changed into her jogging clothes – nothing fancy, just some old Navy sweats and a tee shirt – and stepped out the front door just as a couple got out of an older model car and started up the walk. "Mrs. Colson?"

She looked them up and down suspiciously. "Yes, that's me."

I'm Alan Ludlum, an investigator with the Federal Government and this is my assistant, Karen Hall. We're investigating the charges against Admiral Matheson and would like to speak with you for a few minutes." Alex held up his Secret Service identification for her to see but quickly put it back in his pocket before she could make out the name.

"Should I call my lawyer to join us?"

"That won't be necessary. This is just an informal investigation at this point, gathering evidence for the congressional impeachment hearings."

Claire hesitated, then invited them into her apartment. "Can I get you anything? Coffee or tea?"

The woman answered in a friendly voice, "Oh, no. We just finished lunch. Thank you for offering, though."

The three sat in uncomfortable silence for a short time before Alex started talking. It was part of his training designed to make the other person uncomfortable and establish the inquisitor's dominance in the conversation. Kirsten continued to smile warmly at Claire . . . the bad cop good cop routine.

"We have read your official statement of what transpired between you and Admiral Matheson. We would like to get the President's side of the story but so far he has refused to provide it so we have to rely on your account for now. My first question is how you were able to remember the incidents in such detail after such a long time." Alex looked at a small notebook he brought along to look the part. "You have listed the dates, times, and locations of each attack. Either you have an amazing memory of you wrote it down; perhaps in a diary. Do you have a diary or personal journal covering that period?"

Claire began to sweat. "No, I . . . I remembered it all. It was so traumatic, you see."

"Must people tend to forget details of traumatic events. It protects their minds from reliving the painful experiences." Alex paused again to increase Claire's discomfort.

"During your television interview it almost seemed like you were reading from a script." Another silence. "Were you?"

Claire's hands began to shake. "You'll have to leave now. I won't continue without my lawyer."

Alex had finished his bad cop routine. Now it was time for the good cop. Kirsten/Karen asked in a gentle voice. "Let me ask one final question, Claire. Then we'll leave." Another short pause. "Who paid off your medical bills for Becky's cancer treatment at the University Cancer Center?"

Fear showed in Claire's eyes as her mouth hung open, ready to say something but not knowing what. "H . . . How do you know about that? Who are you people – really."

"We are indeed investigators, but we're not interested in your accusations against our President. What we are interested in is where the money came from to pay your bills. Who was behind bribing you to lie. It's that person we are investigating, not you or Matheson."

Alex took over the questioning at that point, but with a much softer voice. "Can you tell us who contacted you with the offer?"

Claire broke down crying. Kirsten put an arm around her shoulder to comfort her as she got the sobbing under control.

"If I say anything they won't pay for Becky's treatment anymore. I . . . I don't know what to do."

Alex thought for a minute, then came up with a solution. "I think I can take care of that for you. I have access to some money that was obtained illegally. I can't tell you the details, but I will set up a trust fund for Becky in the amount of one-hundred thousand dollars. The medical bills will be paid out of the trust automatically so you no longer have to worry about them."

Claire's eyes lit up. "Really? You can do that?" Then she remembered the last good deal she was offered. "What do I have to do to get it? Go on TV and recant my lies?"

Kirsten had given this some thought. "No, not yet. Continue with your story, but add some information that we will provide – like dates you were assaulted when Matheson was out of the country. Legitimate news sources will uncover the truth about these dates and reveal it to the public, destroying your credibility. You won't get the blame for revealing it. . . . So tell us how you were approached to publicize false stories."

Claire told them of the meeting on the playground with the matronly woman and the tall dark stranger. She shivered as she described him and how he made her feel. When she was finished Alex pulled out his smart phone and called up an image of Sakhir Kurian. "Is this the man?"

Claire shivered again. "Yes! That's the one!"

Alex and Kirsten gave each other a pleased look. Now they had the witness they needed. But they wanted more than that. A video recording of Kurian discussing the deal with Claire.

"Did this man say he would meet with you again?"

"When he left he said 'I'll be in touch.'"

"Good. I'm going to leave an untraceable cell phone with you. Will you call me as soon as you hear from him?"

Again she was a little apprehensive. "Yes, I will . . . But I'll need to see proof of the trust fund before that."

"You will receive confirmation by email from the bank tomorrow and paper documents by courier the next day. Will that be satisfactory?"

"Yes, that will be fine," Claire said with gratitude.

As she showed them out the door a utility worker working from a 'cherry picker' bucket down the street pressed the speed dial on his cell phone. "They're leaving now. He's driving a dark blue sixty-eight Charger."

A voice from a pickup truck further down the street answered, "O.K. We have it from here."
Chapter 27– On The Run^2

Bob Joiner was at home for the evening, sitting on the couch with his arm around Sherry, his wife of twenty-eight years. He loved the close times like this, because with his job they didn't get very many of them. Tonight he called to let her know he would be home on time and she had his favorite dinner of chicken lasagna ready for him when he got there. He knew she liked to show her love for him by making the dish from scratch, using an Italian recipe handed down from her great grandmother. When the kids were still around and she didn't have the time she served the Stouffer's frozen version of it, but it wasn't the same – not even close.

But tonight she was making his favorite. And he knew what that meant. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she moved, and lingered whenever their bodies touched. He looked forward to the occasional nights when it all came together – the mood, the attraction, the love, the desire. These were the special nights that strengthened the bond between them, and it usually started just like this – snuggling on the couch. Sometimes they would stay on the couch through it all, but usually it ended with them under the freshly-washed sheets Sherry had just put on the bed.

He knew it was time when she gave his knee a gentle squeeze and glanced toward the stairway. As they got up from the couch holding hands his cell phone rang. He said "Shit," under his breath and look to see who was calling. It was the director of the Denver Secret Service office. He gave her an apologetic look and said "I have to take this, sweetheart. You go on up and I'll be there shortly." She smiled her understanding and left the room.

"This is Bob Joiner, sir. What do you need?"

"I need you and everyone else back here at the office, ASAP. An FBI agent in Washington has been shot, ambushed in his car with automatic weapons, and everyone in the in the Secret Service and the FBI has been called back to duty until they figure out if it was an isolated incident of the start of something bigger. Bring your travel bag. We don't know what our orders are yet."

Bob swore again under his breath.

"What was that, Bob?"

"Nothing. I'll be there in twenty minutes, sir." He waited for acknowledgement but the director had already hung up.

He went upstairs to break the news to his wife and saw she was already in bed, wearing a nightgown she knew would turn him on. Bob groaned. "Damn you're beautiful. . . . I hate to leave you like this, but there's a national emergency and we've all been called into work. I would ask you to wait up for me but I have no idea when this will be over. I could even be a day or two." He bent over to kiss her goodbye, which she returned passionately. As he groaned again she said, "I want you to think about me while you're gone."

Alex and Kirsten drove off from Claire's house discussing what they just learned, too absorbed to pay attention to the beat-up pickup truck that started to follow them. Kirsten looked over at him admiringly. "That was some quick thinking to come up with a way to cover her medical bills."

"You were pretty great yourself, sweetheart. You slipped into your good cop role like we had rehearsed it."

Her eyes lit up. "So we've moved from 'honey' to 'sweetheart.' I'm hoping it's a hint of things to come."

Alex leaned over for a kiss. "Me too."

"So where are you going to get the money for the trust fund?"

"I have full access to Sorensson's Reynoldsville Bank account. I can transfer a hundred grand out of it and his people will never be able to trace it."

"I like the poetic justice of that. . . . Sweetheart." I like the sound of that, she thought.

They rode in silence for awhile, lost in their thoughts of a future together.

"So do we have to go back to that old fleabag motel or can we check into a honeymoon suite somewhere?"

"If I had a fake I.D. we could upgrade our accommodations. Our faces haven't been on TV for several days. Let's stop by a Starbucks and I'll use the WiFi to check the Darknet to see if there's someone around here that can provide one?"

"Really! Oh, wow. That's terrific. I can hardly wait."

"You have the cart before the horse again, dear. We have to do the marriage thing before we can do what you have in mind."

"Well, maybe we could nibble around the edges a bit – so to speak.

"Oh, what a temptress you are."

"Is it working?"

"Yeah, it is."

After two cups of Starbuck's mocha latte Alex found the web site of a man from Bernalillo, a town just north of Albuquerque, who would make a phony driver's license for him. He wanted $1,000 in cash but it was worth it to get into nicer accommodations. He emailed the man, provided his own Darknet code name, and arranged an appointment for that afternoon. They closed their laptops, picked up the leather backpack with the cash, and went out to the car. As was his habit Alex surreptitiously scanned the parking lot and area around them, and saw something that set his alarm bells clanging. When they were both in the car he told Kirsten to strap herself in tightly.

"Why?"

"There's a pickup truck in the restaurant lot across the street that I've seen twice before this afternoon. Someone's following us."

"Maybe it's just a coincidence."

"People in my business who believe in coincidences can end up dead. . . . Are you ready?"

"Beam us up, Scotty."

Alex backed out of the parking spot and drove around the back of the coffee shop like he was circling to the exit. But when he saw an alley running behind the parking lot he stepped on the gas and tore down the dirt track. Kirsten tried to look back to see if the truck followed but the ride was so rough she couldn't focus. When they reached the end of the block Alex sped across the residential street into the next alley. Fortunately the city had alleys behind the homes for trash pickup so he was able to continue on the alleyways for three more blocks before he saw the truck turn into the alley behind them. He turned onto the next residential street and zigzagged at over 80 miles per hour through the streets.

They turned onto Central Avenue and had to slow down because of the traffic.

"Look behind us for the truck."

Kirsten rolled the window down and slid halfway out the window, sitting on the sill. "Nothing I can make out. No one is speeding or weaving through traffic," Kirsten said as she slid back into her seat.

"Good. We'll be on I-25 in a minute or two heading north toward Santa Fe. When we get there we can consider our options."

"Does this mean no honeymoon suite tonight?"

"I'm afraid that will have to wait."

"Damn. That's the story of my life with you."

When Bob got to the office everyone was already gathered in the conference room. As he took a chair the Director began a summary of what they knew so far.

"Three and a half hours ago an FBI agent driving his personal vehicle left the Hoover building for home. As he turned north onto Sixth Street a dark van cut him off while three or four assailants – the exact number is uncertain at this time – came out of the van and opened fire at him with automatic weapons. Several bullets pierced the windshield and entered the agent's body, killing him instantly. The men got back into the van which escaped north on Sixth at a high rate of speed. The murder was witnessed by several pedestrians and other drivers who are currently being questioned about the incident. That's all we have so far.

"The immediate concern was that this might be part of a larger terrorist attack, but no more incidents have occurred since this attack. This leads the authorities to believe that it was a personal vendetta against this particular agent. The most important case he was working on is the murder of former FBI Director Madison Taggart, which may mean that he stumbled onto some new evidence and was killed before he could disclose it.

"As you were told earlier this recall will last until I hear from Washington that's it's over. We will all remain on lockdown within the building until we have further orders. . . . Any questions?"

One of the attendees asked if he knew who the dead agent is.

"Yes. The victim is Special Agent Henry Owens. He left a wife and three grown children. . . . If there are no further questions, you are dismissed."

Bob sat frozen in his seat, his heart at a temporary standstill. No! Not Henry. That can't be right. Who would want him dead? He was an honest, caring person. Everyone liked Henry. We were friends for so many years. . . . I better get out of here before I start to cry in front of everyone.

As he got up from his chair he noticed that the room had already cleared out, except for him and the Director, who asked "Is something wrong Robert? You look shaken."

"Uh, no sir. . . . It's just that I knew Henry back in college and it's a shock to hear what happened."

"Yes, these things make us wonder about our own mortality. But for the grace of God that could be any one of us."

As he gathered up his papers Bob left and walked back to his office. He felt like a zombie. Emotionally numb, unable to think. He sat at his desk in that state for several minutes before it dawned on him. Henry may have been killed for disclosing the Hiram Walker murder cover up to me! Somehow the they found out what he knows and killed him for it – before word of the cover up could spread. He died because of what I asked him to do. He died because of me!

Bob felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He fought it back because he needed to think. Who else besides me did he talk to? No one. He knew how dangerous the information was; that's why he wanted to meet at Smokies Bar. To be sure no one could overhear us. But how did they – the conspirators in the cover up – find out about our conversation? . . . "On no! Shit, shit, shit. They must have followed Henry and planted a bug so they could listen. And if they know what we discussed I'm in as big a danger as Henry is . . . was. They could come after me next."

Bob's cubicle neighbor asked "What's all that mumbling about over there, Bob. I'm trying to work here."

"Sorry, Juan."

I've got to get out of here. I have to get Sherry and disappear. Somewhere no one knows about. I need to call her! . . . No, I can't trust that the phone call will be private. My cell and my house phone might be tapped. I have to get away. But what about the lockdown? If I set off the alarm sneaking out of here my house is the first place they'll look. How can I get away?"

In his panic Bob was beginning to sweat and could feel his heart racing. That gave him an idea.

"Juan, I'm not feeling so good here. I . . . I think I'm having a heart attack."

Juan rushed over and saw the symptoms of Bob's panic attack. He felt his rapid pulse, then called the Director's assistant. "I have a medical emergency down here on the third floor west. Bob Joiner is having a heart attack. Call an ambulance! . . . I know we're on lockdown, but this man needs help. . . . Then go ahead and ask the Director, but get an ambulance over here – now!"

Ten minutes later two emergency responders showed up with a stretcher. After assessing Bob's condition they agreed that it could be a heart attack and wheeled him down to the loading dock. In the ambulance they hooked him up to several monitors and put an oxygen mask over his face before they sped away toward nearby St. Luke's Medical Center. During the ride Bob worked on slowing his heart rate and calming himself, so by the time he got to the ER everything was back to normal. He said he wanted to leave – to go back to work – but he had to wait until a doctor could see him.

After the doctor looked over the his EKG results and vital signs he signed off for his release. "We should keep you here for another couple of hours just to be sure nothing's going on, but if you promise to call your physician tomorrow and make an appointment for a checkup I'll let you go."

"I'll do that this afternoon, doctor. After a scare like this I want to make sure I'm healthy."

A few minutes later Bob was in the lobby of the hospital where he withdrew the maximum amount from the ATM and stopped by the gift shop to buy a couple of pay-as-you-go cell phones. He used one to call a taxi and walked out front to call Sherry's cell phone. It rang several times before she answered.

"Hi honey, it's me."

"I didn't recognize the number so I wasn't going to answer, but something told me I needed to. Are they letting everyone come home already?"

"No, but I need you to listen and do what I say. No questions; I'll explain later."

"But Bob . . . "

"No questions! Pack a bag for each of us with the kind of stuff we wear when we go up to our mountain place and put it in the SUV. Put all the canned goods and dry food we have in plastic bags and put that in the car with the bags. Add my laptop and hunting rifle – don't forget ammunition – then make us some sandwiches to eat on the way up there. You got that?"

"Bob, you're scaring me."

"This is serious stuff, sweetheart. Don't say a word to anyone. When the car is loaded back it out of the garage and go to the supermarket we always use. Park among the other cars and wait for me."

"Okay. I'm on it. Sounds like we have an adventure coming up."

"Oh yeah."
Chapter 28 – Honeymoon?

The man in the old pickup truck, Mickey Doyle, took his time getting onto I-25 north – he didn't want Lucas to know he was still being followed. While the couple was in the coffee shop he had placed a GPS tracking device on their car and was getting the signal on his smart phone. The tracker app displayed a road map with a red dot moving along where Lucas' car was traveling. Since it transmitted the location through cell towers Doyle didn't need to stay close to them. He would wait until they stopped for the night, then he would make his move.

He had called Kurian as soon as the two showed up at Claire Colson's place and asked for instructions. Kurian had sent Doyle to watch Colson's house as soon as the news of her accusations went public. He had another man watching the stripper in San Diego in case Lucas and Hanssen showed up there. If Mickey had his way he would just shoot the two and be done with it, but Kurian's instructions were clear. Grab the woman and hold her in a hotel room until I call you."

"Why can't I just kill them and get out of town?"

"Because I need to find out how much Alex Lucas knows about our operation. If we kidnap the woman and threaten to kill her he'll tell us everything."

"Why do we have to keep her alive? Can't I get rid of her and disappear?

"You idiot! He has to know she's safe and believe we'll release her before he will talk. I will have him call you so he can talk to her. . . . I know what you're thinking Doyle, but you can't touch her until we get what we need from Lucas. After that you can have a little fun before you kill her. . . . Are you clear on that Doyle?"

Reluctantly he answered "Yes sir."

Alex took the Bernalillo exit off I-25 and went to see the man who would provide a new identity. It was an old adobe-style house surrounded by a six foot high chain link fence holding in two huge Doberman Pincers. He parked in front and called the number he had been given – one ring then hang up. The front door opened and a short heavy-set man emerged. He looked up and down the block, commanded the Dobermans to sit on either side of him on the porch, and motioned for Alex to come in. When Kirsten started to get out of the car to join him the man pointed at her and shook his head.

"I don't want to stay in the car, Alex. I'm coming with you."

"No, you'll have to stay. This guy can call off the deal anytime he feels something isn't right. You might be armed and dangerous for all he knows."

She watched as the two shook hands on the porch and then disappeared behind a closing door.

The man took Alex to a back room and sat him down in front of a camera for a photo. Then he went to his computer where the portrait was displayed. He asked Alex with a heavy Mexican accent, "What state do want to be from?"

"Whatever you have driver's licenses for."

"Got 'em for all fifty. Pick one."

Alex remembered the dealer plates on the car were from Utah, so he said, "Utah."

The man pulled up a blank Utah license image and moved Alex's photo to the top right corner. "Okay. Now I need a name? And don't use your real initials. Too easy to make the connection."

Alex couldn't think of anything immediately. "You got a phone book?"

He looked through the Albuquerque phone book and picked a first and last name at random.

"Morales, Michael Morales. From Provo Utah."

The man typed in the information then went to a web site to find a non-existent address in Provo. When he was finished he printed out the license and laminated it in clear plastic. Alex looked at it and was impressed. This is really good , Mr. . . .Mr.?

"I know it is, and you don't need to know my name. Anything I told you would be a lie. Is there anything else I can help you with? Credit cards, military I.D."

"No, I can't think of anything . . . Oh, wait. I need a gun. Do you know where I might pick up a semi-automatic handgun?"

"Come out to the garage with me."

When the man raised the steel garage door Alex whistled. A peg board covered most of one wall with revolvers, semi-automatic hand gins and even a couple machine gun pistols on display.

"Pick one and I'll give you a price."

Alex looked over the dozen or so semi-automatics and chose a Glock 17, the one he was most familiar with. It was a reliable 9-mm small enough to tuck in his belt but large enough to have some stopping power. This model has the extended magazine that held 14 rounds and a built-in laser sight for rapid aiming and accurate shooting. He pulled back the slide and inspected the mechanical operation and checked for excessive wear, then let it snap shut. "How much?"

"Nine hundred."

"That's twice they sell for new. This one's been used a bit."

"It's clean – never been logged by the police. And I'll throw in a shoulder holster."

Alex thought a minute, then answered, "If you'll throw in a couple boxes of ammo I'll take it."

He peeled nineteen, one-hundred dollar bills from a roll he pulled out of his pants pocket for the license and weapon and left with his purchases in a brown paper bag. He put them on the floor behind the driver's seat and headed back to I-25 toward Santa Fe.

"What's in the bag?" Kirsten asked.

Alex hesitated, not knowing how she would feel about the gun, but went ahead and told her.

"Great. I feel safer with a gun around."

"Have you ever shot a Glock 17?"

"Many times. And I'm pretty good with it. Especially with the laser sight."

"That's good to know. You may have to use it before all this is over."

Kirsten thought about whether she could shoot a person if she needed to. It's a lot different than shooting silhouette targets. She shook the thought off and changed directions. "Let me see your new I.D.?"

Alex pulled it out of his shirt pocket and handed it over.

"Michael Morales. That's got a nice ring to it. . . . And he's better looking than you are. I can't wait to get him into bed."

"I've lost my woman to my alter ego. Sounds like a science fiction plot."

"Speaking of bed, let me check your smart phone for a place to stay in Santa Fe.

". . . Oh, here's a good one. The Inn of the Anasazi, right off the Old Town square."

"We don't want that much exposure. There might be some tourists from Atlanta who could recognize me. I was in the news for quite awhile down there. Make sure it's something out of town."

"Darn. I was so looking forward to the honeymoon suite."

Several minutes later she spoke up again. "I think I've found just the right place. Out of town, in the mountains, and very romantic. The Santa Fe Ski Area rents guest rooms during the off season. They have lots of activities for the guests, too. Hiking, bird watching, a gym, and . . . Oooo, this looks like fun. Riding bikes down the ski slopes. We used to do that back in Crested Butte."

"Yeah, but that was in our younger days. Do you think we still have the skills?"

"Of course. It's just like riding a bike – you never forget how."

"Or falling off one. I've had a few falls I'll never forget"

When Doyle saw them turn off at the Bernalillo exit he figured they were stopping for lunch. He didn't want to be spotted so he drove ahead to a truck stop to get some lunch for himself. Just as he was finishing his chicken burrito his phone beeped to let him know they were on the move again. He waited until they were a few miles past the truck stop and left to follow.

Alex made a quick stop at a grocery store on the outskirts of Santa Fe to buy food for a couple of days, then headed up past Hyde Park to the ski lodge. At the check-in counter a friendly middle-aged woman appeared. "May I help you?"

"Yes. We would like a room for the night."

"Just one night? I'm sorry, our minimum stay is three nights. But even if you wanted to stay that long we don't have anything available right now."

"I'm paying with cash," Alex offered.

"Even cash won't free up a room for you. I'm so sorry."

Alex turned to leave but Kirsten looked like she was about to cry. "B . . . But this is our honeymoon. We . . . We met here on the slopes last winter and got married an hour ago at Loretto Chapel." At this point she forced a few tears to run down her cheeks. Peeking through the tears she saw a wave of sympathy pass over the desk clerk's face. Kirsten added a couple of sniffles for effect and slowly turned to join Alex on his way to the door. As he reached for the knob the clerk said, "Hold on a minute. I may have something. It's an old log cabin from the early days of the ski area. It belongs to the owner, but he seldom uses it this time of year. Besides, he's out of the country right now. I don't think he would mind you using it for one night, given the . . . circumstances." She winked as she said this.

Kirsten replaced her stricken face with a beaming smile. "Oh, thank you so much! I . . . I don't know how to repay you."

Alex took his cue and pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket. "How much is the rental?"

"Put that away. I can't charge you for it. It would show up on the books and then I would have to admit that I rented out the bosses cabin."

Alex pulled off a bill and handed it to her. "Well, such excellent service deserves a good tip."

She tucked it into her pocket and said "Thank you! Drive your car around to the back and I'll meet you there. It's out of the way, down by the building where we keep the rental bicycles and ski equipment. But under the circumstances," – she winked again – "I'm sure you will enjoy the solitude."

Kirsten even managed to blush on cue at the repeated gesture.

The desk clerk forgot about the tip money until later when she was back at the check-in counter. She pulled it out and looked. Wow! A hundred dollar bill! If I had seen how much it was back at the lodge I probably would have refused to take it. . . . Well, maybe. . . . I hope it's not stolen. . . . Naw. That couple was too nice to be thieves. . . . But if they are I don't want to know it. . . . Until after I spend the money.

Alex drove down to the metal storage building where the clerk had the roll-up door open. "You can park in here for the night. There's some rain in the forecast."

Alex replied "Thanks as he pulled into the building. He took their bags from the car and rolled the door down on the way out. At the same moment the signal to Mickey Doyle's cell phone tracker shut down. The metal building blocked the signal.

As he entered the rustic cabin Alex asked, "What's for dinner my lovely new bride?"

They both laughed at that.

"I didn't know you were such an actress, dear. I knew you were a quick thinker but the crying and blushing at just the right time? What a talent."

She blushed again – this time for real – at the compliment, and returned to the original subject.

"We have hot dogs and buns or buns and hot dogs. But no catsup or mustard. I'm definitely doing the shopping from now on."

Alex pulled some restaurant condiments packages from his jacket pocket. "Never fear, your knight in shining armor is here."

"What a boy scout – always prepared."

After supper they watched the TV news for awhile then got ready for bed. When Alex came out of the bathroom to find Kirsten standing in front of the full-length mirror wearing one of his long Tee shirts and possibly nothing else, he pulled up short and stared for a moment. When she noticed he was staring she blushed again, but recovered with "What do you think? Appropriate wear for our honeymoon night?"

He stood there dumbfounded trying to think of a quick comeback when she burst out laughing. "Relax. I was only joking.."

"More like fishing," Alex mumbled under his breath.

"What was that? I couldn't hear what you said."

"I said 'I hope you'll be warm enough in that.' It could get chilly up here, even at this time of year."

"Not a problem. I'll stay snuggled up to you all night. That should generate some heat."

Alex thought, It's time to steer this conversation back to higher ground.

"I'm sure it will, but maybe not the kind you have in mind."

Why did I say that? That's got more innuendo in it than anything she's said tonight.

Kirsten laughed again, but it was a more throaty laugh. And the intensity in her eyes went up a notch or two.

"You know what I want to do tonight. . ." She paused to give him an opening for a response. Now he was blushing. "But I also want to wait until we're married. And since there's no church up here I guess I'll have to cool my feelings. I'm going out to sit on the porch and wait for my lust to fade." She wrapped a blanket around her and went to the door.

"I'll join you. Maybe we can just sit and hold hands."

She smiled and reached for his hand as she led them out the front door. They sat on a pair of Adirondack chairs under the full moon and chatted for awhile. But when a cold breeze sprung up and Kirsten started shivering she stood up and reached for his hand. "Come on 'significant other' soon to be husband, let's go inside. I need to get under the covers and warm up."
Chapter 29 – Mountain Sunrise

Mickey Doyle parked his pickup outside the entrance to Hyde Park, in the foothills northeast of Santa Fe. He rebooted his smart phone twice but it still showed no input from the tracker. "Somehow I lost them," he said to himself. "The tracker batteries still have three days of charge left on them. . . . Where are they? . . . Maybe they discovered the tracker and smashed it."

He pulled up a Google map on the phone to see where the road led. It wound further up the mountain for about ten miles, then made a loop back on itself. The road went nowhere. Mickey zoomed in on the loop and found the only thing on this road – the Santa Fe Ski Area. He quickly searched online and saw that they had rooms for rent. "That's got to be it! They're up at the ski lodge. But they made a big mistake. This road is the only way out. They're trapped."

He quickly dialed Kurian's cell number. "You better have them tied up, taped up, and spilling all their secrets, Doyle, or else I'll . . ."

"I have them trapped, Sakhir! They holed up at the ski area in Santa Fe – in New Mexico – with only one road out, and I'm parked on that road. I'll wait 'til it gets dark then I'll go up and grab them."

"No you won't! Lucas is well trained. He would have you on your ass in thirty seconds. You need more men."

"Where will I get those?"

"The Governor and Sorensson are close friends. He helped get her elected. Let me make a call and I'll get back to you. In the meantime watch that road. If you hear a car coming down pull across the road and block it. Shoot if you have to, but I want him alive. And her.

Twenty minutes later Doyle's phone rang and startled him awake. Shit. I fell asleep. They might have gotten past me in the dark.. He cleared his throat so he wouldn't sound like he just woke up and took the call.

"What the hell took you so long! Were you sleeping! If they got past you you're a dead man."

"N . . . No sir. I wasn't asleep. . . . I just stepped out to take a leak. What are your instructions?"

"Orders! When I give them they're orders. Four men in two state police cars are headed up you way. One car will block the way while you and the other three go to the ski lodge and find those two bastards. Got that?"

"Yes sir." Doyle felt like he should have snapped to attention to deliver his answer.  
"What should we do with them once we have them?"

"The Governor's working on that now. I'll get back to you."

As Kirsten folded back the bed covers Alex stammered to say something. "I – I don't trust myself to lay beside you tonight, honey. I would lay awake thinking about your almost naked body snuggled up to my back and never get to sleep."

"So what? You gonna sleep on the couch?" Kirsten said a little more crossly than she meant to.

"No. I've gotten used to going to sleep with you at my back. But what about if we sleep in our clothes. Jeans and a tee shirt?

"It beats having you sleep on the couch. But it's nice to know I have that effect on you."

"You always have, dearest. . . . And always will."

Alex was having a dream about being chased by police cars – red lights flashing and sirens wailing. It took him only a couple of seconds to realize it wasn't a dream and force himself back to consciousness. He shook Kirsten awake then jumped up and pulled the curtain back. Two police cars had pulled up in front of the lodge! He turned back to Kirsten. Get your shoes on and follow me. After grabbing the money bag he paused at the back door and peeked out. Nothing there – yet. He opened the door, grabbed her hand and ran the few yards to the side door of the storage building. Once inside he started for the car then remembered there was only one way back to Santa Fe and they would certainly block that off.

He looked around the inside of the building for something – anything they might get them out of here. There was a snowcat and two snowmobiles, but they wouldn't work on rocky ground. Kirsten saw his look of hopelessness and started her own search.

"What about the mountain bikes?"

"Bikes?? It's dark out there. Weaving through the forest in daylight is a real challenge, but at night . . ."

"I know, but there's a full moon, and that map on the wall shows a hiking trail – the Windsor trail – leading up over the mountain into the Pecos Wilderness. There are dozens of trails and roads leading out of there. There's no way they'll find us."

"We would need to stay out of sight for two or three days at least; until Sorensson's men are sure we got away. Where will we hide out?"

Kirsten looked around again focusing on other details. "There, on that shelf. There's a sleeping bag and a small tent rolled up. We can put them on the back of the bikes."

Alex pulled them down and checked the tires on two of the bikes. "Strap the camping gear on the bikes. I'm going back for the laptops."

"No Alex! Don't!"

"There's too much information about our investigation on them. I have to."

Before she could object again Alex opened the door and made a dash for the cabin. He grabbed the laptops from the bedroom just as he heard someone rattling the front door knob. As an afterthought he grabbed the pistol he bought in Bernalillo and stuffed it in the back of his belt.

"Police! Open up!" . . . Then to an assistant, "Bring the desk clerk with some keys."

It took a couple of minutes but he finally heard, "Here she is, sir."

"Unlock the door. Now!"

He could hear her fumbling with the keys. She even dropped them once and had to go through them again to find the right key. It seemed like she was purposely taking too much time. A big tip works wonders, he thought.

As he was closing the back door he heard the front door being kicked in. "Search every room. Be careful. They might be armed and dangerous."

Kirsten had the two bikes ready to go. Alex slid the laptops into the saddle bags of a bike as Kirsten pushed the button to raise the roll-up door. As soon as there was clearance they ducked under, hopped on their bikes, and accelerated towards the Windsor trail head.

"There they are!" someone shouted. Four shots rang out, taking chips out of the trees around them. Alex glanced back and saw two more officers arrive and draw their guns. He grabbed his gun and fired two shots back over their heads. The three officers dove for cover just as Kirsten enter the dense forest. Alex stopped long enough to be sure she was in deep cover and popped off two more rounds towards their pursuers.

As they went deeper into the forest trail they heard footsteps crashing through the underbrush behind them, but they quickly faded. I just pray that none of them are mountain bikers, he thought. They continued pedaling uphill as hard as they could until their muscles screamed for a brief relief. Alex rode up behind Kirsten and said "Pull over, you're under arrest." She turned toward him wide-eyed and then cracked up laughing. "Time for a quick break. We'll need some water soon. Look for a stream."

"I'm one step ahead of you. The bikes have two water bottles each that I filled while you were ignoring my pleas to leave the laptops behind."

After a five minute break they climbed back on their bikes and continued the rugged climb. Two hours later they crested the ridge of the Sangre de Christo mountains to see a hint of daylight edging out the darkness to the east. It was a good thing because the moon was dropping out of sight in the west. They paused, straddling their bikes as Kirsten eased over next to Alex and took his hand. "Absolutely beautiful, isn't it. God's handiwork at its best." When they started down the other side into the Pecos River valley the first orange sliver of the sun was breaking above the tops of the hills.

As they came to small creek they saw the first evidence of civilization in the valley – a sign that read Windsor Creek Fishing Area. They got off the bikes and Kirsten pulled out the map she took from the ski area storage building. They laid it out on a rock to study and came up with a plan. They were a couple of miles west of the headwaters of the Pecos River and were amazed to find that there was a bed and breakfast, a country store, and a small community of vacation homes called Cowles.

Alex pointed to the map. "This is where we are, near the Windsor Creek Campground. This is the first place they will look for us since it's where the trail we took ends. We should move over to the other side of the valley and up the river to another campground . . . this one here. Jack's Creek Campground. It looks like a pretty narrow, winding road so there shouldn't be many campers around. We can ride there later this afternoon.

"But our immediate problem is food. We can't go into the store because if Sorensson's men haven't come here yet looking for us they soon will be. I took a survival course a few years ago where they taught us how to spear fish, but I wasn't very good at it. And even if I caught one we don't have any way to start a fire so we would have to eat it raw."

"You mean a boy scout like you can't start a fire with two sticks?"

"They taught us that too, but with the recent rain everything is too wet."

"Well, I wasn't a girl scout, but I can provide for my man." She went over to her bike and pulled an assortment of candy, chips, and granola bars out of the saddle bag.

"Where did you get those?"

"I broke into the vending machine in the storage building while you were busy attracting attention."

"How did you do that? Can you pick locks??

"Of course. . . . With a hammer and screwdriver. I left one of your $100 bills behind to pay for the damage."

"I love you more and more every day, woman. Now open me a granola bar."

About three in the afternoon they got on their bikes, crossed the Pecos River, and headed for Jack's Creek. Compared to their nighttime ride over the ridge it was an easy trip, except for the rocks sticking up out of the ground. As they entered the campground their hopes of being alone disappeared. Across the clearing was a Jeep Wrangler station wagon parked in front of a large tent with an awning stretched out over the door. Alex didn't see anyone outside but it looked like they had been camping here several days so he didn't think they were a threat.

It was getting dark in the valley, so Kirsten and Alex set about pitching their own tent, which was only a small two-man version. There wasn't much room in it but it would keep the rain out. Kirsten came out of the tent with a smile. "Your room is ready m'lord. Shall I run you a bath now?"

Alex raised the flap and looked inside. "There's only one sleeping bag."

"Yes, that was all I could find on short notice. But I did select an extra large one so there'll be enough room for us – if we snuggle real close," she said as she gave him an exaggerated wink like the lady at the ski lodge had.

Alex laughed. "You never give up, do you. How about some supper?"

They sat in front of the tent eating chips and drinking what was left of their water when the man from the across the way approached them. Alex reached behind him to grip his gun. "Pardon me. My wife and I couldn't help notice that you didn't have a fire built. We have a good one going over at our tent and we wondered if you two would like to join us."

Alex, always wary, was about to say no when Kirsten spoke up. "Of course we would. We didn't bring any matches . . . or much else for that matter. We took the trail from the ski area and somehow got turned around and lost. We must have followed the wrong trail markers because we ended up here instead of back at the ski area."

"Wow, that's quite a trip over the mountain ridge. You must be warn out. How are you fixed for food?"

"We only took snacks for a day trip – just some chips and granola bars mostly."

"Well why don't you come over to our place for dinner. I caught a mess of trout and Betty's getting ready to fry 'em up. There's plenty to go around. I even have a few beers to spare."

Kirsten stood up and reached down for Alex's hand. She could tell he wasn't happy about accepting the invitation, but it was the only offer of a hot meal they were going to get. Alex relented and reached out his hand. As they walked across the campground the man said, "Name's Jacob, by the way." Alex turned to shake his hand. "I'm Michael, Michael Morales." Kirsten reached around Alex and shook Jacob's hand. "And I'm Mrs. Morales . . . Maria."

"Come along and I'll introduce you to Betty."

Betty was a friendly, vivacious bleached blonde who greeted them each with a long hug. After Jacob introduced them he told Betty that he had just invited them to dinner.

"I'm one step ahead of you, hon. I added four more trout to the coals."

Kirsten looked at the iron grate over a bed of coals and saw four aluminum foil pouches that were just starting to smell delicious. "Mmmm, that smells good. I can't wait to eat some real food."

"You two didn't bring any food with you?"

Kirsten went through her 'lost on the bike trail' story again. Betty shook her head. "You poor people. You must be exhausted after that ride and now you're starving. I'll have the trout and roasted corn on the cob ready in a few minutes. Jacob, crack open some beers for us, would you? . . . You do like beer don't you?"

"Absolutely," Alex answered.

Jacob opened a large cooler and asked, "What kind do you prefer?"

"Right now I don't care. We just want something cold, bubbly and wet."

After they had finished the fish they sat around the fire talking about meaningless things. Kirsten asked Betty for her recipe for the trout.

"It's easy. Lay two trout side-by-side on a sheet of aluminum foil, sprinkle them with salt and pepper, and lay a strip of raw bacon on each. Then cover them with another piece of foil and fold the edges down tight to keep the flavor in. Give them ten minutes on each side and they're ready to eat."

"That's so simple I don't even have to write it down."

Alex yawned and said it was time for them to get some sleep. Betty stood up and gave them another hug. "I'll see you two over here for breakfast first thing in the morning. Eggs, bacon, coffee, and some donuts if Jacob didn't finish them already."

Alex started to protest. "No, we can't impose on you again. We have enough to eat until we can get to a store."

"I won't take 'no' for an answer. Now get along into your tent before the skunks show up."

Kirsten did a double take. "Skunks? You mean the stinky things with a white stripe down their back?"

"Yep, the Pecos campgrounds around here are full of them. They come out after dark looking for food scraps, so make sure you put all your food in the tent and clean up any crumbs. Then zip your tent flap tight. If you do hear some rustling around, just ignore it and go back to sleep. They won't spray you unless you startle them."

"Thanks for the warning. We'll see you in the morning."

Alex and Kirsten went back to their tent, stored the food in a bike saddle bag, and zipped the tent flap closed. Kirsten thought about suggesting they sleep in their underwear but decided they might get too cold, so she kept her mouth shut, took off her jacket, and climbed into the sleeping bag. She could see the relief on Alex's face from knowing she didn't have something else in mind as he slid down in beside her fully clothed. He felt her snuggle up to his back and wrap her arm around him. They both enjoyed it for a few minutes, then Alex said, "Wait a minute. I forgot something." He rolled over in to sleeping bag so they were face to face, then gave her a gentle kiss. "Good night, darling." Then he rolled back over into the spoon position. They were both asleep in less than five minutes.

They slept soundly all night, oblivious to the skunks trying unsuccessfully to get to the food in the saddle bag. When the sun peeked over the mountain ridge to wake them the intruders were long gone. Alex could feel her moving against his back, trying to come to life, so he rolled back over and gave her a wake up kiss. "Good morning, sunshine."

"Mmmm. That felt good. How about another one . . . or two."

Alex was tempted but he knew where it might lead, so he told her he could smell the coffee and bacon from across the clearing calling their name. Kirsten grumbled a bit but when Alex unzipped the sleeping bag she knew the moment was over. They put on their jackets and emerged from their tent.

Betty hailed them from across the way. "Hey. You two are finally up. And just in time, breakfast is almost ready."

When they had all gotten their fill of breakfast and coffee Jacob asked Alex, "Do you fly fish?"

"Yes, I do. I grew up in Crested Butte Colorado and did a lot of fly fishing on Wildcat Creek before I went off to college. It's been quite awhile, though."

"I have some extra gear. Do you want to join me down at the Pecos river this morning."

"You know, I would enjoy that. My life has been pretty hectic for the past few weeks. Fly fishing has always been an escape for me."

"Great. Come over to the Jeep and I'll get our gear."

By noon they had caught enough trout for supper and had released several back into the river. Jacob waved Alex over to the bank and pulled out sandwiches and beers for them. When they were finished they sat on the bank staring across the river at nothing in particular. Alex broke the silence with a question.

"I'm curious. When two men first get together the opening move in the one-up-man-ship chess game is to ask 'What do you do?' with the implied 'Who do you work for?' But you haven't asked that question. How come?"

Jacob paused before he answered. "Because I already know who you are."

Alex instinctively reached behind him for his gun before he remembered he left it back at the camp. He stared at Jacob for a minute while his mind wrestled with the 'flight or fight' question.

"Relax, Alex. I'm not a threat to you."

"How do you know about me?"

"From a wanted alert posted at work."

Alex thought, He's a cop. They set a trap for us. But before jumping to his feet he asked, "Where's work?"

"Washington D.C. . . . The Justice Department. I'm an assistant attorney general. . . . Or at least I was until two weeks ago."

"Oh. You're Jacob Levitz! You've been in the news lately. Something about refusing to file charges against President Matheson. What was that about?"

"The new Attorney General, Elizabeth Goldsmith, ordered me to start impeachment proceedings against President Matheson. When I read the charges and saw that they were totally fictitious I refused. After a heated argument in which she threatened to have me put in prison for obstruction of justice, I went to my office, left a letter of resignation on my desk, and walked out."

"So what brought you and Betty up here?"

"After what's happened to other supporters of the President I decided to get out of town before I ended up dead like them."

"Are you serious? They wouldn't go after someone that high up in the justice department."

"You don't think so? The list is getting longer every week. First FBI Director Taggart gets a bullet to the head and then the FBI agent investigating her murder, Henry Owens, is ambushed in his car. And there's Senator Walker who died under suspicious circumstances. The rumor is he was poisoned, and the latest – you probably haven't heard of this yet – Supreme Court Justice Anthony Jefferson, the most conservative member of the court, fell down the stairs in his house and died within minutes from a head injury – at least that's what the death certificate said. There was a secret autopsy on him so I have no way of knowing if the head injury might have been caused by a blunt object."

"Justice Jefferson? My God, all the good ones are being taken out. . . . Who's behind the killings?"

"I was running my own investigation into that. It looked like the trail might lead to Rex Sorensson, the man behind the socialist agenda, but the Attorney General shut me down. With a couple more months I think I could have made a case against him."

Alex decided to tell Jacob everything about his own situation. "I don't know how much you know about me, but I'm an agent with the Secret Service, a forensic accountant. I was sent undercover into Sorensson's organization to find evidence of financial fraud. I was getting pretty close when the woman they set up to keep an eye on me was murdered and I was framed for it. So you can add her name to the list of Sorensson's victims."

"I knew none of this! Do you still have information we could use to get Sorensson indicted?"

" Yes, I do. I've found a hidden bank account I think he used to pay off politicians and hit men, but I can't prove it. Kirsten and I have been trying to follow the money trails from his payoffs back to that account."

Jacob got excited. "Wow. That's fantastic. With what I have on him I believe we could bring him down."

"So what are you proposing? That we turn into vigilantes and go after him? Even if we found solid evidence the Attorney General would never prosecute. So what's the use?"

"That's where your connection to the Secret Service will be helpful. They are just about the only people in the government that have remained loyal to the President – fiercely loyal. They know their job is to protect him from harm, so they recently expanded their mission to include protection from those who are trying to destroy him politically. They wouldn't hesitate to go after Sorensson and his people if there was enough evidence."

"Well, I guess we'd better gather more evidence then. Tell me what you have found out."

For the next hour they discussed what they knew and how to combine their efforts to take Sorensson down. By the time they got back to camp they were best of friends.
Chapter 30 – The Threat Closes In

Bob and Sherry Joiner were having their morning coffee out on the front deck of their mountainside cabin overlooking the small town of Berthoud Falls. The town, actually only a collection of twenty three houses, a gas station and a general store, was fifty miles west of Denver off U.S. Highway 40. It was their summer get-away where they came to fish in Woods Creek, and their winter ski lodge where they spent time on the slopes of the nearby ski area. They chose this spot because of its contrast to the fast pace of Denver and because of its isolation, which included a lack of cell phone service. For Bob that was the most important factor. At their home in Denver the frequent calls from the Secret Service office to take care of some minor problem that a junior manager didn't have the courage to deal with interrupted their lives, especially when Bob had to drive into the office in the middle of the night. But up here was different. They could relax together and enjoy the closeness that 28 years of marriage brought. No one in the Government knew of their hideaway, and because the title was in Sherry's maiden name, tracking them down on the internet would be difficult.

But in spite of all that, Bob had serious things on his mind this morning. Sherry sensed his mood and interrupted his thoughts. "What is it, Honey? Something I can help you think through?"

"I haven't gotten an email update from Alex recently and I'm worried that Sorensson's men might have caught up with him. I talked him into taking the assignment and now that it blew up in his face I feel like it's my fault."

"No Bob. You offered him the assignment and he chose to accept it. He knew the risks."

"I know that. And I know that if anyone could come out of this on top it's Alex. But the guilt still weighs on me."

"Is anything else troubling you?"

". . . The Government of this country is about to be hijacked by Sorensson and his people and I feel helpless to do anything about it. Taking down Sorensson would be a start, but his plan is like a fast growing cancer devouring everything this country stands for. If I could get in touch with Alex we could work together on this – he might already have something to go after Sorensson with. I sent him a couple of encrypted emails but he hasn't responded."

"He's been in our prayers. That's all we can do right now – keep praying."

Back at the Pecos campground Alex, Jacob, and their wives were putting together a plan to go after Sorensson. The first step would be to enlist Bob Joiner's help in connecting with the Secret Service. Finding a safe place to use as their operations center was next on the list.

Kirsten asked "How are we going to contact Bob? There's no cell phone reception here in the valley."

"How about the pay phone in the gas station back in Cowles" Betty suggested.

"That might work but I'd rather send an encrypted email from my smart phone. I wonder if I could get a signal from up on the mountain ridge? "

"That might work, Alex. I can go along and we'll try to come up with new ways to go after Sorensson and his political cronies. It looks like about an hour's worth of climbing to the top of the mountain. If we leave now we can be back in time for lunch."

"You be careful up there, Jacob. I hear there's bears and mountain lions and rattlers around here," Betty warned.

"Not as scary as the skunks, dear. But I'll take my rifle. Maybe we can have bear stew for dinner."

Kirsten added "If you can't find a bear they say rattlesnake tastes just like chicken."

Ten minutes later the two men set out for the top of Round Mountain. The first part of the climb was the steepest and they both were too winded to talk much. They finally had to stop to catch their breath.

"It's the altitude," Alex noted after he got his breathing under control. The map shows we're already above nine thousand feet. The top of the mountain is close to eleven thousand. If we have to go all the way up to get a signal it's definitely going to take us a lot longer than we planned."

They struggled for another hour and finally reached a spot just below the summit where they could get a cell phone signal. After Alex got his breathing under control he sat on a rock and composed a coded message to Joiner.

Bob. Things are bad with us. Sorensson's men are after us. Just managed to get away two nights ago. Met someone who can help us get him, but we need a place to hide away while we work it out. What's up with you?

Alex hit send and said a quick prayer that Bob would respond soon. He did.

Good to hear you're still alive and free. I had to go into hiding with my wife. They killed Henry Owens, the friend who got me the info on Howard Watson you asked for. Don't know how they got onto to us, but Sherry and I are at the place where I took you fishing a couple of years back. Come join us – plenty of room for you and whoever is with you.

Alex read the response to Jacob and sent a response.

Your hideaway is perfect, Bob. When it's safe to travel we'll find our way there. Thanks.

Alex shut off his phone to save what was left of the battery.

Jacob asked, "Don't you worry about them picking up the GPS tracker in your phone?"

"No it's a throw away phone and this is the first time I've used it. But it's my last one so I need to hang onto it until I can get a replacement. Ready to start back down?"

"Yeah, we need to get moving. The girls are probably getting worried."

The trip down was much easier since they weren't working against gravity. Within thirty minutes they could see the campground a thousand feet below them. And what they saw shocked them into action. Three black vans had pulled into the center of the camp and six men in black combat gear were forcing the women into one of them. They both froze for a moment, the panic pushing their minds into a high speed search for how they could stop this. In these situations the mind doesn't come up with the most logical solution, which is why Alex ran over to a small boulder, sat down with his feet braced against it and started it rolling toward the campground

Jacob's answer was a bit more rational. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and pumped high velocity rounds into the van leading the one with Kirsten and Betty in it. He emptied the clip, then jammed in another and emptied it before the vehicles rounded a curve out of sight.

They looked at each other and ran full speed down the steep slope to the camp. When they got there the vans were already out of hearing range. The first thing Alex did was to retrieve his pistol from the tent, then Jacob took control. "Into the Jeep – now," as he reached in his pocket for the keys and remembered he left them with Betty. He tore into the tent and rummaged through the sleeping bags, clothes, and boxes of provisions.

"Dammit! She must have them in her pocket. We're stuck here. We'll never catch them."

Alex, pocket knife in hand, slid under the steering wheel, and pulled some wires down. In thirty seconds he had the engine running and moved over so Jacob could drive. As they sped down the road in pursuit of the kidnappers he asked Alex, "Where did you learn that? Stealing cars as a teenager?"

"Part of my secret agent training. . . . Who do you think we're up against?"

"They all wore what looked like S.W.A.T. clothing, so it could be a government operation."

"Sorensson could be pulling the puppet strings though. To find the girls we have to figure out who took them."

As they rounded the first curve they saw the bullet-riddled lead van off in the ditch. Alex pulled up behind it and approached with pistol in hand while Jacob covered him with his rifle. He saw the driver slumped over the steering wheel with a bullet hole in his head. The only other things of interest in the van were two AK-74 automatic rifles and several clips of ammunition. He grabbed them and went back to join Jacob at the Jeep.

"Have you ever used one of these?" he asked as he held out one of the guns.

"When I was 18 I went to Israel to fight the Palestinians. They trained me as a commando and sent my unit into southern Lebanon to fight Hezbollah rebels. We trained with just about every weapon available at the time including this Russian AK-74.

They continued down the dirt road that was covered with rocks and pot holes, but the Jeep was built for this kind of terrain so they made good time reaching the town of Cowles. Jacob slowed down through town, checking to see if vans were there. Jackpot! One of the vans was parked in front of the gas station with a pool of oil spreading across the concrete underneath. He drove on past, took the next right turn, and parked on the side street.

"Do you think they left anyone behind, or did they just abandon the vehicle?"

"I saw someone inside talking on the pay phone. Let's approach from the alley and get a better look."

From the back of the building they peeked through a grime-stained window to see a man in black combat gear putting the phone back in its cradle. "Yep. It's one of them. How do we get our hands on him?" The question was answered when he pulled the restroom key from a hook by the door and left for the outside entrance to the men's room. Alex leaned over to whisper in Jacob's ear. "I got this. You bring the Jeep into the alley and wait for me."

Jacob didn't argue. Alex waited until the man was in the restroom then crashed through the door. His opponent was good, immediately reacting with a defensive stance – one Alex had never seen before since the man's hose was hanging out of his zipper. Never one to pass up an opportunity Alex faked an uppercut to the chin and followed up immediately by driving his knee into the man's crotch. As the man bent over in pain Alex slammed the other knee into his face to keep him from screaming. His head slammed back into the tile wall knocking him out cold.

When he dragged the man out to the alley Jacob had the back door of the Jeep open and a tent rope in his hand. Alex lashed his hands and feet. stuffed an oily rag into his mouth, laid him across the back seat, and strapped him down securely with the seatbelts. As soon as Alex was back in the front seat Jacob turned south out of town toward the town of Pecos. Forty minutes away they came to a fork in the highway – highway 63 that would take them to Interstate 25 heading North to Colorado, or highway 50 that would take them back toward Santa Fe. "Which way, Alex? Left towards Colorado or right back into Santa Fe."

"The kidnap crew most likely came up from Albuquerque through Santa Fe, so that's probably the direction they'll return. But where will they take Kirsten and Betty? I think they will keep them in a safe house near Santa Fe until they find us, so that's where we have to go. If the bad guys got your car license number there might be a BOLO out for us already. If we take I-25 into Santa Fe we'll probably get pulled over. And with our friend in the back seat we would be in real trouble. We need to stick to back roads."

When their captive heard that he tried to yell curses at them through the rag in his mouth, but nothing intelligible came out. Alex turned around to look at him and saw hate-filled eyes staring back at him.

"We need to find a place to question this guy before we go charging into Santa Fe. Look for a forest road back up into the mountains. We don't want anyone within hearing distance when I start in on him."

Two hours later Alex had 'convinced' their captive to tell them that the women and his accomplices were holed up in an old turquoise mine in the nearby town of Los Cerrillos. When Alex asked who he works for the answer was frightening. He claimed he was the leader of a an organization of ISIS operatives, one of several throughout the country, working to overthrow the American capitalist economy and its evil government. Alex didn't believe him at first because he had no foreign accent and didn't fit the physical type of a middle eastern terrorist. But when he showed his ISIS tattoo and bragged that his team was mostly American citizens who had been trained at an elite facility in the mountains of Northern Georgia, his story became more credible. When pressed to reveal who was behind this secretive group he quit talking – probably because he passed out from Alex's interrogation methods. Alex wanted to wait unto he woke up to grill him for more information but he knew rescuing their wives was priority.

"Let's leave him tied to this tree. Once we free Kirsten and Betty and deal with those bastards who took them we can come back and dig deeper."

Jacob asked, "But what if we have to run for it and can't get back here?"

"He'll live for a day or two. Tomorrow we can call the local forest ranger to come and get him."

"You're a ruthless bastard, Alex."

"Only when it's necessary. When they took Kirsten and Betty they signed their death warrants."

Jacob stared at him for a moment, then nodded his head. "You're right. That's the only way to deal with people like this. Legally it's called 'with malice aforethought.' Let's go find the girls and dish out some malice."
Chapter 31 – Truth Exposed

President Martin Matheson was in the Situation Room under the West Wing of the White House. This highly secure conference room and intelligence management center was created during John F. Kennedy's presidency as a place for the president and his key national security advisors to follow ongoing military operations around the world. The room usually held a dozen or so advisors involved in managing the latest crisis, but today the only one in the room with Matheson was Arthur Kincaid, the Director of the Secret Service and the only person in his inner circle that he fully trusted. They were discussing a new crisis much closer to home.

Two nights ago the First Lady found an envelope leaning against her vanity mirror. It was the size and shape of a greeting card so she opened it, thinking it was one of Martin's frequent reminders of how much he loved her. Instead it was a photo of Yolanda Segura, one of the accusers claiming Gen. Matheson had an affair with her, naked and sitting astride Matheson in bed apparently making passionate love to him. An enclosed note threatened to release the photo and many more like it if Matheson didn't resign within three days. She mumbled an obscenity and went looking for him with an angry fire in her eyes.

He was at his desk reading the daily security brief when she slammed the photo down in front of him. "What the hell is this?" she demanded. "Where did this picture come from . . . and more importantly who put it on my dressing table?"

Matheson let out a string of profanity, something Navy men were particularly good at. "Put the photo and note back in the envelope. I'll call Art and figure out how to deal with this."

"You damn well better take care of it – and quick." As he stood to go she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss. "Nobody can touch our love, dear."

Now, two days later, Martin and Arthur were in the basement laying out a strategy to deal with the latest attack on the President's character.

"What should we do first, Art? My priority is to find the traitor that got past security into my wife's dressing room."

"You explained to me why the alleged encounters couldn't possibly be true. I think we should let them publish the photo, then make fools out of them on national TV. We'll call a press conference and hype it as if you're going to confess everything. Then, after the liberal news people and political pundits go wild with fake news and speculation, you'll show the American people what liars they are."

"I like that approach. We not only clear my name but make fools of everyone who attacks me before I make the announcement. As a military man I always favored a strong counterattack."

The next afternoon, just before the evening TV news cycle, the story hit. Yolanda Segura's lawyer called a news conference and handed out copies of the photo as proof that her accusations were true. All the network and cable news channels opened with the story as 'breaking news.' Some of them even had a brief screen shot of the photo with a close up of Matheson's face smiling as the woman rode him. No one seemed to question why his face was conveniently pointed toward the camera. The next morning the White House press secretary announced that the President would hold his own press conference in two days to respond to the photo release. The news anchors went crazy, each trying to top the other channels with their own lurid speculations.

The Presidential news conference began ten minutes after the evening news shows finished a last-minute frenzy of political 'experts' insisting that Congress had no choice but to impeach Matheson. Others predicted that he would resign before the end of the week. One senator claimed to have evidence from an anonymous source that the First Lady was already meeting with divorce lawyers.

Just before Matheson stepped on stage he chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Kincaid asked.

"I was just thinking of a saying we had in the Navy – 'Now we have them by the balls.' It seems appropriate at this moment."

Arthur shook his hand and said "Go get 'em Marty."

Martin's past career helped him develop a knack for speaking before antagonistic audiences, complete with well-timed theatrical pauses to heighten the impact of what he was saying. He approached the podium exuding confidence rather that the 'tail between his legs' that everyone was expecting. He placed some papers on the podium, looked out at the room full of reporters pausing for direct eye contact with some of the worst purveyors of fictional news, then began speaking.

"As you know I have come here to answer accusations that I had adulterous relationships with at least two women. Some of you have even called it rape, with one newspaper declaring that I 'savagely ravaged' an innocent young woman in my military command. With the recent release of an apparently incriminating photograph I decided it was time to respond with the truth."

Matheson injected an extended pregnant pause here . . . then held up a sheaf of papers.

"This is an excerpt from my military medical records, copies of which will be made available to you. These pages document an injury I suffered eighteen years ago while aboard the USS Cole when it was attacked by Al Qaeda rebels in a small boat loaded with explosives. I was on a lower deck when the bomb explosion blew a hole in the hull and sent pieces of the metal hull ripping through the interior of the ship. I was struck with a piece of shrapnel that penetrated my lower pelvic area causing severe damage." Another long pause.

"That injury left me impotent – incapable of performing sexually. Although I'm reluctant to be more explicit, I believe it is necessary here . . . I lost ninety percent of my penis and there is no sensation in the remaining stump. . . . So it would be impossible for me to perform sexually as shown in the libelous photo you have all accepted as factual."

There was an immediate cacophony of shouted questions from the audience. Matheson quieted them with one final statement. "If any of you gentlemen want more proof, meet me in the restroom." With that he turned and strode from the room.
Chapter 32 – Rescued With Malice Aforethought

Two hours ago Kirsten and Betty were sitting in front of the tent, trading tips on everything from cooking to managing husbands when they heard something rustling in the bushes behind them. Kirsten put her finger to her lips and whispered "Shhh." Thinking it might be one of the neighborhood skunks she got slowly to her feet and crept toward the noise to make sure it wasn't a more dangerous predator. As she got closer two men rushed out of the trees and grabbed her arms. She reacted immediately with a defensive move she learned from a special forces guy she dated once, followed by a scream. "Run Betty! Get the other gun!" Something hit her hard on the side of the head as she saw the other woman being dragged toward her. She felt a wave of unconsciousness closing over her mind before she could say anything more.

When she regained consciousness they were in the back of a small van with their hands and feet bound and duct tape over their mouths. A hooded man with a gun sat in the back facing them. Kirsten thought for a minute then tried to rotate her body so she could strike out at him with her feet. That's when she realized her feet were tied to a metal ring in the floor. The man with the gun laughed as she struggled to pull herself free. Then she remembered what happened.

"Betty! Betty? Are you alright?"

"Other than a broken nose from when this guy slugged me I'm okay. I'm glad to see you awake. I was really worried."

"Everything seems to be working, so I guess there's no brain damage. But my head hurts like hell."

The man pointed the pistol at her forehead and yelled "Shut up! No Talking."

One of the men in the front seat said something she couldn't understand, but the man lowered his gun and leaned back against the rear door. "You're lucky that we have orders to keep you unharmed. Otherwise you would be my slave . . . for as long as you lasted."

Kirsten shuddered at the thought of what he might do to her but kept silent.

Soon they left the smooth highway and started an uphill drive over rocks and gullies. The engine labored as the slope steepened until finally they leveled off and stopped. The men got out and talked among themselves, then opened the door and brought the women out. Kirsten looked at her surroundings and saw that they were high on a steep hillside standing at the mouth of a cave. The men secured a rope around their tied wrists and pulled them into the cave. She counted her steps as they were lead deep into the cavern to make a possible escape easier. The man leading her yanked hard on the rope and pushed her to the rocky ground. A second later Betty fell down on top of her. They both lay still to see what was coming next. They were relieved when the glow of three kerosene lamps began to fill the cave as they struggled into a sitting position.

With the light Kirsten could tell it wasn't a cave but a mine of some sort. It must have been very old because there were no tracks to carry the ore carts out and the scars on the rocks were definitely made by hand with a pick axe. Among the rock chips on the ground she saw occasional pieces with a blue-green color. Is this a turquoise mine? This must be where the southwest indian tribes get the colored stones for their jewelry. Maybe there's some tools laying around that I can use to get us out of here.

She slowly scanned her eyes around the room, picking up all the details she could in the dim light. Four men were sitting around a small file talking quietly. She could only hear bits and pieces of the conversation but heard enough to figure out what had happened after they were kidnapped at the camp site. One of the vehicles had taken a few rifle shots from up on the mountain and ran off the road. The driver was too badly injured to transport so they killed him and left. A second van was left behind at a gas station. That left only the one that brought them up here to the mine. The thing they didn't talk about – the thing she really needed to hear – was what they planned to do next. She and Betty had both gotten a good look at their faces, which meant that they intended to kill the women at some point.

So why are we still alive? Is it about a ransom? Maybe Jacob has a lot of money. . . . Or maybe they're using us as bait to lure Alex into a trap? . . . If Sorensson is behind this it might be about forcing Alex to tell what he knows about the links between Sorensson and the recent murders. . . . before they kill him and us.

She looked around for weapons and saw several assault rifles leaning against a crate next to the men. At least two of them had pistols in holsters on their belt. No hope of getting her hands on one of them. Her thoughts were interrupted by a cell phone ringing. One of the men, the one who seemed to be in charge, answered. He spoke loudly enough into the phone for Kirsten to hear his end of the conversation.

"Hussein here. . . . Yes sir, we have the women. What do you want us to do with them? . . . Do you think Lucas will find us here? . . . Yes, we left Rodriguez at the gas station as you ordered, with instructions to reluctantly give up our location. . . . Yes sir, Mr. Kurian. We're ready for them. . . . Goodbye."

One of the other men asked what Kurian said. "He said if I ever use his name again over the phone he will kill me."

Jacob drove the Jeep down the dusty dirt road that served as main street in the little town of Los Cerrillos and parked in front of The Mine Shaft Tavern. "Let's go in and see what we can pick up from the locals. There must be several turquoise mines around here and we don't have time to search them all."

As they entered the place Alex glanced around the room looking for possible threats. The lunch crowd had already cleared out – if there was ever a crowd in this town – which left two men and a woman drinking beer at the bar and a tourist couple along one wall examining the display of antiques for sale. They sat down at a corner table and looked over the menu. Jacob pointed to the back page that had a brief history of the area and a map showing the location of the mines in the surrounding hills.

"It says here that local turquoise has been mined for over two thousand years, but all the mines closed decades ago. There are six mines shown on this map, but only two of them are nearby – the Mina Del Tiro and the Cash Entry mines. The first one is only a couple of miles up the hill so that's the most likely spot. If we don't find anything there the second mine is three miles beyond that."

"We need to look at a detailed Google map and aerial photo to plan our approach. Ideally we'll be able to drive around the mine entrance and get up on the hill above them without being heard. If that doesn't work we may have to do a frontal surprise attack and hope for the best. . . . Let's order some food while I check Google." As they left the tavern an hour later the woman tourist took out her cell phone and dialed a number.

The sun was providing one of the beautiful sunsets New Mexico is known for, but Alex and Jacob were too busy to notice. They were on a hilltop overlooking the entrance to the mine. The black van was parked outside the opening and a single armed guard stood in the portal. Jacob leaned over and whispered "How many do you think are inside?"

"We saw six at the campground. Take away the two left behind and that leaves a minimum of four. But they might have left a man or two behind at the mine. So I'd say a maximum of six."

"If we take out the guard quietly we can sneak inside and get a look at where the girls are. If there's enough separation we can shoot the bad guys before they realize we're there. We'll have to shoot to kill though so they can't get to the women before we do."

"Good plan, Jacob. But how can we take out the guard without alerting the others. If he fires a shot our plan falls apart."

"Leave the guard to me. He won't know I'm there until he hears his own neck snapping. Be ready to go in right after that."

Jacobs approach was even easier than he thought it would be. When he was ten feet away the guard he turned his back and unzipped his pants. His bladder was only half empty when everything went black. Alex was at his side as soon as the guard fell to the ground. He handed Jacob one of the AK-74s and the two of them moved slowly along each wall of the tunnel, trying to keep the gravel underfoot from crunching. When they could see light coming around a bend in the tunnel up ahead they both dropped to their knees and crawled ahead to where they could see.

The tunnel widened out into a small room. Kirsten and Betty were sitting up, leaning against the left wall while four men sat on crates playing cards. Jacob started to raise his weapon but Alex put a hand on his arm to stop him. With his lips almost touching Jacob's ear he said, "Something isn't right here. It feels like a setup. Move back into the dark where we can talk."

When they were back around the bend they put their heads together. Jacob whispered, "What's wrong? We're thirty seconds from rescuing our wives. We need to move now!"

"Think about it. Everything that happened to bring us here is too perfect to be a coincidence. The van at the gas station, the guy we captured telling us exactly where to come, the van parked in plain sight in front of the mine. . . . Even the two weapons conveniently left for us to find. I'll bet the firing pins have been removed so they won't work. All this was designed to bring us to where we are right now."

"So what's the end game? They just jump up and shoot us while we pull the trigger on broken guns?"

"No, I think they want me alive. I think there are more of them than just the four men inside. Others will probably sneak in behind us."

Jacob started to ask "What do we . . ." before Alex put his finger to his lips. They sat there in silence, straining to hear someone approaching from behind. Several seconds later they both heard it – the scraping of a shoe sliding across the gravel. The dropped to the ground and rolled against the edges where the wall met the floor, one on each side of the passage, where they lay invisible and silent as two men with rifles approached. As the men passed them they both jumped up and attacked – Jacob with his neck-breaker hold and Alex with a rock to the head of the other one. They caught the men as they fell and laid them quietly on the ground.

Picking up the men's weapons they crawled back to the lit room. As they rounded the corner one of the card players got up from his seat and headed toward them, rifle raised. "I think I heard something."

Alex and Jacob rose up on one knee and pointed their weapons at him. When he saw them he laughed.

"April Fool boys. Those guns are useless." A half second later two bullets hit him in the face. The other three went for their weapons but didn't get their hands on them before they were hit with lethal gunfire. Betty started screaming but Kirsten yelled "Alex! I knew you would come!"

After checking the bodies for something that would identify them and who sent them – a search that turned up nothing – they drove the van inside the mine and loaded the six bodies in the back. They wiped down everything they had touched and walked outside.

Alex started to say, "It will be awhile before anyone finds . . ."

Kirsten interrupted him by wrapping her arms around his neck. "Shut up and kiss me."

Betty turned to Jacob and said "Well, are you just going to stand there?" He took the hint and pulled her into his arms.
Chapter 33 – Heads Will Roll

Rex Sorensson stood at the head of the conference table with body language that said 'I'm really pissed and somebody's going to pay for it.' All the members of the council looked up at him except Gloria Zeigler and Sakhir Kurian, who were both looking down at the table pretending to read something important. They knew they had failed in their assignments and were expecting the worst. Kurian knew in Sorensson's kingdom that meant death. Gloria was thinking that meant firing and a ruined career.

Sorensson let everyone sit there and think about it before he spoke. "Ms. Zeigler, your mission was to use the TV and press media to attack the Admiral and have the public crying for his impeachment. You assured me you could do that. Your plan to have two women come forth with claims of rape and sexual abuse was a good one. . . . But you didn't do your homework. Matheson's genital mutilation was available in his medical records and you should have uncovered it. If we knew about it ahead of time we would have turned him into some other kind of monster. But you, and our group, and me personally, were left holding on to a non-existent scrotum. . . . Holding the bag in case you didn't get it. For this . . .

"But sir, no one could have known about his injury. His presidential medical records are highly classified. There was no way I could have known . . ."

"DO NOT INTERRUPT ME! I don't want to hear sniveling excuses about why it wasn't your fault you couldn't do your job. His military medical records were definitely NOT classified – only those since he became president are classified. My computer investigator can find any document that has ever been digitally produced, no matter how secret it is."

"But how . . ."

"GET OUT. YOU'RE FIRED!" Sorensson screamed as he indicated to the security guard to take her from the room.

Next he turned to Kurian. "And you! Can you explain how Lucas has escaped you time after time? . . . No, I don't want to hear any lame excuses. With your background in the evil arts of espionage you should have captured him in any of your attempts. But you didn't . . . I kept giving your another chance . . . and you kept failing. I can only conclude that he is brilliant at escape and evasion or that you are dumber than you led me to believe. You're fired too."

"But sir, you fail to recognize how difficult it will be to find a replacement for me. And you don't want to forget certain documents in my possession – with copies in the hands of trusted friends – that will ruin you if they are made public."

Sorensson sputtered, trying to get control over his anger. "You DARE to threaten me . . . in front of this elite council I have put together to save this country and the world from destruction by greed? I . . . I won't stand for it!"

Sorensson looked around for the security guard but he hadn't returned yet. Kurian rose from his chair, stretched to his full height, and said, "Don't bother. I'll show myself out."

After Kurian left the room Sorensson tried to regain dominance over the few remaining member of his Socialist Utopia Council but they were all looking away. Without direct eye contact it was impossible regain his stature as the alpha dog – at least for now. When they learned that Zeigler and Kurian had been executed he would once again be in absolute control.

The security guard took Gloria directly to her office, dumped the contents of her wastebasket on the floor, and told her to pack. She could take only what would fit in the trash container. She angrily threw a few personal items in then threw up her hands. Kicking the wastebasket over she told the guard "Get me outta here, before I get really pissed off." Grabbing her purse, she followed the man to the front exit and was ushered out the door.

Kurian responded differently – much differently. He knew he had painted a target on his chest with his comment in the council meeting and had no doubts that his life expectancy was now measured in minutes or hours if he didn't do something about it. But he had prepared for this event. He went straight to the parking garage where he kept a getaway car – a grey 2015 Toyota Camry. It was the most common car on the road in America so it wouldn't stand out in traffic if he was being followed. It had an upgraded engine and custom racing suspension to outrun all but the fastest pursuer. Kurian had four extra license plates in the trunk with magnetic attachments so he could change them in seconds, and fake registrations under different names and addresses to go with them, all of which would lead police to a legitimate owner of an identical Camry living in the Atlanta area. He kept it in an assigned parking space belonging to a fictitious employee of RexSorCorp. He knew he might need it someday and today was that day.

He left the premises driving like a law abiding citizen and drove north toward his hideaway in the Chattahoochee National Forest. The house was simple, grey, and ordinary just like his car. More importantly no one in Sorensson's organization knew about it. It was the perfect hideout where he could plan his retaliation against Sorensson and his empire. He used the two-hour drive to think up and evaluate alternative approaches to the problem.

When he got to the small town of Wilson Mill he turned left onto the gravel road that led up to his isolated property. When he was almost there he saw smoke rising up through the tall pines and increased his speed. As he came into the clearing where the house sat he saw a blazing fire engulfing the entire structure. A green Forest Service fire truck was spraying a feeble stream of water in a useless attempt to control the flames. No, no. This can't be happening. Somehow Sorensson found out about this place. He got out of the car and ran over to one of the fire fighters.

"What happened? How did the fire start?"

"We saw the first smoke from the fire tower about thirty minutes ago. We got here as fast as we could but it was already too big to deal with. Judging by how fast it went up I'd saw it was probably arson. . . . Say, you don't who owns this place do you?"

"No, I saw the smoke and drove over to see what was burning."

"Usually with older homes like this one the owner sets the fire to collect on the insurance. But we will have to wait a day until it cools down enough to investigate."

As Kurian was walking back to his car his mind was racing. If it started half an hour ago Sorensson's must have timed it to be burning when I got here. But how did he know I was headed here? . . . The car. They put a tracker on it! They know right where I am. A sniper could be lining up his sights on me now. I've got to get out of here! He got behind the wheel, did a 180 degree donut, and sped back down the mountain. A minute later he saw a star erupt in his windshield, then another. The bullets couldn't penetrate because he had bullet resistant plastic film installed on all the windows, along with special tires that stay inflated after penetration. But he knew he was still vulnerable to larger weapons so he floored the gas pedal and wove his way down the winding road.

They probably have a back-up shooter at the bottom of the hill so I have to ditch the car. Further down the road he saw an overgrown dirt trail leading into the trees and took it. When he was hidden from the road he stopped and got out. After retrieving a hunting rifle and Glock pistol from the trunk, positioned himself for a shot, and waited for the shooter. He heard the buzz of the motorcycle engine before he saw it, so he lined up the rifle scope on the curve where the rider would appear. He didn't have to wait long. A high-powered trail bike appeared and sped toward him. The first bullet hit the rider between the eyes; a second shot wasn't needed.

Kurian ran over and picked up the bike, then stooped down to go through the victim's pockets. He found a map of the area, some spare ammo, and nothing else. He pulled the sniper rifle off the man's back and smashed it against a tree, then mounted up and headed into the forest. He thought about waiting until the shooter's accomplices showed up to investigate but decided his priority was to get far away, and fast.
Chapter 34 – Commence Firing

After leaving Cerrillos Jacob drove the Jeep SUV north with Betty at his side and Kirsten asleep on Alex's shoulder in the back seat. Alex sent a message to Bob telling him they would arrive the next afternoon after driving straight through, but he insisted on one stop at a spy shop in Denver. If they were going to make Bob's mountain cabin their home base it would need some things to improve security. When Alex came out he loaded some boxes in back and they turned west into the Rockies.

As they entered Berthoud Falls Alex sent Bob a text letting him know they were almost there. When they pulled up in the driveway Bob and Sherry were on the porch waiting for them. After handshakes and introductions all around Sherry shooed them into the house where she had laid out a huge dinner. "I didn't know what kind of food you all liked so I made some of just about everything. Come, sit. Bob, will you say grace?"

After thanking God for protecting them and bringing them together to fight the evil taking over the country, they filled their plates and dug in. Later, after Sherry and Kirsten cleared the table, Bob started the conversation.

"It's time to get down to business – the business of stopping Sorensson from taking over this country and reversing the damage he's already done. The first order of business is a memory dump. We all need to know what each of us brings to the table so we can develop a plan. Alex, since you have been in the eye of the storm where all the action is why don't you start."

Alex recited a chronology of how he got from being an accountant at the Secret Service office in Denver to being a wanted man with the Government and Sorensson out to get him. When he was finished Sherry looked at him wide eyed. "You can't be serious! You're making this up. The kind of stuff you're talking about only happens on TV."

Bob and Kirsten both started to answer at the same time to verify Alex's story. When Sherry was convinced she put her hand on Bob's. "I didn't know what we were getting into when you told me we had to get away and hide. These people are seriously evil."

Jacob spoke up for the first time. "I was following what Sorensson was up to for quite awhile before I heard what Alex was doing." He looked at the three women. "Just to be clear, you all know we're risking our lives by going up against him, don't you?" The others nodded.

"Are you willing to die to save America from becoming a socialist hell? Because if you're not, now is the time to leave."

Jacob was looking at the three faces after that last comment.

"How dare you challenge our commitment!" Kirsten said. "I don't want to live in the country Sorensson is trying to create." She looked up at Alex. "And I don't want our children to grow up in it." He smiled and squeezed his hand.

Betty looked concerned and asked, "You're not pregnant are you Kirsten?"

She blushed and answered "Not yet. . . . but soon." Alex squeezed her hand again.

When they were through laughing Bob turned to Jacob. "Okay, what have you got for us."

"I know for certain that Sorensson rigged the last election to get his people into Congress, but I have nothing that will hold up in court – especially against the team of lawyers he has available. I also know that some of the conservative opponents of his plan were threatened to force them to withdraw from the election."

"Do you have names? Maybe we can get them to testify."

Alex cut in. "You all don't seem to understand. Sorensson is so far ahead of us in this that we can't wait to get him into court. We have to act now!"

Jacob looked at him. "Are you advocating that we should become vigilantes? Kill him?"

"We killed the men who kidnapped Kirsten and Betty. What's the difference? The were going to kill our wives – Sorensson is going to kill democracy."

Jacob didn't have an answer for that, so Alex continued. "I'm not saying that should be our first choice – killing him and his key players is a last resort. . . . You know that getting rid of him won't stop what he set in motion. It's too organized, too distributed. No, if we cut off the head of this beast another will sprout and continue where Sorensson left off."

"So what can we do?"

"I was thinking about that on our drive up here. Let me explain with a metaphor. Let's say you have a few dogs and go out raccoon hunting. Now there aren't many trees around so the dogs end up chasing four or five raccoons up the same tree. The dogs have the tree surrounded, but they just sit up there laughing at the dogs. So what do you do?"

Betty had a quick answer. "Get some coon-hunting cats that will climb the tree after them."

After a round of chuckles Alex gave them the answer. "You shake the tree to knock them to the ground."

Bob was the first to express their confusion. "So what's this got to do with taking down Sipro's and his people?"

"We're going to shake a few trees. Shake up their world. Send them anonymous messages, emails, threats to expose them – anything that will make them believe that their role as Sorensson's flunkies is not safe anymore."

Bob spoke up. "But how can we be certain they won't be able to trace the attacks back here to us?"

"I have an answer for that too. With my computer skills I can lay down a false trail that lead back to other people on Sorensson's team. It will be legitimate enough to have the FBI knocking on doors and confiscating computers. We can turn his wolf pack against each other. His great plan will self destruct."

Kirsten leaned over, squeezed his arm, and said "I love it when you come up with amazing ideas. It reminds me of what a smart man I'm in love with." Alex blushed at the compliment.

Bob intervened. "So how and when do we start this attack?"

Betty yawned. "Not tonight. We drove all night to get here and we need some sleep. Have you got room for all of us?"

Sherry smiled. "We have three bedrooms, all with double beds." She looked at Kirsten and followed up. "Of course that means you and Alex will have to sleep together."

Alex looked at the two of them. "Do I detect a conspiracy afoot?"

Everyone laughed and went to their rooms.

After breakfast the next morning they all gathered at the table to begin their assault. Alex started.

"If this is going to be our fortress we need to know what its capabilities are. Bob, tell us about the place."

"First the phone service. There is a cell tower on a nearby mountain that gives us four bars, so it's pretty reliable. I put in a well and got a backup generator, so we're pretty much self sufficient. The generator doesn't have enough power to heat the house on cold nights but we have a fireplace in the living room and plenty of wood. . . . Oh, and I have enough gas for the generator to last a couple of weeks."

"Betty, what's the food situation?"

"I stocked up when I heard you were coming, and we have some emergency food supplies in the basement if we get desperate. We're good for at least 30 days."

"Good. Bob, do you have any kind of a security system set up?"

"Just alarms for the windows and outside doors, but no cameras."

"I thought that might be the case so we stopped at the Central Spy Shop in Denver and picked up a few things – wireless surveillance cameras, motion sensors, alarms to let us know when someone's approaching. We need to get those installed today."

Sherry responded, "Bob and I will do that. We have everything we need in the workshop."

"Okay. Kirsten and I will set up computers and a camera monitor in our bedroom. With a 4G link to the cell tower we'll have a solid internet connection. That's essential to our plan of attack. Now let's figure out how we'll shake the trees."

Jacob took charge of laying out the plan since he knew more about what was going on in Washington. He made a list of congressmen he suspected were put there by Sorensson, then added other powerful people he controlled; the FBI Director, Attorney General, Treasury Secretary, and Homeland Defense Director. Under each of these he listed their suspected criminal activities and secrets going back ten years. He put Betty to work searching the internet for more dirt to use against them and asked Alex and Kirsten to dig into their financial records looking for suspicious transactions.

At the end of the day they all got together to go over what they found. Alex hooked a small projector to his laptop and displayed a spreadsheet matrix on the wall they could fill in as they went. By bedtime they had put together enough blackmail material to go after three department heads, six members of congress, and the head of a left wing TV news network.

In the morning they commenced the attack by sending the first round of text messages and emails. They even sent a couple of cryptic tweets that everyone could see but only the targeted individual would know was actually a threat. When the media got hold of these there would be endless speculation and conspiracy theories discussed by the talking heads on TV.
Chapter 35 – Falling Like Coconuts

FBI Director Howard Watson was looking at porn on his office computer when a sweet voice said 'You've got mail.' He hated to pull himself away from the juicy video he was watching but thought it might from his wife so he opened it.

I know what you did to that prostitute in your hotel room. I have photos. Tell Sorensson you no longer work for him or you will see them on the six o'clock news.

Watson's initial reaction was panic. Which time is this guy talking about. I've beat up prostitutes several times in hotels all over the country. How can he have pictures? Were there hidden cameras? Did someone set me up? Who sent this?

He looked at the sender's email address – Gotcha@America.net. He clicked on REPLY and typed,

Who the hell is this!

But when he hit SEND the screen said 'Email Address not Found.'

He picked up the phone and ordered the head of IT to find out where the email came from.

"Yes sir, I can do that. But you'll need to forward it to me so I can work on it."

"I can't do that. The message is confidential."

"Okay. Delete the message and then forward it. Can you do that?"

"Give me a minute."

When the Information Technology Department chief got the message the first thing he did was restore the original message using special software he downloaded from the Darknet. He did this whenever he had a chance so he would have a supply of incriminating information to use in case he needed it. What he didn't know was that the software sent the email back to the Darknet for the internet underworld to see. It took a day before one of the network users stumbled on it, but he sold it to the major news networks within an hour.

The three couples were having a glass of wine before dinner with the TV on in the background when Kirsten broke into the conversation. "Quiet. Listen to this."

They watched as a copy of the email they sent Watson flashed on the screen and the speculation began. Will Watson have to resign? Who is the woman? Maybe she will come forward and tell her side of the story. Where did the email come from? Do you think the President had anything to do with it?

Bob exclaimed, "Wow. I didn't expect anything to happen this quickly. I wonder who leaked the email? Where did you dig up that story about the prostitute, Jacob."

"I made it up. Given Watson's lack of character and the fact that getting prostitutes on business trips is common with most of the men in Washington I thought there was a good chance it was the truth. Especially since I made it vague, with no date or location."

"Well you struck pay dirt on that one. Let's hope our other victims are that easy to fool."

Renard Fox, the newly appointed Speaker of the House, was having lunch with other congressmen on Sorensson's payroll when his smart phone signaled that he had a new message on Twitter. "Excuse me, I have to check this. It might be the President calling me an idiot."

Amid laughter he opened the message.

There is a problem with your bank account. Where did all that money come from?

Renard immediately looked up and scanned the other patrons in the exclusive House Dining Room. Someone's foolin' with me, he thought as he looked around to see who was laughing. But no one even glanced at him. Then he did a double take at his screen. Shit! This came through on my public Twitter account. Everyone can see it. The FBI, the IRS, the news media. I have to do something fast.

"Excuse me gentlemen. I have some business to take care of."

As soon as he was back in the office he called and ordered his banker to close the account and put the assets into a new account in his dog's name.

"I can do that for you. Let me bring up your account. . . . Okay. Now who is this Mr. Guinness Terrier that you want to open the new account for? Is he a relative?"

"Uh, yes. He lives with my wife and me."

"Alright. . . . Here's your account. . . . But there seems to be a problem, Congressman Fox. The account is frozen. I can't move money in or out."

"WHAT! How can that be. Who ordered it?"

"According to this it was frozen by a direct order from the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"That's impossible. They can't do that. Call them and demand that they release my account . . . right now."

"I can't do that, sir. You will have to call them."

"Who signed the order?"

"Madison Taggart"

"Taggart? The former head of the FBI? She's been dead for weeks. I can't call her."

"I'm sorry sir. There's nothing I can do."

In the following few days two senators, three congressmen, and the Secretary of the Treasury resigned their posts, all citing a newly diagnosed illness as the reason. Cancer was the most popular because the symptom don't show.

The Senate voted on a bill that would give all illegal immigrants immediate citizenship. It would create a whole new voting class of die-hard democrats because they were behind the new law. With the new liberals put in place by Sorensson it was expected to pass without a problem, but it failed by a dozen votes.

Howard Watson was forced to resign as Director of the FBI when the incriminating email surfaced in the nightly news. The next day a well-known liberal Hollywood producer offered Watson half a million dollars for the rights to the lurid story. President Matheson quickly replaced Watson with the deputy director of the Secret Service. Within a week twenty three of the FBI's top management personnel were asked to resign or face criminal charges.

Congressman Fox's financial affairs were under investigation by the IRS, who discovered monthly deposits coming from a small bank in Southern Georgia. The raccoons were falling like coconuts.
Chapter 36 – Phase Two

Two Weeks Earlier

When Sakhir Kurian took off through the forest on the stolen 200cc Yamaha trail bike he wasn't just getting away from his pursuers; he had a destination in mind. Forty miles to the north was a mountain valley hidden among the peaks of the southern Blue Ridge mountains. The fifty-thousand acre tract was purchased from the U. S. Government three years ago by the United Followers of The Higher Power, a religious sect that wanted to build a retreat for their followers – at least that's what their charter said. In truth it was owned by RexSorCorp, purchased to build a training camp for terrorists dedicated to the ISIS goal of overthrowing the American capitalist society.

Sorensson had sent Kurian to create the facility and recruit new fanatics to establish sleeper cells in a dozen locations. The intensive training turned out young men and women who could think, shoot, fight, and build bombs. Most got through the training anxious to serve Allah; those that didn't disappeared.

Kurian returned to the site every few weeks to assess the training program and fire the commander if it didn't meet his expectations. The former commanders joined the bodies unsuccessful trainees at the bottom of a coal mine on the property.

Today he approached the gate guard and rode straight through with out stopping. Thirty yards inside the compound he stopped and backed up to the guard. "Why didn't you shoot me. You have orders to shoot anyone who doesn't stop for an ID check."

"I . . . I, uh, recognized who you were sir."

Kurian glared at him. "You should have shot me anyway."

"S. . s . . sorry sir."

Kurian pulled out his pistol and shot the man in the forehead. Then he turned back into the compound and stopped at the command center. He burst in the door without knocking. "On your feet Colonel Mueller."

The man turned pale and struggled to his feet. "I didn't know you were coming, sir. The guard should have called me. I apologize."

"He didn't call you because I shot him for dereliction of duty. Get a replacement out there now and dispose of the body."

"Yes sir.

Kurian noticed that Mueller's behavior was a little off. His eyes shifted left and right and wouldn't look him in the eye. Sweat broke out on his forehead and his hands were shaking. When he eased his hand toward the desk drawer and opened it Kurian kicked it shut on his hand.

"Aaahhh! You broke my hand!"

Kurian pushed Mueller down into his chair and retrieved the gun he was reaching for.

"Since when did you start taking orders from Sorensson instead of me?"

"He told me you were a traitor; to shoot you on sight."

"Well, you're no longer in charge here, I am. Shall I kill you or would you rather do it yourself." When he took too long to answer Kurian put three bullets in his chest. Then he picked the microphone and made a camp-wide announcement.

"This is Sakhir Kurian. All personnel meet in front of the command center, ASAP."

Within a few minutes the training officers and recruits were assembled at the front steps.

"Col. Mueller is no longer in charge here . . . I am. And I have a new mission for you. Your training will focus on killing the American political elite. When your training is complete you will be soldiers in Allah's Assassins – a new army tasked with eliminating the people who run this country. We will act swiftly before the Government can react. Like a chicken with its head cut off it will run this way and that until it finally dies. Then it will be our country."

Hesitantly at first, then as a team, they began to shout "Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar" . . . Allah is great. Kurian had accomplished his goal of changing a gang of individual fanatics into a coherent team of fanatics. In thirty days they would be ready to start killing.

Back to the Present

Alex turned on the projector and displayed his matrix of targeted Sorensson supporters. He had put a red 'X' in every box where they were successful in unseating one of them and today the marks covered over half of the names.

"As you can see we are halfway to finishing this phase of our attack, and we have more threatening messages going out today. We may not eliminate them all, but we have severely crippled Sorensson's attempts to take over the country. Now it's time to move on to the next phase – locating and eliminating the ISIS threat . . . and we will start with taking down their training complex."

Jacob asked, "But how can we do that if we don't know where it is? All we learned from the guy you questioned back in the Pecos was that it's located somewhere in northern Georgia. That's a lot of territory."

The matrix display was replaced by a satellite view of the northern third of the state with red circles around several areas. Alex continued. "I have been studying the entire region looking for possible sites. I narrowed the search by establishing some criteria for a terrorist training facility – it must be isolated, defensible, accessible only by a single road, and inconspicuous from the air. As you can see that left me with seven areas to examine."

"And how are you going to do that," Jacob asked.

"Bob, I was hoping you could help us out here. When you were at the Secret Service didn't you have the access codes to get live video from the U.S. KH-11 spy satellite?"

"Yes, I could do that then. But I don't know if those codes are still valid. They may have changed them when I left."

"I'd like to try to access the KH-11 camera to get high resolution images of these seven areas. The satellite passes over northern Georgia tomorrow afternoon at 3:21. The weather is supposed to be clear. Can we give it a try?"

"There are a couple of problems with that. First, if they have changed the codes, trying to use them will set off alarms that could lead back to us. Second, the cameras will have to be redirected to cover the areas we want and that can only be done by direct order from the NRO, National Reconnaissance Office. So even if the codes get us into the camera feed it won't be looking at the right place."

Alex thought for a minute. "We'll just have to take our chances with the first problem. The second problem is something that I can probably deal with. I'll start by hacking into the NRO to see how to simulate an official order to re-aim the camera optics. If I can do that before the satellite pass tomorrow we might be able to pull it off."

"It's worth a try. But if we find out where it is then what? We can't go to the authorities with it because we're fugitives. And how do we know that the satellite isn't seeing some small town instead of the training camp?"

Everyone thought about this until Jacob spoke up. "We will need close-up photographs. Someone will have to go to the most likely location and snap some pictures. . . . Alex, are you up for it?"

Kirsten immediately jumped up. "Oh no you don't. I'm not letting Alex get anywhere near that place."

Jacob looked at her, then back at Alex. "Alex, are you up for it?"

"Kirsten, I have to do this. This is what we signed up for, remember?"

Betty started in on Jacob. "Please don't do this, honey. There must be some other way."

He faced her and took her hands in his. "Alex is right, Betty. It has to be done and we're the only ones who can do it. And we both have the experience and knowledge to pull this off. I'm sorry it has to be this way, but it is what it is."

Kirsten glared at Alex then turned and left the room with the words "You're sleeping on the couch tonight!"

Alex spent the rest of the day prowling around in NRO computer files until he found what he was looking for. He could send the order to redirect the camera forty minutes before it passed over the suspected camp locations. That would give the satellite control center time to execute the order but hopefully headquarters wouldn't detect the intrusion and countermand the instructions until they had their photos. It was a narrow window but it should give them enough time. He would only have one shot at this. Once the NRO realized what happened all the codes would be changed. He closed the laptop and went upstairs to see if Kirsten had cooled off some.

He tapped lightly on the door, half hoping she was asleep and he wouldn't have to face her.

"Who is it."

"It's me . . . Alex."

"Go away! I don't want to talk to you."

Alex thought What should I do? I think she needs me to comfort her right now, but she told me to go away. I'll come back later. . . . No, I have to go in there so we can talk. How we handle this could set the pattern for our relationship from now on.

"Alex . . . are you still there?"

"Yes, I am."

"Come on in. I need your arms around me."
Chapter 37 – Busted

Alex and Jacob crawled to the top of a ridge half a mile from the training camp. They both took out binoculars and studied the layout – six block buildings arranged in a circle. The three largest ones looked like barracks and, judging by the smoke coming out of a vent on the next one, it was probably the dining hall. The largest one looked like it could be a gymnasium, which left the last as the command center. Further up the valley they could see an obstacle course and beyond that was a shooting range. The sound of automatic rifle fire reached their hiding place. And surrounding it all was a ten-foot chain link fence topped with razor wire.

Alex took out a digital camera with a large telephoto lens and began snapping pictures. It had a built-in radio link that immediately send the images back to Kirsten's computer at their Rocky Mountain fortress. Alex set that up in case he and Jacob were captured and couldn't get back with the cameras. He zoomed in on the command center front porch to study the tall thin man standing there.

"That guy on the porch must be in charge. He's yelling at the other two on the ground in front of him. . . . He looks familiar. . . . It's Sakhir Kurian! He was chief of security at RexSorCorp, and probably the one who had Gerry killed."

"Who's Gerry?"

"Someone I used to know. It's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you sometime."

They both studied the man a while longer before backing down off the ridge to decide what to do. "Jacob, you're the legal expert. What kind of evidence do we need to get to get the Government to attack this place?"

"So far none of the pictures we took clearly demonstrate it's a terrorist training base. We need to get closer to the firing range and capture them practicing with automatic weapons. And if we could find evidence that they're being taught to make bombs, that would really be good."

They walked back off the ridge and up a creek bed to get in position for the firing range photos. The sound of the gunfire directed their ascent back up the ridge. When they looked below them they had a good view of everything – the targets, a line of eight would-be terrorists firing bursts downrange, and two others practicing with sniper rifles shooting at mannequins a thousand yards away. Alex put the camera into video mode and filmed the action.

Back at Bob and Sherry's house they were all gathered in front of the screen watching the images and commenting on how clear they were.

Alex and Jacob finished up at this end of the camp and went back toward the main complex.

"These pictures will convince the Government that this is a terrorist operation, but it won't tell them who funds it. We need to get into the office and see if we can find something there."

"You mean like get past this fence, go through the front door, search for stuff, and get back out without getting shot?"

"Yeah, that's what I had in mind."

"Okay, but we'll have to wait until it's dark."

As soon as the sun set the two of them sneaked down to the fence and walked along looking for a way in. They were half way around the perimeter before they found it – a hole dug under the fence by some animal – maybe a coyote or a woodchuck. It wasn't large enough so they had to dig with their hands to enlarge it. It still took some wiggling but they we able to get inside. Jacob took a GPS reading on his phone so they would be able to find it to escape.

Fifteen yards into the compound they emerged from the trees to find several guns pointed at them and Kurian looking on with a smirk on his face. "This was a totally unexpected visit, gentlemen. Apparently you didn't see the hidden motion sensors surrounding the fence. I expected cops or the FBI, but instead I got the man I have been chasing all over the country. What a blessing. . . . Thank you Allah." He threw in the last part to impress his followers.

"And I see by your camera that you have been snooping around." He turned to one of his men. "Grab the camera and take it back to the command post. I want to see what's on it." Alex removed the strap from around his neck and handed it over, but not before pressing a button that erased everything on it and another that would continue streaming live audio and video back to their Rocky Mountain hideout.

"I want them in my office in ten minutes. Soften them up a bit so they will talk freely."

As Kurian walked off the others closed in, tied their hands, and dragged them to the largest building. As they were pushed through the door the irrelevant thought that passed through Alex's mind was I was right, It is a gymnasium. Then the beatings started.

When the torture was over they were pushed through the door of Kurian's office stripped to their shirts, their faces bloodied, and blood oozing from several knife cuts on their bodies.

"I see you have learned your interrogation lessons well, men. You created lots of pain but kept them conscious. I think they will tell me what I want to know. You may leave for now. When I'm done with them you can continue your torture until they are dead."

He looked at Alex. "I tried to download the photos from your camera onto my computer but the memory chip is empty. Surely I wasn't so lucky as to catch you before you took any. Did you erase them?"

Jacob looked at Kurian through swollen eyes with as much surprise as possible. "What? You mean Alex didn't turn the camera on? I thought he knew what he was doing."

Kurian stepped over and backhanded him across the face. Alex winced and yelled "There's no need for that. I'll tell you what you want to know."

Kurian turned back to him. "Let me have it."

Alex started telling everything he knew about RexSorCorp's illegal activities but was cut off after a couple of minutes. "I already know all that. I was right in the middle of it. I want to know who is working with you now. And why are so many of Sorensson's bought and paid for politicians stepping down. Somebody is behind that and I think it involves you two."

"I don't know why that's happening but a guy we captured up in the Pecos told us about this ISIS training camp. We came to get some proof to show the Homeland Security people."

"You're lying. I sent no one after you in New Mexico."

"So you know your geography well enough to know the Pecos river is in New Mexico? You know we're telling the truth. That's why we came here."

"Whoever is working with you cannot stop my Army of Assassins. It's too late. Within two weeks most of the Government leaders will be dead and the country will be in chaos. . . . Omar, get in here. Take these two back to the gym and finish them off."

Back at mountain house the three women and Bob watched the camera images as Alex and Jacob were captured by Kurian's men.

Betty screamed as the blood drained from Kirsten's face. "Oh my God. What will they do to them."

Sherry sat down between the women and tried to calm them. "They'll find a way to escape. Look at everything Alex has been through and nothing has stopped him yet. He escaped from the Atlanta police, the FBI, and everyone Sorensson sent after him. They will do whatever is necessary to get loose, just like they did when we rescued you two."

"But that man took the camera so we'll never know what happens. We may never see them again," Betty wailed as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Kirsten responded with anger and hatred. "If they do anything to Alex I will hunt them down and kill them. That's a promise!"

Bob tried to bring an element of calm to the situation. "That's better left up to the authorities, Kirsten. We have enough evidence in these pictures and videos to convince someone – the FBI, Homeland Security, even the President if that what it takes – to take the place down and rescue the guys."

"If they're still alive. It takes the Government forever to act on something like this," Kirsten answered. "We know where it is. Let's get some weapons together and go get our men."

"These guys at the camp are all trained killers. And there are way too many of them. We will just get ourselves killed."

"If he gets killed I don't want to live. Is that how you feel Betty? . . . Betty?"

She pointed to the screen. "Look the video stream from the camera is still coming in. It looks like it's on a desk somewhere. . . . There's the skinny guy. It must be his office. I can see the door."

When they heard a knock and Kurian said "Enter," they realized the sound was active.

Bob leaned forward. "We're still recording this aren't we Kirsten?"

"Yes!"

Two men were pushed into the office and forced to sit in chairs – right in front of the camera.

Sherry asked "Who are they?"

Kirsten looked at their faces and was about to say she didn't know when she recognized Alex underneath the blood and swollen face. "OH NO! It's them! . . . It's Alex and Jacob!"

Betty started to cry again. "What have they done to them? They've been beaten up!"

When Kurian started to talk Bob hushed them. "We need to hear this."

When he was finished bragging about his plans for taking over the country Bob yelled "Yesss! We've got him. This is everything we need to get the Government to move quickly! This is unequivocal proof that the country is in immediate danger. . . . Kirsten, put all this on a DVD. I'm going to see the President!"

"How? They will never let you past the front gate."

"The head of Matheson's Secret Service protection detail is a friend. I'm hoping that will get me into the Oval Office."

As Alex and Jacob were led toward the gym they passed a HumVee with the engine running. Their hands were still tied in front of them but that didn't stop Alex. He quickly pivoted on one foot and slammed the toe of his leather hiking boot into the guard's chin. He heard bone crack as the man fell backwards. When Jacob's guard turned to help he was quickly choked to unconscious by the ropes holding Jacob's arms. Alex ran back to the vehicle.

"Jump in! I'll drive, you shift gears."

They were halfway to the front gate before the roaring engine alerted the half dozen men in the area. Only one was armed and he emptied the pistol at them, but the HumVee's heavy metal body deflected them harmlessly. Kurian got out on the porch just in time to see them crash through the gate and disappear. Three of his training officer asked if they should chase them down but Kurian replied, "No, they can't do us any harm. Let them go. But we have to move up our timetable. I want us packed and ready to leave tomorrow."

"But are the men ready, sir?"

"They have to be!"
Chapter 38 – Mission Accomplished

The President was at his desk speed reading his way through the daily stack of papers at 850 words per minute. He read everything that came across his desk rather than depending on his staff to read and summarize the material like most presidents did. This morning it was the Omnibus Budget Bill that Congress just passed. It was full of compromises, but he managed to get the major points he promised in his campaign included, but at a cost – a 1.3 trillion dollar increase in the national debt. The thought occurred to him that maybe they should call it the Ominous Deficit Bill.

When his secretary buzzed the intercom and said Mark Clinton, the head of the Secret Service detail, asked to see him he was annoyed. "Tell him to make an appointment. I'm busy."

"He says it is extremely important, sir. And he has another Secret Service agent with him."

"Tell them they have three minutes and send them in"

Fifteen minutes later Bob had shown him the video from the terrorist training camp along with the satellite photos backing up his story. "You say you have two people being held there?"

"Yes sir. The ones who took these photos and sent back the video."

Matheson pondered the situation for a few minutes then made his decision. "If it weren't for the captives I would send in some drones with Hellfire missiles and destroy the place, then go in and pick up the pieces. We'd have to leave the command center standing and hope we find information that leads us to the sleeper cells. But with Lucas and Levitz in there it will have to be a swift ground attack by special forces, and that will take three or four days to put together. I'm sorry about your friends but that's the best I can do."

"Yes sir, I understand."

After stopping long enough to untie each other, Alex drove to where they had left Jacob's Jeep. He threw the HumVee keys into the woods and drove toward Blairsville, the nearest town. Kurian had taken their cell phones so they needed to find a phone and let the others know they were safe. They stopped beside a stream to wash most the blood off their faces so they wouldn't attract so much attention but it didn't help the swelling. Alex was driving with only one eye since the other had swollen shut.

"We need to find a phone where no one will call the police as soon as they see us. Any ideas Alex?"

"Yeah. Find a bar with motorcycles out front. People get beat up in those places all the time."

They had to cruise the back streets of town to find what they were looking for. Jacob looked better than Alex so he got out and entered the Two Dawgs Tavern. As he walked up to the bar the bartender glanced at him, then went back to drying glasses.

"You got a phone I can use? I need to call my woman to come pick me up."

"You got any money?"

"How much?"

"Twenty dollars."

Jacob pulled out the billfold he had retrieved from the Jeep and laid a twenty on the bar. The bartender slid a cell phone across the counter. Jacob picked it and went to a corner table to make the call. Sherry answered.

"Hi. It's me, Jacob. We're safe."

Sherry shrieked and said "It's them. They're safe."

Jacob had to wait for the women to settle down before he could continue. "Is Bob there?"

"No, he took the video from your camera back to the President. He called ten minutes ago to say that it would be a couple of days before they could send troops in to rescue you."

"I'll call him and tell him we don't need rescuing. Then we're coming home"

The following day Kurian stood on the porch and surveyed the convoy that was assembled and ready to move out. A small armada of pickup trucks, vans, and transport trucks were lined up ready to leave at his command. Once they got out of the mountains each would head in a different direction to carry out the missions he had assigned them. He liked being in command – it made him feel powerful, like he could control the world. Here he was king.

What he couldn't control were the three MQ-9 Predator drones approaching his kingdom. They came in at low level, below the surrounding ridges, so they were neither heard nor seen. Each had a load of four Hellfire precision-guided missiles pre-programmed to hit specific targets within the compound. When the first two Hellfires hit the gym everyone stared in shock for a second or two, then dove for cover under the lined up vehicles. The next two missiles hit the lead vehicles in the convoy to block the gate so no one could escape. One by one the remaining eight missiles took out the rest of the compound – except for the building Kurian was standing in front of. He watched in horror, then anger, as everything he had created disappeared, and along with them his plan for decapitating America.

This can't be happening. How could they know about this place? . . . Lucas is responsible for this. He will pay with his life, after I finish my other business. I have to get away before the ground attack starts. He had prepared an escape just in case he needed it. In the command post garage there was a Polaris Sportsman ATV. With ninety horsepower engine and four knobby mud tires it could go anywhere. Kurian ran to the garage, put a chain saw on the cargo platform, and roared out to the fence. He stopped and looked at the ten foot barrier, then got out the chain saw and cut out a section of chain link big enough to drive through. As he disappeared into the trees he saw Special Forces helicopters descending on his destroyed kingdom.

Two weeks later the three couples, along with Alex's family, were on the large front deck of the Joiner's mountain home. When the pastor declared "I now pronounce you man and wife," Alex pulled Kirsten close for a long kiss. When they broke it everyone cheered and Bob herded them around to the back deck for the party. It was a simple wedding – no one dressed up, there was no bridal gown, no wedding march – just a ceremony to join them together. Sherry wanted to take lots of pictures but Alex's face still showed signs of his torture so they asked her not to.

By late afternoon the celebration broke up. Jackson and the rest of the Lucas family left to get back to Crested Butte before dark and the others sat on couches drinking coffee. Alex said he didn't want any but Kirsten pulled him over so she could whisper, "I don't want you falling asleep on me tonight. I've been waiting a long time for this." Then she turned to Sherry. "He'll have coffee . . . strong and black." Sherry and Betty chuckled. The men didn't get it.

When the evening news came on they stopped their conversations to hear if any more of their targeted officials had given up. There were still a few left on the matrix who hadn't succumbed to the first wave of threatening messages but the group planned to fire off messages threatening even worse consequences if they didn't step down. Tonight it was the lead story that caught their attention.

We have some breaking news. The President announced a few minutes ago that the Department of Homeland Security and the FBI conducted joint operations to shut down thirteen terrorist operations across the U. S. In the surprise midnight raids forty-one terrorists were taken into custody and three were killed in a shootout. No Government personnel were injured. At each location stockpiles of weapons were confiscated, including automatic rifles, side arms, and rocket propelled grenades. Bomb-making materials were found at four sites, along with completed explosive devices ready for use. The President thanked the agents for a job well done and singled out one, Alex Lucas of the Secret Service, for exposing this web of fanatics.

"I wish the President hadn't said that" Alex remarked. "Tomorrow there will be hoards of reporters out here demanding an interview."

Kirsten said under her breath, "There goes the honeymoon."

Bob smiled at them. "It's not a problem. No one knows where we are. Even the President doesn't know where we are. If the media attack dogs show up anywhere it will be at your home in Golden. When they find no one there, they'll go chasing another news story somewhere."

"Thanks, Bob."

"Me too," Kirsten added.

She and Alex went upstairs early as everyone expected. Bob asked the rest, "Is it true they have never . . ."

Sherry interrupted. "I think the phrase 'done it' is what you're searching for. And yes, it's true."

"How do you know that?"

"Girl talk."

"Then he's a stronger man than I am."

Sherry blushed. "Bob . . . You're giving away our secrets."

"Giving away our sins is more like it."

Upstairs Kirsten headed for the shower. "What are they laughing at?"

"Us, I suspect. Now hurry and shower so I can get in there."

"We could, uh, shower together."

Alex grinned. "Why that's the best offer I've had today Mrs. Lucas." They laughed as he pulled the shower door shut.

* * * * * * * * * FADE TO BLACK * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 39 – The New Plan: Extreme Hostility

Sorensson looked at the three remaining members of his Socialist Utopia Council. None would hold his gaze. They think this is over but I won't quit. . . . I never quit. I just get meaner. I have lost several of the people I put in place to pull this country into socialism, but I'll find more to put in place. A team of hired killers will be here next week to begin executing anyone who stands in the way of my objective – political leaders, lobbyists, news anchors, preachers – and especially whoever is behind the blackmail messages. And I'll do it so quickly that no one will know what to do. When the chaos is at its worse I'll step up and offer to re-establish order. I'll pay off or threaten the remaining members of Congress so they will appoint me 'interim' president.' After several executive orders to reshape the Government and make my position permanent, my dream will come true.

He cleared his throat. "Our great plan has suffered some setbacks lately, but it's nothing we can't handle. I have a plan to shake things up very quickly. I will become the interim President of the United States." He looked at his legal expert, Elizabeth Goldsmith, who was trying to suppress a smirk. "Elizabeth, it will take major changes to the legal system to make this happen and I'm counting on you for that."

"I'll do what I can, sir, but my influence as an ex-vice president will only go so far."

"That's not what I have in mind. Within a month Justice Dade of the Supreme Court will suffer a fatal heart attack. At her age no one will suspect foul play. I have paid off the right people to make you her replacement."

Elizabeth's mouth fell open at the news. "Oh thank you Rex. I will make you proud you selected me."

"If you don't you will be replaced. . . . You're too young for a heart attack so I'll have to think of something else."

Her face lost all color at this pronouncement. "I . . . I will not disappoint you, sir."

Sorensson smiled, "Of course you won't dear."

He turned next to Michael Griffin. "You have done a good job giving me de facto control of the Treasury Department and the IRS by threatening the directors. But once I'm president I will need for you to once again be Chief of Staff, as you were for the previous President. You will be the one who swings the club to keep everyone in line. I need you to be ruthless in that job. Can you do it?"

Griffin smiled, "Yes sir, that's what I'm really good at."

Sorensson finally turned to Gordon Koontz. "You've done well at keeping the money flowing into both RexSorCorp and my hidden accounts, but it won't be enough for this next move. We will need a lot of money really quickly to make this happen. Unfortunately the one who was best at this, Alex Lucas, turned out to be a traitor. Go find me someone even better than him . . . In fact find two or three of them. It will take that many to keep up with my financial needs."

"Consider it done."

"Be ready, all of you. Operation Extreme Hostility is about to begin."

He looked across the small city park at the back of the tall building a quarter mile away, too far for the surveillance cameras to detect him. He stopped in the shade of large live oak tree, opened a large canvass carrying bag, and began setting up the equipment. He attached the camera with a long telephoto lens to the sturdy tripod. The long lens was a custom design, but not for photographic purposes.

The man stood in the darkening shadows of the surrounding buildings as the sun began to set. He leaned down to look through the camera viewfinder and adjusted the cross-hair sight to aim directly at the lens of a surveillance camera mounted above the large steel door. With a quick glance left and right to be sure no one was approaching he pushed the shutter button. He heard a 'pop' as the laser built into the 'lens' fired off a single short pulse of invisible infrared light. An instant later he saw a puff of smoke as the surveillance camera circuitry was fried by the laser.

He dismantled the system, repacked it into the carrying case, and carried it back to his car. He waited until it was dark, as dark as a big city gets at night, then took a small tool bag out of the trunk and crossed the park to the building. He took out a single key, inserted it into the lock, and twisted. When he heard the satisfying click he turned the door handle and entered.

His target lived on the top floor. He didn't want to be seen, either by people or by the dozens of security cameras located in the hallways and elevators, so he opened the basement door to the stairwell and began climbing. It was a long climb, but he was in excellent condition so he kept at it until he reached the top. Things were a little trickier here. There was no way to get into the target's apartment without passing by some cameras, but he knew that once inside, there would be no cameras to record what he had planned. He took another key from his pocket removed from a large key ring back in his car. He knew it would fit; he had used it before. He pulled a baseball cap down over his face and stepped out into the hallway. When he reached the door he unlocked it and quietly entered.

After quick glances around corners to be sure no one was there he moved quietly to the bedroom. The bed was empty, but he could hear water running in the bathroom. He listened at the door until the water was turned off and he heard the sound of a body lowering itself into a bath. Perfect he thought. When the murder scene photos hit the news this man's disgrace will be complete. He pushed open the door and stepped in. When the bather didn't notice him he slammed the door shut. His victim looked up.

"You! How did you get in here! . . . Get out of here immediately or I will call security." He was trying to take control of the situation but it's hard to be an authority figure when you are naked in the bath tub in front of a man holding a gun.

The man lifted the gun and aimed it at the victims forehead, then lowered it and put it back in his pocket. "Are you leaving?" he asked hopefully.

"No, you are."

The victim tried to rise out of the tub but he was pushed back down until his head was underwater. He struggled but at seventy two he couldn't overcome the strength of his younger attacker. In a few minutes it was all over and the attacker slipped out the way he had entered, but not before taking a picture which he would forward to the news media tomorrow. Kurian's parting thought was, Drowning is so much more terrifying than a single bullet to the head. You have all that time to struggle and know you're about to die. Maybe his final lucid thought is the eternal question; am I going up or down. Of course in his case it was never in question.

Chapter 40 – Honeymoon

As Alex's mind struggled to cast off the confusion of sleep it took him a moment to remember where he was and who was beside him. He pushed himself up on one elbow and looked down at her beautiful face. To him it looked radiant, with a hint of a smile on her lips. He thought back to last night and wondered if it was all just a dream, but he knew it wasn't. He threw a quick prayer up to God thanking him for this wonderful gift beside him, then slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom for his morning grooming.

When he was finished he quietly walked to the bedroom door and was about to open it when she said, "Hey, where you goin'. Come back here and kiss me." He happily complied with her request.

"I can see I've got some training to do. We need to get this marriage on the right track from the beginning."

He laughed and replied, "Make me a list, sweetheart, and I'll start working on it."

When he got to the kitchen Sherry and Bob were already up making breakfast. "What's cooking?"

"Scrambled eggs, grits, bacon, sausage patties, toast, and cinnamon rolls," Sherry replied.

"That's a lot of food for just the four of us. Are you expecting company?"

"No, but you two need to keep your strength up," she said with knowing smile.

"And why would that be?" Kirsten asked as she joined them.

Sherry looked at her and winked. The men smiled; they got it this time.

After breakfast Sherry and Bob finished packing their stuff in the car. Kirsten walked over and hugged Sherry. "I can't thank you two enough for letting us stay here for our honeymoon."

"Now that Bob is back at work we need to be back in our Denver home. They offered him a promotion but we would have to move to D.C. and neither of us wanted that."

"What are your plans, Alex," Bob asked

"Kirsten and I need to talk about it. She wants me out of the secret agent business, but that's what keeps my adrenalin going. We'll figure it out."

"I'll keep your adrenalin flowing, dear."

They all laughed. Alex reached out to shake Bob's hand but the man pulled him into a bear hug. "Let's not lose touch. Wherever you end up, promise to come back for a visit now and then."

They both answered in unison "We will."

With that Bob and Sherry got in their car left.

"Well, we have the whole place to ourselves, honey. What should we do?"

"Since we need a break from last night's activities – a short break – let's have another cup of coffee and see what's happening in the world."

They sat side by side on the couch as the morning version of Fox News came on. After covering how the President's agenda was finally moving forward because of all the Congressional resignations the 'Breaking News!' banner flashed across the screen.

This just in. The Atlanta police have found the body of billionaire Rex Sorensson dead in his penthouse apartment atop the RexSorCorp company headquarters. They were alerted when this photograph of Mr. Sorensson underwater in the bathtub showed up on dozens of internet sites. When they went to his apartment they found just what the photo depicted – Rex Sorensson in his bathtub, apparently drowned. The Atlanta police chief reported that no marks were apparent on the body and the most likely cause of death was drowning. The official cause of death must await the coroner's examination. We'll keep you up to date on this as new information becomes available.

"Wow! This is the answer to our prayers, Kirsten. With Sorensson gone and most of his political cronies rooted out I think the threat is over."

"Maybe, but we should wait to see who replaces him at RexSorCorp. Sorensson probably groomed someone to take over for him someday."

"I hope not. I don't want to go through that again. . . . Maybe I'll become a free-lance assassin, taking out anyone who threatens our way of Government. . . . And I could do the same for child molesters who get released on a technicality. . . . I could even go after international leaders who persecute anyone who opposes them . . ."

"Whoa cowboy. You can't do that. How do you decide who needs killing? Where do you draw the line between really bad and not so bad people? Will you be the judge and jury? . . . No, as tempting as that sounds, you can't do it. That's why the legal system was created – to prevent that sort of thing."

"But I have all the skills. I'd be good at it."

Kirsten shot him a look that said 'drop it.'

The two of them spent the next week enjoying the closeness. They went for hikes, talked about their future, thought up names for their children, and went skinny dipping in the Joiner's pool. They kept their eyes on the news to see if anything more would come out about Sorensson's death but there was nothing new. Then two weeks after his body was discovered the coroner's report came out. Alex brought up an online copy of it on the big TV screen and they read through it.

When they got to page two they couldn't believe what they were seeing. Bruises were found on Sorensson's bald head that indicated someone may have held him under the water until he drowned. They turned on Fox news to see more. The police chief and the coroner of Atlanta were side-by-side on the steps of city hall as the coroner finished his summary. As soon as he quit speaking two dozen news reporters clamored for attention, each shouting their questions.

The police chief held out his hands out palms down to stop the commotion. It took a couple of minutes but they eventually realized he wasn't going to speak until it was quiet.

"Thank you. Let me read a statement then you can ask questions . . . IF you do so in an orderly manner."

Kirsten looked at Alex. "Yeah right. That will happen when pigs fly."

The chief continued. "The report by the coroner changes the cause of death from accidental to possible homicide. We have just begun our investigation by declaring Mr. Sorensson's residence and his office in the RexSorCorp building a crime scene. Our forensic experts are entering the premises as I speak to search for evidence that might identify the attacker. They will look for not only physical evidence but also for digital evidence computers found at the scene. We will bring in investigators from Federal agencies to assist in our effort."

"This is great!" Kirsten exclaimed. "They'll discover all the illegal stuff Sorensson was involved in. . . . They won't find anything to incriminate you will they?"

"No, shortly after I went on the run I hacked their system and erased all evidence that could be tied back to me."

The next morning Alex got a phone call from Bob.

"Just checking up on us, huh?" Alex asked jokingly.

"Yeah, Sherry insisted. . . . But the real reason for the call is to make you an offer you can't refuse. . . . Well, you can but I hope you don't."

"No, I won't come back to work, Bob."

"It's not about that – well it sort of is. The FBI wants to hire you as a consultant to help sort out all the financial stuff on RexSorCorp's computers. Their forensic accountants are lost in a maze of confusing connections, and some of the files are locked with an algorithm they can't unlock."

"I know. I created the algorithm."

"That's what I was thinking. . . . Will you do your country one more patriotic favor and go down to Atlanta for a week or so?"

"Did you tell them I charge a thousand bucks an hour?"

"Be serious, Alex. They'll never pay that much."

"When they calculate what it will cost them to spend the next six months unraveling it they will."

"You drive a hard bargain. I'll call them and see if they go for it. I'll get back to you in a couple of hours."

Kirsten only heard one side of the conversation but guessed what it was all about. "So you're going back to work for the Secret Service. . . . I guess the honeymoon is over."

"No it's not. It will never be over for us, sweetheart. . . . They want me to go to Atlanta and help decipher Sorensson's financial records. Since I already know the system it shouldn't take me more than a few days."

"They will never agree to pay your fee, so I don't think it will happen." She looked at him closely. "You'd do it for free, wouldn't you!"

"I have to go, Kirsten. This is the chance to completely dismantle Sorensson's organization and send everyone who colluded with him to jail. The socialist threat will disappear."

"I repeat my earlier comment. . . . When pigs fly. Nothing will stop the greed and self-serving motives that drive political divisiveness. It's built in to mankind's brain, and not many have the inner strength to escape its grip."

"Part of Adam's original sin, huh."

"That's one way to look at it."

Alex's ringing phone broke up the conversation. "They agreed, Alex. And they will pay all your expenses."

"Good. So when do I leave?"

"In about an hour a helicopter will land at the Berthoud Falls Little League stadium to take you to the Denver airport. Be there. And don't worry about packing much. You can buy whatever you need at their expense when you get there."

Alex answered, "Roger that." And hung up.

"They agreed. I have to catch a helicopter in town in an hour."

"How can you pack in that time?"

"I'll only take essentials. I'll pick up what I need when I get there."

"Are you going to take your pistol? I don't want you getting into any more gunfights."

"No, I'll leave that here with you. I have forty minutes before I have to leave here. What would you like to do with that?"

She smiled at him, took his hand, and led him into the bedroom.
Chapter 41 – It's All Part of the Crime Scene

After three days in Atlanta working twenty-hour days Alex was close to wrapping things up. He gave the FBI accountants everything he had downloaded from the Reynoldsville bank along with the records from companies RexSorCorp was stealing from. It would have taken them weeks to get the search warrants needed so he was doing them a favor. After sorting out all the financial problems blocking their way, he was asked to go through emails from Sorensson and his close associates looking for incriminating evidence.

The most damning information he found was the connection between Kurian and the killers he hired on the Darknet. It was a shame that Kurian was killed in the raid on the terrorist compound. Alex would love to see him prosecuted in court. But he got what was coming to him – both on Earth and in the hereafter.

He saved Geri's emails until last. Even though he hadn't loved her there was a bruise on his heart from knowing he played an unintended role in her death. He and Kirsten had agreed not to talk about their past experiences but he knew he would have to tell her someday. If for no other reason than to unburdened his conscience.

That train of thought reminded him of how much he missed his new wife. They talked on the phone every day and that helped, but only having her close would cure what he felt now.

Kirsten closed the front door behind her as she went out for her morning run. She didn't bother to lock it; in a small place like this there was no crime to worry about. As it turned out locking it wouldn't have helped anyway.

She started on the mountain trail behind the house and continued as it zigzagged through several switchbacks on the way to the top of the ridge. Before she got halfway up she had to slow her pace – the high altitude starved her lungs for oxygen. She kept at it until she reached the top and looked around. The view was fantastic from up here. To the west the highest peaks of the Colorado Rockies stabbed at the sky, still covered with snow even at this time of the year. To the south she could look down on Berthoud Falls two thousand feet below. She could never get enough of God's beautiful mountain creations. It brought back memories of her childhood in Crested Butte – and that brought Alex back into her mind. I love him so much it hurts when he's away. I can't get to sleep in an empty bed because I have only his pillow to hug. It smells like him but it doesn't feel like him. She broke out of her reverie and started back down the mountain.

As she approach the house she got a funny feeling – like someone was watching her. She looked around but didn't see anything. Maybe a neighbor was watching her through a window. She shrugged her shoulders and walked up to the back door.

She usually took her thick-soled hiking boots off before she went inside but this morning she had to pee so she headed for the bathroom. She was in such a hurry she didn't notice the odor of the man who had entered while she was gone, but as she left the bathroom she caught the unfamiliar smell. Her mental alarm bells went off but she stayed calm and resisted the urge to look around. With her head bowed as if in deep thought she sat on the edge of the bed. She faked a sneeze and opened the drawer of the nightstand as if reaching for a tissue. But she pulled Alex's gun out instead. She went down the hallway and quickly checked the two upstairs bedrooms, then slowly went down the stairs one step at a time. As she stepped out into the living room she saw him sitting in an easy chair.

She immediately brought the gun up and said, "Get out of my house! Leave now and I won't call the police."

When he stood up she saw he was tall, thin, and sinister looking. It's Kurian! He's not dead.

"I have no intention of leaving, Kirsten. At least not until I finish what I came for."

"One more step and I'll pull the trigger!"

"You know, I believe you would. You're calm, your hands are steady – yes, I believe you have what it takes to kill a man." He took a step forward but she backed up a step to keep enough distance so he couldn't make a quick move to grab her gun. Then he took a long step and stopped three feet from her.

Kirsten didn't say a word as she pulled the trigger and heard the click of the firing pin hitting an empty chamber.

"You don't think I would leave a loaded gun around do you? No the first thing I do when I enter the home of the person I'm going to kill is unload all the guns and leave them where they were. I find it entertaining to watch the maneuvering as they try to get to the gun without letting me know. It's all part of the fun. . . . Now put the gun down so I can get on with my business."

Kirsten stepped back and threw the gun at him.

He easily swept it aside. "Yes, that is usually the next act in the melodrama. People are so predictable. . . . I think the scream for help will come next, yes?"

She had started to do just that but instead turned and ran into the kitchen for a knife. They were gone.

He followed her and said, "I always hide the knives. That's the next thing the victims thinks of, although I doubt you could do me any harm with one. If it was Alex I was facing I might be concerned about a knife. But a woman . . ."

Think, Kirsten, think! How can I get out of this alive without a weapon? . . . I do what he expects. That's it. Put him off guard and hit him in the nose. That hurts and makes the eyes water, so I might get away. . . . But he's right. Women just don't have the power in their arms to defeat men. . . . Power. I have power. In my legs. From all that climbing and skiing.

She started whimpering, cowering against the refrigerator. She even managed to force some tears out of her eyes. "P . . . Please don't hurt me. I'll do anything you want . . . anything. Just let me go."

He looked her up and down. The hiking tights conformed to every curve of her body. "I have to admit, you are a real beauty. But my tastes run in a different direction."

Okay, what do I do now. I have to get him where I want him. She stepped forward and pushed her body against his, suggestively moving her hips against him. He pushed her away in revulsion and she fell back to the floor. Looking up she gathered her legs to her chest and spread them. "What's the matter, big boy. Can't you get it up, even for a sexy lady like me?"

In a rage Kurian leaned over to hit her. That's when she snapped her legs straight up and caught him under the chin with her heavy boots. She heard bone crunch and saw teeth fly as she jumped to her feet to continue her assault. There was no need. As he fell the back of his head hit stove and he sank to the floor.

He's out cold. I've got to find something to tie him up with. A rope. Where is a rope? . . . The garage. Maybe there.

She hurried to the garage and looked around for a rope. "There must be one somewhere. Everyone's got a rope in their garage," Kirsten said to herself. She moved boxes and lumber scraps, old furniture without finding what she needed. When she saw a rope end sticking out from under an old tire she grabbed it an pulled. It was only a foot long. I can't tie him up with that. . . . Maybe not a rope. What else? . . . Panty hose! The three pair I have in the bedroom should be enough.

As she started back into the house she froze as logic regained control of her panicked mind. What if he already woke up? Back into the panic mode she looked around for a weapon. She grabbed a piece of firewood and slowly re-entered the house, ready to club him to death if he appeared.

She approached the kitchen and peeked around the corner. He was in the same position as she left him, but there was a large pool of blood spreading from under his head. Keeping the piece of wood in her hand she reached down and felt his pulse. There was none; the man was dead.

Kirsten took a few minutes to calm down and regain he senses, then she reached for the phone.

"Bob, you have a problem. I just killed a man in your kitchen."

"You WHAT? . . . Are you all right Kirsten?"

"A little shaky, but otherwise unharmed."

"What happened? Who is the man."

"It's the tall skinny guy, Kurian, who's been after Alex."

Bob breathed a sigh of relief. "You did mankind a favor by killing him. He was nothing but evil."

"So what should I do?"

"Stay where you are. I'll be up there in twenty minutes. Don't move anything. It's a crime scene."

"I watch cop shows. I know what to do."

Bob replied with a laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking – it's a good thing you killed him in the kitchen. Blood cleans up from tiles a lot easier than it does from carpet."

True to his word, Bob's helicopter landed at the ball field ten minutes later. He had the county sheriff meet him there and take him up to the house. The sheriff was surprised by what he saw. "You did this to him? . . . Are you one of those women cage fighters or something?"

"No. All I had was my legs."

He took out his notebook. "I gotta hear this story."

Bob broke in, "First she needs to know that I called Alex and he's on his way – that's her husband. They're flying him in on an FBI private jet and will bring him here as soon as he arrives."

The sheriff scowled. "The FBI's involved in this?"

"I'm afraid so. This man was a killer in several states and worked for Rex Sorensson."

"The guy that's been all over the news?

"That's him."

"Hey, maybe I'll get myself on the network news. My missus would love that. I'd be her hero for at least a week."

"There's a good chance you will. Even though the FBI will take over the case go ahead and take her statement while it's fresh in her mind."

"Okay ma'am, let's start from the beginning."

When the FBI agents from Denver came to take over the crime scene they had her recite everything one more time. Now she was sitting in a chair on the front deck trying to process it all, trying to figure out if she could have gotten away without killing Kurian. She sometimes wondered how she would feel if she took a life and imagined it would be hard to live with herself. But she didn't feel any remorse tonight. Maybe that would come later. Right now she felt elated that she had triumphed over the man who terrified her, who was going to enjoy killing her. And she felt pleased with herself for handling it like she did, even though she had to fight off a couple of panic attacks to do it. In the end she had used her wits to save her own life. If something like this ever happens again I'll be able to do even better. I learned from this experience. I learned that I have to think one step ahead of the threat. . . . Where is Alex? I need him to hold me, to get my feet back on a foundation of reality; away from the crazy events of today.

For the twentieth time – at least it seemed like that to her – she strained her eyes to look down the road from town to see if there were headlights coming toward her. But this time she saw some. A car was coming up the road toward her. She jumped up and hurried down the steps to the driveway. When the car passed by her heart dropped in her chest. Then it stopped and backed up. The driver had missed the turn.

Alex was out of the car even before it came to a stop and ran to her. He grabbed her in his arms and held her tight – so tight she couldn't breathe. Then he took a step back and looked at her face, ran his hands over her hair, checked to make sure her arms weren't bandaged. "Oh God, Kirsten. I was so worried when Bob called. I was afraid he wasn't telling me the truth and I would find you dead when I got here." He pulled her to him again, not so tightly this time.

"It's all my fault, Kirsten. I never should have left you alone."

"No, it's not your fault. You couldn't foresee this. You didn't know he was still alive. So get over that self-blame attitude."

Alex smiled, "Yes dear. . . . Is the body still in the house? I need to see him dead to get him out of my nightmares."

"Yes, the body is still in the kitchen, but you can't go in there. It's a . . ."

"A crime scene. I know. But even if I peek around the corner it will put my mind at rest."

The FBI agent let him do more than that. Alex was the only one present who knew Kurian personally so he was brought in to make a positive identification of the body. After putting on a pair of paper booties and agreeing not to touch anything the agent led him into the kitchen to see Kurian close up. "Yes, it's him all right." He called back to Kirsten. "Honey, it looks like you really did a number on him. If he hadn't died he would have been ugly for the rest of his life." Alex said to himself in a low voice, "May you rot in hell. . . . Give him what he deserves, Lord."

Alex left the kitchen with a heavy load lifted from him. He vowed to never put he or his wife in a dangerous situation again. He turned to the agent. "Are we through here?"

"Yes sir, but the house is still a crime scene so you can't stay here."

Kirsten came over beside him. "I wouldn't want to stay even if we could. This place will always give me bad memories. . . . Maybe we could go back to your apartment in Denver. Or mine in Boulder. Whichever you prefer."

"Not yet. We're still on our honeymoon. I'm going to book the honeymoon suite at the Magnolia Hotel in Denver. I'll carry you over the threshold, lock the door, and only let in room service to bring us food."

Kirsten smiled as her body reminded her how much she missed him. "What are we waiting for? Let me pack my clothes."

The agent overheard the conversation and held his hand up. "On no ma'am. You can't go up there. It's all part of the crime scene."

Alex leaned over and whispered "We won't need any clothes for at least a week."

The End . . . Or Maybe Not

Preview of Another Novel by J. Dee German

Rescue, Inc.

Chapter 1 - Pain

Lynn was snuggled under her comforter to escape the cold mountain air in the bed that she and Jack shared whenever they were at his cabin. She could feel his arms around her as he snuggled spoon fashion against her back. She felt his lips delivering a gentle kiss to the back of her neck, and that brought a familiar warm feeling inside her. He hugged her a little tighter to see if she was awake.

"Mmmm. Who's that with his arms wrapped around me?"

She heard him answer "Just me, your loving husband. Are you asleep?"

"I was before those kisses brought up warm memories. Why don't you light a fire in the fireplace, then come back and light my fire."

"I thought you would never ask. I'll be right back – save my place."

While he was away Lynn rolled over on her back, yawned, and stretched her whole body, like cats do, anxious for Jack to come back to bed.

After several minutes he hadn't come back. She called for him. "Jack? . . . Jack?"

No answer. She slid out of bed, put her robe and slippers on, and padded into the living room. He's not in here. She thought. And the fire is not lit yet. She checked the kitchen, thinking he might be making coffee, but it was empty.

Maybe he went into the guest bedroom for a quick shower. I think I'll join him.

But he wasn't there either. The only other place he could be is in the front entryway. She went back through the living room and rounded the corner. She froze in her tracks . . . and then she screamed. He was on the floor, blood pouring from bullet wounds in his head and shoulder. She screamed again . . . and it woke her up.

The dream brought it all back. She responded in her usual way by tucking her body into a ball and crying. Loud, sobbing cries came out of her heart as she pulled the covers over her head and wished they would suffocate her. She couldn't bear to live without him. Even though they had only been married six months, they were soul mates – a part of each other. When that part of her was ripped away by an assassin, it left a huge hole in her. She knew he was in Heaven and she just wanted to kill herself so she could be with him.

After she had cried out all the tears she had – for now – she tried to remember what day it was . . . or what week it was. How long has it been since . . . since he left me. Three months? – has it been that long? After Lynn got her revenge against Jack's killer she came up here to his West Virginia home – a five-room cabin on the shore of a small lake in the eastern Appalachians. Its appeal for her was the isolation – 30 minutes from the nearest town, if you could call it that. A general store, a gas station, four bars, and small jail for the weekend drunks. Jack built the place here because of the isolation.

He retired here from his job as an agent for the Federal Remediation Agency, FRA, two years ago after his wife died of lung cancer. They both had grown up in the southwest corner of West Virginia, deep in the coal-filled mountains, where the air was thick with coal dust from the mines and smoke from the coal-burning fire places and locomotives. It affected some worse than others. The miners died early from black lung disease. Those who didn't work in the mines lasted longer, but often died from COPD long before their time. He and his sweetheart wife escaped right after high school, but it wasn't soon enough for her.

By the time she hit 50, she had a chronic cough that wouldn't go away. It was worse in the winter, but never really went away. Even with Jack pushing her, she refused to go to the doctor. Her father had died of black lung when she was only 12, and the pain had never left her. Her mother died a year later – partly from lung disease and partly from the loss of her will to live. Helen knew what was wrong with her, and didn't want to hear it confirmed by a doctor. They could extend her life – in misery – for a couple of years maybe, but she wasn't interested. She and Jack had enjoyed their close relationship for 31 years, and she couldn't think of anything else she wanted to do before she passed on. She hurt when she thought about how it would affect Jack. He was always the independent sort who liked to believe he kept his emotions in check, but he had cried on her shoulder many times over the years.

When the COPD was pulling her quickly toward her date with God, she and Jack made the most of those last few months, but he was crying at her bedside when she died.

Jack tried to act like he could handle it – like a man – but after six months he realized his work meant nothing to him anymore. So he cashed out of his 401K and set about building the cabin. He planned it well. As a former 'secret' agent, he included security systems and an armory, where he had the latest of almost every hand weapon available. He also included a computer and communication system that could take him anywhere on the internet without leaving any trace of his presence behind. He built a secret room in the hidden basement of the cabin for his equipment and weapons storage, and equipped his Ford Sport Trac pickup with a secret compartment below the bed so he could take whatever hardware he might need anywhere in the country. Now his truck was parked out in the garage beside the cabin, gathering dust and cobwebs while Lynn was trapped in the emotional paralysis of her anguish.

Lynn brought her thoughts back to the present, and started crying again. She was so emotionally drained that she rarely ate. The emotional pain was worse than any physical pain she had ever experienced. She felt trapped at the bottom of a steep-sided bowl. Whenever she got a spark of energy and tried to climb up out of it, the pull of . . . what? . . . dragged her back to the bottom. In her clearer moments she realized she was depressed, but didn't have the energy to get help for it. During one clear moment she realized that depression feeds on itself, that it wants you to stay in its grip, but that fleeting thought led her nowhere.

One night she woke from another Jack dream with so much pain that she got her pistol from the dresser drawer ands put the barrel in her mouth. As she started to squeeze the trigger she thought If I kill myself, will I go to Heaven to be with Jack? Is suicide an unforgivable sin? When she realized she didn't know the answer, she put the gun away and went back to crying.

Some indeterminate time later Lynn's sleep was interrupted by someone pounding on the front door.

"Go away. I don't want to talk to you. Leave me alone!"

"Lynn, its Harriet and Rick. Open up!"

"Who?"

"Harriet and Rick Goodman, your two best friends. Now let us in."

"No. Go back where you came from."

"You forget that I'm a trained Federal agent. I can pick this lock in 30 seconds . . . of course it might not work after that. So unless you want it destroyed, open up!"

Lynn dragged herself out of bed and opened the front door.

"My God, Lynn. What's happened to you! You look awful. Rick, avert your eyes until she gets something decent on."

When Lynn came back in her robe and slippers Harriet already had a pot of coffee on.

"We've been trying to call you for days, but we get nothing but a busy signal."

"Yeah. I guess I let the battery run down on my cell phone. No, wait. I hid it under the sofa cushion. The battery's probably dead anyway."

"Well, this morning we decided . . ."

Rick cut in with "You decided, dear."

"As I was saying, we decided to come up here from The Farm to check on you. And it looks like it's a good thing we did. Finish your coffee so I can put you in the shower – how long has it been, a week? I'll get you cleaned up, dressed, and packed. We're taking you back to our place."

"I don't want a shower, and I don't want to leave here. Just let me wallow in my misery."

"Not gonna happen, dear. We love you too much to leave you here. Now get going. You know I'm trained to get you in an arm lock and march you in there if I have to."

"Oh, Okay. I'll take a shower, but I'm not leaving here."

Harriet leaned over and whispered to Rick. "Find a suitcase and pack everything you can find. And keep your eyes open for guns. If you find any put them in the car."

As Harriet held Lynn under the shower, night clothes and all, Rick hollered "I can't find any clothes. All the drawers are empty . . . except for a Glock 15 pistol."

"Look in the laundry room. She probably hasn't washed anything in weeks."

It was a struggle, but they finally got Lynn dressed and into the back seat of their Cadillac Escalade.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

This and other books by J. Dee German can be downloaded free from smashwords.com under the author's name, J. D. German. They are available in formats that can be read on a PC, tablet computers, Nook, and Kindle.

