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Two hours later, we were seated at Blue Pacific with a view overlooking the ocean and an open bottle of wine. A jazz quartet played Coltrane, the lighting low and romantic, and there I sat with a homicide detective. What a way to spend my first date in ages! If I hadn’t been exhausted and freaked out, I might have been able at least to get into the film noir ambiance of the whole thing. “Cheers!” I said, holding up my glass. Jack gave it a clink with his. “What are we toasting?” “That this beastly day is over, and I’m not in jail.” “I’ll drink to that!” He took a sip and let out a little sigh of appreciation. “What a terrific wine. I can’t imagine a better way to end a day like this one. It’s a lovely view from where I’m sitting.” I could tell he was talking about more than the ocean. “Thank you. I’m glad you insisted we have dinner, despite the delay back at my office.” Evidence guys had come and picked up my coat and the phone. They had gone through my things, looking for other evidence linking me to the murder. There was no sign anyone had jimmied the lock on the door, so whoever left that phone either had a key or slipped in while it was already open. “Delay or no delay, we have to eat, even in the middle of a big case like this one.” “You may be used to dealing with murder and mayhem. I’m not. Well, mayhem maybe, but not murder. After the first hour or so with those CSI guys, I was ready to call it a night. I’m still not feeling great about the fact that someone at the Cat Factory has made another attempt to get me to take the fall for murder.”
From Book 1, somehow Georgie Shaw always seems to become a "person of interest" in all that is happening! In the first book, Murder at Catmmando Mountain, Max's daughter is murdered! And, with one of Georgie's scarves left at the scene of the crime, it started the blame game discussion. Of course, the first thing that anybody commented on was that Max had put his daughter into the lead position of the Food and Beverage Division, instead of Georgie, soon led to disagreements and a welcome relocation for Georgie into the PR department where she was now working. But who knew what else was going to happen to try to convince everybody that Georgie had finally taken the last step to get rid of her "competition..." But, of course, that first sight of Georgie, by Jack Wheeler, the homicide detective, hadn't been a part of the plan to ensure Georgie's demise...
In the second book, Love Notes in the Key of Sea, the crisis caused by murder was quickly solved, and led to a much more poignant story when, Georgie begins to have flashbacks about when she was attacked, along with her first love, who had never been seen thereafter. Having Georgie back in her hometown area, but this time with her now constant companion, Jack, brought a new pair of eyes--in order to solve the cold case!
The third book, All Hallows' Eve Heist, Max is on to his next idea of building a new community, New Arcadia! But while that planning begins, it's time for a major event, when everybody will be costumed as their favorite World of Marley character... when shots were heard in the tunnels!
Max made it very clear he doesn’t want more dead bodies. When the boss speaks, I listen.”
That Mission Impossible theme song was in my head again, mingling with snatches of Catmmando Tom’s stirring anthem. “Body armor won’t help if they aim for his head,” Jack whispered under his breath...
By the fourth book, A Merry Christmas Wedding Mystery, in less than a year, we find that Georgie and
Jack, both in their later years, suddenly realizing that waiting was just not the best choice for them...and a wedding was soon planned! Which would have run perfectly if Max hadn't got into the picture! And seeing her in a beautiful hooped gown! Georgie cried NOT! And then it gets really complicated as the new story, "The Lonely Swan Prince," begins rehearsals and, of course, a murder takes place, with Georgie and Jack working to solve the whodunit!
“Do you want to come have lunch with me? You might get to see me and Max go at it.” I did the fisticuffs thing I had done earlier. “I promised my main squeeze not to shake my fists in the man’s face, but I’m going to have to get rough if he doesn’t listen to what you have to say.”
“That does sound tempting, but lunch is on its way. I’d love to see someone smack Max Marley around. I’m on a strict diet so I can continue to fit into that dress after finally getting Imogene to change it. She might kill me if I ask her to alter it again.” “I doubt that, but there’s no need to test your theory.” Just then I noticed a photo of a large cat. “That looks like Marmalade!”
“Yeah, my favorite cat of all time. Ginger always brings me luck.” “Why were you upset about having them on set?” “I love cats, but I’m allergic. Mara was supposed to tell me when they’d be around so I could take my meds ahead of time. Not even the Production Assistants take me seriously!” “It’s none of my business, but is that why you let the cats out of their cages?” “What? I wouldn’t do that! Cats aren’t good with change or being in strange places. It must be hard enough for the poor things to be in a noisy, unfamiliar setting.” “You are so right about that. It was a week before my new baby girl made herself at home, see?” I pulled my phone from the pocket of the jacket I wore. I showed her several pictures of my little, blue-eyed Siamese, Ella. Jack had given me the sweet little kitten as a gift when he proposed. “Aw, she’s adorable. Who’s that?” She pointed to the big handsome Siamese seated next to Ella in those photos. “Miles, her new best friend,” I replied.
“Ella and Miles, huh? You’re a jazz fan, aren’t you?” “Yes! Ella Fitzgerald and Miles Davis are only two of my favorites.” Her eyes sparkled as we chatted for a few minutes about cats and jazz. I had inadvertently stumbled upon two subjects dear to her heart, apparently. I might have been in that dressing room longer if our conversation hadn’t been interrupted by a phone call. “I’ll let you take that,” I said. “Nice talking to you, Brigit.” To my surprise, she stepped forward and clasped me in a hug, the little topknot on her head tickling my face as I hugged her back. When her phone rang again, she let go. I reached behind me, feeling for the door handle, pausing to catch her eye with a goodbye wave.
On the other hand, Max did give them a wonderful wedding gift...at sea... after they solved the "man overboard" murder...in the final book, Murder at Sea of Passenger X, in this book collection of 1 through 5!
...Candles sparkled. A choir sang Christmas carols as the guests assembled. I glided down the aisle to my favorite carol—Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming. In another remarkable tribute to kismet, that Christmas hymn was sung by Brigit. Her voice filled the space in a sweet incantation of love captured by an unknown composer who had penned the melody and lyrics long before any of us existed. I held back tears of joy as I took my place at the altar having counted the miracles in my life along the way...
After dinner, toasts, and more dancing, I leaned against Jack. He held me tight, making my heart pound as we barely moved on the dance floor.
“Are you happy, Georgie Shaw?”
“Happier than I’ve ever been, Jack Wheeler.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to have you all to myself out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for ten days. What a romantic adventure to cruise the South Sea Islands on another of Max’s extraordinary creations. You cannot possibly get away from me on a cruise ship.”
“I don’t plan to go anywhere ever again, my love. We don’t even have to leave our cabin if you don’t want to.” Jack’s grip tightened.
“Promise?” he whispered in my ear. “Promise. We won’t have much room to wander once we get to Maui, either. It’s a small island. Another ten days of wedded bliss without the call of duty shouting at either of us. It’s almost impossible to believe, isn’t it?”
“Nothing’s impossible with you in my life.” Jack kissed me, and a cheer went up from the crowd. I thought the hoots and hollers were about that kiss until I heard a familiar bellow. The crowd parted around us. Into that circle walked the red-headed cat wrangler from Max’s studio. He wore a tux, sparkly running shoes, and held two leashes. At the end of each was a Siamese cat. Miles and Ella had joined the party in little wedding outfits of their own. They strained at those leashes, rushing to greet us with more bellows and chatter. The room burst into applause and laughter, as Jack and I scooped up our adorable furry companions.
“What a wonderful surprise,” I said. “Thank you so much.” I stepped forward and placed a kiss on that young man’s cheek. He blushed deeply, his face turning almost as red as the hair on the top of his head. “Er, uh, it was Mara’s idea. Max thought it was a good one. I’m pretty sure Max has another surprise for you.” “Thanks, Red,” Max said as he stepped into that circle. “Red,” if that was indeed his name, scooted back into the crowd and stood next to Mara. She gave me a small wave. “This will be quick, Georgie. Imogene tells me I sometimes enjoy the sound of my own voice too much.”
“Sometimes?” the petite Imogene asked. Laughter spread around us. “Now you know why she’s one of my most trusted friends. Her wit is as sharp as those scissors she wields. Georgie and Jack, no one deserves to live happily ever after any more than you two. This gesture is a small one, but you know how much we value cats at the Cat Factory. I want you to take your feline friends with you on your travels. The MMW Fantasy of the Sea has issued tickets for Miles Shaw and Ella Wheeler to accompany you. Bon voyage, Ella and Miles.” Shouts and applause filled the room. Miles boomed, and that drew another burst of applause.
I pulled Max close and thanked him. Jack was apparently moved by Mad Max’s lovely gesture and wrapped his arms around him. What a beautiful moment in a perfect evening. We heard later that the spirited celebration continued well into the night. Jack and I stole away in a limo that took us to a hotel where we would spend the night before leaving on our honeymoon trip. When we arrived at that hotel, as a couple, with our cats, I felt as though our fairytale had only just begun. Our happily ever after would last a lifetime and beyond...
“Argh! Cruella—it’s Cruella!” Those shrill cries came from a large, white, fluffy Purrsilla, Catmmando Tom’s lady friend in his cartoon adventures. She rushed toward me in a blind panic. The plush tail that towered above her head was pinned to her body, making it easier to maneuver through the crowd quickly. That’s a no-no for anyone playing the role since the luxurious tail is Purrsilla’s most attractive feature. Apart from the gorgeous green, heavily-lashed cat eyes, anyway. Under normal circumstances, a park ranger would have taken her aside. Today everyone was distracted. Including me, given the shocking claim Purrsilla was making as she skittered my way.
I snagged her before she could run headlong into a throng of guests. “Whoa, Purrsilla, slow down!” I didn’t exactly grab her by the scruff of her neck, but close. It took some doing to hang on to her. I’m strong, thanks to regular workouts. She was terrified, and her first inclination was to swat at me with a big paw—also a no-no in the associate handbook for those charged with bringing Marvelous Marley World’s beloved character to life. “Stop, Purrsilla. Take a deep breath, and, please, lower your voice.”
She let go of her tail which almost whopped me in the face as it sprang back into place. Then she buried her big cat head into her oversized paws. I tried patting her on the back, hoping to calm her. “She’s okay, folks. Sorry for the trouble.” That dispersed the crowd that had gathered. Still hanging onto her, I walked Purrsilla toward the doors that led backstage. Doug and that man in the brown suit were eying me. I waved off Doug. “Purrsilla’s just fine,” I called out loud enough for Doug and anyone else still standing around to hear. Doug waved in return. “Who’s inside there?” I whispered. Calling her Purrsilla wasn’t going to cut it if I wanted to reach the human having a meltdown. I hit a spot on the wall, and those hidden doors opened. Once we were underground, Purrsilla removed the top of her costume. “I’m so...” she hiccupped, “sorry. It was horrible. I lost it. Cruella’s dead!”
The young woman who still had not told me her name reached out and grabbed me with those paws and sobbed on my shoulder. “Are you talking about Mallory Marley-Marston?” I felt a shimmy of fear run down my spine. Someone we know, Doug had said. “Yes. We called her Cruella de Vil. I know we shouldn’t have done that, but it fit. She was a mean person—always giving my friends who work in Snappy Treats a hard time. Nothing was ever good enough for that hag! They just hated her, and so did I,” she gasped. “Oh no! I don’t mean we hated her enough to do that to her—kill her! Who could do that to anyone?” “It’s going to be all right. Uh, I’m sorry, I still don’t know your name.” “Debbie. Debbie Dinsmore.” “Don’t worry, Debbie.”
I looked around to make sure we were alone, lowered my voice to a conspiratorial level. “A lot of us called her Cruella.” Or worse, I thought. Debbie let out a huge sigh of relief. “I’m sorry you had to see her... had to see anyone in that condition. You need to put your feet up in the break room. Calm your nerves and then go home.” “But my shift’s not over for hours. I just came on duty...” Another round of sobbing cut off her words. “No problem. We’re going to shut down much of this area for a while. I’ll fix it with your supervisor, Megan Donnelly, okay?” Debbie nodded in agreement. “Does she know how to reach you later?” “Yes,” Debbie said with a puzzled look on her face. “Good! I’m going to have her call you with a referral for someone to speak to about what you witnessed today.” Her puzzled expression morphed into wariness. “Trust me. It’ll help—I went through something like this myself—years ago. I should have talked to someone right away. The company will pay for it, and we’ll cover a few days paid leave if you want to take it.” She didn’t respond one way or the other.
What had she seen? I uttered a silent prayer that whoever had leaked information about what was going on also hadn’t taken pictures. “I’m calling Megan right now. You have to promise me you’ll calm down and that you’ll see the person Megan finds for you, please?” “Sure. I do need to take the day off. Talking to somebody couldn’t hurt.” She rubbed tears from her face with a paw—no-no number three, but who was counting on a day like today? Megan picked up my call on the first ring. I filled her in on the situation. Not that I knew much myself. I must have conveyed the seriousness of the matter because Megan sprang into action and insisted that Debbie stay with me.
Miles!
Ella!
“Jack, there’s been a murder!” Jack and I had been sitting on my patio, taking in the view of the Pacific Ocean when my phone rang. Summer was well on its way, here, on the Southern California Coast in June. Still, a chill hung in the air as the sun sank toward the horizon. The chill I felt wasn’t entirely due to the weather. Before I could say more, Jack jumped to his feet and pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. “I don’t see a message. Why would someone from the department call me on your landline?”
“They didn’t. The murder’s not here. It’s on a beach somewhere in North Carolina near where Jennifer Dodson’s daughter has been going to school. Someone attacked Meredith on the beach.” “No! Are you saying someone murdered Jennifer’s kid?”
“No, Meredith’s not dead, but a man stabbed her, and she’s recovering in the hospital. Jennifer flew out there a couple of days ago. She didn’t call me until she was sure Meredith was going to be alright. There have been a series of attacks at the beach—all women. Meredith was fortunate, apparently, since she lived through the assault. Another woman attacked in a separate incident died. The next night a third attack occurred. Kat Benson, a graduate student in art history at UNC Chapel Hill, attends the same school where Meredith’s enrolled. She’s not dead, but not doing well.”
“Did Meredith know both other women?” I could tell I had triggered Jack’s detective side and had set his inquisitive mind in motion. “Kat yes, but not the woman murdered on the first night—Jenna somebody—I don’t remember her last name. Kat was a graduate assistant for an undergrad art history course Meredith took. I guess they hit it off and became friends. Meredith was distraught when the police questioned her and grew even more upset when told someone had attacked her friend, too. Meredith’s scared.”
“Who could blame her? It’s hard to feel safe when something horrific like that happens.” “The police have the attacker, but Jennifer’s not convinced it’s safe for Meredith, either, so she plans to bring her home as soon as she can. I hate to change our plans for the weekend, Jack, but I’m going to visit Jennifer and Meredith when they get home. Jennifer seems to think it would be good for me to be there because…” It’s as though something suddenly swallowed me up and I couldn’t finish that sentence. “Because you went through something similar at Meredith’s age. What exactly, I don’t know, do I? Every time the subject comes up, you slip away, then go silent. It’s like a ghost story. Only the ghost is the part of you that steals away to Corsario Cove whenever something sets off your memories of that event. You’re otherwise one of the smartest, most with-it women I’ve ever met, and yet you carry this secret around with you like Marley’s chain. Not your boss Marley, but that ghost in the Dickens Christmas story. I… I’m going to shut up. We’ve been through this before, and I don’t want to make you feel worse since you’re obviously upset. When you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”
“I am having this déjà vu experience. I don’t always know what will trigger it, but news about a murder on the beach has set it off, big time.” I stared at the new man in my life, trying to figure out why I couldn’t say more. Jack Wheeler’s the first man I’ve been this close to in years. No, make it decades. I’m not talking about a mere flirtation with the handsome homicide detective—a Jim Rockford lookalike. Not a fling, either. There had been other men since that horrendous incident in Corsario Cove changed my life forever. Since then, I had learned that attraction may be instantaneous, but not love. None of the men I met after losing Danny had me contemplating love and marriage—until Jack. The more I thought about making a serious commitment, though, the more all the old memories hounded me.
“I want to tell you what happened. I should have done it already. It’s just...” Jack took a step forward and pulled me into his arms. “You’re trembling. Maybe I should go with you this weekend. I like your friend Jennifer. She’s been on my side when it comes to getting you to take me—us—seriously.” How would it feel to show up in Corsario Cove with a new man? I mused, considering his offer. I had grown up there. In San Albinus, actually, a small town not far from Corsario Cove on California’s Central Coast. Before I was twenty, I had gone off to college, not far away, at UC Santa Cruz. That’s where I met the love of my life. Corsario Cove is where I lost him. I had already told Jack that much. I settled into his arms. “Jennifer’s an incurable romantic. She fancies herself to be quite a matchmaker, too. A skill she claims she’s honed matching clients to their dream vacations if you can believe that! As far as she’s concerned, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Could be, she’s right, I thought. I liked the feeling of his arms around me. He smelled terrific, too—clean and fresh like the outdoors. No discernible scent of anything artificial, like soap or cologne. Honest and direct, like the man. I leaned into him as the chill fled, replaced by the now familiar sensation I often experienced around Jack. Snap, crackle, pop—a series of enticing feelings that were hard to describe.
“Jennifer is right. I’m your man.” Jack tilted my head up and kissed me. Those sensations reached all the way down to the tips of my toes as I returned that kiss. “I’ll call Jennifer and tell her we’ll both be there for the weekend. She can get us a great deal on rooms at The Sanctuary Resort and Spa. It’s on me, though. I’m sure you didn’t have a weekend getaway figured into your budget.” Homicide detectives don't make much money. Jack’s not the kind of guy who throws money around. Still, the OC, as we refer to Orange County, is not a very affordable place to live. That’s true even in Irvine, away from the chichi Newport Coast where I live. Jack owns a comfy townhouse or will one day when he finishes paying the mortgage. He’s trying to save for retirement, and he has a daughter in college who needs his help. Not that he’s legally obligated to pay child support any longer. “An obligation of the heart, not the divorce decree,” he had said one evening when we were talking about his relationship with his daughter Beth. Jack does okay, but he doesn’t have much left over at the end of the month. So far, we had worked around the difference in our expendable incomes. It wasn’t always easy. Jack isn’t what I’d call macho, but he does have a fierce, independent streak that resists my efforts to subsidize our fun. “I don’t want to tangle with you about money.
I can’t always keep up with what you can afford on the megabucks you get working for the Cat, but I don’t mind paying my fair share. I would like to see where you grew up. In a way, you’re doing me a favor so I’m happy to share the costs.” He let me go, but I stayed close as we talked. Close enough to see the sparks that danced in his dark eyes when he was adamant. I had made up my mind, though, and picked up my argument that I was paying for our trip. “Trust me, The Sanctuary Resort and Spa is outrageous, even at a discount. Let me spend some of that bonus you helped me get by keeping me alive so I could advance my career at the Cat Factory.” That I was now dating a homicide detective had not come about under the most pleasant circumstances. After three months, the hubbub about a Murder at Catmmando Mountain had finally subsided. Finding a high-ranking Marvelous Marley World executive viciously killed in the Arcadia theme park on Valentine’s Day had created a stir. Especially scintillating news when it turned out that the victim was the founder’s daughter. Max Marley had not only built the Arcadia theme park—several theme parks, in fact—but much more. That includes resorts, movies, animated features and shorts, characters and other Marvelous Marley World products. The brilliant, but eccentric man, presides over a multi-billion-dollar entertainment empire. It’s all rooted in the success of a cartoon cat—Catmmando Tom. That’s the reason for our frequent references to working for the Cat at the Cat Factory. The shakeup in Max Marley’s world in the wake of his daughter’s death had been both personal and professional. Max Marley had gone into seclusion and remained there. That action spilled over to the professional side, leaving a gap in leadership at the top where Max had held the reins for nearly four decades as founder of Marvelous Marley World. We did the best we could to move forward in his absence...
“Voila. Time to eat.” As I turned to pull our scallops from the oven, I caught Miles eying Jack. His gaze was fixed on the detective, concentrating as he delivered his best cat version of the Vulcan mind probe. Miles had a single aim in mind, getting the human to carry out his prime directive. FEED THE CAT. It worked. Jack hopped off the bar stool and hollered the magic word. “Treats.” Miles dove off his seat and stood alert, his tail high as a kite as Jack dished up a tablespoon of tuna. It always amazes me how much enjoyment Miles derives from such a small thing. A lesson to his human companions. One of many our furry feline friends teach us—like gratitude for a job well done. Miles stopped, looked up, and blinked at us with what’s darn close to a wink, accompanied by a throaty hurrah. In minutes, we were all settled into the dining room. Jack and I devoured our dinners as Miles lounged near the wall of windows that gave him a view of the veranda. Despite my chef’s training, cooking dinner for others makes me anxious. It had been years since I prepared food in a kitchen at Marvelous Marley World, where I started straight out of culinary school as a chef. To be honest, these days I hardly cook at all. Fresh fruit with yogurt is dinner most nights. Occasionally, I hold a dinner party. That always gives me the jitters, too. I sighed as I finished my food. “The house has outdone itself, tonight. May I tip the chef with a kiss?” Jack asked. I leaned in to collect my gratuity and felt a wave of relief. Not to mention the tantalizing dance of sensations that goes along with one of those kisses.
“Ready for dessert?” “Am I ever. Bring on the mousse.” “Chocolate mousse. You know I have to get my fix.” I admit it. I’m a chocoholic. Jack stood up to help me remove the dirty dishes. As we headed to the kitchen, Miles jumped to his feet and unleashed an earsplitting yowl. “What on earth, Miles? You don’t get dessert; why are you yelling at me?” I looked at Jack. “Have you been slipping him extra treats after dinner?” “Moi? Non. Not after dinner. What is it, Miles?”
I tried to hide my smile realizing that Jack had advanced to the next level of cat ownership. By that, I mean being owned by a cat, the point at which you talk to the cat like it's a person. If Miles intended to respond, he had no chance to do so because my phone pinged to indicate someone sent me a message. Next, Jack’s phone began to ring. We both dashed into the kitchen and grabbed our phones. I froze as I read the message on my phone. ACTIVE SHOOTER. MARVELOUS MARLEY WORLD HEADQUARTERS...
I've escaped into Catmmando Mountain and the Marvelous Marley World for the last several days...and thoroughly enjoying spending time with Miles, a Siamese who was named after Miles Davis...and, later, Ella, who was named after Ella Fitzgerald! These two lovelies have combined into one family after a series of murders brought together Georgie Shaw and Jack Wheeler, a Homicide Detective with the local police department.
Jack quickly made his interest known during the first investigation, while Georgie was noticing him as well, but not so overtly! Georgia is not the traditional "amateur detective" for a cozy series. She is quite adverse to getting involved with the details of murder, staying away from the blood or other things that might get on her clothes (LOL), while relishing the time spent with Jack as each of the murder mysteries are solved... By Book 3, they were a couple and Jack brought Ella into the family, proving just how much he was willing and able to move toward a permanent family arrangement.
Max Marley is the creative genius who has grown richer than rich while working to create theme parks, a music world and so much more. He is known for being eccentric and sometimes going into temper tantrums when he doesn't get his way. Georgie is one of the few people who can think fast enough to quietly discuss options for his consideration during any turmoil. She has been with Marley's for many years and is now in senior management, but had, originally, been a chef in the kitchens--readers who enjoy cooking will be excited to learn that each book contains the recipes and secret tips from Georgie that were served in the various venues happening... Me, I flip through those pages since any chance of my becoming more interested in cooking than in reading, at my age, is about 10M to 1! LOL
Although Miles does not personally become involved with the investigations, it is clear that, through whatever cat magic he may have, he is able to immediately prepare Georgie that a cat-astrophe is on its way in which Georgie was to be pulled into the fray... And speaking of cat-astrophes, these books are full of fun puns regarding the word "cat" or other feline references... A nice break from the sometimes tense actions related to solving the first murder...which sometimes becomes dangerous for those conducting the investigation.
There is sufficient narrative to hook readers into each book's mystery, and sometimes even catches Georgie by surprise. Consider the parallel to the Disney World Enterprise and you can realize just how big--and how many ways, mischief and criminal acts can be conceived and put into action. I gave up trying to work through the mystery in each book, and just spent my time enjoying the characters, including Max and Ella, as well as learning about the various make-believe stars in Marley's World--The Furry Caped Avenger, Catmmando Tom, may be a superhero, but he's also a competitor with Mickey Mouse for who is the biggest and favorite with children who visited each theme park! Me, of course, the "Tom-Cat" is my choice!
This is the first three of a 9-book series, so far... So look for the next three coming! You've just got to start reading cat cozy mysteries, don't you think?!!!
I am constantly amazed at how much, seemingly, Americans are such fickle people. We all went out to vote Joe Biden into office, yet we always want what is especially a problem for us, rather than what is good for the nation. So some blame the president! Duh!
The fact is this man is...just a man...and he's doing more for our country in the few months he has been in office, than all that was done in the years under a man who actually harmed America...
What he cannot do is greatly ignored...yet is so important to how we move forward in a divided nation, like never before. If you see what has happened across the world, you will see the impact of a US president who has done much to bring the country back into a leading country who has done much to override what had been done by the last administration... We are back in NATO, working with the Ukraine as another authoritarian ego-driven madman kills for no reason other than to gain more power...
The Infrastructure plan has gone into effect and is moving ahead as quickly as possible. Covid, if not gone, has reached a point where there is a plan of action for just about any event. Given that the last administration had done nothing to actually relocate the medicine from the manufactured status across the nation, it moved forward quickly under our president. During that time the government provided actual income to Americans across the nation to ensure they could keep a roof over their heads and food on the table... I could go on with the gifts, accomplishments...but you all know all that has happened, or you should, if you are being an active citizen in these days of continuing chaos!
Key to all is just one thing... Instead of working together to meet the needs of America, the Republican Party has done little except to move against us! The Build Back Better program that was planned was stopped... We wanted that program! We voted to have that program! Yet, the damage had already been done... There was no way that republicans were going to work for the good of America--Vested interests has become the norm for many supposed representatives in Congress...and, yes, even in the Supreme Court!
Except for a few republicans who have risen above the gutter world of the criminal, fascist, and authoritarian Donald Trump. During the January 6th Hearings, one important fact came out recently... Trump not only knew about the plan before the 6th...but he made sure that the crowd got in with all the weapons they were carrying! He commented that they weren't bringing them against him! Later he even commented that perhaps the crowd was right, that Pence should be hung as they cried out, looking for the vice-president that day...
At the same time, due primarily upon the actions of those of the republican party who have become extreme in ALL Things, no matter who is hurt or compromised by those actions... We all know that evangelical christians made a deal with Trump to get what they wanted...a supreme court that was especially picked to ensure a biased rather than a legal, blind review of issues affecting all Americans. I as a Christian, find it hard to understand how we have reached a point in America - the supposed land of the free - freedom of religion, among them and including freedom of speech and to have total access to unalienable rights, to find that there are those who are fighting to take them away!
In the Declaration of Independence, America's founders defined unalienable rights as including “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” These rights are considered “inherent in all persons and roughly what we mean today when we say human rights...”
And in Turn, we opened America to all those seeking those rights!
Many came to America seeking not only shelter, but, most importantly, the freedom to worship as they were led... Now, for whatever reason, some fanatical republicans think that our country should be a Christian nation, by rights... rights that were not given to us in our Constitution, but rights that some seem to think they know what God wants for this country... It's funny, God had plenty of time, don't you think, to make this a Christian country if He thought it should be. Instead, He told us to love our neighbors, treat them as we would want to be treated...and, then, speak to them of my son Jesus as you are called to do... Not once that I can remember, has Jesus condoned violence, yet that is what Trump called for on day of Insurrection when he wanted anybody who would fight...to overthrow our government in order for him to remain with the power of the leader of our country... a man who did nothing except take, take, take...as it is now being discovered...even more than we ever imagined!
I know many of us are looking to figure out how to pay our bills, to feed our children...to pay for the gas that we need to travel to work... President Biden has told us over and over, he is doing as much as he can within the limits placed in His Office! I believe him. Because I've seen somebody like Manchin speak to gain power, even though many in his state do not agree with what he is doing... This is true for most of the republican leaders who refuse to change their minds on anything, including to ban the guns that are being used to murder our children and families!
How can we do anything to take America back from these men who do anything they need to do to capture more and more power for no other reason than to build their own egos...and forget about all that suffer from their actions. Just one thing was taken away recently...Roe Vs. Wade, a ruling made about 50 years ago and by which we have been living for years... But it is not just that one act, it is all those actions that are already happening...banning books, don't say gay... They are playing with the lives of millions of people who have fought to gain the rights that most of us have had for our entire lives... Do you really think God wants all these things done through violence? And if you believe God created each of us...how can you then claim that all gays should...just...not...be...? There is something really wrong with America these days! We all see it...And, if there is only one way to get rid of the violence, the hate, the prejudice that is dividing our nation, then we must act now...we must vote all those people who stop or refuse to pass meaningful legislation to support the needs of America...
I believe you voted for the right president...Now, I ask that you don't dismiss him just because the republican party are fighting "dirty" in allllllll ways to get him out of office... You know what he tried to do...The Build Back Better covered education, child-care and more! He and others are daily working to figure out how to "complete" something within the laws of the land...to help us!
It is stopped purely by those who care nothing about YOU or ME...They care about their own egos, their own power...their own greed! Don't let these people corrupt you with suggestions that President Biden is at fault for anything...He is NOT...Stop and think...Who voted to give corporations such as gas companies that care more about profits than that you need gas to get to work and/or gas to carry products to stores, and rich people more income under Trump? Republicans! Who voted against banning guns--republicans! Who voted against women's rights to medical health choices--republicans! Who voted to ban books, ignore gays and their rights--republicans! Vote republican if you must, but make sure they DON'T speak against rights that you need to live! Vote fanatics OUT! If they do not speak of common sense, or a desire to work together to improve America, then vote them out! Listen, Learn, You have the rights given to you by the Constitution...Fight for what is being taken away from you...DAILY!
Letus fight for our freedom...NOT WITH Violence...Not With Hate, Prejudice, or Lies, but with Truth--the Truth of God, not with guns but with Words...with Our Votes... Speak of Love of our Neighbors, our fellow Americans...not derisively but with friendship, with openness and welcome... This is America! Not Russia who does what the leader wants without regard to all the hate, murder that is used against the Ukrainians and to America through the known voting interference and more...
Love thy neighbor as thyself
A version of the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. First found in theOld Testament.Jesustells theparableof theGood Samaritanto illustrate this commandment.
Let Us Fight for America - For Liberty - for ALL
NOT JUST FOR SOME!!!
SPEAK OUT FOR FREEDOM FOR ALL
WHICH AMERICA IS YOURS?
WHERE ALL ARE EQUAL WITH INALIENABLE RIGHTS
WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL?
you must choose, even if it is against all others, except...Truth!
Can you guess the type of deception chosen for Death?
Michael Palmer Presents
Unlike some First Ladies who embraced the guilty pleasure of fashion, Darlene did not, and whenever the cameras weren’t rolling, she favored the dungarees and plaid work shirts that were the mainstay of her wardrobe at K State. “Once a farmer, always a farmer,” she had been oft quoted regarding her background as a wheat farmer’s daughter. To the left of the two rows of folding chairs where they were sitting, a broad blue ribbon stretched diagonally across the glass doors of the gleaming new building fluttered gently in the breeze.
The Young People’s Chorus stood off to one side on metal risers, waiting patiently to sing their song, “The Face of the Waters.”
Kim had researched the piece and passed on the information that it was about creation. It was a fitting anthem, thought Darlene, considering that once again, she needed to create an explanation for President Mallory’s absence. Politics aside, his recently unpredictable behavior concerned her the way it would any loving and devoted wife. Martin’s nosedive in the popularity polls was one of the most historic drops in presidential history. But before the economy tanked, he had touted this particular Boys & Girls Club as a symbol of America’s renewed community spirit, and a shining example of the effectiveness of his controversial domestic spending policies.
Now, with the country’s fortunes in free fall, the costly modern steel and glass structure might well become a symbol of his administration’s fiscal excesses. Darlene crossed to the lectern and spoke to the crowd of several hundred. “I’m afraid I have just received a call from my husband. He is tied up in an emergency meeting and regrettably will not be able to attend this magnificent grand opening. However, he is making arrangements for the Young People’s—”
“Is he scared to show his face in public?” Through the glare of the afternoon sun, Darlene could not see the face of the man heckling her, but he was certainly close by. Too close. Kim must have sensed Darlene’s concern, because she immediately went into attack mode and began scouring the crowd for the potentially dangerous protester. The large Secret Service contingent did the same. Meanwhile, Darlene continued with her address. “The president wanted me to let you know—”
The heckler wasn’t finished. “What’s next?” he called out. “Will our tax dollars buy a new football stadium for the Skins?” By this time, Kim had spotted the man and alerted Secret Service agents to his location. The agents acted quickly to cull the protester from the crowd. Darlene was used to hecklers, although their numbers seemed to be increasing at every one of her appearances. It made her sad that the outburst may have eclipsed the real story of the day, which was the children. Perhaps it would turn out for the best that the president had chosen to stay home. Immersed in a forest of angry pickets, most of the anti-Mallory protesters that day were kept at bay behind a sawhorse barrier set up across the parking lot. Darlene estimated their number might be half as many as those attending the ceremony. In addition, signs with unflattering epithets for the president and his administration were nailed to nearly every tree in the area.
The kids were getting a serious lesson in civics, American style. Undeterred, Darlene smiled and was about to start speaking again when she felt a tiny tap on her right arm. She looked down into the wide, tear-filled eyes of a boy, no more than seven or eight. The child was dressed splendidly in a green and blue striped tie and V-neck pullover sweater.
“Please,” he said. “I promised my mommy and daddy the president would be here. Please.” Darlene laid a hand on his tiny shoulder and swallowed at the orange-sized lump in her throat. Kim immediately sized up the situation and led the child back to his parents. “Listen,” Kim said when she had returned. “How about if I cover for you and you try again to get him down here? It’s only, like, a five-minute drive, and the motorcade is probably still standing by.”
Darlene smiled at her friend. “Did you just read my mind?”
“No, I read your eyes—probably the easiest thing I’ll have to do all day.”
Russ Evans has been framed, she kept thinking. Assuming it was true, countless other questions were in need of answering. First, though, there was the matter of proof, and clearly that proof had to be evaluated by the First Lady. Kim’s hands trembled as she inserted the bill into the machine’s narrow maw. The song playing at the moment was “Voodoo Child” by Jimi Hendrix—appropriate, she thought, given the sense that she was being manipulated. The bill disappeared into the slot like a snake’s tongue retreating back into its mouth. As soon as it was gone, Kim felt a vibration from inside her purse. Glancing about once more, she opened her bag and took out her iPhone. A year ago, she’d taken a picture of the White House during an August sunset, and liking it so much, she made it her iPhone’s background image. But superimposed over that image now was a semi-transparent rounded rectangle bordered by a thin white line. In the center of the rectangle was a single-line text message. I’ll be in touch.
From the podium, with the emblem of the presidential seal facing the crowd, she instructed people to take their seats. There was a rustle of movement and the dwindling murmur of voices as the guests settled in. Darlene was seated to the left of the podium. President Callaghan’s husband was seated to the right. Both presidents had musical cues that would instruct them when to enter. “Is POTUS in position?” Kim spoke into her radio. A crackled reply came back, “Ready to go.” “Good.”
Kim nodded to her assistant, and moments later the musicians began to play the Irish march, “Wind That Shakes the Barley.” President Callaghan emerged through the Oval Office French doors to enthusiastic applause. She stood in front of the podium, waving to the powerful and influential guests, many of whom had Irish heritage, strong ties to her country, or both. Scanning the crowd, Kim stepped away from the podium and listened from the lawn nearest to the risers. She was startled by a light tap on her leg and looked down to see a mocha-skinned girl with ebony pigtails, wearing the plaid pinafore and black tights of the girls, smiling up at her shyly. Kim knelt down. “Honey, you’re supposed to be on the riser with the others,” she whispered. “Your song is right after President Mallory makes his entrance.” “But I need to tell you something,” the child said in a honey-sweet voice. “Me? What is it, sweetie?” “A man said to tell you that your present is in your purse.” Kim took in a sharp breath. I’ll be in touch. “What man?” “The one who came up to me right after I got off the bus.” “Do you remember what he looked like?” “He had a red and white Washington Nationals hat on. They’re my favorite team.” The crowd was settled, and Kim realized that the director of the chorus was looking over at them. “Everything okay with Simone?” he said in a stage whisper. “Fine,” Kim said. “You did good, Simone. You did perfect. Now, go back with the kids and give us a terrific concert.” A Washington Nationals cap. Double M seemed to be an expert at disguise by diversion. Give a person like the bartender and this child something easy to focus on, and in all likelihood, that would be all they recalled. Kim glanced quickly around the Rose Garden, just as she had that night in Bar None. The results were the same. Nothing. Yet somehow, Double M had managed to slip something into her purse. The man was sharp, resourceful—and quick.
The Irish march was over, and the musicians had begun “Hail to the Chief.” With the first notes of the James Sanderson march, Martin Mallory emerged from the Oval Office to what Kim considered a polite standing ovation. As he waved to the crowd, she checked her shoulder bag. A small white box, held closed by a red elastic, rested on top of her clutter. It weighed no more than a couple of ounces. Nothing to be wary of. Stepping backwards out of the line of sight of almost everyone, she pulled the elastic off. The box held six compartmentalized pieces of chocolate. It took Kim a few seconds to realize that only five of the pieces were real candy. The sixth small chamber contained something else. Something not at all edible. An earpiece. “Hail to the Chief” was winding down, to be followed by the national anthems, but Kim could hardly hear the music. Her pulse was a kettledrum in her ears. Ahead and to her right, the president was waving and smiling for the cameras. Kim pretended to adjust her earring and fiddled with the small apparatus until it slipped inside her left ear. Immediately, she heard static, then a man’s tinny voice, probably electronically altered. Still, his words, even heard through her pulse, were quite audible. “This is the end of the recording. It will loop for ten minutes more before its contents become permanently erased. Darlene Mallory must listen to this recording and agree to help.”
From just outside where they were lying, they heard Papa Steve whisper harshly. “Lou, Cap, you boys all right down there? Knock on the side. Once for yes, twice for no. It’s safe.” Lou banged once against the side, and battled back the urge to add a few extras. “Good. Now, you just hang tight. A couple more hours is all. The show will feature some short speeches blasting from some pretty intense speakers, followed by a couple of marches accompanied by fireworks. The ‘1812 Overture’ will be last, Howitzers and all, with more fireworks than you can shake a stick at, mixed in with enough of the real deal to get some serious attention.
Soon as you hear the ‘1812 music, head for Brody’s office. By the time things begin to blow up, you better be back at the truck. I unhooked the back, so you can push yourselves out. But listen close. Timing here is critical. If things go right, we’ll be able to drive right off the base without too much trouble. Knock once if you’ve got all that.” Lou knocked. “Hang tough, boys.” Lou felt a gentle tap on his leg. “How else are we supposed to hang?” Cap whispered.
Lou guessed ten minutes had passed when they heard footsteps approaching. Then a voice. “Hey, there, Papa Steve, how’s it going?” Brody! “Getting ready to be offloaded,” Papa Steve said. “I think you’ll be happy with my selection, Colonel.” “Will this be enough to make it a spectacle?” “I’ve got boxes of aerial repeaters, shells, rockets, Thor missiles, display tubes. It’ll be a spectacle, all right.” “Good,” Brody said. “These men are going on a very dangerous mission. They deserve a fitting send-off.” More footsteps. “Papa Steve.” “Major Coon.” Lou did not recognize the new voice. “Ready for the big send-off?” “I have my crew ready to empty this truck and place everything on the firing platform. Then I’ll hook it all up and ka-boom. Fourth of July in December. How about the howitzer gunners, Major. Are they all set?” “Champing at the bit,” Coon said. “Excuse me, Commander, but I wonder if I could have a word with you.” “Papa Steve,” Brody said, “why don’t you give us five minutes, then bring your men to help you unload these boxes.” “Yes, sir.” Footsteps, probably Papa Steve leaving, followed by a minute of silence.
“Okay,” Brody said finally, “what is it, Charlie?” “I wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to handle the notification to the families myself.” “All of them?” “I think it’s better that way, sir.” “I’ll probably go with you to some of them. What’s the final story?” “Just as we discussed. Helicopter crash after the assassinations were completed and the men had reassembled for the trip home. It’s the most believable way for twenty soldiers to be killed at once.” “Makes sense,” Lou heard Brody say.
“This is a major milestone in the evolution of the new war, Charlie. It’s been too long that we haven’t been fighting on a level playing field. Our technology has proved only that we have more money, not more resolve. But all that is going change with Operation Talon. Terrorists everywhere will soon be aware that Americans are willing and ready to replicate every tactic used against us, including those that involve a life for a life.”
“You’ve done a good thing here, sir. In time, this will put an end to terrorism and change the course of the war. And most important, it will alter how our resolve is perceived. These parasites will learn not only to respect us, but more important, to fear us. I just left the men. They’re ready, sir. I also wanted to let you know that we’ve moved the takeoff from the Langley airstrip to Dover, as you advised.” “Better Dover,” Brody said. “Their security is reasonable and I want as few people as possible to know anything about this.” “Understood and agreed.” “Let’s get ready, my friend.” “Yes, sir.” Footsteps … Brody and Coon walking away.
Lou’s stomach had knotted up. Combined with what he saw in the woods while following Brody, what he learned from Papa Steve, and what they heard just now, he had learned enough to put together a truly frightening scenario. Operation Talon was a mass suicide mission. Twenty soldiers, primed by Brody’s ruby drink, ready to die for their country violently and without fear. He might not know the targets or other specifics, but the intent of the mission was as evident as it was ungodly.
Lying in the darkness beside his friend, Lou recalled how easily the cartel man named Pedro had slipped a partially loaded revolver into his mouth and pulled the trigger. Click! Now, Mark Colston’s wonderful heroism, surprising even to his father, made sense. Clearly it was only a matter of time before Elias Colston put all the pieces together.
In megalomaniac Wyatt Brody’s warped mind, the man had to die. But now a new problem had arisen. Instead of trying to prove Brody killed Elias Colston, Lou had the responsibility of at least twenty brave, essentially innocent lives in his hands. The lives soon to be sacrificed on the altar of Operation Talon. He waited until he felt it was safe to talk. “Cap, do you know what that conversation meant?”
“I know that I’m dying in here, Welcome. My limbs have gone completely numb and I’m so damn cold.” Lou could feel Cap shivering beside him. Only then did he realize he was shivering himself. “We can’t quit now, Cap.” “I was just talking, pretty boy. Anything to keep from thinking about my own misery. It sounds like your buddy Brody doesn’t care too much who he steps on.”
“The man’s crazy. Absolutely drunk with power and his misguided theories of patriotism. Unless he’s stopped, a lot of people are going to die.” Silence settled in again, and the seconds dragged on. It was nighttime, Lou thought, more because he wanted it to be than because he was sure. The hours of waiting on the steel platform had taken a huge physical and emotional toll. Papa Steve had long ago returned with a crew from Mantis and unloaded the boxes of fireworks. The moment of action had to be close. “I can’t do it, Cap. I can’t make it another—”
“Gentlemen, this your commander speaking,” Brody’s voice boomed from giant speakers, cutting Lou short. “Tonight we honor the men who will represent Mantis on the most important mission since the founding of our young outfit. From the beginning, Mantis has embodied the virtues of the true solider. Please join with me in affirming those virtues.” “The color of our drink is the color of courage,” seven hundred voices barked out in perfect unison. “It is the color of blood spilled in battle, the color of fire that burns for freedom. For our mission. For valor. For justice. For our country. For God. For Mantis … Whatever it takes!”
Lou felt a tremendous surge of adrenaline and sensed that beside him, Cap was experiencing the same thing. At all costs, the sacrifice of these men had to be averted. “Alone we are powerful,” Brody was saying. “Together we are unstoppable. Let us honor the men who will endure the most dangerous and important mission Mantis has ever had the privilege to undertake, the men of Operation Talon. As I call your name, would you each please climb onto either of the trucks that will transport you to the heliport. “Staff Sergeant Bucky Townsend, Muskogee, Oklahoma.… Corporal Luis Sanchez, Vicksburg, Mississippi.…” The cheers became more rapturous after each name. When the list was completed, Souza’s “Stars and Stripes Forever” blared through the loudspeakers, accompanied by a barrage of fireworks and the rumbling of truck engines.
One more march, some more fireworks. Then, from the massive speakers, the “1812 Overture” began. It would be just what the colonel ordered—three huge Chinook choppers lifting up at once, fireworks exploding around them, with Tchaikovsky’s iconic cannonade providing the soundtrack. Protected by the fireworks, Lou stretched, then rolled to his side, imagining what Wyatt Brody would be experiencing while the pistol was being removed from his fabulous gun collection—the pistol that would help prosecutors put him on death row. Majestic strings, slow and sonorous at first, filled the air. Music to die for, Lou thought. “Get ready, my friend,” he said, no longer confined to whispering. “We’re on.”
Lou and Cap jammed their heels against the rear panel of what had been their prison, and felt it fall away. It landed with a muted but satisfying thud. Sliding backwards, they dropped to the ground in a crouch behind the truck. A rush of cool air bathed their lungs.
From no more than fifty feet away, the nearest huge speaker, mounted on a tall pole, had begun broadcasting the gentle opening string passage of the “1812 Overture.” Cap stood and straightened up, groaning obscenities at his joints. Lou looked to his right and took in a familiar sight. They were parked on the dirt courtyard housing Brody’s headquarters and two smaller structures. Overhead, a variety of fireworks were turning the moonless sky into a fantasy garden. The explosions accompanying the display shook the earth. Aside from the music, the core of the base was ghostly quiet and appeared completely deserted. Windows in the three buildings and nearby barracks were dark. There were no guards on duty, at least that Lou could see. Papa Steve had mentioned that the ceremony was set for the assembly area, some distance away. He was smart to have sped up the timetable. If ever there was a perfect time to penetrate Wyatt Brody’s world, this was it. When he pushed himself off the platform, Cap pulled out a compact knapsack he had wedged by his head. Small length of clothesline, powerful flashlight, leather pouch of tools, headlamp, stethoscope, hunting knife, and a pistol. “Sorry, not my style,” Lou had said when offered a similar weapon.
“I love our soldiers,” Cap replied. “Love ’em, respect ’em, am grateful to ’em, too. But if these Palace Guards are what you say they are, I ain’t going down without making a noise.” MANTIS COMPANY WHATEVER IT TAKES The sign was as Lou remembered from his previous harrowing trip to the base. In a perverse way, Brody was right in his speech to the troops. It was more than just a motto.… For the twenty soldiers of Operation Talon, it was a death sentence. Lou tapped Cap on the shoulder and pointed to the target building. The fighter glanced around, nodded back at Lou, and made a surprisingly limber dash across the hard ground to Brody’s office. He reached the perimeter without incident and waved for Lou to join him. Keeping as low as he could manage, Lou shambled across the open area, giving back all the style points Cap had just won. His legs were still weak and stiff, and he stumbled once. Working for each breath, he reached the short flight of stairs to the porch and flattened against a support next to Cap.
The first bridge of the “1812 Overture,” a series of chromatic runs that depicted anxious Russians anticipating battle, reverberated from the enormous speakers, accompanied by the rumbling of some low-level fireworks. The music precisely reflected Lou’s growing sense of urgency. For a moment, his ultra-odd college roommate’s elegant stereo flashed in his thoughts. Lou set his watch and started it.
“We’ve got eleven minutes before the cannonade,” he said. Cap looked over at him. “You really know the ‘1812 Overture’ that well?” “Some day after this is all in our rearview mirror, I’ll play it for you on kazoo. Come on, buddy, it’s time to do this thing.” They ascended the wooden staircase to the outer door. From the PA system, the strings were now beginning battle with the horns. Distress … worry … mounting panic … determination. War. Cap turned on his headlight and took the lock-pick kit from his backpack. “It’s a dead bolt,” he said, examining the front lock. “Harder than it looks, but a diamond pick ought to get this puppy open.” He removed a long silver wand with a little bend at the end. “Where’d you get those?” Lou whispered. “Online. Where does anyone get anything these days? A year or so ago, I couldn’t find my old kit, so I went to Lockpickingtools.com.”
The fireworks intensified as the horns began the powerful “Marseillaise.” The French counterattack was under way. “An artiste needs quiet,” Cap said, stepping back and gesturing up at the explosions and light. “Seriously, boss. Don’t panic. We’re in.” Lou turned the knob, and the door opened easily. “You hot shit,” he murmured. “La Marseillaise” peaked. The tide of battle had turned. The two friends moved quickly to the shuttered wood door of Wyatt Brody’s office. Outside, the decrescendo of violins played a soft romantic melody.
“Maybe seven minutes,” Lou said. The rustic office triggered unpleasant memories. If not for Papa Steve, this place would have housed his last minutes on earth. They went directly to the case in the small room behind Brody’s desk. Papa Steve’s intelligence was on the button—the polished antique Colt military pistol was at the center of the display, right where he said it probably would be. It would leave a six left twist rifling mark on any bullet it fired. In the distance, the soft sounds of impending triumph. The tide of the conflict had turned. The mop-up was beginning. “Okay, time to get cracking,” Lou said, checking his watch. “We’re at about the five-minute mark now.” Cap spent a few moments studying the situation—a sculptor eyeing a block of marble before putting mallet to chisel. “The case is alarmed with glass-break sensors, anticipating a smash-and-grab, but the actual lock wasn’t a priority. It’s a Yale. Tough but not killer tough.” Cap deftly slid another long hooked tool into the lock. His muscular frame, the body that had battered dozens of fighters in the ring, seemed calm and totally at ease. From his years of suturing facial and tendon lacerations, Lou had no trouble relating to the all-consuming concentration. “The plug hole has beveled edges,” Cap said, speaking much more to himself than to Lou, “and the ends of the key pins are rounded off. I’ve got to do a bit more scrubbing because the driver pins are set on the bevel. Can’t turn the plug if the driver’s caught on the bevel. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
The music outside was intensifying—frenetic string runs, crashing cymbals, horns blaring the French national anthem, a timpani foreshadowing the cannonade to come. Then, the penultimate passages—pastoral melodies, the utter exhaustion of the troops. Lou guessed they had four minutes to get the case open, unhinge the gun, and make it back to the truck. “Damn. I’ve got the pins set, but the lock isn’t opening,” Cap murmured. “Reduce the torque and keep scrubbing over these pins. That’s all I can do.” “Two more minutes, and we’ve got to smash the case and take our chances with the alarm,” Lou said. He shifted on his heels, watching his friend work. Outside, the music was again building. The fireworks explosions were rattling the display cases.
The finale was near. At the instant bells began chiming in the soundtrack, the lock popped with a satisfying click, and the case opened. The Colt, not fixed to the velvet-lined back, rested on a pair of hooks. Cap lifted it free and placed it in his knapsack along with his tools. “We’ve got to move, Cap! Now!” Lou shifted a pistol from the bottom row to fill in the space the Colt had occupied. Then he carefully closed the case and followed Cap through the office to the porch. They reached the courtyard just at the start of the overture’s dramatic climax. The speakers blared out the brass section’s recapitulation of earlier themes. Branches shook as runs by the strings and woodwinds blended in versions of “God Save the Tsar.” The fireworks had slowed. Off in the distance, to his left, Lou saw the lights of three helicopters rise slowly and majestically into the smoke-filled sky.
The moment the choppers lifted off, the cannonade began. The finale. Howitzer booms reverberated through Lou’s chest and seemed to rattle the fillings in his teeth as massive rosettes—red, purple, and blue starbursts—filled the sky. For a moment, Lou was in his college dorm room, getting psyched for finals with Dr. Strange. Up ahead, Papa Steve was standing by the truck, urgently motioning for them to hurry. He was holding something up in his left hand. Lou had no doubt it was a detonator.
Shoulder to shoulder, Lou and Cap had taken three steps toward Papa Steve when a Mantis guard stepped out from a building to their left. “Freeze right there or I’ll shoot!” Lou whirled in the direction of the voice and dropped facedown on the hardened dirt. The overture climax continued, with cannon fire booming from the PA system as though the base were under siege. And then, in an instant, it was. Military vehicles parked along the road began to explode, one after the other. Bright orange flames shot into the night. Glass shattered, sending jagged shards in all directions. Trucks and jeeps thrown into the air landed with a bone-rattling crunch of metal. A pair of smaller explosions sprayed a potpourri of dirt and rocks high into the air. Papa Steve was either going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do, or he was planning on going AWOL before the commander returned. “I said stop!” the guard shouted.
A burst of machine gun fire followed. Bullets slapped at the ground by Lou’s feet. Frantically, he searched for cover, but Cap had other ideas. He rolled over once and then again. The second time, he had the pistol in his hand. One shot, and the soldier cried out, dropped his gun, and fell, clutching his shoulder. “Nice shot!” Lou exclaimed. “Nice shot, hell! I was aiming at his leg.” “Get to the truck!” Papa Steve was hollering. Pistol drawn, he was providing them with what seemed like random cover fire. Small explosions continued to erupt throughout the woods. Assuming chaos and fear were Papa Steve’s goals, he was the Picasso of demolition. Lou and Cap were moving again, hunched over, weaving across the courtyard. More guards had materialized near the wounded soldier. Bullets whizzed past Lou’s head as he angled for the truck. If he tripped now, he’d be dead. Just like that, dead. The situation was surreal. He was on a military base in rural West Virginia, weaponless, locked in a goddamn firefight with highly trained soldiers who were pathologically prepared to die to protect their world. Back in Arlington, Emily was probably in her room, listening to music, getting ready for bed, totally unaware of the horror that was evolving three hours or so to the west. Another bullet struck the ground close by. Lou fought the urge to drop and roll. There was no cover, and he would be shot before he could take another breath. Cap was firing over his shoulder as he ran, the knapsack and its precious contents at times bouncing off the ground. Papa Steve continued to fire, but each series was quickly answered by a return volley. As Lou reached the truck, he heard the distinct snap of bullets against metal. Next there was the thud of bullets against rubber, followed by a loud hiss of air. The left rear tire instantly deflated. Moments later, the right was flat as well. A final burst of speed and Lou reached the passenger door with Cap on his heels. They scrambled inside while Papa Steve fired one last burst and dived behind the wheel. As torturous as their situation was, he seemed exhilarated—a cowboy mounting a two-thousand-pound bucking bull. “You got the gun?” he asked as they lurched ahead. Breathing heavily, Lou nodded. “How’re we gonna get out of here with two flat tires?” Papa Steve, his tan knuckles white from gripping the wheel, glanced over at him. “I thought you were the one with the blond bombshell contingency plan.”
“Let’s get to the guardhouse. I’ll make the call on the way. Can you get any speed from this thing?” “As long as it doesn’t realize it has two flat tires.” Lou had Judy Lemon’s phone number on speed dial. The “1812” was over now, and the smoke from the fireworks was drifting away. Papa Steve’s explosions, too, were on the wane. Bewildered soldiers were emerging from the woods, weapons ready, trying to determine what had happened and whom to shoot. The truck roared ahead, sending up rooster tails of dirt and dust, seeming as if it were stripping a gear every few feet. “Dr. Lou? Is that you?” The voice of Judy Lemon, barely audible, crackled in Lou’s ear. Sporadic gunfire had resumed, and several bullets hit the truck. “Judy, can you hear me?” Lou had no idea if she answered. “Judy!” Lou shouted. “Meet us at the gate! At the gate!” The truck was slowing down, its engine screeching. “Not far now!” Papa Steve yelled. “We may have to run.” Up ahead, Lou caught sight of the end of the road and the guardhouse. The truck was about to breathe its last. Steve pushed a button on his detonator, and to their right, twenty feet or so from Cap, an explosion disintegrated a jeep, sending up smoke, flame and noise. “Jesus!” Cap cried out, ducking from the blast. “I had forgotten about that one until I saw the jeep,”
Papa Steve said, laughing as dirt and stones rained down on the roof. “Truck’s dead. Guns out! We’ve got to run for the gate. Lou, where’s that backup?” As if on cue, up ahead, blue and red strobes appeared. With Papa Steve’s handiwork disrupting the night, the front gate to the Mantis base was unguarded. After a brief sprint, during which Papa Steve easily kept pace, Cap opened the gate to let Lemon’s cruiser inside. The driver’s-side window opened, and Lemon leaned out. Her hair had been tucked under her trooper’s hat, but Lou noticed that she had probably painted on another layer of makeup. “Hey, boys. Need a lift?” The three clambered inside the cruiser just as a small nearby shed exploded. “I know, I know,” Lou said. “You forgot about that one.” “Which of you guys got the fireworks permit?” Lemon asked. “That would be me,” Papa Steve said.
“Operation Talon,” Lou said, breathing hard. “We’ve got to stop it.” “Why?” Papa Steve asked. “We’ve got the murder weapon. Let’s use it to get Brody.” “Talon is a suicide mission. Twenty guys are coming back in body bags unless we do something to prevent it.” “Did you hear where they’re going?” Papa Steve asked. “Dover Air Force Base. They were going to take off from Langley, but they changed their plans. I don’t know where their ultimate destination is, but I got the sense from what I heard that it’s more than one place.” Papa Steve hesitated. The muscles in his face went taut, and he seemed to be having difficulty assimilating the new information. “What’s the deal, boss?” Cap asked impatiently. “We’ve been lucky so far. I don’t think we should be hanging here too much longer.” Finally, Papa Steve shrugged and pointed to a narrow dirt road in front of them. “That’s the road to the heliport. Officer Judy, would you mind taking us there?” “Brody’s gone,” Lou said. “What good’s that going to do?” “Trust me,” Papa Steve said. “Okay, then. Judy, go for it!” The cruiser rocketed forward, fishtailing twice before being expertly brought in line. A minute later, they were at the heliport. A guard, possibly alerted by radio, stepped out from behind a utility shed and trained his rifle on the cruiser car. “Down!” Lemon shouted. The four of them ducked as a bullet struck the front windshield dead center and exited out the back, leaving perfect spiderwebs in the glass. Driving like a NASCAR champion, Lemon hit the brake and skidded into a smoke-and-rubber-filled 360. Then, before the cruiser had fully stopped, she rolled out the door, rising to her feet with lightning quickness, her pistol trained on the center of the Mantis guard’s chest. “Drop that weapon, soldier,” she said. “That’s an order.” Papa Steve climbed out of the car. “Do as she says, son. We got no beef with you.” The standoff was short lived. The baby-faced soldier lowered his weapon, and within moments Lemon had his wrists handcuffed behind his back, and he had shown the three men lockers containing radio helmets for each of them. “I don’t get it,” Lou said. “What are we doing here? We’ve got to stop Brody.” Papa Steve gestured toward a weathered army helicopter, one of two remaining on the helipad. “Gentlemen,” he said. “If we want to stop Wyatt Brody, then we’re going to need to go for a little ride. Follow me, and I’ll teach you boys how to hot-wire a chopper.”
It is hard these days to read any book, albeit fiction, that does not pinpoint the issues facing us daily--men who are in power, and are using any means possible to do what they "think" is the best thing to be done--to ensure they remain in power with concurrent riches! Of course, as we have learned by the Jan 6 Insurrection hearings thus far, most of the actions and decisions are being made--based upon lies! And using Violence to ensure a Win! Surely, the desire for power is addictive and leads, most times, to violence and death... Political Suicide spotlights a congressman and military unit head who plan to use violence to win! Just like those hundreds and more who planned the overthrown of democracy through insurrection!
Michael Palmer has made two diversions thus far from his normal medical thrillers into the political arena, where the danger is or can be much more visible than for medical fiction fans... I just purchased the third in the Lou Welcome series, purely because of that main character.
Dr. Welcome is an ER doc with a side-line job of helping those medical doctors who have succumbed to the easy access of meds and become addicted. Dr. Welcome was one of those men, who when you add personal stress to just the daily medical requirements of trying to help and even save lives, it becomes overwhelming enough for them to consider gaining assistance from drugs or alcohol, whichever works. Dr. Welcome made it through his test with drugs, thanks to his support and friend, Cap, who teaches boxing. You might think that Lou Welcome literally sweated the drugs out of his system, which he did.
But, now, Cap is much more in the latest novel where one of Dr. Welcome's friends who he is also helping through a period of addiction, becomes involved with a woman whose husband has been murdered! And he showed up at her house, drunk, the night of the murder! Yikes!
When Dr. Welcome is asked to discover exactly what happened, neither he nor his friends lawyer, would ever have imagined just how closely, and how many times, they will come to meeting their own deaths!
And the plot to murder? The insanity of the two leaders--one a member of Congress--and the other a head of a military camp--was revealed while Dr. Welcome and his cohorts saved the day!
I loved all of the primary characters, and enjoyed watching as Dr. Welcome and the lawyer for the case consider exactly how they will relate to each other.
I, and so many readers, will greatly miss the books written by this fantastic writer... So, if Michael Palmer continues writing in Heaven, I'll be sure to catch up with his works...some day...
Jack, both in their later years, suddenly realizing that waiting was just not the best choice for them...and a wedding was soon planned! Which would have run perfectly if Max hadn't got into the picture! And seeing her in a beautiful hooped gown! Georgie cried NOT! And then it gets really complicated as the new story, "The Lonely Swan Prince," begins rehearsals and, of course, a murder takes place, with Georgie and Jack working to solve the whodunit!
“Yeah, my favorite cat of all time. Ginger always brings me luck.” “Why were you upset about having them on set?” “I love cats, but I’m allergic. Mara was supposed to tell me when they’d be around so I could take my meds ahead of time. Not even the Production Assistants take me seriously!” “It’s none of my business, but is that why you let the cats out of their cages?” “What? I wouldn’t do that! Cats aren’t good with change or being in strange places. It must be hard enough for the poor things to be in a noisy, unfamiliar setting.” “You are so right about that. It was a week before my new baby girl made herself at home, see?” I pulled my phone from the pocket of the jacket I wore. I showed her several pictures of my little, blue-eyed Siamese, Ella. Jack had given me the sweet little kitten as a gift when he proposed. “Aw, she’s adorable. Who’s that?” She pointed to the big handsome Siamese seated next to Ella in those photos. “Miles, her new best friend,” I replied.
