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The Bronze Saga #5: BRONZE BATTLEFIELD
The Bronze Saga #5
BRONZE BATTLEFIELD
A Doc Savage Novel by Mark and Karen Eidemiller
If you wish, you may share this story freely. All we ask is that the text is not modified in any way, shape,
or form.
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Matthew 19:14 Jesus said, "Let the little children come unto me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom
of heaven belongs to such as these."
Matthew 18:6 But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for
him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.
John 15:12-14 My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than
this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command.
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Excerpt, ENCYLOPEDIA AMERICANA, Online Millennium Edition:
SAVAGE, Clark, Junior. Born 1901, died?. In the early 1930's and 1940's, Clark Jr. ("Doc") Savage was
thought to be an adventurer and crime fighter. However, because of the EDWARD R. MURROW expose
into the so-called "Crime College" (see video, 'See It Now: TARNISHED BRONZE') and subsequent
investigations (Senator ESTES KEFAUER in 1951, Senator RICHARD M. NIXON in 1952), the picture
of the "Man of Bronze" became a major event in the battle for CIVIL RIGHTS in America. Savage was
never brought to trial, but his holdings were liquidated by court order for compensation to the Crime
College's victims. Rumors abound - especially in the tabloids - that Savage is still alive and in exile, but
no proof of this has yet been found.
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CAST OF CHARACTERS
THE ORIGINAL TEAM
Clark "Doc" Savage, Jr. (aka Clark Robeson Dent)
In 1950, following the events in "Up From Earth's Center," he returned to the caverns of Maine – alone,
unarmed, and in secret – in a determined attempt to recapture the mysterious villain Wail. Instead, he was
caught off-guard, rendered unconscious, and placed into suspended animation by an enemy (for more
details, read Epilogue, "Bronze Refined as Silver"). Awakened fifty years later and finding himself in
Oregon, he wandered into a downtown rescue mission, heard the message of salvation preached by Perry
Liston and received Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior.
Taken in by Liston's church, he faced the harsh reality of the world recognizing Doc Savage as a criminal.
Adopting the identity of 'Clark Robeson Dent', he and Liston traveled the United States to reconcile with
the surviving members of his team.
He now fights the source of evil as a traveling evangelist, sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ to the lost.
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Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett "Monk" Mayfair
Monk tried desperately to keep fighting crime during and after the Senate hearings. However, after
several major events changed his life – his marriage to his 'favorite secretary' Lea Aster, the birth of his
daughter Caroline, and the shocking suicide of his old friend and sparring partner Ham – he turned his
back on his old life of crimefighting and adventuring, and withdrew to a lakefront house near Tulsa,
Oklahoma, where he remained in isolation until located by Clark and Perry. Shortly after, Clark was able
to lead him to know God's peace.
Several years prior to that, convinced that Doc would one day return, Monk had purchased the land on
which the Crime College stood. Later, he, Renny, and Johnny devised a plan that would eventually
become the Clark Savage Institute.
Brigadier General Theodore Marley "Ham" Brooks
Ham was unable to keep the everyday activities and responsibilities of the Savage holdings following the
Senate hearings. The resulting stress, compounded by his disbarment from legal practice and a growing
alcohol abuse problem, prompted his suicide in 1953.
Ham's wife Dorothy, unable to cope with the loss, abandoned their infant son Donald with Monk and Lea
Mayfair, and disappeared.
Ivan (John) "Renny" Renwick
In 1989, everyone believed that Renny had been killed in the collapse of the Interstate 880 freeway during
the Loma Prieta earthquake. He had, however, barely escaped. But his own desire for the adventure of the
past caused him to perpetuate the lie and therefore become a fugitive. He ended up in Romania, where he
found a reason to settle down and get married. Later, Renny (now Ivan) and wife Amanda returned to the
United States, and are now living on their farm in Oberlin, Kansas.
Since Clark's return, both he and Amanda have become Christians, and Renny has played a major part in
the design and construction of the Clark Savage Institute.
William Harper "Johnny" Littlejohn
Breaking from the team during the Senate hearings, he continued his love of archaeology and participated
in several digs around the world, accepting a professorship in a small California university, and becoming
the head of the Archaeology Department at Drake College in Vermont. He has since moved to the Clark
Savage Institute where he is Dean of the Archaeology Department.
Thomas "Long Tom" Roberts
In the 1960's, technology authored by Long Tom was sold to governments allied to the United States who
later became enemies. That technology ended up being used in weaponry during the Vietnam War,
causing great loss of life and property. While on a fact-finding mission through a village decimated by
this weaponry, Long Tom discovered the connection. Stunned and horrified at the revelation, he
accidentally triggered a booby trap that destroyed his legs and hospitalized him.
While guilt pushed him towards taking his own life, he was drawn to the cries of a little girl also in the
hospital, the only survivor of that same village. Compassion towards the girl gave him a new reason to
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live. He later adopted the girl and raised her as if she were his own daughter. They settled in Lincoln City,
Oregon, and spent many years in anonymity before being reunited with Doc.
Shortly after, however, he suffered a heart attack that eventually cost him his life. On his deathbed,
though, he was able to clear his conscience of the truth behind the loss of his legs, and, with Clark's help,
was finally able to know peace with God before the end.
Patricia "Pat" Savage
Clark's cousin and only living relative. In light of events chronicled in "Bronze Refined as Silver" and
"More Precious Than Gold", she turned her life from one of selfish goals to selfless goals. She is currently
developing her island home into a refuge and home for children who have been abandoned or orphaned.
THE NEW TEAM
Perry Liston
A former street preacher from Portland, Oregon, he found his life tied into Clark's. Now, as his friend and
companion, he shares the task of evangelism with Second Chances Ministry.
Dorothy ("Dot") Liston
Granddaughter of Monk Mayfair and Ham Brooks, wife of Perry Liston. Prompted to accompany Clark
and Perry in the reconciliation of Clark's past, she eventually married Perry and is the third partner of
Second Chances Ministry. Became a Christian through Perry in "Bronze Refined as Silver".
Bonnie Clayton
Former mercenary and member of Jill Woodward's APEX group, she encountered Clark and Perry in
"More Precious Than Gold". She is now the Chief of Security for Caroline Island. Became a Christian
through Clark in "Bronze Avengers".
Clark "Gumball" Mayfair
Firstborn son of Monk and Lea Mayfair. Freelance pilot. First worked with Clark and Perry by rescuing
them from Pat Savage in "Bronze Refined As Silver." Has worked with them on several occasions, mostly
as a pilot. Became a Christian through Monk in "The Abduction of Amy Roberts".
Amy Mayfair
Adopted daughter of Long Tom Roberts, wife of Clark "Gumball" Mayfair. She was at her father's
bedside when he accepted Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, and made the same decision soon after. What
began as a big brother-little sister relationship with Gumball blossomed into a romantic involvement.
They married and now live in her family's home in Lincoln City, Oregon, where she carries on her father's
electronics research.
THE FAMILIES
Lea Mayfair
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The former Lea Aster, now wife of Monk Mayfair. She and Monk have five children - Carrie, Clark,
Hamilton, Mark, and Deborah - and eleven grandchildren.
Amanda Renwick
Romanian-born wife of Renny Renwick; she is hearing-impaired. They have no children.
THE ALLIES
Douglas Martin
Grandson of the founder of Ham Brooks' law firm, he was befriended and personally mentored by Ham.
He worked for several years within the Intelligence community (where he still has strong ties) and
eventually returned to his grandfather's firm, where he is currently the senior partner. He met Clark
through a mysterious trunk left in their care prior to Ham's death (see "Bronze Refined as Silver"), and
now he is the main legal arm for Clark and Perry, as well as being the first one called in when a situation
requires "special" talents.
Mitchell "Mitch" Drake
Director of a covert organization that has helped Clark and crew over the years. He was introduced to
Clark and Perry through Douglas Martin.
Caroline "Carrie" Brooks
The illegitimate daughter of Monk Mayfair and Patricia Savage, she was adopted and raised by Monk and
Lea Mayfair. Years later, Carrie married her long-time friend Donald Brooks, son of Ham Brooks, and
she gave birth to a daughter, Dorothy ("Dot"). In 1975, Donald Brooks was killed in an automobile
accident involving a drunk driver, eventually prompting Carrie to seek a career in substance abuse
rehabilitation. She is currently Administrator of the Serenity Drug and Alcohol Freedom Center (aka
'Serenity Center') in New York City, and a board member of the Clark Savage Institute.
Jillian Woodward
A former employee of Patricia Inc., she harshly disagreed with harmful business practices of the
company, and so formed the 'terrorist' group APEX that targeted exploiters of women. She and Pat were
adversaries until they realized they had both been used by the same man (see "More Precious Than
Gold"). Woodward was taken in by Mitchell Drake's organization and given a new identity.
Jack Heady
A close friend and church brother of Perry Liston, he helped Clark become accustomed to modern life
during his first months after coming out of hibernation. He currently operates a ministry house in
Portland, Oregon, and is spearheading efforts to establish ministry houses across the United States.
Christine Snow
Turned into a paraplegic by a terrorist bomb and forced to retire from Government service, she was
recommended by Mitchell Drake to become the executive secretary for Second Chances Ministries. She
lives in The Office, a high-tech house in an undisclosed location, the focal point of the organization's
activities.
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Karleen Bush
Once the Media Liaison for the Clark Savage Institute, she now heads her own media relations
organization.
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PROLOGUE: 3 1/2 years earlier
"You're fired."
That was the last thing Daniel Franklin remembered before waking up in the Valley of the Vanished.
He was still a little groggy, as he felt his chest where he had been hit by bullets from the two pistols. Then
he sat bolt upright on the bed, realizing that they had duped him. They hadn't shot him with live
ammunition, but with some sort of tranquilizer dart.
He was grateful to be alive, but ... where was he?
He looked around his surroundings, realizing he wasn't on Caroline Island any longer. His first impression
of the house was that it reminded him of the set of an old Tarzan movie. "Well, Toto, I don't think we're
in Kansas anymore," he quoted sarcastically to himself.
Upon examination, the decorations looked remotely Mexican ... Aztec, maybe?
He arrived at the conclusion that he has been taken - kidnapped - to that place where Pat went. He was in
the Valley of the Vanished.
Just then someone came in. He looked as if he went with the house; his clothing was of a similar design.
He also looked strong enough to best Franklin two out of three falls if he wanted to.
"You are awake," the man said in halting English.
"Good guess, Tonto," Franklin replied sarcastically. The man looked at him with a puzzled expression; he
didn't recognize the reference.
"Where am I?" he asked the native.
"You are in my house," he replied simply.
He continued questioning. "Yes, but where am I? What is this place?"
"You are in the Valley of the Vanished."
Well, that confirms that, he thought to himself. "I want to leave."
"I will take you to the king."
"Okay, that's interesting," he thought, standing and straightening his clothing, which he now realized
matched the native's. "Let's go."
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The first thing that hit Franklin once they got outside was the silence. He was used to a degree of
quietness being on Caroline Island, but this was way beyond that. It was like he was in the middle of
nowhere. The buildings reminded him again of Mexico. Then he saw the shining pyramid in the distance
and froze in his tracks.
"Is that ... gold?" he blurted.
"Of course it is," the native replied nonchalantly. "It is our sacred pyramid." And he continued walking.
After a few minutes they arrived at a structure which the native called the Hall of Justice. They came
through a large door at one end, and walked between two rows of pillars. On either side, against the walls
beyond the pillars, were stone bleachers. They moved off to one side, and sat. Franklin shook his head
with unbelief. It was true ... all of it. All of what Pat had told him about this place was true. He had
discounted much of it as the ravings of a drunken woman, but he couldn't discount what his eyes beheld.
After several minutes, two well-dressed natives entered with bell-like objects, stood before the throne,
and simultaneous struck them. The clang echoed throughout the hall.
Then another man entered from one of two doors on either side of the throne. He was clothed in royal
attire, and walked over to a golden throne. Without hesitation, he climbed up the three steps and settled
into the chair. He took up a golden rod; it must've weighed quite a bit, but the man lifted it as if it were a
butter knife.
"Daniel Franklin," he said coldly, yet in perfect English.
The native placed a hand under Franklin's elbow, and the two men stood and walked before the throne.
Then the native backed away, and Franklin stood alone. The man on the throne looked at him with
distain.
"I am King Mordecai," he identified himself after a few moments. "I rule this land."
His statement didn't impress Franklin. "That's nice. I've been brought here against my will, and I wish to
be returned to my place of origin."
There was no immediate response. The king just sat there, looking at him.
"Well?" Franklin asked impatiently.
The king stood and leveled the rod at him; his voice was cold. "Daniel Franklin. You contain the disease
of hatred and murder, and you are being quarantined here within this Valley until such a time as you are
free of this disease."
Then he sat.
"NO, you can't!" Franklin exploded, his voice echoing. "You CAN'T hold me here! I am a FREE citizen
of the United States of America! This is a violation of my civil rights, and I demand to see a lawyer
NOW!"
Mordecai wasn't fazed by Franklin's tantrum. In an even tone, he countered, "In the Valley of the
Vanished, I am the law here! The rights you have are what I give you! Until you prove to me that you are
no longer a threat to this Valley, you will remain here!"
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Franklin continued to yell. "NO! You have no right to hold me here!"
He took a step towards the throne, and two natives with long knives and mean looks suddenly appeared
between them. Franklin stopped his advance and backed up to where he had stood before. The two armed
natives lowered their weapons but didn't move.
The king gestured to the other native, who quickly came to his side. "Yes, my King!"
The king spoke to him in an unknown tongue. "Benjamin, are you certain you wish to house this ...
evildoer?"
"Yes, my King!" he replied in the same tongue.
"Very well." He gestured, and the guards parted. "Daniel Franklin," he addressed in English. "You will
now be returned to the house of Benjamin, the man who brought you here. If you behave respectfully, it
will go well for you here."
"And if I refuse?" he challenged.
The king smiled thinly. "Then I will personally introduce you to the Island of Shame."
Franklin didn't respond. Just the look on the king's face was enough to intimidate him to silence.
"Leave," ordered the king, and Benjamin took Franklin's elbow. The black man tried to resist, but the
Mayan's grip was strong. He gave in to it, and they headed out the way they came. Okay, you win for
now, he thought, looking back to give the king a dirty look. But I will not give up.
As soon as I can escape from here, he vowed to himself, I will. And nothing will stop me.
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CHAPTER ONE: The present
You never know what God has in mind until you get there.
Ever since finding out that Dot and I couldn't have children, family has meant so much more to me.
Especially the one that originated in a simple rescue mission, offering a bronze giant with a burden on his
back God's gift of freedom.
I introduced the giant to the family of God; and he, in turn, introduced me to his family.
And reality hasn't been the same since.
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Many RV'ers like us, who are on the road for months at a stretch, usually have a central address where
their mail can be sent - oftentimes it can be the home of a friend or relative, who's authorized to screen the
mail, separate the junk from the non-junk, routine from important, and who can let the RV'er know what
the urgent stuff is while they're still on the road. And when the RV'er is in the area, they can stop by in
person and collect what they've received.
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Our home-away-from-home, remote mailbox and screening service, was the home of "Gumball" and
Amy Mayfair, overlooking the beach in Lincoln City, over on the beautiful Oregon Coast.
Our RV, nicknamed Nomad, was parked alongside their house. Two years ago, just before they got
married, they had constructed a special concrete slab with hookups for utilities, to accommodate Clark's
semi-trailer Goliath and us during our special visits. This time, however, we were traveling alone.
It was another lazy morning. Gumball had gone into town, and Amy and Dot were in the kitchen. Our
mail had filled a tall ten-gallon storage container, and I was slowly working my way down. They hadn't
been as good at sorting out the junk from the rest; so far, I had counted twenty-six credit card applications
and an even thirty AOL CDs.
But then I spotted a lump in the middle of the pile, and my curiosity peaked. Digging to retrieve it, it was
a box about the size of a recipe container. Addressed to me, it had a New York City postmark. I quickly
tore through the paper. Inside the cardboard box was a smaller box, and a letter with my name on it.
Setting the storage container and the smaller box aside for the moment, I read the letter.
Mr. Liston.
We regret to inform you of the passing of your uncle, Perry Patrick Liston, who passed away in his sleep
at his home on April 3rd of this year.
Under the conditions of his will, he designated that you receive the following: One (1) ring box, sealed by
Mr. Liston prior to entrusting us with it, and a monetary gift in the amount of $2,600.00. The ring box,
and a cashier's check in the amount of the gift are enclosed.
Our firm had worked with Mr. Liston for a number of years, and we are saddened at his passing. Our
condolences go out to you. If you have any questions, or need to contact us for anything, our phone
number and address are on the letterhead.
Sincerely Yours,
Graham H. Hill
Frisco, Hill, and Iverson
Attorneys-at-Law
New York City, New York
My chest felt heavy as I lowered the letter.
I had been named after my uncle, and I remembered the times spent with him with fondness. Uncle Perry
had been a newspaperman in New York many, many years ago, with several blockbuster stories credited
to his byline of Matchless. During the 1960's, he had been in Communist China, and ended up spending
some time as a prisoner of the Red Chinese Army. How he ended up escaping had been a mystery, and
Uncle Perry's recollections seemed to be more fantasy than reality. I remembered sitting next to him on
the porch of his house as he told the story of his capture, torture, and amazing escape using a ring that
been given him by an old Chinese gentleman, and enabled him to become, of all things, invisible. I
chuckled. Such a wild story had to be an unfortunate combination of an overactive imagination and old
age.
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I separated the check from the letter, glanced at it for a moment, then set it aside as I looked at the box.
Underneath the wrapping was the ring box, sealed with a heavy film of wax around the seam. I used my
thumbnail to break the seal, and opened the box. Inside the lid was a folded note, and the ring I had
remembered. It was a good-sized band, with a black stone. Odd, I thought, the stone's a hematite, or a
black diamond ... the same name we'd given to Goliath's 'tow car'. I unfolded the note. It was handwritten,
in Uncle Perry's handwriting, and was addressed to me.
"How long ...?" I muttered under my breath as I read the note. It was strange, cryptic. It didn't make sense.
I set the note aside and slowly pulled the ring away from the backing. I held it up to the light, and rubbed
my thumb over the stone. Then I slipped it onto my right ring finger. As I flexed my hand, it struck me as
odd that the ring fit as well as it did ... almost as if it had been made for me.
"Lunch!" called Dot from the kitchen.
I put the papers from the package on top of the other papers in the box, and got up from the couch.
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Later, Dot and I donned swimsuits and ventured down to the beach with a Frisbee. There weren't many
people down there, and we were enjoying ourselves when I lunged for the Frisbee and fell sideways, the
back of my hand striking a piece of driftwood in the sand. I didn't think anything of it, but got back up
and tossed the disc back.
I was running towards Dot when she suddenly got a strange look on her face. "Honey! Where are you?"
she called.
"Right here," I replied, waving my arms and continuing to jog in her direction.
We weren't more than a dozen yards apart, yet she called out again for me. "I can hear you, but I can't see
you!"
All of a sudden she froze, her expression turning from shock to fear, and started to backpedal away from
me. As I moved closer, she moved farther away, then stumbled and fell onto her backside in the sand.
"Are you okay, hon?" I said, closing the distance.
She hesitated, then muttered, "I think I should be the one asking that."
I looked at her strangely. "What do you mean by that?"
"Hon ... do you feel ... different in any way?" she asked, hesitatingly.
"No. Why should I?"
"Look at your hands."
"Why should I look at my --" I moved my hands in front of my face; they weren't there. "-- ahhhhhhh!"
"Now you know what I'm talking about," Dot said.
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"I'm ... I'm invisible!" I gasped.
She started reaching up to me. I reached out to her and touched her hand. It wrapped around mine, but I
could only see hers.
"I can feel your hand," she said, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's ... it's okay. Do you feel sick or
anything?"
I was breathing rapidly, but took a moment to check myself out. "No ... I don't think so."
"Let's go back up to Gumball and Amy's," she suggested.
"Okay," I went along, trying to take things in stride.
She got to her feet. We had only taken a couple of steps when Dot stopped. "Perry, I hate to say this, but
... you've got to take off your trunks."
"What?"
"It's the only part of you that's still visible. And it would look strange to see me walking up the beach with
a pair of swim trunks minus a body. Take 'em off."
It was crazy, but it made sense. My mind flashed back to old movies and TV shows, and special effects
that portrayed invisibility. But this wasn't a movie or a TV show, and I was no actor. As I lowered the
trunks I made sure that I was invisible under them; I was.
"Okay." I started to slip out of them. "This feels really weird, but ... here."
Dot took them out of mid-air and held them with the Frisbee. She looked around us; thankfully, no one
else had noticed my 'condition'.
"Give me your hand," Dot instructed, then changed her mind. "No. Better. Put your hand on my elbow ...
yeah, just like that. Okay, let's go."
It was embarrassing, realizing that I was naked on this public beach, and confusing realizing that nobody
but the two of us knew that fact.
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I was still invisible when we reached Gumball and Amy's, but Dot and I had had a chance to talk once we
were sure we weren't being overheard. I was calmer than I had been, and we were both certain that my
condition wasn't permanent.
Dot broke the news to Amy while I remained silent. Then at the appropriate time, I spoke and revealed
my presence to her. I reached out my arms for her to touch, and she was amazed.
Dot handed me my trunks. "Here. Wouldn't be proper if you suddenly became visible, would it?"
"No, it wouldn't." The trunks floated in the air for a moment, then I filled them.
"Wild," commented Amy, wide-eyed. "Sit down. Let me check you out."
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I sat down on the couch as she went into the other room. Then she returned with a small bag. She took my
temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. "Normal, all of it," she concluded. "You're fine, except for the fact
that you're invisible."
Suddenly the door opened. "Honey, I'm home," said Gumball.
"This'll be good," I mumbled.
He dropped off his jacket, and said hi to Dot. He went into the kitchen; we heard him getting a glass of
water from the sink, and drinking from it. "Hey, where's Perry?" he asked.
"I'm right here," I replied.
He poked his head out, and looked in the direction of my empty swim trunks. "Oh, there you are; I didn't
see you," he commented as he ducked back into the kitchen. A moment later we heard the glass fall to the
floor with a watery clunk.
"Thank God we have plastic glasses," commented Amy with a grin.
A moment later, Gumball bolted out of the kitchen. "Perry? What th--?"
"It's okay," said Dot. "He's there. Somehow he's become invisible."
"Perry, bud, you okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, fine. I don't have a clue how it happened, or how long it's going to last, though."
"Whoa, bizarre!" He plopped down on an opposing couch. "Of course, when you think about it, this
shouldn't really be a surprise. After all, look at our collective backgrounds. This is the Doc Savage
universe; weird is part of our job descriptions."
I nodded to myself and grinned. He was right. "Good point," I said.
"So what do we do, just wait until you become visible again?"
"Guess so."
"I wonder," asked Gumball. "If you drink liquids, do they become invisible inside of you? Hang on a
sec."
He went into the kitchen, then returned with a glass of milk. "Here."
I took the glass. Even to me it looked strange as it hovered in mid-air, then tilted and the liquid vanished
inside of me. I finished it and burped appreciatively. I handed it back. "Thanks."
After a few minutes, I suddenly felt another urge. I stood. "Be right back. Have to go to the bathroom."
"Can I watch?" asked Gumball.
"No!"
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"Just curious," he replied, sheepishly. "The scientific mind wonders."
"I'll let you know what happens," I replied indignantly. "Meanwhile, I'm locking the door."
When I returned, I reported, "It became visible. Satisfied?"
Gumball was too embarrassed to answer.
I sat back down on the couch. "Y'know, it's as if there's an aura around my body that keeps anything
within my skin from being seen. Strange, though ... my trunks are visible, but my rings aren't."
"Rings?" asked Dot.
"Yeah. My wedding ring, and the --" I froze. "Omigod! He did it! He actually did it! They weren't just tall
tales; they were fact!"
Everybody else was leaning in towards me. "Who did what?" asked Dot.
"My uncle! He was actually able to become invisible!"
"What are you talking about?" asked Gumball.
I explained about receiving the package from New York, and the ring bequeathed to me from my Uncle
Perry. Then I summarized Uncle Perry's life, and the stories he had told me.
"But they weren't just tall tales. They actually happened! I must've triggered the ring somehow when we
were tossing the Frisbee around." I suddenly realized something. "Hey, how long have I been invisible?"
Dot said, "I don't know ... maybe an hour, maybe less."
"If my uncle was right, I should become visible any minute now."
"Wait!" exclaimed Amy, rushing off. "Before you do that, lemme get my camcorder!"
"I don't think I have a voice in the matter, so hurry!" I replied.
She quickly changed to a fresh tape and trained it on me while Gumball set up the tripod and power
adaptor.
I became visible within five minutes. It happened so quickly that if you blinked, you missed it.
After the initial shock, Amy quickly checked out my vital signs again, concluding that I had not suffered
unduly from my experience.
"How do you feel?" asked Dot.
"Fine," I said hesitatingly. "If I would've had my eyes closed at the time, I wouldn't have known the
difference. It was as if one second I wasn't there, and the next I was. Poof!"
"Okay, so explain," said Gumball. "You're telling me that ring of your uncle's made you invisible?"
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"As strange as it sounds, yes! It had worked for him for years, and now ... it's mine." Staring at the ring, I
suddenly felt awed by its power.
"So now what?" asked Amy.
"I don't know. Let's see if I can get it to work again. Amy, is the camcorder on?"
She nodded. "I've got the time display on, so it'll show exactly when you become invisible. Whenever
you're ready."
I was recalling more of what Uncle Perry had told me about the ring. I remembered that pressing on the
top of the ring would trigger the invisibility. So I sent off a silent prayer, and pressed the top of the ring
with my other hand. I felt a wave of excitement through me as my hands vanished.
"Now you see him," quipped Gumball. "Now you don't."
"Feel any different?" inquired Dot.
I shook my head.
"Perry? I asked if you felt any different."
I realized she couldn't see me shake my head. "No. I'm fine." I realized invisibility was going to have its
own set of rules I'd have to adapt to. "Now we wait."
*
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"Fifty-nine minutes and counting," announced Amy. "Here we go."
As everyone looked at me, I became visible once more. "One hour, exactly," said Dot.
"So now we know," I said. "Well, that's good to know."
"Back to the earlier question -- now what?" asked Gumball.
I took a deep breath. "I don't know. It's like the old Spider-Man adage: 'With great power comes great
responsibility.' There's a lot to this I've gotta pray through. In the meantime, though, I'm ... going to take
... the ring off. Carefully." I slowly eased the ring off, put it in its box, and placed it on the table in front of
me.
"I'm calling Dad," said Gumball, referring to Monk Mayfair. "This kinda thing is right up his alley. You
gonna call Clark?"
"I would, but he specifically asked us not to call unless it was an emergency ... and, as weird as this is, it's
not an emergency. I'll leave a voicemail on his cell once we've got some conclusions."
*
*
*
I was standing on the balcony, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, when Gumball came out and stood next to
me.
13
"Dad's excited about this," he reported.
"Doesn't surprise me."
"He suggests that, if we can't come up with anything concrete, we hop in the Thunder and make a quick
trip to Oklahoma."
I nodded. My mind was elsewhere. "Okay."
A few minutes later, Amy and Dot joined us. Amy handed me back the ring. "Sorry, Perry. All of my
instruments say it's an ordinary ring with a silver band and a black stone. No hidden mechanisms."
Gumball repeated Monk's suggestion. "Shall I call him back?"
I turned away from the roaring ocean. "Yeah." I looked at Dot. "Let's pack a couple of overnight bags and
lock up the Nomad."
As we got ready, Dot handed me a leather case containing my PDA. "While you guys were figuring out
what to do," she informed me, "I got online and did a little searching on the subject of invisibility. I figure
you can check it out during the flight."
I kissed her. "You take such good care of me."
"Flatterer. Let's go."
*
*
*
CHAPTER TWO
What do you think of when you hear the word 'motorcycle gangs'?
"The movies. The Wild Ones. Young In The Streets. Hell's Angels on Wheels. Marlon Brando, Peter
Fonda, Lee Marvin, Dennis Hopper."
"I remember something about the Hell's Angels at Woodstock back in the 60's. Can't remember if they
were the good guys or the bad guys, though. All I remember is that they got the job done, even if they did
have to crack a few heads."
"They're modern cowboys; they just ride bikes instead of horses. And they're heroes; don't they bring
teddy bears to sick kids every Christmas?"
"They're evil, plain and simple! They're all rebels! They terrorize small rural towns like 20th Century
Mongol hoards, raping and pillaging at will without consideration for anyone but themselves!"
"Did'cha ever see Mad Max – that's what bikers do if you don't stop 'em! Wipe the lot of 'em off the
planet, that's what I say!"
"Their motorcycles are so loud! You can hear them halfway across town, and they frighten my dogs so
badly every time they come through!"
14
"Gawd, I can't wait till I can get a bike of my own! I mean, bikes are the ultimate freedom, man! There
ain't nothin' better than riding with the wind in your face and bugs in your teeth, goin' wherever the spirit
takes you, livin' life to the fullest! And, face it, there ain't nothin' hotter than a biker chick!"
*
*
*
Somewhere in the midst of these opinions was the SRMC, the Southern Riders Motorcycle Club, and the
man who held them together, Kelly ("Irish") O'Neal.
Seven years earlier O'Neal had been just another worker bee trying to climb the corporate ladder, with a
major in Business Administration and minors in wrestling and football. But the stress of the dark suits had
been too much for him. So one sunny day in July he sold his mortgaged house for 40% of its worth,
exchanged his leased Porsche for a cherry red Electra-Glide and his dark suit for leathers, took to the
road, and never looked back. He hadn't expected others to join him, but they saw the natural-born-leader
in O'Neal and followed. Many were drifters, all seeking the same freedom as he, with names like Blades,
Iron Mike, and Cockroach. And so was born the Southern Riders Motorcycle Club.
*
*
*
It was late afternoon in the Dakotas.
Somewhere between a highway and a lake, a makeshift camp had been erected. A disorganized parking
lot of motorcycles indicated that some serious partying down was in progress.
Near the lake, rock music blasted from a boom box while men and women in various stages of nudity
were splashing playfully in the water.
A couples' joust was taking place in the center of a ring of spectators. Their ladies riding on their
shoulders, barely able to keep erect, the men charged towards one another. As they came within range, the
women swiped at each other with tree branches, trying to knock the other off balance. One long-haired
brunette shrieked as she came tumbling down in a mix of arms and legs. She swatted at the man who had
carried her, then they both got to their feet to try their luck again.
A wrestling match was taking place next to the lake between a newcomer by the name of Morton and
longtime veteran China Ben. Ben had just won two-out-of-three-falls and Morton was reacting by
unleashing a barrage of cursing and screaming. For a moment the onlookers thought there'd be real
trouble, as the two men silently circled one another. Then, inexplicably, the two men broke into
simultaneous laughter. The battle over, the two former combatants ran down to the edge of the lake and
performed twin cannonballs which sprayed everyone nearby.
*
*
*
At the center of the camp, O'Neal was admiring a deer slowly roasting over a barbecue pit.
"Excellent, Joe, excellent!" he commented to the cook, a former Marine chef who had done two tours in
Vietnam back in the early 70's.
"I do m'best, Irish," drawled the cook, pouring another pint of sauce over the deer.
O'Neal turned and sauntered about the camp like a king within his kingdom. At his side was a busty
blonde by the name of Ginny; she'd been dumped by her last boyfriend back in El Paso, and was captured
15
by the romance of the biker. She gravitated into O'Neal's orbit, and left her folks to travel with him. They
wandered up a nearby hill, where O'Neal could look down on his kingdom. As he admired the view, he
felt that all was well with the world - his boys were okay, so he was okay.
Then he heard a noise behind him, and knew that all was not well with the world - not as long as the
Preacher and his lady chose to pitch their tents away from the others.
"Not cool," he commented. "Stay here, doll. I need to talk to th' Preacher."
"Sure thing, Irish," she squealed obediently.
As he strode up the rest of the hill, his eyes gravitated towards their bikes. He had always admired bikes,
and he'd seen some of the most amazing ones since taking to the road. But these two had some quality
metal.
She rode a Harley-Davidson Road King; very impressive, especially for a chick.
But his passed impressive and went right to awesome. It was a custom Boss Hoss - the Holy Grail of twowheelers. O'Neal envied the Preacher. Inside that huge bike frame was a three-hundred-and-fifty-friggin'cubic-inch Chevy V6 automobile engine! He knew that was a real load of horsepower riding there,
especially for only two wheels. He also knew it took a lot of muscle to keep something like that under
control.
Everything was big about this bike, O'Neal observed. You could stuff a midget into one of those
saddlebags, and the basket over the rear wheel was made of inch-wide welded steel bars.
And, of course, there was the cross. Three feet tall and half as wide, also made outta steel. O'Neal
shrugged. What th' hey! At least the Preacher's straight up with what he believes. I just need to get them to
play with th' rest of us.
The Preacher was near their tents, laid out neatly side-by-side like some Boy Scout camp, prepping a fire
pit of their own. His back was to O'Neal, and the biker leader was amazed as he watched the big man's
hands smash into the hard, dry ground like shovels; the muscles in his arms were like steel cables, as they
showed through his black tank top.
"Hey, Preach, how's it going?"
The Preacher turned from what he was doing, and his hard face broke into a wide grin. He stood and
slapped the dust from his hands and his leathers, taking a step towards O'Neal.
"Good, brother!" he answered in a deep voice.
The Preacher was just as impressive as his choice of bikes. He must've been seven feet tall, with skin
bronzed by the sun and muscles that didn't fit with the profession. He reached out and shook O'Neal's
hand with a fist that could've held a cocoanut and a grip that could've easily crushed one.
"C'mon, Preach, you two are missin' all th' fun!" he ribbed jovially, taking a draw off the beer. "There'll
be plenty of time for housekeeping later!"
"Just finishin' up, Irish!" his voice boomed. "We'll be down there in a couple of minutes!"
16
"Good!" O'Neal's jovial expression suddenly vanished, and his tone lowered. "Preach, can I talk to you ...
private?"
"Sure. What's up?"
"I'll be straight with you. If you're gonna ride with us, you're gonna have'ta bunk with us. The two of you
settin' up camp away from the rest of us ... well, it makes it look like you think you're better than the rest
of us."
"You know that's not true," he defended.
"Yeah, I do. But they don't." He angled his head in the direction of the rest of the bikers. "And they're not
likely to understand, either. Would it hurt'cha to move down into our neighborhood while you're with
us?"
"No, Irish, it wouldn't. And I'm sorry 'bout puttin' distance between us. That's not why we're here. How
'bout after dinner?"
"That'd be great! Thanks, Preach!"
"No problem."
They started walking down the hill together. Under other circumstances, O'Neal would have felt
threatened by the presence of a powerful man like the Preacher. But there was something about him that
made him easy to get along with. He didn't threaten O'Neal's authority. Maybe it had to do with the
bronze man's religion, O'Neal couldn't say. But he sincerely liked the guy.
"You know, Preach, I've got nothin' against you or your lady. Crusher was a brother biker, and the words
you spoke at his funeral were fine. And you know I didn't have a problem when you asked to ride with us.
But there's a lot of them down there that don't feel the same way as I do. They see preachers as authority
figures ... and you know how bikers love authority figures."
He smiled; he did understand. "I never assumed this would be a milk run, Irish. And I appreciate you
letting us be part of the Southern Riders, even if it is for a short time."
"Not a problem. I'm just givin' you a friendly heads-up: things might get worse."
Their attention was suddenly directed towards a disturbance below.
"Speaking of which, I think your lady's in trouble."
O'Neal's observation was correct. A potential rumble was starting to draw a crowd. Bonnie had been
heading down to get some water, but had been intercepted on the way back by a muscular brunette in
halter top and jeans by the name of Daisy Mae. Now she stood in Bonnie's way and had no intention of
letting her pass.
"Ah told ya, keep yur eyes offa my man!" she yelled, swearing at Bonnie.
Standing with her hands out and palms open in a non-offensive stance, Bonnie said, "Look, Daisy Mae, I
don't want to fight you!"
17
However, the other woman wasn't in the mood to listen. "You keep yur scrawny butt away frum my ol'
man, you got me?" She punctuated her statement with an obscenity and a left hook.
Bonnie stepped back to easily avoid the punch. "I haven't gotten anywhere near your 'ol' man', got it? I got
my man; I don't want or need yours!"
That last statement made Daisy Mae's eyes blaze. "What, you sayin' that your ol' man's better'n mine?"
Bonnie realized her faux pas, and tried to correct things. "No, that's not what I'm saying ..."
Daisy Mae suddenly lunged to the left, then - when Bonnie moved away - she swung hard to the right and
caught the taller woman solidly on the side. Bonnie went down, rebuking herself for falling for a stupid
move like that. Then, before Bonnie could recover, Daisy Mae moved in and jumped her.
Back on the hill, O'Neal tilted his head in the Preacher's direction and asked, "You gonna break 'em up,
Preach?"
"Nope," the bronze man answered calmly. "Bonnie can take care of herself."
"Okay." O'Neal grinned, then added, "Twenty bucks on Daisy Mae."
The Preacher scoffed. "Fifty."
O'Neal let out a loud guffaw and swung a hand over. "Deal!"
As the two men shook on the bet, Bonnie was back on her feet and actively defending herself. Daisy Mae
swung a fist at Bonnie's head. Bonnie blocked it and came back with a punch of her own that caught the
other woman on the jaw and sent her landing on her backside in the dirt. While Daisy Mae ungainly got to
her feet, Bonnie looked around to find a way to end this quickly without bloodshed. From her years of
being a mercenary, she knew at least a dozen ways to kill a person with her bare hands. But those
thoughts were far behind her now that she was a Christian.
Like an enraged Brahma bull, Daisy Mae bent over, snorted, and charged. Thinking quickly, Bonnie
reached out her hands and leap-frogged completely over the other woman, sending her face-first into the
dirt. Sputtering and stunned but not defeated, she got to her feet to continue the fight.
Bonnie was afraid that she might not be a match for this industrial strength biker chick, and that she might
have to get medieval on her butt. Lethal was not an option. Which left her with ... what?
Then she saw it. As Daisy Mae circled her, Bonnie backed towards the edge of the water. As if she hadn't
meant to do it, she glanced back at the water, then looked at Daisy Mae with an expression of terror.
Seeing her opponent in such a predicament caused Daisy Mae to laugh menacingly. "Ah got ya now," she
said.
And Daisy Mae charged again.
But Bonnie was ready. At the right moment, Bonnie leapt in the air, performing an aerial somersault and
landing behind Daisy Mae. Then, before she could react, Bonnie spun around, grabbed a handful of Daisy
Mae's halter top, and the two of them continued running towards the water. Too late to stop or turn away,
they plunged straight into the lake and went under. Bonnie, having gotten the advantage, surfaced first in
18
the shallow waters and secured a solid foothold on the lake bed. Daisy Mae was still underwater, with
Bonnie holding her down. After a moment, she pulled the sputtering and spitting Daisy Mae out of the
water.
"UNCLE?" Bonnie demanded.
But the other woman wasn't ready to capitulate. Water in her eyes, she swung and twisted while Bonnie
held a death-grip on the back of her halter top. Then Bonnie heaved, and Daisy Mae's head went back
underwater. Water splashing everywhere, Bonnie held Daisy Mae under for only a few seconds, but it
seemed like hours. Then she pulled her up out of the water; Daisy Mae gasped for air, sputtering and
coughing.
"UNCLE?" Bonnie demanded again.
Daisy Mae still struggled, but with less strength than before. Bonnie gave it a moment, then pushed her
back under. After a count of five, she pulled Daisy Mae up and inquired, "Uncle?"
Daisy Mae nodded weakly between breaths; her fire had finally been put out in the waters of the lake.
Back on the hill, the Preacher casually reached an open palm across to O'Neal. The biker leader guffawed
loudly as he fished the cash out of his wallet and slapped it into the other man's palm.
"I told you she could take care of herself," stated the bronze man.
O'Neal laughed again, slapped the Preacher hard on the back, and continued down the hill. He went after
a towel, then intercepted Bonnie below; the Amazonian brunette wasn't doing well. After dragging Daisy
Mae back to shore, she tried to offer her the hand of friendship, but instead got a handful of spit and a
string of blazing curses that practically singed the air around them.
Daisy Mae's old man drew her away with a fresh bottle of beer and a slap on the rump. Laughing, they
walked away together. As Bonnie watched them leave, and the crowd of onlookers dissipated, the
Preacher came in and wrapped the towel around her shoulders with an affectionate squeeze.
"I tried, Clark," she sighed, leaning into his reassuring hug. "And she treated it like an insult."
"Give it time," he reassured her. "C'mon, let's get you dried off."
*
*
*
The party had continued into the wee hours of the morning. Many had passed out long ago, or had paired
up and relocated to more private places.
Clark and Bonnie had moved their tents closer to the others, but only a handful of bikers had wandered
over to socialize with them. Moreover, by the end of the night, they were the only ones not unconscious
from any number of controlled substances, or carnally involved with their partner of choice.
"Fifty bucks, Clark?" exclaimed Bonnie. "I want half! No, wait - I should get all of it, since I was the one
getting beat up for it! C'mon!" She held out her hand until Clark passed over the winnings.
She stuffed it into her jeans pocket. As she did, she changed the subject. "Does it get easier ... trying to
show the love of God, that is?"
19
Clark gave her a little smile and gently shook his head. "Nope. I can't tell you how many times I've tried
to be a friend to someone, and they've spit at me, or slapped me in the face, or just flat turned their back
on me. But you keep on loving them the best you can and pray like mad when you can't."
"Like Miss Maggie never gave up on me, you mean."
"Exactly."
They recalled their previous stop during their 'road trip': New Orleans, looking up an old friend of
Bonnie's. Years ago, when Bonnie's entire family had perished in a tragic private plane crash, Margaret
Slater had been there. Guilt-ridden, and then unexpectedly abandoned by her boyfriend at the time, the
teenaged Bonnie condemned herself for having been spared the fate of her family. Maggie Slater took
Bonnie under her wing and into her home until her Aunt Mabel could arrange for her to be relocated to
Chicago. Their time together hadn't been more than a few weeks, but it had made a deep impression on
the young Bonnie.
Years later, God started putting the old woman on Bonnie's heart, and a quick check found her not only
still alive, but was living in a retirement home in New Orleans.
Their reunion was a happy one, and things became more interesting once Maggie heard that Bonnie was
now a Christian.
"Well, praise the Lord, young'un!" she exclaimed. "It's about time!" She turned to Clark, a beaming smile
on her wrinkled ebony face. "I can't tell you how many years I prayed for this little scamp! It's nice to
know that it wasn't all for naught. Yes, sirree!"
"You prayed for me ... for ... years?" repeated Bonnie.
She nodded. "I remember late nights that God would wake me out of a sound sleep with you on my mind.
Now I know why. I'll bet you were in danger a lot, am I right?"
She nodded. "Yes, Miss Maggie, I was." As she told about her life as a mercenary fighting in far-off
lands, the elderly sister's eyes grew larger. Then she took the woman's hands in hers and looked into her
wrinkled face and said with tears in her eyes, "Thank you."
The old woman sighed and her lips turned into a smile. "God bless you, chile. Both of you."
Now, looking into the campfire and reflecting on the encounter, Bonnie sighed, "I never knew."
"We never do," replied Clark understandingly.
*
*
*
CHAPTER THREE
Blue Thunder II was a Boeing V-22 Osprey like its predecessor. But there had been considerable
improvements made in the avionics, electronics, and the engines.
I didn't wait long after takeoff to check out what Dot had downloaded onto my PDA.
20
The 1.5-gigabyte memory strip was over 80% full with all the information Dot could load onto it in the
time she had. Scanning the files, there were textfiles of novels, soundfiles of songs, and even a movie clip
or two, I could see that there certainly was a lot of information on the subject, more than I would've
expected, even on the internet.
I was impressed.
Invisibility was generally defined as 'the ability or power of not being perceivable by the human eye
through the usage of magic, ritual, an object or a machine.' Okay. Sure.
It was also defined as 'the skill and/or art of not being detected or discovered, by means of stealth,
camouflage or distraction.' That made sense; stage magicians had been making things disappear for years
using distraction and deception - the classic 'smoke and mirrors' technique.
Invisibility could make an individual the ultimate spy, the ultimate voyeur. To some, invisibility was the
ultimate power. In the movie 'Hollow Man', the main character became invisible, then ended up going
around killing his fellow scientists. When you can't see a foe standing next to you, you are vulnerable.
History was fraught with legends, folklore, and fantasies where people have sought to become invisible.
Whether by potions, garments, and amulets, given by man or by the gods, they all had the same thread.
Accounts told of people who used mental or supernatural powers to achieve invisibility. Within
Rosicrucianism there were teachings about surrounding yourself with a cloud-like shroud of invisibility.
Ninjas were said to be able to become invisible at will, as were some of the Aborigines of Australia.
There were even stories of early American Indians who could vanish from sight or disappear without a
trace with the surrounding terrain.
The military has been using camouflage in warfare for God-only-knows how long. There was an entry
about ships in World War Two being painted with loud bright colors in crazy geometric patterns; rather
than making them easier to spot, they had the opposite effect, breaking up their outline and effectively
hiding them in broad daylight, right under the enemy's noses. There were even hints of experiments by the
U.S. Government, such as the Philadelphia Experiment; reportedly conducted on a naval vessel to make it
invisible to the human eye and radar by using magnetism to bend light, it is still a mystery.
It seems there were a lot of experiments in invisibility using electromagnetism throughout the 20th
century. In the long run, though, these experiments were successful only in the technical sense, by
deceiving the human eye in believing that nothing was there when it really was. Beneath the umbrella of
these 'experiments' were stage magic and the like: smoke-and-mirrors, deception, and mass hypnosis,
which seemed closer to camouflage than actual 'invisibility'.
I got bogged down reading the technical papers related to attempts at invisibility, so went back to
scanning through the references.
One set of articles drew my attention. Written in the 1930's, they told of a crimefighter by the name of
The Shadow. I recognized that name, but couldn't place where. The articles, albeit sensationalistic,
reported that this person could become invisible by 'clouding men's minds.' He also seemed to have been
based in New York City. I made a mental note to talk to Clark about this.
I shifted ahead to literature. Some of the references were familiar: Tolkien, Wells, and even Harry Potter.
I zoomed in on Wells. In 1898, Herbert George Wells wrote what would be the definitive literary work on
the subject, about a scientist who discovers the key to becoming invisible. I wonder if he ever considered
what his little story would develop into. There were a ton of references when it came to movie and
21
television adaptations, listings of all the actors who've played the title character, and the various television
incarnations.
It was all so overwhelming.
I set my PDA onto a side table and leaned back on the headrest. I stared out the window of the Osprey
and tried to sort out the thoughts bouncing around in my head. "'Curiouser and curiouser,'" I quoted
quietly from Alice in Wonderland. Then I chuckled to myself. One of the characters in Alice was the
Cheshire Cat - who could also become invisible.
*
*
*
With the ease that came from thousands of takeoffs and landings, Gumball settled the tilt-rotor aircraft
onto the helipad between the lake and his parents' house. Standing off to one side, like a well-dressed
gorilla and his lady handler, was Monk and Lea Mayfair. As we climbed out, they met us and greeted us
with hugs and handshakes.
"So, let's see it!" Monk begged.
I held out my hand. He put his hand under it and leaned in to get a better look. He whistled appreciatively.
"Boy, that's a beaut!"
We followed the rest of them as they walked towards the house. "Y'know, Perry, I actually knew your
uncle. Funny thing, though - all these years we've known each other, and I never made the connection.
Yeah, he wuz a good writer - a real straight shooter." We entered the house. "I did a little checkin' online
while you were on yer way here, and I wuz actually able to find a couple of his old stories archived; I got
'em printed in my den, just in case you wanna check 'em out."
I was touched. "I'd like that, Monk. Thanks."
*
*
*
Monk Mayfair seemed to get his second wind as a chemist when he became a Christian. Since that point,
he had developed several new products - like the super-strong plastic Paradox - as well as improvements
or variations on the famous anesthetic gas and mercy bullets.
Over the last year, however, Monk had been cooperating in a venture with Mitchell Drake to privately
introduce some of these non-lethal products into the law enforcement community through Drake's cover
enterprise Waverly Arms.
Many years ago, interested parties sought to have the standard police round officially replaced with the
mercy bullet; the effort failed miserably. But the new commercial round, named TrankShots, was
inexpensive enough to make it practical in light of shrinking law enforcement budgets. They promoted it
by sending a case out to specific police departments free-of-charge for testing. It was slowly gaining in
popularity.
Curious to see what Monk would discover about the ring, we all went directly to the laboratory, where I
removed the ring and handed it to Monk. He held it by two fingers, examining it from various angles,
then placed it carefully into a padded clamp attached to a work table. He adjusted the angle, then picked
up a digital camera and took pictures from all sides.
22
"I'm bringin' Johnny in on this," he explained between shots. "He's in a class right now, but I left him a
voicemail. I'm gonna email him these pictures so he'll have somethin' to look over. Since he's had more
experience with strange and unusual artifacts than any man except'n maybe Clark an' me, he might have a
take on this that we don't." He straightened up, then picked up the ring and turned it around again,
squinting at the sides of the band. "Have you checked out these markings?"
I glanced over at Amy, who stepped forward and explained, "They're Chinese. I tried matching it up with
what I knew, but couldn't find an exact match. Sorry, Pop!"
Monk nodded. "Hey, Perry, can I try it out? I've always wondered what it'd be like to be invisible."
I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Sure."
He placed it easily over a hairy finger and put one hand over the other. He looked around at us watching
him. "Okay, here goes nuthin'."
Monk pressed down on the stone, and - nothing. He was still visible. He looked genuinely disappointed.
"Did I do it right?" he asked, looking at me.
We all looked surprised at the development. "Yeah," I said vaguely.
"In-trest-ing," he commented.
"Can I give it a shot?" asked Gumball, stepping forward.
I shrugged, and Monk turned the ring over to his firstborn. Gumball slipped it over his right ring finger,
matching my earlier movements, and repeated the motion of pressing on the top.
Nothing.
He tried it again, also without success, then carefully slipped it off his finger and handed it back to me. "I
hope we didn't break it," he said regretfully.
I put it back on my own finger, looked around at my audience, and pressed the top.
Lea gasped with surprise as I vanished within my clothes, and I was glad they couldn't see the look of
relief on my face.
"Okay, it's not broken," sighed Gumball. "Thank God."
"Amen," agreed Monk, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Well, my boy, one thing's for sure. You've got a
one-man ring there ... and you're the man."
All of a sudden I felt very heavy. "Would you all please excuse me? I need to pray."
I turned towards the door, and everybody moved aside like the Red Sea before Moses; the expressions on
their faces was sympathetic to the frustration I was probably radiating.
"Hey, Perry!" Monk called after me. "Grab a hat on your way out! It wouldn't look good to have one of
the neighbors spot you without your head!"
23
I raised my arm to acknowledge him, and snatched a mens' cap off the sofa on my way out. It was a bit
too big, but would do for now, as I stepped out the door and walked towards the lake.
"Lord, You know I've been open to a lot of new things from You, especially since Clark. What Gumball
said about weirdness being par for the course now ... he's right. But this ... this ... is something completely
different. Nobody else can use this ring; after the old Chinese gentleman died, it was just Uncle Perry.
And now it's mine. What did you have to do with this, Uncle Perry?" I took a deep breath. "God, this is
such a great responsibility - what do I do with it?"
I touched the ring on my finger. You're the mystery here. You did it, I didn't. I had nothing to do with it.
The first time you were triggered was by accident, without any deliberate intervention from me. You did
it. Whatever you are, however you did it, you have the capability to cause invisibility. Correction: you
have the capability to cause me to become invisible. What kind of technology made you?
I remembered a quote from science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke: 'Any sufficiently advanced
technology will be indistinguishable from magic.' I felt the ring and wondered if this was an example of
Clarke's hypothesis.
"What are you? Science or magic? Of God or of Satan?" I addressed the ring. And I prayed for the
answers.
I walked carefully near the edge of the lake, waiting on God. Then His words came to me: "For I know
the plans I have for you, says the Lord. They are plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a
hope." It was a promise from the book of Jeremiah, and was followed by a promise from the book of
Isaiah: "Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen
you. I will help you. I will uphold you with My righteous right hand."
I closed my eyes and stood there a moment. When I opened them again, I couldn't even see my clothing. I
felt my arms and body, but everything I wore was now as invisible as I was.
"Oh, wow!" I exclaimed, and my clothing became visible again.
I didn't know what to make of this. One minute, just my body was invisible - the next, it was all of me,
including what I was wearing.
I had to get back to the lab, tell the others what had happened.
*
*
*
Monk was on the phone talking to Professor Littlejohn when I came in. "Johnny, Perry just came in!" he
said, waving me over. "Lemme put'cha on hold and pick it up on th' speakerphone!"
A few minutes, we were all gathered in the den.
"I checked the markings from the pictures with the language professors here," the archaeology professor
informed us. "They're Chinese for 'wind' and 'body'.
"I think I also may have a lead on the stone in the ring. In ancient Sicily there was a stone called Achates.
The stone resembled hematite, and was widely known to hold great mystic power. It was said to have
been found in the Achates river, and it would empower its possessor with protection and grant them the
24
ability ... to turn invisible." He paused to let that sink in. "Needless to say, the stone was in great demand
to make amulets and talismans."
"So you're saying that the stone in my ring came from this Achates stone?" I summarized.
"Quite possibly! It's an extraordinary find, Perry. I'd love to have a look at it first-hand, if you'd allow
me."
"Sure," I said.
"Perry, my boy." The tone of Johnny's voice lowered, and I could hear the compassion in it. "This is a
remarkable blessing, and I'm sure you'll use it only with Divine wisdom."
Again, I was touched. "Thank you, Johnny."
"Monk?"
Monk moved closer to the speakerphone. "Yeah, Johnny?"
"Keep me informed, okay?"
"Sure thing! Thanks!"
Monk hit a button to end the conversation.
"So now what?" asked Gumball.
Monk touched his stomach. "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. What's say we talk about this over
dinner, okay?"
*
*
*
"LISSEN UP, YA MOTORHEADS!"
All eyes turned to see O'Neal standing on a tree stump. He was in full leathers, his helmet tucked under
his arm.
"Okay, everybody, stick close; I don't want nobody gettin' separated while we're goin' through these hills YOU HEAR ME? We'll be stoppin' for gas at Marystown and Sheridan: the cops'll leave us alone there,
as long as we behave." He turned to a tall biker with a mullet. "Eddie, I'm talkin' to you now! I don't want
any more scenes like we had in Indian Sparks! Got it?" There was a wave of laughter at the tall biker's
expense; he grinned and gave O'Neal a nod. "Good! Okay! Any questions?" There was silence. "Okay,
then. SADDLE UP!"
The roar from the combined bikes was deafening, and they slowly rolled away from their campsite and
onto the two-lane blacktop.
Clark and Bonnie, as the newest riders, had to follow everybody else and endure their combined exhausts.
They didn't waver, but matched speed and distance of the bikes ahead of them.
"You okay back there, Bonnie?" inquired Clark, through his helmet's intercom.
25
"Yeah, Sugah," she replied. "You?"
"I'm good!"
"Did you see the look Daisy Mae gave me when they pulled out?"
"Before or after she gave us the finger?"
"Don't remind me," she groaned.
"Don't let it get to you, okay?" he comforted.
"Like you said, it ain't easy. I may be a glutton for punishment, but I want to try talking to her at the next
rest stop. What do you think? Would it be a mistake?"
"It's not a matter of what I think, hon; you do what you have a peace about. I'll keep you covered."
"Thanks. I'll need it."
*
*
*
The Southern Riders had been riding for several hours. Their last rest stop was twenty miles behind them,
and their next party was a couple hundred miles ahead of them, once they got past the mountains.
Bonnie's bike began to sputter. "Clark, I think I have a problem!" she called forward.
"I can hear it from here," he replied. "Can you make it to the next town?"
"I ... don't think ... so. It's starting to buck on me!"
"Okay! Hang on - I'll be right back!"
Kicking in the Boss Hoss' engine, Clark effortlessly passed the convoy until he was side-by-side with
O'Neal's bike.
"Bonnie's having a problem with her motor!" he yelled across the gap.
"We'll stop up ahead!" the biker boss called back.
"No!" Clark shook his head and motioned his arm forwards. "Keep going! It's probably just a loose wire!
We'll catch up with you!"
"You sure, Preach?" his face showed worry.
"Yes!" He gave him a grin. "Thanks!"
"Okay! Later!" He stretched out a leather-gloved hand, and Clark reached out to touch fist-to-fist before
pulling back and letting the convoy pass him.
26
Bonnie was still moving, but she had slid almost a mile back from the others. Her bike was hacking like a
chain smoker, and she was struggling to keep it on the road.
"I spotted a place right up ahead," he informed her. "Follow me!"
She nodded back.
A couple of minutes later they staggered into a clearing just beyond a grove of trees. Once their bikes had
stopped, she discarded her helmet and knelt by the bike, peering through smoke and steam to determine
what was the matter. Clark joined her with a tool kit and a flashlight, then played a hunch and checked out
the gas tank. What he saw elicited a low hum and a reluctant diagnosis.
"Here's your problem," he said. "The gas is bad."
Bonnie looked up at him. "Bad?" She got to her feet and shone the flashlight into the tank. "How?"
Clark stuck a finger in and looked at the liquid on the end. He sniffed at it and concluded, "It looks like
you've been sabotaged; there's sugar mixed in with your gas."
Bonnie turned away. "Sabotaged," she muttered, and spun back to face Clark and the bike. "But how? I
haven't been away from this bike since we broke camp!" She turned away again, paced a few steps, then
amended her statement. "Nooo. That last rest stop ... both of us had to go. We were gone for only a
minute! It must've happened then! What about yours?"
"Locking gas cap," he answered without checking.
She suddenly exploded in a wave of angry expletives, throwing her arms up and turning away from the
scene. Clark watched and silently prayed for her, understanding her frustration. She took out her cell
phone to call out. She took a look at it and, with another verbal display of anger, she reared back to pitch
it into the trees, but halted at the last instant.
"No signal?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I'll use my satellite cell," he said, rising and walking to the Boss Hoss.
Bonnie was looking mournfully at her bike when Clark returned empty-handed and sour-faced.
"Clark?" she asked.
"It's not there. I'm assuming it was probably stolen at the same time your gas tank was sabotaged.
Whoever did this had obviously been waiting for us to step away from our bikes. They wanted us to break
down here and now."
"So what do we do? You want to go for help?"
"O'Neal warned me about this," Clark sighed, looking about at the clearing. Then he faced Bonnie and
responded to her question. "No. Let's see what we can do to clear your fuel lines. We can transfer some of
my gas to your tank, enough to get us both going."
27
"We going to try and catch up with them?"
"I'd like to. It'll be getting dark soon, and they'll be settling in for the night. That means more partying,
and a late start. If we can get going at dawn and find their trail we should join up with them by ... noon,
perhaps."
"Why?" Bonnie suddenly argued. "I mean, somebody went to all the trouble to send us a message: we're
not wanted. Why don't we take the hint and stop casting pearls before swine?"
"This was done by one or two of the group, not all of them. Why should we ignore the many just because
of the actions of a few troublemakers? No. I'd like to at least give them one more chance to see the other
cheek before moving on."
This wasn't settling well with the tall brunette. She took a swig of her canteen and looked back and forth
between Clark and her disabled Road King.
Finally she nodded. "All right. But if it doesn't work - "
"- we're outta there!" he finished with a smile. "Fair enough."
Bonnie seemed to relax after that. She eased next to Clark and purred, "Since you're a bit more
mechanically-inclined than I am, why don't you start on the fuel system while I set up the tents?"
"It's hard to turn down such an offer from a beautiful woman," he smiled back, kissing her lightly.
*
*
*
Lea Mayfair was to meals what Star Trek's Mr. Scott was to warp engines.
In other words, a miracle worker.
As we sat down to the full meal and Monk said the blessing, we knew the bird wasn't going to be the only
thing stuffed by Lea's touch.
"Dot and I were talking. Since it looks like I'm going to be going through some tests to determine the
extent of this new -"
"Talent?" suggested Monk.
"Power?" suggested Gumball.
"Ability?" suggested Amy.
"Blessing," suggested Lea.
I looked at Lea and smiled. "Yes ... blessing. Anyhow, Dot's going to go back to Lincoln City with
Gumball and Amy, then drive Nomad back here. By then we should know more about this, and know
where to go from there."
"Sounds like a good plan," Monk mumbled around a mouthful of food. "Have you told Clark yet?"
28
"No. I'm going to hold off until we find out more. Besides, last I heard, they're in the middle of a biker
group."
"Speaking of which ... " Monk said. "How did this little road trip of theirs ever get started?"
Dot and I looked at each other, and she deferred to me. "Well, when Clark first came to us, he looked so
guilty ... "
*
*
*
"The three of us have been a team for years," Clark started. "And I have no intent of ending that
relationship."
"I don't like the way this sounds," muttered Dot. "Sounds like the opening line to a Dear John letter."
I nodded. "So what's up?"
"I need to exercise my spiritual wings ... alone."
"But you have exercised your spiritual wings alone ... often," I countered.
"In one respect, yes. However, each time I have, it's been in a somewhat limited capacity. I'd like to take a
few months - perhaps even a year - and just roam the country ministering on my own."
"Not bad," commented Dot. "You planning on taking Goliath on the road?"
"Actually, I was thinking about something smaller, like a motorcycle."
"So that's the reason for the sudden influx of biker magazines!" she exclaimed with a laugh.
"So why did you decide on a motorcycle?" I asked.
"Well, actually, I was influenced by the movie Easy Rider," Clark replied eagerly. "I was drawn into their
quest for the freedom of the open road."
I did a double-take. "Yeah, there was that. But do you recall how the movie ended? They were blasted off
that open road by a couple of rednecks with a grudge and a shotgun."
Clark stiffened. "Do you doubt that I can take care of myself?"
"No, of course not! But would you consider taking on a partner, someone to cover your back. Not one of
us ... but someone."
"Even the disciples were sent out two by two," added Dot matter-of-factly.
Clark looked from me to Dot and back again, saying nothing. Then he nodded. "Do you have someone in
mind?"
"What about Jim ... Jim Bronson?" I offered. "He's a brother, he knows his way around bikes, and he's
traveled the roads already. He'd be a good choice."
29
"Yes, he might," agreed Clark, slowly nodding. "I'll consider it."
*
*
*
"I'll admit, his announcement was a bit of a shock, and I thought I'd blown it with my suggestion of
seeking a partner. But we went ahead and prayed to be in one accord with God's will, whatever it would
be. Two days later we got our answer ..."
*
*
*
"I just got a call from Jack," he said, speaking of Jack Heady, the brother who ran the ministry house in
Portland, Oregon. "Jim Bronson won't be doing anything soon. Achilles' tendon." He paused. "However, I
do believe God has shown me another candidate."
"Bonnie," said Dot without hesitation.
I looked at her and smiled. Then I looked at Clark. "Same here," I agreed. "Bonnie?"
He nodded and smiled. "Bonnie."
Dot grinned and asked, "So who's going to be the poor schnook that tells her that she's going to be a biker
babe?"
Clark and I both looked at her.
She didn't catch on immediately; it took about thirty seconds.
"Oh, no! No no no ... you're not serious ... I-I was just joking!"
"You are the most logical one to inform her, after all," Clark commented. "You've spent quality time
together. You've ... bonded."
"You're sisters in the Lord," I added with heavy emphasis.
"Aw, guys," she moaned, realizing it was a losing battle. "You two are both stinkers!"
"Amazing," said Clark casually, looking at me. "Pat used to say the same thing when we left her out of
the action. Could there be a genetic connection involved?"
"Did she used to say 'drop dead'?" I asked, perpetuating the joke.
"As a matter of fact ..." Clark started to say, then stopped and turned to Dot. "Thank you," he said
sincerely.
Dot grunted.
*
*
*
Everyone around the table laughed at the story. Even Dot.
"So where they are now?" inquired Lea.
30
"Do you remember the bikers we ran into back in Pine Corners?"
"Yeah," acknowledged Monk.
"The leader's name was Crusher. He was particularly impressed with Clark, and finally became a
Christian. Well, he was killed about three months ago, and Clark performed the funeral." I paused for a
drink of water. "Clark got to know several biker gangs as a result, and they met up with one of them while
they were coming back from New Orleans. Communications are few and far between, but I'd guess right
now Clark and Bonnie are settling down for their own dinner."
*
*
*
The first voice was British, and came out high and nasally. "You must be Doctor Frankenstein."
The next line came out in a different voice, without skipping a beat. The accent was American, the tone
more formal than the previous one. "It's not FRANKenSTEIN, it's FRONKonSTEEN. And you must be
Egor."
Without skipping a beat, he switched back to the first voice for the punchline. "No, it's pronounced
EYEgore."
Bonnie roared with laughter, and Clark joined in a heartbeat later.
"I LOVED that movie!" shrieked Bonnie. "And I can't believe how good you did both Gene Wilder and
Marty Feldman!"
Clark shifted to an Elvis voice for a quick, "Thankyouverymuch." He laughed and said, "Okay, your
turn!"
She took a drink from her canteen and stood up. After thinking a moment, she took a slinky pose, thrust
out her chest, and lowered her voice until it was low and sultry. "I'm not bad; I'm just drawn that way."
"Mae West!" exclaimed Clark. Then he corrected himself. "No, no, no! Jessica Rabbit, Who Framed
Roger Rabbit!"
Bonnie touched the index finger of one hand to her nose and pointed at him with the other hand. "Right!"
Clark immediately shifted his voice and executed a perfect imitation of Charles Fleisher. "Dear Jessica.
How do I love thee? One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, four-one thousand, fiveone thousand ..."
"That's great!" cackled Bonnie, sitting down with a bump.
"I've always had a talent for mimicry," explained Clark. "Although I've never quite used it like this."
Bonnie took a bite from a preformed food bar and made a face. "Couldn't you have done something more
to improve the taste of these?"
"Hey, don't knock it! This is what I wished we'd had back in Pine Corners! They may not taste the best,
but they have all the nutrients we need to survive on." He took a bite of his own ration, following it up
31
with a swig from his canteen. "Just wash it down with water - it'll be all right." His face remained
expressionless as always, but he knew she was right.
"Did you know Mae West?" she asked, changing the subject.
He nodded. "Had a case that took us to Hollywood once. She was there with Bill Fields."
"W.C. Fields? Wow!" She gaped. "Y'know, you must've known some of the greatest funnymen of all
time: Jack Benny, Fred Allen, the Marx Brothers."
He leaned in closer. "Did you know the Marx Brothers wanted me in one of their movies?"
Bonnie's jaw fell. "Noooo!"
He nodded. "Yep! The only problem was that I was going to be the straight man, the foil, for them; I
would stand there looking all stupid and naive while they cavorted around me, then, when it looked like
I'd had enough, I'd pick up Chico with one hand and Harpo with the other and throw them both out the
door like a bouncer." He shook his head. "But I just couldn't do it!"
"You don't like slapstick?"
"Don't like slapstick? Remember, my dear, I lived during the era of Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, The
Keystone Cops, and The Three Stooges. Oh, yeah, I know slapstick."
"I stand corrected," amended Bonnie with a slight bow of the head. "So, then, what's your favorite movie
- comedy?"
He smiled and said without hesitation. "Sleeper."
"Woody Allen, Diane Keaton," she said with recognition. "Me, too!"
"With such incredible wit and insight, he captured perfectly how I felt after being in suspended animation
for fifty years." He stood. He adjusted his posture to give him a whole new appearance. He began to pace
nervously, and his arms gestured as he spoke in the comedian's voice: "I'm a clarinet player in 1973 ... I
go into the hospital for a lousy operation ... I wake up two hundred years later, and I'm Flash Gordon!
And I'm a criminal!"
Bonnie broke up laughing. "Then you've gotta know this one." She stood up and talked excitedly. "I'm
Luna! Luna! Remember? Luna!"
Clark looked at her vaguely and responded as Allen: "Your name is not Luna, is it?"
They fell into each other's arms, hysterical with laughter.
They continued for some time to talk about the things that made them laugh. Finally they decided it was
time for bed. They put out the campfire and headed to their individual tents.
Bonnie put her arms around Clark's neck. "This has been a terrific night, sugah. Thanks." She kissed him.
His arms closed in, holding her. "Thank you. 'Night."
32
Clark climbed into his tent, and slipped off his outer clothes before sliding into the warm comfort of his
sleeping bag.
His mind kept coming back to Bonnie. He kept replaying their last moment together: the feel of her lips
on his, her arms, her scent. His concentration was so strong, he didn't realize Bonnie was outside of his
tent until she spoke his name a second time.
"Clark, sugah. You awake?"
"Yeah," he coughed.
"I'm cold," she said with a shiver in her voice. "I wish we hadn't put out the fire. Can I join you?"
Her request hadn't been unusual. Over the months, when it was just the two of them riding in some of the
higher altitudes, they found that the practice of two fully-dressed adults sharing a single sleeping bag
made it easier to get through a cold night.
"Sure," he agreed. He unzipped his sleeping bag and lifted it for her as she climbed into the tent. Her
scent was strong, and Clark's mind flashed back to their earlier encounter.
As she moved next to him in the sleeping bag, facing him, his hand brushed against her side. To his
surprise, he touched bare skin. He started to pull it away, but her hand grabbed his wrist and guided it
back.
"I love you, Clark!" she whispered heavily. "Please – don't push me away!"
He felt her mouth on his, her lips on his. His mind reeled, and he did not resist. His large bronze hands
slid around her and drew her closer.
*
*
*
CHAPTER FOUR: 3 years earlier
King Mordecai summoned Benjamin to his chambers in the palace.
Benjamin bowed. "Yes, my king."
"Rise," instructed Mordecai, gesturing to a nearby chair. "Please, sit."
The Mayan took a seat and got comfortable.
"How are things proceeding with Franklin?" asked Mordecai.
"Amazingly well," the other man answered. "You remember how hard it was to keep track of him at the
beginning."
Mordecai smiled. "I finally had to order him tied to his bed in order to give you a chance to get some
sleep."
33
"To which I am eternally grateful," he smiled back. "And I lost count of how many times we had to place
him on the Island of Shame. Alas, he did not use his time there as a time to reflect and repent, but to plan
his next escape attempt."
"But that has changed, I see."
"Thank God, yes." He sighed. "Not only has he ceased his attempts to escape, but he now actually seems
to show an interest in participating in the harvest. I would like to give him a small garden, show him how
to take care of it, and see how he takes to it."
"Are you sure this is wise?"
"I would like to think so. I have prayed about this, and my heart is at peace."
Benjamin waited patiently while the king thought the matter over. After a few moments, he nodded his
approval. "You are a good man, Benjamin. And you have been a good steward of what you have been
entrusted with. Make it so. But I expect you to keep an eye on Franklin, in case his good behavior is a
clever deception."
"Of course, my King," Benjamin agreed. "We must be wise as serpents as well as harmless as doves."
Mordecai nodded. "Keep me informed of his behavior. Would you allow me a couple of observers, as a
precaution? I believe the term the outsiders use is ... 'keeping your back covered'?"
"Yes, that is the correct phrase. Thank you, my King; I appreciate your wisdom and protection."
The two men shook hands, and Benjamin left the chamber.
*
*
*
"For me? Benjamin, I'm honored. I won't let you down."
"You said you were raised in a park?"
Franklin laughed. "Of a sort. It was a trailer park. In Tennessee. It's like a big open field where houses on
wheels come together to form a village."
"Houses on wheels?" He looked at the black man as if he didn't believe him. "So many marvels in your
world."
Franklin grunted. "It wasn't a marvel to me - it was more like a nightmare. I hated every minute of it, and
did all I could to be free of it."
"I'm sorry, Daniel."
The black man smiled. "It's not your fault, Benjamin. You have given me a second chance to redeem
myself."
"It will not be easy. I will teach you how to work the land. You will live on what you produce, so you will
be self-sufficient. And in the end, any surplus will be used to help others who cannot help themselves."
34
"I accept the responsibility."
"Good. Let us begin with these, the tools you will use to tend the ground ..."
*
*
*
"It's coming along nicely, don't you think?"
"Yes, Daniel. You have learned well. May I?"
Franklin lowered his head in humility. "I would be honored."
The Mayan reached down and carefully removed a ripe tomato from the vine. He turned it over briefly,
then took a big bite of it. His eyes closed and he hummed with appreciation as he chewed and swallowed
it.
"It is wonderful," he beamed.
"I am honored."
Benjamin finished off the tomato with several bites. "You have done well, Daniel. Quite well."
"Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me, I must clean up. I have been invited to Hiram's home for Bible
study."
"Bible study? I am quite pleased by this. Does this mean you are willing to consider the gift of salvation
through Jesus Christ?"
He gave the other man a sly grin. "I am willing ... to consider it."
The Mayan matched the grin. "Then I will be praying for your decision."
The two men nodded respectfully at each other and separated.
*
*
*
"Congratulations, Benjamin! It's been two full years since Franklin was given his own garden, and, since
then, his behavior has been exemplary. He spends many hours during the day reading the Bible he was
given by Doc himself. He attends many Bible studies a week. He has participated in social events among
our people, and ... is it true he has even reconciled with his former aide in crime, Deuce?"
"Oh, yes, my King! Even though it started off badly - she attacked him physically when he first tried
making contact with her - he never gave up on her. They now go for long walks in the hills. He shares
about what he learns in the Bible."
"Has he made a decision yet?"
"Not yet. But it will be soon ... I can feel it."
*
*
*
35
"Help! Help me! Please!"
Franklin dragged himself into the village. He was scraped, bloodied and exhausted. Several natives came
to his assistance and took him to the house he shared with Benjamin. Curious onlookers surrounded the
house in order to catch a glimpse of the strange man with the ebony skin.
Benjamin wondered how he was ever going to get into his house. But his concerns parted as easily as the
crowd, as they recognized him and moved aside respectfully. Franklin's eyes were closed, and two girls
were tending to his wounds. He stood at Franklin's side.
"What happened, Daniel?" he asked.
Franklin's breathing became rapid as his eyes shot open. The look in them was one of sheer terror. "Sshe's dead!" he sputtered. "She's dead!"
Benjamin knelt next to Franklin's bed and asked, "Who is dead?"
"Deuce," he sighed sadly.
"How?"
Franklin seemed to suddenly deflate. Benjamin placed a hand on his shoulder. "Rest, Daniel, rest. You
can tell me later." He stood and gestured for the girls to continue their ministering.
A half hour later, Franklin was more coherent. At Benjamin's request, King Mordecai was also in
attendance.
"We were walking up on that ridge, you know, where Morning Breeze and the Feathered Serpent were
defeated. The ground was loose, and we both slipped. I hung on for dear life, and eventually pulled
myself back up onto the trail. But Deuce ... " He closed his eyes tightly and cupped his hands over his
ears. "I ... can still hear ... her screams."
The others kept silent and only watched. After composing himself, Franklin looked around and continued.
"All I could think of was how much of a mess I had made of my life. I kept praying, God, if you get me
out of this, I'll give my life to you."
"And do you?" asked King Mordecai.
"Yes! I do! I waited too long, and I don't want to wait any longer! What must I do to be saved?"
*
*
*
The water was cold, and Daniel Franklin couldn't understand all the words the elder was saying. But he
understood what he was doing and let himself be baptized in the river that flowed down the golden
pyramid and through the Valley of the Vanished.
When he came out of the water he was surprised by the roar of hundreds of Mayan voices, all cheering
and praising God.
"Congratulations, Daniel," said the elder.
36
Franklin was stunned. "T-thank you."
*
*
*
Days passed. There was a time of mourning for Deuce Robinson. A search party checked the area where
she fell, but they could not find her body. It was concluded that the fall surely killed her, and her body
was swept away in the river below.
Life in the Valley of the Vanished slowly returned to normal.
A squat dark-haired native named M'kay prepared a team of burros to transport a shipment of gold at the
bequest of Doc Savage.
Along with his two assistants, they would make the long trek to a secret location in Hidalgo. Queen
Monja herself had, many years ago, chosen M'kay from among several candidates, and it was a
responsibility the Mayan took very seriously.
*
*
*
"Benjamin!"
The native yawned. "Good morning, Daniel."
"Good morning," he replied. He was wide-eyed. "Benjamin, I believe I have had a vision from God!"
Benjamin blinked a couple of times and sat up. "What did He show you?"
Franklin gestured in the direction of the pyramid and recalled, "I was standing at the top of the pyramid
with a man in a white robe. He pointed toward the area where ... Deuce and I had been. And ... he said,
'You must face your fear. You must go there.' Well, I didn't want to go, and I told him so. He acted like he
hadn't heard me. He just pointed and repeated what he'd said. I heard myself asking him how long, and he
said, 'You must fast and pray for 40 days and 40 nights, and trust God to keep you.' Then he floated up
into the sky and vanished. It was ... wow ... just so incredible! What do you think, Benjamin?"
"I think we need to tell the others."
Thirty minutes later, Franklin and Benjamin stood watching King Mordeai. Along with him were several
men who comprised the eldership of their church body. They conferred privately, occasionally glancing
over at Franklin and Benjamin.
"They don't believe me," said Franklin disappointingly. "They think I made it up."
"They are cautious," comforted Benjamin. "Have faith, my brother."
Then they gave him a collective smile. "Are you willing to obey this vision?"
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't reluctant about doing this, and a bit scared; I don't want to go back there."
He stood straight and tall. "But I will. By faith, I will."
"Then you have our blessing."
37
"When will you begin?" asked Benjamin.
"In the morning, I guess."
*
*
*
The sun was rising over the rim of the Valley of the Vanished.
Daniel Franklin knelt as the eldership placed their hands on his back, shoulders, and head, and prayed
over him. Then they each offered embraces and words of encouragement.
Benjamin was the last to say goodbye.
"God be with you, my brother Daniel. I will see you when you return."
"Goodbye, my friend Benjamin."
Taking a last look back, Franklin smiled and started walking in the direction of the hills.
*
*
*
Near the mouth of the Valley, M'kay made a final check of the burro train, said his goodbyes to friends
who saw him off, and he and his assistants departed for Hidalgo.
When M'kay and his assistants could no longer see the village, they continued a few minutes longer until
they reached a small clearing. Waiting there were three people with four horses. Two of them, teenaged
Mayan females, smiled at him; M'kay said nothing and pretended to ignore them.
They were expected.
A few minutes later another man joined them on the path.
"M'kay! Good to see you!" he greeted. "Hey, Deuce baby ... how've you been holding up?"
"How do you think I've been holding up, Danny?" she flared back in frustration, standing beside her
horse. "I've been feeling like a caged animal!"
"Hey, hey, hey!" He came over to her and held her. After a moment, she warmed to him. "It's all over
now, babe! We're free! We're outta here!" He turned to M'kay. "Let's get moving! We've got a lot of
distance to cover! Deuce?"
"Okay," She smiled and kissed him. "Whatever you say, baby."
Franklin mounted the additional horse. "Lead on, M'kay!"
The Mayan instructed his assistants, and the caravan continued on.
*
*
*
M'kay walked silently in the lead and prayed that God would forgive him for the evil that he had done and continued to do even now.
38
Those girls. They had been his weakness. They were so young and beautiful, and they had come to him
by night and said such flattering words. They had given him their bodies, but he had chosen to take them.
There was pleasure, such as he had never known ... but he paid for it. He groaned and remembered the
day when they had each come to him, shocking him with the news of the life within them - the life that he
had put there.
Then there was the meeting with this serpent - this stranger to the Valley of the Vanished. Franklin told
him of the secret that was no longer secret, explained that it was his responsibility to report the matter to
the King.
Franklin then offered to remain quiet, but there would be a price. M'kay would take him with him on his
next gold run - he would take him out of the Valley of the Vanished. "I'll take it one step further," he had
promised. "I'll bring the two girls with us. Once we are in Hidalgo, we will part company. We'll stay and
you'll never see us ever again. Your secret will be safe."
He had no choice. But it would be over soon.
*
*
*
Deuce hung back until her horse was even with Franklin's. The burro train was in the lead, then the two
horses with the teenage girls. Franklin and Deuce brought up the rear.
"Well, baby, we're finally free!" he said with a laugh. "And those fools won't even know they've been had
until we're long gone!"
"Yeah!" agreed Deuce. "Gawd, do I need a drink!"
"I told them they'd never hold me," Franklin reflected. "Oh, sure, I fought it in the beginning. Hey, we
both did. Took every opportunity to make a break for it, until we realized there was no way to get beyond
the walls of this valley without an aircraft of some sort. I tell you, I felt like Patrick McGoohan in that old
TV show. And, like him, I wasn't about to conform to their system."
"I refused to eat," She bragged, smiling proudly. "I dragged my feet like a spoiled two-year-old."
"Did they have you work in the mines?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I did. They had me moving gold. You wouldn't believe how much gold they got down there - tons upon
tons - more than the whole friggin' U.S. Mint! And not one single guard to stop me from taking some!"
She looked at him. "So?"
"I got caught." He looked ahead. "They let me keep it. Heck, why not? What could I spend it on?" He
paused. "But now ... it's all ours, babe!"
They joined hands.
"I really missed you, Danny. But as long as I had 'Nurse Ratchet' at my side, I couldn't even get close
enough to talk to you."
39
"Yeah, I know. That's why I finally decided to play their game. I knew our only chance to be free of this
jail would have to be with their help - and they'd been told I was not to be trusted. So I played it real cool,
stopped fighting 'em and started to play their games. I even started to learn their weird language."
"Me, too."
He leaned over and lowered his voice. "Look, I've tangled with these gullible 'Jesus Freaks' in the past,
and knew their big aim was to convert me to their beliefs. So I played along, made it appear as if I was
falling for their line of bull."
Franklin neglected to mention the attention he had gotten from many of the Mayan girls. It wouldn't be
the first time curious women had been drawn into his bed due to his dark skin.
He continued. "Those two were easy. They were typical disgruntled teenagers, unsatisfied with life in the
Valley and convinced that any place was better than this. By the time I was done, they were begging me
to take them away."
"So how'd you find out about this?" she asked, referring to the burro convoy.
"One day I saw M'kay leaving the Valley, and I quietly started asking questions. Then I got in on the
Bible study group he was a part of ... you know, get close to him and find his weaknesses." He grinned at
Deuce. "And I did. Them."
"The girls?"
"Did you ever read the Bible they gave you?"
"Yeah, some."
"That's where I got all my ideas. First there was the story about Lot's daughters. Remember Lot? Survived
Sodom and Gomorrah with his family, only to have the ol' lady look back and turn into a pillar of salt!"
Deuce nodded. "Well, the daughters wanted kids, but didn't want husbands. So they got the old man
plastered and slept with him in order to get pregnant!"
"Okay," acknowledged Deuce. "So?"
"So tie that in with King Herod. Herod had the hots for his step-daughter Salome. Meanwhile, his wife
Herodius wanted John the Baptist wasted, but Herod was too chicken to order the hit.
"Well, Herodius knew Herod would do anything for Salome, so she set him up at his birthday party, when
he was surrounded by the local Good Ol' Boys. Herodius got Salome to do a bump-and-grind at the party
that got Herod needing a cold shower and promising her anything she wanted. Well, Salome repeated
what her mother had told her - 'give me John the Baptist's head on a silver platter' - and he had no choice
but to do it."
"Your point?"
"I talked those two into seducing M'kay and pretending that he got them pregnant. Then I turned around
and threatened to expose him if he didn't transport us outta here."
40
"Brilliant," commented Deuce.
"And since they consider me in the hills on a 40-day walkabout and you as worm food, nobody's going to
be looking after us until we're long gone."
"Amen, baby!"
*
*
*
CHAPTER FIVE
Clark woke up first. As quiet as he could, he extracted himself and his clothes from the tent and found an
area nearby where he dressed prior to his daily regimen. His expression was more sober than anyone had
ever seen him.
Bonnie got up with a loud yawn and stretched her tall frame. She climbed out of the tent and dressed,
noticing Clark in the middle of his exercises. She sat on the ground and, smiling, watched him for several
minutes. Then she got up and trotted off to make breakfast.
Clark silently sighed with relief; even though he had never had a problem with others observing him in
his exercises, he felt very uncomfortable with Bonnie sitting there. He tried to make sense of it when
Bonnie announced that breakfast was ready. He hesitated, debating over actually having a meal with her,
then stepped closer and accepted the plate from her with a brief, "Thank you."
Clark led a brief prayer over the meal and they started eating. Bonnie could sense that something was off;
Clark was polite, but seemed to be too quiet for the moment.
Finally Bonnie asked, "You okay, hon?"
Clark's response was a grunt, his mouth intentionally full.
After a few minutes, he said in a very sobering tone, "Bonnie, we need to talk."
"Sure, sug. What's up? Is it the bike?"
His eyes focused ahead, not at her. "No. It's about ... us."
"Okay," she accepted.
"I don't know about you, but last night took me by surprise."
"Me, too," she agreed. "I don't really know what came over me - over us."
Then, as unemotional as he could manage, Clark dropped the bombshell: "I'm afraid we can't let this
happen again."
This didn't sound good, thought Bonnie. "What do you mean?"
"Once we get your bike running again, we'll return to Florida. This road trip is over. You'll be returning to
Caroline Island." His tone was final.
41
"Excuse me?" Bonnie's eyes narrowed. "Are you telling me we're ... breaking up?"
"I have ... no ... choice. I can't continue this, not after last night." He paused and took a deep breath. "In
the past, Perry's joked about me as being the World's Oldest Living Boy Scout ... and ... he's absolutely
right!" He sighed. "All my life I have lived a moral life, and now it's all been shattered! I need to get
things together again!"
Bonnie couldn't believe her ears. "Let me get this straight. You want to call this quits just because we had
one night of intimacy?"
Without warning, Clark became unhinged. "That was not ... intimacy! It was fornication!"
He jumped to his feet. "You don't understand!" He was furious – not at her, but at himself. "All my life I
have strived to live a pure and moral life - especially since becoming a Christian! But this - THIS has
made an end of that!"
And, possessed by unimaginable frustration, he unleashed a roar that shattered the morning air, tossed his
hands up, and stormed off into the woods.
Bonnie didn't dare follow. She just sat in front of the fire pit, trying to make sense of the last few minutes,
and, knowing that whatever was wrong with Clark, he had to deal with it on his own.
But she wasn't powerless.
"Jesus, I don't know all that's going on here, but You do. I'm just askin' that You straighten it all out.
Please. In Jesus' name, amen." She found that the simple prayers were sometimes the most effective ones.
Leaving the matter in God's hands, she took a sip from her canteen. Her nose crinkled. She sniffed again
at the opening of the canteen and her eyes got big.
*
*
*
Bark flew like shrapnel at the impact of bronze fists. As he punched away at the helpless tree, taking out
his frustration and inflicting pain on himself as some form of penance for his actions, his mind tried to
calculate how long it would take to fell the tree at this rate.
He never found out.
"CLARK!"
He would've ignored her but for the tone of her alarm. It was a desperate cry, one of excited urgency that
went past his self-indulgent pride and went right to his heart. His arm froze in mid-swing, and he turned
and ran back for camp as fast as he could.
She stood next to the campfire where he had left her; she was holding out her open canteen.
"Smell this!" she ordered.
Without questioning the odd request, he took the bottle and sniffed it. Then he smelled it again, more
cautiously this time.
42
"Yes," he commented.
"Check yours!" she directed.
Without hesitation, he retrieved his canteen where he had left it, and smelled the water. "It has the same
smell. There is something in the water."
"Clark, we were drugged!" she concluded. "Just what kind of crap did we drink last night?"
Clark cleared his sinuses with a little fresh air, then went through a process of smelling each canteen, then
pouring a little from each into his hand and tasting it.
Finally, he let the water spill out of his hand and wiped it off on his jeans. "It's a psychotropic enhancer,"
he declared. "Some kind of ... mood lifter."
"An aphrodisiac," sighed Bonnie, rolling her eyes. She sat down on the log near the fire pit. "We were set
up. They spiked my gas tank so I'd break down here in the middle of nowhere, where my cell phone
wouldn't work ... then they stole your cell phone ... then they slipped this into our water so we'd be like
two horny teenagers in the back seat at the drive-in." She poured the contents of her canteen onto the
ground, put the lid on, and tossed it behind her. "I'm getting a new canteen."
Clark poured out his canteen also. "We were drugged - this is true. But that doesn't change what we did."
"No, it doesn't," she agreed. "But maybe ... maybe it can change the way we look at it." She paused and
looked up at him, their eyes connecting for the first time since they woke. "Look, Clark, I imagine you're
feeling somethin' like the bottom of the outhouse."
"And then some," he admitted dryly.
She nodded sympathetically. "We can't change what happened. We were set up by some bikers who
wanted us to know we weren't welcome. But we were also set up by their master - the real enemy."
She held her arms out with the palms up. "Can't you see it, Clark? I had my doubts, but now I don't. We're
making a difference, and that's got Satan ticked at us!" She spit the word at him. "And he is scared. You
remember how you told me that a villain will redouble his efforts when he feels you're getting too close to
stopping him?"
Clark nodded.
"Well, that's just what's happening here! We're making a difference. And if Satan believes that we'll fold
under and blow away if he gets us to do a little rolling in the hay, he'll do it in a heartbeat."
She stood and closed the gap between them. Although he didn't look like it, he was considering her
words. She grinned and continued making eye-contact. "Look, stoneface - I love you, and what happened
last night was wonderful. But I won't let this ministry end here! God has made us a team. And now we
know we were set up. So why can't we push past this and keep going?"
"Knowing that we were set up still doesn't change the fact that it happened," Clark stated.
"No. You're right, it doesn't. It doesn't change the facts of the matter, nor their consequences. But it is up
to us as to what we choose to do about it." She paused. "If we choose to run like rabbits, then the Enemy
43
wins the battle. Or ... we can choose to fight this sucker together, now, and press on." She smiled. "Look,
I'm an ex-mercenary that knows the meaning of 'fighting the good fight'. You know it, too. And I'll be
honest: I can't walk away from a good fight - whether it's standing on my feet or down on my knees."
And, having said that, she lowered herself to the ground, resting on her knees a few feet from Clark. She
gave him a pleading look, and asked, "Well?"
Clark didn't move for a long time, and Bonnie wasn't sure if she'd gotten through to him. But then he took
a step forward, then another. Slowly he lowered his impressive frame next to hers.
He held out his hands, palms up. "We fight," he declared in a low growl. "Together."
She smiled and took his hands.
*
*
*
Lea Mayfair broke away from her baking to answer the phone. She wiped her hands on her apron.
"Hey, Grandma!" the voice on the other end greeted.
"Dot!" Her face brightened. "How are you, dear? Is everything okay?"
"It's fine, Grandma," she assured her. "Is Perry there?"
"Certainly. Just a moment!"
She walked the cordless over to Perry, sitting in the living room, and held it out to him. "It's Dot."
"Thanks!" He took the phone. "Hi, hon! Where you at?"
She told him; it was still a day's drive away. "It's getting late, so I thought I'd find a good spot to settle for
the night. It's quiet and I miss you."
"I love you, too. It won't be long."
She changed the subject. "How's the testing coming?"
"It's been very interesting. We found out that willpower can extend the aura."
"Aura?"
"For lack of a better term. It's the area around my body that keeps me from being seen. It also explains
why my ring couldn't be seen while I was wearing it, and why my clothes vanished the other day." He
paused. "I tell you, this whole thing has been so wild! They had me in this tank of water at neutral
buoyancy. Then I triggered the ring and they measured the area around my body that became invisible. As
I concentrated, the area became larger."
"Could you extend it to cover another person if, say, that person was close enough to you?"
"What do you mean ... like, if, I was holding onto you, and I set off the ring?"
44
"For example."
"I don't know. I'll suggest it to Monk and let you know."
"Okay. Anything new on the time limit?"
"No. Still can't figure why Uncle Perry could become invisible for one hour, and couldn't use it again for
24, but I can use it multiple times in that same 24 hours. The only guess we can come up with is that the
ring had built up a 'charge' while it was in storage, and that somehow changed its properties.
"I wonder, though, just how reliable this could be in the future? I mean, could it go back to needing to
recharge every 24 hours? Would it work the next time?"
"It would definitely keep you on your toes," Dot commented.
"For sure," Perry agreed.
"So, have you thought about our next port of call?"
"Not really. You?"
"Well ... it's been a while since we saw mom, so how 'bout we pay a visit to the Big Apple?"
"I like that! You know, though, I remembered the last time we tried maneuvering Nomad on the streets of
Manhattan; it still gives me nightmares. How about we park it in, say, New Jersey, and rent a car to get us
back and forth?"
"You thinking of parking it at CSI?"
"Yeah, that would work. And we could visit Johnny while we're there. Good idea."
"Thanks."
"Or ... I just had a thought."
"Did it hurt?"
"Heh heh heh ... very funny. You won't be laughing once you hear this."
"Okay," she chuckled. "What's on your mind?"
"A second honeymoon."
"Really?" she squealed.
"Four-star hotel ... room service 24/7 ... limo ... I mean, it's not as if we're on a budget."
"Jacuzzi in the room?" she ventured.
"Why not?"
45
"Yummy!" she sighed. "Oh, Perry, I can't wait! Makes me want to keep driving until I get there."
"Now, no all-nighters, okay?" he cautioned. "Get a good night's sleep, and I'll start making the
arrangements on this end in the morning."
"I'll head out at first light."
"Okay. Sleep well. I love you."
"I love you, too," she replied, her voice heavy with emotion. "See you soon. 'Night."
*
*
*
CHAPTER SIX: 6 months earlier
Blanco Grande hadn't changed much over the decades. It seemed the archetypical sleepy Spanish town,
appearing to have little more technology than Gilligan's Island. It did, however, have electricity, which
Franklin had to admit he was glad to see.
Franklin was also amused by the reactions of the two Mayan girls. They must feel like Dorothy in Oz.
Well, my little pretties, you ain't seen nothin' yet.
There were a few automobiles rolling around the dirt streets, which looked to be older than he. Most of
the transports were horse-drawn, and held together with whatever one could find.
But for Daniel Franklin, this town was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in the last three-and-a-half years.
It had taken their convoy weeks to trek through the jungle to reach this place, as measured by his full
black beard.
Without comment or narration, M'kay steered them through the streets to a modest two-story building, no
different than any other. The sign on the outside identified it in Spanish as the Bank of Hidalgo. Tying the
lead burro to a hitching rail by the front door, and instructing his two assistants to stay and keep the
convoy guarded, he walked into the bank. Franklin slid off his horse and followed.
He'd expected to see Bob Cratchit-types sitting on high stools, wearing eye shades and making entries in
massive ledger books with quill pens; instead, he was impressed by neatly-dressed men and women
operating desktop computers. It was his first reminder that he was still in the 21st Century.
With practiced familiarity, M'kay went straight to one of the offices, paying no attention to Franklin. A
man in the office saw him through the glass and rose to greet him. He was in his early 40's, with receding
red hair. He smiled and they came together with outstretched hands. Then they had the oddest exchange
Franklin had ever witnessed.
"Elephant," said M'Kay.
"Rhinoceros," responded the other man.
"Better is little with the fear of the LORD ...," said M'kay.
"... than great treasure and trouble therewith," finished the other man.
46
"Proverbs 15," identified M'kay.
"Verse 16," concluded the other man.
With that accomplished, they embraced like brothers. "It is good to see you again, my friend," the other
man said in Mayan. "I'll meet you around back."
M'kay turned and walked back outside. Irritated at being ignored, but knowing it would be over soon,
Franklin followed. The burro train was unhitched and M'kay walked them around behind the building. A
large door was open, and the red-haired man was standing next to it. Leaving the women and the horses
behind, they brought the burros inside, ending up in a large service elevator.
They descended several floors to a special underground vault. Inside the vault were six men standing
behind several long tables containing assaying equipment and other items. Against the wall were some
buckets, several sacks of grain, and water, presumably for the burros.
The man from inside gave an order, and the others moved out with all the speed and precision of a
NASCAR pit crew. The saddlebags were offloaded and the seals broken. Samples were taken from each
bag, and were examined very meticulously.
Several minutes later the assayers nodded their approval, and the red-haired man walked over to M'kay.
"Another premium batch, my friend."
He produced several papers and handed them to M'kay, who shook his hand and thanked him. Then
M'kay led the burros into the elevator. As they returned to the surface, Franklin asked what the papers
were.
"They are called vouchers. One is for the stable, to care for the burros, and prepare them for the trip
home. The other is for us at the hotel." He looked at Franklin. "I will return to the Valley tomorrow. You
will remain here, as agreed?"
"Yes, with Deuce and the girls."
And that was the last exchange between the two men.
*
*
*
The room was small. The beds were slightly larger than Army cots, and just about as comfortable. The
bathroom was at the end of the hall. The decor was ... well, there wasn't any.
To Franklin, it was better than the Hilton.
Within fifteen minutes of reaching the room, Franklin had shaved off his beard, then took a hot shower
until the water turned cold. When he finally went to bed, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
The next morning, he discovered that M'kay had left.
"Good riddance," Franklin said to himself. "That's one less Jesus Freak to contend with. Besides, this way
he can't interfere in my plans."
47
He looked in on Deuce and the girls. The Mayan teenagers had never been out of the Valley, so they were
as excited as Alice in Wonderland. Franklin instructed them all to stay inside while he 'took care of
business'.
In the lobby, he approached the desk clerk, who wore a name tag identifying him as Juan. He introduced
himself as Peter Franks, and convinced the native that he and his friends would be staying longer than the
others who were with them.
"Do you have Room Service?" he asked.
"Sì, señor," replied the clerk.
"Good. Would you have some breakfast sent up to the ladies' room? Give them whatever they want. I
have to go to the bank, and will be back soon. Can you take care of that?"
"Sì, señor."
Franklin started for the exit, but stopped and turned back. "Juan, what's the most expensive room you
have?"
"The Presidential Suite, señor," he replied, smiling.
"Is it available?"
"Sì, señor."
Franklin grinned. "Make it ready, will you?"
Juan brightened. "Sì, señor!"
As he left the hotel, he was pleased with himself, knowing that his powers of persuasion had not
diminished during his captivity.
At the bank, he approached the red-haired man. The name on the door identified him as Mr. Gilbert. With
an air of businesslike importance, he walked into the office.
"Mr. Gilbert," he greeted. "Do you recognize me?"
"Yes ... you were with M'kay. You've shaved your beard. Is there something I can do for you?"
Franklin closed the office door and sat opposite Gilbert.
"As you can tell, I'm not like the other natives, in spite of the native clothing. Allow me to introduce
myself. My name is Franks ... Peter Franks. I'm a personal associate of ... the man who receives these
funds."
"You know Mr. Dent personally?" His face brightened. "I admit, I've only spoken to him over the phone!"
The hook was in. Now to start reeling him in. "He's a very busy man. This is why he sent me. He's
concerned about how his funds are being handled, and has sent me here to check on the books."
48
Gilbert rose. "Fair enough, Mr. Franks! If you would follow me!"
He led Franklin to another office, with a desk and computer terminal. "I'm sure you understand that we
manage our accounts electronically."
As Franklin watched, everything was laid out before him. Seeing the current balance, including the
converted gold from the previous day, caused his breath to momentarily catch in this throat, and he had to
remind himself to breathe. He had suspected that the balance would be large, but this was unimaginable!
And it was all at his disposal.
Grateful that Mr. Gilbert didn't see his reaction, Franklin proceeded with the next step of his plans.
"Mr. Gilbert," he asked, maintaining his professional tone. "What would it involve to set aside a special
sub-account under my personal supervision?"
"How much are you talking about?"
"Oh, I don't know," he answered, deliberately trying to be vague. "... why don't we make it ... 500
million."
The numbers didn't seem to faze Gilbert. He thought about it a moment, then reported, "I can have it done
for you within an hour."
The thought made Franklin light-headed. He fought hard to keep from whooping with ecstasy, choosing
instead to simply smile politely. "Very good! Please proceed! In the meantime I will communicate with
Mr. Dent and let him know that all is in order. I'll also let him know you're doing a commendable job!"
An hour later, Franklin returned. Mr. Gilbert smiled. "Here you are, Mr. Franks: your passbook and
account card. Please sign here, and you're all set. Is there anything else we can do for you?"
Franklin had gotten over his initial giddiness. "Yes. A cash withdrawal of one million dollars American."
"Do you need a case to carry it?" he asked confidently.
He tilted his head. "Please."
Franklin had a seat while Gilbert left to take care of the order.
*
*
*
Franklin wondered if Juan's eyes would pop out of his head like some cartoon character, when he slid the
hundred dollar bill across the counter to him.
"W-what's this for, señor?" he sputtered.
"Juan, my friend, I'm going to be rather busy over the next few days, and I'm going to need your help.
This is just my way of making sure that you'll do your best to help me."
"Absolutely, señor!" he replied enthusiastically. "Absolutely!"
Franklin smiled. "Good. Do you remember me asking about the Presidential Suite?"
49
"Sì. You will be moving into it?"
"Yes. It is large enough for the ladies as well?"
He smiled a knowing grin, having seen the beautiful ladies that had accompanied him. "Sì!"
"Good. Next: we will need new clothes."
"I know just the couple. He is a tailor, she is a seamstress. They are excellent! I will send them to your
room, señor." He looked over the counter at Franklin's sandal-shod feet. "And may I recommend ... a
shoemaker?"
"Good idea. There will be more, but that'll be enough for a start. Now, if someone could direct me to the
Presidential Suite ...?"
*
*
*
Thus began a party that lasted for the next 24 hours.
The money flowed freely as Franklin, Deuce, and the two Mayan teenagers were dressed in the finest
clothes Blanco Grande had to offer, fed whatever delicacies they wished in unlimited quantities, and
presented with all manner of decadent pleasures.
Deuce, propelled by another bottle of tequila and some local weed, was singing off-key at the top of her
lungs. She had persuaded one of the girls to join her in the experiment, while the other girl was channel
surfing in front of the television; her eyes were wide as saucers as she was mesmerized by the limited
reception.
Franklin was deep in thought as he lay on a recliner lounge and sipped on a drink, while simultaneously
being gently massaged by the chair.
He was reviewing the plans he had conceived back in the Valley of the Vanished, how he would achieve
his revenge on the two he blamed the most for his troubles - Pat Savage and Jill Woodward.
Tomorrow, he thought, I'm going shopping for an army. Then we'll take over Caroline Island.
Considering the kind of rich people who stayed at the spa, it shouldn't take much to hold some of them for
ransom.
And his price?
"Bring me their heads on silver platters!" he would declare from the top of Caroline Island.
Thank you for your inspiration, Herodius, he thought, mentally lifting his drink in a toast.
A voice cooed from the bedroom, "Peeeterrrr."
He admired the local hooker for a moment, as she was dressed in a skimpy lace negligee. Then, without
hurrying, he switched off the chair, downed the rest of the drink, and followed the woman into the
bedroom.
50
*
*
*
CHAPTER SEVEN: The present
After the last few days, I was a tad grateful to be back on the road. Dot was also glad to have me behind
the wheel. "Myrna's sweet, but she's not the same as you."
I briefly glanced down to the ring. I was more comfortable with it now, as long as I didn't accidentally
trigger it. It wouldn't be proper for us to be seen driving down the road with nobody at the wheel ... it
might be fun, but it wouldn't be proper.
We still had questions, but we did know more than we started. And for the moment, they didn't matter.
We were on vacation, and the rest could wait.
We came into Jersey on Saturday, storing Nomad in an RV facility not far from CSI - where it would
undergo routine maintenance - and took a taxi to the Rihga Royal, one of the most luxurious hotels in the
city. We were able to get into one of their Grand Royal Suites; these were the best of the best, occupying
only the top four floors of the fifty-story hotel.
*
*
*
"Yes ... the whole 48th floor!" Dot reported to her mother within minutes of settling into the luxury suite.
"I've never seen anything so incredible! You've really got to see the view from here! We can see all of
Central Park from here! And the bathroom has its own whirlpool and sauna! I'm climbing in as soon as I
get off the phone with you!" She saw me by the business center setting up the notebook PC. "Yes, Perry's
thrilled about it, too. There's an entertainment center complete with giant-screen TV. So what are you
doing tonight ...?"
*
*
*
"We're meeting Mom at her place, visit a little bit there, then head to dinner. What do you think of going
to the restaurant here in the hotel, the Halcyon? That way, we could come up here after dinner."
"You just want to show off the place," I observed with a grin.
"Can you blame me? I can't believe we're actually here! This is just so wonderful! Thank you!" She
wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a big kiss. "Have I told you lately just how crazy I am
about you?"
"Remind me," I smiled back.
*
*
*
Carrie Brooks had a nice house in Dumont, New Jersey, a thirty minute taxi ride from New York City.
The neighborhood was primarily Irish/Italian, and the architecture showed the cultural influences. As we
walked through the house, Dot told me all about growing up here.
As we passed a table in the living room, Dot suddenly noticed the framed photograph of a man in a
military uniform. At first I thought it was a picture of Gumball – he'd been in the Air Force for several
years – but at second glance I saw it was of a much older man.
51
"Mom," Dot called to her mother in the kitchen. "Who's this?"
"Who's who?" came the response.
"The picture of the Air Force officer on the table."
"Oh." The pause that followed seemed to be just a little too long. "That's ... Lloyd."
Dot and I looked at each other, not recognizing the name or the face.
"Who's ... Lloyd?" probed Dot.
"He's a good friend."
There was something about that answer that didn't sound right, but I kept quiet. After a moment, Carrie
came out of the kitchen, and Dot's eyes went wide as her jaw dropped.
"Mom, what's that on your finger?" she sputtered.
Carrie tried to play innocent as I stood back and felt compelled to pray. "What finger?"
Dot seemed to become impatient at her mother's games. "Mom, the ring finger!"
Carrie's left hand disappeared behind her as she held up her right hand and smiled. "See? Nothing."
Dot pressed the question. "You know what I mean!"
Lowering her eyes, Carrie brought her left hand out from behind her back and held it up. Sure enough,
there was a band on the ring finger; I was surprised that Dot had seen it from the distance, but dismissed it
as a female thing.
Dot moved in closer to her mother. The tone of her voice was not as pushy as it had been a moment ago,
as she just tried to understand. "Mom, what's going on?"
Carrie paused a moment, then looked at both of us and announced, "Lloyd's my ... husband."
Dot lost it.
"He's WHAT? When? Who? And you didn't invite us? Mom – we've got to have a talk about this!"
Carrie looked at Dot and gestured to the living room. "Let's sit down," she said calmly. "And I'll explain."
"Who can sit at a time like this?" she exclaimed, her hands waving. As if Carrie wasn't there, she looked
over at me and said incredulously, "I can't believe this! My mother got married without me!"
"Yes," I agreed calmly. "Now let's sit down and let her explain!"
"Explain?" She turned back to Carrie. "Do Grandma and Granddad know about --"
"DOROTHY MARIE!" barked Carrie.
52
Dot froze in mid-sentence, her mouth still open.
"SIT!" she ordered.
Dot quietly walked over to a couch and sat unmoving. Carrie and I joined her; she sat on the couch with
Dot, while I sat in a nearby chair. Carrie looked at both of us and took a breath; her hand twisted the
wedding band on her finger as if trying to find solace in its presence.
"Okay," she started. "His name is Lloyd Carpenter ... Colonel Lloyd Carpenter, U.S. Air Force." She
paused, realizing we knew that fact already. "We were married last December in a small civil ceremony.
Nobody knows about it ... or, nobody did know about it until now." She paused to let those headlines sink
in, then continued. "We met last November at the Gym, and hit it off right from the start. He's a
wonderful Christian man ... a widower ... two married daughters, one in Alabama, the other in Minnesota.
And ... I love him." The look in her eyes confirmed her words.
"So where is he?" asked Dot.
"Iraq," answered Carrie in a sobering tone.
There was a long pause. I could see that this was hard for Carrie. Dot had eased up, and we patiently
waited for Carrie to make the next move.
"It was like one of those movie romances, you know – love at first sight. I can't explain it any more than
that. Right from the start, we talked about marriage. Both of us had grown children who had their own
families, and we saw this as an opportunity for just the two of us to have a happy ending. But we had one
major snag – we were both committed to our vocations, and didn't want to separate ourselves from them
in order to live together." She paused, and a dreamy grin crossed her face. "You ever see the movie
'Continental Divide'? John Belushi, Blair Brown?"
We nodded. It was a romantic comedy about a rough-and-tumble Chicago reporter, Belushi, falling in
love with a equally hard-as-nails naturalist, Brown. It was an opposites-attracting story – a city person
falling in love with a country person, and the last movie John Belushi made before he died.
"Remember the ending of the movie?" continued Carrie. "They couldn't stand to be together in the other's
environment, and yet they couldn't stand to be apart from one another. In the end they got married at a
little train stop, then he went back to the city and she stayed in the country. The bottom line was that
they'd work things out somehow, as long as love prevailed." She smiled. "That's us. I'm here, and he's ...
there. We got satellite cell phones so we can talk to each other, and we try to get together as often as
possible." She paused; this was weighing heavy on her. "I pray a lot for him. And I have a tendency to
shake when I hear about another soldier being killed over there." She stood and wrapped her arms around
herself as if it could keep her from falling apart. "I really don't know why I haven't told you guys, or
anyone else in the family. Maybe I imagined you'd try to stop me, or ... something. I don't know. This is
far from a conventional marriage. We agreed that I would keep my maiden name ... for obvious reasons.
But we love each other, and the arrangement is the most practical one for us." She turned and looked at
us. "I'd like to be the one to break it to the rest of the family, okay?"
We both nodded. "We won't say a thing," said Dot. "And ... I'm sorry for freaking out like that."
Carrie smiled; there was a hint of a tear in her eye. "It's okay."
53
Dot was on her feet and mother and daughter hugged for several seconds.
When they separated, Carrie walked into the kitchen for something to wipe her eyes. She brought a tissue
for Dot. "I leave it up to him to call – wouldn't be good if I called him in the middle of a firefight – so I
keep the cell handy. I'll bring it with us, just in case he does call. You'd like him. He's got a sense of
humor like I do."
"That could be dangerous," Dot quipped with a grin.
I joined them and very matter-of-factly asked, "So shall we talk about dinner ... or pray for Lloyd first?"
"Pray," said Carrie without hesitation, her smile thanking me for the thought.
"Pray," seconded Dot with a nod.
*
*
*
Deciding to have dinner at the Halcyon was an excellent choice, but Lloyd didn't call during dinner. We
saw the disappointment in Carrie's face, and tried to reassure her.
Afterward we went up to our suite for some after-dinner conversation. Carrie walked over to the window
that looked out at the magnificent New York cityscape. Following several minutes of small talk, her
expression became sheepish.
"Do you mind me asking you both something?" confessed Carrie. "I've been realizing, I really don't know
what you three do in your ministry. I mean, I know you travel the countryside preaching the Gospel, but
that's about it."
Dot and I looked at one another, and she deferred to me. "Well, it's like you said, we preach the Gospel in
tent evangelism meetings. But then we have the group houses." I paused, trying to find the right words to
summarize things. "Before Dot and I got married, I lived in a group home. There were a bunch of us
sharing the house, living almost communally, etc. The best thing about that was that we were always there
for one another, when we felt up or down or sideways ... someone would be close by to help us, or be
there for us to help. To a lot of them ... that house was the closest thing to a family they'd known." I
smiled, remembering the faces of some of the men this applied to. "What we're doing is establishing
group homes around the country, giving people who hear the gospel and respond to it somewhere to call
'home' ... somewhere to go to for 24/7 support ... somewhere where they won't be alone when they need
advice ... or a hug." I smiled.
"It all comes back to family," reflected Carrie, sitting on one of the couches. "I like that."
Dot picked up the narrative. "So far we've got 173 homes around the U.S., connected by a secure website
so they can share information and support one another; we'll give you the address and password so you
can look in. Since Clark's truck has the tent we use for the meetings, Perry's had to fall back on preaching
in missions wherever possible ... which is like old times for him." She grinned in my direction. "Right
now, though, we're taking a page from Paul's missionary journeys and visiting the homes we've already
established. See how well they're doing, see if they need anything we can provide ... basically offer and
give them support where they need it."
"One hundred seventy-three homes?" Carrie repeated with admiration, "How many people are we talking
about?"
54
"I'm not sure of the exact figure," I admitted. "It's always fluxuating as people come and go. But I think I
could safely say that we're housing between 2,500 and 3,000 people at any one time."
Carrie's jaw dropped. "Wow! I'm impressed! You've done a fine job!"
"We just provide and maintain the places. God does all the hard work of bringing people to us."
"Just like you all have sent men and woman to Serenity Center for treatment."
"Speaking of which," asked Dot. "How's your rate of success from the referrals?"
"Good. Eighty-five percent are rehabilitated ... give or take. It's not perfect, but I'm proud of it."
We all jumped at the unfamiliar ring of a cell phone, and Carrie moved like lightning, grabbing the
satellite cell phone and glancing at it an instant before she answered.
"Lloyd! Hi, sweetheart! No, you didn't interrupt anything! My daughter and son-in-law are in town, and
we were just talking. No, it's okay; they know. They saw the picture of you and started asking questions.
They're smarter than I give them credit for at times." She looked at us with a 'just joking' grin. "Are you
okay? I'm glad to hear your voice, too," she sighed. "I love you." She paused. "They were shocked at first,
of course. Then they got used to it. They want to meet you, too. Yeah ... they'll be in town all week. I can
give you the number of their cells." She paused, looking at us for our permission; we both nodded
silently. "Okay." She repeated Perry's, then Dot's cell phone numbers. "Love you, too. Take care of
yourself. Talk to you tomorrow. I love you ... bye."
She didn't disconnect until he had disconnected first. She held onto the phone a few seconds more, as if
the instrument carried his essence, and she didn't want to let go of him yet. Then she set the phone down
and turned back to us.
Dot walked over to her mother and wrapped her up in a spontaneous hug. Carrie held on appreciatively
for a few seconds. When they separated, Carrie thanked her daughter, and they returned to the sofas.
The evening ended with us talking about Lloyd, occasionally breaking into prayers for him and all those
over there.
*
*
*
CHAPTER EIGHT
On Tuesday evening, under overcast skies, we had dinner with Douglas Martin.
We arrived at Aureole on Park and Madison at seven, and were escorted to our table. Martin joined us a
few minutes later. Despite the fact that he was in his late 70's, he hadn't changed a bit since we first met
him over five years ago. His hair was still white and balding on the top, with distinctive muttonchop
sideburns that extended below the jaw line.
"I apologize for my tardiness," he said as we rose to greet him. "Last-minute phone call caught me as I
was leaving the office."
I extended a hand. "It's okay."
55
He took the hand; his grip was firm. He turned to Dot. "And this must be the face behind the charming
voice ..."
"Yes," she said, standing and extending her hand.
However, instead of shaking Dot's hand, the old gentleman took it and gently kissed its back. "It is a most
distinctive pleasure to finally meet you in person, my dear."
"Me, too," she commented, obviously taken by surprise by the sudden flattery. "You are a charming
rogue, aren't you?"
Martin flashed her a mischievous grin as he sat. "Most men of my age either become 'charming rogues' or
'dirty old men'. I prefer being identified with the former than the latter."
After our waiter left with our dinner orders, Martin asked where Clark was, and we explained about the
'road trip'.
"He's a most remarkable man," commented Martin afterward. "And Miss Clayton has been quite the
partner for him. I hesitate to ask, or even speculate ... do you think they will ever marry?"
"I hope so," said Dot with the trace of a smile.
"It would be nice," I agreed. "They really do make a good team. But then you've gotta remember who
we're talking about."
"True," concurred Martin. "Still, we can always hope for the best."
"What about you?" asked Dot. "Is there a Mrs. Martin?"
"Alas, no." A sad smile crossed his face. "There was a woman, many years ago, who was very close to
me. But she lost her life during the war. World War II, that is." He paused; his smile brightened up a
degree or two. "Since then, I've resigned myself to be the 'charming rogue' before you."
During our meal Martin asked us about the ministry houses. "I know things were rather slow in the
beginning, but picked up. What made the difference?"
"At first everything was mostly word-of-mouth - through churches and home congregations. But then the
website was established, and we had a way of people getting through to us with questions. Once the word
got out that Second Chances Ministries was actually willing to sponsor and fund qualified ministry houses
within the U.S. - once they were convinced that we were truly legitimate, the emails came flooding in ...
as, of course, you are aware of."
"I do. It's nice to know how they turned out."
"A lot of candidates will choose large houses – multi-family dwellings – because they're often closer to
urban areas where the homeless dwell, and may be easier to acquire. But we have witnessed some very
interesting exceptions. Dot?"
Dot nodded. "In Kalispell, Idaho, a group of people from one church took over a deserted apartment
complex. The building was practically brand new; it had been built by a developer in anticipation of a
56
freeway off-ramp that would've increased the value of his property. However, the off-ramp was cancelled
due to lack of funding, and the complex sat there, unused and deserted, until someone in the group spotted
it. They contacted us through Jack Heady in Portland, and we had it checked out.
"The developer was only too happy to sell it. We kicked in a little seed money for restoration, and it was
good to go within a month. If I remember right ... I think over half of the one hundred thirty-eight units
are occupied. It's gone from being an eyesore destined for destruction to a true community."
"And that's just one example out of many," I commented. "Apartment buildings, warehouses, farms - even
ranches."
After dinner, we went back to our hotel room for tea.
"Dot," Martin addressed shyly. "I'm afraid I spoke too soon in my earlier statement. There has been
another woman I have greatly admired, albeit from afar."
We were curious. "Who is it?" asked Dot.
He looked at us and said, "Patricia."
"Pat?" I exclaimed in surprise. "Pat Savage?"
Martin smiled gently. "Especially since she has resumed her proper age. She is a most fascinating woman
... and quite a looker." His smile vanished, and he turned from us. "Ah! But I rather doubt that she'd give
me a second look, let alone be as interested in me as I in her." He looked out the window. "No ... I'm out
of her league; she's far too busy nowadays to bother with emotional relationships."
"That can change," said Dot, approaching him and placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Would you
like me to say something to her?"
Martin's face started to pale, and his expression turned to shocked horror, "Lord, no! Please, don't!"
"Doug," Dot said patiently. "If you hadn't wanted us to say something, then why did you tell us about how
you felt?"
He didn't reply immediately. But then he sighed. "Maybe you're right." He turned and their eyes met. "But
please ... be gentle."
"I will," she promised.
"Doug," I spoke up. "You might be surprised at how she feels about you. Do you recall an incident
involving a self-destructing videotape?"
He thought for a moment, then said, "Why, yes! That was a long time ago. She's not still angry at me for
that, is she?"
"No, I don't believe so," I answered quickly.
"So," asked Dot. "What happened?"
57
"Well, let me see ...," he said as we sat. "You and Clark had narrowly escaped Pat's clutches, and she tried
pressing me for information on your alter egos. She first taking the legal route, sending one of her whelps
– ahem, junior lawyers – to my office, but he was quite ineffective. So she took the illegal route, having
her assistant Franklin arrange for some professional burglars to break into our offices and hack into my
computer files."
He sat back, involved in recalling the incident. "I had anticipated that she might try something like this, so
I worked with Mitch Drake to have a little welcoming party waiting for them. Their activities were
recorded from the moment they bypassed my security and entered my offices, right back to their
rendezvous with Franklin. Then I followed Franklin back to Pat's private elevator ... and all without their
knowledge. It was actually very sophisticated.
"The next morning, I sent Pat a videotape with the edited and annotated footage connecting the break-in
to her, and told her – personally addressing her on the tape itself – that I'd send a copy of the raw footage
to the Feds if she didn't back off.
"She backed off. As to the self-destructing aspect, well, I could not allow her to show my little threat to
others, so I set up the tape to destruct ala Mission: Impossible."
His smirk suddenly vanished. "I hope she's not holding a grudge against me because of that."
I quickly shook my head. "No, no! In fact, when Pat told us about the incident, she said that she admired
you for getting away with such a daring sting operation – although, at the time, she had been tempted to
personally march down to your offices and strangle you with the videotape."
"Oh, my!" He laughed. "I had no idea! By the way - just where is Mr. Franklin?"
"The Valley of the Vanished," I answered. "Franklin knew too much to remain on the loose. So he was
taken to the Valley ... indefinitely. It was the best thing we could do, considering the circumstances and
possible ramifications."
Martin nodded. "Yes. I concur."
*
*
*
On Thursday morning we met with Karleen.
Karleen Bush had been just a minor reporter for a television affiliate station in New York City doing local
on-camera stories, when she was assigned to cover some old building getting torn down to make way for
a school. So what if it had been the Crime College? That was ancient history; it had been ancient history
back in the 1950's, when she was just a child. But then, while covering those involved in the story, she
met the very-unique "Monk" Mayfair. And for some reason neither of them could fathom, they took a
liking to each other; she saw him as an uncle who dressed up in gorilla costumes, and she was like a
favorite niece from the Bronx to him.
The story came and went, and she continued doing on-camera stuff. But then Penelope Savage was
kidnapped. The Station Manager remembered that Karleen had done another Doc Savage-related story, so
assigned her to it. Shortly after, Monk Mayfair contacted her and asked her to transmit an electronic copy
of the story to an unknown location on short notice. When she hesitated, Monk offered her a piece of the
action - a big piece of the action. Although it took a bit of doing at the time, she got him the information.
After that, all hell seemed to break loose.
58
There was the rescue attempt that resulted in the deaths of Penelope Savage and her kidnappers. And Pat
Savage, reclusive for many years, came out and made the world-shaking announcement dissolving her
cosmetics corporation and turning her own island into the world's largest daycare center.
But Karleen Bush had the inside track; CNN picked up her little story, and affiliates all over the world
suddenly knew her name.
She was suspicious the next time Monk Mayfair contacted her, especially when he was requesting a
meeting on the roof of their building. Her suspicions increased geometrically when she was picked up by
the same kind of aircraft Pat Savage used as a personal transport. They flew out over the ocean while
Monk made good on his promise of a big piece of the action: he offered her the position of Media Liaison
for the Savage Institute.
She accepted. Then she got the biggest story of her life - and was trusted not to give it away.
Doc Savage was alive.
Things moved quickly after that. Running media relations for the Clark Savage Institute was actually fun,
and she found she had a flair for Public Relations. She ran with the position and built a small team of
handpicked professionals into a media relations group with over 200 people on the payroll. She called it
Rosewood after the horse she had as a child.
Then she proposed the construction of a building that would house the various companies they
represented, such as Waverly Arms, Second Chances Ministries, and, of course, her own Rosewood.
She suggested that they name it Hidalgo Trading Company.
Back in the 1930's, the original Hidalgo Trading Company had been nothing more than a warehouse
along the Hudson River. No business was ever conducted there; it was just there to house numerous airand sea-craft exclusively used by Doc Savage and his people. When the Savage holdings had been
liquidated in the 1950's, the contents of the warehouse were included. For decades it lay abandoned, until
finally, during the reign of Mayor Ed Koch, the property was leveled and was replaced with a park.
The new Hidalgo Trading Company Building was a squat edifice of steel and glass built right next to the
park that Mayor Koch had built; it was a truly ironic and fitting tribute.
*
*
*
"You know, I can't believe we haven't been here before. Who runs the branch here?"
"Bret Foster. It's a small office; only about a dozen people. Since Chris handles the brunt of the
administrative duties, it's branches like these that work under her. They also have local people - like Dan
and George in Portland - who check out candidate houses and report their findings."
"Okay. I hope we can visit."
"You just want to pull a surprise inspection on these poor people."
"I promise I'll leave my white glove in the car!" she grinned.
59
We pulled our rented townhouse into the Visitor parking spot in the underground lot and took the elevator
to the tenth floor. A six-foot wooden rose, the Rosewood logo, stood next to the main doors. We
introduced ourselves to the receptionist, and were escorted to Karleen's office. Her secretary, a diminutive
Vietnamese lady by the name of Trahn Le, informed us that Karleen was involved in an important phone
call, but that we could go in anyhow.
Karleen was excitedly pacing the office, a Bluetooth headset hanging onto her right ear. She turned to us
and gave us a wave and a grin. Then she pointed us towards a set of leather-bound chairs as she continued
to talk.
"Yes, sir ... thank YOU, sir!" she said as she joined us and eased into a chair. "I can't tell you how happy I
am that you've both accepted to be guest lecturers to our Oceanography students!" Pause. "Of course! I'll
look forward to it. Thank you again, Mr. Cussler! Okay, Clive it is! 'Bye!" She pressed a button on the
side of the headset and gave a huge sigh. "Mercy! We've been trying to get them to lecture at CSI for
months!"
She pressed a button on the Bluetooth again and said, "Trahn, hold my calls for awhile, okay? Thanks!"
Then she took off the headset and placed it on the coffee table between us. "Whew! Sometimes I wonder
if technology's just another way of putting us on a short leash!"
We all stood and exchanged hugs. It was good to see her, even though it was clear that her smoking habit
hadn't lessened since last time; we politely pretended not to notice.
"So whaddya think of the place?" she asked, waving her arms to encompass the office. "Pretty cool, huh?"
"Nice digs," I commented admiringly. "You've definitely come up in the world."
"Ain't it somethin'?" she replied with a big grin. "The Man Upstairs has been real good t'me the last
couple o'years. So ... you two here on business or pleasure?"
"We're taking a vacation," answered Dot. "A kind-of second honeymoon. We're staying at the Rihga
Royal."
"Sweet," she commented, with a low whistle.
"And we figured," I added. "Since we're in town, we'd touch bases with you and others we haven't seen in
some time."
"Sounds good." She waved her hand to encompass the entire room. "Well, as you can see, I'm not
complaining. You two had lunch yet?"
"No," I replied with a gentle shake of my head. "We were actually hoping to take you out to lunch. Figure
you know the best places around here."
She smiled. "That I do. Lemme just double-check my schedule first."
She put on the Bluetooth headset. She conferred briefly with her secretary. "You drivin' the RV?"
"It's in storage; we've got a rented towncar this time."
60
"Good!" She exhaled with relief. "Trahn? Set up reservations for three at Singers. Yeah, one-fifteen will
be fine - thanks." Hanging up the phone, she informed us, "Singers is one of our clients; they've also got
one of the best salad bars in the city."
She suddenly rose and retrieved something from her desk.
"Have you seen this?" she asked, showing us the headline of the tabloid.
Splashed across the front page was the bold declaration DOC SAVAGE FOUND! Underneath the
headline was a picture of Doc that had obviously been pulled from old records, but it had been digitally
altered to make it appear as if the person in the picture was centuries old.
Karleen summarized the story.
apparently the mummified remains of Doc Savage had been accidentally found in a warehouse in New
York City by an immigrant janitorial worker, one José Ramon Perez.
It continued to report that teams of forensic experts from around the world had 'worked around the clock'.
They had determined that the body had been dead for at least 20 years, but yet still had not figured out the
cause of death.
Interspersed throughout the story was the usual background stuff: who Doc was, what he did, and
rehashing the story of the Crime College.
The article concluded with the declaration that the body – once the Government finished with it – would
be turned over to the National Museum of History in Washington D.C., for display.
"'How did the body get into that warehouse?'" she quoted dramatically. "'When did the Man of Bronze
die? Why hadn't the body been properly buried or cremated? Is it possible that it had been hidden deep
within the bowels of the dilapidated Crime College, moved only recently by one of Savage's surviving
cronies - Mayfair, or Littlejohn? Was the body of their former leader serving in the same way as Norman
Bates' mother in Psycho? Was this the 'force' behind the innocent-appearing Clark Savage Institute? What
is really being taught to our children there - is it from people who get their cues from the dead?'"
Despite her overly-dramatic tilt to the final paragraphs, I found my blood starting to boil. "How can they
print such trash? It's all speculation and innuendo! They have no proof!"
"Easy, Perry, easy," comforted Karleen as she neatly folded the tabloid. "I didn't know it would cause you
to bust a pipe. We see that sorta thing all the time 'round here ... I just wanted t'share the latest Doc
Savage gossip."
"Just consider the alternative," added Dot. "How it would look if the real truth about what happened to
Clark came out? How do you think the public would take to him being in suspended animation for fifty
years, transported from Maine to Oregon, then becoming a Jesus Freak on top of it?"
"Good point," I sighed, seeing the absurdity in the actual facts. Then I laughed. "You know ... it would
serve them right if we leaked the real story to one of these tabloids, knowing that nobody in their right
mind would believe a word of it."
"Perry, that's absolutely inspired!" laughed Karleen. "Next time you talk to Clark, see what he thinks of it.
In the meantime, let's eat!"
61
*
*
*
CHAPTER NINE: Five months earlier
Franklin didn't know where to find an army. But he knew that others had to, and he spread around enough
money to get their attention. He didn't use his real name, but his 'Peter Franks' alias, and he had a strong
feeling that the man calling himself 'Avery' wasn't using his real name either. It didn't matter; as long as
he got what he wanted, the man could call himself Mickey Mouse.
Mr. Avery was also an arms dealer; he showed off his stock with all the pride of a used-car salesman, and
his material was quite impressive. He promised Avery that they would do business, giving him a generous
retainer for his availability.
Then it was time to meet his army. Avery accompanied him in the small cruiser to a sleepy fishing village
on the coast.
Franklin gave him a dirty stare. "Look, man, if you're trying to give me the shaft ..."
"Certainly not, Mr. Franks," Avery defended himself. "This is the place I told you about. It is called
Negro Lobo."
"Black Wolf, huh? Okay, then, lead on, bro'."
Avery started walking through the little town. It hardly looked to Franklin that there was any activity
here, let alone military activity. Men mending a fishing net. Native women walking around with
groceries. A few children at play.
But then he saw the damage. Pock-mark machine gun holes stitched across walls, scorched ground and
craters that could've only come as a result of explosives. Dried stains that he hoped hadn't been blood.
And a submachine gun-carrying native giving them suspicious looks.
Franklin understood.
The native with the submachine gun began to question them in rapid Spanish, his gun raising to a ready
position. Avery answered back, and the words must've appeased the native's curiosity; he gestured for
them to follow.
"He'll take us to the governor," explained Avery.
The more he saw of the town, the more he knew this was the place he would find his army. The
governor's residence reminded him of something he had seen in a movie: the walls looked as if they had
taken many direct hits, yet stood intact. A pair of guards at the main gate exchanged words with the native
and Avery, then opened the gate and let them in. They were accompanied by at least one armed man until
they came into the presence of the governor.
Don Miguel Sandoval looked like a kindly man, yet Franklin could see the weariness. Avery bowed to
him, and introduced Franklin to him. The man stood and extended a hand. "I welcome you to my village,
Señor Franks."
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Franklin took his hand and offered a respectful bow. "I know your time is valuable, Don Sandoval, so I'll
get right to the point. It's obvious that you and your neighboring villages are ... shall we say, at war? I
believe I may have a solution for you."
"We have been this way for many years, Señor Franks. What can you possibly offer us that we have not
already attempted?"
"There is an island in the Mediterranean. It is my intent to conquer that island and remove those currently
in power. Once this is accomplished, I will personally have no use for the island itself. What I propose is
that I will turn the island over to your people in exchange for the use of your army in achieving my coup.
We both benefit: I get an army with which to achieve my objective, and you get a safe homeland for
yourself and your people." He smiled. "I'll even cover your moving expenses. What do you say?"
"Army?" the old man chuckled. "We are hardly that. We are more like a militia ... certainly not trained
warriors."
"Mr. Avery tells me you have potential. You just need the right equipment, weapons, and motivation. I
can give you all that."
"Your proposal is very interesting, señor ... if it is true."
"How can I prove to you my sincerity?"
"It is not your sincerity I doubt. I believe your sincerity to be good. It is your intent. Although I have an
army, I do not wish to hurt innocent people."
"Nor do I. There are only two people on the island I wish harm to, and this I will handle personally. If it's
done right, no one else will be harmed. I just want a show of force to convince the people on the island
that I am serious. Are your men capable of doing this?"
He paused briefly before answering, "Yes, they are. But there are many things to consider. Who will
defend this village while the army is away?"
"Leave that to me." His smile was pure showmanship.
It was also, it seems, very convincing. "Very well. What is the name of this island?"
"Does that make a difference?" Franklin returned, disappointed.
"It would help me to persuade my people to help you. Yes."
"Very well. The location is Caroline Island. The most dangerous thing about it is a health spa."
Sandoval smiled. "A health spa, señor? I think not. The island is an orphanage."
"Pardon me?" Franklin's jaw dropped. "It's what?"
"An orphanage. Señora Savage has taken in children from all over the world."
Franklin quickly composed himself. "Has she, now?" he commented.
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"You wish to harm Señora Savage?" Sandoval cautiously asked.
Franklin's voice sobered. "Don Sandoval. I can see you are a man who has a passion for his people. How
many have died from the fighting between you and your neighbors?"
"Too many."
"I am offering you a way to free your people once and for all from the oppression of your neighbors, to
move to a land where they can live in peace. Please do not let any so-called sense of moral conscience
cloud your judgment in this matter. What I plan to do, I will accomplish. I will find an army to help me if not here, then elsewhere."
Franklin stood resolute, looking over at the weary man with so much riding on his shoulders. Avery kept
quiet at Franklin's side as they waited for Sandoval's decision.
"Señor Franks. You are correct - my people are everything to me. I accept your offer. Our army is yours."
Franklin smiled. "Don Sandoval, you will not regret your decision. You will be as famous in your country
as Moses is to the Israelis; you will take your people to the Promised Land." He paused. "I will need to
speak to the commander of your army."
"That is my son, Ramon."
"A wise choice." He paused. "I will be back within a week. I'll have several ... associates with me. We'll
need somewhere to live, close to where the army will be training. A house with five rooms would be
sufficient."
"I know just the place, señor. It is unoccupied. It will be ready."
"As a gesture of good faith, I would like to present this to you." Franklin placed his briefcase on the desk,
turned it to face Don Sandoval, and opened it. Inside were stacks of American currency. "You will require
arms and equipment. This should give you a start."
Sandoval tried to hold back the surprise, but Franklin saw it. "Gracias, señor Franks! Muchos gracias!"
Franklin extended his hand, and the other man pumped it gratefully. "Thank you as well, Don Sandoval.
Adios."
Franklin and Avery left the governor's house. As they walked back to the cruiser, Franklin asked, "It
seems I have some catching up to do, Mr. Avery. How are you with intelligence gathering?"
"Mr. Franks, for the right price, you'll find I can meet all your needs," the other man smiled wickedly.
"Good. Let's start with all the information you can find about Caroline Island. Especially any
developments within the last three years." He paused. "As soon as possible."
"Of course, Mr. Franks."
"And, while you're at it, why don't you fill me in on what's been going on in the world. I have been ...
incommunicado ... for the last four years."
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"No need to explain, Mr. Franks. I am at your disposal."
*
*
*
Within 24 hours a box was delivered to his room. Among the items were several videotapes, labeled with
the year and CURRENT EVENTS or THE YEAR IN REVIEW, and a videotape labeled P. SAVAGE
INTERVIEW with a date from last year. Also in the box were a few magazines and a manila envelope
with a sheath of newspaper and magazine clippings.
"This'll keep me busy," Franklin commented to himself.
A quick call to the lobby, and a VCR was brought to his room and hooked into his TV.
Alone in his room with a six-pack of cold beers, a plate of sandwiches, and a DO NOT DISTURB sign on
the door, he started by skimming through the articles on Caroline Island; there were no pictures included.
"Who does she think she is, Mother Teresa?" Franklin commented, reading about her dissolving Patricia,
Inc. and devoting her life to caring for children. "Well, this doesn't change anything. She can hide behind
those brats, but that won't make a difference."
Then he watched the videotape, which was an interview Pat had made with Barbara Walters.
The show began. Walters' voice played over the familiar footage of the spa on Caroline Island.
"Three years ago, this was Caroline Island. People would come from all over the world to use its facilities
as a five-star spa." She paused. "This is Caroline Island now."
As the scene changed, Franklin stared in shock.
"Currently there are 1,500 children living on the island, ranging in age from six months to seventeen
years."
The film showed the once-familiar landscape, but it was different. There were new buildings now, some
still in construction. And ... all those children! It was mind-boggling! There were literally hundreds of
children running and playing together. Adults dotted the scene, some standing, towering over the throng,
others running and playing side-by-side with the children.
And there, in the midst of them, was a familiar figure. It took Franklin a couple of moments for it to sink
in, and then he was so shocked that he lost his grip on his beer; it dropped to the floor and dribbled out
onto the carpet.
"P-Pat?" sputtered Franklin.
He couldn't believe his eyes. He'd known for years how old she had truly been, but there'd always been
that little shred of doubt that said it couldn't be possible, especially when they had been ... together.
But now he knew. And he shuddered in horror, knowing that he'd been intimate with ... with that old hag
on the screen! He had a sudden overwhelming urge to take a long hot shower, as if that could change
things. He stopped the tape, realizing he had spilled his beer. He cleaned it up, and downed the rest of it
before opening the other bottle and continuing the tape.
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He was calmer now, and backed the tape up a few seconds before proceeding. Now he saw Pat again, his
former boss, and saw that there was more of a change to her than just the white hair and wrinkles. She
looked--happier?--than he remembered. She was surrounded by children, mobbing her like Lilliputians
tackling Gulliver. She toppled over, and fell onto her rear end ungainly. But the expression on her face
was amazing. She was smiling. And it wasn't some kind of a forced smile to please the cameras; it was
genuine. He paused the tape, looking at her face for several minutes.
It was incomprehensible to Franklin. What had happened since last time? What had she done with the
Penelope alter ego? Perhaps his answers were in the interview. He sat back, took a long drink of the beer,
and continued the tape.
The scene blended into a homey setting; it took Franklin a moment to recognize what had been the master
bedroom at the top of the mesa on Caroline Island. Bitterly, he remembered it was also the last place he
had been before being tranquilized and shanghaied to the Valley of the Vanished. It appeared that Pat had
it remodeled since then, from a bedroom to a living room. Two comfortable chairs were arranged for the
benefit of the camera; Ms. Walters sat on the left, Pat on the right, angled so the camera could have a full
view of her.
He paused the tape and studied her for a few moments. He retracted his earlier comment about her being
an old hag. Despite the white hair and wrinkles, she was still a strikingly beautiful woman; there were still
traces there of the Pat he knew.
He continued the tape.
"First of all," started Ms. Walters. "Let me just thank you again for allowing us into your home to do this
interview."
"It's my pleasure, Barbara," Pat cordially replied, smiling.
"This place is wonderful," she beamed. Then her eyes narrowed and her tone turned serious. "You had
fame, fortune, and power. Why did you give up everything that you had for this - to become what some
are calling a 'glorified den mother'?"
Pat laughed. "That's a new one! I've been called a lot of things since I started this." She started listing.
"'The Ultimate Soccer Mom.' 'The World's Oldest Babysitter.' 'Mommy Day Care.' 'Earth Mother.' 'Saint
Patricia, the Unofficial Patron Saint of Lost Children.' 'Queen of the World's Largest Day Care Center.'
'The Second Coming of Mary Poppins.' 'Auntie Dearest.' 'The Oldest Living Single Mother.' 'La Madre
Savage.' 'SuperNanny.' The list goes on and on. Personally, I love every label that they pin on me!"
Her smile persisted for a few moments, then faded away as she became serious.
"However, as to your question ... the answer is - was - my own daughter Penelope."
Franklin leaned forward in his chair. "Was?" he blurted.
Pat continued. "Penelope was my heir. She was my reason for living. The company would've gone to her
after I was gone." She paused, and her voice became emotional. "When she was kidnapped ... and when
the rescue attempt failed ... and she was killed ... I had no heir. It wore heavily on me for a long time, as
you know. But thanks to some friends of mine, they were able to steer me in a direction where I could
start over. Imagine, starting over at my age! But I have, and now ... instead of a single heir ... I have
hundreds of children who can benefit from my life and my wealth, both now and when I'm gone."
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"So what is your goal now?" Walters asked. "What do you aspire to?"
Pat smiled. "That's easy. Our mission statement starts off with, 'For every child, a loving home.' And that
just about says it all. Many of these children come from backgrounds where there is poverty, depression,
disease, starvation, malnutrition, abuse, and neglect ... where their life expectancy is often times no more
than six months. And, God willing, we are giving them a second chance at life itself. A second chance to
life beyond what their environment declares to be their life to be. A chance to be loved, cared for, and
nurtured ... where they will be encouraged and will grow. Certainly, it is my desire that every child that
comes to this island leave here with a couple who will raise them, and see them through to the fullness of
their own potential. That would make me the happiest. But if that is not what will happen, I want to make
these children happy for as long as they live here ... in whatever capacity that is."
"Some of the children you have brought in have health problems, don't they?"
"Yes. Many of these children come from third-world countries where they are simply abandoned. For
example, we received 273 children from Donetsk, Ukraine. Many of these children were abandoned by
their parents ... they could afford the pregnancy, but not the child. It's amazing, I know, but it happens all
the time. And so they were abandoned in the hospital while the parents moved on, or left on the doorstep
of a church or mission. The weak don't survive; the strong do. We have a wing of our medical facility
solely for children with AIDS. Their life expectancy is often less than one year. Many of these babies will
never see their first birthday. We try to make their time here as happy as possible. And ... they are
happy." Her eyes started misting over, and her voice cracked with emotion. "The children smile ... they
laugh ... and they play, living each day as it comes. And we ... cry for them."
They paused while Pat wiped tears from her eyes; Walters empathetically offered her a tissue and waited
before going on to the next question.
"How are you equipped for personnel to handle so many children?"
"We're good, but we could always be better. One strong factor in our favor has been the natives of the
island. When I first came to Caroline Island, when it was called by another name, the natives had a very
poor economy, based on a modest fishing trade and selling crafts to the tourists. Things have grown
considerably since then--now even more--as the natives use their hands to create things for the children,
from blankets to clothes to shoes to toys." She paused and grinned. "I don't know who is the more happy,
the children or the adults giving to the children.
"But in answer to your question, we need a lot of people to take care of these children: language experts,
caretakers, caregivers, you name it--basically, anything that has to do with children.
"Last year we established the chain of Chances recruiting offices to handle the influx of people who
wanted to work for us. This has been a great help, allowing people to apply in person at any of the offices
around the world, or online at www.chances.net. Background checks are performed on each and every
candidate, and all applicants are thoroughly screened."
She turned and addressed the camera. "But don't let that stop you. We need help. The children need help.
You don't need to be a professional to be a part of this organization; if you care, if you have a compassion
for children, you are needed."
She turned to Walters with a sheepish look on her face. "Sorry, Barbara. I told you I'd plug it if I could."
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The other woman nodded and smiled, "Yes, you did. And right now, we have to break for a commercial."
Following the commercial, there was a brief re-introduction. The camera went to a two-shot of them
sitting in the living room, followed by a close-up of Barbara Walters' face as she asked her next question.
"Pat, are you aware that you've made some powerful enemies because of your stand against abortion?"
Pat took the question in stride, taking a deep breath before answering. "I've always had enemies. The only
difference here is why.
"I support life. Life begins at conception; every scientist, whether they be pro-choice or pro-life, as long
as they are not blinded by their own selfishness, knows this fact. Those who support abortion know what
they're doing, and yet they still choose to listen to their own voices rather than those who have no voice.
They'd rather have their million dollar bodies than spend two cents on precautions."
"Isn't that rather harsh?" replied Walters. "After all, you WERE in the cosmetics industry."
"Yes! That's the reason why I can speak - it's from experience. I was in the business of selfishness and
self-aggrandizing. The 'beauty business' I called it. For years I turned a blind eye to it, and people were
hurt because of it. But not anymore.
"Your network might edit this from the interview, but I'm going to say it anyway: I support life. If that
means adoption, then I support it. If that means sex education, then I support it. If that means abstinence
education, then I support it. If that means opposing abortion -" She paused and looked straight at the
camera. "- then I support it, and I will continue to support it no matter who out there doesn't like it."
She gave the camera a grin that Franklin remembered. "Oh, and by the way, it's no secret that I'm not
alone in this stand. Pro-life groups throughout the world have affirmed their support through emails,
letters, phone calls ... and funds. We are going to win. And that's all I have to say on the matter for now."
She smiled.
Barbara Walters paused briefly before going on to the next question. "Your religion is very important to
you now, isn't it?"
"If you're asking, does my faith in God give me hope for the future, then the answer is yes. Before, I had
no hope. But now, through Jesus Christ, I have hope that I can stand on like a rock in the midst of the
storm."
There were a couple more questions, then Walters wrapped things up. "Well, our time is up. Thank you
again for letting us into your home, Pat."
"It was my pleasure, Barbara," Pat replied softly.
Walters faced the camera. "This is Barbara Walters for ABC News. Good night!"
The end credits rolled over across a series of pictures of children.
Franklin watched for a few moments, then stopped the tape and unconsciously punched the Rewind
button.
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I can't believe she gave up the business to become ... this, he thought. Still, it doesn't matter. I had planned
to use the people at the spa as my hostages, but this is far better! Children are easier to control, and they'll
give up everything before they see one child hurt.
I need to know more.
He picked up the phone and called Avery's message number.
*
*
*
CHAPTER TEN: The Present
Excerpted from the brochure The Clark Savage Institute - A Shining Star To Guide Today's Youth
(Rosewood Press, 2004):
“This most beautiful system [The Universe] could only proceed from the dominion of an intelligent and
powerful Being.”
--Sir Isaac Newton
“Science without religion is lame; religion without science is blind.”
-- Albert Einstein
The world in which we live is one where the clarity of choice between right and wrong, between truth and
lies, has vanished. Instead, we move uncertainly through a world where the simplicity of "black and
white" has been replaced by countless shades of gray.
In a different time, men like Sir Isaac Newton and Albert Einstein believed that science could be used to
prove the existence of an Almighty God who ruled supreme over the Universe which He created. Step
ahead in time a mere forty years from Einstein’s passing, and the world is a place where science strives to
prove that there is no God. Our modern institutions of learning – from the first days of kindergarten to the
last echoes of Pomp and Circumstance at their final graduation – now strive to convince the student that
there is no God, no absolute Truth save the realities of Science, and no Morality save that of ‘situational
ethics’.
Is it any wonder that so many of our youth become disillusioned, filled with hopelessness?
And, more important, is there an alternative?
Almost a century ago, Clark Savage, Jr. defined his personal Code of Behavior that he followed
throughout his illustrious career – "Let me strive every moment of my life, to make myself better and
better, to the best of my ability, that all may profit by it. Let me think of the right and lend all my
assistance to those who need it, with no regard for anything but justice. Let me take what comes with a
smile, without loss of courage. Let me be considerate of my country, of my fellow citizens and my
associates in everything I say and do. Let me do right to all, and wrong no man."
His Code is the foundation for The Clark Savage Institute, a private Christian school nestled comfortably
within a valley in Hamilton County, New York.
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The Clark Savage Institute is both an innovative educational center and a model community, bridging
past and future into a remarkable facility.
THE CAMPUS
“Our mission is to educate and train young people from all walks of life, in body, mind, and spirit, to ably
fit them to assume their roles as the next custodians of our world and our civilization.” (Dean of Students
B. E. Ottey)
Most colleges that exist today began as smaller schools in particular towns that had their beginnings for
other purposes and grew. The Clark Savage Institute is a departure from that paradigm, too. Located in a
picturesque mountain valley, the Institute is, in fact, an entirely new educational facility serving
elementary, high school, and collegiate levels of study, and a full and robust community that was
designed and built from the ground up, to support and staff it.
The facilities themselves consist of classrooms, lecture halls, and laboratories that would be the envy of
any college in the world. No expense has been spared by the school's founders, in making the very latest
technological advances in educational assistance available to every instructor and student. From the
unique Marine Sciences Complex located next to Lake Chaac, to the world-class Arts and Music
departments, to the cutting-edge Computer Science department, students will find a world of adventure to
be found at CSI!
Most residential students live in dormitory clusters arranged in natural park-like settings, providing
locally-focused community environments. However, many choose to live on the other side of Lake
Chaac, in the community of Arronaxe.
ARRONAXE
Named after the mother of Clark Savage, Jr., Arronaxe is a one-of-a-kind amalgam of architectural styles
and tastes – a fine balance of the safe, neighbor-friendly neighborhoods of years past, and the blazing
technological advances of the future – and is quickly becoming the envy of communities around the
world.
Whether taking the "Flea Run" – a state-of-the-art subterranean transit network – or utilizing the many
distinctive bronze ElectroCabs – a fleet of personal electric taxis shared on an as-you-need-it basis –
getting around is quick, easy, safe, comfortable, and environmentally friendly.
A LEGACY OF EXCELLENCE
In designing CSI, no idea was considered too absurd or impossible. Variety and innovation is widely
abundant, and students are encouraged towards creativity and thinking "outside of the box".
In the long run, however, it is not the singular excellence of either our laboratory facilities or our staff that
really matters. Buildings, both great and small, will one day crumble into dust, and the humans who
erected them will turn to dust and faded memories. An old saying puts it best: “Only one life; it will soon
be past. Only what’s done for Christ will last.” Only what is done for Christ, only that will last. It is with
that in mind that this Institute has been created. Here, the student can come and learn in an environment
unfettered by the worldly notion that there is no God. One can study astronomy, and be unafraid to praise
the Maker and Keeper of the Stars. One can study geology, and be unafraid to speak the name of the One
who laid the foundations of the Earth. One can study meteorology, and come to know the One who
stretched the skies out as a canopy above the planet. In that studying, one can come to know his true place
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in the universe, and gain insight into the destiny his Maker foresaw, even while the student was yet
unborn.
Visit TheSavageInstitute.edu for more information.
*
*
*
Clark and Bonnie rode silently towards CSI. Deep inside, they knew God had a larger purpose in
directing them here; however, instead of questioning it or fighting it, they just decided to go along and see
where the ride took them.
But when the security guard at the end of Renwick Way did a double-take at Clark's pass, they wondered
if their ride would be over before it began.
"I'll have to verify this, sir," he said politely, pointing to a covered area. "Would you two please wait over
there?"
After a few minutes, he returned the card with apologies. "I'm really sorry for the holdup, sir, ma'am. We
don't generally see clearance this high."
"Of course," replied Clark. "Your precautions are necessary."
He offered them a respectful salute. "Enjoy your stay, folks!"
They continued past the checkpoint, taking the left fork in the road towards Arronaxe. Still within sight of
the mountainous edge of the valley, they descended into an underground parking facility and proceeded to
the area reserved for motorcycles, mopeds, scooters, and bicycles.
One of the goals in designing CSI and Arronaxe had been to limit the number of gasoline-powered
vehicles within the valley. To that end, many radical innovations had been utilized, involving different
types of mass transportation, and drawing the line for gasoline-powered vehicles at the external parking
centers.
Clark and Bonnie joined a handful of others on an inbound motorized walkway. Huge colored arrows
under their feet indicated their direction, carrying the two of them and their backpacks through a
connecting tunnel to the valley and the habitat beyond. It ended at a central hub for the transit
infrastructure, and Clark and Bonnie stepped off with the others. Maps displayed on the walls showed the
various routes, and distinctly-uniformed aides looked around for people who might need help. Sleek,
color-coded light-rail cars stopped at nearby platforms, their doors briefly opening and closing, and then
continuing along their routes. Each color corresponded to their respective circuit: Institute, Residential,
Commercial, or Heliport. It all seemed to be very efficient. Clark and Bonnie joined those boarding the
next Residential train and had a seat.
They disembarked at the Fuller station and took an escalator to a covered shelter at street level. Bonnie
gaped at the sight of several geodesic domes. As they approached one, Bonnie commented on the color
scheme.
"A blue geodesic dome? Are we missing the Fortress of Solitude, Clarkie?"
"Perhaps," he replied with the trace of a smile.
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Once inside, Clark switched on the lights. Rooms radiated outward from a central hub which served as the
living room. The décor was simple but tasteful.
He placed the backpack on the floor and pointed to one of the doors. "That's your room. You'll find
clothes in the closet."
She went into the bedroom. "Nice," she commented. "You pick out the clothes?"
"Uh ... no. I got Dot's help."
"I'll let her know she made some good choices."
"I'm glad," he called back.
*
*
*
That evening, they had dinner at one of the nearby restaurants. It seemed that much was within easy
walking distance, and the restaurants served a wide variety of selections. Clark also contacted Christine
Snow to arrange for a replacement cell phone.
"I'll put a trace on the stolen one," she informed him. "Then notify the cops when it turns up. You gonna
press charges?"
"No. I might let Irish know who did it, though; let him handle things internally."
"Oooh," she groaned. "Biker justice. I like it." She paused. "I'll have 'em FedEx the replacement phone to
the Fortress."
"It's not the Fortress, Chris!"
"Then why didn't you choose green?"
He paused a heartbeat. "Good night, Chris."
"'Night, boss," she snickered on her end. "Give Bonnie a hug from me."
"Will do."
*
*
*
"Good morning, folks! My name is Ashley Winwood, and I'll be your tour guide today! Now, don’t be
afraid to ask questions – that's what we're here for!"
The girl was in her mid-20's, her slender figure dressed in a white blouse and bronze blazer with matching
slacks. She had cocoa-brown skin and short, straight hair. On her left ear was a wireless microphone
connected to a small-but-powerful belt-mounted amplifier; she didn't need it while inside, but outside she
sometimes needed an extra boost.
"I see you all received the fact sheets with the information about class size, student-to-teacher ratio, etc.
But this is where the fun begins! This is where you go beyond what's on paper to actually seeing what
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goes on at CSI! We'll be starting our tour here, at the Administrative Building. This is the hub of activity
for the Clark Savage Institute. Now, if you all would please follow me ..."
Clark and Bonnie, dressed casually, blended in with the crowd of curious parents and children.
Ashley guided them through the main doors and straight into the central hall, which was branched to the
left and to the right by office wings.
High above them was an opaque rose-tinted dome. At this time of day, the light filtering down produced a
calming glow on the hall.
Directly beneath the center of the dome was a life-sized bronze statue of Doc Savage, standing on a
platform of marble. His pose was not like Perry and Dot had seen at the wax museum in San Francisco – a
wildly-barbaric Doc Savage many believe him to have been - but instead showed him standing straight
and tall, dignified and proud. A bronze plaque was attached to the front of the platform, emblazoned with
the school's motto
Iustum prosum, et nemo inuriat
and the translation
"Do right to all, and wrong no man."
Directly behind the statue, where the wall curved below the dome, stood the familiar portrait of Clark
Savage, Sr.; Clark had donated the portrait, now resting within a lighted glass display case, in honor of his
father.
On either side of the senior Savage were smaller framed portraits. All were represented: Monk, Renny,
Johnny, Long Tom, Ham, and Pat. The pictures of Monk, Johnny, and Pat had been painted recently,
while the others' had been painted from photographs taken at their prime. As Clark scanned the indirectlyilluminated portraits, a lump in his throat was the only thing that betrayed the love and pride he felt for
those he had had the honor in associating with.
Finally, engraved in the wood above the portraits, was Doc's Code.
"Very impressive," commented Bonnie, holding onto Clark's arm.
"At the end of our tour," announced Ashley. "We will be visiting the Savage Museum. There you will be
able to find out more about Doc Savage and his associates."
"Is zat where dey got all the guns?" asked an eager eight-year-old.
"Yes, it is," Ashley chuckled, then looked up and elaborated, "All disabled and displayed behind
protective glass, of course."
As she continued talking, a child tugged anxiously at his mother's coat, his little index finger frantically
pointing at Clark. "It's him, mom! It's him! It's the statue! Mom!"
The mother looked down at her son, then over at Clark. She gently controlled her son, then gave Clark
and Bonnie an apologetic smile.
73
"It's okay," Clark smiled. "I get this reaction all the time; it's actually kind of flattering."
Clark and Bonnie moved away from the curious boy and his mother.
"That was a close one," she commented aside to him.
"Not unexpected, however," he replied.
"The Administration Building contains offices for the President, the deans, the guidance counselors, and
the financial aid people. How many of you will be attending on a scholarship or grant?" Three kids raised
their hands. "Excellent! Now, if you'll follow me, we'll proceed outside and check out some of the other
buildings ..."
*
*
*
"We'll be doing a lot of walking on our tour, so, if you feel the need to stop, please don't hesitate in letting
me know.
"Now, as you've probably seen already, people here employ a lot of different ways of getting around. The
Flea Run, below us, is the primary mover of people and materials from one section of the valley to the
other, but it is not the only way. In Arronaxe, you will see the ElectroCabs. Say, for example, you need to
run a few errands and don't want to have to deal with carrying things on the Flea Run. You merely barrow
the nearest off-duty ElectroCab and drive it to where you need to go. As long as you're using it, no one
else will barrow it out from under you. Then, when you've finished using it, simply place it in off-duty
status, and leave it for the next person. It's just that simple; there are quite a few of them scattered about,
so it shouldn't be hard to find one nearby."
*
*
*
"The Dining Hall serves both students and staff. The reason behind that is to take down any potential
barriers – and, so far, it has worked quite well. It's not uncommon to see kids and their teachers sitting
around a table breaking bread and elaborating on things from previous classes. Now, occasionally, we
bring in a guest chef to prepare a special meal for everybody. Last month we flew in Emeril, and we're
trying to get Martha Stewart for Thanksgiving!"
*
*
*
"You'll see, classrooms here come in all kinds of sizes. Some are your standard large lecture-hall size,
while others are for more-informal, smaller group meetings."
*
*
*
"Where's the books?" blurted one man. "I don't see no textbooks!"
"I'm glad you asked, sir!" Ashley responded. "You may notice the lack of actual textbooks by the
students, but yet an increase in personal computing devices. Each student is issued a Dell tablet computer
connected to a network accessible via wireless connection anywhere within the valley. Each student can
then access a library of electronic documents at their disposal. For our younger students, we have a PDAtype device that was developed by Fisher-Price and Microsoft.
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"Almost all of the classrooms are equipped with docking ports for sharing information and – of course –
recharging batteries. Many classrooms are equipped with state-of-the-art whiteboards that can be linked to
the instructor's and/or students' tablet computers. An instructor can write down a problem on his tablet –
having it automatically displayed on the whiteboard – then he can authorize a student to use his tablet
computer to answer the problem. The shy student who knows the answer but is afraid to come up before
the class is now a thing of the past because of this technology.
"Advanced computer science students are required to take a year-long course in 'A+ Certification', in
which they will learn what the inside of a computer is like, and how to take them apart and put them
together, troubleshoot the hardware, etc. In this way, no student will ever find themselves at a loss when
difficulties occur."
*
*
*
"Physical disciplines are just as important here as spiritual disciplines. Doc Savage reportedly spent two
hours a day in a personal exercise regimen, regardless of where he was or what he was doing."
"Still does," Bonnie said under her breath, eliciting a sharp shush from Clark.
"We encourage each student to develop their own physical regimen, and we have a number of physical
trainers available to help them. Last year, we even persuaded California Governor Schwartzenegger to
make a rare appearance to promote physical education!
"We believe everyone can find something they can excel at, so we do our best to expose each student to
just about every sport this side of polo. This includes hang-gliding and rock-climbing to help the students
build self-confidence, and as many varieties of team sport as we can accomplish in this valley. Our
football team, the Savage Warriors, is in the state top ten. And, since we've been blessed with a lake of
our own, we also include sailing, both in small and large boats. Let me tell you, if you've never 'crewed'
on a 5- or 6-man sailing team in a race, you've never really seen such a dramatic example of cooperative
effort!"
*
*
*
"From here you can see many of the buildings. Your maps will give you a better idea of what is where,
but, basically, that group encompasses Math, General Science, English, Rhetoric, Geography, Social
Studies, Meteorology, and Life Sciences. That rainbow building is our Music and Arts Department.
"I'd like to add a personal commentary about our Music and Arts curriculum. The music aspect is a part of
our species' various cultural heritages, and an education in it, even if only to the extent of music
appreciation, is beneficial to raising well-rounded individuals. Add worship, and it's a natural."
*
*
*
"Over there you'll see a cluster of dormitories. If you don't see many of the students around, it's because
much of the travel is underground via the Flea Run. All of the buildings are connected to the network.
The overall architecture is rustic, and this does not attract undue attention, as many buildings in this
region are done in a similar fashion. The steep roof-line will shed snow easily. Since the buildings are
fitted into the nearby hillside, they appear to be only one story tall when they actually are two.
"Are any of you considering becoming permanent residents?" Ashley asked, and a couple with a preteen
girl raised their hands.
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"At first you'll probably stay in one of the guest cabins by the lake, or in a room in one of the larger
facilities. We'll see both on the other side of the lake ... but first we need to transfer to a vehicle ...
*
*
*
The tour group took an electric multi-wheeled bus around Lake Chaac into Arronaxe. As they drove
about, Ashley utilized the amplifier by connecting it wirelessly through the bus' speakers.
"As we head over towards Arronaxe, we'll be passing the Marine Sciences Complex. It's on the school
side of Lake Chaac, and stretches 200 yards over the water before descending to the foundations firmly
planted in the lake bed. If you're into underwater studies, you'll learn scuba diving as well as how to
operate a minisub. Speaking of submarines, we have an authentic piece of equipment used by Doc Savage
- the legendary Helldiver, purchased and restored to its former beauty, rests just under the surface; if you
look over there you might be able to see the superstructure."
* * *
"Did anybody see the special on The Travel Channel last month?"
More than half raised their hands. "If you didn't, we've got videos of it in the gift shop inside the Museum.
If you did, then you'll probably recognize some of the architectural styles we'll encounter."
The bus slowly cruised through the streets. Many took pictures and pointed in wonder at the different
neighborhoods and districts. The Fuller and Garrison districts had houses reminiscent of science-fiction
movies, with Frank Lloyd Wright-styled domiciles covering several blocks. The Milliken district was just
the opposite with its elaborate log cabins. The Churchill district sported English architecture, while the
Picard district gave them a taste of France.
They stopped and Ashley pointed up to a row of large windmills high about the top of the valley. "The
windmills supplement the power to the valley. Considering how much wind comes across there, that's
quite a lot. Elsewhere you'll see arrays of solar panels. The overall plan is to be 100% self-sufficient
within ten years ... then turn around and sell the surplus back to the power company." That elicited a wave
of laughter from the tourists.
"Behind the row of guest cabins is the Commercial district, with stores, shops, restaurants, etc. Everything
here is like a very large neighborhood ... and quiet."
"What about crime?" asked one woman up front.
"This is a civilized place," answered Ashley with conviction. "Respect is taught, and respect is valued.
Those who deliberately choose disrespect and break the rules don't remain here; it just isn't tolerated."
The rapid whap-whap-whap of a helicopter interrupted the seriousness of the moment, and everyone
glanced up to watch.
"Excellent timing!" commented Ashley eagerly. "That helicopter will be landing at the helipad in a few
moments. From there it will descend underground on powerful hydraulic lifts, to one of several climatecontrolled hangars where its passengers will disembark and transfer to the Flea Run."
One man raised his hand. "I'm from L.A. All this underground stuff seems kinda scary. How would this
place hold up in a quake?"
76
Ashley was ready. "Well, seismic conditions are constantly monitored, and any sharp increase of course
would necessitate an immediate evacuation aboveground. However, great care was taken in constructing
the underground structures. Every wall was made using a composite material developed by Monk Mayfair
himself. It's called Atlas, and it was specifically made to take a lot of punishment without being affected –
they say it has fifty times the tensile strength of the strongest material currently in use. If you'd like more
information, come and see me after the tour."
*
*
*
They concluded the tour with a visit to the Savage Museum.
Clark was thrilled to see that Mitch Drake's personal collection was now here. A representation of the
86th Floor headquarters in the Empire State Building took up a special room in the museum. People
milled about, fascinated by the historical significance of this place and the artifacts.
Bonnie purchased a bronze-hued tee shirt that boldly proclaimed, "Have no fear, Doc Savage is Here!"
Changing into it in the ladies' room, she proudly showed it off while Clark repeatedly grunted with
disgust and pretended he didn't know her.
*
*
*
That night they had dinner with Johnny at his home, a three-room cabin near the lake in a neighborhood
dubbed Professor's Row.
"Nice place, Dean Littlejohn," complimented Bonnie.
Johnny snorted. "Please, Bonnie. It was difficult enough when people called me Professor. 'Dean' is even
more stuffy a title. It's Johnny to you."
"Sorry, Johnny. Anyhow, it's a nice place. And you've got a great view."
"I think so. Y'know, I think one of the things that makes this view even more special is that I see what
marvelous things came from the ashes of the Crime College."
"Amen to that," agreed Clark. "I see you haven't given up your love of the big screen."
"You must mean the television. Yes ... and with the satellite feed, I'm quite at home."
"It's so out of place not to see Perry and Dot with you," he suddenly commented. Then his face turned red,
and he apologized for his abruptness. "Don't get me wrong, you two make a marvelous couple, but ... you
know."
"I needed to flex my spiritual muscles," explained Clark. "It's temporary."
Johnny changed the subject. "Has Perry shown you his new find?"
Clark shook his head. "No. We've been out of communication since my cell was stolen."
"Of course. He was bequeathed a ring by his late uncle that has the capability of rendering him noncorporeal."
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"Invisible?" clarified Bonnie.
"Yes! It's all so fantastic! I have pictures of it that Monk sent me; they're in my study. I'll show them to
you tomorrow."
"Monk knows, too?"
"He ran some tests on the ring and its capabilities. I'm sure he'll tell you all about it when you see him."
"Yesss," Clark agreed half-heartedly.
*
*
*
The sun had set on the valley, and the aboveground temperature was dropping steadily. But belowground,
aboard the Flea Run, Clark and Bonnie didn't notice the weather.
About halfway to Fuller, the doors to the train opened and a very-pregnant woman waddled in with more
than a little difficulty. Without hesitation, Clark jumped up and assisted her to the seat next to them. She
took a deep breath and smiled at them appreciatively.
"When …?" asked Bonnie once the car started moving.
"Well, I'm supposed to be due on the 19th," she answered with a smile, as she placed her hand gently on
her swollen belly. "But I don't know if he'll wait that long."
"You're a student here?" asked Clark.
She shook her head. "My son is. Tenth grade."
"Can we help you somewhere?" asked Bonnie.
"Thanks. I just got off work. I'm a Dental Hygienist for Dr. Jim Sanders – part-time, of course. My stop's
just ahead."
"Are you sure, sugah?" pressed Bonnie. "I mean, we're not in a hurry."
"Thanks. I appreciate it." She shook her head again with an embarrassed grin. "Here's my stop … if one
of you could give me a little assist standing?'
Both Clark and Bonnie rushed over to her. They carefully helped her to her feet and kept her steady until
the train stopped and the doors opened. She thanked them again and waddled onto the platform.
They returned to their seat and their eyes followed her until she was out of sight.
*
*
*
Back at their residence, Clark was quieter than normal. As Bonnie sipped on some chamomile tea, she
looked above the cup at him.
"Something's bugging you," she finally said with a grin. "What's up, Doc?"
78
"It's nothing," dismissed Clark.
"No, it's not 'nothing', if it's still bothering you. C'mon over here ... sit down."
She had to repeat herself a couple of times, but eventually he came over and sat down on the couch; she
sat next to him, turning to face him.
"I keep going back to what we did," he confessed. "Basically, asking myself how I could've allowed this
to happen?" He paused. "If this had been sixty years ago, I would've smelled that substance right from the
start, and wouldn't have given in to it." He changed topics. "You know, I should've been more on my
guard anyhow – especially since Irish warned me that there were some in the gang that didn't like us and
wanted us out. How could I have fallen for such an open-ended attack as that?"
Bonnie put a hand on his leg. "Hey, stop beating yourself up! You didn't think they'd lower themselves to
such a dirty trick, did you?" She suddenly gave off with a laugh. "And as far as what happened between
us ... why don't you consider this possibility: maybe you didn't see it because, subconsciously, you wanted
it to happen?"
Clark scoffed, "That's ludicrous!"
Bonnie took his hand. "Is it? When we were out there in the middle of nowhere, just sitting around the
camp fire and eating those lousy nutrition bars of yours, we were having a good time – a really good time.
We could let down our hair, so to speak, and just be ... goofy ... without being afraid of what the other
might think. And when we did go to bed – we didn't stop it from happening. Is it true that a hypnotized
man won't go against his nature?"
"Yes," agreed Clark quietly.
"So what if there was something deep inside both of us that wanted to do what we did ... the drug just kept
our defenses from holding it back."
"I don't know," he replied cautiously. "But there are proper ways of doing things."
"There's always proper ways of doing things ... but we didn't do them. 'All things are lawful, but not all
are expedient.'" She paused. Her voice became suddenly distant as she mused aloud. "But that's not what
this is about, is it? Seeing that woman on the Flea Run brought it up for both of us, and we don't want to
admit it. What if I'm ... pregnant?" The last word came out in barely a whisper forced between her teeth.
"Neither of us could've imagined this happening, so we didn't consider precautions."
"And that's what's really scaring you, isn't it?" she said, barely a whisper, her free hand resting
unconsciously on her stomach.
Clark was quiet for several moments. Then he whispered, "Yes."
"I'm scared, too. I've never been pregnant before, and ..." Her voice drifted off for lack of words.
She leaned in towards him, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
"What are we going to do?" she asked, to no one in particular.
79
"Whatever we have to do," answered Clark.
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
Clark suddenly got a grin on his face. "Y'know, there used to be a time, when a man got a woman p-pwith child, that he was forced to marry her or go to jail."
"Make her an 'honest woman', huh?"
"Yeah." His voice lowered almost to a whisper, and he turned to meet her eyes. "So ... Bonnie ... will you
marry me?"
*
*
*
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Four months earlier
There was a feeling of anticipation in the air in the village of Negro Lobo. It was Christmas. And Franklin
was Santa Claus in a camouflage uniform.
As he walked from a small locked shack located near the docks, he reflected on how well things had been
going since they arrived just over a month ago.
Money had a lot to do with it. Anything was possible if you had enough money to back it up with. And,
for Franklin, that was most apparent when flashing a stack of $1000 bills in front of peoples' faces.
He really liked watching people jump, but that wasn't the case here. These people had welcomed him and
his group right from the start. It could have had something to do with how Don Sandoval had portrayed
them, as the ones who would provide the people of Negro Lobo with a safe homeland and a secure future
for them and their families.
In short, Franklin was their savior.
Talk about cosmic irony.
Don Sandoval gave him the honorary military title of General; in order to make the image complete, he
had taken up wearing the uniform of the rank. It gave him a certain respect among the people, as they
nodded and saluted him as he stood waiting on the docks, watching the two boats that were still several
miles away.
There had been problems, but they'd been minor ones. He grinned at his unintentional joke ... the
problems were the minors, those two Mayan girls who accompanied him on his journey. They'd become
somewhat disillusioned by life on the outside. It hadn't been what they'd been led to believe - especially
after the village had been attacked again, and a couple of people had been killed. These sheltered girls had
never witnessed the horrors of war, and now it was staring them full in the face.
After the funeral, they told him that they didn't want to stay ... but yet they didn't want to go back to the
Valley of the Vanished either. In the end, just to shut them up, Franklin promised to take them far away
once this whole matter was over.
80
Hey, life was hard, he rationalized, and only the strong survive.
When the boats were close enough, Franklin saw Avery and raised an arm in greeting. The other man
hesitated a moment, then waved back.
The boats eased next to the dock and ramps were positioned for unloading. Several soldiers had followed
Franklin, and now started assisting in unloading. Crate after crate was removed and stacked on the
ground.
Avery joined Franklin, carrying two heavy-duty duffle bags with him as he greeted Franklin with a grin
and a handshake. "Nice uniform, Franks! Looks good on you!"
"Thanks. Is this all of it?"
Avery gave him a pained look. "Would I try to short-sheet you, my friend? You wound me!" He looked
around. "Why don't we find a place a little more private than here, and I'll show you the good stuff."
"This way," he directed, and they went to the locked shed.
Inside was a table with a worn leather bag on it. Avery placed his two duffels near them. Franklin opened
the bag, and Avery beamed a toothy grin at the obscene amount of cash inside.
"I do love doing business with you, Pete," he commented, reaching for the bag.
Franklin quickly snapped it closed. "Let's see the stuff."
Avery gave him a nonassuming smile and unzipped the two duffles. From one he produced two air
pistols, and laid them side-by-side on the table. Next to it, he gently placed a metal cylinder with an odd
box on one end.
"The pistols are set and loaded with toxin darts; one per gun, just like you requested. By the way, I think
you made a good choice; the symptoms are particularly nasty."
"Thank you," smiled Franklin dryly.
Avery gestured to the cylinder. "This'll be your backup; what the primary doesn't get, this will. Sarin
nerve agent. Colorless and odorless, it's 26 times more deadly than cyanide gas and 20 times more lethal
than potassium cyanide. A droplet the size of a pinprick - just 0.01 milligram per kilogram of body weight
- can kill an adult human." He paused for effect. "This canister contains the sarin in compressed vapor
form. When released, the vapor will hover close to the ground, and won't dissipate for hours."
"How fast will it spread?" asked Franklin excitedly. "If I release it on the island ..."
Avery looked him in the face and said slowly, deliberately, "It will kill every human being who comes in
contact with it. How fast it spreads will depend on the winds."
Without waiting to be asked, the arms dealer touched the box on the end of the cylinder. "This is a sixtyminute coagulant fuse. It should give you plenty of time to get your butt clear. Realize one thing, though once this goes off and starts releasing the sarin, it cannot be stopped."
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"Good. Good." Franklin smiled. "And the primary weapon?"
"Saving the best for last," Avery said with a wave of his arm. "It's outside."
Two men from the boat were guarding a wooden crate about the size of a large steamer trunk. Avery
motioned to them; they lifted the top off and moved aside.
"Doesn't look like much, does it?" muttered Franklin, staring into the crate.
"Hey - you want looks, or you want results?"
Franklin turned to face Avery. "Results."
"Then this baby will deliver."
Avery then rolled off the specs of the item in the crate, including megatonnage, potential blast radius, and
radiation yield. At one point Franklin heard him actually give off with a giggle while he described the
mass destructive capability of the atomic device.
"The remote detonator and the manual are back in the shack; I'd memorize it if I were you. Wouldn't do to
make any mistakes at this stage of the game, would it?"
"No, it wouldn't," he replied. "Have them close up the crate and follow us."
Back in the shed, with the two conspirators alone once more, Avery reached into the duffle bag again.
"You wanted recon on the island, so I got it for you. This is a portable DVD player. On the DVDs are the
footage my people filmed while on Caroline Island. This report goes with it." He smiled. "I'm sure you
will appreciate the detail."
"I'm sure I will. And the transports?"
"Will be ready when you are, as will be the ... diversion against the neighbors."
Franklin handed the leather bag across. "Thank you, Mr. Avery. You've outdone yourself."
Avery flipped through a stack of bills. "You're paying me well for it."
Outside once again, a man from one of the boats handed Avery a sheaf of papers; he quickly flipped
through them, then handed them to Franklin. "The cargo manifest. It's all there," he reported.
"Thank you. Nice doing business with you, Mr. Avery."
"Likewise, Mr. Franks. I'll be in touch."
They shook hands once more, then Avery climbed back aboard the boat he arrived on. As they headed
away from the docks, they exchanged final waves.
Franklin turned to the reactions by the soldiers. Like kids at Christmas, they had many of the crates open
and were checking out their new toys.
82
Franklin felt a rush of adrenaline, knowing he was one step closer to his objective; this was a good day to
be alive.
*
*
*
Later that evening, after going over the information Avery's spies had provided, he presented them to his
two Captains, Ramon Sandoval and Julio Martinez.
"Two weeks ago a two-man team - actually, a man and a woman - was sent on an undercover
reconnaissance mission to Caroline Island. They went in the guise of a childless couple shopping for a
baby. I have been reviewing the information they sent back, and I know exactly how we'll take the island.
Actually, part of it is in motion even now. The man and woman are also mercenaries trained in sabotage
techniques. They will return to the island in two weeks with enough hidden explosives to surgically
eliminate their defenses and make them easy prey. We will arrive at night, and slip right in; most of the
people won't suspect a thing until it's too late."
He paused to take a drink from a whiskey glass, and cough in reaction to the amber firewater.
"This is all well and good," said Captain Martinez. "But what about our people? Who will keep them
protected while we are gone?"
"Sì, General," added Captain Sandoval. "With our army gone, we will be the ones who are vulnerable."
"Not to worry," comforted Franklin. "Before we head for the island, we'll hit your neighbors hard and fast
with weapons they never thought we'd have. It'll set them back long enough for us to do our business and
bring everyone over once it's done. And then, when they do strike back at this village, all they will find
are empty buildings ... and a twenty-megaton surprise package to let them know that we had the last
laugh!"
The two captains looked at each other, assimilating what Franklin had just suggested.
"My friends, my friends," added Franklin, sensing their hesitancy and placing a reassuring hand on each
of their shoulders. "What will it matter what happens to this old place once you are safely on Caroline
Island with your families?"
"Sì, Señor Franks," finally agreed Captain Sandoval. "You are right ... there will be nothing here for us.
What do we do?"
Franklin smiled and outlined the plans.
*
*
*
CHAPTER TWELVE: The Present
On Saturday morning, Dot and I reluctantly checked out of the Rihga Royal, took our like-new RV out of
maintenance storage, and headed for the Clark Savage Institute for our appointment with Johnny.
*
*
*
Since we had been there at the inception of CSI, we had a hand in the choosing of the leadership for the
Institute. And they, in turn, graced Clark, Dot, and me with special privileges. Since we were on the road
83
most of the year, we were provided with residences within Arronaxe in our choice of neighborhood. Clark
had chosen a blue geodesic dome in the Fuller district - named after Buckminister Fuller, inventor of the
geodesic dome - and Dot and I picked a small two-bedroom cottage in the Dixon neighborhood.
We also got special parking for our rigs, and special passes to make it easier getting through security. I
showed the guard at the Renwick Way checkpoint our pass, and he waved us through without hesitation.
We proceeded to the RV area and parked Nomad. We hadn't quite decided whether or not we'd stay here
for a few days - we were both rested now, and felt more like getting back into checking on the group
houses - so we figured we'd decide on something by tomorrow.
*
*
*
"Perry! Dot! You made it!" he greeted us with enthusiastic hugs.
We met with Professor William Harper Littlejohn in his study, which looked very much like the
workshop of an archaeologist, but with a personal corner highlighted by a large fireplace and a grouping
of antique couches.
It didn't take long after our arrival for Johnny to ask to see my ring. I carefully removed it and placed it in
his open palm. He turned his hand around to the left and the right, peering at it but not closing his hand
around it. Then he stood and walked over to a desk with an immense lighted magnifier attached to it,
mounted on a boom arm. Turning on the light, he held his hand under it, rotating his hand left and right
before carefully taking it out of his hand and placing it on the desk's surface. Reaching for a notepad, he
went back and forth, writing notes and peering through the magnifier. At first he was silent. But then we
heard him mumble, "Fascinating!" and "Astounding!" and "I'll be superamalgamated!"
We smiled at the way he was taking to the ring like a child to a toy. Then we joined him around the desk.
"Perry," he asked, not looking up from his work. "You said your uncle received this while in Communist
China during the early 1950's?"
"Yes," I replied. "Is that significant?"
"My boy," he said with a hint of a chuckle. "In archaeology, everything is significant. Seemingly random
details can take on monumental proportion, just like each piece in a jigsaw puzzle comes together to form
the whole picture." He hummed at something as Dot and I drew nearer. "There is no obvious method of
exposing you to the ring's contents; however ... I do see a tiny opening just under the gem's band. That
could be the method of delivery."
"I wonder why the others didn't spot that?" asked Dot.
Johnny looked up at her and smiled. "With all due respect to your grandfather, my dear, they aren't me.
I've dealt with these things for as long as Monk's played with a chemistry set. And since I don't know one
end of a formula from another ... he didn't know where one would look for an opening. Come! Look!"
We looked through the immense magnifying glass at where Johnny was pointing, and, sure enough, there
was an almost-imperceptible opening on the inside of the ring.
"Alas," Johnny sighed. "I'm afraid this still doesn't help you with the rest of your questions."
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"No," I answered, standing up and putting a hand on his shoulder. "But it does tell us something. Thank
you."
Johnny's smile was gracious. "You're very welcome. What did Clark have to say about it?"
"We haven't told him yet."
"Haven't told him?" Johnny looked at us strangely. "Did you two just arrive?"
We nodded, and his eyes grew large.
"They're here!" he informed us. "Clark and Bonnie are staying in Arronaxe!"
I gave him a double-take. "Since when?"
"Since Wednesday! We had dinner just the other night." His eyes lowered. "Forgive me. I'm afraid I
spilled the beans about your ring. I asked them what they thought about your uncle's legacy, and they told
me they hadn't talked to you ... then they asked what legacy, and I told them. I'm sorry. I was so excited
for you that I ..." His voice trailed off.
"It's all right, Johnny," I comforted. "No harm done. Did they seem upset that we hadn't said anything to
them about it yet?"
"No, I don't believe so; they took it well, although they were as surprised as I was when I first found out."
"Let's get them over here." I took out my cell and started dialing Clark's number, but Johnny interrupted
me.
"No, Perry! Clark's cell was stolen!"
I cleared the display. "Okay. Does Bonnie still have hers?"
"Yes, I believe so," he answered.
I dialed her number. She picked up on the second ring; she must've had my name on her Caller ID.
"Perry, hi!"
"Hi, Bonnie! Hey, we're over here in Johnny's study! C'mon and join us - I'll order the pizzas and we'll
make it a party!"
"We'll be right there!" she said excitedly. "See you soon!"
*
*
*
After all the hugs and handshakes, we gathered around the fireplace and swapped stories of recent events.
"Johnny was telling us about it," Clark related while looking the ring over. "So you're saying this doesn't
work for anyone else?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "Monk tried it, Gumball tried it, and nothing. It seems it's an inherited ring in more
ways than one."
85
"Very interesting. Have you considered a genetic link between you and your uncle?"
I shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. The big thing right now is waiting to see why God put it into
my hands now."
"Indeed."
Then Clark and Bonnie told us about their time on the road. They shared a lot of details in their narrative,
up until it came around to the last part of their journey. When it came to what separated them from the
other bikers, and why they didn't catch up with them, they seemed to be deliberately vague, and even gave
different details. If I didn't know it was them, I could shrug off the differences, but I knew Clark had a
memory like an elephant, especially when it came to details.
I had an uneasy feeling about what they were telling ... and, even more, what they weren't telling us. I
didn't want to say anything about it, at least not publicly like this. Maybe later, one-on-one with Clark.
*
*
*
As the evening continued, so did my uneasiness. The only thing I could compare it to was a 'disturbance
in the Force' like Star Wars. I felt strongly that Clark and Bonnie were hiding something, and I needed to
know what it was and why they were having to hide it.
Afterward, Clark and Bonnie came back to Nomad with us. I tried to ask what had happened, but
somehow couldn't come up with the words. When they left to return to their own residence, I felt
frustrated that I hadn't gotten the truth from them.
I knew I had a way to spy on them. But I needed to start after them now, without hesitation.
"I'm gonna go for a walk," I informed Dot. "Walk off some of the pizza."
Before Dot could say anything, I was outside and swiftly heading for the Flea Run station. I concentrated
as I triggered the ring. I saw Clark and Bonnie at the train platform, and came in time to board with them.
They didn't sense me, and wouldn't as long as I kept cool and did nothing to give myself away.
I stood where I'd be out of the way of foot traffic. Fortunately, there were few passengers at this hour, so I
didn't have to move around too much. I tried to recall all the movies and tv shows depicting invisible men
and women, and how they managed to avoid detection.
Clark and Bonnie made small talk during the ride, but said nothing that answered my questions. They got
off at the Fuller station, and went straight to their dome. I held my breath when they opened the door, and
was thrilled when they paused long enough for me to slip inside. I found a corner where they wouldn't be
doing anything, and waited until they settled before ducking around the corner and hiding on the other
side of the wall. I didn't want to become visible while in their line of sight, so I kept hidden and listened.
"Do you think they suspected?" asked Bonnie.
"I don't know," replied Clark with a sigh. "I hated lying to them, especially Perry."
86
"Yeah, but what could we do? 'Oh, by the way, while we riding with the bikers, we got caught up in a
little carnal knowledge in Clark's tent, and I might be pregnant.' I don't think Perry would take that very
well."
I stopped breathing.
My mind flashed back to a hotel room in San Francisco, several years ago. Dot hadn't become a Christian
yet, and my signals of affection had been misinterpreted as something deeper. As we kissed goodnight at
the door, Dot started showing far more affection than was comfortable. It had only been by the grace of
God that I had been able to flee the room before things got out of hand.
A thought entered my mind. I wondered, how different would it have been if Dot had been a Christian
and had still tried the same things on me? Would I have been able to resist? Would I have wanted to
resist?
I moved out of my place of concealment and exclaimed, "You did what?"
The effect was just as if a live grenade had landed on the floor in front of them.
"Perry?" exclaimed Clark.
"No, it's Claude Raines!" I said caustically. "Who do you think?"
His normally-stoic face now mirrored anger. "What in the world are you doing here?"
"I'm discovering how you've been lying to me ... and what else you've been doing!"
"Oh, God," muttered Bonnie.
"Look ... Perry ... let's talk about this. You don't know the whole story."
"And, now that you've been busted, you'll tell me – right?"
"Yeah ... I guess we have to now," said Bonnie. "And ask you to forgive us."
I hadn't expected that. At that moment I wanted resistance, I wanted conflict - blast it, I wanted to fight!
But instead giving me something to hit, they figuratively surrendered without a shot being fired.
It ... wasn't ... fair.
I stopped dead in my tracks. My anger had been met without resistance, and I suddenly didn't have an
angry leg to stand on. I was silent.
"Perry?" asked Clark, looking around. "Are you still out there?"
"Perry?" seconded Bonnie.
All of my own stupidity and guilt crumpled in on myself, and I was as transparent spiritually as I was
physically. My breathing came in gasps, and I dropped to my knees. My head was bowed, and my eyes
were closed.
87
And then, as if God had timed it that way, I became visible.
"I'm ... I'm sorry. I didn't trust either of you. I thought you had betrayed me, but I was the one who
betrayed you. I really screwed up. I harbored resentment in my heart and my actions." I paused. "I am so
sorry."
Clark got down on his knees before me. I felt muscled arms around me, and I opened my eyes. Clark's
head was against my shoulder, and he lovingly held me. Bonnie was there, too. I didn't deserve the
compassion they were showing, and it was breaking me. They were hurting because they had been forced
to lie to me, and I was hurting because I felt I had to spy on them in order to determine the truth.
After several moments, we all sunk back onto the floor, sitting and wiping our eyes.
"So ... what happened?" I asked, now casually.
"We were drugged by some of the bikers we were trying to minister to. The leader tried to warn us that
some of them were out to get us ... but I didn't heed his warning. They put a psychotropic enhancer into
our water."
"A what?" I asked, confused.
"An aphrodisiac," simplified Bonnie.
I held up my hand. "Say no more. I get the idea. So you didn't have a clue what was going on until ... "
"The next morning," supplied Clark.
"And since neither of you considered bringing protection along 'cause you didn't think that anything like
this would happen in a million years – there's a possibility that you might be pregnant."
Bonnie nodded. I looked over at her. "Have you been tested yet?"
She shook her head. "I think it's too soon."
I nodded and took a deep breath. Then I scooted back so that I sat on the floor with my back against the
couch and crossed my arms in front of my chest.
"Does Dot know you're here?" asked Bonnie.
I groaned and my eyes rolled up to the ceiling.
"I'll take that as a 'no', sugah. Y'want me to call her over?"
I looked at her with pained eyes and nodded. She got up off the floor and walked for the phone. Clark
scooted over next to me on the floor.
"I've been a jerk," I confessed.
"It's not exclusive," he agreed. "I have, too."
Bonnie came out a minute later. "She's on her way; she's not angry."
88
"Thanks," I sighed.
"Clark, did you tell him the rest of the story?"
"There's more?" I groaned.
Clark put his hand on my leg. "It's good news, it's good news!"
I took a breath. "Okay. What?"
"Bonnie and I are going to get married."
My eyes went as wide as my smile. "Really?"
"And we want you to do the ceremony."
I stopped breathing again.
*
*
*
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: one week earlier
The only thing keeping it from being a scene from the movie Apocalypse Now was The Ride of the
Valkries by Wagner.
But this was no movie.
Helicopter gunships flew out of the sun and over the buildings, delivering destruction to weapons caches
and ammunition stocks. Explosions rocked the ground and filled the air with acrid smoke. Vehicles
became twisted heaps of flaming metal. Bodies of soldiers lay waiting to be claimed, and only the
shocked survivors saw their attackers depart as quickly as they had arrived.
*
*
*
In the governor's residence of Negro Lobo, several men waited patiently around a table, staring intently at
the radio in the center. They had heard the initial orders for the attack, and now they waited for the
outcome. They had heard the explosions in the distance, as the surrounding villages got a taste of
vengeance.
"Moby Dick! Moby Dick! This is Barracuda! The fish tanks have been cleaned; those nasty piranha won't
be troubling you anymore!"
Another voice replied. "This is Moby Dick! Good work, Barracuda! Well done! Return to the Aquarium!"
The first voice acknowledged. "Roger, returning to Aquarium! Over and out!"
Everyone around the table paused just a moment before erupting in spontaneous cheering. Avery reached
over and switched off the radio.
89
"Bueno!" beamed Don Sandoval, standing and extending a hand to the weapons dealer. "Bueno! Muchas
gracias, Señor Avery!"
"My pleasure, Don Sandoval!" he replied with a confident grin.
"The ship is waiting for your people, and the team is ready to strike on the island. Once you send them the
signal, they'll neutralize the island defenses and security staff."
"You said no one would be hurt," said Don Sandoval cautiously.
Avery wasn't fazed. "And they won't be. They'll just be given a mild dose of food poisoning to keep them
off their feet."
"I approve," nodded Don Sandoval, turning to Franklin. "General Franks, you may proceed!"
*
*
*
The sea air agreed with Franklin. There were times he preferred it to air travel.
Standing on the high bridge of the freighter Andronicus, he looked out at the waters of the Atlantic and
pulled the collar of his jacket up against a sudden gust of wind. Accepting the timing of the wind as a
sign, he entered the wheelhouse and approached Captain Aaron Fry.
"How are we doing, Captain?"
The portly man at the wheel glanced back at him briefly. Then he answered, "Still on course, General
Franks. All is well."
"And the weather?"
"We've got reports of a squall thirty miles ahead, but it's nothing that my Andronicus can't get through."
"Excellent! Thank you, Captain."
Franklin left the wheelhouse and went down into the body of the freighter. A hallway opened onto a
catwalk overlooking a warehouse-sized compartment. The place was currently humming with activity. At
this hour many of the soldiers were involved in physical training, either in organized group exercise, or
practicing hand-to-hand combat in sets of two or three. A pair of soldiers with automatic rifles went
through a door at one end of the hold, where a soundpoofed room was being used for weapons practice.
Franklin located Captain Sandoval a little farther down on the catwalk, observing the proceedings through
binoculars. He looked up to see who was approaching, and gave Franklin a toothy grin.
"Good afternoon, General," he greeted. "Is this not wonderful?"
"It certainly is, Captain," Franklin agreed. "I see the men are keeping busy?"
"Sì! There are a few who are in their quarters, but the majority are here or maintaining the boats."
"Good. Have you spoken to your father lately?"
90
He nodded. "Sì, just the other day. He informed me that things are very quiet in the village. There has
been nothing since we departed."
"I would hope so," Franklin agreed. "Considering how hard your neighbors were hit, it'll be weeks before
they think about stepping on your toes."
Sandoval's expression was sober. "I hope so, General. I certainly hope so."
After a few more minutes, Franklin turned away and placed a hand on Sandoval's shoulder. "I'm going
back to my quarters. Come and get me when it's time for dinner."
"Sì, General!"
Franklin felt good as he left the exercise yard and went to his quarters. He sat in the chair next to the
window and looked out at the sea until he began to feel tired. He moved to his bunk and fell asleep.
*
*
*
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Present day
Pat Savage was settling down with a cup of tea when her phone rang. It was Caroline Island's resident
doctor, Diane Cunningham.
"Evening, Di," Pat greeted.
The mid-30's physician was apologetic. "Sorry to bother you at this hour, Pat, but I wanted to let you
know that your security staff is going to be on the sick list for a couple of days."
Pat set down the teacup. "What's up?"
"Oh, it's nothing, really. Last night they had an impromptu party and got ahold of a bad batch of shellfish.
They've been drifting in all day."
"How bad is it?" asked Pat with a concerned tone.
"Not too serious. It's just a little food poisoning, that's all. The usual symptoms: nausea, cramps, diarrhea,
mild fever. Just give 'em a couple of days of bed rest and liquids, and they'll be fine."
"All ... right," she replied.
"I wouldn't sweat this, Pat," she offered. "Things are pretty calm 'round here at the moment, aren't they?"
"Yeah," she reluctantly agreed. "I guess you're right. Keep me posted on their condition."
"Will do, Pat! G'night!"
"Goodnight, Diane!"
Pat hung up the phone and picked up her teacup again. She slowly stepped onto the terrace and looked out
onto the island.
91
It was quite a different place than it had been, she reflected. Far below, she heard the sound of whining
children drifting on the night breeze, and it brought a smile to her lips. It was like a universal truth: some
kids took longer to get to sleep than did others.
She yawned and admitted that this kid was tired, and needed her beauty sleep. She walked back inside and
retired for the night.
*
*
*
"All right!" exclaimed Franklin, peering through binoculars at the nearby island. "Captain Sandoval! Is
everyone clear on what they're supposed to do?"
"Si, General!" he replied with a salute. "The doors are opened and the boats are ready to be lowered!"
"Good! Proceed!"
Panels had been opened on the sides of the freighter just above the waterline, and rubber rafts were
lowered into the water. Like spiders, armed soldiers dressed in black outfits scurried down nets and
boarded the rafts. Wearing night-vision goggles to see in the dark, crews operated whisper-quiet motors to
propel them away from the freighter and towards the island.
On the bridge, Franklin watched the progress of the boats through night-vision binoculars of his own, and
waited.
*
*
*
Within thirty minutes, Franklin received the report that the teams had reached their destinations and had
secured their objectives. It all went down without a hitch. Any resistance had been quenched without
casualties. Dummy explosives had been distributed all over the island; made to look like the real thing, it
was insurance against anybody wanting to play hero. There were a few packages of real explosives in
case someone tried calling their bluff, but these were placed away from people, and were for
demonstration only.
Franklin was exuberant. "Excellent! Bring the helicopters to the surface and prepare for launch! We
advance at dawn!"
"Sì, General!" With a quick pivot, Sandoval walked away to take care of the orders.
Franklin smiled. "Sleep well, everyone," he said softly to the island. "Your wake-up call will be coming
very soon."
*
*
*
Pat Savage dreamt that she was once more in the Valley of the Vanished. Her hair was dark, and her face
made young by the many silphium injections she had taken over the years.
The sound of multiple helicopters echoing off the high walls of the Valley had wrenched her from sleep.
It would be Jill Woodward and her group; they had followed her here, and would soon take her prisoner.
As she stood at the window and watched them approach, she groaned, "Oh God, not again!"
92
She closed her eyes and tried to force out the sound. But it wouldn't go away.
Then she awoke and opened her eyes ... but she still heard the helicopters. And now she noticed - there
were shadows passing across her windows from the outside.
"What?" she blurted as she got to her feet and pulled open the curtains.
A helicopter passed by the top of the mesa.
Pat quickly donned a robe and rushed up to the terrace.
Like hornets swarming about a nest, they were circling her home. She spun around, stopping abruptly at
the edge and bracing herself against the stone wall. As most of the bees flew away, Pat's eyes followed
the sound of a single helicopter below to the support area for her cherished airplane, a custom Boeing V22 Osprey that she'd had for years.
Her good eye fixed on the rogue helicopter as it hovered over the water, and barely made out the form of
a man leaning out of the doorway, a familiar object in his arms.
"NO!" she screamed, too late and too far.
The missile launcher sent its payload on a straight course, piercing the side of her Osprey an instant
before turning it into a fireball.
She kept watching until the updraft caused by the heat smashed into her and sent her falling onto her
backside.
Her voice didn't have time to communicate the murderous thoughts she was experiencing. Still sitting on
the terrace, four rappelling lines unfurled around her and four armed soldiers crunched next to her. They,
however, were standing, and their guns were all leveled at her.
"Oh ... crap!" she summarized.
*
*
*
Far below the mesa, Daniel Franklin leaned back into the helicopter and set aside the weapon. The door
was now closed and the tether line that had kept him from falling out had been disconnected. Smiling at
the flaming wreckage of the Osprey, he quoted Robert Duvall from Apocalypse Now: "I love the smell of
napalm in the morning! It smells like victory!"
The helicopter moved over the water, and the co-pilot reported, "The key locations have been seized, and
the team has Ms. Savage; she has offered no resistance."
"I figured she wouldn't. 'Turn the other cheek'," Franklin sneered. "Have her taken to the central plaza!
We'll be waiting for her! Let's go!"
*
*
*
The villagers knew something was wrong when they witnessed armed soldiers everywhere. Anyone who
dared investigate was forced back into their homes. The occasional sound of gunfire and the sudden
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explosion from the seaward side of the mesa was enough to show that these people were in control. And
they all feared what would come next.
*
*
*
The helicopter landed, and Franklin stepped onto the ground, quickly moving clear of the rotor blades. He
knew he was being watched, both by his own men and the inhabitants of his place.
With as much brass as he could muster, he stood with his black-gloved fists resting on his hips, and
declared triumphantly, "I have returned!"
He then strutted around the plaza, a pair of soldiers at his sides, and surveyed the area.
*
*
*
Pat felt like Princess Leia being 'escorted' to Grand Moff Tarkin and Darth Vader in the first Star Wars
movie. She had armed guards behind and on either side of her. Yeah, like this old woman's going to try
and make a break for it.
They had an army, and, for the moment, it looked like no one had been hurt. She suddenly remembered
the strange food poisoning that had incapacitated her security staff, and knew that it had to have been
connected to this. Whoever was behind this was good ... unfortunately for her.
Suddenly she heard the sound of one of the children calling her name, "Aunt Patty! Aunt Patty!"
The next instant was charged, as everybody directed their attention to the source of the sound, a small boy
no older than four. He had suddenly bolted out of his house and ran towards her, completely oblivious of
the possible consequences.
Rifles started swinging around in reaction, but Pat stopped, put out her arms and yelled, "Don't shoot!
He's just a child!" Her frantic cries made the proper impact on them; they raised the muzzles upwards and
allowed the child to come to her. Kneeling, she took the loving child into her arms, then stood and
continued walking with her escorts. "Thank you," she said to them. They looked at her but didn't
acknowledge the gratitude.
As they neared the central plaza, Pat saw the helicopter - the same one that destroyed her Osprey - and
several uniformed men nearby. One man in a different uniform - higher rank, she supposed - had his back
to her, but his stance looked somehow familiar. As she and the escorts stopped, the man turned to face
her.
Pat let out a gasp.
Franklin smiled at her surprise.
"Good morning, my dear Patricia," he crooned sarcastically. "Aren't you going to welcome me back?"
"What are you doing here, Franklin?" she asked bluntly, recovering from the initial shock.
"Why so formal, Pat? No 'how have you been, Daniel'; no 'how's life been treatin' you, Daniel'; no 'how's
things been in the Valley of the Vanished the last four ... freaking ... YEARS!" His eyes flared with anger
as he bared his teeth at her.
94
The child in Pat's arms turned his face away from the scary man and clung tightly to her; her comforting
hand lightly stroked his back.
Pat returned a sardonic smile. "Has it been four years, Daniel? My, how time flies when you're having
fun!"
He suddenly stepped forward and delivered a sharp slap to her face. She rocked with the impact, but never
kept her arms from gently holding the child.
"You haven't learned a thing in the last four years, have you?" she hissed. The look in her eyes was full of
anger, but she only gave him a wry smile.
Franklin seethed. He turned to Captain Sandoval and said something to him privately; the captain then
drew three soldiers to his side and they fanned out. Several minutes later they returned; they were not
alone.
Pat knew the three children, and fear gripped her heart. Billy and Trevor were under ten, and Jade was in
her teens. The air was charged as they struggled and screamed. They were grouped together with a circle
of soldiers; Jade held protective arms around the two boys, her face a mask of defiance. Franklin
motioned, and the three were held separately by burly soldiers; they struggled but couldn't break free.
"Pat," spoke Franklin, drawing attention back to him. "You asked me what I wanted. Well, I want
revenge, against you and Jillian Woodward. You claim to be a Jesus freak like those rubes in the Valley.
Then this should be an easy question: would you be willing to die for one of these?"
"Yes," Pat answered without hesitation.
"Then you'll do what I say, exactly as I say, and without hesitation. Otherwise ..." He lifted his hand, and
rifles were pointed at each of the three kids. "... I give the word, and they die."
"You don't have to threaten them, Franklin," Pat said, setting the boy down while still holding onto his
hand. "I'll do what you say."
"You know, you really disappoint me, Pat," frowned Franklin. "I was expecting a lot more spunk out of
you. Nevertheless, just in case you're wondering if I'm bluffing ..." His hand showed three fingers, and a
shot rang out!
The teenaged girl's eyes went wide, and her mouth opened soundlessly. The soldiers holding her released
their grip, and she sunk to the ground. She didn't move.
"JADE!" screamed Pat, breaking free and rushing to the girl's side. She looked up at Franklin with angry
eyes. "Damn you, Franklin! I told you I'd do what you said! Why did you have to do this?"
"Because ... I ... can," Franklin said slowly and coldly.
Pat checked the girl's life-signs. "Thank God! She's still alive!" She looked up at Franklin and begged,
"Please, Daniel - if you have any shred of humanity left in you, let me get her to the infirmary!"
95
Franklin paused, then said placidly, "Considering her life is in your hands, I accept!" He spoke to the
uniformed man next to him, who quickly directed his men to carefully pick up the girl and head for the
infirmary.
Pat stood as the small child came over to her and clung to her leg. She picked him up and held him a
moment. Then she looked over at the other two boys and beckoned them over. She knelt down and talked
to them.
"Billy, Trevor ... I need you to take Eric back to his house; you know where that is?"
They both nodded. She handed the small child across to them; each of them took a little hand.
"These men won't stop you, okay?" she said in a soothing voice. "Now you go ... I'll see you later. Go!"
The three of them walked away; the soldiers moved aside to let them through. Pat stood and gave them a
smile when they looked back. Then, once they were out of sight, the smile vanished and she turned back
to Franklin.
"All right," she said evenly. "What do you want me to do?"
"Get me Jillian Woodward."
"How? Daniel, I haven't seen her in ... maybe two years. I don't have a clue where she is - honest!"
"You're resourceful ... you have connections ... find a way."
Pat was praying. God, what do I do? I need to get a signal out for help, but not while Franklin and his
goons are watching me. I can't call Clark; he's good, but he's not equipped to deal with an army. Then her
eyes lit up. Yes!
"Okay," she said. "I think I know how we can get ahold of her. Let's go to my office."
*
*
*
Mitch Drake was sitting in his Florida office. It was just after midnight, and he was thinking of calling it a
day. Suddenly, the intercom light got his attention.
"Yes, Glenda," he responded.
"You've got a call from Pat Savage."
"Really? Put her through."
"One thing, sir ... she's calling on the public line, not the private line. And she sounded like she'd never
called here before."
Drake's eyes widened. "Really?"
His hands instinctively moved over the command panel before him. "Okay. Thank you, Glenda. Put her
through."
96
There was a brief click. "Mitchell Drake speaking," he said formally.
"Mr. Drake? Patricia Savage here. I don't know if you remember me. We met at a fundraiser last June in
Washington."
Drake played along. "Yes, Ms. Savage. I remember that. How can I help you?"
"I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but it's rather urgent that I locate a friend of mine who works for
your company: a Miss Jillian Woodward. Do you remember her?"
Drake looked over at the screen. The display confirmed that she was using her office phone, and there
were no other extensions in use. His ears picked up the stress in her words. She was being overheard, and
couldn't speak freely.
But he could.
"Okay, Pat, it's me," he said in a lower tone. "Are you being overheard by someone in the room?"
"Yes, I'll hold, thank you."
"Good girl," he commented. "I'm assuming you're in trouble there. Do you really need to find Jill or is this
part of getting a message to me?"
"I didn't mind holding, Mr. Drake. Yes, it's very important that I get ahold of Miss Woodward as soon as
possible."
"Okay. I'm assuming it's a trap," he said bluntly.
"Why, thank you, Mr. Drake," she said in a cheerful tone. "Your contribution would be most generous.
The island can use all the help it can find, especially nowadays."
"Big trap," Drake concluded. "Okay. I know where Jill is. A few months ago she asked out of the
business. We gave her a new identity. She's ... a lounge singer in Reno, Nevada."
Pat was genuinely surprised, "She's what?" Then she covered up the receiver on the phone and repeated it
to someone in the room with her. There was a reply, but Mitch couldn't make it out. Then Pat got back on.
"I need her here as soon as possible! I'm willing to wire you funds so that she can fly here. Is that
possible?"
"Okay, Pat, I'll get word to Jill. We'll have satellites over the island soon, so we'll be able to tell what's
going on. In the meantime, hang in there ... help's on its way."
Pat sighed, "Thank you, Mr. Drake! I know it's a lot to ask, but do you know how soon you would be able
to spare her?"
"Well, it's midnight here. I'll try to get her there as soon as I can. It could take a day."
"Two or three days?" Pat said with exaggerated tension. "Mr. Drake, can't you spare her any sooner?"
Good girl, he thought with admiration. Playing for time. "Pat, will Jill being there help hold things until
we can get a rescue team to you?"
97
She sighed. "Very well." She relayed things to the person overhearing the conversation. "I'm sorry. I'm
back ... what was that? Yes. If she can get to Athens, I can have a helicopter bring her to the island. Yes,
that would be fine."
"Okay, she'll be there. Can I call you if need be?"
"What? What?" Pat frantically said into the receiver. "You're breaking up! Can you repeat?"
Drake's display said that there was clear reception. So the phones were most likely under someone else's
control.
"I got the message. I'll get word to you somehow. Hang in there, Pat," he reassured her.
"Okay, I can hear you again," she said with a sigh of relief. "I tell you, you never can tell with overseas
communication. Anyhow, thank you again, Mr. Drake; it was a pleasure talking to you. Goodbye."
The line disconnected.
*
*
*
Pat hung up the phone. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. God, forgive me for what I'm getting Jill
into. She opened up her eyes and turned to Franklin.
"Okay. You heard. She'll be here in a couple of days. Satisfied ... Daniel?"
Franklin nodded. "For the moment."
"Now, can I check on how Jade is doing? I give you my word, I won't try anything - and you can have
your men escort me ... I just want to know if she's alive."
Franklin didn't respond immediately. "I see no reason why not, since we have several days to wait.
Ramos, get three men and accompany her to the infirmary. Don't take your eyes off of her, though; she's
tricky."
"Thank you, Daniel." She was genuinely grateful.
The men were assembled, and she walked away with the guards around her.
"Why are you trusting her, Danny?" hissed Deuce, moving alongside Franklin. "So help me, if you've
gone soft ..."
Franklin backhanded her, sending her onto her backside, then turned on her. "I have not gone soft on
anyone!" He composed himself and offered her a hand up; she refused it, standing on her own. "There is
no cause to show my hand before the two of them are together. Now leave me alone!"
Deuce gave him an irritated look and, rubbing her jaw where he had connected, walked away.
Captain Sandoval came over, a curious look on his face.
"General Franks, why is it that the old woman called you 'Daniel Franklin'?"
98
"That is the name she knows me by," he replied confidently. "It is not my true name, as you know it."
Sandoval nodded. "I see. Since we are going to be here for a few days, how do we handle the people? My
men can only stand guard for so long before they tire."
"I know. There is much to consider."
"General, may I make a suggestion?"
Franklin looked at him and nodded.
"Since we are going to live here with these people, it may be wise to begin working with them now. Let
us make our presence known on this island, but allow them to carry on their daily duties ... as long as they
do not resist us."
Franklin raised an eyebrow. "I like it. Be prepared, however, to set off one of the charges in case they
need an example of what happens to those who do resist."
"Of course. We will need to work with the old woman as well. Will she work with us, or will she resist?"
"She will work with us. I will make sure of it."
*
*
*
I frantically knocked at the door of the blue geodesic dome. After several moments, Clark answered it; he
wore sweatpants and sandals, but no shirt.
"Perry! Is there something wrong?" he asked, concerned.
"Mitch Drake just called!" I informed him. "Pat's in trouble!"
"Quick, come in!" he beckoned.
As we walked into the living room, I informed him of the call between Pat and Mitch. A few seconds
later, Bonnie came out of her bedroom, wearing a silk bathrobe; she yawned and gave me a little wave.
"Hi, Perry! What's up?"
"Pat's in trouble," summarized Clark. "Continue, Perry."
"He won't have any real details until the spysats check the place out, but Pat was able to clue him in on
the situation - somebody's taken over the island!" I paused. "One thing Pat had insisted on was it was
imperative that Jill Woodward come to the island ASAP. And Mitch asked for us to get her and bring her
back to the base in Florida."
"How come he wanted us?" asked Bonnie.
"The base is right in the path of Hurricane Tomas; all their planes are grounded until the morning.
Anyhow, Mitch has a jet waiting for us at Albany International; a jetcopter will be arriving at the heliport
in just under a half hour to take us there! I came over here to tell you the news while Dot packs our bags;
she'll join us here." I paused to take a breath. "Oh, yeah ... Mitch also said we might have a better chance
99
of bringing her back than anyone else he might send; I suspect there may be more to this than he's letting
on."
"Makes sense," commented Bonnie. "Jill and I fought side-by-side. So where is she?"
"Reno." I grinned. "She's a lounge singer."
Bonnie gave me a double-take, "W-what?"
"Mitch said something about this being her choice for a new identity."
"Wow!" She spun on her heel and sprinted for her room. "I'll be ready in five minutes!" The door shut
behind her.
Clark hadn't commented during my narrative, but now said, "You knew we'd say yes."
I chuckled. "Of course."
"I'll be right back." He turned and went into his bedroom.
While I waited, there was a rap on the door. Dot came in and handed me an Eagle Creek shoulder bag I
used for occasions like this; it contained a change of clothes and my personal items, including select
electronics. Bonnie came out of her bedroom, now dressed in jeans and sweater; a leather backpack was
slung over one shoulder.
"Okay, I'm ready!" she announced. "Hi, Dot!"
Clark followed soon after, clutching a backpack similar to Bonnie's. He grabbed two leather bomber
jackets, tossing one to Bonnie; she snatched it out of the air and slung it over a shoulder as we headed out.
At this hour, there was no one using the sub-shuttle, and we traveled in silence to the helipad area. We
only had to wait a few minutes before the sleek jetcopter arrived. After confirming our identities to the
pilots, we boarded and strapped in. We rose quickly into the air, then headed south-southeast towards
Albany International Airport.
The pilot of the jetcopter had radioed ahead, so our jet was idling on a taxiway. The copter made a quick
touchdown to let us out, then immediately took off again. We were airborne within thirty seconds of
boarding the jet.
"Who'd want to take over Caroline Island?" asked Bonnie, speculating on the situation. "And why on
earth would they want Jill there?"
"She's made a lot of enemies because of her pro-life stance," I offered. "There are probably a few prochoice extremists who would love to shut her down."
"Indeed," added Clark. "Pat has told me that she's received threatening emails. But I don't know if any of
them would go beyond threats to actually take over the island. It also doesn't explain why Pat would want
Jill."
"Who would have a grudge against both Pat and Jill?" Dot mused aloud.
100
We were all quiet for a moment. Then we all exclaimed as with one voice, "Franklin!"
*
*
*
Even though it was the middle of the night, downtown Reno was full of activity. The jet had landed at a
nearby airpark with barely room to land, and we hustled into a waiting car.
A few minutes later we were standing in front of the Sandbox Casino. The marquee proudly announced
APPEARING NIGHTLY
DELORES VAN ALLEN
On either side of the doors was a life-sized picture of Jill Woodward in a daring outfit that none of us
every believed she'd be caught dead in. But there she was, frozen with a microphone in her hand and her
mouth half-opened in song.
"I see it, but I don't believe it," mumbled Bonnie. "This I gotta see."
We walked through the doors of the casino and headed back through a haze of cigarette smoke towards
the Moonlight Lounge. It was a popular place; even at this hour there were people bustling about,
exercising their arms on slot machines that seemed to be just about everywhere. Clark pointed to a table
close to the stage, and we maneuvered in that direction. A brassy blonde waitress appeared and asked us
for drink orders; she gave us an odd look at our order of soft drinks all around.
"Actually, we're here to see Delores," informed Bonnie. "Do you know when her act starts?"
"Any minute, doll," the waitress whined, and walked away.
A few minutes the lights dimmed - not enough to keep the slot payers from their business - and a pale
pink spotlight illuminated an empty microphone stand on the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen," announced a low male voice anticipatorily. "The Moonlight Lounge proudly
presents its reigning star ... Delores VanAllen!"
An off-stage piano played the opening bars to a familiar Sinatra song as a few people clapped. At the top
of the bar, a shapely black leg appeared from the side curtain, and a deep throaty voice began singing.
"It's quarter to three ... there's no one in the place ... except you and me ..."
As we watched with amazement, Jill Woodward slithered out from behind the curtain. She was dressed in
a low-cut gown that screamed 'slinky', and formal white gloves that covered most of her arms. Despite the
fact that her hair was longer and swept up in a flattering beehive hairdo, there was no mistaking the
familiar face.
"Amazing," commented Clark under his breath.
"Wow!" muttered Bonnie, stunned.
"I didn't know she could sing," commented Dot.
"She's good," I added with admiration.
101
"Uh huh," agreed Bonnie.
She sang with a passion that all of us couldn't help admire, disregarding some of the less-than-attentive
patrons. She didn't recognize us at first; when she did, however, she gave us a quick wave and a big smile
without missing a beat. Four songs later, at the end of her set, she received a better-than-expected amount
of applause from the audience, and gave several bows before replacing the microphone in the stand and
heading for us. She greeted each of us with generous embraces, then barrowed an unused chair from the
table next to us and sat.
"It's so good to see you! How'd you find me?" she asked with a beaming grin. "And don't you gimme
some line about 'just being in the neighborhood'; this ain't the kind of place you four'd be caught dead in
without some ulterior motive."
"Actually, Mitch told us you were here," confessed Bonnie. "Pat's in trouble, and it looks like the island's
been taken over."
"Oh, great," she moaned.
"She wants you there as soon as possible," added Clark. "Can you get away?"
"I guess I can. But why me? Pat and I haven't seen each other in years."
"We wondered the same thing," answered Bonnie. "Who do you and Pat have in common, who might
have a grudge against you?"
Jill looked towards the stage for a moment, then turned back to us with dismayed eyes. "Daniel Franklin."
"That's what we thought, too," Bonnie nodded.
Her face flushed with anger. "I thought that sorry piece of trash was lost in the jungle or something like
that!"
"He's supposed to be," answered Clark. "We really need to leave."
"Yeah ... okay. Lemme tell the owner of the club. You got time for me to change clothes?"
"I suppose."
"Okay. I'll be quick."
She got up from the table and disappeared behind the stage. A few minutes later Bonnie saw her next to a
slick-haired Latino man who stood off to one side, smoking a thin cigarillo. After a minute she came back
to our table. "I told him my grandmother was on her death bed," she explained. "Let's go!"
*
*
*
"It's times like these that I miss the old base," Mitch Drake voiced to a blonde female security guard.
"Yes, sir," she replied, and excused herself.
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As she did, another stiff breeze blew rain into Mitch's face; he wiped his hand across his face and pulled
up on the collar of his jacket. The wind had died down considerably over the last six hours, but it was still
nasty, and the rain was consistent. All around him, crews cleaned up what they could of the night before,
bulldozing debris from the runways and checking the surface structures for damage.
The communicator in his hand squawked for attention, and he had to raise his voice to be heard.
"DRAKE!"
"Bravo-three-five is ten minutes out," they reported. "Requesting landing clearance!"
That cheered him up. It was Clark's flight. "GRANTED! CLEAR 'EM QUICK AND ESCORT THEM
TO MY OFFICE!"
"Acknowledged! Out!"
Drake wiped the rain off the communicator and shoved it into his jacket pocket. He made a last look
around on the surface and headed for a brick bunker. Just being inside felt great, and he shook the rain off
his jacket before hanging it up on a rack on the wall. The bunker wasn't large; it was more like a shelter
for one of the elevators. He stepped up to a metal door opposite where he came in, waved his ID over a
sensor grid, and the elevator opened up.
As he descended, Drake made a mental note to check on the progress of the Everglades base. Deep below
the Florida swamps, it had been their main base of operations for over two decades. But when it started
taking in water due to a series of small subterranean tremors early last year, it was decided to relocate
while the base underwent necessary reconstruction and upgrading. This new base had its advantages, to
be certain, but he always felt so ... exposed ... here.
This base had originally been christened Braddock AFB, and was a test bed for new building and hangar
construction. Following the 2003 Columbia shuttle disaster it was renamed Husband AFB in memory of
Mission Commander Rick D. Husband. Shortly after the name change, however, the project was
abandoned due to budget cuts, and lay dormant until it was bought in late 2004, its name changed to
Husband Field, and given a new lease on life. They now had an umbrella of electronic camouflage and
the most advanced defenses available; there was no way they could be spied upon from the outside, so
Drake's paranoia was unfounded.
Unfortunately, electronic camouflage did nothing to deter even the smallest of hurricanes - so they got
pounded just like everybody else on the Florida coast.
*
*
*
The jet landed smoothly, and taxied into a hangar with the ease of parking a car into a garage. We were
quickly screened and provided with temporary IDs, then escorted down into the base and taken to Drake's
office.
I was amazed at how much this new office looked like his old one back in the Everglades. Half of it
resembled a high-tech playground, with high-definition flatscreens curved in a great semi-circle around
the command console. The other half was ultra-casual, as if it were someone's sitting room; there were
leather-covered sofas and chairs, and floor lamps provided sufficient indirect lighting. It was the best of
both worlds.
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Drake approached Jill first, greeting her with a deliberately-subdued hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks
for coming, Jill. How's the act?"
"Two shows nightly," she proudly informed him. "Three on weekends. You ought to come and see me;
I'll see that you get a good table." Then her expression sobered. "Pat's in trouble?"
Drake's smile vanished, and he motioned for us to be seated in the living room area. He grabbed a digital
tablet from his desk and sat next to Jill on a couch.
"Pat called me around midnight." He tapped on the tablet, and overhead speakers played back the call
with amazing clarity. We all heard the urgency in Pat's voice. "My techs are working on separating any
sounds in the background; we should have something soon."
Clark spoke up. "We were speculating on who might have a grudge against both Jill and Pat, and we keep
coming back to Daniel Franklin. Remember him?"
Drake nodded. "He was exiled to the Valley of the Vanished."
"And as far as we know, he's still there. I'd like to make sure, however. May I use your short wave?"
"Certainly."
They stood and started towards the control desk, but a beep came from Drake's digital tablet. He stopped
and responded to it. "Yes?"
"Norris, sir! We've isolated the background sounds from that recording."
"Let's hear it."
We heard the conversation again, but Pat and Drake's voices were heavily muffled. What was being said
in the background could be clearly heard.
Unfortunately.
Jill uttered a low profanity.
"I must call the Valley," said Clark, moving towards Drake's desk.
While they were establishing the connection with the Valley, the rest of us kept an eye on Jill and prayed.
"How did he get outta there?" she asked Clark, standing and taking a couple of steps towards them.
"I will find out," the bronze man replied calmly, entering in the frequency. "He could not do it without
assistance."
"I'll give you odds that Deuce is in it with him," added Bonnie. "Psycho."
"Yeah," agreed Jill, moving closer towards Drake. "This is not good. But, hey, you two did a good job of
stalling; it should give me plenty of time to get ready to go to the island."
Drake placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Jill, it's a trap."
104
"You don't think I know that?" she replied tenderly. "But look at the alternative. I have to go. That
slimeball's holding the whole blasted island hostage."
Their eyes met and their hearts touched for the first time in years. She gave him a reassuring smile.
"Babe," she said tenderly, moving her face in close to his. "You didn't actually expect me not to go, did
ya?"
He paused, then slowly shook his head. "No. I guess I didn't."
She kissed the end of his nose and gave him a grin. "Mitch. I know you. Before it gets intense over there,
you'll swing in like Mister John Shaft himself, and personally kick Franklin's sorry butt all the way back
to the Valley of the Vanished."
"Darn straight," he grinned. "In the meantime, though ... keep your head down."
She kissed him. "I will, baby. I will."
*
*
*
One of the changes that King Mordecai had allowed in the Valley of the Vanished had been the addition
of a second short wave radio. This radio, under a different frequency as the one monitored by faithful
John Blue Corn, had the honor of being located in the king's own bedroom. It was what the outsiders
called a 'hotline', allowing Doc Savage and King Mordecai freedom to speak directly and privately. There
had been more than a few late evenings where the two men would spend hours talking, whether it was
about Scripture or just reminiscing about the woman whom they both loved dearly, Monja.
"Clark!" greeted Mordecai. "What do I owe the honor of this call?"
"Is Daniel Franklin still in the Valley?"
There was a pause. "I'm sorry to say he is not. He is missing and presumed dead. How did you know?"
"I have just listened to a recording made less than 12 hours ago. Daniel Franklin's voice could be heard
clearly in the background."
"I don't know how that's possible! The last we saw of him was several weeks ago. He had at last become a
Christian, and had gone into the foothills on a retreat - a time of prayer and fasting. He appeared to be
quite sincere, to myself and to the elders. However, when he did not return when he had promised, I sent
men to look for him. They found his bloodied cloak on some rocks below a cliff."
"How long ago was this?"
"Several weeks. Let me think ... yes. It was around the time of the last gold shipment."
Clark hesitated, then said, "Don't you think that's awfully coincidental?"
"Why, yes ... it is." There was a long silent pause on the other end. "Let me call you back in a few
minutes."
"I will be here. Be well."
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"Be well."
Clark looked at the others. "This doesn't look good."
*
*
*
When King Mordecai called back, his tone was grave. "Clark, I am truly sorry."
"Franklin escaped," concluded the bronze man.
"Yes," Mordecai sighed. "I'm afraid we have all be deceived by this ... serpent! Several weeks ago, after
what appeared to be months of exemplary behavior, Franklin and the woman Deuce went walking in the
hills. When Franklin returned, alone, he told us all that there had been an accident, that the woman had
been killed, and that his near-escape had convinced him of his need for Jesus Christ. Now I see how he
lied to us all." He sighed. "The leader of the gold train, a man I have trusted for years, fell to the desires of
the flesh. Franklin took advantage of this, and extorted him into taking himself, the woman Deuce - who
was not dead after all - and even two girls from this village who fell into his trap, with him." He let out a
mournful groan. "This is all on my head - I have sinned against you and against God."
"Be at ease, King Mordecai," reassured Clark. "Do not allow condemnation to get the best of you. Love
believes all things, and all you were trying to do was show him love."
Mordecai sighed. "The leader of the gold train said that they remained behind after the gold was
delivered."
"All of the gold was delivered?"
"Yes, as arranged. In this I believe he speaks the truth."
"Thank you, King Mordecai."
"Is there anything we can do to make up for this tragedy?"
"Pray."
"I will inform my people. We will fast and pray for you until this is resolved." There was renewed vigor
in his voice. "Be well, my brother."
"Be well, King Mordecai."
Clark made another call, this one to Hidalgo. After a few minutes speaking to Mr. Gilbert, he knew the
rest of the story.
"He used your money to fund his army?" exclaimed Bonnie, incredulously.
"Brilliant," commented Clark. "Diabolical, but brilliant. I have cut off his supply line."
"Okay," said Jill. "What's our next move?"
106
"Reconnaissance," replied Mitch. "We've got satellites heading for the area. They should be passing over
within -" He checked his tablet. "- just under two hours. That'll tell us the strength of his forces. In the
meantime, I'll have temporary quarters issued; have any of you slept?"
"We tried to catch a catnap on the return flight," reported Clark.
"Then let me escort you to the cafeteria for some breakfast."
We took him up on his offer of hospitality. The food was great, even if the conversation was minimal. We
were still tired, but the food helped.
*
*
*
The Command Center was impressive enough with its rows of male and female technicians in white
jumpsuits. But the walls were covered with immense high-definition viewscreens; they were presently
showing an orbital view of the Mediterranean area.
"Beginning the pass over the island," announced a technician. "Recorders are on."
"Bring us in," instructed Drake from a command chair.
The view suddenly appeared to be in free-fall; then, without warning, it would pause where it was and the
image would sharpen. Then it repeated - dropping, then focusing, dropping, then focusing. A digital
readout in one corner of the display showed the estimated altitude. As we got closer, details on the island
became clearer. We saw a freighter at the docks that looked out of place. Buildings became identifiable.
Crowds of people formed into squads of uniformed troops.
"Over there ... the helipad," directed Drake using a laser pointer.
The image shifted and became closer, and we recognized the twisted wreckage of the Osprey.
"Ooh," Bonnie groaned. "That was her favorite."
"Sir!" one of the techs suddenly spoke up. "I'm picking up concentrated radiation readings - trying to
isolate!"
There was a flurry of activity on the floor, and the camera located a small object near the central plaza. I
didn't see why it was causing so much attention, especially when a display scrolled up the bottom third of
the screen with details.
But to the others, this was a serious matter.
Drake uttered a profanity, then informed us, "It's a baby nuke."
"A bomb?" asked Bonnie, looking at him.
Drake appeared not to hear her, as he continued to interpret the rolling display. "This is not good ... not
good."
"Moving out of surveillance range," announced a technician. As the view moved off the edge of the
island, someone pulled back on the image, and continued to do so until there were no identifiable
107
landmarks to be seen. As the screen changed to another image, another technician announced that it
would be just under five hours until the next satellite pass over the island.
The room became very quiet; most everybody was looking at Drake for directions. The black man rose
from his command chair, his face a mask of intensity, and looked at us.
"Conference room!" he said.
*
*
*
The six of us sat around a large oval metal-and-vinyl table, while Drake stood a moment before
addressing us.
"We have a plan. Even though we're just starting to find out about this, we have a plan.
"I'm sure you all recognize the phrase Worst-Case Scenario. It's what we fear the most, but pray we'll be
ready for if it does happen." He paused, and indicated a couple of dark brown file folders. "In the
aftermath of 9/11, and in light of Pat's more ... controversial statements against the Pro-Choice
Movement, I felt it necessary to prepare for the possibility that someone who didn't like what she had to
say would try to strike out against her or against Caroline Island.
"Among the scenarios we came up with were a possible terrorist attack directly on the island, and a
hostage situation on the island. Our response is codenamed Swan Lake. It hinges on being able to reach
Caroline Island quickly without alerting the enemy - or the news media.
"What I have here is a framework based on certain factors that'll change as we get more information. Now
I know this may be a moot point, but none of you are obligated to participate in this mission; we have
sufficient trained manpower already."
The expressions on all our faces said "Get on with it." So he did. He pulled up a map of the world on the
wall-sized screen behind him.
"At the appropriate time, we'll leave from here by jet to a private air strip on the coast of Greece." The
display drew a red line from Florida to Greece, then zoomed in to offer a detailed view of the destination.
"The airstrip here belongs to businessman Nikolas Vassilicos, and is thirty minutes away from Caroline
Island by water. We ... sub-contract ... from him, and he has several items essential to our plans, including
two commercial cargo hovercrafts and several armored motorcycles called Strike Bikes.
"The attack will be two-pronged. Team Alpha will approach the island in the hovercraft, pull up next to
the dock and deploy the Strike Bikes. At the same time, Team Beta will fly high over the island in a
helicopter, hold their position, then deploy troops equipped with rocket packs."
"Did you say rocket packs?" I commented. "Like Buck Rogers?"
"Yes, Perry," Drake grinned. "They'll be divided into specialized teams. They'll offer air support using you'll appreciate this, Clark - superfirers. Also, in light of these latest developments, we'll probably have a
specialized team who will disarm the baby nuke using a Bradshaw EMPG."
"EMPG?" asked Dot, flabbergasted. "Sunni's electromagnetic pulse generator?"
"Precisely," answered Drake.
108
"How is that possible?" Clark said. "Sunni destroyed all information on her invention years ago!"
"Apparently not all," replied Drake. "We found a CD case in the back of your car that contained a set of
backup disks." His expression changed to one of embarrassment. "Are you telling me you didn't know it
was there?"
Clark shook his head. "No."
There was an uncomfortable silence, then Drake apologized, "Forgive me for not saying something about
it sooner. I just assumed you were aware of it being there." He paused, then elaborated. "You recall, you
turned over Goliath to me while you two were on your road trip. I was planning on upgrading some of the
systems. During the initial cleaning, my men came across a CD holder under one of the seats, and they
brought them to my attention. The CD's had Braille labels, and contained backup copies of the plans."
"You said it was under one of the seats?" I suddenly asked.
Drake nodded.
"Of course! Now I know!" I started laughing, then explained. "It was the morning after we'd rescued
Sunni from the bikers. Dot and I took Sunni over to her place to pick up a few things. While Dot was
helping Sunni pack some things in her bedroom, I wandered around the laboratory. I felt that God wanted
me to take a CD case. I didn't check it out, but just tossed it into the back of the Diamond, and spaced it
off. The case must've slipped under the seat, and in the excitement of the moment, completely forgot it
existed."
"And we found it," concluded Drake. "My R&D people had been working on an EMP generator of our
own for years, but we kept running into a snag. Ms. Bradshaw's invention overcame that snag. We now
have an EMP generator with a range of over half a mile with laser accuracy!"
Drake cleared his throat and returned to the topic. "Anyhow, we'll have a team of specialists drop in and
put the nuke out of commission; once the action's over, we'll take it apart and get it out of there.
Hopefully, we'll be able to find out where it came from."
"Mitch," asked Bonnie. "Isn't a hovercraft kind of obvious, especially if you're trying to sneak up on the
island? What about a submarine? You could sail through, and surface right under their noses."
"Availability," answered Drake. "Remember, this is a worse-case scenario; it's not the type of thing we
hoped would happen. Having a special sub - and that's what we'd need for this situation - in range of
Caroline Island for an unspecified time isn't very practical. On the other hand, Vassilicos uses cargo
hovercraft on a regular basis; it's a familiar sight to the people around there. It wouldn't be a surprise for it
to be cruising the waters around the island ... it won't arouse suspicion."
Bonnie nodded, "That makes sense. Thanks."
"Like I said earlier, none of you are obligated to be part of this. However, if you choose to, decide which
team you want to be a part of, so you can begin training. Jill, you'll fly to Athens on Tuesday afternoon,
stay there overnight, and take a charter helicopter to Caroline Island Wednesday morning. Once you're
there and can report back, we'll follow up in the jet. If everything goes smoothly, we'll hit the island
Thursday night. Any questions?"
109
We exchanged silent glances around the table.
"Okay," concluded Drake with a half-smile. "Then this meeting is over."
*
*
*
Clark and Drake were alone in the conference room.
"Mitch. I know you've got troops for this operation, but ... I'd like to call in the others. This one's
personal; it's about family, and I know they'd want to be a part of it."
Drake nodded. "I understand, and I don't blame you. Please include them. But understand, there won't be
a lot of time for them to train." He smiled. "So, which team have you chosen?"
"I prefer the familiarity of the Strike Bikes. And, although I can't speak for the others I believe Bonnie
will be joining me."
Drake sat on the corner of the table. "Speaking of which, how are you two doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"You two: you and Bonnie," he elaborated. "Do you have any plans for tying the knot?"
Clark flashed him a surprised look. "You've got a lot of nerve, haven't you?"
"It's part of the job, I suppose." Drake's expression softened. "Clark. Jill and I tried to make a go of it
once, but it never worked out ... I was too involved in my work. But you and Bonnie are different. You
have the same goals, you make a good team. But you can't expect her to always be there. Far be it from
me to try to tell you how to live your life, but ... you two oughta get married."
Clark was silent for a few moments; his expression was like flint. Then his lips formed a smile. "Thanks,
Mitch. We are."
Now it was Drake's turn to look surprised. "You are? When?"
"No date yet. And we really haven't announced it, so I'd prefer it if you'd keep it quiet until we make it
public."
"Hey, secrecy is my business! I'm just thrilled for both of you!" Mitch suddenly sprung forward and
engulfed Clark in an exuberant bear hug.
Clark hugged back. "Thank you, Mitch. Let me call the rest of the team, okay?"
The men separated an instant before the door to the conference room hissed open and a crisp voice said,
"Mr. Drake! Sir!"
The man behind the voice was in his late 40's, with balding brown hair and a round, almost cherubic, face.
He wore camouflage BDU's instead of the standard-base-issue colored jumpsuit, and, upon being
acknowledged by Drake, gave an smart salute that came from years of practice.
110
"Good timing, Ray," said Mitch, beckoning him in with a wave of the hand. "Clark, this is Major
Raymond Louis Bixby; he'll be leading Team Alpha, the ground forces. Ray, this is Clark Dent. This is
the man."
Bixby's face broke into a beaming smile, and he reached out a hand. "A most genuine pleasure to meet
you at last, sir!"
"You're quite welcome," replied Clark, shaking the hand.
"So what'cha got, Ray?" asked Drake informally.
"I just finished speaking with Mr. Vassilicos. He reports that the hovercraft, Strike Bikes, and a Chinook
CH-47 helicopter are all on-site and waiting for us. They'll get a final examination over the next few
hours, and will be ready for immediate deployment as soon as we arrive. He has several men presently on
leave, but they're being recalled even now; he assured me that we'll have a full support crew."
"Excellent," replied Drake. "And Team Beta?"
"I spoke to Major Parker about an hour ago," he informed. "He reported that everything was going fine,
and that his people would be ready." He turned to Clark. "Will you be joining us, sir?"
"Yes," answered Clark.
He beamed another wide grin. "It'll be an honor fighting at your side! Will there be more joining you?"
"I'm not sure yet," Clark answered. "I have to make a few calls ... if you will excuse me. Good to meet
you, Major." He shook Bixby's hand. "I'll talk to you soon, Mitch."
"Later," acknowledged Drake.
"Again, a pleasure," added Bixby.
Clark left the two men in the conference room.
*
*
*
Dot and I opened the packs we'd brought from CSI. The quarters were equipped with double beds; I
figured they didn't deal with married couples a lot.
"I want to be part of Team Beta," I admitted.
"You just want to play with the rocket packs," she joked back.
"Can you blame me?" I returned with a smile. "I'm a Superman fan from way back."
She smiled at me with understanding. "No, I can't blame you. And it does sound like fun. Let's do it!"
*
*
*
"Blazes!" exclaimed Monk Mayfair via long distance. "You bet I wanna be part of it! Yeah! Okay! You
do that - I'll call Gumball! Talk to you in a few!"
111
Lea Mayfair had rushed to her husband's side at the first sound of trouble. "What is it, Andy?"
"Pat's in trouble! Remember that bozo Franklin?" She nodded. "He somehow got outta the Valley and
now he's taken over Caroline Island! He's got an army backin' him up, f'God's sake!"
"Oh, my!"
"Anyhow, Clark's with Drake! They're gonna go after her, and he's askin' to put the team together again."
He briefly hesitated; there was compassion in his eyes. "Babe, please don't ask me to say no. It's Pat ... it's
family."
She gave him a patient smile. "Andy, you don't have to explain it to me," she replied. "Just be careful ...
ahem, as careful as you can be, that is."
Monk kissed her. "Ah, you know me well."
He reached for the phone and hit the speed dial.
*
*
*
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The weather was improving, which made the Osprey's landing considerably easier. Clark waved a
greeting as the door opened and the steps were lowered. He felt a wave of sentiment at seeing Monk,
Renny, and Johnny disembark together, with Gumball and Amy a couple of steps behind.
After the hugs and handshakes, Clark said, "I'm glad you could all make it."
"Try stoppin' us," commented Renny. "Anyhow, thanks for bringin' us in on this. Any news?"
"No. Mitch has a plan for getting us in and rescuing them, and enough men to do the job, but he agreed to
include us in on it."
"Always did like him," quipped Monk. "What kinda training we talkin' about?"
"Follow me! Mitch'll brief you!"
*
*
*
Drake went over the plans again, updating their progress in light of a true count of their forces. Clark,
Monk, Renny, and Johnny chose to be part of Team Alpha, and Gumball, Amy, Perry, Dot, and Bonnie
chose to be part of Team Beta.
*
*
*
"I thought you were going to be part of Team Alpha with me," Clark asked Bonnie afterward.
She shrugged. "Yeah, so did I. But the more I thought about it, the less I had a peace about it. I don't
understand it all, but I think God wants me to be on Team Beta. Sorry, sugah."
112
Clark looked at her. After a moment he smiled. "All right. After all who am I to argue with God? Just be
careful."
"You, too."
*
*
*
"Señor Franks!"
"What is it, Salvador?"
"We have received a communication from Miss Woodward."
Franklin moved in and took the piece of paper from his hand.
PAT STOP COULDN'T GET AHOLD OF YOU BY PHONE SO SENDING TELEGRAM STOP HOPE
YOU GET MESSAGE STOP ON MY WAY STOP ARRIVE ATHENS TUESDAY PM STOP
CHARTER HELICOPTER WEDNESDAY AM STOP GET PHONES WORKING STOP TELEGRAMS
AREN'T CHEAP STOP LOVE JILL END MESSAGE
Franklin crushed the message in his hand and grinned. "Good! Make sure we have a reception for her
when she arrives! Search her thoroughly; use a metal detector, just to be on the safe side. Wouldn't want
her smuggling a weapon in, would we?"
"No, Señor Franks!"
*
*
*
Jill shifted the bag on her shoulder as she and Mitch walked to the small jet that would take her to Athens.
"Okay. Our man Stavros will meet you at the airport and take you to our office in Athens. They'll equip
you on that end before you head to the island."
"Sounds good, babe," she nodded. "That slimeball won't suspect a thing."
"Jill." His voice lowered a bit as he looked into her eyes. "I know I screwed things up ... you know, with
us. I hope we can try again ... maybe go a little slower this time. What do you say?"
She smiled. "I will admit, I've missed you. But d'you think you can break away from your work long
enough to make a relationship work?"
"I don't know. I truly don't know. But I can try."
"Okay, I'll settle for that ... for now." She smiled and kissed him. "Talk to you later."
They hugged and kissed again, and she climbed aboard the jet.
*
*
*
Martial law was in effect on Caroline Island. The streets were deserted save for the soldiers. The children
had been confined to their dorm barracks. When they had to be fed, they were escorted to the mess hall
113
and back by a corridor of armed men. Some of the children saw it as a game and enjoyed 'playing army'.
The older ones, and those who had seen the oppression in their own home countries, knew better; some
were afraid, others quietly defiant.
Communications between barracks were nonexistent. But there were a few who could move unseen
between the buildings, passing messages back and forth, offering hope for a quick rescue.
Pat returned to the barracks where she and some of the older girls were prisoners. Three teenagers
practically mobbed her as she came in the door.
"How is she? How is she?" they asked excitedly.
She held up her hands for silence. "She's alive; it looks like she'll be laid up for awhile, but she'll be okay.
Dr. Cunningham's got her in a sedation-coma so her body can heal."
The girls gave off with a simultaneous sigh of relief. "Is there any chance we can see her?" asked one
sandy-haired girl.
Pat shook her head. "No, Jodie, you can't. I'm sorry. It was enough that I was able to get to see her."
"We ought to rush 'em!" blurted another of the girls.
"Yeah! I don't think these soldiers are as tough as they look!" said the other.
"Pooh! Lizzy! Stop it this instant!" barked Pat, coming between them and putting her arms around their
shoulders. "This is not the time do something rash!"
"That's not what you used to do!" commented Pooh.
"No, you're right ... it's not," she replied. "When I was your age I was more rebellious than the three of
you combined, and I can show you the scars I've gotten in the process. I probably hold the world's record
for going off half-cocked!"
The girls giggled in spite of themselves, and the tension was diffused.
"Girls," she looked at each of them. "It won't do Jade any good for you to react in this way ... God knows
I want to do something also ... but now is not the time. Word has gone out, and my cousin will be
swooping in here before you know it to rescue us. Everybody is going to make it through this okay;
nobody else is going to get hurt."
"Señorita Savage!"
They turned to see a soldier at the door. Without waiting for her to say anything, he announced, "General
Franks would like to see you! Follow me!"
Pat looked at the other girls. "I'll be right back. Stay frosty, okay?"
They nodded back weakly. Pat turned and followed the soldier to the quarters Franklin was using for his
command room.
"Pat!" he greeted, holding up a piece of paper. "Jill's on her way, and should be here tomorrow."
114
"So what do you have planned for us?"
He gave her a wry smile. "Now that would be telling."
After a moment, she said, "Didn't you learn anything from the Christians in the Valley of the Vanished?"
Franklin's face took on a pained expression. "But of course I learned something from them, and from the
Bible they so treasured! I learned about deceit from Jacob and Laban, murder from Kings David and
Herod, revenge from Herodias and Solomon ... and that's just for starters. Why, that Bible of yours
contains a veritable who's who of crooks, killers, and thieves!"
"All people who's lives were changed by God!" Pat pleaded.
But Franklin wasn't listening. He had turned his back on her, and waved his hand to instruct the guard to
return her to her barracks. Pat knew it was useless to say anything more, so she just did as she was told
and prayed for a miracle.
*
*
*
The pilot pointed to the dot of land ahead of them. Even from that distance, Jill could make out the
distinct mesa formation. "There's the island, ma'am. Ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be, Bobby," Jill said half-absently. "And thanks for the ride."
"Anytime. Here we go ..."
The helicopter circled once around the mesa.
"I don't see any signs of trouble," commented Bobby.
"I don't either," added Jill. "I also don't see any sign of people either. Usually there'd be crowds of kids
fascinated with the helicopter ... but there isn't. That's not good."
"You're ... right," agreed Bobby.
"Now remember, as soon as I'm clear, get out of here. And be aware, they have shoulder-fired missiles."
"I know. If I see anything coming my way, I'll confuse them with ECM and avoid them like the plague!
Anyhow, here we go ... "
The helicopter hovered briefly over the helipad, then settled nicely within the circle. Jill thanked the pilot
and stepped out on the landing skid. She reached behind the seats and pulled out her bag, swinging the
sling over her shoulder. She latched the door and, ducking to avoid the rotors, moved to the edge of the
helipad.
She turned and gave Bobby a wave as he lifted off and away. Then she turned and stepped down. She
didn't see anyone, so called out, "Pat? Pat? Hey, where is everybody?"
115
As if on cue, three uniformed men came out of a checkpoint building and pointed their weapons at her;
two of them had rifles, and one had a pistol. "Please do not move, Señorita," warned the one with the
pistol. "Or we will shoot!"
"What in the name of Pancho Villa is going on here?" asked Jill, hands on hips, her expression defiant.
"Who are you guys?"
"We are going to search you," said the one with the pistol. "You will please cooperate with us."
It was the look in his eyes rather than the tone of his words that made Jill comply. She slowly raised her
arms at her sides and let them check her out, first by a standard frisk, then using a portable metal detector
wand.
While they covered her with their weapons, one man went through her bag and examined it; the three men
guffawed among themselves as they checked out her lingerie.
"Excuse me!" she coughed offendedly. "Do you mind?"
Their revelry interrupted, they finished going through her bag, including a ziplock bag containing her
personal items.
Satisfied that she was clean, they reported it back to Franklin, she guessed, and ordered her to follow
them.
She nodded. They escorted her into the village. Soldiers came out of hiding. She didn't see any of the kids
or the natives.
But she did see Pat. She was surrounded by armed men and looked weary. Jill gave her an easy wave and
a smile, and she returned it.
Then Franklin stepped out from behind another man; he was trying to surprise her, so Jill pretended like
she was.
"What?" she exclaimed. "Daniel Franklin, you ugly piece of filth - what rock did you slither out from
under?"
"Charming ... to the last," he commented with a wry smile.
As Franklin spoke to a couple of men near him, Jill was placed next to Pat.
"Pat," greeted Jill with a half-smile.
"Jill. Glad you got my message." Her expression showed her additional regret.
"Did this dirtbag hurt'cha?" she asked.
"No." Pat hesitated. "But he had Jade shot; she's in the infirmary."
Jill tensed. Jade, Pooh, Lizzy, and Jodie all served under her in APEX; the girls had been in a bad
situation, and Jill had given them the first real family in their lives.
116
"She's still alive," added Pat.
Jill breathed a little easier.
Franklin stood before them again, his hands behind his back like a kid hiding his new toys. Then he
brought them out, and Pat and Jill saw that his hands held twin tranquilizer dart guns.
"I'm sure you recognize these," he explained. "Four years ago the two of you used something like them on
me before having me kidnapped. However, these aren't meant to put you to sleep ... they're meant to put
you to death."
Pat and Jill started to move back, and ran into a wall of soldiers who seized them by the arms and held
them immobile.
Franklin gave them an evil grin and simply said, "You're fired!" Then he shot from the hip, hitting them
both.
The guards held them fast a moment longer before releasing them. The ladies quickly pulled out the darts
and threw them down to the ground.
Then they waited.
Two, three, four seconds passed before Jill said defiantly, "Ha! You sick piece of trash! You were
bluffing!"
"No, I wasn't," Franklin coldly replied. "And it's the two of you who will soon be sick. You've just been
given a hefty dose of botulism. I've been told that the initial symptoms are drooping eyelids, generalized
weakness, dizziness, dry mouth and throat, blurred vision, slurred speech, and difficulty in swallowing."
He paused to let that sink in. "You might last for ... twelve hours before you start showing symmetrical
descending paralysis. Eventually your lungs will simply stop working, and you'll die. And I'm going to be
there to watch it."
Franklin gestured to some men, who produced a macabre device.
"I'm sure you recognize this. It's a pillory. A rather simple device, actually, used extensively in colonial
America to deal with troublemakers. And that's what you are to me ... troublemakers. This way, ladies!"
With Franklin in the lead, they walked to the central plaza. It was a park-like location with a marble
fountain spraying slender streams around the base of a large ornate cross.
The central plaza could also be seen from many of the dormitory-like barracks; the windows were filled
with children, young and old.
The pillories were staked securely into the ground, and Pat and Jill were forced into them. The hinged top
section was closed so that only their hands and head stuck through. The pillory was tall enough that they
didn't have to bow in order to fit into it. But it was uncomfortable, and they couldn't move.
Franklin gloated. "I thought this was a most fitting way for the two of you to spend your final hours. In
olden times, the troublemaker would be placed in this, unable to hide their face, while the people jeered
and threw things at them ... rotten food ... or worse."
117
He walked around them, continuing his morbid narrative. "The offender would have to stand in that
position for hours, even days. Good weather, bad weather, didn't matter. They had to rest any way they
could; however, if their legs went out on them ... well, they'd choke to death." He smiled. "It was a very
humiliating way to pass the time ... ever so much more efficient than the Island of Shame, wouldn't you
say?" His tone was almost conversational. Then he laughed, as if enjoying a private joke. "I might just set
up a lounge chair right here - you know, a couple of ice cold beers, some nachos - and count the hours
until you both breathe your last. Now that's entertainment!"
"Keep it up, Franklin!" shot back Jill. "And you'll bore us to death before the botulism kills us!"
Franklin gave them both a sour look. Then he moved in close and very deliberately spat in their faces.
People watching them gasped at the affront.
Franklin stood up and walked away. Two guards were posted to keep others from getting close to the
women.
Jill tried wiping the spittle from her face, but it was impossible for her to reach.
Pat didn't even try, but prayed silently instead.
*
*
*
"Hey! Hey, you! Como esta englais?"
The guard responded to Jill's basic Spanish by looking at her suspiciously and shaking his head. She
asked the question of the other guard, with the same response.
"I hope they're telling me the truth," she muttered. "Pat! Pat! You okay?"
"Just ducky," came the strained sarcasm. "I thought I'd work on my tan for awhile. And you?"
Jill chuckled in spite of herself. "I'm okay. Pat, we've gotta get alone!"
"Why?"
"I'm ired-way."
"What?"
"Ired-way," she repeated. "I'm wearing an ansmitter-tray. Itch-may gave me an ire-way so we can end-say
him an essage-may."
Pat didn't understand her talk at first. Then she remembered her 'Pig Latin' and her lips broke into a grin.
"Mitch, you sly dog ..." whispered Pat. "Okay. We can't ayking-bray outta here ... so they've got to oovemay us."
"And that's not oying-gay to be easy. Anklin-fray wants to awtch-way us eye-day." She sighed. "Too bad
this uff-stay's not untagious-kay. I'd give that bozo an ench-fray iss-kay and take him with us."
"Who says we're not untagious-kay?" muttered Pat with a tilt in her voice.
118
"Because he hit us with the oxin-tay directly, so it can't be transmitted erson-pay to erson-pay."
"You know that, and I know that, but I wonder if we can convince Don Juan that we're untagious-kay?"
"Yeah, but all he'd have to do is keep his istance-day from us and he'd be just ine-fay. Still not enough
otive-may to move the two of us."
"Lemme think about that." She paused, then asked, "Pat ... your usin-kay ever teach you ipnotism-hay?"
"Sure."
"Excellent! How'd you like to unvince-kay one of these ards-gay that they've got what we've got?"
"Jill, you're positively evious-day."
"Thank you. So which of these oons-gay can we ap-zay?"
"The first one God brings over," said Pat without hesitation. "Let Him open the doors He wants opened,
and close the door He wants closed."
"I'm ame-gay. Hey, we're ed-day anyhow ... let's go for oke-bray!"
*
*
*
A couple of hours passed without anyone approaching. People watched from the sidelines, but didn't dare
get closer. The men guarding Pat and Jill began wandering about in a circle, unable to keep still; their
orbit varied from a few feet to a few yards.
Then one man brought over a plastic water bottle and a straw. "General Franks does not want you to die
of dehydration. Drink."
"How magnanimous of him," quipped Jill. "Wait a minute! Who did you say? Franks? You mean
Franklin? And you made him a General?"
"I don't know this Franklin you speak of, but our leader is General Franks. And he ordered me to supply
you with water. Will you drink?"
"Yeah ... sure," she agreed, and took a sip.
Then the guard took the glass over to Pat. Her face was contorted as she blinked furiously. She did not
respond when the bottle was placed before her face.
"Is there something wrong?" the man asked.
"Yes, there is! I've got something in my eye! And since I can't reach it, it's very irritating! Can you help
me?"
"What can I do?"
"Can you look in my eye and see what is in it?" she asked.
119
The guard looked Pat in the eyes. "I see nothing."
Her voice turned into a monotone. "Look closer ... closer ... see the gold of my eyes ... isn't it pretty?"
His voice began to falter. "Yes."
"Look at the gold swirling. Can you see it?"
His voice was dreamy. "Y-yes."
"It's so warm and comfortable here. Aren't you getting sleepy? Sure you are. Can you hear me?"
"Y-yes."
"Good. All you can hear is the sound of my voice. You will listen to me and do what I tell you to do. Do
you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Good. Within the hour you will start feeling very sick." She listed off the symptoms Franklin had told
them. "You will believe you contracted something by being so close to us. You will tell General Franks
that you've contracted what we have - do you understand?"
"I understand."
"Good. Now, when I count to three, you will wake up as if nothing has happened. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"One ... two ... three."
The man blinked a couple of times, then went back to normal. "There is nothing in your eye."
"I guess I was mistaken. Thank you anyway."
"You're welcome. Water?"
"Yes, thank you." She sipped from the bottle. "Thank you again."
He straightened up and walked away as if nothing had happened.
"I do so love a professional at work," said Jill with a grin.
"Let's just hope he's convincing enough," returned Pat.
*
*
*
"Pat? You see'em?"
"Yeah. And they don't look too pleased at us."
120
Franklin and another man stopped at the two guards, spoke briefly to them, then continued to the pillory.
"What did you do to him?" said Franklin.
Jill coughed. "What are you babbling about now, Danny? Aren't we dying fast enough for you?"
"The man who brought water to you is sick. What did you do to him?"
"Oh, yeah, what we did to him," said Pat, her eyes rolling up. "And how did we pull off that little stunt?"
She wiggled her fingers. "Magic?"
Jill chuckled. "Did it ever occur to you that the toxin you shot us with could be remotely contagious?"
"I selected one that was not contagious."
"And you tested it to make sure you got what you asked for?"
"No, I didn't." His eyes narrowed. "My supplier gave me what I asked for!"
"You willing to risk your life on it?" dared Jill.
Franklin didn't reply.
"Tell you what, Danny. Why don't you come on over here and give us a kiss - then let's see if you become
symptomatic like us." She did a weak impression of Clint Eastwood. "So, do you feel lucky ... punk?"
Franklin took several steps back.
"Daniel," pleaded Pat. "I don't care about what happens to me ... I just want the kids to be safe. You can
do what you like to us, but - for God's sake - please quarantine us so we don't affect them."
Franklin hesitated. He looked at them for several seconds. Then he said, "Okay."
He conferred with those who came with him. Two men saluted and took off to carry out instructions.
Keeping his distance, he returned to the pillories.
"You'll be taken to the penthouse. The curtains will be removed, and I'll have guards posted on the terrace
to watch your every movement. You won't be able to get out; after all, I wouldn't want you to try
jumping." He gave them a grin, and gestured to the guards to release them.
As the pillories were opened, Jill and Pat stretched and groaned with the pain. Nobody stopped them as
they came together.
"You okay?" asked Pat, concerned.
"No," replied Jill truthfully. "But it doesn't matter now, does it?"
"Enough!" barked Franklin. "Get moving! And ... I've ordered one final precaution. Once you're in the
penthouse, you will both be stripped." His smile was unnerving. "'Naked I came out of my mother's
womb, and naked I will depart.' Isn't that what it says, Pat?"
121
Pat gave him a sobering look. "It also says, 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.' Your time
will come."
Franklin snorted. "Get them out of here!"
*
*
*
The room had been quickly - and not neatly - stripped of all items that could be used as a weapon. Pat and
Jill tried covering up their modesty the best they could, as their clothes were carried away. A line of
armed soldiers stood at attention along the wall of the terrace. Without endangering himself, Franklin
could now watch them through the immense glass window that connected with the terrace.
As soon as the door had closed, Jill turned towards the windows and urgently whispered, "Quick! Move
around behind me and pretend you're rubbing my shoulders. Find the seam of the fake skin on my back
and pull!"
"What if the guards suspect something?" whispered Pat.
"I'll drop my hands and give them something else to look at."
"Okay," said Pat, and moved around behind the black woman. She started working on her shoulders, then
probed around until she felt the edge of the layer of false skin. She slowly uncovered the modules, trying
to keep her actions concealed. Within a couple of minutes she had the layer off.
"Okay, it's clear," she reported. "Distract 'em a second so I can separate the modules from the layer and
then stash the layer. Ready? On three! One ... two ... now!"
Jill flexed her shoulders and reached her arms above her, stretching sensuously. A glance to the windows
confirmed her expectations, that every eye was on her. "The peep show has begun," she muttered behind a
smile.
"Okay, I've got the components!"
"Good," Jill said, trying not to move her lips. "Put 'em together ... I'll keep these guys distracted! Besides,
I'm on a roll!"
While Jill moved around the room, Pat assembled the modules into a transmitter.
"Please, God, let this work," prayed Pat as she activated the unit.
*
*
*
In the Command Center, Mitch Drake walked to the coffee dispenser on the wall and refilled his CSIFaculty mug. He added a couple of sugar cubes and took a tentative sip; with a grimace, he accepted the
mixture and returned to his command chair.
He didn't dare sleep, not now. It wasn't just that the situation was critical ... it was personal. Until he knew
that Jill was safe, he wouldn't be able to sleep.
He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.
122
Clark, he thought. I envy your faith. You can sleep in peace knowing that God is keeping your cousin
safe. I can't do that. I just don't have that faith ... not anymore.
And Mitch Drake remembered why.
*
*
*
With a breathless gasp, eight-year-old Mitchell Drake came up out of the baptismal waters in a little
church in North Carolina. It was a hot June morning, and he hadn't been warned about the sudden
temperature shock. His parents, standing off to one side, had been so proud of him. The next day they
gave him a brand new bible - Authorized King James Version, leather cover, with two ribbon bookmarks
- and he was thrilled.
After that, everything seemed to move so fast he couldn't seem to catch his breath.
First his mom died of cancer. Then his dad - unable to find comfort where they were - sold the house and
moved the two of them to New Jersey. A new home meant a new school, and Mitch pushed himself to the
limits, to make his dad proud, and to make his mom proud.
And he did.
He'd been the only colored student to achieve an honor status, and it even came to the attention of the
great Doc Savage when he visited the school that year.
Mitch had been majoring in the sciences back then, following the example of George Washington Carver.
But his meeting with the 'Man of Bronze' had impressed him so much, that he turned his studies towards
criminology.
Even though his father had money, Mitch had been challenged - and encouraged - to earn his own keep.
So he took janitorial jobs at night to make extra money for books.
But inside, something died. Actually, it starved to death.
Amongst all the things that kept him busy, he put his Bible down and forgot to pick it back up. In time, he
also put down his faith and became too busy to return to it.
*
*
*
Was it too late for him to return, to go back where he'd left off and catch up?
"Sir!" came the excited voice from the intercom, distracting him from his thoughts. "We've got a signal
from Woodward!"
"On speakers!" barked Drake. "And wake up Dent's group!"
"- you hear me? Mitch, it's Pat - can you hear me?"
"I hear you, Pat! Where's Jill?"
123
"Diverting the soldiers." She let out a sharp cough, and lowered her tone. "We've got bad news. Franklin
infected us with botulism. We convinced him that we were contagious, but we're running out of time!"
Drake's breathing stopped for a moment. "Acknowledged, Pat! Stand by!"
He pressed a button to mute the conversation, and hit another.
The response was immediate, but the tone was casual. "Infirmary, Jackson."
"Do we carry antitoxin for botulism?"
"Well, it's highly irregular, but –"
"JUST ANSWER ME, BLAST IT!"
Jackson's attitude did an instant one-eighty. "One moment, sir!"
Drake was berating himself for his emotional outburst when the door slid open and Clark and the others
came in; they looked almost comical in their various degrees of dress.
He held up his hand to indicate silence as Jackson came back on the line. "We have several doses of the
botulism antitoxin, sir! How many do you need?"
"Two, with speed injectors! Put them in a padded container and bring them up to C-and-C as soon as you
can!"
"I'll have them for you in five minutes, sir!" he replied before being cut off.
Still ignoring the various anxious looks he was getting, he pressed a button and announced, "Pat, we've
got the antidote! We'll get it to you as quickly as possible! Hang in there, okay?"
"Okay ... sure," she replied, and everyone could hear the tired rasp in her voice.
Clark moved closer to Drake. The intensity of his whisper was hard to dismiss. "Let me talk to her."
Their eyes met, and Mitch nodded.
"Pat, it's me!" Clark said aloud.
"Good to hear your voice, cuz," she replied, then suddenly coughed; it didn't sound good. "It seems I just
can't seem to keep out of trouble, can I?"
Clark fought back a wave of emotion. He tried to speak, but couldn't. After a moment he quoted, "'In this
world you will have trouble, but take heart –'"
"'– I have overcome the world,'" she finished the verse. "Thanks for the reminder. Don't be long, okay?"
"I'll be there before you know it," he said softly.
"Pat. The batteries on that unit are limited. It'll give us a homing signal. We'll signal you as soon as we
can. In the meantime, you hold tight, okay?"
124
"Okay," she replied, slightly more confident than earlier. "Out."
"Homing signal strong," confirmed a tech.
*
*
*
It had been hard hearing Pat's voice all those miles away, and we all felt helpless. When the conversation
ended, we all pressed in on Mitch's command chair and hit him with questions.
He raised a hand to shut us up. When we did, he gave us the bad news.
"How can we get the antitoxin to 'em in time?" squawked Monk.
"Rocket pack," stated Mitch. "Experimental, extremely fast. It'll take one person there faster than a jet
could. The only drawback is that he'll have to ditch in the water before reaching the island, otherwise he'll
be seen."
"I'll leave in ten minutes!" boldly declared Clark.
"No!" I suddenly cried. "Not you! Me! "
Clark moved over to me; his height was intimidating. "I don't want to fight you, Perry, but I'm in better
physical shape than you to deal with this!"
He had forgotten my ace in the hole. "Look, Clark, I won't need to ditch in the water! I can land right in
their midst!" I hit the ring and vanished before everyone's eyes. Holding my breath momentarily and
moving behind Clark, I whispered, "You know I'm right!"
He didn't reply. I knew he didn't like me being involved like this, but he couldn't argue my point.
I moved off to the side of the command chair and relaxed the aura around my clothes. "Mitch!" I asked.
"Where do I go?"
The stunned black man opened his mouth soundlessly and blinked a couple of times before composing
himself. He turned his head and called, "Randall!"
A blonde woman in a black security jumpsuit appeared at his side, nearly bumping into me. "Sorry, sir,"
she excused herself.
"Randall!" ordered Drake. "Take him to Blue 12 for a pressure suit! Then bring him topside by Elevator
6!"
The woman turned towards the door. If my vanishing act had affected her concept of reality, she kept
professional about it. "Follow me, sir!"
"Right behind you," I said, reaching for Dot's arm and towing her with me as we followed.
*
*
*
As soon as the doors closed, Clark was pleading, "He can't do it, Mitch! Please, let me go in his stead!"
125
Drake didn't like disagreeing with his childhood idol, but he still shook his head. "Clark, I don't know
anything about this new ... whatever it is, but I do know that he's got an edge that none of us on this base
has! And if that edge keeps Jill and Pat alive, then he's got my vote!"
"Clark," added Monk calmingly. "Perry's got a good head on his shoulders. He'll do just fine."
The big bronze man looked over at his old friend. Then he saw the rest of them, silently watching him
with sympathetic eyes. It was embarrassing, and he knew he had compounded it by fighting what was the
only logical option. His pride was holding him back, and he had to let it go.
His rock-hard jaw relaxed, and he opened his mouth and took a breath before replying.
"I'm ... sorry. He's not as experienced as we are in these kind of things."
"From what I've seen, the boy can handle himself," defended Johnny.
There was a chorus of agreeing tones from the rest.
"Doc," said Monk softly. "Even you've gotta admit, for him t'have that ring at this specific time an' place
is a little more spooky than normal ... or … God's got a job specifically for him. He's as ready as God has
made him. And grace will see him through ... nobody knows that better than Perry."
Clark took a deep breath. "I hope you're right."
*
*
*
"Perry Elam Liston! Are you out of your mind?" argued Dot as she matched my pace and took my
invisible hand.
"More than likely," I replied dryly, as Randall delivered us to our destination. "But we both know it's up
to me!"
Inside the room marked Blue 12, a male tech in a yellow jumpsuit did a double-take at my bodiless
clothing. "Whoa, freaky!"
"Relax," I reassured him. "It's only temporary. I need a pressure suit for the experimental rocket pack."
"Mr. Drake told me you were coming. Here they are." He directed me to a rack of suits, and pulled one he
guessed was my size. He identified himself as Woodie Argyle. "I hope you've at least used a rocket pack
before?"
"Not as long as I wish I had," I said honestly. "I just hope this thing is as idiot-proof as he makes it
sound."
"Oh, that it is, sir!" He chuckled. "The controls are even more intuitive than the standard pack. And this
pressure suit has a servomechanism exoskeleton that'll help compensate for the gee forces you're gonna be
pullin'. It'll fit over your civilian clothing, sir." He handed it to me, and I suddenly realized what I was
going to be wearing underneath the suit. Since Drake had summoned us with some urgency, we only had
time to grab-and-dress. I was wearing jeans, a Christian tee-shirt, and had no socks on my feet. It gave
new meaning to the verse about being ready 'in season and out.'
126
Woodie continued, "You'll discover that the helmet's different; it's more spacesuit helmet than you're used
to. It's made that way because of your speed; you'll be able to breathe normally. And, of course, you'll
have full overhead tactical and communications."
"You sound like you've used this pack before. Have you?"
"Yes, sir!" he replied with a beaming grin. "No pun untended, sir, but it's a blast! Now, you'll be pulling
several gees at liftoff, so be ready for it! As quickly as you can, though, throttle back and get on course,
then put the petal to the metal … so to speak. Any questions, sir?"
Questions? Of course I had questions. Why in God's name did I think I could pull this off? I hadn't had
many hours of flight time with the standard pack, and hadn't a clue about the experimental pack. And I
wondered just how crazy I had been to volunteer for this mission.
But then I felt the ring on my finger, and I remembered my uncle's stories. His adventures. The dangers
he went through. He'd given me the ring, knowing I would use it wisely. But I have to use it. And that
would involve danger. Okay, let's do it, I prayed.
"I'm okay, Woodie," I answered his question. "Thanks for offering."
"No problem!" he replied. He looked at me and Dot. "Anyhow, I'm gonna step outside now ... give you
two a minute. Good luck."
He backed out the door.
"You're determined to do this?" asked Dot, soberly.
"Hon, please," I begged. "God put this ring in my possession for a reason, and this is the reason!" I
stopped and looked at her, wishing she could see the sincerity in my face. "Besides, it'll be a piece of cake
... all I have to do is fly right through their defenses, get the antitoxin to Pat and Jill, and then hide out
until you come to take us home. What could be simpler?"
Dot ran her hands over the suit, making sure everything was secure. "Remember, you'll be visible before
you arrive."
"I know. I'll trigger the ring when I'm close enough and slip right in." My arms went around her and
invisible lips kissed her. "I'm in good hands."
"Okay," she melted into my arms. "But don't do anything stupid ... please? Don't be a hero."
"Okay," I agreed, releasing her. "Let's go."
Heidi Randall and Woodie Argyle were waiting outside as we came out. She gestured down a corridor
and told us, "This way, sir, ma'am."
As we reached the elevator, Dot suddenly stopped. "Whoa! I just thought of something!" She took off in
the opposite direction, calling back, "Don't leave just yet - I'll meet you on the surface!"
I didn't understand, but said, "Okay." And we continued.
127
The ride to the surface gave me a chance to really consider what I was about to do. Did the great men of
the Bible have such second thoughts before they did their mighty deeds? Did little David think he was
crazy, going after an armored giant like Goliath with only a sling and a few rocks? The Bible said no. He
knew that he could be killed if he failed, but he trusted in God to take care of the details. I knew I could
fail, but I also knew I was trusting God to take care of the details.
Time to step out of the boat, Peter, and go for a walk on the wet side.
The elevator opened into a hangar containing several small aircraft and a couple of helicopters. I saw the
others standing off to one side, but Randall took my elbow and directed me away from them and towards
a group of technicians.
"Stand still, sir!" someone ordered, and I complied.
I was surrounded like a race car at Indianapolis. The rocket pack was placed on my back and the
connections made fast. They made sure I was fueled and ready before scattering.
The rocket pack didn't feel as heavy as the ones I'd been training on. I wasn't sure if that was due to the
experimental design, or compensation from the pressure suit's exoskeleton.
I had to give this crew a lot of credit: even though I was still invisible, they performed like true
professionals.
They moved away and the others moved in. Drake was first; he held up an object like a small metal pencil
box. "You've got two field hypos in here – only two! Press the red end flat against the side of the neck and
hit the trigger. If you hear a hiss, you know it's workin'. It should take effect within a minute!"
He unzipped the front of my flight suit and put the container into an inside pocket. He zipped up the suit
and lightly patted the outside of the pocket. "Take good care of it."
"I will," I promised.
He continued. "Our jet will get us to Vassilicos' place in twelve hours; we calculate you'll arrive there in
nine."
I was amazed. "That is fast!"
"The soonest we can get going is three hours; that'll give you a ten-hour lead on us." He took my gloved
hand with both of his and tightly said, "Godspeed."
Years of observing the subtle facial tell-tales in Clark showed me that Mitch was desperately trying to
keep his concern for Jill in check.
"They'll be okay," I reassured him. "I'll make sure of that."
I heard Dot call my name, and we all turned to see her running for me. Letting her through, she gave me
what she had retrieved from down below. "You might need it," she said, slightly out of breath.
I placed the package into a zippered pocket on my leg. "Good call. Thanks."
128
She kissed me one final time, then backed away as the others came over and offered hugs, handshakes,
and words of good wishes.
I saw Clark hanging back so that he could speak to me privately. I knew he was struggling with this, but
he remained as stoic as ever. He finally came over and held out a large hand. As I took it, he said, "You're
covered."
"I know," I replied, then lowered my voice. "Look, Clark ... if something happens to me ... take care of
Dot. Okay?"
I could see his eyes, but he couldn't see mine. He started to speak, but came up silent. Finally he just
nodded his head. "I will."
"Thanks."
Another group of techs gathered around me to give me my helmet and make one final check of systems.
Then they directed me outside, where the first rays of dawn were peeking over the horizon.
I was grateful for a clear sky; by the number of fresh puddles on the ground, we hadn't missed the rain by
much. The others followed as a group but kept a safe distance away; I was glad to see Dot holding onto
Bonnie.
The techs gave me a final check, then backed away. The last one gave me a smile and a thumbs-up and
left me alone. I moved around in a small circle, testing the weight of the suit and the rocket pack.
Looking around, I suddenly recalled the movie The Right Stuff, and realized that many of the early flights
into space had happened right here in Florida. I felt a odd kinship with those foolhardy test pilots who had
lived and died to get past the limits of the past.
Then I remembered an odd prayer muttered by astronaut Alan Shepherd. As he waited to become the first
American into space aboard Freedom 7, he asked God, "Please don't let me f*** up." I hadn't cared for
the language he chose, but, boy, could I relate! So much was riding on what happened in the next few
hours, and I did not want to be the one to mess it up with my will. Shepherd's prayer, as now was mine,
was that God would take my will out of the mix, and just get the job done.
Then I knew I was ready.
I turned to my spectators. There were more people there, who had come out to watch me. Okay, Lord,
let's not disappoint them, I prayed.
The throttles were integrated into the gloves of my suit. All I had to do was punch the buttons with my
thumbs to activate them.
I looked up and took a deep breath. Then I put my arms down at my sides.
"Up, up, and away," I whispered, and hit the buttons.
*
*
*
The atmosphere was tense as they watched Perry prepare to go.
129
"I wonder what he's thinking?" asked Bonnie.
"God, don't let me screw up," Dot said absently.
"What?"
Dot smiled at her.
Perry put his hands to his side and looked up. Then there was a flash of rocket flame, and Perry was
carried into the air as if he'd been shot out of a gun, a vapor trail the only witness to his trajectory. Many
of those watching openly gasped or exclaimed in surprise.
Dot struggled to see where he was. Then someone pointed and cried out, "There! There he is!"
*
*
*
I couldn't hear my own scream, that's how fast I was going!
The whole world rushed past me at a blur, and I had to remind myself to breathe. When I was able to see
clearly, the first thing I saw was a most-amazing view of the Florida coastline. And I hoped I wouldn't
accidentally crash into any nearby airliners.
I blinked. Reality check. Get it under control! Woodie said to throttle down and get on course. I slowly
looped back and down. Plenty of room. Doing good ... whoa, not too much descent. Okay. Put your arms
at your side and use 'em like wings. Coming out of the loop - level off - good! Overhead display says to
move three degrees left ... yeah, right on course. Okay, let's let'em know I'm all right.
I executed a slow and easy roll at 500 feet, then - in Woodie's own words - put the petal to the metal and
blasted out over the ocean in the direction of Caroline Island.
*
*
*
A cheer exploded from the onlookers at Perry's roll. Then he kicked in the afterburners and was out of
sight almost instantly.
"Go get 'em, kid," whispered Monk with a grin.
"Take care of him," Dot prayed under her breath. "Please keep him safe."
"Amen," seconded Clark and Bonnie.
"Hey, guys," called Renny from the hangar door. "We're headin' downstairs. You comin'?"
"We'll be right behind you!" Clark called back.
They took one last look towards the horizon; there wasn't even a vapor trail to show he'd even been there.
Then they followed Renny into the hangar.
*
*
*
"Mr. Cloud, do you have him?" asked Drake as he came through the door.
130
A young man with distinct American-Indian features replied, "Yes, sir!" He listed off several figures,
including direction, distance, speed, and altitude, summarizing by reporting. "He's right on the
programmed course!"
"Perry! Can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear," came the response from the overhead speakers. "How about me?"
"You're right on course!"
"You guys made it easy. Oh, give Woodie my personal thanks for his advice; it was right on the money!
And Gumball, if you're listening, you'd really get a kick out of this model; it's like comparing a
skateboard to a Ferrari!"
"I'm putting my reservations in for the next test flight, partner!" the pilot replied.
"We read all systems go," reported Mitch. "Just keep on the programmed course and keep us posted if
your situation changes. The teams will be leaving here in two hours twenty-five. I'll remain here to
oversee operations."
"Gotcha," replied Perry.
"You've got around thirty-seven minutes until you become visible," reported Monk.
"Thanks! Sorry about taking you all by surprise down there; I didn't have time to explain!" He paused.
"But while we're on the subject ... if I'm going to be doing a lot of this, I'm going to need some kind of
countdown timer that'll talk to me without giving away my position. Mitch, do you think your people can
come up with something?"
Drake replied without a beat, "Sure!"
"I appreciate it; I'm new at this." He paused. "Hey, Mitch, the water's getting a little choppy at this
altitude. Can I cruise up a little higher?"
Drake looked over at Cloud; he consulted his monitors and nodded back. "Affirmative, Perry. Your
helmet will give you enough of a warning if you venture too close to other aircraft."
"Great! Here I go ..."
Cloud read off his altitude, stopping at 12,000 feet.
"Wow!" they all heard. "The view's incredible! I wish you guys had a camera on the front of the helmet,
to see this."
"We'll add it to the next batch," commented Drake.
"Hey, guys, I think I'm gonna concentrate a bit on my driving. Don't want to take chances at this stage."
"Good idea. We'll keep the line open."
131
"Okay."
"I love you!" Dot unashamedly called out.
"I love you, too," he replied. "Talk to y'all later. Over and out."
Then there was silence.
Drake signaled to one of the techs, who muted the line, then turned to the others and informed them, "I'll
keep you all posted on his progress."
Renny and Johnny left first, followed closely by Gumball and Amy. Bonnie put her arm around Dot and
led her out. Monk finally tugged at Clark's elbow and said, "C'mon, let's go."
Reluctantly, Clark took the hint and they left the room.
*
*
*
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A modified commercial jet sat waiting on the tarmac. A rear cargo door was loading the last of their gear.
In the forward passenger compartment, men and women talked among themselves in anticipation of the
mission ahead.
*
*
*
"How y'doin, sug?" Bonnie asked Dot.
"Okay ... I suppose," she sighed. "It's just that I'm not used to Perry being the hero. I don't know why I
shouldn't ... I mean, how many battles have we fought over the years? Gang members in San Francisco,
bikers in Pine Corners, terrorists in Africa ..."
"Angry militant Amazonian women in the Valley of the Vanished ..." added Bonnie in the same tone, a
sideways reference to herself when she and Jill Woodward had led APEX into the Valley in pursuit of Pat
Savage.
"Yep," Dot grinned, taking her friend's hand. "Them, too. God, how far we have come."
"Yep," agreed Bonnie. "Y'know, Clark always tells me that every fire we go through is just a stepping
stone, a bit of preparation for the next fire. An' I hate to say it, but he's right."
Dot nodded. "And Clark learned that from Perry. And you're right ... if he had gone into this kind of a
situation when we first met, he'd never have made it. But he's in better shape than he was then, and he can
handle himself better physically and mentally than he could then." She snorted through her nose. "I just
don't like the idea of my husband running off into danger alone."
"Ahem," coughed Bonnie. "Alone?"
Dot caught herself. "Okay ... so he's not alone. You know what I mean."
"I do. He'll be fine."
132
Dot took a deep breath and leaned back in her seat. They were taxiing for takeoff. "He'll be fine," she
repeated under her breath, and closed her eyes.
*
*
*
As soon as I came into sight of the island, I sent off a quick signal to Mitch, then triggered the ring. I
hadn't taken into account the thickness of the gloves and loss of aerodynamic stability I'd run into, so it
took a few tries before it worked and I became invisible.
Five minutes later, I throttled back and circled over the island. I'd picked up the signal from Jill's
transmitter, and had them located in Pat's place at the top of the mesa - the one with all the guards
surrounding it.
The guards were going to be a problem. I couldn't just land and walk into the penthouse without being
heard; the rocket pack was quiet, but not that quiet. So I needed to land, ditch the rocket pack, and
approach on foot.
And quickly.
*
*
*
Kenji Columbo was going crazy.
The eight-year-old nervously paced the floor of the barracks, trying to get the craving out of his head. But
he couldn't. He wanted a cigarette. He needed a cigarette.
He'd grown up in Djakarta, learning how to survive on the streets as a petty pickpocket and thief, evading
the police and keeping him and his younger sister alive. Survival also meant he had picked up some nasty
habits - smoking, for one.
When they were caught, they were given the choice of juvenile jail or coming to Caroline Island to live.
He took what he thought would keep him and his sister together, and would be easier to escape from. But
then his sister liked the place, and she talked him into staying.
But in order to stay, he had to follow the rules, one of which was no smoking. But Kenji knew how to
skirt the rules in order to survive. He did his smoking in secret, and got away with it ... until these soldiers
showed up, that is. They restricted them to their barracks ... which made it even harder for him to get
away.
He'd finally had enough. His nicotine-deprived brain had resolved that death was a reasonable risk in
getting to his cigarettes. So he slipped out a window and headed for his hiding place. His dark skin
blended in with the shadows of the buildings, and he moved cautiously like the snakes of his native land.
He reached his hiding place near the base of the mesa, where he found the concealed glass jar containing
the pack of unfiltered American Camels and the Zippo lighter given to him years ago by a close friend.
His hands shaking, he finally touched the flame to the tip and took in the first deep drag.
He exhaled it with a satisfied smile crossing his face. He sat on the ground and continued to smoke the
cigarette, trying to figure out how he could smuggle the cigarettes and lighter into the barracks - in case
he couldn't get out again.
133
As he thought, he suddenly heard a whooshing sound as if a jet airplane was passing near. He looked
around anxiously, but saw nothing. When the sound did not repeat, he dismissed it as paranoia - his mind
playing tricks on him.
"You really ought to stop smoking."
The voice was not his.
Kenji frantically looked around him, expecting to see the source of the voice next to him. But he was
alone. He started swinging his arms, hoping to connect with what he could not see, but he only grasped
empty air.
"Who said that?" he hissed. "W-where are you?"
"I said that," came the voice again. "And I'm right here next to you."
He swung around in the direction of the voice, but there was no one there - as before. That's it, he thought.
I'm going crazy. At eight years old, and I'm losing my mind.
"What's your name?" asked the disembodied voice.
He hesitated a moment, then answered. "Kenji ... sir ... Mr. Spook, sir! Where are you?"
"Right in front of you."
Kenji took a couple steps away from where the voice was coming from. "No, you're not! There's nothing
there!"
A hand touched him on the shoulder. He reacted as if a snake had landed, bolting away in the opposite
direction. He looked where he had stood a moment ago; there was nobody there - nothing!
He tried puffing frantically on the cigarette, hoping to derive some comfort from it. Instead, the smoke of
his cigarette suddenly took on the partial outline of a man who dissipated it with a wave of his hand. Then
the cigarette took on a life of its own, floating out from between his fingers, out of his mouth. It hovered
in mid-air for a moment, then fell to the ground a couple of feet in front of him. As Kenji watched, the
cigarette became flattened, and the imprint of a foot remained around it in the broken up dirt.
He jerked back frantically, almost falling backwards.
"Okay," said the voice. "I don't have much time! I'm here to help Pat Savage. I'm a friend."
That really scared Kenji. "Oh, gods!" he moaned. "She is able to command the spirits!"
"I'm not a spirit! I'm a man! I can't explain it to you right now, but I will become visible soon, and I have
the medicine that will save her and the other woman. They are in the house above us!"
He nodded. "Yes, Spook! We all know! But there are guards!"
"Leave them to me! Once the women are free, we'll need a place to hide. Can you help us?"
134
"Yes!" he said confidently.
"Then let's go!"
*
*
*
The boy was good. We were crouched down on the steps yards away from the penthouse, just out of sight
of the guards.
I was able to see Pat and Jill inside. I was surprised to see them naked but for towels wrapped around
them, but held back my curiosity until they were safe.
Praising God again for Dot's last-minute insight, I removed the little package from my leg pouch and I
prayed that I'd stay invisible long enough to use it.
"Okay," I whispered to Kenji. "Stay here."
I slipped cautiously onto the balcony and moved to the first guard, trying not to give myself away by
sound or footprint. I couldn't see the small canister of Verity-3 in my hand, so hoped I was aiming it right.
I placed it under the nose of the first guard and hit the button; it quietly sprayed into his face. He didn't
see it coming, and it took effect instantly.
"The two women are still inside," I whispered quickly, setting up the hypnotic command. "Don't move."
I looked over at the other guards; none seemed to have been attracted to my actions. Good. I quickly
moved down the line, doing the same to each guard, taking only a couple of minutes.
However, as I reached the last man, the invisibility wore off, and I stood before one very-surprised
soldier.
"¿Que?" he exclaimed.
I quickly gave him a whiff of Verity-3 and he became as docile as the rest. Repeating the suggestion, I
looked around to see if there was anything else to be concerned about. Confident, I called over to Kenji,
"The coast's clear! These guys are hypnotized!"
"Spook!" exclaimed Kenji, his eyes wide as he came nearer. "I can see you!"
He wasn't the only one who saw me, as Pat and Jill came to the sliding glass door and pulled it open.
"Perry? What?"
I quickly moved us inside. I didn't know how long they had, but I was glad they were both still alive. I
gave Pat a quick hug; she cried as she held onto me.
"Where'd you come from?" they both asked.
"I'll explain in a minute! I've got the antitoxin!"
"But the guards!" exclaimed Jill, pointing at the row of stone soldiers.
135
"Verity-3," I said, unzipping the front of the flight suit and taking out the container with the hypos. I was
relieved to know they had survived the flight.
I did as Mitch had instructed, injecting the solution into them with a pair of satisfying hisses. Then I stood
back and prayed. The seconds passed while Kenji and I watched. Slowly the color returned to their skin.
They both smiled and hugged each other with relief. Kenji and I moved closer, and I hugged Pat again.
"How did you get here? Is Clark with you?" she asked.
"An experimental rocket pack. Very fast, believe me. The others are following in a standard jet, about ten
hours behind me."
"But why ...?"
I held up my hand to show them the ring. "This used to belong to my uncle. It was able to make him
invisible. And now it works only for me."
"Why am I not surprised?" Pat smiled. "Thank God you got here in time. Jill are I are gonna go an' get
some clothes and be right back! Let's go!"
"Make it quick," I cautioned, taking a glance at the soldiers.
Five minutes later they returned, fully clothed and looking and feeling a whole lot better. Pat gave Kenji
and me a hug and thanked us for saving them.
"Spook told me you're gonna need a place to hide out. I got the perfect place - in the barracks, right under
their noses!"
"Are you sure, Kenji?" asked Pat.
He nodded. "Sure I am! C'mon, follow me - I'll get us there, an' nobody will see us!"
We worked our way through the interior of the mesa to an exit at the base, and headed for the dorms.
I was really getting to like and respect this kid. Even though he was half as tall as we were, he made sure
that none of the soldiers came even close to spotting us. He moved us with ease among the shadows of the
evening, and we entered the dorms without problem.
It took all of us, however, to keep the squeals of excitement of the children from attracting attention from
the guards nearby. Aunt Patty met the challenge with hugs and words of comfort that - no matter how
scary things were now - things would be okay.
We moved up to the third floor, where the older children stayed. Since there were more younger children
than older ones, we had an abundance of room to move about.
I didn't need the flight suit anymore, so I removed it. There were a few curious looks at my Christian teeshirt, but I simply explained, "Hey, it was five a.m. our time when you called!"
Meanwhile, Jill used the radio to update Mitch on our situation. He told us the others were in mid-air at
the moment, but he would pass the news over to them.
136
*
*
*
"May I have your attention," came the voice of the captain. "I've just received word that the antitoxin was
delivered successfully and everyone is doing fine!"
As a cheer went through the jet, Dot smiled through tear-filled eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer as
her hand gripped Bonnie's. A few rows farther back, Clark looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes, and
offered his thanks as well.
*
*
*
When things started to calm down, and all but the older boys and girls had fallen asleep, the rest of us felt
compelled to spend some time in prayer. We kept our voices low, and the lights off as we gathered in a
circle. Jill didn't actually participate in the prayers, but she didn't stay out of the circle either.
We offered our thanks to God for rescuing us so far, and for the rescue to come. We prayed for what was
going to happen over the next few hours - that no one would be seriously hurt on either side of the battle that the children would all be protected, both physically and emotionally, and that God's will would
prevail in all things.
Suddenly Kenji - who had been sitting by the window - suddenly turned towards us and whispered, "Hey!
Check this out!"
His statement was punctuated by the central plaza suddenly becoming engulfed in sound and light. Kenji
threw himself down to the floor, his hands covering his eyes from the intense brightness.
We cautiously rushed to the windows to see what was happening. In the central plaza, several boom lifts
raised harsh area lights high into the air, turning the night into noon. A directional spotlight swung around
the buildings, strafing the windows and causing us all to duck.
Franklin stood surrounded by soldiers. He raised a bullhorn to his lips.
"GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE! PAT? JILL? SHAME ON YOU FOR LYING TO ME ABOUT
BEING CONTAGIOUS. I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU ESCAPED, BUT I KNOW YOU HAVE. AND
YOU'RE OUT THERE SOMEWHERE!" He paused, then added in a singsong tone, "COME OUT,
COME OUT, WHEREVER YOU ARE!."
There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of children in the plaza. But they weren't playing
... they were crying! As we cautiously peered out, we saw that Franklin was holding a dozen children of
various ages. Still in their pajamas, they were surrounded by soldiers in a deadly crossfire.
"PAT? JILL?" Franklin continued. "I'M THROUGH PLAYING GAMES WITH YOU! I WILL GIVE
YOU FIVE MINUTES TO SHOW YOURSELVES! IF YOU ARE NOT HERE AT THE END OF
THAT FIVE MINUTES, I WILL ORDER MY MEN TO SHOOT THESE LITTLE ONES!"
Punctuating his declaration, the cold-looking soldiers pulled back the bolts on their automatic weapons
and leveled them at the terrified children. The metallic din gave an ugly clatter in the night air.
A few of the children understood the gravity of the situation, and tried running or fighting. One boy was
struck across the face with the barrel of a machine gun, and staggered back into the group.
137
At the window, Jill Woodward muttered a long string of curses towards Franklin.
We were helpless.
Pat suddenly stood and took a couple of steps towards the door. "I can't let them hurt the children! I'm
giving myself up!"
I stood to stop her. "No!"
She continued. "Jill, I'll tell him you found a way off the island; that way he won't go looking for you!"
I intercepted her as she reached the door. "No, Pat! You can't! As soon as Franklin sees you he'll know
you're not infected! We need to stall for time!" I paused; I knew what to do. "I'll go down there. I'll tell
him you've both escaped. I'll try to distract him."
"But -"
"But nothing!" I flared. "I came here to save you two! Please don't jeopardize things now!" I put my hand
on the knob and turned it. "We know help is on its way; all I need to do is stall!" I met her gaze and
smiled. "It'll be all right - trust me!"
"But it'll be hours until they get here," kicked in Jill. "Can you stall for that long?"
"God willing, I can," I said. "If anything, I can always turn invisible!" I paused; there were no more
voiced objections. "In the meantime, hide; once they know I've come from this direction, they'll take this
place apart looking for you!"
I looked at them both for a few moments. Then Pat said through clenched teeth, "You've been spending
far too much time around my cousin; I see a lot of him in you."
I took her by the shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you." I looked across the room at
Kenji. "I'm trusting you to keep them hidden until help comes! Got it?"
"Will do, Spook!" he snapped back.
Then I was down the hallway and at the stairwell before anyone could express any more objections. I
prayed that I was truly doing the right thing, and begged for wisdom.
I didn't wonder why there were no guards at the outside door, but just thanked God for it.
I took a circuitous route to the central plaza, and stepped into range of the area lights with my hands open
and out at my side to prove that I was unarmed.
It took only me a few seconds out in the open to get their attention. Several soldiers surrounded me. I kept
my hands up throughout their search, and kept repeating, "Take me to your leader!"
Finally, they did.
"Who in blazes are you?" he asked.
I lowered my arms and spoke with a determination that brushed aside any residual fear.
138
"The name's Liston ... Perry Liston. Don't bother looking for Ms. Savage and Ms. Woodward - they're
long gone by now, in the minisub that brought me here." I paused and smiled. "Me and the antitoxin I
gave them, that is!"
"How?" he sputtered.
"Do you actually think all the security on this island is out in the open? Heck, we're being watched by at
least three hidden cameras right now! So smile pretty ... Daniel Franklin!"
"How do you know my name?"
I took a step closer to him and continued to press my advantage. "We know a lot about you, Franklin,
including your escape from the Valley of the Vanished and your Hidalgo bank account ... which, by the
way, has now been frozen like a strawberry Popsicle."
Franklin was starting to lose it. His breathing had increased sharply and I could see the sweat on his
ebony brow.
I took another step closer. In the back of my mind, I had a plan to keep inching towards him until I could
grab him and put him in a submission hold, taking him as the hostage and - hopefully - putting enough
leverage on the situation to reverse it. I knew it was a stretch, but little David went up against big Goliath
with far less.
I continued. "Now why don't you just give it up and surrender before you and a lot of these men get hurt?"
"NO!" yelled Franklin, throwing a punch at me. At the last moment, I twisted my upper body and took a
half-step to the side, and Franklin flew right past me, stumbling over his own feet and falling in the dirt.
I dropped next to him and got him in a headlock. He tried to struggle, but I had the advantage. "Franklin!
Give it up now!" I growled.
"Let ... me go ... or I'll ... order them ... to shoot the children!" he growled back.
"Tell them to back off," I ordered, increasing the pressure around his neck. "Or you're dead in five
seconds!"
Franklin struggled, but didn't give in. I wondered how far I'd have to go before either Franklin gave in ...
or expired. I really had no desire to kill this man, no matter how much evil he'd done. But I also knew
what would happen if I backed down - all these soldiers around me would tear into me like a pack of
rabid wolves. Not the best way I'd like to leave this world.
I had to do something now.
My hand quickly shifted to the side of Franklin's neck and I applied pressure to a particular nerve Clark
had showed me. A moment later, he went limp underneath me. I released him, and was starting to get to
my feet when something that felt like a meat cleaver smacked me in the back of the head. My vision was
filled with flashbulbs, and I fell forward onto my hands and knees.
Through a ringing haze in my head I heard a woman's voice behind me scream, "You bastard! You've
killed him!"
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Then a great darkness eclipsed the myriad of flashbulbs, and my arms lost all strength …
*
*
*
Kenji frantically tugged at Pat and Jill's clothing and begged, "Aunt Patty, Aunt Jill! You gotta move it!
Spook told me to hide you! Now let's GO!"
Pat resisted as long as she could, and finally forced herself away from the window and followed the
others down the back stairs just as a trio of soldiers reached their floor.
Ten tense minutes later, in a storage room within the mess hall, they were able to send a signal to Mitch
Drake. He reported that the strike force was still a couple of hours from Greece, but the satellites would
be passing over within a half hour. They weren't comfortable with his instructions to hang in there, but
weren't in a position to do otherwise.
So they waited, and Pat prayed.
*
*
*
I came to with the help of a bucket of cold water thrown on my bare skin. I let out an involuntary gasp of
shock. My head and the back of my neck throbbed, and I realized all I was wearing was my underwear.
Slowly I realized where I was and what had happened while I had been unconscious.
I was exposed and hung up to dry - literally.
My wrists were bound together, and were over the top piece of the large marble cross in the middle of the
pool in the central plaza. I tried to find some footing, but I was up too high; even when I stretched, all I
was able to manage was a little support on my toes. My ribs hurt, and I presumed that someone - more
than likely Franklin - had hit or kicked me, damaging one or more of them.
"So, Christian, you aren't so tough now!"
Franklin, full of himself, paraded around me. I saw him only when he came into my limited field of
vision. He had a swagger stick in his hand, and whipped it around him with a distinctive swish. Then as
he talked, he punctuated his points by striking me with the stick on the back, buttocks, and legs.
"You're all so fond of turning the other CHEEK! Let's see you turn the other CHEEK! Why don't you say
something, huh, CHRISTIAN? Why don't you say something HOLY!"
I wanted to cry out in pain, but - although my mouth opened several times - I remained silent. Finally,
Franklin stopped. The welts were throbbing, and I wondered if they were bleeding.
"Well, Mr. Liston Perry Liston." Franklin was right next to me, practically whispering in my ear. "You've
really messed up my plans, haven't you? I can't exact my revenge on Pat and Jill now. So I guess I'll just
have to settle for watching you die a slow, painful death."
He stepped back and held the bullhorn to his lips. "GATHER ROUND, YOUNG AND OLD!" he boomed
like a circus ringmaster. "THE SHOW IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!"
140
People crowded around the windows, opening them to see clearer. I could hear their voices, and
Franklin's footsteps as he walked behind me.
"THIS MAN CAME HERE TO RESCUE YOU!" yelled Franklin. "HE CALLS HIMSELF A
CHRISTIAN! THEREFORE IT SEEMS ONLY FITTING THAT HE SHOULD DIE ON A CROSS!" He
paused. "THIS MAN - THIS FOOL - THINKS HE IS A HERO! I AM THE BOSS HERE, AND I WILL
NOT HAVE ANY HEROES HERE! IN ORDER TO MAKE MY POINT CLEAR, I AM GOING TO
MAKE THIS HERO AN EXAMPLE TO ANYONE ELSE WHO THINKS HE CAN BE A HERO!"
He lowered the bullhorn. "Deuce, you may begin."
Everything became strangely quiet. Then I heard the sounds from around me, gasps of surprise intermixed
with voices:
"No!"
"Oh, God, no!"
"Oh, my God!"
As I heard the giggling Deuce get closer, I prayed fiercely. Then my ears caught a familiar snap of
leather, and I knew what had hit me in the back of the head..
Bracing myself for what was coming, I started taking deep breaths, sucking in air as fast as I could before
Snap!
I felt the first touch of the whip on my flesh, and my eyes filled with light as the pain drew a line across
my back. I involuntarily gasped, unable to scream. There was a pause as I heard Deuce take in a breath,
then she exhaled forcefully as the whip struck again. My eyes were squeezed tightly closed as my mouth
opened and the air rushed out. My mind cried out to God as I gasped to take another breath, just in time to
feel the whip again. Every muscle in my body went tense. I couldn't move, couldn't avoid, couldn't cover
myself. Stripe after stripe went across my body, curving around my ribs, cutting into my stomach. She hit
the back of my legs, causing them to twitch.
"GOD!" I suddenly screamed. "FORGIVE THEM! THEY KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO!"
*
*
*
Deuce Robinson was wondering if this feeling was better than sex. And, at this moment, sex was taking a
poor second.
She had heard his name, and she remembered the crowd he hung around with: they had been the ones who
had put them in the Valley of the Vanished for four years! And now she would be the one to kill him!
But then he screamed.
It hadn't been the fact that he had screamed - she had been waiting for that! It was what he had said that
took her by surprise! She would've expected screams of pain, or pleas for mercy on himself... but this guy
was asking God to have mercy on ... on us, on me!
141
She stopped her attack as if she had suddenly lost all strength in her arm. Her jaw went slack and she
blinked as if trying to focus on something. Then she lost the disorientation, shook her head and grit her
teeth, and let the whip sail again.
Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven ...
Suddenly Franklin stepped in and stopped her.
"WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?" she screeched at him, her eyes wide with madness.
"Look!" directed Franklin.
She did. The man on the cross had stopped moving.
*
*
*
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I wasn't in pain anymore.
I opened my eyes and saw white everywhere. I could feel something beneath my feet. Then I realized that
I wasn't hanging up by my arms. As I looked around I realized there was no hint of walls or a ceiling
anywhere. It would've been a very disorienting feeling, but I felt strangely calm about it.
I wandered about, exploring this fascinating nether-region. I tapped the ground and kept my hands out in
front of me, just in case I found the wall. I felt like I was in a holosuite on Star Trek, where my
environment was constantly shifting around me.
Then, suddenly, I wasn't alone.
I turned, and there was a man standing a few feet from me. I didn't sense his approach, and it startled me.
As he stood there smiling, I tried to recognize him. He looked familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
"I know you, but ...?"
He held up a hand to silence me. "It's okay. I don't blame you for not recognizing me. Here's a clue: the
last time we met, I was sitting."
"Sitting?" I tried to decipher his cryptic clue. Then it hit me and my jaw dropped. "Long Tom?"
"At your service," he replied with a slight bow.
This was getting too weird.
"But ... you're dead!" I blurted. "H-how?" Then I paused and asked what was on my heart. "Am I dead?"
He shook his head. "No, Perry. You're still alive and still hanging on that cross. This is ... well, let's just
call it a 'time out' of sorts. An oasis in the middle of a desert. He thought you could use it right about
now."
142
"He? God?"
"Of course." Tom gave me a stern look. "Isn't it obvious?" He paused. "I also wanted to thank you for
what you said at my funeral. It was very nice."
"You're welcome. So it's not my time to go?" I couldn't bring myself to say the word 'die'.
"Not yet. It won't be easy. But you're not alone."
"I know." With that out of the way, I started to relax. "I see you got your legs back. Is this what your body
looks like in heaven?"
He waggled an index finger at me and grinned. "Don't ask, don't tell. That's what faith is all about."
"Aw, c'mon," I persisted. "It's just a small detail."
Long Tom smiled and shook his head. The last time I'd seen him was five years ago - on his deathbed. His
legs had been taken in an accident when he was an observer in Vietnam, and yet, now, he had two good
legs. I started to make conclusions, verify things in the Bible, but stopped. He was right; it was not the
time for analysis, but for faith.
"All right," I conceded. "Since you're aware of what I'm going through, and you know what I said at your
funeral, then I'm assuming you can see what's going on below ... if below is the proper terminology."
"It'll do for the moment," he agreed.
"You know Amy's okay?"
He nodded. "Yes, thank you. Before I died, I was concerned about her without me. So I'm happy for her.
Clark is a good man, and he loves her very much." I wasn't used to hearing Gumball addressed by his
given name and not his nickname.
"Any messages you want me to pass on to her?"
"No. But I do have one for you from Ham. He says thanks; your words came in the nick of time."
"That doesn't make any sense. I never met Ham. He died before I was born."
Tom shrugged. "I just pass 'em on. I don't interpret them."
"So how long until I go back ... there?"
"Soon."
"This is so strange, Tom," I admitted.
He came closer and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Relax, Perry. Why don't you sing
something?"
I looked at him with confusion. "Sing?"
143
He nodded. "Sing. Remember the Word. How many times have crises been averted or lessened when
those involved started singing?"
He had a point. The Bible says that God inhabits the praise of his saints. In the Old Testament, the
Israelites went into battle with praise and worship. And in the New Testament, Paul and Silas sang in jail
before the earthquake freed them. Feeling a little odd, but determined to 'walk by faith, not by sight', I
cleared my throat and starting singing the first thing that came to mind.
"In heavenly armor we'll enter the land, the battle belongs to the Lord.
"No weapon that's fashioned against us will stand, the battle belongs to the Lord.
"And we sing glory, honor, power and strength to the Lord.
"And we sing glory, honor, power and strength to the Lord."
*
*
*
Dot was reclining in her seat on the jet. Most of the passengers were quiet, but she suddenly found herself
humming to herself.
Several rows back, the same tune came to Clark's mind.
Scattered throughout the plane, Monk Mayfair and Amy Roberts-Mayfair came in on the melody.
Clark could hold back no longer. Softly, he sang, "When the power of darkness comes in like a flood."
"The battle belongs to the Lord," Dot came in.
"He's raised up a standard, the pow'r of His blood," sang Clark, hearing Dot and, encouraged, picked up
the volume.
"The battle belongs to the Lord ...," added Monk and Amy, now openly.
Within seconds, the song was picked up by others aboard the jet. Voice added to voice, men and women,
gaining in boldness, volume, and harmony, until almost all of those who could sing did so
enthusiastically.
"When your enemy presses in hard, do not fear, the battle belongs to the Lord.
"Take courage, my friend, your redemption is near, the battle belongs to the Lord ..."
*
*
*
"Don't you hear it?" the woman confronted the guard, running up to him in a near-panic.
"Hear what, Senõrita Deuce?"
"That singing! There!" She pointed at the man hanging on the cross. "It's him!! He's singing!"
The soldier looked to the cross, then gave the woman an embarrassed look. "I am sorry, Senõrita Deuce.
He is still unconscious ... he could not be singing."
"BUT HE IS!" she yelled. Then her voice became softer, as if she'd lost her steam. "HE ... is."
144
She walked over to the cross. The man's breathing was shallow. She poked at him; he didn't respond. She
stared at him for several seconds, until she was convinced that he wasn't faking.
"Liston. I can still ... hear ... you," she whispered painfully.
Then she quickly pivoted on her heel and ran from the central plaza.
*
*
*
Drake's heart tightened as he watched the footage from the spy satellite. There was still an hour yet to go
before their plane touched down.
He rose and turned things over to his second-in-command Mike Freeman: "Get me up fifteen minutes
before they land. No reason to tell them sooner."
*
*
*
Part of Drake's responsibilities over the years had been to be the bearer of bad news. That included
informing people of the fate of their loved ones. It was a painful job to do, especially when it involved an
operation that was covert; it was heartbreaking to see into the eyes of families and friends when you
couldn't tell them details on the nature of the mission, to explain why they were there and what they died
in fighting for.
It was never easy. And in a way, he hoped it never would become easy. When it becomes easy, it means
you've lost your last tie to humanity. When it's all business, and you're just a cold, soulless robot reporting
the facts to grieving loved ones, then it's time to pack it up and join them in the cold, hard ground.
*
*
*
Adjacent to Drake's office was a small apartment. There he stripped off some of the layers of that day and
tried to sleep. Even in the most-critical of times he could manage a 'combat sleep', but not at the moment.
Crossing back into his office, he stood before his bookcase, his eyes fixed on a single volume. After a few
moments he drew it out, wiped some dust off of its old black, leather cover, and just let it rest in his
hands. Trying to make sense of his hesitation, he walked over to an easy chair - his favorite, he had to
admit - and turned on the floor lamp next to it.
He didn't open the book for several minutes, asking himself where he should start. Then he saw the frayed
edge of one of the two black ribbon bookmarks. Opening the book where the ribbon lay, his eyes
surveyed the pages. A section had been underlined, and he read the words aloud.
"For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man
give in exchange for his soul? Whosoever therefore shall be ashamed of me and of my words in this
adulterous and sinful generation, of him shall the Son of man be ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of
his Father with the holy angels."
Drake couldn't remember why he had underlined those verses in the gospel of Mark, so many years ago.
"That just goes to show how far I've drifted from You," he whispered.
And he continued reading until he was alerted to the jet's arrival in Greece.
145
*
*
*
"I've got a bad feelin' about this," said Monk, looking out of the window at the fire on the ground.
"We're still descending, so it can't be too bad," observed Clark. "We'll find out what's going on once we're
on the ground."
But instead of answers, they were all directed away from the emergency, to a hangar where their gear
was.
A messenger was also waiting. He gathered together Clark, Bonnie, Dot, Monk, Renny, Johnny, Gumball
and Amy, and informed them that Mr. Vassilicos wished to meet with them privately.
They were directed to a small conference room in a building near the docks. It was a windowless room,
with doors at either end and a rectangular table in the middle. At the far end was a large flat display
monitor. Clark and Dot sat towards the front, while Bonnie and Gumball preferred seats at the back near
the exit.
A few minutes later, Vassilicos came in through the door near the screen. He identified himself and
apologized, "Forgive the wait, my friends! I was dealing with a small situation which demanded my
attention, the fire which you no doubt saw as you were landing."
"So what happened?" asked Monk.
"An accident involving one of my employees. But that is not the reason why you are all here. I'm afraid I
must bring distressing news about those on the island." He turned to Dot, and her face paled. "Mrs.
Liston, your husband Perry has been captured by the enemy forces on the island."
Dot was silent, but Clark asked, "What happened?"
Trying to be objective, Vassilicos explained. "It appears that Mr. Liston, Ms. Savage, and Ms. Woodward
were hiding from the enemy forces when some of the children were taken as hostages. In order to protect
the ladies, Mr. Liston personally confronted the leader - Mr. Franklin - and succeeded in persuading him
that the ladies had left the island."
"How do you know all this?" Dot asked, finally able to speak. "Who told you? Drake?"
He nodded. "Yes, Mr. Drake did provide me with the video from the satellites."
"Show me!" Dot ordered.
He tried to look sympathetic as he shook his head slowly from side to side. "I would not advise it."
Dot burst to her feet and gave Vassilicos a look that could've scorched steel. "Now look, DAMMIT!
Perry's my husband, and I want to see that video NOW!"
Monk, seated next to Dot at the conference table, reached up and put his hand on her arm. "Now,
sweetheart -"
Dot twisted away from him and silenced him with a fiery glance. "Don't 'sweetheart' me, granddad! If it
were grandma out there, you'd swim the distance to get to her!"
146
Monk's expression didn't waver. He looked over at Vassilicos. "Show her."
The Greek conceded with a tight nod. He called up the images to display on the large monitor. The lights
automatically dimmed. Dot slowly returned to her chair, as everybody watched and prayed.
The satellite image of the island quickly zoomed in on the central plaza, which was surrounded by a ring
of area floodlights. There was something happening down there, something which became apparent as the
image grew clearer. A silent gasp came from around the table as they reacted to the man's body jerking to
the whip's touch.
"This is inconclusive," exclaimed Johnny suddenly. "How can you be sure this is Perry?"
"Observe," said Vassilicos without emphasis.
The image focused on the back of the head and the hands draped over the top of the cross. They closed in
on the hands, and Vassilicos froze the image as the rings came into sharp resolution.
"Oh, God," muttered Amy.
Dot was silent with shock as she got to her feet and slowly moved closer to the screen. Everybody waited
to see what she would do next. But when she suddenly bolted through the door at that end of the room aided by the dimmed lights - it took everyone a moment to realize her actions. Clark, Monk, and
Vassilicos tried going after her, but the door was locked.
"Where could she go?" Renny asked.
"The only thing that's out there are the docks," answered Vassilicos.
"The docks!" exclaimed Bonnie. "Which direction?"
Vassilicos pointed. "But she won't get far! My security people will stop her!"
As she ran from the conference room, with Gumball right behind her, she muttered sarcastically, "Yeah ...
right!"
Once outside, they ran in the direction of the docks, and headed towards a disturbance. A security guard
was down, and was being attended to by those who witnessed the attack.
"Yeah, she's been here!" muttered Gumball.
"Which way did she go?" asked Bonnie.
The people pointed and Bonnie and Gumball kicked it into gear. They jumped over two more
unconscious guards before they reached the end of the dock.
"Look!" directed Gumball.
Ahead, Dot was untying a high-powered speedboat from the dock.
Both Gumball and Bonnie tried getting her attention by calling her name, but it was falling on deaf ears.
147
She was on a mission.
The boat was starting to drift away as they reached the end of the dock. Gumball put on the brakes, but
Bonnie gritted her teeth and sprinted harder, making a desperate leap which landed her in the craft a few
feet behind Dot.
"Allright!" whooped Gumball.
Bonnie hung on just as Dot kicked in the throttle and the boat rocketed forwards. The acceleration was
hard to resist, but she moved forward until she was behind Dot's chair.
"DOT!" she yelled over the roar of the engine. "STOP THIS BOAT NOW!"
Not unexpectedly, Dot ignored her.
Okay, lady, you asked for it, thought Bonnie, and clipped Dot just behind the left ear with the edge of her
hand. She grunted once and went down. Bonnie caught her with one arm while pulling back on the
throttle with the other. Lowering Dot to the deck, she saw that the boat had a radio.
"But first, little girl," she looked down at Dot. "I need to make sure you don't try something I'll regret."
Bonnie propped Dot up in one of the boat's chairs and secured her arms to it with some duct tape from a
storage locker.
"Now I feel safer," she smiled, and concentrated on the radio.
*
*
*
"Roger," Bonnie said into the radio's microphone. "We'll see you in a few minutes."
As they headed back to shore, Dot came to; she struggled while yelling to be cut loose.
"Not a chance, lady!" Bonnie called back over her shoulder. "Just where the heck did you think you were
going, as if I didn't know?"
"MY HUSBAND IS HURT!" she screamed through panted breathing. "He might even be ... dying. I have
to go after him!"
"You're not thinking, Dot!" she argued. "If you'd have pulled a Jack Bauer, you'd have jeopardized the
whole rescue mission!"
"But Perry needs me!"
Bonnie stopped the boat.
As it bobbed gently in the open waters, she swiveled her chair around to face the frantic Dot, and stared at
her while she continued to struggle. Then Bonnie did the unexpected - she reached across, put her arms
around Dot, and just held her.
148
Dot continued to struggle, but Bonnie kept holding her and loving her, like a mother holding a child in the
midst of a tantrum. Finally the love broke through. "Blast you," Dot whimpered with tears. "Why did you
stop me? I have to do something! I just have to do something!"
"You will do something, Sugah," soothed Bonnie, still holding on. "Soon. But we all need you in one
piece. I need you in one piece."
"Why? Why?" Dot wailed. "Perry's not a warrior, for God's sake - he's a peacemaker! Why would God let
this happen to him?"
Bonnie released Dot and faced her, their eyes meeting. "Sugah ... Perry knew what he was getting into!
We both know that! He knew he was the only one who could do it!"
"But he could've used the ring and gotten away!"
"No, he couldn't," she countered. "Think about it - he was standing in the gap for all those kids. He had to
make himself a visible target in order to keep the heat off of them." Bonnie paused, and Dot didn't fight
what she was saying. She continued. "As much as we want to, we can't protect our men all the time - it's
just not possible! So we pray like mad for God to keep'em safe, and then we let them go!"
"I ... know," she panted. "But why?"
Bonnie's attitude suddenly did a one-eighty. "Snap out of it, Dot!" she barked. "The last thing any of us
wants is for you to become a basket case! We need you in one piece! I am not going after Perry without
you, and you're not going after Perry unless you snap out of it NOW!"
Dot froze.
"Look, Dot," Bonnie declared calmly. "Do you know why I chose your team rather than Clark's? God
showed me to - and now I understand why. You need me, and he needs us." She paused. "We're gonna get
him together - okay?"
Dot slowly nodded.
Bonnie took out a utility knife. "Now, I'm going to cut you free. But if you dare try another stupid move
like this, I swear I'll break your leg before I let you put anybody else's life in jeopardy. Do you understand
me?"
The two women stared each other down for a full minute. Then Dot nodded.
Bonnie cut the bonds of duct tape, then turned to face the boat's controls and continued to the dock. A
crowd was waiting for them there, including Vassilicos and the guards Dot had 'encountered'.
"This doesn't look good," muttered Dot.
"Uh huh," agreed Bonnie. "They'll either toss you into the stockade, or hire you to train their security
staff."
Dot was silent.
149
"Hang in there, okay," Bonnie comforted. "I'm sure they'll let you go; there's too many of us around here
who'll stand behind you, including me."
Dot blinked and sighed. "Thanks."
*
*
*
Bixby convened a meeting for the members of Team Alpha in a corner of the hangar.
When he had everyone's attention, he announced, "I'm sure you're all aware of the emergency that was
taking place when we were landing." He paused while several voices acknowledged him. "Now I can tell
you what happened. Apparently one of Vassilicos' men was returning from a much-needed time of R&R,
and had been somewhat ... incapacitated. He passed out at the wheel of his truck, and plowed through the
gate. He crashed into the row of Strike Bikes waiting for us. They got the driver out okay, but the Bikes
were trashed."
Bixby paused as a collective groan erupted from the men and women of the team.
"However," he continued. "Mr. Vassilicos has offered us an ... alternative mode of transportation. It's a bit
radical from what we were intending, but I believe it will work."
"How radical we talking about?" yelled Monk.
"Horses," replied Bixby with a hint of a grin.
There was a pronounced disturbance from the crowd. Bixby waited for it to subside before continuing.
"The horses have gone through extensive training; they won't react to distractions. They'll also be wearing
a form of Paradox body armor that will allow them to move freely while being impervious to most small
arms fire."
There was a murmuring from the crowd.
Bixby declared, "Anyone who wants to back out of the operation is free to do so, without fear of reprisal."
The crowd was silent at this unusual offer, but no one walked away.
"We'll gather back here in fifteen minutes," Bixby informed them. "Dismissed."
*
*
*
"Radical?" commented Johnny, raising an eyebrow. "That's like saying the Great Flood was just a little
drizzle! It's been years since I've ridden a horse; I just hope I remember how."
"You'll do fine, Johnny" comforted Renny, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's just like ridin' a bicycle."
"'Scuse me, Ivan," interrupted Monk, joining the group. "But bicycles don't whinny! 'Sides, what if they
start bucking once we're on the water?"
"Watsamatta ... you're not scared, are ya?" quipped Renny with a grin. "You wanna back out?"
150
Monk raised himself up and shot back a glare. "Me back out? No way! But I promise you, if one 'o them
nags tosses me, you're gonna nurse me back to health!" He poked Renny in the chest for emphasis.
Renny turned and mumbled something under his breath.
Monk moved in until he was face-to-face with Renny. "Now, wait a minnit! You told me you'd stop
cussin' in Russian, Renny!"
"I wasn't cussin'!" he defended. "I just called you a wuss - which you are!"
Renny blocked a punch from the simian chemist and stuck his tongue out at Monk. Johnny moved
between them. "Knock it off, you two! Save it for them!"
Monk and Renny fell into an embrace, laughing like the old friends they were, and tried to gang up on
Johnny.
*
*
*
"The radio!"
"I got it, Pat!" replied Jill, switching on the transceiver. "Mitch?"
"Yeah," he responded. "How're you doing?"
"Missin' you," she said softly.
"Me, too. The crew's in the area, and everything is go for dawn."
"We can't see how Perry is doing. Can you?"
"Yeah," he answered soberly. Pat moved in closer. "They've got him hanging on the cross in the central
plaza. He'd been beaten by Franklin, then whipped by Deuce; our scans say he's still alive, but we don't
know any more than that."
"Oh, Lord," wailed Pat, moving closer to the microphone. "Does Dot know?"
"She was told when they arrived in Greece. She attempted to steal a boat, but Bonnie stopped her."
"I don't blame her," Jill commented.
"Dot and Bonnie's part in the plans will be to rescue Perry and get him to the infirmary."
"Thank you, Mitch!" sighed Pat.
"Sunrise will be in less than two hours!" Mitch informed. "Hang in there just a little longer!"
"Okay," they both said, and ended the conversation.
"I need to pray," commented Pat. "You wanna join me?"
Jill looked back at her friend. "Sure."
151
*
*
*
My 'time-out' was over, and I was back on the cross. I was conscious, but couldn't move. And I could
definitely feel the pain.
I tried to focus on anything but the pain ... which didn't leave me much. I tried listening to the sounds
around me, then turned it inward, and tried to focus on the beating of my heart and the action of my
breathing.
My breathing ...
*
*
*
"Breathing?" I looked at Clark with a puzzled expression.
"You want to know more about my exercise routine, don't you?" he said with an upraised eyebrow. "Well,
for me, it all starts with breathing."
Clark and I were sitting in the Black Beauty, our 25-foot van camper home-away-from-home. New York
City and the mysterious Dorothy Brooks were still miles ahead of us, and the driving was rather boring at
the moment.
"I found an interesting Bible reference that might help. It's from Second Corinthians. "'Do you not know
that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.
Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last;
but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do
not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached
to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.'"
"Okay," I commented, trying to see his point. "You're talking self discipline."
He nodded. "It starts with breathing. So many people breathe so ... uncontrollably. When people are under
stress, they need more oxygen. They breathe faster, but they don't always breathe regular." He paused.
"Observe people who smoke; when they're under stress, they expend the cigarette at a faster rate because
they're sucking in air through it at a faster rate ... breathing faster but not breathing better."
"Yeah, I've seen that," I acknowledged. "Jack used to be a smoker, and he'd triple the number of cigarettes
he'd burn when he was stressed out. Okay, so I don't know how to breathe correctly. Where do we start?"
Clark described as he breathed. "Two beats in ... two beats hold ... two beats out ... and repeat. Bring the
air down into your diaphragm and hold it. When oxygen enters your bloodstream, it gives strength. Feel it
happening ... envision it strengthening your bloodstream ..."
*
*
*
Back then, it all sounded so weird, so ... metaphysical: "When you breathe properly, stress does not exist.
Anxiety does not exist. Fear does not exist. Pain does not exist."
Yeah. Sure.
152
But it was sound advice from a friend.
I started breathing ... two beats in ... two beats hold ... two beats out ... two beats in ... two beats hold ...
two beats out. For a moment it didn't matter where I was, or what pain I felt ... the pain was somebody
else's. I closed my eyes and pictured the oxygen cells in my bloodstream, strengthening my blood like
little electric pulses. I decided to become as a marathon runner. I wasn't going to dwell on the aches and
pains of the moment, but focus instead on the end of the race.
A passage from the book of Hebrews came to my mind: 'Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a
great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and
let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and
perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down
at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so
that you will not grow weary and lose heart.'
I know you're out there, watching me. And with God's strength, I won't let you down.
*
*
*
It was time to go.
Standing behind the rear ramp of the black Chinook CH-47 helicopter, thirty-some men and women
moved aboard. Each of them wore identical rocket packs and black Paradox jumpsuits with sections of
body armor protecting vital organs. Some carried weapons and equipment unique to their teams.
Clark neared the helicopter. He was dressed in a similar jumpsuit; holsters attached to both legs held twin
Superfirers. A web belt held several magnetic-closure pockets, and a clear facemask hung from his belt.
He got Bonnie's attention and beckoned her over to him. She said something to Dot about saving her a
seat, then broke free and walked over to Clark. Their hands met, and they kissed.
"How's Dot?" he asked, concerned.
She looked back and sighed. "She's pushin' herself. But she's ready. I'll be there to make sure she sticks to
the plan and doesn't do anything stupid."
"I'm glad," he nodded back. "Now, how are you doing?"
"I'm okay." Hugging was impossible with all their gear, so they settled for a mutual squeeze of the hands
and a kiss. "I love you. Take care."
"Same here."
They kissed once more, then separated. Clark watched her vanish into the helicopter before he headed to
the staging area for the huge cargo hovercraft.
*
*
*
Standing at the ramp to the hovercraft, Major Bixby sighted another man walking his way, and took a
couple of steps to meet him. The other man was taller and thinner than he, and sported a white goatee and
153
moustache; both men wore the familiar black jumpsuits, but with a patch identifying himself as the same
rank as Bixby
"Oliver," acknowledged Bixby with a respectful tilt of the head.
"Raymond," replied the other man. "Are your men ready?"
"Yes. And you?"
"Yes." He consulted his watch. "We'll give you twenty minutes before taking off. That should put us both
at the island at the same time." He reached out a hand. "Good luck, Major Bixby."
The two men shook. "Likewise, Major Parker. See you on the playing field."
Parker walked away and Bixby boarded the hovercraft. The ramp raised and the skirts inflated. It wobbled
a bit as it turned, then slid easily down the ramp and onto the water. The captain ordered all ahead full,
and the craft quietly sped away.
*
*
*
God, it hurts!
I couldn't feel my arms anymore. And I just didn't have the strength to open my eyes against the lights
around me – it's was just too bright.
I tried focusing.
Tom said that today wasn't my day to die. But was I really somewhere else ... or had my mind been
playing tricks on me?
No - don't doubt! Focus! Focus on scripture!
'I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me
the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day--and not
only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.'
Paul's last words to Timothy. He knew his time was up, and he wasn't afraid.
He didn't want to die either. 'For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the
body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the
two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I
remain in the body.'
Okay. I was determined that if this was to be the end of my race, I'd go unafraid.
Oh, but there's so much to do, Lord! And I want so badly to be around for it. But I know Dot's in good
hands. You'll take good care of her and Clark. Bonnie will make him a fine wife.
Thy will be done.
*
*
*
154
Just as Vassilicos had said, the horses weren't affected by the motion of the hovercraft. They stayed calm,
decked out in their own black Paradox armor plating.
Towards the mouth of the hovercraft, Johnny caressed the mane of his steed and glanced over at Clark,
Monk, and Renny. Then he laughed out loud.
"What's with you?" asked Monk.
"Oh, I was just noticing what kind of odd 'Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse' we must look like, and was
wishing I had a camera to capture this moment!"
"I thought you didn't believe in the Apocalypse, Perfesser," Monk quipped, deliberately mispronouncing
his title.
Johnny huffed, and his eyes narrowed. "And you call yourselves a detective! You know, for the past two
years, I've been at CSI - a Christian institute of learning - educating young minds in the Christian aspects
of archaeology. Now had it ever occurred to you that, during all that time, some truth would've sunk into
this dusty old noggin of mine?" He tapped his forehead and continued to stare at them.
The three looked at him with various degrees of confusion. Then Clark's face broke into a grin, but he
remained silent.
Finally Monk tilted his head forward and blurted out, "Naw!"
"Holy cow!" mouthed Renny. "You're a ... Christian?"
Johnny simply smiled.
"When, brother?" asked Clark, reaching out a hand of congratulations.
"Last year," the elderly archaeologist replied. "On my birthday."
"But why did you wait until now to say somethin' about it?" asked Monk.
"I wanted to pick the right time, when I had all of you in the same place at the same time." He let go
another laugh. "Oh, I really wish I'd had a camera to get the expressions on your faces!"
"Well, Praise the Lord!" muttered Renny.
Their celebration was interrupted by the sound of an explosion between them and the island. Everybody
turned to see the fireworks.
"Incoming!" somebody yelled.
"I'm going to see what's going on," informed Clark, handing the reins to Renny. "I'll be right back!"
He moved to the front of the hovercraft. Bixby was supervising a crew equipped with bazooka-like
shoulder-fired devices. His attention was pulled towards the trail of a missile heading straight for them
from the island. But then, without warning, the missile exploded in mid-air while it was still a distance
away. The sound of its destruction reached them a second later.
155
Bixby had been standing nearby. He walked over to Clark and explained. "Satellite surveillance told us
they had surface-to-surface or surface-to-air missiles," he informed him. "We're taking them out with
Bradshaw EMPG's!"
"Fascinating!"
"Pass the word ... we're about seven minutes out! I’m calling for some air support!"
"Acknowledged!"
*
*
*
"You ain't still ticked at me, are ya, Dot?"
Dot turned to Bonnie, and their eyes met through the clear facemasks; she shook her head. "No. But ...
you know what I mean."
Bonnie nodded, "Yeah. It's not easy. But we've got to let 'em do what God's directed 'em to do."
"Even when I'm not there," added Dot.
"Especially when we're not there."
A signal horn squawked three times in succession, drawing all eyes towards the front.
"Showtime," commented Bonnie under her breath. "Ready?"
"Let's do it!"
They adjusted their gear as they stood and moved into twin ranks at the rear of the helicopter.
"BLUE SQUADRON!" yelled Major Parker. "DEPLOY!"
*
*
*
The soldiers aboard the Andronicus had spotted the hovercraft and the helicopter. They tried destroying
the slower hovercraft once it got within range, but all of their missiles had exploded mysteriously in midair. Assuming the missiles were somehow defective, they fell back on laying in wait for the craft; once it
got close enough, they would open fire with their automatic rifles and grenades and kill them all.
What they didn't expect, however, was a preemptive strike from above.
Like angels of darkness, the rocket-powered troops descended on the freighter with superfirers and
anesthetic gas grenades, quickly neutralizing the threat.
Simultaneously, a specially-equipped squad maneuvered into a flying wing formation as they flew over
the island. With the enemy troops stunned and confused by their presence, they extended their arms and
slowed their velocity. Then, as they passed over the main body of soldiers, they unleashed a virtual
hailstorm of mercy bullets. The continuous barrage was thirty yards wide and a half mile long, and was an
inescapable tsunami that took out everyone caught in its wake.
156
*
*
*
"Team Beta to Team Alpha!" reported Major Parker. "We've cleared the water trap and the fairway!
You're clear to play through! Happy hunting, Ray!"
Major Bixby's face beamed, and he instructed the hovercraft pilot to move in. The craft smoothly slid next
to the dock, and doors opened as wide ramps extended for them. Bixby swung up onto his horse and
raised an arm for attention.
"All right, you cowboys!" he addressed the rest of his troops via the transceiver in his helmet. "The way is
clear! You know your assignments! Let's not keep'em waiting! Hansen, hit it!"
Robert Hansen stood next to the ramps, high on a platform. In his hand was the bugle that had been in his
family since the 1800's. It had been said that the bugle had been used to lead the troops at the Battle of
Red Fern. Now, two hundred years later, it was his honor to signal the beginning of the attack in the same
way. He raised it to his lips, took a breath, and blew Charge.
In the cool early morning air, the sound carried almost mystically across the entire island.
With a yell of "CHARGE!" Major Bixby sent his horse into a gallop and tore across the hovercraft's ramps
and onto the dock, with the rest of his troops right behind him.
*
*
*
"What's that?" asked Kenji, his ears picking up the bugle's call.
"It's the Calvary, Kenji!" Pat Savage replied with tears and laughter, hugging the boy. "The good guys are
here!"
*
*
*
Franklin cursed the fates.
Everything was going bad – very bad!
His plans to kill Pat Savage and Jill Woodward had been foiled by that disgusting Christian Liston. And,
if his Hidalgo bank account was indeed no more, there was little recourse for him but retreat to 'fight
another day'.
He hadn't slept much. There was too much going on, and the uneasy feeling wouldn't go away. It was
finally given form when he was informed that intruders were approaching from the sea. He ordered them
to use the missiles to destroy them, and was pleased at the sounds of explosions. But then they told him
the missiles never hit home, but blew up in mid-air. Franklin cursed Avery for giving him defective
material, and started to leave his quarters to personally oversee the attack. But then the sky filled with
men wearing jet packs, mowing down his troops like wheat before the scythe. It was like some bizarre
science-fiction movie, he thought as he kept under cover.
Yes, now was the time to retreat. But he would have the final word. He would have his vengeance on this
island.
157
As he turned to return to his quarters, he saw Deuce running towards the central plaza; she was gripping
her whip tightly with both hands. He stopped her – barely, for her expression mirrored her madness – and
asked her where she was going. Through gritted teeth, she cursed and said, "I'm going to finish off that
Christian!"
Franklin didn't dare stop her. "Okay! I'm headin' for the boat! You got twenty minutes, then I'm gone - got
it?"
She acknowledged his words, and continued running.
Franklin already had his Glock automatic holstered to his side, as he retrieved the duffle bag from
underneath his cot. He removed the remote detonator for the bomb, and the canister of Sarin gas.
Remembering the instructions, he set the detonator's timer for an hour to coincide with the coagulant fuse
for the Sarin, and pushed the button to set things into motion; a light next to the button glowed a deep
green. He replaced it in the duffle. Then he held the canister of Sarin gas - even now, it was difficult for
him to him to imagine that something so small had the capacity of killing every living being on the island
- and pulled the pin to activate the coagulant fuse.
He was about to put it into the duffle when he heard a voice outside call his name. A moment later,
Captain Sandoval ran into the quarters. The look on his face was frantic. "General Franks – there you
are!" He paused, then pointed at the Sarin canister. "General! What is that?"
Franklin lied. "Haven't you ever seen a fire extinguisher? Now, what is it?"
"Flying men have seized the ship and have sent death from the skies!" Sandoval reported excitedly. "And
now men on horses are stampeding across the island! We shoot at them, but they cannot be killed! What
do we do?"
"Calm down, Captain!" Franklin calmly put the Sarin canister into the duffle, zipping the bag closed and
attaching a small lock to the zipper pulls. "Continue the battle! These are not gods, but only men!
Assemble your men in one of the barracks and take the children as hostages! If you do that, they will have
no choice but to listen to you! Do you understand, Captain?"
"Sì, General!"
"Go!" barked Franklin.
Captain Sandoval gave a quick salute and headed back outside.
With a self-satisfying smile, Franklin muttered softly, "Suckers!"
He placed the duffle back where it had been. The gas would escape through the bag, he reminded himself.
Then he headed outside and started running in the opposite direction of the fighting. His escape boat
would carry him and Deuce to safety before all hell broke loose.
He didn't get far before he found his way blocked by the mounted troops Sandoval had reported. He
couldn't get past them without being spotted. Cursing rapidly, he resigned himself to taking the long way
around to get to the boat - a move which would cost him valuable time.
*
*
*
158
My mind drifted and wandered like a cork caught in a storm, and it hurt every time I tried to take a breath.
I pictured myself at Long Tom's funeral, speaking of the promise God gave to his people: "In my father's
house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you, that
you may be with me also."
I don't know how long I can hold on. I can't move anymore ... or maybe I just don't want to move because
it hurts so. I don't know.
How long, O Lord? Will you forsake me forever?
Tom? I could really use another 'time out' here, Tom!
I could hear sounds overhead, but my vision was blurred. Angels? Swing low, sweet chariot. Comin' for to
carry me home. I took another painful breath.
I want to go home, Lord. I want to go home.
Then the angels came for me.
*
*
*
"OKAY, FIREBIRDS! BY THE NUMBERS! FLAME ON! GO! GO! GO! GO!"
"Okay," commented Bonnie, taking another step forward. "Here we go!"
Three teams to go ... two teams to go ... one ... they were next. Each team waited at the doorway for the
green light. Then they stepped out into the air and sped away on a trail of rocket fire.
Dot and Bonnie came to the head of the line. Dot looked out at the island below and whispered, "Hold
fast, my love! I'm coming!"
The light turned green, and they stepped out of the helicopter.
Because of the portable floodlights, they couldn't touch down right next to where Perry was, but landed a
few yards away instead. The element of surprise was on their side, as well as the element of mystery.
Their gear gave them a psychological advantage, making them appear more menacing than they actually
were.
They'd had their choice of personal weaponry, and Dot chose a familiar one. She had called it the
Equalizer, and it was a portable clip-fed 40mm grenade launcher. As they touched down, she swung it
around and started firing round after round into the midst of the enemy soldiers. The last time she'd used
the Equalizer, in the Valley of the Vanished, the clip alternated between rounds of high explosive and
rounds containing anesthetic gas. This time, however, she unleashed a full clip of fragmentation rounds
with mercy-bullet shrapnel. The effect was dramatic, as soldiers went down like tenpins. Meanwhile,
Bonnie and her twin Superfirers picked off individual soldiers with unerring accuracy.
Discarding the empty weapon, Dot jogged the last few yards to the fountain. Seeing Perry this close, with
all the bloody gashes in his back, she unsuccessfully held back tears. She pulled off a glove and reached
up to his neck to feel for a pulse.
159
"Oh, thank God!" she sighed. "Perry! Perry! Can you hear me?"
He did not respond.
Bonnie had removed from her back what appeared to be a rolled-up plastic tarp with a solid metal rod on
the outer edge. She quickly unrolled the tarp, then twisted the end of the metal rod, causing the highlycompressed contents to be injected into tubes running parallel along the sides. The special foam filled in
the tubes, expanding and solidifying within seconds, and turned the tarp into an instant emergency
stretcher.
"Let's get him down!" Dot ordered.
"Okay!" Bonnie reported. "Stretcher's set! You grab him - I'll cut the ropes!"
While Dot carefully held him around the waist, Bonnie drew and flicked open a switchblade and sliced
through his bonds. Then they lowered him onto the stretcher.
Bonnie tapped the transceiver in her ear. "Clayton to Bixby!"
"Bixby, go!" came the clipped response.
"We've got Perry - repeat, we've got Perry!" she reported. "He's unconscious but alive! We're taking him
to the infirmary!"
"Acknowledged ... good work!"
Carrying the stretcher like they'd practiced, they started making their way towards the infirmary. But after
only a few yards, their ears caught the distinct snap of leather. Dot froze in place and looked behind her.
Deuce was holding several soldiers at bay with her whip; the look on her face was one of maniacal glee,
as she expertly cracked the whip about her.
Dot's eyes narrowed. "Deuce," she growled under her breath.
She rested her end of the stretcher on the ground. "I'll be right back!"
Bonnie knew better than to argue the point with her. "Just don't kill her, okay?" she called. "Okay?
Okay?"
Dot was determined. Standing tall, she walked straight towards the altercation. Pulling off her facemask,
she yelled, "BACK AWAY FROM HER! SHE'S MINE!"
The others glanced back to see what was going on; those who recognized her, and understood why she
was behaving like this, gave her a quick acknowledgement and moved away. The rest were confused, but
followed their fellows' lead and headed off to another part of the battle.
Deuce's expression didn't change, but she recognized something about the newcomer. A memory from the
Valley of the Vanished. Remembering that this woman was another one of those Christians.
She drew back the whip for an easy strike, waiting for Dot to get within range. Then, at the right moment,
she swung forward with all her might.
160
But the whip never made it.
Dot's arm moved faster than Deuce could imagine. The leather tip wrapped around her forearm, and her
hand snatched it with a cobra-like grip. Deuce tried jerking on her end, to knock her opponent offbalance, but the other woman wouldn't budge. Deuce knew that the whip had to have hurt the other
woman, but there was no hint of it on the other woman's face. Her teeth were clenched, and Deuce saw
something else as the woman closed the distance between them.
And she felt fear.
Dot continued walking forward. With each step, she took in the slack on the whip and let it wrap around
her forearm until the two women were practically nose-to-nose. Then Dot's hand plucked the end of the
whip right out of Deuce's grip.
"Do ... you ... remember ... me?" Dot said in a low growl.
Deuce slowly nodded. "Y-yes."
She angled her head in the direction of Perry and Bonnie. "That is MY husband on the stretcher back
there - the man YOU used THIS on!" She showed Deuce the end of the whip, taking another step forward
as she did. Reflexively, Deuce stepped back.
Dot's voice was low and menacing, and she spoke slowly and deliberately. "This is the last time you'll
hurt anyone I love, Deuce! The ... last ... time!"
Deuce was so involved in watching the whip in Dot's left hand that she never saw the right fist coming for
her. It caught her in the face with such force that she spun around twice before collapsing to the ground as
if her skeletal structure had suddenly decided to go on vacation.
Dot looked down at the unconscious woman, smiled thinly, then turned and walked back to where Perry
and Bonnie were.
"Feel better?" asked Bonnie, matter-of-factly.
"Much," she replied, giving her the whip. "Souvenir."
"Thank you," she said cordially. "Shall we go?"
They lifted the stretcher and swiftly moved towards the infirmary.
*
*
*
Clark, Monk, Renny, and Johnny looked like something out of a futuristic version of a Wagnerian opera.
Dressed in their black armored outfits and matching facemasks, these Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
rode side-by-side towards their destination.
Many of the soldiers ran at the sight of these horses from Hell, with only a handful trying to obstruct their
course. Their efforts were futile, of course, as they were dropped by enhanced fire from the Superfirers.
161
Ahead, a group of soldiers shot at them from behind a truck, causing them to stop and take cover. Monk
removed his mask to get a better look, then tapped Renny on the shoulder and pointed, a familiar grin on
his homely face. Renny nodded.
"Clark, me an' Renny will take'em out," he announced. "We're gonna go an' exercise our rights."
"Yeah ... and maybe a few lefts," added Renny, raising a meaty fist.
"We'll catch up with you in a couple minutes," Monk said, then they were out in the open, running
towards the shooters. With a roar that must've shaken the unprepared soldiers, Monk and Renny attacked
the truck from both ends. Shots continued to ring out from behind, but then abruptly ended. Clark and
Johnny looked at one another.
"They're okay," commented Johnny. "It's just like old times."
"Yep," agreed Clark. "Let's go!"
As they rode past the truck, they saw Renny placing another soldier atop a neatly-stacked pile of bodies.
Monk gave them a wave and a toothy grin. He was in his element, thought Clark, continuing to the mess
hall.
The area around the mess hall building appeared to be clear. Clark silently dismounted while Johnny
remained at the higher vantage point. Clark slowly swung his Superfirer in a 360-degree arc, his senses
open to any anomaly.
He gave the 'all clear' signal to Johnny, and the archaeologist dismounted. As they started to move inside,
the door opened.
Kenji was the first one out. "It's okay!" he said with hands raised. "The bad guys didn't find us! Aunt
Patty - I think he's family!"
Pat came through the door just as Monk and Renny rode up; she had a couple of children by the hands.
"Yeah," Pat replied to Kenji with a smile. "He's family. They all are."
Clark came to her and they embraced. Then she hugged Johnny, Monk, and Renny, unashamedly crying
in their arms.
Jill came out and did a double-take at the horses. "These don't look like motorcycles," she commented.
"Last-minute substitution," replied Monk. "I'll explain it later."
Pat laughed. "My 'black knights', here to rescue the damsels in distress. Things never change, do they?"
Kenji suddenly sprang up. "Hey, guys! Is Spook okay?"
"Spook?" asked Monk.
"Yeah, you know – the invisible guy!"
"Perry!" Monk exclaimed.
162
"He's alive," reported Clark. "They took him to the infirmary, but we don't know how he's doing!"
"What about Franklin?" Monk asked Kenji. "You seen him?"
Kenji pointed. "His quarters were over there. And I saw a little boat over on the north side."
"A boat?" asked Renny. "How big? What kind of motor?"
"Not big ... ten feet, maybe. Motor was kinda small, too."
"Escape boat!" exclaimed Renny.
Pat leaned in. "Kenji, you know that area's off-limits. Why were you over there?"
Kenji shuffled his feet a moment before finally confessing. "Okay, I'm busted. I was coppin' a smoke."
Pat gave him a stern look. "And what have I said about smoking on the island?"
"So sue me!" He hung his head. "I'm sorry, Aunt Patty."
Clark, who had mounted his horse during this exchange, interceded. "Go easy on him, Pat! I'll check out
the boat!"
He turned the horse and galloped off.
"Go get'em, cowboy!" said Pat with a smile.
*
*
*
From the infirmary, Dr. Diane Cunningham had seen the overture of this combat concerto, and knew
she'd be busy real soon. Pacing back and forth from looking out the door to making sure their emergency
room was prepped and ready for business, she saw Dot and Bonnie approaching with Perry.
"Quick, bring him over here!" she called, guiding them to the examination table. "Set him down easy!"
As they started to move away and let Dr. Cunningham work, Dot exclaimed, "Hold it! Let me get his ring
off!" Then without another word she took Perry's right hand and began to ease the ring off his finger,
concentrating on not accidentally triggering it.
"Why?" asked Dr. Cunningham.
Bonnie answered, "Trust me, Diane, you don't want to see what this ring is capable of doing."
Once the ring was clear, Dot backed away and carefully placed it in a pocket of her jumpsuit.
Dr. Cunningham now sprang into action. Before God had called her to work on Caroline Island, she'd
been an ER doctor in Chicago, so her instincts were finely honed. After making a swift check of Perry's
vital signs, she started hooking him up to monitors and intravenous feeds, replenishing his blood and
fluids. Then she got to work on cleaning and bandaging his wounds. Dot and Bonnie assisted by handing
her items and following orders.
163
After several tense minutes, the three of them stepped into the next room. She pulled off a pair of rubber
gloves with a snap and sighed. "Okay. We've done what we can. He's stable, and his vitals look
promising. But he's still unconscious; he may have lapsed into a coma due to the pain."
Dot's face paled, and Bonnie slipped an arm around her to steady her.
"In one respect, this is a good thing," Diane quickly added. "Considering the severity of his injuries,
moving about could make things worse. While he's unconscious, his body can heal naturally. It's what I
had to do to Jade."
"What happened to Jade?" asked Bonnie, recognizing the name.
"She was shot by one of Franklin's goons!" explained Dr. Cunningham, raising a hand against Bonnie's
concerns. "She's okay, she's okay! But I had to put her into an artificial coma so that she could heal." She
turned back to Dot and took her hand. "We'll keep a close eye on Perry; we should know more within the
next twelve hours."
"All right," whispered Dot.
"Tell me, how bad is the fighting?"
"I don't know," answered Bonnie. "We were concentrating on rescuing Perry."
"Then let's move Perry next door. If it's as bad as it sounds, we'll soon be receiving casualties, and this
room will be getting a lot of use." She met Dot's eyes. "Moving him won't make things any worse. And
his monitors will signal me if anything changes. I've done all I can ... now it's up to God to bring him the
rest of the way."
Dot nodded, and they moved Perry into the room next to ER. Once they had him hooked up, Bonnie told
Dot, "You know I'm here if you need me ... but if you don't need me, I need to get back into the battle. It's
your call."
Dot looked down at the floor, then at Bonnie. "There's nothing we can do for him now but pray. My place
is here." She managed a half-smile. "Go. But be careful."
Bonnie hugged her friend. "I will. And I'll be back as soon as I can."
She rose and checked her equipment. Then she gave Dot a final hug and headed out the door.
*
*
*
Since the official part of her 'assignment' was over, she decided that she could best serve by searching for
stragglers - enemy soldiers who had become separated from the group and could pose a problem because
they were unpredictable. She concentrated on the buildings away from the main action, where a straggler
would try to hide until things were clear. As she did her mind went back to her earlier years as a
mercenary, and a major campaign that had some tragic results.
June, 1995. Freetown, Sierra Leone. Rebels had taken over the area, and had waged a bloody campaign
against the helpless population. Finally the government agreed to bring in mercenaries. She'd been among
164
them. It had been a quick surgical strike, hitting and running, hitting and running - and the rebels never
had a chance.
We were heroes, she remembered. But then they started judging us as racists just because our skin was
white. Another merc suggested bailing out when that happened, and I was glad I did. The next thing I
knew, the local government had brought in fifteen thousand blue berets – U.N. 'peacekeepers' – who
didn't know what they were up against or what they were doing.
The rebels moved back in with a vengeance, and things got ugly. Even though the peacekeepers
outnumbered the rebels, they couldn't fight like we could, and they were the ones who were defeated in
the end.
No more.
This island was her home, and these people were her friends. Images of wounded and dead children in
Africa flooded her mind. By God, she vowed, she would not let the same thing happen here!
Bonnie moved cautiously from building to building, looking for stragglers. She removed her mask so the
villagers would recognize her and not mistake her as one of the enemy.
She encountered few stragglers along the way, quietly putting them to sleep with her superfirer. It had
been a cake walk so far, and she thanked God that no children had been involved.
*
*
*
Bonnie emerged from the barracks through the fire door, making sure no one could get in after her. She
turned only to find herself face-to-face with five stragglers who were trying to find their way back to the
main body. They immediately turned on her, firing without taking time to aim properly, pinning her down
in the doorway.
Cursing herself for not having anything heavier with which to open the heavy fire door at her back,
Bonnie fired back as well as possible. However, since they not only outnumbered her in manpower and she assumed - in firepower, she fought back as best she could while rationing her ammunition.
She tried radioing out, but her transceiver had fallen out of her ear when she dove for cover; she could see
it, just a few yards away. It might as well have been a mile away for all the good it was.
Feeling a sharp jolt in her right leg, and another one in her right arm, she knew their aim was improving;
thank God for the Paradox body armor.
Once her ammunition was gone, though, they'd close in on her like a pack of rabid wolves. And the
Paradox armor would be useless if one of these yahoos got in a lucky shot on her head or neck.
She considered surrendering, then taking them on hand-to-hand once she was in range. However,
considering the caution in their own attack, they'd shoot her before they'd let her get the upper hand on
them.
She looked around for an angle, a way of getting the draw on them, but couldn't find a way of getting a
clear shot without exposing herself.
165
Clark, she thought, I promised you I wouldn't do anything stupid. I'm afraid I'm going to have to break
that promise.
With a feral yell of rage, she rushed out of the doorway. Alerted, they all opened fire on her, hitting her
again and again. Fortunately, they had avoided her head and neck. The Paradox armor deflected almost all
of their fire, leaving only the pain of multiple impacts.
She had her advantage, though, and took it. With her final shots she was able to take out the quintet, and
she lay on the ground exhausted and hurting.
She didn't see the grenade until it was too close; as the last soldier had gone down, he released the
explosive to fulfill his vengeance. Bonnie saw the grenade and, with an emergency surge of adrenaline,
rolled away and tried to scramble towards the cover of the building.
The blast hurt her ears, and the concussion picked her up and sent her flying towards the building. She
saw the wall of the building coming at her very fast.
Then there was darkness.
*
*
*
Franklin's detour had cost him valuable time. He knew they wouldn't be able to get far enough away
before the bomb and the sarin went off.
That is, not with two people in the boat ...
"Danny! Danny!"
He heard Deuce's voice, and quietly growled. He'd secretly hoped she'd gotten herself killed off, but no here she was, expecting to get off the island.
I don't think so, he thought, unholstering the automatic and taking off the safety. He hid the gun behind
his back as Deuce reached him. With her face bruised and bloodied, he was surprised she was actually
able to reach him.
"Danny," she slurred through swollen lips. "We've lost! We've got to get away from here!"
"I couldn't agree with you more, dear Deuce. However, we delayed too long; the boat won't be able to get
far enough away with two people on board."
The gun appeared from behind his back and fired once. The slug went into her, sending her flying back
and sprawling onto the ground with a thud.
"I actually did like you, Deuce," he said, walking over and looking down at her. "But I've always been a
survivor."
Then he holstered the Glock, turned, and headed for the boat at a fast walk.
However, when he got to the boat, someone else was there. It was that big bronze guy ... Pat's cousin.
Another Christian.
166
Franklin drew his gun and fired. The bullets just bounced off of him as he stood there. Then the guy
actually started walking in his direction.
"YOU WON'T STOP ME!" he yelled, cursing and firing until the automatic ran out of bullets.
The big man closed the distance, and his hand reached out and grabbed the gun while it was still in
Franklin's hand, wrenching it loose; he tossed the Glock effortlessly over his shoulder, then delivered a
punch to Franklin's head that sent him to the ground.
Like a statue, the bronze man stood there and waited as Franklin recovered from the punch and got to his
feet. The black man moved in to attack, trying to kick the legs out from under the larger man. It had all
the effect of kicking a fully-rooted oak tree, and he lost his own balance. Fallen, he tried scrambling clear,
but the other man grabbed him by the belt and pulled him back.
*
*
*
As a marksman, Clark had observed, Franklin was not. He had aimed for the chest and not the head, and
thus missed out on a clean kill.
Big mistake.
Wading through the barrage of bullets had been easy. His own rage made the repeated impacts of no
consequence. All he wanted was to vent his anger on the source of all the evil that had overtaken them.
He released Franklin's belt, sending him sprawling onto the ground. He spun and looked up at Clark with
the same fear one would have facing an angry grizzly bear.
"DANIEL FRANKLIN!" Clark said in a deep, almost animal-like, growl. "My friend ... my best friend ...
was hanging on a cross not far from here! YOU were the one who put him there! If he dies, I swear to you
that I will break you in half with my own two hands!" He held his hands before him to illustrate his point;
the muscles were like steel cables. "From the first time we met, you have been nothing but a threat and a
menace to everything I have held dear! You have endangered my friends and my family ... and this ...
ends ... now!"
Seconds passed. Franklin actually feared the man would carry out his threat. But suddenly, his expression
changed and he put his hand to his ear.
"Yes," he said aloud. "I have him." He paused, and took a deep breath; the look of madness was
dissipating from his face. "Acknowledged." He looked down at Franklin. "We know about the Sarin.
Where ... is ... it?"
Franklin was surprised at this. How did they find out? Did Sandoval talk? No. Sandoval didn't know that
it was Sarin gas. No one else knew that I had the gas except ... Avery? Could they have gotten to Avery
somehow? It didn't matter anymore ...
"Why should I tell you? So you can take me back to that blankety-blank Valley again to spend the rest of
my life there?" He gritted his teeth. "NO! It's too late! We're all going to die together! If the nuke doesn't
get us, the Sarin will!" He laughed. "And it'll be worth it, knowing you're going with me!"
"Going with you? You still don't have a clue, do you? Even if we both die today, we are not going to the
same place." He scoffed. "Four years in the Valley, and you never picked up on it. Did they tell you about
167
Hell, and what it was? Huh, did they? Did they tell you about the fires that never die, the worms, the pain
that never ends? Did they?" He paused. "You've turned your back on Jesus, and you'll remember that for
all eternity!"
"Will you just SHUT UP?" Franklin bawled. "I got my fill of that crap back there! I still won't tell you
where the Sarin is!"
Clark smiled, and shoved a small aerosol can into Franklin's face. "Oh, yes you will!" he simply stated,
pushing the button. Franklin didn't have a chance to resist; the Verity-3 took effect immediately, and his
eyes glazed over.
"Now, where is the location of the Sarin?" Clark asked in a commanding voice.
And Franklin blabbed.
Clark immediately relayed the location of the deadly canister to Bixby. While he waited for a response, he
knelt down next to Franklin. Calmly and firmly, he ordered, "You will remain conscious, but you will not
be able to move." The other man's expression didn't change, but Clark knew it had done its job.
The report came in from Bixby. They had found the Sarin and neutralized it, but another problem had
arisen, and all unoccupied troops were being called in to assist. Clark reported that Franklin was
incapacitated, and that he was on his way. Then he whistled to summon his horse. As he mounted, he took
a last look back at his foe. The black man was on his back. His eyes were still filled with hate, but he
wasn't able to do anything about it.
"Think about what you've lost, Mr. Franklin," he said as he climbed onto the horse. With a jerk of the
reins, he headed away from the area.
*
*
*
Captain Ramon Sandoval was a good soldier. But there was something inside of him that didn't like the
fact that he was holding children as hostages. He wanted a place for his own children to live peacefully,
but he wondered if it was really worth it to go this far to survive. He obeyed his orders, though, believing
that General Franks knew what he was talking about, and that, in the end, things would go their way.
But at what cost? There were many of his men, his friends and neighbors, lying dead in the streets since
this battle had begun. Now it was a matter of survival, and that meant doing anything he needed to do to
turn the tide of this war. There was no turning back, and they all knew it.
They were in one of the barracks, and the children were huddled against one wall. They were frightened;
so was he, but he had resolved not to let his men see him that way. He had to be strong for them.
Several of his men were keeping the children calmed down and where they were; it would not be good if
one of them were hit by bullets either by his men or the enemy. His heart broke, hearing the cries of the
children.
Off to one side, another of his men was struck from fire from the enemy; he pitched back and fell in a
heap. He didn't move. Sandoval cursed the enemy, and the situation that put them here to die.
*
*
*
168
Bonnie Clayton was horizontal. And sore.
"Ohhhhhh," she groaned, looking up. She recognized the tiles of the infirmary, and tried to put together
what had happened before the fog moved in.
She remembered the fighting; she could still hear the shooting in the distance. She had turned for just an
instant to see what was going on to her left. She had turned back in time to see the green baseball grenade
land a dozen feet from her. Responding with a word Clark would've chastened her for using, she wasn't
able to get clear of the blast. The last thing she remembered before waking up here was putting up her
arms so she couldn't see the brick wall.
Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Dot's voice: "Diane! She's awake!"
Then Dr. Cunningham was bending over her. "Bonnie, can you hear me?" She touched Bonnie on the
shoulder and waved another hand in front of Bonnie's face. "Are you in there, Bonnie?"
Bonnie mumbled something incoherent; the room was starting to spin, and she was starting to feel lightheaded again.
Dr. Cunningham knew that also. She quickly told her something about her needing x-rays, and had to ask
her some routine questions. Bonnie heard the word 'pregnant' and tried to figure out the rest of the
sentence. Forcing out an answer to what she thought she understood, Bonnie said, "Test ... me ...."
Then the fog won.
*
*
*
Captain Sandoval was peering through one of the windows. He could see the man whom he assumed to
be the commanding officer. There was another man next to him, a taller man. Then suddenly the woman,
Patricia Savage, came over to them. She appeared to be angry. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but
he knew that she was angry at the commanding officer. It looked like he was arguing with her, but he was
not winning the argument. After a few seconds, he appeared to give in, and yelled, "CEASE FIRE!
CEASE FIRE!"
The shooting stopped.
One of his men asked, "What kind of trick is this?"
"Wait! Wait!" he barked back. "Be on your guard, but don't shoot back yet."
The Savage woman was handed a bullhorn. She took a couple of steps closer to the building - unprotected
and in the line of fire - and addressed them.
"YOU – INSIDE! I'M PAT SAVAGE, AND THIS IS MY ISLAND! I'M WILLING TO NEGOTIATE
FOR THE SAFE RELEASE OF THE CHILDREN! NAME YOUR TERMS!"
"You have killed my men!" Sandoval yelled back.
"NO ONE HAS BEEN KILLED! CHECK 'EM OUT – THE WEAPONS THAT WERE USED ONLY
PUT PEOPLE TO SLEEP! THEY AREN'T LETHAL!"
169
Sandoval looked over at one of his fallen men, and gestured for others to check him out. A moment later
the other man said, "He's not dead! He's unconscious, but there's no blood!"
Sandoval quickly ordered the other men to be checked. None of them were dead either, but were just
sleeping. He stood unafraid now and walked to the window. "You are correct. They are not dead."
She lowered the bullhorn. "Are you the one in command?"
"Sì! I am Captain Ramon Sandoval!"
"The man you were with, the one you called Franks, has been captured and is our prisoner. We have no
fight with you, and we are willing to end this peacefully. We will even take care of any of your people
who are wounded. What do you say?"
"You will allow us to return home?"
"Of course. I have no reason not to, so long as everyone cooperates. I would like to talk to you face-toface. I give you my word that you will not be harmed."
"Come ahead!" He tried a bluff. "But do not try anything, or the children will be killed."
"I understand," she replied. "Here I come."
The Savage woman then started walking ahead, after handing the bullhorn back to someone behind her.
She showed no fear. He spoke to a couple of his men, asking them to escort her to him. They nodded, and,
a few minutes later, she walked into the room. He could see the compassion in her face when she saw the
children; she cared about them very much, and fought the urge to run to their side to comfort them. She
spoke to them, telling them everything was okay. Sandoval set his gun down and walked over to meet her.
"Señorita Savage?" He extended a hand.
"Captain Sandoval." She shook the hand. "Thank you for taking the time to listen to me. I have no reason
to harm you or your men. I believe that Mr. Franklin - the man you called Franks - was the instigator of
this tragedy. But whatever he paid you to be a part of this, I can match it."
He explained the situation.
"Is that it?" Pat replied with a smile. "How many people are we talking about here?"
The commander told her the population of Negro Lobo.
Pat chuckled. "Commander, I think we can help one another. Tell your men to stand down, and we'll
talk."
She walked to the window. "Bixby! They're just asking for a homeland! Call off your troops and get a
couple of medics in here! This war is over!"
"Are you sure?" the man Bixby called back.
"Yes, I'm sure!"
170
Bixby relayed the orders. Soldiers started standing up, relaxing, putting down their weapons, talking to
each other. Meanwhile, Sandoval did the same with his men. Immediately, the children were released;
they ran over to their Aunt Patty, hugging her legs frantically. She finally got down on one knee and tried
wrapping up as many as she could in her arms, unashamedly showing her love. She looked up at
Sandoval. "Kids, this is Ramon," she said cordially. "He's okay now. He's not going to hurt you. He's a
friend."
Several of the children angled their heads to see the uniformed Sandoval, and a couple of little girls with
round Latino faces went over and opened their arms to him. He looked down at their smiling faces himself on the edge of tears - then knelt down and hugged them.
*
*
*
Clark moved next to Bixby. As the medics moved in, Bixby commented, "She's something else, isn't
she?"
"You should'a seen her when she was younger," Clark replied straight-faced. "She's actually mellowed in
her old age."
Bixby gave him a double-take, then caught on and grinned.
Slowly, soldiers from both sides started coming together. Those who could speak the language
communicated with one another, and those who couldn't did the best they could. The people and the
children were released, and people loosened up. Men inside the barracks apologized to the children, and
children hugged their former captors with a love that caused grown men to weep.
As Clark stood watching all the activity, Monk loped to his side; he was anxiously calling his name.
"What is it?" he asked.
"You knew they got Perry to the infirmary in time! But Clark ... Bonnie's there; she's been hurt!"
Clark didn't reply. He just took off running in the direction of the infirmary, with Monk following.
*
*
*
The infirmary looked like a MASH unit on full alert. Under the supervision of Dr. Cunningham, anybody
with medical training who wasn't tied down elsewhere was busy working on soldiers of both sides.
Despite her knowledge of first aid, Dot didn't fit in with the pros inside. She was outside the infirmary,
praying with her eyes open as she paced back and forth. She saw Clark running towards her, and ran into
his arms.
"Oh, Clark!" she cried. "I ... I couldn't get through to him. It was like he didn't hear me. And his back! It
looked like ... " She couldn't form the words. "The last thing Dr. Cunningham said was that he's alive, but
... he's in a coma!" She buried her head in his chest and cried; Clark held back the tears, but inside was
feeling the pain.
"It'll be okay," comforted Clark, trying to be a source of strength to her. "Perry's strong! He'll be okay!
Have you seen Bonnie?"
171
"I saw her when she was first brought in," reported Dot, looking up at him. "But then I got pushed back
outside!"
Monk joined them, and wrapped his long arms around them both, and they all quietly cried together.
*
*
*
Daniel Franklin couldn't move. That blankety-blank had done something to him. His boat was only a few
feet away, but it could just as well be miles. He'd get help if there was anyone around him ... and if he
could say anything. But he couldn't even move his mouth.
Suddenly he could hear footsteps in the distance. They moved slowly in his direction, but he couldn't see
who it was. Then they were standing behind him, at his head. As they bent over to face him, Franklin's
heart skipped and his breath froze.
"Hello, Daniel ... dear! Thought you'd finished me off, did you? Too bad you didn't make sure that I was
dead."
It was Deuce. She was wounded, but alive.
"Well what do you know ... you can't move, can you?" she grinned down at him. "What a pity. And with
your boat right over there. Let's get closer, shall we?"
She grabbed a handful of his collar and slowly started dragging him to the water's edge, then continued in
until the water was up to her knees. Franklin's eyes filled with terror at her intent, but he was unable to do
anything but break out in a nervous sweat. He was still in a seated position, his legs now underwater, the
water stirring around his middle. Then, without warning, Deuce released him, and his head splashed back
into the water. He couldn't close his eyes. Fresh, lifesaving air was less than six inches away from his
mouth, but his body wouldn't obey the screaming of his terrified mind.
Deuce moved back to the shore and sat on the sand. She was weak, and knew that her end was minutes
away. As she watched the bubbles slowly stop coming to the surface, her grin melted as if under a
blowtorch. Tears started flowing down her face as she broke into uncontrollable sobs.
"Oh, God! Oh, GOD! I never realized! I never knew! I'm so sorry! I'm SO sorry!" Her breathing became
difficult. But the pain was gone. "Please, God, forgive me! Forgive ... me ..." She pitched forward into the
sand and sighed, "Thank y--"
Deuce Robinson was home.
*
*
*
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bonnie Clayton was sore, and her head was still ringing, but she declared herself alive. She looked around
the room. She was alone; the other beds were vacant.
Dr. Cunningham was making her rounds. "Welcome to the land of the living," she quipped.
"Can it, Di," she replied dryly. "What's the prognosis?"
172
"Well, apart from the fact that I could've played 'Connect the Dots' with your bullet bruises, and you've
set a new record for the hardest head on Caroline Island next to Pat's, you're fine. More accurately, you're
both fine."
"How long have I been out?"
"Two days."
Bonnie rubbed her head where it hurt. "What've I missed?"
"Quite a bit, actually," answered Diane, taking a seat next to the bed. "It turned out that all these guys
were after was a homeland of their own; it seems their village had been the brunt of their neighbors'
bullying for years. Franklin promised them the island if he'd help them get Pat and Jill. Well, once Pat
made them understand that their people weren't dead but unconscious, they were in a better mood to talk
peace.
"To make a long story short, we're gonna give them what they were promised - a safe place to live - and
we get a big boost in our workforce. Pat says we're gonna to try moving their entire village over to the
north side of the island. It's really gonna be something!"
"I'll bet," commented Bonnie. "How's Perry, by the way?"
"Still comatose, I'm afraid. His body has been healing, and it's just a matter of time."
"How's Dot taking it?"
"Well, we've set up a second bed in the room for her. She rarely leaves his side. We've done all we can to
support her; we even bring meals to her there."
"I want to see her as soon as I can. When can I check out?"
"Well, I'd still give it a couple of days, but I don't think a visit would hurt you too much. Ever since they
airlifted all the serious patients to Athens, we've got tons of bed space. So don't sweat it. You need to take
care of yourself now."
"I will."
"I mean it. You get some sleep, or I'll grind up some Percocet and spike your orange juice."
"Yes, sir." She gave her a mock salute.
Dr. Cunningham smiled, pleased with herself, as she turned and headed for the door. But before she
opened the door, she turned back and said, "Oh, by the way, congratulations."
Bonnie was confused. "Congratulations? For what?"
"The test came back positive."
"Okay ... thanks."
173
The doctor left the room. Bonnie lay back in the bed and tried to figure out what Diane had been talking
about. What test? And why did she say 'both' when she was clearly alone in the room?
Her eyes suddenly opened wide, and she sat bolt upright in the bed. "Both?"
*
*
*
The walk down the hall to Perry's room was not far, but to Clark it seemed like miles. He had to admit to
the tightness of his stomach and the uneasiness in his heart. He'd come so close to losing the two most
important people in his life. Back before the sleep - his term for his fifty years in hibernation - he had
maintained a respectful distance from all those around him. His aids could take care of themselves, and no
one was lost during all those years. But now, now was different. He had allowed these people to come and
take a place in his life - as he had in theirs - and the thought of losing them brought a pain he didn't like.
He wanted to shut the door of his emotions and not feel the pain, but he knew he couldn't go down that
road anymore.
Even after these few years being a Christian, openly proclaiming the love and power of Jesus Christ, there
were things that caused him to be ... what was the phrase? ... messed up inside. He preferred the simple
life he had before. But that was all in the past. Now things were different. And, since learning that Johnny
was now a Christian, the team was complete once more. They looked to him for leadership, but right now
he felt as far from being a leader as one man could.
He was relieved to know that Bonnie was better. He had sat by her side while she was unconscious holding her hand, praying fervently for her recovery - and she had recovered.
But Perry was still in a coma, and all his medical knowledge was moot, fifty years behind the times. The
only thing that could be done for Perry was keep him comfortable and his needs provided for until he was
ready.
"Clark?" he heard Dot say. "Is that you?"
He mustered up enough strength to say evenly, "Yes. How did you know it was me?"
She came to the doorway, and offered a slight smile. "Your footsteps are unmistakable. Come in."
The room had windows on two sides, which were letting in as much light as possible; that was very
therapeutic, he thought. Perry lay on a special bed they had especially flown in for him, which could
rotate in order to take some of the pressure off of his still-mending back wounds. The volume on the
monitors had been turned down, but his sensitive hearing could still make out the steady beep-beep-beepbeep rhythm. The side table held a bouquet of flowers; their smell was pleasant.
Perry was facing up in the bed. His face was peaceful.
Dot looked about as bad as he felt. He held her and just let her collapse momentarily into his arms. She
cried briefly, and he suggested, "Why don't you go and see how Bonnie's doing? Diane has ordered bed
rest, and she's getting bored. I'll sit with Perry for awhile."
They separated and she nodded, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "Sounds good,"
she said weakly, looking up at him. "Come get me if anything happens, okay?"
"Sure thing," he acknowledged with a thin smile.
174
She walked to the door, took a last look back, and then continued down the hall to the other room. Clark
walked over to the chair next to the bed and sat down. He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.
"Why did you have to do this, Perry?" he started, softly. "I didn't want you to come on this mission - you
knew that. Regardless of the fact that you were the only one who could do it, I didn't want you to be in
danger. And now look what happened." He paused.
"You know, when I went after Franklin, I wanted to kill him, I wanted to tear him apart for what he'd
done - some 'man of God', huh? Then I stood there and let him shoot at me like some television
superhero, not realizing that he could've easily aimed a little higher and shot me in the head - real
responsible, right? I don't know what I would've done if Bixby hadn't called with the alert about the Sarin
gas. I probably would have killed Franklin right there, with my bare hands ... and the Sarin gas would've
killed us all. Thank God for His intervention. And then, when Franklin started talking about how I'd be
going to hell with him, something inside me broke. That was the difference between he and I, and I knew
it. I knew I couldn't go to hell because of Jesus Christ. And that turned everything around. It took the
anger away."
He took a deep breath. "Anyhow, it's all over now, Perry. It's all been taken care of. Pat's been working
with their commander, arranging for them to move here to the island. It's going to be all right now." He
sighed. "It's going to be all right."
He sat silently, and his eyes began to mist over. "You know, it's really hard to see you like this. I ... really
... need you now, Perry. You have to come out! Bonnie and I are still going to be getting married, and I
refuse to let anyone else do the ceremony! That, and ... I've never really been good at relationships,
especially with women. Facing the thought of marriage and possible fatherhood terrifies me. Facing it
without you and Dot as examples ... terrifies me even more. I don't know what it's like to be a husband;
Father was kind of vague on that aspect of my training. I need you there to help me along ... to show me
how not to screw things up."
He looked over at his friend's unresponsive face. "Why'd you have to be the hero, Perry?" he suddenly
exclaimed, his body shaking with emotions. "I'm supposed to be the hero ... I'm suppose to take all the
risks! It's what I have done all my life! But you ... you're the spiritual support! No ... you took after me ...
you saw your opportunity and you took it!" His voice softened. "You protected the kids, protected Pat and
Jill - and you kept them safe. I love you, Perry ... and I'm very proud of you."
He lowered his head in prayer. "Thank You for not taking him!" he said in a tearful whisper.
"C-Clark?"
His head snapped up. Perry was still facing the ceiling, but his eyes were fluttering. Clark drew closer to
the bed. "I'm here, my brother," he whispered.
"Are you ... okay?" he said weakly.
"Yes," he sighed. "I'm fine. You had us worried."
Perry turned his head in Clark's direction, and he croaked, "Why ... should you ... be ... only ones ... to
have ... all the fun?"
175
Clark held back tears as he placed a big hand softly on his friend's arm. "You did good, Perry," he said,
choking as he did. "You did very good."
"Glad ... you ... think ... so." He paused, and his eyes closed briefly. Then, almost as an afterthought, he
said, "By the way ... Long Tom ... says ... hi ..."
"What?" Clark was surprised at the reference. "What was that? Perry, what did you say?"
Perry just smiled.
He stood up. "Hold tight! I'm going to get Dot!"
He headed for the door. As he left the room, he kept whispering, "Thank You."
*
*
*
Dot lifted another spoonful of cherry Jell-O into my mouth and wiped the corners with a napkin.
Although I was fully capable of feeding myself, it gave her pleasure to serve me ... so I relaxed and
enjoyed it.
Two weeks had passed since the rescue. I was still hurting, but it had dimmed from a nine to a two on the
pain scale. I didn't know all of what they had done to patch me up; I knew I had to make a couple of trips
to specialists in San Diego and New York, but most of my time was spent in my room in the infirmary. I
was also in a regular hospital bed now, which I preferred to the rotating one.
When I came out of my coma, Pat had explained to me that my recovery would be right here on Caroline
Island. "Hey, you're the man of the hour," she praised, kissing me on the cheek. "V.I.P. treatment all the
way; nothing's too good for you."
I didn't feel like a V.I.P., but I wasn't in any condition to walk away. I just knew that I was alive and
grateful to everyone. So I praised God and let myself accept their affection.
Just then, one of the ladies of the village came in with three small children. They bowed just inside the
door. "May we see Mr. Perry?" she asked.
"Sure," I smiled and beckoned them closer. "C'mon over!"
They came to the side of my bed. The children were just tall enough to reach out and touch my arm. I felt
like Moses before the Israelites, as I saw the awe in their little eyes. The kids had been coming in a steady
stream for days, all wanting to see the one who had been hurt to keep the bad guys from them.
Dot had brought me up to speed on what had happened while I was out, including Franklin and Deuce's
fate. "It appears that Franklin had shot Deuce and left her for dead - but she wasn't. After Clark had
immobilized Franklin, Deuce caught up with him and dragged him down to the water. He couldn't move,
so ... she drowned him. She must've died shortly after."
I sighed. "You know, I really wonder ... after all those years of being around Christians in the Valley of
the Vanished ... did it ever make a difference? Or had it just been all a waste of time?"
Dot shrugged. "Only God knows."
176
Nobody wanted to claim responsibility for Franklin and Deuce's bodies. Neither of them had any family
to turn them over to, nor was it right to bury them on the island. Finally, Pat arranged with Drake to have
them buried at sea. That had been a little over a week ago.
We hoped, now, there would be closure.
*
*
*
Later that day, I woke up with a sense of déjà vu.
I was alone. On my side table, next to my glass of water, was a vase with a dozen red roses.
"Where did she find roses?" I asked.
Then my eyes drifted to the base of the vase. Sitting there was a small blue teddy bear, wearing the tiny
Parlor Bears tee shirt Amy had bought for him in Lincoln City. Propped up in his small hands was a
handwritten note: MY NAME IS BERRY BLUE. I'M HERE TO MAKE SURE YOU GET BETTER.
I remembered a similar scene five years ago. Dot had been the recipient, following a close encounter with
a youth gang in San Francisco. I had been the one to give her the roses and the teddy bear – named Grape
Juice – with the attached note. Shortly after that, Dot found Berry Blue for me ... and also, she had
claimed, to keep Grape Juice company.
I picked up the bear and smiled. "Hello, old friend."
*
*
*
It had been a long day.
Dot had been sitting at Perry's side for several hours, watching him sleep and repeatedly thanking God.
Finally she felt the need to stand and stretch away some of her own stiffness. She moved around the room
for a minute, and then decided to step outside. She closed the door as she left.
A few moments later, one of the windows opened, and Kenji slipped stealthfully into the room. He stood
quietly as he waited to see if his entrance would attract anyone. Then, convinced he hadn't been noticed,
he walked over to the bed.
Perry was lying on his side, sleeping with his arms loosely crossed before his chest.
Kenji stood watching him for several moments. Then he reached into his pocket and came out with his
pack of cigarettes and the old Zippo lighter. Without hesitation, he crushed the pack in his hand and
lobbed it into the nearby wastebasket. Then he placed the lighter on the side table where they couldn't
miss it.
"You're my hero, Spook," the boy whispered. "You made a difference."
He turned to start out when he saw the flowers and the teddy bear on the side table. A mischievous smile
on his lips, he picked up the bear, kissed it on the forehead, and then carefully placed it into the crook
formed by Perry's arms. A moment later, a smile appeared on Perry's lips, and his arms reflexively closed
around the stuffed animal.
177
"Sleep well, hero," Kenji whispered with a smile, and then quietly left the room through the window.
*
*
*
EPILOGUE
YOU ARE INVITED
To the Wedding of
Clark Savage, Junior
And Bonnie Noel Clayton
As friend unites with friend in the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ.
On July 15, 2005
Individuals will be contacted personally for RSVP,
and to provide details on the location.
Security will be extreme.
A reception and banquet will follow.
THE END
THANKS AND DEDICATIONS
To Barry Ottey, my friend and brother whom I've never met in person. From coast-to-coast phone
conversations to detailed email correspondence, you have provided us with both facts and encouragement,
and you've helped make sure that Clark, Perry, Dot, and Bonnie live on to see another adventure.
To Kay Snow and Gerald Miller. Two amazing people in my early life who encouraged me in my
writing, yet never lived long enough to see the result. Whenever I envision my personal 'great cloud of
witnesses', I know that they are there, cheering me on.
To security guard Tom Kelly; I couldn't have planned the battles without you.
To Jay Don and Merilee Rogers, who have boldly ministered for years and have seen the plight of the
children in Donetsk, Ukraine first-hand. To me, they are true heroes. You can read about them at
http://www.sunsetinternational.org/Branch%20Schools/Donetsk/donetsk.htm.
To Alena Grace Brannan, adopted daughter of Buddy and Melanie, rescued and loved by two very, very
special people. I pray that you will someday become part of the next generation of Christian Doc Savage
fans.
Saving the best for last, our most gracious thanks to you, our readers, who have been so patient during
this personally-distressing time, and to all of you who have emailed us with your praise and comments.
You are the brothers and sisters sent by God to encourage us in our adversity, to be there to run this race
with us, to keep us writing one more day ... one more chapter ... one more book. As long as you let us
know you're out there and reading, we'll keep writing.
God bless you all.
Mark and Karen Eidemiller -- May 2005
WE NEED VOLUNTEERS TO TRANSLATE THESE BOOKS INTO OTHER LANGUAGES. IF YOU
ARE INTERESTED, EMAIL US AT skylab@e-z.net.
178
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