1012

by

Jason Watson

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Jason Watson on Smashwords

1012

Copyright © 2010 by Jason Watson

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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1012

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Foreword

Clichés are only Clichés because at some point, at some moment in history, they held a useful wisdom. In this case it was true that in the end, it’s the beginning that’s important.

Cowering under his desk, jet fuel igniting the air in his spacious office, Ben’s mind went back to his childhood. Reading nursery rhymes, books about magical rabbits and places where his imagination made it all as real as the room he was sitting in.

He remembered all the words of his sister, the tone in her voice, her inflection with each word, even the expression on her face, the thought in his mind became the reality in his heart, speaking softly but with total clarity and holding out her hand she said, “Ben… take my hand Ben… you don’t need to be afraid… the dragon can’t hurt you when I’m with you”.

Reaching out, his legs were now unfrozen from terror as he was led to safety by the angelic apparition of his sister, courage filled him with the super-human strength that every boy knows he has. He ran, as fast as he could along side his sister, running through the scorched earth of the field, eventually they stood on the precipice of a huge cliff, far below them mist obscured the ground but the red eyes of the unspeakable evil flickered through the cloudy haze.

His sister pointed straight ahead and said, “Do you see it, do you see the magic portal Ben? Jump through it, quickly”.

Ben cried out, “But… but… I can’t, it’s in the air… I’ll fall… I’m scared”.

With her angelic beauty she smiled such a warm, loving, caring smile that her words only added to the desire for Ben to do as she asked, “Ben, I am your sister, I love you, jump… jump Ben, I am with you, you have nothing to fear, trust me my darling brother”, she gently squeezed his small hand and said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, we’re leaping together”.

The portal was as turbulent as a strong whirlpool. Ben was sent spinning, tumbling along in what fealt like a tube, everywhere was a watery, electric blue, like watching an inky blue sky reflected in a sea of smoothly rippling water.

Almost as suddenly as it all began, it seemed to stop; His hand no longer feeling his sister’s hand, but he no longer fealt like he needed to hold onto it, he fealt older, calmer, more in control; more like himself. The shimmering wall of the tunnel was still there but he didn’t have the panicked tumbling sensation, it was now like he was in a big, circular, door-less room. In front of him a giant, six foot high leather bound tome appeared, looking as ancient as it did serious. Emblazoned in gold, the title on the cover of the book read, “The life of Ben Asher”.

Magically opening, each page of the book showed a different stage in his life, at first the pages turned by themselves, after a while he discovered that each stage could be changed in any way, all he had to do was think about it.

He had always wondered about the life he never had, being a stock broker had made him very rich, but it wasn’t how he envisaged his life. He had spent a great deal of his teenage years reading detective, spy, action and fantasy novels; not stock broker ones...

Chapter One: Dining out

Ben could smell it. At first he thought it was just bacon cooking (Not such a bad smell as he hadn't had breakfast yet and hadn't eaten the night before either). He inhaled deeply then realised that he did not smell only bacon but he also smelt something less appetising. Almost instantly as realised that, he heard a deep Arabic voice reeling off a list of profanity that would have made a hardened sailor blush (Had that sailor spoken Arabic; which Ben did), then a huge greasy looking man crashed through the diner’s kitchen door holding a dirty towel wrapped around a rather red looking giant-sized paw. He was wearing a dirty (what once had been) white T-shirt and yelled at the waitress to stop flirting with the customers and to dress his wounded hand.

Ben had been watching the athletic looking waitress from out of the corner of his eye. She can't have been older than twenty-two. Forty-four year old Ben had a sudden pang of guilt, but not enough for him to move his eyes away. The waitress spun around, with a mock pout and frown crossing her seemingly unblemished face. Ben noticed her unusual green eyes; they were very rare for an Arabic woman. Her body seemed to glide under her waitress's uniform as she floated over to the cook. Ben guessed that the cook was her father. After she had seen to his hand and the disgruntled food torturer had retreated back into his kitchen, she turned to Ben and held up a coffee pot, Ben nodded and she dutifully filled his cup. She was chewing gum and Ben saw the tinkle of a fake diamond stud on the side of her nose. She had a strange intelligent look in her eyes that he hadn't expected to see, he covered his surprise by placing an order for breakfast, he had been turned off the idea of bacon so ordered a bowl of cereal, toast and a glass of orange juice. Ever since his doctors visit last year he had been thinking a bit more about the possibility of a heart-attack and anyway after seeing that cook he wanted to get something the waitress could prepare herself.

Old habits were hard to kick and Ben had deliberately chosen a seat at the counter but with his back to the wall, He saw the man at the door before he opened it, a thin, nervous looking man in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, entered the diner. By his deep-set, dead looking eyes and malnourished frame, he had “drug addict” written all over him. He was wearing a long, filthy, threadbare trench coat; Ben's instincts instantly started screaming so he wasn't at all surprised when the man pulled a poorly sawn-off double-barrelled shot-gun from under his dirty trench coat. The waitress let out a shrill scream that quickly brought the cleaver-wielding cook from the kitchen. The gunman nervously swung his shotgun to cover the big man. The cook had been burgled a month ago and wanted to settle the score right now. Gesturing menacingly at the gunman, not fully comprehending the danger he was in, he started roaring at the living skeleton he saw before him. The junkie was visibly panicked, he was sweating profusely and his skinny frame seemed to be jumping around independently. He shot the cook once in the belly, incredibly the cook's stomach seemed to absorb the powerful shot-gun blast, the big man looked down at the new red stain on his T-shirt, then he lunged at the gun-wielding junkie, the twitching little drug-addict seemed to involuntarily fire again, this time the shot-gun blast hit the cook almost directly in the heart. The cook's knees’ buckled and his forward momentum made him collapse face down on the floor, a dark red pool almost instantly fanning out from underneath his lifeless body. The junkie just stood there, his wide-eyes glued to the body.

Deciding it was time to act, Ben stood up and the drug addles gunman jerkily swung his gun to cover him, Ben looked into the gunman's eyes and saw the bloodshot look of terror looking, but not looking, back at him. Ben slowly and deliberately reached over and picked up his cup of coffee, he took a sip then said to the gunman, "Well, you've really done it now”. This was a purposeful strategy, he had dealt with them for years and Ben knew that scared junkies make mistakes; the more scared they are the more mistakes they make. Ben speculated that this guy was probably so high he was almost on the roof. Ben went on, "Just give me the gun and we'll sort all this out". Ben knew that at very least the pathetic looking living-skeleton was facing a long prison term but probably a death sentence, to anyone else his predicament would have seemed obvious, but Ben hoped this junkie was too high to be thinking clearly. Unfortunately, the gunman was just rational enough to understand what he had done, he knew there was no defence and the frustration of that knowledge seemed to add craziness into his already crazy eyes. "Shut your face, or do you want some of this too"? The junkie asked almost absent-mindedly looking down at his shotgun. Ben said, "I don't think you'll shoot me". For a moment, the sheer audacity of the man's claim silenced the gunman so he said, "Just shut up and get me the money" "Okay", said Ben but instead of acquiescing to the junkie demands, with lightning speed he tossed the boiling hot remnants of his coffee into the junkies eyes. In one movement, Ben stepped to the right and pulled his gun out from its shoulder holster. He swung the hand-grip of his pistol down onto the side of the junkie's neck with such power that the under-nourished collarbone snapped like a twig underfoot. The stunned gunman was felled in that one fluid movement and rendered unconscious. Ben kicked the shotgun to the other side of the room. From the back pocket of his pants he fished out two, industrial strength, plastic zip ties (which cost much less than handcuffs but were almost as good and a lot lighter), one for the wrists and one for the ankles. Ben freed a cell phone from his jacket pocket and phoned his office to get a uniformed team to come and pick up this scum. 'Let them fill out the paperwork', he rationalised, he had better things to do and it was one of the perks of being a Detective Inspector. The irony of his own logic frustrated him. While the uniformed boys got there, he went around the counter, stepped over the body of the unfortunate cook then went through into the kitchen and finished preparing his breakfast and bought it out to where he was sitting. The pretty waitress was sitting at a booth, visibly shaken up and looking at the feet of the cook from behind the counter. How, how did you know', she said, "How did you know he wouldn't shoot you"? Ben replied, "Any hunter knows a double-barrelled shotgun only holds two shells: nodding at the coffee machine he said, “Can I have another coffee"? Ben put his hand on her shoulder to stop her from getting up to refill his cup, he walked over and refilled it himself, she was a nice kid, she must be pretty shaken up; she had just lost her father. As if anticipating the unasked question she said, "He, he was my uncle you know". Ben mentally corrected himself. "He was like a father to me, I can't believe he's dead, I can't believe I saw him die, it was horrible". Ben knew what she was going through, he had seen his father die in a hunting accident, but since he had started in law enforcement he had seen about one body a day, he had been a cop in various forms for nearly 25 years. That's a lot of dead bodies; you just have to move on. Some use humour, some have family, but for your own sanity you have to move on, that's all there is to it. Sure, the force has shrinks to talk to, but Ben found friends far more effective and friends didn't put any issues on your record (not to mention being free). "What's your name honey", he asked the woman, "Lydia", she said, "I'm working here to help me through Grad school". It was an unasked question, but Ben knew she probably wanted to explain why she was in a minimum-wage job. Ben didn't really think about that, he knew that you did what you had to do. While he was at college, he had to work delivering pizzas'. It was easy work and it had helped put him through college seeing as he didn't have a rich mummy or daddy, or the grades for a big lucrative scholarship (he did have one, but it was a government one and it only covered his tuition and books). Ben was thinking about his childhood memories when the uniformed unit arrived. They called in for an ambulance and then sat down either side of Ben, firing some friendly questions at him. Ben pointed to the shotgun and then to the lifeless body of the cook, the bandaged hand now seeming insignificant. One of the cops casually walked over and looked at the gun. "It's old", he said, "I'm surprised it didn't blow the perps arm off”. Ben stated that he thought it may have misfired on the first shot. The cop by the gun put on a pair of latex gloves, the type doctors and nurses use and then opened the barrels of the gun. He didn't remove the shot casings but said, "it looks like these cartridges have been reused plenty of times". The cop brought the gun up to his nose, "smells like this gun needs cleaning real bad, my guess is he found it in a bin and kept it". The perp stirred, he was coming around after his little 'assisted' nap. The other cop went over and checked the restraints and said, "Well he ain't goin' nowhere". Ben finished the cereal he was eating and put the bowl to his mouth and drunk the rest of the milk. "Hungry eh Asher"? Said one of the cops with a nervous little smile. Both of these cops knew far better than to smart-mouth the famous “D I Asher”, not only could he officially reprimand them, but he could also easily put them in the hospital and both of the uniformed cops wanted neither. But they needn't have been concerned. Ben had put those days behind him; he was too old for those sorts of games. The two cops had been worried about police gossip they had heard, Ben had been a Secret Service agent for twenty years, when he was in 'the service' he had a reputation of being tough, even by Secret Service standards. He had once held a suspect by his ankle and dangled him from the roof of a 40-story skyscraper until the suspect confessed about his plot to assassinate the President. Another rumour was that he had skinned a Klu-Klux-Klan guy to make the guy's partner talk. Word travels around quickly and big muscular criminals were known to lose bladder control when Ben walked into the interrogation room. It wasn't only his reputation, Ben was 6 foot 5 and weighed about 230 pounds, and he made it a strict routine to workout for an hour every day. Almost as soon as he had finished his training, the Service assigned him an undercover job. His task was to infiltrate the KKK and to find out all he could about their arms-smuggling operation and then bust it wide open. Ben did that all in an amazingly short period of time, his superiors were very impressed. Ben knew the rumour's, he hadn't skinned that KKK guy, one of the perps gun running buddies had filleted the traitor as a message to other spies. Ben had simply allowed that myth to take root and spread, you should never underestimate the power of a rumour he had reasoned with grim mirth. Straight after that job was done Ben was ordered to break-up a counterfeiting ring in Berlin. The group was getting Bordanian one-dollar bills, washing off the ink and then reprinting them as one hundred dollar bills (Bordania was one of the few countries that print all of its' paper currency on paper that was the same size). It wasn't Ben's job to critique Bordanian monetary policy so he did the job he was supposed to do and broke the entire German counterfeiting ring. By this time his superiors were paying careful attention to Ben Asher's career. After a string of equally successful cases, Ben got assigned to be on the Presidents' security detail. It was the very pinnacle that a secret service agent could hope to achieve and he was the youngest agent to have that privilege and he wore it like a badge. This was really the beginning and the end for him. The beginning because it really meant his career had started, no longer did he have to fight to earn the respect of a peer, now it was obvious by the fact he was on the team that protected 'The Main Man'. The reason it was the end of his career is really another, longer story, but Ben once more he let himself go there, as he had thousands of times before. They were aboard 'Air-force One' (the official designation of ANY plane that carried the President). Ben was sitting with a group of half a dozen other agents. One agent was saying, "...The barrel is a ceramics-aluminium combination that is chromed, it dissipates heat at an incredible rate and it is virtually corrosion proof". A woman agent patted where her gun bulged through her jacket and said, "Nope, still not enough to swing my mind and use one of those things, I'll stick with my SIG". 'She has a point', thought Ben, 'most Secret Service agents preferred the light reliability of the Swiss SIG handgun', it's .40 slug was heavy enough to bring down most targets with just one shot, even do a fair amount of damage to a car’s engine block and the magazine holds 12 rounds. But Ben knew what they really wanted, a version of this conversation always happened when he was with agents relaxing. They wanted to see his 'Dirty Harry' SIG; his gun was a big subject in the service mythology.

In a VERY public ceremony the Sultan of Brunei presented Ben with a gift, the Sultan had Ben’s standard issue (That is; standard for the Secret Service – few other Government agencies could afford to arm it agents with such a high-end weapon) SIG-229 replaced with a totally ceramics one that had an ivory handle, several months earlier Ben had discovered a plot by a Indonesian Terrorist group when they had come to Bordania to assassinate the high-profile head of state. Ben had dived in front of the Sultan just as a terrorist fired a revolver at the head of state, the bullet striking Asher 10cm below the sternum, fortunately he had been wearing the very latest ‘Dragon scale’ body armour and didn’t even have a bruise. The Sultan’s gift had been crafted by the finest gunsmith in Switzerland and in an elaborate ceremony, presented it to Ben in a highly polished Ebony case with a plush red velvet lining, the shape of the gun and a spare magazine were sunk into the velvet. Of course, the policy of the Service was not to allow gifts and the gun was to be kept in storage until Asher retired. However, as fate would have it; at that particular time Bordania was working on a very high-level deal with the Sultan, to allow a small naval base on Brunei territory. In a purely diplomatic attempt to curry favour with the Sultan, the President gave written permission for Asher to use the modified Automatic as his personal weapon. The Services’ armourers had checked out (even X-raying it) and certified it fit for service and legend of the ‘Dirty Harry’ SIG was born.

Just before Ben gave into the other agents, in his earpiece he heard a voice say, "Agent Asher, report to the bullpen". 'The bullpen' was the secret service's codeword for the President's ready-room on Airforce One. Ben purposefully rose out of his seat and went to the stated room. In the room was 'The Main Man' himself and Ricardo Roper the Vice-president. Standing at the back of the room was Walter Schmidt, the head of the Secret Service. Walter said, "Agent Asher, for this weekend you have been assigned to be the Vice-presidents personal escort. When air-force one lands at approximately 2100 hours, you will escort the Vice-president into a limousine and proceed to the Ambassador motel, room 411, where upon you will remain on guard until you are relieved of duty, all other details have been arranged". "Yes sir", said Ben, just a regular babysitting job, no problem he thought but it was a privilege none the less. Air force one touched down and taxied to the awaiting armoured limousines. It was Service protocol to take out the President and put him in his chauffeured car and once it had driven off then go and do the same for the VP. Which they did, after holding open the door for the VP, Ben then got into the front of the limo, visually checking the VP was ready before the car sped off to the hotel. Once the limo had arrived at the luxurious hotel, it went directly into the underground car park and parked next to the elevator, all according to standard operating procedure. Ben then got out of the limo, closing the door behind him and went over and called the lift. On the panel over the doorway of the lift's door, Ben could see that the elevator was descending to the garage. There was a 'Bing' sound and the doors opened, an attractive, elegantly dressed woman stepped out of the lift, her mink Stoll highlighting her green eyes. Giving him no time for further appreciation of her, she confidently strode past him and over to a royal blue Rolls Royce. Ben went into the elevator and used his override key, which meant that any other guest could not use the elevator's car. Then, watching the Rolls Royce drive off, Ben opened the door of the limo for the VP. The man got out and walked briskly over to the awaiting lift. Ben flicked the door shut and stood directly behind his assigned 'subject'. Ben pushed the button marked '4', and the lift whirred into electro-mechanical life. When they reached the fourth floor Ben stepped out into an empty hall, he signalled for the VP to follow, retrieving his override key, Ben signalled for the VP to wait until he checked the hall. Ben, then led the "Little Man" down to room 411. Again, Ben checked all the rooms in the suite. Finishing his security sweep, Ben said, "I'll just be outside sir", and he closed the door to the room. Standing in the hallway, Ben took up the guard position just to the left of the doorway but ready to block it at a moments notice. Ben spoke into his wrist-microphone, "Little man is secure, repeat, little man is secure". Ben often wondered who made up the code words that they used. About 4 hours later, there was the 'bing' of the elevator and a woman about Ben's age and a teenage girl got out and started walking toward the room. The girl was red in the face and the older lady was bent down to her whispering something in the girl's ear. The woman showed Ben her security pass that had been given to her when the agent stationed in the lobby searched her. Ben opened the door for them and in they walked. As she passed him the little girl looked up at him with her big brown eyes. They weren't the bright, happy eyes of a child they were sagging, tired looking eyes, Ben's heart went out to her but his job was not to analyse her, it was to protect 'The Little Man'. A few minutes later the woman walked out alone, she was hastily putting an overstuffed envelope into her purse. As he was closing the door Ben quickly looked up and saw the VP standing facing the girl looking down at her with a hand on each of her shoulders. Ben was trained to read body language and what he saw disturbed him more than the girl's eyes. He stood outside the door getting more and more agitated. Then it happened; he heard a thump, the sound of breaking glass and a girl's scream. Something just snapped in Asher and he thought, “That's it”, breaking every protocol in the book; he burst through the door. The VP, shirt off, chest heaving and pants unbuckled, was standing over the girl menacingly with his fists clenched. There was a large red welt on the left side of the girl's face and a trail of blood was snaking its way out of the side of her mouth. Ben angrily strode over to the VP and punched him with such force that the VP flew into the wall and slid down it. Speaking into his wrist mic Asher said, “Asher here, the Little man has fallen over and is unconscious, get the medics up here ASAP”.

Ben walked over to the girl and gently offered her his hand. After what seemed like an eternity she took it and rose to her feet. Ben went into the suite’s bathroom and dampened a towel under the tap. He walked over to her and handed her the towel. She couldn't bring her eyes up, she took the towel and dabbed the corner of her mouth. "What is your name"? He asked. "Janice", she replied still not looking up at him. Ben took off his suit jacket and put it around her shoulders. Then he went over to the girl and said, "Come on Janice, let’s get you home". He took her hand and led her out the room.

A fully stocked ambulance followed the VP where ever he went so two highly trained paramedics were tend to a gurney on which lay the still unconscious VP. Asher could see his chest rhythmically rising up and down and mused, “It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy”. They followed the two paramedics to the elevator and accompanied them to the hotel’s lobby. Ben walked over to the Lobby agent and told him exactly what happened. Stories of the little man’s “sexual habits” were well known throughout the Service (but there they stopped). Still, the agent looked in disbelief at Asher

The paramedics expertly loaded the gurney with its ‘valuable” contents into the ambulance, one got in the back, the other went round to the front and they drove off at a rate of knots.

Then Ben went over to the check-in desk and showing his ID Ben said, "Please bring the VP's limo around to the main entrance". The concierge quietly spoke into a small walkie-talkie, a few minutes later the long black car slid to a stop outside the hotel's entrance. "Ok", said Ben escorting Janice to the car, "What's your address"? "2207 Evergreen drive", the girl said almost automatically. Ben led her out to the limo and said to the driver, "Take her to 2207 Evergreen drive please". He let the girl keep his jacket and the limo shot off into the night (Ben made a mental note to tell a friend in 'Child Services" about the Mother).

Ben walked back over to the Agent and told him to do what he needed to do, then went down to the Hotels lobby and took a seat. Ben was far from an idiot, he knew his actions had just ended his Secret Service career; he would be lucky if it didn't mean doing some time. With that thought, Ben raised himself up, got the key for his room from the wide-eyed concierge and headed for the elevator,

This all happened on a Friday, on the next Monday, head of the Secret Service; Walter Schmidt called Ben into his office. Schmidt had a face of granite as he barked his orders, "Asher, for leaving your post while on active duty and unauthorized use of a government vehicle, you are hereby ordered to hand in your Secret Service Identification and also your weapon"! Ben grimaced, he knew that what he did would lead to his dismissal, but he never expected to be charged with every other crime and not that of striking the Vice president! He took out his shield case and his SIG. Schmidt looked at the items on the table and picked up the SIG, he released the clip of ammunition and ejected the round in the gun's chamber then stated, "This is not a Secret Service Weapon", and handed it, the magazine and bullet, back to Ben. Schmidt went on, "Agent Asher, you are hereby discharged from the Bordanian Secret Service". Ben was handed a form that reminded him of his confidentiality agreement, then Schmidt whipped off, "You are dismissed, get out my office". Ben holstered the gun, turned around and walked out the office. He smiled stiffly at the pretty receptionist. Then, clutching the sheet of paper he was handed by Schmidt, Ben strode off defiantly.

Ben went home and sat down on his, still pretty unused, sofa. He looked around the room, he had moved in here two years ago and he was still living out of boxes. He clicked on the TV, 'May as well rot my brains' said Ben and downed a beer. About 10pm Ben got up and went to bed. He dreamed about being in a land where everything changed every few minutes. At 5am he woke up and went and poured himself a glass of water from the dispenser on the door of the refrigerator. Then he went back to bed and slept, dreamlessly, until 5:30am. As he went through his lounge to the kitchen, he saw that the answerphone display was blinking. He must have gotten a call while he was asleep (which was strange because usually he was a very light sleeper). He went over to it and pressed the “play” button, the voice of agent Forbes came through the receiver. “Hi Ben, Forbes here, You broke his jaw you know, he had it coming, most of the guys here know exactly how you feel, Anyway, I know you got booted out of the service, our loss, I have a friend in the city police and he said he can get you a job no problem, someone as highly trained as you would be a REAL find. You'll make detective straightaway. Here's the number, 555-353535. His name is Detective David Carmine. Ring him Ben, you're way too good for us to lose to the private sector". There was a transistorised 'click' signifying the end of the call. Ben knew what Forbes had meant about the private sector, he could easily get a job 'babysitting' a mega rich CEO, Ben would earn at least 6 figures, but that didn't interest him much. He resolved to give that Carmine guy a call later on that day. Ben continued on out to the kitchen and fixed himself some bacon and eggs. Standing, leaning against the kitchen counter eating his breakfast, Ben started thinking, dredging up the memories of his past had made Ben think of his childhood.

Life had been pretty tough, he didn't have the start to life that some kids had, which messed him up a bit until after his teenage years but everything worked out well in the end. His earliest memories of his father were when he was hitting Ben's mum. Ben was too young to know what was really going on, but he saw his mom cry a lot. Then when Ben was about five, he remembered going to her funeral, it was the first time he had worn a suit. He remembered the function afterwards, he remembered all the sad looking faces but most of all he remembered not seeing his mom. His father seemed more upset that he had to make his own dinner, which was a very clear memory for Ben, his father never ate with him or his big sister Diane. In fact, she made her and Ben's dinner. Then it started, Ben was always the first home from school, and he always used to get an apple then wait out on the porch in the old seat. When Diane came bouncing up the path, they would both go inside and listen to music on the record player. About 6pm his father would swagger through the front door, usually drunk and proceed to make himself dinner. When he was finished, without a word to the kids, he would retreat into his bedroom leaving the cleaning up for Diane. Diane would then make our dinner (she forced Father to give her money and did the shopping too); they'd listen to music, chat, and then go to bed. One night Ben was lying in bed when he heard a big commotion. Ben ran down stairs to the sound, he saw his father standing over Diane, naked chest and unbuckled pants. Ben said, "What's going on"? His father just turned and glared at Ben, "Go to bed boy, this is none of your business". At that moment Ben saw Diane, she was crumpled on the floor hey big eyes staring at him, holding the side of her face. Ben instinctively went over to her. "Momma's boy"! Said his father and stormed off back to his room. "Why, why did he do this to you Di"? Ben asked. She took Ben's hand, "I'm not sure Ben, I think he confuses me with momma". She hugged Ben close to her and he could feel her gently trembling. The next day it was like nothing had happened. His father was in the kitchen making his own breakfast. When Ben came down, he said, "Boy, we're going hunting this weekend, you comin"? It wasn't really a question Ben knew that. When the weekend came round, his father walked in the house with his three drinking buddies, Skooter, Meek & Smells. His father was kind of leader of the pack and he liked to play the 'good daddy' when they were at his house. They took their guns and headed out to two pickup trucks parked in front of the house. They loaded up the gun racks in the pickups then loaded all the supplies for the weekend (including a keg of beer). Ben rode in the truck that his father was driving. Besides Ben was 'Smells' (after the trip Ben knew why he had that nickname). After a few hours of driving, they came to an old cabin, everybody got out. The first item that was unpacked was the keg. The four men set it up and after each chucked back a cold one, they unloaded the rest of the gear from the pickups. Ben was still pretty upset from the night before and went to bed early. Not that he could sleep; the men had drunk all the beer and were now working their way through a few bottles of Jack Daniels. Finally, Ben drifted off to sleep. The next morning he was the last person asleep and awoke to the sound of the four men shuffling around the dusty cabin. Ben got out of his sleeping bag and got dressed, his father came over to him and said, "Were going out boy, you're with Smells and me". They went outside into the early morning air, and Smells said, "Yes sir-e, I'm gonna shoot me a bunch of critters", by critters he meant ducks and Ben noticed both the men their double-barrelled shot-guns with them. Even then, Ben recalled, they were busy sipping from hip flasks. They reached the shooting area and his father motioned to Smells. "You two lay here, I'll go 'round and flush 'em out". Ben & Smells did as his father had told them to do. Smells loaded his shotgun and gave it to Ben, "I think you oughta shoot the first shot, kind seems right". Ben just nodded taking the gun. After several minutes they heard the loud 'clap' of a shot. Smells pushed Ben up, in the distance Ben saw his father and a flock of ducks high in the air. He pointed the shotgun, not at the ducks but at his father and fired. He had gone out hunting with them a few times and Ben was a pretty good shot. Smells said, "You shot him boy, you shot your Daddy"! He grabbed the gun off Ben and raced over to where Ben's father was. The two other men came over when Smells waved frantically at them, after a few minutes Meeks ran off again. He returned with the police closely followed by an air ambulance. They took away the body and Ben saw Smells walk off with the police officer. The two remaining men came over to Ben and one said, "It's all right boy, were gonna take you home now". The ride home was in silence, when they got to the house DIANE came out and noticed only one pick-up. "Where's Dad and Smells", she asked. Skooter told her what had happened and she just walked over to Ben and put her arm around him. She led him inside and took him over to the sofa. Ben fell asleep and slept all day. The day of the funeral came around but there weren't many people at the service just Shooter, Meek and a few others, no Smells though. After the service a man and a woman came up to him, the woman said, "Hello Benjamin, I'm your Aunty Thelma and this is your uncle Doug. It was such a shame to loose your daddy in a terrible hunting accident like this", she had a kind looking face, "You are coming to live with us now". They were both a nice couple and Ben's life settled down to what it should have been. The hardest thing was being separated from Diane, but Ben thought that was a punishment for shooting his father. Anyway, several years later Ben had heard that after the funeral Diane had moved in with some rich relatives who lived on the other side of Tedan and was doing very well. Ben had done well too, he was an excellent scholar and a remarkable athlete, a lot of people payed a lot more attention to him than he realized. Ben snapped out of it when he heard the telephone ring. He put his plate down and went over and picked up the phone. "Hello", he answered, "Hello", the voice on the other end of the line said, "Ben? Ben it is me, Diane,"

Chapter Two: Welcome to Bordania

Screaming across the sky at 500 knots per hour; from nose to tail it was 100 feet of the kind of luxury that befitted a jet-set billionairess. Maybe at was the altitude, maybe it was the champagne, but Diane mused, “Land of the free and home of the brave”, such a noble place, not the biggest continent, not as big as China, India or Europe, nowhere near as big as Africa, yet it had something none of these continents could match. It was free, it was a democracy, and it was the land of privilege.

Glancing at the display that showed the ground temperature, she noted that it was a fairly warm day, not out of character for this time of year and somehow it seemed to fit in well with her return to her beloved home country: Bordania. She had lived there for all her forty-seven years, there was very little she didn't know, or love, about Bordania. Sitting there in a private jet sipping champagne Diane was convinced of the truth of her thoughts. Bordania was a busy, bustling twenty-four hour, seven days a week country and the whole world looked to it for leader-ship, Bordania and Bordania alone had the leader of the free world. Yes, she thought, God bless Bordania. Then she giggled. She was getting patriotic in her old age, it is probably the Champagne and the altitude. Diane had grown up in Craw-daddy, Tedan. Her daddy was a successful lawyer and her mother was an energetic homemaker that had driven them to school (at least until she was old enough to drive the family Volvo). When Diane graduated high school, her daddy bought her a cute little red sports car. She vaguely knew that most of the world hardly knew where their next meal was coming from and that she was a little spoiled but it wasn't her fault she was raised into a rich family, was it? Besides, her best friend at the time: Buffy Tilldemann, had told her that most of them were just jealous anyway, especially the ones that weren't from Bordania! When Diane was nineteen she had married Pye Charles, even though he was fifty, he was probably the richest man in Bordania. Pye pursued her like he was acquiring a business, how could a girl refuse a ten caret pure white diamond with matching earrings and a twenty-five caret blue diamond necklace, all wrapped up in a mink stoll, her previous life's luxury could not even compare to that which Pye could offer her: Twelve houses around the world, a new car every month, and the jewellery, oh the jewellery, they had a permanent buyer stationed at de Beers and all the best jewellery stores sent their merchandise, via an armoured car of course, for THEM to view. But ironically, Pye couldn't give her the one thing she really wanted and that was free. Pye was as sterile as a surgical knife, he was born with no Testes, in other words, he wasn't just shooting blanks; he couldn't even get the gun loaded! Pye had spent millions to find out that doctors could do nothing unless a testicular transplant became technically possible, which it wasn't then. But Pye also refused to adopt, his logic was that God didn't want him to have children and that was the way it was going to be. That argument always annoyed Diane because he wasn't even a Christian! It is not that the rest of his equipment didn't work; he just couldn't finish off the act. But Diane did love him, well more at first than now, but Diane had resigned herself to the fact that she would never have children, even her own brother wouldn't come and see her because of Pye. Over the years, Pye had gotten more and more remote. He didn't even bother romancing Diane, he told her that his love was in the things he provided for her, but she still felt left out of his life. The closest he had gotten to share his work life with Diane was when he telephoned her when they were courting. He wouldn't even let her into his office building. It had only gotten worse over the last five years, so much so now that he would ignore her for hours if she asked him about his work. Diane took her marriage vows seriously but she found herself spending greater amounts of time away from him. The hostess came around and asked her to get ready to land. The Gulf Stream jet touched down lightly then taxied over to their correct gate. Rising to her feet and making her way to the doorway, she climbed down onto the tarmac. She casually smiled at the pretty green-eyed hostess as she left the airliner. It is not that she had contempt for the aircrew, just that she had done it thousands of times before. The 'golf cart' sped her over the tarmac to the customs area, after the briefest of pauses she was shown to a waiting limousine. Without needing to ask her address the limo driver drove her up Rodeo drive and up to the Charles mansion on Beverly Hills Heights. The car pulled into a wide driveway, after a hundred or so feet they pulled up in front of a barred gateway that was made from wrought iron and stood twice the height of a man. The driver spoke into an intercom outside his car door, "Mrs Charles", he didn't need to say any more than that, the gate rolled open and the limo drove through. The house was set back about a mile from the main gate, the driver drove up to the lavish entranceway of the mansion and Diane got out and trotted up the steps to the front doors of her house. Diane could hear the yap, yap, yap of her little Pekingese poopsy. Poopsy was the type of dog that you imagine other dogs laughing at. It was small, had white hair and had a pink bow tied into the hair on the top of her head. Everything about the dog screamed 'UNPRACTICAL', but this was LA where looks were the number one thing and Poopsy looked cute, she was looked after better than most humans, she had her own chef, her own dentist and her own personal trainer, for most people having poopsy 'poop' on their lawn would raise the value of the property. Diane bent down and scooped up her little toy dog. "Hewo Poopsy-Woopsy, mommies back", she cooed as the tiny purebred licked her 'mommies' face. There were a dozen staff lined up for Diane to inspect, every single one of them was Mexican and they greeted her with genuine warmth, "Olla Signora Charles", "Olla" sent back Diane, she got on well with her staff and they with her. There was one new woman; the head maid introduced her formally as Juanita, "Olla Signora Charles", she said as she curtsied. The head maid, Rosetta, was smiling pleasantly at Diane, "Rosetta, could I please see you in the study", said Diane and then she and Rosetta headed to the classically furnished Study. "Rosetta darling, how are you, Carlos sends his regards". Carlos is a servant in Diane's Spanish mansion that Rosetta had met when she had accompanied Diane for her Spanish holiday (Usually in the Bordania winter). "Oh Signora Charles, you would have us both married if you had your way", Rosetta's 'rosy' cheeks told Diane she wasn't angry. Diane retorted, "And why not, you're both eligible, you both like each other". "If he likes me that much he will come here and propose to me", Knowing her bosses ‘match-maker’ tendencies, Rosetta was a little concerned she had just given her an idea. Diane sighed and put down Poopsy who felt slightly indignant for a moment, Diane took off her Diamond necklace, "Rosetta, be a dear and put this in the safe for me", she handed the weighty pendant to her maid, then turned her back and went over to look up something in a book. Neither Rosetta nor Diane noticed the Study door slightly ajar. Rosetta walked over and swung open the large original Monet allowing access to the safe's door. She entered the 4-digit combination on the key-pad; the person looking through the crack in the door was carefully watching Rosetta. Rosetta deposited the necklace in the safe, as she turned around she noticed that the door was not closed properly; she went over to it and noiselessly brought the two halves of the large mahogany door together. She turned around and asked Diane, "Is there anything else Signora Charles?" Diane said back, "I told you Rosetta, when we are in private you can call me Diane". Rosetta reasoned, "It is a habit I would rather not get into, the other staff need to hear me call you formally or they will lose respect for us both". Diane nodded, respect was a big thing to Mexicans, and Rosetta knew best how to handle her staff. Diane said, "That trip wore me out, I think I'll take a small nap before lunch". She walked out the door and headed up the master stairway. Of course Pye had elevators built to get to each of the eight floors of the mansion (four above ground, four below) but Diane preferred to get the exercise. Her bedroom was on the top floor, but more accurately, you could say it WAS the top floor. If the house itself didn't say extravagant then this room certainly did. It had two ensuites, all with twenty four caret gold fittings of course, its own kitchen and a computer controlled air conditioning system that could lower the temperature of the room to that of the South-pole or raise it to that in the middle of the Sahara Desert. It had an entire wall taken up with flat screen displays that showed everything from security camera footage to the local TV channels. The bed was an engineering marvel, it swivelled to any angle and it could be raised or lowered from the front, back or both. It was all remote controlled and was the size of four super king-sized beds combined together. When Diane was very young she had to share her single bed with her young brother and designing this bed was her 'therapy'. Often friends would pop over just to see if the story they heard about the bed was true. Both she and Pye had separate walk-in wardrobes. An elevator connected the room to the roof where the helicopter pad was. Every evening after Pye had 'choppered' home he would come down that elevator at exactly 4 pm and offer Diane, if she were there, a perfunctory peck on the cheek. Then he would go over to the computer terminal and read the dozen or so E-mails he always seemed to get. At exactly 5:30pm he would go down to the dining room where his dinner was to be waiting. After Dessert, he would retreat to his den and have a cigar and a glass of Brandy. He would thoroughly read the newspaper then watch the news. At exactly 9:45pm he would take the elevator to his room and go to bed. He followed that routine strictly. At first this routine bored Diane and she did everything she could to try and interrupt it. She soon gave up, as she found even her most determined efforts ineffectual. After several years she had come to depend on this routine, as much as Pye did. The weeks rolled on and it came time for Diane to leave for another house, she had a nice little (only three story) apartment on the beach front pf the French Riviera. She did so love it there this time of year, so making the arrangements herself; she telephoned Rosetta downstairs to tell her of her plans. They would leave in one weeks time, Rosetta always came along to the Riviere, a perk of the job. Before Diane left, she wanted to buy a new piece of jewellery, so again bypassing Rosetta; she telephoned Tiffany's and asked them to send out their fall collection.

At noon, the big armoured truck arrived and out of it jumped a slight, rather elderly gentle-man. Behind him walked two large security guards they carried a large 5-foot square sturdy looking metal container between them. The head of the mansions own security team was there with a small walkie-talkie in his hand. "Ah Mrs Charles, you're looking as ravishing as always", offered the elderly man. "Why thank-you Mr Tiffany, I am dying to view another of your gorgeous collections". Diane waved her hand at her side in a gesture that told Rosetta to follow her. Once inside and the doors were locked, Mr. Tiffany ordered the guards to unload the metal box. The mansions security chief spoke softly into the walkie-talkie, although they could not see it, two armed members of the mansions security team walked over to the study doors and went on guard. There was probably close to a half a billion dollars worth of gems there and insurance companies get very nervous when faced with claims of that size, so every precaution was taken. Diane selected a Red, White and blue diamond choker chain. That alone cost 1.1 million dollars but it was truly spectacular. Once she had tried the choker-chain on, she had Rosetta put it in her safe. They packed up and left, the old man was delighted at selling his most expensive piece. When the Tiffany guards were ready to leave the security chief spoke softly into his walkie-talkie, the two other security team members opened the study doors ands then went and opened the mansions from doors. The armoured truck drove off and the security team retreated down the elevator to their basement headquarters. The week passed swiftly and the Limousine arrived to take Diane and Rosetta to their jet, which was gassed-up and waiting for them at the airport.

A cliché states that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing; well Juanita was a dangerous woman then. She had grown-up in a house with eleven other brother and sisters in a little village in the Mexican countryside. She had always hated being poor and had been taught basic English in a monastery close to her home. She would read as many English books and magazines as she could find. When Juanita was thirteen, her mother died (further embittering her) so she went to stay with her aunt and uncle in the city. They had no children of their own and could afford to send Juanita to high school, but like all the things seemed to do in Juanita's life, after two years the 'bubble burst'. Juanita was very pretty and well developed for her age and that fact did not escape Carlos, Juanita's uncle, as paid her nightly visits and stole the one thing that she thought no one could take from her, her virginity. Juanita could never bring herself to tell her aunt and after a year she just ran away.