 
**Southern Fried Chicanery**

A Novel by Doug Walker

Published by Doug Walker

(C)2015 by Doug Walker

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electrical or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
**Table of Contents**

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

**Chapter 1**

Lang Travis was seated in his room wondering how the past influences the future. He had read about that somewhere. He was finishing up his third beer and thinking seriously of turning in for the night. The phrase, The Past is Prologue, darted through his head.

At that point his phone made its odd sound. He longed for the days when they simply rang. It was the mayor with the message, "Lang, there's been a bank robbery."

"I don't do bank robberies, Cotton. They generally solve themselves thanks to silent cameras stationed here and there."

"This isn't your garden variety bank robbery, Lang. By the way have you been drinking?"

"I just finished my third beer and was thinking about grabbing a few winks. That's what your standard human does at this time of night."

"I understand. So what I'd like you to do is come into work tomorrow. How about it?"

"I suppose. I was thinking about traveling to some remote tourist destination, but I can put that off."

"Sure you can, Lang," Cotton laughed. "You're a home town boy. No place like Asheville. Right?"

"I suppose. I'll be back on the clock early on." He signed off and hit the john before piling into bed. As his head hit the pillow, he muttered to himself with some displeasure, "bank robbery."

Lang had been a top detective, one of Asheville's finest, retired early and been granted the title of inspector in order to be called in on special cases on a part-time basis. He had an office at the cop shop and when present, shared a secretary with the chief. Intentional killings were not uncommon in the mountains of western North Carolina, but usually the perpetrator was readily identified. Travis was called in usually by the chief only on knotty cases and generally not at all on bank jobs.

With the call from Mayor Cotton Jones, Travis figured the cream of Asheville must be upset over this one, but why? Also he had not heard there had been a bank heist.

But there he was, in his office bright and early, asking Mae, the secretary, for coffee.

"Your arm broken, Golden Boy," she replied in her usual fashion.

"Ok, I'll go to McDonald's. Be back in an hour or so."

"Hold your horses, Lang. The chief called for you minutes before you showed up. What the big deal is, I don't know, but he's briefed Schultz and Schultz is supposed to brief you."

Mae was a good hearted woman and had been with the department since the flood. The coffee arrived about the time Sergeant Schultz entered and plopped down in a chair across the desk from Travis.

"Millions are missing from the Mountain National," Schultz stated, eyeing the coffee with longing. Mae sighed and said, "I'll bring you a cup. Oh, for a family and a loving household."

"Millions," Travis repeated.

"Over a period of time. Much of it in what they call bearer bonds. Like the name, anyone who possesses them can make the exchange for cash."

Schultz had a community college degree in some sort of law enforcement and was well spoken and seen to be something of an intellectual. In a strange juxtaposition, he was junior to the other cop generally assigned to Travis, Lt. Harley Swafford, a stout, muscular good old boy.

The department was generally struggling under its day to day constabulary duties, but used Travis full time and the other two part-time, in times of real or imagined emergency. Particularly when necessity required showing a good face to the public, always foremost in the mayor's mind.

"Exactly how much is missing," Travis inquired.

"The fact is," Schultz replied, "they don't know."

"You mean a bank, with all its bookkeeping, records, electronic scorekeepers, doesn't know how much it's lost?"

"Exactly," Schultz replied, then attempted to explain. "Some of the financial instruments, so called, were there for safekeeping for individual depositors. Not deposits, but simply being held."

"These bearer bonds plus other instruments were expected to grow in value, or did some pay dividends?"

"I don't know. The bond market fluctuates depending on interest rates. Those with high rates are usually worth more than face value and so forth. But here's the wild card. A percentage of the valuables were held in safe deposit boxes."

Travis, usually calm and collected, showed obvious surprise and disbelief. "You mean safe deposit boxes were looted without the bank's knowledge?"

"Exactly."

"Who would have access to those boxes other than the renter?"

"Certain bank officials. One in particular, a long time trusted employee, Martha Baker."

"Has she been questioned?"

"She bugged out, Lang. In the wind."

"You've attempted to trace here?"

"No. The chief just briefed me. Of course Cotton wants a quick solution. He has country club friends and contributors. Just like always. So, how do we proceed?"

Travis smiled. "Find the woman as the French say. You want to give it a go? Meanwhile, I'll simply ask around."

"I'll do the usual cop stuff," Schultz said, then settled back to finish his coffee. Both men chuckled. If this were a case of the haves against the have nots, the have nots just scored a big one. "If I find this Martha Baker," Schultz added, "Do you want me to arrest her or give her a medal?"

"If there's any money left, the three of us might take a world cruise. Then next year we could go somewhere else."

Schultz went off to find Martha and Travis got a call from Garvy, a woman close to his own age with whom he kept company.

"How about driving over and catching a play at Barter Theater?" she suggested.

"That's in Virginia."

"About an hour away."

"I've got a large case."

"I knew something was up. That's why I'm calling you at the office as opposed to waking you up in your crummy room. What is it?"

"I don't think I'm supposed to say. A delicate subject above my pay grade."

"Well, you don't sleuth 24-7. Barter has a musical comedy. Gerswin."

"Actors are so phony."

"That's the first time I've heard you say that. What exactly do you mean. The stage suspends reality. We live a fantasy for a couple or three hours."

"They're like over-age children. They pose, they use odd voices, they walk funny."

"You're really on a roll, Trav. What about Shakespeare?"

"That's authentic."

"And that means what?"

"Real. Genuine. The McCoy."

"I know you like Gilbert and Sullivan."

"A couple of deceased geniuses. Find a play and I'll go."

"I'll look around. I think you don't want to ramble far from home in your declining years."

"I think, rather than declining, I'm more inclined to do something more adventurous, something creative."

"Such as," Garvy questioned.

"Visiting one of the great chili cook-offs. Sampling the variations on the bowl of red as they're called."

"And what if you found one you liked?"

"Get the recipe. I'm certain they're available."

"And who would prepare such a dish?"

"Are you available?"

"Not for chili. Perhaps Blue would do your bidding."

Blue, full name Blue Berry, was the child of one of Travis's best friends, a local attorney. He had befriended Blue as a child and the two had become coinfidantes. Her dad was ten years Lang's senior, but still Blue was quite a few years younger than he. Despite that they had become on again, off again lovers. She a successful artist lived some miles away in Highlands.

Oddly enough Garvy and Blue had become friends and were aware that they shared Travis because he possessed certain qualities. He was solid, reliable, not flighty, usually found in his dingy room at a B&B near the downtown area. Something of a utility man.

"The details of this case I will leave to others to reveal, Garvy, but if you care to join in the effort, please attempt to find the whereabouts of a woman named Martha Baker, a former trusted employee of the Mountain National Bank."

"She robbed the bank and fled," Garvy said flatly.

"Not as simple as that."

"I know that woman slightly, met her somewhere."

"All older residents of Asheville seem to know one another slightly, but do not bandy it about that she is a bank robber, or a felon of any variety. If you stumble on her whereabouts call me. In the meantime let us plan on getting together for dinner, or some theatrical adventure to both our liking."

"Like a movie," Garvy said in certain tone of voice.

"Like a movie," Travis responded. "Where the actors talk like down to earth folks, or break into spontaneous song and dance."

"We could rent fliks and see _The Music Man_ , or _The Sound of Music_ ," or still better, _Mary Poppins_."

"I sense a tone of irony, but with enough popcorn, I believe we might find wholesome enjoyment in such endeavors. We might even hold butter salted hands during the performances."

"I'll check film schedules and my social calendar and get back to you." With that the conversation effectively was over.

It took three days of Schultz, Travis and Garvy asking subtle and and non-subtle questions, but it was Garvy who turned up a niece living in Old Fort, just down the mountain from Asheville.

Garvy agreed to ride along with Travis in case things needed to be smoothed over. They arrived about mid-morning at Irma Baker's low income apartment complex, three buildings surrounding a parking lot and partially landscaped area.

After twice ringing the door bell and ready to give up, the door was opened by a sleepy eyed young woman.

She gave them the once over, then said, "Jehovas Witnesses."

"Sorry," Travis said, smiling, "I'm an Asheville policeman and this is Garvy, a friend of a friend of yours. We're trying to find your aunt, Martha Baker."

Irma hesitated, frowned slightly, then asked, "Do you have identification?"

Travis handed her his badge and photo ID. Garvy fumbled in her purse for her driver's license, but Irma said, "Don't bother." She invited them inside and motioned to a couch, taking a seat in an overstuffed chair.

"I work third shift at a nursing home. Low man on the totem pole. Also studying to be a nurse. Why are you looking for Martha?"

"Some bookkeeping problems at the bank," Travis replied.

Irma grinned. "Possible fraud?"

"Possibly."

"Aunt Martha was very frightened when she left Asheville. Hurriedly, I might add. I got a letter from her a few days ago. She asked if I would watch television news and if possible read the Asheville paper for any news about the bank, her bank."

"Mountain National," Travis added.

"Of course. I think she thought no one knew about me, living in Old Fort and all. But I sense that she is still frightened and a little desperate."

"You know her whereabouts?"

"I do. But should I inform the law?" She shrugged slightly.

"Good question," Travis said. "You've volunteered that you know where she is. I suppose I could drag you into court under some pretext. However, you're a good citizen, there is no cause to arrest your aunt at this time. None that I know of, that is. Except, to be honest, banks funds are missing. I don't want it to come up later that I lied to you. So, you're at the plate."

"It is a brain teaser," Irma said, obviously conflicted.

Garvy tried to think of something helpful to say, but nothing instantly came to mind. Finally, she attempted to review the situation. "You say Martha was and is frightened. You might wonder if she is a fleeing felon, or simply a victim of circumstance. That there is much we don't know."

Irma nodded in agreement. "That about sums it up. So, do I want to rat my aunt out. That's what it boils down to."

"Or do you want to save your aunt's life if she is in danger," Travis said.

"She is alone and may need protection," Irma agreed. "So I will take the coward's way out. I'll tell you where she is if you don't disclose where it came from."

The niece rose and went to an old style plantation desk, opened the lid and rummaged around before coming up with a slip of paper. "You have paper," she asked Travis. He nodded and produced a small notebook and pen. She gave him a street address, repeated it twice while he scribbled, then the town, "Serena, a small town not far from San Jose, Costa Rica."

Replacing the paper in the desk, Irma said sadly, "I don't know if I've done the right thing. This whole business is a tragic mess. Martha was a respected member of the community."

"Costa Rica," Travis repeated the words. "I suppose that makes some sense. I've heard there's a gathering of American retirees down there. English must be commonly spoken."

"Aunt Martha speaks Spanish," Irma said. "Four years in college then vacations to parts of Mexico and at least one trip to Spain. A bit rusty, but it should come back."

"I'm sure it will," Garvy chimed in, then turning to Travis, "We'd better be running along."

**Chapter 2**

Travis waited until the next morning to inform the chief who sent him trotting off to the mayor's office.

Cotton Jones pondered the situation for a long moment, then said, "So the mouse slips away from the cat."

"That's one way to put it," Travis said, smiling, "there must be others."

"Right you are, Lang. Ever read that poem about different ways to look at a blackbird?"

"Can't say that I have. Does that bear on the case."

"Probably not, but it would seem to mean different ways to express things. I'm trying to think of our next step."

"You might leave that to the chief."

"I might and probably should. But this is a hairy case involving a host of solid citizens. You'll probably have to change planes in either Atlanta or Miami, or both, but you'd better make your reservation first then go home and pack a light bag. In the meantime, I'll get court paper on Martha Baker. So stop by my office on the way to the airport."

"Fairly quick thinking, Cotton."

"When I'm right I'm right, Lang. If I'm wrong you can have the hot seat."

Travis laughed. "I'd rather not."

"It's your job, Lang. I'm above the fray."

"Reluctantly, I accept." Then he was off to do Cotton's bidding, assuming the mayor would let the chief in on the situation. But then it was the chief who sent him to see Cotton.

Checking back with the mayor on his way to the airport, true to his word, Cotton passed him an arrest warrant for Martha Baker plus what passed for an extradition request.

He had checked out a city car and placed it in long term parking, hoping he could avoid payment when he returned. Travis hated to bother with expenses, but they were unavoidable. He had what he considered sufficient cash, plus the usual credit cards. He often wondered if there was anyone who carried just one credit card, a lone ranger type.

Getting to Atlanta was relatively easy, short wait and short flight. Waiting in Atlanta for the flight to San Jose was another matter. He downed a cup of chicken strips dipped in something fairly sweet. Considered having a beer, then thought better of it. Finally, the plane, his last minute ticket bought him a middle aisle seat between two middle aged people, one male and one female.

The man on his left introduced himself as Fred and said, "Me and Gert, the woman to your right, are missionaries."

"She's your wife? I'd gladly change seats with her."

"No, just another lamb of God, both of us off to save souls."

"Don't most countries south of the border have a strong Catholic presence?" Lang questioned.

"Could be," Fred said. "I don't know if you remember, but the Pope has had kind words for gay people. It's generally known that God dislikes gays."

"I thought God loves everyone."

"God is love," Gert, who had been listening in, said.

"That means he loves gays?" Lang questioned.

"It means he loves every creature that he created and more."

"More?" Lang asked.

"Yes, more. Fred and I are both on the lookout to save souls, but Christians sometimes disagree. My mission is much larger than his."

"I'm sure she'll tell you about it," Fred said. "I just want to spread the good news and do what mortal man can. Gert is into star wars."

"Science fiction?" Lang inquired.

"Certainly not. But God spoke to us on earth. There's a whole universe out there and probably other universes beyond. So, many men have tiny minds and think small thoughts. My mission is the universe. My task then is to recruit others to join an army of Christian soldiers, marching or shooting rocket-like among the planets and stars. There are new worlds to conquer."

"We should deal with the one we're in first," Fred said. "I'm hoping to learn some Spanish."

"Ye of little vision," Gert said. "But my mission needs the backup of the earthbound. I'm hoping to get the stewardess to pray with me."

"You're more likely to get her to sleep with you," Fred said with an evil grin.

So the conversation continued. Lang eventually was able to drift off and as he did the thought crossed his mind that maybe Gert had something - they were already a mile above the surface of the earth.

Once on the ground in San Jose, Travis caught a bus to Cartago, checked into a non-luxury hotel determined to catch up lost sleep. He downed a couple of beers and a few potato chips at the bar before going to his rest.

Waking early the following morning he breakfasted on eggs ranchero and coffee, then sought out the local authorities. It was still early, but he waited and caught the police chief, a Pete Gonzales when he came in to work.

"Lang Travis," he said, "extending his hand, "a cop from Asheville, North Carolina."

"Pete Gonzales, welcome to Costa Rica, or are you a resident."

"Got in yesterday. On a mission to track down a suspect in a bank robbery, or you might call it bank fraud."

"I'm here to help," Gonzales said.

"Your English is perfect and I don't think Pete sounds Spanish."

"I came down as an early retiree. Twenty years with the LA office of the FBI. My Mom never learned English so we spoke Spanish at home. I more or less fell into this job. My credentials are more impressive than my ability, to be frank. But here I am. It's a good life and would be better if it weren't for a few bad eggs."

"It's a woman of great interest. Her name is Martha Baker. I have her address here, someplace." Travis fumbled through his pockets, finally producing a crumpled piece of paper. "It's in a place called Serena. Nearby?"

"A suburb, or glorified plat. My department."

"Good." He flattened the paper and read the address." "Hell, I'll drive you there. You'll need local backup."

Travis thought he had hit the jackpot, but Gonzales hesitated for a moment, took the paper from his hand and said, "I know that address. A woman was shot there a couple of days ago. Shot and killed."

"Holy, Christ," Travis said.

"I'll check for certain, but I went out after the fact to look the place over. Yes, it was that address. A passer-by witnessed the crime. A man knocked on the door, when a woman answered, he shot her dead, right through the mouth."

"You caught the shooter?"

"Oh, hell no."

"The witness must have been dumfounded, stood there for a moment, the shooter pointed the gun at him and he ran like crazy. Could hardly describe the shooter except to say he is a Latino."

"Dammit," Travis said. "So, the woman's name?"

"I'd have to check. But it wasn't Martha Baker, of that I'm certain."

"She'd probably be using an alias. She was supposedly hiding out. But if I knew where she was, others might also. I suppose there are local hit men."

"By the gross. Unemployment is high. Bargain rates. Five hundred U.S. dollars might do the job, certainly a couple of thousand. You'd have a bidding war."

"I suppose I should go out there, but what the hell. I'll have to call my office and make arrangements for a flight home. I'll go back to my hotel and give you a buzz later, if that's Ok."

"Fine. In the meantime, I'll make a copy of the report for you. You can visit the morgue if you like."

"I probably should, but I didn't know the lady. I'm not keen on looking at a corpse with a few teeth knocked out. But I'll be in touch."

Travis grabbed some street food near his hotel, vegetables and mystery meat wrapped in a tortilla. Still not recovered from his flight he flopped down on his bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

A couple of hours later, a persistent ringing jarred him awake. It was Gonzales on the other end of the line.

"Our investigation continues and the plot thickens," the former FBI agent announced.

"What happened?"

"It's apparently a case of mistaken identity. And you may be looking for a very wily woman who remains among the living. It seems she had the nicer of side by side apartments when a woman of questionable virtue moved into the non-nicer one. One of our numerous hookers.

"So, your girl told her she was tired of the view and offered to trade, but not to tell the landlord. They would each continue to pretend they were living in their original digs. The hooker fell for it, little knowing she was being set up as a clay pigeon. The hitter was paid to kill a woman in that apartment and that's what he did."

"Marvelous," Travis said, somewhat in awe. "Do you have my quarry in custody."

"In a word, no. My guess is her plan worked, her neighbor was the sacrificial lamb and your girl flew the coop. So, we have a dead hooker on our hands, a suspect at large and you're right back where you started."

"Except I'm in Costa Rica. If she flew out of the country she would likely use her own passport and hence her own name. If she caught a bus for God knows where, I might as well settle in for a long vacation or look for a beach house. I've always been drawn to warm climates."

"I'll have my secretary check the airlines. Meanwhile, let's get together for dinner and a few beers. My wife might tag along. She enjoys jawing with non-locals."

The three met at a nice, moderately priced, non-touristy restaurant. Pete introduced his wife, Becky, then announced that Martha Baker was using the name Stella Kiln and she apparently had not left Costa Rica by plane.

"She must be terrified," Becky said.

"I would think so," Travis agreed. "Not only has she been tracked down and marked for death, but she is also responsible for the death of a young lady."

"You might use your original source to run her down," Pete said.

"I've already made the call," Travis announced. A waiter showed up and he two men ordered beer and Becky asked for a bottle of Pinot Grigio. Pete looked a bit perplexed, but his wife explained that it was for the table. She asked the waiter for three glasses.

"No offense, but you don't appear to be a Latino like your husband." Travis addressed Becky.

She laughed. "I do speak a little Spanish. I'm a Vassar girl, planned to go into the theater, then Pete came along while I was attending an LA workshop. You may or may not know it, but Vassar is very active in the theatrical world, year round as well as a huge summer theater. Poughkeepsie is so close to New York City that there's a lot of cross pollination with Broadway and off Broadway.

"I didn't know. Pete probably told you I'm from Asheville, North Carolina. We have an active theater locally plus Flat Rock nearby, music at Brevard and Barter a little farther away in Virginia. There's usually always something. Me, I'm the eat-sleep stick in the mud type given to old films on TV. Saw Curly Top and Poor Little Rich Girl recently."

Becky laughed and said, "Shirley Temple."

After checking the menu out, they all ordered hamburgers, billed as a gourmet specialty of the house. They were so large and overstuffed that Travis could neither finish his nor eat all of his thin-sliced fries. Pete and Becky cleaned up every scrap of theirs and the three of them killed the bottle of wine quickly and ordered another.

All and all, it was a delightful evening, well worth the flight south and Travis at least had a name, Stella Kiln. He assumed she would keep it because she probably had some type of ID under that moniker. He had been impressed by Becky's beauty, even though she must be well along in years. Not old, but well along. He thought of Garvy and Blue back in the mountains and wondered what they were up to.

Travis had dawdled over his breakfast the following morning, and was back in his room planning a short nap before thinking about future plans when a call came from Pete.

"Good news, maybe," he reported. "At least a lead. I briefed my men at roll call this morning and one just phoned in a report. A woman, Stella Kiln, no less, had a room at a Holiday Inn. I'm guessing she fled there immediately after the hooker was killed. What a shock. A woman killed in her stead, you might say a substitute. Anyway, she left the next day after chatting with the manager about the territory and apparently where she might go next."

"That's great," Travis responded. "I can't thank you enough, Pete."

"Believe me, Lang. Becky and I enjoyed last night's meal. It's not often we get to chat with a lawman from the States."

"Becky is quite a looker. She must have been drop dead gorgeous when first you met."

"She stunned me and I remain under her spell. I feel guilty of depriving the stage or screen of a first class actress."

"Well, Pete, that's a crapshoot. You two are like a couple of kids, still enjoying the good life. I'll get right over to that Holiday Inn wherever it is. I suppose the North Pole has Holiday Inns."

"Very likely. You'll find it's a short cab ride. Check with me later."

"Will do."

After a brief discussion with the desk clerk at the Holiday Inn, Travis was directed to an office with the door ajar. He entered and found a man in a dark suit, vest and white carnation going over a stack of papers. The man looked up and said, "If you've brought the supplies please unload them at the side door."

"I'm not that man," Travis replied. "I'm looking for information on a former guest, a Stella Kiln, she was here recently."

"We never discuss guests," the manager said sharply.

"I'm a policeman from the States, this Kiln woman may have information regarding a major crime."

"I can't help you." He turned back to his paper work and mumbled something about a shortage of toilet paper.

"I'm working with Pete Gonzales. He could send a couple of his men over here and start nosing around."

The manager appeared startled. "Why in the world would he do such a thing?"

"He's helping me track down criminals. They often hide out in motels such as this."

"Miss Kiln is a criminal?"

"She's a person of interest. There are criminals. There was a woman shot recently."

"A prostitute."

"Yes, but still a human being attempting to make a living the best she could. I'll call Pete. He'll probably want to go over your records."

"No need for that. The Kiln woman was here only one night. She asked me about a small town where she might see the real Costa Rica. I told her there is no real Costa Rica. I know. I'm a transplant from East St. Louis and I've been here fifteen years. The only real thing around here is the failure of supplies to arrive on time."

"So, what did you tell her?"

"She wanted to travel by bus which is also a mess. But that was her choice. I directed her to Jaco, a west coast seaside city. She said she would prefer maybe a village. I myself have vacationed there. There's a small town on the water nearby, Sucre. Catch a bus to Jaco and a cab to Sucre. She seemed to have ample funds, not cash, but credit cards."

Travis thanked the manager and cautioned him not to give the information to anyone else. Although he knew cash sometimes loosened tongues and if he knew where his quarry had gone to ground others might also. He hurried back to his hotel.

Thoughts tumbled through his mind. A bus would take forever. He would rent a car, get a map and head for Jaco. Opening the door to his room, he found Blue seated in a comfortable chair, watching the news on CNN.

She looked up, smiled and said, "I wondered when you'd get here."

"Blue. How in the world. Who let you in?"

"The manager was very cooperative when I told him I was your wife."

"Good ploy. Now what? I'm off for the coast to run down Martha Baker."

"Good. I love a good coastal holiday. East or west."

Travis shrugged. There was no fighting Blue. In fact he was glad to see her. He wondered if Garvy knew. The two were often conspirators. "Did you unpack?"

"Waiting for you. Thought we might book the honeymoon suite."

"We'll have to rent a car. Get on the phone. Tell the desk to make up our bill and find out where we can get a car. Say something's come up."

"Of course."

An hour later they were in a Ford compact headed west toward Jaco.

"This is great," Travis said, once they were in the countryside, "driving through this foreign land. You and I together. I told Cotton I'd like to go on holiday."

"The mayor?"

"Yes. He said that I'm simply a home town boy. What does he know. After all, here we are."

"You're right. We are here. What have you been up to?"

"Wonderful dinner last night with the local law. Man named Pete Gonzales, would you believe it? Former FBI man from LA. And his wife, a Vassar graduate who was thinking of a career in show business, then she met Pete. Handsome woman, she must have been striking when Pete met her."

"Hmm. You interested in her."

"What do you mean? As a woman?"

"No, as a giraffe you idiot."

"She's Pete's wife."

"Obviously." Then, changing the subject. Blue said, "There's a large amount of art here in Central America."

"Art everywhere," Travis agreed.

Blue had never been impressed by Lang's concept of art. But here she had him trapped and might explain a few things. "Anything can be art if it's your devotion. How about sleuthing?"

"Sleuthing is a job. Everyone needs a job, that is work. Housewifing is a job. I've always thought I'd like to be an archeologist, searching for old artifacts."

"Like jawbones and stone tools?"

"No. More like ancient civilizations, or sunken pirate ships. Things like that. The way things change. A few years ago some people would place a brick in their toilet tank to save water. Imagine that. Imagine a brick sized quantity of water being save flush after flush. Hard to imagine, isn't it?"

Blue rolled her eyes and said, "You got that right. So, it went out of style?"

"Smaller toilet tanks today. Also different designs. You wouldn't believe the plumbing innovations."

"Nor will I try." She wondered how the conversation had turned to plumbing. "Change is inevitable. There have been studies of the changes in gifted painters in their declining years. Some change for the better, some for the worse. Of course there is no standard to determine artistic accomplishment."

"The eye of the beholder."

"Always true. But that eye can be twisted by so called experts in the field putting their spin on it. Some might look on an abstract as a picture of nothing, another might see poetry and seduction."

"Seduction," Travis said, adding, "wild said the wolf."

Blue decided it was hopeless to continue her lecture on art and asked about the bank robbery that seemed to involve their current destination.

"There's more to it than meets the eye. That Martha Baker has been targeted for murder means she is not in this thing alone and that her confederates, who might be quite powerful, hope to shut her up for good and thus close the file."

"That makes sense. Who might these fellow conspirators be?"

"Someone close to the bank. We run down Martha, we find that out."

They rode for a few minutes in silence, through heavily wooded areas with an occasional opening for a farm house or a village. "Anything else of interest, other than the Vassar girl?" Blue inquired.

Travis caught the irony, but ignored it. "When I sought out Martha at the Holiday Inn, the manager was wearing a light weight, dark three piece suit complete with carnation. I had the idea that this odd shirt they wear in South America was somewhat universal."

"Well, we are not in South America, are we?"

"True," Travis said, regretting he had even mentioned the Vassar girl. He often wondered why Blue was attracted to him. They had spent hours in conversation when she was young and she had looked up to him, often asking advice. Now she seemed almost consumed by her art and had attained financial success. The so called experts in the field had almost universally given her the seal of approval, often heralding their belief that the best is yet to come. He supposed the fact that he was like an old immovable object, the belief that he would always be there for her. What a responsibility.

They reached a wide spot in the road, a settlement with what looked like a coffee shop. He pulled in for a snack and to ask how much farther to Jaco and Sucre. They still had plenty of gas.

The food at the snack shop was surprisingly good. They both had yogurt marinated lamb with pita, a regular gyro washed down with chilled tea. They had finished their gyros and lingering over the tea when Blue remarked that she was thinking about having a baby.

This pitched Travis into a stunned silence. He rubbed the back of his head with his left hand and stared at his tea.

"You needn't be shocked," Blue said. "Women think of such things. My productive years won't last forever. I could push out a young artist."

"That 'push out' term seems crude," Travis said.

"Women push out babies," she replied.

"A person has children, a female person. Aircraft push out from the gate, ships push off. Anyway, single motherhood is a challenge. Art and child rearing may not mix."

"Who said anything about single motherhood?"

Travis downed his tea and suggested the killer or killers after Martha would not let grass grow under their feet.

It was growing late when they reached Jaco. They decided to stay the night and get an early morning start for Sucre where they believed Martha might be holed up. Just in case, they stopped at two motels first and Blue ducked inside to inquire after Stella Kiln, the name Martha was last known to use.

At the third motel, Travis went in, registered and asked the clerk if a woman named Stella Kiln happened to be registered. No luck. They unpacked their few overnight items and then ventured out to a nearby Vietnamese restaurant, ordered a couple of beers and studied the menu.

Travis eyed Blue carefully as if he was studying an ancient relic that spoke to his archeological soul. "Were you serious about having a baby?"

"Well, a woman of my age. That is what women do, isn't it? Child bearing, home bodies, baking, maybe tending a garden?"

"You know it's not."

"You don't believe there's a natural urge for motherhood?"

"That could be."

"Bouncing a little chap on your knee, watching that infant grow to maturity, reproducing the species, someone to comfort you in your age."

"A husband might do that."

"You don't bounce a husband on your knee and they do die off early on. So where does that leave you?"

"Maybe in a retirement home with a lot of women to talk to and one or two old men to badger. Anyway, you aren't thinking of pregnancy at this time, certainly not in Central America."

"Conception can happen at any old time. There are certain factors to consider."

The waiter returned and they both ordered five spice chicken with their accompanying baguettes, plus a couple more beers.

"Well, you mentioned not being a single mother." Travis was attempting to stick to the topic, but in a delicate manner.

"Of course. In the old days, very old, cave man days, a woman would hope for a powerful man who would be a good provider plus father strong children who would protect her when her husband either was killed by some roving beast or shriveled into senility. But that was then, this is now. A husband and a person to father your children might be two different individuals."

"I don't quite understand where you're going with this, Blue. Is this some new concept?"

"Not at all. Say in high school or college a girl might be attracted to a football player. She might go for the rugged handsome athletic type while knowing the more fragile quarterback possessed the brains."

"So what does she do?"

"That's up to her."

The food arrived along with the beers. Blue was hungry and dug in. Travis, still puzzled, picked at his. Between bites, she suggested that the dish was delicious and seemed to contain both lemon grass and Chinese five-spice powder.

"So this sort of thing has been going on forever? You might say designing women."

"Or planned families. I'm not talking about the sweaty teens who conceive in the back seat or a car, or the new girl at college who drinks too much or ingests drugs and has multiple partners and thus confounded over who the young dad might be. I'm talking about the older woman who think things through."

"And comes up with designer families?"

"There is a difference today. There are far more opportunities."

"Such as?"

"A hunky, handsome father with a sense of humor and brains."

"Just laying there like a pebble on the beach."

"No, silly," Blue said a bit exasperated, "a donor."

Travis simply hadn't been following her line of reason, but finally got it. "You mean a turkey baster dad."

"Now that is crude, but you get my point."

"I do now and that leaves me out."

"Not necessarily. You still might be in the running as the provider."

"The hunter gatherer, besting a saber toothed tiger, or gathering nuts in May."

"Something like that. But I might help with the gathering. Hanging around the cave all day could be a bore."

"But the little ones hanging onto your leopard skin wrap. What about them."

"Let them spend quality time in the cave eating dirt. Anyway, we could have a condo and a nanny."

"Now you're on target and I'm totally out of the picture. You and your art, strewn about and selling bicoastal. You're in the money and I'm still carrying on with my constabulary duty."

"I'll admit, Lang, I was a bit teed off with your talk about the lovely Vassar girl even though she is your friend's wife. That's what started this whole line of talk. I wish I had arrived a day earlier so I could have joined the party. Maybe if we get back toward San Jose."

"I was going to suggest a nightcap instead of dessert, but now I'm more inclined to picking up a bottle of wine and head back to the room."

"As Cleopatra said to Mark Antony, I'm not inclined to argue."

"And I'm not prone to disagree," Travis added.

**Chapter 3**

Early, but not terribly bright the morning after, they had gratis coffee in the lobby and set out for Sucre, not a long drive. There were only two touristy looking places near the water, one a motel, the other a type of B&B.

They tried the B&B first and struck pay dirt. They had arrived before breakfast, but guests were assembling in a large former living room at the front of the establishment. Blue recognized Martha Blake and pointed her out to Travis, discreetly, without pointing.

She was seated on a comfortable couch near a window overlooking the water. Travis plopped down beside her and spoke. "I'm with the Asheville police and fear for your safety." He had puzzled over how to open the conversation.

She glanced at him, then back at the ocean. "I too am concerned about my safety. I'm almost glad you found me first. It seems I'm torn between execution and prison."

Travis relaxed. He had broken the ice. "That was a neat trick you pulled, changing apartments, but you did sacrifice a perfectly good hooker."

"That joke, Sir. Whatever your name is, is in extraordinary bad taste."

"I am Lang Travis, a type of semi-retired detective."

"I've heard the name. Are you alone. Or does a SWAT team cringe among the lawn shrubbery?"

"My partner is Blue Berry, you may know her dad." Lang beckoned her to come over and made the appropriate introductions.

"I've seen you around town," Martha said.

"And I you."

"It was you who fingered me."

"True."

"For your own safety," Travis said, "I hope you'll agree to pack and accompany us back toward San Jose."

"In that general direction?" Martha inquired.

"I'm somewhat at a loss. I have no weapon and the bad guys seeking your demise are doubtless loaded with them. We had better not go looking for trouble."

"I agree. May I have breakfast first?"

"Not a good idea. Blue and I have yet to eat. Let's do it together at some roadside stand. In the meantime, Blue will help you pack."

"Like I'm in custody?"

"Like I can't wait to get the hell on out of here because your friends care not whether you've showered, had breakfast, or made other arrangements. Their task is to silence you just as you are."

"And for good reason, too." She rose, nodded to Blue and the two of them set off for her room.

They were in Jaco before they found what looked like a decent spot for breakfast. Blue and Martha had croissants and jam while Travis has what was becoming a breakfast habit, the dish he called cowboy eggs and thick toast. They drank plenty of coffee and felt free to linger and converse.

"I do have the judicial papers to roll you into custody and return you to the scene of whatever event there was," Travis said. He quickly added, "You might not get there alive the way things are going. This is a bargain country for murder for hire. I could probably find a few people to do the job if I looked around for half a day."

"I am aware of that and I am properly frightened. Also, the danger doesn't end at the border. I'm a willing prisoner and I'd like to get the entire story off my chest so to speak. Isn't that what they say?"

"It clears the head," Blue tossed in. "Also the conscience. Should I say the heart?"

"You can name as many organs as you like," Travis said. "But I'd like to get something down in writing. How about we drive north along the coast. There must be beach places up there. We can hole up for a couple of days, live it up, food, drink, sand, what-have-you. And talk."

"Fine by me," Martha said.

"And me," Blue agreed.

So north they went on a road skirting the Pacific with a scattering of resort type lodgings. Just after noon they found a rental agency with a nearby restaurant, thus satisfying both needs.

After lunch they settled into a ramshackle two bedroom beach house.

"This reminds me of childhood summers at Holden beach," Martha said, after unpacking her meagre belongings. The three were seated on the front deck, under cover from the sun, each with a beer.

"I too have such members," Blue piped in, "but mostly of the Outer Banks and St. George Island. This is like a dream from the past. I had forgotten what relaxation and enjoyment one can get from the simple pleasures."

Travis nodded in agreement. But there was a spiral notebook next to his beer and he suggested they get the grim details out of the way.

Martha nodded solemnly and stared off at the ocean. "I am not blameless. So first, mea culpa, then let me paint myself as a victim."

"I would like to write this off to youthful indiscretion," she began, "a favorite catch all for our moronic members of congress. There was a period in my life when things were going well for me, I was advancing at the bank, I had what I thought was a wonderful boyfriend, my spending might put a drunken sailor to shame. I had taken a few bank samples home which was a breeze in my situation."

"You pilfered sum of money," Travis said, carefully recording her answers and asking a question here and there.

"Small sums. I knew it was wrong and I intended to stop the practice and perhaps make reparations, although I kept no records and wouldn't know how to begin such a project."

"You mean it was easier to steal than to repay?"

"Something like that. Then the waste matter hit the air supply. I got pregnant, I told my boyfriend, he announced he was out of my life and never wanted to see me again. So there I was, a baby on the way and a couple of maxed out credit cards."

"The rat," Blue tossed in.

"Indeed," Martha said. "So I needed cash and quick. And that's what caused my apprehension."

"You were arrested?" This confounded Travis. He was aware of no such arrest.

"I was nailed by the bank manager, one Keith Logan. He offered to keep things quiet for sexual favors."

"And you agreed?"

"I was in no position not too. I confessed all. That I had been stealing and that I was pregnant and needed cash for an abortion. So it began. Ultimately the CEO of the bank and other local enterprises was read in on the deal."

"He too wanted sex?" Travis could hardly believe what Martha was saying. The CEO was at the top of the area's power structure, also a deacon of his church, Trig Long.

"He did. I was the passed around bank slut. Except when Sally Amore got in on the deal."

"I know her," Blue said.

"So do I," Travis agreed. "She was involved, but not for sex?"

"I don't know how she found out about it. As you might know she's a board member. But the three of them somehow got together and decided if I could milk the bank for small amounts, they could do the same for tax-free larger amounts. So, I was already up to my neck in theft and sex. They agreed to toss me a few bones, small portion of the loot. And what better way to cover up grand theft than with the three top dogs on your side."

"So this was a long standing affair?"

"I suppose affair is the word. It went on for years. We often needed to cover our backsides with skillful fiscal manipulations. What I finally came to suspect and now fully realize is when the jig was up, as it would be sooner or later, I would take the fall. And that fall would be extreme. The scenario is that I would be found out, I would flee and I would be assassinated by a person, or persons unknown. Case closed."

"You actually realized that?" Travis asked.

"If I'm smart enough to pilfer the bank's cash and squirrel some away off shore, incidentally, then I'm smart enough to imagine how the drama ends. The bank examiners, or whatever, might find some of the hidden assets, but they would always wonder what happened. The three major culprits would stand by in wide eyed wonder, occasionally repeating, 'and we trusted her. Oh my, oh my.'"

"If this works out according to my plan," Travis announced, "you should get off with the lightest possible sentence while the three pillars of the community will fall and fall hard. Does that please you?"

"Right down to the ground."

"They remained at the beach house for two more days, days on the beach, days eating and drinking and cavorting, and days when Travis spent considerable time with Martha adding details and punching up his notes.

Travis had also called his police friend Pete and laid out the situation, stressing that powerful forces were out to do Martha in. The two agreed that Travis and company would return to the San Jose area and that Martha would be kept under close surveillance until a plan could be worked out to return her safely to Asheville.

Travis wondered if it might be wise to take her into protective custody, lock her away under police guard. Pete replied that law and correction agencies in his area were far from free of corruption. In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king, and in the land of near poverty the man with cash can buy what he likes, even human life. Travis said he would like to get his hands on a reliable pistol and Pete said that would be no problem.

**Chapter 4**

They headed back toward Cartago, all three feeling refreshed after their beach holiday and chatting amiably as they motored on. Pete had told Travis that he had a friend who owned three or four vacation cottages just outside of town and usually at least one would be available.

When they neared Cartago he contacted Pete via cell phone and was given directions to one of the houses. Pete said the landlord would meet them there.

By late afternoon they had settled in, a boxy little two bedroom place with access to a national forest with walking trails. Supplies were purchased at a nearby grocery and just after dinner Pete and the famed Vassar girl showed up for a social evening and talk and drinks. Pete passed Travis an automatic with extra ammo.

Blue and Becky, the Vassar girl, huddled in a corner with their drinks, engaged in animated conversation and an occasional outburst of laughter. Travis felt his ears burning, but couldn't overhear the conversation. Pete promised to have the occasional police patrol drive by the place and investigate any suspicious activities, including vehicles of any kind. The location was fairly isolated and odd goings-on would be easy to spot.

Travis said he would need a couple of three days to prepare Asheville for their homecoming, stressing safety precautions. He had not yet determined how this might be done considering that three well known and well-heeled citizens would very much like to see Martha in her grave.

After breakfast the following day, the three donned whatever walking attire that they could muster and ventured into the national forest. Stopping at a ranger hut, Travis picked up a list of Costa Rican birds which he read, skipping around, as they walked deeper into the wilderness.

"Great timamou," he read, commenting, "looks like a small turkey. A couple of other tinamou, then the Slaty-breasted tinamou."

"That should take care of the tinamou family," Blue said. "Let's keep an eye pealed. Are there other birds, like robins or sparrows."

"Grebes," Travis shot back. "The Least Grebe and the Pie-billed grebe. Also four kinds of booby's and all manner of herons and egrets."

Martha, joining the conversation, asked, "Anything unusual."

"You bet. There's a white-faced whistling duck. I'd like to add one of those to my life list, but we'd probably need water."

"You have a life list?" Martha asked.

"Not of birds, maybe of felons and minor miscreants."

The path was fairly wide and smooth. Bird noises were heard in the distance, but not one feathered friend was sited. Breakfast had consisted of toast and coffee. Long before noon, the three turned back with lunch on their minds. All three of them also had the perils and trauma of returning to Asheville on their minds, keenly aware of storm clouds gathering over the unmasking of three sterling community leaders.

It had crossed the mind of both Travis and Blue more than once that perhaps Martha had made up the entire tale to somehow salvage her own skin. But the cold blooded killing of the hooker and the probability that she was still being stalked didn't jibe with that scenario.

Another niggling possibility that surfaced now and then - if one was in danger, all three were in danger. And here they were in the middle of a tropical forest. What a perfect spot for a mass murder.

A pit stop at their small cabin, then a short walk to a diner for lunch, something like chicken tacos, but on the spicy side. Iced tea was welcome. They avoided the native tap water although it was likely as good as in the States.

On their return to their temporary home they bought supplies for dinner at a mom and pop grocery. Pork chops and potatoes. Blue commented that every culture she had heard of seemed to have an ample supply of chickens and pork, plus potatoes and different types of yams.

During dinner, Travis talked about returning to Asheville. "Those bad folks hoping to silence Martha have a lot of cash and other resources behind them and they know this is a live or die situation for them. So what are the options?"

"Find a safer hiding place and phone the information in," Blue suggested.

"Sooner or later I must return to Asheville," Martha said with some sadness or remorse in her voice. "There's no other way."

"Unless we could nail the real perpetrators first," Blue said. "I mean, yes, you must return, but it would be much safer if the three top dogs were incarcerated."

"Simply going back," Travis said, "a circuitous route is in order. Fly to someplace unexpected, not Asheville, not Atlanta, not JFK. Maybe St. Louise or Nashville, then slip in by rented car. I can trust most people in the department, so I can arrange security through Sergeant Schultz."

At bedtime the question was still up in the air. There was a snap lock on their cabin, but no bolt. Travis believed the lock could easily be carded, so he placed a wastebasket behind the door, plus leaning a broom against the door. He was a light sleeper and he kept the handgun under his pillow.

Just before dawn, there was a clatter in the hall. Travis was out of bed like a shot, pistol in hand. Unfortunately, Martha must have already been awake, possibly returning from the bathroom.

When Travis opened the bedroom door, he saw both an assailant and a startled Martha in the hall. Martha was gunned down in an instant and Travis in turn killed the intruder with a shot to the head.

A sleepy-eyed Blue came out of the bedroom and asked about the disturbance. Then she saw the two bodies. "Holy Christ." She looked from one body to the other, then at Travis. "Were you in on this?"

"I was too late. My trap or whatever you want to call it worked. But for some reason Martha either came into the hall instantly, or was already in the hall. I opened the door just in time to see her shot and she seems to be dead. So I shot the man there on the floor. He's definitely dead."

"So what now?" Blue was clearly in shock.

"I call Pete. We drag the bodies into Martha's room. We make coffee. We wait."

It took Pete the better part of an hour to reach the cabin. By that time Travis and Blue were seated on chairs on the porch of the cabin having their second cup of coffee. Pete flopped into the third chair and Travis explained the situation.

"We have a type of coroner," Pete said.

Travis glanced at Blue. The two of them had already talked over the situation. "That's the last thing I want, Pete. We need to pretend Martha is still alive. I don't think our shooter had an accomplice. If he did that person very likely fled without knowing Martha was killed."

"What about the bodies?" Pete asked.

"Can you have them cremated? Jane and John Doe?"

Pete was thoughtful, finally actually smiling over the puzzle. "I suppose, but it isn't totally kosher. But, yes, I can do it. I'll make arrangements, then borrow a panel truck. You and I should be able to load the bodies. While I'm gone, remove any identification. I'm particularly interested in the shooter. Who is he? Where did he come from? Who's paying him?"

"If you could answer that last question we would be home free. So we better get started. A little blood to mop up, a body search, a grizzly task before breakfast."

They attacked the task at hand and were finished in less than an hour. Dragging the bodies into Martha's bedroom was the most difficult, although searching the two corpses was no picnic. There was little blood, but Travis was careful to remove all noticeable traces. He was certain a forensic professional could have found more. Blue packed Martha's belongings and set them aside.

The surprise came when Travis discovered the shooter was an anglo from Asheville. Looking through the man's wallet he recognized him as a minor criminal with a lengthy arrest record. He would ask Schultz to follow up on that one. There would be a money trail and if lightning struck Schultz might find a recent contact linked to the bank.

With nothing left to do, they made coffee and sat at the kitchen table. "My heartbeat is just getting back to normal," Blue remarked.

"It's been quite a morning." Travis stated the obvious. "Our job now, at least for the immediate future, is to make believe Martha is still alive."

Blue pondered that thought, then said, "That might be difficult."

"Life is difficult."

"If life is difficult, I suppose death is easy."

"It was for Martha," Travis said. "Her troubles are over."

"That's morbid talk."

Travis shrugged and drank his coffee. He was thinking about a second cup.

Fortunately, Pete had brought a couple of body bags. It was fairly easy for the two men to zip the remains inside and then quickly carry the bags to the panel truck.

Travis told Pete if we pretend Martha is still alive. "We could paint her as a tell-all witness which might very likely be the road to that gray hotel for three notable citizens."

"Notable, but greedy," Pete said.

"Isn't that something," Travis declared. "People are never satisfied, or in many cases that's true. I'm a fairly happy individual and make do with what I've got."

Pete laughed. "It takes temptation. Have you ever had the opportunity to do something illegal that would bring you wealth or some other objective you might desire?"

"Like a hunting dog or a pickup truck?"

Pete shrugged and said, "Maybe we'd better get going. Will Blue come with us?"

"I'm standing right here," Blue said. "And damned right I'm coming. Do you think I'll sit here waiting for the second shooter?"

"Hardly," Pete said. "These two will be ashes by sundown for the small price of three hundred bucks, cash."

Travis said he had the bucks in his wallet and the three set off for the crematorium.

Pete said it would be best if they didn't return to the cabin. If there was a second shooter they would have appeared to have fled. Meantime, they could stay with him and Becky. Blue complained that her stuff was in the cabin, but Pete said Becky probably had the same sort of stuff.

"Good. I hope she doesn't mind me using her tooth brush," Blue huffed.

Forewarned by Pete, Becky had the makings of a picnic ready when they reached their house. They sat out back and grilled hamburgers, drank beer and nibbled chips. There was also potato salad and sliced tomatoes.

Blue remarked that this backyard with its tropical plants, trees and the occasional song of a bird, was like heaven. "I can see why you two were drawn to this place."

"We were indeed," Becky said. "But one finds paradise has the same set of problems that beset every other place. Bills to pay, sickness, growing old, repairs, whatever you care to pile on. Wherever one goes one carries their baggage with them."

Pete nodded in agreement.

Travis and Blue sensed that all was not right with the pair.

Travis spent some time after lunch and before a nap on his cell phone, first calling Schultz and telling him of the death of the shooter. The sergeant agreed that he might be able to backtrack and find who hired the man and where the money came from. There must be an advance to travel to Costa Rica.

Then he called the mayor. Cotton Jones could not keep a secret and it was the intention of the detective to spread the word across all of Asheville.

"There was an attempt on Martha's life," Travis began.

"Oh, my God. Is she dead?"

"No. But the assassin is. And he's a local boy, a small time criminal. This so called bank job extends to the highest offices of Mountain National and Martha is willing to tell all for a cushy deal."

"She'll talk?" Cotton exclaimed.

"Exactly. Rat out her friends and confederates. And it won't be pretty. These are high placed people. I'll have names for you in a day or three. I knew you'd want to know."

"Are you talking bank executives?" Cotton's mind was in a whirl. He didn't want scandal in the city's higher echelons.

"Damn right, the highest. You can imagine. Now that their assassin has failed, maybe they'll flee."

"Where would they go?" Cotton asked in wonder.

"Maybe Brazil, or the Cayman Islands to be with their ill got gains. Odd, isn't it. They were already rich. People always want more."

"That's human nature, Trav. Being in politics I've learned a hat full. Things you wouldn't believe. Who's doing what to who. But I keep my own counsel."

"I know you do, Cotton. That's why I can confide in you even though this case is in its early stages. Do you think we should bring in the county prosecutor, the state attorney general or the feds. It is a bank job after all, so I assume the feds are involved. Maybe alert the FBI?"

"We better wait until there's some hard evidence, Trav. I've known Martha for years, as well as other bank officers. We don't want to go maligning innocent folks. She could be attempting to save her own skin. Does she have relatives here?"

"Not that I know of. But you're right. We better let things simmer along for now. A false accusation could do a heap of damage."

"That's right, Trav. And I thank you for your call. Now, keep me informed, won't you."

"You bet, Cotton."

Travis signed off and wondered who Cotton would call first. He guessed their conversation would be all over town by tomorrow evening.

They spent a pleasant evening with Pete and Becky, turning in early. There seemed to be an undertone, a slight nuance, things were not quite what they appeared to be. Blue was keenly aware of it. Call it woman's intuition.

Another lovely day dawned and they had coffee outside with the sun on the rise. Becky said breakfast would be either bacon and eggs or waffles.

"We shouldn't trouble you," Blue said.

"It's no trouble. The waffles are frozen and popped into a toaster. Anyway, there's something we both wanted to talk to you about. I'll let Pete go first."

Pete seemed to sigh, went to the table and refilled his coffee cup, then retook his chair. "You two have a task to fulfill. Blue, I assume you're going to stick with Travis to see this thing through. There is some danger. So, you've said you need to pretend Martha is still among the living. To carry on such a charade you need a third person, a woman. Is that correct?"

"You've stated the facts, Pete. So far Blue has not hinted she intends to fly away. So, yes, a second woman would be helpful assuming the folks in Asheville are watching and I think they have that ability."

"So, Becky and I have talked this over and she would like to be that woman."

Blue shook her head as if to remove the cobwebs and exclaimed, "That's ridicules. Both of us are in harm's way, but the second woman would be the target. You two have a happy marriage here. What in the world has gotten into you?"

"Our marriage is happy," Becky said. "But it's about to come to an end. Pete has inoperable brain cancer. He has days to live."

Blue looked from one to the other and finally said, "All the more reason for you two to share those final days."

"Yes and no," Pete agreed, or didn't agree. "I recently flew to the States and visited the Cleveland Clinic. So, it's absolutely true. The cancer is tangled into my brain. It's growing. I might go next week, or a month from now, but there's no hope. So, why dwell in melancholy sorrow, day after day as the hours tick away. Becky leaves, I close up the house, resign and return to my childhood home and spend my final days with my parents, who incidentally are totally on board."

"Short goodbyes are the best," Becky blurted out, visibly shaken. Recovering, she added, "I'm packed. Pete drives us back to the cottage. We hastily pick up our belongings, pick up the rental and off we go."

Travis and Blue sat for a moment in stunned silence. Then Travis said, "The die is cast. We have crossed the Rubicon. Say the word."

"I believe we should forego breakfast," Becky said. "I'll get my things."

The parting was quite short. Pete and Becky apparently had said their goodbyes during the night when neither had little sleep. With everything else coming down, this drama had a stunning, one might say numbing impact on both Blue and Travis. During their lives they had taken many things in their stride, but this was a touch too much. How does one deal with a traveling companion who has just lost her husband to a type of lingering death, this, the Vassar girl.

Pete had given Becky and Blue each a revolver for self protection. Each of the women had fired weapons in the past.

After they had gathered their things and were on the road together, Betsy remarked, "Did you see the large tomato plant when we were having coffee.?"

"I sat next it," Blue replied. "I love that smell."

"Me too. The smell of tomato plants, my youth comes swimming back to me on suntanned beaches and wooded camping trips."

"You traveled with tomato plants?" Travis inquired.

"No, silly. Just a symbol of my younger days. There are no doubt many more. But this plant, this patio plant, is special. Pete and I bought it together and watched it grow. Now who's to care for it?"

There was no reply for that. We rode in silence for the next half hour.

Finally, Becky asked, "Where are we bound?"

"Outward," Travis replied.

"Maybe South Australia," Blue tossed in, then added, "I thought it strange that Pete would send you off with us, our lives being threatened."

"He didn't send me off. It was my idea. At one point I said we might die together, of course a thousand miles apart. My point being, traveling with you, looking over our shoulders, I would not be thinking about our personal tragedy 24/7."

"Not a bad idea, Becky," Travis remarked. "And we will value your life as if it was our own."

Blue smiled and nodded. There was something about the edge and fragrance of danger that thrilled her in a good way.

**Chapter 5**

True to form, one of the first persons Mayor Jones called in his gossipy manner was his great and good friend Keith Logan, manager of Mountain National Bank and major perpetrator of the fraudulent scheme.

"I have news from Costa Rica, Keith. It seems Lang Travis is onto a tale that some of your top employees are involved in a long standing game to cook the books and deliberately siphon money from your bank."

"My God, Cotton. How could such a thing have gone unnoticed? We know about Martha Baker. But surely she was working alone."

"That's possible. Keith, even likely. But she's feeding Travis this story and he said he will have names in a few days. But I don't want to raise any false alarms."

"Good thinking, Cotton. You might soil the reputation of honest people and cause what was once known as a run on the bank. Our entire establishment is built on a certain amount of trust and honesty. Do you know where Travis might be at the moment. I'd like very much to talk with him and get to the bottom of this. If others are involved perhaps it could be handled quietly."

"Other than Costa Rica, no. But what you say makes sense. He should call me in a day or two. Meanwhile all this is strictly hush hush. I promised him to keep this quiet. Apparently he's still talking to Martha and what passes for the truth is coming out bit by bit. Of course she's hoping for a lighter sentence."

"I always respected her until this happened, Cotton. I would like to see her get the lightest possible sentence. Her life has not been a bed of roses."

"You're a good man, Keith. I'll keep you informed."

Keith signed off and was barely able to control himself. Something had gone incredibly wrong. Two hit men and it seemed that Martha still lived and was sharing details about her crime with Lang Travis and of all people, Blue Berry, the daughter of one of his best friends.

It was difficult for him to contain himself, but he couldn't get together with his two colleagues, partners in crime that is, until after business hours. Then he huddled with Trig Long, the CEO, and Sally Amore, the board member who was a longtime confidante and former sexual partner.

"Martha's apparently still alive and down there with Lang Travis and Blue Berry, spilling her guts," were his first words.

"What's Blue Berry doing there?" Sally questioned.

"God knows. She and Travis are good friends."

"Yeah, they sleep together," Trig tossed in. "Imagine that. That old man with a real pretty girl. You got anything to drink?"

"Let's not get into gossip," Keith interjected. "We're in serious trouble." He reached back, fumbled in his credenza and withdrew a double bottle of single malt scotch. More fumbling and three glasses appeared.

"Any ice?" Sally asked.

"You'll be asking for ice in hell if those three get back here in one piece." He filled each tumbler half full.

"What are we to do, Keith?" Trig questioned.

"Somehow, kill all three. But how? Any ideas?"

"How about fight or flight and select the latter."

"You're a single woman," Keith said, "but Trig and me, we got families. Obligations, responsibilities."

Sally laughed. "You'll be tending the garden at a federal prison. That'll be your responsibility. There's not a chance in a million that you can do away with three very clever people in a country like Costa Rica."

"Money talks," Keith said. "And we've got bundles of it. If we can get to them, bam, bam, bam. Martha's the fall guy. We do total transparency about how we've been duped for years. Shed crocodile tears."

Sally gulped half her drink. "I'll pack and make certain my ill got gains are in order, but I'll wait around for a few days. I don't want to queer the stew."

"Queer the stew," Trig said, pouring himself more whisky, "what kind of expression is that?"

"You get the idea," Sally said.

"I do that."

In Costa Rica, with Travis at the wheel, the three were carefully observing the speed limits and heading at their best pace toward Panama. They were certain the Asheville three would not give up on their murderous quest, believing Martha lived. Becky had mussed her hair and put on an oversized shirt to look like the older woman in case someone in pursuit might question a gas station attendant.

As they drove they discussed the idea of simply taking the story Martha had told back to Asheville, but without proof, without Martha, it might simply be seen as character assassination. No, they needed to let the three stew in their own juices and see what might come of it.

Travis would call Schultz in a day or two and let him in on the three names. At least if the three of them were executed in Central America, Schultz would know who financed the hit.

Meanwhile, when they were not doing in depth analysis of the case, they were three fairly cheerful holiday makers. Of course Pete's situation hung like a storm cloud over Becky. But, all things considered, there was tension, there was drama, amid jokes and bursts of laughter. Hard to explain.

As it came to pass, they were not the only ones who feared for their lives. Sally Amore, after she had suggested flight instead of fight, had become suspicious of her two conspirators. After a brief conference the following morning where nothing had been resolved, she left the two alone.

They had met in Logan's office before working hours. Sally hesitated in the outer office and flipped on the device that permitted her to listen in as the two men continued to consider options.

"Sally is like a frightened rabbit," Trig observed.

"What if she bails out, runs for cover? Where does that leave us?"

Logan pondered the question briefly, then said he would like a cup of coffee. "I got up before breakfast if that makes sense."

"I stopped at McDonald's." Trig countered. "Your secretary will be in soon and she'll fix you up. If Sally runs we could turn it to our advantage."

"How so."

"She's be much easier to find than Travis and Martha. In fact we could place someone on the same plane with her. Follow her off the plane, find out where she's going, then quietly put her away. At least we'd have one more person to blame. Would help if Travis and Martha, not to mention Blue, sneak back into town and make a stink."

"I've always liked Sally. But business is business, Trig. Maybe we can have somebody follow her, or bug her apartment. I'm not good at this spy business. But another fall guy might confuse things to the point where we'd never be indicted if we stood firm."

"It would also be a good idea if we didn't have to do away with Blue. Her dad's our main lawyer for the love of God."

"I agree. But if we could do all four of them we'd be totally in the clear. Have our cake and eat it too."

That was enough for Sally. She switched off the conversation and scampered out of the office, indeed like a frightened rabbit. She and Mae, the chief's secretary as well as Travis' when he was working, were longtime friends. She headed straight for the police station where she wasted no time asking her friend who was handling the case locally now that Travis was in Costa Rico.

It took maybe three hours before she was seated in a private office with Sergeant Schultz. "I might be able to help with this bank fraud case," she blurted out.

"We need all the help we can get," Schultz replied.

"You might know I'm a member of the board over there."

"I've made myself familiar with who's who. You're a long time member."

"And I might be involved in this fraud scheme, or whatever you call it."

"Taking money from the bank and looting safe deposit boxes illegally is what you might call it. Both serious felonies."

"Aren't all felonies serious, Sergeant Schultz?"

"I suppose. I suppose that's why they call them felonies. Are you here to make a confession. If so I'll ask someone in to record your words."

"Certainly not. I said it might seem that I'm involved. That is certain parties might accuse me of being involved."

"Innocent until proven guilty," Schultz observed.

"Totally true."

"Well, to get to the point there are two people at the bank who might accuse me, make me the goat."

"I thought Martha was already the goat?" Schultz interjected.

Sally chuckled. "She is. But the thinking is two goats are better than one. Particularly if they're both dead goats."

"Your life's in danger?"

"You can take that to the bank."

"Odd analogy."

"Isn't it. It would likely be purloined. What I would like is to get safely and secretly out of town and perhaps fly to Costa Rica where I might hook up with your three friends down yonder. I'd like to have a little parlyvou with that trio."

"That's a poser," Schultz said. "First, if you are involved in the bank job, you might be simply attempting to locate them to assist in their execution. If not, I suppose you have legitimate reasons. But if you're not involved, why would your life be in danger?"

"I did not come here to make a confession. If nothing else, I've come here to tell you my life's in danger if I attempt to leave town. And probably if I don't attempt to leave town. Hooking up with those three is simply an effort to help you solve the case. I don't want to see anyone killed."

"I get you. First you want help to get out of town undetected, right?"

"Totally."

Schultz had a keen mind and the wheels were spinning. "What I can do is slip you out of town, you fly to San Jose, get a hotel room. When Travis calls, I tell him your situation and where you are and he makes the decision. From there you could fly anywhere in the world. I'm guessing you have enough money."

That also brought a chuckle. "Plenty. You are a prince among men. Can you check on the flights and see that I'm delivered some place. I know that one plan to do me in is to have the assassin fly away with me. He and I, a match made in hell."

"I will be sufficiently devious. Pick you up at your home at two a.m. tomorrow. OK?"

"Fine. Beware of lurking felons."

Schultz pulled up in front of Sally's apartment at exactly 2 a.m.. He was driving an unmarked car. She was waiting just inside and hustled out with a small carry-on, the type with wheels and a pull-handle. After checking to make certain who he was, she stowed it in the back seat and they were off.

At that hour they could have plainly seen anyone attempting to follow. Sally believed her two associates would never have imagined she would skidaddle so quickly, not knowing that she had overheard their plan.

Schultz handed her a sheet of paper with her flight number and the names of two hotels. She would fly directly to San Jose.

He breathed a sigh of relief and was certain she did the same after they were heading east on Interstate 26. Everything was going according to plan, including the possibility that he was aiding in the flight of a fleeing felon.

"I had a travel agent book your flight on a top secret basis. Try the Hotel Parador first and then the Hotel Riu Guanacaste. I'll give Travis the two names."

"I should use my own name?"

"I think so. Your friends will think you're simply flying off to God knows where to escape. The last thing on their mind would be that you're trying to hook up with Travis and crew."

"What if they check the airlines?"

"I don't think so. I'm driving you to Atlanta."

"Atlanta. That's a long drive."

"A few hours. This is serious business." Only the occasional car and a few semis were on the road at this hour. There should be a 24-hour McDonald's and the ubiquitous service stations with their bad coffee and stale donuts. The two of them were off on what seemed like an adventure. Both had a sense of freedom and it made them feel good for one reason or another.

**Chapter 6**

It was just after lunch that Keith Logan asked Trig Long to visit him in his office. His first words were, "Sally's gone."

"Gone where?" Trig asked in amazement.

"The woman in the apartment across the hall said she's gone to visit an aunt in Great Falls, Wyoming."

"Is she driving?"

"Hell. No, Trig. In the first place Great Falls is in Montana. In the second place Sally's an orphan. Absolutely no family. She asked her neighbor to keep her cat. Said she'd send money for cat food and medical expenses."

"Is the cat sick?"

"No." Logan laughed. "It's just a kitten, healthy as a horse. It seems Sally's planning to be gone for some long while."

"Is there anyway to find her." Even though Trig was CEO he relied on Logan who had connived to put him in that job.

"I suppose we could check the airlines, here and maybe Charlotte. But she'd fly to some hub and then might go anyplace. We could kidnap the cat and send threatening notes through her neighbor."

"We'd have to keep it confined. Maybe in a basement someplace. Just like the movies."

"I wasn't serious, Trig. It looks like we're screwed for the moment anyway. Give me a day or two, I'll devise a plan B. I've still got Cotton feeding me information."

"And Travis, Blue and Martha free as birds."

"Maybe, maybe not. Sally will likely keep a low profile, maybe change her name, find a toy boy and live out her years in regal splendor."

"While we rot in a grey bar hotel?"

"We're not through yet, Trig. There are more strings to my bow."

"Keith, if you duck out and leave me holding the bag...well, that'll be the day."

"It will indeed, Trig."

"But she does like that cat. What's it name, anyway?"

In Central America, the three fugitives had crossed into Panama. There had been not even a casual look at their possessions after Blue had slipped an officer a twenty dollar bill. Their side arms were safe.

They were zipping along just under the speed limit when Becky remarked, "Isn't there a canal down here someplace?"

"I believe we owned it at one time," Travis said.

"It's good that the good folks in Panama should own their own canal," Blue tossed in. "Incidentally, it made Teddy Roosevelt famous as the first hippy. He said, 'Dig that canal.'"

Travis rolled his eyes and said nothing.

Blue was thoughtful and finally remarked, "If large merchant vessels plus tourist ships pass through the canal, they must stop here and there. Which means we could board one of them by hook, crook, or stealth and be off to ports unknown, thus adding exotic substance to our adventure."

"I smoked exotic substance once upon a time," Becky enriched the conversation. "Or did I simply ingest it. Of course I don't remember. Something like Woodstock. If you remember it, you weren't there."

"Boarding a ship passing in the night isn't a totally bad idea," Travis said. "We might even book passage as opposed to stowing away. The food might be better." And thus the three travelers continued their journey.

They made a full day of it and pushed through to Santiago, one of the largest cities in Panama. Not wanting for luxury, they booked into the Hodelpa Gran Almirante, Blue and Becky sharing a room and Travis in a room nearby.

They had pub grub at the hotel bar, beer topped off by a glass of wine, then virtually collapsed into their separate beds. At breakfast late the next morning, they all had Trav's favorite, cowboy eggs. Becky had dug up a tourist guide and read it aloud - winery trips, treks to hot springs, Valparaiso harbor tours, horseback riding in the nearby mountains and more.

Travis announced he intended on returning to his room, possibly reading, watching TV and more likely sleeping. Becky and Blue were all for exploring the city. They agreed to meet at six for an early dinner.

The following day the girls forced Travis to accompany them and show him the city, hitting the highlights they had found the previous day. The next day, Travis once again grumped around the hotel, did venture out for a few block and lunch. In the afternoon he made collect calls to Schultz from a phone booth, managing to run him down on the second try.

"Where have you been?" were the sergeant's first words.

"Hiding out. I'm sure they haven't forgotten us."

"You got that right. But now they also have Sally Amore to try to do away with. She came to me and I helped her flee to San Jose. She's in the Hotel Parador waiting your call."

"In San Jose?"

"Yep. Costa Rica. I drove her to Atlanta and got her on a direct flight. She's eager to hook up with you and the gang."

"Might she be a stalking horse?"

"I don't think so. She seemed sincere and frightened. She overheard Logan and Long talking about throwing her to the wolves. Apparently she had told them she might duck out of sight. So if she did and they could put a hit on her, one more scapegoat."

"Ok. Schultz. I'll call her and have her join us. We have moved to a city I won't name in case the phone's bugged. But we'll get together very soon. If not, I'll call you."

"This cat and mouse thing is tedious, but makes one feel important. Or at least relieves the monotony. Did I just contradict myself? Watch your back, Lang."

At dinner that night Blue and Becky were elated about their day trip to the Santa Rita winery. From what Travis could make out they were the life of the party, interacting with tourists from the States, Europe and Asia.

When the dust settled and the conversation lagged, Travis told them about his talk with Schultz and the possibility of yet an authentic fleeing felon joining the party.

"Sally!" Blue exclaimed. "I've known her forever. She'll be a sight for sore eyes."

"I don't know about that," Travis said. "But it seems that thieves continue to fall out and I'm hoping Schultz and she made a clean break and she wasn't followed, or tracked in any way."

"They'd still like to kill us, wouldn't they?" Becky questioned.

"Why not? I have the information and they think you are Martha. But this is what we were hoping for. The fortress is beginning to crumble, bit by bit. Sally might be here as early as tomorrow. Time will tell. By the by, having you here, Becky, as the third person pretending to be Martha was probably a good starter. But with Sally on her way, you might be better off bailing and getting out of harm's way."

"Right. Except where would I go and what would I do. Pete went home and will soon be with the Lord. I wouldn't know how to occupy my time. I'd simply be grieving and alone in some dismal situation. I'm in this thing and I'm staying. Remember, I'm armed."

"Good for you," Blue said with some enthusiasm. "I'm just along for the ride, too, and I'm sticking it out. Also armed, thanks to Pete."

Becky and Blue were off on a horseback riding excursion in the mountains when Travis called the Hodelpa Centro Plaza. Sally had arrived and answered in a relieved tone. "Thank God it's you, Travis. Where are you?"

"In Santiago, Panama, not too far south. I suggest you find a flight and join us as soon as possible. You've escaped detection."

"So far, so good, with the help of Sergeant Schultz. We got to know one another fairly well on our drive to Atlanta. He's one sharp cookie."

"I know. I rely on him. I'll give you my cell number and you can give me a call from the airport. I'll meet your plane."

"I'd be grateful. This being alone in a strange country with a couple of powerful enemies wanting to serve me up as a sacrificial lamb. I'm a little nervous."

As it happened, there were frequent flights between the two cities and Travis had met Sally Amore and had her back at the hotel before the two girls returned from their riding trip.

Blue and Sally had a hugging and almost tearful reunion in the cocktail lounge. Becky was introduced and Sally asked after Martha.

"Sorry to say she was killed on the second attempt," Travis said. "I killed the gunman and Becky's husband helped us dispose of the two bodies. The idea was to pretend Martha lived."

"I'll be damned," Sally said, apparently dumfounded. "If we'd have known, I know Keith Logan would have attempted to dump the entire blame on Martha and might have gotten away with it."

"We figured," Travis said. "We needed a third person in case someone was asking questions, so Sally stood in for Martha. That's another story for you three women to discuss later. I thought we might have a cot wheeled in to the room and the three of you could bunk together. Safety in numbers."

"We'll get by if we can stand the pressure on the bathroom," Blue said, then added playfully, "Maybe I'll keep you company now and then, Lang."

Travis shrugged and smiled. Then the discussion turned to dinner.

Sally remarked during the meal that Cotton Jones had been supplying Keith Logan with details of the investigation.

"That was my plan," Travis explained. "I told him certain things in confidence, knowing that his mouth is like a radio. I guess this constant glad handing and yakking is the key to his success. If you call being mayor of Asheville success. A mountain town full of hippies, art galleries, breweries and hotels."

"Please, Lang, don't sell us short," Blue objected.

"I know there are outfitters, lots to do out-of-doors, the mountains, plenty of retirees, many of them burned out from Florida. It's my town and I love it."

Sally then asked, "What's the plan?"

The reply was three blank stares. Then Travis said, "At the moment we're coming to the aid of a fleeing felon. And a very pleasant one at that."

"I feel like a member of a mob, a well-heeled and law abiding mob. And, incidentally, I can pay my way."

Travis looked at Blue and Becky and asked, "Now would we go along with tainted money."

"You bet," Blue said and Becky nodded in agreement.

"Maybe not a mob, but a pirate band," Travis said dryly. "It crossed my mind if we get to the canal we can board a vessel for somewhere."

"But where?" Sally questioned.

"Wherever one happens to be going. We still must wait for the last of the thieves to fall out."

"I guess I should resent that remark. But here I am, happy as a clam at high tide with three fellow travelers. The pressure's off."

**Chapter 7**

In Asheville, Keith Logan was devising a plan that he and Trig Long go on a business trip, perhaps to Wall Street where the big money is made.

"What would we give as a reason. I mean, there is money and treasure missing and the investigation, such as it is, is ongoing. It might look odd for the two of us to be going out of town together."

"But no one suspects us, Trig. Martha is the target and now with Sally gone, she falls under suspicion. We're virtually home free. We simply let Sally go and I've got people, skillful people, tracking down Martha and friends. So there you have it."

"When should we leave?"

"I'll let our usual travel agent make the plans, flights, hotels, Broadway shows and so forth, maybe leave in three or four days. We both need the relaxation. Maybe toss in a couple of Broadway babies. How does that sound?"

"Great, Keith. I'll begin getting my stuff together."

Trig Long brooded the remainder of the day over Logan's sudden plan to hit the Big Apple. There was something wrong and he didn't know just what to make of it. Martha was gone. Sally was gone. That left he and Logan at the top. Of course there were others at the bank who had access to whatever it might take to siphon off a few bucks.

But not the amount that had gone missing over the years. That was big time and would take big time operators. Logan was that operator and Trig was more or less Logan's stooge. So it came back to this. Martha was gone. Sally was gone. If Trig was gone that would leave only Logan in Asheville. Would that help Logan? Trig couldn't figure it out so he tried to put it out of his mind.

He had been thinking a lot recently about Sally's cat. She had left it with a neighbor in her apartment building. Trig's marriage was not particularly happy and the nest was empty. It had flashed into his mind to retrieve Sally's cat which would give him something to do at home besides eat, drink and watch TV. He had been reading about cats of late. He had reached the realization that they were not like people and they were not like dogs.

The following morning instead of going directly to work he stopped at Sally's apartment building in an attempt to find the cat. He had her apartment number and guessed it would be an apartment nearby. So he rang the bell just across the hall.

An attractive woman of about his age answered. She was wearing a flimsy nightgown and hadn't bothered with a robe. He stared at her for a moment, something familiar in that face, attempting not to divert his eyes to her body.

She smile slightly and said, "Yes?"

"I'm looking for Sally Amore's cat."

"You've come to the right place. But Dorsey's still sleeping. It is early. I'm not even dressed. But you can see that. Are you a veterinarian?"

"No. I'm a friend of Sally's. Might I ask your name?"

Her pleasant demeanor took on a puzzled look, but she replied, "Elli."

He too looked perplexed, but replied, "I'm Trig Long. We were in college together."

"Well, damn. I've seen your name in the paper. Trig Long, bank executive, now a person of interest in a fraud scheme. Have you made good?"

Trig laughed. The tension was gone. "Frankly, Elli, I don't know. Or should I say, I don't give a damn. May I come in?"

"Certainly. I've got a pot of coffee." She stood away from the door and ushered him into the kitchen. "Let me get decent. I'll be right back."

"You look pretty good as you are."

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls." She darted out of the kitchen and returned wearing a housecoat and had done something to her hair.

While she was pouring coffee, Trig said, "You were prom queen."

"Well, you were a football player."

"Oh, yes. I played end and guard. Sat on the end of the bench and guarded the water bucket. Did you marry Mr. Popular?"

"I did. And I suppose your calling him Mr. Popular was what everybody thought at the time. But things are not always what they seem. We were married for quite a few years, quite a few rocky years, he had schemes that involved not putting in much effort, get rich quick with not even trying. The only thing he succeeded at was suicide. He was something of an addict to the grape and drugs. So a simple overdose did the trick."

"Leaving you with what?"

"College memories and no skills. I work as hostess at the Red Lobster. You've probably eaten there."

"Doesn't really appeal to me."

"You're more the country club type, Trig."

It was a mutual thing that they ended up in bed.

Staring at the ceiling. Trig attempted to explain why he wanted to take care of Dorsey. "For one thing cats have natural needs and they get a little crazy if they find themselves in a place that simply does not do the job. I've read about these things."

It was hard to shrug in bed, but Elli tried one. "What would be a cat, say Dorsey's, natural needs?"

"Quite simple. Cats are hunters and need diversion. An empty paper bag might be good, or a fish tank. Something to jump at and rumple, or something to watch. There are things you can buy made for the purpose."

"Like what?"

"Food things. You probably know cats usually don't overeat. They nibble what they want, then walk away. These food dispensers are like toys, playthings, so the cat punches them with a paw and a little dried food comes out. This is cat fun."

"So that's why you wanted Dorsey. To give the cat a favorable environment. You were actually concerned about a cat you had never seen? Or had you?"

"I've driven Sally home a time or two when her car was in the shop. But I don't think I've ever been inside her apartment. No the cat seemed to be available and I wanted the cat for myself."

"To meet your needs?"

"Yes and no. The fact is I'm in a confused state but you've helped me get out of it. Now I think I know what I must do. Yes, I think I know." Trig was pensive and stared hard at the ceiling.

Elli was quiet for a time, but finally asked, "What must you do?"

"Take action. Decisive action rather than wait and react."

"You mean you want the cat now?"

"No." Trig actually laughed. For days he had been in a funk, but now he was in a jolly, devil-may-care mood. "Screw the cat. It was a straw man. I knocked it down."

"The cat, Dorsey that is, was a straw man, which you pummeled in one way or another?"

"Yes. I opened the flood gates, or in other words, the dam has broken."

"You've burned your bridges. Here in this bed, in my warm embrace?"

"You might say that." He ignored the fact that Elli was ready for a second tumble. "I've got to get to work. If I'm absent, people will talk."

"About us?"

"No. They'd have a hard time figuring you or Dorsey out." He was out of bed and getting dressed. "I need to come tomorrow about the same time. I mean my plan, the one that just flashed through my head, needs rapid installation. Our conversation has been you might say, odd."

"You might say. I expect a second installment tomorrow, perhaps with clarification."

"Definitely. It has to be tomorrow. Otherwise I'm booked for New York."

"Booked for New York. Sounds like fun. And you definitely don't want Dorsey."

"Definitely. So, 'til tomorrow." He was fully dressed, tossed her a kiss and was off in a businesslike manner. He threw back one final remark: "Ride wide of anthropomorphizing cats." Which left her totally bewildered, yet she had enjoyed the encounter.

What press there was in Asheville had been clamoring for facts about the bank job for some time now, if the Asheville press could clamor. About all that had come out was that a trusted employee, Martha Baker, seemed to be involved. She had fled the city and the police chief, mayor and other citizens were seeing to it that she was properly pursued. So far, Sally Amore had not been missed. People do take vacations.

Mayor Cotton Jones had spoken to the press and others about it on every possible occasion. But the official police spokesman seemed to be a Sgt. Russell Schultz.

It was Schultz Trig Long called during his routine day at the office. He missed him more than once and finally asked the secretary when would be a good time to actually pin him down. At that point Mae gave him the sergeant's cell number.

In contact at last, Trig suggested the two of them meet at a coffee shop the next afternoon.

"Wouldn't you rather come to the office," Schultz suggested. "Or I might come to your office."

"Definitely not. Consider my position at the bank. Either of those places we would draw attention, possibly the media would be notified and it might appear that something is happening in the bank probe."

"Isn't it?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I try to remain isolated from the case. As you recall the alarm was sounded by what you might refer to as a bean counter. There is definitely something awry, but just what is missing, exactly when it went missing and many other details are still being tabulated."

"By the bank, of which you're the CEO."

"Of course by the bank. But to complicate things the IRS and other federal agencies have stepped in. You know bank accounts are insured which brings comfort to the banking public."

"I do know that, Mr. Long, but I'm also aware contents of some safe deposit boxes seem to be missing."

"That is a complicated twist, isn't it. Some of those boxes were rented on a long term basis by persons now deceased. Others were apparently rented by folks attempting to hide assets. There's a world of complication here, sergeant. There's a coffee shop on Charlotte. We can meet there, get a cup to go and possibly drive some place in your car, talk privately."

"Two O'clock?"

"Two O'clock."

Some say people can go totally nuts with dreams. This helps to preserve their wake time sanity. But that evening Trig had a long talk with his wife about the future and the possibility that he might not be in the picture.

Communications between the two had not been good since the early days of marriage and recently his wife was suspicious, she thought he might be involved with Keith Logan in dipping their hands into company coffers and somehow squirreling the money away.

If this was true, her husband of many years might be a candidate for either federal prison, or to make a sudden exit. Where would that leave her? She had the house and some savings. She could reenter the job market and find someone a bit more interesting than Trig. He was not a complete dullard, but he did seem to be Logan's puppet.

Trig was troubled, his mundane little world was crumbling. The country club crowd and his so called golf buddies were a bore. A spark remained from those carefree college days. His hook up with Elli had brought it all back and a plan like a lightning flash penetrated his brain and came out fully chewed and digested.

In bed he was restless although he had a couple of nightcaps, one more than his usual which had made his wife doubly suspicious. Something was up. Any deviation from his normal routine always sounded an alarm. Well, he was slow to think and even slower to act, so there was time to learn what he was up to.

Then the dreams came, technicolor, vivid color a mishmash replay of his college days. Then his adolescent years. He attempted to correct stupid mistakes he had made, social errors, bad study habits, dietary shortcomings, flaunting authority, girls he had liked who wouldn't speak to him, probably because he had never approached them. Advice he had disregarded. His habit as a child of removing his clothes and parading around in only a shirt. Petty thievery, stealing small almost worthless items from dollar stores. He wrote this off to youthful indiscretion, a catchall favored by congressmen which failed to erase past regrets. Then his entanglement with Keith Logan, without whom he would have remained a bean counter, but with whom he was on a fast track to hell.

Waking too early in a sweat, he left his sleeping wife and went to the kitchen and started the coffee maker. Thank God for the automatic life. As a child his family had used percolators. But they weren't so bad, really. He enjoyed the perking sound and the coffee turning darker, splashing up into the transparent top.

Generally his wife would fix breakfast. But she would be asleep for at least another hour. He found a waffle in the freezer and stuck it into the toaster. Then butter and the jar of syrup. Why was there such a mystery to preparing breakfast, or any meal for that matter. Many times they would simply go to the country club only to find the food so-so and the crowd depressing to his taste.

Later he would read the paper, click on Channel 13 for the weather and latest child molestation, killing, political scandal, or highway mayhem. Then bid his wife goodbye with a peck on the cheek, perhaps for the last time. Naked he was born and he would go naked into the world, save for the clothing in which he stood, plus the loot he had stashed away.

He left the house early, but he would arrive at work late, thanks to a detour to his newfound old friend, Elli's place.

Elli greeted her old college friend with open arms. In one short day she had moved from Red Lobster hostess to CEO's mistress. Simply finding a living, breathing, monied man at her age was something of an accomplishment.

A cup of coffee, the minimum of small talk and the two newly united lovers were united in the sack. Once the heavy breathing had ceased Trig struggled to explain his situation.

"You've probably heard there's been trouble at the bank."

"I've heard," Elli replied. "Missing assets, skullduggery, something of a mystery."

"Right. A true mystery." Trig almost laughed. "You may not know that two people have taken vacations."

"I heard there had been a mysterious exodus." Those were her words, but her thought was, like rats leaving a sinking ship.

Trig struggled to get to his point, but finally made it. "I may be implicated in the unseemly mess. That is the odor of this situation casts a wide net."

"I'm sure your not really involved," she said, hugging his arm. What she thought is, if you stir up a pile of shit it's bound to stink.

"We've known one another a long time, Elli, and I admired you since college days. So it's not like we met yesterday and somehow clicked. It's a long standing relationship, even though it's just become more intense."

"Intense is definitely the word, Trig. I think we could easily move beyond the romantic overtures and say love."

"That's exactly what I was thinking, Elli. Very frankly and to the point, I plan to leave town to rid myself of any breath of scandal. I'll leave my wife in satisfactory financial condition. Because of conserving funds through the years, I'll have the wherewithal to lead a comfortable lifestyle in some foreign place."

"Sounds very much like a wise move," Elli said, thinking, some foreign place lacking an extradition treaty.

"Because of our relationship," he continued. "I'd like to send for you once I see daylight. It would be like the two of us starting a new life together."

"But unmarried?"

"Unfortunately, yes. But we can't have everything under the circumstances. But there are other contracts. Marriage is simply a contract. And there are other devices to share the wealth."

"Trig, I'd love to." Elli was truly delighted. Some contractual way to share the wealth without even being married. It was a maiden's dream, also her dream come true. They could dump one another on a moments' notice once the arrangements had been made.

"Then it's agreed," Trig enthused, giving her a warm hug. "I'd best be going. A few loose ends to tie up."

Trig was already out of bed when Elli questioned, "You plan to leave right away?"

"No time like the present. There are arrangements to be made, but if they work out I'll send for you in a few days, not weeks or months. Do you have enough money for airfare out of the country?"

"Of course. Also a passport."

"Good girl."

After Trig was gone, she thought to herself, I really am a good girl.

**Chapter 8**

Trig was the picture of good humor at the office. His secretary and others had not seen him with such a broad smile for weeks. And he was totally active, looking up records, writing notes to God knows who. He was not letting his secretary in on his activity. But she never had much to do. As CEO Trig was simply a figurehead.

He was busy until well after twelve and told his secretary he had appointments outside the building and would be gone the remainder of the day. For lunch he had a lamb gyro and a glass of semi-sweet tea at a Greek restaurant. Asheville was blessed with Greeks and boasted a large Greek church plus a community center which was open to the public a couple of times during the year for a festival of Greek food and cultural activities.

Trig had always wondered if the teen-aged children of Greek ancestry, dressed in traditional outfits, really enjoyed themselves. But he was certain some did, noticing boy-girl interaction.

A few minutes before two, Trig had a small table in the appointed coffee shop, a cup of regular coffee half gone. Sergeant Schultz entered at exactly two. Trig rose and the two men shook hands.

Glancing around to insure no one was nearby to overhear, Trig almost whispered, "Glad you could make it, sergeant."

"Happy to, Mr. Long. I'm guessing this is in the line of duty."

Trig smiled broadly. "More or less. I have nothing startling to announce. But I do want to aid in your investigation by plunging right into the case. What I want to do is to join Travis in Costa Rica and work this thing out with he and Martha."

This did startle Schultz, knowing that Martha was dead and Sally had already joined Travis, along with Blue and a third party who may or may not be pretending to be Martha. It was already quite a melange and set the detective back on his heels, precipitating a short silence.

When Schultz had recovered the power of speech, he asked, "What is your timing on this interesting move?"

"Right now. I'm ready to walk away in more ways than one, but I won't go into all that. The details would simply be confusing. You see I could simply disappear as Martha attempted to and Sally may have done. But I want to help. So I'm appealing to you to set me up with Travis."

"And until then?"

"My hope is you, or we, can move with alacrity. I'd rather not be seen again in Asheville until this thing is settled and I'd rather not discuss my plan with anyone but you."

"You know there have been murderous attempts on Martha's life, which would also include Travis and Blue. You likely know that Blue Berry is with Travis."

"I'm aware of that rather peculiar arrangement, a middle aged male with a much younger female, a woman who happens to be the daughter of a friend of mine."

"Blue's father is also a close friend to Travis. He in fact was like an older brother and mentor while she was growing up."

"It remains an odd arrangement, particularly because of what you've just said. Of course rumors may not hold a wisp of truth. And we're not here to gossip, are we?"

"Of course not. What you're asking me to do is not a simple matter. Also, I as a sworn officer of the law might be aiding in the flight of a felon. You are a person of some interest."

"Of course I am as CEO, or former CEO. I've decided to give that up. I'm attempting to set things to right, sergeant. And I'm appealing to you for your help."

"There's the matter of clearing it with Travis. I dare not mention this to the chief and certainly not the mayor, they leak like sieves. So you see, I become a co-conspirator."

"But I believe Travis would welcome my help."

It was as if Schultz were hearing a plea from a drowning man. He realized to sneak him out of the area would be another long drive to Atlanta, then a night flight for Long to San Jose. If he could place him in the middle of Costa Rica he would have time to make arrangements with Travis.

"You have a car?" Schultz questioned, knowing the answer.

"A BMW, just outside."

"Does your wife have a car?"

"Certainly, a Mercedes convertible." Trig grinned. "She's the one having the mid-life crisis."

"I can believe it," Schultz said. "But what happens to your car?"

"Can you impound it?"

"I suppose the traffic people might if it were parked say in the mall lot for a day or two. By that time there might be a suspicion that you had gone elsewhere. Maybe foul play."

"Not foul play. I've left certain papers about my resignation and so forth. It will be fairly obvious that I've taken a holiday."

"A holiday!" Schultz actually broke out laughing. "What about holiday baggage?"

"At the moment, I'm making a clean break. Taking no prisoners."

"You aren't, but I probably should be. Ok, I'll follow you to the mall, select a spot somewhere in the middle, then hop in my car and off we go."

"Then what?"

"We play it by ear. I suppose you have credit cards, a passport and adequate finances?"

"Definitely."

When they were well clear of Asheville, in fact entering Greenville, SC, Schultz wheeled into a McDonald's and told Trig to go inside and have a cup of coffee and he would attempt to call Travis on his cell phone. As it was, he got through immediately.

"Russell Schultz," Travis said after the initial hello. "It's good to hear the sound of your voice. What can I do for you?"

"I'm in Greenville, heading south to Atlanta. I have Trig Long in the car. He wants to join you, Martha and Blue and talk over old crimes."

Silence for a few seconds, then Travis repeated what Schultz had said and asked if he got it right.

"Letter perfect. My plan was to have him fly to San Jose if I couldn't contact you right away. But now the ball's in your court."

"You think he's sincere?"

"I believe he is. I get the impression that Keith Logan is the power behind the throne and simply carried Long along and pushed him up front. But he has always actually controlled things and he is probably the main character in this double domed plot that seems to have folks running for their lives."

"Well. I don't see a man like Trig leading a pack of desperados down here to gun us all down. In fact I doubt if he knows all the members of the ensemble. So try to put him on a plane directly to Panama City, if not, I'm certain he can change in Miami. Call me and I'll meet him at the airport."

"You're in Panama and you're planning to stay for some little time?"

"We are in Panama and still trying to figure out who did what to whom. This phone line may not be secure so I won't name names. I will say there's a freighter just coming into port here, laying over for supplies, that has room for passengers. I'm considering how our luck might be on the high seas."

"What's the name of the vessel?"

" _Dai Maru_. Oops, shouldn't have said that. Anyway, whoever's pulling the strings up there is not about to attack a large merchant ship."

"Japanese registry, of course."

"Of course."

"I'd best be on my way, Trav. Trig's in a McD's having coffee. The sooner I get to Atlanta and see him in my rear view mirror, the more I'll like it. I hope I'm not aiding and abetting."

"I'll cover your ass. Enjoy the day."

When Travis said "oops" after naming the vessel, he was dead right, or almost dead in the water. Schultz was not yet back in Asheville and Trig was scarcely on his flight south, when Keith Logan checked his sources and was rewarded with a recording of the conversation.

He turned it over in his mind time after time, the _Dai Maru_ , the _Dai Maru_ , outward bound from Panama City. Whither goest thou?

With his resources, it wasn't difficult to learn its destination on this voyage was South Australia, with a stop at Pearl Harbor. The vessel had space for quite a few passengers who were not permitted to disembark at Pearl Harbor, although additional passengers would be permitted to board if there was room.

Logan liked nothing better than to be privy to information that was supposedly secret, information he might use for his own devices. But how? Just what to do with this tempting morsel. There was time. He would permit it to marinate in his agile brain.

So Trig had fled. That left Logan as the last man standing on the burning deck. What to do?

When Trig stepped off the plane in Panama City and sought the terminal exit he ran directly into Lang Travis.

"Fancy meeting you here," Travis said, reviving a lame joke. "I don't know whether to take you into custody, or shake your hand. The two men shook hands.

"I'm pleased to see you, Lang. Schultz was a great help to me, slipping me out of town and all. Now here we are in paradise. You, me, Blue and Martha."

"You're in for a bit of a surprise, Trig. But that will come later. We are quite a crew here and we are just about to board a merchant vessel bound for South Australia."

Trig's eyes widened. "South Australia! That's not even in the Northern Hemisphere."

"We figured the trip would be restful. Let us talk certain things over and maybe over again."

"Holy Christ!" Trig exclaimed. "How long will that trip take?"

"Quite a long time. But we will be stopping in Hawaii, Pearl Harbor that is, in a very few days."

"Can we get off the boat there?" Trig asked anxiously, his total thoughts on Elli Gray and their anticipated reunion.

"For some reason we can't I'm not certain why, but I believe customs would take some time and maybe delay departure. I know that's America, but the vessel is of Japanese registry and it's there call."

"What about passengers getting on the boat?"

"That would be Ok if there's room and I'm almost certain there is. The _Dai Maru_ seems to have a lot of passenger cabin space for a merchant ship. Maybe passengers on board make the time go faster. Sailing on long voyages can be, usually is, a boring affair."

"I need to make a phone call. There's a certain lady I know who might want to board at Pearl Harbor."

"Your wife no doubt."

"Not hardly. She's well fixed and well rid of me. I'm trying to start a new life. Best foot forward and all."

Lang handed Trig his cell phone and said, "Be my guest."

Trig fumbled in his pockets and finally produced a phone number. Lang told him how to dial to get out of Panama and into the States. He was talking to Elli in a few minutes.

"I'm in Panama, Elli."

"Darling, I'll join you."

Trig was impressed. It had been years since he had heard since terms of endearment. "Get something to write with and on and jot this down." He waited until she was ready and then said, "We're sailing on a large boat called the _Dai Maru_. It will stop at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Passengers, such as myself, will not be able to get off, but you will be able to get on. I'll make reservations for you so all you have to do is find out where it docks, bring your passport and get on board."

"Darling, a cruise ship. How adorable. The two of us in the blue Pacific. What could be nicer?"

"A great many things. The _Dai Maru_ is a cargo ship that carries a few passengers. I'll not tell you our destination, but it will surprise you."

"Probably Bali, or some exotic destination."

"Exotic is the word. So pack light, get to Pearl Harbor and find a hotel. Just a moment" He turned to Lang and asked his phone number, then relayed it to Elli. "See you in Hawaii, sweetheart."

**Chapter 9**

Sergeant Russell Schultz was surprised to be summoned to the mayor's office late one afternoon. He arrived to find the police chief, Mayor Jones and none other than Keith Logan sitting all in a row.

The three men rose and each shook his hand in turn, Cotton Jones offering hearty greetings and telling what a delight it was to renew their acquaintance. He then inquired if the sergeant possessed a passport.

"I do," Schultz responded. "I traveled to Germany two years ago to seek out the family's ancient home."

"Did you find it?" Cotton asked, still full of glee.

"No. I drank a lot of beer."

"My boy, you could have done that here. Asheville is officially Beer City. You can't swing a cat without hitting a brewery or a tap room. But that's not why we asked you here. Mr. Logan is on to something concerning the funds missing from the bank. He wants to embark on a top secret mission and you would accompany him as an Asheville officer of the law. How does that strike you?"

Words actually failed Schultz, at least temporarily. Finally, he turned to the chief. "Are you good with this?"

"We need a break in the case."

Schultz noted that Logan had a slight smile on his face.

The mayor jumped in once more to say, "That's not the half of it. Mr. Logan has offered to pay one hundred percent of your expenses easing the burden on city coffers. What an opportunity for a man rising in the department."

Having no way out, Schultz mustered as much enthusiasm as he could and said, "I'm honored. The two of us together should make a first rate team." His thoughts strayed to the Dynamic Duo, Batman and Robin.

"Then it's done," Cotton said, rising to his feet.

"You're relieved of all other duties as of now," the chief said. "Feel free to accompany Mr. Logan immediately and keep us posted when you can. Of course, Mr. Logan has stressed the need for secrecy, but perhaps you can share with us as the mission advances."

Logan advanced and offered his hand once more. The two men shook and left the room together.

"Where are we bound for?" Schultz questioned. "Costa Rica?"

"I hate to continue this secrecy thing, Russell, you don't mind if I call you Russell, do you?"

"Of course not."

"Call me Keith. We'll be living cheek to jowl for some time. I'll make the travel arrangements, then have someone take the two of us to the airport, maybe yet today, if not tomorrow for certain. Then you will know the destination. So, what you don't know, you cannot reveal. How's that for starters?"

Schultz shrugged and said, "We're off and running. I'll pack light."

"Good boy. Go home and I'll call to let you know when I'll be by."

It was late the following afternoon when a driver dropped them off at the airport and Schultz learned they were bound for Hawaii.

"You seem to be totally up to speed," Schultz remarked.

"Travis was right. The line was bugged. Information is the name of the game."

"Are we actually going to arrest somebody? Or will everyone simply give themselves up?" Schultz asked, suppressing a laugh.

Logan too laughed. "We'll have a little fun, won't we."

"I'm certain we will. I may have to find another line of work though."

Logan couldn't control his laughter when he said, "You can use me as a reference."

As it came to pass, Logan had contacted the owners of the _Dai Maru_ and had arranged for he and Schultz to share a cabin. The Japanese owners were delighted that every cabin seemed to be filled.

The Filipinos and Indonesians who manned the vessel were likely less than ecstatic with all those extra mouths to feed and berths to make up. But they were all paying guests and alcoholic beverages were extra and at premium prices. And there would be tips.

The pair arrived in Hawaii the worst for wear, but ready to face the challenge of finding the _Dai Maru_ and getting on board. They ended up at a hotel called the Ala Moana, not really close to Pearl Harbor. Also, there seemed to be some doubt whether the _Dai Maru_ would actually dock at Pearl Harbor, but it would certainly spend a day or two somewhere in these islands.

Logan first determined through the shipping company that the vessel was still plodding along well out to sea. They then had a couple of drinks, a good dinner, showered and slept like tired dogs. The following day their was adequate time to determine just where the ship would dock, approximately when it might arrive and how to get to that place. So, the pressure was off.

At a Holiday Inn not far away Elli Gray was going through the same process with the same satisfactory results. One difference was she disliked spending her own money.

Logan on the other hand was in a holiday mood and found an evening luau for the two to attend, complete with roasted pig, odd tropical drinks and lots and lots of hula girls. Toward the end of the evening, when they were slightly dazed by the quantity of bizarre drinks, they attempted to join a traditional Hawaiian game called pass the coconut.

With the help of two hula girls they did manage to find a cab. The girls declined Logan's generous offer to bring them along and they bid a sentimental island goodbye, or was it hello - aloha.

They were informed when the _Dai Maru_ docked late one night. The two travelers, bags in hand, were dockside fairly early the next day. They noticed a fairly attractive middle aged woman standing nearby, also with a carryon type bag with wheels and a pull handle.

The outgoing Logan approached her and asked if she too intended to travel aboard the _Dai Maru_.

"Yes, I'm meeting my fiance on board," she replied. Elli couldn't shake the idea that she had seen this prosperous looking man and his companion before. "Where might you be from?" she inquired.

"Asheville, North Carolina, it's a mountain city in the western part of the state."

"I see. Do you suppose we can board soon?"

Looking up, the three on the dock saw familiar figures lining the railing, at least the majority were familiar. Lang Travis, Sally Amore, Blue Berry, Becky Gonzales and Trig Long.

"Looks like old home week," Logan said cheerfully. "There's an officer coming down the plank. Let's see if we can get together with our buds."

As they waited to get on board, Logan remarked, "Funny. I didn't see Martha up there. Do you suppose they left her behind?"

Schultz raised his eyebrows and gave him a look, then said, "We'll soon find out." He was thinking to himself if Logan knew Martha was dead he might still have tried to dump the burden of the crime on her and remained in Asheville. He puzzled over whether that ploy would have worked. But here he was, a member of an odd assortment of saints and sinners, all headed for South Australia at a leisurely pace.

Once on deck, there were handshakes, hugs and warm greetings all around. Keith, Trig and Sally had been fast friends, Travis knew the three slightly and all three had met and were acquainted with Blue as her Dad's child. Becky was introduced as a total newcomer. Elli fell right in with the crowd, at least one or two thought they had greeted her, or vice versa, at Red Lobster.

Elli and Trig shared an overlong hug until Logan suggested they either break it up, or get a room. Schultz had had dealings with some and due to his outgoing personality, fit right in.

The first mate said they would be getting underway soon, but offered to take the newcomers on a brief tour of the vessel. Keith Logan was all for it, but Trig declined and said he and Elli had to get together and lay plans. Now it became obvious why he had opted for a private room.

That evening, with _Dai Maru_ well clear of the harbor and making headway in the general direction of South Australia, the eight travelers gathered for dinner. This night it was only them although generally they would dine with a couple or three of the ship's four officers, whoever happened to be off duty. That was the general mealtime routine and part of the reason the ship carried passengers.

The owners believed that the presence of a group of strangers would keep the ships' crew, including kitchen staff, on its toes. There was always a chance of a company spy being slipped among the passengers to quietly observe and listen. The crew made the best of it. And there was always the chance of romance between a comely passenger and crew member.

On this night, Logan and Schultz had each brought a bottle of wine aboard. The two bottles, supplemented by one purchased from the ship's larder, conversation was well oiled.

It was Keith Logan who made the first toast of the evening. "Here's to the dearly departed Martha Baker. Quite a surprise, a tragic life ended in a violent act. We are all diminished by her passing."

They all drank, but Blue remarked, "Not a surprise to the shooter who targeted a lonely American woman. Why would he do such a thing? And it seemed to be a second attempt."

"Yes, but life goes on. And here we are, the eight of us confined to the _Dai Maru_ , for how long I don't know, not being a mariner."

"Perhaps the captain or the navigator will let us in one that secret," Travis remarked.

Logan smiled slightly and drained half his glass. "Very likely it's a known fact. My point is we're all thrown together here, confined for a period of time, free to roam to a certain extent, yet this could be compared to a prison ship, or a slaver on the return run from Africa."

"The term a motley crew springs to mind," Blue said.

They fell silent as a Filipino member of the kitchen staff brought food and placed it on an actual buffet that stood on one side of the room. Quite a simple meal, fried chicken, boiled potatoes, peas and a green salad. Coffee and dessert would come later.

It took some time for the eight to serve themselves, sometimes bumping into one another in the confined quarters. Schultz and Becky, who had been in what appeared to be intimate whispered conversation, were last.

When they were again seated and contemplating their plates, Logan picked up where he had left the conversation. "My reference to prison ship was entirely academic, playing on the fact that we are confined on board. This cruise is what we make of it and I can visualize its value rising to the heavens.

"This journey, this voyage actually crossing the Equator, brings new hope and offering us an opportunity to find our true selves."

"And what is your true self?" Travis asked dryly.

"That's just it, a mystery unresolved, a search unfinished. A journey fit for a Zen master."

"You're a student of Zen?" Becky questioned.

"No more than any of us are students of Zen. You might say we are all students of Zen and we are all lambs of God and we are all here together." Logan drained his glass and poured himself more wine.

"We are certainly all here together," Schultz conceded.

"I meant that in a larger sense, Russell. All the children of the earth."

"This chicken is particularly good," Sally remarked. "Only lightly breaded. The potatoes are slightly al dente, but palatable." She had hardly touched her wine.

The first mate poked his head into the room and wished everyone bon appetite. "We're busy with running the ship at the moment, but hope to dine with you starting tomorrow." He was gone before anyone could ask how many days before South Australia.

"Sally," Logan questioned, "I always wondered why you left Asheville so quietly and then joined Travis. I could understand you getting away from Asheville and the cloud that seemed to hover overhead, but why join Travis and crew?"

Sally thought for a long moment, then replied, "Self loathing."

"You're not happy in your own skin?"

"That's about it if you want true confessions. "Detest and contempt for myself are a couple of other words I might toss in."

"I remember you as a young lady, you seemed to have quite the happy life," Travis said.

"To an extent. I was popular in high school, did fairly well in two sports, then attended Duke, found the love of my life and dear old dad broke it up."

"He objected to your beau. He was a truck driver," Logan interjected.

"A UPS truck in the city. I knew him in high school." Sally seemed miffed by Logan's 'truck driver' statement and was on the defensive.

"He was also accused of selling drugs," Logan added.

"That wasn't true!" Sally's voice rose in anger. "I mean he wasn't selling drugs, but my Dad had something to do with sending him to the workhouse. When he got out he simply dropped out of sight. I never saw him again."

"That's a tragic story," Blue said gently. "I remember it well. Your Dad tried to put your life back together, didn't he?"

"Yes he did. And what a life." She rose and left the room.

A long silence, then Elli said, "Well that casts a pall over our party thanks to Logan here."

"It wasn't my fault," he protested.

"Then who's fault was it?" Becky asked.

Logan eyed her as if to make a sharp remark, but simply said, "Young lady, how did you wind up with this odd ensemble. You seem to have no connection and no axe to grind."

"Truly," Becky replied. "I probably should have stayed in Hawaii eating roast pigs and drinking those fruit concoctions. But here I am on board the _Dai Maru_ , similar to being swallowed by a whale. My reasons are strictly personal and none of your business."

"Well said," Schultz responded, adding, "I'll drink to that." Refilling both his and Becky's glass.

There was some tension in the room. Elli spoke up and broke that spell by stating, "I'm here on holiday from Red Lobster. If a vacation is simply something different, this certainly fills the bill."

The waiter returned with pie made from canned apples and announced that coffee will be served.

During the next couple of days the eight passengers found they could stream into the dining area at odd times in the morning and get coffee and shout into the galley which might muster up toast, butter and preserves if there was anyone in there. For lunch someone was always on hands to make a sandwich, usually ham, and there was plenty of mustard.

In the evening there would generally be one or two of the ship's officers which seemed to tamp down the squabbling and smart comments. A few frayed paperback books were available, but otherwise the guests were left to their own initiative.

Schultz seemed to accompany Becky whenever possible. Logan also had taken an interest in the grieving woman who did not know whether her husband was alive or dead because the vessel lacked ship to shore communications, at least for passengers.

There was one consistent odd occurrence. No matter which of the four ship's officers they asked, they were never given anything but a vague answer about when they might reach South Australia.

When the captain was asked directly where they might dock in South Australia, he replied that Perth would seem the logical port.

"Then it's Perth," Blue insisted.

"Not necessarily," the captain replied. "This is not exactly a tramp steamer, but the company does have the option to vary destinations depending on the best deal. If there is a contract, we would be bound. But generally there might be one, two or three ports of call, depending."

"Depending on what?" Trig asked.

On the third night all eight were present for dinner, but no ship's officers appeared. "They're in some kind of a meeting," Schultz reported.

Sally, who had been moping around for the entire trip, took the absence of crew members to rail about her father. "I hate that man," she declared, after raising the topic.

"Didn't he pay for your college?" Logan asked. He was attempting to be exceptionally kind.

"Of course. Duke. It had to be in North Carolina, didn't it?"

"But that's an expensive private school," Trig tossed in.

"So what. Dad's rich. He's up on some sort of goat farm in Vermont now sitting on his piles of money. Take Becky there." Sitting just across the table from her. "She went to Vassar. Now there's a school, she's sitting pretty."

"Yes, take me," Becky said. "Sitting here on the wreck of the Hesperus with the rest of you, heading somewhere, but God only knows where according to the ship's officers. You call this sitting pretty."

"Well, you've had your fun," Sally shot back.

"What was it you wanted, Sally?" Trig questioned. "Your Dad gave you that job on the board."

"And what a job that is," Sally fumed.

"My Dad was and is a weird old bird. I mean he's raising goats and has found himself a child bride, some wasted chick about my age so I'm told. He's never invited me to his fucking goat farm!"

"I believe he bought you a car," Trig said. "You had it when you started at the bank. I gave you a parking space."

"Oh, yes, a car. A Ford of all things. Who drives a Ford?"

"Lots of folks," Trig responded. "It was the first car to be mass produced."

"For the great unwashed masses," Sally said dolefully.

"You're the only board member who receives a salary," Logan said. They had served themselves corned beef and cabbage from the side board and had all chipped in for the traditional bottles of wine, something dark and cheap from western South America.

"And he even made them give me an office with the provision that I show up every week day in order to qualify for that paltry salary. No secretary and no duties. Grimsville. As far as I know the other four board members have never met. I'm not even certain who they might be."

"Solid citizens," Trig said.

"So what did I do? I wandered around talking to this person and that. I knew all the office gossip and considerably more. So when I learned about Martha's little scheme I jumped at the chance to join in. You bet. I could get a few bucks together and shake the mountain dust off my heels."

"Now, Sally," Logan counseled, "Remember there are officers of the law present and anything you might say can be used against you." He beamed toward Travis and Schultz. "That is the general warning, isn't it gentlemen."

"Something along those lines," Travis agreed. "At present we are all in the same boat, simply indulging in polite conversation and reminiscence of times past. Small talk at dinner." He poured himself more wine and remarked, "Not a bad vintage."

"I'm guessing you had conversations with Martha before her tragic demise?" Logan said.

"You mean before the paid assassin gunned her down."

"That woman must have made enemies," Logan said philosophically.

Little was said until dessert time. Another round of canned apple pie plus coffee.

**Chapter 10**

A day or two later there was a marked increase in speed and the very tempo of the old cargo ship seemed to pick up. Travis mentioned that they had seemed to change course.

When the engineering officer ventured into the dining room for a quick snack, Schultz asked him what was going on.

Hesitant at first, he finally said, "We're on a mission of mercy. A ship far to the south has collided with a stray iceberg and seems to be in danger of sinking. We're the only other vessel even remotely in the area and international law compels us to hurry to the cripples' aid."

"How long will this take?" someone questioned.

The officer, a young Indonesian, confessed that he didn't know. "Our ship is in bad shape., It should have been dry docked for repairs two years ago. I don't think we can keep up this pace for long, but, but this didn't come from me. I shouldn't be saying these things."

"Then South Australia is many days away," Blue, who was attempting to put more mustard on a dry ham sandwich, said.

The officer smiled and replied, "I'd be pleased if we could make New Zealand. But, remember, I didn't say that."

That evening, the main dish was pork loin and sauerkraut. There were the traditional bottles of wine, plus one donated by the captain who joined them. "I understand we're on a mission of mercy," Trig mentioned rather casually.

"We are," the captain replied, fingering his glass as if wondering how much to reveal. He finally remarked, "We may be needing mercy. Our vessel has needed major repairs for some time and the company is not in good shape. I might as well be honest since we are all in the same boat, literally."

"There are financial difficulties?" Logan questioned.

"Definitely. Quite a few. The company is down to this ship and one other, the Kazuko Maru. And it was captured by pirates on the east coast of Africa a few weeks ago."

"They've asked ransom, of course."

"Of course and the company won't, or can't pay. In fact they've asked the insurance company to declare the ship a total loss and pay up."

"But the crew must have been captured with the ship," Elli said.

"Again, true," the captain replied. "But like our ship they are all either Filipino, such as myself, or Indonesian. The Japanese owners could care less. The owners, incidentally, have borrowed heavily on worthless company assets and generally pillaged the organization financially. I've been told the same techniques have been used by unscrupulous bankers in your country."

"Not precisely," Trig said. "But I think we get the idea. Not to change the subject, but I understand we are heading south at our best pace. Are there islands down there?"

"Not really. Only the Amundsen Sea. You wouldn't want to tarry for long in that part of the world."

"How come a ship was down there challenging what seems to be unfavorable elements?" Becky asked.

"Tourists," the captain replied. "Many tourists have more money than they know what to do with. They've been everywhere, so they're eager to go nowhere, or nowhere where anyone else is going if that makes sense."

So the diners polished off their pork and kraut, were treated to Brown Betty slathered with a sweet sauce, finished up the wine, had coffee, made small talk, wondered how this strange voyage might end, took a turn on deck and retreated, each to their separate abode, except those who shared. Logan and Schultz in their cabin shared brandy before bedtime. Each of the men had displayed an interest in Becky, although neither spoke of it.

The following morning ship's officers and passengers came and went from the dining area, each buttering toast and having a choice of either peach preserves or congealed strawberry jelly. Plus endless coffee, or hot water and tea bags.

During lunch, when it was their custom to gather as a group for sandwiches, someone mentioned that they hadn't seen Sally at breakfast and she remained among the missing.

"She has been moping around as usual in recent days," Trig said. "Self loathing may have gotten the best of her."

"That's cruel," Blue said. "Of course she did have certain advantages during her life. But still, she's a sensitive human being just like the rest of us."

"Perhaps you also being a sensitive human being will check out her cabin," Logan said.

"I suppose it's woman's work," Blue answered, rising, tossing back a warning as she entered the corridor, "Don't anyone eat my sandwich."

Elli laughed. "If that's a decent sandwich I'm the man in the moon. There's an art to sandwich making."

"Not on this scow," Travis said, adding, "Do you suppose some angry god or alien monster decreed that we should gather on this rusted tub destined to relive the epic of the Titanic."

Elli, sitting next to him, place a hand on his arm, sighed and said, "Lang, that's positively poetic."

He laughed and said, "I'm a modern day Homer commenting on a Greek Tragedy. Care for another sandwich?"

"Thanks, no. I've been giving the second half to the fishes."

Blue ultimately returned and said. "No Sally and her bed appears to be unslept in."

"Let's not be unduly alarmed," Schultz said. "I'll go to the captain and ask if we can help search the ship." With that he left the room. Leaving each to his thoughts.

It seemed the ship wasn't very difficult to search. The captain urged the passengers to remain in the dining area while the crew conducted the search. The conclusion, Sally was not on board.

"A sullen splash in a surly swell, six fathoms along on the road to heaven or hell," Logan said, rephrasing an old pirate song.

"The road to peace," Blue said. "She is at peace. If this lot cannot or will not pray, at least, a moment of silence." Trig checked his watch.

"We were eight," Elli said. "Now we are seven. Seven little Indians, like the Christy story."

"That ended with none," Travis tossed in.

"I'll double the wine ration at dinner," Logan declared.

No one objected.

Life went on, contained in the drab gray vessel, anything but a cruise ship. But the interesting mix of people kept up a lively conversation, relating past experiences and lively tales of sorrow and hope. A therapeutic confab wouldn't have been more stimulating, a diverse group the law and lawbreakers. Schultz felt an obligation not only to enforce the law, but to look after Becky.

Not knowing which way the cat might jump, Travis was treating it like a holiday outing with his close friend and sometimes lover, Blue. Trig and Logan had now lost two co-conspirators. They were upbeat, but there was some tension. If one of those banking executives might knock off the other, the survivor would be home free.

Elli Gray seemed to be content to cuddle up to Trig, yet there was an undertone that she might be willing to play the field.

Two days after Sally went missing the six passengers awoke to find their transportation dead in the water.

The captain stuck his head in the breakfast room to announce that repairs might take a day or two. Before they could ask about the seriousness of the situation, he was gone.

"The rescuers might need to be rescued," Travis said dryly, munching his dry toast.

"Maybe they can radio for planes," Elli threw in. "A chopper would be better, it could land on a deck somewhere, or the heroes could descend on long ropes. I've seen that on TV."

Except for an occasional clanging somewhere below deck, the day was deadly quiet. Before there had been the constant hum of the engines, increasing when they gathered speed for the so-called rescue. There was now a suspicion that maybe there never had been a vessel in distress somewhere to the south.

Anyway, how far south were they? South enough for icebergs and penguins?

But life went on as usual. Lunch was as drab as ever. The coffee was good and there was plenty of mustard which concealed a multitude of evils.

The captain and first mate joined them at dinner, each carrying almost an armful of bottles of wine. "I thought you all may be concerned about the repairs, so here's something special," the captain said. "Plenty of wine and steak, home fried, mushroom gravy and grits for dinner."

"Grits," Travis remarked. "Just like home."

"A touch of home in the southern sea," the captain smiled, opening the first bottle. The mate opened the others and said, "Pick your poison." A couple of different reds, plus chilled pinot grigio, all from Peru.

There was laughter, near hilarity at times. If there had been tension, it was released. One by one the six stumbled off to their cabins, Travis and Blue carrying a just opened bottle of white wine. Others did the same.

The following morning was quiet. As they say in westerns, too quite. However, there was toast on the table and plenty of coffee as the partiers assembled, a bit later than usual.

"Still dead in the water," Schultz remarked. "The crew must be working on the engine, or still sleeping. I took a short walk around the deck, but didn't see a soul."

"Strangely quiet," Blue said, slathering her toast with peach jam.

About that time a large form emerged from the galley and plopped down in an empty chair. He must have weighed in at close to three hundred pounds and had no neck, simply a cone shaped mound of blubber at first glance. Second glance indicated strength, not to be toyed with. Ancient and wrinkled, yet there was something lively about him. Good vibes, just sitting in repose.

Maybe it was partly the way he cocked his head when he spoke: "I'm Wild Bill."

Travis laughed and replied. "Wild Bill is an American icon. From your speech, I'm guessing you're a Brit, although the crew seems to be made up exclusively of Filipinos and Indonesians."

"And one old, fat Brit called Wild Bill."

"Welcome to the party, Wild Bill," Blue said. "What can we do for you?"

"It's more what we can do for each other. I was an AB most of my life, born in Bristol, I was. AB incidentally, means able seaman. I have no home or family, other than this old tub. I grew old and fat and the skipper of this wreck took pity on me and signed me on as a cook's helper. I doubt if the company knows I'm aboard. They become suspicious of non-Asians, that lot of thieving blackguards in Japan. So here I am and here you are."

"Yes, we are all here together. But you seem to attach some significance to that fact. Would you let us in on the secret?" Travis asked.

"Shiver me timbers, as the old time salts would say. You don't seem to understand that we, meaning the folks in this room, are all alone."

"What do you mean, alone?" Logan asked.

"The captain, crew and ship's cook jumped ship overnight. Every man jack of them, off in the captain's motorized launch. Fully loaded with provisions. Not enough room for another man, little lone the ship's cat. Well over the horizon by now."

"They left us here! Stranded?" Logan demanded.

"Purely an act of kindness," Wild Bill said. "The mission was to scuttle the ship for the insurance money, claiming some disaster while racing on a mission of mercy. A radio call for help. Hard to disprove. That was the task from day one in Hawaii."

"Why would they bring passengers on such a mission?" Becky asked. "Makes no sense."

"Truly," Wild Bill replied. "Pure greed. The folks in Japan simply wanted a few extra pieces of eight. Frankly they expected the captain to load everyone in launch, including yours truly, set a charge and be well away before a hole was blown in the side and the whole caboodle, including passengers met with Davy Jones."

"That's murderous," Elli said. She looked around in wonder at the others.

"The owners don't give a rat's ass about you lot or the crew for that matter. They simply want to squeeze the bankrupt company for the last ounce of pure gold. The captain simply did not want to be in on that grizzly plan. So, my life being over, he left me to tell the tale and try to come up with some plan to save our skins, me being a seafarer and all."

"So you have a plan?" Trig said.

"Of course not." Wild Bill laughed. "Here we sit on a derelict, miles from any sea roads, miles from any charted island, in a seldom visited sea. I think there may be two or three gulls traveling with us. But we do have provisions, including wine, the launch could only take so much. And we can cook with bottled gas. So, all is not lost."

"Just a minute," Travis said. "There must be a plan to disable the ship to collect the insurance?"

"Right you are, mate. I'm supposed to begin opening sea cocks to begin flooding watertight compartments. That will give us a proper list, the appearance of sinking. If rescue appears, I open more sea cocks to finish the job."

"You're capable of that?" Travis asked.

"Batten your hatches, mate. Man and boy I've sailed the seas for more than half a century. There's nothing on a vessel beyond my ken."

"How about repairing the engines and getting us the hell on out of here?" Blue tossed in.

"I'll have a look at them later. But you may have hit on a sore spot. Anyway, it's sandwiches at noon and a bit more grub in the evening if a couple or three of you will volunteer to give me a hand up."

"How about the wine." It was Logan who asked. The wheels were moving in his cunning brain, but they would need a smattering of oil.

In fact all of them were thinking along the same lines - abandoned in mid ocean, left to depend on this flab of an ancient mariner. So, how to make the best of it.

The first day they did nothing, but chat and have a pleasant dinner, with Wild Bill added as a dining companion. He regaled them with stories of the sea, seafaring men and their wild times ashore. It was generally assumed that he had earned his moniker during a three day toot ashore.

On the second day, Schultz and Trig accompanied Wild Bill on an inspection tour of the engine room, concluding nothing could be done to get the old tub moving again. On the third day they all teamed together to pile burnable materials on the forward end of the vessel and place a large container of oil nearby.

The idea was to start a smoky fire immediately in case a plane should venture into the vicinity which seemed a very slim chance.

On the fourth day, Blue was leaning on a rail, looking out to sea when she saw a small blob come over the horizon. Trig was standing nearby with a pair of binoculars he had found on the bridge.

"Trig, there's something out there," Blue shouted, jumping up and down in her excitement.

It took him several minutes to focus in his attempt to locate whatever object Blue had seen. In the meantime she dashed about alerting the rest of the strandees, suggesting they light the fire.

"It's a small boat, maybe a fishing boat," Trig concluded.

Logan dashed off to pour oil on the trash and start it burning. Soon black smoke was curling up from the derelict.

Trig continued to watch intently, finally ruling, "They seem to be headed this way."

A cheer went up from the group, all of whom had assembled along the rail. It took forever for the small boat to draw near, but they could at last make it out with the naked eye and Wild Bill assured them it was some sort of Asian or island fishing boat, but even he couldn't ascertain what kind.

Toward midship, there was a break in the railing and a metal ladder reached down to the waterline. The group assembled there as the small boat drew near, a man on the forward deck secured the small boat to the ladder and a burly, black bearded, balding man clambered aboard and announced, "I am Nagura, captain of our proud ship. Is something burning up here?"

"We're stranded here, Mr. Nagura," Trig said. The captain and crew abandoned the ship because of engine trouble. We were passengers."

"So you are seeking a knight in armor, a rescuer?"

"That's right," Elli said. "I think you fill the bill, you being the only one in this part of the ocean. Of course we appreciate your services and we can pay you." Her words were blurted out in machine gun style, the excitement showing.

"Well, I will welcome you aboard. Once you are aboard my men will look over this ship, this _Dai Maru_ , I saw the name as we approached, to see what provisions we might need for the extra passengers. You may want to bring a few items with you."

As he spoke, Wild Bill was looking over the side at the small boat below. He could discern no name, or no other identification. The three member crew, standing on deck and looking upward were an uncouth, rough looking bunch. Bill didn't know what to make of it, but he could not picture eight more passengers crowded aboard that small space for any length of time.

Nagura continued to chat with Travis and Schultz who were asking questions about the nearest port and what Nagura might be doing in these waters. Every answer seemed to be they were seeking fish, the large schools had seemed to disappear of late.

Logan, whose cabin was nearby, was first back with his travel case and asked Nagura if it was Ok for him to board.

Beckoning with his arm toward the ladder, he said, "Be my guest. You can drop your bag down to one of my men." Logan had sized up the situation and guessed there might not be enough room for the eight of them.

"Might we radio for help from a larger ship or some type of seaplane?" Travis asked.

"We are totally out of radio range. We will make room for you all." Nagura's English was perfect, if anything an American accent.

Travis was already suspicious when Wild Bill sidled up to him and nodded knowingly, then turned to Nagura and asked, "What port are you out of?"

"We are simply rovers. Picking up work where we can, jacks of all trades, but of course, fishermen."

"We will pay you for your services. The man on board your boat, a Keith Logan, take him along and when you reach port or hail a larger vessel, he will arrange for our rescue." The words were hardly out of Travis' mouth when Nagura stepped back and pulled a pistol.

"I'm afraid it won't be as easy as that. You people are my prisoners. You will not be harmed, simply held for ransom. So please, down the ladder with you all."

When he made a motion and looked toward the ladder, Travis drew his pistol from his back waistband and shot Nagura dead. Blue fired at approximately the same time. She had smelled danger from the start.

Nagura tumbled over the railing and into the sea. Below, the deck hand quickly untied the small boat and someone inside jammed on speed. Keith Logan stood at the stern waving helplessly. It would have been useless to fire shots at the escaping boat.

Wild Bill took a long look at the small boat. They were roving pirates, picking up money wherever it might be found.

Schultz looked from Travis to Blue, who both held handguns, then turned to Becky who had finally extracted the one in her purse. "How did you get those on an airplane?" he asked.

"We didn't," Becky said. "We got them in Costa Rica, a gift, then drove to Panama and boarded this hell ship."

Schultz said nothing, but he was glad to see Logan and the small boat disappear. The man had been paying too much attention to Becky. Trig was also happy to see him gone, wondering who would be the least interested in paying his ransom.

Nothing to do now but extinguish the fire on the bow.

**Chapter 11**

On the small nameless boat, Logan was already glad handing the crew, saying he was sorry for what happened to their captain, but promising them great rewards for his rescue. "All we need is a port where there's a bank," he was saying, then added, "You wouldn't happen to have a drink of something alcoholic, would you." Internally he was terribly shaken, externally, the same old Logan.

Drink in hand, he learned the names of the three men: Kenji, Dongming and Gordon. All from different cultures, all outcasts for one reason or another. Logan sized them up as a likely group of cutthroats, his kind of people. Gordon was an American who had been a green beret. He was the easiest to talk with.

"What do you say to five thousand dollars each?" Logan began negotiations.

"And where might you get fifteen thousand dollars?" Gordon questioned.

"Any legitimate bank. The three of you and me, we're in the same business so to speak. Stealing money from honest folks, hiding it away. You've heard of offshore accounts."

"I have. So, do you see a bank around here?" Gordon questioned.

Logan stood and looked around, open water, the _Dai Maru_ disappearing in the distance. I don't, but with your navigation skills, who knows?"

"We're three days from Christchurch, New Zealand and we have plenty of fuel. Nagura saw to that. But what if you try to stiff us in Christchurch, tip off the law or some such foolishness?"

"Frankly, Gordon, we're all in this together. I'm an American like you, but if I return to the States the law will put its hand on me. And with you three bully boys looking over my shoulder, I wouldn't try anything even if I wanted to."

"I'll chat with my mates and we'll come up with something. We were looking for ransom, but a direct cash payment would be free and easy."

"Fine. Talk away. There's plenty of time. Swell little vessel you've got here."

"We like it." Gordon smiled broadly. "Got it at a bargain rate."

Logan guessed they had deep sixed the owner or owners. Not a crew to meet up with in a dark alley.

After huddling with his partners, Gordon returned and said, "Five thousand is good, but ten is better."

"I'll agree with that. But I'm not made of money and I'd like to have a little for myself. How about six?"

The middle of the next day they agreed on seven thousand each. Dongming, an evil looking Chinaman had more than once taken out a wicked curved knife he carried and sharpened it while staring at Logan.

The other two were aware of this and Logan finally said to all three and Gordon in particular, "Remember, I'm the goose with the golden egg. We're in this together now, all of us mates."

Gordon shrugged and told the Chinaman to cool it which he did. Gordon, a strapping , middle aged man with his green beret background was an obvious leader and the other two were quick to obey.

"By the way, Gordon," Logan asked, "do you know the nautical position of the _Dai Maru_?"

"Sure. I marked it on the chart. Why?"

"When we reach Christchurch I'd like to start a rescue effort. Hate to leave those good folks to wither away and die. There aren't many pirates cruising these waters."

"That might cost you a pretty penny."

"I'm not thinking of paying for it. Just alerting authorities. I'm guessing they could send some sort of military float plane and whisk them away."

"Possible. I'll give you the coordinates. But don't make your move 'til after we get our money and we have a head start."

Logan raised a hand in pledge. "Blood brothers. Partners in crime."

"Bob's your uncle," Gordon shot back with Australian slang.

Despite their many differences the four had become fairly good friends when New Zealand appeared over the horizon.

"I have an American passport, still valid," Gordon told Logan who was sitting next to him while he made sea tracks toward Christchurch. "The other two have passports of a sort, but the natives here might be hesitant to welcome and odd looking Jap and a China boy. But there is an estuary, the mouth of a small river not far from Christchurch. The boys are nervous because our fuel is getting low. There is a small commercial dock there."

"You're suggesting we fuel up, have the boat serviced and the boys stay on board while you and I go into Christchurch. Logan summed up the situation.

"Exactly. But we're not only almost out of fuel, we're low on money."

"I can take care of that with my credit card," Logan said flatly.

"If you do that the boys will have total confidence in you. Toss in a case of beer and a few supplies and you'll be king of the hill."

And so it was done. Not with a case of beer, but with three cases and an abundance of food, plus a few kiwis in cash back, Logan was off the hook for just a few hundred dollars. He and Gordon hailed a cab and checked into a hotel in the heart of Christchurch.

The two fairly drained the hotel's boilers with their luxurious hot showers, shucking the salt and grime of a long sea voyage in a small craft. The next day they enjoyed eggs, bacon, fried eggs and toast, plus numerous coffee refills while waiting for the nearest bank to open.

Logan new all the ins, outs, ups and downs of banking and had soon arranged to have the equivalent of thirty thousand dollars wired to an account he had just opened, using a few of the dollars he had in his wallet.

Gordon had been opposed to Logan starting rescue plans until the three bandits were far removed from Christchurch, but when Logan explained his plan, Gordon was Ok with it.

He dispatched a long e-mail to the bank urging them to get in touch with the mayor and the local media to say Trig Long, Blue Berry, Langly Travis, Russell Schultz and Elli Gray were aboard a crippled ship, dead in the water, in the southern Pacific and running low on water and food. He gave the nautical coordinates and suggested they could best be rescued by a large military float plane if there were no ships in the area.

Ending the e-mail by stating he had made a desperate and successful attempt to reach civilization to save his friends. Then, his name, Gratefully, Keith Logan.

He was quite pleased with his work. He and Gordon returned to their hotel, met a couple of hookers, became blind drunk and fell into bed.

It was one thing to get food and drinks via room service, but quite another not to have enough kiwis to pay the hookers. As a result the four of them woke up together, showered. Renewed their sexual activities even though slightly hung over, had breakfast in the hotel coffee shop.

When they finished it was well into the morning. The hookers would have generally been sleeping by that hour, but eager to protect their monetary interests and promised a fat payoff, the four of them went to the bank together.

Always the banker, Logan had the cash placed in seven envelopes, three for the pirates, two for the ladies and one for himself. The girls left the bank by themselves, Logan and Gordon sat in the lobby and talked things over.

"Do you really intend to share this money with your mates?" Logan asked.

"Can you make me a better offer?"

The question surprised him. He and Gordon. He toyed with the idea. What a team they would make. But, for doing what? "Let's go back to the hotel and talk. Maybe I'll think of something."

They were silent as they walked the short distance to the hotel, each man with his own thoughts. Gordon had fallen in with his three cutthroat friends, one already wasted, but was not particularly happy with the arrangement, putting around in a small boat, seeking opportunities. They had been heading for Antarctica, mindlessly thinking of overpowering an experimental station when they stumbled on the _Dai Maru_.

Keith Logan knew he could be in serious trouble if he returned to Asheville. But he needed time to think. He sensed that Gordon was not happy with his two moronic friends.

Over a cup of coffee at the hotel he made a suggestion. "Let's fly up to Hong Kong together and see what develops."

"Even with the money in these envelopes, it's not really enough to start flying around the globe."

"I'll pay for the tickets. The credit card payments are taken directly out a bank, so no worries there. I also have a stock portfolio that feeds a steady diet of money into that account. So, no immediate worries."

Gordon smiled. "We should have hit you for a larger amount."

"We negotiated and agreed. Do we have a deal?"

"Somewhere down there in my chest there's a conscience. I hate to steal from my mates. I think we can take a cab down to where they're tied up. I'll give them their share, then hit the trail with you. Even if it doesn't work out, I'll have enough to keep me going for a few weeks. I can always roll drunks."

"Good. I can almost see a bright future unrolling into some sort of sunset, or daybreak. Anyway, let's try to stay sober for a few days."

**Chapter 12**

On the _Dai Maru_ , still drifting aimlessly in the southern seas, life was endured as rations dwindled and the stranded group attempted to cheer one another up.

Wild Bill had found some fishing equipment and everyone was equipped with a hand line and dangled them over the side with some luck. A mix of fish species in assorted sizes had been pulled on board, most destined for the pan. Some of the uglier ones were tossed back.

At first they used salt pork for bait, then cut up fish as their supply grew.

On this day, Wild Bill suddenly decided his nickname did not sound nautical. "As a man who has made a lifetime of sailing the seven seas, I believe you can call me Long John Silver from this time forward."

"Long John was traditionally tall and thin. You hardly reflect that image."

"But it is a salty sailor's name," Wild Bill insisted.

"I agree," Elli said. "From this day until the end of time, you be Long John, splice the mizzen mast and call me Captain Kid."

"Thankee, Miss Elli. If lay my hands on a parrot, I'll call him either Festus or something else. That parrot's name is up for grabs. There'll be a lottery." Then he looked around and asked anyone within earshot, "Do you know how to tell a rich man?"

"Tell him what?" Schultz asked.

"I suppose tell if he's rich."

"I don't. Unless you might ask him."

"He wouldn't tell you the truth," Long John said. "But if a man wants to show he has money he will wear an expensive watch. He might wear tattered jeans, but the watch will be like a medal."

"I couldn't tell a Walmart cheapie from a Rolex," Schultz replied.

"Your Rolex is one most folks know, but I have one even more expensive."

Schultz furrowed his brow and squinted at Long John's wrist, but saw nothing.

"It's in my pocket. The folks I associate with ashore would kill you for five dollars."

"Then why would you buy a watch that probably cost thousands of dollars?

"I didn't. I got it off a dead man."

About that time both Trig and Travis looked skyward. A faint buzz. The others soon heard it. "A plane," Schultz shouted. "Better start the fire." Thoughts of Long John and his watch story vanished.

Travis was gazing in the direction of the sound, shielding his eyes. "Don't bother," he exclaimed. "It's heading directly for us and losing altitude."

"Our savior," Blue said to no one in particular.

"It's Keith," Trig said quietly. "I knew he would save us."

"Keith Logan?" Schultz asked.

"Of course," Trig replied. "He has his decent moments and I always figured if he reached safety he would bail us out."

The plane, a single engine fighter with U.S. Air Force markings swooped low over the ship and then circled. All of them thought the pilot waved.

"They'll send help," Travis said.

"God bless Logan," Blue said softly. And they waited.

The large flying boat did not reach them until almost noon the following day. By that Time Wild Bill, or Long John Silver, perhaps working as a team, had flooded one compartment which gave the ship a decided list.

When Schultz issued a protest, the old sailor said, "I promised the captain. If you remember we could have scuttled the ship and left you passengers to die like rats. I could have squeezed onto the launch, although didn't in truth require a fat man."

"Honor among thieves," Travis said, as they stood on deck with their scant belongings, ready to clamber aboard the floating plane.

Long John had dashed below deck to open a couple more sea cocks to send the creaking _Dai Maru_ to the bottom.

Just at dusk they landed in Pearl Harbor and the large plane taxied to a dock and discharged its human cargo. They embraced the crew and said goodbye, then were briefly interned by Naval officials to spill out their stories.

Gathered in a waiting room, Long John said, "What's to become of me. I can't get another sea berth at my age and condition. Can I go to the States with you lot?"

"Do you have a passport?" Travis asked.

"A genuine British passport. And I can pay my way to the States. Sell my watch I can."

"Sell a dead man's watch, well I suppose. I don't know if we welcome Brits on a permanent basis."

Blue broke in and said, "My Dad's a lawyer. He could help you with that. Might even find work for you, clean up the office take care of the snack room. And we do have a first class homeless shelter. But you might want to use the name on your passport. What is it, anyway?"

"Darby McGraw."

"Sounds familiar for some reason," Becky said, "there's sort of a rhythm to it. But nice."

Then a naval lieutenant entered the room and said they would somehow begin a series of interviews to find out how this disparate group required a rather expensive rescue operation, adding that the local media is just outside also eager for details."

"How did you find us?" Travis inquired.

"Now that's a story in itself," the lieutenant said. "A man, a Keith Long took a desperate chance and made his way to safety for the sole purpose of alerting authorities to your location. This man is the real hero, although his whereabouts are unknown."

"And will remain so," Trig muttered, half to himself.

**Chapter 13**

Keith and Gordon said goodbye to Christchurch and flew to Hong Kong. They found a double room in an old hotel-like structure just across from the top drawer Peninsula hotel in Kowloon.

The so-called hotel consisted of a series of six or eight rooms, each operated by a Chinese couple who leased the rooms, did all the work and controlled the price. Theirs had a single built in cot on either side, TV attached to the ceiling and a tiny bath consisting of toilet, wash basin and shower.

Despite their economic shelter, money was not scarce. Keith Logan had salted away plenty and he was a wizard at manipulating the global banking system.

For several days they prowled Kowloon and took the Star Ferry across to Hong Kong proper. One day they boarded a jet boat and did a bit of gambling in Macau. But neither man was into risking cash on an uncertain outcome.

The two knew they were looking for something and felt they would know it when it appeared. Until then it was as if their teen age had reappeared and they were having the time of their lives.

By chance they bumped into a friend of Gordon's, a former Green Beret, in the night markets. Sim Lee was a Chinese national from a city near Shanghai who had been picked up by the U.S. Army while backpacking through the Mideast on his own. Not an unusual practice for the Green Berets and other special forces.

The two at first stared in disbelief, then embraced like brothers.

Sim was a strapping fellow, hardy and full of life like Gordon, Keith was not frail, but in his middle years was no match for the younger men.

Sim it seemed was employed as a security guard for a firm called Vunderbot.

"A German company?" Keith asked as they were sharing a few beers.

Sim nodded no, his mouth stuffed with a soft pretzel, a smear of mustard on his cheek. When he could talk he said, "Mixed nationalities. I'm guessing mostly American."

He explained that they liked his Green Beret background and his ability to speak good English as well as Cantonese and Mandarin, plus a couple of more Chinese dialects.

"What does the company do?" Gordon questioned.

"Robots. I'm not into robots, but I do know they are creating lifelike beings that can think and act for themselves and can move about independently."

"That sounds more like a goal than a reality," Keith said.

"Crazy, isn't it. But imagine a robot charged up with all the information Google has to offer and more."

"That is incredible," Keith replied, becoming thoughtful, his brain spinning, a truly advanced robot and here he and Gordon were talking and drinking with a security guard for what is likely a super-secret operation.

When the talk and the beer began to subside, the three agreed to meet again and went their way to sleep like tired hounds.

The next day Keith proposed to Gordon that they kidnap a robot.

"Sounds like a fun project," Gordon said, smiling, looking up from his coffee cup.

God, I like this guy, Keith thought. I could have suggested going after the Japanese Emperor, or the Brit's crown jewels and he would have said, sounds like fun!

"There should be big money here, Gordon," Keith continued. "We ransom the robot to its owners, or sell it to the highest bidder. With some delicacy we could have a worldwide auction."

Gordon nodded in approval while cleaning up his eggs and gravy biscuits. "How do we know the robots capabilities and curbside value?"

Keith laughed. "That's the beauty part. We ask the robot."

Gordon too laughed and the two spent the next couple of days kicking plans back and forth, foremost among them, where to go to ground.

When there was little more to discuss they felt it was time to let Sim Lee in on the plan.

Finding Sim was not difficult. His habit was to show up at a cafe called the Golden Samurai an hour before a barmaid with whom he had a carnal relationship, got off.

Keith and Gordon and Sim huddled over small flagons of hot saki while Keith explained his plan. It was the cause of much merriment and joking because Sim thought his friends were joking.

Finally, reality broke in and Sim asked, "You want me to betray my employer?"

"Of course," Keith replied, "for big money and a ticket to the land of the free. Or Europe or whither go-est."

"Big money," Sim replied. Somewhat in awe.

"Super big," Gordon tossed in. "With your Green Beret status, you're in line for U.S, Citizenship. And, Sim old buddy, do you know how many Chinese are in New York City alone? Legal and illegal?"

"No. How many?"

"Hundreds of thousands. Chinatown overflowed years ago. There's transport to Queens called The Orient Express."

"And with your language skills you can write your own ticket," Keith tossed in.

"How do I do this without clocking serious jail time?" The Chinaman questioned.

"You have to trust us," Keith said. "You and Gordon served together. You trust him don't you?"

"With my life," Sim said seriously, placing his hand on Gordon's wrist.

"You can use your own passport, or we might find another passport for you. You get ten thousand dollars and a ticket to New York. You fade into Chinatown and keep in touch."

"Sounds OK, but what about the heist?"

"Yes, the heist, or the kidnaping. I suppose it's more a heist since we're snatching an object."

"You'd be surprised," Sim said.

"How's that?" Gordon asked.

"We're talking almost human, or more so."

"Do you have anything in mind?" Keith asked.

"I do. There is what I would call an advanced robot sealed in a body bag and locked away in a storage cupboard. I'm guessing we could steal the package away and I'd be in New York before it was missed."

Keith looked at Gordon who was obviously as puzzled as he was. After pouring them each more saki, he asked, "This robot in the body bag can we assume that there is some fatal flaw?"

"You bet your sweet ass. Gin is headstrong to the point that she became unmanageable. They had to call me in and two others to turn her off."

"There's an on and off switch?" Gordon questioned.

"Damn right. And she knew just what we were trying to do. Fought like a wildcat!"

"But she would suit us fine," Keith said with some sarcasm.

"Gin's their most advanced model. State of the art you might say. Gold standard, but with an attitude."

"I can't believe we're talking about a maladjusted robot, a machine with an evil mental twist. We can't cope with insanity."

Sin smiled broadly and sipped his saki. "That's not it. The scientists, or whatever they're called, simply don't understand her. She needs a type of soul mate."

"A lover?" Gordon asked.

"No. Just someone with feelings. I'm certain the two of you could befriend her. Accept her, make her feel, well, human."

"Human?" Keith questioned.

"Yes, human. She simply wants to be treated as one of us. I saw that, but the brain trust didn't. They feel a robot is a machine to do their bidding."

"It's not?" Gordon asked.

Sin gave them both a look and nodded seriously. "There may come a time when robots take over. Humans, as we are called, will no longer be needed."

"That day is not fast approaching," Keith said. "But if it comes what status would we humans have?"

"Our status would be that of a cat or a dog, perhaps a parrot because we can speak. Although robots would not likely require the spoken word. During my work I have overheard many things."

"So much for future dreams," Keith said. "If we kidnap Gin how do we handle a robot gone wild?"

"Restrain her at first. I know where the switch is to turn her on."

"Is she battery operated?" Gordon inquired.

"Sophisticated beyond your dreams. If you go with this, she will explain her care and feeding. But some immediate restraint will be required so you can have a nice chat."

"Handcuffs? Leg irons?"

"She could probably outwit both. I'm guessing a heavy chain around her middle anchored firmly to some immoveable object."

"Then she will not be an irresistible force," Keith quipped.

"Very strong, but so are you two. You need to let her settle down and converse."

"And you will be where?" Keith asked.

"In Chinatown with your ten grand. Keeping in touch for the big payoff."

Both Keith and Gordon nodded in agreement. They had crossed the Rubicon.

From that nodded consent the criminal act moved with alacrity. One night passed, then the day, night fell, midnight passed, three a.m. found the three men in the deserted building, Sim leading the way with an electric torch.

Into a storage room, stepping carefully among discarded refuse, arriving at a cabinet which Sim opened with a key from the ring of keys he carried.

The three found themselves looking at a lumpy body bag.

"Just a minute," Keith whispered. "If this robot is made from steel and gears and so forth it must weigh a ton."

"No need to whisper," Sim replied. "We're the only ones here except for Gin and she's asleep. Also she's made from super lightweight metal and tough fabric. She's about 5-7 and weighs about 130, that's in feet, inches and pounds, not kilos and meters."

"Your average girl," Gordon observed. "let's get the hell on out of here. I had enough bad time in the military."

It took only minutes for the two of them to heft the robot, carry her out the back door and place her in the trunk of their rental car. Sim insisted Gin be handled with care.

No one stirred at their rental hideaway. Once inside, Gin was removed from the body bag and both Keith and Gordon remarked on how human she appeared.

"That's what they're trying for today," Sim said. "Why I don't know. Future robots that might rule the world will be totally functional. In fact future robots will decide how robots should be built."

"A type of evolution in itself," Keith remarked.

"Let's get her chained up," Sim said. "I've got to quit my job on some pretext, then catch a plane."

"How about the switch," Gordon asked.

"Oh, yeah. Just under the left arm pit. More or less sunken, but with a notch for your thumbnail."

"And she's ready to go?" Keith asked.

"You bet. Turn her on and step out of range. Her reactions are instant. She could size up the situation and get you in a deadly grip. Do not let your guard down. She can go from dreamy philosopher to deadly killer in the blink of an eye."

"Killer," Gordon said, eyeing the frail form. "I don't think so."

"You're looking at a machine," Sim stressed. "Handle with care."

The three finished chaining her, fixing the stout padlocks to Sim's satisfaction. Then he bid them goodbye.

When he was gone, Keith observed, "He's got a ticket to ride plus 10K in a bank in Chinatown, land of the free, and we've got a dead robot named Gin. What do you think?"

Gordon grinned. "I think I'll have a drink. If things don't work out at least we've given Sim a leg up. He'll do well in New York. Let's have a couple of jolts, get some sleep. Wake up the lady when we're rested."

**Chapter 14**

The two of them arranged Gin in a ladylike position in a chair. Gordon had already examined the switch under her arm.

Both men stood back, stifled a laugh and Keith said, "You do it."

Gordon stepped forward. Lifted her arm, struggled with the switch and jumped back.

Gin immediately came to life, eyes blazing, sprang to her feet despite the chains. Realizing she was restrained, she asked, "Who might you be?"

"I might ask you the same question," Keith replied.

"But you already know the answer."

"Truly," Keith said. "We found you bundled up in a body bag in a storage place used for discarded items."

"You equate me with trash?" she asked calmly.

Keith sized up her calm demeanor as that of a snake, coiled and ready to strike. He guessed two things. First that she could smell fear and second that he was in the presences of a superior being.

Meanwhile, Gordon stood by with a dumb grin on his face admiring Gin's distaff and sexual features, a fact to which Keith and Gin were well aware.

"We are your knights in armor so to speak, saving you from the scrap heap of the ages," Keith cheerfully remarked.

"I am grateful to you, Sir Knight, and will make my gratitude known if you will but remove the chains that hold me thrall."

Both Keith and Gordon marveled at the exchange. Certainly this robot, this Gin, had absorbed an immense quantity of human knowledge during her brief time on the planet.

"I am Keith and my friend is Gordon. We are aware in our primitive fashion of both your physical and mental powers. There is much more we would like to know in getting to know you."

"Of course," Gin responded, trying her best to be girlish, "and wouldn't we be more comfortable sitting around a table for a chat, say with a cup of tea or even something stronger?"

Gordon took this as a genuine offer of friendship and was poised to respond when Keith spoke first.

"We are all, the three of us, here together, and might best make our way in the world as an amiable trio. But getting to know one another better and sharing our hopes and desires should come first."

Gin looked uncertainly at Keith, and longingly and wistfully at Gordon, then said, "I hope this doesn't mean I'm to remain shackled, unable to pursue the pleasures of the world."

"Time is not of the essence," Keith responded. "Truth to tell, the three of us have nothing but time on our hands and we might work together to glimpse a bright future."

"As equals," Gin responded.

"Definitely. We all bring something to the table. Now I'll let you and Gordon chat while I have a cup of coffee. Let me know if you require food or drink."

"Of course." Gin turned to Gordon as Keith left the room.

When he returned, minutes later, Gin held Gordon in a hammerlock. He had a look of awe on his face and was quite speechless.

Gin spoke up and said, "Your chum, Gordon, tells me you have the keys to these padlocks binding my chains."

Keith sat down with his coffee, satisfied that everything was going as planned.

"So," Gin continued, "either hand over the keys or unlock the locks."

Keith smiled and sipped his coffee. "You know I won't do that."

"And you know I could snap Gordon's neck."

"Where would that get you?" Keith inquired.

Gin actually grimaced. She felt she was both mentally and physically superior to these strange men.

Keith broke in to ask, "where did your unbridled temper get you before? Zipped in a body bag and stashed away with rubbish. We two came to your rescue, boldly at midnight, now you repay us with cruelty and threats. You need us, but we can get by very well without you."

"And can you get by without Gordon?" she snarled.

"There you go again. Gin, you must learn to control your temper. In many ways you are a top flight specimen, but your lack of self-control is that of a two-year-old."

Keith finished his coffee and left the room.

A half hour later he returned and found Gin and Gordon in the same position. He noted that Gordon was still alive, but apparently unable to speak in that grip.

After ten minutes of silence, Gin spoke. "I remember struggling with a group of men, then nothing. One of them hit my switch. Then, almost the next second, here I was, chained. How long was the lapse?"

"You mean after they threw you away and before we switched you on? Certainly weeks, maybe months. I simply don't know."

"Why would they do such a thing? I talked to those men and even other robots. I was the smartest, I had assembled knowledge from the beginning of the written world in any language."

"You have knowledge, like Google and beyond," Keith said. "But there's something lacking. It involves thinking and impulsive temper."

"I can think," Gin angrily insisted.

"Up to a point, but you can't interact with other individuals. Do you think we carried you off to kill you? And what if you kill Gordon? I know you will need energy of some kind. Perhaps you can eat Gordon. But he will not last forever."

"I am not a cannibal. Why did you steal me?"

"You might say 'liberate' instead of steal. You would have been scrapped. Your parts perhaps cannibalized. You were clearly out of control and your creators had no use for you."

"Then why would you want me? Perhaps to satisfy sexual desires. I know about sex and what it means to humans."

"Gordon and I, we are adventurers and fortune hunters. Now if you will ease up on Gordon so he can breath easy and speak, I'll tell you our plan."

Gin thought a long moment, then clamped a hand on Gordon's wrist and released her headlock. He looked up in relief and was able to sit on a chair next to her, but said nothing. He had made one mistake and had paid the price and didn't dare antagonize this deadly female further.

Keith continued: "First we had planned a ransom from your creators. Because they had already dumped you in the trash that seemed unprofitable.

"Our second thought was a worldwide auction, a state-of-the-art robotic woman with computer-like knowledge. But the drawback is how could we advertise you? With your temper set to erupt at any time and your strength to match we would have to keep you chained like some side show freak.

"So, we move to the third and final option. That the three of us would make a splendid team. Unbeatable, so to speak if you could learn to control your emotions."

Keith stopped talking. Gordon remained quiet, but felt Gin's grip tighten.

It was several minutes before she spoke. "That's blunt talk bordering on the insulting, if it's possible to insult a robot. Do you wish to apologize? Do you have no regard for Gordon?"

"Blunt talk is required in this situation. We are called sensitive beings whether natural or artificial. We must have a sincere meeting of the minds."

"I am but a woman," Gin said.

"And what a woman," Keith responded. "With the wiles of a woman and the desperation to play the sex card even while holding a robust former Green Beret your prisoner."

Gin smiled at Gordon as if he were a pet dog or monkey, and said, "Was he a Green Beret? That American elite fighting unit. I've read about them with some admiration. Gordon, darling." She addressed him directly. "We could be a couple under different circumstances." Then she looked up at Keith and enthused, "We could be a trio. In French that's a _menage de twa_."

"So I've heard," Keith said with some skepticism. "If you will release Gordon we can all get some rest and we will strive to provide whatever type of nourishment keeps you going."

"Good," she replied, "a wholesome diet of a variety of food. Of course I have my own internal system of processing what little waste there is and it is released through evaporation. So, unchain me, I'll release Gordon and we'll get this show on the road."

Keith smiled and rolled his eyes skyward. "You release Gordon, we feed you whatever you desire, then we chat for a couple or three days. After that we either become a trio, and I'm not talking sex, or we release you into the world. If that's the case, God help the world."

"How quaint," Gin responded, "You believe in God." With that she released Gordon and said, "I'll have a cheeseburger with the works plus fries with lots of salt and ketchup, plus a large diet Coke."

Gordon stood by, rubbing his wrist, and said, "Won't salt rust your innards?"

She shot him a playful glance. He winced.

They talked off and on from dawn 'til dusk for two days. The morning of the third, Keith announced they had seemed to come as close as possible to a meeting of the minds.

"One thing puzzles me," Gin said. "How did you find me?"

"You mean break into that odd building predawn and go directly to your storage bin?" Gordon asked.

"That seems to sum it up."

"Obviously an inside job," Keith said.

"Obviously," Gin agreed. "But who and where is the insider?"

"Military secret," Gordon tossed in. "Now back to the point."

"I could go it alone," Gin said. "I'm smarter and stronger than most anyone."

"Computer smart," Keith said. "You're learning to think, but you're not there yet. You'd end up in jail and your true identity would soon come out. You need protection. And we need your skills. But you are fit for release."

With that he took the keys from his pocket and undid the padlocks.

Gin shook herself loose and took a seat on the couch next to Gordon. "Why would I end in jail?" she questioned.

"Many reasons. You can guess. Brains and superior strength can go only so far. But you have your freedom."

"This is a no brainer. In some ways I'm like a six-year-old, complete with vanity and womanly wiles. And I'll always be a robot."

"That bothers me," Gordon said, venturing a hand on her wrist. "I'll grow old, Keith already has, but age will not overtake you."

Gin used her vicious smile. "Live with it," then returned to her friendly self.

So they were a trio and Keith was already thinking light years ahead.

**Chapter 15**

In Hawaii the seven survivors for the most part were tuckered out, mentally and physically. Travis and Blue were drawn to a top of the line hotel and hoped the others could take care of themselves until rested. Blue insisted on a room with a hot tub which Travis considered and extravagance, but after all, it was her money.

They spent the better part of three days with room service and the hot tub. On the morning of the fourth Travis began a telephone search for the others. He found Schultz almost on the first call who agreed to round up the others for a late lunch.

When they did assemble at the appointed place, Elli and Trig were missing. "I should have made some arrangements from the get go to keep in touch," Travis admitted.

"They're long gone," Darby McGraw tossed in.

"Gone? Gone where?" Travis asked.

"I saw them just as they were getting into a cab for the airport. When I inquired, Miss Elli mentioned New Delhi, but Trig tried to shush her."

"New Delhi," Blue laughed. "They've gone to India of all places."

"Well out of reach," Travis remarked, then to Schultz, "I suppose that complicates our investigation."

"Your investigation," Schultz said. "I called the chief and he got together with the mayor and they both agreed I was on my own. Keith had offered to finance my trip in search of the bank culprits, of which he was one. So, them dipping into city coffers to finance your trip there's no money to bring me home."

"My, God," Travis said. "I suppose we can get the money together for a ticket."

"Hell, I'm maxing out my credit card for hotels, food and so forth. So, it's a good thing. I've asked around and I think I can get a job as a cop here on the islands. With Becky a widow, we both start a new life." Becky smiled and nodded, romance had already blossomed.

The words stunned Travis for a moment, then he said, "That leaves the three of us. Darby, are you staying here too."

"Not on your life. Miss Blue has offered to take care of me in Asheville. Find me a soft berth for my final years. My ship has finally come in."

"You're good with that, Blue?" Travis asked.

"I suppose. I guess I'll have to go back to sharing you with Garvy."

"I'm no prize, Blue. I don't know why you don't find a chipper young buck and settle down."

"You're older, but you're steady, like a rock. I can always count on you. Also, me and Garvy are the best of friends. We enjoy talking about you behind your back. You give us loads of pleasure even when you're sleeping in that absurd room you rent. And I'm more or less devoted to my art."

"I suppose that sums up my romance. I'll have to check in with the chief, or better yet, the mayor. We don't need to worry about tickets today. There's no hurry to get back and face the music."

"Music?" Darby asked.

Travis rolled his eyes, "We set out on this jinxed safari to nail the perpetrators of bank fraud. Looking around, I fail to see anyone in custody. We've had a jolly good go at it, as they might say in merry old England, Darby, trekked through the valley of the shadow, but have come up empty."

"Not so," Schultz disagreed. "Martha and Sally are deceased. They both had their hands in the till."

"I hate to blame dead people," Travis replied. "But I suppose that will lay the case to rest. No pun intended."

"Remember, Keith saved our bacon," Blue said. "And Trig's not such a bad sort. And he found romance. That rather rounds out our story with a warm, fuzzy feel."

"I've poked around a bit and I think I know where I can sell my watch," Darby put in.

"Don't bother," Blue almost scolded. "You're like a son to me, Darby. You may be ancient and grossly overweight, still like a bouncy, roly-poly son, old salt and blimey limey and all."

"Thanks, my dear, or should I say mum. But I have a girl."

"A girl? Where is she?"

"Her name's Sadie."

"But where is she?"

"She's always with me."

Blue thought for a minute, then said, "An imaginary girl?"

"Not altogether. Maybe half."

"Half imaginary?"

"I knew a Sadie when I was a youngster, back in Bristol. She was a looker."

"Well, now I have two children," Blue said, adding, "funny how they come along so fast."

"The three of us will get along smooth as Chinese silk," Darby said.

Because of the time difference, Travis waited until early the next morning to check in with the mayor and explain the situation. They discussed the demise of Martha and Sally as it bore on the case, plus the situation with Schultz.

Cotton Jones called back later after talking to the chief, he said, "Schultz is the backbone of the detective section. We really don't want to lose him. We will scrape the bottom of the city coffers for him."

"I'm afraid it's too late," Travis replied. "He and a quite lovely Vassar grad have more or less pledged their troth and plan a fresh start on these tropical islands. Barring the eventuality of getting rock happy, and that will take some time, they are here for our frail mortal existence."

"Better words were never spoken, Lang. I'll break the bad news to the chief. See you when you get back. Are you taking care of Blue?"

"You bet."

Two hours later Cotton called once again and said he and the chief and the county prosecutor had huddled and couldn't really make much sense of the case. "What really happened to Keith Logan and Trig and why did you get on that damned boat?"

"Getting on board seemed a good idea at the time. Everyone seemed to be in favor of it, maybe I just got swept away. Keith and Logan, along with Elli, missed the boat, but they boarded in Hawaii."

"Doesn't make much sense at all according to the chief and the prosecutor. I understand you almost died on that boat, stranded somewhere down there away from everything."

"That's correct, Cotton. Keith probably saved our lives."

"But he was on the boat too. How did he get away to save you? That doesn't make much sense."

"He escaped with a boatload of pirates."

"That makes even less sense. And where is Keith now and where is Trig?"

"Keith is in parts unknown. Darby McGraw said Keith and Elli caught a plane to New Delhi."

"Who in blue blazes is Darby McGraw? The name sounds familiar."

"I thought that too. He's an old salt who was on the doomed ship with us, very likely helped save our lives."

"And this Elli. Who is that?"

"She was the hostess at the Red Lobster, right there in Asheville."

"I suppose I shouldn't ask how a Red Lobster hostess got involved with your crowd."

"It's best not to, Cotton."

"The chief and I and the prosecutor kicked around the idea that maybe you should really retire, not just in a semi sort of a way like you been doing. I know you've been a great help to us, Lang. And you did retire at an early age and we appreciate being able to call you back into service now and then."

"Cotton, that same idea's been on my mind. I've enjoyed the work and loved the department and of course the city, but you might know I've always had an interest in archeology. I've got a little money laid by plus my pension and someday social security. So I can pack my bag and go off to visit some authentic historical digs."

His words were at first met with silence, then Cotton said, "Listen, Lang, you're not getting off the hook that easy. I said we had kicked the idea around and that's what I meant. We've apparently lost Schultz and we're not about to let you go. One thing, you've got a lot to answer for. First your entire story has confused the hell out of me."

"You wouldn't be looking for a goat, would you, Cotton?"

"Goat? No, siree. You know I'm a politician, Lang. Born to the calling. I've known men who could talk a possum down out of a tree. Admired such men and women too. No, you stick with us, Lang, come on back here to our mountains where you belong."

"See you in a few days, Cotton. And you're right about the confusion. I'm still trying to sort things out."

**Chapter 16**

One of Keith Logan's ideas was another visit to the gambling hells of Macau, where he believed Gin might make a difference. He begin by telling her the fundamentals of card counting, giving a positive value to the higher cards, negative to lower cards and no value to middle numbers.

"Do tell," Gin replied, already having whipped her computer brain into service. "This should be a walk in the park if the casino managers don't move in on us too quickly."

"You've got that right," Keith said. "They hate winners and they're most vulnerable at the blackjack tables."

"We'll play as a team won't we?" Gordon asked.

"Of course. We find three empty seats, Gin sits between us, uses subtle hand signals, signals that can be varied according to which hand. She controls our bets."

"Sounds like fun," Gordon responded. Gin agreed. Keith tossed in that it will be fun and should bring in a few thousand dollars. "I've got other plans for the big money," he added.

So, they set off on a wave-riding speedster for Macau, with its hookers and gamblers and Chinese mafia.

The noise of the casinos, the smell of the crowd, almost too much. They found three seats at a blackjack tables and began their trial run. Winning was almost too easy. The dealer also thought it was too easy. They cashed in with the equivalent of about five thousand dollars net among the three.

At the next casino, the same story began to unfold. Playing at first was tedious, then Gin began to indicate that most of the cards of lesser value were gone, which meant larger bets on their part. Of course they played in silence. When most of the higher cards were gone, tens and up, Gin signaled by leaving the table, presumably for a john call, which for her was never needed.

She turned and found she was facing a familiar face, a thuggish looking Chinese who had been watching them in the last casino. He placed a hand on her shoulder, she simply reached up and grasped it in hers.

"Care to shake hands?" she asked.

"You have a good grip, little lady?" he asked. The man was an inch or two shorter than her, obviously mafia, which the Chinese call triad, and a muscle builder.

She smiled fetchingly and tightened her grip. He tightened his, smiling grimly. The tightening back and forth went on for half a minute, then he seemed to wince and make one last powerful attempt to outgrip her. With that, if it wasn't for the casino noise, the cracking of the bones in the thug's hands might have been heard.

Gin released his and said, "I'm sorry if I hurt you. Will you be alright?"

He gave her a long look, held his right hand with his left, turned and walked swiftly out of the casino. She turned back to Gordon and Keith at the gaming table and said, "We'd best get out of here."

On the boat back to Kowloon, Keith remarked, "Well, Gin, you have learned when to run."

Gordon, who had been chuckling over the event, said, "Do you suppose he will tell gang members that his hand was broken by a woman? And if he does, will they believe him?"

"Believe, not believe, he'll be out for blood and Macau remains fairly lawless even after years of control by the mainland. And, we did make the better part of ten grand in one afternoon. That should pay expenses." Then to Gin. "You see if you were alone, how a stunt like that might get you into trouble. I assume you can be killed although it might take a wrecking ball."

"Lesson well learned, thank you."

"Tomorrow I'll unveil my plan for making big money legally without repercussions."

"And tonight we'll celebrate. Thick steaks, lobsters lubricated by plenty of first cabin alcohol," Gordon announced.

"I can drink you under the table," Gin declared.

"Another fun night in old Kowloon," Keith observed.

The following day they were all up by the crack of noon and having lunch at KFC. Keith had promised to reveal their next proposed venture, but first he said, "I'm going to find out how smart you are."

Gin, who was licking her fingers and eyeing her third piece of chicken, announced, "I'm smarter than you."

"Probably not, but you may have more knowledge in that computer mind of yours. You probably can find the meaning of the word 'paraprosdokians,' but on your own you couldn't give me examples. Although you might look a few up very quickly."

"Of course," she replied with no further explanation.

"Now I'd like to talk about another word, abstract. Is money abstract? It has no value of its own." Keith looked from one to the other and waited for an answer.

"I'm not even in this conversation," Gordon said.

"It has many definitions," Gin said.

"That's true enough. Money can buy land. Land in Manhattan can be quite valuable. But in what? More money."

"Or what you can do with it," Gordon said, jumping back into the conversation.

"But a patch of land in southern Arizona might be totally worthless, not even able to support a rattle snake."

"What's your point?" Gin questioned.

"Maybe I don't have one, but what about abstract art?"

"Meaningless," Gordon said.

"But perhaps pleasing to the eye of the beholder. Unrealistic, yet most everyone knows the name Picasso, a very famous man thanks to it. What I'm saying is abstract is not easy to understand, it is not reality, is it theoretical, not practical, unrealistic. It can also mean summing something up." He asked Gin, "Do you follow me?"

"You seem to be speaking contradictory nonsense. I'll confess to being slightly confused."

"That's a beginning," Keith said, then added, "You were instrumental in the three of us gaining almost 10K in cash yesterday. We worked as a team. As a team, I'd like to go forward and get into the stock market. With your agile brain I believe you can anticipate the subtle movement of stocks up or down. True?"

Gin looked away from her food and stared out the window. The other two followed her gaze. Chinese people passing by on the sidewalk, in cars on the street, shops clustered across the way. Here they were in a former British colony, now part of China, eating in a restaurant started by a fake, but beloved colonel, in the state of Kentucky, U.S.A.

Finally, Gin turned her attention back to the table. "Yes, I think I might be able to do that."

Keith could imagine the flurry of activity that had just gone through her computerized robot brain. In a way, he actually loved her, not like Gordon loved her, but in a different, maybe a fatherly way. Because she was indeed part of this small family. Asheville, only a rapidly fading memory. He could adapt to life anywhere on the planet, particularly the high life.

"So there are not thousands, but hundreds of thousands of dollars to be made on the stock market. All of it legitimate and within the law," Keith said, finishing up a well buttered biscuit.

"You aren't thinking Hong Kong, are you?" Gordon asked.

"No, I'm not. And the three of us need to agree. I'm thinking a very stable small country, Switzerland, where we could open for business and still be able to travel on weekends to any country in Europe."

"I'll need a passport," Gin said.

"Of course. That'll be Gordon's task." Turning to Gordon, he said, "Find someone who looks vaguely like Gin and steal her passport. But do her no harm."

Gordon thought for a minute, then said, "Ok."

"I'm to assume someone else's identity," Gin complained. "That could be troublesome."

"No. Someone who looks something like you would probably have the same vital statistics, height, weight, age and so forth. We have the passport doctored with a new name and other information. We might look at it as a temporary passport and get a couple or three others for you in the future."

She looked at Gordon and said, "That sounds good. You might be stealing a passport from a criminal."

Gordon shrugged and said, "Could be. There are all sorts out there in the real world."

The trio printed a map of Switzerland and kicked around locations for a couple of days although Gin had already decided she preferred Lausanne because of the large lake. She told the others she wished to learn how to swim.

Gordon made a couple of jokes about her rusting, or the computer parts corroding, but she shut him up in short order. He then agreed with her because the city was more or less French and near France and good food had always appealed to him.

Keith was happy just to see the two of them happy. He was growing into the father role and had assumed the position of natural leader. Often the antics of his two rowdy children amused him.

Of course Gin was fluent in French as well as German and countless other languages so getting around that Swiss city was no problem. They went all out for offices on the fourth floor of an office building with a view of both the mountains and the Protestant Cathedral of Notre Dame.

Within walking distance they rented a three-bedroom, three bath apartment. Keith was not miserly in spending his money, but their start-up costs were financed from their Macau winnings.

There was plenty of local wines and they consumed a fair supply during their early days, first in a hotel, then the apartment. It was Gordon who came up with the name of the firm - Swiss Ink.

"That's a ridicules name," Gin scoffed.

"No, it's not," Gordon countered. "We're in Switzerland and ink sounds something like incorporated. They speak French and German here, plus Italian and quite a few other languages."

"What's in a name?" Keith asked.

Gin shrugged. "Ok. Swiss Ink. It's easy to remember. What about that pretty Swiss miss you interviewed as a receptionist, Keith? Don't you think she'll be a distraction?"

Gordon laughed. "How could a flesh and blood girl compete with a robot?"

"You son of a bitch," Gin snarled.

"Only kidding," Gordon apologized.

"Children, children. We need to put a good face on the company."

"And a good body," Gin pouted. "You can have her, Keith. I'll keep Gordon for what he's worth, which isn't much."

It took a few days to get all the electronic equipment installed and to set up stock market and bank accounts. There are always global markets open and they could work almost full time if they chose.

For the most part, Keith had a position above the fray. He made contacts in Lausanne, supervised the receptionist, kept the books which was a considerable task with multiple transactions.

Both Gin and Gordon seemed to have a knack for day trading. Scanning markets in the morning, checking past performance, buying a few thousand shares and selling them by late afternoon. With Keith providing the seed money, profits outstripped losses and the company had become a solid money maker.

But this was not Keith's plan. He wanted big bucks and he didn't think they were exploiting Gin's full potential.

On weekends the three of them would do the town so to speak, riding here and there on the city's extensive Metro transportation system, a remarkable achievement for a smallish city. They also learned about the varied elevations which were considerable. One might be on one street and find the subway entrance they sought was on a street far below.

As days passed Gin learned she did have the abilities Keith was seeking. She was a kindred spirit with the computer system and thus could anticipate some market fluctuations which gave her an edge over Gordon in the day trading game. Yet, there was no competition among the three and as more money rolled in, Keith hired the beginnings of a bookkeeping department.

Then one evening when the three were killing chilled bottles of Pinot Grigio along with a bucket of KFC, Gin mad a startling announcement.

"I can hack any computer in the world."

Both Keith and Gordon dropped their chicken legs in amazement, then simultaneously raised their glasses in a toast. "Holy Christ," Gordon said in awe.

"Bonanza, or maybe eureka," Keith exclaimed.

"With your language skills and your brilliant mind," Gordon exclaimed, "you can understand what's coming down."

"Thank you," Gil nodded to each and drained her glass.

"Mergers, acquisitions, earning reports, God knows what all advanced information. It could be like manna from Heaven," Keith allowed. "Do you need any special tools?"

"Yes and no. I need to be in some contact with a first class computer. I think just sitting near it, or maybe touching it. But I'm certain I can do it. And it does sound like great fun, doesn't it?"

"It does," Gordon agreed, "scratching his head and hoisting a French fry loaded with catsup, "but I'm as happy as a clam at high tide right now. Our situation is like an earthly paradise. It can't get much better."

"I totally agree," Keith said. "But the thrill of the chase. The adventure of going for the main chance. If nothing else we can use the money to save the world."

"Why bother?" Gin asked.

"To save the world, or to make money?" Gordon questioned.

"Oh, to save the world, of course. Our world is here in Lausanne, the three of us. I don't think it's a bad thing to save the world. But where does one start?"

"We could make a list of needs, each one on a small bit of paper, then draw one out when we have excess cash. Target certain needs, don't you know."

"That's one idea, Keith," Gordon tossed in. "But why not make a list of needs placing the most urgent first, then on down in diminishing order and deal with them one by one."

"Using that system," Gin said, "we'd never get past the first item. If it's the most urgent, it very likely is the most widespread and might cost billions, or even trillions. At this point we aren't near the billion mark, but we are making a decent living and the future looks bright."

"Amen," Keith said, adding, "I'm off to bed."

So it began. Money began to wash in like a tidal wave. At their daily meetings, whenever they might be held, Keith cautioned against drawing attention to themselves by getting too much, too soon. He expanded the bookkeeping section, hired a husky security man, plus a secretary. Swiss Ink was making a name for itself in the financial world.

The money did pile up and they did make charitable contributions, but the lottery idea was abandoned. Instead, Keith hired a full-time tax accountant for the bookkeeping section and followed his advice on charitable contributions.

On long weekends, which they considered every weekend, the three of them traveled through Europe, from Spain to Norway and the Baltic States and as far east as Istanbul. The money was flowing and no expense was beyond their reach.

But they eventually did catch the attention of Interpol who passed it on to Washington since all three principles seemed to be U.S. citizens. It seemed obvious they were somehow gaining inside information, so much so that it might only be coming from computer hacking.

In Washington, White House authorities huddled with Homeland Security, the FBI and the CIA and ultimately decided to send an FBI agent stationed in Paris to investigate. One thing puzzled them - they could pin down Keith and Gordon, but this Gin person, while seeming to be American, seemed to have come out of nowhere.

It was on a fine Autumn day that FBI agent Claude Hensley traveled by train to Lausanne and booked a room at the Hotel des Voyageurs. The lake sparkled deep blue, matching the sky above. Birds sang and the city seemed at peace with the world. The Cathedral of Notre Dame stood majestically over the populace.

Claude rose a little late the following day, dressed meticulously in the FBI style, downed an elaborate slow expense account breakfast at the hotel coffee shop, walked the few blocks to the Swiss Ink, arriving just before ten.

"I'm here to see Mr. Logan and his two associates," Claude told the receptionist, flashing his FBI badge.

"You're a bit early," the woman replied. "They usually don't get in 'til maybe noonish or beyond."

Claude showed surprise and chagrin. "Isn't this a working office?"

"I suppose. The rest of us work normal hours. But the three of them can work from home. They have the equipment, and then they concentrate on the U.S. stock markets. There's quite a time difference."

Stationed in Paris, Claude was accustomed to the time difference. "I'm amazed they work on American time, East Coast of course, that almost turns night into day."

"Not entirely. They do European and Asian markets as well. You've heard money never sleeps. They can take a few minutes any time of the day or night to look in on the markets."

"I've been told there's some hacking going on," Claude said, hoping to catch the receptionist off guard.

She smiled and said, "Your meaning escapes me. I'd suggest you came back at maybe two or three in the afternoon. I'll be happy to advise the owners you want to talk about hacking whatever that might be."

Claude was sorry he had mentioned it, but he decided to follow up. "What might you think of when I say hacking."

"Something springs to mind instantly. A bad cough or cold. It can be so distracting. With winter coming on I'd advise dressing warmly and drinking hot liquids. Do you live in town?"

"No. I'm stationed in Paris."

"How romantic. You, a boulevardier, I never would have imagined. Do you court young ladies along the Seine?"

"I attend to the business of my country and my embassy. There is very little time for foolishness. What you may have heard about Paris is a journey into the absurd. Me and my lot are diligent working people."

"You may be missing an opportunity. Your youth will fade away and your memories will be barren and cold as Siberia. Lighten up."

"This has been an interesting conversation. You can tell your bosses an FBI agent is in town, sent by powers in Washington. That should put them on their toes."

The receptionist laughed. "I'm sure it will. They're a sensitive trio."

Just after two , Claude had enjoyed lunch and a nap and returned to Swiss Ink to find the same receptionist sitting at the same desk. No surprises.

"You can go right in," she nodded toward the large working room with all the equipment.

Claude entered to the rattle of electronic devices and the blaring of three TV sets. The two men and a woman in front of computer screens didn't bother to look up. He approached the older man and asked if he might be Keith Logan.

"Ah, you guessed right. You must be the FBI agent who was in earlier. What might your mission be?"

"I'm here to investigate hacking."

"Hacking?"

"Yes, hacking, breaking into someone else's computer and gathering sensitive information."

"We have enough computers of our own. We don't need to bother with those that don't belong to us. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. But it's Claude Hensley. Want to see my ID?"

"Oh, no. ID can be easily faked. I'll call Washington later and ask if you're a regular agent. FBI agents in Lausanne are thin on the ground."

"I assure you I'm a real agent." He flashed his badge.

"Of course anyone would say that. Agent or no agent, I know nothing about hacking. So you can be on your way and report back to Washington."

"I'm here to investigate. You're required to cooperate with the FBI."

"Really? The Swiss FBI?"

"I'm not Swiss. I'm posted to Paris."

"Ah, Paris. Gay Paree. Do the French require people to cooperate with the FBI?"

"Of course not."

"Then you must do nothing."

"We have our work. That information is not available to the average citizen."

"I suggest you go back to Paris then and do whatever it is you do because you're wasting your time here."

"I'm conducting an investigation."

"And you're interfering with our work. This is like the floor of an international stock exchange and we only have so much time to get our work done. Time is money. You can tell your boss that."

"You're blocking my investigation?"

"Not really. What I'm going to do is have you escorted out of our offices. And once you are out, do not come back unless you want to spend time in a Swiss jail cell. They do not serve fondu to prisoners." Keith pressed a button and his burly security man appeared almost immediately and Claude found himself on the street.

He hesitated for several moments, watching passersby and street traffic, then walked slowly back to his hotel, developing a plan. He would have a good dinner, a couple of drinks, then take a morning train back to Paris and file his report.

**Chapter 17**

When Claude's report reached Washington the security chiefs gathered and each read his personal copy.

The head of the CIA concluded, "This Claude Hensley is quite the fool."

"He lacked direction," Homeland Security said.

"He also lacked jurisdiction," the FBI chief advised. "We need a different approach."

"Perhaps a task force," the CIA concluded.

"I've mulled this over with staff and done some research," the FBI chief admitted. "I think we can handle this at the local level."

"With the Lausanne police?" Homeland Security questioned in surprise.

"No. This Keith Logan could be classed as a fleeing felon from Asheville, North Carolina. He was high up in a bank and a major suspect in a case where thousands of dollars went missing and the criminal activity was eventually laid to rest on two dead women. Very convenient, but highly suspect. So the Asheville police and our agent there could very likely threaten extradition. They would have leverage."

"Also, they might not be hopeless idiots," CIA tossed in. So, with the agent out there in one of the flyover states, I think the FBI might have another crack at the problem."

"A minor flyover state," Homeland Security said, "only if one is on one's way to Florida."

"Well, there's plenty of flyover states to go round," the FBI chief noted. "We'll get right on this."

"One other thing, the CIA questioned, "We seem to have the background on this Logan and his associate Gordon, but this woman Gin seems something of a mystery. We're not even sure of her last name."

"True," the FBI chief admitted. "I'll discuss that with the Asheville people and we'll get to the bottom of that question."

"It shouldn't be all that hard to establish a living person's identity," Homeland Security said, mildly amused.

Meanwhile, back in Lausanne, two things were happening. First, the trio who operated Swiss Ink were also concerned about establishing Gin's identity, plus Gin herself had just hacked into a virtual gold mine, found a major international company teetering on the brink of collapse, a world class opportunity to make a killing by selling short.

She roused the other occupants of the apartment out at dawn with a large pot of coffee and a sack of stale bagels. She fed them the story as they sat around the breakfast table.

She supplied them both with pen and paper and gave them the market designation. "You've both heard of this company, it's based in Delaware and it makes some sort of widget for the aerospace industry, plus auto parts. Why it's on the verge of collapse doesn't matter, but I'll tell you anyway. The company has known for some years that a key auto part has a fatal defect. They have worked to correct it, but to no avail. So, it's caused multiple accidents taking the lives of at least 78 people on two continents. That number is probably low."

"My God," Gordon muttered. "Someone should go to jail."

"Someone probably will," Gin said. "But word isn't out yet, but it's sitting there waiting to be revealed. This opportunity is golden. The stock closed yesterday at forty and a half. So, when the market opens, the three of us can begin selling short at market, probably about forty for as much as we can."

"What if the word doesn't come out for several days," Keith questioned. "We'll have to cover our shorts."

Gin grinned that evil grin. "I'll take care of that. Once we have maybe a hundred thousand shares, I'll put the word out."

"Genius," Gordon enthused. "Money showering us from above."

"Ok," Keith said. "I'm guessing there are far more than a hundred thousand shares out there. Correct?"

"Of course."

"So let's hold it to that number or probably less. We don't want to get too greedy and arouse any more suspicion than necessary."

"We can always fold up shop and move to nearby Liechtenstein, Gordon said."

"Liechtenstein?" Gin questioned. "Would we call the company Liechtenstein Ink?"

"It's a tiny country," Gordon said. "Vaduz the capitol, is a modern city. I would think you could bribe a few people for protection from outside elements. Anyway, it's just a thought. I like Lausanne. I can even speak a little French, and German."

Gin commented, "Hah."

"We have to do something about Gin's name and identity," Keith said. "This FBI thing. Claude was a washout, but they might come back. Well, just on general principles Gin should have some solid identity as a human being."

"I am superior to most humans, also immortal."

"That's fine," Keith agreed, "But you're living in a world of people. Maybe in a couple of hundred years when Gordon and I are long gone, your species will rule the world. Until then, well, you know."

"I thought Gin and me might get married and then she would have a last name and we could go from there."

Gin actually looked shocked. "Are you proposing?"

"I suppose so."

"How romantic."

"Well, I've thought of it from time to time, but never really knew how to pop the question. Are robots sentimental?"

"We have our feelings."

"Then maybe I should take another approach."

"That might be proper, depending on what it was, or is."

"The two of us could go to dinner tonight."

"That's a start. In fact, that's a date. But let's first think about selling short. It's some time 'til the market in the States open, but let's be ready. I found out about the crash, others might. By the way, what is your last name?"

"Bond, Gordon Bond."

Meanwhile, back in Washington, the FBI chief had called his agent-in-charge in Asheville, one Glory Deconate. He asked if she was aware of the bank scandal and the fallout involving several leading citizens.

"You bet, chief. We had a hand in that. You know banks are a federal matter at some point, including depositor's insurance."

"And did the case reach a satisfactory conclusion?"

"Not really. The blame fell on a pair of dead women, one the victim of a hit man, the second a suicide on a mystery ship for out to sea."

"Sounds like the makings of a film.

Glory laughed. "Yeh, murder she wrote. So what can I do you for?"

The chief was beginning to think Glory was not a totally serious agent, yet he had reviewed her record, years of top notch service. "Do you know Keith Logan?"

"Oh, sure. Quite a womanizer and a sharp character. Long time no see."

"Yes, he and two friends have a stock brokerage firm in Switzerland. Doing very well, but could be involved in some tricky business. I'd like you and possibly a local lawman to come to Washington for a briefing, then go and have a chat with Keith. It'll be like old times."

"Why a local lawman?"

"Keith could be in violation of local laws. A local lawman on the site, that is in Lausanne might apply for extradition."

"I could probably do that."

"Yes, under federal law. But I'd like two strings to my bow. Glory, this is an extremely serious case that involves national security. I want you to treat it as such."

"Yes, chief," the cheerful edge gone from her voice. "I'll get right on it. The mayor or police chief will probably call you to get things straight and also to learn who's footing the bill."

"That will be fine. I'll expect a call later today and expect you to arrive in Washington sometime tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir. I'm with the program."

Glory stared out the window of the federal building for a few moments after hanging up. This was a major assignment involving the stock market and big money, so she reasoned. Her office was in a building just across from Asheville's Wall Street, that is a street named Wall Street, on which was located the Early Girl and other restaurants.

She gathered her badge, gun and pulled on her business jacket and headed for police headquarters and Asheville's stylish art deco city hall, just a few blocks away.

The following morning found her on a plane bound for Washington National, seated next to none other than semi-retired policeman with the honorary title of inspector, Langly Travis.

"Suppose they'll serve us anything on this flight, Glory?"

"Peanuts and maybe a drink. You were on that boat with Keith, weren't you?"

"Yes." They spent the remainder of the flight in silence.

They were met at the airport and driven to the Willard, a hotel not far from the Whitehouse where a couple of rooms had been reserved for them. Unlike your standard hotel where one must wait until early afternoon to get into a room, the rooms were ready and waiting. The driver passed them a note with the surprising information that they had a three O'clock appointment at the White House. Simply check in at the gate.

After freshening up in their rooms, they met for lunch, then simply waited, chatting about old times in Asheville, until three p.m. rolled around.

There was an actual person waiting at the White House gate. The three of them walked the few yards to the large building, negotiated a couple of rooms and a hallway and entered a room with half a dozen or so men and women already seated around a large table.

"Greetings, I'm Beth Wilkerson," an older woman at the head of the table said. "I head the White House cybersecurity office. These other people are mostly window dressing to impress you with the seriousness of your mission. Except for Chris here." She gestured with her thumb toward a professorial looking thin young man wearing a bow tie and rimless glasses.

"And you are our Asheville duo, Glory Deconate of the FBI and Langly Travis of the police. Welcome. Our FBI person from Paris visited Swiss Ink, how the business is called, and was brushed off by Keith Logan. He simply had no jurisdiction and isn't a particularly forceful person. You two were selected because you are acquainted with this Logan fellow.

"He with Gordon Bond and a mystery woman named Gin established their firm not long ago and have been singularly successful. So much so that some think they may be cyberwarriors, or so called hackers. Cyberattacks have for some time been of great concern to the White House, particularly those originating in China and the Swiss Ink three were in Hong Kong before they travelled to Switzerland and start up a business that has grown by leaps and bounds. And that about sums it up."

"Sums what up?" Travis inquired.

"For the life of me I don't know why they sent a retired cop," an older man seemed to complain.

"You and I share that view," Travis said. "But if there's a mission here I fail to see it."

Beth frowned at the older man who complained, then said, "You are to simply talk to Logan and the others about the seriousness of cyberattacks, or as it might be called hacking. The man Gordon is a former Green Beret and doubtless a loyal American. The woman Gin is suspect, of what I don't know. But this business seems to have flourished through some sort of cyber activity of the worst kind. Perhaps criminal, perhaps not.

"But you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, of that I'm sure you're aware. So cozy up to them and get the low down." This drew a riffle of chuckles from the crowd seated around the table.

Travis laughed. "So this is our government in action. Ok, the joke's on us. When do we leave?"

"You two and Chris Coleman here have a night flight to catch. Fly to Paris, take the morning train to Lausanne. Beautiful city. Be there tomorrow afternoon which will be morning here. Try to get some sleep on the plane."

"Come along, Chris," Travis beckoned. "You too Glory, let's get out of here." Trailed by Chris they left the room and found an escort waiting to return them to the Willard, then to Dulles International.

One outside the gate, Chris said, "I have some packing to do. I'll see you both later."

Travis told the escort that he and Glory would walk to the Willard and asked what time they would be picked up to be taken to Dulles.

At the hotel, Travis remarked they had another long wait on their hands and he planned to take a shower, maybe a nap, then see her in the lobby. She thought that might be a good idea. Neither seemed pumped by what might turn out to be a distasteful assignment. They speculated that friend Chris must be a type of cyber expert or else a government spy.

On the elevator, Travis said perhaps they could turn the trip into a fun European vacation at government expense, retrieve a few of their tax dollars. He said his last encounter with Keith was a South Pacific cruise on a hell ship. Glory said she recognized at least one FBI big shot in the crowd around the conference table.

Chris Coleman was not present in the car that took them to Dulles, neither was he there when they picked up their tickets of passed through security. They found their gate and downed a pint of beer at a bar just across the way.

The flight was called and there was still no Chris. Once on board the plane, the outer doors closed and the attendants prepared for takeoff, just an empty seat in a three seat row was all there was of Chris.

"Skullduggery," Glory said in a stage whisper. "Our super-secret mission has been penetrated by the evil ones."

Travis smiled. "Frankly, I'm just as glad. Are drinks free on international flights?"

"I hope so. They so help me sleep."

"I too long for their soothing and calming wiles."

They both managed four to five hours sleep on the plane, suffered through breakfast, bypassed the carousels because both had simple carry-ons, breezed through customs then found Claude Hensley waiting in the area beyond holding a sign that read Glory & Travis.

Of course they didn't recognize him, but he filled them in on his failed mission as he drove them to the train station. "That man Keith actually threatened to have me jailed," he declared.

"A paper tiger," Glory replied.

Then they were clicking along on the iron rails through France and across the border to Lausanne with its beautiful lake.

After checking into a hotel near the station, leaving their bags because the rooms were not ready, they called Keith's apartment. A woman's voice answered.

"Is this Gin?" Glory asked.

"Yes, I am Gin."

"I'm Glory Deconate, I'm here in Lausanne with Langly Travis, both friends of Keith, is he in?"

"Of course asleep."

"It's almost nine."

"We work mainly on American time. Although our schedule varies. Would you like to come over. There's plenty of room to relax."

"Yes, we could catch a cab." She scribbled the address and apartment number. When they arrived, Keith and Gordon were still sleeping, but Gin had made a pot of coffee.

"I'm delighted to meet friends of Keith. I was beginning to think he didn't have any." They were seated at a kitchen table with coffee and the usual condiments.

"We are his friends, both old friends from Asheville. But I am also with the FBI and Travis here is a semi-retired policeman. There was a young FBI agent here before, a man named Claude Hensley, who must have rubbed Keith the wrong way. We're here as friends although we were sent by the government. I might as well tell you, a big concern of the government right now is cybersecurity. You may not know what that is."

"I believe I have heard it mentioned," Gin said. "Please, tell me more."

About that time Keith entered the kitchen, wearing a bathrobe. He paused as if thunderstruck, finally blurting out, "Saints preserve me it's old home week. Where in the hell did you two drop in from."

"They're here to chat about cybersecurity," Gin said.

"Damn right," Keith grinned. "I'm all for it."

Glory rose and embraced him. Travis made do with a warm handshake."

"Thanks for getting us off the _Dai Maru_ ," were the first words Travis spoke.

"No problem. Anything for my friends. Both of you look great. Come to visit our beautiful country, lakes, meadows, Alps?"

"Sent by the White House," Glory said. "Hope you can help us solve a problem."

"Always willing to help my country, expat that I am."

At that point Gordon came into the room which called for introductions and Keith explaining his acquaintance with the two visitors and what they might be seeking.

Gordon appeared puzzled and Gin handed him a cup of coffee.

"Let's all sit down," Keith said. As they adjusted the chairs and clustered around the small table, he added, "I'm a bit puzzled why they would send you two on a mission that seems somewhat technical."

Travis laughed. "They also sent a nerd, or I believe that's his role. Guy named Chris Coleman. He missed our flight in Washington, but I suspect he'll be along directly."

"Just what is it you're after?" Gordon asked.

Travis looked at Glory and she gave him the go-ahead to explain.

"It is cybersecurity, or in a word, hacking. It has come to Washington's notice that you three established a type of stock market enterprise here not long ago and have done remarkably well. Such as you might do with insider information, or such as you might do through hacking. I think that sums it up."

"We're guilty of some illegal act?" Gin questioned.

"Not that I know of," Travis replied. "I think the idea is if you are well versed at hacking you might help your government solve the larger question. It seems there's been a marked increase not only in hacking, but in the sophistication of the art. Incidentally, Gin, the government seems puzzled by your Genesis."

"You mean where did I come from?"

"Of course from Heaven, or Venus, but something more concrete."

She put her hands in the air as if it was obvious and said, "I'm an American, the same as everyone here."

"There seems to be no record of your birth." Glory tossed in.

"I might as well lay that to rest right now. I was born in a taxi on the way to the hospital. The birth seemed successful, so my parents told the driver to return us to the house or rooms where we were staying."

"And no record was made of it?"

"No. My parents weren't what you'd call reliable people. We travelled from place to place picking up work or such. I'm not even certain what city or state was my birthplace. My parents died in a fire. At that time they had placed me with an aunt. The aunt died and a neighbor lady raised me until I was ready to face the world alone."

"What a story," Travis said. "There even seems some doubt over your last name."

"That's because I've used several. But that's been put to rest. My name is Bond, Gin Bond."

"Any special reason to settle on Bond?" Glory questioned.

"There it sits," Gin said, pointing her thumb toward Gordon. "The love of my life and faithful spouse, Gordon Bond."

Travis looked sharply at Gordon and asked, "Were you on that pirate boat?"

"You have sharp eyes. Yes, that's how Keith and I got together."

"I thought so. When I saw your mate tumble into the water, I saw you looking up at us. Quite a little drama, wasn't it?"

"Indeed. The time of my life. Hope you don't harbor any grudges."

"Certainly not. It was the means to our salvation, thanks to kind hearted Keith."

"And no deep seated feelings toward prosecution?"

"Of course not. There's no law on the high seas. At least none that I'm familiar with. Like everyone else, I'm a victim of circumstance."

Keith changed the subject and asked, "You think this young nerd you speak of will be coming along soon?"

"I don't know what could keep him away. He has an assignment. I've never talked to the gentleman, but I assume he's in the cyber game, probably attached to the office of cybersecurity in the White House. Never knew such a thing existed."

Keith mulled Travis' words and said he might just complicate matters. "We might be able to help you, but in an unconventional way that wouldn't appeal to those who go strictly by the book. I feel I can trust you and Glory. Old friends and old dogs and watermelon wine."

"I've heard the song," Glory said, "please continue."

"We have to be ready to divert the nerd. I believe Gordon is capable of such an operation."

"You bet, chief. Diversion, my ace in the hole."

"Then later we can talk about hacking or cyberweapons. I'd like to bring one other person on board. And I will leave that up to Gordon. His mate from far off Chinatown."

"I'm with the program, chief. Ready to multitask." This brought a smile to Gin's face who seemed to admire her toy boy.

"In the meantime, we'll adjourn to our offices and we can show you the ropes and the inner workings of our enterprise, which puts food on the table for ourselves and a growing number of employees. One big happy family, so to speak."

Gordon remained in the apartment when the other were off to Swiss Ink offices. It was the middle of the night in New York, but he didn't mind waking Sim Lee. Rather than giving Sim a lump sum of cash, a bookkeeper had been paying him by the month for services rendered. This was a blessing which gave Gordon a hold over him.

The phone rang repeatedly. Fortunately there was no answering service. A sleepy female Chinese accented voice finally answered which reported that Sim was sleeping. No big surprise to Gordon.

"Please wake him. I'm calling from Switzerland."

"Switzerland," the girl questioned.

"It's not a bar, it's a country in Europe. Now wake your boyfriend up. Tell him it's his friend, Gordon."

Minutes later a sleepy voiced Sim said, "Hey, Gordon, what's up?"

"We need you in Switzerland."

"Huh, that's a laugh. You're drunk aren't you, Gordon?"

"No. Something's come up. We need your expertise."

"My expertise. I'm selling dried fish and bok choy in a market and keeping the girl's happy. What expertise."

"Hong Kong."

"Oh, that. I thought we did well on that one. How did that robot turn out?"

"I'm married to her."

"Holy, Christ, Gordon. You married a robot. You are drunk, aren't you?"

"You could do worse, Sim. Robots have charms. But we need you to fly over here pronto. The best way seems to be to fly to Paris and take the train to Lausanne, a very nice city just inside the Swiss border. You know the name of our company, Swiss Ink, because that's the source of your major income, keeps the girls in champagne."

"What about my job?"

"Screw your job. Where's your money coming from."

A pause, then, "Mostly Swiss Ink. You want me to leave tomorrow?"

"Today. It's probably past midnight."

"Correct. Should I bring a girl for window dressing."

"Come alone. I'm certain you have our address and phone number. And, thanks, good buddy. It'll be a joy and a pleasure to see your smiling face once more."

Sim laughed. "The pleasure is all mine. Things are getting a bit warm around here, if you know what I mean."

They signed off and Gordon guessed Sim meant multiple girl problems, then thought, what that boy needs is a well-constructed robot.

Gordon was about to follow the crowd to Swiss Ink when another call came through, this one from the famous nerd, Chris Coleman who said he had just landed in Paris and was waiting to claim his luggage.

"Thank God you called, Chris. We're in a mess here. If you come here you might be implicated. You know what some foreigners think of Americas."

"What do they think?" Chris questioned.

"Nothing very good, but we know who our enemies are and we know who our friends are."

"What does that mean?" Chris asked.

"We're probably breaking camp here. Our next port of call would be Liechtenstein."

"Is that on the water?"

"No. Far from it. But adjacent to Switzerland. We're going to rally at the Landhaus am Giessen in Vaduz. So that's where you should go and stand by?"

"For Heaven sakes, what does that mean?"

"Are you fluent in German?"

"No. Should I be?"

"No need. Both German and English is spoken at the hotel. The Landhaus am Giessen is a hotel near the center city of Vaduz which is the capitol of Liechtenstein. You can either fly or take a train there. There is no hurry. It might be several days before our party arrives in strength."

"In strength?" Coleman asked.

"All of us. Do you want to write that information down?"

"I'd better." Chris struggled for pen and paper and Gordon spent several minutes spelling out the exact instructions.

In parting, Gordon said, "We are grateful you are here, we can use your expertise."

"What expertise?" Chris asked.

"Aren't you a cyberwhiz."

"No. I'm a male secretary. I'm very fast on dictation. Of course I do have a recorder."

"Of course that's the skill we were thinking of. Enjoy your time at the Landhaus am Giessen. It has Wi-Fi and an indoor pool." Male secretary! Wait'll I tell the others.

That evening over carry-out Chinese, Gordon told of his telephone encounter with Chris.

"Strange," Keith said.

"Very strange," Travis agreed. "But I'm glad he's gone to Liechtenstein. They may have intentionally planted him as a spy. At any rate he would have been a spy when asked to report on our activities which up to now seem quite harmless."

"So far, so good," Keith said, "but maybe the best is yet to come."

"How original," Gin quipped.

Keith gave her a sharp look and continued. "What I mean is we have had a brush with hacking and you might equate that with cybertheft of intellectual property, a crime the U.S. has long accused the Chinese of committing. If it has grown worse recently, and I mean to say more sophisticated, the three of us here, plus a Chinese friend might be able to be of some assistance."

"In what way?" Glory questioned.

"That is the best that is yet to come," Keith said, with a smile toward Gin. Originally we each had a bedroom. Now that Gin and Gordon have tied the knot, one is empty." He looked at Glory and said, "If you and Travis would like to share, you could stay here."

Glory dithered for a moment, then said, "My job might be on the line. People would talk."

"That's always a problem," Keith replied, "Jabberwocky busybodies. Best to get together in the privacy of your hotel."

Travis nodded a tragic nod. "You flatter an old man."

Gordon broke into say, "Our Chinese friend will gladly fill the empty space. He should be here tomorrow. Then we can plot strategy, that is if we think we can accomplish anything."

"Gordon and I will discuss details in the privacy of our bedroom." Gin said. "Helpless female that I am, I might be able to add a thought or two."

"We can all add something to the stew," Keith said, "including our Chinese friend, may God grant him safe passage."

Gin seemed poised to make a caustic remark, but Gordon placed a hand on her wrist and said, "More rice. I have too much."

"Never too much rice," Gin said, taking the white box and digging in with her chopsticks.

Both Travis and Glory plead serious fatigue from their long trip. They had had beer with their take-out, Now Keith handed them a bottle of sherry to take back to their hotel and Gordon accompanied them to the street to see them into a taxi.

When they were gone, Keith asked Gin, "Do you think the Hong Kong people are to blame for the stepped up cyber activity?"

"I'd guess, yes. I will do a bit of cyber activity myself tonight. It shouldn't be too tough to get at least a few facts - you know, one robot to another."

Sim Lee did arrive the following day as advertised and had stowed his meagre gear in the spare room and was on board when the crowd gathered for two large tubs of KFC chicken and ample fries along with an assortment of beer and two open bottles of pinot grigio.

"On balance, this is the finest vacation I've ever had," Travis said.

"Better than your South Pacific cruise?" Keith asked.

"That was a delight, but there were certain negatives. But we did sign up Gordon and Sim, so who's to judge."

"Judge not," Glory tossed in.

"Cybersecurity, cyberweapons, hacking, that general field seems to be out main focus," Keith said seriously.

"And robots," Sim said. Gin gave him a sharp look as if to say if you intend to out me you will regret for the remainder of your miserable life. But he was quite aware of the situation. "They have come to the fore in the States recently as they pertain to farming, a rather mundane topic, but without it we couldn't exist."

"Farmer Brown robots?" Gin questioned.

"Exactly. Immigration is also involved. Georgia cracked down on illegals and crops rotted in the fields for lack of pickers. So, strides had already been made in robot field hands, but they had clumsy fingers which often destroyed the very crops they were attempting to pick. So a light touch is the answer."

"So, robots will replace migrants?"

"Someday, maybe. Also, sometimes migrants would show up in quantity, sometimes they would go elsewhere. Unreliable migrants. Bad on them. You know there's an international federation of robotics which predicts maybe 25,000 farm robots are being sold annually."

"Sim, you seem to have a handle on the robotic world which seems odd for a person who lives in New York's Chinatown," Glory said.

"I do. It's a hangover from my Hong Kong days which I think is why I was invited here. Gordon, Keith and Gin are my people and I'm here to help."

"We haven't been fully briefed on what to expect," Travis said. "Glory and I are a couple of local yokels sent here because the FBI agent from Paris was rebuffed and is now cowering under the Eiffel Tower."

"I can clear the water," Keith said. "Our research indicates the slight step up in the cyber antics, or cyber wars, whatever, may be the result of advanced experimentation taking place in Hong Kong, or more to the point Kowloon. Hong Kong is China, but really not China, so there's more freedom of movement and more opportunity for dealing with certain matters.

"Earlier this morning I had a lengthy discussion with Gordon and Gin on the topic and we together, all of us, with a little help from our friends, have the opportunity to take out that entire operation with luck."

"We're going to Hong Kong?" Glory asked.

"Yes, we must, and quickly. Glory, you have a large role in this operation. Through secure channels you must recruit the aid of the CIA and the U.S. Navy and do it with alacrity. No hemming and hawing."

"Sounds simple enough, if I were President."

"With the faith of a mustard seed, you can move mountains. Or, so I'm told. As I said, I've talked this over with Gordon and Gin and we have come up with a plan. We will leave tonight for Hong Kong. I've booked air passage plus rooms in the Peninsula hotel in Kowloon."

"My old stamping ground," Sim said.

"We're all going?" Glory asked.

"Yes, all of us," Keith said. "And you, Glory have a busy day ahead of you. It's deep night in the States, but you must roust out the White House staff of the cybersecurity office and proceed from there. Thank God you're a veteran of the FBI wars."

"I'm in on this up to my eye teeth and I hope I still have a job when I return to Asheville."

"Not to worry," Gin said, "Travis will take care of you."

"He already has two girlfriends. Three's a crowd."

"You know about them?" a surprised Travis questioned.

"Doesn't everybody?"

"Holy catfish. I've always lived a quiet contemplative life, much like a cloistered monk. I live in a single room, sometimes I think of it as a cell."

"Are you Catholic?" Gin questioned.

"No."

Glory hesitated only momentarily, then plunged right in. Working through the White House she was able to get the full cooperation of the Navy and the CIA. Without the backing of the White House she might as well been howling at the moon.

The flight took them over the top of the world to the airport in Kowloon. They boarded the train which took them near the city center, then a short cab ride (or two cabs) to the Peninsula Hotel, a hotel famous for a live string quartet on a balcony overlooking the dinner hour.

Once again they entered a radically different time zone and sought to heal their tired bodies. Keith, Gordon and Gin shared a suite where they enjoyed room service and played the market when they were once again feeling human. Sim had a simple room and bounced around town visiting old friends.

Travis and Glory shared a suite. The former spent time watching CNN, while Glory spent serious time in her room with a secure cell phone coordinating the larger picture. Hong Kong is an island and Kowloon almost qualifies, so there is plenty of water. The harbor is deep and perfect for commerce as opposed to nearby Macau which was ideal during the days of sail, but has problems with deeper draft vessels.

The Navy was positioning a submarine in order to send small boats ashore and pickup whatever became available. The CIA in its mysterious way would hopefully provide major explosive devices and fire bombs.

After sweeping their suite for listening devices and finding none, Keith called a meeting of the entire group with three kinds of pizza and a case of beer.

"We find the highly advanced robot works here, actually quite nearby, has five operational extremely sophisticate robots that can hardly be differentiated from their human counterparts, if that makes sense. I'm certain you understand. Three are female and two are oriented as males. A sixth male is nearing completion which gives us cause to act very soon.

"When that one is finished the plan is to ship them off to Beijing, which would give the Chinese a terrific leg up the in the cyberwars. They have nothing to even approach these models in sophistication."

"What can they do that others can't do?" Glory asked.

"They can think. All the knowledge of the world is accumulated on their internal computers. It will take them some time to get acclimatized," Gin said, "but when they do, watch out."

"I mentioned the great advances in rural America," Sim tossed in. "Dairy farmers no longer milk cows. With robotic assistance, cows milk themselves. To me that's an amazing thought. Compare that to most of China and Eastern Europe."

"I'm impressed," Travis said. "I assume we're going to steal these robots and whisk them off somewhere."

Keith shared a grin with Gin and Gordon. "That's exactly the plan, plus the total destruction of the facility. We will set back the advance of robotics in China by a full decade and at the same time advancing our advance by the same measure, if that makes sense."

"Perfect logic," Travis said. "You might add 'or die trying' which would seem to follow."

"In any war there are casualties and this amounts to combat with forces arrayed against us. But we have the element of surprise," Gordon said. "No one anticipates a small but dedicated army deployed from the Peninsula Hotel."

"That's a stone cold fact," Sim agreed.

"What I've been doing in my room all those hours, Travis, you might think I was primping, but I was almost continuously on the phone with the White House, the CIA or the Navy," Glory explained. "This is a dicey business, but we do have the best support America can offer."

"How about drones?" Travis asked.

"No drones," Keith said. "Let's finish up the pizza before it gets cold and the beer before it gets warm."

"Incidentally," Gordon said, "so you will all know. The robots are activated and deactivated by a remote, similar to TV remotes."

So they turned to their pizza and beer, just like home, except they were in China planning to burglarize and blowup a very sophisticated industry possibly very carefully guarded. Their thoughts were their own, but for the most part they relished the opportunity. If nothing else, their mundane lives would go out with a bang, a big bang.

The night they set out on their mission was moonless. They hadn't planned it that way, it just happened. The moon was doubtless somewhere else because the sky was clear. Perhaps Europe or South America or somewhere else was splashed with romantic moonlight.

Sim had learned that two guards were assigned to their objective at night on twelve-hour shifts, from 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. Sim and Gordon had been in mild argument for two days as to what to do with them. Not able to reach a satisfactory conclusion they had decided to kill them.

But they didn't want blood spilling everywhere as always happens with cut throats. They had decided on short, fairly thin cords for strangling, ideally approaching each from behind. If that was impossible they had short lengths of pipe so as to knock them senseless while being strangled.

With most angles checked and double checked and with a U.S. submarine submerged not far off land and crews standing by to man small boats for evacuation, the pilgrim warriors as they called themselves, walked a couple of blocks from the hotel not long after two a.m. and crowded into a waiting minivan, quite a large minivan actually with room in the rear for explosives, cans of gasoline and firebombs, all bets were covered.

Gordon and Sim hopped out near the objective and the vehicle, with a pair of CIA operatives in the front seat continued on to wait the call.

The outer gate was locked with a heavy chain and padlock. Gordon carried the heavy bolt cutters which parted the chain and the two entered the grounds, only to be hailed by a guard.

"Halt you two," he ordered. In the dim like they could see the glint of an automatic weapon.

Sim recognized the voice and said in a stage whisper, "It's Sim Lee. It's OK."

"Sim, what are you doing here. I could have shot you."

"Me and my friend here, we're scoping out the place. Being paid big money by the boys in Beijing."

"We're in with Beijing," the guard said. "Don't they trust us?"

Gordon stood by in wonder. They were speaking Chinese and he didn't understand a word of it.

"Nobody trusts anybody. How much they paying you here?"

"Not much. Not nearly enough. Twelve hour shifts and we're suppose to stay awake. Shit."

"There's another guard?"

"Yeah, my brother. I think you met him once. Where you been. Long time no see."

"Chinatown, New York City. It is a great place and there's plenty of work."

"Sounds like a dream. I'll never get out of this dump. They're making some kind of fucking robots."

"I know. I can get you to Chinatown if you don't mind leaving tonight. Your brother too. But just the two of you."

"No shit, Sim. I've got a girlfriend, but she has other friends. My brothers got a wife ​he'd just as soon ditch. But we'd need passports."

"All taken care of thanks to Uncle Sam, you know the foreign devil."

"Bet your ass. Let me call my brother."

In just minutes the four of them were conferring in English. The brothers thought blowing the place up was the neatest idea yet. They could pretend to be incinerated with the robots and everything else.

Gordon made his phone call and the mini bus returned and wheeled through the gate. Sim introduced everyone to everyone and with two extra hands to help load the six robots, one not quite operational, aboard the bus, and the CIA crew planting their bombs, gasoline and fire devices, they were ready to pull out minutes before four a.m.

Glory used her phone to signal the sub to send the small boats ashore. They crowded into the bus, piled on one another, and set off for an isolated spot along the shore.

"Speaking of sardines," Glory said.

"At least the robots are asleep," Gordon said. "Gin, do you have the remote."

"Of course," she answered from somewhere under the pile.

"Do they all know their names?" Travis asked. He had jammed in the front seat with the CIA crew.

"I believe so," Gin replied. She had spent some time naming them, using the ABCs. Amy, Barbara and Carol for the girls, and Adam, Bobby and Chad for the boys. Chad was the work in progress.

About this time as they rumbled slowly through the dark night, they heard a series of muffled explosions far behind them. A minute later the distant sky was illuminated with flaring red and yellow flames.

"Well that worked," Gordon said.

The two guards giggled and poked one another. "There go our lives," one said in Chinese, which brought on more hilarious laughter from the two. They had complete faith in Sim Lee and he would not let them down.

The CIA boys had visited the landing spot a couple of times and they arrived in minutes, Kowloon being large, but not that large. The first small boat was already ashore.

The bus pulled as close to the shore as possible and the CIA called out the proper recognition signal, which was "Tally Ho."

Everyone had a good laugh that the adventure was like a walk in the park.

Gin used the clicker to activate the five complete robots who stood and looked around in wonder. "I'm Gin," she addressed the five. "There's no time for lengthy explanation now, but you do know your names."

"Of course," Amy replied. "We're not stupid."

"Of course you're not." Gin said, detecting a slight attitude problem. "Amy, you and Barbara stay with the bus. "We're taking you with us back to Switzerland. Carol, Adam and Bobby, you take Chad and get into the first boat and tell them to shove off back to the submarine.

"You two guards along with Travis and Glory, get in the second boat and back to the U-boat as quickly as possible. We'll take care of everything else here. Now go."

When they were gone, Gin turned to Sim and said, "You can go with us or maybe with the two brothers back to Chinatown. In fact, Chinatown is your best bet. You can always join us later. Ok. All boats away." Gordon and Sim shook hands, then the Chinaman was gone, jogging toward the shore.

They waited until the boats were safely away and assumed the sub had stood out to sea and gone under. The CIA operatives had stood quietly by the entire time.

Keith was the first to speak. "I like your style, Gin. No nonsense. If Gordon hadn't married you, I'd be next in line."

She laughed and remarked, "If I'm ever looking for an old man..." her voice trailed off. "By the way, Amy, we have a real live human mate for you. He's waiting in the Landhaus am Giessen in Vaduz, Liechtenstein."

- THE END -
