“Hello

Death in a Small Southern town



THE NEUROCRATS: Pioneers in the Greater State of Influence By Joseph Inge, Jr



“This is going to require finesse, Donovan. Sell your guns. You won’t be using them



anymore.” - Adrian Carlton Edwards



Part 1





Socrates (469 BC–399 BC) wrote, “By all means, marry. If you get a good



wife, you'll be happy. If you get a bad one, you'll become a



philosopher...and that is a good thing for any man.”





She stood in the doorway, preventing me from leaving the room.



“It‟s been a long time,” she said.



“Not so long as you think,” I replied.



She patted my belly. “You‟ve gotten soft,” she said.



“I let my fitness club membership expire.”



She smiled. I‟d always loved that smile. Her hand slid to my crotch.



“Perhaps you should renew it,” she said.



I stepped back. “I‟ll consider the advice,” I said.



“You should,” she said, tipping her head slightly forward. “It‟s good



advice. Take It. It‟s free.”



I started from my sleep with the knock at the door, opening it to the



beautiful smiling Valerie. I stood holding the door, smiling in return.



“You should invite me in,” she said.







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“Of course,” I said, stepping aside.



It occurred to me in a moment that she shouldn‟t be here. “I was having a



dream,” I said.



“About Desiree?” she asked.



“Yeah,” I replied.



“You‟re wondering if you‟re dreaming now?” she guessed.



I nodded. “This is your wedding day.”



“Yeah….About that….” she said, whimsically. “The wedding‟s off.



Caught him schtuppin‟ one of the bride‟s maids.”



I tried my best not to laugh.



“Men are pigs,” she said.



I agreed. “Yes. Yes, we are.”



“How did you get here?” I asked, hoping, in her present mood, she hadn‟t



driven all the way to Hinesville from Biloxi.



“I flew,” she said. “You bought a jet last night!”



“I didn‟t buy a jet,” I said.



“Of course, you did,” she said. “I signed for it, but you bought it. It‟s your



wedding gift to me! Congratulations, Mister Edwards! We‟re engaged!”



Valerie said men were just no good, but if she had to have one, she might



as well have the one she really loved. She gave me her hand. This ring





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THE NEUROCRATS: Pioneers in the Greater State of Influence By Joseph Inge, Jr



was even larger than the one she had replaced. I didn‟t know I had such



wonderful taste in jewelry.



I grinned. “You‟re stupider than I thought,” I said.



She kissed me. “Guess so,” she said. “How about it? Want a really stupid



girl?”



“Doggone, right, I do!” I exclaimed. “I‟m pretty stupid, myself.”



We embraced and kissed.



Just then it occurred to me. I bought a jet?



“Sweetheart,” I began.



“Yes, Darling?” she replied.



“How did I come to buy a jet?” I asked.



“Darling, it‟s a very good investment,” she said. “We certainly need it.”



“Yes, but……” I paused, thinking to select my words carefully. I



remembered the old saying that if you can‟t stand the answer, don‟t ask the



question. “How is it that you signed for my jet?”



She laughed. “Darling, I‟m your lawyer, I sign documents for you all the



time,” she said. “You gave me power of attorney, remember? You can buy



me anything I want.”



“Really?” I asked.



She grinned, nodding. “Uh huh.”





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“Boy,” I said. “I am stupid.”



“No, Baby,” she corrected. “Just lucky.”



She was right, I was lucky. The jet paid for itself ten times over. Valerie



went on signing for gifts for herself. It turns out I had excellent taste in



dresses, hats, purses, diamonds and particularly, shoes. She had pretty good



taste in cars, too. She wasn‟t surprised when I drove home in the brand new



candy-apple red Corvette she bought me for our first wedding anniversary.



That was several years ago. Much had transpired since then.



The meeting with Promise put me behind schedule. I needed to get home



to Valerie, but there was a stop I needed to make first. Reverend Michael



Halested was expecting me. Lately, I‟d been troubled with questions of



faith.



In my line of work, we don‟t often account for God‟s intervention when we



make plans. We try to anticipate the subject‟s behavior, the odds of him or



her responding a certain way given a set of circumstances. In a scenario in



which there is doubt, we try to influence the person into a course of action of



our choosing. The object is to keep the subject in a controlled environment



until project completion.



This was the situation with Elyria Promise. Since we had turned down the



job she offered, we couldn‟t be certain there wouldn‟t be reprisals. I‟d never





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THE NEUROCRATS: Pioneers in the Greater State of Influence By Joseph Inge, Jr



said no to Promise before. She was, usually very persuasive. That was the



problem with Psy-Ops. You could never be sure if the decisions you make



are your own or if they were subliminally implanted. So, we decided to take



control of the situation.



The issue was deeper than reading thoughts. With the technology they



hoped to develop, they could literally, create thought. They could go beyond



mundane subliminal suggestions to technologically controlling their subject.



It would be like compulsory conscription. Only, the subject wouldn‟t be



aware it was occurring, and would be powerless to decline any suggestion.



Even more ominous, once the mind was under control, Psy-Ops could turn



the subject‟s body against itself. It was conceivable that people exposed to



the weaponry would psychosomatically exhibit symptoms of diseases which



they weren‟t predisposed to contract. Involuntary brain functions could be



over ridden, and the brain told to shut down vital organs, like the kidneys,



liver, lungs and even the heart. Voluntary muscles could be controlled



against the subjects‟ will, or the will could be subordinated altogether. It



could spell the absolute end of free will for anyone unfortunate enough to



fall victim to the owners of this technology. I could imagine a world of



completely and totally compliant citizens, automatons. In a word: Slaves.









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If no one else knew the impact of the mind control technology, I did. That



is, me and Old Royce Dillon. One device which failed to achieve the



desired expectations caused an unusual response in most subjects. It caused



the subject to dream of the dead. They were sometimes sleeping dreams and



sometimes wakeful dreams.



The dreams were vivid; the effects, powerful. And in my case, it appeared,



permanent. Royce was driven insane from the constant onslaught of ghosts



from, what I could only assume, was a past rife with hidden skeletons. I



hoped against hope that my own dreams wouldn‟t eventually consume me as



Royce‟s did him. Knowing what I knew of their plans and tactics, I was



compelled to, at least try to inform our law makers of the inherent dangers of



brain wave communications. It may prove impossible to prevent the



technology‟s development, but something needed to be done.



We all had assignments to accomplish. The first order of business was to



ensure the safety of our families. Though we didn‟t believe Psy-Ops would



go after non-players, we didn‟t want to take any chances. Frank contacted



the people who would make the arrangements for oversight of Julie and the



girls, and all of our families back home. Diana was going to Hinesville to



see Retired Army Colonel Alexander “Bud” McKensie, Bill Cook the editor



of the town‟s newspaper and Royce Hicks, our business associate. The plan





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was to inform them of the Psy-Ops plan to turn psychological warfare



agents, tactics and equipment loose on Congress. We couldn‟t attack the



problem directly or the agency would attack us in an attempt to neutralize



the Neurocrats before we‟d completed our project. With tens of billions of



dollars were at stake, they wouldn‟t quit coming for us until we were



crushed. Their resources were formidable, and they were less scrupled than



we were. We would never withstand a protracted battle against them. As it



was, we were taking a chance they hadn‟t already begun surveillance



operations, followed by miscommunications and a full discrediting attack



designed specifically for us.



We didn‟t delude ourselves. We were planning to oppose the United States



Army. It could be very dangerous. But there wasn‟t anyone else to do it.



No one else understood the Neuronaut‟s plan, we weren‟t sure anyone else



was close enough to the situation to understand the implications. In turning



U.S. weaponry on Congress, the army had fired the first shot in a potential



bid to create a police state. They planned to manipulate one branch of our



government. If they weren‟t opposed here, how far would they go? Would



the attempt to make puppets of the Supreme Court, the Executive Branch?



This wasn‟t lobbying. This was the taking of power. This would be



tantamount to coup d'état.





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We planned to begin with a whisper campaign. Dee would relate the



information to the three men, who would light fires to the brush from three



different fronts. We hoped it would reach the targeted lawmakers. With



four hundred and thirty-five members in the House of Representatives, and



one hundred in the senate, we needed to light a lot of fires in order to warn



the right legislators. We were going to rely heavily on gossip. But the



information needed to follow a narrow path to prevent the media, at large,



finding out. In short, we wanted to accomplish this project transparently.



Donovan‟s job was to distract and neutralize his girlfriend. Not that I



needed to tell him, but I didn‟t want any misunderstandings, he needed to get



her out of the way without harming her in any way. I was as concerned for



his relationship with his girl, as I was for the project‟s success. I liked



Promise, but she was the most dangerous person I knew. Once we put our



plan into motion, she would surely come after me. And she wouldn‟t



hesitate to do what she needed to do to accomplish her mission.



I prayed Donovan was sufficient for the task of subduing Promise. She



would first try subtle techniques. She would try persuasion and deception.



Given their relationship, she would first, try to trade on the attraction



between them. I was counting on her affection for him to slow her down









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some. Maybe she would hesitate if it came to a fight with him. Hopefully,



he was a strong enough player to resist her when it counted.



“Just in case,” I said. “Hire yourself five or six bootleg cabbies. Don‟t let



them touch her. Keep her safe. This is going to require finesse, Donovan.



Sell your guns. You won‟t be using them anymore.”



He nodded.



“Besides,” I said. “You‟ll actually be safer if you‟re not armed. That way,



Elyria won‟t be as likely to use deadly force if you corner her. She‟ll try to



turn her Neuronautics on you, in any case. Make sure you neutralize them,



brain wave devices, the IPRC, her inner-personal retrieval chip; everything.



And you should destroy everything she owns, clothes and all.”



He agreed.



“And, Donovan….”



“Yes, sir, Mr. Ace?”



“Don‟t leave her side,” I said. “And don‟t let her talk to anyone.



Especially the people you hire. Remember. Persuasion is her specialty.



Spoken language communication is her first tool. You do not want to give



her a chance to get any deeper into her toolbox. She could divide your team.



Or worse, turn the entire team against you. If that happens, she‟ll come after



me…………..And I‟ll be fighting for my life.”





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He nodded, seriously. “I understand, Ace.”



While Diana was flying off to Georgia, Frank and I remained in Biloxi.



Frank was to utilize his network. This project required the lightest touch.



He said he would only inform his most trusted protégés. The network was



an informal array of cohorts, each autonomous, but bound by a belief in a



culture of synergy. It was perfectly suited for our needs. We could filter a



story through so many nodes the agency would need a bloodhound to locate



its source. And the rumor would move so quickly they could never quash it.



The judge would warn his colleagues of the Army agency‟s intention to



psychologically influence high level officials. He would make it clear that



our concern was not with open debate and the traditional courting of law



makers. We were concerned with our military using warfare tactics on our



elected and appointed officials.



We hoped when Congress was aware of the danger, they wouldn‟t be so



arrogant as to believe they were immune. No one was. Not even us. The



only inoculation was awareness. And even when we knew, we couldn‟t be



certain the Psy-Ops agency had not succeeded in its objective. These were



truly murky waters.



My contacts were less reputable than Frank‟s. I was to hit the clubs. But, I



had to get home to my Valerie first. I was late and still had not seen the





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THE NEUROCRATS: Pioneers in the Greater State of Influence By Joseph Inge, Jr



reverend yet. I turned my candy-apple red Stingray onto Eighth Street in



Gulfport, Mississippi. 1078 Eighth Street was the gin joint Frank and I liked



to hang out at. Just up the street from there, on the corner of Eighth and



August was the church we liked to worship at. The Prayerful House of



Salvation was a nondenominational church, without any affiliations.



Reverend Michael Halested, the pastor, earned his Doctors of Divinity



degree from a prestigious Christian college, walked into this neighborhood



near the bar and founded a church. He fought to close the gin joint. It never



happened.



It was an awful experience for all parties. Mike was doing God‟s work.



The owners of the bar were trying to make a living doing what they knew



how to do. The neighborhood residents were in the middle of the fight,



some wanting to cleanup their home from the club and the element which



follows that sort of establishment. Others loved the excitement of the music,



booze and social contact.



Frank found a solution which worked for them both. They would vie for



the hearts and minds of the residents by remaining open twenty-four/seven.



The church doors were never locked, and people were always there. It was



the same for the bar. The street was very busy, all the time. They‟d found a



way for Mike to fulfill his calling-the club provided an endless supply of





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customers for him-and for the club to continue to do business. It was a



harmonious arrangement. Neither party felt it was the best of arrangements,



but it worked.



Early one morning, I found myself staggering up the street to that church.



Valerie and I hadn‟t been married for very long. We had rushed into the



marriage, and were having second thoughts. When we first met, I was a



wounded derelict she helped to save from the gutter. I was practically



useless, but exciting and dangerous. The temptation for a young woman



with a penchant for worthless, shiny baubles was irresistible. When she met



me I was rebounding and reckless. Now, years later, with wealth and



responsibility, I had become comfortable and careful.



We faced challenges she hadn‟t planned on. “You can‟t imagine the things



people are saying about me,” she said. “The horrible names they‟re calling



you.” I assured her I could.



“Well, there is a bit of an age difference between us,” I said. “They‟re



probably saying I‟m old and…..”



She ignored me. “My family has threatened to disown me,” she said, near



hysteria.



Val‟s parents accused her of living in defiance of God. “You‟re not even



married and you‟re geyn shlofn with this shvartser,” her mother told her. So,





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we had a proper Jewish wedding ceremony. But if we had satisfied her



parents, there remained issues between us we must satisfy.



I used to drink with this old boy who used to say to me, “Ace, my man, it‟s



like this…..” He would take a big swig off his bottle. “….If you can get the



finest woman you know, you can get ten more. And every one of „em, finer



than the last one.” I was beginning to wonder if, on the way to meeting me,



Valerie had gotten similar advice.



We had been single for a long time. Neither of us knew how to be married.



We loved each other. We wanted to be together. We were miserable apart,



but we couldn‟t stand the sight of each other.



It wasn‟t inconceivable that we were under attack from Psy-Ops. It was



just so frustrating that we could never be sure. Even still, Valerie and I



blamed each other for our unhappiness. She accused me of eyeing Promise;



she said I was measuring her for my bed. I accused her of marrying me for



my money, and rushed me so Promise wouldn‟t get the chance.



That did it. “You wouldn‟t even have any money if it wasn‟t for me,” she



said.



“Well, I‟d say you‟ve had your three percent, and then some,” I said.



She corrected me. “Six.”



“What?” I asked.





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THE NEUROCRATS: Pioneers in the Greater State of Influence By Joseph Inge, Jr



“Six. I take six percent,” she said. “You were so pitiful, I shorted my



normal fee.”



So, following the fight, in which a couple of wedding gifts got broken, I



ended up at Reverend Mike‟s church. The club was off the chain that night.



There was a blues band playing in that familiar, heart-broken, baby-done-



gone-and-left-me style we all know so well. The argument with Val left me



feeling agonizingly empty, as if someone had unplugged a cork at my heel.



The contents of my soul were draining from me with each tortured moaning



word from the grimacing, growling song stylist. The squealing cords of the



mournful guitar beckoned for the captive tears, which fought for freedom



against the barrier of my faltering will; tears which I desperately refused to



release.



I agonized at the enjoyment of the revelers. Everyone in the room was



having a great time; except me. The couples were drawing closer, and



singles were finding each other to cling to. They were all finding



commonality in the misery depicted in the music. As the crowd sang along



with the band, the pressure behind my eyes intensified. The more the people



enjoyed themselves, the deeper my emotions sank.



I burst forth from the bar; a wounded animal; a tormented escapee in a



prison break, stumbling and crashing into a fence before falling to my back.





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Donovan was there in an instant to lift me to my feet. I shoved him away,



saying I was okay and needed to be alone. He followed me, as I moved



through the haunting late night crowd, on my way to the church. I entered



the sanctuary as violently as I‟d left the bar. Though it was well past



midnight, the place was full of folks, apparently accustomed to drunks



finding Jesus in the wee hours of the night.



The music and the voices of the choir were soothing and compelling.



There had been something wild, ferocious clawing to escape from within my



breast. I could now, feel it pacing within, seeking the safety of a den in



which to settle. It was calming, panting deeply. Its sinews taut, anticipated



the next moment pain would drive it from its rest. The loving atmosphere of



the sanctuary, like a healing hand, touched, caressed and reassured the wild



creature within. At last, it had found solace to sleep.



Without seeing, I took a seat in a pew near the door. Donovan joined me.



Where I was uncomfortable and jittery, he seemed at ease and relaxed. I



looked at him and he smiled. “I‟m sorry, Donovan,” I said.



“It‟s alright, Mr. Edwards,” he said.



We sat for a while, until the next wave of worshippers arrived; then the



next after that. We didn‟t participate in the service. We just sat there.



Presently, a tall, powerful looking brother joined us on the pew. To say





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powerful looking didn‟t speak to his physical stature. His power was more



of an aura exuding from his being. It couldn‟t have been separated from the



man himself. His power was his presence.



He nodded slightly as he softly spoke a greeting. It was the biggest,



loudest greeting I had ever experienced. He introduced himself as Michael.



It wasn‟t until later that morning I learned he was the pastor of the church,



Reverend Michael Halested.



We all sat quietly, listening to the music, for a time. It was about an hour



later that Valerie entered the sanctuary. The men made room for her, and



without a word, she sat at my side. She placed her hand on mine. The



diamond ring sparkled, reflecting the light of the hallowed room. I held her



hand, and was grateful God had sent her to me.



Val and I had our problems, but that early morning was a pivotal moment



in our marriage. It was the beginning of our friendship with Reverend Mike.



The pastor‟s guidance and wisdom were instrumental in strengthening our



marriage. Donovan took a position at door while we meditated. It was then,



that Mike introduced himself as the pastor, and began us on the path to a



more fulfilling life together.



I credited Mike with the success of my marriage. Now I was going to ask



him to help me challenge a branch of the U.S. military. I was asking him to





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use his influence with local clergy to quietly spread the word, and reach out



to Congress.



“That‟s not something I can do, Ace,” he said. “Do you know what you‟re



asking me to do?”



“Of course I do, Mike,” I said. “I‟m asking you to help me to maintain our



form of government, our democratic government where each individual is



represented by law makers who make their own decisions based on the



needs and desires of their constituency, per the Constitution.”



He laughed, shaking his head. “Nice speech……Sounds more like you‟re



asking me to help you eliminate your competition,” he said. “And the



Army, at that…. Perhaps you‟ve lost your mind.”



“The Army‟s not my competition, Mike,” I countered.



“Is that right?” he asked. “Aren‟t you in the influence business yourself?”



I nodded. “We‟re more of a collection agency…..” I said.



“Right,” he laughed. “So, you‟ve never fixed a politician or law



enforcement official, have you?”



He had me over a barrel. “It‟s not the same, Mike,” I argued. “Listen….



You‟re obviously a proponent of free will. Don‟t you understand



Neuronautics eliminates free will?”









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“I understand you and Frank have had things your way for a long time,” he



mocked. “Now someone builds a better mouse trap and you‟re crying foul.”



“I‟m not talking about encouraging a guy here or there to vote for rezoning,



or greasing the wheels for a couple to adopt a child in need. This is just bad



for all of us,” I told him. “Besides, you‟ve benefitted considerably from one



or two of, what you call fixes, Mike,” I reminded him.



He frowned, apparently chagrined at having accepted our help from time to



time; even if it was to get some of his flock out of a tight situation when we



could. We had handled things like, torpedoing repo attempts, making small-



time doobie possessions go away and shaving the edges off immigration



disputes.



I sighed, heavily. “Why don‟t you look at it this way? If Psy-Ops has its



way, there won‟t be any need for preachers. Why speak when the leaders



can transmit their message directly to the minds of your congregation?” I



laughed this time, trying to hit him where he lived. “Speech making,



sermons will become obsolete. Preaching will have become a lost art form.



Oh, well….. You‟re getting up in age. They‟ll probably give you nice



cushy job counting the bricks for the pyramids we‟ll be made to build.”



“Ace, you‟re being melodramatic,” he said. “Yes, I‟ve accepted help when



the Lord sent it. It would have been prideful not to.”





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“Well, why don‟t you think of this as help?” I offered. “This is me offering



advice in an area I know a great deal about……”



“Are you going to start with these visions of dead people you claim to



see?” he asked. I had told Mike about Desiree and the Dillons, but he wasn‟t



a believer. He said I was very close to dealing in necromancy. Only God



could raise the dead. I very much wanted to believe him; except I was the



one living with a phenomenon he didn‟t understand and I didn‟t know how



to articulate in a way that he could.



“No, I‟m not going to say anymore about my dreams,” I said. I had long



ago given up talking to Mike about Desiree. That horse wouldn‟t run



anymore, so I just let him lie where he was. “Let‟s consider more mundane



forms of influence and mind control.”



“Okay,” he said. “Like what?”



“Let‟s consider advertising,” I started.



“Okay.”



“Well, all communication does one of three things: Inform, entertain or



persuade. Advertising, generally, persuades. You‟ve heard of subliminal



messaging?” He nodded. “Suppose advertisers were allowed to imbed, at a



subliminal level, images of their products inside of all of our movies and



television programs.”





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“Ace, hasn‟t that been done, experiments in movie theatres?” he asked.



“And, although it doesn‟t work, isn‟t it illegal?”



I smiled.



“Yes, it is,” I said. “We have laws protecting us nonetheless, from



subliminal messaging that doesn‟t do what it was touted to do. Isn‟t it odd



that we are affected, anyhow, by even the prospect of subliminal



advertising? Maybe the advertising works better than research suggests.”



He didn‟t move.



“What do you think would happen if advertisers could, not only, speak to



you subliminally, but read and alter your thoughts? I‟m talking about,



actually, changing your brain‟s construction, Mike. …Changing brain wave



patterns. Creating thoughts and feelings; adjusting the physical, synaptic



connections at the microscopic level.”



He wasn‟t buying it. “Let me ask you a question, Ace,” he cut in. “This



brain altering technology…. ……Who‟s to say it‟s a bad thing? Couldn‟t it



be used to cure diseases? Couldn‟t the brain be told to produce antibodies to



fight off diseases? Perhaps we‟re looking at the beginning of a new medical



era. Maybe this would be less damaging to the body than drugs and



medicines with all their side effects.” I started to speak, but he held up his



hand, and I paused. “Think about it….. The brain could be trained like a





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muscle. It would be told to send nutrients to damaged tissue. The immune



system would be hyper-active, it wouldn‟t be misled by invasive foreign



cells. Where it might be told not to produce white blood cells, technological



intervention would over-ride the intruder cells‟ signals.”



Mike made a very good argument. He was talking about a cure for cancer



and AIDS. In my hysteria, having experienced its use as a weapon, I hadn‟t



considered the possibility of medical uses for Neuronautics. I now began to



think of Valerie. We had recently had a scare. The small lump in her breast



was benign, but it had frightened us, anyway.



I was still considering what he‟d said, when he gave me something else to



think about. “What about mental health treatment?” he asked. “At its center



your technology could first, benefit those of us with mental health issues.”



I sighed. “Mike, I admit there is a myriad of good and positive uses for this



technology,” I said. “The technology is on its way here; if it isn‟t already



here. The problem is that mind control technology is being weaponized, and



employed against United States citizens.”



“Ace, you‟re being an alarmist,” he said. “Look, buddy…… The world



we live in is the world we live in. Destruction and despair await us around



every corner, every day. Have faith. Trust to God. He will keep us safe,



regardless of what the government or military does.”





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I shook my head, in disbelief. Mike was sermonizing me. He couldn‟t see



the world I saw, and as much as I hoped to believe, I couldn‟t see the world



he believed in.



“God will send good people,” Mike said. “Trust him, Ace, to send a



tempering influence to protect us from your boogey-men.”



It was no use. Mike just wasn‟t going to get involved. A part of me hoped



he got to experience the effects of Neuronautic weaponry. It would serve



him right for mocking me. I‟d love to hear his next sermon after that



happens. I loved the guy, but he was being a pompous jerk. I wanted to



believe God had sent him the last help he would ever get. But, I knew it just



wasn‟t true. If the Lord was going to spare anyone, he‟d spare Mike.



“Boogey-men, yourself,” I said. “Mike, I heard a pretty good joke once.”



“Yeah?” he asked. “Tell it to me.”



“Two fellas were havin‟ argument,” I said. “One guy says to the other one,



„That‟s the dumbest thing I ever heard of.‟ The other guy says, „Yeah?



Well, I think you‟re a queer.‟ The first guy says, „One of us must be; „cause



you‟ve been trying to screw me ever since we met‟.”



“Get out of here, Ace!” Mike laughed.



I laughed with him. “I need drink, Mike. Do you have bottle in here



someplace?”





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He was still laughing. “No, I quit drinking last week. Poured it out, right



down the drain. Made me feel like a new man…….if you‟ll pardon the



expression.”



I shook my head. I had thought salvation was supposed to do that. “Not



much good for anything, are you, Mike?”



Unfazed, he shook his head. “No, I guess not,” he laughed. “Sorry I can‟t



help you out, Ace.”



“Won‟t,” I said.



He smiled, finally composing himself. “Well, yeah. Won‟t. But I can



pray for you. Would you like prayer?”



“Yeah, I‟ll need it,” I said. “But could you wait „til I leave? I don‟t want



to hear what you have to tell Him about me.”



He smiled. “Fair enough. God understands. And so do I…… ….I‟m



stealin‟ that joke, by the way.” I had no doubt he would.



I left Mike with the understanding that we would continue to help him



when we could. He also understood that if we were at odds with Promise



and her people, we may become limited in the assistance we could provide.



Frank had said he could reasonably expect our offshore assets to remain safe



and intact. However, the Neuronauts would eventually find a way into our



local bank accounts. Of course, there were ghost accounts, they‟d never





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find, that we could tap into. That was Valerie‟s doing. The girl was



awesome that way!



It had been a pretty stressful day. I was glad to finally be home. When I



told Valerie about the project we‟d turned down, she supported our decision,



but believed we had over reacted. She said her conscience would have been



just fine with manipulating a few congressmen; they needed direction in



their lives. She could really be mercenary at times. Pragmatic is what she



called it. “Someone‟s going to get to them, eventually,” she said. “It could



be big oil, big bank, big auto, or big air………Or even, big us.” She



laughed at her little joke. I smiled.



“Look, Babe,” she said. “There are just too many leaks; too many holes in



the dike to believe we can prevent corruption altogether.”



“That‟s not our intention, Val,” I said. It was the same argument I‟d had



with Mike. “We just want to preserve free will, freedom of choice. A guy



selling his vote is on him. But, someone altering his thought patterns with



technology is invasive. It‟s a step beyond slavery.”



Of course she said she had my back, but we still argued about it. It‟s just



what we did. Our favorite discussion was the Palestinian issue. It was an



ongoing intellectual battle in our home. And we relished the hours we spent



in debate, defending our differing points of view so stringently that we‟d





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often end with the issue unresolved and our feelings hurt. But, we were



careful to maintain perspective. Our love, our union was paramount to all



issues.



Val had recently undergone a lumpectomy to remove the tumor from her



breast. It was a reasonably uncomplicated procedure to remove the small



benign mass. Recovery should have been brief and complete. However, to



Val, a near perfect specimen of a woman, the event represented a weakness.



She‟d told me the episode made her feel vulnerable, flawed. The tiny scar



was, to her, a grotesque mutilation, a constant reminder of her fading youth.



Believing she needed me more now than ever before, I was extremely



doting. We had found a little out-of-the-way restaurant where the service



was awful, but the food so good we always over tipped anyway.



So we hit the restaurant and did a little gambling afterwards. We were



terrible cheap gamblers. After dropping a C-note each, we moved on and



picked up a couple of ice cream cones at a quaint little parlor on the strip.



As the night began to draw to a close, we took a romantic little, hand-



holding moon-light stroll on the beach. It had been a perfect evening. We



laughed and touched and debated; agreed and kissed like drunken teenagers



on prom night.









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The entire world was in turmoil around us. There were big wars and there



were little secret ones. Not five miles away, poverty and starvation gnawed



like ravenous vermin, at the ragged edges of some unfortunates‟ lives.



Someone was perpetrating an injustice which would ignite the suffering of



countless thousands. Violence would mark the end of hope for faceless



victims we‟d never know.



But, in this moment, I was oblivious to the problems of the world. There



was no Washington D.C., with its intrigue and suspense; no Neuronauts



nipping at our heels. There were no secrets, nor lies. There was only this



moment. In this moment, I held Valerie in my arms, and I loved her. I



loved her sweetly, tenderly. I loved her passionately and blissfully. And as



we lay in each others arms, drifting slowly to sleep, all that had ever existed;



now or forever; were Valerie and me…..and our love.



It was nearly seven-thirty the next morning when I left the house. The



casinos never closed, so I intended to get an early start spreading the word to



any informed prospects. With a kiss goodbye, Valerie admonished me to be



careful. “Promise might be out there waiting for you,” she warned me.



She was right. I hadn‟t heard from Donovan since I had sent him to



neutralize his dangerous girlfriend. She may, just as well, have neutralized



him. With a grin, I shrugged.





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“Donovan is a good man,” I reassured Val. “I‟m sure he‟s got it under



control.”



She looked skeptical. I kissed her and turned to the open door. He should



have sent word by now, I thought. He should have informed me that



Promise had been secured. Was there really an angry assassin out there



waiting to even the score with me for turning her lover against her?



I turned back to Val, and gave her a big hug. “I love you, Babe.”



She returned my embrace. “I love you, too, Babe.”



I grinned. “I‟ll be careful,” I said.



“Good,” she said.



I left Val with a smile. But, apprehension traced a barely perceptible line



of doubt above her brow. I examined my face in the car‟s rearview mirror.



The lines which knitted my brow were worry and stark fear-and were very



noticeable. Val hadn‟t been fooled. She was right. I should have heard



from Donovan by now.



My first stop was a little diner I liked to stop at to pick up a paper, juice



and, an egg and bacon sandwich. I paid for my greasy, foil wrapped



breakfast and left for a back-room craps den the tourists don‟t go to. While



steering with my knees, peeling open my sandwich and drinking my juice, I



scanned through the newspaper. Nothing interesting caught my eye. It was





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the same old news; someone got shot during a mugging; pirates robbed and



killed a family cruising on their yacht in the Gulf of Mexico; a bar lost their



liquor license for serving under age patrons; an elected official was being



indicted on racketeering charges. There was nothing about legislature to



allocate funds for brain wave research. And there was no mention of the



kind of violence Promise would have brought down if she had bested



Donovan.



Traffic was customarily heavy at this time of morning. It was always busy



around the convenience store which fronted for the craps den. I found a



parking space and went in to spread some seeds around. I hoped the little



piece of gossip I was dropping would prove tasty enough to circulate.



The scam went something like this: I planned to hook up with security



traders, guys who thought of themselves as stock market savvy. I needed



this information to really move. The truth was their skill at stock picking



was less important to me than their uncontrollable need to tell everything



they knew. All of these guys wanted to prove they were on the leading edge



of what they called, “the next big thing”. I gave them the next big thing.



Every since this new thing called the world wide web caught fire, everyone



was looking for a hot stock tip. I would spread it around that I knew a guy



who knew about this new industry just coming out. It was to be a





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biological-electronic communications interface technology being developed



by a hot semiconductor company, or something like that. All I had was the



symbol, WIO. I didn‟t know the name of the company, but I heard they had



won the military contract to go forward with R and D. They were waiting



for Congress to release the allocated the funding for research and develop.



This was a ground-floor opportunity. For a small amount of money, the first



investors were going to be billionaires in two years.



I thought it might be intriguing enough to cause buzz. Maybe the right



people would extrapolate, and see brain wave technology and themselves in



the lie. Then everything would start shaking up………I hoped.



I had just finished working my seventh casino when I got a nibble for my



fishing. As I was leaving the storefront dice-mill, I began to feel a familiar



sensation. My head began to throb into a pulsating headache. The air



around me seemed to take on the consistency of gelatin. Suddenly, my



thinking became muddled. I sought my car, but couldn‟t remember where I



had parked. I tried desperately to speak, but only one word would form in



my mind. With an extreme effort, I was able speak her name before losing



consciousness: Promise. Then the world went dark.



I awoke, reclining on a musty old couch in the middle of an abandoned



warehouse. My head throbbed like crazy, and though I blinked them





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incessantly, my eyes refused to focus. I didn‟t know if I was still in Biloxi



or had been shipped off to some remote torture chamber, miles away.



I had no idea how long I had been unconscious. The powerful lights



shining from all directions added to my disorientation, following the brain



wave attack. I hadn‟t been tied up. The brain wave scrambling device was



more than adequate for establishing boundaries. I wouldn‟t be misbehaving



as long as Promise held the controls of that device. I was just happy she had



allowed me to live.



A man‟s voice came to me from just beyond the bright lights. So, Promise



had turned Donovan, I thought. A wide spectrum of emotions surged



through me before intense anger finally settled within me. My mind



searched for a way to sufficiently repay him for his betrayal. I had been a



fool to believe Donovan could withstand an emotional assault by Promise.



“Yes, Ma‟am,” I heard him say. I began to focus. It wasn‟t Donovan‟s



voice.



“See that it‟s done immediately,” came the familiar voice of a woman I



couldn‟t quite recall.



A different voice responded. “Yes, Ma‟am.” A man‟s voice.



With my hand raised to shield my eyes, I could barely make out the activity



beyond the lights. There appeared to be at least ten-maybe twelve-people





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seated at computer terminals or busily walking, moving about from task to



task.



“Sergeant Edwards, can we trust you to behave in a civil manner?” a



woman asked.



I tried to stand, but was overcome by a wave of vertigo. I fell back to the



couch. “Careful, Sergeant Edwards,” the woman warned. “I haven‟t



released you yet. Now, can we trust you?”



“Yes,” I said. “Yes, you can trust me.” I placed my hand above my eyes



again. “Who are you?”



“Sergeant Edwards, I‟m truly offended that you don‟t remember me,” she



said, feigning outrage that I hadn‟t remembered voice.



She stepped past the lights, as they were turned off. I remembered the



pretty Army senior officer as a pretty junior noncommissioned officer who



had worked for me several years previous. Lieutenant Colonel Winter



Harvest. A few years ago, Harvest had sent Promise to help me handle a



problem with the Dillons. I got the distinct impression she was not here to



help me now. She was likely here to cut me off from tampering with her



plans to tamper with Congress.









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“I remember you, Winter,” I confessed. “You‟re not all that forgettable.



But it was Sergeant Harvest when I knew you. Ya‟ll‟s fast track program



must be on steroids.”



She laughed. “Yeah, we were kinda hurtin‟ for rank. Got special



permission to grow our own.”



“So how did you get from the Public Affairs Office to Psychological



warfare?” I asked.



“It seems we journalism and communications types are a perfect fit for it,”



she said. “If you hadn‟t been so independent, you might have been offered a



spot yourself.”



“So you fry my brain and study the outcome, instead?” It was more of a



statement than a question.



“We send work your way every so often, also. Don‟t forget that,” she said.



“You‟ve been paid very well for a guinea pig.” She joined me on the couch.



“Which brings me to a very important question. Why haven‟t I heard from



our liaison who brought you an offer to work?”



I feigned ignorance. “What liaison?” My head began to throb.



Winter shook her head slowly. “Sergeant Edwards, do you want me to



make milkshake out of your mind?” she asked. “You‟ve known me long



enough to know I won‟t play with you.”





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She was right. The Harvest I knew could be very impatient. I had a pretty



good hunch she‟d had something to do with disappearing Lindsey,



Hinesville‟s corrupt sheriff. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn‟t



hesitate to use maximum force to get her way. But, these weren‟t normal



circumstances. I had information she needed.



I was also a valuable asset. She wouldn‟t damage me if she could help it.



Apparently, they were having trouble retaining test subjects. Most people



responded to their neuro-disruptor, but sometimes they didn‟t recover. They



either died or suffered irreparable brain damage. Sometimes they adapted



and the subjects‟ minds became resistant to the attacks. I was the perfect



subject. As far as I knew, I was their only perfect subject.



“I don‟t think so, Winter,” I said. “I don‟t know what you‟re talking about.



I don‟t know anything about any job offer or liaison. Even if I did, you



don‟t have any leverage. I‟m a businessman, and so far, I have a feeling it



would be bad business to do business with you. So, you can just drop me off



where you found me, and I‟ll get on about my drinking and gambling with



no hard feelings.”



Breathing a heavy sigh, she stood, arms crossed, glaring down at me. I had



guessed right. She was all bluff. I appraised her compared to the soldier I



had known so many years ago. Winter was pretty, but only exceptional in





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that she was an extraordinary soldier. She was the type of person you had to



spend some time with to truly realize her gifts. And as she stood before me,



just average height with brown skin and dark unruly hair, I became aware of



something I could appreciate. Her chest rose and fell, evidencing her



growing exasperation with me.



“Are those new?” I asked.



She allowed a disgusted frown. “No,” she said. “They‟ve always been



there. I guess you were just too busy sniffing after Desiree to notice.”



That hurt more than I wanted to admit; to Winter; and especially to Valerie,



if I would ever see her again.



“Well, I‟m noticing now,” I said, grinning. “What are you working with



there, Winter?” I asked. “„D‟? „E‟?”



She glanced at the wedding ring on my hand resting on my thigh.



“F,” she said, shaking her head slowly. I may have detected just a hint of



pride in her declaration. She chuckled. “You were always such a dog.



Where is my operative?”



“What operative?” I asked.



“Okay, Ace,” she said. “Let‟s do this another way. Why don‟t I tell you



what I know?”



“Alright,” I said. “Suppose you do that? What do you know, Winter?”





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She paced as she talked. I remembered it as her way of concentrating when



she was excited. Though I had stymied her efforts in interviewing me, she



wasn‟t showing signs of giving up. She, in fact, appeared most comfortable



with moving to lecture phase.



I studied her as she walked, allowing her to feel the scrutiny of my eyes



upon her. It was my hope that she‟d stammer at key points, revealing



inconsistencies in her information. It was important that while looking for



weaknesses, I didn‟t reveal any myself. So, I pasted, what I presumed was



an idiotic grin on my face.



“We know your driver, Smith, kidnapped Agent Promise,” she said. “We



had nearly captured him, but he eluded us in the French Quarter in New



Orleans.”



I had no idea where Donovan had taken Elyria. I didn‟t give him any



instruction as to where to take her once he‟d secured her. In fact, it was



safer for him that I didn‟t know.



“Let me assure you, Ace,” said the pretty light colonel. “We will find



him.”



I was beginning to feel fatigued. I couldn‟t allow myself to weaken to the



point of speaking at the wrong moment. I decided to try to distract my old



friend a bit.





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“Haven‟t you ever wondered, even a little bit, what it would be like with



you and me?” I asked her.



“No,” she said, smiling slyly. “I have it on authority, you‟re not that



good.” She made an unflattering sign with her thumb and index finger.



There‟s something about that particular accusation which tends to affect a



player‟s ego. That kind of rumor was bad for a guy‟s cred. I hoped I hadn‟t



responded visibly.



“Oh, you‟ve got intel in that area?” I asked.



She shrugged. “People talk,” she said.



“Well, now‟s the time to find out for yourself,” I offered.



Winter was quiet for a time, glancing about the warehouse. People were



going about their business, as if purposely ignoring our exchange. She



seemed to consider my proposition. “Oh, you want to play games, Ace?”



she asked.



I nodded. “Uhn huh. Rough games.”



Her nostrils flared, and a quick frown flashed across her face. “Alright,”



she said, impassively. She took another glance over her shoulder; then



locked her eyes upon mine.



Her hands trembled as they went to her blouse, unbuttoning three spaces.



Then, the entire blouse was open. Her shoulders rose and lowered with the





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rhythm of her quickening breathing. Just a shade of her taut belly was



exposed. I watched intently, as the hint of white lace straining against



smooth brown flesh peeked through the opening. As quickly as she had



opened her blouse, she fastened the buttons.



“You know,” she said, coolly, regaining composure. “I‟m almost tempted



to take you up on that challenge just to shut your mouth.”



Unsure whether I was relieved or disappointed, I thought of Valerie. “It



wouldn‟t exactly be torture, if you did,” I said.



She ignored me. “We‟re going to find Smith,” she asserted, pacing once



again. “And when we do, he‟s going away for a long time.”



She was lying. That‟s why it was important she didn‟t find Donovan.



They had trained him, and now he had kidnapped their agent. They couldn‟t



let him get away it. There would be no court, no trial. To them, he was an



expendable asset. He was my expendable asset. Where she might not harm



me, Donovan had become a lower ranking combatant. She wouldn‟t hesitate



to eliminate him. He was very valuable to me; as a friend and as a



colleague. Should Winter find him, I would need to do everything I could to



ensure his safety.



“You can forget about that joker,” I said. “He hasn‟t got her. I fired him



days ago. Insubordination….You know.”





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She chuckled. “Liar,” she accused. “You don‟t give two figs about



insubordinate employees. In fact, the more unruly, the more you seem to



prefer them.” She shrugged. “I guess you see them as „free spirits‟,



independent and „out-of-the-box thinkers‟,” she sneered.



I laughed. “It‟s obviously a flawed management style,” I said. “if you‟re a



sample of the leaders I‟ve produced.”



Winter flinched. That seemed to have struck a nerve. The instant I‟d said



it, I was sorry. But, it was already said, I couldn‟t take it back. Besides,



considering my predicament, I would need to score a point or two if I was



going to wear her down.



Obviously, discomfited, she turned and paced away. I watched her ribcage



expand and contract, as she drew a deep breath and released it. Her skirt,



tightly fitted to accentuate generous hips, vented into an eye-catching „V‟ at



the rear. I felt my own nostrils flare as I my tongue flitted across dry lips.



When she turned back to me, I noticed a small trickle of sweat trail down her



forehead. I felt myself respond from the tension of our sensual game-play.



While studying her for telltale signs of weakness, I tried to disguise my own



discomfort, as I adjusted in my seat. I knew that if we continued on this



course, I‟d find logical and practical reasons why I couldn‟t or even



shouldn‟t remain faithful to Valerie. This one, particular indiscretion, above





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all others, was pardonable. The sacrifice of fidelity would suffice as the



ransom for defending our country‟s way of life. I wouldn‟t be serving my



own needs. I‟d be, heroically, responding to the circumstance. I‟d be using



my enemy, out smarting Winter; defeating Winter in her efforts at



interrogation, re-routing her focus. Hence protecting the great republic from



those who would subvert, tarnish and corrupt her and all the good she had



ever stood for.



“You‟ve got a lot of people close to you,” Winter said. “I could use any of



them as leverage against you.”



She was right. She could use them if she could find them. But, it was



likely the people close to me had all bolted to safe houses, the moment



Winter picked me up. Even still, it would be in their best interest, if I could



hedge the bet a little. Seducing Winter, distracting and befuddling her in a



maelstrom of emotional turmoil would buy my people valuable time.



I decided to charm her onto the couch. “You won‟t find them, Winter,” I



said, grinning. “Why don‟t you sit with me a while and relax?”



Appearing, oddly twitchy standing there, she stared into my eyes. She



seemed torn between decisions. Though her poise was compromised, she



found the strength to decline. She trembled. “You‟re not going to



cooperate, are you, Ace?” she asked. Her voice quavered a bit.





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I grinned, my confidence increasing, though there would be no seduction.



“No, Winter, I‟m not,” I said. “So, you can just let me go now.”



“Humph!” she huffed. “You should be so lucky, Ace. I‟d as soon strip, in



full view of my staff and let you have your way with me on that couch right



there!”



I smiled. “Now you‟re talking!” I said. “But do we really need



witnesses?”



With that, Winter Harvest turned on her heels and strutted away-but not



without an un-cool little stagger as she went.



“Do it!” she called over her shoulder. Then I was asleep.



It was about two in the morning when I awoke with her kiss. Winter and I



had been seeing each other since Desiree had the baby, for about a year now.



As she lay her body across the length of me, her fingers entwined with mine.



I felt her twist the ring on my finger. “Do you ever miss Julie?” she asked.



I returned her kiss; then glanced at the clock on the night stand. “Yeah,” I



said. “I think about her a lot.” Julie had granted me a divorce after I told



her about the baby I was having with Desiree. It had been an awful mess.



She had known Desiree, had patronized her dress shop. I could imagine her



humiliation, and would have done anything to take away the pain it had









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caused her. But, I was powerless to change the events of the past, or what



would need to occur.



I was very generous to Julie. She was awarded full custody of the girls and



more than adequate maintenance. They left town, and with the blessing of



Lieutenant Colonel McKensie, I was free to start a new life with Desiree,



and our new baby son.



Winter pressed against me. “Do you have to go home tonight?” she asked.



I groaned. “Naw, she‟ll be out of town for a few more days. And the baby‟s



at the sitter‟s.” Desiree was away on one of her frequent buying trips to



supply the boutique. By now, she would be good and drunk, enjoying her



latest fling. I had never actually caught her, but, it was no secret that my



new wife hadn‟t abandoned her old ways. Why would I assume she would



change? I hadn‟t.



I had hugged and kissed, our son, Carlton goodnight hours ago, before



calling Winter to hang out. It was more than just a matter of shaving horns



with us. Winter was running things over at the PAO since I left the Army to



become Hinesville‟s next great real estate mogul. She had information,



setting me up with the best clients in the area. She was privy to information



about people I couldn‟t get anyplace else. Thanks to Winter I got



information about market shifts and troop strength weeks ahead of my





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competition. Our personal relationship was a nice little cherry on top of a



very tasty cake with sweet, creamy icing.



I had a knack for the business, and was putting together a pretty tight



organization. It wasn‟t bad that Hicks and Lindsey backed me up on every



deal. Deputy Royce Hicks and Sheriff J. C. Lindsey had a piece of every



business they could get their hands on. In my case, I had become a part of



their operation by virtue of my marriage to Desiree. Once I got the swing of



the real estate game, it didn‟t take me long to figure out where the shortcuts



were. And there were plenty.



I learned to purchase residential property in advance of rezoning votes;



then how to influence the vote in my favor. When a parcel of land was



rezoned to commercial property it doubled, sometimes tripled in value. I



was working a development deal to purchase property along the Ogeechee



River, influence legislation to turn that property into protected Yuchi Indian



lands; and then partner with the Native Americans, establishing casinos



along the river. We stood to make millions of dollars from an investment of



only a few hundred thousand. I learned to make rent to own deals where the



property never changed possession, but I‟d realize three to four times its



value.









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Old Royce Dillon, Hicks‟s powerful uncle taught me how to deal with



politicians, and the value of public opinion. He asked me a question once.



“Ace, buddy, can you tell me who‟s a better friend, the politician or the



people he serves?”



I had no idea.



“The people,” he said. “There‟s always the chance a politician will vote his



own mind, and not your interest. If you want to be sure of his vote, you



need to influence the people, his constituents. They‟re the ones who tell that



cooter what he ought to have on his mind. You need to influence their votes.



If you get the people on your side, those guys up there; those guys up there



holdin‟ court; will sit up and take notice.”



He gave me a little wink over his snifter of brandy.



“And it don‟t hurt at all,” he said. “if you‟re the only guy in the game



sitting on a large sack of money.” He let out a cackling laugh.



Old Royce also told me to watch out for those church people. He didn‟t



explain, except to say they were a shrewd group. I found out what he meant



when I got into a deal, bidding against one Bible thumping real estate



broker. The prominent preacher brought more game to the table than any



con man I‟d ever met.









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Royce had been right. My toughest competition for money; or sex; came



out of the clergy. You had to admire them, though. I had never met a more



respectable collection of rogues. Given the code they lived by, they would



have their cake and eat it, too. They were at peace, they‟d say, because God



blessed the work of their hand. He would forgive them, if they repented;



and even bless them and their works, if it was in His will. I prayed that kind



of redemption awaited me. I was eating a lot of cake.



I kissed Winter and rolled over to go back to sleep. I had a meeting with



Diana Flanders and her dry fiancé, Judge Frank Johnson in the morning.



They were coming to Hinesville to discuss the feasibility of building a resort



on the marsh, not far from here.



It wasn‟t their first visit to Hinesville. They had visited shortly after



Carlton was born, but I hadn‟t seen them since. Dee used to visit often when



I was married to Julie. But, the week she and Frank spent with Desiree and



me had been such a disaster, they never returned. Dee and Desiree couldn‟t



stand each other. And Frank was a pompous, tight behind. I wouldn‟t have



bothered with them now, except that Frank had some Pakistani contacts I



needed to close the hotel deals I had in mind. I wondered if I could get out



of it. Maybe I didn‟t need those guys. No. Royce was counting on me to



make this thing work. Besides, even if I couldn‟t stomach the investors, I





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was going steady with their money; and unless I was prepared to marry it,



there‟d be no honeymoon.



Winter interrupted my thoughts. “Are you going to leave me awake by



myself?” she asked.



“Um huh,” I mumbled.



She pushed me. “No, you don‟t,” she said. “You called me. This isn‟t a



hotel. You can sleep at home.”



I turned to my back. “Have your way,” I said. “I‟m going to sleep.”



She did. I didn‟t.



The next morning in the meeting, I was next to useless. The night with



Winter had left me drained and sated. A sumptuous breakfast, which had



been prepared for the meeting, was just what I needed. Even after my third



full plate of grits, eggs, ham and biscuits, I nibbled at grapes, strawberries



and orange slices. I had just nodded off when Royce, catching me off guard,



called on me.



“Ace, what do you think?” he asked.



I started. With my eyes blinking into focus, I felt the hot glare of ten very



serious business people bear down upon me. Clearing my throat as I



straightened in my seat, I motioned to the projected profits on the screen on



the wall.





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“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” I began. “In creating a new winter vacation



getaway, we stand to make a great deal of money.” That was stating the



obvious. No one was impressed. I noticed Frank‟s impatience. Having



brought the money people to the table, his credibility was on the line.



“However, we‟ve got to consider the culture of the area we‟re looking to



build in,” I offered. These people had developed the most pristine regions in



the world, with the strongest cultural ties. They were prepared to be grossly,



underwhelmed by whatever I would say. “The Old South, especially this



portion of the Old South requires a deft touch. I‟m not just talking about



incentivizing the obvious players, here. We‟re going to need to do that.



“We‟re also going to need “heir property”. Around here, that‟s a different



animal. That means we‟ll need to locate each member of every family we‟re



purchasing from. Some of these families are two, three, four hundred



strong; with owners three to four generations deep. I‟m talking up to three,



maybe four hundred different needs, personalities and idiosyncrasies. The



members are far flung, around the globe. Many haven‟t spoken to each



other in years, and won‟t have anything to do with any deal that involves the



others. And some will refuse, just on principle, to approve any sale, lease or



development of their family‟s lands.









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“Add to that, the cross-cultural effect. There‟re the interracial issues and



intermarriages between feuding families.”



The non-locals at the table appeared livid. I could see they were getting the



feeling Royce and I had wasted their time. I assured them I had a plan.



“These are significant challenges, as the laws concerning heir property are



fairly rigid. But, here‟s what we‟re going to do. We are going to challenge



most of the owners‟ rights based on failure to make improvements in a given



period of time. In fact, we are going to accuse them of destroying the



intrinsic value of the lands, improper land use. The authorities will find



illicit crops being grown and harvested for distribution and sale. Some will



harbor chemical laboratories. The lands will be found to be “tainted” by



dangerous carcinogens once used in logging. There will be heinous



violations to land use restrictions and covenants. And we‟ll test the heirs



laws to impotence.”



Their collective eyebrows began to raise, but no one asked how I could be



sure these things would occur.



“And here‟s where you gentlemen come in,” I said, motioning to the



Pakistani contingent. “As immigrants you enjoy benefits we citizens don‟t.



We intend to take advantage of the more lenient immigrant land purchase,



and ownership, and self improvement laws. Land use and building variances





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and environmental impact waivers will take effect the moment we take



possession of the property.”



Now they were practically, cheering. By the time the meeting was over,



we had agreed this was imminently doable. We were doing the region a



favor. We were availing to the world, the majestic beauty of Inter- Coastal



Georgia. In bringing the world to the marshlands, we were showcasing the



region and helping to preserve Southeast Georgia‟s estuaries and natural



filtration system.



From across the table, Old Royce gave me an approving grin. I returned



his grin and gave him a quick wink. We were going to make a lot of money.



We wished everyone a good day before getting into more personal business.



“She‟s a pretty girl,” said Royce.



I had been studying papers, and drifted to sleep. “Who‟s that, Royce?” I



asked.



The old man laughed. “Who‟s that?” he asked, his green eyes sparkling.



“The girl who was sitting across from you. What‟s her name…..Miss



Jacobs? Didn‟t you notice the way she looked at you?”



He was talking about Frank‟s young assistant. I had noticed her. She was



breath-taking, actually. The young attorney courteously congratulated me



for a successful presentation. Her handshake was firm and genuine. She





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seemed capable enough, but I wasn‟t interested in queering this deal by



messing around with Frank‟s cohorts.



“No, sir. I hadn‟t noticed,” I told Royce.



“My boy, you are a horrible liar,” he laughed.



I laughed. “Yeah…. I noticed,” I admitted. “But I‟ve got plenty to do



right here in town.”



“So, I’ve noticed,” he said. “You spent all night with that piece you were



out with last night. I was worried you wouldn‟t be prepared for this



meeting.”



“You‟re having me followed, Royce?” I asked. “That‟s a little paranoid,



don‟t you think?”



He laughed. “No. I don‟t think so, at all,” he challenged. “You are



married to my daughter, after all.”



He had me there. He had never gotten involved in my personal business.



But, I guessed there were limits to what, even a lecher like Royce would



allow when his daughter‟s heart was in it.



“You‟ve got a good thing going here, Ace,” fatherly Royce told me. “I just



want to be sure you keep it together.”



I nodded. “Thanks, Royce. I‟ll be careful.”



“Good,” he said, without a hint of derision.





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We sat at the table, quiet for a time, basking in the afterglow of success.



We had just finished putting together a deal that would be the crowning



jewel of Royce‟s life‟s work. After a while, he disturbed the silence



between us.



“There‟s one other thing,” he said.



“What‟s that?” I asked.



“It‟s her boyfriend,” he said.



This was unbelievable! He had just cautioned me concerning my exploits.



Now he‟s going to talk to me about her boyfriend?



I sighed. “She‟s got a boyfriend?” I asked.



He laughed that cackling laugh. “Whatever you want to call it,” he said.



He slid me an envelope. The pictures of Desiree in various poses and



locations with Bob Miller slid out onto the table. I didn‟t touch them.



“You‟ve got to do something about this,” he said.



I nodded. “Okay,” I said.



“See you and my grandson at dinner tonight?” he asked while rising to



leave.



“Usual time?” I asked.



“Yes,” he said.



“We‟ll be there,” I said.





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“Good. Tonight, then?”



I nodded. “Tonight,” I said.



I drove to the location where Hicks told me to meet him. Desiree had been



home for several days. We had spent the evening at Royce‟s, enjoying the



old man‟s stories from way back when. I studied the two of them as he



talked. Her light brown eyes reflected shards of green, mesmerizing and



alluring. His green eyes twinkled with the abiding love of a captivated



father when he looked upon her. It had been a wonderful evening. It was



the kind of night that makes you remember why you fell in love with the one



you love.



I found the place in the woods, and followed a path in the dark. It wasn‟t



long before the sound of digging came to my ears.



“That ain‟t deep enough,” I heard Lindsey say.



“Why are ya‟ll doin‟ this?” I heard Miller ask.



Stepping into the clearing, I heard Hicks tell him, “You know why. Keep



diggin‟.” Hicks looked up. “Hey, Ace. How are you?”



“Pretty good,” I said. “How‟re ya‟ll?”



“We‟re good,” Lindsey said. He nodded to Miller. “I don‟t know about



him, though. He‟s startin‟ to look pretty sick, I‟d say.”









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I suppressed the urge to chuckle. “How „bout it, Bob? You feeling



alright?”



Bob kind of whimpered something about being sorry. I couldn‟t quite



make it out. I was plugging my ears and pulling on gloves. I turned to



Hicks, who handed me the revolver. Lindsey said something to Bob I didn‟t



hear. The man standing in what would become his grave had turned to him.



They were actually laughing when the first bullet exploded in his temple.



Bob‟s body slammed into the side of the trench. He twitched in the dirt,



under the moonlight. I emptied the six-shooter into his convulsing body,



and he finally went still.



Passing the weapon back to Hicks, I said, “That hole ain‟t deep enough,



boys. You‟re gonna have to pull him out and plant him deeper.”



Lindsey cursed. “Get out of here, Ace,” he said. “This ain‟t our first date.”



I chuckled. “Whatever,” I said. “Don‟t get us caught, Sheriff. We‟ve got



a lot of business to do.”



“We got this, Ace,” Hicks said, slapping me on the back. “Have a good



night.”



“Thanks, fellas,” I said. “Good night.”



An hour later, I slid beneath the covers next to Desiree. She stirred awake.



“Where‟ve you been, Baby?” she sleepily asked.





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“Hanging around with your cousin,” I said.



“Ummm. That‟s nice,” she said. She spread her arms and reached for me.



“Come here.”



We embraced, and she loved me.



XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



I awoke to the sound of Valerie‟s lovely, cooing voice. “Ace, Baby! Wake



up, Baby!” she called tenderly. “He‟s not responding! Do something!”



“He‟ll come around,” came the unfamiliar voice. “Give him time.”



As I returned to consciousness, I began to recall recent events. I had



sustained a neurological attack. Remembering the dream, a tear rolled down



the side of my face. I had been with Desiree again. I recalled the security of



her embrace. I remembered our life together. Oddly, it wasn‟t a dream I



was remembering. These were actual linear events. Dreams are disjointed.



These were more than conjurations from my subconscious. If I could have



described what I felt, I would have said I had experienced a dimensional



shift.



A cocoon of guilt enfolded me like a blanket. In my mind, I had an entirely



different life. I recalled every event, every emotion and every relationship.



I had heard of multiple personality disorder. This was much more personal









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than that. It was me and my personality, in tact. Only the situations



changed. And I responded to the situations.



Every memory from that other life lingered with me like a ghost. All of the



hurts, failures and successes, everything I had learned was with me now. It



was like I was now living two lives in one body. It hadn‟t been that way in



the dream. In the dream, only that lifetime existed. I found myself longing



for people; for a life that had become familiar to me. I tried desperately, to



force the memories to the back of my mind, to compartmentalize a lifetime



of skills and relationships.



Presently, the intensity of the dreams, and the emotions which



accompanied them, faded. I awakened to a ragged pain in my throat and the



discomfort of numerous needle-pricks in my arms and hands. My



movement was restricted by the nasogastric tube in my nostril, urethral



catheter and the intravenous lines in my arms. Intermittent chirps and



chimes reported from the medical devices used to monitor my vital signs as I



had slept.



I tried to smile, as I opened my eyes to the face of my beautiful Valerie.



Squeezing my hand, she returned my smile. Someone was at my feet, gently



stroking them through the bed covers. It was Diana, returned to report our









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success. I winced and squeezed my eyes shut with the effort to swallow



around the NG tube.



“Good morning, ladies.” I managed to croak out the words. “It‟s good to



see you again,” I said groggily. “I trust we have a deal. We‟ll move forward



with the land purchase immediately.” Val and Dee exchanged puzzled



glances, and was I asleep an instant after.



When I awoke again, all of the invasion tubes had been extracted from my



body. With Val and Dee hovering near her, a young woman in a lab coat



helped me to sit up in the bed. She placed the cuff about my upper arm and



attempted to swipe a device across my forehead. I flinched away, mistaking



the device for neuronautics. Val checked the tool and when she was



convinced it was only a benign testing device returned it the young



attendant.



When the examination was complete, Val sent everyone from the clean



room and helped me out of bed. Wordlessly, she helped me to dress. Her



hand trembled as she worked to button my shirt. The tear fell from her



cheek onto my shirt. I stopped her hands, and she looked into my eyes. I



allowed a weak smile and she nodded, indicating she would be okay. A



moment later, events had overwhelmed her and she was sobbing into my



neck. I held her, allowing her to work through the moment.





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“I was so afraid,” she said. “And now I‟m so angry…….I just want to find



that Harvest and….And….And.” She shook her head. “I‟m going to kill



her,” she declared.



“No, Baby!” I said, my voice raspy and weak. “We‟ll find another way.”



Valerie recovered and finished helping me dress. A few minutes later, I



was standing on wobbly legs in the middle of the warehouse. Panic flashed



through me when I caught sight of Promise striding across the floor,



menacingly, brandishing a pistol as she came. Donovan was at her side. He



too, held a gun. Several people walked before them, their hands on top of



their heads.



Donovan marched them to me and had them to kneel after securing their



hands in front of them. “That‟s all of them,” he said.



“What about her?” I asked, motioning to Promise. “Why is she armed?”



“Promise helped us find you,” Dee said. “In fact, she planned your rescue.



We were concerned we‟d been too late.”



“Why would she go against everything she had worked all these years?” I



asked.



Dee explained some of what had transpired over the last month or so.



I frowned with the news. It was a lot to comprehend. My old friend had



kidnapped me and threatened everyone I cared about. She had actually





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gotten to one of them. Totsie was dead. Kidnapped and tortured, her body



had been dumped in her front yard for Hicks to find. Mike‟s church and one



of our favorite hangouts, less than a block away, had been fire bombed.



Twenty people had perished in the club fire.



I glared at Promise. “Did you know about any of this?” I asked.



“No,” she said. “I was only assigned to players.”



“Well, it looks like civilians are on the playlist now,” I told her.



I glanced around the warehouse. “Where‟s Harvest?” I asked.



“She had left by time we were able to capture the building,” Donovan said.



He motioned to the cab drivers positioned throughout the building.



“They‟ve got people searching for her. But, we believe she‟s left the city.”



“Aright,” I said. “We‟ll have to deal with Harvest later.” Totsie had been



a former lover. Her death was a strike at me, designed to make me feel



responsible and powerless. I looked at Valerie, who glowered in anger.



“We will deal with her,” I declared.



I turned my attention to the neuronauts kneeling in front of me. The five



scientists and their technicians in lab coats trembled with fear. The two



tough guys looked up at me defiantly. I wondered what to do with them.



Perhaps we could indoctrinate them. I looked into each of their eyes, as with



Donovan‟s by my side, I strolled pass them.





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“What do you want us to do with them, Ace?” Donovan asked. No sooner



had the final word escaped his lips, did the explosion of gunfire reverberate



through the building. The howling shouts of terror were as deafening as the



two reports from Promise‟s weapon. I watched in horror, as the bodies of



two strongmen fell slumped onto the warehouse floor.



“No!” I shouted, leaping for Promise‟s throat. She avoided my grasp, and



sent me sprawling to the floor. Distracted, she was caught across the cheek



by Valerie‟s right fist. Promise rolled with the punch and recoiled with a



backhand to the side of Val‟s head. Like a protective tigress, Dee was on



Promise, with growling ferocity. The weapon fell to the floor. Donovan



retrieved it.



From that moment, it was on. In stead of breaking up the fight, Donovan



lifted me to my feet. The terrified prisoners looked on, perplexed. The



cabbies forgot about their security positions to cheer the combating women.



“I got a hundred on Elyria,” Donovan said.



Promise had been trained in lethal combat. She was doing the best she



could to defend herself without hurting Val and Dee. They weren‟t hindered



by such scruples. Their nerves had been stretched to near breaking. Their



passions were fueled by events of the past few days. They had been looking









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for a target for their anger. Promise had inadvertently provided them that



target.



I gave Donovan a sidelong glance. “No bet,” I said. “Go break up that



mess before Promise hurts my wife.”



He glanced at the prisoners. “Give me her gun,” I ordered. “I‟ll watch



them.”



Despite the grave situation, I enjoyed watching Donovan take a beating



from the three women as he attempted to separate them. Catching the eye of



one of the cabbies, I motioned him to assist the big guy. At length, the fight



devolved into threats and trash-talking. The huffing women were brought to



me.



“Promise, you started this debacle,” I accused, pointing to the two dead



men. “We don‟t do things that way here.”



“I knew those men,” she said. “What were you going to do? Make pets of



them? They weren‟t ex-cons or street urchins. They were mercenaries, paid



to oppose your cause, at all costs.”



I glanced at Donovan; then the cabbies. I should never have let her talk.



She would plant doubt in everyone‟s mind if I didn‟t stop her.



“They were human,” I said. “And they deserved a chance to choose.”









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Just then, Frank entered the building. “What did I miss?” he shouted, as he



strode across the open expanse. No one responded. When he had joined us,



he took in the scene with calm detachment.



“Hmm. It seems I‟ve missed quite a bit,” he said, observing the bodies.



“Your work Promise?” he asked. Promise nodded. “Neatly done.”



Frank examined the bruises on the women‟s faces. “Why do I get the



feeling you‟re at the center of this little donnybrook, Ace?” It was a



rhetorical question. “Are you alright, buddy?” he asked me.



“Yeah, Frank,” I said. “Thanks. Do I have you to thank for sending the



cavalry?”



“Yeah,” he said. “Perhaps I should have sent a referee, as well. Was it a



good fight?”



“Good enough,” Dee said, casting a dangerous eye upon Elyria.



“Where‟ve you been, Frankie?”



“Negotiating, Dee,” he said. “Negotiating.” He turned to me. “Ace, come



with me. We need to talk.”



“Where are we going?” I asked.



“Going to see Mike first,” he said. “After that? It‟s your call.” He turned



to walk away; then turned back and whispered to me. “You‟d better secure



what‟s left of your prisoners before we leave.” He looked around the





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warehouse. “Your soldiers, too. We‟re not going to want any loose ends.



Secure their allegiance, or leave them to Promise.”



I grimaced. “You are a judge, aren‟t you?” I asked.



“Brother, there ain‟t any legal precedent for where we are right now,” he



informed me. “Your friend put us in a trick bag. It‟s them or us.”



I addressed the remaining prisoners. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want you



gather your personal affects,” I told them. “You‟re going for a little ride.”



I took Donovan aside. “Donovan, we‟re going to need to contain this.



Take these scientists to the safe house in Saint Luke. Take your cabbies



with you. Don‟t let anyone out of your sight…especially, Elyria. I‟ll catch



up to you later. Keep it together for me, Bro‟; and we‟ll sort it all out when I



get there.”



He nodded. “Are we expanding?” he asked.



I didn‟t have an adequate answer for him. “I don‟t know, Donovan.



Apparently, so. Just keep them with you until I get there with a plan.”



“What about their equipment?” he asked.



“Maybe we can use it. Pack it up. Take it with you, but don‟t let those



scientists near it,” I said. “How about your girl? Can we trust her?”



“Yeah,” he said. “Don‟t worry. There won‟t be anymore executions,



Ace….Unless you say so. I‟ll see to it.”





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He offered his hand, and I shook it. It was like an agreement with the



hangman. He and Frank expected something of me that I didn‟t know if I



could deliver. I thought of Bob‟s body in its death throes, convulsing in that



trench. I intended to do everything I could to keep from making the kind



decisions my friends were laying at my feet.



While, Donovan and Promise headed to the Saint Luke safe house, Valerie



and Diana prepared for our flight to Hinesville. Frank and I were off to



speak with Reverend Mike. Frank said he had been negotiating. He had



found us a sponsor in the U.S. Senate. It had only cost him his seat on the



bench. He and Valerie would retain their licenses, but their careers as



lawyers were effectively over. Though we had tried to stay beneath the



radar, the violence surrounding ours and Winter‟s operations had become



too much for the press. It hadn‟t happened the way we had planned it, but



Congress sat up and took notice of Operation Homesick. When the media



began to respond to the whispers some congressional aides contacted Frank



through Bud McKensie.



We were full time Neurocrats now. We had decided to incorporate the



resources we confiscated from the agency. We had some of their best



scientists, technology and research. We had also, located a cache of









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weapons, money and incriminating documents in Biloxi. But, we would



need clients to go forward.



For the time being, our Senate benefactor would remain anonymous to



everyone, except Frank. We needed to ensure our team‟s safety, from the



former judge to the cabbies and their families. That‟s what the Senate



contact was for. Though we were unofficial contractors, we would enjoy



parity with the government‟s most elite clandestine ops teams. We had



taken down a Psy-Ops cell. We wouldn‟t be anyone‟s disheveled step sister



going forward. This would be a great big deal. But it was a deal we were



required to put the finishing touches to. If any part of these plans fell apart



we would end up outlaws, classified as terrorists and traitors. No sponsor,



no country, we would be dogged, hunted to a man, around the world. I



wondered how my life had come to this, and prayed Frank had arranged a



marriage we could all live with.









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