The Changes of Life

Things change all the time. Have you noticed that even tiny things change? It’s odd. Things change so much that it looks like change is a constant. Think about that for a bit, and it could boggle your mind. A constant is always present, but the constant in this case is change, changing all the time, which means the constant changes constantly, which means it isn’t a constant …

Enough of that. The world is full of contradictions, and if we get all balled up over something that doesn’t make sense, we will chase our tails like confused puppies or ouroboros.

Yes, it may be fascinating, but there is no substance to it.

If you are like me, I crave substance, something I can grab onto and wrestle with, an idea that has enough gristle to let me mentally masticate to find all the flavors. That mental activity is a must. Otherwise, I find myself getting bored. My mind likes to keep busy.

Throughout the world, that is huge. It’s like being lazy.

There used to be a saying, “Necessity is the mother of invention.” Bullshit. I subscribe to Agatha Christie’s quote, “I don’t think necessity is the mother of invention. Invention, in my opinion, arises directly from idleness, possibly also from laziness — to save oneself troubles.” I can see how that works with every invention—the wheel, the sword, armor, gunpowder, computers, and more.

So, does that say we are lazy slobs? In a small way. Let’s remember the effort humans expended trying to be lazy. Computers didn’t happen overnight. Then there are other things like discoveries. Discoveries are different from inventions. They are more like opening doors. Discovering helps along the way because the doors to them have always been there. We humans simply weren’t clever enough to find the keys and open the doors.

Many discoveries happen as accidents. Others are like Chinese Puzzle boxes, where you must fiddle and jiggle to figure out the combination before the prize pops out.

Learning is yet another way we develop. This kind of development takes place each day throughout our lives, and it isn’t only for geeks and eggheads; it’s all of us. An innate internal push directs us to find something out, sometimes resulting from curiosity, sometimes a more dire need.

Learning is basic. With it, there is no limit. Without it, we would remain that cute and cuddly infant until we die, which wouldn’t be long because even at that age we have to learn how to survive.

So, now we have learning, discovery, and innovation. These three things have developed us into the grand beings we are today.

That brings us to my next book I want to highlight, The Great Zero-Sum. In this one, the main character, Colton, wants to learn something. That learning brings about some discoveries, and I think you will find there are innovations too.

The Great Zero-Sum is a thriller that starts with a bang and runs right along. the setting follows the characters from Hawaii to Louisiana and on to Wyoming. You’ll like it.

If you want to grab a copy, click here. Of course, you can always stop off at Indies United Publishing House’s website along the way. I do recommend it. There are lots of books there. Dig in, and let your inner child have a heyday!

 

 

The Great Zero Sum

by J-W Bell

Chapter One

A bar, Big Island, Hawaii

Present day, 2100 hrs Whiskey, 0700hrs Zulu

 

AJ Colton strolled into the pub and sat at the bar. Several people watched: the two assholes nearby, the Amerasian woman near the door, the two women by the DJ. From long habit he sized up not only the people who watched but also measured the skill of those around him. His ability hadn’t faded since the Army. His savvy had saved him more than once, and he did not intend to change. Besides, the bartender had a great ass. He sniffed the inside air.

Smells good.

Most saloons had a background aroma of puke and piss. Yes, this one catered more to tourists, wanted them to come back to spend their money. Even smells fresh, like linen, for God’s sake.

The air had cooled since sunset. It always did that on Big Island but was convenient for wearing his windbreaker, not that he needed to cover up to keep warm. Weather didn’t affect him until the temperature became extreme, but the jacket hid his shoulder holster.

He glanced at his arm resting on the bar; more muscular than most, he gave it a decent scratch as he sat there. More solidly built than most men, at five foot nine he carried a little more around his waist than he should, but muscle and bone comprised most of his body.

He surveyed the room again, and playfully tapped a fingernail on the polished wood. The splotchy lighting gave a degree of privacy for the couple in the corner who had either wrestling or love on their minds and gave others enough light to be semi-rowdy. The place was mostly quiet, action-wise. Comfortable, even though the background music was loud enough to vibrate the air around him.

The bartender’s breasts swayed as she walked to him. Another great asset. “What can I get you?” Her husky voice probably came from always talking above the music. She leaned down to clean a glass or two; if it was an attempt to offer him a view of her cleavage, he took it Her loosely curled dark hair framed her oval face. And almond-shaped eyes, along with her generous Polynesian lips, and a broad nose combined for a look of innocence.

His green eyes lifted from the direct view. With a sideways nod and a sad, but ornery grin, he said, “Whiskey, neat.” his voice quiet although the crispness of it punched through the ambient noise. Rarely had he ever had to raise his voice, even when pissed.

She spun, probably to give him another good view of her posterior, grabbed two bottles, and continued around. “House or premium?”

Again, he grinned at her Guernsey-jiggle. What a, great way to up-sell booze. He pointed at the premium bottle and then to the bar before him. Another tap on the wood.

A loud whoop behind him and his eyes snapped to the mirror behind the bartender. Colton snorted, A drunken gambit to get laid; not one of the potential troublemakers he’d spotted when he stepped through the door. Still, his ears kept track of the drunk as he moved through the room until he came into view.

The classic rock music stopped, replaced by soft Island stuff. The bartender set his drink in front of him. He dug out a wad of money and slid a bill toward her. “Keep it.”

Her head bobbed. “Sure. Thanks.” The money disappeared into her hand that in turn dipped into her jeans with a push and a shove. They were tight, pleasantly sexy. A little dance too.

She placed her elbows on the bar and let a slow grin spread across her face. “Where you from, kane? Haven’t seen you before.” Her eyes lingered on his.

He returned the grin as he discreetly rearranged himself on the stool. The woman had gotten his blood to flow south, been a while since that had happened. “I’m a local guy, kama’aina. Live down the road a piece.” Probably should’ve said, ‘down the road a way,’ not piece. She’ll think I’m a horn dog.

Her eyes switched to sultry, and she wiggled her butt in a tease. “Well, I guess I don’t have to pretend to be enthralled and ask where you’re from, do I?” Her eyes correlated with how she spoke, husky voice and all.

“Nope.” I guess she didn’t mind the pun.

Music cranked again. Colton threw his shot back and twisted to his left with a heavier lean on the bar.

She popped the bar lightly with her hand. “Be right back,” then took off to fill up another patron’s glass at the end of the bar.

He squinted as he watched her. Yeah, a great ass. On her return, his eyes focused elsewhere. Those are impressive too.

Something barely inside Colton’s vision darted across the room. He didn’t let it bother him. He knew who It was and kept his eyes on the bartender.

A tap on the bar behind him, and Colton glanced into the mirror. A scar-faced man sat on the stool to his left, a dopey grin on his face; he stared at a man who wore a faded baseball cap, seated on the other side of Colton. Scarface nodded a lazy hello to one just met.

The bartender appeared again in front of Colton; diverted, he hadn’t tracked her. Her fresh fragrance alerted him – hibiscus. She slid another drink toward him. “Name’s Lynda.” She pronounced it like “Lida with” the “N” sound slid, almost hidden, in the middle.

A gentle smile covered Colton’s face except for his eyes; they remained unchanged, they had a permanent cast of sorrow to them, had for years. “Thanks, Lynda. Name’s Ron Eli.” She nodded and gave him a shake with her hand. He continued, “Looking for a man that goes by Alex. Long blond hair. Plays like he’s the local-color guy. Beach bum.”

“Lot of those around.”

“I know, but this guy is a real ass. Hangs around the cove down the beach. The one with the sign, “Beware, sharks.”

She nodded again. “Know the place. Don’t know him. Wait, there was a goofy guy.”

A tap on his shoulder from behind and Colton held up his hand. He glanced into the mirror and blew it off. It was the guy with the scar and lazy smile. He turned back to Lynda. “Sorry, got distracted. You were saying?”

Before she could begin again, there were another couple of taps.

“Excuse me a sec.” Colton swiveled to face the man with the scar. The man looked rougher than the wound on his face – a couple of teeth gone, and his nose looked to have been broken two or three times, perhaps self-set at least once.

“Hey listen, brah. I’m busy here. Don’t interrupt, it’s lolo.” He’d said it quietly like always, but his voice carried.

Again the man smiled. But this time he appeared to be a simpleton. “’S alright, brah. Got a message from Alex.”

“Who?”

“You know the man you lookin’ for.”

Colton stared for a couple of seconds. “I have this girl, this wahine with a great ’okole ….”

The man eyes flicked to Lynda’s posterior and nodded. “It is a nice ass. But, brah, you need this message.”

Colton swiveled all the way around and ran his hand over his blond buzz cut. “Okay.” He held up his hand, palm toward himself, and wiggled his fingers. “Message.”

The man with the scar reached over and knocked on the bar. “Message is – fuck off.”

Colton’s eyes glinted in the low light for a nanosecond. He leaned inward, picked up the man’s arm and pushed it back to the man’s chest. “Mahalo for relaying that, brah. But that fuck off message is for you. Get out.” He turned back to Lynda who was at work down the bar.

Scarface grabbed his shoulder and yanked.

Colton turned so quickly that the man almost fell off his stool. He stared at Scarface for a second, grabbed the man’s shirt, and picked him up. Together they marched out of the bar. Scarface didn’t want the help.

Outside in the darkness, light shone on them from the windows, and the gibbous moonlight filtered through the palms. Colton dropped his support. The man staggered for balance on the gravel. “What’d you do that for, brah? I was jus–”

“We both know what you wanted to try. Now, leave me alone. Call it a night.” He headed back to the bar, stopped, and faced Scarface again. “Tell Alex I’ll find him.” He shrugged, “Easy to spot a haole drifting around on the beach.” He set off to the bar again

“You are one dumb son-of-a-bitch, brah.”

“Why? Because of–”

A ferocious kick connected to Colton’s back. He twisted to deflect it and lessen the pain. Before he could turn, the man in the baseball cap danced into view, ready to spar. Colton spun on his feet. Scarface snapped out a telescopic baton, miraculously found his balance, and struck. Electric numbness ran down Colton’s left arm, as though hit by a Taser.

Mister baseball cap rushed in, but Colton immobilized him with a kick in the crotch .and centered on Scarface. Colton stripped his jacket off and moved his arm to get some use back. A little Gene Kelly footwork while he wrapped his jacket around his left forearm, and then he bounced on the spot with a loud chuckle. Scarface stared at the pistol still holstered under Colton’s arm, and a goofball smile spread over his face.

The two circled. Colton’s eyes tracked the baton as the man giggled with an occasional dodge to the side. With each bluff Colton steadied himself. Scarface danced in and out of the available light.

“Don’t reach for that gun, asshole.”

Colton’s eyes pierced the night, “Don’t need too.” He circled, in no haste.

The baton pointed to Scarface’s right, the tip higher than the handle. He slipped in close.

Colton recognized experience in the man. Gone was the man’s dumbass grin and crinkly eyes, a wiliness to fight honed into place instead.

Colton drew in a long breath.

Scarface charged.

Colton stepped wide, his protected forearm held out in front of his chest, and as the baton shot upwards towards his head he leaned back. The nightstick missed. The breeze still fanned the air, and Colton struck like a snake: his right hand grabbed Scarface’s neck and squeezed his larynx, hard.

The glare from Scarface’s eyes brightened the night.

Colton held out his other hand for the baton.

The man squeaked out a strained, “Fuck you.”

Colton shrugged and pinched harder. The pressure changed the glare to panic. The baton dropped to the gravel, and Colton kicked it away. He forced Scarface to his knees and pushed him onto his butt. Colton snatched up the rod and whispered loudly, “You ready to leave me alone?”

The man nodded.

Colton punched hard – another broken nose – and the man collapsed on the gravel. Colton donned his jacket, snicked the baton closed, and put it in his pocket. He strolled back toward the bar. As he walked by the last tree on the way he stopped for a brief look around.

During an intense spin, Colton pulled out the baton and snapped it open. A duck behind the nearby tree and a dull whack sounded above the waves. A soft hum to himself while he dragged a slumped man free of the brush, Colton shortened the baton and pocketed it and then hefted the fair-haired man over his shoulder with a grunt and toted him to his car.

Colton clicked open the trunk and dropped his human package inside. He trussed the man’s legs together with a roll of heavy-duty tape and did the same to his arms. Another piece of tape over the man’s mouth served as a gag.

He slammed the trunk lid down followed by a quick tug to ensure it had locked.

The night breeze off the ocean felt great. He picked his jacket up and enjoyed the coolth as he strode calmly back toward the bar. After only two or three steps another man attacked from behind a close-by banyan tree. A third man dashed from the side of the bar.

Punches flew; Colton took some with his face and chest, but he retaliated with elbows and knees. The biggest man of the two sent a massive punch to Colton’s solar plexus, dropped him, and took the 9mm.

Together the two men dragged Colton around back of the building.

As they turned the corner, the darkness deepened. There was no incidental light from the windows, and a cloud hid the moon. They dumped him on his back. The big thug raised Colon’s 9mm and aimed for Colton’s head.

Colton didn’t know what the men could see, but he saw his pistol and where it aimed. He inched his hands alongside his head as if giving up. Next, Colton kept going, stretching behind his head. He felt the dirk with his fingertips, the rough hand grip almost his. Colton kept an eye on that 9mm. It had a smooth trigger Another strain, a little further, teased the knife, then jerked to get a solid grab. Firmly in his hands, he yanked it free of its sheath. As quick as a mongoose on a cobra, he buried the dirk in the big man’s calf and kipped to his feet.

The gunshot muffled the man’s scream. Colton scrambled behind a kiawe bush and gave the world his best scared-possum imitation sans pissing himself. The two men searched; the bigger man, now with a limp, swore loudly and waved the pistol around like a metal detector. “Where’d the asshole go, brah?”

No answer came from the smaller man, and it was too dark for Colton to see if he pointed anywhere. Colton remained dead like a possum. He knew the night would hide him if he continued still.

The bigger man stumbled over a box and thudded into the ground. The 9mm clattered on gravel. “Goddamn it! Now I lost the damn pistol.” He halted, his head on a swivel while still searching. Moments later the two men ended up near the banyan tree.

Colton pulled the baton free of his pocket, softly telescoped it out, and sneaked from behind his bush. He crept around the massive banyan trunk; his club held high. Both enemies stumbled like drunken morons.

Alex? Can’t do better than these guys?

They had never worked in the dark before, certainly not together. Now back at the front of the bar, their eyes continually flicked towards the windows, and each time they did, the light destroyed more night vision. He walked right up behind them, clunked them both on the neck in the nerve center below their jaws. They bounced on the ground within the same second.

These guys were terrible, Alex.

Colton concentrated and let his whole body sense for other attackers. Satisfied that they were alone, he searched the men and collapsed the baton, retrieved his 9mm from where ol’ big dumb ass fumbled it, and his dirk. Then he climbed into his vehicle and drove away.

Not far down the road he found a secluded place by a heiau, an ancient religious site, and parked. As soon as the trunk lid rose, he whacked the man inside again, hard enough to daze but not enough to draw blood. He pulled out a set of military chest waders, slipped into them, and then hefted the man onto his back like a backpack.

He had only a short walk to the heiau and then he faced the ocean. After a formal nod, he descended the ancient stairway into the water. About waist deep he dropped the man and watched him float in the calm seawater.

The man’s eyes popped open.

Colton leaned down and asked, “Years ago, did you try to kill George Enright and hit someone else by mistake?”

“Who?”

“He was a congressman then. You try to shoot him?”

“No. I never try, man. I hit what I aim at an’ the target’s dead.” The man wiggled violently trying to escape.

Colton dropped him into the water, and then he hit him hard enough with the baton to draw blood and let him sink.

As Colton stepped free of the water, he saw the first fin. Thirty seconds later, after he’d climbed back up to the heiau, he turned around for a last look at the feeding frenzy and watched for a minute. Then he trekked back to his car.

Guess you won’t kill anyone else, asshole.

Minutes later, he parked in front of the pub, rubbed his face, and stared at the tavern door. He sat there for a minute, debating what he should do next. Then he nodded to himself. I need a good time, been years since I got to know someone new. He got out, walked in the door to the bar. Lynda’s face lit up, doe eyes wide, and she waved him ahead with her hand down by her hip.

“Thought you had some trouble there and wouldn’t be back.”

“Naw. Just a couple of pissants. How about a—” The bartender slipped a shot before him. “Thanks. What time you get off, wahine?

“You really are kama’ina, using Hawai’ian for girl.” She scratched the bar with her fingernails. “’Bout an hour.”

“Mind if I wait?”

“Na, brah. You can wait.

 

Chapter Two

Colton’s home, Big Island, Hawaii

The next day, 0900hrs Whiskey, 1900hrs Zulu

 

Duri Anderson loved the Big Island. In all her thirty-nine years she’d never seen such beauty, not in a picture, and stepping from the taxi, she gazed with fascination at the striking greens with sprinklings of bright colored tropical flowers around her. The lush rainforest covering the windward side of the island grew down the steep mountainside. Duri Anderson loved the Big Island.

By the time she turned toward the house, the vehicle had disappeared. The house before her looked modest, but she couldn’t estimate its actual size because of several mango trees along its sides. Several palms a distance away swayed in the background.

She turned to take in the spectacular view again. A low whistle of appreciation escaped her, and she stepped up the stairs to the entrance. It was hard not to turn around once more.

Something odd about this place.

Matchless hand carvings of Polynesian gods adorned the teakwood front, a lot of them.

What sort of investigator has all this in a place like this? Way too fancy.

A quick rap on the door and she steeled herself. After a moment, she gave in a little and turned once more to savor the view.

My God. Look at that deep ocean blue.

The door opened behind her. “Yes?” The crisp voice felt like a cut.

She turned to face a man with startling green eyes, a blond brush cut, naked from the waist up, and built like a solid tree stump. “Yes sir. Are you a Colonel AJ Colton?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Duri Anderson, sir. Are you Colonel Colton?” Her clipped pronunciation flowed from her mouth.

“What does an Amerasian girl want with this Colonel?”

She smiled, and her epicanthic fold tightened with amusement at the man. “I think you are Colonel Colton. And I’m pretty sure you’ll confirm that as soon as I tell you, I want to hire you to find my family.”

***

Kurt sat at the computer console, and his fingertips thrummed on his desk. Drake positioned himself with the door behind him, close enough to see, but he’d been told to be quiet and stay out of the way.

The video of the hospital room played on the screen before Kurt. His head felt so heavy, as though it would bounce off the desk from boredom as soon as he started to watch it again. The screen showed Lorca on one of his visits to Sandi, Lorca’s daughter.

He’s crazy. The eyes never moved. The big Native American is obsessed with his daughter.

Kurt pushed the chair back on its rollers and paced his office, both hands grasped behind his back.

Damn it. The target is so close. Just a little more time.

***

Lorca strode into the office. The giant took a large share of the room, and his obsidian eyes blazed around the knot slightly below the bridge of his nose.

Kurt stood still. “Sir.”

Lorca’s angular head twisted toward the voice, but not enough to see the man there. “That you?” His whiskey voice filled the room.

Drake silently moved to the door.

“Yes, uh sorry. Max. We spotted the girl. She went into a large house.”

“I gives a flipping fuck how big the house is.” Lorca pulled a chair around to face Kurt and straddled it. His eyes burned. “You know it’s her?” Lorca’s hand reached down as if he resisted the urge to re-check his A-bag. Everything was there; Lorca had long since had the nurse pack it.

“Affirmative, Mr. Lorca. Positive identification.”

“Her location.” It was not a question.

“Within ten square meters, Sir.”

Lorca gave a curt nod.

Kurt pointed Drake toward the hallway and followed him out, but before the two could go down the hall, Drake grabbed Kurt’s arm and stopped.

Kurt snapped eyes to his assistant and pulled his arm away. “Let’s go. Go, go, go!”

Drake didn’t move. “Lorca doesn’t even kno–”

“Can it dip-shit. Don’t care what Lorca said. He’s goofier than a crazed mongoose.”

“But–”

“Doesn’t matter. Got a call today from the Moneybags ordering the strike. That’s who we work for, not Maniacal Max. He pointed back down the hall with his head. All he wants to do is kill whoever did that to his daughter.”

“Bu–”

“I said shut it. I know. I told you. He’s a lunatic. That’s why we follow Moneybags. Word came with the extra crew and the choppers.” Kurt eyeballed his second in command. “You going to do what you’re paid for, or not?”

A quick nod from Drake and Kurt marched down the hall. “Then, just do it!”

Activity swirled through the big house. Uniformed men hurried, and with purpose. The high-pitched whine of helicopter engines pierced the air, followed quickly by the familiar thump, thump, thump of the rotary wings close to lifting speed.

Kurt climbed aboard his command chopper and gave the pilot a thumbs-up. Then he pumped his arm hard in the air. “Let’s go. Now!” The flight of three choppers lifted off Maui as one and change heading for the Big Island.

***

Lorca heard the activity, sat, and leaned back in the chair, rubbing the knot on his nose from where it had healed poorly. They had found the girl.

***

Colton opened the door wider and walked away. As he did, Duri spotted a livid bruise on the man’s shoulder, she saw a pistol in his right hand too. “What happened to your shoulder?”

“An asshole did it. Come on in.”

She slipped her shoes off and left them with the others on the porch. Partway through the door, she chuckled and muttered, “Must have been one tough rectum.”

He laughed aloud. “He was.” After tossing a towel around his shoulders, he said, “A real contortionist.”

The house was enormous inside. She looked straight through the spacious room ahead of her; with no wall on the far end. Beyond lay a lanai with furniture arranged tastefully, protected from the weather by a roof. The lanai opened onto a veritable botanical garden – purple, cream-colored flowers, and pink blooms – colors sprinkled everywhere. Gorgeous. The sounds of birds as they fluttered, chattered, and twittered, filled the air.

“Have a seat miss, and I’ll see if I can find this Colonel …”

“Colton, sir.”

He disappeared down the hall.

She didn’t sit, wasn’t good at it. Her feet carried her around the room; several statues drew her attention. On one wall was a weathered figure of an old man; the sculpturer had captured a sense of extreme power. The figure held a lightning bolt. Odin?

A corner held a full color statuette of Vishnu and paintings. She recognized God with his finger pointing toward Adam to give life, from the Sistine Chapel. She turned about. Other likenesses had to do with gods or goddesses. Except one, almost as a focal point of the room: a spectacular, full color picture of deep space.

Duri was engrossed when her host came back, accompanied by a woman. His fingers nimbly buttoned a white, short-sleeved shirt leaving the top three buttons open. His tropic-white pants flowed as he walked. She stared at the woman. A Polynesian, with dark hair falling almost to her bare shoulders framed an oval face; she wore a casual sundress with a flamboyant hibiscus pattern which the locals called a mu’umu’u.

Duri observed the woman’s dark brown eyes and then they connected; they both held the other’s eyes. Yup, those eyes don’t miss much.

Duri pointed to a comfortable looking easy chair and raised her eyebrows to the man she thought was Colonel Colton. The man nodded and extended his arm as an invitation. The couple sat on the couch opposite her.

***

“All right Miss Anderson.” The man leaned back and placed his arms on the back of the sofa. “And to be polite, this is Miss Lynda.” He squeezed her shoulder as she sat.

His attention focused back on Duri, he demanded, “What exactly do you want?”

“You, Colonel Colton?”

The man pulled his hands behind his head. “Yes.”

“I need you to find my family.”

Lynda snorted and centered her head on him. “I thought your name was Ron. So you’re a Colonel? Why lie?”

Colton gave a tired grin to her, and at the same time, his head shook almost imperceptibly. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t deserve to be lied too.” The huskiness in her voice had a sharp edge.

Colton ignored her, his attention on the young lady across from him.

Duri giggled. “I Don’t want to cause a fight.”

The Colonel shook his head. “It would come up anyway. Go ahead.”

Lynda huffed, which looked to Duri as if she tried to keep control over herself. “How about we talk about it now?”

“Later. You’ll probably understand in a moment. If you don’t, I’ll fill in the gaps.”

Dori sighed, “But to get back to who you are, uh.”

Raised eyebrows and a lazy shrug embodied his answer.

Duri nodded energetically. “I spotted the signs. The man that gave me your name told me you always carried a pistol, and he had never seen you without the knife you carry in a sheath between your shoulder blades.”

“And who was it that?”

Duri walked around the room again. She knew her face had a perennial look of wonder as she stopped at each piece of art, but she didn’t care. “Said his name was George Enright.”

Lynda punched Colton in the shoulder and started to giggle. “I don’t know where I’ve heard that name before, maybe TV or something. A politician of some kind.”

“Yup.” Duri spoke over her shoulder. “That’s the name of the Secretary of Defense.” She chuckled almost to herself, “Happens to be the same Secretary of Defense that the Colonel here loudly suggested should fuck off.”

“What? You didn’t do that.”

Duri turned toward the woman next to Colton. “He did. You didn’t see that on the news?”

Lynda’s eyes sought out Colton’s, and he nodded sideways putting a stoic look on his face. “They had to edit the vocals a bit.”

Laughter burst from Lynda and her tongue licked the inside of her mouth, clearly an attempt to hold back a laugh. “You told the Secretary of Defense to fu–”

“And he loudly suggested it in front of a whole bunch of people under his command.” Duri turned back to Colton. “I looked you up after the man recommended you. The internet is full of things about you. Most sites say your rank would be General if you hadn’t embarrassed him in front of his men. You had an early promotion at every grade, some they had to promote via an early board. You were a real high flyer, and then cashed it in with one blurp of your mouth.”

Duri turned back around and cocked her head to the side while she stared at Odin. “By the way, it wasn’t really him.”

“Who?” Lynda had perked right back up.

“The man who talked to me. He wasn’t the Secretary of Defense. Several of the articles included photos of the man. The guy who talked to me was white. Enright is black.” She looked down again with a huge grin. “There was a picture of you too. By the way you don’t look near as rough as you did in the pictures.”

“Does everyone around here lie about their names?”

Colton shrugged, “I guess, Lynda.” He strolled out to the lanai, and a gentle breeze ruffled his pants legs. He inhaled deeply as if distinguishing the wispy smell of flowers, and he spoke over his shoulder, “I never thought it would be the same man. No way Enright would recommend me for anything.”

Colton breathed deeply, as if he wanted to sample all of the aromas at the same time. He scratched the stubble on his chin. “What the hell does that mean – find your family? Let me take a shot at it – you are Amerasian. Correct?”

Duri gave a dry nod and stared at him.

“So you want me to find your father who happens to be a soldier.”

“No sir.” Her clipped voice made her sound abrupt. “I do want you to find my father, and he is not American. He is Korean. I believe North Korean to be exact. I found records in my mother’s effects after she died. She was in the Army and on a detail to P’yongyang about the time of my conception. Shortly after, she left the Army on a compassionate discharge, because she was pregnant.”

“They can do that?” asked Lynda.

Colton nodded. “Yeah. Back then it was pretty common. These days it’s not so easy.”

“Sounds a bit sexist.”

“Can’t have it both ways, Lynda. Women made a big stink about being considered equal, which I agree with by the way, but there is always a price. Like W.C. Fields said, ‘There comes a time when you have to grab the bull by the tail and face the situation.’”

Lynda stared. “Bullshit.”

Duri laughed. “Yeah. That’s what he was saying.”

Colton’s huge grin pulled him around, “Exactly.”

The steady whopping of approaching choppers drowned out everything else.

Behind him two helicopters descended from the sky to hover above his botanical paradise. The lead chopper dropped a meter or two further.

Colton spun. “Down!” he yelled and waved at both women as firing erupted.

Colton swung hard to his right and scrambled to the edge of the lanai. Wood chips flew in every direction. He opened a hidden compartment and pulled out an M16.

“Hey!” Duri held out her hand. He scooped a pistol from the compartment and tossed it the thirty feet to her. She grabbed it, racked the slide, and fired.

He locked and loaded his own weapon. Four lines dropped from each chopper. The chopper let loose with a burst of fire, strafing the lanai concrete. A commando slid down each line. Duri rose from her position, fired several bursts, and a commando burst into a red mist in the rotor wash, the sanguine fog disappeared in the wind as he fell hard into the garden. The battle noise obliterated his scream.

Colton raised the rifle and squeezed off a series of three-round bursts, aiming first at the airborne craft, then at the commandos on rappel. As they landed, Colton slapped a sizable button on the wall.

Thunderous explosions sent shockwaves across his land. The three of them felt the effects as the entire grounds heaved. Colton’s brows furrowed and a grimace covered his gritted teeth. Mixed with the flying dirt were pellets, nails, and ball bearings; each projectile ripped and tore at whatever it touched. The men on rappel died as their blood sprayed and misted the air.

Both helicopters wavered. The one slightly ahead sprouted black smoke and autorotated. Seconds later it crashed. The other gained altitude. Colton bent back down to his weapons cache. This time he pulled out a FIM-92 Stinger, ran out from under the lanai roof, aimed at the chopper, and fired.

A trail of smoke snaked its way to the helicopter. The chopper exploded.

Colton’s eyes looked like they would laser out destruction to anything they saw. He dropped the launcher to the concrete below and strode back into the house. “Come on. Both of you.”

He didn’t wait for them. At this point he didn’t care if they did or not, but both women were close behind. He talked over his shoulder. “Alright Miss Anderson. Who the fuck are you?”