The Humana Project, Vol #1

The

HUMANA

PROJECT

A GLOBAL CONSPIRACY MYSTERY

VOLUME 1

There Is A Time

by

Deborah Nofsinger

There is a point in time

when Men begin to die.

And those in positions of power

strive by any means to stay alive.

Men have taken the authority of God,

And think they have just cause

To choose Who will survive.

Globalist hide behind

Secret projects Proxy Wars, and the like.

Seeking only what’s best for mankind

According to the Elitists foresight.

Who are these people,

these few chosen ones

To decide who gets to stay or who must go?

The Love of money is the root of all evil

These are they, these chosen people.

Decreasing the population, doesn’t even give pause.

To these who are blinded to only see gain, never loss.

The Avarice of Man beyond imagination,

Like little children dividing candy,

There is a way which seems right to man

But the end thereof is destruction.

Deborah Nofsinger

Printed by Permission

Introduction

The Humana Project is a global conspiracy mystery filled with all the "who done it?" anyone would want to read.  In the business center and governmental centers of the United States, Valeska Vargas, the director of the GLOBAL OPERATIONS of the HUMANA PROJECT has selected two FBI agents to investigate why some of the small corner meat markets in northern Texas refuse to agree to a win-win scenario that is sweeping the nation.  The HUMANA PROJECT has vowed to end starvation and create practical options for the third world's population control issues.  Ole man Sam who owns a market in A LA VISTA, Texas refuses to become a part of a project that promises to fulfill everyone's dreams and pay them to believe it.

Chapter One

The Chosen

After having parked their cars in the basement parking facility, agents Christopher Mallory and Peyton Towler made their way to the elevator. Agent Towler entered first and held the door for his fellow comrade. Settling alongside agent Towler, agent Mallory grasp the railing to steady himself should the elevator react as some have done in the past. He wasn’t up to being jostled back and forth, not today.

“So, what’s this all about?” quizzed agent Mallory as the elevator door slowly and methodically closed with a slight thump.

“How am I supposed to know. All I got from our Lead supervisor, agent Seagle, was this stupid little card with this address and time that I should come to meet someone. I’ve never been to this building in my life, so, I don’t know what this is all about, not yet anyway.” he responded in a blunt and agitated tone.

` “Man, you need to find some young thing, have a couple of drinks, and relax. You’re way too tense!” commented Mallory as he moved slightly away from Towler’s side.

“What you think I’ve been tryin’ to do, but the agency always has other plans for my time off.” rebutted Towler.

Feeling around in his pocket, agent Mallory, the older of the two was reluctant to pull the card out or to mention that he too had received the same instructions from their Lead supervisor officer at their office down town on State Street. “I’m guessing it’s one of those crisis things, you know, like they tell us to always be ready for at a moments notice with guns drawn and bullets blazing.” he interjected.

Neither of the two men wanted to admit that regardless what’s bantered about in the downtown office, not everyone knows everything about everything. The fact that they were in an elevator on their way to the tenth floor in a building neither of them had ever visited or even knew existed was proof enough. Even their supervisor didn’t know what it was about. That’s how hush-hush the invitation was or so they had been told.

“So, what’s your take on this visit?” asked agent Towler as he raised his hands to his neck to adjust his tie.

Reluctant to even venture a guess, agent Mallory simply shrugged as he usually did when unwilling to answer a question or carry on a conversation he felt was unwarranted. “All I know is that I was ordered to be here, so here I am.” stated agent Mallory in a lack luster manner.

Neither of the two men spoke the rest of the ride to the top floor, floor ten of a building that held more mysteries than either of them could imagine.

As the elevator slowly came to a soft stop, it bounced a moment and its familiar ping told them they had arrived. Standing facing outward, the two agents watched as the door opened onto a marbled floor accented by magnificently sculpted statues lining both sides of the hallway. A gentle glow filled the entryway that led to one door at the end of the hall. Surprised, the two men waited a moment to be sure they weren’t going to be escorted to the door rather than make their own way. The environment screamed for escorts adorned in silk suites and high gloss leather shoes, perhaps even a sparkling glass of champagne.

“Have you seen anything like this before?” asked agent Mallory as he stepped forward from the elevator onto the marble flooring that glistened and sparkled as the light reflected off of it.

“Nope, can’t say I have. It’s definitely nothing like where we work. That’s for a fact.” replied agent Towler as he hesitantly stepped onto the marble floor as if he was afraid that his weight would crack it.

Each man in unison checked their watches to be sure they weren’t going to be late, then resumed their normal walking gate directly down the hallway and stood in front of a large Oak door with a simple but appropriate gold name plate affixed to it.

It read:

DIRECTOR OF GLOBAL OPERATIONS

“What do ya suppose that means?” asked agent Mallory after he read it a third time.

“I guess we’re about to find out agent Towler. I guess we’re about to find out.” commented agent Mallory as he looked away from the door and back down the hallway. His first instinct was to turn and run, to run as fast as he could to get out of the building and never look back. But, like his fellow agent, there was nowhere to run, nowhere for them to hide.

Overhead, the security cameras were mounted every twenty feet. They could be rotated as needed, adjusted to see in all directions. They were even equipped with lighting adjustments if a more intense lighting was needed to bring the hallway’s occupants into view.

“One things for sure, they know we’re coming. Look at those cameras and smile. It’s good to put on a good front even though you’re completely oblivious to this whole affair.” stated agent Mallory as he smiled for the cameras just in case someone was video taping their arrival.

Standing outside the door, the two men heard a snap as if someone had released the locking mechanism on the door in front of them granting them access without knocking. “I think we’ve been giving the go-ahead to enter agent Towler. Let’s see what this is all about shall we.” stated agent Mallory as he reached for the door handle, turned it and pulled the door open to gain access to the inner sanctum.

“Into the “lions den” without any ammunition. This should be interesting.” rebutted agent Towler as he too entered walking behind his fellow agent.

The large Oak office door closed softly behind them as the two men wearing tailor-made Italian suits entered and stood at attention. The office wasn’t the office of a military staff member or any government official, but it felt like the right thing to do. There was an obvious sense of mystery in the air, flowing back and forth, as it were, above all of them.

The woman at the desk also dressed in black, methodically moved the cursor down the computer screen, leaned forward toward the screen, squinted, and then resumed her normal position. She’d completed the review time and time again searching for some last bit of information, some other solution to the ever-mounting dilemma that no one or nothing had resolved, at least not yet. And, to her dissatisfaction, there wouldn’t be any easy solution anytime soon.

“Gentleman, I suppose you’re wondering why you’ve been invited to my office. You know, as do many others, that being here represents something profound has either happened or is going to happen causing me to make decisions I don’t like to make.” she stated as she continued to view the screen before her.

As for the two men, who remained standing behind the two chairs in front of her desk, they had no idea as to why they had been summoned. What possible event or happening or problem would necessitate her to call them? Reluctant to look at each other, they stood rigid, as if at attention, much like that of the military standing in rank and file. Granted, they weren’t unaccustomed to protocol of sorts, but their military days, their experience in the special forces, were nothing more than memories at this point. No longer did they jump to the call of GQ or run to the forefront to watch for an aggressor, no, that was all behind them. Yet, as they stood in her office, all of the military protocols, the shouting, the discipline came rushing back.

“I’m almost through here, it’ll only be a few more seconds. Ah, there it is!” she exclaimed as she leaned forward in her chair, fixed her eyes on the screen as if she’d found the goose with the golden egg or the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Satisfied that she’d retrieved the right information on the two other agents she intended to call to help her with another part of her plan, the director looked up, eyed the two men, and muttered something under her breath that they weren’t meant to hear. Then, as if running on automatic, she clicked on the “print” button that initiated the printer that would print a copy of only the first page of the document she’d been so intently reviewing. The copies would be given to the agents for their review as she discussed their assignment.

Shuffling from one foot then to the next, the two men wondered what she could possibly be looking at on the screen that had her so transfixed, that she had found so enticing that she’d printed it out.

The world outside the window hadn’t been invaded by aliens or at least no one was telling anyone that it had. Behind the director’s desk, the large window provided a panoramic view of the valley rimmed by large snow-capped mountains. That view was supposed to have engendered some grandiose illusion of supremacy for visitors invited to visit the director. But for the two who’d been ordered from their mundane world, a world of the analysts, it wasn’t all that much to look at or admire.

“Gentleman, I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here today.” stated the director as she pushed her computer aside and moved the keyboard out of her way, turned and retrieved the copies from the copier that would be given to the agents. Rightfully so, you should be questioning why I would call you two here to my office. I’m not so sure I’ve made the right choice, but, like any other decision, time will tell.” she hypothesized.

Neither of the men spoke or moved. Standing at attention near the exit door each of them wanted to leave, to turn and walk right out the door, closing it behind them, they remained still. But, as the memo stated that ordered them to come to her office, there was no retreat, no running, no getting out of this revealing. It wasn’t that they didn’t appreciate being selected for projects, but it was that this project under the guise of a friendly meeting, might prove to be something more than just a common assignment. And for the two men, they didn’t like the feeling of the whole thing. It felt as if they were about to be fed to the lions or thrown into an alligator pit. Was that the case? Neither of them knew the answer to that question, but from what they had imagined, there weren’t any others coming to their aide. No other agents received the invitation. No other agents were selected for this assignment due to its secrecy, its uniqueness. There were to be no others who would assist them in the matter whatever nor in any fashion. And that, that single thought, is what bothered both of them. What type of assignment doesn’t require assistance from time-to-time? What type of assignment requires the investigating agents to remain anonymously and work behind the scenes? For the two agents Peyton and Christopher, this assignment they were about to undertake would either make them the greatest agents that ever walked the earth or it would destroy their lives forever. They would end up on one end of the spectrum or the other.

“Gentleman, take a seat.” invited the director once she’d finished her review. She stood up, walked to her small refreshment bar at the right side of her office, chose a bottled water, and returned to her seat. Twisting the cap off, she took a sip, resealed it and placed it on the desk to the left of her.

“Do either of you care for a beverage?” asked the older woman as she looked at her invited guests.

“No Madam.” they both replied.

Folding their hands and placing them on their laps, the two agents sit waiting in silence as they watched the lady across the desk as she created an air of suspense they’d expected before being cast into the lion’s den to be eaten alive. Their fate, as they viewed it, was being manipulated by the woman in black with such an unrelenting manner that they felt flushed, like a teenage boys on their first date who got caught with their hand on a girlfriend’s leg.

Facing forward and looking as if she was about to open up a can of worms that wouldn’t be put back into the can, the director placed her hand the brochures, the pamphlets on her desk, lifted them up and showed it to the two men. They weren’t much to look at, but the monolithic appearance would stick in the agent’s minds for the rest of their lives.

“This pamphlet, this information is classified TOP SECRET.” stated the woman in black as she pointed to the papers she held in her hand. “This agent Christopher Mallory and agent Peyton Towler is your most important assignment of your careers. And, in my opinion, it is the most important assignment that this office has ever been asked to complete. As you’ll can see in this pamphlet, there are forces at work that are beyond our control. As you’ll discover in this pamphlet, this alternative, this, shall we say, this choice has caught the attention of people in high positions, much higher than mine.” stated the director as she handed each agent a copy of the pamphlet and allowed them enough time to review the information.

“This department, this office, and now you two agents are the only people on earth that have any clue as to what “Project HUMANA” might be. This pamphlet is a synopsis and overview as to what it might mean to our communities, our states, and our nation, perhaps even our world. Needless to say, in time, the world itself will succumb to the project as described on the sheets of paper you’re reviewing. You don’t have to repeat your oath of secrecy, but if you should divulge any information regarding your investigation to any one, not only will your job be terminated, but you will be shot for treason. No one and I mean no one is to know what you’re assignment is about. Do I make myself clear? Is there any part of this that you don’t understand? You two were selected from the ranks of hundreds of almost equally qualified men and women for this assignment. Therefore, you should realize how complicated this matter is and will become as time progresses.” informed the director in a no-nonsense manner.

As with any briefing of this caliber with a person unknown to the agency, practically unknown to everyone, it was a one-way conversation. She talked, they listened. It was a one-way assignment and directions as to how to carry it out in the most stealthy manner as possible. Once the finer points were explained, Project HUMANA was not at all what the agents had expected. It was significantly worse.

For the agents, their idea of an investigation was to spy around, collect notes, and report back in to the control center. But, to their surprise, this assignment would take another route and would circumvent the normal protocol already established by the agency. As opposed to weekly briefings held to discuss the progress of any investigation, the two agents were to report to the director and no one else. She and she alone would be the link in an invisible chain that would connect to those with the need to know. The need to know chain was short but distinguished, or so they assumed.

“Director, this pamphlet isn’t very detailed. What exactly is “PROJECT HUMANA”?” asked agent Mallory.

“Agent Mallory, that’s exactly why you’re on the case. It’s up to you and your fellow agent here, agent Towler to find out what it is or at the very least, who’s in charge at the lower levels.” she responded.

“Now, if there’s no other concerns, here’s your packets of information you’ll need to initiate your investigation.” she stated as she handed each of them separate sealed envelopes.

“You’ll find all the clearances, flight itineraries, credit cards, and alternate IDs you’ll both need in the near future. All the necessary resources for each of you to reap a harvest in the fields of the unknown. I’ll expect a report from the both of you in a month. I’m going to remind you just once more, there is to be no conversation or discussion of this matter with anyone other than you two agents. We don’t want to have to report to the “higher powers” as to why two of my best agents can’t keep their mouth shut, do we?” asked the director as she took the pamphlets, the one sheet of paper, from the agents, turned slowly to her left, placed them into her classified shredder and watched them disappear.

“No Madam!” the agents replied.

“Now, here’s my final warning to the both of you. If you should be approached by anyone, anywhere who is asking questions about your assignment you are to report that information directly to me, in person. If that should happen, that person’s name and complete description of their appearance must be available in writing. Is is clear?” as the director just as agent Towler grasped the exit door and pulled it open.

“Yes, Madam!”

“Yes, Madam!”

After the final salutations, the two agents slowly closed the door behind them as they exited out of the office and into the hallway of the tenth floor building. Each of them knew they’d just been introduced into a world that could cost them their very lives. Each of them knew that for them to continue to ask questions would only deepen the responsibility and accountability of their job. Their mission they’d just been handed by someone who appeared to be in a seat of authority to do just that, was, for no other word, dangerous, even deadly.

“Now the real work begins.” stated Agent Mallory as he turned and faced the empty hallway leading to the elevator.

“Yep!” replied agent Towler as he reminded his fellow co-worker to smile for the cameras and keep on walking.

Chapter Two

A LA VISTA

For Heather Jackson, it was just another day at the shop. The customers were running about like chickens with their heads cut off waiting to get plucked. For her, the job had become just that, a job, at least that’s how she felt at the time. It paid the bills and put food on the table, but little else. What was supposed to have been a short-term employment opportunity had turned into imprisonment, or so she thought at times. It wasn’t really all that bad most of the time. There weren’t any words to describe her real feelings about the shop other than it was a family business run by family and operated by friends. Kind of a country store environment with tile floors, and meat cases lining the two-hundred-foot square building. Some coolers hummed continually and, if one listened closely, you could hear the whine of the meat saws far back in the backroom headed up by butchers David Williams, Chris Hardison, and Kenny Chadwick, three hometown men who took pride in their work. The market was their livelihood. 

Butchering, as they called it, wasn’t for the faint at heart or those with queasy stomachs. On a busy day, the two professionals in the back could butcher two or three carcasses a day and have them ready for the front with time to spare. No matter what the customer wanted, there seemed to be an endless supply provided by friendly folks in a small town in northern Texas.

  Driving distance between Fredericksburg, TX, and Round Top, TX is about 153 miles, according to the latest maps and mileage charts, and as you passed through the area, you were bound to run upon a small rural community of A La Vista. It was one of the traditional settlements in the area. Nothing too stylish was produced there except for the local pottery made in the factory where many of the residents worked to fill orders for the ever-increasing demand for cultural pieces related to that area. Its reputation was just hitting the mainstream of the country, but the pottery had been available for years before a television documentary. No, it wasn’t until a reporter of some notary came to town to shoot a piece on the ancestry of the people of the area that people took note of the skill and talent it took to create the beautiful pieces now sold worldwide. Now, A La Vista was known all over, but the residents of this small area chose to remain the quaint little community town people where friends were friends for life.

“Got anything special today?” asked Heather as she walked through the swinging doors that separated the front of the store from the butcher department, a 150-foot square foot area fitted with almost every piece of equipment used to butcher and package whatever meats were purchased by the owner. 

Ole man Sam Oxford, the owner of A La Vista MEATS, had been in business for over 65 years, 65 proud years, he’d tell everyone especially when someone new, a traveler passing through those parts came in the front door wanting to spark a conversation.

It’d been some time since anyone new had stopped by, but it’d been rumored that there would be another shift added at the factory and newcomers would be filtering in to settle in the area. As one might expect, newcomers, settlers as they’re often called, would need to eat. And also as one might expect, they’d be knocking on ole Sam Oxfords’ door to buy the freshest meats for the family freezers. That’s how the store stayed in business. It always served the finest meats available without exception.

“Heather, we’ve got a shipment coming in from up north, from Tennessee Meats. It’s a new market just opening up. I’ve been told it has the most tender cuts anyone has ever tasted. Don’t know so much about that though. You know we’ve been cutting meat for decades ourselves. If it's better than what we built our business on, I’d have to have a serving of it first before we put it out for our customers. It’s only right that we sample our product before it hits the streets.” concluded David as he stood in the middle of the backroom sharpening his knives for the next butchering session. “But I’ll say this much about us buying new meats that we haven’t tried before, ole man Sam ain’t no fool. He won’t put anything in this store that’s going to cause us problems or make us lose our customers. You can count on that!”

“Yeah, we get to sample it first.” agreed Ken as he held the personal butchering knife up in his right hand as if he was ready to make the first cut.

“Alright now Mr. Butcher man, don’t get too big for your breeches now! You know that’s what my mama use to tell me when I got on my soapbox and preached a little sermon when I was a youngin.” replied Heather as she smiled, turned and pushed the swinging door open, and walked back out front.

Chapter Three

The Aftermath

Once safely down the hallway and away from the director’s door, the two agents let out a sigh of relief. It was one that had been held in the entire time they were in the office sitting before the woman in black. Once out of hearing range, they were finally emotionally stable enough to commence a conversation about what just happened.

“I’m afraid we’ve gotten ourselves in over our heads.” stated agent Towler as he approached the elevator doors, their doorway to freedom.

“What makes you feel that way?” asked agent Mallory as he too took a deep breath and released it as if he was about to pass out.

They turned and looked at each other as if they’d just escaped from the jaws of death without as much as a scar to show for it. The project, as far as they knew, wasn’t something they couldn’t do, but as far as exactly what it entailed, well, that was another question still yet to be uncovered.

Once at the elevator door, they waited for their cubicle to arrive. Neither of them wanted to talk about what had just happened, but deep down within each of them stirred the unanswered questions that would only be answered once the envelopes given to them were opened and the contents emptied and examined.

Where would this assignment take them?

Would it be one of experimentation or observation?

Would they have to align themselves with factions that would kill them?

Would it take them to exotic places involving extreme circumstances?

All of these were questions worthy of being answered, but one thing was for sure, both of them were in a desperate situation that would, in time, require diplomatic detente, something that neither of them enjoyed in the least. Being an agent was one thing, but slurring words, twisting the truth, and kissing butt weren’t something they enjoyed doing. In the past, both of them had gone that extra mile to get things done, but each of them had the feeling that this assignment was going to require something more, even perhaps something out of the ordinary.

Ping!

With the familiar sound of the elevator bell, the two watched as the doors slid open. Both walked into the elevator, turned to face the front, and pressed the B1 button for the parking garage and their way out.

“If I was a betting man,” stated agent Towler, “I’d bet our supervisors don’t have a clue as to why we were sent over here today. I mean, if they had do you think they would’ve told us what we were to expect?” he asked.

“Who’s to say? We’re not told everything up front when we’re given our assignments so what makes you think this is any different?” asked agent Mallory as he looked at the envelope he held in his left hand.

Granted, at no time had either of them been handed an envelope filled with secrets. At no time had they been invited to a remote building in the middle of the business district of the city, and at no time had they been in the presence of someone who was clearly many levels above them in rank. As a GLOBAL OPERATIONS director, well, that speaks for itself. Global OPERATIONS Director, meaning the whole world, was a position that represented power, status, and money of course. But what was the Lady in Black director of and who did she work for? Was it just a title? Was it just another position within the FBI or NCI or some other governmental agency that neither of them had heard of since they came on board? There would be only way to answer all of these questions, that being to open the envelope and do some research.

Once the elevator stopped in the parking garage and the two agents walked to their respective cars, they wouldn’t meet up again until the following Monday morning at the office. Prior to that time, both of them had a lot of reading to do to get up to speed on their new assignment. The last thing they needed was for some Joe Schmo to attack them because they represented a threat to some unseen, unknown organization doing so dirt that the Lady in Black didn’t like.

“Let’s do coffee, say eight this evening at our usual place.” stated agent Mallory as he fished for his car keys in his right pocket.

“I was thinking the same thing partner. Sure.” replied agent Towler as he turned toward his car and walked away.

Chapter Four

The Call

The Lady in Black turned toward her office window and stared out into the evening’s dying light. The two assigned to the project had no idea what they were walking into, but like all of the others before them, they would soon find out it wasn’t going to be cake walk. As she lingered in memories of those she’d sent into harm’s way, cell phone began to ring repeatedly. She knew who it was calling, but she was reluctant to begin a conversation that she knew would take her to a place where she didn’t want to go, at least not after just sending two men to their death.

Regrettably, after about the tenth ring, the Lady in Black stood up from her desk, pushed her chair aside, walked to her purse that was handing on the rack behind the door, opened it, retrieved the ringing phone, and slid the accept call button across the bottom of the screen. And, as expected, the voice she heard was exactly the person she expected it to be.

“Hello.” answered the Lady in Black as she swiveled her chair around and sit down behind her desk.

“Hello Sir, I’ve been expecting your call.” stated the director as she cringed at the voice on the other end of the line.

“We’re you successful in recruiting the needed assets?” the voice asked and waited for the right answer. Anything less than the right answer would initial a barrage of questions that the Lady in Black might not have an answer to. It was her continuing battle to come up with just the right answer when the voice called.

“Yes sir! I found the resources we needed.” she replied and waited for the next question.

The two, the voice on the phone and the Lady in Black were constantly filling in the blanks during each call. It wasn’t a game as many would think, but a battle between forces that would never end. She’d been the brunt of many failures related to the voice on the phone and if it wasn’t for her determination, her veracity that demanded that she never give in, she would’ve been one of the victims along the way rather than sitting in the seat she’d earned. It was she who was pulling the punches, second in power, she always wanted to say.

“And what about the envelopes?” the voice asked giving way to silence, waiting in anticipation.

“Yes sir. All things are in order just as you’ve requested.” she responded.

It hadn’t been enough to pull the best of the best of the members of the agency out of the ranks, subject them to an enemy that they had no power over nor would they ever win against, but to require them to denounce their life’s goals for the goals of the voice, well that was asking too much. For the Lady in Black, she had already given all that she had of her life, her dreams to a purpose that, deep down, she didn’t believe in nor supported. But, the betrayal was over, her life would never return to normal, and for her, the voice would always call her to attention until everything was done that she’d sold her soul to see accomplished.

“Yes sir, everything has gone as planned. The two agents have no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into, but I’d be the last one to tell them, sir.” she added as she stared off into the distance, into a world she’d never be a part of any longer. For her, money had replaced a lover and her best friend years ago.

“The agency and your office will be held accountable should things not get done. I think we’ve had the conversation before, but I wanted to reaffirm the fact that we, the collective, are the ones paying the bills and courting the political powers so that our mission can continue. It’s essential that our tasking remains in the shadows, at least for now. In time, as I’ve told you before, all things come to light. But, until that time, it’s your job to keep the veil pulled together. Only a select few, like the two agents, will be allowed to know the truth that they’ve been allowed to walk into. Now, as before, send the report, the personal report of all of the agents’ family members, names, addresses, and phone numbers. We don’t need someone becoming a vigilante in hope of saving those less fortunate.” he concluded as the line went silent.

For Valeska, the Lady in Black, her heart was torn between two truths, one was the fact that she was bought by the voice and there was nowhere for her to hide. Secondly, she felt a twinge of guilt each time she recruited anyone from the outside or even those at the agency to be included in this GLOBAL OPERATIONS now in its infancy in many BETA testing areas. She was torn by her love of humanity and her responsibilities of a job that possessed her soul.

After placing her cell phone on her desk blotter, she took a deep breath, exhaled, and waited for her heart to stop pounding in her chest. It happened every time the voice called. It would eventually take her life if she didn’t take steps to recondition her reaction to its demands. It wasn’t always that way. At the beginning of the GLOBAL OPERATIONS initial discussions, the voice was mellow and distinct from all of the others on the monthly conference call. It was demanding, but in a way that it didn’t make its servants feel somehow less than it was. In the beginning, the vision, the mission was a glistening prize in some far-off land, one that would rid mankind of desolation, or so it was prophesied.

She leaned back in her chair, looked at the time on her watch, and remembered when things weren’t as intense. That was a long time ago when agendas were shorter, and less demanding. As long as the project met its goals, it was good enough. Unlike now when new goals are set each month because of the increase in demand both to reduce unfortunate circumstances throughout the world as well as to sustain the promising.

Now, as opposed the then, the world has changed its opinion of life. No longer are the shouts for liberty heard in the streets. No longer are the banners waving in the air demanding justice, tolerance, or equality. Those fanciful ideas have given way to a far greater need that will, in time, consume the world’s differences. For the world, at least for now, it’s become a battlefield where, in the end, no one is the victor. The call from the “voice” will not stop until all of the agenda items are ticked off, until those in charge are satisfied with the numbers, and policies are set in place to regulate man’s future.

For the Lady in Black, her future is cast in stone, etched by diamonds, and sealed for all eternity unless she finds a way to rip herself away from the spider’s web she’s found herself entangled. The bitter-sweet situation she’s found herself in is one that would present her as a rough, demanding, an intolerant director who won’t take no for an answer. Yet, in reality, on the inside, Valeska is just the contrary. She wanted nothing more than to have that “dream” everyone is expected to find. She wanted a far simpler life one rather than the dictator she’d become.

There was a time when the “voice” wasn’t so repugnant. That was before those with power and wealth stepped into the picture. During the early years in his position, the “voice” was a far different character…

“Valeska, Valeska, Valeska how lovely you look this evening. I see why all the guys at the office are swooning over you, or at least that feeling I get every time I walk into the office and see them salivating. It’s really a pitiful sight if I do say so myself.” began the “voice” as he walked through the front door of the Lady in Black’s house.

There were times when the two got along famously, even to the point that many gossiped that they were more than just friends or co-workers. There were times in the past when candle lite dinners where the two were ordered oven-baked Filet Mignon accompanied by a wedge of romaine lettuce, crunchy croutons, a tangy, acidic dressing, Parmesan cheese, and anchovies that added a significant boost and textural contrast during an occasional dinner out.

Was it a date? That was never the intent. Was it a precursor that led up to the eventual parting of the ways? That’s highly possible. Would the two ever regain that footing, that place of commonality again? That was highly doubtful. And, unaware of the shifts in power that took place during the brief, but intimate affair that no one was to know about, the mystery for which she now champions was made known to her in a simple slip of the tongue by the very man she’d accompanied to dinner.

“So, I guess this is goodbye.” stated the “voice” as he waited at the doorway of Valeska’s home. “I didn’t want to tell you, but it kind of slipped. Am I damned for telling you the truth? Have I now become your enemy because I’ve opened Pandora’s box that many were afraid to touch? If so, well then so be it. At least there aren’t any secrets between us any longer.” stated the “voice” in an attempt to subdue his anger that he was being escorted from the home of the only woman he’d ever loved.

“I don’t think there’s anything more that we should discuss. I can’t imagine someone allowing a person that they say they love, to go through something like this. To experience the project’s product, then think nothing more about it other than just another item in the pantry. That’s what worries me the more. That’s what has driven the stake through my heart killing whatever humanity there might have been. And, yes, it’s because of you, the project, those people hiding in their little worlds filled with wealth that we can’t even imagine. Yes, that’s what you’ve done to me, to us. This riff you’ve created will never heal, never. Now, before I do anything more to embarrass myself, to lower myself to your standards, please leave!” she ordered as she pointed at the open door.

“You need to leave!”

“You need to leave right now!”

“But Valeska!”

“If you don’t want me to call the police, you’d better go!” she demanded as she moved closer to the door.

Nothing more was said. That was twenty years ago when she was young and full of hopes and dreams. From that time in her life, she remembered the lesson that she learned. She finally understood that she couldn’t trust anyone, not even herself at times. If she wanted a life, she had to build it herself. If she wanted happiness, she had to make herself happy. And if she wanted a companion, a lover, a life mate, they’d better come with eyes wide open and dressed in the truth. She’d had enough of lies, deception, and being used.

Valeska sit in her chair remembering the events that forced her into the position she held at the project. There was no denying that the job paid well. There was no denying that it offered future potential. Yet, for her, she’d often wondered if she’d made the right decision that night a long time ago in a place now lost in time.

Looking at her phone, she’d wanted more than anything to dial the “voice” back. But if she did, what would she be doing to herself? Would there be room to forgive, to start over, to develop a relationship knowing what she knew about him? If she called him, would he be able to take off the liar’s robe that he’d become so accustomed to wearing. Besides, it fit him perfectly. There was no way of knowing. There was no way of predicting the future, the feelings, the dreams of someone else, at least not after all of the years that have slipped away.

Shaking herself loose from an imaginary world, a world she’d visited many times before, Valeska pushed herself back from the temptation of calling the “voice”, stood up, and walked to the window as she’d done each time he called. What was it about him that she couldn’t shake herself loose from? He wasn’t anything or anyone much different from any of the others at the department. Yet, there was something that, after more than 20 years, still tugged at her. She hadn’t given in to the attraction, probably never would, but it was still there, that invisible tether pulling at her.

“You’ve got to let this go, Valeska!” she told herself as she turned toward the window to get a better look outside.

Beyond the window, beyond the city in which she worked and lived, there was more going on than anyone could imagine. That world, that invisible world, was a domain that she had power over, or at least some of it. That world beyond the city lights, beyond the snow-capped mountains, would, in time, be the doom for mankind. She didn’t want to think about the inevitable, but like all good things, or bad for that matter, they will come to an end. It’s just a matter of time.

As she stood there in her world that she had control over, the thought of the two agents, Mallory and Towler. She remembered how anxious they were as they stood in her office near the exit door shuffling their feet. She knew that, like those before them, they would be sent into the eye of the storm, a man-made hurricane that would if they weren’t skilled enough to save themselves, rip them apart.

The previous agents weren’t as lucky as they’d professed to be. The storm, the agenda of the wealthy and powerful, consumed them as it was consuming the impoverished. Even though that was the overall objective, Valeska had a difficult time, a more difficult time than she’d imagined she would have before taking the director’s chair, of letting things just slide off of her like water off of a duck’s back.

Standing at the window with those thoughts swirling in her mind, she realized that, without saying it out loud, she had become just like the “voice” on the phone. She, like he, sent people to their deaths for the sake of power. Was this who she’d become after all of the years of self-denial? Was she no better than the paid reapers of the wealthy who live without a conscious for the sake of money and power? If that was true, then she, like he, had no life.

“Okay now Valeska, let’s pull ourselves together. You got a lot of living still yet to do!” she said to herself as she stepped away from the window, pressed the mechanism that would close the blinds, turned, and walked to the refreshment bar.

Pushing the bottom door aside and selecting a dark brown bottle, she felt a tinge of guilt. Why she wondered, would it matter now? Why was she feeling guilty celebrating a successful day at her office in the city? Well, no matter, she unsealed the top, tilted it slightly to the left, filled the glass tumbler half-way up, resealed the cork, and stowed the bottle away.

“What’s going on with you Valeska?” she questioned herself as she picked up the tumbler and sit down once again at her desk.

“There’s no need to give in to this again. You’re way too far gone to fold, girl!” she told herself as she lifted the tumbler to her lips, sipped the contents, and replaced it on the coaster on her desk.

For her, it all boiled down to the question of morality. What is morality? Who set the standards for mankind to judge what’s moral and what’s not? Is it assumed that things should remain the same? Is it something that fluctuates over the centuries making something more moral than it was a century ago or less moral than a decade ago? If that were the case, if this assumption were true, then morality as mankind accepted it to be would, in time, change again. Was that what the project was attempting to do, to change the way mankind viewed morality? If so, then she and the “voice” were major players in this undertaking funded by the world changers, movers and shakers, and power brokers of the invisible governments on every continent. And for this very reason, the tumble was needed.

Chapter Five

The Awakening

The dimming daylight’s rays were fighting the night as night’s long shards of darkness jutted out on all sides of the city. Night’s dark fingers crept through the familiar alleyways and back streets ever vigilant, ever searching for the light’s hiding place, its refuge from the dark. Alas, as it had done time and time again, day after day, the night’s darkness found the hiding daylight and killed it. Daylight’s death meant that the night could overshadow everything, take possession, take control for a time, a limited time in a city that never sleeps. So-called it the eternal city, others weren’t so sure that that title was earned, but whether it was or whether it wasn’t it drew countless visitors to the glitter and glitz and free-flowing alcohol available to anyone with the resources to purchase it.

“Can’t say we haven’t earned this!” agent Towler as he blurred out his personal feelings. “I mean, we are the “best of the best”, that’s what she called us.” he continued.

It wasn’t their normal coffee cafe they frequented after work from time to time. Contrary to agent Mallory’s wishes, agent Towler convinced him that the day’s events, the selection, the visit to the Director’s office, and the assignment called for something a bit stronger than coffee at the corner coffee shoppe where they were known by the owner.

Tonight called for drinks all round, but mum was the word regarding the assignment’s details. No one could know nor did they need to know the details of their recently assigned tasking from the Lady in Black.

“It’s a call, I tell you!” stated Towler as he upended the small glass and emptied the contents into the back of his throat.

Watching the younger man as he began the inevitable slide down the hill into drunkenness, agent Mallory was determined not to allow him to slide too quickly nor go too deep into the ditch he was determined to crash into. Mallory knew his limits, but he was sure his partner had no idea what he was doing, other than just having a good time, as he called.

“Hey Mall, you know we got this!” stated agent Towler as he looked at the empty glass sitting before him on the bar counter.

“The bar is jumping tonight agent Mallory, look!” ordered Towler as he pointed to the large dance floor beyond the archway leading from the front room.

“And you’re telling me this for what reason?” asked his partner who was smiling and grinning at the mere suggestion that either of them would score, especially Towler in his declining mental and physical state.

“I’m telling you, well look for yourself man!” said Towler and he pointed to the small group of young women sitting together on the other side of the bar’s front near the only window in the room. The women had noticed the younger men, one not as coordinated as the other, but both handsome. They watched, looked intently, then brushed them aside with a single glance as another younger man approached their table, greeted them, and then, in a short period of time, walked away from their table with one of the ladies in tow. They were off to the dance floor.

“I’m telling your Mallory, if you don’t catch one of those fishes it’s your own fault.” blurred Towler as he pushed the small empty glass toward the bartender as if he was giving him directions as to how to do his job.

Within seconds of the agent’s placing the glass on the bar, the bartender, an early twenty-something, a muscular-built man stepped to the side where the agents were sitting to see if he could be of any assistance to the man with slurred speech.

“How may I help you sir?” asked the man behind the bar as he took the bar cloth, wiped it across the end of the bar, folded it, and placed it under the counter. He eyed the two agents ascertaining the likes of the two who’d come to his bar for a drink. He didn’t know the two men, but he quickly surmised that they weren’t the “drinking” type and set about keeping them sober as long as he could.

“Now, sir, what’s your pleasure?” asked the man behind the bar who’d seen all types over the years that he’d worked at the establishment. At his bar, there was a policy of serving anyone with money, no exceptions. It wasn’t the policy to exclude anyone from sitting down, ordering a drink, even from dancing if they found the right partner, but everyone had to pay. That was the policy and the bartender was ready to enforce it at a moment’s notice.

“Sir, what’ll it be?”

“White Label and water. That should do it.” stated Towler as he sit back away from the bar where the imposing figure stood leaning towards him.

“White Label and water, okay.” replied the owner as he turned to fill the request for the apprehensive agent with his partner watching.

As they waited, the music from the back room's dance floor was getting louder and louder as if someone had asked the DJ for a specific title. As the music hit a center crescendo, the lights began to flicker and flash and oscillate to the music’s tempo.

“So you bring us to a disco bar, start drinking White Label and water, and tell me you don’t intend on getting drunk and dancing our butt off with some slut over there in the corner. And, you’re telling me you’re doing this for our benefit, to celebrate our appointments, our assignments. Oh, okay, I get it now!” laughed Mallory as he shook his head.

For a few minutes, the back room and the connecting hallway were filled with people, young and middle-aged alike, dancing to the beat of the music being provided by the local DJ. It was what they did to bring the people out to the floor. Besides, if you go out and not dance, what’s the point of going out?

Having poured the drink for his newly acquainted customers, the muscular bartender turned, walked over to his customer, and placed the drink in front of the younger man who was eyeing the lady who’d just sat down at the other end of the counter. She was something to look at as opposed to some of the others in the bar. But, in Towler’s opinion, he was out of her league. He considered himself a real catch and placed the game better than most. But, the night was still young and his plans have been known to change.

“Your drink, sir.”

The owner set the glass on the counter in front of the agent, watched him for a moment, turned and looked at the woman on the other end of the bar, and laughed. “Hey, guy, let me fill you in on a little secret. In today’s world, what you see isn’t always what you get. Like I said before, we serve all kinds here. It’s not my place to do anything other than making sure people pay. And, like you I was fascinated by the looks of some that frequent my bar, but take it from someone who’s been there done that, you need to leave it alone.” stated the owner as he smile, raised his eyebrows, turned and resumed his duties of serving the others.

Turning to face his partner, Towler was about to as Mallory what the man was driving at when Mallory blurred out the obvious. “It’s a dude, a man. That person is a guy.” laughed Mallory as Towler finally got the message.

“Oh, well, okay then. Let’s just have our drinks.” he muttered as he lifted the glass to his lips, glanced over at the person at the end of the bar then quickly looked away.

“It takes all kinds.” responded Towler’s partner.

“It sure does!” the younger agent confessed.

With what could’ve been an accidental meeting of what was not what it seemed, the two agents sipped their concoctions, listened to the music, and decided it was about time for them to go. It’d been a long day, a day filled with questions with few answers. About the time the two pushed their drinks away from the edge of the bar, the bartender walked over, took a stool from the side of the bar, and sit down across from them.

“Gentleman, I’m not going to repeat myself so you need to pay attention the first time. This might come as a surprise to you two but things here in this bar, in the shops in town, in the cities across our country, and even the world isn’t exactly what they appear to be. I know who you are and who you work for gentleman. It’s to your benefit if you heed this word of advice. Like you, I’d been part of this bigger plan you’re about to step your foot into, but at the last minute I pulled out. I said no!” stated the larger man on the other side of the bar.

“Excuse me sir, but I think you have us mistaken for someone else. We’re just here for a simple drink and then we’re off.” responded agent Mallory as he twisted sideways on his bar stool.

“No sir, I know exactly who you are and why you’re dressed as you are dressed. It might not have been as obvious had you both taken time to change before stopping in, but as you can see, you’re not the average ‘Joe’ that comes in for a simple drink.” smiled the bartender as he pointed at the black suits and black tie that each of the agents had on.

The two men looked at one another, smiled, and had to admit that they’d been caught with the pants down, so to speak. The man had a point. It was their intention to go home first, but each of them, having been caught off guard by the Lady in Black’s assignment, completely forgot to go home or to change.

“I guess you got us. No we’re not the average ‘Joe’ but that doesn’t make us anything other than two guys in black suits sitting at a bar pretending that we fit in.” replied agent Mallory as he swiped his hand down the front of his jacket and straightened his tie.

For a moment the bartender, an ex-FBI agent, let them simmer in their own stew. He knew he had them dead-to-right. He knew they were agents, maybe not the FBI, but agents nonetheless. His years on the force, even though not as many as some of his other comrades, told a tale of things he didn’t ever want to believe. The two men on the other side of the bar were part of the department where the tales, the stories, the irrefutable facts concerning a special project, a type of global operations as they called, were set in motion to remedy, to realign the human race into a more management caste of people. He knew for a fact whether he was part of the research or not, that there was something going on that was almost unbelievable. For him, it was too much to support, to help set in place. For that reason, he rendered his resignation letter, took off the black suit, the black tie, and the patent leather shoes, and walked away. He hadn’t looked back nor had he regretted it.

“If we’re going to have a chit-chat with you bud, you’d better fill our glasses and move off of these uncomfortable bar stools to that table over there.” insisted agent Mallory as he pointed over his right shoulder to the only empty table in the front room.

Without saying another word, the bartender pushed his stool back from the opposite side of the bar, stood up, and waved to one of his employees to come over to assist him. Once at the bar, his relief took over allowing him to walk to the end of the bar where the “dude” was sitting, lift the end of the counter, and come out front. He took his time, but he was determined to make his point clear. Waving at this employee behind the bar, he gave instructions to bring drinks and peanuts to the table where he was headed. His employee acknowledged his request, prepared the drinks that he’d seen the other two men with earlier, and took them to the table as well.

“Anything else gentlemen?” questioned the relief bartender. After confirming that all was set up and ready at the table, the assistant bartender turned and went back to his assigned duties.

He waited until his employee was out of listening range to continue his conversation. It wasn’t a pleasant topic to discuss, to disclose that he knew of at this point in his life, but for the sake of the two agents sitting with him, he had no choice.

“I know you’re involved in some heavy stuff, you just don’t know it yet. How can I tell you might ask. Because I’ve had that same look on my face, that same expression asking what is this all about. I’ve been sitting exactly where you are in a world filled with unanswered questions. And you know what, it’s bigger than you could ever imagine. This little meeting you had today with the director, well, that was just the start.” said the muscular man sitting across from the two agents who’d been caught off guard by this person, the stranger’s knowledge as to what had happened to them today. How did he know? How did he find out about their meeting? Where did he get his information about the director, the project, about anything? It seemed as though he had been traveling with the two agents all day for him to know so much. They hadn’t confirmed or denied anything that he was proposing as a fact, a story of all stories. For the bartender, it was a foregone conclusion that the two were agents involved in some global project. Neither Mallory nor Towler had confessed anything. Neither of them had spoken about it to anyone, so how did this man know what happened to the two of them during the day? Neither of the two men felt comfortable sitting across the table from someone who, according to his statements, knew more about who they were and what they were involved in than they did.

“Agents, yes I know you’re agents, I got a secret that’s haunting me and I need to make sure you two aren’t caught up in the same web of deception that I was some years ago. This whole “project,” as they call it, is going to take your life if you let it. It will, as it has done to many, consume you and your future if you allow it to. I know from what I’ve been exposed to, that many of our FBI agents, the agency I was once a part of, have never been found. Even now, even in this bar that boasts of equality and tolerance, on occasion, I get one of you guys in here spying around trying to see what’s going on or what I know about the world I walked away from. Why am I telling you this? Because I don’t want you two to become the person that I am. I’m always looking around to be sure someone isn’t going to stab me or shoot me or push me and my car over an embankment. What evidence do I have that this will happen?” asked the bartender as he slowly pulled his shirt collar down to expose a scar much like that of someone who had open heart surgery. “I’ve been attacked more than once. As you can see those people you’re about to get involved with are not playing when it comes to their plan, their money, and their objectives related to the GLOBAL OPERATIONS project. You’d be a fool to believe that the Lady in Black has your back. She doesn’t. She didn’t have mine.”

As the bartender with the surgical scar presented the facts that he knew from first-hand experience for the two agents, the story he was telling them was almost unbelievable. It was almost beyond comprehension, beyond anyone’s imagination, yet, it sounded credible. He’d mentioned names, people, and places that both of the agents were familiar with in the departments. He’d gathered all the information he could, memorized it, then destroyed it all except for a few journals that contained statistical data that was evidence if needed should the project ever be brought up on charges or its people brought into court.

As the night deepened, the bartender spun a tale of death and decay of the human race that the agents didn’t believe. There was no way that the government, the government they were a part of could approve of such a project, let alone help perpetuate its existence, but in front of them was a man who’d been to the places, had evidence, and stood, not only to lose all he had, but his life to boot if it is made known that he was telling the two agents the truth. For them, it may or may not be the truth, time would tell, and time would either justify the facts or prove him out to be a liar.

“There you have it gentleman. The truth behind the GLOBAL OPERATIONS project. You can either believe it or disbelieve it. It’s your choice. But, one last thing before you completely writes off this conversation as some conjecturing of a bitter man just trying to get back at the system. Do your own investigating, find your facts, then, when you’re finished, ask yourselves if I was right.”

With that final comment, the bartender stood up, pushed his chair backward, and walked back to the front where customers were waiting who needed their glasses refilled. He’d done his job, what he thought he needed to do to warn, to lay out the caution flags for the two agents who were on the fringe of something that they had no idea existed. He’d done his job, he felt as if he’d found absolution for at least two comrades. His only regret was that he’d waited so long before he decided to rescue someone from the web of the Lady in Black.

Chapter Six

The Proposal

“All I was about to say is that for us, down at the market, this price is not acceptable. How can I sell this if I can’t even buy it at a reasonable price.” stated ole man Sam Oxford as he turned from the man who was making him a proposition concerning a new variety of product that over half the small town stores across the country had already bought into. It’s only a matter of time before most of the supply markets would shift to one of the many suppliers being funded by the government. It was only time until ole man Sam would have to give in or start losing his share in the market already experiencing losses no one wanted to admit.

“And, how do I know that this product is even approved for sale by the agencies set up to rubber stamp it for the people, my people, my customers?” asked the old man as he walked around the long white tables filled with butcher wrapped products for his examination.

It wasn’t the first time the government had invited him to the wholesale house in the city some 80 miles away, but it was going to have to take a whole lot more than them trying to strong-arm him into trying some new fangled imitation meat protein for him to get on board with something that he didn’t trust. Maybe he was just being old-fashioned, but when the government is involved, well for him, that about says it all. Run for your life, he’d always told his family members, those who were part owners of the family business.

“Come now Mr. Oxford, if over half of the nation is buying this wholesale, making an acceptable margin of profit, then what’s the harm? No one is being taken advantage of, sir. No one is losing a red cent. The reason that things are moving along so well is that the government, your government, is subsidizing the market that will take on this product. All we’re asking is for you to try it. Tell us what you think. If you don’t have a surge in your profits, well then, we’ll refund your investment. It’s as simple as that. What did you say? Do we have a deal?” asked the federal wholesale officer as he turned from the table where he too had examined the product he was trying to get ole man Sam to try.

It was going to take a whole lot more convincing before Mr. Oxford turned his gavel over to a person claiming to provide him with a product that would increase his profit margin by over thirty percent in the first month. That would take some doing, especially since his market was located in a small community only sustained by the pottery factory two miles to the west of them. Even if the factory added the additional shift and hired new workers, that wouldn’t guarantee an increase of that size with the sale of just one product, and nor neither would it sustain that profit margin for any length of time.

“I’m going to think on this a while before I make my decision. The last thing I need is to make room for a new product, one I know nothing about that claims to do so much, or so you’ve said, and it just sits in my freezers taking up space. Yea, I think I’ll sit on this for a while. I’ll let ya know what my decision is in a spell.” stated ole man Sam as he turned away from the official dressed in a long white jacket with a government emblem on the front.

“Yeah, I’ll get back to ya. I got your card with your number. I’ll be callin’ ya when I’m ready to give ya an answer. This type of decision requires me to meet with other folks. Ya see, it’s not just my money we’re talking about here, it’s my reputation, good my family’s reputation I’m laying on the line for some, some untested, at least in my opinion, the untested product I don’t rightfully trust.” he repeated as he turned around and walked out of the large cooler filled with freezer-wrapped meat product that looked imitation. The government man stated as much. He just called it some other name that means the same thing.

“Okay, Mr. Oxford, but like I was saying, all the other community markets have already bought into this product. They’ve reported that they can’t keep enough and it’s selling like hotcakes!” concluded the government official as ole man Sam pushed open the exit door, waved goodbye to the man in the white coat, and muttered under his breath, “We’re not everybody else, we’re a “Cut above!”

Chapter Seven

The Stakeout

The night’s magic was playing havoc with the occupants in the bar on the corner of Elbert and Hall. It wasn’t anything new or anything that hadn’t happened before, the only differences were the number of customers and their level of experience. Like any nightclub of its size, hundreds of people filed in alone, but most found accompaniment as the night fell deeper and deeper asleep. In the front room filled with mainly drinkers, the atmosphere was more sedated as opposed to the backrooms that were filled with music and dancing.

It was from this atmosphere, the front room atmosphere, that the two agents pried themselves away from after the lengthy and informative discussion of the ex-FBI agent came to a close. Was the information factual? There was no way of knowing the answer to that question judging that no papers were presented, no videos to watch, no evidence of any kind made available to prove the allegations either true or false. For the accuser, the bartender with all the answers and nothing to show for it, it had been another opportunity to try to persuade obvious lambs that the wolves were waiting for them just beyond the door of his establishment.

“Gentleman, I’ve done my best to alert you to, what I call, the obvious impending future that is before you both. It’s my opinion that even as we speak, the wolves have set their guards, their spies, their watchers who will keep an eye on the both of you. Now, as one man to another, remain vigilant, trust no one, watch your backs, and only report the truth, nothing embellished nor nothing imaginary. Telling the truth will keep you alive, embellishment will get you shot. It’s a long and lonely road that you have agreed to walk, but remember this, I’m here if you need to hide out or just get away from the eyes that will watch every step you take from now on.” added the ex-FBI agent as he turned away from the two men dressed in outfits not at all suited for the nightlife.

“Best of luck!” he added as he walked away back to his customers who had their glasses raised high, their empty bottles sitting before them.

With nothing more to add to the already ambiguous conversation, the two agents pushed their chairs back, stood up, and walked across the front room to the exit door. “You ready to go?” asked agent Mallory as he pulled his jacket together and fidgeted with his tie.

“I’m about as ready as I’m going to get. This wasn’t supposed to have been an evening of heavy conversation. But, it just goes to show we never know what’s going to happen.” stated agent Towler as he too pulled at his jacket pockets to find his car keys.

“No matter what happens, we can’t back out now. We’ve already signed the papers, made an agreement with the devil, if you believe what the guy just told us. If he’s wrong, then we got nothing to worry about.” said agent Towler as he dangled his keys from the key fob.

“But if he’s right?” questioned agent Mallory as he too found his keys, and held them tightly in his right hand as he reached for the doorknob.

“But if he’s right, well we’re screwed!” announced agent Towler as he followed his senior agent out into the night filled with mystery and uncertainty.

Making their way to their cars, the two men parted ways for the evening calling out good night as they drove away each in the opposite direction.

In the trees off to the right of the club, two people stood up, collected their night-vision goggles, cameras, and empty water bottles and watched the two men drive off down the highway. Once things were tidied up and the plastic bag tied, they walked out from under the canopy of oak trees and over to the black van parked near the garbage disposal dumpster.

Raising the plastic lid of the garbage can, the man shoved the plastic bags down inside and closed the lid. It had been four hours and both of them needed to pee. Walking over to the van, the woman took out her key, used the keyless entry device to open the door, got in, and started the engine. She waited until her partner was seated in the passenger seat with his seat belt fastened.

“Are you ready?” she asked as she fumbled with the latch on her seat belt.

“Yes, I’m ready. But I need to pee!” he exclaimed as he pushed the seat belt down around his hips.

“We both do, but I’m not going into the club to pee. The owner, a man that I know, a man that I use to work with would recognize me immediately” she responded without taking a breath.

“Oh, I see.” replied the man in the passenger seat. “Was he your lover?” he asked and grinned.

At first, the woman didn’t answer the question. Besides, what business was it to her partner whether the man, the owner of the club, was her lover or not in some distant past? The whole point of being on a stakeout was to keep an eye on the two agents they had been assigned to keep an eye on. That was their job, to spy on their fellow countryman or agents or even the common citizen if called to do so. It was their job. It wasn’t personal.

“What’s his name, I mean, was he your husband?” asked the man in the passenger seat as he turned to look at his partner and get a read as to whether she would lie or tell the truth.

“What’s this, twenty questions?” she asked as she turned to check if the road was clear for them to enter the highway.

“Well, was he?” the repeated the question.

“For heaven’s sake, Darrell, can you just stop? Yeah, yeah, he was my husband. We worked together at the bureau, you know them, right? The place where we work, we sit, we play with the computers, and if we’re lucky, we’re sent out on a stakeout and when that’s over, we ask stupid questions to get stupid answers. Does that about cover it for you?” she asked in such a tone that it made his heart race.

“Wow, really “Jessica.” you think we’re out of Kansas yet?” asked Darrell in a cynical tone.

“You know Darrell, one of these days I’m going to shoot you myself for your rude ass remarks. I’ve had about enough, really about enough!” stated the driver as she pressed the gas pedal down hard enough to throw the two of them back against the seats.

After regaining his position and leaning over against the door to make sure it was locked, Darrell looked over to catch his partner taking out a cigarette, lighting it with a small lighter she had stashed away in her top left breast pocket. She smoked when she became upset. It was one of her imperfections coming out for all to see. Out the corner of her eye, she could see that the smoke, the spiraling, swirling agitate was making Darrell uncomfortable. She didn’t care.

“Really, I mean really? You have to do this right now, in this van with me in it?” asked Darrell as he visibly became angry.

Rather than start an argument that would get both of them mad enough to shoot one another, the driver pressed the window control to let the driver’s window down, turned slowly, deliberately slowly, and tossed the lit cigarette out of the moving van.

“Now, are you happy?” asked the driver as she turned to look at her partner whose eyes were glaring and full of venom.

“Yes!” he answered and turned away to look out the right side of the van just as the driver turned into the nearest gas station where they both could find a place to pee.

“You know what Darrell, I just love doing that to you. It’s the highlight of my day.” snapped the driver as she reached and opened the driver’s door, got out, and closed the door behind her.

“You know you still didn’t answer my question about the guy at the bar, the owner I mean.” responded Darrell as if it was going to spur the driver to give him any other answer other than the one she had already given him.

“We’re done!” she yelled just as she reached the station’s door.

“Yeah, we’re done!” replied Darrell as he took her cue to drop the whole thing.

A few minutes later, the two of them exited the gas station’s restrooms, looked at each other, but didn’t say a word. Darrell knew that there was no need to press the issue. If he did, he’d be sleeping on the couch tonight. One thing he’d learned about his wife, she was dead set on her opinions and her remarks. When she said it’s done, it was done.

“Don’t say anything if you think you’re touch this butty tonight. It’s going to be a “no show” for you budding growled his wife as she climbed into the van, buckled herself into the seat, and turned the key to start the engine. “Besides, we got to go back to the office and do our reports. Maybe drive by the older agent’s house on the way. I’m going to be way too tired to fool around with the likes of you mister.” she stated in a “don’t mess with me tone”. Then she leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek as if nothing had happened. “Hey, it’s all good here,” she affirmed. “It’s all good.”

The two drove off down the road into the darkness of the night. The stakeout had been successful and that was what mattered. They’d got the information they need and the pictures they came for.

Chapter Eight

Someone In The House

The night’s darkness hung over the valley like a shawl draped around a woman’s shoulders, yellow glowed the street lights as each was embraced by the approaching fog bank from the East. It hugged them one at a time until all of them were under its spell. The meeting earlier today weighed heavily upon agent Mallory. He was the senior of the two agents chosen, selected by the Lady in Black, therefore; he felt obligated to “look out” for his younger partner. Agent Towler, headstrong, quick to react would completely screw the whole investigation up if left to his own devices. It wasn’t anything he could change out himself, but it tugged on agent Mallory’s parental heart to dole out some old fashion discipline every now and then as needed. It wasn’t personal, at least not yet, it was for the younger man’s own benefit to learn when to jump and when not to jump. Yet, no matter the number of times agent Mallory told his younger partner to leave it alone, agent Towler still crossed the line. Hence, the repeated requirements to fill out reports explaining his actions, their actions when their cases went unsolved or the case grew cold. If only he’d listen, things would get a whole lot better. That’s what aggravated agent Mallory about this new case. He knew, in time, his fumbling, this want-to-be Casanova would make a wrong turn, open the wrong door, say the wrong word that would cast them both into a world of hurt.

After turning into his housing development and passing through the guard gate, agent Mallory couldn’t help but have the feeling that he was being watched. He picked up his cell phone laying in the passenger seat of his SUV, tapped in his partner’s number, and waited. Agent Towler answered the call immediately. He, like agent Mallory, was gripped in an unseen vice that felt as though it was tightening around his neck. Neither of them could prove that they were being watched, but it was just a feeling, a gut feeling. Like when you’re standing in a crowd of strangers and everyone is trying to figure out who you are, if your friend or foe.

“Agent Towler, are you okay?” asked partner Mallory as he slowly maneuvered his way through his expanding neighbor.

“Yea, so far so good.”

“I’m getting this feeling that there’s something more going on with our new assignment that just envelopes with pieces of paper in them. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s like the last time we got assigned that it’s got to be done right now in case that took us over six months to close. Then, if you remember, the closing brief somehow mysteriously disappeared into no man’s land leaving us to explain what happened. You remember that one?” asked Mallory as he slowed his vehicle to a steady crawl, turned into his driveway, pressed the garage opener controller, and waited for the door to completely open before driving into his garage.

“Yes, I was thinking the same thing. But this time I’m not so worried about a few pieces of paper. I’m more worried about the conversation with the bartender. Now that’s got me spooked.” replied agent Towler as he drove into his apartment complex, the one on the south side of town near the business district.

His idea of living wasn’t at all the same as that of his partner, agent Mallory. Mallory liked the suburban atmosphere whereas Towler liked the quick access to the city and its party life. At twenty-two, he wasn’t finished with the dining and dancing scene unlike his partner Mallory. Mallory wasn’t married but he might as well have been. He stayed in most nights, other than an excursion to the local market or a quick-in-and-out trip to his favorite donut shoppe, DUNKED. For Towler, he seldom ever ate donuts and was allergic to cooking and washing dishes. Therefore, he took advantage of the local opportunities and ventured out almost every evening. The sleaziest restaurants and backstreet bars were his hangouts. He dressed for the occasion and never mentioned where he worked or the type of job he had. He wasn’t out to only find something to eat or grab a drink. No, for him his nights out, were for hunting.

The two men were as different as day and night, yet alike in so many other ways. That was what bound them together as partners in one of the most prestigious positions either of them could’ve hoped for or imagined. The FBI was the place for them. Each of them had always wanted to be a detective. For this reason, they kicked butt, rose in the racks as quickly as they could and were assigned the positions of Global Espionage specialists. It was their personal dream job. Not so much glamour as it was just plain hard investigative work.

“I’m just pulling into my garage. Once inside, I’m going to fix a pot of coffee, take a quick shower, then sit down and open up this envelope we were given today. The whole assignment has a certain smell to it. You know, like that last case we had that ‘bout got us fired.” summarized agent Mallory as he opened the driver’s side door, slid out, and pressed the closer button for the garage door to button up his house.

“I’ll give you a yell once I’m settled in.” he finished up and tapped the off button on his phone.

As he’d always done, agent Towler eased to a stop on his driveway, put his transmission in Park, and turned his engine off. His apartment complex didn’t offer garages with their rentals. He didn’t care whether he had a garage or not simply for the fact that he was in and out so much, having a garage would be pointless. Usually, he ventured out every evening, unlike his partner who’d taken on the old-man syndrome and collapsed after pulling his SUV into his garage, taking a shower, and laying down on the sofa.

The age difference between them wasn’t all that much, but their attitude, their energy level, and their desire were very different. Agent Towler had decided that as far as he was concerned, his habit of going out several times a week was what was keeping him young. The two discussed this difference many times and the answer was the same each time. No two people are exactly alike and whatever life you chose was your choice. The only caveat to the discussion for the both of them was that when things went downhill it wasn’t up to the other person to pull the partner out, especially if it was self-inflicted.

After stepping into his shower, Christoper discovered he’d forgotten his body wash and left it sitting on his dresser in the master bedroom. This hadn’t been the first time he’d done it. He diverted the water flow so it didn’t spray directly towards him, pushed the shower door open enough for him to step out, reached for the towel hanging on the towel bar and wrapped it around him. He left the water running as he exited the steam-filled bathroom. Stepping lightly through the bedroom and trying not to drip a lot of water on his carpet, he stopped at the corner of the dresser and picked up the bottle of body wash.

For a second, he hesitated and listened to make sure he was alone in his own house. When he was in his shower with the water running, he couldn’t hear if someone was downstairs or not. He knew that he always locked the doors and windows, but this evening he felt strange as if someone was in the house with him. Perhaps there were in the house when he came in earlier. Perhaps they were hiding in one of the closets waiting for him to settle down for the evening before attacking him.

Feeling as though he’d better check the house out, he let go of the towel dropped it to the floor, reached for his pajama bottoms, slipped them on. He exited the master bedroom, walked slowly and silently down the long hallway passed the other upstairs bedrooms, to the spiral staircase that lead downstairs. He’d felt that strange sensation before and he didn’t check it out. It cost him a couple of thousand dollars in repairs. He had to replace a broken door that the thief crashed through as he left the house by knocking the door off of its hinges. He didn’t want that to happen again.

At first agent, Mallory thought he was imagining the whole thing. Was it a flashback to the last time someone broke into his house? As he stood at the top of the stairs, he could hear someone whispering downstairs. He wasn’t sure if the person was in the kitchen or waiting in the washroom to attack him as he came down from taking his shower. It was evident that the person didn’t know he was standing at the top of the stairs listening, otherwise, they would’ve kept silent.

Agent Mallory hesitated for a moment, then eased his way back into one of the adjacent bedrooms where he kept his firearm. Bending over and reaching under the bed, he pulled out a small box, opened it, and withdrew a small revolver. It was already loaded and ready.

Stepping back out into the hallway and moving cat-like to the top of the stairs, he waited to see if he hear the person downstairs. He listened, waited, and cupped his ears with his right hand to help him hear what was going on. He’d determined that the intruder was in the kitchen now. They weren’t whispering as they had been, but were moving things around in cabinets as if they were looking for something.

Having left the shower running, the intruder took it for granted that the person was still in the bathroom and they had free reign to rummage through the house until the water was turned off. That was a wrong assumption.

With nothing more on than his pajama bottoms, Mallory silently moved down the stairs and into the living room. At the bottom of the stairs, he moved back against the wall. He stood there waiting as he listened to the person who was in his kitchen continue to rummage through the cabinets. Would it be as before when the intruder made a dash down the hallway and crashed through the front door to escape or would it be hand-to-hand combat or a standoff with guns drawn? That was the question that tormented Mallory as he prepared for the worst and waited a moment longer before rushing into the kitchen to meet his fate.

Chapter Nine

49th and Main

The hot shower felt good and as relaxing as Towler stepped out, took the large white towel off the bar, and toweled himself dry. It was a routine of his that once dried off, he’d dress immediately and go directly to the refrigerator for a beer. The night wasn’t over as far as he was concerned and there was a lot of night still left to explore.

The stop at the bar had only slowed things down for his partner Mallory, but for him, it was only a start for the rest of the night. Besides, it was only eight in the evening, still plenty of night left, and to top it off, tomorrow was Saturday and, if he needed to sleep in, he didn’t have anything planned to do. Therefore, as far as he was concerned, the night was still young.

Having made his decision to go back out, his next decision was to decide where to go. In their moderately sized city with a population of over two hundred thousand people, there were plenty of places to connect socially. Granted, not all of them were suitable for someone like himself, but more than likely, he’d find himself in his usual place at the corner of 49th and Main.

He dressed quickly, walked through the house to be sure everything was secured, and stepped into his living room to pick up his phone he’d placed on the end table near the kitchen door. He always sent his partner a quick text note to let him know where he was going just in case something came up. There had been several times when he had to leave the bar quickly to get back to the office due to some missing pages or misrepresentation of the statements of those he and his partner had brought in for questioning. He didn’t anticipate any disturbances this evening since no one was taken in to give a statement. In fact, other than the meeting with the Lady in Black and the quick in-and-out at the bar where the ex-FBI agent worked, the day had been relatively quiet.

Picking up his phone, swiping it, and locating the text screen, Peyton tapped in a short, to the point, note that his partner would completely understand, it read: 49th and Main all night. It couldn’t get any simpler.

Having pressed send, Peyton slipped the phone into his upper left breast pocket of his shirt, slung the light evening jacket over his right shoulder, and walked out of the apartment as he’d done time and time before. “That should do it.” he said as he turned the key to lock the front door. He was on his way.

49th and Main were one of the closer nightclubs where Peyton found all the attention he’d ever need. The staff knew him by name after his ninth visit and his large tips he paid the servers. It wasn’t an easy job, or so Peyton thought, therefore; he usually over-tipped to compensate for those who were cheap tippers. Regardless of the reason for his notoriety or as some would call it, his claim to fame, he enjoyed his time at the club with the large red entry door.

Maybe it wasn’t that the door was red or that it was the largest one he’d ever seen that kept him coming back. Maybe it was the fact that, while at the bar, he could be himself without people judging every move he made, every word he spoke. As he stood at his front door pondering his answer to this most trivial topic, he realized that it was now almost eight forty-five. Time was wasting and his opportunities of meeting someone and inviting them over for a nightcap were diminishing as quickly as the minutes passed by.

“Get it together Peyton. Get it together,” he told himself as he reached for the door handle on his truck, opened the door, and climbed in.

The truck was a gift to himself for making rank at the agency. It was a four-wheeling Dodge 1500 Big Horn Night Addition. Besides, he’d never owned a truck and he thought it was about time for him to park the agency’s car and go with something that matched his personality a little closer. It set up a little higher off of the road than some of the other trucks he’d driven before making his choice. Now as he sit in the driver’s seat waiting for a reply back from his partner, he was glad he’d made the choice.

“Come on Mallory. What’s your hold up?” he asked as he pulled out his cell phone to check to see if his partner had answered back with his usual replay of one simple word, okay.

Chapter Ten

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

That was the question that tormented Mallory as he prepared for the worst and waited a moment longer before rushing into the kitchen to meet his fate. Often, but not so much so for agent Mallory, people ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d seen it hundreds of times down at the agency when witnesses were brought in to give a statement or waiting to be hauled away to the final destination. As he listened to the person pulling first one drawer out, then another checking its contents, for the person to find himself in Mallory’s house wasn’t the place to be for the person, not this evening. After the meeting earlier in the evening where TOP SECRET information was exchanged, then the brief word of advice from a bartender who was somewhat crazy to this moment in the downstairs hallway where he stood waiting to either kill someone or cripple them, Mallory was in no condition to have any leniency. It wasn’t his natural nature to kill without provocation, but he felt breaking into someone’s house and going through their personal items was enough to justify a bulletin in the intruder’s leg at the very least.

“Where is that piece of paper?” whispered the voice from the kitchen as the person pushed the last drawer together, stopped, turned, and looked directly down the barrel of a Glock G43 with a 10-round magazine capacity Lugar.

With fingers trembling and heart pounding, Mallory slowly and effortlessly walked toward the offender standing in his kitchen.

“What you doing in my house?” he asked as he kept his right index finger on the trigger and steadied the gun using his left hand.

“You better have a good reason for being in my kitchen man!” he stated as he moved a couple of steps closer to the intruder who was beginning to sweat. Mallory could see pearls of sweat bead up and roll down his forehead as he stood waiting for an answer.

“Listen man, I was paid to come here and find a piece of paper. It was supposeed to have been in one of these drawers, but as you can see, I don’t have anything, I haven’t taken anything, I haven’t done anything to your house. But, if I don’t take that piece of paper back to the people who hired me to break into your house, they’re going to kill me.” stated the intruder as he began to cower and cringe and slump against the cabinets.

“Don’t move or I’ll drop you where you stand. Do you understand that? I’ll blow the top of your head off!” stated Mallory as firmly as he knew how to say it.

As the intruder slipped onto the floor beside the kitchen cabinet, a crack rang out in the front room, the window shattered, and the intruder fell over onto the floor. He was dead.

Startled, Mallory quickly turned from the dead man on the floor, rushed into the living room in a stealth manner he’d been trained to do, and maneuvered alongside the walks to protect himself from whoever it was outside shooting at his house. At first, he wasn’t sure the man was dead, but after looking at him from a different angle, he could see that the man’s chest was covered in blood giving Mallory reason to believe it was a trained assailant, a shooter that shot him.

In direct response to the shooting and as a naturally trained reflex, Mallory took out his phone, tapped in 414, a direct link to the agency’s agent assist line, and waited for someone to answer the call. As he waited, he noticed agent Towler had texted him his usual address, his destination downtown where he’d be until three in the morning. Like always, agent Mallory sighed and muttered some unpleasant words to himself about his partner’s unacceptable habits.

“He’s going to end up in jail. You mark my word.” he added as he raised the phone back up to his ear and waited.

“414, what’s your badge number and what is the emergency?” asked an agent on the other end of the call.

“This is agent Mallory, badge number 222, intruder shot and killed in my residence. Send backup immediately, active shooter may still be in the immediate vicinity. Approach with caution.” he stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Roger, we’ll dispatch backup to your location immediately, out.” returned the operator at the agency. The line went dead.

At the station, the operator sent an alert code to agent Mallory’s partner. It was the code that the agency used to announce “immediate backup required, report to the scene immediately!

Chapter Eleven

Summoned

As for agent Towler and his night out, well, that was going to be a story in and of itself. He’d not planned for the worst even though sometimes the worst happened. The evening, as far as he knew, wouldn’t be any different than any other night he’d visited 40th and Main. But things were about to change.

He started his truck and was about to back out of his driveway when he remembered that he didn’t lock the agency’s car nor did he leave the car keys in the hallway as usually did. It was his habit to keep the car keys at home if he was going out for the evening. The last thing he needed was to lose the car keys or have them stolen by some would be pickpocket thinking the vehicle would be parked in the parking lot outside the club.

Deciding to follow his plan of being safe than sorry, he turned the truck off, got out, and took care of the business of securing the car keys in their rightful spot on the key holder in the hallway. Having finished up, he locked the door behind him and climbed back into the truck, fired it up, and sit for a moment before backing out and driving away.

It wasn’t normal for partner Mallory to not text back even if it was just a short blurb. But neither was it any indication that he was in trouble. He’d check it again once he was at the club having his usual seated at the bar. Determined to have a good night out, put the transmission in reverse, backed out of the driveway, and pulled the gearshift into drive. There was nothing like having his truck. He’d earned it or so he told himself that even if the payments were over five hundred dollars a month not including insurance. He managed the payments okay, but he hated the fact that gas was nearing six dollars a gallon. That was the reason he only drove it to the club, a short five miles away from his house and back three times a week. Otherwise, he’d thought twice about getting in debt as deeply as he was. Thankfully, the agency provided him a work vehicle. He drove it most of the time.

“Okay big man, let’s have a little fun while we’re still young,” he said out loud as he switched the radio on his favorite country radio station and swayed with the music as he drove to 49th and Main. That was about the only time he had to connect with his upbringing when he was in his truck. For he and his siblings, they were more familiar with country music than much of anything else. It just grew on them while they were back at home. His parents won’t listen to much else, so that about tells the story. There wasn’t any country blood in his system that he knew of, not coming from upper Vermont, but his parents didn’t care where their heritage came from, when it came to music, they’d rather have some country song whining in the background that some pop song they couldn’t understand. That’s how he and his brothers and sisters got started, it had sunk in and stuck with him even into his early adulthood.

The club at 49th and Main wasn’t a country bar, they didn’t even know how to spell country. They were a trending musical showcase of hip-hop, pop, and even boasted of playing old-school Motown, ever so often. The clientele, mostly early twenties, early thirties of all races, didn’t just come for the music but more for the socializing. Everyone or about everyone wanted to score. Besides, wasn’t that what clubs were for? People came there to flaunt themselves in front of the other people hoping to walk out with someone in tow at least for the night. No one was looking for any long-term relationship, at least not down at the club on 49th and Main.

There was one thing that Peyton especially liked about his new truck, and that was the way it rode much higher than the other cars and trucks on the highway. For him, he liked the fact that everyone had to look up to see him as they drove by. It was a statement in itself as he watched those around him crane their necks to see who was driving the bigger-than-life pickup truck.

Driving as if he owned the road, agent Towler couldn’t help but glance over to his cell phone resting on the passenger’s seat an arm’s reach away. His partner hadn’t texted him yet as he normally did, but perhaps he was either still in the shower or busy making dinner for himself. For agent Mallory, even though generally a crock-pot chef, he could put together a real mean if he had a hankering to. But since it was just him, a confirmed bachelor or so he said, he stuck the simpler dishes like pot roast or oven-roasted chicken. It was simple and nutritious according to the Food And Drug Organization. It had only been the other day that agent Mallory was telling him that there was some type of new protein/meat creation, all-natural, that was going to either hit the market or was already being introduced through small retail stores and meat markets around the country. According to Mallory, the retailers were being offered a subsidy if they helped get the program onboard.

Peyton thought a moment about that comment Mallory and shared with him and wonder what impact that new product would have on the farmers, ranchers, and cattlemen across the country. He wasn’t sure that was such a great idea, artificial meat instead of the real thing. That couldn’t be very healthy for those depending on the market to buy their beef, pork, and other meats.

The five miles to the club on 49th and Main was not a long drive, practically a hop, a skip, and a jump as he and his siblings use to say when he was young. He pulled into the parking lot, one that could accommodate one fifty cars, found a parking space along the edge of the parameter large enough for him to park his over-sized truck off of the pavement without inconveniencing anyone else.

“Ah, there we go! No harm done.” he said as he turned the key to turn the engine off, unbuckled the seat belt and sit in silence as he adjusted his attitude and his clothes to a more comfortable fit. “I’ll just loosen this up a bit,” he said as he unbuttoned his first two top buttons on his shirt, pulled the top open so that his tattoo could be seen. It was a tattoo of a black panther, his favorite wild animal. He like to think that the panther was his animal spirit, but who would know? It was all purely assumptions founded on myths, legends, and folk tales carried down from one generation to the next. There wasn’t any factual basis for the assumptions, purely a guess some would say.

After locking the truck and pressing the key fob until the horns sounded to confirm the doors were secure, Peyton stood still for a second assessing how he looked and how he felt. If he was confident in his appearance, then his attitude would be in the right spot. He was a gift to some lucky person tonight, a prize or so he thought. He laughed as the thought coursed through his mind. He chuckled, smiled, and walked briskly to the steps leading up to the front door, the largest red doors he’d ever seen in the city.

“Okay, here we go!” he said out loud, almost too loud because it caught the attention of an approaching couple linked arm-in-arm. They smiled, walked by, and disappeared through the red door before he could get his hand on the doorknob.

“Must’ve been in a hurry.” he mumbled.

At the door, he turned the knob and pushed the door wide open. He enjoyed doing that because it gave the impression or invited those looking to see him enter, make their assessments before he took a seat at the bar. He knew he was vain, but who cared? He was single and available, but not too available for any length of time. He didn’t mind a night here and there but anything longer was a no-go.

“Hey Rob, how are you doing?” asked Peyton as he greeted his familiar bartender with a wave of his hand.

“Same crap, different day Peyton. What can I get you or ar eyou drinking your usual tonight?” Rob asked as he waited for an answer from the tipper man, or so some called him because he tipped well. It was either because he could afford it or he wanted to be noticed. In reality, no one really cared about it as long as he tipped them.

“I’m not into trying anything new tonight, Rob. Just make it my usual. Besides, I have to get up and work tomorrow so make it a light night for me. It’s been a hectic day and I just needed some time away from the rat race, you know the stuff that rolls downhill from those above you.” laughed Peyton as he insinuated that it was crap that rolls downhill and he was the one getting crapped on. Thankfully, it wouldn’t be like that for the rest of his life. In time and if he proved himself worthy to the bureaucratic gods, he’d move a few more runs up the corporate ladder where he’d become the crapper instead of the crappie.

“I got you bud. It’s the same way here must on a lesser scale.” offered Rob as he slid Peyton’s drink across the bar’s counter top.

“You know one of these days, those glasses are going to smash into the floor.” responded agent Towler.

“Yep, that’s bout the truth, but not today.” laughed Rob as he raised his finger over his head and made a marking action as if he were keeping score. “That’s one for me.” he said and laughed.

Once the glass was in his possession and safe from the possibility of it dropping to the floor, Peyton eased his way off of his usual position at the end of the bar near the door and made his way toward the dance floor. He’d wanted to dance ever since coming to the club but changed his mind when he had to dance alone. If just wasn’t right, dancing alone. It was weird or so he thought. There were many in the club who danced alone therefore, to them, it was nothing more than fun.

“Hey, Joe you wanna give it go?” asked a soft voice close to his left ear.

Peyton was almost afraid to turn to see if the voice had a body attached, but in a second or two he turned to see a young face, perhaps twenty-something staring at him as if he were the last person on earth. It wasn’t real, he thought. It had to be a mirage or specter or a ghost, he thought as he stood there transfixed, panting, breathless, and speechless waiting for an alarm to sound to awaken him from his dream. But, the longer he waited the more he realized it wasn’t a dream and he wasn’t asleep.

“Oh, hello!” he said in his most masculine voice he could conjure up. “I’ve always wanted to dance but didn’t have a partner. Ya see, I’m not very good at it.” he admitted as he look into the eyes of a sweet young woman searching, as he was, for the right person.

“Oh, my name is Peyton, and yours?” he inquired in a voice that begged for an answer.

“I’m Aaliyah.” she whispered in his ear as softly and as seductively as she could. “I’d love to teach you how to dance. I’m a good teacher if you’re willing to learn.” she continued as she moved her lips down the side of his neck.

“It might take some time Aaliyah, I’m not a quick learner.” he also admitted hoping that she’d understand where he was going with the conversation.

She breathed heavily upon his ear, and kissed it. “It’s okay, I have a lot of patience and I have all night.” she confessed.

The young agent was already feeling the heat from her breath as she kissed his neck slowly, repeatedly. He didn’t know where she’d come from or where she was going after tonight, but he knew if he didn’t take advantage of this first and last opportunity, he’d be stuck at his table twiddling his thumbs and drinking until he became drunk. That he didn’t want to happen not again and not tonight.

“I only have slow moves out there on the floor. Never was much for trying to hurry things along.” she whispered as she tugged slightly at his arm inviting him out to the floor where other couples were already swaying to the music of some lost love song from the past.

“Well that’s good because I don’t have any moves other than slow ones,” responded Peyton as he started to follow her out to the floor and try to mimic the moves of someone who was more experienced than she wanted him to believe.

The time was right, the music was right, his decision was right, and he felt right, but in the back of his mind, he knew it was not to be. Within seconds of his final decision to accompany the young slender woman onto the dance floor his cell phone began to ring. He wrinkled his forehead, clinched his teeth, and pulled the cell phone out of his pocket.

It was the agency.

He had to take the call.

His moment was over!

The agency was summoning.

Time to go.

Chapter Twelve

Shadows In the Darkness

Darrell had no idea what his wife was thinking. They’d finished up with the stakeout, driven almost all the way to the office where they were supposed to finish up some type of reports, but now, in the darkness of the undergrowth, the two we kneeling on the ground across from the senior agent Mallory’s house. It was getting crazier by the minute as far as he was concerned.

“Now be quiet while I do my job!” she insisted as she lifted the rifle and sit on the tripod, aimed, and fired.

“If you read the intel, as you say you did, you’d know that we were required to come by here and watch for any unusual activity in relation to our persons of interest. I know he is our fellow agent, but I, we, have our orders. We’ve been here for only about twenty minutes. As soon as we got into place, I saw someone enter agent Mallory’s house from the back side window. That wasn’t normal. Then as we sat there, that same person moved slowly through the house as if he was looking for something. The owner wouldn’t do that now would he? And, as I watched through our binoculars, I recognized the man was in agent Mallory’s kitchen. It was a known double agent who infiltrated our ranks pretending to be our comrade. He works for our enemy, therefore; I took him out. Don’t you listen to our briefings at all Darrell?” quizzed his wife as she unscrewed the silencer from the rifle and stashed it in her coat pocket.

“Anyway, gather your stuff up if you have any and get out of here. We’ve done what we were assigned to do and then some.” stated his wife as she pulled at her husband’s jacket.

Inside the house, Mallory slid along the last five feet of the wall nearing the large picture window located in the center of the room facing the outside. As he waited a moment longer, he realized that the sniper had to have been a trained professional. There was only one place in the community that offered enough cover to hide was over five hundred feet away near the outer gate. For someone to shoot from that distance with the accuracy needed to kill the intruder had to have been a trained sniper, maybe an ex-military sniper he imagined.

Watching to be sure that he didn’t expose himself to whoever it was out in the bushes, Mallory bend down below the window sill and crept along the floor. It was all he could do to keep from standing up and shouting out loud, “Who are you?”

He’d made the call to the agency, but no backup had shown up yet. They would come. That’s what the agency was famous for, showing up after the firework and trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. That might not be so easy to do with this scene.

Ping!

Agent Mallory’s text messaging alert signal sounded loud enough to be heard all over the room. If there were more people involved than just this one dead guy in the kitchen, they would’ve heard it for sure. Luckily, there weren’t any other intruders, just the one.

Searching his living room for the source of the pinging sound, he finally located his cell phone in the end table drawer nearest to the kitchen. He’d almost forgotten where he stashed on his way in from the club. With all the mystery and mayhem involved with the story shared by the bartender, he’d forgotten he’d tossed it in the drawer on his way up to take his shower.

“Dang!” he hissed as he realized that the water was still running in his master bath’s bathroom.

Rushing up the stairs, pushing the bedroom door open, and hurrying into the bathroom, he shoved the shower curtain aside and turned the shower water handle all the way to the right. “The last thing I need is for the bathtub to overflow and water flooding the house. He’d left the washcloth in the tub that had stopped up the drain. The water was nearly at the top of the tub.

“Whew!” he exclaimed. “That was a close one!”

Outside five hundred feet away...

“Now, when you’re finished complaining about what we’re able to do and what we’re not able to do, maybe you can help me carry this equipment and stash it in the back of the van. It’s been a long evening and an even longer night. Let’s go home.” said Jessica as she hit Darrell on the top of his head as if she was trying to knock some sense into his brain.

“We’re just shadows in the darkness doing a job nobody else wants to do. Let’s go!” she said.

“Yes dear!” responded Darrell as he gave her a love tap on her butt, closed the van’s back doors, and walked around to get into the passenger’s side.

“And, no, that little show of attention isn’t getting you anywhere tonight.” said Jessica as she laughed and closed the driver’s door after getting settling into the driver’s seat.

“I’ve got the controls, you’re just the passenger!” she laughed.

Back at the bar...

“Well, I’m not surprised!” sighed agent Towler as he looked at the alerts on his phone requesting immediate backup at no other place that his partner’s house. “Can you believe this?” he questioned loudly enough that the young lady turned to see why he’d stopped mid-way in the hall leading to the dance floor.

“Is there a problem? You got someone else on the phone and you got to go, right?” quizzed the confused woman eager to show the young man her moves. She stopped turned and waited for his answer.

“Well, it’s not exactly like that, but, hey, yeah, I gotta go,” he replied, sighed, and stopped dead in his tracks.

She didn’t understand exactly what was going on but the night was still young and the dance floor was calling. “I don’t know your game sweetie, but we’re not on the same page,” she told him as she let go of his hand, turned toward the dance floor, and walked into the glitz and glitter of what might’ve been Towler’s dream experience.

“When I get my hands on Mallory, I’m going to choke him if he’s not already dead!” he announced as he too turned, but in the opposite direction and into the flow of traffic all going in the direction of what might’ve his one and only chance to find out what the woman boasted she could teach him.

Once at the door, he felt for his truck keys, muttered some words that made his mouth feel dirty, pulled the door open, and walked out into the night filled with heavy fog and a light drizzle.

Looking toward the parking lot, he noticed something else that made his night even more special. “Ain’t this some crap,” he said as he walked to where his truck was parked. Unbeknownst to him, his truck had been blocked in by some overzealous driver of a new blue BMW-7 series. It was a 760i xDrive sedan with 536 HP, with a price tag hovering around 115k. How’d he know this? Well, he’d checked into them before he purchased his truck, but decided not to get the BMW because it set too low to the ground for him.

“I’ll have to admit one thing, the club with the huge red door attracts all kinds. Now, let’s see if I can get out of here within having the owner stop the music, stop the dancing, and stop the drinking long enough to find the owner to move it out of my way,” he concluded as he walked around his truck to check out the parking lot to see if there was a way he could pull straight forward and avoid all the chaos.

After several minutes, agent Towler determined that there weren’t any unseen dangers that would flatten his tires or dent his truck if he just pulled straight through the low undergrowth and into the adjacent parking lot leaving the BMW sitting out in the parking lot like some lost dog. Unlocking his truck’s door, he climbed in, started the engine, closed the door, and put the vehicle in drive. Once ready to go, he eased the truck over the curb and onto the grassy divider that separated the parking areas. “No sweat,” he mumbled as he continued to traverse the short distance to get onto the asphalt safely.

“There, there’s nothing to it! No, let’s find out what all the alerts on my phone are about,” he commented as he pulled onto the pavement and up to the first traffic light. Heading left, he adjusted his cruising speed and headed in the direction he’d been ordered to go.

When he arrived at his partner’s residential complex, he slowed to less than ten miles an hour as ordered by the posted speed signs, pulled up to the guard entry post, flashed his FBI badge, and was allowed to pass without any explanation.

“I have to say one thing about this evening, it didn’t turn out at all as I had planned,” he commented as he drove toward all the flashing blue lights just ahead.

Chapter Thirteen

Just the Numbers

Zürich

So far, the trip wasn’t much different than any other trip the Lady in Black had taken over the years. She’d received her call, her summons to catch the next available flight or arrange for a private flight from Alexandria, Virginia to Zürich, Switzerland. This will be her third journey to the main headquarters where difficult decisions are made, numbers counted, and statistical data reviewed over and over until it satisfied those in charge. She wasn’t one of those in charge. She was simply one of those appointed to one of the various director’s positions that was given the authority to pull strings, made personnel selections, and assignments to unsuspecting recruits causing them to assume she had more power than she did. But whether the title were director or manager or supervisor or flunkie, everyone answered to the council, everyone. This flight, this trek into the eye of the storm would, at least for Valeska Vargas, be a real eye-opener.

“Would you care for another drink, madam?” asked the flight attendant specifically chosen and trained for the elites who flew the private jets from Alexandria to Zürich or Munich or any of the other chosen sights for meetings called by the council.

The world's first supersonic private jet built by some private company in Colorado or Wyoming or someplace out west, or so the brochure read as the Lady in Black unfolded it and gazed at the pictures. The illustrations were those of a sleek and advanced supersonic aircraft, the first of its kind on the market for those corporations, individuals, and governments that could afford them. Costing around eighteen billion USDs, a price tag that would separate the men from the boys or the women from the girls when push comes to shove. As she read the article she could understand what wealth and power could do for a country or for an individual for that matter. She stopped for a second to look out her window at the clouds’ tops far below her. It was hard to believe she was traveling at Mach 1.6.

The cabin attendants, two of them, were kept busy moving from the front compartment to the refreshment area by the requirements of the jet’s owners. At no time were any of the passengers to be without something to drink. At no time were any of the passengers to appear to be uncomfortable, thus requiring extra pillows or the side shade drawn or moving the seats backward or forward to give them a better vantage point to view whatever might appear beyond the windows. It was the requirement of the “Council” to make the flight of their selected, invited guests and employees as comfortable as possible during their flight to the designated assembly site. At no time was there to be a complaint registered referencing any unsatisfactory event or misspoken word by the “council’s” transportation division. Up until this time, there hadn’t been any negative responses. That’s the way the “council” wanted it to remain, unblemished.

“Excuse me, but exactly who will be meeting me at the arrival destination?” asked the Lady in Black. She was curious as to who the person might be and whether it could be someone she was acquainted with from previous visits to Zurich.

“Madam Director, we’re not given that information. I’m sorry our responsibilities don’t allow us that level of criteria. But I can tell you this much, I was assured by the arrival staff that you will be completely taken care of and all of your questions answered upon arrival to Zurich.” stated the young lady with a name tag that read “Emma”.

“Okay, Emma, I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see.” countered the Lady in Black as she eyed the hired help with disdain.

“The least anyone could do is to tell me who it is that I’m meeting once I land. Is that too much to ask?” quizzed Valeska as she turned away from the attendant, held the champagne glass firmly in her right hand, and lifted the cocktail napkin to her lips, dabbed away a few drops left behind from the last sip she’d taken, then placed the napkin back on the marble-lined tray in front of her.

“It’s the least they could do is to tell me who’s waiting for me at the landing facility.” she muttered to herself.

There was a reason for her agitation. There was a reason she was inquiring so vehemently. The last time she’d been ordered, invited to one of the top-level meetings, the person escorting her to her accommodations was extremely professional and helpful. It was her hope that she’d have the same person meet her at the end of this trip. There was no way to find out and that’s what made her snap at the attendant.

For the remaining flight that would last over an hour and twenty minutes, Valeska busied herself with first one magazine then another. Finding nothing that she found interesting, she turned on her cell phone, and scrolled up and down her new messages that required her attention. There were ten new messages and 42 old messages. Initially, she took the necessary time to archive the older ones, then she’d have time enough to review the newest ones.

Of the ten newest ones, four were unimportant messages from two of the department heads from the downtown office, and five of the remaining messages were from her personal assistant, Claire who left the same message five times. Something to do about her home and the lawn man wanting to redo the landscape before spring. She deleted those first. But, at the bottom of the screen the last message summary got her attention. The message read:

FBI agent’s home broken into in local community. Intruder shot and killed by a suspected sniper. The Agent’s partner and backup was summoned to location.

Investigation underway at this time.

Valeska read the message and leaned back into her seat evaluating the parameters associated with the order she’d given the two agents she contacted to carry out the shooting. It was the married couple, two of the best as far as she was concerned who the message didn’t specify. She’d get a full report once she was back in the states, by then, the initial investigation and evidence will have been collected and documented leaving her only to review it and make her final closing statements that would be attached to the file.

As far as the two assailants, the trained snipers she selected for the job, they’ll hear from her directly. The purpose of the assignment, the takedown, was to remove a mole found in the department trying to gather information about the Global Operations Project. That can’t be allowed. Even though the agent was a completely trusted part of another department’s team, when he came to her office downtown, it was soon discovered he was there for more than just a broader view of how the FBI works. After receiving an anonymous tip via the corporate grapevine, Valeska had no other choice than to investigate the newcomer, make sure the accusations were true, then make a decision as to how to handle the spy and terminate his role in her domain.

The entire undercover assignment was carried out without a hitch. She knew, after reading the message, that her choice of snipers and how it was to be handled was her ticket to get rid of the mole once and for all. Satisfied that her orders had been carried out to her satisfaction, she moved the message to her secured archive link, pressed it, and leaned back in her seat. At least someone was diligent enough to carry out orders without screwing things up. She thought. She lifted the champagne glass high over her head as if she was saluting someone. She was, she was saluting herself.

Once the champagne glass was emptied in several attempts to praise herself for her competence, her dedication to the cause, as she like to put it, she placed the empty glass on the tray, pushed the tray to the side, leaned back in her seat, and within a few moments, fell asleep.

There weren’t many times that Valeska dreamed while she was asleep, but aboard a world-class supersonic private jet was as good a time and place as any for her to experience a dream that would, in time, change the course of her life and perhaps even save it.

She drifted off into the darkness of sleep and found herself aboard another type of vessel, a starship:

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

It’s been said many times that the living is only alive because of the dead. Because of past wars, past genocides, and past invasions that were used to “clean” the Earth, the world we’d left behind only remained “alive” because of the reoccurring pattern of life and death. We, those of us aboard what has become known as “The Last Ship”, will have nothing to brag about when we arrive at our foreordained “new world” light years away from the blood-stained chronicles of our birth world.

Maybe it’s true that history has a way of repeating itself and life will always find a way, but my story will remove all doubt and provide irrefutable evidence that some things can’t be changed and we, the human race, are cast in an unbreakable mold to commit unspeakable atrocities against one another in the direst circumstances.

For those of us who remain aboard this ship, this arch, as some have called it, the shadows still live within us and surface almost daily. Dreams haunt each of us during our sleeping hours in one way or another, but it doesn’t change that which cannot be changed. Human nature is and will forever be locked away in its primal womb and will never be delivered into higher consciousness as some have theorized.

For those of us who remain, we know that time is our enemy and will overtake us, casting us into the same circumstances that we’ve seen our fellow crew members confront during our journey to the new world we were led to believe existed.

For those of us who remain, the evidence continues to mount, evidence that will eventually damn us all, that, regardless of how sympathetic we state that we are when the time comes, we will choose ourselves over all others. Our legacy, our ship’s log, and our time aboard this ship will speak volumes about the nature of man. Even if we find a way to remove the evidence, to remove it, hide it, or release it into space, it will still find a way to make itself known.

Eight months Before Launch:

“Captain” Valeska Vargas, only the third woman ever selected to that position in the history of the “New Worlds” program, took her seat as she’d done multiple times before. It was another practice trial run, she knew that, but if the mission was to be a success, everyone had to be prepared. She wasn’t under the assumption that just because she was a woman that she’d be given extra privileges or treated any differently than her male counterparts. In fact, she insisted that there be no allowances made for her, no excuses, no turning of heads when things went wrong. It was to be her talent, abilities, and skills that would be honed to perfection before a single person was welcomed aboard for the journey that lay ahead.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” stated the technician as he slowly raised the captain’s chair from the horizontal position to a more vertical one. It was common practice to help the person in training reorient from the rigorous training exercise that left many vomiting and heaving.

“I’m fine!” announced Captain Vargas as she waved the young man away. If she’d wanted a babysitter, she’d taken a job at a nursery. She’d trained almost all of her life for this position and this mission. No one or nothing would keep her from reaching her goal.

The mission’s details and agendas that began as books were now nothing more than a page viewed upon a screen in the briefing room. Gone were the check-off lists etched with red pencil marks. Gone were the paperclips and number 2 pencils that were celebrated when found under one’s classroom desk. Now, in the “new age”, the next generation computers made life much easier, or so they boasted.

There had been some talk of postponing the mission several months prior, but at the last moment, the Command Center gave the thumbs up that set things into motion. There was no turning back because there was nothing to turn back to, nothing to celebrate.

The launch was to be nothing short of historic. The mission, the first of many planned to other worlds, but the only one to the Delta Quadrant would be hailed as the salvation of mankind. This mission, fully funded by those in power, was to prove that mankind was able to redeem itself. This mission would prove that history didn’t have to be repeated, that mankind could change for the good when it found itself near annihilation.

“All I know is that someone needs to shake the hell out of some of these idiots!” shouted the Team Leader as he walked into the briefing room as the final briefing was to take place. “They better check every system. We can’t afford any failures,” he added.

He was a gruff, stiff-necked man who’d worked at the Command Center so long that he’d forgotten what life was all about on the outside. He didn’t care about the world outside the doors of the facility anymore. That world, his world, was to be written off as a failure. It was his responsibility to launch mankind into space no matter what it took. It was his job to fertilize the universe with seeds for future generations. The research had been completed, planets that would sustain human life were out there, and come hell or high water, he intended on making that happen.

“Has everyone been notified?” he asked as he made his way to his chair at the control desk.

“Yes, Sir!”

“Well, let’s get this briefing over with so we can make our final preparations for next week's launch.”

“Yes, Sir!”

As with any launch, there are possibilities of mistakes. Even with the latest and the greatest, state-of-the-art systems, there are always some margins of error. It wasn’t something that was built into the technology, it was what some called fate.

As with all of the other initial launch schedules, this one vacillated from one date to another depending on the launch windows available. The team was in constant flux to keep up with the predictions and the weather that had grown chaotic due to global warming. If the systems weren’t calibrated perfectly, the ship and all of its cargo, both human and mechanical, would be blown apart. For those in charge and for those funding the “New Worlds” mission, that would be unthinkable.

“So, let me get this straight. You’ll tell me that the ship’s systems are finally working at optimum level. Can we get high-fives all ‘round? After months of fighting with the research and development department, the truth has finally come out that they were the culprits who initiated the failures in the first place! Let’s call it job security.” shouted the Team Leader over the hoops of the rest of the scientists standing nearby.

“Yes, all systems are a go including the food replicator, the first of its kind.” confirmed the voice on the overhead. The food replicator created food products out of stored raw materials, specifically created from synthesized materials, not organic.

“Well how about that!” commented Captain Vargas as she smiled ear-to-ear. “Looks like we won’t have to worry about starving to death during our voyage into the unknown.”

“Captain, you know that for the first quadrillion light years, you and your crew will be in cryostasis, in other words, you’ll be frozen. You won’t need to eat. It’s only after the ship wakes you up that you’ll be afforded the opportunity to dine on the finest cuisine created by the most advanced systems. Unfortunately for those of us who are left here on this dismal lump of decaying soil, we’ll all be dead when you toast one another aboard man’s last and best ship christened “The Resurrection”. But, hey, at least we were a part of the greatest undertaking mankind has ever attempted.” spouted one of the other leading scientists standing near the podium as he raised his head high in the air and took a proud stance. After the celebrations, there was a sense of regret in the scientist’s voice as he and his team filtered out of the room and said their goodbyes.

Having been left alone, the Team Leader and Captain Vargas finished watching the end of the training film for the umpteenth time showing a successful arrival at a world quadrillion light years away in some galaxy in the Delta Quadrant. Of course, it was pure imagination on the screen, nothing like it would be once the ship reached the new world.

“One thing is for sure, Captain, it’s been a helluva ride. I envy you and those thousands of people who will, like the film depicts, find that new world.” commented the Team Leader as he turned and walked out.

Captain Vargas filed all of the memories away in hopes of seeing them become real once the mission was over. Mankind’s way of life was about to be irreparably changed, everyone knew it, and everyone had accepted it, but when staring something directly in the face, it doesn’t keep one from realizing, in reality, that not everything is perfect.

Within a few decades, all that was once called home will change. Climate change, an often disregarded theory, was beginning to show its true colors. Unpredictable weather patterns, rising oceans that even now were swallowing up the coastal cities, and storms unlike anything seen before lashed at every continent on Earth. Times were changing and if mankind didn’t find a way to change, all that has been held sacred will succumb to what lies ahead. This was the very reason for the “New Worlds” project. It was to offer hope, and arc to preserve the best of mankind and set a course for our posterity.

As with any project, especially one of this scope, there was a selection process to allow for the best of the best, in many disciplines, from many nations to board “Resurrection” and be cryogenically frozen and stored until the journey was almost over. Within a reasonable distance from the selected planet, the ship would revive the cargo allowing them time for reorientation. At least that was the plan.

Launch Day T-minus 8 hours and counting.

“Let me get a final “Go Ready” from each of the stations here in the Command Center.” announced the Team Leader.

Even though the “Resurrection” rocket, soon to be mated with the orbiting units and become the “Resurrection” spaceship, wasn’t the complete craft that would carry thousands of people into space, it was still an impressive sight. Standing over 500 feet tall, all of its predecessors were mere child’s play toys. Orbiting the planet hundreds of miles overhead, the main component of the spacecraft, its cargo units, housing facilities, and storage components for the passengers eclipsed anything ever imagined by mankind to date.

The plan was for the rocket to escape Earth’s gravitation, sync up with the orbiting unit many times its size, and then once complete, engage the anti-gravitational energy system that would propel it beyond imaginable speeds as it bends time and space as suggested by Einstein many decades before. In theory, it had been proven that it would work, but up until now, there was no way to test it to make sure it worked as theorized.

“Okay control desk, give me the countdown sequence for rocket ignition.” ordered the Team Leader as he adjusted his belt and tightened his tie. “It’s time to rock and roll,” he shouted as the younger staff members looked at him in a puzzling manner.

In the launch area, all of the occupants had been boarded many hours earlier leaving only the flight crew to make their way to the cockpit. The rocket’s cockpit didn’t resemble the decades-old ones when the space agency was in its infancy. No, the cockpit or bridge was a lavish center, spacious, accommodating over twenty engineers, technicians, the co-pilot, and the captain. After everyone was at their stations, the alerts sounded notifying the executive staff that all passengers were safely stored away in the passenger compartments. All hibernation pods were fully functional and locked down tight. The only remaining crew members to be put into hibernation were those on the bridge. After launch and after completing the docking process with the hyper-drive anti-gravitational engines, the remaining bridge members would be safely tucked away for the journey to the new world. It was an exciting time for the agency that had worked decades to get to this point.

“All ready!” announced a voice on the overhead.

“All ready!” responded Captain Vargas as she looked across the bridge at her crew who had trained equally as long for this moment.

“We’re at T-minus 10 seconds and counting.

The earth shook violently as the massive rocket slowly, but surely, cleared the tower. Those watching in the control room raised their arms high in the air, many yelled, and some cried.

“It’s done!” shouted the Team Leader. “It’s done!”

Attention! Attention!

The ship’s automated systems were initiating the end-of-mission wake-up for the ship’s Captain and her crew. It’s been 206 light years since the starship, the “Resurrection” left earth’s orbit bound for the distant dream, the Nirvana that the scientists preached about, swore by, and eventually, gave their last breath believing in.

Earth is now only a memory for those traveling the expanse of the universe on board the “last ship” ever to be launched into the Delta Quadrant. Gone were the blue oceans, the pristine glaciers, the green rain forests, and all of the achievements man boasted so hardily about, so selfishly about. Earth, having succumbed to the ravages of mankind, gave her last breath disposing herself of all responsibility for the mission undertaken by mankind after pillaging her for eons. Within 200 hundred years of the launch, Earth and her inhabitants vanished into an artificially created black hole created by overactive imaginations of man.

Alert! Alert! Alert!

The ship’s alarms and programming took over once it reached a relatively short distance from its predetermined destination. The time remaining before arrival was intended for crew and passengers to begin the acclimation and adjustment process needed after being revived from their stasis in hibernation (frozen) in tubes specifically designed to preserve them and once thawed out, return them to fully functional human beings.

“Alright! Alright! I’m awake” shouted the captain as she slung her legs over the edge of the tube in which she’d been kept cozy for almost the entire trip.

“You’d think they’d program the computers to a bit more kind when shaking up awake. I mean, it’s been what, over 200 years. Give me a break for a minute.” she added in a defiant tone.

Across from the captain, her first officer was stretching and yawning and bending as if she’d been at some luxury salon back on earth. “Yea, it’s been some trip. I wonder what’s for dinner. I’m starved.” she admitted as she reached for the locker’s handle where her clothes had been stored before launch.

“I guess you know that it’s up to us, you and me, to schedule the awakening of all of the passengers and the rest of the crew. At first, as you already know, I and the crew here on the bridge are revived first. I suppose it’s best. At least we can schedule the passengers’ awakening in increments as opposed to “thawing” them all out at once.

“That’s an excellent idea, Captain, excellent idea.” commented the executive officer as she staggered from side to side in an attempt to acclimate herself to walking again.

The captain and her first officer set about reviving the remainder of the officers to get the subsystems up and running. Granted, the supercomputers aboard their ship would manage the operational side including the systems that regulated life support. During the extended journey, there was no need for the ship to operate at full capacity. But, now that everyone would be “up and at it”, things had changed.

“XO, check the numbers aboard and let me know if there are any of our fellow travelers who might have passed over during the trip,” ordered Captain Valeska.

“Yea, Yea, Captain!” the XO snapped.

It’d been some time since the protocol was needed in the ranks, and, in time, things would fall back into place.

Several hours passed as onboard checks were finished, readouts reviewed, and trajectory validated. The stats had to be verified and double-checked for accuracy. Their very lives depended on everything working at maximum efficiency.

“All systems working at full capacity, Captain!” stated the executive officer as she walked onto the bridge and took her seat near the navigational console.

“Did you check the support systems?” asked the captain as she swiveled in her chair to face her XO.

“Yes, Captain, I checked every system, every life support component, and especially the food replicator. There weren’t any signs of any malfunctions or glitches. If there had been, the master system would’ve given us a “no go” early on right after we woke up.” responded the XO.

“XO, you know that if the replicator doesn’t work, we have no backup supplies to sustain us or any of the passengers until we get to sector 4 in the Delta quadrant. We were reassured before leaving Earth that due to weight variables and restrictions, there weren’t to be any food supplies, backup or otherwise. The replicator, that miracle system better work or we’re all going to end up dying of starvation before we arrive at our future home.” noted the captain as she smiled a weak smile.

“Yes, Captain.” acknowledged the XO as she eased herself closer to the console, and checked the systems’ reports on the replicator to be sure it was fully operational. “All systems are green at this time.”

Several hours passed as the officers of the ship went about their duties and reported back to the captain at regular intervals. Several stopped on the observation deck to get a look at the far-away galaxy they were headed. At the center of the galaxy was an enormous star, at least four times as large as Earth’s sun. Even from where they were on the journey, it has shown brightly on the horizon.

Taking a seat at one of the consoles on the observation deck, the crew member pulled up the star charts, fully automated with detailed long-range detection devices. On the screen, he could see their destination. A huge world, a planet much like Earth. It was blue and green and gave the impression that it had all the elements needed to sustain life. Even the Earth, when observed at a distance, gives a welcoming impression of warmth and hospitality, or at least it did. Perhaps this new world would do the same. The historic records accessed from earth’s preloaded archives revealed a solar system containing five planets, two that traveled close to the huge star, and three that revolved at a safe distance. Back home it would’ve been called the “Goldie locks” zone. But here, quadrillion light years away from earth, it hadn’t been given a title or name.

“What you think?” asked the junior officer as he slipped one image after another off of the touch screen to see the next.

Turning to face the Ensign, the Lieutenant stepped to the console and looked at the screen filled with multi-colored stars and cosmos giants. “Are you sure you have the right information, Ensign? Looks a little cluttered to me,” he said.

Three months later

“I can’t imagine for the life of me why this thing keeps giving me cereal when I select bacon and eggs.” commented a crew member as he pulled the small tray away from the food replicator’s window. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, not only to him but many others had complained about the increasing glitches. On occasion, the system didn’t work at all causing the system’s technicians to reset it over and over until it corrected itself.

“I’m telling you one of these times we come here to get something to eat, the system is going to tell us to get screwed. I’m just saying.” chimed in one of the lucky civilians, and engineers, who’d been selected to be awakened from hibernation along with about a hundred other scientists and engineers. They were called essentials back home when things went downhill.

For reasons stated in the operations manual, only a small group at a time could be revived from the storage compartment. Perhaps the reason was that the sudden influx of thousands of people would cause too much strain on the life support systems or maybe the sequence was put in place to keep the food replicator from shorting out. No one was exactly sure, but one thing was crystal clear to those who used the new invention, it wouldn’t stand up to a daily avalanche of that many people trying to get something to eat.

“Captain, I’m not one to push an issue that perhaps is nothing more than a blinking light that needs to be screwed in, but I and some others have seen alerts on the food replicator. It’s my opinion, of course, but I think it’s going to crap out on us, Sir!” stated an Ensign as he stood in the hallway outside of the galley.

“How many times has this happened? Why haven’t I been notified of this before now? How long did you say this has been going on?” asked the captain who was visibly shaken by the news.

“Captain, I know of at least 5 times in the last week it’s stopped in mid-cycle and shut off. You can ask any of the other people, both crew and civilian, and they’ll tell you the same thing. We thought at first it was just going through a regular check cycle, rebooting as needed, and repairing itself as we were told it would do from time to time. But, now that I think about it, it reboots way too often just to be a cycle check.” he stated as he looked at the captain.

“See that the maintenance crews, the technicians get on it. We can’t afford to have that system go down. There’s no plan B.” she stated as she waved the junior officer away.

Four months later:

“Captain’s log entry dated 10212315. Today marks the third day that the food replicator has completely shut down. The crew, at least some of them, before the failure, took special efforts to request items that could be stored away just in the event of something like this. Our journey hasn’t ended, and we still have at least a year before we arrive at our final destination. If the system isn’t repaired to full capacity within a reasonable length of time, the crew will experience an almost unthinkable scenario. I’ve given my order for the crew to be vigilant and watch the replicator’s operating cycles. I’ve ordered them to store what they could of the food products that would last at least a week. At this time, the plan has been marginally successful. It’s the opinion of the scientists and engineers that we should expect complete system failure within a month, maybe two. It was beneficial to the mission that I refused to awaken the remaining passengers. If every passenger had been awakened there wouldn’t have been enough to feed everyone. A greater loss of life has been avoided, but yet I regrettably ponder the possible outcome if the system fails.”

For Captain Vargas, the tone of her voice reflected the tone and emotional sadness of an unthinkable prophecy that might happen to the crew and its passengers. She shook the thought from her mind, swiveled her chair away from the console, and stared straight ahead as if she could already see the inevitability of the coming circumstances.

Finishing up, she switched the ship's log recorder off. Standing up, she walked to her window, sighed, and took a long hard look at the solar system where their predicted salvation was to be found. Many things in life are repulsive, and in this solitude of her quarters, she knew she and those who were awake would have only one solution to this insurmountable problem. Hopefully, the stored food would last long enough for the captain to formulate a plan, an acceptable plan, one that would work to keep most of her crew alive long enough to arrive at their destination without ravaging too many of those who remain asleep.

“I’m not asking for your permission!” shouted the captain as she stood up from her conference chain in the officer’s quarters. “If I needed your approval then I wouldn’t be Captain. Now, as difficult as this may be for all of us, we must make a decision.” she snapped.

“Captain, if I may add something here.” commented one of the invited scientists as he raised his hand to offer an expert's opinion.

“And what might that be, Dr. Selverman?” asked the captain as she tried to remain focused on the problem at hand.

“Well, as you are fully aware, and forgive me for being repetitive, we’ve experienced the unexpected. Our journey to this planet that lies ahead may or may not be what we expect it to be. After many hours of tedious research, scans, and calculations, the world, the new Earth, isn’t filled with water or animals or any other lifeforms as we’d hoped it might be. It’s a barren, desolate planet with minimum resources that, at very best, sustain only a small colony once it’s established on the surface. Now, having said that, and here’s the proof of my research, we must make the best decision that is best for us all.” he stated.

“What you’re telling us is that there’s no food on the planet and the food replicator has completely shut down. Is that what you’re telling us doctor?” asked Captain Vargas as she reeled from the data presented that spelled the doom of the mission and the extension of mankind if no solution could be found.

“Yes, Captain, that’s what I’m telling you. Unless we implement your plan, however horrific it may be, we are all lost. It is better that some live rather than all of us die. It is better that those who would’ve otherwise perished give of themselves so that mankind, those of us here, may live to tell the tale of the ship named “Resurrection”. If there is to be a resurrection of mankind, it must first be killed. Then and only then can life come from death. I know this isn’t what all of you want to hear, but that’s the reality of our situation.” concluded the scientist as he sat down in his chair and looked away from the other members of the team.

Truth, even in its most raw form, is still the truth. For the Captain and her crew, scientists, and engineers, there was only one option.

“How say you?” asked the captain as she dissolved protocol to take a vote on the proposal on the table.

“Yes, yes, yes…” stated each of those in attendance.

“Then the vote is unanimous.

Without coming right out and calling it what it was, those remaining discussed the morality of the proposal. There were ways of carrying out the plan that would show respect and dignity to those who would pay the ultimate price. Regardless of how it was done, there were no other options. The scientists determined that a simple system that sustains those in hibernation, if turned off, would allow the traveler to continue their voyage into their imagined Nirvana, thus leaving the necessary remains that would be shared by the remaining crew members.

“You have my authorization.” remarked the captain as she lowered her head.

“Captain don’t beat yourself up over this. It’s been done for thousands of years in many countries. And, if it’s any consolation, they weren’t in the type of situation that we are, they did it because they chose to do it. We’re being forced into this.” commented the scientist who would champion the effort.

Once alone in silence and the last footsteps faded away, the captain resolved herself to the fact that someone must survive. Turning back to her console, she activated the ship’s log and made one more entry. “This is Captain Vargas of the ship “The Resurrection”. It’s with the deepest regret that I file the last entry. There won’t be any others until we land on the planet. Es minus felices consumimus ut vivamus. We have become cannibals consuming those less fortunate so that we, mankind, may remain alive.”

“Madam, Madam, are you okay?” asked Anna as she touched Valeska’s hand ever so lightly. “Madam Vargas, are you okay?” she asked repeated.

For a moment, Valeska kept her eyes closed as she relived the dream in its entirety. She heard the words over and over in her mind that she’d experienced in the deepest sleep she’d ever experienced in her life. But why the dream, that particular dream was the question that would eat at her for months to come. Why this dream with all of its complexities, all of its challenging words and thoughts and deeds unlike any that she’d experienced even in her real life? What was going on that would make her guarding spirits create such a dramatic, spell-binding illusion and allow her to think that it was real? That was a question for the spirits to answer because she had no reasonable conclusion.

After the intensity of the dream had worn off, Valeska requested another glass of champagne and two simple chocolates, nothing more. Anna had anticipated her requests and stood ready with both the champagne and the chocolates so as to not keep the American waiting.

“Madam, will there be anything more at this time?” asked Anna.

“No, Anna, you’ve been very kind. Please excuse my outburst earlier. I suppose I was a bit tired from all the preparation for my travel to Zurich. Have we reached the outer markers yet?” quizzed Valeska as she watched Anna’s forehead wrinkle as if she were in deep thought.

“Oh, I meant to ask, how much longer will it be before we land?” stated Valeska in an attempt to simply her inquiry.

“Madam Vargas, we’re just crossing over the border between France and Switzerland, Germany is to the north. We shouldn’t be much longer, maybe twenty minutes until touch down.” commented Anna as she calculated the flight speed and distance to the destination.

“That’ll be all Anna, thank you.” responded Valeska as she turned to look out of the window as the plane continue at supersonic speed over the French border.

The phrase, Es minus felices consumimus ut vivamus, kept echoing in her head, but what did it mean to her? What relevance did the dream have in her life, her career, her future as director for the Global Harvesters, International aka the THE HUMANA Project? That was the question that would stick in her head until she found out what it meant.

Chapter Fourteen

Return To A La Vista

“As for this store and this owner and this family, we’re not taking on anything that’s on a “trial basis” as they called it. We don’t know what’s in that stuff no way. There might be some kind of radioactive stuff or some other contaminates that could, well that could kill some of us. Who knows?” asked ole man Sam as he opened the back door of his meat market, reached in and pulled out one of five of the carts he had to help unload the delivery trucks that arrived every morning. Sometimes if the orders got called in late, the truck wouldn’t come until later in the evening. But usually, if everyone was doing their jobs, the orders went in early and the trucks arrived the next morning. That’s the way it was supposed to work anyways.

“You reckon we’re going to find out exactly what the ole man is talking about anytime soon?” asked David, the more senior butcher as he threw a dead carcass across his shoulder and carried it into the adjacent freezer where all the raw meats were kept.

“If I ain’t found out nothing since I’ve been working here, it’s that ole man Sam is direct and to the point. He don’t go off telling some tail,” replied Kenny as he too leaned forward to accept his burden along with the rest of the men unloading the truck.

When he came back out, Chris, the junior butcher was ready with his answer. “We’ll find out when the ole man wants to tell us. That’s when we’ll know Dave. You know how he gets when any new-fangled thing gets offered to him that he don’t know nothing ‘bout. ‘Sides, what’s the point of knowing anyways, we’re not going to take it on to sale anyway. That’s what ole Same already told all of us here, you know that. You were standing right there when he came back from the city all huffing’ and puffin’ ‘bout that city man tryin’ to push something over on him. The ole man ain’t no dummy. You know that too.” said Chris as he too leaned forward close enough to the tractor trailer’s back door for the man unloading the carcasses could fold one across his shoulder as well.

“Take that on back to the freezer. You know where they go. You been here long enough to pretty well get a hand on everything.” said David as he pointed to the door propped open with a wooden wedge laying on the concrete slab.

Chris nodded his head instead of answering his supervisor. David told him the same thing every single time the truck came to deliver the cattle and pork carcasses once a week. He didn’t mind the repeated instructions, but at times he wished his boss wouldn’t keep tellin’ him the same thing time after time. He was over forty now and he figured he had a good take on the job he’d worked at for over three years. How many times did anyone need to repeat the same instructions?

After watching the men unload the meats from the refrigerated trailer, ole man Sam walked through the sterile butcher department, pushed the swinging doors open, and entered the front room that was busy with customers picking out their weekly vittles, as some called it.

It really wasn’t vittles to Heather and the other workers, it was their livelihood, their job that paid their bills and fed their families. Like most folks in the area, they did a back-breaking job at times to make ends meet. For Heather, there had been other jobs other choices other ambitions, even dreams, but for the last ten to thirteen years, she worked for ole man Sam. He’d been pretty decent to her. Paid her a respectable wage, but she wasn’t going to get rich working for somebody else, no one did.

As usual around nine-thirty every Tuesday morning, Pearl Swain who lived over on Cedar Branch road came a callin’ for groceries. She was a country cow woman who knew her beef and pigs, but since the sudden increase in feeds and the like, she had to stop trying to raise her own and stop in to buy from ole man Sam.

“Howdy there Ms Heather. How’s it today with y’all?” she asked every time she came in the door. The same greeting, the same mannerisms, the same pitch. She was a card.

“Why, Ms. Pearl we’re ‘bout as fine as frog hair!” replied Heather, as she always did and laughed at herself for trying to be country knowing full well that she’d been born and raised a far cry from the herds of cattle and the pig pins of north Texas.

Pearl smiled her usual smile as she walked over to the cart corral in the middle of the store. She pulled one of the carts out, dropped her purse in the baby seat area, and started eyeing the meat coolers situated twenty feet further to the back of the store.

Watching her out the corner of her eye, Heather had an unction as to what she was lookin’ for. She bought the same thing every week, pert near could predict what she wanted when she started spying the floor cooler with the hand-written signs. If it was the pig’s feet, then it had to be the hog jowls. Those two things were a staple for her and her house folks. It was what she’d been raised on and for her and her house, they’d keep buying it until they quit making it she often said.

“I'm a seein' if y’all got those pig’s feet you promised. What you got here, are they fresh?” she asked as she pushed the cooler’s sliding lid back, reached in, and pulled out a package of pigs feet weighing ‘bout four pounds.

“This here ain’t ‘nough to feed my house folks. I need ‘bout twice this much Ms. Heather. You know that by now, right?” she asked as she turned and look at Heather for an answer.

For a second, Heather hesitated because what Pearl was a askin’ hadn’t been separated and prepackaged for the front quite yet. They had the pig’s feet in the back, but the butcher hadn’t had time to cut them up like he always did and wrap them in plastic for the display cases. Not considering that the truck was out back unloading about twenty-five cases of stuff to be inventoried and put out on the shelves.

“I tell you what Ms. Pearl. You wait right here and let me go see if we have what you want in our walk-in cooler in the back. We generally have ‘bout anythin’ you ask for. You know that by now don’t ya?” asked Heather as she adjusted her store hat, turned, and walked through the swinging doors into the back.

A few minutes passed and Pearl continued to shop through the store pickin’ up one thing then another, some she kept, some she put back on the shelves. She walked by the fresh chicken meat cooler, reached in, and grabbed a bag of leg quarters and fresh whole fryers. If they didn’t have the pig’s feet she wanted, her folks would have to settle for fried chicken. ‘Sides, as she has said many times before, “Ain’t nothing like mama’s fried chicken.”

Once in the cooler in the back, Heather found what Pearl was asking for. She pulled a small cart over to the side of the cooler, put several bags of pig’s feet on the top shelf, and rolled it out through the swinging doors and out to the cooler where they were kept. “Here ya go Ms. Pearl, just what you were asking for,” said Heather as she pointed to the large bags of packaged pig’s feet.

“See what I’m talkin’ ‘bout Ms. Heather. You all always come through for me. I appreciate it very much. But, I’m going to keep my chicken too just in case I’m runnin’ low back at the house.” Pearl said as she took two bags of pig’s feet out of Heather’s hand and put them in her basket.

Several other customers came in the door, the all-to-familiar door chime rang loud enough to let everyone know someone else had come in the door so they could turn to see who it was. For a moment there was a lot of people saying hello and shaking hands like they were at some church service, a southern thing where they acted like they loved everyone and then talked about them like dogs once they got out of sight. It was a southern thing at a southern store in a small town named A LA VISTA.

“Ms. Heather, y’all got any of that new stuff I heard of the last time I was over in Dry Valley stores? They said it was going to replace a lot of our beef, maybe even some of the pig’s meat too. I don’t know ‘bout that, but some lady over there said it tasted pretty good. She said she’d tried it once just to see how it tasted. Are y’all going starting selling it too?” ask a lady dressed in a flowery dress that looked like a bathroom robe.

Heather listened to the woman and showed her some respect, but highly doubted that ole man Sam would buy into anything that was now natural. He was just like that. He preferred the tried-and-true method of selling. ‘Sides, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it was his motto. It’s worked for him for years, decades and he didn’t see any reason for changing horses in the middle of the stream, as he often said.

“Sadie Higgins, well she told me that Clara Billings was told by Sally Burton that everyone would be buying it once it make its debut in the area. She said that the government was beginning to pay people to try the new stuff. I don’t know that I like the sound of that myself, but if they’re going to pay me to try it, well I just might.” said one of the ladies standing in the line of customers ready to check out.

Mr. ole man Sam was standing in the back of the store listening to the chatter, the chickens clucking at the register in front. He knew the truth about who was paid and who wasn’t paid to try the new stuff some folks had been talkin’ ‘bout even down at the barbershop. He knew that only the merchants would be subsidized if they signed a five-year agreement to put the stuff in their stores. He wasn’t buying in, never would.

He waited until the clucking was about over, then he walked to the front door and turned around. “Ladies, ladies, I know some of y’all have heard all kinds of stuff ‘bout the new meat replacement, that’s what they’re callin’ it. But, the government ain’t payin’ people to eat it. The government is payin’ the merchants to put in their stores and they hope that y’all, the buying’ folks will try it. But I’ll tell you this much. Here at my store, my family’s store, we ain’t goin’ for it. I’m not selling any make-believe meat to my customers. I don’t know what’s in it and neither do you. So, I’m just lettin’ y’all know it won’t be available here at this meat market.” said Mr. Sam as he put his hands down as if he’d just preached a sermon.

Each of the ladies looked at one another, shook their heads, and whispered under the voice that ole man Sam was an honorable man and he wouldn’t put people in harm’s way, not even if he was ordered to by the government. They finished paying for what they wanted, exited the front door, and gathered in the parking lot to finish up their opinions. It’s what they did every time they came to the meat market. It was their own little gossip center, at least out in the parking lot out of the store they could keep it to themselves, mostly.

“All I know is that Sadie said it was half the price of beef or pork and it tastes a little like pork, just a little on the wild side, she said,” commented one of the other women as she loaded her bags of food into her car, shut the door, and walked back to the gaggle of hens to hear if there was anything worth spreading when she got back to her little community.

“Y’all do what you want, but like ole Mr. Sam said, we don’t know what’s in that stuff. If it makes someone sick, and you know that’s possible, then what you goin’ to do?” asked Lilly Jenkins, the pastor’s wife. “I’m going to stick to the tried and true stuff that I know what it is like Mr. Sam just was tellin’ us.” and with that, she pulled her keys out of her purse, opened the door, got behind the wheel, and prepared to drive off.

One of the older women in the group shouted out to the pastor’s wife something about ‘everything in moderation sister, everything in moderation. The pastor’s wife, smiled her Sunday smile, one that was different from the weekday’s smile, backed the car out of the parking space, and drove away.

There wasn’t much more said about the new meat replacement for the group of women standing in the parking lot outside the meat market. The conversations had turned to the announcements of new babies, new marriages, and up-and-coming dinner on the ground at the local church. If one thing that could be done in the south, it was a church homecoming with plenty of fried chicken, chittlins, and anything else that the church ladies could throw together.

All in moderation, all in moderation.

Chapter Fifteen

Agent Down

“I have to say one thing about this evening, it didn’t turn out at all as I had planned.” repeated agent Towler as he slowly approached his partner’s house on Cedar Circle now surrounded by not only the local authorities, but the FBI as well. I was like that when an FBI agent is involved or attacked or shot at or killed. He wasn’t which of the categories he was walking into, but one thing was for sure, there were enough flashing lights and strobe lights going off to set off anyone who has epileptic seizures attributed to the constant flashing of lights or so it’s been reported. Thankfully, he didn’t know anyone with that affliction, but even for those like him who got nauseous at the repeated flickering, it created havoc.

Pulling his truck over to the curb and getting out, agent Towler began the initial mingling with his own kind. A word here and there, yellow police tape to keep the scene from being contaminated or so that was the accepted theory, it’d never been proven. The voice on the loudspeaker directing the local residents to remain in their yards on their own property was a constant war. Most of them heeded the warning, but like in every other community around the country, there was just one, just one who felt they needed to get into the thick of things, as they say.

“What happened here officer?” asked a man dressed in leisure attire and flip-flops.

“Sir, that’s what we’re trying to determine. Now, please, go back to your home and lock the door.” said the uniformed police officer as he waved his orange flashlight back and forth as if he were directing traffic.

“Did someone get killed here officer?” asked the same balding man in the red flip flops as he stepped on foot closer to the armed officer.

“Sir, as I’ve stated before, please return to your home and locked the door. I might not be safe for you, for any of you to be out here on the sidewalk. Now, if you will, please turn around the go home. Lock your door!” ordered the officer in a polite tone, but tempered with agitation.

“Was that man hurt over there, the one getting out of his truck? He looks like he’s hurt, maybe bleeding. Hey, are you hurt?” yelled the civilian as he turned to face agent Fowler who had just stepped out of his truck.

“Sir, this is my last warning. Turn around and go back to your house. Lock the door!” repeated the policeman who was visible trying to assist the civilian down the sidewalk to his house.

“What, now you’re trying to manhandle me, tough policemen?” accused the civilian as he wrenched his arm away from the policeman and looked at him as if had done something unlawful.

“Hey, Shirley, Shirley, the policeman is shoving me down my own street? Go get the cell phone and take pictures. Maybe we’ll be on the news tomorrow for being victims of police brutality. Hurry up Shirley. Shirley, are you even listening to me? Go get the cell phone!” shouted the man in the flip flops as he moved a bit faster away from the policeman.

Shirley, his wife, shook her head, turned, and walked back into the house. Her husband had been known for his dramatic side, all the neighbors knew it that’s why no one visited them like they use to when they first moved into the neighborhood. After about the third time that her husband called the police, the same police that he’s assuming of abusing him, the neighbors sent her a remorseful letter about how they couldn’t continue to allow themselves to be drawn into imaginary situations with imaginary characters that didn’t exist simply for the sake of a card game once a week on Thursday night. From that point on, the neighbor, one by one, put their property up for sale and moved away. It was that serious.

“Shirley, look, look, he’s touching me again, all the police, call the police Shirley!” he shouted as the policeman helped him onto his driveway.

“Frank, you smuck, they are the police? Have you completely lost your mind. Come in the house, you’re embarrassing me in front of the few neighbors you haven’t chased away!” she replied and pulled the patio door closed behind her leaving her husband to make his own way in with or without the aid of the police.

“What’s up with the crazy neighbor?” asked agent Towler as he walked over to his fellow agents who were huddled together in a small circle in Mallory’s front yard.

“He’s a Loony Tune Towler. By the way, where have you been dressed like that?” asked agent Somanco as she looked agent Towler over from top to bottom. “You seem to clean up good once you’re out of that black suit., she stated and smiled.

“Well don’t get any ideas. I’m not in the mood for nothing now. I had it all set, then my phone went off in the middle of what might have been my best evening ever with the best-looking girl ever in the best place ever. Then all this came down and ruined the whole moment. She walked away into the night, I drove away into the fog. Someone’s out to get me, I know it.” summarized agent Towler as he turned away from his fellow female officer to get his head back on straight.

Walking up the sidewalk and looking at the front of his partner’s house, he could see the bullet hole through the front window. It was a large caliber bullet that pierced the bullet-proof glass window his partner had installed just in case he had some crazy drive-by turn a rifle in his direction. It just goes to show thing is perfect. Who would’ve thought that anyone would take a potshot at his partner’s house? Whoever authorized the shooting, the shooting of an FBI agent, must’ve had good reason or paid the sniper more money than either of them make down at the agency.

Once past all the lights and cameras, agent Towler pushed the front door open, walked in, and surveyed the crime scene. “You okay?” he asked as he looked at agent Mallory standing with a small group of agents, his backup from the department. “Ya got any coffee made?” Towler asked as he headed toward the kitchen.

“Naw, haven’t had time to put any on yet. Help yourself, you know where it is,” answered Mallory as he pointed to the cabinets above the counter.

The police tape was everywhere making it almost impossible for agent Towler to get to the counter or even move the coffee maker to the other side closer to the refrigerator. “I see that the corner has already made his pickup.” whispered Towler as he looked at the place near the cabinets where the victim once slumped on the floor. The area was covered in blood stains. “Hey, Mallory, you’re cleaning lady is going to love you in the morning!” laughed Towler as he pointed at the mess in the kitchen.

Agent Mallory chuckled and stood up from the floor where he’d been crouching to check out the slivers of glass that were scattered throughout the front room. He’d seen bullet-proof glass shatter before but not this extent. “Would you look at this.” he said as he held up a couple of nice size pieces of his front window pane for the other detectives to see.

“Yeah, we gotta few more pieces over here. Nothing with any evidence on them that’s going to help us find out who did this. Even the dead aren’t talkin’.” said one of the local police as he smiled.

“He must’ve thought that was funny.” responded agent Towler as he carried his partner a freshly brewed cup of black coffee and set it on the coffee table in the middle of the room. “Thought you’d like a cup. I mean after all of this.” said agent Towler as he pointed at all of the clutter strewn across the floor.

For a few moments, agent Mallory sit with his thoughts to himself as to what might’ve happened earlier in the evening, but he wasn’t sure he’d even take a guess as to who was responsible. “Hey, Towler, what’s up with the duds dude?” asked Mallory after he’d had time to check out more than the disaster in the living room and the blood splatters all over his kitchen.

The answer was a long and drawn-out explanation that could be stated in a very simple comment. “After we settled up and I returned to my house, I decided I’d go back out, you know, to my usual spot down on 49th and Main. The place was jumping and I was ready to do some shopping, if you know what I mean. Well, anyways, the first ten, fifteen minutes the place was filling up, ladies here and there and everywhere but they all had their man. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted this young thing that I thought I might have a chance with. Hey, I’m not all that bad lookin’. And about the time she’d whispered in my ear what all she was going to do to me, that dang operator of ours sent me an emergency distress, immediate backup needed, respond crap on my phone. That did it for me and my what might’ve been, one hot evening.” confessed agent Towler as he turned his coffee cup up and downed the entire contents.

“Yep, I can’t get over all the sacrifices I make for this dang job!” he added as he turned and walked back into the kitchen for a refill. “Man, but you should’ve seen her. She was the one, I just knew it.” he added as he filled his cup and replaced the pot back on the counter.

“If I’m not mistaken, you said the same thing about the last girl you tried to pick up at that same bar, what, a month ago. She was the one or so you chanted at work the next morning. I believe her name was Vicky or Bambi, or Bubbles!” rebutted agent Mallory as he laughed, raised his cup, took a sip, and placed it back on the coaster on the cocktail table in the living room.

“Oh, I see how it is. You and the other guys are keeping score as to how often I fall flat on my face. Is that right?” asked agent Towler as he rounded the doorway and walked over to the oversized matching living room chair, plopped down, and waited for his partner’s response.

Seeing that the answer to that question would be a long time in coming, the two agents simply finished up their coffee, returned the empty cups to the sink, and proceeded to check out the rest of the house to be sure nothing else had been shot up. They walked into each bedroom checking to be sure that the windows were still intact. Finding everything else in the house in order, they returned downstairs just as the last agent was finishing up his on-site report.

“Mallory, from what I and the other agents can make out from the evidence we’ve collected, this wasn’t just a drive-by shooting or some crackpot crackhead taking a pot shot at your house. The aim was too precise, the timing was too perfect, and the victim, one of our own by the way, was a newly transferred rookie from a whole other branch of the agency. He wasn’t ordered by our supervisor to be transferred to our branch, he was sent to our branch. Here, look at this.” stated the agent as he handed Mallory a small, but extremely important note with an emblem, a design printed on it. “I’m not exactly sure what this means or where it came from or if it was planted by the dead guy himself, but whatever it is, the rest of us have come to the conclusion that it was meant for you. The man wasn’t here to find a note, he was here to leave a note.”

Finishing up, agent Aaron Seagle, dropped the last piece of evidence into a large plastic bag, including the note found in the breast coat pocket of the deceased, and opened the door to leave. “Looks to me like he was trying to stash the note somewhere he knew you’d find it. That’s what it looked like. But, the question remains, why would he be in your house? Who sent him here? Who pulled the trigger? Who’s masterminding this whole thing? Those are the questions we need answers to before we can put this to bed. I’ll see you two in the morning.” called out agent Seagle as he pulled the front door shut and walked out to the awaiting van.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a wrap for the night,” commented Mallory as he turned and motioned for his partner to leave.

“Oh, okay I see you waving me goodbye, but you better take care of yourself Mallory ‘cause I’m not looking to buddy up with another partner anytime soon. Night!” he said.

Agent Towler finished up a few last comments with his partner, turned, opened the front door, and walked into the night.

...The minutes turned into hours. What was left of the night’s dominance, its stronghold on the ticking of the clock, was soon stripped away by the sun’s light. Shards of light shot across the mountain tops that surrounded the huge valley filled with thousands of people just getting started to go about their everyday duties. An hour before dawn, the remaining local police officers made the departing comments at their respective police precincts and walked out to their cars to go home. It’d been a long night and everyone was exhausted, nevertheless, everyone had to report to work at the bureau as usual including agents Mallory and Towler. It was just the way it was down at the agency.

Chapter Sixteen

A Familiar Face

As the aircraft entered Zurich’s air space and began its descent, the pilot contacted the small airport owned and operated by Global Operations, Intl. to secure clearance prior to landing. The pilot didn’t feel the clearance was really necessary, but rather than create a discussion about regulations and policies, he picked up his headset and placed it on his head, pressed a few buttons, and adjusted the frequency to match that of the tower at the airport.

“Tower, this is GLOBAL Intl flight 1818 requesting permission to land, over. I say again, the is GLOBAL Intl, flight 1818 requesting permission to land, over.” repeated the pilot as he began the landing process within ten miles of the airport’s location.

“GLOBAL INTL, this is tower, you have been cleared for arrival on runway 4 West. I repeat, you’ve been cleared for arrival on runway 4 West.” responded the tower in the mountainous area for Zurich, Switzerland.

“That’s odd, the last time I was here, which was last year about the same time, they only had one runway, now there’s four?” questioned the pilot as he looked at his co-pilot who was as much in the dark as he was regarding the rapid expansion that had taken place in only one year’s time.

The supersonic aircraft slipped below the supersonic level and began the slow, but constant descent into the mountains and valleys that would bring it to the airport and touch down. This would be the first visit by the new supersonic private jet purchased by the GLOBAL HARVEST, INTL. There were other jets, but nothing like the one that was sent to retrieve the director Valeska Vargas, the first woman ever to be elevated to the position she now holds.

Visiting the Headquarters of the GLOBAL OPERATIONS project, aka THE HUMANA PROJECT wasn’t her idea, but she couldn’t turn away from the offer, the perks, and the status that came with the position. She wasn’t one of those spoiled children from an affluent family who never wanted for anything nor denied anything. She was, as the world would describe her if the truth be investigated, a child of a coal miner from the coal fields of the coal mining mountain range named Appalachia.

The region that stretches from Maine to Alabama is one of the richest ore deposits in the world. It employed thousands of workers from all over the world, or at least it did during the late 1800s, and early 1900s. At that time, wages were the bare minimum, only what the owners had to pay to keep the people working. Men and children, in the early years, filled the coal mines to dig out a living that only kept the one day away from dying and dirt poor. She was from that place that haunted her every day of her life. She’d worked very hard to escape the cultural glow of the mountain people, their accents, their mannerisms, and their poverty. They were a part of her even though, no matter how hard she tried to ignore her upbringing, to gain the necessary status that would dissolve that link to the coal field’s dirt and grim, she remained one of them. That was her secret. And, ever so often in the least likely place at the least likely time, her mind took her back to the dirt roads, the rain-swollen creeks, the venomous snakes, hog pens, and furrowed ground that kept her and her family alive when the coal mines went on strike.

As she sit in the seat in the passenger compartment of a billion-dollar supersonic jet, her memories of her life, another life, one that showed her who she really was, exploded in her mind as it had done many times before in many different locations. It was like a dream world for her, and, for a moment, she allowed it to take her back…

... “My life before going to the city allowed me to write down my feelings in a journal I kept near my bed, hidden from sight for fear of being opened and read by those who wouldn’t understand. I wrote nearly every day as I opened my heart, my soul to a world filled with coal dust, dirt roads, and bare feet. This journal that I now hold before me has many entries, but there are a few that are worth remembering, worth reading.” the little girl said as she sit alone beside a coal stove that popped and cracked as the temperature changed during the night. As the fire began to die, so did the heat. Her first memory was of an entry that she’d written some months before. She read it out loud the reaffirm her hope in the unseen. She wrote: Mystical spirits hover just above ground level giving the surroundings a surrealistic appearance, a morning mirage covering reality. I walk here through my imagination, my inner person absorbing the views, the feelings, the uncertainties. Yet, I've been to this place before pushed by life's events, escorted by sorrows. Once here in the unpredictable, I experience whatever it is that hides beneath the floating pillows of fog, behind the enchanted fencing on either side of the expanse on which I walk. Heretofore, I haven't walked in this direction that I’m being led, but like many others before me, I take the challenge. Now, on this predestined trek directed by some unseen hand perhaps assigned to me from beyond time, I'll simply walk toward the only source of light, the only source of life, the only force that draws me. On previous ventures to an obscure place similar to this one, I walked with my family members who shared with me a simple life, a single purpose, a simplistic anticipation of things that we might see or things we might accomplish beyond the coal camps built in the valleys and upon the hillsides of the coal country in which we lived. Now, in this singularity, this paradox, I am still able to walk with them in my spirit journeying to yet another untold mystery, undiscovered horizons obscured by life's complexities. I must go for they summon me forward to hold their hand, to heed their call. And, for that reason, I will someday live my life with all fullness.” whispered the little girl as she sit in the flickering light dreaming of a far-off tomorrow.

There were many more that Valeska wanted to visit while in her own personal world, but especially one that came to mind. She drifted off to a place and time when she, as a child, carried memories assumed to have been forgotten by those around her…

...She remembered tossing and turning all night. And when she awoke, she went directly to the table to write down her thoughts. I wrestled with this post and its content. I woke after a few moments rest and, here within me, were the words, the thoughts, the arrangement of the message... Over my life, like others, I've traveled, visited places that I thought were splendid, even majestic. Like you, I'd read about those faraway destinations filled with wonder, with anticipation, filled with what was said to be "A Far Greater" experience. Fumbling through my picture boxes stashed away in my closets, I'd pull one box after another searching for the proof of those "Far Greater" visitations, those I'd taken advantage of, the ones that rest among those I held in my hand. As I looked at them, one at a time, I revisited my childhood, youth, high school years, and even until today. Yet, as I held the photographs in my hands, shuffling them back and forth, I, as of yet, had not found the proof that I had visited or experienced that "Far Greater" event that I was searching for. That particular proof that I'd visited the most sought-after place that met the criteria of being "Far Greater." I stopped and considered the fact that perhaps I hadn't discovered that place I'd been looking for that would surpass all of my expectations. I looked around to see if I'd forgotten a box or folder or bag that might contain that proof that I was looking for. Then, it dawned on me that the proof wasn't residing in a photograph but existed within me. I stopped, laid the photographs down, and sit silenced by the revelation. It was true that without a doubt, that the "Far Greater" place that I once glimpsed years ago and become a part of me and was still within me. For some who may read this, it's simply a jibber Jabber of nothingness, but for those who remember the time and remember the place that ones life changed, you'll truly understand there is no 'FAR GREATER PLACE" to have visited, no "FAR GREATER PLACE" yet go…

...Valeska pulled herself back into the present and turned to look out the window as the plane continued its descent into the valley below. In the valley, there were many communities, homes, all spread out across the horizon as far as she could see. From the window, it looked like her mountainous home in the Appalachian region, the coal mining valleys covered in snow, surrounded by the shadows of mountains that touched the sky. It wasn’t all that much different. The only thing that was different was her vision for her life. When she walked the dirt roads of the coal mining camps, she was a child with aspirations and simple goals. Now, as a middle-aged adult, her goals, those once held dear to her heart as a child, were nothing more than poverty’s way of releasing her imagination.

And with that thought, her mind took her to one last memory of a world that’s now lost in time…

...I dare say that few, if any, have walked muddy roads to get to their home like I did in times gone by. In times when truth was coveted, sought after, and held in high regard. I remember a time and a place where children clung to daddy's hands hoping not to slip and fall, hoping not to dirty their clothes in the swollen ditches that lined the muddy roads leading to our mountain home. It was an adventure seldom shared, but reserved for those facing the challenge of another rainy day up the 'holler' from a forgotten town. Seasonal rains, gully-washers, as we called them, devoured the roads, eating them away making it almost impossible to drive the last mile into the wilderness. Once there, I could see a makeshift house lacking paint standing alone in a clearing near the forest’s edge. A warm and welcoming house, nothing fancy, nothing elegant, awaited those venturing the last mile. Smoke spiraled from the chimney, pots boiled on the wood stove, and those who would join her, the cook, my mama, were in for a gathering, a union, unknown by those of the more modern time. There were many, as I remember. Yet, as I reflect on the rainy day, the muddy road, and the wood cook stove, it would be remiss of me not to give thanks for those memories of the rainy days that shaped my life o’er these many years…

“Okay, Valeska, that was a long time ago in a place that’s all but rotted to the ground. You’re not that person anymore. Now, you need to get your head on straight, act the part, be this other person they’ve accepted you to be.” she whispered to herself, to the reflection of a woman in the window that she barely knew.

“Madam, is there anything more I can help you with? We’ve been ordered to take our seats and prepare for landing. You need to buckle up as well. I’ll move the tray out of your way for you. There, we’re ready.” stated Anna as she checked to be sure Valeska was locked in and prepared for landing.

There was a popping sound as an announcement came over the intercom. “Attention, this is the captain. We’re on our final approach into Zurich. We’ve been diverting to Global Operation’s private airport, per our flight plan, as opposed to landing at the international airport outside the city. Everyone should be in their seats, buckled in, and ready for landing. We’ll be on the ground shortly.”

As Valeska leaned her head back against her seat, she knew that this visit was going to be more than just a site tour. An earlier memo from the home office noted that a brief tour would be on the itinerary along with briefings and business meetings. The much sought-after market in America was proving to e quite a challenge. Not everyone would so accepting of the product as the third-world countries had been.

The landing was as smooth as any Valeska had experienced before leading her to believe that the pilot was either extremely lucky or extremely experienced. The mountain’s cross winds were playing havoc along the flight line, but at the right moment, there was a lull between gusts allowing for a picture-perfect landing.

“Madam Vargas, as soon as we taxi to the main building, I’ll assist you with any of your belongings.” offered Anna after she had unbuckled her seat belt and stood up from the galley area in the aft compartment.

“Thank you,” responded Valeska, but as far as she knew the only personal items she had was I a small overnight bag stored away in the baggage compartment in the bottom of the plane. The baggage personnel would have it delivered to her suite once it was time to disembark.

Within minutes of touchdown, the sleek, elegant, expensive asset of the GLOBAL RESOURCES Project came to a stop, engines wound down to just a whisper, and the seat belt sign was turned off. It was not time to see who was going to greet her at the bottom of the plane’s stairs.

“Madam Vargas, don’t forget your purse.” stated Anna as she bent over and retrieved it from the next seat over from Valeska’s.

“Oh, thank you, Anna, how kind of you.” said Valeska as she took the purse, and slid it under her right arm.

“Madam Vargas, the captain has unlocked the outside door. We’re ready to disembark,” instructed Anna as she motioned for Valeska to follow her to the exit door and leave the plane.

Valeska’s opinion, her honest opinion of why she was invited on this visit was an obvious one. American need an American to persuade Americans. She was called into the international office because someone in the ranks wasn’t able to convince enough people to get on board the project’s cause. The whole purpose of her having a face-to-face with the owners and investors was for them to instill in her their urgency, their need for more “hometown folks” to buy into the resources available. Unlike the third world countries where resources were not as readily available, in the more developd nations, there had to be some type of propaganda campaign to at least create an illusion of scarcity. That would be her job once this was all over. That was her take on the meeting’s purpose. Time would unveil a far more interesting scenario.

Cold air rushed into the cabin from all sides as the attendant unlocked the front door and pushed it open. After the door was securely locked in the open position, Anna pressed the release button to release the collapsible stairs that would extend to the ground and allow the passenger to exit the craft.

“Thank you, Anna. You’ve been very kind. Here, I know this isn’t the correct protocol, but I felt like it is the right thing for me to do. Please accept this small token of my appreciation for your help during this journey.” commented Valeska as she handed the young lady a monetary gift.

“Oh Ms. Vargas, that’s not allowed by our company. If I accept this, I’ll be reported even perhaps lose my job,” responded Anna as she slowly and gently pushed Valeska’s hand away.

“Oh, I see. I wasn’t aware.” Valeska admitted.

“How could you have been aware? The company doesn’t publish these types of culturally accepted traits anymore. It’s become common knowledge for those who frequent this facility.”

Having made her apologies and stored the information away for future reference, Valeska stepped to the top of the exit stairs, stood there for a moment allowing the cool mountain air to wash over her, placed her hand on the railing to assist her to keep her balance, and stepped slowly down the stairs until she was at the bottom. She turned around, waved at Anna, then walked briskly to the waiting limousine at the end of the short walkway.

Within twenty feet of the car, the back door opened, and out stepped a tall dark man dressed in warm clothing. He raised his head to make eye contact with Valeska as she approached.

“Oh my goodness Jean-Claude. I would’ve never imagined that you’d be meeting me here of all places on earth,” she said and laughed almost uncontrollably.

“Val, Val, Val who else would you rather meet you me or some stranger?” Jean-Claude asked as he embraced her as if she were his long -ost lover.

“Oh my god Val you look fabulous!” he said as he guided her through the side door and into the spacious interior.

Chapter Seventeen

On The Take

“It's funny how some things stick in our minds and never go away, while others only visit for a minute then they're gone. Such is one of many experiences from back in the late 1950s. There wasn't a lot for us to do on the farm back then during the summer months. No televisions or radios or any fancy things like the kids have nowadays. School summer vacation was a time dreamed of while attending school, but once it was in our possession, we couldn't really find much to do to keep us busy. The spring pigs were growing quickly, the chicken coop was filled with clucks and cheeps and 'cock-a-doodle-doos, hen's nests filled with eggs, and the crops were springing up knee high showing signs that there would be fresh corn, green beans, and cucumbers. There weren't any summer water parks or carnivals or vacations away from the house. The money was always tight. Pinching pennies was not a past-time practice, but an essential activity to make ends meet. But, somehow, the pantries were filled, there was food on the table, and even extra for the lady down the hill who helped mama out with the ironing when there were a few extra dollars around. It was on one of these 'nothing to do days' that my older brother discovered the largest tree at the back of our house. They could grow to a mature height of up to 60 feet, spreading around 12 feet. My oldest brother made it his goal to climb the huge tree no matter what. So, one lazy summer day, he ascended almost to the top of the tree, almost out of sight, or so I thought. The leaves and branches hid him from sight making it appear that he'd climbed into the heavens. Thankfully, he didn't fall out of the tree and break his neck. We'd been warned about such antics when Mom wasn't around. Once back on the ground, he turned and said, "I told you I could do it!" And so he had. It was a proud moment for the kids on the 'farm back in the side country' with little to nothing to do. There's little left of those childhood places. Nothing more than rotting timbers, over-grown dirt roads, and memories that linger there calling me back to a simpler time filled with all we needed.” read ole man Sam as he sit in the quaint living room of his five-room country house.

“Always liked that story,” he said to himself as he closed the book and placed it on the side table near the couch.

“Hon, supper’s ready.” said Mrs. Oxford, Sam’s wife of fifty-five years. One thing ‘bout country folk, when it came to staying married, it was a done deal. Come hell or high water, the folk clung together tighter than dried cow hide knots left out in the blisterin’ sun to dry.

“I made up some of those biscuits you like Sam, you know those sourdough biscuits.” said Elsie as she opened the refrigerator door to take out the butter for them to smear on the biscuits once they were cut open.

“I see we got some of those leather breeches I planted out back. I told ya they’d be ready to eat ‘bout this time of the year,” Sam pointed out as he took his seat at the head of the table, Elsie to the side.

“Now lower your head wife and let’s give thanks for what we got,” instructed Sam as he too lowered his head and blessed the food as he’d done all of his life. He didn’t see no need in changing to fit the times if it had worked for him all these years, what’s a few more going to matter?

Elsie passed the biscuits to her husband as she’d done for all of their married life. The two, young country kids, got hitched down at the local community church no long after finishing up high school. The two didn’t see much need to much else after getting that piece of paper from the school, ‘sides, they were farmers. Didn’t need much at that time other than some good seed, fertile soil, and the blessing of rain to start off the season. Hope, not too much into the city life, not here in northern Texas outside the small town of A LA VISTA.

“Elsie, you sure outdid yourself when you took to baking these here biscuits. Best I’ve had, I’d rightly say!” praised Sam as he always did no matter if the biscuits or bread or cornbread wasn’t all that good. He just liked to see Elsie smile from time to time. Their life together had been hard up until the time he was able to buy the community store. Once in possession of the store, he knew he had to change it a bit from offering everything to just offering basically meat processed right there at the store. There was plenty of room for the equipment. He’d make up his mind and, well, with the blessings of the good lord, all things worked out for him and Elsie. They’d done mighty good, as he often said.

The two, Elsie and Sam, sit at the table after dinner for a spell recalling their lives, their hardships, and how things just had a way of working themselves out. They did for them anyways.

“I heard ‘bout some new stuff being sold ‘round town, not our town but others, or so the church ladies said, that we’d need to take a look at.”

Elsie had a knack for starting off a conversation and lettin’ Sam end it. She’d through the firewood on the fire and he’d ignite. The conversation could burn for a long spell or a short minute depending on the amount of interest ole man Sam had.

“I’m not so sure I know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout Elsie. You know I don’t have much time anymore to do much gossipin’ like those old hens down at the church. You mark my word, they goin’ have to do some repentin’ for all that loose lip jabbering they be doin’. Especially if it ain’t the truth.” summed up ole man Sam he dabbed his last piece of biscuit into the last spoonful of jelly, sopped it around his plate. Using his fork, he ate it as if it was the most decadent dessert or piece of filet mignon he’d ever tasted.

“Don’t let no one tell you that you can’t make biscuits, Elsie. Those were the best I’ve ever tasted,” he said again as he licked his fingers and laid the fork on the plate in front of him.

Elsie wasn’t one to say too much about what ole man Sam said or did, so she simply leaned over and kissed him on the top of his head as she always did when he went on ‘bout her cookin’.

Ole man Sam pushed his chair back, stood up, and walked out of the kitchen with coffee cup in hand. One of the things he’d got for himself was a reclining chair. He didn’t buy much stuff for the house, and neither did Elsie for that manner, but he’d always wanted one of those Lazy-boy recliners. He figured he earned it after working for over 50 years.

“Yeah, the ladies at the church was a-tellin’ me that some of them went over to the other meat store in the next town to see the new stuff everyone was a-talkin’ ‘bout. One of the church sisters even bought a helpin’ of it to take home and try. I’m not so sure I’d be doin’ that cause, well, we don’t know what’s in that new-fangled stuff they say is going to replace our cattle and hog’s meat.” blurted out Elsie as she volunteered as much information as she could before ole man Sam took to twistin’ it and makin’ it his own conversation.

Ole man Sam let the words flow as far as they needed to go before he snatched them back to make his remarks. “I’m tellin’ you Elsie, there’s more to this artificial stuff than we’re being told. I know for a fact that several of the store owners, not those we know directly, but those in those other towns, well, it’s been said they are on the ‘take’, if you know what I mean.

Studyin’ the comment that ole man Sam had just made, Elsie couldn’t help but wonder if her own husband was doin’ the same thing. He’d been actin’ a little strange here lately as far as she was concerned. If he was doin’ it, takin’ money from someone to try to get him to sell something to their friends that would hurt them, well then, she didn’t want nothin’ to do with it, no-siree-bob. He wasn’t any better than the folks he was talkin’ ‘bout.

It took all she could muster to bring herself to ask him if he’d talked to anyone ‘bout being on the take. She felt it was her duty as his wife to ask him before he got himself into some kind of mess he couldn’t get them out of.

“Sam, you know I love you. That’s not going to change. But I got to ask you this question. Are you on the ‘take’ as you call it to bring some kind of stuff into your store? I just got to know. You don’t tell me much ‘bout the store, but you’re my husband and I worry ‘bout you.” stated Elsie as she stuck her head around the corner of the kitchen door and waited for ole man Sam to answer.

There was silence for a space of about five minutes as ole man Sam pondered how to answer his wife’s question. It was a fact that he’d been approached, even shown some of the product the last time the government official ‘round. But, as far as taking money like a bribe, well that wasn’t part of the discussion. Did he know of people who were on ‘the take’ as his wife said? Yea, he knew a few. But for him and his store, they were going to stick to the natural stuff they’d always sold. He didn’t want to risk making folks sick, therefore; he told the government man he wasn’t interested. He left it at that with the man wearing a black suit.

She stood that waiting just as long as it took for ole man Sam to find the words he wanted to use to answer her. She was a very patient woman as long as the answer she was about to get was the truth, nothing but the truth, so help them God.

Ole man Sam, tired and worn out from the day’s work and life in general, turned toward his wife, smiled, and cleared his throat. “I’m tellin’ you woman, this ole man you see sittin’ here ain’t on nobody’s payroll other than my own. No, no, I’m not on no ‘take’, no list or nothing else to do with this artificial stuff you been talkin’ ‘bout. I’m not even sure it is artificial. Whatever it is, I’m not buying into it. Now, that should settle your questions. I ain’t got nothin’ else to say ‘bout it. I’m done.” responded ole man Sam as he turned from looking at his wife, picked up the local newspaper, flipped a few pages, and stopped to read his favorite comic strip.

Chapter Eighteen

The Note

Setting in the quiet of the morning, I drift off into memories of experiences lived long ago that molded me and my life. Some were great, others not so great. I remember a trip where we went Blackberry picking along a dusty, dirt road, and one where we went swimming in the creek, filled with we-didn't-know-what, up a back road not far from my house. We often collapsed after running home in the rain alongside a swollen river hoping that it stayed within its banks until we got to the house. Each of us could tell a tale, spin a yarn, or create images for those who'd listened, for those who’d read our stories we took time to write down. But, seldom do we expose those darker experiences that frighten us even until today. No, those things are pushed as far back in our minds as we can push them. There they remain to be visited by us alone in the shadowy evening hours when life has lost the tug-a-war leaving us tired and worn out.

Those were times that would cause us to boast of 'lessons learned' once we made it into the light the next morning as we tossed our blankets aside jubilant that night was over.

Those were the times we had to look for the light at the end of the tunnel!

Those were the times we sought a life-changing answer that could only come from above. And, in those times we prayed the hardest.

One person's valley of death isn't the same as someone else's, yet it is just as real. Thanking heaven for the light at the end of the tunnel, an invisible guiding hand, and abundant mercy that bring us through when we think we can’t make it. Unknown author

Agent Seagle stopped at the end of the passage he’d found written in an obscure journal by some unknown author. The journal now in his possession, the only one of its kind, was left at the office over a week ago and after making its rounds from one person to the other, found its way to his desk just this past Tuesday. He didn’t think much of it at the time, but after turning it over, he noticed an inscription on the back cover that caught his attention. He read it, thought about it, and decided he’d take the journal home and glance through it. He’d been known to pick up a book every now and then, but he wasn’t what some would call an avid reader.

Staring at the passage, he noticed how it talked of finding a way when there was no answer in sight. The author wrote about life, its victories, and its failures. And lastly, the passage brought up the inevitable truth that everyone is confronted with life’s eventuality and the valley of death and its trials greets all of us in the end. The victim who lay on Mallory’s kitchen floor had met his unfortunate end while on a mission, or at least that was Mallory’s tentative conclusion regarding what actually happened the night before. He’d planned to discuss it once he got to the office.

He laid the small journal on the nightstand, looked at the cover, and thought of what possible meaning could be hidden in the short passage he’d just read. It was obvious to him that there was more to this little journal than just words on paper.

He stood up, opened the closet door, selected his usual assigned uniform, dressed, and walked into the kitchen. Sitting on the counter was his programmable coffee maker signaling that the brewing cycle was complete.

“Awe, good,” he said under his breath, opened the cabinet above the counter, and took out his favorite cup. It was a gift from a friend given to him some ten years earlier. That was a different time and a different world back then. He held on to the cup because the person that gifted him with it had since moved on with her life. She’d told him that she couldn’t allow herself to fall in love with a man in the agency. She’d confessed that if she had to worry every single day if he was coming home or not, then she wasn’t the person for her. It’d been a memorable affair, it just wasn’t going to develop into anything more.

“Ah, Sophia, where did I go wrong?” he quizzed as he slipped his socks on before putting his uniform on.

It really didn’t matter at this point whether he was right or wrong those many years ago when he kissed her goodbye, turned a walked away. The lesson was learned and would haunt him for the rest of his life.

After arriving at the agency, agent Seagle greeted all of his fellow workers with his usual hand gesture that would be considered rude in a more civil workplace. With his middle finger up in the air for all to see, he pushed open his office door and walked to his desk.

Out in the woods, as he called it, the maze of desks and chairs beyond his office window, the younger agents were complaining and growling about how they’d been kept up almost all night babysitting one of their own at his house. Of course, they were referring to agent Mallory and the shooting episode that now was in the hands of their fearless leader, agent Seagle, lead detective.

After hearing about enough of the belly-aching that he could deal with, agent Seagle stood up, walked to his doorway, and gazed at the overpaid children he was supposed to guide into the light. “Y’all got something other to do than complain about doing your jobs. I think we did an outstanding investigation last night. If this is getting a bit too heavy for some of you, I suggest you type your letters of resignation and have them on my desk by the end of the day. Y’all got that?” he asked as he looked at each one as if he were their father. “Now, let’s get our heads on straight and come up with some plausible story as to why our fellow agent’s house was shot up and another agent found dead in his kitchen. That’s an order!” he bellowed for all to hear.

The day’s duties flow more steadily than usual for agent Seagle and his staff. Must’ve been the pep talk early in the morning that got their attention. It was fair to assume that most of the agents working in the cesspool outside his office were decent respectable people. For them, there were times when they felt dumped on. Hey, they all felt dumped on when it came to finding out who shot a fellow agent.

Having called agent Mallory in his office for a private briefing, agent Seagle jotted down his notes that would eventually end up in the file along with anything else connected to the incident.

“Agent Mallory, let’s go over what happened last night. I know it’s all repetitive, but let’s follow protocol to make sure we cover our butts. We don’t want this investigation to come back at us in the end.” the lead detective concluded as agent Mallory adjusted himself in the seat in front of the desk. It was going to be a long afternoon.

“So what I’m hearing from you is that you don’t know the agent personally that we found dead in your kitchen. Is that what you’re telling me?” asked Seagle for the third time.

“What I’m telling you is that that guy, that agent is someone I’ve never seen before last night. Yeah, he was assigned to our division, but I wasn’t aware he was in the division until you told me just now. And what about that note you keep talking about? Where is it? What does it have written on it?” asked agent Mallory as he felt a twinge of anger building within him.

“Just a minute.” replied the lead investigator.

Opening the folder on his desk, agent Seagle fingered through the paperwork from last night until he found the note taken from the dead agent’s pocket. It had some blood on it from the shooting, but the inscription was legible.

Pulling the note out of the folder and holding it between his fingers up close to his face, agent Seagle silently read the message hurriedly written on the paper. The note read:

The HUMANA PROJECT isn’t what you think it is. BEWARE!

Turning the small piece of paper over and checking out the back, agent Seagle found no other information that would help him and his agents in solving this case.

“I’ve spoken with the other agent who found the note and sworn him to secrecy due to the fact that one of our own is the victim here. Not saying that you’re not a victim, I’m just making a distinct difference between the two of you involved in this shooting. You, the intended victim, the other agent the actual victim. Until further notice, you and the other agent I’ve sworn to secrecy are not to discuss any information related to this case, this shooting, or this note with anyone other than me. You got that?” asked agent Seagle as he returned the note to the folder, closed it, and locked it away in his desk drawer.

“You, me, and the other agent who found the note are the only people who’ve seen it. Until I get a better handle on this case, that’s the way it’s going to stay. Now, get out there, and let’s put our nose to the grindstone and find out why one of our own agents is laying on a slab down at the city morgue with a bullet hole in his chest.”

With that conclusion, agent Seagle dismissed agent Mallory and sent him back out into the maze to try to figure out, if he could, what possible motive would anyone have to kill one of their own.

Chapter Nineteen

At All Cost

After allowing Valeska to get comfortable in the back seat of the limousine, Jean-Claude slid in beside her and pulled the door shut. The two-way window separating the driver’s compartment from the passenger’s plush leather-adorned seating, slid slowly upward until it was completely closed.

“I’m so excited to see you, baby. It’s been, what, five, seven years since we had any time together? It seems like yesterday you walked across that runway in those million-dollar gowns. That was another life, I know, but look at you now. From model to Director in no time flat. It’s got to be your looks! You know I’m kidding hon. Your time on the runway helped you become acquainted and meet the right people. And those right people had your back. Me included baby.” said Jean-Claude as he lavished one compliment after another on a dear friend who really earned them. It wasn’t make-believe.

“Jean-Claude you mustn’t continue to do this. It embarrasses me. I know you mean well, but let’s save all this for the appropriate time and the appropriate place.” countered Valeska as she lifted her small tote, opened it, and retrieved a tissue to wipe a tear from her eye. She knew where she came from, Jean-Claude had no idea.

For a moment the silence clothed them as they regrouped for the next conversation. For Valeska, there were a hundred questions she needed answered, but she wasn’t sure her old friend Jean-Claude was the one she should be asking. For her protection, she decided to keep the conversation on a personal level rather than a professional one.

“Jean-Claude, you show no signs of getting one minute older. How do you maintain that youthful appearance, that twenty-something look you seem to always have? It must be the cool air here in Switzerland. It’s said that cooler air closes the pores and tightens the skin. Is that true? Is that your secret Jean-Claude?” asked Valeska in an attempt to play on Jean-Claude’s vanity. For a man, he was extremely vain. He knew he wouldn’t always remain young, but for the sake of the discussion, he lifted his head high, look directly into his friend’s face, and boasted as to how many trips he’d make during the month to his newly found clinic. It was just what he did. He didn’t have any significant “other” so the only person he need to please was himself. And in Europe, no one cared what you did or where you went or what your purpose for doing something was all about.

“You have to take care of yourself. That’s what I’ve always told you Valeska. Don’t you remember me telling you that? When it all boils down to who cares for you, baby, you got to be the one who cares for yourself. You and I both know that time is our enemy. It’s trying to rip this smooth face off of me and replace it with wrinkles and age spots. Well, I’m determined that if time wants a fight, well it’s going to have to beat me to death for me to stop trying to hold my own. You see this forehead, not one wrinkle, not one enlarged pore, not one dark spot. It’s pure perfection!” said Jean-Claude as he leaned back against the seat and let out a well-deserved, high-pitched “hallelujah”.

Valeska couldn’t help but laugh along with him as he reveled in his victory with time at least for the here and now. In time, he knew and she knew, both of them would fall victim to the ever-prevalent sagging skin and wrinkles. It was just a matter of time.

“Well, Jean-Claude I must applaud you for your diligence and the ability to continue on as you have since the last time we meet. You haven’t changed at all.” complemented Valeska as she felt she should before her old friend got back on the wagon and started to give her directions to sample the fountain of youth.

Their time together would take them through the city, across the outer valley, and into a collection of ‘other worldly’ looking buildings. There were several attached to the main entry building, but two detached and stood alone farther out to the west of the city.

“You know Valeska, I took your advice and made some decisions that wasn’t easy for me to make. They weren’t easy because it made me take a long hard look at my life and my future. I needed to become as self-sufficient as possible, but still remain in the working environment. So, when the GLOBAL Harvesters, Intl called me for a clerical/administrative/human resources position, I couldn’t turn it down. How do you think I got into a position that allowed me to meet you at the plane? And speaking of the plane, it’s is amazing. So sleek and with clean lines, and powerful, wow! I love it. We have three of them you know used by the upper levels and executives to jet around the world as the need arises. Before you ask, no I haven’t been invited to accompany any of the elites, but when they do offer, of course, I’m going to say yes.”

“Jean-Claude, you’re so funny. I need this you know. If I can smile after all I just come through, it’s got to make my day better.” she said.

Rather than come right out and ask what in the world she was talking about, Jean-Claude played dumb, dumber than usual, and let her continue to talk. He’d interject a wow and a really, every once in a while, but basically he had no idea what she was talking about, not a clue.

Valeska didn’t mention the fact that she’d been ordered to send a mole into the agency to rat out the agents who were less than loyal to the cause. She didn’t mention the fact that she, single-handedly ordered the mole to break into agent Mallory’s house. She didn’t mention the fact that she’d found out that her mole was also a double agent and was about to confess to the agency the truth about the GLOBAL OPERATIONS project and the GLOBAL HARVESTERS, INTL’s purpose, the real purpose. She didn’t tell Jean-Claude that, other than being the sweet beautiful woman he’d met some time back, she was also a murderer by proxy. She’d ordered the married couple to kill the double agent by shooting him through Mallory’s window. The truth about the HUMANA PROJECT had to remain behind closed doors of the organization until all of the governments around the world had issued mandates that their products were to be accepted as genuine, healthy, and life-sustaining. She’d failed to mention all of these to Jean-Claude because, Jean-Claude, her long-time friend wouldn’t believe her anyway therefore, there wasn’t any reason to include him in the mix. He wouldn’t be able to handle it anyway. He was too worried about himself to take on the world’s problems.

“Don’t you just love the Alps?” asked Jean-Claude as he turned to look out of the right-hand window facing the gigantic snow-capped peaks towering overhead.

Rather than interject the fact that she really didn’t care one way or the other for snow or the Alps, she simply remarked that the place was beautiful in its own way. Much like all of the other places on earth that people state are beautiful. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, she’d been told many years ago when being dressed in a flour sack outfit that her poverty-stricken mother sewed for her by hand. The memory flushed forward causing Valeska to feel faint.

“You come on over here now girl and let me take a look at you.” order her mother as Valeska brushed the wrinkles out of the hand-sewn dress she knew she’d have to wear to school in front of all of the other girls with their store-bought plaids and daisy printed blouses.

“Ain’t no need to feeling embarrassed. Ain’t no shame in being thankful for what we got. It took me a long time to sew this for you and I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, you ain’t got nothing else to wear. It this dress or nothing.” concluded Valeska’s mother as she pulled the dress over Valeska’s head and let it drop down to her knees. Ain’t no shame in being thankful, her mama told her more times than she could count.

Was she thankful? She had to ask herself that a lot back in the day when her daddy took the money he made and drank it all up and the local bar instead of feeding his children. Was she thankful? She was thankful when she didn’t have to look at her sorry daddy coming in drunk after a night out at the bar. He came in late when the children were in bed. He came in and slapped their mama around like she was some hired help who’d forgotten to fix dinner for his lazy self.

Was she thankful? She was thankful when the mine foreman came to the house with a small envelope of money that was collected from the other workers to help pay for her sorry daddy’s funeral. Was she thankful? She was thankful he was gone. He didn’t do anything for his two little girls but kept them fearful their whole childhood. They were afraid he was going to kill them if they man too much noise after the kerosene lamps were turned down and her mama brought him a cup of coffee to try to sober him up before they went to bed. She was thankful she grew up and moved away from that place. That’s what she was thankful for the most.

“Yes mama, I’m thankful.” was the last words she ever spoke to her mother those many years ago in a place she’d spent her entire lifetime trying to forget…

The memory faded about as fast as it had taken shape in her mind. She remembered the time and the place each time it raised its head deep within her conscientiousness. Nonetheless, for , the memory meant more than people would ever understand. And with its occurrence more frequently as she got older, had to hold some type of meaning, some lesson she hadn’t least as of yet.

“Valeska, Valeska are you okay honey?” asked Jean-Claude as he watched her eyes reconnect with the present and disconnect from the memory. I thought you were going to pass out my dear. I can’t have my favorite visitor falling ill from some unsuspecting sickness on her first day at my, well their, grand establishment.” he stated as he reached over to straighten Valeska’s collar.

“We must maintain appearances, my dear, it’s what we do!” he said as he smiled, and leaned toward the refreshment center for a champagne glass.

“Well, you don’t have to tell me, but I’m guessing, you don’t drink either, am I right?” asked Jean-Claude as he waited for an answer.

Smiling as she raised her head, she simply answered no.

Chapter Twenty

Homecoming Preparations

“From what I’ve been hearing, Bessie and Sidney, the Barstow girls, are some of the ones people need to be lookin’ for. They’re into everyone’s business but their own,” stated Sadie Higgins as she pointed to her older daughter who was packing their church-going basket with plastic forks and spoons and napkins for the church’s homecoming and dinner on the ground that was slated for the next day, the third Sunday of July.

The community church, the largest in three counties, held a prominent place in the hearts of almost everyone in the three counties. Most folks were married there if the truth be told. Many had their names on the church’s membership book, but not all of them showed up for services. And most folks were baptized by the same pastor down in the creek that runs alongside the piece of property where the church was built many decades before A LA VISTA was incorporated. There were a few holdouts who didn’t want nothin’ to do with the church folk in A La Vista, but for the most part, anybody that was anybody huddled up to the pews, listened to the preacher or ignored him respectfully, but everyone attended the homecoming that was held each year on the third Sunday in July.

The church was built in 1865 by some of the locals’ ancestors. The builders wanted the folks to have a place to worship that wasn’t tied to any highfalutin city church or national organization that always tried to tell the folks how to walk and talk. “Sides, that’s why the pastor was there. He told them the right things to do or say, it was up to them to either heed the callin’ or do as they pleased.

The homecoming was to be the celebration of the church’s anniversary, its 157th anniversary. Granted the original church didn’t resemble the present church that was located not too far down the road from ole man Sam’s market. It was common practice for ole man Sam and his wife to come to the homecoming, but he wasn’t quite sure he’d be goin’ this year.

“All I’m sayin’ Elsie is that when you go to socials like the ones down at the church this coming Sunday, tomorrow, and you know this as well as I do, we don’t know what the town folk are bringing for us to part of. It might be some stuff that we don’t want. So, you mark our bowls of stuff with some kind of X or something so when I come ‘round the tables I know which is which. That is if I decide to go this year. Something ain’t quite right. I just have a feelin’.” stated ole man Sam as he looked at his wife across the breakfast table on Saturday morning, homecoming eve.

“If I was guessing, I guess you are afraid of other church folks cookin’ ole man Sam,” she rebutted, smiled, and reached for one of her homemade biscuits and fig jam.

“Why you go an’ say such a thing Elsie? You know I’ve been to homecomings before, I ate other folk’s food before, and if the truth be known, so of their fried chicken is almost as good as yours?” he stated to let Elsie know that her fried chicken was still the best as far as he was concerned.

He smiled at his wife, put another biscuit on his plate, buttered it, and reached for his favorite strawberry jam, homemade by their neighbor Clayton Wilson. Ole Clay had a way with his strawberries. He was probably the best ‘round their parts at makin’ strawberry jam. When Clayton was all finished up with the canning, ole man Sam would stop in for and pay him for five or six jars of jam. That’s what neighbors do, they take care of each other.

Elsie and Sam were pillars in the community or so they were told by their fellow residents so when they said something, people paid attention to it. Not everyone did, must most of them did.

Later on Saturday morning ‘round noon time, ole man Sam was down at his store like he always was keeping things moving, greeting customers, and giving direction as needed. Funny, most of his employees had worked for ole man Sam for some time and didn’t really need any directin’ as they called it. The butchers, personally trained by ole man Sam, learned the skills of the trade, even improved on them over the years. In fact, there weren’t any better butchers in the tri-state area than Dave and Chris. It just goes to show what a little pride in your work can do. It keeps the customers coming back.

It was customary on Saturday morning that the woman of A La Vista came to ole man Sam’s meat market to get their weekly supplies. Since the church’s homecoming was the next day, even the Barstow sisters made their way from the back woods of Webster county to what they referred to as the “city”.

Bessie and Sidney (Sid as some called her) dressed in their finest for their excursion to A La Vista. The town boasted various department stores, sports variety stores mostly outfitted for the men of the area, a ladies’ boutique, and various other small, family-owned stores, but there was only one meat store, ole man Sam’s place.

It was often thought that the Barstow sisters were twins, but that wasn’t the case. Bessie was a year older than Sid.

As the early afternoon lay heavy in the streets of A La Vista, Bessie and Sid braved the over one hundred degrees afternoon sunshine and made their way to ole man Sam’s for their portion of vittles designated for the homecoming at the church. Mostly all of the folks in the area bought their meats from Sam’s, but as with any community, there were a few holdouts who said they’d rather shop at the Piggy Wiggly or the other grocery store just over the county line.

“Well, Bessie and Sid, how y’all doin’? It’s been a spell since we’ve seen y’all in these parts. It’s good to see you both!” called out Heather from behind the fresh meat counter that lined the back wall.

“Is there anything special we can get for you or the guys in the back can cut for you.?” asked Heather as she walked up to the larger-than-life women, each well over two hundred pounds each.

“As for right now, Ms. Heather, me and Bessie are going to try to figure out what would be the best thing we could take to the homecoming tomorrow. You know how some church folk can be when it comes to eatin’ other people’s cookin’.” stated Sid as she opened her insufficient purse that was bulging almost as much as her tulip dress was that she and her sister picked out for their trip to the city together. Bessie chose a large floral print with gigantic white lilies to go along with Sid’s dress filled full of bright red tulips.

“You know me and Bessie been hearing some folks talkin’ ‘bout ole man Sam and some government people meetin’ last month. That’s kind of strange don’t you think Ms. Heather?” asked Sidney as she started her usual tight-lipped stories and repeating gossip she’d heard from at least four other woman folk at the church just last Sunday.

For a moment Heather listened as the two women freely unloaded every secret that said they’d keep to themselves. Evidently, the other women folk knew the two jabber jaws and didn’t care if they told the stories ‘round town or not. It was all made up stuff except the meeting with ole man Sam and the government man some time back.

Even knowing that the government had been in their parts was enough to stir some loose-lipped women to create their own stories whether true or not. For the locals, any sight of any person not connected the local area meant only one thing, a mystery that needed to be solved.

It wasn’t like Ms Heather to buy into the local gossip grapevine, but she couldn’t help herself when it came to these two heifers, so without even must effort, she started a tale that she knew would circle back ‘round to her by late afternoon tomorrow at the church’s homecoming. Rather than keeping things to themselves, the Barstow woman made it their business to embellish any small piece of information until it was a tale worthy of being written down in a book if anyone had time to do so.

“Well, since you brought it up, and you gotta’ swear on your mother’s good name you won’t tell a soul what I’m going to tell ya’, there was a visitor here in this very town, a stranger not from these parts looking for ole man Sam. I’m not sure what he wanted with my boss but from what I’ve been able to put together, the two did meet to talk about something, well, something mysterious.” confessed Ms Heather as she held her breath to keep from laughing out loud right in the two women’s faces. She hadn’t told them anything that they didn’t already know, but it was how she said it that made the two take a deep breath, hold it, and then slowly let it out as they shook their heads.

“Land’s sake Ms. Heather, can you believe it? We’ve got a little mystery going on here in our little neck of the woods that would pay us to pay attention to. We don’t know what’s going to become of us or our folks by the way you sounded just then.” said Bessie as she searched for a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her forehead.

It wasn’t so much the story that got her all worked up as it was the fact that she was overweight and unsteady on her feet and almost fell over the person behind her as she listened to Ms Heather relate her thoughts on their gossip topic.

“There you know about as much as I do about all this chatter going on in town.” admitted Ms Heather as she wiped her hands on her apron, turned, and walked back behind the meat case to finish up bagging her whole “birds” as they called them.

“If y’all need anything, let us know. We’d be happy to help!” she added, turned, and laughed to herself about how gullible the two women were to believe the same gossip they were spreading, just told in a different way.

As the evening drew to a close, the cleaning done, garbage had been taken out, and the floors mopped, the employees filed out the back door waving as they departed. It wasn’t really family members who worked at the store, but the feelings of the workers ran deep. Many of them had worked for over a decade with old man Sam. To them, he’d become more than just the owner, he’d become their friend.

The local community church homecoming was tomorrow. It should prove to be interesting.

Chapter Twenty-One

Closing Hours

“It’s not for me to say for sure, but my concern isn’t if the shooting was targeting agent Mallory, not that that isn’t insignificant, no offense, we have the answer to that questions, but why was this new agent, one who’d just been transferred to our division by none other than the Director herself, somehow just show up at your house? To me, no offense, that seems to be the more concerning topic gentleman! The dead man in your kitchen concerns me as much as the fact that we’ve got a sniper out there somewhere who’s being ordered to kill people, to kill agents.” expressed Mallory as he turned to look at the other two agents who were just as perplexed as he was about the whole matter.

“And what about the note? What exactly was that all about?” asked agent Towler as he looked up reading some of the documentation left by the police.

“What does it mean?” asked agent Mallory who’d become the center of attention in the investigation because the shooting took place in his house, the victim was in his kitchen, and the note was found on the victim in his kitchen. There were strings that would lead the department in many directions, but they weren’t quite sure which direction to take first.

“I’m not sure what the note meant either, but I’m positive that it will lead all of us to things that we might not want to know.” replied agent Seagle as he unlocked his desk drawer, reached in to get the envelope that held the note, opened it, unfolded the note and read it aloud, “The HUMANA PROJECT isn’t what you think it is. BEWARE!” he read slowly and accurately. The last thing the department needed to do was to assume that the note meant something it didn’t and make calls to people they didn’t need to be contacted or get involved.

“Gentleman, what we have here is puzzling that’s a fact, but we’ve had puzzling before and that hasn’t stopped us from getting to the bottom of things. Have either of you ever heard of the HUMANA Project?” asked Lead agent Seagle as he placed the note back into its envelope and then back into the drawer for safekeeping.

“I’m not positive, but isn’t HUMANA the Latin word for human?” interjected agent Towler as he looked at his partner who’d all but lost interest in the discussion at this point. Agent Mallory was exhausted and wanted to call it a day. He, like the others, had been up almost all night the night before and his bed was calling his name.

After the question left agent Towler’s lips, hung in the air, and then fell upon unlearned ears, the two other agents turned to look at him as if they didn’t know who had asked the question. Agent Towler, even though quiet the rascal, a rebellious spirit at times was never viewed as the studious type, much less someone who even resembled someone who knew how to read and write Latin.

“What, why are you two lookin’ at me like that? Yes, I took Latin in school. Everyone in my private high school was required to take Latin. Omnis discipulus debuit loqui et scribere Latine vel non facere. We had to pass the class with at least a “C”, which I proudly accepted with great honor, or we didn't graduate. Why you two still looking at me like I’m an alien?” laughed Towler who had just exposed the biggest secret of his life. No one in this modern time even thinks about Latin, except for maybe the teachers and professors back at his school.

Stunned by the revelation, agents Mallory and Seagle sit in silence trying to take it all in. It was truly opening up a completely new way that Towler would be viewed from this moment forward.

“Okay professor, why do you think the note has issued us this warning? What is the HUMANA PROJECT? And, like you’ve just told us, if HUMANA is Latin for human, what does that mean? Why would the victim be trying to hide a note in agent Mallory’s house to warn him and tell him that the project isn’t what people think it is?” asked agent Seagle as he sit looking at a man he had known for some time, but really didn’t know him at all.

“Well, how am I supposed to know? You two are just as much in the dark as I am about this whole thing. But consider this, if the HUMANA (the human) project is what the title means, then we better prepared ourselves for something we haven’t confronted before at this division. It may, and I’m just throwing this out there, it may go way deeper than we’re willing to let it take us. If the project means it’s doing something to the human race that we’re not aware of, and we’re not, then, yeah, we got a big problem.” stated agent Towler as he rolled his eyes heavenward in response to the looks he was getting from his fellow agents.

“Well, that was profound professor, really profound.” stated agent Mallory.

“I totally agree agent Mallory, totally!” added agent Seagle.

After tossing a few more ideas around, agent Seagle ended the discussion and dismissed Mallory and Towler for the day. “Hey, Mall, keep the window curtains closed. We don’t want a repeat of last night!” called out agent Seagle just as the two were pulled the door closed and headed out of the office.

For agent Seagle’s take on the matter, he’d keep that to himself for the time being. His take, one that may not be as accepting as others, included people way above his pay grade. If his assumptions were correct, the HUMANA PROJECT and its distinguished group of scientists and elites could and would do any and all things possible to keep their project a secret, whatever it took. As for Mallory and Latin expert Towler, he’d keep a tight reign on them to keep them from harm and danger the best he could. That wasn’t going to be easy.

After leaving his office, agent Seagle got to his car in the parking building, got in, and started the engine. He sit for a moment mulling over the details of the discussion they’d just ended. What bothered him the most is that he knew the woman in charge of the local division of the project, a Ms. Valeska Vargas. And, his little secret about her would remain a secret if he had anything to do with it.

He drove the twelve miles across the city to his residential community located just north of Alexandria, Virginia. He’d moved there when first offered the transfer from the DC office to a lesser complicated division, or so he thought. That conclusion was soon erased after his first month in the Lead position. Yet, like any other detective position, the excitement ebbs and flows like the ocean’s tide. One day all hell is breaking loose, the next a lull.

His house, a single-level rambling brick ranch was all he needed for now. There had been a time some years ago that he thought he’d need more room, more bedroom, a bigger kitchen, more backyard, but not now. Those dreams, those plans fell through leaving him with rooms that were sitting empty with the doors closed. He didn’t need the spacious back yard nor the fire pit that sit covered in vines and spider webs. It was what was left of someone else’s imagination. She’d found another more interesting, more atoned to her lifestyle. She’d left and never looked back. As for his answer to this dramatic ending, well, in time he’d planned to sell the spacious, underutilized house to a family who would fill it with promises and a future.

Agent Seagle sit in his master bedroom tired from the day that now had become a memory. He and agents Mallory and Towler spent most of the day thumbing through the reports left by the local police department later in the afternoon.

Once showered and ready for bed, agent Seagle switched the kitchen light off, check to be sure the coffee pot was set for 5:30 AM, walked through the house checking every door, then into the master bedroom where his bed awaited him. He knew that he hadn’t met the department’s expectations of him so far in this investigation. But to his defense, it had only been one day since the shooting, one day to review the evidence and reports. No case of this complexity had been solved in one day. This hadn’t been either. There were too many leads that needed to be followed. As for Mallory and Towler, well they’d make it through with a little encouragement and hand-holding. Both were younger men with a lot of ambition, especially Towler. He’d continued to surprise everyone and with the revelation that he could read and write Latin, well that was a bombshell.

As he attempted to ease himself into a more relaxed atmosphere, agent Seagle, after turning down his bed and plugging his cell phone in to charge, pulled out the nightstand’s drawer and took out the journal he’d started reading a day or so ago.

The journal written by some obscure author contained some interesting comments, some called them inspiration entries. He wasn’t so sure how inspirational they were, he just enjoyed reading them. This evening’s selection was chosen purely by accident. He’d open to a page by accident, read the first sentence, found it intriguing therefore he wanted to see what it had to say to him, if anything.

It read:

Earlier today I was overcome with voices that were calling out to me from a time when I was filled with childhood's hopes and dreams. It was a time before life, with its unforeseen challenges, brought unexpected changes, some good, some not so good into my life.

As I walked the hallways of my heretofore almost forgotten scenes that happened during my adolescence, I stood before one of several doors that opened up to reveal my memories of that time. Those memories that were planted and ever so carefully stored away, have remained unchanged over these many years. As I stood looking into the past, I happened upon one that, after some time, burst into view as if time had stood still. It was a time of discovery, of anticipation, and of tolerance for some of my fellow students who attended the brick Junior High school pressed against a rocky mountainside.

After having entered the room of memories, immediately I stood once again among my peers. It was a seasonal program, a general assembly of the students. The air sparkled with excitement as several of the students, me included, were among those who'd share whatever talent we had to add to the festivities. I've never been one to profess that I had any musical talent, but we were encouraged to "give it our best shot" and not to worry whether it was a stellar performance or somewhat mediocre.

All of my life, I've attempted to uphold a reverence for my spiritual beliefs, and with that in mind, I selected a song that was seasonally appropriate. I knew I wasn't much of a singer, but I was determined to do my best.

Once positioned to sing the selection, I felt as though I'd be consumed by the hungry eyes and hearts of those who looked on. My song was sung to the best of my ability, but it was evident by the looks of rebuke from my peers that I'd failed to fulfill their expectations. A snicker here and there resounded throughout the audience, but no one had the courage to confront me to my face.

That memory seasoned with others’ opinions has lingered in my memorial room and served to encourage me to never stop trying to fulfill my personal dreams no matter what others may think or say!

If you have a dream, live that dream if not for anyone else, do it for yourself.

I never attempted to sing a solo in public again after that day in front of that crowd. Life allows us to remember, but it also expects us to experience all of who we are until we find our niche where we become all that we can be. I use to sing, but now I've found that the pen is mightier than the sword slashing both directions and filled with all the emotion of any song's lyrics. Unknown author

The agent held the small journal in his hands for a while longer. He didn’t read any other selections nor did he attempt to flip through the pages to see if anything jumped out at him. This single entry, this memory, as the writer stated, fell within his soul as none other had before. It brought to him, like the author of the memory he’d just read, a sense of familiarity. He too had found himself in a position somewhat like that of the inscribed related story. He too had been in situations where he didn’t quite fit in or meet the expectations of those around him. And that feeling, the feeling of inadequacy, still haunted him, and it would still hold him back if he allowed it to.

Now, many years later, he’d found his niche, his place in the world. After some many years of almost debilitating anxiety, a failed relationship that left him intimated to some degree, he’d been accepted into the challenging world of the FBI. He’d become a member of an elite group of people who, for the lack of another phase to describe them, lived a life of those who intimidated the criminals they investigated. It was his world now that helped him move beyond the feeling he felt as he read the passage.

Perhaps he’d read another passage penned by this unknown author, but not tonight.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Briefing

“We must maintain appearances my dear, it’s what we do!” he said as he smiled, and leaned toward the refreshment center for a champagne glass. “I’m going to have a sampling, that’s what I like to call it Val. I’m not a teetotaller as some might imagine. It too have pulled away from some of my younger habits for the sake of taking better care of this, this artificial body I happen to have invested heavily in over the years. We must maintain an image.” repeated Jean-Claude as he tipped the champagne bottle ever so slightly, spilling only enough into the glass to splash the sides. After settling to the bottom, it appeared to only be a taste, just as he’d intended it to be.

“Now, before we get to the entry hall, I have to forewarn you that things aren’t exactly like you remembered them to be the last time you visited. There’s been a few changes both structurally and also in the personnel division. Seems the powers that be decided that a few of our fledglings weren’t going to make their first flight, therefore; they were terminated.” stated Jean-Claude as he leaned back against the seat beside Valeska and waited for her response.

“What exactly does that mean Jean-Claude, terminated them? They didn’t kill them, right?” asked Valeska as she widened her eyes and held her breath until Jean-Claude finished the glass, placed it back on the refreshment tray, and took a deep breath.

“Valeska, Valeska, Valeska, we mustn’t assume the worst should we? Honestly, the way you’re talking you’d think I had told you that they were shot. Well they weren’t shot, they were, well, they were, how do I say this, reassigned to a more beneficial purpose.” he sighed and smiled.

For a moment, Valeska wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. Perhaps it’s better if she didn’t know what “reassigned to a more beneficial purpose” meant. By the tone of Jean-Claude’s voice, his intended meaning was somewhat obscured by the slight grin that accompanied it.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try this excellent champagne? You know there’s a little history behind this excellent offering that lures all of us at some time or another. I’m sure you already know this choice piece of history, but for the sake of our conversation, I’ll tell you what I know about it. The venerable Champagne house created Dom Perignon in 1921 as it’s top Cuvee. The vintage was not released until 1936. Originally produced from aged, vintage Moet & Chandon, the brand switched to a different production for Dom Perignon in the 1940s. The wine is named after a Benedictine Monk who lived in Champagne. I find that extremely fascinating Val, don’t you?” asked Jean-Claude as he splashed a little more of the Dom Perignon into the glass, swirled it around, then lifted the glass and its contents to his lips. He sipped it, held it in his mouth, swished it around a little before swallowing it. “It’s just as divine as one might imagine,” announced Jean-Claude as he lowered the empty glass daring to attempt another.

“Jean-Claude you’re just as dramatic as ever.” laughed Valeska as she watched the performance with delight. She chuckled and waited for his next performance.

With the theatrics over with and the gigantic complex within view, Valeska and Jean-Claude rode the remainder of the way chit-chatting about the everyday mundane assignments and personnel associated with Jean-Claude’s new position with the establishment. No longer would he just “survive” as many do. No, at long last, he’d made it to the top of his personal career goals pyramid and he didn’t expect to be offered any further advancement. Personally, he didn’t want to know what was beyond the large green doors of the facility that paid him more than he was worth.

Jean-Claude was an adventurous person, but over the years he’d been at the facility, some called it the project, he’d hear too many stories about what went on behind the large green doors that seemingly never opened to anyone other than the two top officials of the facility. The organization had its own publicist who worked frantically to ensure that only the most acceptable, most positive information was made public. It had been called the GLOBAL OPERATIONS CENTER, the INTERNATIONAL HARVEST complex, and now the more acceptable title was the HUMANA PROJECT. It used the Latin word Humans which means human to assimilate into all cultures worldwide. It was accepted more readily than the previous titles were simply because it fit the species that it was trying to help save.

There were many species in the world that had their own podiums and platforms trying to help them, to save them. The humane society, save the elephants, save the whales, save just about anything was established to set up funding for those creates who couldn’t help themselves. So, the HUMANA PROJECT was established to help save the human race from starvation by any means possible.

It was Jean-Claude’s opinion, however unjustified, that the processes and procedures incorporated into the project behind the green doors were up to something more than baking more bread or opening up a soup line in the back streets and alleyways of the third-world country stricken by famine. The motto of the establishment set up by the elites in itself was filled with mystery “Saving Mankind one sacrifice at a time.” He had no idea what that meant.

Having finished up his short soliloquy as to what he thought of the facility, Jean-Claude simple raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, and let out a sigh that would cause anyone to only conjecture what he meant by his repeated the phone “one offering at a time.”

“Jean-Claude, by the way, you sound, I’m almost afraid to walk in there,” remarked Valeska as she too raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes.

“Listen, Val, I’m right here with you my friend. I’ll accompany you as far as I can go, but there will be some places I’m not clear to enter. Those valleys of dry bones and valleys of death you’ll have to walk through by yourself, honey. They won’t allow me into those sacred places for some reason.” he laughed as he made remarks that made her chuckle as well.

“Jean-Claude you always did have a way of making me comfortable and bringing a smile to my face. Too bad I’m way too old for you my friend,” said Valeska as she reached over and pressed her hand against his artificially tightened cheeks.

“Stop not Val, you are going to make me blush if you keep saying things that you know are not even true. I’m almost as old as you, there are just a lot more surgeries behind me than there are for you. You know we men have to take care of ourselves as well. And, as you know, in today’s world what’s fair for one is fair for the other.” he admitted.

The limousine slowed to a steady crawl as it pulled under the covered entryway. Immediately, two men in dark suits opened the front door, descended the steps, and approached the car’s right side passenger’s door, grasp the handle, opened it, and waited for Jean-Claude to exit. Once Jean-Claude was out of the vehicle, Valeska slid across the seat, placed her leg out of the car, steadied herself, and climbed out. Standing beside her friend, she wasn’t sure if those in the greeting party were friend or foe by the way they stood and the action they took. They appeared to be militants recruited from some black market human resource department.

“Ms. Vargas, if you will, you too Jean-Claude. The executive assistant wants both of you to meet them in their office. I’ll escort you there now.” stated a man who appeared to be the more senior guard. Their suits, or uniforms, had a quotation monogrammed on the shoulder that read: omnibus hominibus salutans.

“Excuse me, sir, what does that quotation mean that you so proudly display on your collar?” asked Valeska as she walked alongside the taller of the two men.

“Madam, it means: “Saluting those who surrender all for mankind,” he stated.

Feeling satisfied he’d answered the visitor’s question adequately, he shifted his attention to his duties at hand. He had been ordered to get the visitor and Jean-Claude to the executive’s office as quickly as he could. That was his orders and he always followed orders.

Without another word, the two members of the welcoming committee quickened the pace as if Valeska and her friend, Jean-Claude were late for a very important meeting. But if the truth be known, it was a meeting that would change the course of Velaska’s life. The meeting, set to begin included not only her, but other members that had been invited to attend. The meeting, one that was filled with mystery from the very first envelope mailed out from headquarters requiring immediate RSVP, was not what anyone was expecting it to be. There wasn’t any time to elaborate about the topic, that was to remain a secret until everyone was seated and role taken.

With a time pace, the four employees of the GLOBAL RESOURCE, INTL organization cleared the rotunda and approached the conference hall doors. They weren’t as large as the famed green doors, but they were still impressive. The door’s framing was layered with gold all around. The door knobs, two of them, one on either side, were made of solid gold. The doors themselves were made of African Blackwood. At a rate of $10,000.00 to $20,000.00 per ton, it is one of the world’s costliest woods. And to add even more luxury to the appearance of the entry into the conferencing area, each door was layered with gold and exquisite jewels. For the common laborer, the doors alone represented more than a lifetime’s income.

“Oh look Valeska, we’re about to enter into the pearly gates!” laughed Jean-Claude as he pointed to the doors that glimmered as they reflected the light from the rotunda’s diamond chandelier.

“I don’t think this is the time for that Jean-Claude,” whispered Valeska after she noticed a smirk on the face of the more senior guard member. She didn’t want to assume the two men were members of some military guard unit hired by the establishment, but they looked the type.

“Halt!”

“You, Jean-Claude, remain here until we’ve escorted Ms. Vargas to her chair in the conference room.” stated the senior man as he turned to place his hand on Valeska’s shoulder.

“Excuse me, but I don’t need that type of escort!” she stated and moved away from the man who was visibly disturbed by her reaction. “If I wanted to be touched or escorted, I’d ask my friend Jean-Claude to do the honors. At least I know where he stands, how he feels about me. Not so sure I can say the same about you two.” she concluded and moved a step further away from the two men.

“Valeska darling, let’s just get through this without too much drama no manner how much it’s warranted. If it were me, I’d be doing the exact same thing. I don’t like being touched unless I’ve extended an invitation, if you know what I’m saying.” commented Jean-Claude as he stepped away from the senior escort and waited to see what would happen next.

“As you will.” said the senior escort as he motioned to Valeska to follow him through the doors and into the conference hall.

As she walked forward, she turned to wave goodbye to her friend as if she wouldn’t see him again anytime soon. It was a strange sensation, but deep within her, she felt he wasn’t on as good as terms as he pretended to be with the organization. It had been sometime since her last visit and many things can happen in that length of time. Maybe he wasn’t in that position that he’d bragged about in his notes and letters he’d sent her. Maybe he had become a liability due to his extravagant lifestyle and his personal expensive upkeep that he funded by himself or through some other means. She wasn’t sure, but as she waved goodbye, she could’ve sworn she saw him wipe away a tear from his cheek. Who was to know what it was, but she knew Jean-Claude almost better than most and when she felt a certain way about his behavior, she knew there was more going on than met the eye.

“You take notes, not Valeska!” called out Jean-Claude as he expressed his personal desire to know what exactly went on behind the doors that closed behind her and her escort.

As the doors closed with a soft thud, Valeska was astounded by the décor and the artistry she saw that awaited her. Each of the walls was adorned with the finest paintings on earth. The chairs with gold-plated legs and armrests, glistened as the light fell across them. All she could think of was the cost of it all. What did all of it cost and who paid for it?

“Madam Vargas, please be seated.” stated her escort as he pointed to one of the golden chairs with a tag inscribed with her name. All of the chairs had small name tags representing each of the employees and invited guests who would be in attendance.

Without speaking a word, Valeska removed the name tag and took her seat. And as a result of her compliance, the senior escort turned and walked away knowing full well that his job, perhaps even his life, depended on his adherence to any and all orders given to him by those he reported to each day.

As she waited, she wondered what would happen to her friend Jean-Claude. She wasn’t so sure as he might’ve been that everything would be alright. For him, everything was lighthearted and exciting, but the truth was the truth and Valeska felt something ominous about the whole thing.

After calming herself from the initial arrival, the ride to the facility, the heavy handiness of the escorts and now the revelation of the opulence of the building, Valeska noticed a small folder that had been placed on the chair beside her. It had her name on it. Obviously, it was for her.

She raised her head and looked around the room to see who else was in attendance. It was her conclusion that she didn’t know any of the other attendees this year. During her last visit some years ago, she became acquainted with some of those who had been invited, but as she looked out over the gathering crowd, there wasn’t anyone she recognized. It was strange because each of them was prominent employees, even directors at the time, but now none of them had been invited back. There had to be a reason for their absence, there had to be a reason that she was seeing a completely different group of people, about fifteen in total, none of whom she knew or met before. What possibly could be the sudden change in those in similar positions as hers? As Jean-Claude had pointed out in the car on the way from the landing strip, things aren’t always as they appear. She have to give him that point in their constant back and forth as they exchanged ideas and comments. He had been right about this one that was for sure.

Regrouping her thoughts and turning to pick up the folder, she heard a voice calling her name. It wasn’t someone she knew, but they definitely knew her or of her. Perhaps, as Jean-Claude had told her as well, that her reputation preceded her.

“Ms. Vargas, I must say you’re even more beautiful than I’ve been lead to believe. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. All of the board members have told me so much about you and our efforts in America to bring them on board. Very impressive if I do say so myself.

Feeling completely at a loss as to who this man might be, Valeska simply replied thank you and turned away before he noticed how flushed she’d become by the continual praises about something she had no idea she had done or was doing. She figured that the meeting was to help her understand where she fit into the puzzle of all that she was experiencing.

“Sir, I’m flattered by your comments, but I must admit you’ve caught me at a complete loss as to what you might be referring to, sir,” she admitted and leaned back into her seat waiting for her new acquaintance, a man she’d never met before nor had been introduced to to finish his speech and introduce himself.

Noticing the fact that he was intimidating her or at least embarrassing her, the man stepped back to allow Valeska to take a breath. He wasn’t always so forward, but in the crowd were many men who were looking for someone like Valeska. They were looking for new territory to conquer, new claims to be laid whether she was aware of it or not, she soon would be.

“Please forgive me, Madam Vargas, my name is Reginald Doddard, the personal representative of her majesty the Queen. My friends call me Reggie. I arrived yesterday and had the privilege of obtaining a copy of the roster, the list of people who would be attending. I noticed your name and title immediately, and of course, I had to do some research so I wouldn’t be complete without topics of interest to discuss with you. Are you following my reasoning here, Madam Vargas?” asked her newest acquaintance as he slid into the seat in front of her and waited for her to reply.

The whole thing was not only questionable, but also unexpected. At no time during any of the previous meetings, whether held at the establishment or one of the other notable facilities had anyone taken on such a task as this man had to meet her. He’d researched her life, so he said, found all the answers to all of his questions and assumed she was the one for him. Or at least that’s what it sounded like to her. As far as she was concerned, he didn’t have a chance in hell of getting any further than the back door with her. Even less distance if he continued to act as if he was entitled to her or to speak with her. It just wasn’t going to happen.

“Oh, okay, Reggie, whatever you say, but I don’t think this is the time nor place for this type of chit-chat. Besides, I have a friend, Jean-Claude, who’s been showing me around since I arrived,” she confessed in hopes it would dump some water on Reggie’s flames that she had no intentions of adding any more fuel to no matter who he was or confessed to being.

For a moment, Reginald had to try to remember exactly who she was talking about, then, it hit him. “Oh, you mean the Jean-Claude, the man with multiple facelifts trying to erase his years, that Jean-Claude.

“Yes, that Jean-Claude. He’s very sweet!” she stated in such a manner that it could be assumed that she and Jean-Claude were more than just friends. For her sake, she opened that it had worked.

Reginald slowed his approach, pondered the comment, and weighed its value against what he knew and had heard about this Jean-Claude, the man with many faces. Then, without a reason to assume anything about a man he knew nothing about, he burst out in laughter to the point that he was almost bent over right in front of her.

“Please, I apologize for my outburst, but you can be serious. You just can’t.” he stated then became silent to allow his next challenge the right to give her side of the story.

“Yes, he’s exactly the one I’m speaking of and the man you’re laughing at. This whole conversation is telling me more about you than about my friend Jean-Claude. And, for that Mr. Reginald Doddard, I think we’re finished here.” stated Valeska as she picked up her folder with her name on it, stood up, and walked away from the only person in the room who’d taken the time to speak with her.

“If this is what this is about, I’m done.” she admitted under her breath.

Chapter Twenty-Three

A Different Angle

There's nothing much a gang of youngsters won't do if given the opportunity, especially in a coal camp where there's little to do. And, if given the opportunity, there's not much that won't happen. On a bright sunny summer's day in the mountains that stretch out for what seems forever, Davie, Billy Joe, and I, along with several other boys from the local coal camp, decided to go camping. In the mining camps, it was commonplace for "our gang" to find us camping or fishing or wading in muddy rain-swollen puddles cut by the flooding during the heavy rains. On one of these days, David decided that we'd all go camping. Gathering up our small bags of "necessities" and heading out of Mom's eyesight, we trudged along the dirt road that snaked its way through the coal community called Sawmill Holler. Coal miners’ families filled the houses, one looked exactly like the other, along the road that paralleled a small creek that often burst from its banks washing out parts of the road. It was a perpetual battle between the two, the creek and the road with no real winner. On sunny days, the two called a truce, but it was short-lived. Marching alongside each other like soldiers, we soon lost the houses that disappeared behind us. We'd climb the embankments using vines and branches anchored in the ground to help pull us up first one steep grade to another. In what seemed a lifetime, we eventually arrived at what my brother called, our campsite. Gathering rocks and twigs, creating a clearing, pushing aside dead tree branches until we'd assembled a makeshift camp, at its center was the campfire with fuel for burning later in the evening, to light the night's sky. We hadn't a care in the world until a few hours later when we were attempting to knock down an old, abandoned chimney housing hornets. We rocked the old chimney back and forth not knowing it was filled with such terror we hadn't experienced before. But, as fate would have it, the hornets burst from the holes in the chimney in search of the gang seeking to topple their home. The old chimney fell, the hornets gathered their forces for the attack, and we took off running as fast as we could to keep from being a victim of our own making. I didn't know it would happen to me, but as we ran, I stepped on an old rusty nail driving it through my left foot all the way from the bottom out of the top. Painful, bloody, and screaming I made it away from the hornet's attack but suffered all night as my foot swelled with infection. Billy Joe took his shirt off, wrapped my foot as tightly as he could, and we waited for daylight. After making our way back home and visiting the local hospital for tetanus shots, we sat trying to explain the who, what, when, and why and how's of that adventure that springs to life within me each time I remember my brother's kindness. It was the best of times with the best of brothers who took on the wilderness challenge in a place that exists now only in my mind. Unknown author

After finishing his morning constitution, as his ancestors often referred to the short walk around the block that allowed him to clear his head before the day filled it up again, agent Seagle picked up the small journal, the one from the office, and his coffee cup, and walked out to the small, but adequate back porch of his house. In the early morning hours, he’d try to squeeze in a few minutes and read at least one passage from a work of someone’s imagination that had him hooked. Once settled into his favorite chair, coffee to his right, he opened the journal in a random fashion as he usually did, allowing the pages to speak to him as opposed to forcing them to. As with each meeting between the two, the journal and himself, he found whatever page the journal fell open up to yield a memorable short passage. For agent Seagle, the passage, the excerpt from the journal that he had just finished hit closer to home than usual. The passage he’d just read was of some experience, some childhood memory from another person’s world filled with all the emotion, all the excitement, all of the drama one could ask for. It wasn’t of some obsessed drug addict or prisoner of drunkenness found on the streets of any major city, no it was simply a tale, a memory of days when boys would be boys and life was full of the unexpected.

As with each passage before, this one yielded a story written by an invisible pen held by someone he’d never met. The stories spoke of familiar times and places that he too had seen and experienced in his early childhood in upper Vermont. His early years were hidden away from all to see, but the small journal had found a way to jostle them back into the present. And, at least from his viewpoint, was a welcomed change from his work down at the office. Sometimes people need to be reminded who they are and what life is all about.

Satisfied with the journal’s offering, agent Seagle slowly closed it and laid it on the small table that held his coffee cup. The coffee was exceptionally good this morning or so he thought as he placed the empty cup next to the journal. The two had become friends who met one another each morning around the same time. It’d become an easy habit, a welcomed pause in agent Seagle’s life.

As for the case that involved his agents Mallory and Towler, he was still trying to determine the angle, the string that needed to be followed to find the answers to the questions that filled his mental list. Was the man somehow involved with the agent? If he was, why would he have to break into his house to leave the note? If the two agents were acquaintances or friends, the victim could’ve simply walked to the door and would’ve been invited in to deliver his message. And what about the shooters? Who hired the gunman to take care of business, to shoot the man delivering the note? Was the shooter a professional hired gun or was, as agent Seagle suspected, one of the FBI’s own who had sold out to some outside interest that wanted the victim gone? That would make more sense than the aforementioned situations. And what about agent Mallory, what part did he play in this killing? Was he aware that he was being stalked? Did he know the shooter and remained upstairs long enough to all the deed to be done, then pretend that he knew nothing of the attack? Then there was agent Towler, the younger of the two, more energetic, somewhat less committed than his partner. Where was he while the deed was being perpetrated? Where was he when the bullet pierced the window killing one of their own? Could he be ruled out as one of the suspects? Reluctantly, agent Seagle had to take into consideration everyone’s whereabouts during the hours before the shooting. It was procedure. It was his job.

The thoughts swirled in agent Seagle’s mind as they had done with each of his cases prior to this one. With each case, the obvious must be pushed aside to examine that which is not so obvious, even peculiar. And having followed the tried and true procedures he’d been indoctrinated with, he slowly and diligently moved some of the puzzle pieces a little closer together.

“Alright ole man, it’s time to get crackin.” he said out loud for the umpteenth time, a repeated conversation he had with himself every morning to persuade himself he needed to keep going. It was what he did.

Once finished up outside, he stood, collected his coffee cup and the befriended journal, and walked into the house to stow them away. His day was on the move and there were secrets that needed to be uncovered.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dinner On The Ground

The community church sitting down by the river that flowed through A LA VISTA was painted white, darkened windows to help shield the congregation from the devilish sun and heat that lashed at them with such intensity that many thought hell was about to open up and swallow them. Maybe that was why there had been a steady growth over the years of new members wanting to “join” the church. The attempt to assimilate into the “body” of the believers often became more than some of the “tee-teetotalers” could handle, but rather than to divorce the church completely, they allowed their names to remain on the row books and sent in an offering ever so often to keep the main stream Bible-thumpers from going under. It was the least they could do to keep the gossiping ladies, especially Bessie and Sidney, from casting them into hell without even a prayer of dismissal.

So from this quasi-religious fervor of “those who were genuine and those who were pretending”, Bessie and Sidney could find all the fodder they were looking for to keep their lips flapping and their feeble minds swirling.

“Don’t forget that bowl of poke salad, Bessie. You know that our pastor loves that salad. He asked me just last Wednesday night if we were going to be bringing his dish. Yep, he called it his dish.” stated Sidney as she loosed her apron she’d tied around her middle to keep her Sunday-go-to-meetin” dress from getting’ pig grease on it.

“You know Sid, there’s going to be a lot of people there today. I’m a wonderin’ if any of those folks from the next county are goin’ to show up like they did last year. I find it pert near impossible to believe that they come to our homecoming after leaving the church the way they did. That bunch of hypocrites who accused me and you of causin’ Keith and Sally’s divorce. How in the world did we have anythin’ to do with Keith and his ‘horin’ ‘round. He should stay home with that sweet wife of his and left Charlotte Chadwick alone. I’m just sayin’. Charlotte ain’t never been nothin’ be somethin’ free for those that were alookin’ for trouble. Prides herself on her looks and has been known to tell folks that she could take any man she wanted if she had a mind to. It’s about the worst thang that ever happened to poor little sweet Sally. I mean, have you talked to her lately Sid? She’s heartbroken and, well, flat broke. I hope she comes today so we can talk to her to find out what’s going on. Maybe there’s been something good happenin’ in her life. Can’t never tell ‘bout that youngin’ nowadays.”

Bessie was the ring leader of the grapevine gossip chain that continued to grow and intertwine with the other church folk, mostly the older women, some of the spinsters whose husbands had died leaving them to make it best way they could. For Bessie and Sidney, well, their husbands just got tired of all the mess the two stirred up all the time, called it quits and left for the cities to find work. They didn’t divorce their women and from time-and-time, they still showed up for some afternoon delight, but for the most part, they kept to themselves and let the two women wallow in their own stew.

“You thank ole man Sam is acomin’ to the homecoming today. You know he’s another strange bird. One time he’s comin’ then the next time you talk with him, he says he’s not. Who can tell Bessie, who can tell?” asked Sidney as she pulled the apron from around her, walked over to the kitchen door, and hung it on the hook beside her sister’s blue one. The two had lived together for quite some time, well ever since their husbands up and ran off. It was better for them to stay together in the big old house their mama left them when she went onto glory. ‘Sides, there was plenty of room and plenty of space for everybody. Bessie often bragged that their house was the biggest in the valley, but that had been a spell. Ever since the factory had been advertising the need for workers, there had been an influx of workers from ‘bout everywhere, to hear the two women tell it.

“And what ‘bout that new bunch of workers down at the factory. Where do you suppose they’re going to live Sid? Every available house in the area is taken. Land’s sake, we’re being invaded by all kinds of people from all kinds of places. Shame we ain’t got no other houses we could rent out. We’d make a killin’, we probably could charge ‘bout whatever we wanted for rent and they’d have to pay ‘cause there nowhere else to live.” Bessie pointed out so that Sid could chew on it for a while.

“Well ain’t that something Bessie, I’d never thought of that. But, now that you point that out, I see where you acomin’ from. It’s a shame we got to put up with all those foreigner sisters. I hope they don’t come acallin’ at the church. We got enough problems as it is down there.

And with that comment and righteous comment taken under consideration, Bessie and Sidney, gather their food bowls, the plastic forks and spoons, and the napkins they’d bought at the store the day before, placed them in several large carrying containers, and walked out to the car where they packed it in tightly and hoped nothing was going to get squashed.

“You mark my word Sid, there’s going to be a gang of folks from over in the next county that will be sticking their noses into our dishes and their dirty fingers, I bet ya. We need to be sure to wash them out here in the backyard before taking them back into our house. Never know what those people will be bringing with them from their houses. We don’t know what kind of mess they live in. You know Sid, I wonder sometimes why we even extend a welcome to all those folks every year when all they do is go back to their houses and talk ‘bout us like dogs. I’ve told the pastor time and time again that it’s not always proper to open our church, the church that our mama’s ancestors built to just anyone.” sermonized Bessie as she’d done every year just before making her way to the church for the annual homecoming.

“Land sakes, Bessie, can you just stop with all this ranting and raving? It don’t get us anywheres, you know that. The pastor is the pastor and we ain’t changin’ him no matter how much we try. So, let’s git ourselves down to the church, git our vittles on the table, make sure people keep their fingers out of it, clean up, and git it over with. That’s all we can do ‘bout this whole affair.” rebutted Sidney as she carried the biggest pot of homemade chicken and dumplins anyone had ever seen across the kitchen floor, pushed the screen door open with her foot hard enough so that she could get by before it slammed shut, then out to the car to put it with the other things.

“C’on now Bessie, let’s not dilly dally.” she shouted from outside.

“One of these days!” whispered Bessie under her breath. “One of these days!”

Down at the church on Hawthorne street near the river, people were already gathering like flies on a piece of rottin’ meat. For some, the whole thing was a joy, a fun time with family and friends, whereas, with others like the Barstow sisters, it wasn’t as joyful nor fun, but it certainly provided plenty of gossip to spin, stories to tell when it was all over.

By eleven o’clock, the pastor was well into his sermon’s introduction and was about to jump off into the main topic, “the lying tongue lashin’, akin to hellfire,” when the two Barstow sisters finally made their way through the back door. Skittishly, the two seriously overweight ladies did their best to slide slowly and without making a sound alongside the back wall to their usual seats. Hopefully, none of the invited guests had assumed they were free for the taking and plopped down in them as if they owned them. For the invited guests from the surrounding counties, it would be to their benefit to sit in the front two rows of seats, up next to the pastor and the altar.

“Sid, look over thar, ain’t that Sadie Higgins, you know from down the street from the ole man Sam’s Meat Market. What’s she doin’ here for land’s sake?” asked Bessie as she nudged her sister to step lightly and hurry a bit before everyone noticed them bein’ late for service.

“I can’t rightly tell you but let’s get to our seats. After all the preachin’ is over, we’ll find out what she’s up to. You know all she does is spread stuff ‘round like somebody icing a cake. That just ain’t right.” surmised Bessie about the time she and her sister got to their chairs and set down.

Just as expected, the sermon was ‘bout gossipin’ and lyin’ and spreadin’ trash ‘bout everything and everyone. The preacher said somethin’ ‘bout how people should keep their business in their own houses as a round of shouts and hoops and hollering made its way through the pews.

“Preach preacher!” shouted some older man in the back who’d just come for the chicken and dumplins Sidney had made but wanted to be sure the preacher knew he was in agreement with him.

Sidney and Bessie turned around about the same time the older man was making his supporting comments and noticed he was looking directly at them. It wasn’t no secret that Mr. Taylor, a self-proclaimed bachelor didn’t care much for gossipy women, especially the Barstow sisters. He’d make that much known to them and anyone else who’d sit and listen to his life’s story, one he was particularly proud of.

“Sid, stop alookin’ at that good-for-nothing gigalo Frank Taylor. If I had my way ‘bout it, he’d be in jail today instead of waitin’ to dip his fork into our chicken and dumplins. ‘Sides, he knows he’s in wrong the place at the wrong time. Lord only knows what tale he’s a carryin’ today.” whispered Bessie as she shot the older man the fish eye.

It wasn’t long before the benediction was given and people started filing out of the church in two single rows. Out on the front stoop of the church, the pastor asked everyone to gather round for a picture. It was the church’s anniversary and it was only fittin’ to take a picture of the people attending for posterity. The history of the church was important and would be an addition to the local library once it was all documented.

“Y’all smile now!’ shouted Bethel as she held her camera as still as she could to get everyone one the frame.

“Okay everyone, thank you!” she said as she heard the shutter snap.

Sidney and Bessie were the first ones at the table where they surrounded their pots and stood guard like some infantry soldiers. It wasn’t that they weren’t good cooks, they were, but their selfishness and self-righteous attitudes made people not trust them. They had been that way for a long time now, ‘bout 22 years some might guess.

The tables stretched out a good twenty, maybe even thirty feet from the front of the church to the end of the newly constructed Sunday school rooms. Alongside the tables, the chairs had been removed and gathered and set up under the huge Oak trees that would provide the necessary shade during the hot and humid afternoon hours. The last thing the pastor needed was for one of the over-sized ladies to pass out and have to be lifted onto a gurney. That would be the last thing he’d ever hear about from the Barstow sister that how he allowed his church women, the ones who cooked over hot stoves to make the food for the homecoming to be passing out before they got their fair share. That would be the line they’d use to try to lay a guilt trip on the pastor.

“Sadie, you come on now sister and dig right on in. I thought of you when I was pluckin’ my chicken yesterday as I got myself ready to fix my offering for the church’s anniversary dinner and homecoming. You take ya time now and git all ya want.” said Sidney as she eyed Sadie’s dress, looking for any imperfection that she could point out to her.

“And my, my, my sister Sadie, don’t ya’ look church worthy today!” she added with venomous candor.

Sadie was no fool and knew exactly how to rebut the comment in such a manner that was somewhat Christian like. “Why thank ya’ sister Barstow. I did kind a like it myself. If you want, I can check down at the store for you to see if it comes in a bigger size for you and for sister Bessie!” she offered as she smiled a sheepish grin knowing she’d hit the right nerve.

And without pursuing the matter any further, Sadie pushed the serving spoon into the pot of chicken and dumplings and thanked the two heifers who’d tried to undercut her. She knew she had them dead-to-right. “Oh, if you’d like to try something that is really tasty and actually good for you, not like all those starchy dumplins’, I prepared some of that newest meat on the market I was trying to tell folks about. I bought it over in Raleigh County at a place called Country Meats. Y’all goin’ have ta come on over to my table. It cooked up so really good vittles as well, especially one dish I don’t thank none of y’all have tried before. Come on by now, don’t dally!” she stated as she slid the small plate of the Barstow sister’s dumplins back onto the end of the table and walked away feelin’ better than when the pastor finished up his sermon.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Meeting Called To Order

There was always a huddling around the coffee pot in the break room before the shift started. Five to either agent, mostly the new rookies trying to rub shoulders with one or two more senior men or women in an attempt to network, or so they said. Whether it worked or not was still an unanswered question. But at least those involved in the harmless exchange of stories or lies seemed to feel as though they’d accomplished what they had intended to do.

“Say, agent Mallory, words on the street that you’ve been targeted by some lone sniper. Is that true? You trying to hustle another man’s wife or girlfriend again?” asked the newest of the group as he stepped out of the way of the next agent seeking to fill his coffee cup.

“Ah, no! That would’ve been more of something that agent Towler would’ve been found guilty of, he’s always looking for one more toss under the sheets. Married or not as long as he didn’t get caught.” replied agent Mallory as the troops hooped and hollered and slapped agent Towler on the back as if he’d won an award.

For a second, agent Towler simply smiled and stood there allowing the team to push him from agent to agent so that everyone had a shot at him. But, once the gaggle of agents finished their revelry, he simply turned and addressed them all as a good sport would in this particular circumstance.

“Y’all are just jealous, that’s what it is. It’s all good guys, really!” he commented, turned, and walked out feeling as if he’d taken the high road, feeling he’d become a better man than the crowd of accusers still making noise over something that was completely untrue.

Within a few minutes and after noticing that the Lead agent was watching them as he walked in the office door, the crowd called it quits, became silent, and each of them meandered out of the break room and back to their desks to begin the day’s assignments. There wasn’t anything wrong with a few laughs at someone else’s expense if the person being laughed at was laughing along with you. Agent Towler, as everyone knew, was just that type of team player.

“Agent Mallory, when you have a sec I’d like to see you and agent Towler in my office.” commented Lead agent Seagle as he passed by the entry doorway of the break room.

“Yes sir!” replied Mallory as he looked over at agent Towler for his compliance nod.

“Oh, sure thing Sir, we’re on our way. We’ll be right in.” stated agent Towler as he moved from the spot where he was standing over to the small sink where he washed his cup out and returned it to the rack alongside several others.

Striding alongside each other at an even pace, the two agents walked toward agent Seagle’s office with complete confidence that neither of them had any idea what was about to go down.

“What’s this about Mallory?” asked agent Towler feeling less confident in his innocence of the accusation that had been made in the break room by his fellow agents.

“One thing I do know agent Towler, it’s not about your love life or your insatiable need to find that “right” woman. I’m sure of that!” laughed agent Mallory as he rapped slightly on the office door, pushed it open, and entered unannounced. It’s proper protocol if having been ordered to report, no violation, no reprimand.

“Y’all have a seat, I’ll be with you in a minute.” stated agent Seagle as he fidgeted with the lock on his right bottom desk drawer. Once unlocked and the contents of the drawer removed and placed on his desk calendar, he opened the file, and jostled the paperwork back and forth until he found what he was looking for.

“Now, let’s get down to business, shall we!” stated the agent as he cleared his throat, lifted the small, but important note from the shallow pile of police and departmental reports, then looked at his agents as if he was about to deliver his best oration in his life.

The intense look on agent Seagle’s face could’ve been taken as either good or bad. The two agents waiting to hear what the man was about to say turned slightly to look at each other, took a breath, exhaled, and assumed the attentive position expected of them, what they’d been trained to do while sitting in a Lead agent’s office.

“Gentleman, do you know what this is I hold in front of me?” asked Seagle as he lifted up the small note that was retrieved from the victim, agent Alex Chambers.

Not having a clue as to what their boss was talking about, the agent’s simple sit with blank looks pleading to be as informed as their boss was, but afraid to appear to be so eager. It was always better to wait, play the waiting game that gave the boss his moment of glory, his moment of superiority, his moment for supremacy that kept everyone happy. And they did just that.

“For the two of you, it means work. For the case, it means we have a mystery that, if not solved, could cost us our jobs. But, if solved, it could, as I have come to understand, bring down so of the greatest names and biggest people in this world. This little note, our breadcrumbs men, if followed will lead us to not just the person who ordered the hit, but those who funded the shooting. It’s not going to be easy. That’s an understatement. From the intel I’ve been able to extract from our personal government files, this man, agent Chambers was contacted by Director Vargas who had been in contact with a person named Mr. Rupert Bullock who works for an organization named Global Harvesters, International. I’m not exactly sure who he is or what the company is all about, but as you might expect, we’ve been ordered by none other than my superior, the director of the FBI, to find out all we can and get to the bottom of this assassination. It’s not going to be easy because my boss has informed me that we won’t have any backups or any other agents helping us. We aren’t to speak to anyone outside of this office concerning any of the information I’ve just shared with you. Now, as far as how long this will take and how many hours will be needed to close the case, well, I don’t have that answer. If we find the person who ordered Director Vargas to have the agent taken out, then we’ll be making progress. I don’t know nor have I ever heard of the Global Harvesters, International. It’s going to be your responsibility to dig as deeply as you need to and get the answers. I don’t have any of those at this moment. I have this note. You’ve read this note. But you nor I know what it means.” concluded agent Seagle as he placed the note in the middle of his desk, looked at it, then up at his agents.

“Gentlemen, this is what I know about this note. Like you, I know it was discovered on the victim in agents Mallory’s house. The victim was shot by a professional sniper from some distance away, perhaps even five hundred feet. Due to the landscaping and overall undergrowth surrounding the housing complex, it had to have been at least that far from your house. We know that the man wasn’t there to steal anything, but to leave you this warning, this note that was intended to point you to some evidence, some organization, some plan but as of yet. we’re still groping with possible answers, but haven’t found the right one yet.” summarized agent Seagle.

Seconds ticked by while the three of them mulled over the comments hoping to connect the dots and come up with some acceptable answer or at least some strategy that would, if followed, bring things to a favorable outcome. That, at this point, was a highly unlikely scenario.

“Sir, read the note again.” said agent Towler as he leaned a little closer to the Lead agent’s desk.

Holding the note up in front of him, agent Seagle read the note. “The HUMANA PROJECT isn’t what you think it is. BEWARE!”

“And that’s all that’s written on the note, just those words?” asked Towler as he reached his hand across the desk in hopes that agent Seagle would respond in kind.

The agent hesitated a second, but reluctantly handed agent Towler the note. It was the only evidence the department recovered from the crime scene so if it were to be lost or misplaced, there would be nothing left but police reports and photographs.

As the notes were being exchanged between Lead agent Seagle and his subordinate, agent Towler notices something peculiar, it seemed to flicker or glisten much like light through a prism would do if turned at a center angle.

“Wow, that’s curious!” stated agent Towler as he took the note from his boss, and turned it to allow the light to bounce off of it at a forty-five-degree angle. And, much to his surprise, he saw something that would add to the mystery of the case of the assassinated agent.

Chapter Twenty-Six

A Rare Dish

“Come on by now, don’t dilly dally!” she stated as she slid the small plate of the Barstow sister’s dumplins back onto the end of the table and walked away feelin’ better than when the pastor finished up his sermon.

“Have you ever seen a more demandin’ woman?” asked Bessie as she moved slowly toward the plate of dumplings that had been left on the end of the table by their church sister.

“Ain’t never.” replied Sidney as she took the plate from Bessie, reached for a large spoon, and swiped the remaining, untouched dumplings back into the bowl from whence they had been taken.

Bessie watched her sister inconspicuously swiped the paper plate almost clean and stuffed it away into their plastic bag under the table before the next person stepped up to them for a heaping helping of their country hospitality.

“Land sakes, Sidney, what you and Bessie done gone and cooked up here for us today. Y’all know it’s almost impossible for me to slide by y’all’s table without takin’ my fair share of those dumplings you two bring every year.” called out brother Deacon Maynard Jenkins, one of the two deacons the pastor had appointed basically to keep an eye out for the nodders and cat nappers who sit in the back of the church and tried to doze off.

As Deacon Jenkins pressed his way through the crowd, had to be over two-hundred churchgoers standing in a line at this homecoming, he stepped sideways out of the crowd and bellied up to the chicken and dumplings table. It wasn’t uncommon for the deacon to eat most of the dumplings, therefore, Sidney made a special pot just for him. ‘Sides, she had had a crush on Maynard since high school even though he’d gone off and married some trollop from another county. She wondered where his wife was today. No doubt she was busy doin’ her stuff behind his back like she always did or that’s what Bessie had told her anyways. Usually, she came with him, but she was nowhere in sight.

“I see you’re alone today deacon. Where’s the misses?” asked Sidney as she brushed the hair out of her eyes so she could be a better look at her ex-crush.

Maynard cleared his throat, lowered his head, and remained silent for a minute. It really wasn’t any of the sister’s business, but rather than be rude or tell them that, he simply stated that she’d been feeling poorly and couldn’t make it today. Fact of the matter was that just two days ago, she’d left him high and dry. She taken all his money from his accounts down at the bank, cleaned it out. Told the bank people that some emergency came up causing her to need to close the accounts, even had a written letter with my name on it stating as much. The account was in both his and her name, so what else was the bankers going to. They closed the accounts, and handed her the money in a bank bag. There wasn’t all that much, maybe four or five-thousand dollars at most. But, to her, it was enough to get another start somewhere else besides the backwoods place she and Maynard lived. She hated it. No, he sure wasn’t goin’ tell the Barstow sisters that, not today. ‘Cause if he did, it would be all over town before the bread he was soppin’ up the dumplin’ sauce had time to soak up the chicken grease.

“Well, I was just tellin’ Bessie her that you sure look lonely today.” said Sidney as she pulled out one of the thicker plates for the heaping helping of chicken and dumplin’ she was about to dump on it for the deacon.

Maynard watched and was about to rebuke Sidney for loadin’ up his plate with such a gob of dumplins’, but before he could stop her, she’d already finished and handed it to him across the table.

“That should be enough!” she said and smiled from ear to ear.

“Ain’t no sin in bein’ generous now is it deacon? And today I’m feelin’ extremely generous!” she said, smiled, and swiped a horse fly away that had landed on her hand while she was gettin’ her point across.

The deacon, even though grateful for the church sister’s comments and her generous heaping of dumplins’, turned to Sidney and told her the truth, the truth that she still had a hard time accepting.

“Sister Barstow, I appreciate your kindness and your comments that I feel are sincere, but as you already know, the train you’re trying to board left the station a long time ago and ain’t got no more tickets for would-be riders. Station’s closed and locked up.” he said as he picked up the over-sized spoon, filled it with dumplins, and swallowed it in front of the church sister who was having a hard time remaining calm.

“Well, deacon it ain’t no harm in tryin’, ‘sides my husband, well he’s probably gone for good.”

Deacon Jenkins looked directly at his church sister and smiled a tight smile as he took in the full scene of the two larger-than-life women dressed in the gaudious dresses he’d ever seen. “And sister, ain’t no harm in prayin’ for our members. I’ll keep up the prayers for you sister Barstow. I must admit, you really put your foot in those chicken and dumplins’ this year sister, ‘bout the best I’ve tasked. Y’all have a nice day now.” stated deacon Jenkins as he turned and walked away feeling completely justified and sanctified.

Bessie watched him walk away knowing full well that there was more to the story about his wife than just her not feelin’ well. There had already been a whisper at the bank about the money being cleared out, but that was all she could get from the teller at the window who was willing to give that much up. “Land sakes, Sid, you almost seemed to be stumping to beggin’ for that man to come see you. Well, all I got to say is he better not be comin’ to our house. He’s goin’ to get his feelings hurt. You can count on that.” snapped Bessie as she turned to Sidney to be sure she understood that there wouldn’t be none of that kind of stuff.

“Ain’t no harm in raising a flag Bessie. I know there’s nothing left for me, so you just stop with your daggers.” rebuked Sidney as she started cleaning up around the table.

For the next several hours, the crowd of church folks streamed by the table, thanking the sisters for their cookin’, and moving on to the next dish. For Bessie and Sidney, they’d yet to go by and sample the rare dish that Sadie Higgins was so proud to tell them about. It was no secret that sister Higgins purchased the products from another county. She’d been announcing it every time she came to ole man Sam’s meat market. In fact, she, along with others was there the same time that Bessie and Sidney was picking up the chicken for their dumpling making.

“Sid, I reckon we need to go over and do the right thing by sister Higgins. She did come by and say hello, the least we can do is go by and listen to her go on about her new dish. ‘Sides, it might be something we can try and make it better. Ya know yourself that she’s not the best cook in town. Everyone knows that but her.” stated Bessie as she finished up givin’ another church sister instructions as to how to ladle out the dumplings so there would be enough left for them to take home.

“Mon’ now Sid, let’s get this over with!” ordered Bessie as she tugged at her sister’s sleeve pullin’ her away from the table.

Once free from the table and its responsibilities, the two women mosied along like two snails on a trek across a sidewalk. A little at a time, after stopping at each of the tables between theirs and sister Sadie’s, the women finally stood face-to-face with their competitor. Sadie, even though not usually competitive, took special care to set aside a small serving of her “special dish” she’d brought just for this homecoming. She saw the two women in all of their glory as they approached.

“Now that you’re here, let’s see about having a taste of my special dish. You’d be surprised to know that almost all of it has been eaten. I knew you’d come, so I set aside two servings just for you two.” announced Sadie as she turned around to a small table, picked up two plastic-wrapped plates, and presented them to her church sisters. “Now, I want you to try this for me. I know that you two are considered very good cooks and your opinion would really mean a lot to me.” stated Sadie as she pulled the plastic from around one of the edges of the plates and held it out to them.

“Now, y’all just help yourselves. Don’t worry if you eat it all, I have another plate sitting back here behind me.” confessed Sadie as she beamed with pride.

At first, the two women were somewhat hesitant. They didn’t know what the meat was or where she got it or what it tasted like, but one thing was for sure, it smelled divine.

Leaning forward, Bessie and Sidney fingered the meat clutching two huge portions between the thumbs and forefingers. It was like pickin’ up cubed steak. The meat looked like pork, just a little darker in color. It felt thick and tough, but when the women bit into their small samples, they were delightfully surprised by bhow tender and juicy it was with a hint of mint.

Like having cotton candy for the first time, the two women continued to pick up one cube of meat after another until there was none left. It wasn’t at all like they had imagined. They smiled and complimented Sadie about the seasoning and tenderness of each piece no matter how large or small, all of the samples were excellent.

“Well, how’d you like it?” asked Sadie as she placed the empty dish down on her picnic table alongside the remaining meatballs made with the same meat.

“Sadie, you weren’t kidding sister. That is really good,” confessed Bessie as she looked at her church sister in a whole different light. She realized that even though they didn’t always see things alike, Sadie had outdone herself with the meat dish for the homecoming.

“If you like that, try these meatballs I made with the same meat. The only difference is that I had to season it a little differently cause I wanted it to have an Italian flavor.” said Sadie as she realized that the two sisters had been caught off guard by her new rare dish.

“Don’t mind if I do.” announced Sidney as she took a small plastic dessert plate and spoon to dip the meatballs out of the sauce, and took out three of the meatballs to try. She thought about all that she’d said about Sadie and her cookin, her dishes, the way she was dressed for the homecoming this year, but since sampling her cookin for herself, she had to take back the remark that she made about Sadie’s cookin. The food, especially the new type of meat was, well it was like taking an eraser and cleaning all those nasty remarks off of a chalkboard.

“I don’t know ‘bout you Bessie, but I like the meatballs the best. Don’t get me wrong Sadie, the other dish was really good, almost shoutin’ good, but these here meatballs, they’d make you be late for church.” admitted Sidney as she finished off the last one on her plate.

Having known the two Barstow sisters for many years, Sadie knew that neither of them gave two hoots and a holler about her. She knew that they’d spread vicious rumors around town about her and her late husband some time back. And, like a good church-going woman, she tried really hard to ignore those comments concerning her meetin’ up with another man some years after the death of her husband. That was a long time ago. Frankly, Sadie wanted to try to forget all that and let it go. It would’ve been better to not paid attention to it at all when it happened, but she was a bit younger and a whole lot dumber.

“One thing Ms. Sadie if you don’t mind lettin’ me and my sister in on your secret, where did you say you bought this mean? Was it expensive? It sure tastes expensive. I’ve never tasted anything so, well, so different.” confessed Bessie as she leaned around to access her purse, opened it, and took out a pen and small notepad to take down the name of the meat store where Sadie bought it.

Sadie, beaming and surprised at the comments from the two women standing in front of her, cleared her throat and prepared to tell them the name of the store.

“That’ll be “The Corner Market” in Westco. But one thing I need to tell you about what to look for, the meat is pre-wrapped and has a special label, a gold one at the top of the package. The label you’re looking for will read: Product of the World HARVESTERS, INT. It must be some kind of outreach program that helps the world’s hunger issue, could be some kind of charity. I don’t know for sure, but that’s what you look for when you go there. Jessie is the manager. He can help you.”

Beaming with the information and interested in the newfound product they had just sampled, Bessie and Sidney thanked Sadie and walked back over to their tables.

“That was unexpected wasn’t it?” Sidney asked as she watched Sadie begin to put away her things and clean up her table.

“Yes, but I bet you the meat market is paying her to talk ‘bout their meat. You can count on that. People don’t do anything for free.” scandalized Bessie as she always did.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Midnight Rendezvous

“Yes, he’s exactly the one I’m speaking of and the man you’re laughing at. This whole conversation is telling me more about you than about my friend Jean-Claude. And, for that Mr. Reginald Doddard, I think we’re finished here.” stated Valeska as she picked up her folder with her name on it, stood up, and walked away from the only person in the room who’d taken the time to speak with her.

“If this is what this is about, I’m done,” she admitted loud enough for her would-be suitor to hear.

For a moment, the Englishman was caught off guard by the tone and content of Valeska’s comment. He hadn’t expected this American to be as bold, so direct, but she had definitely gotten her point across. “Don’t mess with me’ had might as well have been stamped across her forehead for everyone in the hall to see, even highlighted to emphasize it even more.

“Ms. Vargas, let me apologize for my forwardness. At times, and this happened to have been one, I let my personal side take over when I should’ve kept more professional. I’m so sorry if I’ve offended you in any way.” commented Reginald as he stepped away from an obviously disturbed member of the organization.

“I’m a personal representative of her majesty the Queen. I should’ve tempered my approach and my comments accordingly,” he added to help drive home the point that he was way out of line. And if I might ask, what is your “title” here? We all have titles that we’ve become a part of, even our own reputation is attached to them, at least here in this place where dreams become nightmares.” he stated in such a manner that it caused Valeska to suspect that he might not be so “into it” as he’d had let on during his closer-than necessary introduction.

For Valeska, the whole conversation was turning a little stranger by the minute. First, the representative pretended to almost be flushed with desire for her, then he retracted his entire introductory comments, begging for forgiveness, and now he’s insinuated that things might not be as they appear. Was it some type of play to get her to become intrigued with him and his story? She wasn’t so sure, but it sounded as if he wanted to begin some conversation, but now was the time nor the place to try to delve deeply into anything. Besides, the meeting was about to begin and she, and he, needed to be in place. That was their job.

Moments after Reginald had finished his comment, the lights began to dim, and a sixty-foot square screen slowly descended from the wall in front of all of those in attendance. Valeska could see the others making their way from the bar area in the far left corner of the conference room to their seats held by name tags. It wasn’t the first time for most of them, but for some, it was the initial meeting, an introduction into the world without limits financed by those unable to count their wealth any longer, mostly billionaires, old money. Those whose families molded the world, molded certain civilizations, destroyed others along the way. But today, she was about to ask questions that she’d long wanted to ask. She wasn’t going to question the establishment, no, she was beginning to question herself and her involvement with GLOBAL HARVESTER’S, INTL., and their HUMANA PROJECT.

The name HUMANA PROJECT now appeared on the screen in front of the audience. And for a moment, a brief moment, people were as silent as dumb lambs to slaughter. There wasn’t one word whispered as the projection began with a salute to the HARVESTER founders and their vision of a better tomorrow. Valeska didn’t remember this particular film from her last visit. The one she was shown was one depicting the initial plans for the HUMANA PROJECT, not the foundational explanation that was being played for those who might not have seen it. It was her opinion that there was a reason for the repetitive playing. Just as she finished her thought, Reginald, who was seated next to her, leaned over and explained to her that this group of invited guests were investors, potential members that would be inducted into the organizations founding membership with all of its benefits should they elect to invest in the future they would be shown after the introductory film.

“Oh, I see,” whispered Valeska as she expressed her comment as quickly as she could, then moved as far away from Reginald in the opposite direction so he didn’t get the impression that she’d changed her mind.

“Ms. Vargas, I got the message the first time. I’m not going to make the same mistake again,” he admitted as he turned away from her to face the front and watch the film until it ended. He didn’t say another word to Valeska until after the first film was completed.

For a brief moment, Valeska felt a twinge of guilt for going off on a complete stranger, but he asked for it, or so she thought. If he’d minded his own business, been less aggressive, been more like Jean-Claude perhaps, she’d been less cruel, less combative. Regardless of his reason and her reaction, he was a member of the organization, they were, like they all chant, a brother and sisterhood for the preservation of mankind.

Once the film ended, the majority of the attendees headed for the restrooms. Their time at the bar before the film began precipitated perhaps several visits to the restrooms. Valeska didn’t partake or if she did it was complete in moderation. No hangovers for her. That had been her father’s nemesis, that had been her father’s foe. She sit comfortably in her seat as wave after wave of fellow employees meandered about the conference room chatting to first one then the next. It was all an illusion as far as she was concerned, an act for attention. Even the women who knew better, flaunted themselves like whores for the sake of meeting just the right sugar daddy, as some had called them.

“Hello, let me introduce myself again. My name is Reginald Doddard, the Queen’s emissary, representative,” he stated as he felt compelled to offer Valeska a glimpse of the perfect gentleman, a true Englishman with proper protocol.

Valeska, reluctant to do anything that might be misconstrued, slowly and cautiously turned to face the man whom she’d already laid out the parameters to just over forty-five minutes ago. She didn’t want to appear as though she was complete American and tell him where to jump, so, with some hesitation, she extended her hand and grasped his for a moment.

“I’m Valeska Vargas, Director of the American Branch of the GLOBAL OPERATIONS, Alexandria, Virginia,” she stated with such dedication and termination that no one would’ve questioned her.

At first, Reginald was taken aback by her international prowess, her acute knowledge of the world’s programs and projects all cloistered in one location. The organization, not unlike an octopus, was forever changing its appearance, its camouflage to trap its prey. The organization, now somewhat of a multi-headed dragon, was able to present not just one of its heads, but a variation of all three if necessary. For Valeska, her branch was established under the organizational leadership of GLOBAL OPERATIONS, for other directors their organizational ties were under GLOBAL HARVESTERS, INTL., and for a special group, ones that were considered the “untouchables” by every other section, they were organized under the HUMANA PROJECT.

“Excuse me Mr. Doddard, but do you have a handle on what’s going on here? I mean the real reason all of these wealthy folks have invested so heavily in the likes of the homeless who live on the street or the elder who have no one to look after them, or even the drug addicts and whores who sell themselves to just survive. What has this organization have in common with third-world countries? What’s the tie, the link, the thread that binds them? It’s curious, don’t you think?” asked Valeska as she stood in front of a man who answered directly to the Queen of England, one of the wealthiest people on earth.

“What someone thinks, well that’s completely different from what someone knows. And, luckily, you’ve been introduced to one of the people who doesn’t think, they know. But here isn’t the place nor time to discuss this. There are cameras and microphones all over the building. You can’t escape their view no matter where you go except for one place.

“And where might that one place be?” asked Valeska as she began to feel that same male aggressiveness sneaking back in her direction.

“Ms. Vargas, don’t take this the wrong way and don’t read into it more than what’s there, but I can’t tell you what you’re asking me because there are too many people, too many cameras, and too many programs left before this initial gathering is disbursed for the evening. But, if you’ll allow me to meet with you at midnight, I’ll tell you something you’re not going to believe. I can’t tell you here.” answered Reginald as he leaned back away from Valeska just in case she was going to slap his face for attempting to flirt with her again.

“And why would I do that, Mr. Doddard? Why would I meet you in the middle of the night at I place I’m not even familiar with?” she asked suspiciously.

There was a slight gap in the conversation, as the lights were dimmed again and the next film began its introduction.

“Why would you meet me you ask? Because you don’t know what’s behind door three, but you can’t go another day without finding out, that’s why!” answered Reginald as he took his seat beside her and turned away allowing her to stew for the length of the movie.

The film was a short twenty minutes depicting the evolution of the human race from as far back as history was available. The underlying theme, that of survival, of commitment, of making sacrifices to sustain life were all explained to the extent that anyone would’ve rallied behind the producers and fought to the finish to keep just one more human, one that was contributing to society, alive. Reginald watched with interest, but even as he watched he kept asking himself why the theme of the movie repeatedly came back to the same closing argument. That argument, one that is still raging the many countries around the world, was about what to do with those of with less quality, nothing to offer, nothing to enhance the human existence? That was the question that consumed him as he watched the people on the screen being herded as if cattle from one area of a country to another. The people being herded didn’t have any possibility of sustaining themselves, no jobs, no shelter, and only the clothes on their backs to shield them from the elements. So, the question that would nag at any self-respecting human being was what happens to the mass of people of this caliber when famine or drought or anything that would be an insurmountable hardship hits them? What does the world, as a whole, do with them? And for that question, Reginald Doddard, the Queen’s representative to this organization, a three-headed dragon that was consuming all in its path, had the answer that he wanted to reveal to Valeska Vargas, the Director of the American branch of the GLOBAL OPERATIONS division of the HUMANA PROJECT.

Sitting beside him was an almost innocent player in this world of givers and takers. He knew, deep down, that Valeska was in way over her head, but he’d be the last to tell her and be called an agitator, a divider, a foe to the project. So he allowed the film to play through, the lights to be lifted, and the crowd to begin their familiar trek to either the bar or the restroom, before he turned to talk to her again. It was his intention to meet with her in a secret place he had known about for some time, but only long enough to reveal the secret, they both would have to hasten to their assigned rooms before the locking mechanism sealed all of the guests in their rooms. No one was to be out after one am.

Rather than make a scene, Valeska watched the film in silence mulling over his offer to meet him. She didn’t have any idea where he was suggesting, but she did have an idea as to who she was going to bring along as a who would escort her to wherever he was suggesting they meet. Her friend would go to the end of the earth for her, surely he’d go with her to some unknown location to protect her or hold her hand or whatever else needed to be done, thank goodness for Jean-Claude.

“So what you telling me is that you’ve got a secret and for me to know that secret, I will have to meet you in some obscure location, just you and me, alone, where we can talk without being interrupted or spied upon by the likes of these people, is that what you’re asking me to do?” Valeska inquired as she looked around to be sure no one else was listening. It wouldn’t be the best option for her, but since all of the guests were sequestered at the facility and weren’t allowed to go off adventuring on their own without permission from their host, she knew at the very least, the location was here at the facility.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking. There’s more to this that you see than meets the eye. You know it and I know it. There’s something this organization isn’t telling us. Something that I’ve found out, please don’t ask me how, but I took a chance, a deadly one, luckily I survived. I met with someone that’s not on the payroll of this facility. He told me and showed me things that you’re just not going to believe.” whispered Reginald as he too slowly and quietly looked around the room in case people were watching. Thankfully, the bulk of the visitors was crowded together in or near the refreshment area like cattle being herded through the stockyards preparing them for the slaughterhouses.

“At that moment, Valeska remembered the notification from the “voice” who contacted her to follow through with a plan they had discussed should evidence become known, but not yet published. She, in turn, ordered the hit to take care of someone, a nobody, who was about to report the organization for hiring two agents to investigate the HUMANA PROJECT’s goings on in a small town of A LA VISTA, TX. She hired the two agents as ordered by the “voice” as well as ordering the hit as ordered by the “voice” over the phone as well.

The assassins, FBI agents, husband, and wife, carried out the deed. It was all because the victim found out a secret about the HUMANA PROJECT, that even Valeska didn’t know what that secret pertained to. The victim, a rather young man had no family, no one who depended on him. He was a loner. Therefore, the hit didn’t affect anyone but him. She felt she’d made the right choice. First, she sent him into the chicken coop, the downtown department where Lead agent Seagle was in charge. There he found out what he needed to know about the project through an outside contact unknown to her or anyone else, but when it came time for him to fulfill his end of the bargain and reveal the information to her, he neglected to do so. Instead, he had contacted an outside source and was about to go public. What choice did she have other than to remove the evidence? And in doing so, removed the only person who knew one of the secrets about the HUMANA PROJECT and carried it to his grave with him. That thought is one that haunted her more than most things she had done for the organization. If there had been any chance he told anyone the information he had found out, then the possibility of that thread being found was still out there. That was the reason she selected the two agents to find that missing link, that thread that could not only lead back to her, but to her supervisors, and eventually to the investors and owners of the multi-layered organization.

When she’d finished reliving the eventuality of what happens to people who know too much, she turned to Reginald, cleared her throat, and agreed to meet him. The question was where they were to meet.

“Oh, and by the way, since I don’t trust you, I’m bringing my friend Jean-Claude. Him I trust. Now where do we meet you and at what time? I’m sure since Jean-Claude works at this location he’ll know where to find you. Personally, Jean-Claude has always had my back, you, on the other hand, have something to prove to gain my trust.” added Valeska as she and Reginald turned to listen to the man at the podium and what had to announce to the visiting guests.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Final Option

The Oxford farm, a vast spread to the north of A LA VISTA, had been in ole man Sam’s family for many generations. His father’s father, William Oxford was of English heritage. Early family historians recorded that the Oxford family name was first found in Oxfordshire where they had a family seat as Lords of the Manor. After the Battle of Hastings in 1066, William, Duke of Normandy, having prevailed over King Harold, granted most of Britain to his many victorious Barons. It is suggested that his heritage, his people understood the importance of tilling the land, keeping their property productive, and being noble when it came to dealing with others. For ole man Sam, he and Elsie had kept their promise to uphold the family name at all costs. Sam didn’t intend on failing to keep his commitment, not at this time of his life when there were more years behind him than ahead.

“Supper’s ‘bout ready Sam,” stated Elsie as she stuck her head around the kitchen door to get Sam’s attention.

He wasn’t much for watching television or listening to the radio, no, a quiet evening at home was filled with a time for readin’ the Good Book as he called it, glancing at the local paper’s classified ads to see if there was anything he might be interested in, and then walking out to the back porch to survey his land, his family’s land. He didn’t need much else to complete his life. The store had always provided enough for him and Elsie. He didn’t need much else.

After his usual review of the backyard and the pastures beyond the two large barns that stretched almost along the fence line between what was once a chicken coop, ole man Sam came back in and walked to the kitchen where Elsie was finishing up supper. She’d been good for ole man Sam. And in turn, he’d been good for her. They made a nice couple, respectful couple, but on the horizon loomed a serpent, a sinister invader who was ordered too many one last visit to a man who wouldn’t be bought.

Once seated at the table, ole man Sam said grace, raised his head, and watched his wife place one of her famous biscuits on his plate. “You sure know how to start things off.” stated ole man Sam as he smiled his usual smile and asked Elsie to pass the green beans. Supper wasn’t any different than any other meal at the Oxford table. Simple and wholesome, nothing fancy or expensive. Elise always made up a pan of fried chicken, ole man Sam’s favorite for Friday supper. Golden brown, moist, and so tender it would almost fall off of the bone when he bit into it. It also was always in demand down at the church homecomings every year.

“How’d the homecoming come out this year?” asked ole man Sam as he reached for the butter for his biscuits.

No matter come hell or high water, Elsie made it her goal to go to the homecoming whether ole man Sam did or not. He normally didn’t like social gatherings, especially those held down at the church. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the pastor or the folks who attended, it was that in some cases he’d rather keep his beliefs to himself, treat his fellowman as best as he could, and take care of his family. He’d done that for most of his life. He wasn’t going to change now.

“How’d the homecoming work out for y’all down at the church this past Sunday?” ole man Sam asked as he bit into his biscuit that squired butter out both sides of his mouth.

“It’s going ‘bout as good as it could considering that those two Barstow sisters, you know those two, always trying to start something. I watched them when sister Sadie went over to their table to get some chicken and dumplins’. They stood there eyeing what that poor lady had on as if what they had on was any better. I’m tellin’ you Sam, what those two women was a-wearin’ was without a doubt the worst things I’d ever seen, land sakes!” commented Elsie as she began the tale of the two gossipers serving chicken and dumplins’.

“I watched the Bessie as she tried not to put too much on Sadie’s plate, rather stingy I thought since Sadie was always so generous with everyone when they stopped by her table. But when that Jenkins man came over to Sidney’s side of the table, she handed him a bowl of chicken and dumplins’ all to himself. Some say she ain’t never got over him after all these years. It’s sad to think that someone would live the entire life thinking ‘bout one person. Times too short for such nonsense.” commented Elsie as she took a bite of mashed potatoes and gravy and washed it down with some southern sweet tea she’d made earlier in the day.

Once she’d set her iced tea glass back down on the table, she reached for the pitcher sitting on the other end of the table and refilled ole man Sam’s glass and hers as well. One thing southern folks like is sweet iced tea no matter what the main course might be. For Elsie and ole man Sam, well it was part of their heritage. The English blood still flowed through Sam’s veins as pure as it was the day his great-granddaddy six times removed had in him. Tea was served at almost every meal, except breakfast.

Picking back up where she left off, Elsie went on about how the Barstow sisters kept braggin’ ‘bout their dishes, their cookin’, and their dresses, two of the worst lookin’ print dresses anyone could’ve ever seen. Elsie told ole man Sam about the huge flowers on both of the oversized women’s dresses that made them look even larger. She laughed a bit when she mentioned that she’d overheard Sadie tellin’ them that’s where they could order enough material to make the one she was wearing because they didn’t stock their sizes down at the five and dime on the corner. That’s were Sadie bought her nice dress from just for the homecoming festival.

For a few minutes, both of them took another biscuit from the pan, buttered it, and put it alongside their mashed potatoes and gravy. It was like the biscuits just flew out of the pan. Elsie smiled each time she saw her husband enjoying another one. It made her feel like he appreciated it and her.

“Oh, one thing I did overhear that seemed a bit odd was that when the sisters walked over to Sadie’s table, you know to show equal respect for Sadie coming to their table, the two ended up eatin’ some of her meat she was serving. And, to my surprise, they were goin’ on ‘bout like it was the best meat they had ever tasted. You know ole man Sam, those two women ain’t right. Every year after making their way over to Sadie’s table, they would leave laughing and talkin’ ‘bout her food in the worse way. You know that it’s the way they are with Sadie. I don’t think they much care for her. I don’t think they much care for anybody. Anyways, back to the story. The sisters were thanking Sadie, tellin’ her how they loved the food, just like every year before this one, but this was different. It sounded like they really meant it. It sounded like Sadie had given them one of her family secret recipes they way the sisters were carryin’ on with her. And, if I’m not mistaken, Sadie handed them a card or had them write down something, maybe the name of where she got her meat that they were hollerin’ ‘bout. It was really a change from all the years before. I’m tellin’ you, it was a mess up in there ole man Sam.” commented Elsie as she finished up her supper and began to clear the table.

“Did ya hear where the store was that Sadie was talkin’ ‘bout?” asked ole man Sam as he sopped up the last of the brown gravy and spooned the last of his mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“I can’t rightfully say I did, but I’m a-guessin’ that it was over there in the next county at some store. Give me a minute and let me think ‘bout it. Maybe I can remember what I heard ‘em say.” answered Elsie as she turned for ole man Sam, swiped the remaining scrapes off into a small bowl for the hound in the backyard.

After finishing up his sweet iced tea, ole man Sam pushed his chair back, stood up, and turned to walk into the living room leaving Elsie to clean up. She didn’t have a problem with doin’ the housework like some of the younger women did. For her, it wasn’t that bad. Ole man Sam had provided for her right good, or so she always said, and washing up the dishes for him, will that wasn’t anything to cry about. She stood at the sink located under the window that opened out into the backyard. A view she’d loved since the house had been built. For her, she wouldn’t change a thing if anything was to ever happen to ole man Sam. He wasn’t as spry as he use to be, well in fact neither of them were youngins’ anymore. She watched their old Bloodhound, Edgar III, as he circled around and around to find a place to do his business. She loved that old hound. He use to be a real hoot in his younger days, but now, he was showing his age. Some folks thought he was a Red hound by the color of his coat, but Elsie assured them that he was breeding stock, full-blooded Bloodhound. Why his great-great granddaddy was Edgar too. Kept the best watch out on their property as anyone would want. ‘Sides, even the police came by a couple of times wantin’ to hire ole Edgar III for some detective work, or so they said. Elsie and ole man Sam wouldn’t let Edgar out of their sight. No tellin’ what some folks would do to dogs or other animals given half a chance. So, ole man Sam explained to the police that he wasn’t trying to stand in their way of their investigation, but ole Edgar III would not be joining them on their hunt for whatever they were looking for out in the woods.

Elsie stood a minute more watching her trusted friend as he slowly made his way over to his favorite resting place, flopped down on the floor at the end of their porch, and before long, he was asleep.

Turning her attention back to her chores, she wiped another dinner plate dry and placed it the cabinet over the counter. Then she happened to remember the comment about where Sadie got her meat the sisters were holler ‘bout. She told them to go to “The Corner Market” in Westco about 20 miles from the county line. Having remembered the store’s name, Elsie walked over to the door between the living room and the kitchen and stuck her head into the living room. “It was the Corner Market over in Westco Sam. That’s the place Sadie got her meat for the homecoming. Everyone ate it all up and there was nothing left.” commented Elsie as she withdrew her head and returned to the sink to finish up the dishes.

It was a strange thing or so ole man Sam thought, that one of his fellow merchants had gone and fallen for the oldest trick in the book. If he wasn’t mistaken, Keith Staddard was the manager of that store, a younger man trying to make his way in the business. They must’ve got to him if he was selling what they wanted him to sell at his store. If he was selling that new HUMANA meat product, ole man Sam needed to have a word with him. Ole man Sam was respected in these parts and Keith might take him at his word. Time would tell, but if he didn’t heed his warning, there could be more at stake than selling some kind of counterfeit meat to some unsuspecting old hens and porkers.

“You did say “The Corner Market” in Westco, right?” asked ole man Sam as he wanted to be sure that what he was planning to do was to go over there and try to get some answers. He needed to know it was the right place.

“Yes, “The Corner Market” in Westco, you know where that is?” asked Elsie as she stepped to the doorway and waited for her husband to respond.

“Yeah, I know where that is. In fact, I was just over that way pickin’ up a few things, some grapes from a local grower, my customers like fresh grapes,” answered Sam as he sit in his recliner as he did every evening and watched the local news until eleven o’clock. Once the local news was over as far as he was concerned there wasn’t anything much worth watching. He’d turn the television off, walk to the kitchen to get his glass of ice water and call it a day.

But this evening, rather than surrendering to his comfortable ritual, he asked Elsie to come sit near him on the sofa. He normally waited for her to come on her own, but something was troubling him that he needed to get cleared up for he would be able to calm his mind and rest.

“Elsie, you ‘bout done in there with them dishes?” Sam asked as he leaned sideways in the recliner trying to see into the kitchen. Usually, he could see the sink and Elsie standing by it, but he didn’t see her at first. In a second, she slid back over into view, folded her homemade apron, and laid into on the counter top next to the refrigerator.

“I’m comin’ Sam, hold your breeches!” she called out as she opened the door to get their iced tea out of the refrigerator as she normally did each night. “Gettin’ the iced tea, hold on,” she added.

With a glass of tea in each hand, Elsie made her way to the living room, handed ole man Sam his, and set hers on the coaster on the end table next to the lamp. She seldom wanted to watch the news, but she wanted to please ole man Sam, so each evening she’d sit and listen to channel three on the local station with news anchor Jared Kuffner. Even though she had no use for the news he was reporting, she did like some of the commercials.

“Elsie, I have a question. It might take a minute for you to recall what I’m ‘bout to ask you, but I’d like for ya to try hard for me. It’s somethin’ that I need to know, somethin’ that’s bothering me.” stated ole man Sam as he reached for his iced tea, took a long drink, then set it back on his coaster beside Elsie’s.

“For heaven’s sake Sam, you sound like there’s something really serious that’s botherin’ you. What is it?” she asked and waited for a reply.

For a few moments, Elsie thought maybe her husband was going to tell her something about his health, but if it was his health, he would’ve already mentioned that to her. He was very careful to keep track of his medication and his physical activity. His doctor had already told him that he needed to move around a little more, and keep active, the doctor said. And, when his doctor tells ole man Sam to do something, he does what he’s told. He often said, “If you ain’t goin’ to listen to the doctor’s advice, why waste the man’s time and your dime.” It was funny when he said it because he really meant it.

“Now Elsie, what I need to know is exactly what Sadie Higgins said to the nosey sisters when she was takin’ ‘bout that new stuff she bought over at the Corner Market. It’s very important. I’m not lookin’ to go fetch any for my store, but I might go lookin’ ‘round over there just to see it for myself.” said ole man Sam as he turned to see what his wife could remember about the stuff Sadie was serving yesterday at the church’s homecoming.

“Well, Sam, I wasn’t rightly lookin’ at all that foodstuff, I was more listening’ than lookin’. Sadie was so takin’ by what the two Barstow sister were sayin’ to her than to say a whole lot ‘bout the food she was servin’. Hold on a minute and I’ll try my best to recall it at least what I can.” stated Elsie as she closed her eyes and tried to put herself back at the homecoming standing near Sadie’s table. It only took a second for Elsie to envision the church surroundings from yesterday. She, like many at the church, tries to remember as much as possible so each of them can write down what happened. It’s all for the church archives, and its history, and Elsie, like the others, had been one of the best to write her part down. Once all the information was collected along with the pictures, it was given to the pastor for him to sift through to be sure there weren’t any defamatory remarks or scandals waiting to happen. He didn’t enjoy sitting for hours reading over all the gossip intertwined throughout all the other gibberish some of the folks gave him to review. The only person he didn’t worry much about or her accounting of the church’s events was Elsie. She pretty much kept the facts the facts and let the garbage end up where it needed to go, in the trash.

It took a second or so for her to put everything in order in her mind, but once it was ready, she almost quoted it verbatim for her husband.

... “That’ll be “The Corner Market” in West co. But one thing I need to tell you about what to look for, the meat is pre-wrapped and has a special label, a gold one at the top of the package. The label you’re looking for will read: Product of the World HARVESTERS, INT. It must be some kind of outreach program that helps the world’s hunger issue, could be some kind of charity. I don’t know for sure, but that’s what you look for when you go there. Jessie is the manager. He can help you.”

“And that’s all I can remember” said Elsie as she reach for her iced tea, sipped it, and placed the glass on the coaster.

“Alright Elsie, you know you got a pretty good memory for someone your age!” laughed ole man Sam as he waited for her rebuttal.

She just laughed and held back her normal rebuttal that she told him about how old he was and that he couldn’t remember one minute to the next.

Ole man Sam committed the comment to heart, especially the short section that gave him the answer he was lookin’ for. “The label you’re looking for will read: Product of the World HARVESTERS, INT.” he heard his wife’s voice tell him over and over as he played it back in his head.

“Elsie, I might be up a dab earlier in the morning. I think I got to make a trip over to the Corner Market and look at this label myself.” said ole man Sam as he handed his wife his empty tea glass, slid out of his recliner, and headed off to bed. For ole man Sam, Mondays were his hardest days.

“I’m going to bed, you comin’?” he asked as he normally did right about eleven o’clock.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Into Darkness

“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” commented Valeska as she turned around to view herself in the floor-to-ceiling wall mirror affixed to the wall across from the bed in her assigned room. She didn’t look bad, but she sure looked out of place. Dressed in all black, something that appeared to be a jumpsuit or perhaps a trapeze artist’s costume. She looked at herself and decided she needed to ‘cover up’ some of the obvious and tone down what men would find the most interesting. Pulling a light evening jacket out of the selection of clothing prepared for her by the organization, they’d asked her for her sizes prior to leaving the United States so, at their expense, they would have some appropriate apparel for any dinner or travel event she might be required to attend.

“One thing is for sure, there’s no scrimping with these people when it comes to making a statement,” whispered Valeska as she slipped the light jacket over her shoulders, shifted it into position, and stood to take a look.

“I couldn’t have chosen a better look for me.” she commented as she posed in front of the mirror several times before pulling the closet doors together. It was time to go.

The meeting place was some obscure corner on top of the building where there was a blind spot that the cameras were unable to pick up. Evidently, the security company hired to install all of the cameras had made a small mistake and Reginald Doddard was about to capitalize on it. What he had found out was worth his life if he was caught, but he didn’t want to become one of the first victims killed if he could avoid it. Not only did he need to tell Valeska the secret, but he needed to make her aware that she too was being watched. He wasn’t sure she knew, but it all boiled down to something about her progress she was making with her branch and the implementation process of the PROJECT in her country. Since she was the director, the organization was much more critical, less tolerant of slothfulness.

Having prepared for the inevitability of being discovered, Valeska armed herself with a small caliber handgun, slid it into a small evening clutch she chose to accent the ‘costume-like’ ensemble, and walked over to open her door just as there was someone approaching on the other side.

Knock, knock!

Startled, Valeska hesitantly turned the knob and slowly pulled the door open to see that it was only Jean-Claude who had agreed to accompany her into the darkness later in the evening.

“Okay, Val, turn around and let me get the full effect.” ordered her personal professional who critiqued her every outfit. It wasn’t her best, but she wasn’t going for the ‘best’. She was going for ‘don’t let them see me’ attire this evening. It worked for her, but now to hear what Jean-Claude had to say.

For a brief moment, Jean-Claude stood looking at her from top to bottom. Then he reversed his stare to view her from bottom to top, held his breath, and rolled his eyes heavenward. He inhaled and exhaled as one would do before making an announcement or to collect their thoughts, but whichever of the two, he was about to offer his honest opinion as he had always done. Valeska was his friend not his client.

“Well, let’s just put it this way, a circus act you are not, but almost! Valeska honey, what were you shooting for here dear? You look as if you’re going to a funeral and you’re the star attraction.” Jean-Claude always overstated his opinion but Valeska expected that much.

“What was I shooting for, you ask? Well for one thing I was trying to not get shot. If you remember, I asked you to tag along with me later so I didn’t have to be with that dreadful Reginald Doddard any more than I have to. You know, like staying close to me so he doesn’t try anything stupid that I’d have to shoot him for. That’s what I had in mind. It’s rather simple if you really think about it.” replied Valeska as she brushed her hair back out of her eyes and adjusted her bra strap that was cutting into her shoulders.

With all the charisma that he could muster, Jean-Claude simply reached over to make sure his friend was ready for the evening. “You know there’s a small, informal dinner this evening Val. Nothing too elaborate, the establishment felt after the conference hall meeting, they’d try to tone it down a notch, and make the visitors more comfortable. They do it every time we have a required briefing. It’s nothing new.” Jean-Claude added to reassure Valeska and to make her aware that her ensemble, perhaps colloquial in the states and accepted for some evening’s gathers, might not be as appropriate for this evening.

“What do you mean I need to change?” asked Valeska as she held her shoulders back and her head high. I think I’ll keep what I have on. It looks okay to me.” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Val, you’ve asked me many times to tell you when there’s a fashion foo-pa, well this is a doozy, my dear friend. And don’t get me started with those shoes you have on your feet! Okay, honestly, you’re a train wreck, just hasn’t happened. Someone of your position, your status, your responsibly must exude power. Well, this that you’ve got on isn’t saying power, it’s saying somebody kill me!” laughed Jean-Claude as he watched his friend slowly understand what he was telling her.

“We need a redo!” she said and smiled.

“Finally, I didn’t think you’d ever come to your senses. Now let’s get back into your room, rummage through the closet the organization stocked for you, and find the appropriate evening attire that will fulfill both purposes, make you the star that you are and keep you from being seen or worse yet, shot. With that uncomfortable moment behind them, the two turned and made their way back into her room and to what Jean-Claude hoped to be a solution to the fashion error of the decade.

In another tower of the residential quarters, Reginald Doddard was preparing as well for an evening that could, if not handled correctly, result in someone, hopefully not him, being killed. He knew full well that Valeska was curious enough to want to know what he was talking about earlier in the afternoon, but he also knew that she was no dummy. She’d come prepared with what was necessary to protect herself should things down in the wrong direction.

There were to be cocktails, light horderves, and a lot of superficial chit-chat about practically nothing that anyone would want to hear. But, if he remembered correctly from his last visit, there was a group of the higher echelon among them who separated themselves from the rest and hide away in a room behind a “green door” that had guards posted on either side. Once they disappeared from the crowd and vanished behind the door, they weren’t seen again the rest of the evening. He wasn’t sure what was behind the door, but it was enough to steal the people away from their guests for the night.

With that thought in mind, Reginald fashioned his gun holster around his chest and fastened it tightly. If there was going to be any action tonight, he wanted to be sure when he drew his weapon it didn’t dislodge his holster at the same time.

“And there we have it,” she said as he stood close enough to his closet’s mirror to take full account of his attire and its suitability for the evening. He was the Queen’s representative, but first and foremost he was his own man. If he had to, he’d relinquish his duties and save himself and Valeska. He’d explain why to his Queen if that time ever came.

With that resolution tucked away from all to see, he finished up his preparation and headed to the small gathering on the ground level of the residential tower. It was a simple walk down the stairs if he chose to take that course, but for the sake of his agreed-upon meeting time, he conceded like all the other guests, to take the elevator.

“Now, let’s take a look!” said Jean-Claude as he held Valeska’s left hand, turned her around like a fairy on the top of a music box, and sighed his most satisfying sigh. “We’ve done it.” he added as he congratulated Valeska for her championing a style change that would make all the difference.

“Take a look in the mirror my friend and tell me what you see.” he said as he waited patiently for her comment.

With all the courage she had and holding her eyes closed, she stepped in front of the mirror and counted to three. Then, opened them to see how a few suggestions changed a scared director full of fear and intimidation into a dominating force that would be someone to reckon with if they closed the line. The transformation from Little Orphan Annie to Laura the Tomb Raider was simply a few minor changes, nothing more. She stood in front of the mirror for a second longer than really necessary, but for her own reasons. She didn’t see that dirt-poor coal camp girl who carried buckets of water to the kitchen and buckets filled with coal to her mother so she could tend the coal stove and shake the ashes once the fuel had been spent.

As she stood there lingering in a memory of a time buried in her mind, it took her…

...Ever so often and without warning, this memory took her to a time when coal was King, when families gathered around dinner table, when Holidays were celebrations, and work was met with dedication. During those times in the Coal Camps, it was commonplace to have coal bins in the yard. If you were a little more highfalutin' you might have a coal bin under your house where coal was deposited for use during the winter months. For Valeska's family, it would be some time before they were privileged to have a coal bin under the house. In fact, it wasn't until they lived in another coal mining camp that one was built by her uncle Silas. Up until that time, she carried the coal, much like every other child in her coal dust-covered community, from the coal bin to the house, each day, at least twice a day, perhaps more, during the winter months.

It was on one of these treks to get a bucket of coal that she fell subject to an accident. she was taught to use a sledgehammer or an ax to bust the coal up into smaller pieces, shovel it into the buckets, and carry it to the back porch sitting it near the door. On this particular adventure to the coal bin she never expected to be injured busting up coal. an older neighbor friend, Debbie, gave the lesson as she watched, eager to learn, to duplicate the skill she was being taught, she stood memorizing the motions. Turning the blunt edge of the ax toward the coal and swinging as hard as she could, the softer coal would fall apart leaving almost pellets to be shoveled into the buckets.

After a couple of times of swinging the ax over her head, the sharp edge fell and cut her scalp until it split a long gash exposing her skull. Blood bubbled and raced over her scalp and into her eyes. Debbie, seeing the blood running down her face, raced her across the backyard, up the back porch steps, and into the house. Astonished to see her face covered in blood, her mom immediately ran to get whatever she could find to stop the bleeding and fix the gash in her scalp. She still had the scar hidden under the remaining hair on her head. The scar remains to remind her of the coal-bin adventure and is a trophy of that day in the coal bin, in the back yard, in a place that now only exists in her memory...

The memory lingered long enough for her to smell the coal dust and feel the blood trickle down her forehead. Then, as quickly as it had appeared within her mind, it vanished until another time when it would wash over her taking her back to a place, to the child she was filled with insecurities and fear.

She wasn’t that child any longer. No, time with its inevitability, wooed her away from those dusty dirt roads and crystal clear mountain streams. In those years that separated her from the little girl in the printed flour dress and the formidable warrior she saw reflected in the mirror in her room, a metamorphosis had occurred that couldn’t be reversed. For that, she had bitter-sweet feelings.

“Valeska, Valeska, are you okay?” asked Jean-Claude as he tugged at her sleeve trying to get her attention. “I asked if you are okay. What’s gotten into you my friend? We have a meeting, a soiree to attend. And, I must admit, you’re truly going to be the focal point for those who aren’t already plastered.” he laughed as he held the door for them to exit the room.

“Come now, Jean-Claude, you know you’re always drawing conclusions that are only founded on your opinions. As you’ve told me many times, we must keep up appearances. Viola, here it is!” laughed Valeska as she held her hands up over her head and twirled around in the room before making her exit.

Having done all they could do to prepare for the best and the worst or whatever the evening may bring, the two walked proudly through the rotunda of the entry hall, past the guards and men in uniform, to the open doors flanked by a man dressed in a tuxedo on either side of the entryway. Once inside the room, one as large as the conference room but without all the chairs, they were greeted by Reginald who had made his own entrance just moments before.

Having turned to catch a glimpse of Valeska entering the hall, he grimaced at the sight of Jean-Claude who, if he remembered correctly, wasn’t invited along. There was nothing he could do that would keep Valeska’s friend from tagging along. If he brought up the fact that he wasn’t invited to come, Valeska would back out of the midnight rendezvous. That wasn’t going to happen because what he had to tell her was much more important than his disdain for the man hanging onto her arm.

Was it jealousy that was rearing its green head that caused him to want to filet the man from head to foot? Or was it simply the fact that he wanted to be the one escorting the eloquently dressed woman from first one dignitary to the next? It wasn’t that he was inexperienced with the task, on the contrary, he’d lead many a damsel to their doom surrendering them to men of power and position to fulfill their carnal desires. But, then there was Valeska Vargas who, for lack of any other word, was off limits to anyone whom she found offensive, and there were many.

“Well, well Ms. Vargas don’t you look stunning, even beyond stunning if that’s possible!” complimented Reginald as he took Valeska’s right hand, leaned forward, kissed it as any cultured gentleman would do, then released it, and stood up.

As far as he greeting Jean-Claude, well, he mumbled something that sounded like hello, but one couldn’t be sure he was saying that or something much worse. Nevertheless, Jean-Claude was a perfect gentleman and PR professional who always went out of his way to fulfill his end of the contract no matter who was paying the bill.

“Reggie, oh excuse me, Reginald Doddard, what an extreme pleasure to meet you, after all, I’ve heard about you. Valeska, did you know that Reginald here is a top-notch assassin, excuse me, I mean sharpshooter. I’m sorry Reggie, that just slipped out. It’s all over that your skills are unmatched by anyone in attendance. Perhaps you can challenge someone here to a dual to gauge how accurate that boast may be given there are many here that have served their nation as I suppose you have served yours, sir. Why else could you have risen in the ranks to the apex of becoming the Queen’s liaison?

And with that opening and sprinkling of the salt into the wound, Jean-Claude withdrew his daggers but promised himself that if necessary, he’d launch into a full-scale attack if need be to protect his friend. He wasn’t looking for payment or any compensation of any type, it was, in his opinion to protect that which is worth protecting. And for him, his friend was priceless.

Across the room near the large crystal punch bowl stood someone that eyed the three as if there were insects that needed to be squashed. The person, one of the undercover guards for the facility watched the three from afar trying to decide which of them to eliminate first. He wasn’t assigned to kill anyone, but if anyone was found out of position or in the wrong place, a restricted place, he’d been given authority to remove them with deadly force.

Neither of the three, Jean-Claude nor Valeska nor Reginald knew they would be in the cross hairs of this man before the night was through. Yet, if it were up to the guard, he would’ve removed the threat long before now. It was for that reason that he would do as he was ordered to do, carry out the needed precautions to keep himself safe, but in the end, he would remove those who needed to be erased.

The evening with its toasts and horderves, plotted along much like a senior’s party in some nursing home back in America. There were those who were givers and those who were the takes, but as far as Valeska was concerned, she’d determined not to allow herself to be cornered by any person she felt threatened by. That was her own personal war, one of the external and internal victories and defeats. Whether anyone else knew it or not, she’d come a long way from the time when she boarded the bus to leave her mountainous home. As before, she slumped within her mind to a place and time that would hold her captive if she was careful to pull herself free. It was a battle with her inner self that she faced even now in a world far from the muddy roads and water boxes in the backyard. The memory consumed her and swirled within her as she mentally slipped away for only a moment...

..As life plays its hand upon the checkered board that spread before her, displaying life as a possible illusion, she too had attempted with first one measure, then another to balance the equation between her and life, to make things right, to even the playing field between the seen and the unseen. First, one side takes its calculated risk and pushes a pawn into the playing field. At that time, she’d become the pawn with no release for the inevitable. And, as swiftly as she had positioned her piece before the opponent, the opponent pushed them aside with some predetermined move, an unexpected piece portrayed as just another chess piece captured by an aggressor. In her youth, she was convinced that it was more than just a game, the act of moving her pieces from one side of the board to the other. At that courageous time in life when she was invincible, she was reassured by others that it's a matter of sheer will that advances her challenging pieces into the forefront, into the face of her opponent that at that time, was time itself. She became anchored in the illusion that her time remained constant, no ticking of the clock, no thrusting into the inevitable, no succumbing to the winds of time as all others have witnessed, all others have proclaimed before her. No, she, throughout her life, maintained the illusion that she wasn’t affected by the moving of the pieces, the unseen war that raged within her, or the irreconcilable debt she owe to life itself. There is a price for life, an invisible exchange, a bartering between the flesh and the eternal. And, in this imaginary world, sitting at this imaginary table, playing this imaginary game that's called life, she traded pieces of herself for each of the moments of life being offered in a game of chess called life. Unfortunately, she was convinced that she could win with each move forward, each placement of her pieces of herself given for one more chance to experience another day. There's a simple reality that she had to face. A reality unacceptable for some, welcomed by others. That reality is that there's only one winner in this game she was playing and only one outcome. In the evening of life with the chess board nearly empty, she would proclaim that she did her best and played the game with Time with a sincere heart and a grateful spirit. If she was going to play, she’d play it as if each move counted, as if every move was her last…

The narrator in her memory sounded as prophetic as Reginald sounded the first time he mentioned that he needed to meet with her, but he’d emphasized that it wasn’t to be in a public place and definitely not with people standing within earshot. But, unlike the memory, she had a choice to make, either meet him or suffer whatever destiny he seemed sure would befall them both.

“Time to kiss everyone goodnight,” stated Jean-Claude as he smiled at the two standing with him. The evening had drawn on hour after hour, but other than drinks, smiles, and soft music, nothing of any value was accomplished, nothing to answer the questions suggested by the closed doors and uniformed guardsmen standing throughout the room.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please, may I have your attention for a few moments!” announced one of the lesser known faces in the crowd standing behind a small unobtrusive podium slid into place when no one was watching.

“If you would, please bare with me a few more moments as we take this time to acknowledge someone who has distinguished herself amount the many who are in attendance this evening. There are those who rise above the shouts and celebrations of their peers to raise the bar for others to follow. Trendsetters, continuous improvement experts, those who silently, but consistently cross the line in the sand to face a challenge others shrink away from. This evening, if you will, give a big hand for Director Valeska Vargas, American Director of the Global Operations Branch, Alexandria, Virginia.” announced a man in a custom-made tuxedo with the whitest teeth Valeska had ever seen. “Come on up Ms. Vargas, please don’t be shy!” he summoned as he moved aside from the podium where he stood.

Having been caught off guard, Valeska looked at her two companions, especially Jean-Claude, knowing full well he’d been aware of this coming event. Why else would he have insisted on the change of clothes, the over-the-top evening attire that was, if the truth be known, almost too much for the small gathering with the elites?

She looked at Jean-Claude knowing it was his intention to not necessarily ‘set her up’, but have her more presentable. She knew he knew, they all knew. “Jean-Claude, you dirty devil, you had this all planned!” she stated in a less than complimentary manner.

“Now, Val, don’t be angry. I found out at the last minute and when I saw you in that Little Orphan Annie outfit, I knew that wasn’t going to hold up to the demands of keeping up the appearance. How many times do I have to remind you looking the part is a requirement, not an option? Now, go, go on and revel in the moment. There just might not be another if this whole thing is found at for what it is.” concluded Jean-Claude as he winked at his friend, took her hand, and escorted her to the podium for what would be the last time.

After returning to his position beside Reginald, the two watched as Valeska was lauded with praise for surpassing the quotas required in her country. The quotas represented the number of retail outlets that came on board within the last six months, a startling 125 percent increase over the previous six months. It was the largest increase the organization has experienced since the initiation of the HUMANA PROJECT’S business side of the overall GLOBAL RESOURCES corporation.

“Jean-Claude, I suppose you know that I don’t particularly like you, but having said that, I respect your constant loyalty to Valeska. I do have one question though,” said Reginald as he moved a little closer to what he thought was his competition, but wasn’t his competition at all. “What did you mean when you told Valeska there just might not be another moment like this if this whole thing is exposed for what it is?” asked Reginald as he backed away and waited for the answer.

At the front, Valeska, dressed for the occasion, stepped closer toward the announcer, stood facing toward the crowd, and whispered under her breath how she wished she wasn’t standing there at all but rather in the crowd watching from afar. Once the flashes of light from the professional photographers were finished, the announcer handed a plague with a gold plate affixed to it. On the gold plate, Valeska could see her name, date of award, and a small, but disturbing motto recently adopted by the organization. It read: Saving Mankind one sacrifice at a time.

There was a stark similarity between the motto and a line from the dream she had experienced on the flight from America. The dream that was created by her mind to, if she didn’t know better, to warn her that things weren’t exactly as they seemed. The line from the dream read: Es minus felices consumimus ut vivamus. And the insignia embroidered on the guard’s shoulder devices read: Saluting those who surrender all for mankind. Now, this inscription that echoes the same sentiment: Saving Mankind one sacrifice at a time.

There was a message here that was being to resonate within her. There was a message that her inner-self, her soul was telling her, but until now she had ignored. The message, one that she nor anyone else with any conscience at all would little to very closely was not repeating the quotes, the words at such a depth within her that she could not deny it. But, at this moment in the middle of the crowd, she wasn’t able to follow through with the purpose that had been ignited within her. She needed to make things right if for no one else, for herself.

“Now ladies and gentlemen enjoy the rest of your evening. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” commented the announcer as he reached over to shake Valeska’s hand and bid her good night. “Ms. Vargas, again allow me to congratulate you on behalf of all of my fellow project owners and investors. We appreciate the work your doing and can’t imagine how far you’ll take us over there in America. Good night, have a pleasant rest of your evening.” he concluded, turned, and walked away.

Out in the crowd, Reginald and Jean-Claude watched Valeska walk across the raised platform, descend the stairs, and become lost in the crowd until she reappeared in front of them holding the plague she’d been awarded as if it was contaminated. Having asked the attending service individual for a small bag, she tucked it away inside and asked the attendant to place it in a secured safe until she was ready to depart the day after tomorrow. After giving the plastic bag to the attendant, she turned to Reginald and Jean-Claude, frowned a particularly curious frown not expected from someone who had just set all records above and beyond expectations throughout the organization. For anyone other than Valeska, it would’ve been a proud moment. But she wasn’t just anyone, she was becoming a person who felt she had been caught up in a global conspiracy without knowing all the facts. For her, the dream, the motto, the insignia all meant something. It meant something that was beginning to eat her alive.

“What’s the matter Valeska?” asked Jean-Claude as he waited for her to reply.

“Yes, Valeska, what is the problem? You’ve stunned the world’s elite with your unrelenting dedication to making their product accepted in a nation that has no idea what the product is,” answered Reginald as he smiled a sheepish grin, and turned to Jean-Claude for affirmation.

“But Reginald, you know and I know that for the safety and security of this organization, that particular part of the business is to remain secret. If it was ever to be made known, there would be, well, let’s just say that nations would be in chaos and the world’s tribunals would be preparing for questions and answers.” summed up Jean-Claude as he too grinned a tight grin knowing full well that Valeska had no idea what they were talking about.

“I’m not going to say what I think is going on here and around the world, but later when Reginald meets with us, I want some answers!” demanded Valeska as she stood thinking of the plague and feeling ashamed that she’d been awarded it by an organization she was beginning to suspect was not what it had proclaimed itself to be.

“Now, Valeska, don’t be so hard on yourself. Most of the directors and those above them know full well what they signed on for when HUMANA officials came knocking. You’re just one of those, well let’s just say a little more concerning and not easily lead. The other directors follow orders and seldom if ever ask questions. You know like ‘monkey see, monkey do’ without a hitch, never wondering who is calling the shots, not caring who is being taken advantage of to fulfill their organization’s mission statement. But you, well you’re a different sort of person. And yes, the organization knows who you are and where you came from, your entire life is in their archives for anyone to read who feels it would better the cause. You, me, and many others, my sweet Valeska, have sold our souls to the devil and without hope of ever being able of freeing ourselves or finding salvation, we are bound to that eternal contract. I’ve promised to show you something, to reveal something and I’m going to do that. Right now, I must, as your friend here, Jean-Claude, has so amply stated, “keep up the appearance” until we can either escape find some other way or find redemption.” summarized Reginald as the crowd began to clamor around them pushing toward Valeska for her autograph and a picture.

Chapter Thirty

With All Candor

For ole man Sam, it had been his policy, his belief that a man, a person in general should have some type of moral upbringing that guided them through life. He wanted to make sure that he was carrying out his ancestor’s wishes and answering their prayers that he and his family would keep the land in the family name, treat people with respect, and not believe everything people tell you to do for an extra dollar. He had made it his practice to work for his living, speak the truth no matter how it hurt, and remain faithful to his resolve as a man. His life experiences, his store, his family were all part of him and each one told a story about who he was. Elsie, his wife, a kindhearted woman, knew exactly how ole man Sam felt and what he believed. If there was any deviation from that truth, she’d know it. All of their married life, the two tried their best to walk the straight and narrow.

“Elsie, I’m goin’ over to the Corner Market this morning. If you wouldn’t mind getting’ yourself together and look in on the folks down at the market for me until I get back I’d appreciate it, honey. I’m feelin’ thing ain’t right for some reason. I need to go talk to that young man over at the store, that Keith Staddard, I think you told me. I met him once, but it’s been a while back.”

Elsie finished up her coffee and placed the cup in the sink along with the breakfast dishes. She’d make her mayonnaise biscuits this morning with some gravy and homemade sausage ole man Sam had Chris, one of the butchers down at the store, grind up for him. Ole man Sam like the way his butchers in the back kept things neat and clean and just the way he would do it himself if he was still butchering. He missed the times when the four of them, him, Chris, Kenny, and David all worked together to get the meat cut and wrapped. Serving things up for the customers was what it was all about. It was their jobs if they wanted to keep the market going, they had to get bloody. Butchering ain’t for everyone, he use to say, but for those like Kenny, Chris, David, it was part of what made the who they were. It was a world of death to bring life. A world filled with serious moments, but laughter too.

“Anyways Elsie, you have Heather call me if there’s anything going on that I need to know concerning the store. She’s pretty much like a manager there by now, I mean 13 years is a long time for an employee to put in at the store down there. She’s good at what she does like the butchers are good at what they do. I gotta’ right nice crew right now. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to any of them.” he said as he walked to the screen door, pushed it open, waved at his wife, and disappeared out into the yard where ole Edgar III was waiting for his morning head pat from ole man Sam.

Ole man Sam had had a lot of dogs over the years mainly for protecting the hen house against any type of wild life, wolves or some times coyotes that came a sniffing’ for some eggs or a lazy chicken caught out in the coop. Ole Edgar III, when he was a young pup, had no problem running the varmints off, but over the years, age had taken its toll leaving ole Edgar III about as feeble as ole man Sam himself. There were a good pair. Pretty much in the same condition he rightly guessed.

“You have a good day to ole man.” stated ole man Sam as he patted Edgar on his head and walked over to get into his truck for the trip to the next country. He reckoned it be about a thirty-five mile one-way journey. At best forty-five minutes barring and traffic or heaven forbid a flat tire.

Ole Edgar III had stood up when his master came a pattin, but had since laid back down on the bottom step of the porch giving the illusion that he was ready for anything or anyone that might try and cross his path. He was to protect and guard the misses will she was in the house. That much he could do.

“You look out for Elsie!” shouted ole man Sam as he closed the truck door and started the engine. “I’ll be back before you know it.” he added as he waved goodbye to his pal.

Ole Edgar lifted his head, barked a lone melodious goodbye, then put his head back down on his front paws as he had always done when Sam left him in charge of things.

The ride to the next country wasn’t at all like ole man Sam had anticipated. The last time he made the trip, over eight months ago, the ramblin’ road meandered this way and that, almost enough to make the him partially dizzy. But, much to his surprise, the state had begun a construction project for the road connecting the two counties that was badly needed. Rather than all the twisting and winding back and forth he had expected, there was patches of newly paved straight road with new black asphalt and painted lines.

“Well, ain’t this somethin’?” he asked himself as he felt the divider in the road that divided the two stretches of pavement, one old, one new. “I reckon the state had collected enough off of me to pave this here highway!” he said and laughed knowing full well that paving highways wasn’t cheap and it would’ve take more than just his taxes to fill the account to pay for this type of work he was seeing all around.

It was nearly forty minutes later and ole man Sam was almost at the Corner Meat Market run by the young, ambitious man named Keith. He’d met Keith a few times, nothing other than a passing hello, how you doing, but he seemed like a decent country boy trying to get his store up and running. Wasn’t all the different than himself when he was startin’ out down at the A LA VISTA store. He’d been cuttin’ meat as long as he could remember, but things change, people change, the market changes sometimes to the point when unquestionable things that were scoffed at for being unacceptable, now had become acceptable. That was his thinking anyways when it came to this new meat that Sadie was talkin’ ‘bout at the homecoming. Ole man Sam was about to find out for himself what was written on the gold labels Sadie told the Barstow sisters to look for.

Once past the city marker, ole man Sam slowed his truck to about twenty-five miles an hour, moved cautiously through along main street until he eyed the Corner Meat Market at the corner of Church and Main. Finding the first parking space available, he pulled the truck to a stop, turned of the engine, and sit there for a spell watching the people walking up and down the street. Some darted into the ‘sweets’ shop across the street from the Meat store, a donut shoppe he figured by the sign depicted a chocolate dipped donut as an enticement to draw the folks in to buy one. He’d like donuts in the past, but since the misses starting trying out her new dough machine, bread machine she bought on-line, he’d figured he better become her loyal customer until she got tired of it and moved it out into the shed where all the other new fangled counter-top appliances now sit collecting dust. Some of them she’d ordered remained in their box unopened after she got them. She’d been afraid to use them in front of her husband knowing full well that he didn’t see the point in all that wasteful spending when there was a good enough stove sitting there not being used.

Having seen enough of the local residents pattin’ and turnin’, ole man Sam opened his driver’s door and eased out to stand beside his truck. Within a few minutes, once he’d regained his balance, he closed the door, locked it, and walked down to the corner where the street light was still green. He’d have to wait a minute until the little yellow man showed up in the ‘walk’ box on the pole before it’d be safe for him to cross the street. About the time he turned to see if any cars were coming, the little man lite up telling him to come on across the street, it was safe. He, along with a couple of the residences of the small town, walked across the street and onto the curb in front of the Corner Market. The fellow travelers went their own way and ole man Sam stepped forward through the door and into the meat market staffed with about half as many people he had down at his store.

“Morin’!”

“Morin’!” replied ole man Sam as he began his touring through the market looking at one item then another, but basically not lettin’ on that he was searchin’ for that Gold Label Mrs. Sadie told the Barstow sisters about this past Sunday.

“Can we help you with anythin’, sir?” asked one of the younger employees, a young man couldn’t have been more than nineteen, maybe twenty with sandy blonde hair and proudly wearing one of the store’s work shirts displaying the name Corner Store on the upper left breast area just beneath the collar.

“Not right now, son.” answered ole man Sam as he paid his respect to the position and the young man’s attempt to comply to the rules he’d been taught. Greeting the customer, be kind, and offer help if needed, that was pretty basic anywhere in any market, but it was different in a small market where ever customer was important, valued, and eventually became like family if they traded there enough.

All alone the right side wall the owner placed stand-up coolers with frozen vegetables, prepared biscuits, and frozen french fries. Each package was dated for freshness and strict rules were in place as to how to stoke the freezers was to be followed by each employee. First items in the coolers, first items to be sold, rotate the stock, keep the product safe and moving, pretty much the basic business model with a few personal touches here and there.

“Well, ole man Sam, what you doin’ over here in this part of the world?” asked the owner, Keith Staddard as he happen to recognize a fellow merchant but was additionally surprised to see him in his store. “Is there something you need Mr. Oxford? Man, it’s nice to see you. How’s your wife Elsie doin? Ain’t seen her in some time.” continued Keith as he made his attempt to warm up the conversation that would, as he anticipated, turn to the real reason why ole man Sam was walking the aisles of his store a whole county over from his own. Ole man Sam don’t just show up to browse. There has to be a reason for him being in his store and if he knew ole man Sam, he’d get to the point in no time flat.

“Son, you gotta nice thing goin on here. Clean, you know that’s the first thing people look at when they come into a hometown meat market. They look to see if it’s clean. And you’re stocked pretty good, fresh produce, a few spices, and prepackaged items for quick purchase. It looks real nice son.” he complimented Keith as he worked his way to the meat section and the display sections at the back of the store. Reviewing the case, he could see that his butchers, like his own over at his store, took pride in the displaying of the finished product for the customer.

As he walked along, the young man watched to see if ole man Sam was pleased or displeased with the way he was handling the business. Keith knew that ole man Sam had known his father, James, who’d died just ten months earlier leavin’ the store to Keith to carry on. And Keith knew that his father spoke highly of ole man Sam and his business principles ‘bout how to treat his customers. That was one of the main things his daddy told him about ole man Sam, he treated his customers right and never sold anything that he wasn’t sure was safe for them.

“Keith, on this past Sunday our church, well the church were my wife attends, had their annual homecoming “dinner on the ground”, you know what that is right, son?” questioned old man Sam as he slowly, but steadfastly move the conversation to the point where he would find out what he’d driver over to see for himself.

Keith shook his head that he understood what a homecoming was. In fact, he and his wife attend a church in town that holds their church homecoming later in the year so that the temperature is more tolerable for the elderly who want to attend.

“Anyways, one of the women was serving up something she’d bought from you, a type of new product that was, as far as she said, some of the best selling and tasting mean she’d ever had. I’m curious as to what that might’ve been. She said she bought it from you. Stated your name to the other church goers.” added ole man Sam to emphasize that Sadie herself, in person came to his store to get the product.

It wasn’t hard for Keith to recall the lady. She carried on a conversation at the register about her church homecoming and how her food was going to make some of the folks stand up and take notice. She wasn’t boastful, but it seemed as though she had an ax to grind with some of her sisters over there at the community church.

“Mr. Oxford, I remember the lady you’re talking about and I remember the meat she bought.” remarked Keith as he walked over to one of his smaller coolers, one with a door one it, opened the door and removed a small package of freezer-wrapped mean which had a gold label affixed to it.

“Here, here is what she bought, in fact she bought five packages of it. She said she was going to make some kind of dish that she what some of her church folk to try. Kept talkin’ ‘bout those same two sisters, the Barstow sisters I think it was now that I remembering correctly.

Keith handed ole man Sam the three lb freezer-wrapped package with the gold label on it for him to review. Maybe ole man Sam was going to buy all he had of this new item because, well, since Keith had begun to stock it, it had sold well and he’d had to reorder four times in the last two months. It was a quick seller.

As ole man Sam stood and looked at the freezer-wrapped meat product, he reviewed the gold label and asked Keith if he had one of the label he could have, in case he decided to order some for himself.

Keith complied and handed him several labels in case lost one. “This will be enough.” said Ole man Sam as he eyed label and the imprinted name: THE HUMANA PROJECT.

“What do you know about this meat, Keith. Is it from a reputable supplier, a slaughter house you’re family with in town or close by?” he asked as he lifted the product to his nose to take a whiff.

“I’m not really sure Mr. Oxford, but their representatives came to meet with me some months back and…

“Can we talk about this in my office sir? It’s not something that I need these folks to hear. It’s kind of personal if you know what I mean.” commented Keith as he motioned for ole man Sam to follow him through the swinging doors and on past his butchers and into his office. Once there, he closed the door so that he and ole man Sam could be alone and no one could hear them.

“What I wanted to tell you Mr. Oxford was that some men came here in black suits tellin’ me that if I didn’t stock this meat that I’d be in direct violation of some government code and they were going to shut me down. It was like I was a criminal or something. I asked what the product was but they told me that it was produced by the federal government, some kind of artificially grown meat of some sort or that’s what I think it is. They were very adamant that all the proceeds go to some company or charitable organization that had signed contracts with the government to assist those less fortunate. But, here’s the kicker Mr. Oxford, they send me a check, a federal government check for over two-thousand a month for selling this artificial meat they said was grown in some research center. They explained to me that the product contains all of the necessary nutrients just like those in beef or pork or chicken. The label even states that in black and white.” he said as he reached for a copy of the label he had laying on his desk.

He handed the label to old man Sam and waited for him to make the same discovery he’d made when first reviewing the initial delivery over four months ago.

“Keith, I’m not one that would stick his nose in anyone’s business, but I drove over here to see this product and its labels. I’m not so sure that this is a problem, but was it curious to me is why would the government pay someone to sell this product. I’m concerned that this label, this one here, may be tracked when the register scans it at the check out. Have you thought about that?” asked ole man Sam as he tilted the label sideways to verify what he suspected in the first place.

“Mr. Oxford, I know for a fact that the labels are tracked. They told me that when I began my contract with them back in February of this year. It was explained to me that the label’s information is broken down into various segments that are used to reorder the product, count the number of products being sold, the price, the expiration dates, and another thing, they track the sell of the product to determine what bonus level the merchant is to receive. Yes, a bonus is paid to the merchants who exceed certain volumes each quarter during the year.” divulged Keith as he smiled knowing that he’d already received one bonus and was expecting another by after the next quarterly report.

“I see.” said old me Sam as he continued to question why anyone would be paid by the government.

“Well Keith, seems like you’re on your way to better times.” commented ole man Sam. “Yes, I’d say you’ll get ahead pretty soon if this works the way you say it does. My only remaining question for you is did the government men tell you who they were collecting the information for, where was the reporting going, and who was monitoring your business?” asked ole man Sam as he turned to leave the small office and make his way back out to the front. Once he’d gone the distance, he was surprised to see all the people in line with products being the gold label. The product, even though in its trial stage, was sure making a hit in the small country town where the Corner Market called home.

Keith followed behind the older man, but watched him to see if he was tempted to ask one of his customers about the product. It wasn’t something ole man Sam wanted his people to be doing, therefore, it was only proper and respectful to not do it in a fellow countryman’s store.

“Keith, thank you for your time. I’ll be moving along now. I wish you well with this new venture, but take I from an older man at least twice your age. Everything that glitters isn’t gold. Oh, and here’s another I like to quote to some of my folks, don’t trust anyone especially those who are paying you to do something that you have no idea what it is. I’ll be seein’ ya.” commented ole man Sam as he mosied through the store lookin’ at one thing then another.

Keith waved at Mr. Oxford as he exited the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the store. The light had turned red stopping traffic and ole man Sam joined the small crowd of folks who walked across the intersection over to the street where he’d parked his truck. Once inside his truck, he pulled one of the labels from his pant’s pocket and laid it against the steering wheel so he could get a better look at it. He knew deep within him that there was something more behind this label that what appeared to be. He knew it.

Chapter Thirty-One

The Unveiling

Come sit with me for a while. I have found that being a writer (by no means the best, perhaps not much more than a jotter of notes) isn't a part of me that I can lay down when I want to or pick it back up on a whim. The writer within me is ever vigilant, always gathering scenes and conversations being observed around me. I've experienced life somewhat differently since I've been led to tap the keyboard being guided by my imaginary friends. “Come sit with me”...they whisper in my ear as I sit alone in some darkened corner listening more to them than those around me. Most of my internal companions call me a recluse, a vagabond, a wayward traveler who, for reasons unknown, still clutch youthful ambitions, middle-aged dreams, and old-aged revelations. “Come sit with me”....they chant as they point to a vacant chair opposite another where they will, as demonstrated time and time again, "soliloquize at length" as to how that I can once again become part of their reality. Even though they resound of untold merriment or unbearable sorrow, they are much more a part of my life than those around me who cloak themselves in illusions of truth. Unknown author

The day at the office wasn’t typical or normal or even chaotic, it was a strange day filled with unanswered questions that hung in the air balanced between truth and lies. The Lead agent Seagle, not bound to his house shoes and pajamas for the remainder of the evening, remembered a short, but curious comment that his agent Towler had mentioned. Agent Towler, now a man renowned for being able to read and write Latin, also made a comment that stirred agent Seagle and agent Mallory.

“Wow, that’s curious!” stated agent Towler as he took the note from his boss, and turned it to allow the light to bounce off of it at a forty-five-degree angle. This is amazing and unbelievable, much to my surprise, I see something that would add to the mystery of the case of the assassinated agent.” he recalled agent Towler saying as he inspected the note.

It wasn’t exactly like that, but close enough for agent Seagle to steady himself and re-enact the whole scene as he sit on his sofa with the journal he’d become attached to and a notepad for jotting down anything that might help their case. After the mental re-enactment, agent Seagle stopped and listened to the silence in his house. He wasn’t so sure that his house wasn’t trying to get in on the investigation by becoming a place of interest. He chucked at himself for allowing the creeks and cracks of his house to spook him. It hadn’t been the first time he got caught off guard to think he wasn’t alone. Content that it was only perhaps a branch or twig being pushed by the wind or perhaps the landscape bushes filled with nocturnal animals searching for something to eat that was making the noises, he laid the journal from which he’d just read an excerpt, and tried to remember the meeting in his office earlier in the afternoon.

None of the evidence nor the assumptions drawn from the evidence made any sense. Why would the victim be in the agency as a mole? Who was he spying for, who hired him? If he was hired, what was he hired to do other than snoop around in the office? If the sniper was an agent, as some expected that they were, who hired the sniper and which agency or external organization or person was paying the bill? And, lastly, why were agent Mallory and agent Towler selected by the Director of Global Resources and Global Harvester’s INTL? What possible need would either of these two organizations have that they would have to reach way down into the ranks and hand-pick two agents, two junior agents, to fulfill their mission for them?

He sit in silence on the sofa for the longest time letting his mind work as it usually did when things became too cluttered. It wasn’t the details that he was trying to figure out, it was the overall perspective of the event as a whole that pulled all of these people together to accomplish something for someone who wasn’t even in the picture.

As he waited, he remembered the short passage from the journal that had become his escape from a life of ever-changing events, some good, some not so good. The passage he read spoke of internal voices, people in the writer’s head that lead him to different places, different times, and different results. It spoke of the allure of the experience, the journey into the unknown that soon became known as the voices clarified each of the writer’s mysteries exposing them for what they were, revealing the innermost secret that, in actuality, wasn’t more than some layman could create with a simple number pencil and a sheet of paper. Maybe that was the message he needed to hear. Maybe all he needed to do was to listen to his inner self explain to him what was seen, what was said, and what was done to understand the secret of the note.

Lead agent Seagle seldom paid much attention to his feelings, that gut feeling many investigations take on that leads the team of investigators down a rabbit hole resulting in nothing, no proof, no evidence, no solution to the class. This rabbit hole adventure sometimes takes months to finally culminate in a group of men and women sitting in a briefing room answering questions as to why the case was still not solved, why so much money was spent to accomplish nothing, and in rare cases, people ended up being reassigned to jobs that required minimal skills. Unlike FBI investigations that require top-notch investigators, other assignments are mundane desk jobs that lack the luster expected when one comes to work at the FBI. Unlike what’s publicized on television, not everyone is an agent Starling or some other character created for the movies.

Agent Seagle reached over, picked up the small journal, flipped to the passage he read earlier, and read it again.

... The writer within me is ever vigilant, always gathering scenes and conversations being observed around me. I've experienced life somewhat differently since I've been lead to tap the keyboard being guided by my imaginary friends…

It was the writer within him that was tugging at him to pay attention, it was the investigator, the one that he use to be before he was promoted to the desk jockey job down at the agency. The young resourceful, talented, creative investigator he use to be when he was a fledgling just learning to fly. It was that person the voices were speaking the inside of him. And for very good reason, he’d forgotten a simple but valuable strategy that all investigators use when the case starts to grow cold, he needed to return to the scene of the crime. He felt something had been overlooked.

He pondered that thought for a few moments expecting to visualize the agent’s kitchen, the dead body and expecting the evidence to materialize right in front of him in his mind. But, much to his disappointment, he and the other agents would have to physically go to agents Mallory’s house and do so ole time investigating.

Satisfied with the evening’s developments and the passage he’d read that spurred tomorrow’s return to the crime scene, agent Seagle picked up the small journal and silenced the voices in his head, and made his way off to bed. He knew that his two agents Mallory and Towler were to leave on the ‘special’ assignment Thursday, which meant he had one day to get them up to speed on his thoughts concerning the shooting. One day to search agent Mallory’s house, and one day to reach some kind of initial conclusion and answer those crucial questions that ate at everyone’s investigation: who, what, when, how, and why.

After pulling back his bed covers and punching the pillows a couple of times, he remembered what another passage from the small unimportant journal had said to him. He couldn’t remember the exact page nor was he going to search for it at this late hour, but the passage was about an unveiling, a revealing of a sort that happens when people allow their minds to speak to them.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Declaration

Ole man Sam drove the distance from the Corner Store to his house without remembering any of the drive. He’d been lost in the comments and details he saw at Keith’s store. He couldn’t shake the feeling he got when Keith was telling him about the product and its label and the effect it had had on his business. The business was thriving there was no doubt about that, but at what cost, what invisible cost to Keith, his store, and his customers who trusted him to deliver the highest quality meats in their little town? Was there something else that Keith was ignoring all for the sake of an extra dime, that extra quarterly check being paid to him for selling a product he knew nothing about?

For ole man Sam, red flags were popping up all over the place in his mind as he thought the process through over and over as he drove back home. He hadn’t been in business all of his life not to have experienced some of the same ole government tactics, tactics that, in the end, meant that poor Keith was going to be caught in the cross hairs of some sharp shooter’s rifle if he didn’t play the game to the end.

Pulling onto his property, Sam could see that there were other types of tire tracks cutting into the dirt ridges and valleys of the worn patterns in the driveway from the gate that led to the backyard where he parked his truck. That could only mean one thing, there was someone at his house. He didn’t invite anyone over while he was away and Elsie didn’t like people coming over when he wasn’t there. Everyone in town knew that and respected their wishes. So, who is the uninvited visitor and what do they want?

He turned left at the corner of the house, slowed to a crawl, then stopped the truck, turned the engine off, and got out. First thing he noticed was that Edgar III was in his cage. There was only one reason for Edgar to be in his case, that was because the person whose car was parked beside his truck was a stranger. Elsie must’ve suspected the car driving up the driveway wasn’t anyone that she knew and locked ole Edgar III away so the dog wouldn’t attack the stranger when he got out of his car. If it had been ole man Sam, he would’ve left Edgar III loose to attack the man if he set one foot on his property. He didn’t have no business coming unannounced in the first place and that would’ve been just what he deserved.

Walking slowly and cautiously toward the back door, ole man Sam held his finger up to his lips to tell ole Edgar III to remain silent. He’d trained Edgar to lay down and be quiet using that signal. It always worked.

Placing his hand on his holster, he unsnapped the leather strap and prepared himself to take action if he needed to. Rightfully so when folks come calling without being announced. If it had been one of Elsie’s friends or church sisters, they would’ve come out to greet him as they always do, but this was something different, someone different, someone who came with a different calling.

Ole man Sam knew Elsie could hear him driving up the dirt driveway covered in gravel, but she didn’t even stick her head out the screen door to eye him coming around the corner of the house as she’d done almost everything he drove up. That in itself was a tell tell sign that things weren’t right in the Oxford house.

Easing his way to the top step and keeping low, he made his way across the porch and up next to the door that was standing open a couple of inches. From where he was standing, he could hear a man’s voice talking to Elsie. He must’ve been sitting at the table cause ole man Sam heard Elsie offer him another cup of coffee as she would any visitor to their home. The man graciously accepted, Elsie walked over to pick up the coffee pot and back to the table where she refilled the visitor’s cup and set the pot on the coaster in the middle of the table. Ole man Sam eyed the visitor through the door opening and right away he knew it was a government official sitting at his table in his house on his property.

Without trying to sneak up on the intruder, ole man Sam pushed the back door open, stepped into his kitchen, and before he could fasten his holster latch back, the man stood up to greet him as if he and ole man Sam were long time friends.

“Well Mr. Sam Oxford, it’s my pleasure to meet you, sir. Forgive my intrusion into your lovely home. Your kind wife has been keeping my coffee cup full until you got back. She is very gracious.” said the intruder as if he’d been friends with the family for years.

The first thing that ole man Sam wanted to do was to tell the man he was not invited to his house. He wanted to ask him what right he had coming to his house, meeting his wife, drinking his coffee, and causing ole Edgar III to have to be locked up. Edgar hates being locked. But rather than starting a commotion, ole man Sam reached out to shake the man’s hand even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Let me introduce myself, sir. I’m Jackson Alderman. I’m from a lesser-known government agency named National Harvesters, it’s a little unknown agency, a subsidiary of Global Resources out of Alexandria, Virginia. I know you haven’t heard of us before now, but I and several other of my fellow agents have been assigned to contact each of the small business owners, especially the hometown meat markets, and talk to them about a new product.” said the man as ole man Sam sized him up.

“Have a seat young man. I’m not exactly sure what this is about, but since you’ve gone as far as intruding into my home, as the government feels it has a right to do, I’ll let you say what you’ve oame to say. But in return, I expect the same respect else you can git up and git out now.” stated ole man Sam as firmly as he knew how to say it.

“Fair enough Mr. Oxford. And by the way, you have a great parcel of land out here in the rural outbacks. I was admiring it as I drove by the fencing that marks your property line. Seems like you got what, over hundred, two hundred acres here sir.” stated the agent as he began his slow analysis of what ole man Sam stood to lose if he turned the opportunity down. “And that bloodhound out back, what a fine specimen he is of a dog. Hate to see him suffer any unexpected fate. That would be terrible seeing that he’s the only dog you and your fine wife Elsie have. Isn’t that right Mr. Oxford?” asked the younger man as he finally came to the point of his visit. It was, as ole man Sam expected, to present the same opportunities to him that was presented to Keith over at the Corner Store in the next county. He knew that whatever this young man was peddling he was buying, but he’d let the young man spill his guts before he gave him a rude awakening.

Ole man Sam was fully aware of the tactics the government used back in the day when commodity cheese and fatback bacon were issued out to the starving folks. That was back in the 1950s. But now, in this modern time, there wasn’t any commodity cheese or flour or fat back bacon or anything else to subsidize those in need. Thankfully, ole man Sam and Elsie didn’t have to follow the bread lines or the lines that were forming down at the local school during that time. For them, they’d farmed the land long enough, canned up their food, raised their hogs and chickens, and slaughtered what they needed enough times that when work for other folks became scarce, ole man Sam and Elsie had more than they needed. They helped all they could but had to remember to take care of themselves too.

“Now young man git to talkin’. My time is as precious to me as it is to you. So git started or we can call this meeting over.” said ole man Sam in a parental voice that couldn’t be ignored.

“Okay, well, the government has partnered with this agency, a food production agency that has its own factories, secures its own raw materials, and processes all of its own goods to make it more affordable to purchase than the beef and pork and other meat products that are currently on the market. The product is FDA approved so you don’t have to worry about where there’s going to be a problem with people getting sick or if it’s contaminated. The government assures the purity and quality of the product. It stands behind it one-hundred percent. Now, for you to allow this product to be sold in your store, the government will issue you a stipend, a check for a percentage of total sales each quarter. The more of the product that’s sold, the higher the amount of your check. I can confidently say that over sixty five percent of the United States has already tried the product and over forty percent of the retail meat industry had signed on to our program. It’s a win-win opportunity for you and for the country. Wouldn’t you like to help those in need Mr. Oxford as well as make a profit? A portion of the proceeds from the sales goes to further the program set up by the organization to help the hungry throughout the world. And there you have it. Like I said, it’s a win-win for everyone.” he added.

Ole man Sam was a savvy businessman and had been in business for decades. And if one thing he could recognize was when he was about to have his throat cut. Now was one of those times. He’d listened to the offer, but he’d made his decision before the young man ever started his speech. It was now time to set the man straight and cordially ask him to leave his property before things turned bad.

Elsie offered the visitor another cup of coffee, but he refused it as he waited for ole man Sam to comment on his offer. It didn’t take long.

“Mr. Alderman, me and Elsie here, my wife, have listened to your spill ‘bout the product, the protection from the government, the benefits of what the product might do for my store’s sells, but puttin’ plain and simple, we’re not interested. Me and Elsie here have made it our goal in life to deal honestly with our customers, provide the best natural product raised here on local farms. I don’t need any agency from another part of the world to become my only supplier of a product I’m not totally sold on is really good for people. I’ve seen the product and your labels, but the label doesn’t really tell the customer what the source of the meat is. It just says natural product prepared under inspection guidelines. I don’t know exactly what that means, but it’s not something I want to stake my livelihood or the health of my friends and customers on that come to my store. Now, I’m tryin’ to be hospitable here and tell you exactly what I think of your product. I’m not interested, my wife isn’t interested, my dog isn’t interested, and speaking on behalf of my customers, they’re not interested either. Before things git a bit uncomfortable, I suggest you should leave.” suggested ole man Sam who had already taken felt to be sure the holster was unlatched.

The young representative sit at the table and listened to a speech he’d heard before from other store owners who were reluctant to accept the proposal. Now, some of those very same store owners are without a store. Somehow, there was a fire at some of the stores and burnt the buildings to the ground. It was unfortunate, but things like that do happen. He didn’t want to tell Mr. Oxford as much because Mr. Oxford seemed a bit more in control of his faculties as opposed to some of his fellow store owners about his same age. The younger owners were less likely to turn the offer down because they were money-driven and not so much driven by their ethics or morality as ole man Sam.

“I see. Mr. Oxford, it’s been my responsibility to present the offer before you made by your government. I can’t make you sign anything, but honestly, it would be to your advantage to get on board this train that so many of your fellow store owners have already done. They’re going to make a killing selling this product. Why shouldn’t you?” asked the younger man as he prepared himself to get up and leave.

“Why shouldn’t I? Because I have a gut feeling that there is something more behind this program other than just a single product, a mystery meat product, than what you’re tellin’ me and the other folks. I’m not buyin’ it, Sir. Now, I think we’re done here!” exclaimed ole man Sam as he stood up, walked over to the screen door, and held it open for the man to leave.

“Mr. Oxford, having seen all that you own, all the beautiful property that’s currently deeded to you that’s been in your family for centuries, it’d be a real shame to lose it all, don’t you think, Sir?” asked the representative in a remark that bordered on a threat.

Ole man Sam and Elsie looked at one another, but didn’t respond at first. Then ole man Sam stood as erect as he could at his age, placed his hand on this holster, and told the young man he’d better leave again. With Edgar III locked up outside in his cage, it wasn’t any problem for the agent to make his way to the government car and prepare to leave. He sit in the car with engine running and surveyed the pasture land out back of ole man Sam’s house.

“Yes this is a beautiful place ain’t it Mr. Oxford?” he asked as he shifted the car into reverse, backed and turned around, and drove down the graveled dirt road to the end of the property. He stopped a moment, got out, took his phone out, took several pictures, then resumed his way out onto the paved highway. He turned right in the direction of another small town with another small corner market where he’d present the same offer to some unsuspecting victim.

Ole man Sam and Elsie watched the agent as he left their property with guile filling their throats. The whole conversation was making them feel sick. To think that a mere refusal to agree to sign a paper would develop into a threat to take someone’s property or burn their store down. It was a shame as far as the ole man Sam and Elsie was concerned. Within minutes of the man’s departure, Elsie walked out to ole Edgar III’s cage, unlocked the door, and set him free. He didn’t run off but rather stood by her leg as if he was waiting for someone else to show up that he’d have to protect her from.

“Elsie, we ain’t heard the last of this, you can take that to the bank.

And with that, the two senior citizens walked over to the back fence and stood a long time looking at their family’s property, a farm that had been in his family for generations that were now under siege by a government of the people, for the people, and by the people that were threatening to take all they had.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The Discovery

The next morning came earlier than agent Seagle had anticipated and he sluggishly pushed himself out of bed and into the shower. He turned the water lever to a cooler setting in hopes that the temperature setting would wake him up or invigorate or rejuvenate him, but it didn’t. No matter how he manipulated the water temperature, he didn’t feel any different. Resigning himself to the fact that today might just be ‘one of those days’ he finished up, toweled off, and returned to the bedroom to dress for his new day. As usual, the coffee pot that he’d set to turn on at a certain time, clicked on, prepared the coffee, and switched back off before had time to get his socks on.

After finally stuffing his feet into his socks and then into his shoes, he walked the distance to the kitchen, got a cup from the cabinet over the counter, and poured his morning java to the top of the cup. He was going to drink his coffee black today. He needed it black and strong.

He fought the urge to eat a huge breakfast like he use to do when he was a younger man and settled for a strawberry pop tart instead. It wasn’t much, but the sweet taste and the black coffee somehow hit the spot for him this morning. After a long gulp of coffee and eating the last two bites of the pop tart, agent Seagle placed the cup on the counter, turned, and prepared to leave. It was going to be a different day for him today. He felt it.

“Good morning gentlemen!” he stated as he walked through the department down at the agency after arriving at work. The agents under his supervision were no closer to solving the shooting at agent Mallory’s house than they were the evening it happened. Even with the police reports, and he had to admit the reports were perfectly submitted and looked even better than those of his own FBI detectives, those other than agents Mallory and Towler, hadn’t moved the case forward at all. It was as if they were deliberately holding things back. He knew that wasn’t the case, but after four days he’d expected more progress than what he was seeing.

He’d cleared his calendar for the day, stowed away the papers and reports from yesterday he’d left undone, walked out of his office, and motioned to agents Mallory and Towler to come over to the office door for a moment. They complied but were curious as to why they were being called to the office one more time.

“What’s this about?” asked agent Towler in his similar I don’t understand tone as he met up with agent Mallory four steps before reaching the office door.

“Can’t say that I know, but it can’t be much ‘cause we have to leave for our assignment early in the morning. Whatever it is we’ll have to get it done today.” answered agent Mallory as they both entered the office door at the same time.

“We got a little trip to make gentlemen, get your coats, make sure you have your guns loaded, and be quiet.” order lead agent Seagle as he pushed his desk chair into position and headed out of the office with the two younger men in tow.

“And boss, exactly where are we going” asked Mallory as he grabbed his light jacket and slung it around his shoulders.

“I’ll tell you two in the car,” replied Seagle as he lead the way to the elevator and then out to the parked car in the attached parking garage.

Agents Mallory and Towler, oblivious to the rush and the silence, tagged along like two puppy dogs after their master. Agent Seagle pressed the remote, opened the vehicles doors and they all climbed in. Once in the car, he turned to his men and advised them that they were returning to the scene of the crime. He had a hunch that something had been missed and he was doing what his voices in his head were telling him to do. The conversation was a bit weird, or so the other two men thought, but didn’t say anything or ask any questions. The radio popped on and off and agent Seagle pretended to smoke a cigarette as he puffed on one of those new artificial smoking devices sold at the gas stations.

“Hey, it’s better than really smokin’.” he said as he put the window down to let the artificial smoke out of the car.

“I’m not so sure of that boss!” commented agent Mallory as he too let his window down to clear the air.

Once at cruising speed, agent Seagle set the controls, put the artificial cigarette away for later, turned to his agents, and prepared to enlighten them about his plan for the day. “Okay men, here’s the plan. We’re going back to the scene of the crime like procedure tells us to do when something isn’t quite right. And you two know as well as I do that when an agent, turned mole, turned victim’s case has grown cold, then there’s something missing. I don’t think we have the whole story yet. So, like any good detectives, we’re going back to the scene and find that piece of evidence that someone overlooked.” instructed the boss as he merged into traffic moving along the highway in the direction to agent Mallory’s house.

“And what exactly are we going to look for at my house?” asked agent Mallory as he regretted not cleaning up after himself the evening before.

“Oh, don’t worry agent Mallory if the lady is still there, we’ll completely ignore her. We’re not interested in your affairs, just evidence about the shooting.” laughed agent Seagle as he remembered a similar incident that took place when he was a younger man full of energy.

As agent Towler listened he couldn’t help but laugh because he knew that his partner Mallory hadn’t been on a date in who knows when. To Mallory, dating was almost a lost art. He, agent Towler, was the man in the streets now looking for the ‘right’ one, the one that would knock him down with her good looks and charming smile, or that was how their conversation went the last time they talked about Towler hooking up with some girl he spied at the club. like the one he met the night the shooting took place. As far as he was concerned, she was the one, or she was the one for the moment before the ‘back-up’ call came in and spoiled the whole night.

They all laughed at the comment the boss made as the car sped closer to the upscale neighborhood where agent Mallory lived. Within a hundred feet from the gate, agent Seagle turned to his younger member and questioned him as to how he could afford to live in this type of housing when he himself was scraping to make the mortgage not ten miles away.

“It’s like this boss, I have another light job on the side.” he laughed as he let the comment sink in and create the illusion that his boss could find a job too if he tried.

“Oh, yeah, well okay. But I’m not sure exactly what kind of job that might be.” stated his lead agent as he looked in the mirror and pushed his hair to the side. “All that nightlife is for you younger guys. I’m beyond that point and the machinery needs an overall to get it back to its original working capacity.” laughed Seagle as he remember a time when he’d show these two young bucks a thing or two.

Passing through the guard gate, agent Mallory waved at the older man named Walter. He liked ole man Walter, ex-navy officer who needed something to pass the time during the day. He was in his early sixties, really didn’t need the job, but didn’t want to sit home with his wife who, he said, nagged every breath.

Ole man Walter continued to wave as the car sped into the entryway but the occupants of the car failed to understand that he wanted them to stop. He had something he needed to tell Mallory. He’d had a visitor who was still at his house. He’d told the man that agent Mallory was at work, but the visitor said it didn’t matter and that his friend had given him a key to get in. Walter didn’t much believe the visitor but there wasn’t much he could say when the man produced a key and a residential key fob with agent Mallory’s house number on it.

After losing sight of the guard house, the car turned into the street where Mallory’s house was located. “Okay boys, we’re here.” announced agent Seagle as he turned into Mallory’s driveway, stopped the car, and put it in park.

“Did you make a call Mallory?” asked his boss.

“What call?” asked Mallory.

“To tell you lady friend to get ready. There’s three of us coming in.” laughed Seagle as he turned and got out of the driver’s side.

“Now that’s funny boss man.” said agent Mallory as he and agent Towler exited the car and walked toward the house.

Pulling his key out of his pocket, agent Mallory prepared to unlock the door when he noticed the door standing open already. He turned to the other two men, put his finger up to his lips to tell them to be quiet, pushed the door open slowly so as to not startle the person in his house if they were still there. But, as he entered the house with the other two in tow, no one was there. Whoever it was who had been in his house was long gone.

...Across town at a gas station a van sits with two people in the front. It was the two from the night of the shooting. It was the sniper and her husband. Darrell and Jessica Johnson were also aware that the bullet she fired to kill the victim was somewhere in the kitchen of agent Mallory’s house. Darrell had been there to retrieve it before the police or the other agents found it, but he couldn’t find anything. Maybe the police already had it, but according to the reports and the briefing each morning from agent Seagle, no one mentioned bringing back the bullet. As per protocol, every agent’s ammunition is assigned and etched with their badge number on each bullet. If the bullet is fired and located, it would have the agent’s number on the bullet. Unlike years ago when it didn’t matter who was doing the shooting, the current protocols had been updated to be able to ‘track’ every agent’s bullets in case there were questions concerning who was involved in any shooting that might take place. It was only necessary if there were questions during the investigation that couldn’t be easily resolved.

“Didn’t find it!” stated Darrell in not-so-mellow tones after being questioned by Jessica more than four times. “I told you I couldn't find it. Stop asking the same question over and over. You make someone want to shoot, Jess. I mean really give it break,” ordered Darrell who’d had about enough of his wife’s crap for one week.

“Well, when they come and arrest you for the murder of the guy, don’t be calling me to post your bond, if there is a bond.” replied Jessica as she smiled and turned away from her husband.

“What exactly does that mean old lady?” he asked as if he understood her to say one thing and mean another.

“What I’m tellin’ you is that the bullet fired from my gun wasn’t my bullet and can’t be traced back to me. That’s what I telling you. Do you think that I’m going to settle for less than half of the funds attached to this target?” It’s not going to happen I don’t care if you are my husband, I insist on my half of these. I told you that from the get-go!” rebutted Jessica as she turned to her husband who knew when he’d been taken to the cleaners.

“Now ain’t this some crap. My own wife kicking me to the curb for the sake of a few percentages. Well, that tells me all I need to know. Maybe we should reconsider not just the assignment, but a few things more!” he shouted as he banged the dashboard of the van he was still making payments on.

“Maybe we should!” shouted Jessica as she too banged the crap out of the steering wheel pretended it was her husband’s head.

Stepping inside the door, the three FBI agents crept like church mice from one room to another, armed and ready. But, to their surprise, the house held no secrets nor the intruder.

“Now this is getting old!” exclaimed agent Mallory as he walked into the kitchen to find all of his belongings emptied out into the floor, drawers thrown about, and pantries and cabinet doors standing wide open.

“Yelp, it’s a mess alright. But, at least there’s nothing missing as far as I can tell.” added agent Towler who’d been to Mallory’s house often enough to mentally take inventory and check off the list of items he remembered as he helped his partner clean up the mess.

“There’s a reason for this, y’all know that right?” asked agent Seagle as he watched the two men as they redeposited the bowls and flatware into the sink to be washed before putting them in their respective drawers and cabinets. The upper cabinets weren’t touched because, as the boss mention a few moments ago, the victim fell to the floor in front of the base cabinets, therefore it would stand to reason that, if there was a bullet lodged in the cabinet area, it would be around and under the sink and adjacent cabinets.

“Either the intruder was scared off or he just got tired of looking.” stated agent Towler as he began his own investigating under the sink, much like that of a plumber when called to fix the drains.

As the day drug on, the three men were almost finished when agent Mallory happen to see a small indentation in the back corner of the pantry. It wasn’t really noticeable nor would it have been in the place that any trained investigator would naturally look, but there it was waiting for agent Mallory to pry the small hole open to retrieve the final piece of evidence that would seal the case or open it back up for more questions.

“Okay, well would you look at that!” said Mallory as he called the two other men over to take a gander at the only place that might hold the evidence they drover over to find.

“So, tell me this one thing, how did that bullet, if it is a bullet, get into the corner of the pantry at that angle?” asked agent Seagle as he, along with agent Towler, bend down as low as they could get to take a peek a the place agent Mallory was sure had been made by the sniper’s bullet.

“Well there are several plausible answers, but it’s my guess, for what it’s worth, that the bullet somehow ricocheted off of something after entering the victim’s body, a bone or something, and ended up in that corner right there.” argued agent Mallory as he too took a long hard look at the direction the bullet had to travel to get lodged as it had.

“Whatever made it glance off in an almost forty-five-degree angle had to have been very hard, maybe the agent’s badge stashed away or maybe something else he was wearing. Who knows? What’s important is that the bullet has been found and we can make some identifications as far as who shot that man and maybe even find out why.” replied agent Seagle as he watched his agent dig the bullet out of the small crevice and drop it into a small plastic bag marked “evidence”.

After the bagging and tagging were done, the three men closed up the house, secured the front door, and drove off down the street toward the front gate where ole man Walter Sheppard was still on duty. It took about three to four minutes to get to the gate, but ole man Walter was ready for them when they drove up to exit.

“Did you find the man in your house? I tried to wave you back when you three entered, but you didn’t see me. I don’t have your number or I would’ve called you. That man, the man in the white van, had your key and a key fob with your house key lanyard on it. Seemed okay to me to let him through. Said he was your brother. I’m not sure I knew your family so I let him go on in.” said the older man as he pulled his cap off his head, wiped the sweat off of his forehead, and replaced it.

“It’s okay Walter, we’ll take it from here.” replied agent Mallory as he thanked the old man knowing full well that he’d be summoned to give a statement when the time came.

Once beyond the outer gate, agent Seagle turned into the far right lane and sped off to the downtown department with evidence in hand.

“Mallory, maybe you need to move. I mean, people shooting at you, breaking into your house, destroying your kitchen. Hey, you get more action than I do, just not good action. That’s all I’m saying partner!” laughed agent Towler as he slapped his fellow FBI agent across the shoulder.

“It’s been a productive day gentlemen. This piece of evidence will stand up in court when the person responsible is paired with the forensic's conclusive identification. There’s no way anyone will get away with this murder, not now!” stated the Lead agent as he beamed with pride as he drove them all back to the department.

“Oh, you two are to report to your assignment’s location by tomorrow evening. It’s a small town in northern Texas called A LA VISTA in the northern panhandle. Pick up your flight packages at the front desk when we get back to the office. It’ll have all of the information that the Director wants you to have. I’ll contact you two after you get back.” commented agent Seagle as he slowed the car into the garage, parked it, and bid the two agents a good afternoon.

“Now ain’t that some horse hockey. He gets to head off to the house and we get to head off to the airport. Dang, I’m already worn out!” said agent Mallory as he joined his partner as they headed to the front desk to get the packages then back to their homes for a short recess to pack before heading to the airport for a ‘Red-eye’ flight to Texas.

“Dang man, I thought I’d get another chance at the little hottie at the club tonight. I guess that’s a no-show for me!” laughed agent Towler.

“That would be a no!” laughed agent Mallory as he too felt the crunch to get things done as fast as they could.