Red Sky In Morning

by graymatterrx

Follow the back story to one of Ayn Rand's important characters (Atlas Shrugged) - Ragnar Danneskjӧld. Who is he exactly and what caused him to join John Galt's rebellion? It turns out pirates exist, and sometimes they exist for bigger purposes that you might think. This is a politically/philosophically bent novel that makes small attempt to mirror Rand's perspective.

FORWARD

First and foremost let me just say that I am a huge fan of Ayn Rand and Atlas Shrugged. I consider it to be the best book ever written (of the few that I have read at least).

I would also never presume to believe, for even the smallest division of time, that I am a writer entitled to be mentioned in the same sentence as Rand. Red Sky In Morning is my very first literary stab – and I call it a stab because I have no idea where it is going, if it will reach any intended target and how it will be perceived. At the time of writing this forward only three people have read it, and one of those was as a favor to me in order to help ensure I got some of the nautical terminology somewhat accurate; Thanks again Greg!

After I completed Atlas Shrugged I found myself a little frustrated that Ms. Rand did not believe that a significant character, in my opinion, deserved more attention in the plot development. I think I understand why she chose to lessen his impact, but after I read the story I wanted to know more about him and his contribution. I kept thinking to myself, what would he have done? How would he have done it? And during these internal discussions with myself, a story was born.

Secondly, it would be a huge disservice to you, the reader, to not beg you to read Atlas Shrugged before you read this story. While I feel like my story is almost capable of existing on its own, there is a substantial environment and cast of characters developed by Rand that I draw from and expect the reader to know something about. I know that many opponents of Rand's philosophy and my lazier and time-constrained friends and family will not want to read Rand's 1100+ page tome, but I had to at least TRY to encourage that behavior.

Thirdly, please keep in mind that I am not a professional writer. I have done my best to catch the hundreds of typos, comma spices and inappropriately used homonyms. I tried to capture all the inconsistencies. I tried to develop my characters. I tried to trim unnecessary material. But even though I tried, this writing business is actually quite difficult. Even though I had a story in my mind, I found it hard to map it to paper without some training.

So, be kind in your criticism of my work, but please . . . be critical. How can I improve without some constructive feedback. I won't hold it against anyone – promise!

1951

1

A stiffening breeze herded waves of white dust across the empty courtyard. It was the first day of February, and the Nordic Sports Center at Krigsskolen, a military prep school, stood cold and drab. The grey exterior of the building seemed camouflaged against the darkening, cloud-filled skies. The Norwegian government had established the school in 1805 as a place to educate and train young men in preparation for the Napoleonic Wars. In 1951 it was a place where academic excellence was both given by its staff and expected from its students.

Inside the arena, among the spectators that filled the wooden bleachers ringing the ice rink, sat Kjell Danneskjӧld. He wore dark slacks and polished black shoes that had suffered a bit from too much exposure to the snow and ice. Underneath a thick, woolen sweater he wore a clerical collar to evidence his position as the academy's religious and spiritual leader. It was a job he had taken when jobs were scarce, but he had come to appreciate his new life and his role in it. Years ago, a family scandal resulted in dirty religious politics that saw a fellow member of his church steal an advantage over him. He was removed as a consecrated member of the Norwegian Catholic Church and stripped of his title as a bishop. The only remnant of that time was a heavy gold ring with a square red stone that drew attention to his right hand. He was here to watch his son play.

"Get down there!" he yelled across the ice to his son who had paused to momentarily rest after a tiring defensive play. It was far too noisy for Ragnar to hear his father, but the location of the puck meant that it was time to turn to offence. He skated down to support his team. The forward passed the puck back to him. The closest opponent bore down on him. Ragnar started moving the puck along the left side of the rink – his strong legs propelling him forward with ease. Ragnar did not seek attention. He was much more apt to pass the puck than to try and score with it. The opposing team knew as much and sent another player to intercept any such pass. As the two defensive men converged on his position he deftly out-distanced one and jumped over the other opponent's stick – placed before him in an obvious attempt to trip. Ragnar eyed his friend across the ice – now open after their opponent's costly commitment of their team's resources against him – and he quickly shot the puck across the white surface. His mate furiously skated towards the goalie, but at the last moment was forced to edge around the back of the net. He passed the puck back to Ragnar who raised his stick. But instead of firing the puck at the goal, he dropped his stick hard and fast – sharply passing the puck back to his teammate waiting at the edge of the net. The goalie was ready for Ragnar's scoring attempt, but when the puck slid towards the opponent to his right, he wasn't in the best of positions to defend against someone so close. His teammate popped the puck up and over the goalie's outstretched glove and leg for what looked like an easy score. Ragnar skated into the open arms of his scoring partner and hugged briefly in celebration before resuming their roles in the contest.

"Yes!" his father said to himself as he jumped to his feet clapping wildly. The scoreboard clock trickled off the final three minutes and the game was over. His father made his way to the bench where the rest of the team was having a subdued celebration of their victory. It was the eighth game of the season and the seventh they had won.

Ragnar pulled off his helmet and looked for his father in the stands. He picked him out amongst the group of family and friends gathered behind the bench to congratulate the players. His father always appeared to tower over others. He was six feet tall, but he just stuck out more for some reason. He mouthed the words "I'll be right back" and his father just smiled and nodded back in understanding. His son packed a few things into his equipment bag and shook many hands before heading to the locker room to change.

When he returned, the sweat that matted his hair to his head had been washed away, but the exertion-induced redness in his face remained. Even without his hockey pads and helmet he was still an imposing figure. He was slightly taller than his father and probably twenty pounds heavier. He wore a bulky sweater like his father's, but it was incapable of hiding the evidence of many hours spent in the gym. His hair was scrambled on his head in short loose curls. His rugged jaw and steely gaze made him look closer to twenty than the sixteen-year-old he actually was. It was his eyes that established what kind of a man he was to become. Piercing and blue, a closer examination would reveal just a hint of green ringing both the inner and outer limits of his iris. His eyes often gave him the appearance of someone very serious but mercurial. They were also a window into the tremendous amount of energy Ragnar always seemed to possess. When strangers met Ragnar for the first time they would often rightly assume that he was deep in thought. It did not matter if his conditions or the environment changed, he appeared to be thinking of what to do next – analyzing his current situation and considering options. Most of the girls found him very attractive, but he had little interest in them as he often thought their obvious attempts to attract his attention as shallow and uninteresting. He found his dates boring. The girls he thought were interesting proved to be entirely the opposite when he would engage them in thoughtful conversation. He was never able to understand why. He wanted to know about their lives – what they believed – what they might do in the future. To him, their sole interest was being seen with him. He was self-confident and his good looks helped him achieve that, but Ragnar was never terribly aware of this part of his nature. He just assumed it was how most people were.

"I thought you played a great game son." Kjell offered as they walked back towards their home.

"Thanks dad. Do you think that we could go to Maaemo's for dinner?"

"Sure, you deserve a celebratory meal, and I want to talk to you about something."

"What?" Ragnar asked.

"Well, let's sit down and I will tell you about it over nice steak or something."

"Yes sir," he uneasily replied. Ragnar thought this was a little unusual for his father, his analytical mind working to understand his father's strange behavior. He began replaying their recent conversations trying to deduce what was so important that his father couldn't just tell him right now. Eight months earlier his mother had died from pneumonia. The memory of her death still loomed large in Ragnar's mind and he was anxious about getting any more difficult news from his father. Ragnar considered the situation one more time before switching his thoughts to new ideas. He suspected it would be good news since his father's demeanor gave him no reason to think otherwise.

They walked in the snow to a local diner. Maaemo's had a reputation for being one of the best places to enjoy a good steak. After being shown to their table, Ragnar took a seat across from his father and sat in the tall-backed chair. The waitress quickly approached and took both of their orders. The place was small, but comfortable. There were several other adults dressed in clothing similar to Kjell's indicating their shared connection to the school.

"You haven't lost a game in what . . . the last four weeks?"

"Five. We lost by one point to Dokka. Remember?"

"But you were short two of your starters. The team is totally in sync now."

"I think we might win the championship again this year. Jari is the best. He scores at least one goal every game."

"I think all of you are pretty great. I wish I was as good when I was your age."

"That was a long time ago dad." Ragnar smiled as he delivered the playful insult.

"Yes, well, that may be."

"Seriously. What did you want to talk about?" Ragnar no longer wanted to delay the discussion of the unknown topic.

"So, I wanted to talk with you about something very important," his father stated with a grave voice. "I don't expect you to answer right away, but I want you to consider something. I know you and your friends are planning to follow the usual routine by attending college in Switzerland. It is the simplest and easiest plan to follow. But I have placed a phone call to a colleague of mine in the U.S. and, after reviewing your school transcripts and test scores, they have accepted you to start at Patrick Henry University in the fall."

Ragnar pushed up the sleeves of his sweater revealing his toned forearms. He bent in a little closer to his father. "Why?" he asked.

"Well, you're bright. And your options here in Norway, or even Europe, are somewhat limited. America has a kind of unbridled freedom that will allow you to do anything that you want; become anything you want. You are only limited by yourself over there. Here – there are opportunities, but look what America has done in such a short period of time. All the best scientific achievements are coming from there. The country willingly comes to the aid of others; especially those being oppressed. I met quite a few Americans in the war and all of them were regular guys like you and me. They had no reason to help us, but they did. I am proud to know them and count some of them as friends. A major by the name of Franklin was one of those friends, and he is the one that helped me get your application into the proper hands."

"I don't know what to say," Ragnar said plainly. "Where is this university? I've never heard of it."

"It's in the state of Ohio which is located in the northern part of the country. The weather will be like here in the winter, but not as cold," he laughed a little. "It has a great reputation for both science and math."

"But what about you? I won't be able to see you, right?"

Kjell hated the thought of not seeing his son for what could be a very long time. Since he had lost his wife, Ragnar was the only significant family in his life. He truly loved his son and had already given the loss much consideration. In the end, he felt it was a sacrifice he needed to make in order for his son to have a life he could only dream of. The last thing he would want was for his son to fear for him and miss this experience. "I don't know about that myself. Maybe I could visit you on your breaks, or maybe you would come back here if you wanted to," he knew that neither of these outcomes was likely. "I have a feeling that after you settle in there and make new friends, you'll probably never look back," Ragnar's father added with a hint of excitement and maybe some jealousy.

Ragnar was quiet for a moment. Kjell tilted his drink back and tried to look at his son through the decorative cut-glass. He looked for a sign of what his son might be thinking. Ragnar looked up and prepared to speak just as the waitress approached with their order.

"Two ribeyes – medium rare," she stated with an air of one accustomed to serving things perfectly. "Would you like another round sir?" she asked as she pointed to Kjell's empty glass.

"Sure."

"Scotch?"

"That's correct. Thank you," he responded.

They both began enjoying their meals. Ragnar ate more deliberately than usual. He was half way through his steak when he asked his father, "What about hockey?"

Ragnar's dad smiled at this. He knew that hockey was important to his son but not important enough to cause Ragnar to reject this opportunity. He loved adventure, and hockey would not keep him from experiencing new things and exploring new worlds. He finished with a soft laugh and said, "Yes Ragnar. They do have a hockey team. I am sure you can try out and, if you are ready, I'm sure they will have you."

"OK. Let me think about it." He directed his attention back to his food and finished his meal just a little after his dad completed his. His father left payment on the table and the two made their way back to the campus where Ragnar and his father lived in a modest cottage-like home.

"What do you think mom would say about all this?"

Kjell thought for a moment, "I don't know with any certainty. We never talked about this specific issue. I know she loved you very much and would want only the best for you."

"But would she want me to move away?"

"I don't want – " Kjell placed a saddened emphasis on the word, ". . .you to be so far from me. I know that your leaving would have troubled your mother too. But she's not here any longer Ragnar, and it is time for you to grow up and make decisions that will help you mature into being the man I know you can be."

Ragnar bid his father a good night and went to his room. He remained awake late into the night thinking about so many things. He had planned out his next few years already. He was ready to graduate school and join several of his friends at the university studying engineering, or something scientific at least. He also considered his father. He pictured his dad being alone – without him or his mother. It upset him to think of his mom and dad. It was this thought that saw him off to sleep. He did not have bad dreams, but his sleep that night was not peaceful either.

2

The following morning Ragnar awoke at the sound of his father chopping wood. He pulled the curtains back a few inches to peer through the window while he rubbed sleep from the corners of his eyes. It was freezing outside. Overnight a blanket of white had covered the grounds. The powerful sunlight, partnered with its bright reflection off the snow, made Ragnar wince.

Kjell wiped off the small banks of snow covering the logs he needed to split. He did not wear a coat. He wore a sort-of coverall and a long-sleeve shirt. His face was ruddy and beaded with sweat as he swung the axe down in a single stroke to split the piece of wood he had just placed on the stump. Ragnar could plainly see his father's breath.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pulled on some socks. He walked into the kitchen and retrieved a small dish from the counter that his father had prepared for him. There were three slices of pickled herring and a few slices of cheese next to some buttered rye toast. A pot of coffee had been made but it was no longer steaming. He quickly swallowed his breakfast and followed it with a small cup of lukewarm coffee.

Ragnar was familiar with the Saturday morning routine. He changed into a pair of pants that appeared too large for normal, everyday wear. He put on a long-sleeve shirt and a red knit cap. He began to do push-ups and sit-ups. He ran in place for a couple of minutes while he listened to his father chopping wood. Finally, after five minutes of stretching and warming himself up, he walked to a hook near the back door and removed a beige garment from a spot hanging next to his hockey jersey. He put one arm through the sleeve and then the other. He then held the clothing together in the front and retrieved a cloth belt of the same color and wrapped that around his waist. He removed his socks, opened the door and walked outside towards his father.

"Sleep well last night?" asked his dad.

"Sure. How about you?" Ragnar lied.

"Good enough I suppose. Give me a second." Kjell buried the axe in the stump he was working on and walked over to a wheelbarrow full of freshly chopped wood. Hanging on one of the handles of the wheelbarrow were a jacket and belt, nearly identical to Ragnar's. His father removed his outer coveralls and donned the jacket and belt. Lastly, he bent over to remove his snow boots and socks.

Ragnar observed steam coming from the tops of his father's bare feet as he stepped onto the snow. They moved into a clearing and faced each other a body-length apart. His father used the right sleeve of his jacket to wipe the sweat from his face and brow. Then they bowed to one another and immediately began circling each other.

For fifteen minutes each of them would practice trying to get close enough to destabilize the other. They would use their hands to grab an arm or part of the jacket – trying to push or pull each other off balance. Kjell then let Ragnar practice grabbing him from different positions and then throwing him into the soft snow. After five minutes, they reversed roles and his father practiced grabbing Ragnar and throwing him into the soft snow. By now, the snow was packed a little tighter and became quite a bit harder and Ragnar's falling ability was put to the test. The two of them were beginning to get wet working out in the snow when his father stood up straight. Ragnar recognized, by his body language, that the lesson was about to have a break.

"Have you had an opportunity to think about our discussion from last night?" his father asked breathing harder than usual.

Ragnar looked down and spoke with his practiced sad tone. "Yes sir. I know you only want what is best for me, and I have to admit I am intrigued by the opportunity to visit a place so far away and – by all accounts – so interesting."

But Ragnar's small smile betrayed his true feelings. "What are your concerns?" Kjell asked.

"With mom gone, I am worried about you. Who is going to watch over you and make sure you are OK?" he said playfully, knowing that his building excitement at the idea was not being hidden from his father very well.

"Worried about me?" his father asked in mock indignation.

"Well, yes. I mean . . . you are getting older and I'm not sure you can handle life here without me."

"Ha! That is not something that you need to concern yourself with. I have a good job here. I'll be fine. I miss mom too, but I have my friends and new students to keep me occupied. This opportunity is something that I want you to experience with all of my being."

Ragnar smiled. "I don't think I should go," he paused briefly, "if you are so capable of making it without me, you'll have to show me." He and his father had practiced sparring hundreds of times over the years. He was taller and stronger than his father and his youth gave him a better reserve of stamina – should he need it. However, he had bested his father in a real match only a handful of times. He had every intention of going to America, but he wasn't going to make it easy for his father either. He wanted to show his dad how much he had grown and how much he had learned from him.

"So if I win you go to America, and if you win you stay here." Kjell laid down the consequences in black-and-white.

"Right," answered Ragnar, as he bowed towards his father and began circling him looking for an opening.

His father cautiously bowed back in the direction of his son and took a defensive posture quickly to avoid having his son pounce on him. Kjell began training his son in Judo at the age of six. He was acutely aware that over the last ten years, his son's skills had increased immensely along with his size. He was not about to underestimate Ragnar's abilities.

For ten minutes they grappled with each other. Occasionally one would move in and grab the other only to be denied an opportunity to unbalance him for a takedown. They attacked each other's legs with sweeps and pulled each other's arms without success. Ragnar's father began to tire. Both of them were now soaked with moisture from the snow mixed with their own sweat. Neither of them was cold, even after their jackets had been torn open and hung loose about their waists. Ragnar noticed his dad was being more defensive and was attempting to catch his breath. Kjell's arms had widened - exposing his vital center of gravity.

Ragnar acted quickly. He reached out and grabbed both lapels of his father's jacket as he twisted his hips into his father; butting his back and shoulder against his dad's frame. He raised his hip and began to lift his father while pulling him over his right shoulder. He held him close to his body and was surprised at how easy this throw was going to be. His dad felt so light.

It was at that moment that he realized that he had made an error. So interested in besting his dad and attempting to impress him, he over-powered his throw. His father had wanted him to do exactly what he did. He should have recognized the open stance and lack of guard as a trap, but he didn't. As Ragnar grabbed his lapels and began to execute the throw, his father pushed off with both feet; making an effort to grab the material of Ragnar's jacket on both shoulders. As he was being pulled over his son's head he tilted his own head and ducked his chin under so that his hips slipped over Ragnar's head and he ended up standing on his own feet. Ragnar had compromised his balance and was toppling into his father. His dad moved his hips to the side and let Ragnar fall forward onto the hard snow bloodying his nose in the process. Ragnar still had a grasp on one of his father's lapels but it didn't matter as Kjell climbed onto his lower back. Ragnar made a feeble attempt to pull his father off of him with the hand still holding onto his dad's jacket. Kjell reached under his son's chin and began to pull his head back with both of his hands. Ragnar let go and squeaked through his teeth held tightly together by his father.

"Uff P"

"What's that?"

"I gfv ump."

"I'm sorry. Where are you asking to go?" Kjell asked his son with a smile. He relaxed the hold on his son's head and allowed him to speak a little more clearly.

"Ptrick Hendry Univershity. Neow git uff uv me old man," he said nearly laughing.

"Say please and thank you."

"Yes sir. Preease."

Kjell released his son and rolled off of him into the snow.

"Thank you." Ragnar's grin grew again as he stood up looking down into his father's eyes.

"Gotta watch your excitement. Maintain your balance and don't over-extend yourself," Kjell offered to his son. "You got a little something on your nose too."

Ragnar wiped the blood trickling from his nose on his right hand and then pinched his nose tightly to arrest the bleeding. This wasn't the first time he had sustained a minor injury while practicing with his dad.

Kjell was officially tired now. He hoped his son was as well. He hated, in all honesty, working out in the snow. He longed for the warmth and comfort of his home or at least something to cover his feet. But he knew the value of being uncomfortable. To push the limits of one's abilities was to understand how much farther you could push them. His son did not have to go to war, as he had, in order to learn this lesson. These simple exercises would give him a taste of that experience. While he could not feel his feet or hands much at this point, he knew he would be fine. His goal was to teach these same principles to Ragnar. He wanted him to know that an easy life would likely lead to a complacent life of acceptance – that the only way to really grow was to experience things that made him uncomfortable. Kjell's father had once told him on a frozen hike through a December forest in search of a Christmas tree that 'the only time one considers your feet is when a pebble lodges itself inside your boot.' It took Kjell many years to figure out how that statement meant anything. At the time his father said it, he supposed his dad was just making idle conversation.

3

After four days cramped into a small berth on a transatlantic passenger ship, Ragnar was grateful to have finally reached his destination and solid ground. The sensation that he was still at sea stuck with him as he made his way to the nearby airport and took a late flight towards his final destination.

From a tiny window in the plane he looked down at the multitude of giant buildings that confirmed he was leaving New York. He was absolutely dumbfounded at the tremendous number of lights. It was as if there was some kind of shield holding in the daylight and preventing the advancement of night. "This is America," he stated to himself in admiration.

As the plane made its final approach into Cleveland, Ohio he was thankful that the arduous trip was near an end. He looked down upon this city and found it much smaller and darker than New York.

He exited the plane and was welcomed in to his new hometown with the warm and humid embrace of summer in the Midwest. The thick air seemed to mute sounds and caused his clothes to stick to his body. He made his way to baggage claim by following the rest of his fellow travelers and picked up his belongings that had been neatly packed into a large trunk. The trunk was unwieldy and heavy and Ragnar's boundless energy was beginning to show its limits. But despite his epic journey and lack of any reasonably good meal, he managed to hoist the case onto a flatbed hand cart. He paused to look at the clock hanging above the baggage claim sign. To his dismay it read 2:37 in the morning. He looked around for a place to rest.

"Ragnar Danneskjӧld?" came a deep voice behind him.

Ragnar's weariness seemed to come upon him in ever increasing waves. He slowly turned his head around and managed a, "Yes, sir. I'm Ragnar Danneskjӧld."

Ragnar's eyes lit upon the man behind the voice. He was an older gentleman - maybe a year or two older than his father. He wore denim jeans, cuffed at the bottom and covering a pair of black work boots. A soft, cottony white shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows covered his torso. His face was creased in several places and a scar cut down along one side of his neck just below where a piece of his ear appeared to be missing. He looked as if time had not been so kind to him, but Ragnar could tell he was genuinely happy to see him.

"It is a pleasure to meet you young man," he said with eagerness as he shook Ragnar's hand heartily. "Your father asked me to look after you for a few days. I'm Robert Franklin. I was in the war with your dad."

Ragnar pulled on some of the reserve strength that he carried. He tried hard to ensure that Major Franklin could see the appreciation for his father's friend in his face. With a big smile he said, "Thank you very much sir. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. My dad told me to look for you."

"You must be exhausted from your trip. How about I get you to our home so you can get a little sleep?"

"That sounds good to me right now Major Franklin."

"It's just 'mister' now. I am not in the military any more. I work at one of the plants as a shift manager. Let me help you with your trunk." The major pushed the cart in front of the two of them as they walked out to the parking area and the major's truck. He walked over to one side of the trunk and bent down to pick it up. Ragnar looked at him curiously for a few seconds wondering why he wasn't lifting it. Then it dawned on him that he was waiting for him to pick up the other side. Ragnar hustled around to the other side of the trunk and together they lifted it up. It was work for both men, but they managed to get the large trunk into the bed of the Ford pickup.

They slid the trunk deeper onto the back of the truck's bed and Ragnar walked to the passenger side of the vehicle. He pushed the button on the handle and let himself in while the major hopped into the truck from the other side. Only a few minutes had passed when the major asked, "You want me to stop for some coffee or anything? You need anything before we get home?"

When no answer came quickly he glanced over at Ragnar to find him completely asleep. He smiled and thought to himself, "Looks just like his father."

It took a half an hour to reach the Franklin household. They lived in a small community just outside of Cleveland. The major stopped the truck and quietly, guiltily roused Ragnar out of his sleep to help him bring the trunk inside. Ragnar took little notice of much around him. He remembered helping the major and then the major showing him where he would sleep for the night and that was about it.

The rest of that morning came and went. Ragnar did not stir out of his bed until late afternoon that day. When he did emerge from his room the world was gray and racked by flashes of light and booming thunder. This was not something he was familiar with.

"You get thunder storms back home son?" the major asked.

"Yes. We have them. But not like this. It was the thunder that woke me up."

"I love sleeping in this weather," Mrs. Franklin added. "But I guess you don't really sleep. It's just nice to listen to the rain and thunder." Mrs. Franklin stood up and approached Ragnar. "My name is Joan. I am so happy you could come and stay with us."

She hugged him strongly and Ragnar felt pangs of sadness as it reminded him how much he missed his mother.

"I couldn't sleep any longer."

"How do you feel?" Mrs. Franklin asked. "Can I get you something to eat? Dinner will be in about two hours, but I'm thinking you might be starving. I have some leftover chicken."

Ragnar looked over Mrs. Franklin's shoulder to see a grinning Major Franklin. "She's gonna feed you boy. Better get used to it now," he said half laughing.

"Yes, ma'am. I could eat something now. I am kind of hungry. Thank you."

"Our son Richard is off visiting a friend of his. He'll be back at dinner time. You'll meet him then."

"Sounds good to me." Ragnar replied. He didn't know what to say or do. His adoptive parents were quite hospitable but he was not accustomed to taking so much help from someone – especially strangers. But hunger and the delicious smells coming from Mrs. Franklin's kitchen helped his stomach overcome any reservations he had.

"Follow me into the kitchen and we'll at least find you something to tide you over until dinner."

He began to understand why his father had such affection for his new, temporary family. They were extremely hospitable. Major Franklin spent much of his free time with Ragnar showing him places he thought would interest him.

They saw an Indian's baseball game at League Park just a few weeks before the stadium was demolished in favor of a bigger venue. He thought the game was slow but he loved the massive crowd and the fun of eating hot dogs and drinking soda pop with his host.

Major Franklin also took him to see Blue Hen Falls, a quaint little spot a short hike from the roadside. Ragnar thought the place was beautiful, but he felt the need to act impressed with the waterfall that was dwarfed by the falls back home.

He had an opportunity to go bowling with Richard and his friends. He jumped and dove off diving boards at the local community pool.

The major took Ragnar to his workplace in order to show him around his plant. Ragnar took a keen interest in all things going on there.

Mrs. Franklin kept trying to introduce Ragnar to all the various "American Favorites" – as she called them. He had hamburgers, fried chicken, watermelon, corn on the cob, pizza, lots of milk and eggs for breakfast. He liked her apple pie the most.

4

Two weeks before the university residences opened, Major Franklin deposited Ragnar at the entrance of Patrick Henry University. He wanted some time to roam the university grounds – to familiarize himself with the various buildings and facilities. There were others milling around the campus. Some were very young and appeared to be accompanied by their parents. He suspected they were touring the university as well.

Many of the buildings were old with wide stone stairways, arched entrances and windows that appeared as if stolen from Europe's castles. Others were newer with sleek, glass designs, exposed steel beams, and rounded corners. The eccentric look of the various buildings was broken up by several large sculptures erected in the green parkways that separated them.

He was quick to locate the cafeteria, and he couldn't help but find the football stadium as it stuck out like a clean streak on a dusty table – although he knew nothing of American football and had little interest.

He visited the library, which was open to the public, and marveled at the large collection of books. Ragnar was impressed by the scholarly feel of the campus. "I feel smarter just being here," he thought to himself amusingly. He spent several hours in the library browsing amongst the varied sections. He found media rooms where he could borrow and listen to records, watch old films and view archived newspapers from around the world. All this available knowledge impressed him. He couldn't wait to start his classes.

5

Ragnar had asked the major to be taken to his dormitory as soon as he was permitted to move in. While he didn't believe his needs at the Franklin household were significant, he liked the idea that he would not add any additional burden to his generous hosts. He was thrilled to begin living on his own and getting comfortable in his new accommodations.

The Franklins helped him locate his small but comfortable room. A wardrobe and narrow bed occupied the limited space along each side of the room. He outfitted the one on the right with simple sheets and a couple of blankets from his trunk. After he unpacked, Major Franklin offered to take Ragnar's trunk home with him in order to give him more room, but Ragnar thought he might need the additional storage. He slid his trunk under his bed. There were also two, thick, wooden desks at the end of the room. Between the desks was a set of four drawers under an east-facing window. The window was not low enough to see what was happening outside of his room, but it did provide an abundance of morning sunlight. The worn wooden floor creaked under his steps, but a red, oval-shaped rug laid out over the center of the room muted the sound to some degree. Ragnar thought that although it was an attempt to appear cozy, it was nothing like home.

Saturday afternoon Ragnar was siting sideways on his bed in order to use the wall as a support for his back. He had a notebook out, and he was filling it with his thoughts as they came to him. Sometimes he would draw a random shape. Sometimes he would attempt to draw people – he was not good at that. Often he would draw machines or geometric designs – this, he excelled at. A soft knock came from the door to his room. With excitement, he hopped off of his bed and proceeded to open the door. There stood a young man about his age along with, Ragnar presumed, his mother and father.

"Go on," the man said to the boy, "Introduce yourself."

"Hi. I'm Drake Schoenfield," he said to Ragnar. "I think I'm your roommate."

"That's great! I have been kind of bored around here with no one to talk to. I'm Ragnar." He held out his hand to welcome his new friend into their mutual home.

"Ragnar you say?" The man asked with an air of curiosity. He reached out his hand and shook. "I'm Drake's father. Tim Schoenfield."

At that, Ragnar's mind began to wander a little. That name seemed familiar to him, but he could not exactly determine why. "I'm from Norway," he said anticipating the next question.

Drake's father was dressed in a suit and tie. He stepped inside the cramped room. "I see," he said before introducing his wife. "This is Drake's mother Ellie."

Ragnar noticed that Drake's mom looked less than enthusiastic about coming into the room. Like her husband, she sported a sharp outfit; a powder-blue dress that made her look like a narrow vase. A silver and pearl bracelet adorned her right wrist and a pair of matching earrings drew attention to her beautiful face. An attractive woman to be sure, but she did not seem at ease in the tiny room with three men. She took a small step across the threshold and kept both hands clasped onto her small purse which she held in front of her as some kind of barrier between herself and the rest of the room. She offered an awkward smile to Ragnar and Drake who were now standing next to one another. "It is a pleasure to meet you," she said in a manner that left Ragnar wondering if she actually meant it.

"Where are you from?" Tim asked as an attempt to break the developing tension.

"From Norway, Mr. Schoenfield. I arrived in America a few weeks ago."

"Well that is a bit farther than Cleveland isn't it?" Tim laughed to himself.

Drake's interest in him was now peaked, "How do you like it? Compared to Norway I mean?"

"I don't really know yet, but I can tell you this. There are a lot more buildings here and a lot more smoke," he paused momentarily before quickly adding, "The people here have all been very friendly to me. I like it so far."

"You will like it even more as you get to know it. I hear Patrick Henry is the best school in the nation!" Tim bragged to the group.

Drake rolled his eyes and said flatly, "Right dad."

Ragnar was confused and his face showed it. Drake answered his look by whispering to his roommate, "I'll tell you later."

The group exchanged a few more pleasantries. Ragnar helped Drake settle into his new place by loading a few books onto the shelves and describing all the places on campus he had explored while they finished putting Drake's things away. Ragnar observed Drake putting a peculiar item in one of the drawers. "What's that?" he asked.

Drake's face lit up as he turned towards Ragnar with a small silver colored box in his hand. "This is a radio."

"No foolin?" Ragnar said in amazement. He had never seen a radio so small before.

"Yeah, it's brand new. My dad bought it for me for our room. Really expensive, right dad?"

"Pretty expensive," Tim nodded in agreement.

"Anyway, we can listen to baseball games or anything with it. It's great. I'll show you later."

"Wow!" Ragnar said aloud. But he was thinking about what his father had said – about how he would be exposed to so many amazing things. He was beginning to understand why.

Just before leaving, Mrs. Schoenfield unleashed a whole bunch of instructions at her son. "Make sure you go to all your classes and brush your teeth. Shower at least once a day. Be sure you eat your breakfast and lunch and dinner. I don't want you coming home a skeleton." Drake looked uncomfortable through all this. "No smoking. No drinking. I don't want you hanging around with any girls. And I want you to call me and your father every night and tell us about your day."

"I think once a week will be more than enough," interrupted Drake's father.

"Do your laundry and change your sheets every week. Do you have enough money? Where are you having dinner tonight?" She added with a near panicked voice.

"Alright. Alright. I think you have mothered the boy enough for the rest of the year. We'll let you boys get better acquainted now as your mother and I have a dinner date," Tim said to his son, but he meant it as a way to start separating Mrs. Schoenfield from her baby boy. A process he suspected might not be that easy.

Ellie reached into her purse to retrieve a small handkerchief.

Drake observed his mom doing this and hoped to head off any emotional departure by suggesting to his mom that she not cry.

"I'm not crying," she protested. "I'm just sad at you growing up too fast."

"I'll see you ALL the time," Drake stated in an attempt to defuse his mother's building drama. "You're only a few minutes from here."

"Give your mom a hug and we'll be leaving," Tim told Drake.

Drake went over to his mom, hugged her and kissed her cheek in hopes that it would give her the courage to leave. It worked. She continued to cry and Ragnar noticed her chest jerking a little, but Mr. Schoenfield was able to turn her around and point her out of the room. Tim reached behind to give his son a half a hug and shook Ragnar's hand again.

"Nice to meet you both," Ragnar said with an optimistic tone as Drake's mom and dad walked through a common area out into the hallway. Drake didn't say a word. He was afraid to say anything else in case it might set his mother off again.

When the door closed behind them Drake collapsed, onto his bed. "I knew that was going to be a pain in the ass."

"It was kind of nice."

"It was a pain in the ass."

"It's nice that your mom cares about you."

"I know, but did she have to show it like that in front of you and everyone else?"

"I think that's what moms do."

"Did your mom get all blubbery when you left to come here?"

"My situation is a little different than yours," Ragnar attempted to protect his new friend from going into territory he should avoid.

"Why, because you had to come half-way around the world to get here? You think that it's harder for your folks?"

Ragnar felt like his roommate would find out sooner or later and he was a little irritated that Drake had no sensitivity on this issue. "My mom is dead," Ragnar stated coolly. "I would love for her to have cried over my departure." And with that, a well of tears began to form in his lower lids. He refrained from blinking in a failing attempt to keep them from running down his face.

"Ah, man. . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . . I didn't know. Sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"It is. I was being a jerk."

"You were," Ragnar wiped the tears from his face and then teasingly said, "Probably about time for you to check in with your mom. Don't you think?" A smirk on Ragnar's face appeared and they both laughed as the tension between them eased.

"So, what was with your dad?" Ragnar questioned.

"Huh?"

"You said you would tell me later?"

"Oh right. My dad? He is the dean here."

"What!?" Ragnar exclaimed. He thought through his memories. "I knew that name sounded familiar. It was the name at the bottom of my acceptance letter. I read it but didn't remember it until you told me." He paused for a few seconds to consider this bit of news. "Wow," he uttered – almost to himself. "So . . . if you live here in Cleveland, why are you here in the dorms? You could live with your parents."

"It's my dad's way of helping me 'grow up'."

"Is this your dad?" Drake walked over to a picture of Ragnar and his father that he had placed on his small desk.

"Yeah. We took that picture last year."

Drake couldn't help but notice the hockey gear Ragnar was carrying in the photo. He held his equipment bag in the right hand. His left arm was affectionately pulling his father toward him. Both father and son had big smiles as the photo had been taken just after a playoff match win. It was also one of the few times where both he and his father had managed, temporarily at least, to forget the sadness present from the loss of Ragnar's mom. "You also play hockey?"

"Everyone plays hockey where I'm from."

"Are you any good?"

"Our team won for our city. I think my contributions were valued."

Drake looked back at Ragnar after this statement. He had never heard anyone talk like this, and he assumed it was because he was from another country with different customs.

"How about you? Do you play?"

"Yeah, my dad has had me playing hockey for ten years."

"My dad said they have a hockey team here."

"They do," Drake took a step towards Ragnar, "I'm planning on trying out and you should too. We can both be on the team. That would be great!"

Ragnar stood straight and looked ahead rather than at Drake, "If I am good enough to be accepted onto the team."

"Yeah . . . Right. Of course," replied Drake without much conviction.

Ragnar puzzled at Drake's lack of concern over his prospects to make the team.

6

Ragnar arrived at 9:50, ten minutes early for his first university class – physics. His schedule stated that Principles of Physics would be taught by Dr. Robert Stadler. The physics building was the newest building on the campus. The five-story building had a façade that reminded Ragnar of a stack of silver coins. Floors of black granite alternated with floors covered in long, reflective glass. He entered the building through the main entrance and observed that the floor was carpeted. His shoes made almost no noise as he walked through the hall towards the auditorium at the end. He challenged himself to try and walk without making any noise at all.

As he approached the class he noticed a sign above the door that read "Pauli Auditorium". But when Ragnar crossed the threshold and surveyed the class he felt the description was far too grandiose for such an ordinary room. It was clearly not an auditorium. It had soft, cloth-covered walls and a floor that sloped upwards away from the lectern. Three huge chalkboards completely covered the wall at the head of the class. Ragnar took notice of several complicated formulas that had been previously scratched onto the board as the rest of the students filed into the room looking for seats. Since the room was sloped upwards, all the seats had unobstructed views of the instructor. There was room for at least fifty students and this class appeared ready to challenge the capacity of the space.

He looked for a place to sit. Chairs with small platforms of wood affixed to the right arm arced across the room in rows of six to eight. Everything looked brand new, and he could smell the new carpet as well. He spotted a few empty chairs near the rear of the class and he made his way to one of them as the professor entered the room surrounded by the last arrivals. They scattered in order to secure a place to sit.

As he glanced at the other students he felt that he might be in the wrong place. He didn't see the excitement he felt mirrored on their faces. They talked amongst themselves. Some doodled and some discussed the upcoming football season. He sat anxious and ready to begin. He thought of how much he was about to learn and he grew more excited with each passing moment. He saw a couple of faces whose intent expression matched his own. One young man sat behind him to his left – the other was to his right separated from him by one of the few remaining empty seats.

"Please take your seats ladies and gentlemen," the professor paused while students settled into their spots. He was much shorter than Ragnar and, despite a boyish looking face, his temples had streaks of grey that created a struggle for anyone attempting to guess his age. His hazel eyes canvased the lecture hall with a dour expression. "I hope that you have all had an opportunity to pick up a copy of the required text for this course. I will be assigning problems for you to work on at each of our meetings. You would be best served by working those problems before the next time you arrive back here. I will not lie to you. This class will be one of the more difficult classes you will take this year. My name, as you see behind me, is Dr. Robert Stadler. I have been brought to this university to advance its physics program. My body of work has been related to the study of cosmic rays and the spatial transmission of energy. But that shall not prevent me from teaching you how long it would take for a ball to reach the ground when dropped from a height of ten meters."

Ragnar did not hear the next few sentences from his professor. He was searching for a notebook to begin calculating the time it would take. He knew how to determine the answer. Physics was a favorite course of his in high school. He stared to scribble some numbers on the paper when the student to his right blurted out, "1.4 seconds."

"Who said that?" Stadler said with a staccato abruptness. The class was completely silent and many in the front of the class turned to look over their shoulders to see who would be so bold as to interrupt a professor.

A few seconds passed. Ragnar did not look in the direction of the young man to his right. He did not want to aid in identifying him. In his mind, though, he knew the boy to be correct.

"I did." The student did not have pencil and paper out. Instead he sat casually in his chair; the right foot resting across the left knee – invading the space to his left where no one was sitting.

Professor Stadler along with the rest of the class looked at him. Stadler's eyes narrowed in an attempt to study the student seated so far away. "What's your name young man?"

The boy didn't move but he answered simply, "John."

"Yes, well, slightly more young man. Slightly more," he said a little under his breath. Eventually he looked down at this notes and continued on. "I would appreciate it if all of you would be courteous, and raise your hand if you have something to add to the discussion."

Ragnar looked at John in order to throw him an approving glance. Before he caught John's eye, he noticed that John's face had the look of supreme confidence. He had already won a race that others had not even started. His brown hair was cut simply and his green eyes appeared to miss nothing. A smile played across his face as he watched Stadler's confusion below. He was enjoying the game of the moment. When he caught Ragnar looking at him he continued his smile and nodded in his direction.

Ragnar's attention turned back to Dr. Stadler, ". . . If you should need assistance with the coursework throughout the semester, I am available on Fridays – after this class; otherwise you may make an appointment by stopping by my office down the hall."

7

When Dr. Stadler completed their first lecture Ragnar stood up and turned to the student to his right. "My name is Ragnar. John, right?" he said as he extended his hand.

The intriguing young man sat up in his seat and accepted his colleague's hand with another radiant smile. "Ragnar? That's new for me. Where are you from?"

"Norway," he replied. "Look, I have to get over to Introduction to Philosophy, but maybe we can study together."

John acted a little surprised and said, "With Dr. Sinestra?"

"Yes, how did you . . . You have the same class?"

"Yep. Apparently. We could head over there together."

"It would seem that we share similar interests," interrupted another student. He was tall with an athletic build. He wasn't overly muscular, but when he moved he seemed to flow – like water over a rock or between trees. He was dressed in expensive clothes and the few women in the classroom maintained their notice of him. "My name is Francisco," he said with a slight bow. "I should join you two."

Ragnar took note that his comment was a statement and not a question. He and John looked at each other and then in unison said, "Sure."

By the time the trio entered the humanities building on the other side of campus the conversation between them had become free and lively. They were about to ascend the steps to the second floor in search of their next class when John put out his hand and stopped them.

"Do you know whose class this is?" he said pointing at the name displayed by the open door.

"I've heard the name before, but I do not know why," answered Francisco.

"No," added Ragnar.

John looked disappointed. He pointed to the man seated inside the room surrounded by students. "That is Dr. Hugh Akston. He's considered to be one of the greatest thinkers; maybe in the entire world."

The threesome stood outside gawking at what John assured them was an amazing human being. "Come on!" John said as he grabbed them both by their sleeves and pulled them inside the small classroom. "When are we going to have a chance to listen to this man lecture again? It could be years."

Ragnar fought the temptation to turn and run. He was torn by the need to get to his next scheduled class and the compelling charisma of his new friend. He decided that being a few minutes late shouldn't be a problem.

The boys sat through the entire lecture at the back of the room hoping not to disturb the class already in progress. Ragnar was fascinated with a class that taught such concepts, but he understood little of the professor's words. He vowed that he would spend some resources towards broadening his knowledge. Francisco, too, enjoyed Dr. Akston's ability to understand human nature and explain it in a captivating manner. But it was John, again, that stood up and questioned the professor as the class neared its end.

"Excuse me Dr. Akston, but I was wondering . . . Why would Plato ignore what was clearly anyone's reality. He denied the simple premises that we all can observe every day. Why would he . . . how could he not see it with his own eyes?"

Akston stopped, and with all of his students, looked at the young man standing in the rear of his class. John's eyes were wide. and his body leaned forward as if ready to run a race. Akston smiled and eased back in his chair with a look of satisfaction. "I don't recall having three additional students. Would you mind coming over here and introducing yourselves?" His manner was calm and supportive. His face was patient as if he would wait all day for the three to arrive into the intimate structure of his class. He only needed to wait a few seconds as the clutch of boys made their way closer to the group.

It was a small room. It smelled of aged manuscripts and tobacco. There was a modest oak desk resting in front of a bank of windows that let the midday light cut a line across the room. A rough circle of chairs closed at both ends against the desk.

As the boys took the remaining seats they sat silently facing the gentleman seated in a tall-backed leather chair. "Welcome," he said honestly to the three.

"Thank you, Sir." Ragnar offered back, and then he felt a little embarrassed about speaking out. He felt uncomfortable again as he didn't know how to act. He looked at John for some kind of clue and found him gazing at Akston with a look of awe and continuing curiosity.

8

Dr. Akston's class appeared to be very informal. There were no desks. There were not many students in attendance.

"That is an interesting question you ask," he stated looking first at John, then at Ragnar, followed by Francisco. "One I think Plato should have asked himself." He paused for a moment studying the faces of the new students. "Tell me about yourselves?"

"My name is John Galt. I left my home and moved here several years ago. I have been working as a mechanic in order to attend this university. I have enjoyed following your perspective over the last few years and I am excited to finally meet you. I have always felt that I think differently than most of the people I meet, and I am hopeful that a study of philosophy will help me understand the decisions I have made as well as make better decisions going forward."

Dr. Akston smiled, thanked John and then turned his attention to his friend. The young man sat straight in his chair. He wore dark, woolen pants and a white dress shirt absent tie. His collar was open to reveal a touch of dark hair on his chest. A jacket matching the fine material of his pants was resting with authority on his shoulders and he held a dark, brimmed hat in his hands which were resting in his lap. He elevated his chin a little and said, "My name is Francisco Domingo Carlos Andres Sebastián d'Anconia. But my friends call me Francisco." He did not smile at this pronouncement. Many people might have felt subconscious guilt about stating a name so regally. He did not. He stated it as if it were expected and needed in order to define where he came from. Not who he was, exactly, but who he might become. His name and his heritage clearly meant much to him. "My family is from Argentina, and I am here to learn how to protect my family's company and nurture it until it is the greatest company on earth."

"Indeed," Dr. Akston replied clearly impressed by the young man's ambition. "And lastly young man," he turned his head towards Ragnar, "please introduce yourself."

Ragnar took another look around at the students seated in the circle with him, and he felt that another good adventure was developing. He said, "My name is Ragnar Danneskjӧld." He had come to understand that his name was difficult for many Americans to hear clearly, let alone understand, so he took time to carefully enunciate it for the group. "I am from a town in Norway where I was a good hockey player. My father suggested that I take courses here in America and that is why I am here. He is one of the smartest men I know and, after the placement tests I took, the university counselors thought philosophy would be a useful course for me. I think I agree."

"Very good," Dr. Akston stated with the authority of one resuming control of his class. "You all have your assignment for our next meeting. Thank you and I will see you on Wednesday."

A few of the students thanked Dr. Akston as they stood and began to file out of his class. Ragnar, John and Francisco lingered behind in order to continue their discussion further.

"John," the professor said as he stood and began to gather his things. "I have an appointment in twenty minutes. Perhaps you could stop by my office tomorrow morning sometime so that we can discuss your question a little further."

John smiled at the invitation, "Thank you sir. I will be there."

"Good day gentlemen." Akston said as he donned his hat and began making his way toward the exit.

The three remained behind looking at one another until Ragnar burst out laughing. His new friends joined him – aware that they had just experienced something special. "Impossible," John said softly with a huge smile.

"What?" Francisco asked.

Still grinning, John looked at each before saying, "Nothing."

But each of them knew what he was thinking because each carried the same thought. In the years leading up to that moment, each boy had a feeling that they were alone. No one really understood them, and they struggled to understand the world around them. Now, each felt as though they were looking at a reflection in the mirror. Not of their outward appearances but of their inner feelings and beliefs. A bond of brotherhood was struck that day. It wasn't spoken of as such, but each knew it because it was the first time in their lives that they had ever felt this powerful emotion towards another human being. Each of them was beginning to understand the meaning of love. It was a feeling that they had of themselves, but this was new; the realization that they could feel this way about another.

"How about something to eat?" Ragnar asked.

"The cafeteria is only a couple of minutes from here and my next class doesn't start for another two hours," offered John.

"Sounds good to me," agreed Francisco.

The three made their way to the cafeteria. There they learned a little more about each other and their varied backgrounds.

Francisco gave the first hint that he might be ridiculously wealthy. He told about how he was to follow in his father's footsteps running the family's copper mining company. He spoke about life growing up in Buenos Aires, Chile and Mexico. He described his summer vacation visiting with one of the most famous families in all of America where he spent time with his best friend, Dagney Taggart.

John described how he left home at the age of twelve and moved to Cleveland to live with his uncle. His father had been laid off from work, and in the ensuing months his family's financial condition, not great in the best circumstances, worsened. There had been many days when he did not eat. He knew that if he was going to have any chance at a meaningful life, he would need to escape the temporary state that had become a permanent lifestyle.

Ragnar described his hometown and told how he intended to invite them both to his first hockey game once he made it onto the team.

After lunch the young men prepared to attend their next classes. Francisco and John were heading to different English classes while Ragnar had European history. They smiled as they agreed they would see one another at Dr. Stadler's class Wednesday morning. As the three headed in different directions John turned and yelled at his new friends, "You guys are coming with me tomorrow to meet with Dr. Akston. Meet me back at his office at ten."

Francisco nodded his head in agreement. Ragnar initially shook his head – not because he wouldn't join his friends, but because he couldn't believe how fortunate he was to have met such interesting individuals. "I'll be there!" he yelled back at John.

9

After finishing his last class for the day, Ragnar had an idea he wanted to explore. Five years ago his father had given him a Japanese book he had picked up during his travels. His father thought Ragnar might like the pictures of the swords within, but Ragnar preferred the illustrations of how the Japanese refined the metal into such works of art. Although the pages were worn with years of study and the Japanese text unintelligible to him, the illustrations were quite instructive and paved Ragnar's way to researching other books on the subject. He remembered seeing a course in the University catalog that gave him cause to seek out someone that might be able to help him.

He made his way to the art building. He wanted to see if he might be able to use the facilities for an experiment he had been thinking about for some time. There were still plenty of students roaming the halls. Most were sitting in small groups, smoking and chatting about things he had no time for. At last he saw a woman sitting at a desk in a cavernous room with high, slate-covered tables. She was alone and was hunched over a small piece of ceramics she was examining.

"Excuse me miss?" Ragnar softly spoke as he was sure he was interrupting her concentration.

At that moment, the ceramic piece she was looking at appeared to break in half and Ragnar cringed as he felt responsible for the damage.

"I'm so sorry miss!" he cried.

The woman looked up at him. He could see she was wearing some kind of eyewear. They looked like regular glasses, but he could also see that they were not. They appeared to have two little microscopes attached to the front of the lenses.

"It's OK. I actually broke it on purpose. I was looking at the quality inside the firing," she reassured him.

"Oh . . . OK. I was wondering if you might be able to help me."

"Are you in one of my classes?"

"No. At least not this year," he added with a smile.

"What did you need?"

"I am not sure, actually. I was looking for somewhere to work on a metal project."

"Like a sculpture or something like that?"

"No. It is not art exactly, but I think that this department might have what I am looking for to help with an experiment."

"Well, what exactly, do you need? I still do not know how to help you."

"I'm looking for a place to melt down steel and then work with it. Is there a class here that teaches that sort of thing?"

"Hmm. Professor Koenig does metal work. Mostly I see them welding and banging on metallic sculptures, but if someone here can help you she can."

"Is she here today? Now?"

"She was here earlier. Her studio is on the basement level of this building. It is the only classroom so you can't miss it. If you go down there and her doors are closed, then she has left for the day. You'll just have to check."

"Thank you for your time and assistance," Ragnar called over his shoulder as he quickly headed towards the stairwell in the hall.

Ragnar took the stairs down three at a time. He wasn't so much in a hurry as he just liked pushing himself with simple tasks in order to make them more fun and challenging. At the bottom of the stairs were two large double doors with a small rectangular window set into the center of each. Luckily, he felt, they were both held in the open position by a small wedge of darkened metal at the bottom edge of each door.

He entered the room. It was dark and wide open in the middle. There were racks holding different pieces of metal in various shapes. A bank of tools such as saws, drills, torches, and pliers of various sizes covered one side of the room. There were thick gloves hanging on several pegs on the wall and large helmets with welder's glass sitting on the floor beneath them. He took notice of a large cylindrical furnace off to his left and that the room was hot – a hopeful sign that meant some kind of activity had been happening there recently.

A woman sitting behind a desk immediately noticed him as he walked into the room.

"Can I help you?" She asked.

"Miss Koenig?" he asked suspecting the answer was going to be yes.

"Professor or Doctor Koenig if you please."

It appeared this woman took her position seriously, thought Ragnar. He wasn't sure if she was one of those individuals that was self-important because they had a title, or if she was someone that had worked hard to earn the title and felt she deserved to be recognized for her achievement. "I'm sorry. Dr. Koenig," he replied with added respect.

"I was just about to leave. I have a meeting with some of the faculty in thirty minutes. I can spare you a few otherwise you will need to come back tomorrow. I am usually . . ."

Ragnar cut her off, "No I just need a few minutes. My name is Ragnar Danneskjӧld and I was interested in conducting an experiment I have been thinking about for some time. Do you think that I might be able to use some of your equipment here? I would like to offer to clean your classroom on a regular basis in exchange for the use. I would not interfere with your classes, and you won't even know I was here; other than things will look better than when I arrived." He rattled off his proposal quickly – out of both excitement as well as attempting to satisfy her request that he be brief.

Dr. Koenig looked both surprised and interested in this odd request, "What exactly will you require for your experiment? Are you sure your needs wouldn't be better met in the chemistry or physics labs?"

"I need to melt steel and then cast it. The volume of metal I would need is tiny compared to what you have here. The facility and a furnace is what I cannot find anywhere else on this campus."

"You are correct about that. This is the only place that could be done. Tell you what, Mr. Danneskjӧld . . ." she repeated his name perfectly, "come back here tomorrow between seven and eight in the morning, before my first classes, and we can discuss it more fully."

Ragnar grinned. "Yes professor. Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow at seven."

Ragnar was greatly satisfied after his first day of college and thought of his father as he returned to his dormitory. He penned a letter describing all the exciting things going on in his life and thanked him for putting him on this path. Afterward, he enjoyed the rest of the evening having dinner at the cafeteria and completing his first physics assignment.

10

The next morning he woke early and prepared for school. He left his dorm and headed to the art building and descended the now familiar stairs to Dr. Koenig's class. When he arrived Dr. Koenig was already there preparing for her day's instruction.

"Good morning Professor Koenig," he said.

"Good morning Mr. Danneskjӧld." She, again, pronounced his name correctly. "Now tell me, what are you trying to do?"

Ragnar took a seat next to her desk and faced her. "Are you familiar with folding metal?" Ragnar showed Dr. Koenig his book. On the front of the paper-bound book were several Japanese characters. Written in pencil next to them were the words: Forging Budo.

Dr. Koenig took his book and carefully leafed through a few pages before answering him. "Yes. It is the process of heating metal until it becomes soft enough to literally fold in half. This folding process results in a stronger finished product."

"Have you ever done something like that?" Ragnar asked excitedly.

"No, my talents are more in shaping and crafting beautiful things out of metal. What are you trying to create or experiment on?"

"I wanted to see if I can make an ice skating blade that is stronger and will hold an edge better than traditional store-bought skates. I think it can be done. Would you allow me to try here? I've never done anything like this though. I will study and read anything that you feel would be important to know. I'll do anything!"

Professor Koenig was impressed by the young man's ambition and creativity. "I can't let you use the space right now. It's the beginning of the semester, and I need everything to go according to plan in order to get students off to a good start."

Ragnar's smile disappeared, but the excitement in his eyes did not.

"But, in about three weeks, the students will be settled and working independently. They'll have their projects going, and it will be a better time for you to come in here for your own project. If I plan to come in over a weekend, I will let you know as well. Perhaps, with all that time you can complete your experiment."

Ragnar's smile returned.

"Here is what you will need to do for me," Dr. Koenig began to lay down the rules and her expectations of him. "One, before you can begin any kind of work with the furnace, you will have read at least two manuscripts on the safe handling of molten metals and written a stepwise, footnoted guide that you will follow when working in this room with that piece of equipment. Two, I would like to see a design plan for your skates – to scale. Three, you will clean your area and the furnace as you have already offered each time that you are here working with the equipment. And four, I will also require you to help me by cutting the bulk metal used for welding to more workable sizes; like the ones we already have stored on the racks. Just keep the bins full as they are now. Do we have an agreement?"

"Yes ma'am." Ragnar answered with an even bigger smile on his face. He stood up and reached his hand out for her to shake.

"Professor will be fine," she said with a much more friendly and familiar tone as she took his hand and shook it.

Ragnar was surprised at the strength in her hand. It was also quite calloused. He fancied the idea that this woman was not afraid to get dirty and work hard.

He thanked Dr. Koenig several times before heading out of the building and over to the library. He still had time before he had to meet his new friends at Dr. Akston's office. He figured he could spend that time exploring the library and start looking for the references Professor Koenig required he read prior to beginning work.

At 10:15 that morning he wrapped up his efforts at the library and hurried to find his friends. They were waiting impatiently for him outside the humanities building. "Sorry guys, I was doing some research this morning and loss track of time."

"Really?" Francisco asked. "It's only day two. What are you researching?"

"I'll tell you later. Let's go."

"Agreed," said John.

The three boys arrived to find Dr. Akston listening to a beautiful symphony playing on a turntable in the corner of his office. He was relaxed, but he looked up in surprise to see the three together again. He had intended his invitation only for John, but he was quick to remember that he had not actually said so the previous day. He invited the three into the cramped space.

Dr. Akston had been impressed with the young student's apparently natural insights on Plato and philosophy. When it was time for his next appointment an hour later, Dr. Akston had grown so enamored of John, Ragnar and Francisco that he cleared his schedule for the rest of the day in order to discuss more topics that interested him. Akston threw out topic after topic, not only to see what the boys knew – they often knew a considerable amount, but also because he immensely enjoyed the dynamics of their discussion. These three had engaged his mind in ways that he believed were not possible any longer. He had given up hope of finding students that could provide an intellectual viewpoint worthy of his time.

After talking through lunch and into the early afternoon he made an offer to all three, "I'll make a deal with you. I will speak with your counselors as well as the dean to have you placed into my graduate class. You will receive credit just like any other course. It will be much harder than any class you will have ever taken, but I am convinced you will find it one of the most interesting classes as well. In exchange, you will meet me here every Saturday for lunch and a discussion group." Dr. Akston was eager for the young men to accept his offer. "What do you say?"

All three happily agreed to his offer. Dr. Akston gave each of his new students copies of works by Aristotle, Plato and Locke to read in their dwindling free time.

As Ragnar walked out of Dr. Akston's office he finally glanced at his watch. To his shock it was mid-afternoon. He had missed his first Calculus lecture because he lost track of time in his lengthy conversation with the others. He vowed to himself that would not happen again.

Ragnar began to settle into a predictable routine. He was doing well as a student. Not necessarily because he was studying harder than most, but because he was a naturally gifted learner. His course work was challenging. He enjoyed all his classes with the exception of European History – which he found fairly dull. Being from Scandinavia meant he already knew much of the material, but his droll professor had no skills at engaging the students in his lecture.

Ragnar's enjoyment of college life was enhanced by the company he kept. Every day was enlightening. He, Francisco and John all excelled in physics class. Dr. Stadler had mentioned them all by name, suggesting their classmates seek them out as competent tutors.

Dr. Stadler's observation of their activities in the lab excited him. Something in the way they approached the assignments let him to believe that these were not just students following cookbook recipes. They embraced failure as a way to deeper understanding. Students failed because they turned in failed projects. While Ragnar and his friends failed many times, they repeated the labs until they were able to find success.

Their unusual behavior earned extra attention from the famous physicist. He introduced the trio to measurements and scientific principles. They studied Newtonian and fluid mechanics then they moved on to electricity and waves. He gave them extended laboratory experiments – beyond the elementary ones that he asked of the general class. While the three seemed to enjoy the challenge, it was clear to any who observed them, that they were motivated just as much by each other and their growing friendship.

Within a period of just a few weeks the three were inseparable. Even when they weren't in the same class, they could usually be found together studying in the library, working in the physics lab or discussing matters with Dr. Akston.

Akston and Stadler worked to see that the exceptional talents of the three best friends weren't wasted, but instead nurtured.

11

Patrick Henry did not have a Judo school or club for Ragnar to continue his martial arts training. This saddened him. He made mention of this in a letter to his dad who replied that he might consider starting one himself. While Ragnar thought this idea would be fulfilling in several ways, he was concerned about the time commitment required to manage a club. Besides, he was more interested in picking up a hockey stick, and notices had been posted announcing tryouts for the upcoming varsity season.

When Ragnar asked his roommate about the tryouts the following week, Drake told him that his father had already requested an opportunity from the hockey coach to evaluate him.

"I'm supposed to skate for Coach Davidson Wednesday afternoon. My dad set it up, and he told me that after he watched the team practice, he was sure I would get on."

Ragnar was a little surprised at this announcement from him.

Drake saw what looked like disappointment in Ragnar's eyes, "I could have my dad put in a word for you too?"

"No, no. That's OK. I don't want to be a bother." Ragnar's disappointment was with Drake and not with his own circumstances. He did not like the idea of some kind of favoritism helping him get onto the team. He wasn't sure that was the case here but, in order to avoid any misunderstanding, he let Drake assume it was because he hadn't worked out a deal for his roommate as well.

"You sure? It's not a big deal," Drake shook his head.

"Yeah, I think so. I'll let you know if I change my mind."

Ragnar walked into the athletic center at 5:30 one evening the following week and made his way down to the ice rink. He easily located Coach Davidson as he was the only one there that didn't look like a student. Coach Davidson had a whistle hanging from his neck on a cord of black string. Coach never took the whistle out of his mouth. It hung from his lips as he talked and it had the slight effect of making him speak with a bit of a lisp. When he spoke, he would slide the end of the whistle over to one side of his mouth so that he could speak with the other. Ragnar also noticed that when he was upset at one of his players, he would often spit while attempting to talk around the metal pacifier. Coach wore a black pair of pants and a black shirt. His love affair with food was apparent to anyone who met him. Ragnar walked down to the edge of the rink and waited until he could catch the coach's eye.

"Excuse me. Coach Davidson?"

Davidson's eyes moved among his players on the ice and flitted from one to the next, "You here to join the team? He yelled at him since he was not speaking directly towards him.

"I'd like to try out if I may."

"Well, lace up and get out there."

Ragnar wasn't sure how to make the point that he had no skates. "Coach!"

Davidson turned to Ragnar but didn't answer him.
"I don't own any skates."

Coach blew his whistle and activity on the ice came to a stop. "Circle up everyone!" he bellowed. Eventually, the team skated into a rough circle around Coach Davidson.

"Fellas, take a look at this young man over here." He pointed towards Ragnar who stood there unflinchingly. "This fella wants to play hockey." The team all stood silently staring at him. "He says he wants to play hockey. But he's missing a pretty important piece of equipment." Coach paused for his own dramatic effect. "He needs some skates." A few snickers could be heard from many of the team members and, with that, Coach Davidson made a point of looking down his nose at Ragnar.

"He can play coach!" came a voice off to the right.

Everyone turned in the direction of the voice to identify the person coming to Ragnar's defense.

"He's a great player from Scandinavia." Drake slowly skated up towards the mass of people across from Ragnar on the rink.

"That true boy?" Coach asked.

"I have played for many years. I am from Norway, and because I traveled some distance to attend this school I do not have any of my equipment. As for whether or not I am a great player as Mr. Schoenfield has so politely stated, my performance should be your only consideration – not my lack of equipment. I am only asking for an opportunity to demonstrate my abilities."

Coach Davidson recoiled briefly at the manner in which Ragnar had spoken to him. He stared at Ragnar as the rest of the crowd looked on without a word. No one on the team had ever heard anyone address their coach so confidently. "Somebody loan this guy your skates," he yelled as he drifted onto the center of the ice. "You got five minutes kid."

A couple of boys skated up to the wall and asked Ragnar what size he wore. An older student spoke with Ragnar and then motioned for him to meet at the team bench. He removed his skates and handed them to Ragnar who laced them as quickly as he could.

"Bobby. Glenn. Get over here!" Coach yelled. Two, tall and monstrous looking players glided over to Coach Davidson. He put his arms around each man's shoulder as he quietly gave instructions to both. Ragnar finished putting on his borrowed skates and he grabbed a hockey stick from the collection propped up at the end of the bench along the fence. "Get out here kid!" Coach yelled again in a very 'I hate being bothered' tone.

"My name is Ragnar, sir!" Came his reply.

Coach Davidson smiled a smart-ass smile and said in a nasally voice, "Of course it is."

Ragnar skated to the middle of the rink and met the coach and two teammates standing there. The rest of the team moved off to the sides of the rink and they, along with Drake, who took a seat on the bench, watched with intense interest the events about to unfold. Drake had never seen Ragnar play hockey or skate for that matter, but he had a hunch that his support for his roommate would not go unrewarded.

"OK kid," Davidson turned towards Ragnar who looked much taller on the ice with skates than he did standing outside the rink, "All you gotta do is get past your potential teammates here." He pointed to each uniformed giant, "This is Bobby. A senior that plays center. And this is Glenn. Also a senior who plays defenseman."

"A pleasure to meet you gentlemen." Ragnar offered.

Bobby and Glenn just smiled at each other and skated off to their side of the ice. Coach backed out of the middle towards the bench and Ragnar skated to the opposite side of the rink. Bobby took a position a little behind the middle of the rink while Glenn stood about twenty feet forward and to the right of the net and crouched down in a position ready to explode forward.

"How about a puck coach?" Ragnar yelled across the ice.

"All you need is your stick boy," was his response.

Ragnar looked down the ice at the two men that stood between him and the goal. They were big, and they probably had a lot of experience. Ragnar told himself that he was capable and had faced many skilled opponents before. He tried to block out the fact that he had not been on the ice for several months now.

Davidson blew his whistle, and Bobby began to slowly glide around the center of the rink while Glenn didn't move.

Ragnar waited until Bobby was almost all the way to his left which would require him to completely turn around to reach him. He skated as fast as he could. He sprinted down his right side. Both of the defenders were well off to his left, but as soon as they saw him move, they each began to converge on him. Glenn held his position just a bit in order to pin Ragnar between himself and Bobby. Bobby raced over towards Ragnar, but because of his timing, was now slightly behind Ragnar. Glenn pushed off hard and gracefully to intercept the attacking Ragnar. Ragnar felt the pressure. He had Glenn coming straight at him from his left. Bobby was coming at him from left and behind and the wall was always present to his right. Everything was vectoring in on him for, what was building up to be an explosion of muscle and plywood. Ragnar just kept staring at the goal and skating as hard and fast as he could. Glenn and Bobby were just about to reach him, and they braced themselves for the impact as they turned their shoulders forward in preparation for crushing Ragnar into the side of the rink.

Ragnar kept looking at the goal. He never made eye contact with either of the defensive players as they bore down on him. But Ragnar saw situations like this as more than what it appeared on the surface. Everyone here was expecting hockey; bruising hockey play. They were expecting to see just how tough this Ragnar kid was. Was he tough enough to play on this team or would he get scared and run away. To Ragnar, though, this was nothing like hockey. It was all about a simple math or logic question. He knew that these two were out to prove a point. He knew that they were going to put everything they had into teaching him some kind of dumb lesson. He was counting on their blind adherence to a single-minded goal demanded of them by their coach.

He dropped to his knees and ducked his head as low as he could. Bobby was the first to see he had made a mistake. He knew he was not going to be slamming Ragnar into the fence. He had already committed his shoulder to a target that was no longer there. He was able, however, to bring a knee up and catch Ragnar in his left ear as he began to tumble over him. Glenn, on the other hand, never saw it coming. He had closed his eyes in preparation for the eminent attack. He skated into Ragnar as he was crouched down and his forward momentum carried him first, over Ragnar, second, into Bobby, and then third, into the wall. It was an awkward fall for Glenn as he had been prepared for a collision that did not happen until five feet further. His chin caught the top of Bobby's head and turned his whole body to his right. He sailed over Ragnar and eventually his forward movement was stopped abruptly by the wall. It didn't help that Ragnar reached out his hands to protect himself from Glenn's legs. Ragnar blocked Glenn up and over his crouched body as they engaged.

Ragnar kept his eyes on the goal and knew that he had succeeded when he heard the massive clash above his head. As Glenn and Bobby tangled together and fell off behind him, he stood up and continued his sprint towards the net. He made it easily and without any pursuit. Everyone watching erupted in shouts, whistles and applause. Ragnar smiled at his ingenuity. He looked over his shoulder at Bobby and Glenn and saw that Glenn was not moving. Bobby was kneeling beside him talking to him. With alarm, Ragnar skated towards the two as Glenn was beginning to come around.

"Are you OK?" Ragnar bent down to check on the dazed player.

"He'll be OK. Been banged up worse than that before," Bobby offered with a smile. "Nice play," he added.

"Thanks."

Bobby helped Glenn sit more squarely on the ice as Coach Davidson skated up to the scene. There were still a lot of cheers coming from the bench area. "That was a pretty smart play, kid." Coach said with a hint of reluctance. "I think I'm gonna have to let you on the team just so Glenn won't feel bad when he wakes up." He smiled at Ragnar.

"I'm awake," Glenn said with his eyes still closed. "What happened?"

"You were outskated," Bobby replied. "We were outskated . . . or outsmarted at least."

They all helped Glenn get back to his wobbly feet. "Better sit down for a bit," Coach Davidson suggested to him.

Coach turned to Ragnar. "Look kid, I apologize. Clearly you have some ability. I don't know what they have up there in the way of old or used equipment, but if you go up to the office and tell them you spoke with me, they should be able to get you most of what you need. If there are any problems, let me know and I'll do what I can."

"Thank you coach," Ragnar smiled and said. "And the name is Ragnar."

Coach nodded. "Ragnar, yes. Ragnar. Off you go kid. Be back here tomorrow at 5."

"Holy cow!" were Drakes first words to Ragnar when he returned to his room. "That was amazing."

Ragnar smiled. "Did you get on the team?" he asked Drake.

"I think so. It is a little unclear right now. I mean the coach let me skate and I think I am supposed to come back tomorrow. He didn't really say. I think he had something else on his mind." Drake laughed hard.

"Good. I guess we can go together then."

"Seriously," Drake was still laughing, "you know those two are a couple of the best players on the team and you made them look foolish."

"They made themselves look foolish. And that was not hockey. It was an exercise. A demonstration. Hockey is a complex game where you take each individual's abilities and combine them into a unified team. That was just nonsense in my opinion."

"Well, after you left, everyone was talking about your play. I knew you could do it."

"Oh yeah. Thanks for sticking up for me."

"No sweat. Wait until my mom and dad hear about this one. That was great. Did you know that was going to happen?"

"I suspected it might. Those guys weren't thinking any more. They were just following a set of orders, and they couldn't consider other options until it was too late. It happens when you trade emotions for intelligent thought."

"Whatever it was, you just made my year," Drake added with a big grin as he brought his attention back to his homework.

Spark

1

Ragnar allocated the tiny amount of remaining free time he had to Professor Koenig's studio. He had researched the materials she had asked of him, and by the end of the first year he was melting steel and pouring it into rudimentary molds.

He felt joy in the knowledge he acquired about metallurgy. He now had the power to turn metal in to a glowing, molten liquid and the skill to handle it safely. He worked to improve his ability at hardening the metal in to a refined and stronger state.

He enjoyed the thrill of making something by hand, and he grew to be a valuable assistant to Dr. Koenig. He kept his word with respect to maintaining her classroom. The place was always spotless, and he took care of her class's needs before he began any work of his own.

His progress was slow but observable. He kept a diary of sorts to chronicle his progress; his successes and failures. By the end of his second year at the university he was making attempts at folding the metal he had fashioned in to simple bars. He saw no need in making anything resembling a blade until he was confident of his technique and processes.

After the winter break, he felt confident enough in his workmanship to begin producing a prototype. Professor Koenig contacted a colleague of hers that worked in duplicating Japanese swords so that Ragnar might be able confer with him in perfecting his process. He worked out a mold. He poured the glowing yellow molten steel into the mold and began the process of working the metal as he had practiced so many times before. After two weeks of working the metal into a hardened, quality product, he neared completion of his long journey to a perfect skating blade.

His hockey team was doing well this year. He was the captain now as he was clearly the best player on the team. Drake continued to play as well. Their friendship would never be like the one he had with Francisco and John, but Drake was a helpful and kind friend.

They had been practicing hard lately as Coach Davidson was preparing to take the team to the playoffs. Ragnar loved the thrill of championship play. He liked being tested – trying his skills in a field of ever improving opponents. The crowds were bigger, the stakes were bigger, and he found the whole affair exhilarating. Francisco and John managed to come to almost all of his games to cheer their friend on.

One evening after he finished practice, he stopped by Dr. Koenig's classroom to finish the work on his new blades. They were stronger and thinner than the ones he had always traditionally worn. He spent a large part of his time that night putting as sharp an edge as he could onto the blades. He took his own skates out of his bag and removed the old blades. The new blades fit into position perfectly. Ragnar smiled in anticipation of how these new skates would perform. He etched a single word into the middle of each new blade: Danneskjӧld. He finished late in the evening, but when he returned to the dorm Drake was still awake.

"Where were you? You know we have a match tomorrow?"

"That's precisely why I've been gone." His answer only intensified Drake's curiosity.

"Why? You lost me."

"You know I have been working on making a new blade for my skates for forever right?" He said with building excitement.

"Yeah."

Ragnar opened his equipment bag and withdrew the two newly-bladed skates and handed them to his roommate. "They're done. I'm using them tomorrow."

Drake ran his thumb along the edge.

"Careful! They're really . . ." Ragnar cried.

Before he could finish his warning, Drake pulled his thumb away. Blood dripped quickly from a cut that took a second for him to even notice. "They sure have a nice edge to them, don't they? Nicely polished." He wrapped his thumb in his shirt tail unfazed. His eyes were locked on the gleaming metal. "I like your name on them too. How did they perform?"

"Don't know yet. Try them out tomorrow for the first time."

"Are they lighter? I can't tell."

"Just a little lighter. Probably won't have much of an impact on play. But if the edge can be maintained, it should allow for better handling out on the ice."

You gonna make me some too?"

"Well it took me two years to make these. I'll put you on the waiting list," he laughed.

"Deal! Good luck with them tomorrow."

Ragnar's face screwed tightly as if he had bitten into a sour apple. "I don't need 'luck'," he said with just a little contempt in his voice, "I need skill. But thanks!" he added with a smile.

2

Ragnar arrived at the Pittsburgh arena on the bus along with the rest of his teammates. They had been on the road for almost three hours getting to their match with long-time rivals: The Virginia State Trojans. Each member of the team took their bag of equipment into the locker room in order to change.

Drake had bragged about him to the rest of the team and when Ragnar walked out to the team box everyone was chattering about his new blades. They asked to see them and they were all amazed that he had created them himself. Ragnar was proud of his accomplishment. He warned everyone of the razor sharp edge. Drake showed off his bandaged thumb as a reminder. Then it was time to try them out on the ice.

He laced up his boots and, after removing the rubber guards, opened the door to the rink and placed his right foot onto the ice. He pushed himself out onto the rink and just let his momentum carry him across the smooth surface. He smiled and closed his eyes. He couldn't really tell he was moving other than the cool wind in his face. He opened his eyes and began to make large soft circles; first with the right foot and then with the left. Many of his teammates were watching him. That brought a rebuke from Coach Davidson. "Do your drills damn it!" he yelled at them. He was probably the only one on the team who was unaware Ragnar was wearing a byproduct of both his physical as well as intellectual effort.

Ragnar skated his circles faster and began to tighten them until he was able to spin both on his left as well as his right skate. They felt great. He came to a stop and looked at Coach Davidson. He was standing close to the team's box watching them practice before the match. Ragnar skated directly at him – quickly drawing down the distance between them. Coach Davidson caught Ragnar speeding towards him out of the corner of his eye. He was unprepared to move in any direction let alone with enough speed to avoid a collision. The only thing he managed to do was to tweet out a weak whistle as he closed his eyes. Ragnar lifted both feet and ripped his hips to the side. His new blades dug into the ice and he leaned away as he showered his coach in a spray of ice. He easily stopped short of impact and stood there looking at his Coach's closed eyes. Slowly, Coach Davidson peaked open his left eye and peered through the slit.

Coach saw Ragnar's blue eyes staring back at him just a few inches away. "What the hell's wrong with you?!" he yelled at Ragnar while he attempted to wipe the icy snow from his face and shoulders.

"I was just wondering which position you want me in Coach," Ragnar playfully asked.

"What? Center! As usual," he whistled while he spoke.

"OK, thanks coach," Ragnar said as he skated off, "just checking." He returned to his team box where his friends were roaring with laughter.

Ragnar's performance that night was magical. He had scored twice on his own through some fancy skating that had impressed not only the opposing players but his own teammates who had never seen him skate so nimbly before. At the end of the first period they were leading their rivals by the score of three to one. There was excited talk that Ragnar might get his first hat trick. It was unusual for Ragnar to score in games, but all he needed was one more goal. He moved the puck forward and set up others by his skillful skating in order to earn their team points. He masterminded his team's successes by quickly understanding their opponent's strengths and weaknesses and then exploiting them. Tonight, however, was his night.

He was enjoying the ease by which he was able to skate. He wasn't sure if it was the skates or just a psychological benefit he gained by wearing skates produced through his own ingenuity. Either way, he was playing like never before. At the beginning of the second period Patrick Henry picked up where they left off. The opposing team was just not able to deal with Ragnar. Their game assumed a more defensive stance which made it difficult to score.

"How do you like the way Ragnar's skates are performing, Coach?" Drake asked as they watched Ragnar dance around the defensive players.

"What do you mean?" he replied.

"I mean, the new blades he made are pretty impressive right?"

"New blades?"

Drake was surprised that after everything that had happened, somehow his coach managed to miss the biggest news of the night; that Ragnar was skating on his own, homemade ice skating blades. "He made those blades he is wearing in Professor Koenig's studio. He's been working on them for two years."

Davidson looked irritated. He looked up at Ragnar on the ice. He tried to see anything special about his skates and failed. At the next stoppage in play he called for a timeout.

The team approached Coach Davidson on the side of the rink. "Ragnar, your out. Stephan, you're in."

"What?!" each of them cried in unison.

"We're killing them, coach," said Stephan.

"You're taking me out?" asked an astonished Ragnar, "Out?" He repeated as if he hadn't heard clearly.

"Damn it, Ragnar. Sit your ass down!" yelled Davidson.

"But coach you want me to . . ." Stephan started to plead. He knew he was nowhere near the player Ragnar was.

"Take over center," he said as he pushed the younger athlete out onto the ice just as the timeout expired.

Ragnar couldn't figure out what was happening. Neither could any of the other players.

The team watched in horror as their opponents began to take advantage of the loss of their star player. Pleadings by Ragnar's teammates went unanswered. Coach Davidson gave no explanation for his actions. He wouldn't even look at his team.

By the end of the second period the opposing team had managed to score another goal. The team gathered together on the bench with all eyes on Coach Davidson expecting some kind of explanation for his actions.

"Listen up!" He removed the whistle from his mouth for once. "Hockey is a team sport and I think all of you need to know that Ragnar thinks he is more special than you."

Ragnar couldn't believe what he was hearing. Neither could most of his teammates.

"Apparently he took it upon himself to create or build some new kind of skating edge. That right Ragnar?"

Ragnar nodded in agreement.

"Well, your teammate's selfishness could cost this team the championship. You can't bring a piece of modified equipment in here and not expect there to be questions about its legality or appropriateness. You have to meet certain specifications before –"

Ragnar interrupted him, "I did check out all the specs. I promise you that it complies with all college hockey standards."

"Really? I suppose you have a letter of certification from an accrediting body stating this?" Davidson said full of sarcasm.

"No. But it is in spec! I wasn't even sure how well it would work. I wanted to test it out here – in real life conditions."

"Great, so you brought some untested, razor sharp piece of metal into this game, and you were willing to stake our success on your success. Like I said, selfish."

"Fine, I'll put on some regular skates if that will satisfy you."

"It's not about me, Ragnar. It's about the team."

"I know! I want the team to win."

"Yes, but not at any cost."

"I can't believe this. What cost? There is no ill will here."

"Well, Stephan deserves a chance to excel too. He doesn't have the fancy skates you built, but he should have an opportunity to score as much as you."

Stephan meekly spoke up, "Coach, I –"

"Quiet Stephan!" Coach snapped back. "This is all your doing Ragnar. You have to realize that you are nothing special. You are part of a team that makes this all possible."

Ragnar sat there stunned along with Drake and the majority of the team.

The psychological damage had already been done before the next puck even dropped. The buzzer echoed throughout the arena signaling the start of the third period. Patrick Henry tried to hold off their rivals. No one moved with purpose. Ragnar watched their lead disappear and with four minutes remaining in the final period, their opponents took an easy goal on a power play. And that was how it ended. Ragnar and the rest of the team stood there looking up at the scoreboard. It said it all with two simple numbers five and four. They shook hands with the winning team, as was customary, before heading to their locker room.

Ragnar did not speak to anyone after the game. He sat alone at one end of the bench while his teammates quietly removed their gear and began stowing it into their bags. The air was filled with the sour scent of sweat and testosterone. Steam was beginning to fill the locker area as several of the team began to shower. Stephan looked down the aisle and felt the need to console his teammate. As he turned his tired body towards Ragnar, Drake grabbed him by the collar preventing his advance.

"What's your problem, Drake?" he asked as he almost fell backwards into the bank of lockers.

"Leave him alone. I promise he will not want, or appreciate your condolences and certainly not your pity."

Ragnar's eyes, never blinking, continued to look down and to the left – so lost in thought that he did not hear any of this exchange. His mind was awash in different thoughts; most of which centered on the fact that his coach just cost the team its well-earned win in order to punish his individuality. He couldn't believe it.

Stephan shrugged off Drake's hand as well as his warning and began heading towards Ragnar, "Good game." He meekly said as he reached out his hand to shake Ragnar's. "We can get them next year."

His words broke through Ragnar's thoughts. His eyes cleared and he turned his head up to Stephan's hand. "Next year," he flatly stated back. After a brief pause, he reached up and shook his hand.

Ragnar straightened in his seat and looked down at his skates. He bent over and began the long process of unthreading the laces from them. Stephan stood there for a moment more – expecting something else from their captain. When nothing came, he turned around and began walking back towards Drake. He shrugged his shoulders at which Drake rolled his eyes.

3

Ragnar's pace quickened. He had to get out of there. The smell of defeat and the heat from the steam made him feel as if he were being slowly poisoned. He didn't bother talking to anyone else. He didn't even take his customary shower. He threw on his clothes and ushered his own way through the crowd of teammates. Minutes later he was surprised to find himself outside in cool evening air. His mind was still struggling to find a foothold. He crossed the pavilion in front of the sports arena and wrapped his scarf around his neck. It was warm for a spring night in Pittsburg, but his head, still wet with sweat, gave him a chill.

He walked quickly with no particular destination in mind. He needed to create distance between himself and the arena as the whole place made him feel as if he was suffocating. He had to quit the team. There was no internal struggle with that thought. He hated to lose. He didn't make those skates so Stephan could skate. He made them in order to win.

He finally settled onto a bench at the edge of a grassy, tree-lined park. It was dark, but street lamps allowed him to survey the area. The park was large and there were pockets of people milling about: – business men, hurriedly making their way to some important destination – couples, walking hand-in-hand taking in the refreshing night while drinking in each other presence – others appeared to be random wanderers. Ragnar's eyes eventually landed on a beggar who was standing across the street from one of the subway station exits. He wore a filthy jacket that was one size too large. Worn by life's experiences, he was much younger than his face showed.

Ragnar watched the beggar for a long while as he continued to gather his own thoughts. But eventually, Ragnar grew interested in the bum. He was amazed that so many people would give this total stranger money. The bum did nothing. He simply held a sign fashioned from a pizza box asking for food. An attractive woman caught Ragnar's eyes. He saw her blond hair cascading and bouncing around her shoulders as she approached the bum. He noticed that she was not alone. She had two children. One, a boy, was about 5 years old and holding his mother's hand. The other sat in a stroller that the mother pushed along. As they approached the old man holding the sign silently, the mother stopped and took a small package from the underside of the stroller and handed it to her son. The boy walked cautiously towards the man unwrapping the package to reveal some bread.

The boy proudly spoke to the man, "My mom helped me make this for you sir. It's peanut butter and jelly." He smiled and handed the offering to the man. The man hesitated a second before dropping his sign and reaching out with both hands to take the package. As soon as the boy had delivered his present to the man, he sprinted back to his mother – a little embarrassed by the action of talking to an adult he did not know.

The man gestured to the family by holding up the package and saying "Thank you." The woman replied, "You're welcome." Her son buried his face in his mother's skirt – continuing his embarrassment. The man took a bite from the sandwich and again repeated, "Thank you."

Ragnar watched all this with some renewed warmth in his heart. The boy was so cute and friendly. He appreciated that the boy helped the man with what he had requested – food. He took time to serve another. All the others that had passed by had given the beggar money, but this boy had no money to give. He had the ability to make him a sandwich and, in the boy's world, that was all the man had needed. Ragnar stood up and was about to approach the woman so that he could recognize the boy for his kindness when he saw a sight that horrified him. The man, after being certain that the family could no longer see him, moved towards the park and threw the sandwich into some bushes lining the walkway.

Ragnar was incensed. He stuffed his bag into the dark shadows between the bench and the bushes behind him; out of sight from any passersby. He wrapped his coat tightly around his torso and pulled the scarf up over the base of his face. It was far too warm an evening for anyone to look as he did. He scanned the area and while there were a few people here and there, none were immediately in the vicinity of the beggar at that moment. He reached into his left pocket to retrieve his wallet and he removed a dollar from the middle fold. Holding the dollar in the palm of his left hand he replaced the wallet in his pocket just as he reached the beggar. His other hand slipped into his right pocket.

"Nice evening tonight," Ragnar said in a cool tone.

"Yes sir. It sure is. A little cold though." He knew it wasn't that cold, but the image of Ragnar's mouth covered with the scarf led him to believe that the young man must believe it is so.

"Maybe this could help you out a little bit." Ragnar reached his left hand out to the beggar and showed him the folded dollar. George Washington peered out from between his thumb and finger.

"Yes sir. It sure will. I haven't eaten in days." The man reached out with his right hand to take the dollar presented to him and as he did, Ragnar rotated his left hand to grip the bum's wrist. He then stepped in and around the man's side with his right foot as he pulled the man's arm around his own throat and pinned his hand against his back holding everything in place. Ragnar kicked the back of the beggar's legs forcing him to his knees. He then produced a razor sharp knife from his right pocket and warned the bum to keep his mouth shut.

The dirty man was stunned at first. "Don't kill me," muffled the man from the crook of his own elbow.

Ragnar took the knife in his right hand and released his left hand from the hold on the beggar. He lifted up the beggar's jacket in the back and with one long, arcing swipe, cut a path around to the front of the jacket. The man's front pocket had been entirely removed and now rested in Ragnar's hand.

Sobbing softly the beggar reiterated, "Don't kill me mister. Please. I'm begging you."

"Don't ever let me see you begging again."

"How will I survive?"

"I don't care."

Ragnar pushed the man forward, off balance, onto the ground in front of him in order to facilitate his escape. Unable to get his hands out in front of him to brace his fall, the vagrant's head hit the walkway with a dull thud. He let out a deep groan.

With the beggar's pocket and its contents now secured, Ragnar turned into the darkness of the park and silently disappeared into the night.

The beggar was slow to get up. Not sure what to expect after his encounter. He had never been robbed before. The idea seemed crazy to him. He called out for the police. "Why would a rich man want to rob someone poor like me?" was all he could ask himself over and over again. He turned to look behind him but, of course, no one was in sight.

Ragnar fled across the park darting from the shadows of one tree to another to conceal his movements. He did not think anyone had seen him, and he was pretty sure that even if they did, it was unlikely that anyone would care about the bum and his problems. He wasn't going to take any chances. When he reached the other side, he waited a few minutes before emerging calmly from the edge of the park back into civilization. He threw his scarf into a nearby trash can and removed his coat and folded it over his arm.

When he reassured himself that he had attracted no one's attention, he sprinted to the end of the park and began looking for the woman and her son. He ran down the main road and managed to catch a glimpse of them off to his left. The boy's mother was purchasing a bundle of flowers while her son used a series of posts in the sidewalk as a makeshift playground. He skipped between each pole using his hands to help sling his body from one to the other. He hummed a simple melody that Ragnar recognized as a nursery rhyme.

While the woman conducted her business Ragnar retrieved the swatch of clothing belonging to the beggar from his coat pocket. The cloth smelled of smoke and decay. He reached his hand into the pocket and removed a handful of paper and coins. He quickly opened each of the two bills – straightening out the creases before folding and sticking them into his front pocket. He stuffed the dirty fragment of clothing into his coat and then counted the coins. He found two quarters, five nickels, two dimes and twelve pennies for a sum total of $3.07.

When the young family began to move again down the street, Ragnar moved ahead of them in order to approach them from the front.

"Excuse me miss."

"Do I know you?" the woman said with a friendly smile. Her son clung to her again as she entered into a conversation with a stranger.

"No, you don't. But I saw you and your family a little earlier and I was hoping I might say a Thank You to you and your son."

The woman looked puzzled but continued to smile, "A thank you? Why?"

"I saw what your son did for that man. I saw that he made a sandwich for him? A very nice gesture." Ragnar looked at the boy and grinned. The boy returned his expression.

"Oh, yeah. He has been asking me to do that for a week now. We made a point of finding him today in order to help him out."

Ragnar stooped down onto one knee. "What's your name young man?"

The boy looked at his mother and she smiled and said, "Tell him your name."

"Gabe," he breathed loudly in some surprise at being addressed.

Ragnar could tell the boy was nervous so he took the lead. "Well, Gabe, I think you did a really good thing today. I was hoping that you might accept a small reward as a thank you." Ragnar fished the two bills and two quarters from his pocket and held them out in the palm of his hand in front of the boy. "If it's alright with your mom, that is." Both Gabe and Ragnar looked up at woman pushing the stroller.

"Be sure to say thank you," Gabe's mother reminded him.

Gabe reached out and took the money from Ragnar's hand. Ragnar slightly bowed to the boy as he returned to his feet. As he looked up from the boy to his mother a seriousness took hold of him. "The man you gave the sandwich to?" Ragnar started with the expectation of finishing his sentence but adding a pause to allow Gabe's mother to realize what was to follow might be important. "He has a history of mental problems. Sometimes he is violent. I wouldn't want you or your family to suffer any . . . accidents around him."

"Oh!" exclaimed the boy's mother. Gabe was too busy looking at the money to understand the gravity of the conversation.

"Just be careful around him."

"Ok." The woman looked as if she was about to ask for more details and then thought better of it. "We will. Thank you."

"It was a pleasure meeting you all." And with those words to conclude their conversation Ragnar's smile returned just before he wheeled around and walked briskly in the opposite direction.

4

He paused at the edge of the park before moving to retrieve his bag. There were no police, no angry shouts, nothing extraordinary. He looked for the bum but did not see him. He found his things exactly where he had stashed them. He unzipped the bag and placed his jacket within, alongside his skates. He sat down for a few minutes wondering what had happened to him. He had never reacted so violently to anyone before. Other than a playground fight in elementary school, he couldn't think of a time he had ever injured another man outside of a judo match. He began to feel guilty about his actions, but when he refocused his thoughts on Gabe's generosity being literally tossed onto the ground his guilt ebbed considerably. He hoisted his equipment bag over his shoulder and headed back to the arena to find his team. They had already departed without him, so he walked back to the hotel.

When he arrived, he made a short detour into the men's room located off the lobby in order to clean up his appearance. A smile began to creep across his face as he considered how he had repurposed the bum's funds. He caught his reflection in the mirror and noticed that he had a smirk on his face which he promptly erased. He combed his hair back in place before washing his face and hands. The attendant watched his behavior with mild interest. He thought to himself, "How old is this kid?"

"Something good happen to you today sir?"

"No and yes," Ragnar replied.

The attendant was intrigued by his response, "Well, you seem to be pleased by something."

"Our hockey team lost its playoff game today."

"I'm sorry sir," he said with apprehension that he might have opened a recent wound.

"In turn I found something."

"What is that sir?" he asked as he handed Ragnar a towel to dry his hands and face.

"An appreciation for what the world really is." With that, Ragnar thanked the man, gave him a dime and strode out of the bathroom back into the hotel lobby.

Back in the lobby, he found himself thinking of his father. He approached the hotel bar and squeezed his way between two men in suits comfortably resting on their stools. The bartender looked at him and, after a short pause, asked, "What can I do for you, son?"

"I would like a glass of scotch . . . on the rocks." Ragnar had always heard his father order this drink whenever he took occasion to enjoy a drink.

Again, another person today was looking at Ragnar as if trying to figure out some kind of puzzle. "Are you sure, kid?"

Ragnar pulled a dollar from his wallet, plunked it onto the bar and said, "On the rocks."

Ragnar only smiled at the gentlemen. His blue eyes made it difficult for the bartender to not take him seriously.

The two business men sitting on either side of him turned their attention to the developing transaction. The bartender looked down at the money. An arch developed in each of his brows. He turned around and removed a dark bottle of liquid from the top shelf. He took a short glass from the counter and dropped in a large chunk of ice. An amber-colored liquid poured smoothly out of the bottle and over the ice into the glass. The bartender grabbed a small napkin and placed it in front of Ragnar and then set the glass on top. All three of the gentlemen looked at Ragnar as he picked up his drink and took it over to a table near the lobby fireplace.

Ragnar sat down in a comfortable chair near the warmth of the fire. The hotel had built the fireplace as a beautiful enhancement of the lobby's ambiance, but, to Ragnar, it was a subconscious reminder of home. He felt the heavy glass in his hands. He had never consumed alcohol before. On occasion he had enjoyed a beer or two with his friends, but the idea of drinking liquor just never really appealed to him. Tonight he wanted a drink. He was reminded of his father and he felt that enjoying this beverage was a small way of being with his dad.

He lifted the glass to his lips. He could smell the smokiness and the alcohol. As the glass touched his lips he could feel the cool liquid creep up the side of the glass and spill over his bottom lip. The sensation was both wonderful and horrible at the same time. It made him feel strong and old. But he did not like the taste much. He put the glass down, aware that eyes were still on him. He looked back at the men at the bar and they turned away from his gaze – all were aware they had invaded his privacy. Eventually he finished the drink. It grew easier as the minutes passed. The melting ice mellowed the taste and he took each subsequent sip as a kind of experiment – trying to wrap his mind around the flavor and the experience. The whole time he thought about the significance of the day.

He finished his drink and headed up to his room. When he opened the door Drake was sitting on his bed reading a book.

"Where've you been?"

Ragnar detected an authentic note of concern in his question. "I needed to think about a few things."

Drake knew his friend would not want to talk about the game. "What kind of things?"

"I'm still not sure myself, but I know that I am done playing hockey." The effect of the alcohol was beginning to sap Ragnar's energy. Ragnar reached for the switch and doused the light that shone over his bed. He told his friend he was tired and, for the first time that Drake could remember, Ragnar lay down on his bed and drifted off to sleep immediately.

Upper Classmen

1

A fold of light cut across the dormitory's common room where Ragnar sat with his cup of coffee reading the local news. Drake, dressed in a white t-shirt and khaki pants, slowly made his way into the kitchen passed him; struggling to get his eyes open and working properly. "Hey," he mumbled to Ragnar as he strode across the floor to grab his own mug.

Ragnar never looked up from his paper but managed to acknowledge his friend with a soft grunt. Ragnar was already prepared for school. He was wearing similar pants, but he also wore a white button-down, long sleeve dress shirt with a dark blue sweater vest. He was clean shaven, but his hair still remained in the familiar loose blond curls. Ragnar was one of those people that always seemed to be awake. Last to go to bed and first to rise in the morning. Rarely did he give the impression that this schedule wore on him. He was never tired, or if he was he never showed it.

His friend took a seat in the chair across from him and sipped his coffee quietly while peering over his cup to see what Ragnar might be reading. Ragnar rarely spoke first and would need a prompting question if Drake expected any kind of dialogue. "What's going on in the world today?" Drake sat through an awkward pause before his Ragnar rustled the papers onto the table in something just short of frustration.

"It seems like the same story every day. Some country complaining about the actions of another. They think they're not doing something the other side says they are. It keeps escalating until eventually something does happen and we all stand around acting surprised. If they are upset by the advances and abilities of another nation, maybe they should do something to improve their own position in life without trying to bring down everyone else."

Drake didn't really have a response to that, so he finished his coffee and quietly read the pages of Ragnar's paper that were visible to him from the other side of the table.

Ragnar suddenly exclaimed, "Can I borrow your radio?"

"It's not working you know." Drake replied both surprised at the nature of the request as well as the abruptness of Ragnar's outburst.

"Yes, I know. I'd like to take it to my physics teacher to see if he can help me fix it. Would that be ok with you?"

Drake had reported that the radio was no longer working to Ragnar at the beginning of the school year when they had regrouped as roommates. "I guess that would be fine. I have no real use for it. Maybe you can fix it for us?"

"I hope so."

Drake returned to his room to ready himself for school.

Ragnar showed the radio to John and Francisco. Both had seen transistor radios before and Francisco owned one himself. After a short discussion amongst themselves, Dr. Stadler approached the three in the lab to see what they were finding so interesting.

"How does a radio work, professor?" Ragnar inquired as he held the broken appliance out to his instructor.

Dr. Stadler spent the next thirty minutes discussing the simple properties of radio waves and how a transistor is capable of acting as a switch or an amplifier. John and Francisco thanked their professor for the primer but Ragnar continued to ask questions of him.

"Can you help me make a radio wave? Can we fix this radio? What else can we do with a transistor?" He fired off in rapid succession.

"I suggest you read some of the research papers I have in my office if you would like more information. When you are ready to perform some kind of experiment, see me about procuring the materials. As for fixing the radio…" he paused to consider his own interest in the project, "that will be entirely up to you."

2

Ragnar honored his conviction to quit the hockey team. He and Drake, along with four other upperclassmen, disappeared from the ice rink at PHU forever. Drake could always be counted on for solidarity. Ragnar's departure from the sport yielded a newfound gusher of free-time for him to explore his personal interests. Within a few weeks, Ragnar had read enough to feel as though he had a fundamental understanding of wave-form communication. He asked Dr. Stadler to gather the materials so that he could attempt to build a simple radio. He found the construction to be fairly easy once he understood the process and had the needed parts.

One afternoon when he returned from his classes, he ran into Drake. "Hey, I have managed to replace your radio!" he said baiting his friend.

"Replaced? I thought you were going to fix it," Drake said feeling Ragnar was up to something suspicious.

"I still hope to fix it but, for now, I can give you a replacement," he said with a smile. "Want me to show it to you?"

Drake hesitated before he slowly answered, "OK." He waited for something to happen, but Ragnar only continued to smile. "Show it to me."

"It's in the lab," he added. "Come on, I'll take you to it."

Fifteen minutes later Ragnar showed Drake his work bench. There was a giant piece of plywood with all kinds of wires, dials, speakers, and electronic parts that Drake knew nothing about. "Well, what do you think? It should probably go on your side of the room though," he laughed. "Your bed is big enough to hold it."

"What? What should go on my side? Is this thing a radio?" Drake exclaimed in disgust at the idea of putting something so hideous and large on his bed. It was large enough to cover his entire mattress. "That's the radio?" Again he asked trying to figure out Ragnar's mystery.

"Yeah! It'll pick up two stations too!" Ragnar knew his jest was coming to an end soon. But he was excited at the idea that he had built a working radio. "It works! Wanna hear it?"

At this point Drake knew this was more of a show and tell and not really a replacement for his radio. And he was interested in the idea that the mess in front of him could produce anything other than an electric shock. "Cool. Turn it on."

Ragnar moved around to the other side of the table and attached a wire to a large battery. Drake noticed the crackling sound that came from the speaker as Ragnar made the connection.

Ragnar pointed down in front of Drake. "OK, now turn that black knob in front of you."

He grabbed the small dial and began to twist it clockwise. In seconds he could hear the static begin to clear and a voice came over the speaker. It was a news program about the daily events happening in Cincinnati. Impressed, Drake's smile grew into a full grin as he nodded to his roommate. "Very cool!"

"I'm going to start working on your radio next," Ragnar stated hopefully.

"Until then, this will definitely have to go on your side of the room." He laughed.

At which point Ragnar turned up the volume on his make-shift radio until it was uncomfortably loud. "What?!" He yelled over the noise.

"Your side." Drake answered back while pointing at him.

"You're right?" Ragnar asked, pretending to misunderstand his friend. "Can't hear you," he yelled back.

"I SAID…" Drake started to yell. At that point Ragnar pulled the wire off the battery silencing the room. "It's great." Drake finished in a more conversational tone.

"Thanks, I think it's amazing. Thank you for letting me borrow your radio."

"Come have dinner with me and my family tonight." Drake offered as a celebratory reward.

"Really? What's your mom cooking?"

"Meatloaf, I think. Mom says she is gonna make it with fish. She thinks you'll like it better if it's Norwegian style."

"That sounds terrible. We don't eat that back home!"

Drake assumed a wounded look, "My mom's really going to be hurt if you don't come try it at least. She said she made it just for you."

"Uhhh. Well." Ragnar didn't know what to say. Usually Drake's mom was a pretty good cook. He remembered telling Drake's family that they ate a lot of fish back in Norway but he could not recall ever suggesting that a fish-loaf should ever be attempted.

"I'm just kidding," Drake finally alleviated his friend's stress. Dinner is at seven. My dad can pick us up."

A smile returned to Ragnar's confused face. "Are you coming back to the dorms tonight?"

"No, my mom and dad are having some friends over and I thought I would hang out. You want to stay with us too."

"No, that's OK. I have lots of stuff to do. I was just wondering." Ragnar reflected back on his first meeting with Drake and how he was supposed to be learning to live on his own. It seemed to him that Drake probably spent more time with his parents than on campus.

"Well, he can take you back to the dorms if you like."

"We'll figure something out."

They both returned to their dorm minus the behemoth radio.

That evening Ragnar enjoyed a home-cooked meal with his roommate's family. They all discussed his experiment and everyone was interested on how he made a radio. Ragnar tried to explain it to them but he was still struggling to understand it himself. His inability to articulate the basics made him rethink his plans to move forward with fixing Drake's radio.

3

The following Saturday Ragnar, Francisco and John gathered around a redwood picnic table in Dr. Akston's back yard. The three agreed to their mentor's change in venue for their weekly meetings when Dr. Akston became concerned about the boys' declining weight. Akston had seen this happen countless times before to many students. Students often developed poor eating habits due to being away from home, unusual school and sleep schedules, anxiety, and economic hardship. For the three friends, it was a direct result of being completely immersed in their education during every waking second; none of the boys saw eating as any kind of priority. Dr. Akston requested that the boys meet at his home in order to make sure, that under his watch, they got at least one plentiful, calorie-filled meal.

Today, Dr. Akston, who's culinary skills surprised his students, had prepared fried chicken, freshly baked biscuits, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes and some watermelon for desert. It was not unusual for the three friends to be found at his home for several hours and Dr. Akston made every effort to make sure food was in easy reach during their lengthy discussions.

Originally, the meetings with their professor were intended to augment the education they received in his courses. The graduate-level philosophy classes were well above their initial knowledge, and the three benefitted from Dr. Akston filling in those gaps. Now, however, their gathering had taken on a familiar, colligate quality where they exchanged ideas and discussed the world around them from differing philosophical viewpoints.

They often discussed topics that came up in class, but sometimes they would talk about politics, life on campus, a particular object of art, music, language, other civilizations, or their own personal concerns and troubles.

The sun was warm, and during a break in the conversation Ragnar took the opportunity to get his question into the minds of those he respected the most. "Professor, I have been struggling with something in my studies and I would like your perspective," Ragnar stated abruptly.

None of the boys were afraid to state their weaknesses. They saw the value in turning them into strengths earlier in their lives rather than later – or never.

"It's your English class isn't it?" Francisco joked while trying to imitate Ragnar's slight, but perceptible Norwegian accent.

"Actually, it isn't a class exactly. You know I have been working to build a radio and I've been successful in making it work. I've been experimenting with it, but, ultimately, I feel like I don't really understand it. I tried to explain how it worked and I struggled to do so in any meaningful way."

"I think you know how they work," John interjected with a look of dismay at his friend's lack of confidence in himself.

"No. It's not that. It's just when I explain it I'm talking gibberish to someone that doesn't already know about sine waves, amplitude and frequencies. It makes me think that I understand it from a narrow or singular point of view. I don't believe I completely understand it if I can't explain it."

Akston put a cigarette out into an ashtray sitting next to his half-empty glass of iced tea. He looked at Ragnar silently for a few seconds. He stood up, walked across his small lawn to a rose bush and plucked a white rose from a tall stem. He brought it back to the table while the three watched – wondering what lesson he would impart. He took his place back at the table and continued his silence while he held the rose out in front of him for all to gaze at. An awkward silence began to build and the boys began looking at one another wondering what to do or say. Akston slid the rose under the table, out of sight, on his lap.

"Tell me about a rose," he asked his guests.

"It's white," said Ragnar

"Not always," Francisco was quick to add, "I am partial to the red ones."

John smiled at the idea that Francisco liked them. He believed Francisco's appreciation was more likely due to the results of giving them as gifts to the women in his life. "They smell nice," he contributed.

"The petals are soft and have a velvety feel to them," Ragnar said.

"Are they dangerous?" Akston asked.

"Well, I guess . . . in a way. They have thorns."

"What are thorns?" Akston smiled with a question he clearly knew the answer to.

"Sharp, pointy outgrowths on the stems," Ragnar answered.

John and Francisco were content to watch Ragnar work through his question with their professor. It was quite entertaining when Dr. Akston would single out a specific person for a discussion.

"What if I were to tell you that you were all wrong? What if I told you that that flower is actually Rosa Carolinae – a woody perennial with epidermis-derived prickles along a long stem terminating in a green sepal supporting a tight, white grouping of petals?" Akston finished and looked directly at Ragnar.

"I would disagree with you. The way we described the rose was accurate."

"So was mine. What is the difference in our two roses?"

"You described a rose with technical terms and, in the process, removed much of the feeling we associate with the flower – the smell, the beauty, the cultural significance. We described the rose as we saw it, simply, with common language."

Dr. Akston brought the rose back into everyone's view. He held it with both hands; his elbows rested comfortably on the top of the table. "Do you think if I described the rose in the same manner to the same people you explained your radio to – do you think they would have a clear picture of what I was talking about?"

"No," Ragnar said. Francisco and John each shook their head in agreement.

"Part of understanding nature, or your experiments with it, includes understanding what others know and how they would relate to you, to nature or to your experiments. Perhaps you need to understand it better in their terms in order to explain it to them and to you," Akston handed the rose to Ragnar and then lit another cigarette.

John grew excited and said, "You mean that in order to help them understand, we need to speak in a language or use terminology they can relate to."

Dr. Akston raised his left eyebrow, "Perhaps. They may never relate to you and your words. Most individuals need to spend time in a place where the environment or actions actually touch them in some meaningful way. You've heard the adage, Walk a mile in my shoes. That is the truest way to help others understand what you are trying to teach. Until that time everything is theoretical –possible –easily dismissed –their biases and preconceived notions battling every effort to alter their existing belief structure. Produce a ghost for me," Akston pointed a finger at himself, "and I'll show you a man that has changed his fundamental perceptions of the world. But I think I have gotten us off track with Mr. Danneskjӧld's initial question. To that, I would say, perhaps you don't fully understand the nature of the science you are experimenting in. Try looking at it from another point of view and I think you will find what you are looking for."

Ragnar put the flower beneath his nose and inhaled deeply. The luxurious scent made him think of his mother, father, and the three people seated around the table with him. He wasn't sure what to do next or how he was supposed to follow Dr. Akston's cryptic advice, but he resolved to master the basic aspects of the science surrounding his experiments.

Hidden Success

At the start of his senior year, Ragnar had decided to pursue his interests in communications. He was able to broadcast his own voice across the campus to his dorm room. Drake was always willing to assist him and made notes on what he heard and the quality of the sound. Ragnar would use his notes to better refine his broadcasting techniques or compare equipment prototypes that he was designing.

One day, while hunched over his workbench in the lab, Dr. Stadler approached him. "How's it coming Ragnar?"

"Kind of boring I guess. I have played with this and all I'm really doing is tweaking the basic platform."
"That is because, up to now, you have just been experimenting with the concepts that already exist. A true scientist will look to advance the principles or look at things that cannot be done and figure out a way to do them. Let me ask you this question: Why did you show me the radio?"

"I guess it was because it was something I didn't understand."

"There are many things we don't understand. Why did you choose the radio specifically?"

Ragnar had not really thought about why. It just occurred to him that he was interested in the technology. It was something new and something that he was inherently drawn to. He tried to remember his first conversation with Dr. Stadler on the matter. What was he thinking? What was he feeling?

"I wanted to know the trick," he finally said.

Stadler looked at his student and tilted his head a little as if to suggest there must be something more.

"To me, the idea that a little box could communicate with us something as wonderful as news, or a baseball game, or music was like . . ." he paused as he searched for a word that he didn't think would upset his teacher. Finding none, he added with his hands turned up as if he were making an offering to his mentor, "Magic."

Stadler just stood there clearly expecting his protégé to continue.

"I know there is no such thing as magic. But when we don't understand something, it always seems like that. Supernatural or magic, right? And, for me, I guess this magic was something that I was interested in. Not much more than that. Sort of like a card trick versus cutting a woman in half. I am much more intrigued by the process of sawing a woman in half than I am relocating a card from a deck. So I guess what I am trying to say is that the concept interests me more than other things I have been exposed to."

Stadler finally responded, "Right. OK. So when you know that cutting a woman in half is merely an illusion, the trick looks simple once you understand how the deception is played on the audience. How does that make you feel?"

"Like a fool sometimes. Other times I feel like I am able to figure it out on my own."

"But what can you do with the knowledge once you have it?"

"Nothing really."

"That is because you have chosen not to do anything with it. Try coloring outside the lines. Use that newly understood knowledge to better yourself, better the trick, or apply it to something unrelated that no one else has thought of. That is what you need to do with your radio. Now that you understand the existing technology, do something with it. If you want a challenge let me give you one. What frequencies have you been working with?"

"Usually 80 to 100 megahertz."

"Have you considered working outside of that range for instance?"

"Actually, I have considered it, but I couldn't think of what to do."

"I have only one word for you Ragnar. Experiment." And with that Professor Stadler turned and strode off leaving Ragnar wondering what to do next.

For the remainder of his time at Patrick Henry, Ragnar had set his sights on making sound visible. He remembered how his first introduction to the physics of sound included seeing a string vibrate at different frequencies. He decided to pursue a way to use much higher frequencies to paint pictures of objects. He spent hundreds of hours in his lab adjusting all kinds of parameters in an attempt to create imagery in three dimensions. His favorite experiment attempted to somehow make an apple appear either in the air or water. He applied different combinations of frequencies, sometimes using multiple sources from multiple directions. Just before the end of the year, Dr. Stadler visited him again in his lab.

"I suspect you have not been successful in your investigations," Stadler said with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"No. Nothing exciting at all. I have been able to make ripples in different mediums but nothing close to what I was attempting to do."

"What were you attempting to do?"

"I was trying to make an apple appear in mid-air."

The answer intrigued Stadler and his whole demeanor changed. He moved in closer to Ragnar and his workbench in an attempt to see what he was doing. "Show me."

"There is nothing to show you. I cannot make it happen."

"Of course there is. Many, many failures occur before a success can be counted on. Show me your current process of testing."

Ragnar demonstrated to his teacher how he would point various high-frequency emitting antenna at an apple and look for some kind of "reflection" in the container of water or air-space nearby. After a minute of waving devices around and adjusting multiple dials on his workbench, Ragnar picked up the apple and bit a huge chunk out of the center. "See? Nothing," he mumbled out of the corner of his overstuffed mouth.

"You might be surprised by what you have discovered."

Ragnar thought for a moment that his professor was being uncharacteristically kind in his praise.

"It has been a pleasure having you in my classes Ragnar. I look forward to your many discoveries in the future." And with that, Stadler performed an about-face and left.

Ragnar was confused by the last fifteen minutes. He finished chewing his apple and then looked down at his bench. He studied it for another minute looking for something of value. Eventually boredom took over so he killed the light above his area and returned to his room.

At the end of the semester Ragnar reflected on all he had studied in Dr. Stadler's lab. He had learned how to receive many radio frequencies across several spectrum. He was able to broadcast on many of those frequencies and he dismissed the idea that he had discovered a frequency range that no one else was utilizing precisely because no one else was using it. Despite his many different attempts, however, he was never able to produce anything resembling a three dimensional image of an apple.

Helios

1

Patrick Henry University arranged for a luncheon in celebration of its graduates. It was an annual event that was more of an opportunity for young men and women to socialize than much else. However, companies sometimes visited the function for one of two reasons. Some attended in order to pique the interest of the new graduates. They set up booths and gave away trinkets in hopes that some of the graduating class would remember them when considering their employment options. Others attended in order to have a chance to speak directly with individuals that they were interested in recruiting.

Ragnar didn't much like social events. He was more at home either in his lab or reading a good book. He forced himself to mingle with a few of the other students, but found himself rejoining his best friends. He was sipping from a cup of fruit punch and having a conversation with John and Francisco when a man wearing a nicely tailored suit and supported by a black wooden cane stepped between them.

"Excuse me gentlemen, but Mr. Danneskjӧld, may I have a word with you?" the man said.

John, and Francisco stepped away from their friend in the direction of the hors d'oeuvres table in order to afford him a small amount of privacy.

"My name is Charlie Storrs. I was contacted by one of your professors who believes you might be a valuable asset for our team."

"That's true."

The man laughed at Ragnar's boldness. "How do you know that you are right for us? I haven't even told you what we do or how we could use you?"

"Because I would be an asset to any company that saw fit to hire me. And, if one of my professors contacted you about me, I presume that they would not have done so unless they saw a valuable exchange on both party's part."

"Yes . . . well . . . essentially, you are correct. I was hoping you would agree to meet at a more comfortable location to discuss our proposal a little more in-depth?"

"When and where would be convenient for you?"

"How about tonight? At Bistro Sixty4? At, say seven o'clock?"

As a financially strapped student, Ragnar had never eaten at Bistro Sixty4. It was one of the Cleveland's most exclusive restaurants, and he expected that one day he would be able to afford such dining excellence. He grew excited at the idea of stepping on the path towards his future. "Yes sir. Seven o'clock," he said with certainty.

"Wonderful! Please feel free to bring a friend if you like. We will be joined by my partner. You are familiar with Bistro Sixty4?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"No, thank you, Mr. Danneskjӧld. We'll see you tonight." Charlie shook Ragnar's hand, pivoted on his cane, and then exited the room.

John and Francisco returned to their friend's side as soon as they saw the stranger depart. Ragnar looked calm but both of them knew him well enough to know that he was bubbling inside.

"What was that all about?" Francisco asked with John smiling alongside.

"This is the greatest country on earth!" he whispered loudly to his friends. A look of joy matched his friends' expectation.

"We know. Our futures are limitless," John said.

"That guy just offered me a job." Ragnar explained.

"We figured," Francisco grabbed his friend's shoulder. "Congratulations!"

"I don't have the job yet. In fact, I don't even know if I want it . . . I don't know what the job is."

John laughed and said, "What do you know?"

"I know that I am a valuable person and if this company wants me they will have an opportunity to show me why I should come and work with them," Ragnar offered proudly.

2

Ragnar mused how strange it was to be formally called Mr. Danneskjӧld by someone. He thought to himself, "I must be all grown up now," and snickered out loud. He gave consideration to his new plans for the evening. Who should he bring? What should he wear? He wanted to give a good impression to his potential, new employers. He had no girlfriend, and the idea of being accompanied by just any girl didn't sit well with him at such an important event in his life. He decided that he would go alone.

Late in the afternoon he polished his shoes, showered, shaved and trimmed his nails – the last because he could almost hear his mom telling him to do so. He smiled at the memory. He went into his closet and pulled out his only suit; a dark, almost black suit. It was a little small on him. He had managed to grow another inch while away at college and the pant legs exposed his ankles. He hoped that by wearing black socks it would be less noticeable. He selected a white dress shirt that had been recently pressed and pulled a grey tie from a hangar as well. He had his tie draped around his shoulders when he caught a glance of himself in the mirror. He thought he looked more prepared for a funeral than an interview so he called his friend.

"Drake, it's Ragnar."

"Hey Ragnar! How are you?"

"Pretty great. I have an interview this evening. I was hoping that you might loan me a little nicer tie than the one's I have. You know . . . something . . . business-like, I guess?"

"Absolutely, come on over. I am here all night waiting on my parents to return from their vacation."

"Can I come over now? I don't want to be late. My appointment is at seven."

"Sure, where are you meeting them?"

"Bistro Sixty4."

"Wooo. Swank. Well, you better get over here then."

"Thanks buddy! I'll be there in about 15 minutes."

"See ya."

Ragnar hung up the phone and then returned his grey tie to a hanger in his wardrobe. He took one more look in the mirror and decided that he looked decent enough. He exited the dorm and hesitated for a moment. The skies were beginning to cloud and the air smelled of rain. So, before he left, he went back into his room and grabbed an umbrella – just in case.

Ragnar arrived at Drake's parent's home and knocked on the large door.

Drake immediately let Ragnar in smiling at his old roommate. He hadn't seen him in more than a month.

"Hey, so tell me about this company!" He was excited to talk about both of their futures.

"Sorry, I have a cab waiting for me outside."

"Oh, OK. Come upstairs and pick out anything you like. I'll show you what I have."

Drake led Ragnar upstairs to his room. He opened his closet door and showed Ragnar a dozen ties to choose from.

"Which one do you think I should wear?"

"I think, based on the fact that you look like someone died, you should pick one that will make you stand out. Maybe the red one," Drake offered his friend a bright red tie with single, small white diamond shape in the middle.

Ragnar had no real opinion either way and he trusted his friend in this matter. "I need to go, sorry."

"We'll talk about it later. Good luck!" Drake cried after Ragnar as his friend sprinted down the stairs and out to the waiting taxi.

3

Ragnar arrived at Bistro Sixty4 exactly at seven o'clock. He paid the driver and a valet at the entrance opened the cab door. He stepped out and took a moment to appreciate that his future was about to begin. As he approached the entrance he was impressed immediately by the opulence. The stone masonry gave the small building a much larger appearance – like a tiny castle. The large dark, teak doors with wrought metal hinges continued the theme. Two men, dressed in all black, pulled on the heavy iron handles in order to grant him passage. Fresh flowers were arranged along the entryway leading up to the hostess. She was smartly dressed and welcomed him as soon as he made eye contact with her.

"I have an appointment with someone here at seven?"

"Your name sir?"

"Ragnar Danneskjӧld."

"Yes sir. Your party is already here. Follow me."

The fact that the hostess knew his name and his purpose filled him with a sense of pride. She led Ragnar through the restaurant towards a more private area near the rear of the building. He noticed that it was quieter – away from the kitchen and the piano player. As he was shown his table, he immediately recognized Mr. Storrs who stood up to greet him and shake his hand.

"Good to see you again Mr. Danneskjӧld."

"Same here, sir."

"I'd like to introduce you to my wife – Caroline."

Ragnar reached across the table and offered his hand to her."

She obliged him with a moderately firm handshake.

"She also happens to be my partner in our business."

Ragnar's eyebrows lifted a little at this news, "Ma'am," he said acknowledging her as he took his seat along with Mr. Storrs.

"Will anyone be joining you tonight?" Charlie asked.

"Uh, no sir. Just me."

The steward stopped by the table and asked if anyone would like a drink. Charlie looked at Ragnar for a sign that he might order something. When he did not, he asked the steward to have the sommelier pay them a visit.

He came almost immediately and Charlie ordered a bottle of wine for their table. Ragnar had no skills at ordering such things and was grateful to his host for making the decision. The sommelier brought out a dark bottle, opened it and then poured a small amount into a glass for Charlie to taste. He nodded his approval and each was poured a glass.

"Let me better introduce myself, Mr. Danneskjӧld. You know my name but I do not think you know much more about me or my company. Would that be accurate?"

"It would."

"Five years ago I was a captain on one of the many cargo ships that ferried goods up and down the eastern seaboard. Some of my routes were dangerous due to the underwater hazards off shore. Our ships were frequently required to take a detour completely around these hazards in order to avoid catastrophic damage to the ships. I began to modify the sonar system on my ship in an attempt to map these areas. I hoped that I might be able to cut down on shipping time and improve our bottom line. I had a small amount of success, but the company I worked for did not believe this would be a valuable return on the time I was spending – trying to make a go of it. I felt very strongly that this would be a huge financial advantage if I could perfect it. So, I took what money I had managed to save for the family and I invested in myself.

"I launched my company, Storrs Echographics, after I bought a small boat and some old sonar equipment. We built an office in Cincinnati. Then we began the process of trying to map areas that were considered off limits to any ship with a hull draft greater than twelve feet. The company has been successful. We have thirty-six employees, most scattered around the world replicating my efforts in other shipping lanes. Dr. Stadler is an old friend of mine. He knew of my efforts and he also was aware of your studies in school. He told me about your experiments working with high frequency sound to improve communications."

"That did not prove to be effective," Ragnar interrupted.

"No, they did not; at least according to Dr. Stadler. However, I believe you were on the right track, but for the wrong purpose. Suppose you were to take your research and apply it to sonar in an attempt to improve our imaging? Currently mapping these areas is time consuming, inefficient and costly. When we do make an effort the results are less than optimum. We have to scan and rescan the same areas in order to get something of a clear picture of what is below. I think that you might be able to provide the link we are missing. Does this make sense to you?"

Ragnar hadn't really considered this before. He was interested in radio and television signals. He had spent all of his time in the lab trying to enhance that segment of the technology. He hadn't thought of sonar at all. "It does make some sense. It might be possible I suppose."

"We would like you to think about working with us. We'll give you the time and resources to try and improve what we are currently doing. There are others that are beginning to compete with us, and we need an advantage over them in order to maintain our lead in the industry."

Ragnar and the Storrs continued their discussions over a delicious French dinner. Ragnar had no idea what the tab would have been, but he was confident that it would take him many weeks to pay it off. The Storrs had asked about his past in Norway, about his mother and father, and about how he liked America and his studies at the university. He asked them how they had met each other. It turned out that Charlie Storrs had met his wife when looking for someone to manage the financial side of his business. He had been employing her as a temporary assistant while he searched through dozens of applicants for someone that matched his intelligence and ambition. The hiring search took a long time and he kept leaning more and more on her to help him out. She was always prompt and courteous and found ways to save him money. She hadn't treated her job as temporary. Eventually, he saw her for the jewel that she was. He invited her to hire on as his accountant and within a short amount of time, he realized that her business acumen was not the only thing he found attractive. A year later, they were married and he made her a full partner. They had never had any children as they both worked tirelessly on growing Storrs Echographics.

Charlie brought the conversation back to its intended purpose. "That's sort of our story. We are a mid-sized company headquartered right here in Cincinnati with six international offices. I'd like to think we have a small-company-feel, but we have big ideas about growing the company into a premier oceanic navigation and cartography vendor that no other company could hope to compete with. We think that you might be part of those plans."

Ragnar looked seriously at both Charlie and Caroline, "It has been an enlightening evening."

"Take some time and consider this opportunity. I am sure you will have other folks interested in your abilities, but I am confident that we can provide a fertile environment to engage you."

The entire table stood up in order to make their goodbyes. Ragnar, again reached across the table to Mrs. Storrs. She softly shook his hand again, but this time spoke a few more words, "Thank you for meeting with us. I am sure you and my husband will become invaluable to each other if you can come to an agreement."

As he began to look towards the front of the restaurant and the exit, his eyes were transfixed by a wondrous sight. A few tables away sat a woman like no other he had ever seen. He was actually angry with himself for not having noticed her before, but with his back to her for the entire evening, it would have been impossible to see her. She sat at a small table with a young man about her age. He was wearing a tuxedo and she was wearing a stunning white gown. Her golden hair was pinned up behind her head, but a long curl hung down her neck behind her right ear and another looped lazily along her right cheek. She sat with her legs crossed while leaning back in her chair. Ragnar noticed that she was chatting with her tablemate but she looked disinterested and distracted.

". . . alright? . . . Mr. Danneskjӧld?"

"Huh?" Ragnar's attention returned to Mr. and Mrs. Storrs.

"I asked if you could let us know in a day or so. If that would be alright?"

"Sure. Yes, sir."

Charlie now saw what had stolen Ragnar's attention, "She is a beautiful woman. I can see how you might be . . . affected."

"I think I should meet her," Ragnar said mostly to himself.

"Do you know who that is?" Both Charlie and Caroline voiced this question simultaneously, and with incredulity.

"I have no idea. But she is amazing."

Charlie answered his curiosity, "That, is Miss Kay Ludlow."

Ragnar looked at him with a blank stare.

"The movie actress?" Charlie added. When Ragnar continued to look at him without recognizing what seemed obvious he shook his head and turned his palms up somewhat helplessly. "Down the River? Suspicious Motives? Any of this ring a bell with you?"

"I have not seen many movies. Too busy I guess." He looked back over his shoulder at the woman again.

"Have a good evening Mr. Danneskjӧld," Charlie laughed as he handed him his business card. "We'll talk soon."

"Yes sir. You, too. And thank you for dinner," he almost forgot to add.

4

Ragnar stepped away from his dining companions but wasn't sure what to do next. He noticed that the bar was on the same side of the restaurant as Miss Ludlow. He proceeded to head in that direction – hoping that he could get a better look at the girl occupying all of his thoughts. He approached her table and managed to hear part of their conversation. They appeared to be talking about potatoes which caused him to assume they were discussing something about their dinner. Kay looked up as he passed by. She was keenly aware that he was staring at her. She continued her talk with the man in the tuxedo, but Ragnar believed, or maybe imagined, that she had smiled at him for just a second.

He crossed the room to the bar and took a seat facing away from the girl. He tried to collect his thoughts. He had never felt like this before. Should he attempt to talk to her? What about her date, the man in the tuxedo? The bartender brought him back to earth.

"May I get you something sir?"

"Scotch, on the rocks - please." This was the second time in his life that he had felt the urge to drink.

The bartender prepared his drink. It looked identical to the drink he had two years prior. He took a sip and remembered why he struggled with the flavor. But he liked the warm feeling spreading across his chest as the liquid made its way into his stomach. At first, he tried to watch her reflection in the glass behind the bar. That provided nothing but dull shadows for him to view. He risked another look at the woman behind him. He turned in his seat and tried to be inconspicuous. When he was able to see her eyes, he immediately turned back in his chair as she caught him looking at her again. He studied his drink, took a few more sips and then downed the whole glass. Ragnar fished a few dollars from his wallet and laid them on the bar next to his empty glass. With the liquid courage working its magic inside him, he stood up and turned towards Miss Ludlow. She was not looking at him now. He began walking towards her table again. This time he looked directly at her. He felt sick to his stomach. His hands were shaking and he attempted to steady them by placing them in his pockets. Then he thought he looked ridiculous so he took them back out. He found himself standing directly beside their table, still watching her face.

"Excuse you," said the man in the tuxedo; cognizant that their personal space was being invaded.

He spoke directly to Miss Ludlow, "Hi, my name is Ragnar Danneskjӧld," he said with as much confidence as he could conjure.

"I said excuse you," he repeated, "we're having a conversation here."

"It's OK," Ragnar replied while the man looked irritated. "I couldn't help noticing that you were looking at me," he said turning his attention back to the woman.

"What would give you that idea? I'm having a great evening out with my good friend," she said while uncrossing her legs and then re-crossing them in the other direction. She shifted her weight in the chair to her other shoulder and brushed the loose hair to the side of her face.

Ragnar had done the best he could to flesh out the initial pieces of this conversation while he was enjoying his drink. "Because we haven't been able to keep our eyes off each other for the last five minutes."

She plucked an olive from her martini and bit it in half, "You presume too much."

"Listen! The lady doesn't want you bothering her no more," the man in the tuxedo said as he attempted to stand up.

Ragnar, again turned his attention to the man, "It's OK friend," he calmly replied and placed his left hand on the gentleman's shoulder in order to keep him seated. "True?" He questioned the woman.

"What? That I don't want you to bother me anymore?"

"That you can't stop staring at me," he said flatly.

"That's ridiculous," she protested, but Ragnar began to think that he was making progress. "Don't you know who I am?"

"Up until a few minutes ago I only knew of you as the most intriguing woman I have ever seen."

"People have said that I am the finest actress in America today."

"I'm certain it is true."

"How can you say that when you didn't even know I was an actress?"

"I already told you."

"What?" She was confused by him now. She wasn't sure if she was agreeing with him, or him with her.

"It only makes sense that you are an actress. I am sure that there are many other things you will divulge about yourself that will confirm my assessment of you."

She answered with a drawn-out, mocking tone, "That I'm intriguing?"

The man in the tuxedo eased into his chair at this comment, confident that Kay did not need further assistance from him. He was grateful too, as Ragnar was clearly bigger and more powerful than he would ever be.

"You are a sun among planets. They will worship you and bask in your glow. Feed off your radiance but they all know they are not your equal. You require another sun – a companion star – with which to orbit around. To support while being supported. To be your balance." Ragnar hoped that would be enough. The last part had come from all his studying. He thought it sounded hokey, but he meant it.

Miss Ludlow's countenance changed a bit. She softened. Ragnar felt as though he might have reached her. He was not famous. To everyone else, he was a nobody, but no one had ever spoken to her like that before. This man was different than any she had encountered. He seemed unfazed by her celebrity.

"How about we leave here and I give you a chance to learn a little about me?" That was it. He had put it all on the line at this point and wasn't sure what she would say. He had never hoped for something like her acceptance as badly before. He wasn't sure how he was going to take another step if she did not agree to come with him.

Kay tried to reconcile Ragnar's comments while sliding a toothpick along the inside of her martini. She wasn't offended that he didn't know her, but she felt like she should be. His slight accent and unusual persona had her intrigued. "You are a strange one Mr. . ." She wasn't sure she could remember his last name.

"Danneskjӧld," he said simply; out of words.

"I believe you should offer me your arm at this point . . . Mr. Danneskjӧld." Miss Ludlow leaned in towards her tuxedoed companion and said, "Thanks for the evening Max. I'll see you tomorrow."

Max stood up as Kay and Ragnar left the table and headed towards the exit. Then he sat down and pulled her left-over martini to his side of the table.

Charlie and Caroline saw the entire event transpire. They both watched with their mouths open when Ragnar proceeded to offer his arm to Miss Ludlow and she reached up with her left hand to accept it. They had no idea who the man in the tuxedo was, but they felt a twinge of pity for him as the two left him alone at the table.

Ragnar escorted Kay to the front of Bistro Sixty4. He retrieved his umbrella from the woman at coat check and they proceeded out of the restaurant. The advancing hours had brought darkness and a soft rain. Ragnar opened his umbrella and held it over his new friend's head as they walked down the walkway leading away from Bistro Sixty4. As they approached the street a waiting limousine pulled up to the curb and a valet opened the door for the two of them. Ragnar stopped and Kay took another couple of steps before she realized that she was getting rained on because her umbrella was being held behind her a few steps. She quickly ducked her head back under cover.

"It'll be much drier in the car," she said wryly.
"Yes, that is predictable. It is a warm evening. We should walk."

"Really," she said as more of a statement than a question.

"I promise to keep you dry."

"Uh huh," she added with a significant amount of sarcasm. She left him to think about that for a few seconds before reoffering her arm. "What should I tell my driver?"

"Tell him to pick you up at Patrick Henry University in two hours."

Kay pulled him towards the open limousine door hoping for better protection from the rain. She leaned lower and gave instructions to the chauffeur. Ragnar took the opportunity to place his hand on her waist – steadying himself as he moved the umbrella further forward to cover her head.

She stood back up, closed the door and looked for Ragnar to lead the way. He squeezed a little closer to her and proceeded to walk in the general direction of the university. They talked the entire way. She asked most of the questions though. She was curious about his name and where he was from. She asked about his studies at the university. He wanted to know about her family; mostly about her mother and father. He asked about the tuxedoed gentleman, Max.

"Max? He's just a friend of mine – a good friend. We've known each other for a few years. He is actor, and we're here filming a movie. We often go to dinner together since neither of us has the time for much else, let alone relationships."

"He seems to be a decent guy. He was trying to protect you."

"Not particularly well," she laughed.

They continued strolling along and as they crossed a bridge, Ragnar stopped to watch the boats moving back and forth beneath them. "This is what I am going to be doing soon I think."

"Watching boats?" she asked playfully.

"Helping them sail more safely. I was offered a job tonight. That's why I was at the restaurant. If I had seen you earlier, I think I might have missed that appointment." Ragnar accidentally let the umbrella fall back a little. Rain began to strike both of them in the face.

"You promised you would keep me dry!" Kay protested without any conviction at all.

"You are a sun. I am a sun. A sun does not get wet with rain," joked Ragnar as he dropped the umbrella further behind them. The rain began to pelt their shoulders and arms.

"You're the scientist," accepted Kay as they continued on.

They walked for another fifteen minutes before they caught sight of the university grounds. The rain fell harder now making it hard to see. Ragnar and Kay ran towards the arch over the entrance drive seeking shelter from the bulk of the deluge. They arrived there laughing and soaked from head to toe. Kay, now barefoot, was carrying her shoes loosely in her left hand. Ragnar pulled her around to face him and looked at her with his intense eyes. He was smiling larger than he could remember. It was the best night he had ever experienced in his lifetime. He thanked her for it with a kiss. Afterwards she looked at him a little surprised. Two lights from the limousine cast them onto a makeshift stage. The driver slowly passed by the two and pulled over by the curb a little distance away. Being a professional, he recognized there might be a need for a bit of privacy.

"My ride is here." Kay said in a sad whisper.

"When will I see you again?

"I am the sun. Remember? You'll see me every day," she teased. "By the way, that whole 'sun can't get rained on' thing . . . not true."

"I'll need to make many more observations in order to understand where I went wrong," Ragnar slyly replied.

"I need to go. I am shooting early tomorrow. I will be in town for another three weeks. You can reach me at the Sintercee Hotel. I am in room 1717 under the name Sylvia Thomas. If I am not there, leave me a message."

Ragnar reached out and held her face. He lowered his face and kissed her ever so gently. He made a point of trying to remember every bit of the sensation as it would have to hold him until he could taste her lips again.

She thanked him for an interesting evening as she turned towards her ride. "You are a sun," she scoffed at him. "Was that the best you could come up with?"

"It worked didn't it?" he stood looking at her with his shoulders shrugged.

"I guess so," she trailed off. "Good night Ragnar."

"It only worked because it is true," he shouted after her before she could close the door.

Ragnar stood in the rain absolutely euphoric.

Kay sat in the limousine astonished at what had just happened over the last couple of hours.

Ragnar returned home late that evening. His mind was whirling from all that had happened. He had been offered a position doing something that he would likely find interesting. He had an idea that the money would be good, but the challenge of trying to improve their process sounded exciting. On top of all that, he had met the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyed on. In fact, most of his thoughts were of her and not his possible future with Storrs Echographics. He laid awake well into the early morning and awoke late Saturday. He couldn't remember when he finally fell asleep. He still felt like he was dreaming. He kept asking himself if the prior night was real. There was no doubt in his mind that he had experienced a perfect day.

5

Ragnar enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and read the morning paper although his comprehension suffered due to the previous night's continuing euphoria. Afterwards he changed and went to the library to research Storrs Echographics. What he found, he liked. They were a mid-sized, but steadily growing company. Ragnar considered his other options. He could continue in academia with John. He could go to work for one of the many large engineering firms, but he felt he might be lost in their ranks. He could go back home and take a position closer to his father. In the end, he decided to attempt negotiations with the Storrs. He liked the idea of working for a company that was counting on him to use his skills in a new direction. He called Mr. Storrs and made an appointment for Monday morning. Then he called Kay's hotel and made an appointment with her for later that evening. She told him that she would be filming, but that he was welcome on the set to watch her. He agreed to find her.

That evening he watched her performance. She was a perfectionist. She knew her lines and was absolutely convincing. Max was there and came over to greet him as well. Ragnar and Kay were the gossip interest of the entire production team. They all wondered who he was. Many assumed he was a new actor on the scene, but Max was quick to assure them that he was not. They finished filming after evening turned to morning. Max, Kay and Ragnar went to an all-night café where they talked and joked about their lives.

Max eventually left to return to his hotel room leaving Kay and Ragnar to watch a Sunday morning sunrise together from a beautiful little park in the middle of downtown. The tall buildings blocked their view of the sun, but the thousands of city windows cast colorful reflections upon them as they looked up at the illuminated structures. Ragnar walked Kay back to her hotel as some of those in the city awoke and started making their way to Sunday church services. He stood on the threshold of her hotel room and kissed her. It was the ding of a bell in the elevator that brought him back to earth. "I have an appointment out of town on Monday morning, but when I return I'll come find you."

"I'll be waiting," she replied. "Good night Ragnar."

Ragnar smiled as he knew it was her way of reminding him of the time they had enjoyed together.

6

Monday morning Ragnar awoke early. His appointment was at three, but he had to take a train down to the Storrs' office. He ate breakfast and enjoyed a second cup of coffee before heading to the depot. He saved his paper for something to read on his trip.

When he arrived at Storrs Echographics he was immediately greeted by Charlie Storrs. The building was fairly small with several offices surrounding a central reception area. The office furniture looked comfortable but clearly had not been purchased with intent to impress. Charlie's office was positioned directly behind the reception area so he saw Ragnar as he entered.

"Good morning Mr. Danneskjӧld!" he said enthusiastically.

"Good morning, sir."

"Come on back here young man. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or anything?"

"No, thank you."

"Caroline?" Charlie asked loudly as she was out of sight.

"Yes hun?"

Ragnar smiled at their lack of formality.

"Mr. Danneskjӧld has arrived, would you like to join us?"

"Sure. I'll be right there."

Charlie offered Ragnar a seat and he took the one farthest from the door so that Mrs. Storrs could have the one closest.

She came in moments later and sat next to her husband.

Ragnar shook their hands and fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. He had never needed to negotiate for a job before but he decided to take the initiative and speak first. He looked Charlie in the eye and began, "I have given the position you offered quite a bit of consideration. Based on what I would like to do after graduation, I am certain Storrs Echographics would be the best fit for me. After you met with me Friday night, did you think I would be a good fit for you?"

Charlie laughed, "That meeting wasn't for me. I had already determined you were the right person for the job before I met you. It was Caroline that was interviewing you, not me." He looked at his wife momentarily with a loving smile before continuing, "I'm a horrible judge of character. She is much better at determining who is a good person and who could help achieve our goals. It was her that you needed to convince."

Ragnar thought back to the evening and didn't remember Mrs. Storrs saying very much at all, but he did remember that she observed him closely. Ragnar looked at Caroline a little taken aback.

Caroline smiled, "I told Charlie we'd be crazy not to hire you."

A look of relief spread across his face.

"I assume you have given consideration to your starting salary?" Charlie asked.

Drake had given him some advice here. He was told that he should ask something high and then settle for something less as part of the negotiating process. He knew what the average starting salary for engineers was, but he wasn't average.

"Six thousand dollars," Ragnar stated flatly. He decided to ignore Drake's advice and tell his potential employer what he was worth.

Charlie drew his hands up in front of his mouth and rubbed his chin back and forth while he drew in a deep breath. Caroline did not budge an inch. Charlie eyed Ragnar to see what he might be thinking. He kept seeing his damn eyes – fierce and unyielding. He considered accepting his demand but the amount was too much for his firm. "I just can't make that work. Not right now. We are expanding and looking to spend on R&D."

Ragnar continued to sit calmly. His brain was playing out a dozen chess moves in this game to see what he should do next. "What will work for you?" Ragnar said with a face like a tranquil pond and a voice to match, but his eyes were ablaze.

"I think I have something that might interest you. Tell me what you think of this. You hire on with me at five thousand . . . I realize that is below average," Charlie scrambled to add.

Ragnar gave no indication of what he was thinking.

"But, I will throw in flying lessons as well as twenty percent ownership in the company if you can successfully improve our process within three years."

Ragnar paused before speaking, "Flying lessons?" That was unexpected. It appealed to him more than the twenty percent ownership.

"I think I told you that we have folks in locations all over the world, although mostly on the US coasts. I have a small plane and, if you knew how to fly, you could reach these locations much cheaper and faster than flying commercial airlines."

Charlie eyed Ragnar with an expectant look on his face. It was his wife's idea to offer him the opportunity to learn how to fly. Caroline had suspected that money wasn't the only thing that made this young man tick. Charlie was quick to agree with her.

"Agreed," he answered them both. And with a smile, he stood up and shook both their hands. His thoughts of Kay had helped him accept their offer. If she was all over the world working, it might benefit him to be able to fly.

"I know that it will be another two weeks before you graduate, but you are free to come here and start work whenever you like. I have set up an office for you next to mine and we are building a laboratory of sorts over in Fort Thomas with access to the Ohio River. Whenever you feel you are ready for field testing we will have the facilities for that too."

7

It seemed so long ago to Ragnar. He had come to America and made many new friends at Patrick Henry University. So much had happened. He had grown from a boy into a capable young man. He felt empowered. He believed he could do almost anything. He believed in himself.

He waited at the central train terminal for his father to arrive. Despite his father's statement that he would visit him often while he was in America studying, he had not been once. Ragnar had only managed a single visit to see his father over the course of his time at college. This was the first time his dad would get to see where and how he had been living for almost four years.

A Taggart Express from New York was finally arriving. Ragnar looked at all the green windows hoping to catch a glimpse of his dad through them as the sleek silver cars pulled in to the station, but he was unsuccessful.

The train came to a rest and, quickly, passengers began to exit the cars and fill the station. It was his father's hat that he saw first. His father was dressed in a light gray suit and he was carrying a basic, canvas-covered suitcase. He looked tired and it forced Ragnar's memory back to when he first arrived in Ohio; how he must have looked to Major Franklin.

Ragnar and Kjell smiled at each other, and Ragnar saw that his father's eyes were tearing up. He had forgotten how much he had missed his mentor and coach as he started spilling tears of joy as well. His father reached out for him and pulled him into a strong embrace.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered into his son's ear. Kjell quickly pushed his son back but continued to hold his shoulders with both hands. He studied his son's appearance. "What happened to you? You're so skinny!" Kjell's face showed genuine concern.

Ragnar smiled, "I'm fine dad. Sometimes I get so busy I simply forget to eat."

Kjell was mostly convinced. "You sure? You haven't been sick or anything?"

"I've never felt better. Things are going great."

"OK. I'm just worried about you."

"Thanks dad. I'm fine. Promise." Ragnar's eyes flashed and he grew excited, "I'm so glad you're here. I have so much to show you."

"Can it wait for a day? I am pretty tired."

"Believe me, I know," Ragnar laughed. "Why don't I get you over to Major Franklin's home and we can have dinner tonight. I was planning on meeting you about six?"

"Better make it seven. I just need some quiet for an opportunity to lie down and actually sleep."

Ragnar nodded his head, "Got it." He hugged his father again and picked up his suitcase. The two walked to a line of taxis and took the first one.

When the two arrived at Major Franklin's home, the major was waiting for them on his porch. He sprinted out to meet them at the door of the taxi, and he pulled Kjell from the car into a massive hug. Ragnar exited the taxi after paying the driver and collecting his father's case.

The major and Kjell did not take more than fifteen minutes reminiscing. His host still remembered Ragnar's exhaustion when he had arrived in America.

They said their goodbyes and Ragnar promised to be back for him in six hours. Major Franklin showed Kjell his room. He placed his hat on top of the dresser and removed his jacket before promptly falling asleep on the bed.

Much like his son, Kjell was quickly visited by a deep sleep.

8

Ragnar returned to his dormitory and phoned Kay.

"Are you ready for tonight?" he questioned her.

"Actually, yes. I am looking forward to meeting the parent of a 'sun'," she replied impressed with her own little pun.

"That would be a nebula," he answered in a smart-ass manner.

"I am excited to meet him. Does he know that I am going to be joining you for dinner tonight?"

"No, not yet. I thought I would surprise him."

"Are you sure that is a good idea? He might be tired and he might want to just have dinner with you tonight."

"I had considered that. I am excited for him to meet you. Not to mention that you are leaving soon, and I hate to miss another evening with you."

"You're sweet. Should I pick you up at your dormitory or meet you both at your father's friend's home?"

"I thought we would meet you at the restaurant."

"I'll swing by and pick you both up," she insisted.

"Ummm…" Ragnar was going to refuse her offer but Kay cut him off.

"I'll pick you up at 7:15?"

"I'll see you then!" Kay could hear Ragnar's smile through the phone.

At six o'clock, Ragnar returned to the major's house and for the first fifteen minutes Major Franklin couldn't stop remarking how great his father had looked. It had been twelve years since they had last seen each other.

Even though he knew he would not have had an opportunity to completely recover from his trip, Ragnar entered his father's room in order to awaken him. He gently called his father several times before Kjell managed to mumble any kind of acknowledgement.

"Hmmm?" he said groggily.

"Sorry, dad. Time to wake up."

He took a deep sigh. "OK," and another long pause, "give me a few minutes."

"You're up, right?"

"I'm up. I'm up," he grumbled.

"Are you sure?" Ragnar asked half playing; half worried he might fall back asleep.

"Sure I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't leave me alone."

Ragnar grinned and ducked out of his father's room to allow him to awake at his own pace. He knew his father wouldn't let a little sleep deprivation get between him and visiting with his son. He returned to Major Franklin's family room to wait for his father to finish preparing for the evening.

9

Kjell finally appeared at a quarter to seven. He looked much better after a few hours of sleep and a hot shower. The major approached him again and gave him a long hug.

"My son hasn't gotten into any trouble has he?" Kjell joked, but Ragnar could detect a bit of seriousness in his query.

"Are you kidding me? That son of yours is a prince." He laughed and released his hold on his old friend. Let me introduce the rest of my family. You slept while they were away at school and work. This is my wife Joan."

Joan stepped forward and offered her hand to Kjell, "It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Danneskjӧld."

"Mrs. Franklin, the pleasure is all mine. I am greatly indebted to you for watching over my son and welcoming him so warmly to this country."

"Thank you," she said with a blushing smile. "He is a sweet kid."

The major motioned to a teenaged boy sitting on the couch. "And this is my youngest – Richard. He's going to graduate high school in another couple of weeks." The major nodded his head in the direction of Kjell; silently instructing his son to stand up and introduce himself to their guest.

Richard got up from the couch and sheepishly approached Kjell.

Kjell was quick to recognize adolescent, insecure behavior so he took the initiative.

"Thank you for sharing your home with me young Mister Franklin," Kjell said with respect as he reached out and shook the boy's hand.

"Nice to meet you, sir," the boy replied. He smiled at the idea of being called "mister". He couldn't remember anyone calling him that.

"Please, everyone, sit down," the major suggested. "Now, I have been waiting for this since I knew you were coming. I don't know if either of our families is aware of how we met. It is a story I have not shared with anyone but Joan."

Ragnar and Richard shook their heads, and both sat forward in anticipation of the coming story.

"During the war, I was in charge of a small platoon. We were set up in a heavily fought-over part of land along the north-western front in Germany. There were all kinds of allied troops in the area. We were often meeting and fighting alongside the British, Belgians, Americans and such. There had been a lot of intense fighting recently. I lost two men and we were supposed to be far enough away from the fighting to allow us a little rest. I was not in a particularly good mood – as you might imagine. We had sort of ended up in a collection of various other patrols that had fallen back to regroup. Your dad's group," he looked at Ragnar, "was laughing and enjoying themselves. I don't know why they were laughing . . ." He looked at Kjell for an answer.

"Don't ask me. That was far too long ago to remember. I suspect we were just blowing off steam."

"Well, blowing off steam seemed disrespectful to me at the time. I wasn't in the mood for anything except pity – I suppose. Anyway, we separated from them for a bit. Later that evening, I was walking back from taking a piss . . ."

Joan looked at him with disapproval and a tilt of her head.

" . . . I was returning from a bathroom break," he looked at Joan, "and I ran right into this guy." He cocked his thumb in Kjell's direction. "He clearly had been drinking and he was holding a bottle of something in his hand. He kept demanding that I share a drink with him. I was upset at losing my men and not in any mood to party with a drunken Norwegian. I guess I ignored him as I walked back to my patrol. He continued to follow me – the whole time telling me 'Just relax friend' and 'I love America'."

"I don't remember any of this by the way," Kjell interjected.

Ragnar looked at his father in disbelief. He had never seen his father have more than one or two cocktails. He certainly had never witnessed him drunk.

"Yes, well, Kjell follows me all the way back to our camp and just makes himself at home. He passed his bottle around to several members of my patrol and they started enjoying themselves which pissed me off more. Sorry honey," he added after knowing that would irritate his wife. "I start yelling at Kjell to get away from the camp or I was gonna beat his ass. I seem to recall you laughing at that comment. Suddenly, with a thud this thing landed in the middle of our group, right between Kjell and me. Kjell shouts 'GRENADE!' and jumps on it. My patrol bailed out as fast as they could, including me. We hit the deck waiting for the explosion and . . . the certain death of our pain-in-the-ass visitor. After a few seconds more I peeked up to see. It was dark, but there were fires in various places. I could clearly make out Kjell's face. His eyes were squinted shut and he was curled up around the grenade. After a few moments more Kjell opened his eyes and looked at me. I stood up and said don't move. I thought, maybe it was a dud or something. The odd thing – and I didn't think about it until afterwards – was that there were no other grenades or shooting or anything near us at least. I walked low and towards Kjell and told him to be still. Some of the rest of my patrol started inching their way back to the campsite wondering what happened to the explosion. I saw Kjell start to unwind from the grenade. He carefully straightened his body out and started to roll away from it when he started laughing. Can you believe it? Laughing. I thought he was delirious. He had tears in his eyes as I got closer to him. Kjell stood up and bent down to look at the grenade. He was laughing so hard now that he was having a hard time standing up. I walked up closer to him and then I saw it."

Ragnar and Richard each looked back and forth between the two men. "Saw what?!" Ragnar impatiently asked.

"You want to tell them?" the major asked.

Kjell smiled. "A pinecone," he said simply.

Richard grinned, "So you saved my dad from a pinecone?"

"Well . . . it was a big pinecone."

Now Major Franklin had real tears in his eyes. "You father was willing to sacrifice his life for a man, many men, that he had just met. Even more, he was willing to do it for a man that had wanted to beat him just a few minutes earlier."

"It was the booze talking," Kjell said slightly embarrassed.

"I don't think so. I thought I might die that night. I often tell people, that was the closest I came to being killed during the war. Even though there was no risk, I sure thought there was at the time. We all did. I never felt as close to dying as that."

Ragnar smiled at his father, but it was a funny looking smile.

Kjell felt his son was sure to use that story against him at every opportunity. He laughed. Then everyone began laughing.

The doorbell rang out at the Franklin home. "I'll get it," Richard offered as he bounded towards the front door with Ragnar close behind.

10

Ragnar greeted Kay with a kiss at the front door and then took her hand as he led her into the Franklin's family room.

"Dad, I would like to introduce you to my friend, Kay . . ."

"Ludlow." His father finished for him as he stood while smoothing out the wrinkles in his slacks.

"Mister Danneskjӧld," Kay said as she held out her hand while approaching Kjell. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Kjell just held out his hand and Kay took it in hers and began to shake it formally. Kjell had a stunned look in his eyes as he looked beyond Kay momentarily at his son smiling behind her. Ragnar hadn't been sure his father was aware of Kay's celebrity status but after seeing his reaction he was certain of it now.

"Why are you here?" Kjell asked with the idea that some kind of trick was being played on him. He could not begin to understand why a famous actress would be standing before him here in Major Franklin's home.

Everyone was smiling at the scene in front of them. All of them in on the 'joke' but Ragnar's father. "Dad, this is the woman that I have been seeing recently."

Still holding on to Kay's hands in a half-hearted handshake, Kjell looked at his son as if there was some kind of punch line to come.

"Seriously," Ragnar added.

"Seriously," Kay added too as Kjell looked back to her searching for confirmation.

"Wow. That is impressive," Kjell said as he seemed to come back to earth. "I really like your movies." He instantly felt like an idiot for saying something so cliché.

"Thank you," Kay replied with a demure but honest smile. She turned to Ragnar, "I believe it is time for us to depart for dinner?"

"Come on dad, you're gonna get her hand all wet," Ragnar jested. "Let's go eat."

Kjell was not aware he was still holding Kay's hand. He smiled and softly added his other hand as if he released her she would surely disappear. "It is truly a pleasure."

"No, sir, it is mine," she said as he relaxed his hold and she was able to take control of her hand again.

The group exited the home to the waiting limousine outside. Twice within ten minutes Kjell was shocked and not sure how to react. Ragnar opened the rear passenger door and held it open for Kay to enter. Then he motioned for his father to follow her. As he came even with his son, Kjell looked down into the large black car and grinned like a kid at Ragnar. He stooped to enter the vehicle and was quickly followed by Major Franklin and his wife. Richard was also excited to ride in Kay's limousine and gave a drawn-out "Woooow!" as he stepped inside. Ragnar followed, closing the door behind him.

Kay sat along the left side of the car and was speaking to the driver as Kjell climbed inside. He looked a little overwhelmed to Kay, so she motioned for him to sit next to her. When Ragnar stepped into the car he took the space across from Kay that Major Franklin had saved for him.

"You were so right about America Dad," Ragnar said excitedly.

"I guess so," he replied still smiling at all that had happened so quickly. "I'm very happy for you. For both of you," he corrected himself as he looked at Kay again.

The ride to the restaurant was quite a treat for Kjell. He had never ridden in such an icon of luxury. He couldn't help but accept Kay's offer of bourbon from the crystal decanter nestled amongst other bottles and a beautiful crystal ice bucket. He was surprised to see Kay also pour one for herself before closing his eyes briefly, shaking his head and thinking to himself, "Of course."

Ragnar decided to take all of them to a small diner on the east side of town. He wanted a quiet location that would foster good conversations and opportunities to catch up with their lives. Everyone ordered hamburgers, french-fries and apple pie a-la-mode. They spent several hours drinking coffee – talking into the night about Norway and Ragnar's youth, how Kay and Ragnar met, life as a university student, life in America, and a few more war stories.

Eventually the travelling and the satisfaction of a happily-enjoyed meal became too much for Kjell to overcome. Kay's driver dropped-off the Franklins and Kjell at the Major's home before she returned to her hotel room with Ragnar in tow. She was leaving for another movie location soon, and their time together had dwindled to just a few precious days. It was the first time he enjoyed a night in her bedroom.

11

Two days later Ragnar brought his father to Patrick Henry University for graduation. The weather was fantastic. A picture-perfect blue sky and unusually cool temperatures had everyone in celebratory spirits. They arrived an hour before the ceremony at his father's insistence so that he could get a good seat. Kjell was more than happy to save a seat for Kay who was running uncharacteristically late. When the time came for Ragnar to join the rest of his classmates, he left his father with a still-empty seat beside him.

Kjell initially lost his son amongst all the other graduates and the sea of family and friends that had come to witness this class's graduation. When Kay finally arrived and took the seat next to him, together they were able to locate him. His name was announced fairly early in the proceedings and Kjell was surprised to hear it pronounced perfectly. He was not aware that Ragnar had spent many evenings with Dean Schoenfield's family over the course of the last four years. Kjell stood up when his son's name was called and applauded vigorously. Kay reached into her bag and pulled out one of two gifts that she had purchased for Ragnar. It was a small silver and black camera and she used it to snap a photo of Kjell supporting his son without a care of who might see his emotional outpouring. She kept the other gift, which was wrapped in beautiful yellow paper with a dark green bow, hidden deep within her bag.

Once the commencement ceremony had completed, Kay and Kjell made their way through the mass of people to locate Ragnar on the field. They eventually found him talking with two other graduates.

Ragnar noticed the two approaching and turned to face them. "Dad, let me introduce two of my closest friends. This is John Galt," Ragnar gestured to the person on his left. "And this is Francisco d'Anconia," he motioned to the person on his right.

John and Francisco immediately stepped forward and shook Kjell's hand. "Welcome to America!" John stated excitedly.

"Thank you. It is a pleasure to meet you. From Ragnar's letters I feel as if I already know you both. Thank you for helping him." Kjell said.

"It was Ragnar that got me through my first year of physics," Francisco put his hand on his chest before slightly bowing to Ragnar's father.

"Miss Ludlow," Francisco took and kissed the back of Kay's hand never missing an opportunity to be a gentleman. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Thank you Francisco," she said although she was uncertain if Ragnar's friend was always like this or if he was just putting on a show.

Everyone was standing around smiling at each other not really sure what to do next when Kay exclaimed, "Oh! Wait! I have a camera. Let me get all of you together for a photo."

Francisco took charge. "OK. Mr. Danneskjӧld, over here on my left side along with Ragnar and John you come over here." He held both of his arms out looking like a bird while Kjell, Ragnar and John filled into the scene according to Francisco's direction. All four looked so happy as Kay snapped several photos of them. She took pictures of Ragnar with each of his friends and several with just his father. Soon, the boys' professors found them and offered their congratulations. The three boys were back in their little club again and it delighted them all that Dr. Akston and Dr. Stadler each paid them a visit.

Dr. Koenig also stopped by and had a gift for Ragnar, "I have something for you. I have wanted to give this to you ever since I met you. I do not have any real need for it and I think that you will appreciate it more than me. I have been waiting for this day forever, but now it seems like it was just yesterday." She reached inside her black robes and removed a small package. It was about twelve inches long and thin, bound in a heavy black cloth. She held it out to Ragnar with both hands.

Ragnar lifted the item and was surprised by the weight. It was cylindrical and solid. He pulled at the ribbons that secured the heavy black silk outer wrap in place. When he did, the material fell open exposing a beautifully polished black wooden object. Ragnar pulled the item out for closer observation. His friends and father moved in closer in order to get a better look at the mysterious object.

"It's a tanto. Like a dagger. From Japan."

Ragnar pulled at one end of the wooden item to expose a razor sharp gleaming blade inside.

"It's about 150 years old if I'm not mistaken. When I saw your book and watched you work on your skates I just had to give it to you," she said smiling, knowing she had made a wise choice.

Ragnar held the blade in front of him examining it; looking for signs of the craftsmanship he had been studying for so long. A single Chinese character had been etched into the steel.

"Endeavor." Professor Koenig offered after seeing the question forming in Ragnar's face.

Ragnar grew misty-eyed at the amazing gift from his teacher. He replaced the blade back in its sheath. "I shall treasure this forever. Thank you for everything you have done for me."

"You did all the hard work, Ragnar. I simply provided a place for you to work. Thank you for restoring my faith in young people," she said with a smile.

Kay took pictures of Ragnar with each of his professors and then, when it appeared that things were beginning to settle down, she handed the camera to Kjell and asked that he take a picture of her and Ragnar together. Kjell protested a little about not knowing how to take photographs, but she insisted and eventually he complied since there was no way he was going to say 'No' to Kay Ludlow. When Kjell handed the camera back to Kay, she held it out to Ragnar and said, "This is a gift from me to you. It comes with one simple string attached."

"What's that?" Ragnar asked.

"You must send me a copy of that last picture," she said grinning, "unless, of course, the brilliance of the sun ruins it."

John, Francisco and Kjell all looked at one another with confused looks while Kay and Ragnar chuckled at their little personal joke.

Kay then reached into her bag and removed the wrapped present. She handed it to Ragnar and urged him to open it. After a minute of carefully removing the paper, Ragnar found a transistor radio. It was similar to Drake's but was slightly smaller.

"Thanks Sun," he said and kissed her cheek. "It's important to remember where we came from, how we got here, and where we're going."

R&D

After graduation, Ragnar packed the few belongings he had managed to acquire and moved to an apartment in Cincinnati. It was small but met his basic needs. With little else to do with his time, he threw himself into starting his career. Nearly every waking moment was spent at Storrs Echographics. He loved the work. He loved discovering the answers to questions that hadn't been answered before. Sometimes he discovered that there were questions that hadn't been asked before.

Kay had finished filming soon after he graduated and headed back to Los Angeles. They kept in touch whenever possible. Ragnar would write letters. She would call. Being able to hear her voice and talk about what she was doing provided him a different kind of adventure than the one he was living in Ohio. She loved surprising Ragnar. Sometimes she would have a break between projects and she would walk into Ragnar's office unexpectedly. Those were the rare times Ragnar would ask his partners if he could leave a little early. She often only stayed for long weekends, but in the summer she might stay for several weeks.

Ragnar set up his office next to Charlie's and they began calling each other by their first names. The arrangement was at Charlie's insistence as he continued to struggle with Ragnar's last name. After several months Ragnar ordered the materials needed to begin development of his prototype. He started shifting a greater percentage of time to his practical lab along the riverfront. Charlie loaned him his favorite employee to be his assistant.

Marlon Henderson was an uncomplicated man and his life's routine was likewise. He was almost twice Ragnar's age and had the distinguished appearance of someone even older. He stood almost as tall as Ragnar, but was much stockier in his build. He dressed conservatively except for his ever-present red beret and a thick mustache that carried from above his lip down to his jawline.

Despite his intimidating appearance, Ragnar also thought him to be one of the nicest people he had ever had the pleasure to meet – let alone work with. Marlon was a family man. He had married his high school sweetheart and had two children. They were older parents as they had waited until both felt that they could bare the financial impact of having children. Marlon was also the first black man that Ragnar ever had significant contact with. Although Ragnar thought his assistant's skin color was a thing of curiosity, he never considered that he would be any more or less capable a human being.

Ragnar was surprised to hear that Marlon had never attended college. Ragnar thought him to be smarter than most people he knew, and he understood why Charlie was reluctant to give up his most capable assistant to someone else. He was always on time and could be depended on for virtually any task assigned. His only vice, as far as Ragnar could tell, was a near addiction to anything sweet. Marlon was always chewing on some kind of gum or candy.

Marlon was patient with his young charge. Ragnar was always eager to take the next step or try something new. Marlon provided a needed balance to his passion. He was more measured and prudent. He would ask Ragnar questions about what he expected. Explaining to Marlon what he wanted to accomplish not only made it clear to Marlon what his engineer truly wanted, it also forced Ragnar to see the bigger picture. On more than one occasion Ragnar recognized a problem with his plans after trying and failing to explain them clearly to Marlon.

Because of Marlon's many years on the job, he also made a great real-world professor for Ragnar. Marlon taught him everything he could about sailing and piloting ships. He explained the dangers under the surface and how the weather and seas could usually be tamed with the right amount of skill and equipment. He was instrumental in giving Ragnar a practical understanding of what the Storrs had brought him into the company to achieve.

Ragnar redesigned Storrs' entire sonar system. He added a second receiver and changed the transmitting arrays to be both more powerful and more controllable than before.

It took nearly three years of research and design, but finally Ragnar and Marlon were ready for a live field test.

Flash

1

They departed early in the morning. By lunchtime Ragnar and Marlon had found a peaceful location along the Kentucky-Indiana boarder a third of the way to Louisville. They chose a spot with ideal river conditions. They often worked in this area because it was deep and it avoided a high amount of traffic. Ragnar found their results were more reliable when he wasn't dodging tourists or picking up extraneous sonar noise created by the multitude of freight barges.

Ragnar had modified their standard sonar unit into something unrecognizable. He called Marlon over to his work space aboard the vessel.

"OK, I think we are ready to test."

"How does it work?"

"Fundamentally it is the same process. The traditional sonar we have been using sends out a sound and then receivers on board record whatever part of the sound that bounces back. We can then measure distance to an item. The problem is that we can only really measure a small area with any accuracy. Think of it like this, right now when we look at the bottom of this river, it is like shining a flashlight on it. You know, like if you shine a flashlight in a dark room. You can see whatever the light hits but you cannot see the whole room. Now, what if, instead of a light beam, we used a broad flash of light? Like the flashbulb in a camera. In a room, you could see most of the room's details – although only for a brief period of time."

Marlon nodded in understanding.

"What we've done is create a system that can send out a 'flash' of sound and then figure out a way to capture what the flash reveals. I have developed a new beam forming processor that will send out a cancelation wave in a parallel but opposite harmonic frequency. When it hits something it will bounce back instead of cancelling. That, combined with a more sensitive array at the front and rear of the ship, will enhance the picture in terms of resolution and area of acoustic reach."

At this Marlon looked at Ragnar with a grin but Ragnar could tell he did not find complete understanding.

"Basically, my friend, I am going to flash the bottom of this river with a sound wave big enough to see all the way across it. We should be able to map the bottom of the Ohio with a single cruise down the middle of her."

"Yes sir," he replied excitedly.

"You ready to give it a go?"

"What do I do?"

"Just put us into the middle of the river and hold us steady. The current isn't particularly strong today. Hopefully we won't drift too much. Really, it shouldn't matter. That is the whole point."

"Are we good right here or do I need to move use further south?"

"No, I think this will be fine. Give me another fifteen to install the new processor and check on the arrays. Then go ahead and put us out there. I'll yell at you when I am going to throw the switch."

"Got it." With that, Marlon headed topside to prep the boat for the test.

Ragnar stood in the room and extended the sending unit below the hull by turning a crank on the base of the unit. It wasn't possible to see anything happen, but he could hear the gears turning below him; lowering it into position. Next, he opened a large door in the space between the control panel and the sending unit. He cut three wires before removing four screws holding a flat panel in place. With the screws out, he pulled at the base of the book-sized panel until it was free of the container. He placed the large panel onto the floor beside him.

Ragnar reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small item wrapped in a red swatch of cottony material. He carefully removed the outer wrapping to reveal a wallet-sized metallic box with three wires sticking out. He spliced the three wires together with the corresponding wires he had previously cut. The new control unit was tiny compared to the giant, antiquated unit it was replacing. Ragnar used a piece of tape to hold his prototype switch-mode harmonic transistor unit in place within the now cavernous space of the electronics bay. "It looks so cute in there," he said out loud, smiling to himself. He was proud of his creation.

He closed the door and walked to the front and rear of the ship, checking each of the arrays that were located there. Once he was satisfied everything was ready, he yelled at Marlon, "OK, put us into position!"

"Yes sir, into position."

Ragnar heard the engines roar back to life before settling into a loud hum.

Just a few minutes later Marlon yelled back, "We're ready here!"

"OK, let's see what we've got."

Ragnar flipped the switch powering the sonar unit. Lights came on and meters danced on his control panel. Everything looked good at this point. "Pinging!" he yelled up to Marlon.

Ragnar pushed an unmarked, black button on the panel. He and Marlon both heard the familiar echo-y ping sound. It repeated every five seconds.

Ragnar was looking at his monitor. He couldn't see anything. It looked like a bunch of noise to him. He furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out what was wrong. "We're in the middle?" he yelled up to Marlon.

"Yes, sir," he yelled back.

Ragnar looked at his monitor more intensely. "What the hell?" he asked himself. "This is worse than before." He continued to look while his mind raced for a possible explanation. He was starting to get mad at himself when he saw something that caught his eye. The screen flashed a glimpse of something that looked like a curved sword. "What was that?" he asked himself. The next flash revealed a bunch of concentric circles. Ragnar knew this was not noise. It was something man-made. With the next flash, the mystery had been solved. "Amazing," he calmly stated to the empty room.

A smile spread across his face and he started laughing as he bounded up to tell Marlon about the test.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"At first I thought the test was a complete bust. I saw nothing but noise. But then, this is unbelievable, I saw something." Ragnar let the curiosity of his assistant build.

"What? What did you see?" Marlon asked with great attention.

"I think I saw an anchor."

"An anchor?"

"Do you understand what that means? We just visualized an anchor at a depth of sixty five feet!"

"That's good right?"

"No, that's not good," Ragnar smiled. "Not for what we want. But it is amazing. The level of detail we can get is much better than I had thought possible. But we want to see the whole width of the river. I must have only seen about ten feet or so. Take us over to the side of the river so I can recalibrate. We should be able to try again in thirty minutes."

Half an hour later they were both back out into the middle of the river. Again, Ragnar powered up the sonar unit and yelled up to Marlon, "Pinging."

"Pinging. We are in position."

He pushed the black button and watched the screen. After just five pings Ragnar let out a loud, "Woop! We got it!" He watched the screen and was ecstatic. He was able to see a large swath of the river they were on. Not quite from shore to shore, but enough of it to make out both sides of the river climbing towards their banks. He smiled with satisfaction. He climbed back up to the deck and when he approached Marlon, his assistant asked, "So it worked?"

Ragnar grabbed Marlon around his shoulders and gave him a huge hug. "We did it. It's perfect." With a super-sized grin he added, "We are going to revolutionize the navigation world and make a lot of money doing it."

Marlon looked uncertain of what to say. He hadn't been hugged by a man since his father at least a decade ago. He had never been hugged by a white man. The idea warmed his heart. He looked into Ragnar's eyes and they were on fire – blue, electric fire. "Congratulations!"

2

As the two drew nearer to the Fort Thomas facility, Ragnar radioed Charlie, "Echo One to base. Pick up Charlie."

"Ragnar," Charlie answered his friend, "this is Charlie. How'd the tests go?" Charlie was not excited. He set the microphone down on his desk next to the radio while he waited for Ragnar's report. Over the past several months, Ragnar had told him he felt encouraged by their tests, but he had not given him any indication that today would be different than any other.

Ragnar winked at Marlon and then in a grave tone said, "The tests went fine, but we have a pretty serious problem."

Charlie grabbed the microphone quickly, "What happened?" He said with his voice raising an octave in panic. "Caroline, you better get in here!" He yelled at his wife across the office.

"Well . . ." Ragnar hesitated in order to build a little suspense, "are you sitting down?"

"Who cares about me? Are you both OK?" Charlie asked with elevated concern.

"Us? I guess we are OK."

Caroline huddled around Charlie's desk and asked what happened.

Charlie shushed his wife and focused everything on the small microphone in his hand.

"Well, what is it? What happened?" Charlie responded feeling confused.

"We are almost to port and Marlon and I are very thirsty." Ragnar could almost see his employers looking at one another with total lack of understanding. Before they could say anything else he added, "We have plenty of water. But we're both thirsty for something a little more celebratory. I was thinking, maybe a bottle of bubbly?"

It took a couple of second for both the Storrs to realize that Ragnar had successfully accomplished what he had been hired to do. Charlie kissed his wife from across the desk and then pressed the radio button, "We'll meet you there!"

3

An hour later Charlie and Caroline arrived at their Fort Tomas facility. The sun had suffered a bloody wound as red and pinkish stains spread from the horizon to directly overhead. To the east, the sky was bruising with darkening shades of purple. Ragnar looked at the sky and thought to himself that the vision was almost as beautiful as the Northern Lights back home.

As the Storrs approached the boat Ragnar noticed that Charlie was balancing a pizza box on his left hand while balancing himself with the cane in his right. Caroline held two bottles of champagne – one in each hand.

The Storrs boarded and put the pizza on a small table Ragnar had brought out from below deck. Lacking champagne glasses did not prevent the party from moving forward. Ragnar simply used four coffee mugs to hold their drinks.

"A toast." Ragnar proposed. He raised his mug and looked at the others while he waited for them to follow his lead. "To the countless hours spent hunched over design specs, to the camaraderie fostered between us in the pursuit of a goal, to the financial investment made to further our existing abilities, to the ledge walked on in search of something better," he paused for an instant. "I want each of us to salute ourselves first. We have taken separate, but complementary paths to individually arrive at a team victory – success. Our individual successes, although worthy of singular appreciation, are even more spectacular when considered as a combined result."

The other three stood there with their mugs of champagne held in the air. None had heard Ragnar make such a speech before. In each of their minds they were proud of Ragnar and his development, but they were each able to understand their own valuable contributions to this successful result. They continued to listen to him speak with growing fondness.

"Today, I proved that sonar imaging capabilities can be greatly enhanced. Marlon proved to himself that he was more than capable of answering the challenges presented. I hope that we have proved that working with this team has been a benefit to his life."

"Yes, sir." Marlon quietly said as if he were affirming it to himself and not the rest of the party.

"Hopefully, Mr. and Mrs. Storrs have proven to themselves that hiring me was a good choice and starting this business was the right thing to do."

Caroline put her arm around Charlie's waste and pulled him closer to her with a huge smile.

"Nothing is going to stop us now!" Ragnar said with an air of supreme confidence. He finished his toast as a statement; not as a cheer or other exclamation, but as a fact – confident and straightforward. "We are going to be rich."

Then, lastly, as if to put an exclamation point on his statement, he held his mug just a little higher and said, "Helse."

The other three weren't sure what to do next. They did not know the meaning of Ragnar's final word, but his wide grin and relaxed posture indicated that he was done. Charlie added a "Here! Here!" before they clanked their mugs together and lustily swallowed down their portions of bubbly.

All four enjoyed their moment. When the second mug of champagne had been poured and everyone was holding a slice of pizza, Charlie asked for some details. "What kind of success are we talking about exactly?

Ragnar sat back and relaxed against the ship's railing knowing he was about to wow his boss. "We imaged an anchor at a depth of greater than sixty feet. Then we modified the system to spread a larger ping. Even though it was a little fuzzy, we were able to see almost the entire width of the Ohio."

"So, if I understand the results, you can see high resolution scans of the river bed or an acceptable scan of the entire width of the river?" Charlie said with building excitement.

"At a depth of sixty feet, we can see excellent resolution if we view a narrow field or good resolution if we image a width of three hundred feet. We'll analyze the data, confirm with a few more field tests and then we'll be ready to deploy. We should consider expanding the services of this company to include deep sea salvage. The possibilities are endless. This is gold."

The impromptu celebration lasted four hours with many shared stories and laughter. The next morning Ragnar, Charlie and Caroline went into a strategic planning session.

They were excited to talk about the previous day's events. They discussed which region should receive the new sonar equipment. Charlie was in favor of better mapping the US while Ragnar suggested Europe to head off any competition there. Ragnar reminded Charlie that it was probably time to start learning how to fly. The three laughed and talked for hours more.

4

Within the next few weeks, Ragnar and Marlon had conducted enough trials to refine his technology. Ragnar had been able to enhance their existing sonar technology with his own engineering applications. Charlie, Ragnar and Marlon had traveled to their office in Boston with a newly manufactured and improved sonar unit. They installed the sonar on one of their fleet vessels and it worked beautifully. The team stayed in Boston for almost two weeks insuring that their Northeastern crews understood how the new technology worked and helped troubleshoot any problems that arose, although there were few. They also went on several short navigation trips to watch their technology perform out in the open ocean. It proved to be just as effective as in their river tests. Ragnar did have to make a small modification to account for heavier seas. The accuracy of the new sonar unit was so good that when used to map acute details, large waves would distort the results. Ragnar was quick to devise a solution.

When they returned home to Cincinnati, Charlie and Caroline called Ragnar into Charlie's office and asked him to take a seat.

"What's this all about?" asked Ragnar.

"It's about you," grinned Caroline. "We're really happy you chose to work with us."

"Me too," Ragnar agreed. "You guys are like my family."

"We had a deal Ragnar," Charlie stated, his eyes held captive by Ragnar's. "You produce a working solution to our problem and, in return, we give you flying lessons and part of the company."

"Now, Mr. Storrs, I . . ." Ragnar started to protest.

"Shut up for once," Charlie smiled pleading with his friend.

Ragnar looked at him as if he had been slapped in the face. Charlie had never scolded him before. He closed his mouth and sat back in his chair in an attempt to keep control of himself.

"Now, I was saying . . . While we were in Boston, Caroline met with our attorney and had this contract drawn up. It is a lot of legal jive, but it essentially awards you a twenty percent ownership in Storrs Echographics effective immediately."

"Mr. Storrs, I . . ." Ragnar again interrupted.

Charlie shushed him with a chuckle and a frustrated shake of his head.

Ragnar sat back in his seat chagrinned.

". . . effective immediately . . ." Caroline set her husband back on track with a wink at Ragnar.

"Right." Charlie picked up a slip of paper and said, "This is a check for one thousand dollars. It is a gift from us to you. Not so much for your work here, but for the way you work. You have become part of our family. We love you Ragnar and hope that you will stay with us forever."

Ragnar's eyes began to water.

Charlie continued to beam at his friend. "I should be the one crying, it's coming out of my partnership bonus," he said lightening the mood.

"Guys, I really don't know how to thank you."

"We're not done here yet," Charlie handed the check to Ragnar and picked up the contract. He turned the contract around to make it easier for Ragnar to read and slid it across the table. "Just read it over and sign. Then you're a partner here."

Ragnar pulled the contract towards him. He quickly read through the language in the paperwork and although it was cumbersome, it was simple enough in explaining his position within the company. He would continue to receive a salary, but he would get quarterly payments based on the profitability of the company and his twenty percent ownership. He retrieved the pen from Mrs. Storrs' outstretched hand and signed.

"Great! One more thing to complete. There is the matter of some flying lessons."

Ragnar's excitement was visible in his posture and face.

"I have made a weekly appointment for you with an ex-lieutenant colonel that taught me how to fly. His name is Dillon Jefferies but everyone calls him Jester. He has an office at the Cincinnati airport and you'll get started there at ten o'clock next Saturday. You can discuss you future schedule with him, but he is expecting to have you for a lesson every week when you are in town. My plane is there, of course, and you are free to use it for any business purpose you believe is necessary. You may also use it for any personal business that you might have – like visiting a famous movie star for example – as long as you clear it against anything that might be on my schedule.

"He never flies anymore," Caroline dismissed his request.

"Welcome to Storrs Echographics, partner," Charlie said as he stood and offered his hand to Ragnar.

Ragnar rose from his chair and refused to accept a handshake. Instead he hugged both of his new partners – thanking them for providing such an opportunity and believing in his abilities.

5

Ragnar looked for the article in the paper for the rest of the week. On Thursday he found it. In the local business section was a short blurb about Storrs Echographics and their promotion of Ragnar Danneskjӧld to partner within the company. There was even a small picture of him just to the left of the announcement. Ragnar was disappointed that his father would not read about this in his paper back home. He clipped the page out of the paper and mailed it back to his father along with a book he had found on Judo at a bookstore near his office.

Someone else noticed the young man's accomplish-ments.

6

"Storrs Echographics, Charlie speaking."

"Still answering your own phones huh?"

Charlie recognized his friend's voice almost immediately, "Hey Bob. How are things?"

"Good Charlie. I see things appear to be going well for you all over there. I read about Ragnar's promotion in the paper. Looks like he was able to give you what you were looking for." Robert Stadler spoke with his friend in a good natured manner. They had been friends for many years.

"Yeah, Ragnar's been great. He earned his partnership here with us. We are moving forward with the deployment of our new navigation technology. We should be able to dramatically improve shipping safety and efficiency."

"That's great Charlie. I am happy to hear it worked out for you."

"Pretty quickly too. I mean he had some partial success at only six months. It took him a little longer to perfect it."

"He's a bright kid. It was inevitable."

"Well, please pass on my congratulations to your protégé and let him know I am looking forward to seeing a paper published on his accomplishments. Academia would certainly benefit from his sharing this important research."

"We need to get together for dinner sometime. Caroline would love to see you," Charlie felt the urge to change the subject for some inexplicable reason.

"Ah, please give her my best, will you? When I'm available I'll give you a call to set something up. Congratulations again."

"Thanks Bob. It was good hearing from you. We'll talk soon?"

"Absolutely. At my next opportunity, we'll get together."

"Good bye."

"Bye."

Charlie hung up the receiver and went over to his wife's office to tell her that he had just spoken with Dr. Stadler. She was sorry to have missed his call.

beneath the surface

1

Ragnar mastered flying after three short months with Jester. Like anything he studied, Ragnar was a quick learner. He was powerfully motivated by the idea that he might be able to visit Kay whenever she was within reach of the small plane.

Business at Storrs Echographics exploded. Profits were rolling in and, as the number of customers grew, so did the demand on its employees. The partners were beginning to look for larger office space to accommodate their growing payroll. Marlon was now responsible for all sites in the US while Ragnar began the installation of the new imaging platforms for their European fleet.

With the extra business and its employees scattered thin juggling multiple deployments and customer service, Ragnar knew he would need an assistant to rollout the new system in Europe. Charlie called on his friend, Dr. Stadler, in search of a summer intern and got one of his best students – a junior physics major by the name of Joy Pendleton.

Joy was an oddity in the physics world. A woman did not find respect in a scientific field completely dominated by men. That never stopped Joy. She did not care for labels, and simply assumed that the folks that couldn't accept her apparent abilities were far too ignorant to waste consideration or time on. She did not attempt to persuade others she was capable. If she was not able to gain support from her peers, she would take matters into her own hands and complete projects without their assistance. It often meant that it took her longer to accomplish her goals and tasks, but in the end she had a much deeper knowledge of the subject matter than her classmates.

2

With Marlon working to facilitate their operations on the east coast, Joy was brought on to assist Ragnar with the deployment of Storrs' new imaging hardware on their fleet overseas. She was an intellectual sponge. Even though her studies at Patrick Henry University had not focused on the technology Ragnar had developed, she was excited to learn about both the scientific principles as well as the practical applications in the field. She had many questions for Ragnar, and he was excited to share in the young woman's education. It wasn't difficult to see the similarities in the two scientists. Both had been educated at the same institution by many of the same professors. Both had an insatiable desire for knowledge. And both had a complete trust in themselves and their abilities. Watching them work together was like watching a pair of dolphins play in the sea. There was no boredom, no watching the clock waiting for five o'clock in order to punch out and go home in order to watch television. During down-time, Ragnar would suggest a complicated mathematics questions that the two of them would attempt to answer. These questions usually had their genesis in something that most people take for granted: How far away is that lightening? What is the curvature of the earth? What time is it?

3

When Ragnar and Joy attempted to deploy an upgraded sonar imaging system on their vessel in the Mediterranean Sea, an unexpected outcome occurred. At first, Joy hypothesized that the receiving unit might be bad, and Ragnar agreed with her assessment. The images produced by the new platform were significantly worse than those from the existing equipment. Something caused the images to appear fuzzier than any of their other installations. After several days of testing each piece of equipment, the two determined that the sonar was working according to design. Something else was contributing to their poor results. They studied the environment and determined that the salinity of the Mediterranean was significantly higher than in any of the bodies of water they had previously worked in. This theory also explained the less than perfect results Ragnar had when he performed his first installation in the Atlantic. At that time he attributed the loss in resolution to ocean waves; something he did not have to contend with in his fresh-water river tests. The variable of salt content in the water was another difference he had not accounted for. The two recorded as much data as they could, completed the installation and training and then returned back to Cincinnati as quickly as they could in order to correct this new problem.

Within a week Ragnar had developed a solution to the dilemma. He contacted Marlon and requested that he meet him and Joy at the Boston office in order to perform some oceanic testing. He had developed a stronger sending unit allowing for better control of the important harmonizing wave. He expected the new unit would overcome the impact of the increased salinity on his sonar's ability.

4

Saturday morning Ragnar woke his team and pushed them for an early start of testing just off the Boston shoreline. It was an unusually calm day; little wind and low tide. The conditions made it possible to test relatively close to shore. As they boarded a Storrs mapping vessel moored at the Boston Harbor Joy pointed out something of interest to the group.

"Look, the sun is coming up!"

Ragnar and Marlon paused to look up from the walkway. A soft orange and red umbrella formed moments before a brilliant fireball followed it upward above the water at the edge of the earth. A bright, reddish line streaked out to the left and right, following the distant edge of the horizon. Another streak seemed to aim right at them across the surface of the bay. A blanket of heavy, slow moving clouds above as well as the surrounding structures were painted grey and orange.

"It's so beautiful," she sighed.

"You know what they say?" Marlon asked as he stared up at the sky.

Both Ragnar and Joy turned their attention to the man with a deep and attractive voice.

"Red skies at night, sailor's delight. Red skies in morning, sailor's warning." He uttered the proverb ominously and then looked at Joy with all the seriousness he could muster.

"Really?" Ragnar asked in honest curiosity.

"Yeah," Marlon reassured them. "We probably shouldn't head out today." He continued to stare at Joy; looking for some kind of reaction.

"What a bunch of bullshit," Joy countered with some conviction, but not total.

Ragnar looked at Joy with a measure of both shock and awe at her choice of words before turning to Marlon. "I've never heard that." All the time he had spent on the water and this was the first time he had heard that adage.

Marlon's mood lightened and a smirk crept across his face, "Well, it's sort of true."

"He's just trying to scare you," Ragnar dismissed Marlon's comments as he resumed his walk toward their ship.

Marlon laughed and followed behind Ragnar while Joy rushed to catch up to his side.

They took the vessel a mile off shore. They moved out of the shipping routes and prepared to try out Ragnar's latest effort. Marlon took his usual position as captain. Ragnar spent all of his time working below deck on the sonar unit. He had to install a new console and make a few adjustments to the system. Joy acted as her usual super-assistant self. Sometimes she was helping Marlon run the ship and other times she helped Ragnar with the equipment or collecting data.

In testing the sonar capability, Ragnar always utilized a buoy with large metal sheets attached to a chain at known distance intervals. The metal targets would show up on the sonar and give him a better idea of where the acoustics where going and how they behaved. Today he needed something extra so he sent Joy out in the small skiff to place the buoy as well as collect a few samples of the water for testing.

Joy was more than capable of loading and driving the skiff on her own, so she loaded the buoy and sample containers. She had Marlon winch the boat with her in it down onto the surface where she disconnected it and headed a hundred yards off the right side of the larger ship.

"I'm ready to test her out." Ragnar yelled up to Marlon on deck.

Marlon stepped down below deck to talk to Ragnar. "Joy is not on board yet. You want to wait for her?"

"Why?" Ragnar asked while he continued to toil away on his equipment.

"I thought she might like to follow your work, that's all."

"Hmm. You're probably right." He paused a moment. "I can catch her up when she makes it back. We won't get too far into this before she finishes collecting our samples and returns. I think we can get started."

"Yes, sir." Marlon headed back up to the bridge and prepared to assist Ragnar in his own way. He checked their position and the condition of their engines which were idling at a slow, deep growl.

Ragnar stood up and walked over to the control panel. "Pinging!" he yelled again up to Marlon.

"Aye sir, pinging."

Ragnar reached up and pushed the familiar button. He didn't hear anything. There was no ping, just silence. He pushed it again. And again, there was no perceptible sound save for the idling engine. He considered the possible reasons for the lack of action and determined that he must have a short. He pushed it several times in a row and when he didn't hear anything he held it down under constant pressure hoping for contact to occur.

Out on the skiff, Joy had already placed the buoy and had collected salinity samples at both five and ten meters. She had just labeled the ten meter sample and was preparing to send another collection container down to fifteen meters when she heard a strange noise.

At first she thought it was the sound of the larger ship's engines. She turned, expecting to see that the ship had approached without her being aware. The ship's position looked unchanged. The sound disappeared momentarily and then she heard it again. The sound came and went twice more. She looked into the water around her as something caught her eye.

In the darkness below, she could just make out glimmers of silver and white. Then the sound was back. This time it grew and stayed constant. She looked overboard again and noticed an alarming problem. The skiff appeared to be sinking into the water. She didn't panic, but she began looking for a cause. There was no water on board; no obvious damage to the boat.

She looked over the side again and realized she was going down fast. The water around her looked like a boiling pot. Thousands of bubbles ranging in size from pebbles to beach balls rose all around her. She knew she was in trouble. She yelled back at the ship and began waving her arms frantically. The glimmers of light she saw below began to surface. The silver bodies of lifeless fish erupted all around her.

As water began to spill over the sides of the skiff, she screamed in a final attempt to catch the attention of someone on board the ship. In a desperate move, she dove overboard and tried to swim back to the ship. Whatever was pulling her skiff down was also taking her now. She was an excellent swimmer, but with all the bubbles around her it was like swimming through air. She was sinking but she couldn't breathe. Not enough bubbles of breathable air to displace all the sea water. She swam as fast as she could but she was tiring quickly and needed to breathe. She tried to take a small breath but the salty water just burned her lungs and made her cough out her remaining air. She had dropped to a depth of fifteen feet when the last conscious thought she had was that the sound had stopped.

5

"Uhh, Ragnar? You might want to come up here," Marlon yelled with an uncharacteristic tone of urgency.

Ragnar sprinted up the stairs onto the deck. He approached his pilot and tilted his head to the side awaiting an explanation for being summoned.

"Look at the water!" Marlon gestured with his right hand in a large circle around the ship.

Ragnar's eyes followed Marlon's wide arc. At first, he thought they were surrounded by some kind of ice or foam. A growing mass of white had formed – completely encircling the ship. He peered over the railing and discovered that they were floating in the middle of a large ring of dead fish. His mind was working to find an explanation for what they were seeing when another thought surged through, and he was gripped with terror. "Where's Joy!" he barked at Marlon.

Marlon jerked his head in the direction he last remembered seeing the small boat. There was nothing – just a growing circle of dead animals. "She was right there! Just a minute ago!" He pointed off to the right and both he and Ragnar began yelling her name. They heard no response.

Ragnar grabbed the binoculars and began scanning around the ship.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Marlon whispered over and over to himself between extended periods of yelling out Joy's name repeatedly.

"I don't see her anywhere!" Ragnar was almost in tears which scared Marlon even more. He had never seen Ragnar lose control of anything before.

"Did we do that?" Marlon asked in disbelief. "Did we cause all these dead fish. What happened to Joy?"

"I don't know," Ragnar answered. He darted from one side of the ship to the other peering over the sides. "Let's move the ship over to where you last remember seeing her."

"OK. I'll take it slow. You scan the water. Let me know if you see anything!"

Marlon put the ship in motion, slowly off to the right. He continued to look while Ragnar used the binoculars – both men yelling her name.

As they edged closer to the mass of floating fish Ragnar yelled to Marlon, "Grab the net!"

Ragnar looked over the side, but held his hand out blindly – ready to receive the net as soon as it was brought to him. Marlon retrieved the fishing net and placed the handle into Ragnar's hand. He swept the net across the surface and managed to gather a half dozen fish. There were three bass, one mackerel, one bluefish, and a rather large eel.

"Did we do that?" Marlon asked again.

Ragnar hesitated. He picked the bass out of the pile and examined it. "I don't know," he said softly. "Did you hear anything? Notice anything different or strange?"

"Nothing," Marlon said. But after additional consideration he added, "Well, I thought I heard a low hum, but I assumed it was the engine.

Ragnar looked at him, expecting more.

"I'm not sure. Did you hear anything?" he asked to draw Ragnar's attention off of him.

"No. I thought it was broken. I was pinging like crazy but there was no acoustic launch. Nothing." Ragnar looked back down at the small fish he held in his hand. The fish's bowels appeared to have erupted from its mouth and anus. Its eyes were both sunken as if they had been poked into its head by a finger. Ragnar dropped the fish and picked up the eel. About one third of the way back from its head, just behind its gills, the eel's body made an unnatural right turn. Ragnar felt along its back and he was pretty sure that something snapped the spine.

"We need to keep looking for Joy, but we need some help! Call in an emergency missing person to the Coast Guard."

Ragnar kept scanning the water while Marlon radioed the Coast Guard. They arrived to begin their own search for the woman. The urgency of the lost crewman helped obscure the fact that hundreds, if not thousands of dead fish just happened to be in the area.

Three hours later, as the sun hung lower in the west, Ragnar finally suggested to Marlon, "Turn us around and get us back home. We have to notify Charlie and Caroline. See what they think we should do. I also want to examine all the equipment and see if this was something that happened as a result of our experiment. Or if it is some kind of freak coincidence."

Marlon did as he was instructed and Ragnar gathered the fish and put them into a container for later study. He went back to the sonar room and left everything as it was with the exception of shutting down its power source. He sat at his desk and proceeded to write down the day's events as well as all the settings and adjustments he had made to his equipment. He would need the information later in order to understand what happened.

They arrived back at the marina early in the evening. Once the ship had been properly secured, Ragnar suggested Marlon head back to their hotel. He took the responsibility of contacting the Storrs. He told Marlon not to wait up for him.

First thing he felt he should do was call his friend. It was late, and he hated calling him at home but it was urgent and this couldn't wait.

"Charlie, it's Ragnar"

"Hey partner! How's it going over there?" Charlie asked with enthusiasm.

"I have some bad news." His tone was somber and quiet.

Charlie had never heard him sound so upset. "What is it?"

"Joy is missing."

"What do you mean missing?"

"We were performing our first test and she was in the skiff . . . maybe a hundred meters away from us," he paused for a moment, "and then she wasn't there."

"She just vanished?" Charlie asked incredulous.

"Not just her – the boat too."

"You mean that she took the boat and left?"

"I don't think so. That is not like her, and we have been searching for her for most of the afternoon. I mean she just disappeared."

When that comment met with silence, Ragnar doubled down on his collection of bad news. "We killed a bunch of fish too," he said with his more usual unemotional tone. "I think," he added in hopes that it would soften the blow a little.

"What?! I don't understand." He had reason to be concerned. The government would not allow them to use this technology if it was determined to be unsafe to people or the environment.

"I really have no idea what happened. The authorities are still looking for her and maybe she'll turn up somewhere. So far, they don't know about the fish. I think they were too preoccupied to deal with that little detail.

"How many fish?" Charlie interrupted.

"Hundreds. Maybe thousands. A lot."

Silence again on the phone. Ragnar was pretty sure Charlie was in shock at the news.

"I'll call you again in the morning. I hope we have some better information then. I'm going back out to look for her, and then I am going to examine the equipment and see what I can find out on my end."

"What if I need to reach you?" Charlie asked. His mind was racing. He tried to think of what to do, but in that moment his inexperience with this kind of event filled his mind with little in the way of a plan.

"I'll call you . . ." Ragnar hung up the phone in a daze.

Ragnar returned to the location of his experiment and searched for Joy as long as he could. Eventually the threat of running out of fuel caused him to turn back leaving the Coast Guard to locate his missing colleague.

Once back at the marina, he began to review the day's events. The only clue he had were the fish he managed to bring back as well as the harmonic sonar settings he used for the test. Throughout the early morning hours, he poured over the equipment and made copious notes. When he finished logging everything he disconnected all his test equipment. He had one of the Boston employees drive him first to the hotel, where he picked up Marlon, and then off to the airport so that they could fly back home.

6

The next few days were a blur. Dozens of phone calls were made and received. Reporters descended on the company seeking comment about the missing student and the mysterious events leading up to her disappearance. Several news stories were published. They profiled Joy. They investigated what they were doing that day.

Ragnar and the rest of Storrs Echographics hoped no one would suggest sinister actions were to blame. This was publicity they clearly did not want.

The local Cincinnati paper picked up a wire report about a large number of dead fish unexpectedly washing up on Boston's local beaches.

Early Sunday morning visitors to our city's beautiful beaches were treated to an unsightly mess. Thousands of various fish species have washed up on shore sometime during the night. Environmental researchers are at a loss to explain the massive kill. "We can find no biological, microbiological or other reason to explain how these fish died." Stated Jack Stemple – a marine biologist with MIT. "It appears that something violent happened to them, but our team has no ideas at this point. We will keep looking for some kind of explanation." Meanwhile, most beachgoers were reluctant to go anywhere near the water; either out of fear of the unknown or the massive stench that lingered everywhere. City officials plan on having the beaches restored to their normal condition later this week.

Monday morning Caroline answered the phone and another bomb dropped on the firm.

"Good morning. Storrs Echographics, this is Caroline." She had the most professional greeting of anyone in the office.

"Good morning, ma'am. My name is Lieutenant Frazier with the United States Coast Guard here in Plymouth, Mass. May I speak with either Charlie Storrs or a Ragnar Dan . . ." his voice trailed off.

"Danneskjӧld," Caroline assisted the officer with his name. "Neither of those gentlemen is here at the moment. I am Mrs. Storrs. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I am sorry to report to you that the body of your missing researcher was found by an elderly couple walking on the beach this morning."

"Oh," she was unable to speak. "I . . . uh . . ."

"I'm sorry ma'am. We are going to need some information in order to contact the next of kin. Do you have that information?" The lieutenant's words were spoken softly and with awareness that this kind of news was never well received. After another long pause of silence he added, "Are you OK Mrs. Storrs?"

As if she was in a dream Caroline forced herself to answer the man on the phone, "Yes, Lieutenant. I have it."

Caroline gave Lieutenant Frazier the requested information. She also informed him that Joy was an intern with their company as well as a student at PHU in case they were not able to contact her family. She questioned the officer about the cause of death. He answered that they did not know; that an autopsy would be performed but that it initially looked like a drowning. Caroline also asked about the missing skiff Joy had been using. He said there was no sign of the boat at this point.

7

Ragnar, Charlie and Marlon took the news hard. The death of their young assistant made Ragnar question their activities and any connection between them. He was not able to understand how the two might be related but he felt certain – that somehow – they were.

He begged Charlie to report the possibility that his research had been the cause of her death. Charlie was understanding of Ragnar's pain and concern, but he was quick to point out that everything was a coincidence at this point. There was no conclusive evidence that he had been responsible, and he was able to convince Ragnar of his point. Charlie was certain that any connection, real or imagined, to the research they were performing would bring about an end to his company.

Ragnar put research activities on an indefinite hold. He planned to perform every test imaginable until he was able to identify what happened that terrible day. He insisted to everyone that he had to understand the circumstances that led to the accident in order to prevent it from happening again. He could hear his mentor's voice in the back of his head "Failures eventually lead to success – even if it is not the success you expect."

One individual was in a unique position to easily see a link between the recent headlines.

8

After an exhausting week of additional press interviews, sickening calls to and from Joy's parents about her death, and a tense atmosphere at the company while Ragnar attempted to study the disturbing events, a familiar face walked into the Storrs' office.

"I'm so sorry Charlie," Stadler said as he caught the owner's eye upon entering the somber space.

Charlie led Stadler into his office without speaking. He motioned to his friend to sit while he fell into his own chair. Charlie's face was sweaty and his body ached. He was exhausted by all that had happened – both physically and emotionally. He looked down at his belly. To Dr. Stadler, it looked as though Charlie was asleep. He was about to ask his friend if he was OK when Charlie slowly raised his head and sighed deeply. "Me too, Bob. Me too." He shook his head slowly from side to side. "This is really taking its toll on all of us. I haven't been able to sleep for days. Caroline didn't come to work today because she can't handle any more stress. Ragnar doesn't speak to anyone. He's spending every minute in the lab. We're a mess."

Dr. Stadler leaned forward in his chair, put his hat on Charlie's desk, folded his hands together and put his elbows on his knees. "What the hell happened out there Charlie?" His tone was not accusatory, it held the quality of one deeply concerned about the welfare of another.

Charlie paused for a minute before speaking, "I don't really know. No one really knows. Ragnar's team was out performing some tests on an improved sonar system when everything went to hell. This is all I know right now." He looked up at Dr. Stadler with reddened eyes – his frustration barely contained. Stadler guessed that it took everything to keep tears from falling down his face and that a similarly weak barrier stood between composure and complete emotional breakdown. "The girl was out on the skiff taking samples when she just disappeared. A bunch of fish died. We do not know if there is any connection, but no one here feels like it's deniable."

"I see," said his friend after some consideration. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I . . . I don't know."

Dr. Stadler remained in Charlie's office for half an hour more. He did most of the talking; thinking that it would allow his friend a moment to relax and take comfort in the company of a trusted friend. When he got up to leave he observed that Charlie's anxiety level had improved. He even managed to get a smile out of him with a description of some of his more colorful students this year.

"Thank you, Bob. I appreciate you stopping by like this."

"It was my pleasure. I think we have helped each other today old friend."

Charlie could not determine how he might have helped Dr. Stadler, but his mind was too preoccupied to think of it further.

"I'll tell Ragnar you stopped by. He'll appreciate your visit too – even if he missed it."

"Thank you. Call me any time." Dr. Stadler returned to his car, leaving Charlie to contemplate his future.

9

Ragnar took the death of Joy harder than anyone else save her family. He demanded that no further use of his advanced sonar technology occur until he could determine the cause of Joy's disappearance and death. He spent the next four days examining his prototype and variables present at the time of her disappearance. Based on the analysis of the fish collected at the time of the event he theorized that something he did resulted in a physical change to their environment. He studied his equipment settings, and he poured over the newly developed electronics console. He made two startling discoveries. First, he noticed that the wiring for the power setting had been reversed – accidently setting minimum to maximum. Second, the lower frequency used on testing shorted out the routine in the beam former and the harmonics were sent out in the exact opposite of what he wanted; the cancelation wave ended up in sync instead of in opposing harmonics. It produced a destructive acoustic wave that no one could even hear. As that wave moved through the water, it acutely affected all marine life in its path.

He worked in the lab with a miniaturized version of his existing equipment. Similar settings produced similar outcomes. He had carried out his experiment on small fish and fresh water shrimp just to see how they would react. The end result was the same but the shrimp had been more significantly contorted. Ragnar had theorized that the inflexibility of their shells allowed the sound waves to have a more profound impact. Unlike the fish, which appeared to die for less obvious reasons, the shrimp's bodies were twisted into horrifically unnatural positions. Ragnar looked at the misshapen bodies of the shrimp and shuddered at what he judged to be a horrific way to die.

He moved away from animal testing after confirming his accidental results. He began to focus more on how the sound waves would affect other materials. He studied the impact of wood, metal, plastic, different shapes, different sizes. All of the experiments yielded something helpful to Ragnar.

Charlie still had a look of concern. "How do you know it won't be a problem going forward? This can not happen once we deploy any new systems to our fleet."

Ragnar looked tired but confident. In his quest for answers he had left his lab only once in the previous four days. He had eaten only snacks and the occasional meal Caroline brought to him knowing he wouldn't take the initiative on his own. He slept a few hours here and there. The unexpected events caused him to understand that his scientific actions had the potential to have significant impact on others. "It was completely accidental and preventable. We know what happened and I have added failsafe protections that will shut the system down if any dangerous limits are breached."

"How much time do we need to make the modifications?"

"Less than a day per vessel."

"Are you sure we will be OK going forward?" Charlie asked again.

Ragnar grew irritated at the same question being asked over and over, but he completely understood his partner's hesitation. He shared all of Charlie's concerns. He did not want a repeat of the accident and he was certain that he had removed possibility of reoccurrence. He fixed his eyes on Charlie's and said, "You must trust me."

Charlie did.

pull

1

"I'm here to see the Secretary." Dr. Stadler announced to the homely woman seated behind a simple desk in the reception area.

"Your name, Sir?"

"Dr. Robert Stadler."

"One moment." The receptionist picked up the receiver and punched a button on her phone. Robert could hear a voice on the other end pick up through her receiver but couldn't make out what was said. "You can go on back Dr. Stadler. He's waiting for you. Do you know where his office is located?"

"I do not," he replied impatiently.

"Down this hall, take a right and follow the hall to the second door on the left."

Without even a courtesy nod, Stadler headed off following the instructions provided. He paused outside of the door to remind himself of what he intended to accomplish at this meeting. He wasn't sure if he should just walk in. He decided to be safe and knock. He brought the knuckles of his right hand down on the large, dark, heavy wooden door three times. "Come in," returned a female voice. Stadler pushed down on the handle and let himself in. As he opened the door, light from the office illuminated the lettering on the outside. It read: Secretary of Defense – Kip Pulvert.

2

An older woman was seated behind a modest desk in a small room. A door behind her stood open. Stadler approached the woman and hesitantly asked, "I'm here to see Mr. Pulvert?"

"Go on in, sir," she replied.

Stadler approached the open door and carefully looked inside the office. His body hunched over slightly and his hands were clasped in front of him giving a wrinkled appearance to his brown suit.

"Come on in Dr. Stadler," a welcoming voice greeted him.

Stadler stepped into the office. It was spacious. A beautiful dark-blue carpet stretched across the room. A large mahogany desk was positioned directly across from the door. An American flag draped loosely from a flagpole to the left of the desk. The desk was clearly organized. There were just a few items resting on the surface: a telephone, a bronze sculpture of man wearing a hard hat and carrying a sledgehammer, and a single file folder with no identifying marks on the outside. A large painting hung on the wall to his right depicting the American Revolution. The man sitting at the desk was leaning back in his chair. He held a glass of some kind of drink in his left hand. Stadler approached the desk and unclasped his sweaty hands in order to extend his right to Mr. Pulvert. The Secretary leaned forward in order to reach his guest's hand. "Have a seat," he offered. "Drink?"

"No thanks."

"Smoke?" Pulvert asked as he opened a drawer and removed two cigars and placed them onto the desk?

"Thank you, no," Stadler replied quietly.

The Secretary put his drink down long enough to light a cigar. He pulled a crystal ashtray out from the drawer and put it on the desk next to the offering he left for Dr. Stadler. A desk light struck the glass sending rays of light through the many facets. It was clear to Stadler that the Secretary was a man of fine tastes. His clothes were well tailored and probably expensive.

"I received your communications, sir," the Secretary began. "I am not sure why you thought a personal visit would be productive."

"Well, I have received some information that might benefit the both of us. I didn't feel it prudent to discuss it in a letter or over the phone."

"That doesn't change the fact that the cabinet positions have all been appointed. I don't have any power over those appointments. The Director of the State Science Institute has already been promised to another individual of the President's liking," he said as he eased back into his chair; drink in one hand and a cigar in the other.

"I think you might be able to swing some influence after you hear what I have to give you in exchange."

"Are you attempting to bribe me Dr. Stadler?" he asked with a smile.

"No. I just thought that you might be in the market for a new form of . . . technology. I am aware of a private-sector development that might be better utilized if it could be moved into the hands of the people. Right now, it is being used selfishly for the benefit of just a few; a narrow niche of application solely for the creation of profit.

"I would like to see this science brought to the hands of someone that can appreciate the purity of what has been discovered, to improve upon it, to share its benefits with everyone – other scientists, the public. I am not even talking about the potential danger that exists if we allow this technology to remain in the hands of a private citizen or company. I was thinking that," Stadler paused for a brief moment, "if I were the Science Director, I might be able to use that position to better understand and assist your department in the development and deployment of such a discovery."

Skeptical, Pulvert put his drink down and licked his lips. "What kind of discovery?"

"Suppose I were to tell you that there is a technology out there that has been developed that could be used to energize sound? The full extent of this ability has not been explored as of yet." Dr. Stadler took his turn to sit back in his chair and watch the reaction of the Secretary.

"Speak in English."

"What I mean, is that it might be possible to focus sound waves to create some kind of physical action or disturbance."

"You mean that it's a weapon," Pulvert attempted to clarify.

"I think that is a crude way of looking at this opportunity. The applications are quite varied. For example, we could study how sound might be harnessed as an energy source, or we could . . ."

Pulvert sat upright in his chair abruptly, "Hush, doctor. You're talking too much. Listen. I asked you a question. I'll ask it again. Is it a weapon?"

Stadler resisted answering. He never understood why this was the first question he was asked when he brought a scientific concept to the government. He received the same kind of treatment when he improved upon the existing theories on cosmic radiation. His interest in the State Science Institute was precisely because of this attitude within the government. There needed to be a division that saw science as the main idea; exploration as the mission and discovery as the goal. There needed to be a place where scientists could go to seek guidance – to look for financial assistance without having to prostitute one's self as a weapons dealer in order to foster a relationship with those individuals holding the purse strings. He answered the critic inside him by suggesting that if he could get into this position, he would right all the wrongs. Things will be different in the future with him in charge.

"I suppose . . . that the science could be manipulated to produce a potential military advantage."

Kip relaxed back into his chair. "Then I'd be interested."

"Interested enough to figure out how to get me into a position where I might be allowed to extend my own research and scientific investigation?"

"What stage of development is this technology in? Have there been any field tests?"

"I have it on authority, from someone very close to the engineer that invented it, that it has been field tested. An effect on animals and possibly structures has been observed." Stadler knew that the truth was stretched a bit but he needed to make an impression.

There was a long pause where neither man spoke. Pulvert eventually broke the silence by rising out of his chair and moving to the front of the war mural. He surveyed the painting's grim portrayal for another minute before he finally said, "I'll see what I can do. You may hear from me within two days. If you don't, that means I couldn't make anything happen here, and I don't want you to contact me again."

"I think that you will find me a valuable addition to the scientific community. My studies, like those of my colleagues, combined with the guiding hand of the government will improve the lives of all Americans – better yet, all humanity."

"Uhh," Pulvert scratched through his salt and pepper hair, "I'm sure you are right. You scientists are all so smart."

Dr. Stadler stood up and extended his hand again as if he was going to close some kind of deal, but Mr. Pulvert never turned or looked in his direction again. Like a child awaiting some kind of reward for good behavior and getting nothing, Stadler skulked out of the office and returned home.

Two days later, while sitting in his academic office, Stadler received a hand-delivered letter. The envelope was square but held no recognizable words or numbers save for the embossed seal of the President of the United States. He opened the envelope to find a single creased card within.

Congratulations Dr. Robert Stadler on your appointment to the position of Director of the President's State Science Institute.

At nine o'clock on January 17th a formal orientation and staff introduction will take place at The State Science Institute located at 3777 Independence Way, Washington, DC 10022

All offers described here within are contingent on completion of National Security Questionnaire(s) and all background checks.

Stadler's thin lips turned up into a smug little smile. He knew that the lure of potential military technology would be too much for a greedy politician like Pulvert. He reached into a drawer on the right side of his desk and pulled out a single sheet of paper. He folded it and placed it into a blank envelope. He licked the glue and sealed it. Then he flipped it over and wrote Dr. Robert Stadler – Letter of Resignation. He placed the letter into his briefcase and headed out the door.

3

Word of Stadler's sudden departure from the University did not entirely surprise Dr. Akston. He knew that Robert's blind interest in science for science's sake meant Stadler would sacrifice anything in order to improve his position in the scientific community and grow his research abilities. Akston had seen this behavior before. He cautioned his students to study history. "History is the future," an important lesson he communicated to his students every year. "Without an understanding of where we as a society have been, how could we move forward? We must avoid the mistakes of the past if there were any hopes of safely maturing as a society – or in our personal lives for that matter."

History was replete with examples of scientists that failed to consider the historical or philosophical significance of their studies. Johann Dippel was the inspiration for Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Josef Mengele became the infamous doctor known as the "Angel of Death" because of his twisted experiments in German concentration camps. Dr. Akston felt that it was Stadler's infatuation with power and his unnatural ties to government that resulted in all manner of unearned grants and funding for research at his labs. He rightly assumed that he had taken a government position as national news of his appointment reached him.

Akston started at Patrick Henry the same year as Dr. Stadler. He wasn't particularly upset at his colleague's departure, but he was interested in gathering information about his new position. He was curious to see what events had transpired to make this transition happen.

"Sorry that you are not with us for the spring semester Robert."

"Who gave you that idea?"

"The president of the university," Akston said dryly.

"Ah. Yes. Well, it is true. I have been chosen to become the director for the newly developed State Science Institute in D.C. You know I have been a strong supporter of such an endeavor. Where else can we broaden the scientific community's knowledge?" he offered as a cocky reply.

It had not been intended entirely as a slight against Akston, but Akston certainly perceived it as such. His distaste for the man increased significantly. "How does one get appointed to a position like that?" Hugh stroked his ego in hopes of gaining further insight to the motivations behind this action. "You must have been at the top of a very short list. I mean your contributions to science are without question."

"You're right," Stadler chortled. "I have many things to offer the Institute that will help all of mankind."

"I assume that you have some special project you will be heading up first?"

"As it turns out, I am hoping to capitalize on a tangential area of research that I have recently been investigating. I hope to use it to revolutionize the way we communicate. The collective intellectual abilities of the institute should have us see much more rapid development of new technologies."

"I sure hope so," Akston replied without actually believing that to be the case. "Well, it has been a pleasure working with you. I hope that our paths cross again sometime in the future, and I wish you great success." He almost felt sick at hearing the words spill from his mouth.

"Why thank you Hugh. That is very nice of you. Perhaps there may be some opportunities that will come up within the Institute – maybe a chance for us to collaborate."

"I appreciate that you would consider me."

"Of course."

Akston did not believe the veracity of his offer. "Well, thanks again and good luck to you."

Fifteen minute after leaving Stadler's office Dr. Akston picked up the phone and dialed one of the few individuals he considered family.

"Hello?"

"Hi John. Gotta minute . . ."

4

Two weeks after beginning his position at the State Science Institute Dr. Stadler received a notice from Kip Pulvert stating that a coordinator had been appointed to assist The Institute in their activities. In the letter Pulvert assured Dr. Stadler that if there was anything required he should depend on Dr. Floyd Ferris to see it done.

Dr. Floyd Ferris arrived at the State Science Institute promptly at nine a.m. on the following Monday. He reported to Dr. Stadler's office in order to introduce himself.

Dr. Ferris was a skinny man with effeminate features and characteristics. When he entered his office, Stadler thought Farris might be ill. His cheeks were gaunt and his head seemed too heavy for his thin neck. His hand felt cool and clammy as well as weak. Despite the building being warm for most of the occupants, Dr. Farris never removed his jacket. His eyes looked lifeless, but his tongue was rarely still. It was his truest gift. Eloquent, but deliberate and cautious about the words he chose.

"How can I assist you and The Institute," he asked after sitting across from Dr. Stadler in a chair that looked oversized when filled by his small frame.

"I'm not sure why you are here," Stadler replied. "I think things are going as expected and soon I will understand the day-to-day operations and personnel here. We'll make incredible things happen."

Dr. Farris smiled, but the only muscle on his face that appeared to move were those controlling his lips. It was a thin, meaningless smile that Stadler would eventually determine was Farris's only other displayed emotion; the first being mild worry. "You see, I am already needed here. We don't want you to concern yourself with the boring minutia of running an office. We would like you to focus on what you do best: discovering new things." His smile remained after he finished speaking.

"It's just that I have only been here for two weeks and I am still finding my way through the building. I do love it here though."

"Of course. But we need to get some things underway. I have been asked to gather some information about the technology you pledged to The Institute. Something having to do with sound I believe?"

Stadler was irritated that they were rushing him on this. He had hoped to speak with his old student personally; see if he might be interested in joining him at The Institute. "What about it?"

"Mr. Pulvert has requested information on the technology and the individual that created it."

"I'm sure that Pulvert would rather have State Science Institute procure and develop that area of science. We're better positioned with resources and skill to take advantage of this kind of new science than a bunch of government boys that are likely to get themselves killed dabbling in things they couldn't understand. They should leave it to the experts."

"I agree completely and expressed as much to the Secretary. But he was quite adamant about it, and he wanted me to assure you that this discovery will be properly handled. He has requested I report back to him on this very topic today."

Stadler noticed Farris' creepy smile reformed after every comment he made. "I must disagree. What could a bunch of government dolts do with naked science? This kind of discovery needs to be nurtured, and through good research we will be able to tease out progress. We can share any discoveries made at The Institute with Pulvert and his toadies. Our goal is progress and we are better equipped, intellectually speaking that is, to see fruit from our investments."

"He thought you might feel that way. He begged me to find any way to get this information from you or your position here might be temporary. I value your contribution to science Doctor Stadler, but I don't know how I can satisfy Mr. Pulvert without getting him what he has asked for."

"But, I don't see . . ." Dr. Stadler began to say, but he trailed off once he realized he would not get his way.

"His name, Doctor. Where can we find him?"

Stadler looked down at his desk. He took a deep breath and considered that Ragnar was a star. He hated the idea that someone else might have a say on how his ex-student should carry out scientific study. But his Institute would have to take precedence. He told himself that he could do more there than Ragnar could ever achieve on the outside. "He was an old student of mine. One of the brightest minds I have ever had the pleasure of working with." Stadler told Dr. Farris everything he knew. He made one more failed attempt to suggest he should be the one to work with Ragnar's technology before Farris thanked him and left the office.

5

Dr. Farris called Kip Pulvert immediately and filled him in on the details not disclosed to him previously. Pulvert, in turn, called his advisors together and discussed the situation. It was decided that the smartest way to proceed was to secure the technology first and then ask Mr. Danneskjӧld to join them as a researcher. If that didn't work, they would just have to take the invention in the name of national security; eliminating any need for the inventor's consent.

The group laid out a plan. First they would put pressure on the business. There were many ways to do that. This was an area of coercion that they were experts in. They would need a legislator on their side – someone that could push laws through that would impact Ragnar's company directly. Next they would employ various branches of the government to exercise oversight – someone would need to insure that the public wasn't in danger from this new technology.

If that didn't work, a more sure-fire approach was to suggest that the technology might be harmful to wildlife or the environment. In Kip's experience that avenue proved to be more successful than any other. Throw in a few sympathetic reporters and it would be just a matter of time before they had what they wanted. From what he had learned, Kip Pulvert wanted to ensure that the technology became the property of the government. No individual could be trusted with this kind of discovery. No individual could have access to that kind of power.

birth of a catalyst

1

Ragnar and Charlie entered the office at a little after two that afternoon. The pair had been catching up on each other's personal lives and Ragnar needed to debrief Charlie on how the installation process had been going at their South American locations. They enjoyed a long and leisurely lunch at a fish and chips place that had opened in Ragnar's absence. The two had stepped just inside their building when Caroline came into the common area to welcome them back.

"How was lunch?" she asked.

"It reminded me of home," Ragnar said, but then he added, "almost."

With a big grin he thanked Charlie again for lunch as Caroline interrupted, "You missed a call while you were out Ragnar. John called you. He said it was important." She had a tone of urgency in her voice that was unmistakable.

Ragnar thought it odd that John would call him at the office. He wondered how he could know if he was in town or not. He had been doing quite a bit of traveling outside of the country. "Thank you," he said to Caroline. He looked at Charlie as if to ask if there was anything else important that needed to be discussed.

"Go. Go check on your friend," Charlie almost commanded as he motioned Ragnar away as one might shoo a fly.

Ragnar turned towards his office and upon entering found a note on his desk with the corner tucked under the base of his phone. He picked up the small piece of paper and penciled across the face it read:

John called at 1145

Said he is in town

needs to see you

sounded urgent

call him at the Hutton House Hotel

"Urgent?" he thought to himself. "What could be so urgent that he would call me here at work." Ragnar debated about whether he should call John now, or wait until he was done with work for the day. He couldn't figure out what was so important or, if maybe, Caroline had misinterpreted his friend's tone. Curiosity got the better of him. He grabbed his jacket and asked his partners if he might have the rest of the day off. They happily obliged him, so he left immediately to visit his old friend.

Ragnar arrived at the hotel and asked the front desk to ring his friend's room and tell him he was in the lobby. A few minutes later John stepped out of the elevator and quickly spotted Ragnar waiting for him. To each of them, the other looked exactly like they did just a few years earlier. As they approached wide smiles broke across both men's faces. John reached out his hand and although Ragnar grabbed it, he only held it momentarily as he heartily embraced his best friend.

"It is so good to see you," Ragnar nearly whispered in his friend's ear.

"You're crushing me," was his reply as he could hardly breathe. "It's good to see you too. I was expecting a call."

"Not when you are in town," he relaxed his grip on John and they both settled back a little.

"Thanks for coming over."

"What's going on? My office said you sounded urgent."

"Well, a lot has happened in my life – and yours as well. Let me start by telling you that what I am about to say might be considered fantastic; and by that I don't mean good, but hard to believe."

Ragnar smiled greedily now. John was about to tell him something amazing and he knew it. The two men took a seat in the lobby far removed from the few patrons and staff milling about. John sat rigidly but reclined in his chair. Ragnar, on the other hand, leaned in towards his friend.

"I quit Twentieth Century Motors last week," John said with a hint of sadness.

Ragnar was surprised by this revelation. "What?" he added softly.

"I am sure you also remember Professor Stadler?"

"Of course. I know that you left his graduate program when he endorsed the idea of a State Science Institute. That's when you went to work for Twentieth Century."

"Dr. Akston contacted me at my lab two months ago to inform me that Stadler has done more than just endorse the institute. He recently left his position at the university in order to become its director. I don't know if you know much about this 'honorable institution'," John said dripping with sarcasm, "but they are just a tool of the government; primarily the defense department. Stadler's too naive to recognize the circumstances he is in. The Institute has already forced a chemical company to hand over patents on several of their products related to powdered magnetic properties and explosives used in mining. They are going after a guy that manufactures this new, super-strong steel alloy. And, here's why I wanted to talk to you, Akston said that Stadler is aware of your sonar research and that there might be military implications for your findings. Didn't you tell me that your partners know Dr. Stadler?"

Ragnar collapsed back into his chair. "When they first made contact with me, Charlie told me that it was Stadler that recommended me to them."

"So it's true then? Did you know about this?"

"Of course not!" Ragnar exclaimed with indignation.

"Sorry. I can't put all the pieces together just yet."

"That explains something for me though."

"What's that?"

"Six weeks ago, NOAA contacted our company and suggested that we provide them with the technical specifications of the sonar imaging equipment I developed. We told them no, certainly, and offered to provide our services to the government if they wished. They responded by saying that they had 'safety concerns' about the effects of our technology on the environment and ocean life. We gave them all kinds of studies we conducted. That did not satisfy them either. There is an Ohio Senator that is proposing new regulatory language that will essentially make it illegal for us to continue business as usual. We have been fighting it by pouring a bunch of money into educating the legislators. I thought that we were being successful in our efforts, but now I have doubts, since it seems it's all been a smokescreen for getting at our technology."

"Could it be used as a weapon?" John asked very quietly.

"John, anything can be used as a weapon when someone wants to. But, to answer your question more specifically . . . yes. I had an incident where my prototype had been over-amplified," Ragnar retreated inside himself momentarily before adding, "It produced a very unexpected and terrible outcome. I have actually been tinkering around with the concept in my lab."

"Stadler wants it."

"He can't just take it," Ragnar said in disbelief of what he was hearing.

"These guys are going to get it one way or the other. I wouldn't put it past them to break in and steal it. But they don't have to. They will just legislate or regulate it right out of your hands."

"What does any of this have to do with Twentieth Century? Why did you quit?"

"To avoid losing the product of my mind…my effort…to a bunch of looters and moochers. This country was founded on a set of principles that allowed an individual to explore their abilities without barrier to achievement. In places around the world, where governments and dictators rule – oppression stifles creativity. It smothers achievement. It rewards connections and back-room deals over diligence and ability.

"I loved working at Twentieth Century. It was a place that expected excellence and got it. I grew more there as an engineer than in all my time at PHU with Dr. Stadler," he paused and shook his head as if trying to clear away a nightmarish scene from his memory. "The founder of Twentieth Century died and left the company to his children. Three spoiled brats that had everything they could ever want because of their father's effort.

"They took over and called a meeting of all the employees. Engineers, assembly line staff, administrative personnel, managers, janitors, everyone – there were thousands of us; all gathered together in the company's largest building to hear the announcement from three people unfit to run a lemonade stand let alone a leading, international technologically-advanced industrial powerhouse.

"They weren't planning to run the company like a business. Their father's ideas were antiquated and dangerous. Instead, they are running it like . . . God, I don't even know how to describe it. They run it like some kind of charity. Merit was tossed aside in favor of a manner of running a company so foreign to me I can only label it as evil or grotesque. They proposed that an individual's need would determine their pay and benefits.

"A committee was formed to evaluate and judge each person's need. If deemed worthy, anyone could receive benevolence from this committee regardless of contribution to the success of the company. Additionally, to follow injury with new injury, it was expected that those with greater ability would be required to work harder and longer hours. I was already working a minimum of sixty hours a week by my choice, but I wasn't interested in anyone telling me how much to work but myself.

"The heirs called their father cruel and concerned about only one thing: profit. It was their duty, they said, to reverse the destruction his line of thought had on the world. They called for a vote and I kept looking around for everyone to protest – to cry out in revolt. Instead I saw agreement. They got behind the proposal like a pack of wild dogs. They said this would bring about equality and security. They chanted 'Equal pay – Equal work – Equal voice' and 'We're here for you – You're here for me'. And if you remember Dr. Akston's lectures on the value of the individual you'll know why I couldn't stand it any longer. I quit."

John paused a moment to allow Ragnar the opportunity to digest the magnitude of what he was saying.

"It had to be now. I've had a huge breakthrough in my research. I have managed to harness unlimited amounts of static electricity from the air all around us."

"What?" Ragnar, once again, was shocked today.

"Uh huh. Unlimited," John smiled. "It's a simple device. I hope to show it to you some day."

"Incredible." Now it was Ragnar's turn to speak in a hushed tone.

"Exactly. But I am supposed to give it up to the greater good of my co-workers. And now, with Stadler out there collecting all of this technology for God-knows-what, I left so that no one would have it.

"We are supposed to do these things for the betterment of mankind. It's our . . . 'humanistic duty' . . . to share with everyone. If man believes this will better his life, then man can pay me for my effort. The choices I have made in my life have shaped me. I am me. A is A. No other man shall have sanction on my life, my being, or my production. No one can establish my value or the worth of my mind's product without me. I am not a slave to be born into captivity; raised to pull cotton from the fields or develop a cure for the common cold.

"You and I have made countless sacrifices throughout our lives. You left your home to come here at great expense, both financially and emotionally. We studied long hours and trained our brains to be what they have become. No man made us study. We sacrificed fun with our friends so that we could learn something. I do not begrudge their having fun. But I damn well won't just accept that they can walk up to me now, with their hand held out, for free energy.

"I thought to myself countless times over the years 'where would we be without the geniuses of time?' What if Einstein, Ford, Edison, Salk, Tesla never existed? Or worse, did exist, but didn't give a damn about themselves. The magnitude of abhorrence I felt at the mere possibility of my invention being looted away from me clarified my options to a single purpose: I am going on strike." John sat back in his seat with a satisfied look and awaited Ragnar's response.

"Until when? When they pay you? I don't understand. This is a union tactic John. What will it accomplish?" Ragnar questioned with a confused and puzzled look on his face.

"One, I will feel better knowing that I will not be taken advantage of. Two, it will significantly accomplish nothing if it is just me. Life will go on. Eventually someone might discover a way to do what I did on their own, but I will not be the one to give it to them.

"I will strike until the world recognizes its error and apologizes to me and every other person that has produced something with the effort of their mind. It's our own fault Ragnar. We did this. Not us personally, but us as a society. Our inability to accept anything less than perfection, success, and achievement has been used against us over the centuries. Remember when we used to take tests in school together? How we used to motivate each other? We didn't work to pass the test. We worked for the highest possible score. If Francisco scored two points higher than me I got angry at myself and swore to beat him next time. If I scored perfectly on the exam, I was angry with the instructor for making it too easy. Right? Now, imagine a situation where you had an 'A' in the class and the instructor told you that you didn't even have to take the exam – your grades were that good. Suppose I told you to take the exam anyway and fail it on purpose. Could you do it? I know I couldn't. It violates my identity.

"Society knows this about you and me. It knows they don't have to appreciate our efforts because we appreciate them from within. When man invented the wheel, did society thank him? Man's mind trumped brute force, but did they heap praise on him while they took his discovery and made their lives immeasurably easier? Did they give him payment? Did he get rubies, gold, fish, oxen, or wives? I'm betting he got a lot of happy pats on the back. Then what did society do next? They got rich off that man's invention? They used the wheel to transport goods, recreation, hunting – thousands, maybe tens of thousands of applications. We still use the wheel today! Then what happened? What did society say to the inventor of the wheel? Based on my experience and the experience of countless others, I can tell you that they said, 'What else have you got for us?'

"They would have enjoyed all the benefits that came with his invention and then denied him even the slightest consideration that somehow he was better than the rest of them. This has to end. We have to fight them. I want every individual that recognizes their contribution to society through their own self-interests to join me in this strike. We will strike until society understands their dependence on us.

"We shall not be made to sacrifice our virtues in order to fulfill their desires. I will not live my life for another any longer, and I would never expect you, or anyone else for that matter, to live for mine." John paused and slowly leaned towards his friend. He stared directly into his eyes and added, "I want you to join me."

"Join you? How? I'm sorry. I . . ." he trailed off. His mind tried to understand his friend's proposal. "You want me to quit?" he asked exasperatedly.

"Not just quit. I want you to help me spread the word. Help others to recognize this immoral path. Teach others like us that they have to do this. Once we achieve success, we can re-enter the world as we were born to be: free. Free to create and develop. Free to think and enjoy without guilt. No one will second guess your motives because they will know them. We need to find the folks in the world that are the best at what they do. Convince them to join us 'on strike' by showing them the future they will experience if they don't. Francisco has already agreed to aid in this endeavor. I spoke with him before I came to see you."

"It will take forever. Too hard to convince people to leave their passion, their work, their projects. The people you are trying to change won't change. Not for a hundred years. It's crazy."

"I don't need you. The outcome will be the same whether you join me in this crusade or not. I can tell you that the more I am able to recruit into this rebellion, the faster we can achieve the desired ends and return to a world that works as it was designed to. They will try to stop me. Stop us. I won't give in to them. I have to resist. The easiest way to resist, the safest, is to just step away and let them experience their own stupidity and negligence. We won't have to do anything but wait."

"I get that. But you will be waiting forever. It won't happen fast enough. It could take years, if not decades, to convince these folks. You might never passively produce the outcome you desire. If they try to stop you how can you advance anything? Are you going public with this plan? You think you could take out a TV ad and just ask people to join you? Everyone is going to think you are crazy. Hell, I think you're crazy."

"Yes. It could take a long time. But as this plan unfolds, the death of their current societal beliefs and practices will come faster and faster. The world will either understand its folly or it won't. I'll leave it for them to choose their fate. Ask yourself this question. What would happen if we could convince the world's best pilots and conductors, engineers and teachers, poets and writers to take their services off the table? Who is going to fly the planes? Repair the trains? Build the bridges? Instruct the surgeons? Sing songs? Describe what is happening? That is just a small sample of the people I will convince to join me. Without them, eventually it all falls apart. Eventually. I have a plan Ragnar. I just need to know if we can count on you."

"I . . ."

"I can imagine what you must be thinking. Francisco sat across from me in your same state just a few days ago. He has spent his entire life perfecting the expertise necessary to build Anconia Copper into the greatest company in the world. It is a legacy he literally lives for. This idea of mine means that cannot happen; at least not in the context we are accustomed to. In fact, the opposite will need to occur. He is using his skills to build an empire," he paused for a moment. "He'll have to use those same skills to destroy it." Galt swallowed hard and looked at Ragnar with a blank face. "If it helps at all, Dr. Akston has also left his position at the University." He paused again to let that piece of information sink in. "Think about it. I am leaving tomorrow afternoon. I'll be applying for a new job next Monday," he said with a cunning look in his eye.

"K. Umm. You'll be here I guess?"

"Yes. Come by anytime. If I don't see you I will assume that you have made your decision. If I don't see you," he shook his head and frowned, "I probably won't see you again."

Ragnar stood up and was unsteady. His mind was still swimming in the deep waters of John's proposal.

"And Ragnar," John's voice became grave, "Do not speak of this to anyone. I do not know this with any certainty, but it's possible you are being watched; or at least your business might be. I just don't know. But I do know Stadler's boys want your work."

"Thanks, I won't." Ragnar turned from his friend and exited the hotel lobby to the busy street. He looked at his watch and saw that it was too late to bother going back to work. He had an impulse to call Kay. He wanted to discuss all of this with her, but John's warning raised the hair on the back of his neck. He couldn't believe that Dr. Stadler was looking to take his invention. That thought made him look over his shoulders and in all directions. "Calm down," he told himself. He couldn't believe what his friend was preparing to do.

"Did you need a cab sir?" the valet asked him.

"Um. No thanks."

2

He went back to his apartment and closed his door. He locked it as well – not even cognizant of his action. He sat down at his small kitchen table and stared across the empty and quiet room. He stood back up again and went to his refrigerator. He opened the door and removed a bottle of beer from the bottom shelf. He opened it and then returned to his chair. He was trying to balance things in his mind. He knew his friend very well. John was an amazing friend and an amazing human being. To follow him down this path wasn't his main concern. He agreed with everything that John had said. The problem was that he had a full life now. He was finished with school. He had a great job and a great group of people that he worked with. He had a girl in his life who was also amazing. What was going to happen to all of this if he followed John? He didn't know. Ragnar spent the rest of the evening in front of his television. He wasn't really watching the programing, but the drone of the broadcast provided some white noise through which he could examine his thoughts and options. He finished a couple more beers over the rest of the evening. He didn't eat dinner, and eventually he fell asleep on his couch.

The next morning, Ragnar awoke and felt terrible. He had slept on the most uncomfortable couch in the world. His back was aching and he attempted to stretch it out to free its grip on him. He trudged into the bathroom and, with his right hand, turned on the hot water to his shower while looking at his watch on the other. He saw that it was almost six-thirty. He still had no idea what his course of action should be. He showered, shaved and proceeded to move through his typical morning ritual.

He arrived at work before everyone else that morning. He couldn't help but wonder if he was being watched or if the phones were bugged. It changed his whole demeanor and his partners noticed when they arrived.

"You OK Ragnar?" questioned Charlie when he arrived ten minutes later.

"Yes sir. I'm OK. You hungry?"

"Now I know something is wrong. We've never gone to breakfast."

"My treat this time. I just felt like it is a beautiful day and we should go eat over at that café on Bench Street – they have an outdoor patio." Ragnar was not interested in eating. He just wanted to get away from any potential risk – real or imagined.

Charlie didn't even have a chance to put down his papers or hang his hat. He and Ragnar left the building together and began walking the few blocks over to the restaurant.

"Does this have anything to do with that phone call from yesterday? You didn't make it back into the office so I assumed it must be serious."

"No, nothing serious – family or anything. It is just a friend of mine that was asking for some help, but it got me thinking."

"Is there something that I can do?" Charlie was eager to help.

"Let's get some coffee and we can talk about it." Ragnar looked around as they walked. His suspicion had not lessened. He saw people sitting in cars. He saw strangers that appeared to be watching him. He didn't think they were government agents, but John's concerns made him paranoid.

They arrived at the restaurant and Ragnar asked to sit inside as far away from the front door as possible. The waitress was happy to seat them wherever they wanted as almost no one had chosen to eat inside. Charlie, again was confused, as he clearly remembered they were going to eat outside. He ordered a couple of eggs – over medium with some toast. Ragnar ordered a cup of coffee. He didn't want that either but he felt strange not doing something with his hands.

"So, here is my question Charlie," Ragnar proceeded, "what is the status on the pressure from NOAA on our enhanced imaging technology?"

Charlie scratched his head and looked at Ragnar intently. "What is this about Ragnar? You're not yourself."

"Please Charlie . . . indulge me a bit would you."

He paused again, looking at Ragnar. "I don't know that it has changed much. I feel like we're making progress; at least that's what I'm hearing from the Washington folks we're paying all that money to. I don't like doing business this way. It's bullshit if you ask me. But what are our options? If we don't defend it on their turf, or their terms, we will lose it for sure. They'll either shut us down or require that we provide the specs, and that would be as good as giving it to them. They don't want us to do any work for them. I don't get that – we're the best in the business. I offered to provide our services at a great discount. But they said that is not what they were interested in. They just keep reiterating safety issues."

"Have you given them anything at this point?"

"Not at this point. "What does this have to do with your friend's message?"

Ragnar was alarmed at the connection his partner was making to John. "There is no connection," he lied. "John is just going through some rough times at work and it got me thinking about my future and the future of our business. I was worried and just wanted to hear what you had to say about things."

Charlie looked down and muttered, "I'm almost afraid to say this now, after what you've said."

Ragnar looked at him.

"We were given a subpoena to appear at the federal courthouse in Cincinnati next month. We may be fighting a possible injunction. I didn't have a chance to discuss it with you prior to today since you've been away. Also, our lawyer says it's just a formality, and he has assured me that nothing of substance will happen at that meeting."

"OK . . . that's good at least." Ragnar made an attempt to sound relieved and convinced, but he felt neither. "I'm glad that things are under control."

"What were you concerned about? About the company closing?"

"I want us to be successful. If there is anything that I can do to make that happen you know you can count on me. I have a good job and I love you and Caroline. I would hate to lose you because of something like this."

"Ahh, No! No!" Charlie protested. "We will survive even if we do lose that piece of technology. I realize that our profits have been down lately. We've had to spend extra money to satisfy all these compliance requirements and to pay lobbyists to protect the company. Ultimately, in the end, we are still the best in the industry and there is plenty of work to do. You don't have to worry about us closing shop."

"Thanks for meeting with me Charlie. I feel much better. Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Could you keep my concerns between us? I don't want Caroline to worry about me. She has enough to deal with without having to address my trivial concerns."

"They're not trivial, they are your legitimate concerns."

"I think you know what I mean. I just don't want to worry her."

"Yeah. We just went to breakfast . . . like you said."

The two of them waited until Charlie had finished his breakfast and then they returned to the office. Caroline looked at them both a little funny when they walked through the doors, but Charlie nodded to her and mouthed the words, "It's OK," to her.

Ragnar went into his office and pretended to sit down to work. He had to think about things, and he had to think about them quickly. Charlie went to his wife's office, and Ragnar presumed he filled her in on the rough details of their conversation. He hoped that there was no mention of the subpoena or the injunction, because if there were people listening, he didn't want them to know about their discussion at the café.

3

When lunchtime rolled around, Ragnar told the office that he would be stepping away for lunch and would return in a little while. He was vague as he did not know when he would be back. He returned to the Hutton House Hotel and, again, had the desk ring his friend's room.

John came straight down and found his friend sitting in the same lobby chair he had occupied a day earlier. He glanced around and then headed towards him, also taking the seat he held the day before.

John smiled, "I am happy to see you again. I assume you have come to some kind of decision."

"John, I think you are crazy. But I also think you know how to pick a team," he added with a wily smile before turning serious. "However, I can't sit back and wait for all this to unfold. I will join your strike. I think that you were right about my work and my company. The government does appear to be working towards taking the business by force. I will not let them have the benefit of my intellect. I am done as of right now. I will suffer for the loss of my partners' friendship. I will disappoint them in this. It will break their hearts as it is breaking mine. And . . ." his eyes began to water, "the men who have done this to me and my friends and partners will suffer for their decision to take from us what is naturally ours. They have no right. It is more a question of self-preservation for you and your ideals. I agree that those ideals also apply to me. But, for me, it is a question of self-defense. They might as well have pointed a gun to my head and told me to hand over my wallet. They're no better than street thugs. They have no honor. When they come to me demanding the product of my mind, while hiding behind the barrel of a gun, I have no incentive to negotiate in good faith."

"Whoa, wait I am not asking to go to war with these guys. Just show them how valuable we are. I know we can survive without them. They aren't aware of that, and they sure as hell aren't aware of the corollary – that they cannot survive without us. Ducking out of society will be enough to make that happen."

"Eventually – you said it yourself. I don't want to wait that long. So, you have my support. I will not make my services available to society any longer. But that will not be enough. The only way to defeat a bully is to stand up to that bully. And because I know you will be working hard to break them down from within, every day that this strike continues it will make my job easier to break them from the outside."

John looked at Ragnar as if he had opened Pandora's box. He wasn't exactly sure of what to make of his friend's comments. "Will you help me convince others to join?" he asked.

"Not by the method you are choosing, but by a method of my own. I will act – not be acted on." John sensed anger, if not rage, in his friend. "Imagine what happens when brute force encounters an opposing force; not one built solely on strength and power, but one governed by a thinking mind."

4

Before returning to work, Ragnar detoured to his bank. He waited in line patiently, and when it was his turn he asked the teller how much he had in his account. She informed him that he had a little over fifty-two hundred dollars. Ragnar withdrew five grand and left the remaining to cover any outstanding checks. He split the money between his front pockets and drove back to work.

Ragnar entered his office with a new focus of purpose and a plan. He hoped that he could complete the task without alerting his partners. He went about the rest of the day limiting his interactions as much as possible. The less he spoke to anyone, he figured, the less chance of catching him in his conflicted emotional state. The biggest decision of his life was about to be irreversibly made, and he had planned many things out, but no amount of planning could help him say goodbye to his family at Storrs Echographics without being able to actually say "goodbye".

He sat down at his desk and pulled his list of contacts. He went through each card and if he considered it an asset, he wrote it down on a notepad he had picked up when he walked into the office. He removed each valuable contact, there were only a handful, and placed them into a pile he started in one of his desk drawers. Next he went to his file cabinet. He pulled his entire file on anything connected to the improved imaging system he developed for Storrs. Mostly this contained records of vendors and invoices for the materials he had ordered throughout the years. He placed this into his drawer.

He went to his laboratory and unlocked the file cabinet containing his notes and design schematics for anything he could find related to his proprietary invention. There was a tremendous amount of information related to this project and the others that he had been working on over the years. There were just a few documents of sensitive nature he needed to locate. He found them and placed them in a folder which he carried back to his office and added to his collection in the drawer.

The rest of the afternoon he sat at his desk and drew various pictures on the notepad he had been using. It was a form of meditation for him. It passed the time and cleared his thoughts. He kept thinking about Kay, though.

At a little after five he began watching to see when his partners might leave. He didn't want to exit too early or too late; fearing that either might be some kind of signal to them that something was going on. He saw Caroline beginning to gather her things, so he opened his drawer and placed the gathered contents into his briefcase. He tore off the top pages in his notepad and threw them on top. He, then, dropped the notepad into his drawer and closed it slowly and with some sadness. He didn't touch anything on top of his desk. Pictures of his father and him at graduation along with the picture of Kay that she had given him, the old book on Japanese sword making he had considered his first inspiration – he left it all right where it had been for years. He stood up and measured his departure against Caroline and Charlie's, grabbed the precious collection contained within his case and stepped out of his office into the common area. He said his last words to them, "Good evening. See you tomorrow everybody." They bid him goodbye as he left behind his business family and headed home.

He was despondent. It was the same kind of feeling he used to get when his team would lose a game, but on another level. Society had let him down, and he was going to have to give up so much in order to make it right. The trip back to his place allowed him to focus on the Storrs and all that they had done for him. He hoped to repay them someday.

He did not have a lot of time, so he worked quickly. He had a few drawings and such at his apartment that he had concerns about. He added them to the contents of his briefcase. He opened the sliding-glass door to his tiny balcony that overlooked the street he lived on as well as an apartment building across the street. He grabbed the largest pot he had in his kitchen and placed it on the balcony floor. Then he began to burn everything that he had identified as being important to the development of his invention. He worked in small batches. He did not want to have the fire department called. He hoped that it looked like someone was barbequing. When he was done, the only thing remaining was his list of contacts. He folded that and put it into his front pocket.

He pulled a duffle bag down from the top shelf of his bedroom closet. He packed a couple of changes of clothing and a heavy jacket. He selected several pictures of himself with friends and family, of Kay and any picture he could find of John or Francisco. He added a hand scrawled list of friends' phone numbers and addresses he had taped to his refrigerator door. He hesitated momentarily before opening the door and grabbing a bottle of beer from the bottom shelf. He threw that into his bag as well, zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder. He took his phone off the hook so that anyone calling would get a busy signal and made one final pass through his apartment for anything he might have missed. After deciding he had everything needed, he stepped out of his home and locked the deadbolt.

He left his car parked at the apartment and, instead, waited for a bus at the end of his street. Fifteen minutes later he was on his way to his waterfront laboratory in Fort Thomas. He exited the bus and walked the final few blocks towards the building. He wanted to scout out the area to see if he felt anyone might be watching. He stood in the shadows and didn't think anything looked out of place; but he was certainly no expert on this kind of surveillance.

He proceeded to the office and unlocked the door. He flipped on the light in his office. If anyone happened by unexpectedly, he needed to make it look as if he was merely working late on a project. He found the last of his technical documents and research notes. He tossed them into his duffle bag alongside his personal items. With no physical equipment or components in the lab, he could think of nothing else that needed to be cleaned up. He extinguished the light in his office and exited the rear, dock-side door of the building.

He walked down the wooden dock, his feet knocking on the planks as he made his way to the end. There stood a simple cruising yacht with the large Storrs Echographics logo painted on the side. He climbed aboard and immediately went below deck – first to drop off his duffle bag in the crew quarters and second, to check on the security of his prototype. Down the hall was a closed white door. It was a heavy door that had no lock, so anyone could gain access if they desired. Previously he had thought no one would have much reason to come aboard their boat or to steal something they couldn't understand. But now he knew there were others that would understand it, if they could get their hands on it.

The door seemed secure. He entered the room and turned on the light. Nothing looked disturbed to him. "Hmm," he thought to himself. This is going easier than I thought." He didn't want to push his luck, so despite not having fully prepared to sail, he untied the boat from the dock and powered up its engines. He sat down behind the wheel and piloted the boat out onto the Ohio River.

He pointed himself westward and settled in for a long evening. Immediately he was hungry, sad, and excited, all at once. Previously his mind hadn't given his body a chance to speak up. Now it was making its demands known. He sighed, and then he remembered something. He looked down the river. It was dark and he saw no traffic in the shipping lane. He slowed to an idle and sprinted to the crew quarters. He located his bag, opened it and felt around until his hand closed around the bottle. "Yes sir," he said out loud to himself.

He rushed back up to the wheel and reassured himself. Everything was fine. No apparent danger, no problems. He fell into his pilot's chair and throttled up the engines before taking a moment to finally relax. He held the bottle, aligning the cap with the edge of a cabinet, and opened it with a quick downward smack of his hand. Warm beer bubbled out of the top. Ragnar took a long drink. Evan warm, to Ragnar it was a satisfying end to a hastily executed plan.

5

The following morning Storrs Echographics opened its doors as it did every day. Ragnar was late. The Storrs did not think much of it until about 10 AM.

"Have you seen Ragnar this morning," Charlie asked his wife.

"No, I assumed he would be in by now."

"Yeah, me too. Did he say he would be late? I don't remember."

"I don't believe so."

Charlie thought about it momentarily and decided to wait and see if he showed after lunch. When he didn't, he picked up the phone and called his apartment. The line was busy. Figuring Ragnar might be working from home, he ignored the nagging feeling he was experiencing and went about his routine business for the day. It was later in the afternoon that he received a call from Marlon.

"Hey Charlie? It's Marlon."

"Hi Marlon, how are things on the river?"

"Oh, so something is going on?"

"What do you mean? I was just asking how you were doing."

"You're not asking about any trials or surveys?"

"We're not doing anything like that right now. Are we?"

"You tell me. I thought something was going on. Echo One is not in her berth."

"Since when?"

"Since all day. I assumed you guys were out surveying or something. It was getting late and so I radioed Echo One but there's no answer. I thought it was odd, and that's why I called the office. To see what's going on."

"Do me a favor and radio her again," Charlie asked. He was so confused.

"Alright sir, hold the line."

After a minute, Marlon returned, "There's still no answer. What do you want me to do?"

"Let me call you back."

"Yes, sir," Marlon said and hung up.

Charlie hung his phone up briefly in order to get a new dial tone. He attempted to call Ragnar again, but the line was still busy. He looked at his watch and observed it was close to four. Caroline came into his office sensing something was really bothering her husband. She watched him as he placed another phone call.

"Storrs Echographics, Marlon Henderson speaking."

"It's me again. Go on home Marlon. I am going to do a little poking around, and I'll call you if I need you to come back. At this point I don't know what you can do."

"Should I call the police?"

Charlie thought about this and determined that it might be a bit premature to do that. Something wasn't right, but he just didn't know what was going on. "Not yet Marlon. If the police are needed, I'll call 'em," Caroline's eyes widened when she heard those words, "Lock up and go on home."

"OK."

Charlie returned the phone to its cradle and looked at his wife.

"It's Ragnar isn't it?" With a tone of panic creeping into her voice she asked, "Is he dead?"

"Now why would you think that?" Charlie asked with some exasperation – but a part of him wondered if that were possible. There had been no way to reach him all day. "I'm going to his apartment. If you want to come, grab your things and let's go. I'll tell you the situation on the way over there."

Charlie filled his wife in on their missing ship and the fact that no one had spoken with, or seen Ragnar since yesterday evening. When they arrived in front of Ragnar's door Charlie knocked three times. They listened for any hint that he might be inside. Charlie knocked again, this time much harder and louder. They both subconsciously held their breath hoping to improve their hearing. "Still no answer, no sign he's home."

The Storrs returned to work and walked into Ragnar's office to see if there were any clues – any notes explaining things. Everything looked as it always did. Charlie returned to the phone in his office and Caroline hung beside him. He made a final attempt to reach Ragnar at his apartment and when he continued to get the same busy signal, he hung up and dialed the only people he thought could help.

"Ah . . . hello. My name is Charlie Storrs. I think I would like to report a missing person."

The operator at the police department heard his lack of conviction right away, "You 'think' that they're missing?"

"I'm not sure. He's not answering his phone and that is really strange for him."

"Uhh. OK. Is this a child or something?" she inquired.

"No, one of my employees."

"How long has he been missing?"

"We saw him last night," when the operator paused he added, "But he was supposed to be at work today."

"Maybe he's sick. A little early to be calling someone missing."

"You don't understand," Charlie's voice was getting higher in pitch, "this guy is never 'missing'! He might be on our boat. We cannot find that either."

"Your boat has been stolen?" The operator asked with renewed interest.

"No. I don't think so. We just know that both our employee and boat are missing, and they might be related in some way."

"Well, we won't accept a missing persons report until it has been at least twenty-four hours. If you would like to file a stolen vehicle report, we can do that now."

Charlie was afraid of filing a report with such serious consequences. If there was some kind of miscommunication and they reported the boat stolen, that could cause all kinds of problems for their partner. He decided to wait the twenty-four hours. "No. Thank you for your time. If we don't hear from him we'll file the report tomorrow." He hung up.

Caroline spoke curtly, "Why didn't you report it stolen?"

"I didn't want to get Ragnar in any trouble."

"What trouble? You think they would shoot him if they found the boat? It's a way to speed the investigation along."

"It'll be fine tomorrow morning. Let's go home and I'll try calling him again later tonight. It'll be alright." Charlie knew it was not going to be alright.

6

Ragnar's first stop was Evansville, Indiana. He steered the boat into a quiet marina along the river and was greeted by the dock master.

"Hello sir, how are you today?"

Ragnar jumped down from the deck onto the dock. He straightened his clothes and replied, "Fine, thank you. I need to purchase some fuel and pick up some supplies. I am headed ashore to get the supplies, but can you point me in the direction of a fuel dock?"

The man was very friendly, "Yessir, fuel dock is just about a quarter mile further along the west. Man name of Bart runs it."

"Thank you. I will be returning in a couple of hours or so. Keep an eye on her?" he winked at the dock master and smiled. He didn't expect him to actually watch his boat. It was just an expression he often heard on his many excursions.

"Aye cap'n," nodded the man.

Ragnar went into town and stopped at the first open café he found. He was absolutely starving. He loaded up on three eggs, hash browns, a glass of milk and a glass of orange juice. He relaxed for a few extra minutes. He knew it was going to be another long day so he savored the opportunity to sit and clear his thoughts. His next stop was at the local five and dime. Here he picked up some blue tape, blue paint, a few assorted brushes, a utility knife, soap, toothpaste, toothbrush, a shaving razor, a large bag of peanuts, and a newspaper to search for any mention of him and the events surrounding his disappearance. Following his purchase, he made one more stop – to a nearby pawn shop. He entered the establishment and walked towards the man behind the display counter.

"Mornin'," said the proprietor gruffly. He was overweight and sat on a stool that looked way too small for his massive frame. His upper body appeared to spill over the lower half. He was bent over at the waist, leaning on the counter in an effort to support his weight. He wore a Hawaiian print shirt with a noticeable dark stain resting on top of his immense belly.

"Do you have any guns in your inventory?" Ragnar asked.

The man looked at him as if sizing him up, analyzing him in some way. "Vut kind of gun you lookink for?" He spoke with an Eastern European accent.

"A pistol . . . something small?" Ragnar did not know much about weapons. He had only shot a pistol twice in his life. He had used rifles before for hunting with his father, but his knowledge was minimal.

"Yes, I got pistols," the man slowly wrenched his body around to the other display case and poked his finger on the glass several time indicating to Ragnar that he should come over there to look.

Ragnar looked in the case and saw four different guns that looked like what he wanted. "Do they have bullets?" Ragnar asked. He felt like a school kid asking stupid questions.

"I got bullets for these guns," the man pointed to three of the guns, "but no this one." He pointed out the fourth.

"I'd like to purchase this one," Ragnar said as he pointed to the smallest gun in the case that had bullets available."

Again, the man studied him. Then he pulled out a log book. "Your name mister?"

He thought he hesitated for too long before he came up with the first thing that entered his mind, "Dan Ragland . . . with a 'd' at the end."

The man wrote his name in the log. Then he turned it around so that Ragnar could see. "You put address here where it says," and he gave Ragnar his pen. He poured himself off of the stool and searched around behind his counters for a way to package the gun for his customer. He returned to the counter when he had found a suitable box. "How much bullets you need?" The man spoke slowly and deliberately.

"A box?" Ragnar answered as more of a question than an answer. He hated not knowing what he was doing.

The man sat back down on his stool and then leaned down to a lower shelf. When he managed to pull himself back up he held a small box about the size of his hand. He then unlocked the case and removed the gun that Ragnar had chosen. It was a small, chrome-plated revolver. The man put the revolver into the box along with the ammunition. He taped the box closed and then looked up at Ragnar again. "Fifty."

Ragnar reached into his front pocket and pulled several bills out. He gave the man a crisp one-hundred dollar bill.

The man stuck two fingers into the shirt pocket straining against his chest and removed a group of bills folded neatly. He added Ragnar's contribution to the back of the pile and made the $50 change from the front of the pile. "You need receipt?"

"No, that's quite alright." He did not want to do anything else that might force him to linger longer than he had.

The large man leaned forward again to pass the change to over to him. Ragnar took the change and picked up his box. With a backward glance he bid the man thanks. There was no reply. His purchases complete and his stomach full, he made his way back down to the dock. He paid the watchman for his time at the berth and started off to the west again. He stopped just a few minutes later at the fuel dock. A young girl was there to greet him.

"Hi mister, you need some gas?" she said cheerily.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he played along with her.

"How much gas you want?"

"Oh…how about we fill her up."

"OK!" She ran off excitedly.

Ragnar stood on the deck of his boat and wondered what to do next. A few seconds later the girl came racing back. "OK, my daddy says to…" the girl attempted to change her voice by making it deeper, "…hold your horses." She smiled a huge smile.

"OK. OK. I'll…" he made his voice a little deeper, "…hold my horses." He returned her smile, and she giggled with delight.

Emerging from around the corner of a small building set in the middle of the dock a tall man wearing a straw hat and smoking a pipe walked towards the two.

"Emily!" he playfully scolded her, "leave the gentleman alone."

"Yes papa," she replied to him. She turned to Ragnar and yelled, "Bye!" and with a big wave she energetically bounded off behind the building.

"You must be Bart?"

"Yes, sir. That's me. You need some gas my daughter says?"

"I'd be obliged sir, yes. Could you fill her up?"

"You bet. Sit tight and we'll get you on your way," Bart nodded at Ragnar as he moved to the gas pump and began the process of refueling his boat.

While the man carried out his task, Ragnar put some time into making his boat a little less identifiable. He took out the paint, tape, brushes and knife he had just purchased and then he located a scrap of paper and pencil. He wrote the name of his boat down and studied it for a few minutes. With eyebrow raised he thought to himself, "It might work. I don't know what else I could come up with." Then he took the tape and used the utility knife to cut various strips in, what appeared to be, random lengths. He put the paint and brushes into his pocket and then affixed all the tape segments to his pants. It almost looked as though he had a very large zipper running down his left leg. He walked back along his deck to check on the progress the man was making.

"How are we coming?" he asked.

"We're all done here. Where are ya headed?"

"Haven't quite decided just yet," Ragnar lied, "you got any recommendations?"

"Wherever the water is wettest."

Ragnar knew Bart was just being friendly, but he didn't want to leave too many breadcrumbs along his trail. "How much do I owe you?"

"$95.14."

"Got it," Ragnar took another hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and jumped down onto the dock. He handed it over to Bart.

Bart couldn't help but notice all the strips of tape attached to his pants, but he made no mention of it and Ragnar was thankful for that. "Let me git yer change." Bart replaced the fuel hose and disappeared back into the building.

A short time later Emily reappeared and skipped towards him. She held a five dollar bill in her fingers as she watched it flap in the wind. When she reached Ragnar she came to a stop and continued to hold the bill up as tall as she could reach. "Here's your change sir," she said as if she had said it a thousand times and probably had.

Ragnar took the bill and examined it for a moment. Then he said, "Emily, do you help your papa a lot out here?"

"Sure do. All the time. I like it out here. It's fun," she smiled.

"Has your daddy ever paid you for your help?"

"I get an allowance every Sunday." She looked a little more serious now. She found this conversation unique.

"Well, I want you to know that I appreciated your work with me today. And good work deserves to be recognized."

Emily looked a little confused, but she kept on smiling at him.

"I want you to have this five dollars as a payment from me to you. Do you have a piggy bank?"

"I have a bank that looks like a doll house."

"Perfect. Put this five dollars in there and when you want something, you go buy it." He handed the bill back to Emily.

Emily looked from the bill into Ragnar's blue eyes, "What's your name mister?" She said more seriously now.

Ragnar didn't want to lie to the girl. He liked her spirit and her innocence, but in the end he decided he needed to be careful. "You can call me Dan."

"Thank you Mr. Dan," she said smiling while she skipped back to the building with the bill held high over her head again.

Ragnar climbed back on board his boat, his heart warmed by the little exchange. He cast off the dock lines and started off westward once again. When he was beyond Emily and her father's sight and could find an empty dock along the shore, he stopped again in order to complete his planned changes. He shut down the engines and took his supplies to the back of the boat. He climbed over the railing and stood on the platform that wrapped around the back of the vessel. He looked at the boat's designation:

Echo One

He pulled a few pieces of tape from his pants and began placing them strategically onto the existing name. Then he pulled out the paint and removed a small brush from his pocket. He dabbed blue paint onto various places and then he drew a couple of shapes. It wasn't easy for him with the waves moving the boat, as well as the uncomfortable position he had to put himself into in order to reach the letters. A few minutes later he stood up and took note of his work.

BabboOned

He tilted his head to one side hoping it would look more convincing. "Well," he figured, "it's got to be less noticeable than Echo One. He knew he needed to render the rest of the ships markings less conspicuous, but that would have to wait a little longer. He sat back in his captain's chair, opened the bag of peanuts, and eased out into the channel. He moved southward and onto the Mississippi.

7

After a fitful night's sleep for each of them, Charlie and Caroline woke up early and attempted a call to Ragnar's apartment. The line was still busy. They threw on some clothes and got to the office as soon as they could. Ragnar was not there. They drove over to Ragnar's apartment again, and Charlie irritated the neighbors by now banging on his partner's door. Ragnar did not answer. Charlie tried to turn the door handle with no luck. He backed away from the door and pulled his wife with him.

"What are you going to do?" she asked with alarm.

"I'm gonna kick this door down."

"Are you serious? You'll do no such thing! You'll break your leg or something. You can't even walk without a cane."

"I'm not waiting around anymore for someone to do something. We're getting into that apartment right now."

A few of Ragnar's neighbors had come into the hall after hearing all the commotion. None of them knew anything about Ragnar or his recent activities. So, with all his might and heft, Charlie rushed the door – turning his body sideways just before reaching it. While the door did not open, it did generate a very loud crack and Charlie could see a thin line of light penetrating the door's frame into the hall. He backed up and charged the door again. This time the door exploded into Ragnar's place. Charlie attempted to steer his body's fall towards Ragnar's couch in order to avoid crashing onto the floor, with no success.

Splintered wood was everywhere, but Charlie was worried he might find his partner, his friend, dead. After picking himself off the floor and regaining his bearings, Charlie pulled himself back up with the assistance of his wife. They moved cautiously through his apartment towards Ragnar's phone in order to unravel that mystery. Charlie found the receiver, not in its proper place, but lying by itself on the table. That spooked him. He motioned for his wife to stay back while he quickly gave a look around all the rooms to see if he could find him. He returned to his wife, waiting in the living room of the apartment, and pulled her back out into the hall with him.

"Something is definitely wrong here. He is not here. It looks like the phone was rigged to give a busy signal. This just doesn't feel right. He wouldn't just vanish like this." He hesitated for a few seconds then grabbed Caroline, "We're calling the cops."

The Storrs went outside the complex to find a payphone. This time, Charlie reported a missing person and a stolen ship. He was beyond caring about hurt feelings and possible ramifications at this point. He was worried about his partner and friend. Ragnar was like a son to him.

When the police arrived Charlie and Caroline explained the situation as best they could. Ragnar had been missing for over 24 hours now. Their ship was missing and that Ragnar's phone was off the hook.

"Where does he work?" the officer questioned.

"He works with us on Commerce Street, downtown."

"Was there anything unusual at his office?"

Charlie and Caroline looked at each other puzzled by the question.

"Was anything missing? Anything taken? Photos, paperwork?" the man clarified.

"Not that we saw. His desk looked like it always does. Pictures were there," Charlie looked at his wife for any disagreement with his statement. "We didn't think to look that closely though."

"How about his apartment? Anything out of place there?"

"No. But we've really never been in his apartment for more than maybe a few minutes. And maybe only twice in the last year.

"Can you describe the boat that was stolen?"

"Yes. It is 87 feet long. The bulk of the vessel is white. There is a winch on the rear. It is a research vessel. The name of the boat is Echo One and there is a picture of a dolphin on the side." Charlie described the boat, but he thought it looked like every other boat out there.

"OK, sir. We'll continue our investigation here, and we'll stop by or call your office in a few hours with an update. We are going to want to see his office as well as the place where the boat was stored."

"Well, the boat wasn't stored anywhere. It was located at our other facility over in Fort Thomas – on the river."

"Can someone show us around over there?"

"Certainly. What time?"

"We'll let you know," the officer scribbled a few notes in his book. "OK, you folks can let us finish this up now. We will let you know what we can, as soon as we can."

Charlie questioned the sincerity of the policeman's statement; his words sounded hollow – as if he were reading from some kind of script. He sensed nothing but apathy in his voice. "Thank you very much officer. We're both really worried about him. He's like a son to us." He hoped that his last comment might motivate the officer in some way. They got back into their car and decided to go back to the office in hopes of finding some kind of clue, as well as to await further contact from the police.

When they arrived back at work, both Caroline and Charlie went directly into Ragnar's office. They surrounded his desk, one in front and the other behind. They looked around the room and saw nothing that piqued their interest. There was nothing on his desk to even examine. They opened his middle drawer and saw a collection of pencils, pens, a ruler, paper clips, erasers, and thumb tacks. They opened the drawer on the right and sitting on top was Ragnar's drawing pad. They tossed it onto the desk and underneath was an opened bag of peanuts, more pencils bound together with a fat rubber band, various brochures from companies he had been working with, and his contacts book along with a calendar.

Caroline flipped open the calendar to the current week. She looked to see if anything was scheduled that might explain his absence. She saw nothing. She began searching earlier and later dates while Charlie picked up the contacts book. He gave it a cursory look and didn't see anything. He didn't know what to look for. He could tell that several pages might have been removed, but he couldn't tell when or how many. He picked up Ragnar's drawing pad. Charlie opened the pad and looked down on the sand-colored paper. He cocked his head to the side a bit and then scratched behind his left ear. Caroline put down the calendar and looked at her husband. He turned the pad around for her to see. She studied the picture for a moment and then asked, "Is that all that's in there?"

"The only thing in this pad."

"Hmm. Do you think it means anything?"

"I have no idea. It's certainly no note or explanation." Charlie dropped the pad onto Ragnar's desk in frustration. In deep dark ink, but in exquisite detail was a single "$".

8

"Yes, sir . . . Of course sir . . . I'm leaving now and I should be there within two hours . . . I'll give you a report as soon as I know what is happening at the site . . . Yes, sir – I'll share this information only with you . . . Right. The same as the last time . . . Thank you, sir. I won't let you down." Salvo Moretti hung up the phone and retrieved his hat and coat as he made his way out of his office.

He was the lead agent in many important cases. His most desirable qualities were that he knew how to be discrete, and he was loyal. Kip Pulvert had contacted him as soon as news of Ragnar's disappearance reached his office. Pulvert could also count on him to use discretion, if unorthodox methods were needed to bring about a desired outcome.

Agent Moretti was young for his position. Anyone enrolled in the academy with his test scores and physical prowess would have gained employment with the FBI. It was the political connections of his previous boss, however, that facilitated several quick promotions.

He was tall and muscular. The muscles of his jaw bulged widening his face and giving him the appearance of a pit bull. His dark hair would have hung in his face if it were not combed back; cemented in place with copious amounts of pomade. His nose had been broken multiple times over the years, and now it was pushed to the right with two perceptible bumps along the bridge. Despite these features he was not unattractive, but rather ruggedly handsome.

Prior to his conversion to a more acceptable line of work, Agent Moretti had been under the employ of a crime syndicate boss. He began his career as a teenager providing low-level, secure transport of smuggled immigrants and then rose through the ranks as a mid-level thug that could be counted on to do jobs that were considered too "dirty" for his superiors to risk their futures over. His boss saw potential in his abilities and decided that his enterprise needed a guy like Moretti on the inside. So he called in a few favors and magically, his criminal record ceased to be a concern. Once Moretti was a federal agent, he continued to watch out for his long-time boss's business needs, but he also discovered another route to riches and power. It turned out that the bosses in government were not much different than the bosses at his old job. The tasks were more exciting and he never had to explain himself to the authorities because he was the authorities.

It was several hours later when the Cincinnati Police Department called the Storrs to confirm they were available to speak with a detective. They had been waiting eagerly all day, and with increasing anxiety, they waited another thirty minutes for a green sedan to pull into their parking lot.

They could see him sitting in his car. They watched for almost five minutes; waiting for him to come inside, waiting for some answers. He stepped out of the vehicle and stood beside the door. He had an athletic build and looked about the same age as Ragnar, but he did not move with the same kind of fluid grace. He dressed in a pair of dark grey slacks and a white shirt. The knot in his blue and grey tie hung askew. He leaned through the car window and picked up a matching jacket as well as his notebook. He strode confidently through their entrance and asked to speak to Mr. or Mrs. Storrs.

Both of them stood together but, as usual, Charlie spoke, "We're the Storrs."

"Hello, I'm Salvo Moretti. I'm a federal agent with the FBI." He displayed his badge just long enough for the Storrs to recognize its shape before whipping it back into the inside pocket of his jacket. He had no expectation his authority would be questioned.

Charlie and Caroline both looked surprised at the announcement that he was with the FBI. "We thought this was a police matter."

Agent Moretti gave them a friendly smile, "Well, we have a missing person and a very-expensive missing boat. At this point we are looking at this as a grand theft case."

The Storrs looked at one another again. "What have you found out at this point?"

"Right now it looks like your employee, Mr. Danjescold, has left and taken your boat in the process."

Charlie didn't correct the agent's pronunciation. His brain was numb. He was at a loss for words. Caroline was functioning a little better. "We just don't know him to be like this. He has worked with us for many years. He is a partner in our business. He's like our own son. It not in his nature to disappear like this without any notice or anything."

"Maybe he was kidnapped?" Charlie urged, not wanting to believe his friend would leave or was even capable of committing a crime like theft.

"That was a possibility we considered at first. We could not find any signs of foul play. No forced entry – except for yours," he said frowning at Mr. Storrs, "No ransom, no demands. What we did find, so far, is that several photographs have been removed from the premises.

Caroline's eyes lit up, "He had a large picture of his girlfriend in a frame on his bookshelf. Did you see it?"

Agent Moretti consulted his notebook. "No. One of the frames we found empty on the bookshelf. The other pictures there were not of any girl. Do you know his girlfriend? Where she lives?"

Mr. and Mrs. Storrs smirked to each other as they anticipated the reaction to their answer, "Her name is Kay Ludlow." Caroline watched the agent's reaction with great anticipation. It was always fun to see people react to that kind of information.

"The actress?" Moretti scratched several notes into his book. His lack of any reaction disappointed Caroline.

"Yes, the actress," she answered deflated.

"Hmm, OK. Do you know how to reach her?"

"No sir, we don't," said Caroline.

"We might!" Charlie injected. He walked back to Ragnar's office and retrieved his contacts book. Caroline and Agent Moretti waited while Charlie searched for her name. He looked under both K and L and could not find it listed under either name. "Well, it was worth a shot. But I imagine you guys can track down anyone, huh?"

The agent did not respond. "Do you have any reason to believe Mr. Danjescold might be involved with any kind of weapons development?"

"Is this a joke?" Mr. Storrs asked.

"Just protocol questions sir," agent Moretti replied. The agent didn't speak again, but continued to stare at each of them.

"No!" said Charlie.

The agent looked again at Caroline.

"No! I'm really good at reading people and Ragnar isn't like that. He's a hardworking, intelligent young man. Everything is going right in his life. It doesn't make any sense," she protested.

"Mmm-m," Moretti hummed out loud as he made more notes. "Has Mr. Danjescold ever had contact with any foreign nationals?"

"He developed sonar imaging that is used all over the world. So, yes, he has contacts with plenty of people outside the country."

"Any of them dangerous . . . to your knowledge?"

"OK this is ridiculous. The answer is no – from both of us." Charlie was fully irritated by Moretti's line of questioning.

"Again, sir, it is just protocol. Thank you for your cooperation. I understand the vessel was taken from a location over in Fort Thomas. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Could someone show me that location? I would like to go over there now."

"We can both accompany you."

Charlie and Caroline agreed to meet agent Moretti at the Fort Thomas office. They phoned ahead to alert Marlon that they were on their way. Marlon agreed to wait for them in case agent Moretti had any questions for him. When they arrived, agent Moretti took the lead and entered the office with Mr. and Mrs. Storrs following behind. Marlon was there to greet them and answer the agent's questions. There was not much more information that the agent was able to collect. There were no signs of a struggle, no forced entry, no obvious evidence that Ragnar had been there. Moretti still couldn't conclusively say that Ragnar had taken the boat, but he suspected as much.

"If he should contact you for any reason, try to get some indication of where he is. Even if he doesn't tell you, maybe you might hear some kind of background noise or announcement so listen carefully. Do not inform him of this investigation. We would appreciate it if both of you stuck close to home as well."

Charlie looked at the agent inquisitively.

"In case we have any further questions . . ." Moretti's voice trailed off.

9

Once it was dark, Ragnar pulled his boat up to an empty dock. He had piloted BabboOned half way to Memphis – his next planned destination. He finished the bag of peanuts and managed to read the paper. As expected, there was no news of his departure. He wasn't even sure that his disappearance was worthy of note in any newspaper.

He pulled the boat in and tied it securely to the small pier. He jumped off the deck and walked to the front of the boat. On the hull, near the bow, was a large logo for Storrs Echographics. Luckily for Ragnar, the logo was faded, but he needed to do something with it so it would not be so easily recognized. The logo contained an outline of a dolphin, as if it was jumping out of the water. Sound waves were pictured as if coming from its head. Encircling the whole thing was the company name.

Ragnar first attempted to pull off the logo using the utility knife, but the logo had been on too long; it would not come off cleanly. He stepped back to look at it again. He had an idea. He took out his widest paintbrush and stuck it into the small container of paint he had bought the previous day. He dropped a fat vertical line down the middle of the logo. It covered the dolphin and the echo waves emanating from its head. Then, with as steady a hand as he could achieve, he painted a large "S" that followed the encircling company name. The result was a clear "$" that did a great job of obscuring the previous artwork. He smiled at the recurrence of his personal joke. He thought it looked good enough to fool those on other ships, but he was not too sure that it would fool anyone that got close enough to touch it.

He pulled the boat around the dock in order to repeat the process for the logo mirrored on the other side of the bow. When he completed that side, he felt it looked even better than the previous attempt. He re-boarded BabboOned and set course for Memphis.

Ragnar arrived in Memphis a little before noon completely exhausted. He'd been up for almost two days straight. He docked BabboOned in a slip at an immense marina. He tried to find a space well tucked-in, away from coastguard patrols and the roving public. He tracked down the attendant and paid for the next three days. He wasn't sure how long he would need, but he determined he wouldn't need more than that.

He trudged back to his boat and choked down a dry salami sandwich. He secured himself inside and was never more grateful to lie down on his bunk even though it was clearly not meant for a man of his height. He had to turn sideways and curl up on himself in order for his feet to not hang over the edge. He could have, and would have, slept on the floor if that was all that was available. He slept twelve straight hours.

After awakening, he was both starving and interested in learning a little more about Memphis. He awoke with his mind refreshed but his knees and back stiff and tired. He stood up next to his bed and spent a good five minutes stretching life back into his cramped body. He checked his watch and frowned. It was fairly late now, and there would not be an opportunity to properly restock supplies.

He slipped off the boat and, as he suspected, almost every business was closed. An observation crossed his mind – most of the businesses were closed due to the late hour, but several appeared to be boarded up. He continued to walk through the streets looking for a place to grab a bite to eat. He found an empty diner and slid into a booth so that he could order something to quiet his grumbling stomach. He ordered pot roast and a salad.

He was happy afterwards, but he had a craving for the apple pie displayed behind the counter. He was not one to go out of his way to eat sweets, but he was pleased that he did. It reminded him of home; not that his mom made a good apple pie – in fact she never made apple pie. But it reminded him of the simple things in life that can bring satisfaction on many levels. He asked the waitress where he might be able to buy a few supplies - particularly groceries. She mentioned that she knew of no place open in the immediate area but that in the morning a store down the block would likely have what he needed.

After the question of his hunger had been answered, he walked along the waterfront district trying to get an idea of where he might be able to purchase supplies the following morning. While exploring he discovered that this was not the best part of town. People loitered in small groups and sometimes he observed vagrants and beggars huddled along the sides of the buildings trying to stay warm during the night. A few asked for some change. He ignored their requests as he passed through the streets.

Walking in the shadows, he chanced upon a suspicious transaction. A young man, tall with a black and white bandana tied around his neck, stood with his hands in his pockets next to a younger boy. The boy appeared to be of high school age. To Ragnar, everything about the interaction between the two persons indicated that they were engaging in a drug deal. The man with the bandana was discretely handed what looked like money. In exchange the man reached into his pocket and produced for the boy a small bag of something. The boy and the man were both aware of Ragnar's presence and scattered in two different directions after the sale was complete. Ragnar shook his head in disgust. He couldn't understand why anyone would hinder their mind's ability to achieve at its highest potential. He saw it as not only a huge waste of financial power, but also the destruction of one's life and soul.

He made a mental note of the guy but kept walking. He did not need any trouble at this point. He still had many things to do. After his exploratory walk, he eventually discovered the grocery store described by the waitress as well as two more restaurants and a place where he might pick up some clothes. He resolved to deal with these things in the morning, so he returned to his boat.

He tried to relax until morning, but the lack of sleep was still powerful enough to allow him to get an additional few hours. When he awoke, he vowed to regain some state of civilization. He showered and shaved. One of the few extravagances BabboOned had was hot water. Ragnar finished his shower and felt reborn. He put on a new set of clothing, and the sensation of clean clothes against his skin completed his transformation.

He returned to town and had breakfast at the same diner he had visited the night before. The waitress was still there although she was leaving her shift. She smiled at him as he held the door open - facilitating her exit. Ragnar observed that she looked confused. He suspected she was trying to reconcile his appearance from the night before with his look now. He wasn't certain that she had realized he had been there just a few hours earlier. He ordered eggs and bacon and a glass of juice. When he finished he went off to the small grocery store and bought all the supplies he would need for the next week and took them directly back to BabboOned. He refilled his pantry with rice, bread, canned fruit juice, and pickled herring; anything that he could keep for a long period of time.

His mind turned to Kay. He had originally wanted to send her a long letter. He needed to explain everything and reassure her that he was still the same person she had come to know and love. He quickly understood that was not possible. He was afraid that too much information communicated in a letter might expose him. He also had concerns that the authorities might try to use her in some way to get to him. He decided that a postcard would have to do, and the less she knew the better for all involved. There would be a clue to his whereabouts in the postmark stamped on his correspondence. He had no choice but to accept the risk associated with his communique. After writing a rough draft of his initial thoughts, he cleaned up as much of the obvious comments and tried to put his message into a state that he hoped only Kay would be able to understand.

He purchased local newspapers and took the time to read them before heading out for the evening. He wanted to make sure that there was still no news and fortunately, there was nothing mentioning him or the theft of the boat. He refueled BabboOned and prepared her for departure. He felt rested and had picked up enough supplies that would enable him to leave later that evening. He made one more decision knowing it was going to require waiting for nightfall.

10

Just before midnight, Ragnar left BabboOned and walked back to the edge of the marina. He located a blue mail box and dropped Kay's postcard into the metal chute. He continued his stroll back along the waterfront. Most of the people he encountered looked seedy if not dangerous. This was not a place where respectable individuals would relax, do business, or look for entertainment. This was a place where the homeless lived – where the strong took advantage of the weak – where a darkness and decay had rooted itself like the grimy corners of public bathrooms. Many of the buildings were closed and neglected. He continued down the street and eventually spotted the man from the night before; still wearing the checkered bandanna wrapped around his neck. Ragnar paused in the shadows and looked to see if anyone could easily identify him. The street was nearly deserted in this part of town. With no one in close proximity, he approached the man and started a conversation.

"I appear to be lost," Ragnar stated.

"Are you sure you're lost friend?" said the man as he flashed a knowing smile. "What are you looking for?"

Ragnar took exception to the rat's use of the word friend. "Well, I'm looking for a good time, but I'm not really sure where to find it - especially at this hour."

The man placed his hand over his front pocket, "I have a good time right here. Five dollars."

Ragnar looked at the man and smiled in return. He whispered, "Sounds good to me. I have five dollars. Can you show it to me?" Ragnar asked.

Continuing his grin, the man reached into his pocket. After checking over both of his shoulders to make sure no one was watching, he withdrew a small packet of something and showed it to Ragnar. "This will make you forget all your troubles brother."

Ragnar said, "I'm sure it'll help you forget yours." He pulled his pistol from his jacket pocket and pointed it at the man.

He stepped back, "Wait a minute. Hey I don't wan no trouble here."

Ragnar replied, "Well trouble has found you – friend. Don't move," he growled.

The man started to reach behind him. Ragnar moved the gun from the man's stomach to his face. "I said don't move. Get your hands up where I can keep an eye on them."

The man was itching to do something, but Ragnar's revolver was trained on his face. Ragnar's eyes also seemed to say, "Don't even think about it."

"I thought you wanted the money."

Ragnar replied, "I want all your money. You can tell me which pocket it's in."

The man's smiled disappeared. "It's in my right pocket."

Ragnar reached forward with his gun still in the drug dealer's face and said, "Right pocket?"

"Yes."

Ragnar knew he should keep clear of the man. He was confident that in a fair fight he could easily overpower the smaller opponent. There was no reason to take unnecessary risks.

"With your right hand, reach into your pocket and take out the money. Keep your left one up high."

As soon as the man's eyes looked down towards his pocket, Ragnar's foot came up and kicked the man squarely in the groin. The man's eyes looked up at Ragnar's and had the look of someone that had just been cheated on. He let out a dog-like "woof" before falling to his knees in agony. Ragnar then dropped the butt of the gun down on the back of the fiend's head. He heard a loud crack and the man just collapsed on the ground. He was either dead or knocked out. Ragnar didn't care much either way.

When he fell forward, Ragnar saw that the man had his own revolver tucked in the small of his back between his pants and shirt. He pulled it from the man's pants and attempted to put the bulky gun into his pants pocket. With his foot, he rolled the man over and patted him down. In the right pocket he indeed found a wad of cash. He quickly stuffed it into his own pocket. In the left pocket, he found several small bags containing an off-white powder. Ragnar opened them and let the contents spill out onto the street. He checked again to make sure he was alone. Looking down at the pathetic creature he found it impossible to feel compassion for the man. He added nothing of value to society. Ragnar thought of him as a cog in a part of the world's damaged machinery he was forced to exist in. With a final glance down at the man he said, "Thank you for your contribution." Then he turned and walked back to his boat.

Back on BabboOned, he stowed the guns in his room. He counted the money liberated from the drug dealer. It amounted to $105. "Good start," he thought to himself. He placed the money into a desk drawer and then settled back into his pilot's chair in the wheel house. He continued on his voyage.

11

Ragnar opened the day's newspaper and there, on the national news page, he saw something that drew his attention immediately. It was a very unflattering photo of Charlie Storrs. Ragnar was concerned after seeing the picture as it raised his belief that the hunt for him would now reach a national level. He was nearly out onto the gulf, but he would have several more days of navigating the river and preparing for his time at sea.

He piloted his vessel while reading the article. He looked at the caption beneath the photo. It read, "Cincinnati business owner arrested on charges related to national security."

"What!?" Ragnar yelled out loud. He immediately tried to think what his partner could have done that violated US laws on a national security level. He slowed BabboOned down to a slow crawl along the river so he could focus on reading the story. Underneath the caption, the article stated:

Charlie Storrs along with his wife Caroline Storrs, were arrested at their company headquarters early Friday after investigators discovered the couple, along with their business partner Ragnar Danneskjӧld , allegedly conspired to develop advanced weaponry for sale to foreign entities. The nature of the weapon or weapon's technology was not divulged by authorities. Charlie Storrs is president of Storrs Echographics - an oceanographic mapping and navigation services company. Attempts to reach Mr. Danneskjӧld for comment were not successful. A source familiar with the investigation stated that Mr. Danneskjӧld is an engineer with the company. He has been missing for several days and authorities are interested in locating him for questioning.

"Wow," Ragnar spoke aloud. "What's...?" he thought to himself. "This is not right. This is all because of me." He looked up at the picture of Charlie again and a pang of guilt spread through him. "What are they talking about? What weap . . ." and then it dawned on him. This was not something Charlie or he had done. This was Stadler and his government crony friends trying to take what Charlie was unwilling and now incapable of giving. It made sense, now that he thought about it. He figured Stadler's buddies had moved to collect the technology. They probably hoped to get their hands on his prototype and research with the intent to weaponize it. When Charlie wouldn't or couldn't just hand over the data and schematics, they probably figured they could just take what they wanted by utilizing some kind of trumped up charge. He was grateful for taking everything he had, for covering his tracks as well as he had, and especially for getting the prototype out of reach of Stadler and his powerful friends.

This revelation put two ideas in his mind. First, he had to get out of the country as soon as possible. Second, he needed to speak to the Storrs. Reaching Charlie or Caroline would not be possible. There was no mention of Marlon in the article. He hoped that meant he might be more accessible and made a plan to contact him at a more advantageous time.

After the initial shock and concern for his partners passed, anger began building deep inside him. These were two of the most considerate people that Ragnar had ever known. They treated him like part of their family. Because they were unwilling to hand over years of research and disregard countless hours of building their business, Stadler was able to just take it? This violated his every principle. One of the main reasons he had come to America in the first place was his father's belief in America's freedom. This was a belief that Dr. Akston and his friends had explored through hundreds of hours of discussion and debate. Akston had done a brilliant job of helping him and his friends see that the only way an individual can succeed is to earn it honestly. He showed them that if they gained an advantage through the exploitation of an unearned benefit, then others too, might gain a similar advantage over them through the same mechanism. The extremes of other, repressive government regimes did not exist here he was told. Men were encouraged to exchange their ideas or the results of their minds with others in free and open trade. Apparently, Ragnar thought, this wasn't quite true.

John's assessment of his circumstances was exactly correct. He shook his head in wonder at John's uncanny ability to always be right. He missed his friend and wished that he was with him now so that, together, they could figure out what to do.

When he arrived at the next port, he checked into a run-down hotel for the night. Once settled in his room, he asked the hotel desk to connect him to the police department in Cincinnati.

"Cinci Police."

"Good morning, my name is Ted Woodard and I am a reporter for the Washington Ledger. I'd like to speak to someone about the Storrs investigation?"

"One moment sir, I'll connect you to our media representative."

After holding for a minute a male voice picked up the line. "This is detective Smith. How can I assist you?"

Ragnar sped up his speech and acted excited, "Hello detective, my name is Ted Woodard with The Ledger up here in D.C. Thank you for taking my call. My boss has asked me to get more of a local take on the Storrs story," he laughed at his clever alliteration, "and what can you tell me about the arrest? What are the charges exactly?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss any charges. Mr. Storrs will have his day in court."

"Of course, of course. I hate these guys giving our secrets away to our enemies."

"Again, I cannot comment on the particulars of the case."

"Right. Well, can you tell me who the investigating body is?"

"The FBI has had agents here for almost a week. The person leading the investigation is an agent by the name of Moretti."

"What about the other two people at the company that have been mentioned, Mrs. Storrs and this fellow Ragnar something . . . ?"

"We're not prepared to discuss that at this time."

Ragnar thanked the PR guy and then redialed the front desk. "Operator, can you connect me to the office of the FBI located in Ohio?"

"Certainly, sir."

After a minute of silence, Ragnar could hear the line ring and then a woman's voice answered the phone. "FBI how can I help you?

"I'm looking for an agent Moretti?"

"Agent Moretti is not based out of this office."
"My apologies, is he based out of DC then?"

After a brief hesitation, "Yes, he is. Would you like me to connect you?"

"That would be great, but could you give me the number in case I'm disconnected?"

"That number is ATlas 5-2616. I'll connect you now."

Ragnar listened to another, shorter pause before he heard a different woman's voice curtly answer the line. "Field office."

Ragnar took the cue from the person on the other line and responded in the same abrupt fashion, "Is Moretti in?"

"No, can I take a message?"

"No, I'll call back, what's your name?"

"Miss Penny," she replied.

He hung up the phone – frustrated that he wasn't able to gather any helpful news.

12

He did not encounter any threat of discovery as his trip continued southward on the Mississippi River. He cruised with relative quiet and ease. As the morning neared an end, a large thunderhead built itself into a towering black menace. Lightening and heavy rain provided some extra concealment for him as he moved along with the quickening current. The power of the storm did not frighten him. He respected the power of nature, but he could depend on his skills and man's inventiveness to protect him from this very natural phenomenon. He marveled at the simplicity of the wind and rain. The concussive force of thunder echoed through his chest. He breathed in the fresh scent and considered for that moment he was alone in the world. He closed his eyes and thought of his friends, of Kay and of his parents.

He picked the sleepy little riverside town of Lake Providence for his next layover. He arrived mid-afternoon. The cold front that had moved through the area dropped the temperature significantly. He parked his boat as far out of view of the public eye as possible. BabboOned was not a huge vessel, but she was certainly larger than the multitude of simple sailing craft and weekend boats he found himself surrounded by.

He slept on board and wrapped himself in some extra blankets to stay warm. He awoke just before nine at night. It was raining again, and he was in no mood to get off his comfortable ship to walk around the town in such conditions. He opted to make a simple dinner of canned tuna and bread. He ate canned peaches for desert which he thoroughly enjoyed. He even drank the packing fluid. The sweet syrupy liquid did not quench his thirst, but the aroma reminded him of Mrs. Franklin's cooking. Temporarily satisfied, he locked everything up and turned in for the night. The sound of the rain and wind's gentle rocking of his bed aided in his sleep.

In the morning he felt fantastic. He was up to see the sunrise before heading into town. After a more substantial breakfast, he purchased the large quantity of supplies needed for his time at sea.

the big easy

1

Ragnar pulled into the river port of New Orleans and was excited. He had heard of New Orleans and its reputation as a fun and free-wheeling place. The port was massive and he knew he would be safe, tucked into and amongst the multitude of both ocean and river faring vessels.

It was still early enough in the morning that there was little activity in the marina. The sun's blazing creep above the horizon worked to shake off the cool, humid air that lingered after the morning's fog. He secured BabboOned and then dropped below to shower and change his clothes. He stuck one of his pistols into the waistband of his pants and then covered it with his jacket.

He had decided to explore the city. It would be his last chance to spend some time on solid ground interacting with other people for a while. He enjoyed the opportunity to see the interesting architecture and its citizen's vibrant personalities. Amazing scents and accents drifted in the air. He chanced by a small shop selling something called beignets and coffee. The smell of coffee was so strong and woodsy that he could almost taste it. He stood in line behind five other patrons in the cramped space. Everyone seemed friendly and happy to be there. He found himself genuinely smiling for the first time in many days. He thought to himself that this might be a good place to reside someday.

When he got to the front of the line he took a cue from the patrons served before him and ordered what everyone else had. He asked the clerk for a small bag of beignets and a cup of coffee. He paid the young woman at the cafe, took his treats outside, and found a large oak tree standing sentinel at the edge of a park nearby to sit under.

The beignets were hot, lightly fried pastries dusted with a little powdered sugar. Ragnar thought them quite an indulgent treat. Then he tasted the coffee. It was brutally strong but delicious. His brain was working to try to determine why this cup of coffee tasted so good. He detected a woody flavor within the black liquid, a flavor he had not tasted before. He sipped his coffee and tilted his head toward the sun - feeling its warm caress on his cheeks and forehead. He felt young and strong. He thought of his father and wished he could discuss recent events with him. He would have had some good advice to consider.

He had rested there a half hour when he decided it was time to get up and move on. He placed one hand upon the giant to steady himself while he dusted off the back of his pants. He looked up and noticed a commotion of sorts taking place at the opposite end of the park's grassy expanse. Curiosity got the best of him, so he started walking in the direction of the massing crowd.

Ragnar approached the back of a large number of people that had gathered at the other side of the park. A man in front of him, holding the hand of his young son, stood on the tips of his toes craning for a better view.

"What happened?" Ragnar questioned the man.

The man did not turn to look at Ragnar as he was still trying to see something, but he said, "Some woman up there is screaming about losing her child . . . or something like that."

A young teenaged girl, also looking intently forward added, "No, she said some man took her daughter."

Ragnar couldn't see a woman, or anything else for that matter, from his position at the back of the crowd. "What woman?" Ragnar asked those around him.

No one bothered to answer him as they either didn't know or were too absorbed in the drama to pay any attention to some random stranger's questions.

Ragnar began slipping through the people between himself and where he presumed this woman would be. As he approached the other side of the park he was able to hear the hysterical cries of a woman. He could only tease out a few phrases and words in between her sobbing and shouting – "my baby", "bastard", "kill her", and "cousin's house".

Ragnar looked at the crowd, searching for some sign of rescue or assistance. He saw no one that looked like an authority. Everyone was either standing around staring at the woman and her situation, pointing and gesturing at her and the building behind her, or acting – he knew it had to be acting – as if nothing was going on. He could not understand this last group at all. "Either they are insane or they have some kind of agenda I could never hope to understand," he thought to himself.

He managed to get within ten feet of the woman. He stood tall and, in his loudest voice without yelling said, "What is the problem here?"

Many in the crowd became silent and turned to the stranger with the loud voice.

He moved forward the rest of the way with ease as the remaining people between him and the woman parted like a field of grain. Even the woman's panic ebbed slightly as she looked up into Ragnar's eyes.

"What happened?" he asked again hoping for a clearer picture.

"That man took my baby," she said with tears spilling from her eyes. "That man took my baby!" she started shouting again and repeating over and over. Ragnar knew this was going nowhere.

He reached out with both his hands and grabbed the woman's face. He grabbed her powerfully but gently. While holding her head he knelt down – guiding her down with him. He pulled her head in his direction and held the palms of his hands in such a way as to obscure her peripheral vision. He wanted to focus her eyes on him and eliminate some of the distraction of the scene. Again she calmed down and was fixated on his eyes. She gazed at him, as if in a trance.

"I am going to help you," he said clearly and slowly to her.

She remained calm for the moment.

"What man took your baby?"

"I . . . I didn't see the man. I . . . was buying some flowers and . . . in just a second she was gone. The other man told me he took her."

Ragnar knew it was going to take precious time trying to get the story out of the woman, but he also knew it would be better to act on good information than just to act for the sake doing something. "What other man? What did he say? Where is the other man?"

"I . . . don't know," the woman was much calmer although she continued to cry and she was shaking. Ragnar could feel her trembling through his hold on her. He had not moved his hands. She was still drawn to his face. "He said she was taken to the Custom House."

Ragnar looked up from the woman's face for a moment when the words he thought he had heard earlier clicked into place. It wasn't cousin's house it was Custom House. "Where?" Ragnar looked back down into the woman's eyes.

She shook her head. She was in shock and provided no more verbal answers. She either did not know or was incapable of answering.

"I will find your daughter." He spoke to her softly and released his hold on her. He stood up and asked the bystanders surrounding them if anyone saw what happened. Despite the fact that there were now close to a hundred people gathered around them, no one seemed to have any information to assist him. Everyone was either looking at him or looking down at the ground as if they did not want to be there; as if they wanted to be invisible at that moment. No one said a word.

2

Ragnar looked over his left shoulder and studied the Custom House. It was an imposing building. Enormous in size, built out of large grey stones and filled with windows. The building itself was surrounded by a black, wrought-iron fence five feet tall. Ragnar observed that the main entrance to the building was off to his left about a half a block away. He walked towards the fence and, with practiced agility, was over and on the grassy slope surrounding the building in one smooth motion. The people standing nearby raised their voices in commotion as he landed on the other side. He did not afford them any attention.

He did not walk to the entrance. He determined that if someone took her daughter, they would have needed a less conspicuous place to hide. He headed to the right and turned the corner around the building. Half way down that side of the block, he saw an open gate and a small service door opposite the gate. He approached the door and tried the handle. It was not locked and he pushed the door in slowly. A hallway was revealed with stairs nearby. It was dark, but Ragnar held open the door while allowing his eyes to adjust.

He listened carefully for any sounds but heard none. He pulled the pistol from under his jacket and pulled the hammer back with a click. He looked to the right down the long hall with many doors leading to the various offices in the building. Then he looked ahead at the darkened stairwell. "At least it only heads up," he said to himself as he reached his free hand out to take hold of the railing. He began ascending the steps. He attempted to silence his feet by stepping with the toes and not moving too quickly.

When he reached the second floor, again he paused to listen carefully. A soft thud and a scraping noise came from his left. He brought the gun level and proceeded quietly down the hallway. The fourth door on his left was open and as he approached he could definitely hear a man's voice grunting and breathing heavily. Once he reached the edge of the door's threshold, Ragnar put his back against the wall and leaned his head in order to peer around the entrance. The office was dark. There were no lights on in the room, but Ragnar was able to make out a large person kneeling down and speaking in a low voice to someone below him. Ragnar presumed it to be a man based on the size of the individual. The man was breathing rapidly as he could see his shoulders and back rise and fall with each breath taken.

"Don't move!" Ragnar yelled at the man as he wheeled around and aimed the barrel of the gun at the back of the man's head. The man was clad in a black shirt and dark pants.

"Oh thank God!" the man said as he turned only his head towards Ragnar. "Little help here?"

Ragnar saw the man's face for the first time. There was a gash along his left cheek and blood had dripped down his face in a trail that ended at his chin. "I need to see your hands!" Ragnar commanded.

"That's gonna be a little difficult right now."

Ragnar entered the room and, still with his gun drawn, circled around the man on the floor. As the whole room came into view and his eyes continued to adjust to the dim lighting Ragnar saw a young girl about five years old squatting away in the far corner of the office behind the desk. Ragnar then looked down and saw that the man kneeling on the ground before him was not kneeling near a little girl, but was instead kneeling on the arm of another man. The kneeling man had used his right knee to pin down the right arm of the man on the floor. He had pinned the man's right hand, which was holding a knife, with his left hand and his right hand was pushing down on the other man's throat.

Ragnar considered the situation for a moment and then he looked at the little girl. In a calm tone – the same tone he use to speak with the woman outside – he said, "Little girl, did this man come to help you?" He pointed at the kneeling man with his left hand. The girl really couldn't see the man he was pointing to because she was squatting down behind the desk. She turned a little towards Ragnar and although he could not see her eyes or face he was able to see that she was nodding her head yes. Ragnar moved towards the man on the ground and used his left foot to stand on the man's right wrist. The knife rolled out of his hand as he no longer had enough strength to hold on to it. A weak cry of pain escaped from the man's throat being controlled by the kneeling man.

"Stand up and slowly step over there where I can see you." Ragnar told the kneeling man.

The man released his grip on the other man's throat and did as he was instructed. Ragnar could see there was a lot of blood where the kneeling man had been positioned. The kneeling man stood off to the side and grabbed his left side wincing in pain. Ragnar pointed his pistol at him and instructed him not to move. The man in the black shirt looked at Ragnar with tired eyes. "Look, pal. I appreciate the help but I've been stuck and I'm bleeding like a son-of-a-bitch. I'm gonna put some pressure on this." The man pointed towards his left side and Ragnar could see a large dark stain that had spread all the way down the side of his shirt to the top half of his pants.

"Get the fuck off my hand!" yelled the man on the floor.

He was skinny and wore a brown t-shirt with jeans. He looked to be in his early twenties.

"What is your name?" Ragnar asked the man on the floor.

"Fuck you!" was the reply. The man was rolling towards his right hand in an attempt to rescue it from beneath Ragnar's boot.

Ragnar adjusted his grip on the pistol and brought the butt of the gun down on the left side of the man's face. He struck the man just above his ear. There was a sickening crack and the man collapsed down onto his right side. He didn't move after that. Ragnar took his left foot off of the man's hand and turned towards the man in the black shirt.

"Little girl," Ragnar said calmly, "what's your name?" He was a little upset with himself for not asking that important question of her mother.

"Polly," she said so quietly.

"OK Polly. I talked to your mother and she sent me here to find you. You are safe now and I want you to stand up and look at me."

The girl just shook her head. "I promise you Polly. The man is asleep and he won't wake up, but I need you to stand up and look at me."

Polly stood up and Ragnar could see the edge of her face as it peeked around her long, dark bangs at him. He could see she was terrified. "It's OK. Look at me."

The man in the black shirt fell down on one knee and he looked terrible. The movement startled the young girl.

"It's OK. Look at me Polly."

She met Ragnar's eyes and, like her mother, fell into them. "Is this the man that tried to help you?" Ragnar asked and held his hand up in the direction of the man in black.

She looked at the kneeling man and nodded.

Ragnar released the hammer on the pistol and jammed the gun back into the waistband of his pants and jumped over to the man in black. "What's your name sir?"

"Philippe," breathed the man.

Ragnar helped him sit down on the floor. He grabbed the Louisiana flag hanging in the office and bunched it up. He slid the bundle under Philippe's shirt and pressed it against the hole oozing blood out of his left side. Then he took the belt off of the unconscious man on the floor and tightened it around Philippe's chest to hold the makeshift dressing in place. Ragnar glanced up at Polly and winked at her. He was pretty sure she was in shock too but, for the moment, she was holding her own quietly behind the desk. "What happened?"

"I saw this man pulling the little girl behind him. I thought it looked strange. The girl was crying and such. He was yelling at her to be quiet, and I just thought it was her dad or uncle or something. Then I came around the corner of the building and this woman was yelling about her baby and where did she go. I asked her what she looked like and when she told me she was six years old and had black hair and was wearing a red jacket I knew that was her. I told the mother to call the police and I ran off to find the man I had just passed a few moments earlier. I ran around the corner and I didn't see any sign of them. I assumed they must have gone into a building since there were other people around. I asked a few of them if they had seen the little girl but none of them had. I saw the open gate, and the door pushed open when I tried it. I heard the girl crying from above me, so I ran up the stairs and saw that man pull Polly into the room we're in now. He must have heard me coming up behind him. He swung at me with the knife and I just barely managed to get out of the way. He cut me down my face. I wasn't able to get away from his second attack. He stabbed me and I grabbed his hand and pushed him into this room. We fell down and luckily I was a little bigger than him and I fell on top of him. I've been holding him in that position waiting for someone to come help me. That's when you walked in."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"I was afraid the guy would get away." He paused before adding, "I was picturing the fear I saw in that little girl's eyes."

"So you broke into a government building and chased down an armed kidnapper?"

"I didn't know he was armed. Like I said…the little girl…I mean Polly."

"You could have waited for the police. Called them yourself." Ragnar had a reason for this questioning but it was lost on Philippe.

"Someone needed to do something. Couldn't afford to wait."

"Indeed," Ragnar added. "Can you walk?"

"Probably not. I'm real dizzy."

"OK, I'm going to get some water for you and call the police." He turned to Polly, "I'll be right back. The man is still asleep and I am just going to get some water from the fountain outside." Polly did not respond but nodded again.

Ragnar grabbed a coffee cup off the table and turned to head out of the office when he heard people approaching from outside. When he stepped into the hallway there were three policemen in uniform with their guns drawn and pointed at him. There appeared to be a couple of security guards behind them, but several paces back.

"Stop! Don't move," one of them said.

"Yes sir." He put his hands in the air and said, "My name is Dan Raglan and I just assisted a man in apprehending a kidnapper. The kidnapper is unconscious in this office. The girl appears to be unharmed but the other man has been injured. He is bleeding heavily and I was attempting to get some water for him." He shook the coffee mug a little to show them that he was holding it.

"Go check it out." Two of the officers kept their guns on Ragnar while the other went into the office. The security guards looked on from behind – both held expressionless faces. No one moved in the hallway and no one spoke. After several minutes the officer emerged from the office with Polly held in his arms. She was crying and clinging to the man's neck with her face buried between her slung arms.

"He's telling the truth," the officer said as he nodded in Ragnar's direction. The other officers lowered their guns. The policeman holding Polly approached the other two and told them about the scene in the office. He stated he was going to take the little girl to her mother and call an ambulance for the two men injured inside.

Ragnar lowered his arms slowly and watched the men as they approached his position. The one policeman that had been speaking to him requested that he stay where he was while they investigated. He said they would have questions for him and would need to complete a report.

Ragnar nodded and said, "Of course officer," although he had no intention of sticking around and risking them finding out who he really was.

3

Once the police and building security entered the office Ragnar quietly slipped away from the scene and escaped into the crowd out front. He tried to blend in as much as he could while he worked his way back out of the mass in the opposite direction from which he had entered.

He thought to return to his boat but stopped at an inn along the way. He checked himself into a simple room on the first floor. He was quite proud of himself for helping Miss Polly get back to her mother. But he was more interested in the man he helped – Philippe. His discussion with him had been cut short by Philippe's condition as well as the interruption by the police. He clicked on the radio in his room hoping to catch some local news of the event. Ragnar alternated from lounging in his bed to standing by the window and looking out into the courtyard of his hotel. He possessed some fear of being found. The rational part of his brain kept reassuring him that there was little chance of that happening in such a large city, but he was not in a familiar place and he felt vulnerable. The knowledge that he was an FBI fugitive playing rescuer in a federal building only an hour earlier didn't ease those fears.

It was at the two o'clock hour that a radio news update made public the details of the event.

Earlier this morning 6 year old Paulette Roussel was abducted by Nicholas Johnson – a 32 year old with prior arrests for rape, and lewd behavior with a minor. The child was taken in broad daylight just a few steps away from her mother right outside the New Orleans Custom House. "I just want to thank the police and the men that rescued Paulette. God bless them all." That was the girl's mother Vanessa. One of the men reportedly responsible for Paulette's safety is Philippe Martin. He was injured in a struggle with the assailant and is recovering comfortably at St. Michael's Hospital. Police report that another man assisted in the apprehension of Mr. Johnson, but that man has disappeared. Police are hopeful that the gentleman will come forward in order to secure Mr. Johnson's charges. Thankfully the child did not appear to be injured – just very scared.

"Perfect!" He thought to himself. They did not use his name in the report. He believed it would buy him some time. He waited until darkness began to fall on the city before he ventured out of the inn. He stopped at a local menswear store to purchase a new jacket and a hat. He did not think he was likely to be identified but the extra-added precaution put him at ease. He stopped at a small restaurant after strolling past several musicians as they serenaded everyone with their unusual rhythms. He ordered some fried catfish and something called red beans and rice. Both were fantastic and further cemented his interest in spending more time in this fascinating city someday. He arrived at St. Michael's Hospital at seven-twenty. He walked in and prepared to navigate the depressing corridors. The only time he had been in one before was when his mother lost her battle with pneumonia. He did not remember much of it, but he carried bad memories of her death from the hospital back home. Everything else was a blur. He walked up to the nurse at the reception desk inside the main entrance.

"I am here to see Philippe Martin," he said casually as he removed his hat.

"Visiting hours are almost up sir," the nurse told him coldly.

"Yes, miss. I can appreciate that. Mr. Martin is an old friend of mine, and his mother asked me if I could stop in and check on him."

The nurse looked up.

"It'd just be ten minutes or so. I just want to make sure he is comfortable and see if there is anything he might need from home."

She studied his face again. "OK, room 201. He is upstairs and to the right."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you."

Ragnar looked around as he made his way up the stairs to Philippe's room. He didn't see any police and the halls were mostly empty. He pushed open the door to room 201 and there was Philippe sitting up in his bed reading a magazine. Philippe met the arrival of Ragnar with a mix of astonishment and familiarity. A smile breached his face.

"How are you?" Ragnar asked as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Me? I'm fine. I feel much better after getting sewn up and receiving somebody's blood. The docs said I was lucky that the knife wasn't an inch in either direction. I don't feel very lucky." He laughed a little – but winced as he did so.

"I'm glad to hear that."
"Where did you go? The police wanted to talk to you. Heck, I wanted to talk to you – to thank you."

"You did all the work. I just happened along. It was you that saved Polly."

Philippe smiled at the thought. "You should have seen her mom. She kept kissing me and thanking me and crying. Then I started crying."

"Why did you do it?"

"What?"

"Why did you act? No one else did. You could have just ignored the situation – ignored the woman's cries for help. All of the people out there just stood around. But you acted. Why?"

Philippe was silent for a moment and then he said seriously, "Because it needed to be done. That girl had no options. She shouldn't pay the price for her mom's inattention."

"Do you have any children?" Ragnar asked.

"No. I am new to New Orleans. I came here looking for a job. I am hoping to find something in the shipping industry. I can repair engines but there are not enough jobs where I'm from, so I moved here last month to look for work."

"Any luck?"

"Not yet. It's tough. Hopefully this will help me find a job. Something good has to come from it right?"

"Something besides saving the girl?"

"Of course the girl, but something that will help me. Get my name out. Let people know that I am someone who can be depended upon."

"What about the man you tackled? Do you know his condition?"

"Well, he is still alive. Which is why the police want to talk to you about what you know."

Ragnar's eyebrow lifted a little at the news and his lips turned into something close to a frown. "Hmm," he managed.

"You fractured his skull and broke about eight bones in his hand. He probably won't be able to hold a knife like that again," he said with a smile.

Ragnar stood for a bit before turning back to Philippe. It was now or never. The window on this conversation was beginning to close. Any moment a nurse was going to come by and kick him out. "What did the doctors say about you?"

"They said I'll likely go home tomorrow. They have stitched me up and refueled my tank. I'll have to take some antibiotics but they said I should be back to full strength in a week or two."

"Well, Mr. Martin . . . I have a proposition for you. I realize it is a bit unorthodox, but I'm in need of someone who can get things done. I have a ship and I'm looking for some assistance. I need a crew and you appear to be the kind of man that acts while others stand by and watch. I need that kind of man. I was planning to leave tonight until all this excitement happened.

"Here is what I can promise. We will be at sea quite a bit. We will visit exotic locations. I plan to use my skills and abilities fighting those that have been treated unjustly. I need someone that has the ideals you possess. Someone that is not afraid to act on their own in pursuit of what is right. It will be tough going at first, but I am confident that, in time, my . . . company . . . will prosper and grow strong with the right set of men to assist me.

"I can provide living quarters and food for you while we start out. Once we have a steady . . . income . . . I will ensure you receive an equitable share. The job will likely be dangerous and I cannot guarantee your safety. I cannot say much more than this right now. I am sure you have many questions, but I really cannot answer them." Ragnar stopped to assess Philippe's interest. He took his silence as an indication to continue. "Here is where it gets complicated. This offer expires in five minutes. I cannot stay here, and I cannot visit you again after this evening. You do not have to commit to me at this time. But you do have to be willing to leave this hospital with me right now."

"Who are you?" Philippe asked with incredulity. "I mean seriously. Are you some kind of spy? I can't just leave the hospital . . . just walk out of here and follow you to some job that you can't tell me about."

"Why not? You told me yourself you were going to be released tomorrow."

"But I don't even know you."

"True. You don't have to know me. The question is do you trust me enough to follow me tonight with the possibilities to be revealed to you as time permits. Time is something I am short on right now."

And almost as if on cue a nurse knocked and then opened the door. She looked at the two men as if she had just interrupted a high-stakes business deal – which she did. "Sir," she looked at Ragnar, "visiting hours are over. You will need to come back tomorrow."

"Yes ma'am. I'll be leaving in just another minute."

She glared at him then left the room, closing the door behind her.

"OK. I figure we have about three more minutes before they force me out of here. You do not have to join my enterprise if you don't want to. But you DO have to leave with me right now if you want to hear more about it. I leave it up to you."

Philippe looked around his bed as if there might be some kind of answer there. Then he hung his head as if defeated by some opposing team. Ragnar turned to give him a measure of privacy while he struggled with the decision. He raised his right hand as if about to speak and then dropped it along with his head in a gasp of exasperation. The he mumbled to himself loud enough that Ragnar could hear, "OK. Let's do it. What have I got to lose?"

Ragnar moved to gather Philippe's clothes. The pants were there but not his shirt. He remembered that the shirt had been soaked in blood. He looked at the door and then quickly stripped off his jacket and then his shirt. Philippe was quick enough to notice Ragnar's gun but chose not to say anything about it for the moment. Ragnar put his jacket back on and zipped it up to conceal his bare chest. He tossed his shirt over to Philippe. Philippe shook his head but began the slow process of putting on his clothes. Ragnar looked impatiently at the door expecting another visit from the nurse any moment. Philippe finished dressing and slipped his feet into his shoes. Ragnar went to his side and helped him walk towards to door. "How are you doing?" Ragnar asked as they prepared to leave the safety of the hospital.

"OK. This is crazy."

Ragnar opened the door casually and stepped into the hallway alone with Philippe standing just inside. He looked around and thought his luck was holding up nicely. He whispered to Philippe, "Let's go."

Philippe followed him out and down the hall to a stairwell. Ragnar opened the door as quietly as he could and he and Philippe disappeared into the night. No alarms. No yelling nurses. No outcry from Philippe, Ragnar thought to himself amusingly. The two made their way back to Ragnar's room at the inn. As soon as they were settled in Philippe asked Ragnar for the details of his plan.

"Are you sure you want to do this now?" Ragnar inquired.

"I don't even know you. If I am going to sleep here tonight, I think it is the minimum I require."

"OK, but I warn you, it will be a long story."

4

Ragnar spent the next two hours telling Philippe his life story: how he came to America, about his friends from college, about his job and his employers, and about his work. He was careful not to disclose too much about the specific piece of technology he developed, but he was plain in his explanation about those attempting to steal it from him and why he was now, for all intents and purposes, on the run.

Philippe did not interrupt him as he told his tale. When he finished, Ragnar uncrossed his legs and grabbed each arm of the chair. He did not have to adjust his posture as he had remained ramrod straight the entire time. He finished talking and sat silent, calmly looking at Philippe. Philippe looked at Ragnar with a blank face – except for his raised eyebrows. His mouth opened slightly and his tongue moistened both lips. His first thought was that Ragnar was presenting himself and his deeds for his judgment. He sat as if awaiting some kind of verdict. But as Ragnar looked at him, he began to wonder if it was he who was being judged. Philippe did not think he was in any danger. After all, why would this man have done all of this if he intended to cause him injury. He decided he would speak, but with caution so as not to risk upsetting Ragnar.

"That is a remarkable story," he weakly offered, "could you get me some water?" He realized he could barely speak his mouth was so dry.

Ragnar stood up and filled a small cup with water from the tap. Without any comment he handed the cup to Philippe.

Philippe held the cup with both hands and swallowed the cup of water in three large gulps.

"I don't understand entirely . . . what is it you plan to do?" He held the cup out to Ragnar who took it, refilled it and handed it back to Philippe, then he sat down again.

"I intend to protect my property. I intend to do what I can to protect the people I care about. I intend to hide on the ocean. Lastly, I intend to set others on the correct path."

Philippe was quick to understand that he was not getting the full story. He proceeded carefully. "What do you think I can do to help you? Why would you hire me?"

"I haven't decided to hire you. You and I are interviewing each other. Hopefully each of us will find what we desire in the other and are willing to work together in achieving our goals. Here is what I see in you. You are young. You are physically capable. You appear have some intelligence . . ."

"Gee, thanks," Philippe interrupted as if he had been insulted.

"There are many things we do not fully understand about each other. Your intelligence is one, my motives are another. As I was saying . . . you are single, but most importantly, you have the ability to act without being told what to do. This is a trait I find exceedingly rare in the world. Most individuals are afraid of failure, afraid that their actions might upset someone, afraid of breaking the law – even when the law must be broken for civilization to function."

"I'm not interested in breaking any laws!" protested Philippe.

"No? How do you explain your presence in the Custom House? That's a federal building you know?"

"That's different, a little girl's life was at risk," he argued.

"Not different. You looked at the laws related to trespassing and unlawful entry and decided that they should not apply – that other considerations needed to be a priority. If the law is the law, do you think you should be punished for rescuing that girl?"

Philippe looked at Ragnar with frustration. He knew what Ragnar was saying made sense, but he wasn't ready to admit that just now.

"Let me ask you about a few other examples. Do you think it would be OK for me to take $5 from your wallet in order to allow a stranger to buy food?"

"Well, if he was hungry . . . maybe."

"What if the stranger used the food money to buy a bottle of whiskey? How would that make you feel?"

"I'd be pissed."

"Why?" Ragnar asked with a fake look of surprise.

"Because he used the money intended for food, to get drunk."

"So you'd be mad at the stranger?"

"Sure."

"Why aren't you mad at me? I'm the one that took your money. I'm the one that broke the law – stealing if you will. The stranger is just acting according to his innate character."

"Hmmm," was all Philippe managed to mumble in response.

"Next example. You and I are going to apply for the same job repairing engines. I have no experience in such matters, but you do. We get to the company and you interview first. You tell the boss all about your abilities and he's impressed. He says you are the best applicant he has seen so far. After you exit his office, the boss sees me and recognizes me as his daughter's fiancé. He welcomes me into his office with open arms and a big grin on his face. You never hear from that company again. How would that make you feel?"

Philippe was beginning to see a pattern developing. "Again, I would be pissed. But you are right, I shouldn't be pissed at you. I should be pissed at the boss."

"Why would you be angry?"
"Because a lesser qualified person got the job . . . because of who he knew, not what he knew."

"Right, the boss is choosing favorites without regard to actual ability."

"Last one. And for this one I want you to remember that you live in America – not some country ruled by a dictator or king."

Philippe nodded in understanding.

"Suppose that you had taken some photographs casually at the park. Once you had those photos processed you noticed that you managed to capture the mayor of this fine city taking a bribe from a businessman. Word of this embarrassing photo reaches his honor and he sends a policeman to your home to ask for the photo and negatives to be handed over to him. When you hear the knock at the door, you peer through the window and observe a policeman standing outside. You also observe that he has a gun and that the gun is drawn. What do you do?"

"I ask him what he wants."

"The policeman states that he wants you to open the door. You look over at your six-year-old daughter standing in the room behind you and you realize that she is watching everything that is going on. What do you do?"

Philippe stuttered a bit before answering, "I . . . I don't know."

"What would you do? The policeman bangs on the door and yells at you to open the door."

"Where is the photo . . . and the negative?"

"It doesn't matter. Does he have the right to come into your home?"

"I don't think so."

"He has the right if he has a warrant. I can tell you that the policeman does not have a warrant. He bangs on the door again."

"I tell him that he can't come in. That he needs a warrant."

"He yells at you that he doesn't need a warrant. He tells you that this can be easy or hard – that it's your choice. You have a gun in your pocket. It is just like the one that I have; you saw it the other day. What do you do?"

"I tell him to come back with a warrant."

"The police officer attempts to turn the door knob. Your daughter starts to cry. She cries out to you, 'Daddy I'm scared!' What do you do?"

"I don't know," Philippe began breathing louder and faster.

"The policeman breaks the window next to the door and reaches his hand inside to unlock the door. What do you do?"

"I don't know," Philippe stated anxiously.

"What do you do?!" Ragnar's voice was raised and urgent.

Philippe paused looking at the door to their room as if the policeman might be coming through any second. After what he had been through in the last twelve hours this conversation felt a little too real for him. His nerves were still raw from his brush with death at the hands of a knife-wielding kidnapper. "I don't know," Philippe plaintively replied. He closed his eyes tightly. "I'm tired. Can we talk about this in the morning?"

Ragnar didn't think his potential recruit was tired; at least not mentally. His body had been through a significant ordeal. Ragnar believed that he sensed fear in Philippe. He wasn't sure if it was fear of the world around him or just fear of him. He relaxed his posture along with his voice. "I agree. You should rest. We'll have plenty of time to continue this discussion if you wish in the morning."

5

When Philippe awoke almost ten hours later Ragnar was not with him. He got up and went to the bathroom. He was still incredibly sore, but he felt his spirits much improved after a good night's sleep. The rest had replenished him. He stood in front of the sink looking down. Lying across the faucet handles was a note.

If you are hungry, I left a little something on the table for you. No coffee – sorry. Be back before noon.

R

Philippe walked back into the main room and over to a small round table next to the window. The room was fairly dark so he parted the curtains to let in some light. It was another beautiful day. On the table was a small white bag with an apple and an orange lying beside it. Philippe grabbed the apple and bit into it. He held the apple in his mouth while he opened the white bag. He peered into the bag and smiled at the beignets inside. His smile dislodged the apple from its tenuous grip between his teeth, and it fell onto the table before rolling off onto the floor. He reached into the bag and attempted to stuff the whole pastry into his mouth. Overnight his hunger had built significantly. While he worked at chewing and swallowing the delicious pastry he picked up the apple and washed it off in the bathroom sink. He finished all the beignets as well as both pieces of fruit.

After temporarily easing his appetite he decided to take a shower. He started the water. He looked down at his injury and decided to remove the bandages covering the wound. It didn't look that bad, but it did hurt. He noticed a developing bruise had spread out from the hole in his side. He placed his bandages on the counter and stepped into the tub. He did not hear Ragnar return to the room while he was showering.

Once Ragnar heard the water turn off he walked over to the bathroom door. "I have some fresh clothes for you to wear. I figured you would prefer to wear something with a little less blood on it?"

Philippe wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door. "Thanks. You figured correctly."

As Ragnar handed Philippe a change of clothes he noticed both his injury and the pile of gauze and bandages on the counter. "I'll dress that wound of yours too when you're done."

Philippe looked at Ragnar and nodded approval, "Thank you." He closed the door to the bathroom and a few minutes later emerged in the new clothes Ragnar had chosen for him. He left his shirt unbuttoned though as he was expecting to tend to his wound.

Ragnar picked up several items he had placed onto the bed and began opening packages of gauze, tape and some ointment. "May I?" Ragnar asked as he pointed to Philippe's left side.

Philippe nodded and pulled the left side of his blue shirt back in order to expose the wound for Ragnar to see.

"Looks pretty good." Ragnar reached over to the small table and retrieved a cup of water and a small bottle of pills. "Take one of these with each meal," he said as he held out the cup and bottle.

"What is it?"

"Antibiotics," Ragnar answered. He folded a few layers of gauze together to make a pad. He applied some of the ointment to the pad and then carefully placed the dressing on top of the puncture wound on Philippe's side. "Hold this for me." Philippe used his right hand to hold the pad in place. Ragnar then pulled out a roll of gauze and began to wrap the bandage around Philippe's waist and chest; securing everything in place.

"I'd shoot him." Philippe said simply during the silence.

Ragnar stopped – holding the roll of gauze in his left hand he looked up at Philippe. "Why?"

"When I was a boy, I used to get bullied. One time this boy pulled out a knife and said he was gonna cut me up for his dog. He wasn't joking, and I thought I was about to die. Luckily an old man in the neighborhood came upon us and told the boy he was calling the cops. The boy played like he was just joking. But if the old man hadn't been there, and if I had had a gun that day, I would have shot that boy. Then I would have called the police and told them the story about how this kid had bullied me and pulled a knife and had threatened to feed me to his dog. I hope that the police would have believed me and respected my idea to protect myself."

Ragnar peered into Philippe's eyes. They were filled with shame.

"But if it is the police that are bullying you . . . who can you call?"

Ragnar finished wrapping the gauze around Philippe's chest. Then he stepped back to sit down on the edge of the bed before speaking again. "We all learn from our mistakes. I had no idea my little story would hit so close to home. But you are right. Who can we call?" Ragnar's eyes looked up and to the left as he tried to decide what to say next. "What I am willing to tell you at this point . . . is that I am running from the government. That the government wants something that I have. And, that I am not willing to give it to them."

Philippe looked at Ragnar without surprise. He had suspected something like this based on their various conversations.

"My interview is done. The job is yours if you want it."

The corners of Philippe's mouth turned up into a grin. He couldn't help but think that Ragnar was like a teacher to him. He had an idea that the more time he spent with him, the more he was likely to learn. He was happy to have passed whatever test Ragnar had given him although he wasn't certain what he had said or done to deserve his approval. "OK then. I have some questions for you."

"I'll do my best to answer them."

"What is it that you have? Is it photos like in the story?"

"No. It is not photos. I'd prefer to keep the exact description of what they want a mystery for now. Suffice it to say that I am an engineer. I developed something for the company I used to work for. Now the government has heard about this invention and they want to take it from me. I will not let them have it."

"Is it a weap . . ."
Philippe was cut off in mid-sentence, "That's all I want to say at this time."

"OK. OK." Philippe tried to change direction in his line of questioning after seeing the significance of his first inquiry. He was all but certain it was a weapon though. "If I decide to work for you, what would my job be?"

"First, we have to get you well again. You will sail with me into the Gulf of Mexico where you will recuperate for the next few weeks. We will get to know one another much better and I will educate you about all of my plans and introduce you to some friends of mine."

"We're just going to sail around?"

"Have you spent any time on a boat before?"

"Nothing more than a few hours here or there."

"We might be at sea for days. But we will make some stops – probably in Mexico or some of the islands. I suspect you'll get a little seasick but you get used to it. Then, once you are recovered, I am going to bring you back here."

"To New Orleans?"

"Maybe somewhere else, but back to the U.S. The biggest job I have for you is to find me some more men."

That answer caught Philippe off guard. "You want me to find other sailors?"

"Not just any sailor. They have to be like you."

"Like me how? How will I find people like me?"

"Like I said: Intelligent, capable, and willing to act without being told what to do."

"How do you propose I accomplish that feat? Take out a help wanted ad?"

"It's funny that you should mention that. It so happens that is exactly what I think you should do."

6

Ragnar and Philippe kept mostly to the room during the day. At night, they ventured out and Philippe introduced him to many of the wonders that New Orleans had to offer. Ragnar fell in love with the food, and he hoped to come back there with Kay. He could see the two of them walking along the streets, eating the flavorful dishes and enjoying the many great artists that seemed to live there.

When it was time to leave he did not approach BabboOned directly as he wasn't sure if anyone was watching. Instead, he asked Philippe to board her while he watched from the safety of the shadows. Fifteen minutes later Philippe met up with him back in the city. He reported that nothing looked out of place. The doors that had been locked remained intact, and he had not seen anyone who looked suspicious loitering near the boat. Although this report made Ragnar feel better, he would continue to feel vulnerable until he was lost in the enormity of the sea.

The following morning Philippe and Ragnar went shopping for more supplies. They purchased warmer clothing for Philippe and plenty of food stuffs. Ragnar bought a large amount of ammunition for his two guns as he anticipated practicing while at sea. He also visited an electronics store in hopes of gathering enough materials to continue his research onboard. They checked out of the inn and took their supplies to the boat. Ragnar had Philippe precede him by ten minutes as an added precaution. Once they were on board and the ship was refueled, the two made their way out of the Mississippi and into the Gulf of Mexico. Ragnar set course for the Yucatan Peninsula. He had a friend near there that he had not seen for too many months.

7

Just as Ragnar and his new friend were starting their adventure in the warm gulf waters, Kay Ludlow picked out an odd postcard from her pile of daily mail. The front of the card pictured a small paddleboat floating down a lazy river while being viewed through a few small branches. The boat was white and had two smoke stacks jutting up from the middle, while a red paddlewheel turned at the rear. Smiling at the quirkiness of the picture she turned the card over and was overcome with excitement. She read the first word of the card and new immediately who had sent it.

Sun,

Uncle is angry with me so I am going to visit an old Latin lover. I'm sorry that I cannot see you now. Once things are quiet, I'll find a way to make my song heard.

Star

Kay knew something was going on. News of Ragnar's employers had reached her. The FBI had contacted her to see if she knew anything about his whereabouts. She truthfully told the agent, Mr. Moretti, that she had not spoken with Ragnar in quite some time.

She was worried about him and receiving this message made her heart soar with relief. She re-read the postcard's little message several times and tried to make sense of the words. She had no idea who "Uncle" was or why he might be angry. She suspected it had something to do with his company. An "old Latin lover" she knew had to be Francisco. Besides his work, Ragnar spoke of little else but his best friends and the adventures they shared in college. She also puzzled over the phrase "make my song heard".

She had longed to speak with her lover and, while she was comforted to have this small piece of communication from him, it tore at her soul not to be able to reply. Her eyes moved up to the stamp placed in the upper right corner. There was a Memphis postmark on the card. She had no way to contact Ragnar. She quickly accepted this reality. His feelings for her were no mystery. When he was able, she was sure he would find a way to reach her. In the meantime, she carried on with her life as best she could.

8

Moretti had been ordered by his superiors to make finding Ragnar Danneskjӧld a top priority. The postcard sent to Miss Ludlow did not escape his team's notice. They intercepted it and studied it for days in an attempt to divine some kind of clue to his whereabouts. They were not able to confirm it had been penned by Ragnar, but their handwriting analysis experts expressed a strong belief that he was the author. They also were aware of the postmark and since they believed he was on a ship, the FBI concentrated their search on waterways south of Memphis. Descriptions of the boat and Ragnar were distributed to local authorities at all major cities and towns along the rivers.

help wanted

1

Ragnar pointed BabboOned toward a sanctuary waiting for him in Mexico. He used the time to educate Philippe on everything he felt might be of value. He taught him how to navigate the boat. How to shoot a gun – something he really hadn't mastered himself. The isolation at sea gave them privacy to engage in such activities without arousing anyone's suspicions. He also began to teach him simple judo techniques. This was hard to do within the confines of the boat, but they did their best. Philippe, on the other hand, taught Ragnar some French. He was able to increase the speed of their vessel by ten percent by enhancing the engine's output. And, much to Ragnar's delight, he was a great cook. While Ragnar would tinker in the lab – which was still off limits to Philippe – he would fish for their night's dinner. Philippe asked about their destination, but all Ragnar would say was that it was somewhere they could restock, get organized and plan their next step. Philippe's recovery proceeded nicely and, after a week, their vessel finished its journey across the gulf.

They arrived in the small, Caribbean town of Playa del Carmen, Mexico. Before they even managed to finish docking their boat, removing their trash and locking down the laboratory, Francisco greeted them from the pier. He yelled up towards the deck, "Hello? Anyone home?"

A moment later Ragnar peered over the edge and greeted his friend with a look of both surprise and amusement, "It's great to see you Francisco! How did you know we were here?"

"John thought that you might be headed this way. I've had my friends at the marina watching out for you for quite some time. I was beginning to believe that you'd disappeared completely." He laughed – a byproduct of the joy he felt at seeing his dear friend safe and in his presence. "Who's your friend?"

Philippe had appeared next to Ragnar at the edge of the ship, looking over the railing at their host. Ragnar glanced at his friend and then back down at Francisco. "This is my new partner, Philippe. We'll be right down for a more appropriate introduction."

Ragnar and Philippe finished securing their vessel and belongings. They stepped onto the dock and both men struggled to shake the sensation that they were still on the water. Francisco had disappeared but they found him again as they approached the marina office.

"I've already taken care of your slip rental."

"Thank you," Ragnar replied.

"You boys look like you could use a hot meal and a good shave."

"That would be excellent," Philippe said eagerly.

Ragnar chuckled at Philippe's response. "I think he has had enough of me for the last couple of weeks; that and the canned tuna."

"I can only imagine," Francisco said in his most distinguished manner. He continued with his formality, "My name, sir, is Francisco Domingo Carlos Andres Sebastián d'Anconia. But you may call me Francisco." He stood tall as he spoke and when he finished he tilted his head down slightly and to the right. Philippe thought it to be an exceedingly noble gesture.

He offered his hand, "It is a pleasure to finally meet you Mr. d'Anconia."

"Francisco . . . please." He took Philippe's hand and shook it with a degree of formality that matched his introduction.

"Francisco," he acknowledged his new friend's permission, "Thank you." Philippe replied with sincerity.

"Right! Now that we have that out of the way, let me get you somewhere a little more civilized."

Francisco spirited the two away to his impressive home. There were multiple casitas surrounding the main residence. It was beautiful and peaceful there. The grounds were immaculately maintained. Palm trees dotted the landscape and were grouped around a huge pool that backed up to a terraced outdoor entertaining area. The residences were all painted a soft yellow and white. Exposed, dark wooden beams and doors provided a visual contrast to the classic colonial style of the architecture. Dozens of archways framed the outdoor areas and gave passage to the suites surrounding the area on both the ground and second floors. The rooms were all perfectly decorated. The furnishings were comfortable and intimate. Wrought iron and stone-work were present throughout the estate. It was the most impressive display of wealth Ragnar and Philippe had ever seen.

"My father built this place over twenty years ago when there was almost nothing in this town."

"It sure is impressive," Philippe said.

Francisco looked around at his home silently as if taking an inventory of everything he saw. "Yes, it is." He replied flatly.

After a satisfying meal the three men talked for many hours about everything imaginable. The discussion started with Francisco and Ragnar comparing notes on John's plan. Ragnar had attempted to fill Philippe in on his ideas for dealing with society's problems, but Philippe had no idea of the audacity and grandiosity of the plan. He was intrigued by the idea that the efforts of three friends could have such a profound impact on his world. He would have never thought it possible until he met two of the three principle architects. The degree of love and respect both men had expressed for the absent third caused Philippe to believe that nearly anything was possible as far as these three were concerned.

The following day Ragnar, Philippe and Francisco developed a rough plan for quickly recruiting individuals that would satisfy Ragnar's needs. They would have to return to America and task Philippe with the difficult job of identifying potential crew members as Ragnar's infamy would prevent him for doing the job himself. Ragnar detailed what kind of person they were looking for, what an ideal candidate would look like and the most important characteristics required by their team. Francisco was curious about Ragnar's potential timelines and suggested people and places that could be helpful to him. He also offered to scout for recruits from among his own connections. After one more day of relaxation Francisco took them into the village where they restocked food supplies aboard BabboOned. The ship was refueled and the three said their goodbyes.

2

Philippe observed that being back at sea seemed to reignite Ragnar's energy. He was not talkative, but instead seemed to be deep in concentration. He continued to lock himself in his lab below deck for hours at a time. He emerged to eat Philippe's meals and to provide continued instruction in navigation and judo.

After several days of sailing around the Keys and northward along the mainland, they arrived at a small coastal town twenty miles outside of Miami. Ragnar docked the boat and took time to restock his pantry, refuel, and make a trip to a local electronics store to procure some specialty equipment. Once the work was done, they enjoyed their last dinner together at an outdoor café. Ragnar stood to say good-bye to his new friend. "Well, I think you know what to do at this point," he said somewhat sternly to Philippe. Ragnar's eyes pierced his new partner with intensity. Both were well aware of the high stakes riding on Philippe's loyalty and abilities.

"Yes. I will begin looking for the crew immediately."

With a much warmer smile Ragnar reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a small box and handed it over to Philippe.

"A radio?" Philippe inquired; not sure what he was supposed to do with such an odd item.

"A special radio. Very important to me," he paused for a moment a little reluctant and then added, "for sentimental reasons." Ragnar handed Philippe the radio that Kay had given to him when he graduated. "Now it will be very important to you."

"You want me to listen to Cuban music while I am here?" joked Philippe.

"You can. But this radio has a special function for me. Turn the dial and what do you notice?"

Philippe turned the dial embedded in the front of the radio and watched the usual radio frequencies turn on the face of the box. He heard the altering of static and programming as he worked his way around the dial. Eventually he answered Ragnar, "It's a radio."

"Turn the left dial all the way clockwise."

Philippe complied with his request and the radio hissed with static.

"Now use both thumbs to attempt to turn the dial just a little more clockwise."

Philippe put one thumb on each side of the dial and attempted to turn the dial a little further. With just a little bit of effort, the dial popped into a position that didn't seem natural. Once it was pushed into place the radio was eerily silent. Philippe checked to see that it was still on and when he moved the radio he could hear a deep sound from the tiny speaker. Puzzled, he looked back at Ragnar who was smiling like a kid at Show and Tell.

"I can communicate with you at all times with this."

"Even when you are out at sea?"

"Practically anywhere. There is a limit to the distance, but it will serve our purposes. Every night, when you are alone, I would like you to tune in to this special channel between 10 PM and 10:30 PM. You will not be able to respond to me, but you will be able to receive instructions from me. Never tune into this frequency at any other time and protect this radio with your life. Keep it hidden. I could find you again, but it would take too much time. This will make things easier. I will not radio you often. When I do, it will be to schedule a time and place for further contact. Does that make sense to you?"

"Perfect. When do you think you will contact me again?"

"In light of all you have to do on your own, I cannot imagine you will be able to make a lot of progress quickly. Let's plan on 90 days from now – give or take."

"Understood, Captain," Philippe said as he stood and offered his hand to Ragnar.

Ragnar thought the title appropriate. He shook Philippe's hand, turned and left the restaurant without another word or a backwards glance.

3

The next week, Philippe took out an ad in the Miami Herald. It was odd in that it didn't say much but it was published exactly the way Ragnar, Francisco and he had designed it.

Help Wanted. If you are smart and hard-working you are looking for us. Amazing pay, adventure likely, must be willing to travel for extended periods of time. Contact LA3-5818 to schedule an interview.

Philippe handled almost a hundred calls related to the ad. He did not give callers any information; only that if they were interested they should show up at the office at an appointed time and to not be late or they would be denied further consideration.

Philippe scheduled applicants in groups of five to arrive on various dates in order to avoid anyone chancing upon another, earlier meeting.

When the first group arrived for their interview, they walked into a small, third-floor office located on the outskirts of the city. The door from the hallway opened to a barren office with a plain desk at the back of the room and a closed door to the right of the desk. An empty chair occupied the space behind the desk. A phone and a stack of papers were visible on the desk surface. Three chairs were lined up on either side of the room leading up to the desk and then there was the entrance door from the hallway outside. When the applicants arrived, they found a man sitting in one of the chairs closest to the empty desk filling out some paperwork. That man was Philippe, assuming the role of another applicant.

"The man said to go ahead and fill out the paperwork and he'd be back in a few minutes," Philippe told each of them as they arrived. He thought it was funny when one of the other applicants would play that part for him after he gave them the same instructions.

Fifteen minutes after the appointed time noises began to be heard behind the door to the adjacent office. At first, it sounded like breaking glass or dishes and everyone in the group would look up annoyed and sometimes curious. A minute later a man's raised voice could be heard. The exact content of the exchange was not clear but someone was angry. Philippe would look at the door, but he began to study the other people in the room, watching them. Soon another man's voice could be heard, and now they were arguing about something. Applicants in the office started to look nervous. Few were completing their questionnaires at this point and most just stared at the door. More crashing noises followed by more yelling and now the words 'kill', 'money', 'government' and 'FBI' can be heard clearly enough. A couple of the applicants picked up and left the office quickly. The remaining three stared at the door and began talking with each other about what they should do. One of the men stood up from his chair and with an air of urgency Philippe pleaded, "He said don't open the door, no matter what you hear."

"Who said that?" The standing applicant looked at Philippe in amazement.

"I guess it was the boss man," Philippe replied shrugging his shoulders.

The applicant moved to the phone and picked up the receiver but there was no dial tone. He meekly knocked at the door while the arguing continued and seemed to become more serious.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," Philippe pushed his agenda.

The applicant knocked a little louder, and one of the other men stood up as if he planned to join him. The applicant tried to open the door but it was locked.

"You think we should open the door?" the second standing applicant asked of the first.

"I say no," said Philippe acting scared and beginning to look to the exit himself.

The noise from the other room was building to a crescendo and it sounded like someone was about to lose their life. By now, most of the applicants had either left, were considering leaving or standing around confused about what to do.

The first standing applicant looked at everyone remaining and said, "I'm gonna call the cops!"

Everyone nodded in agreement except Philippe who calmly stood up and proceeded to unlock the door to the neighboring office. He walked to a small table inside and turned off a tape recorder before heading back into the office with the real applicants who all stared at him in disbelief.

"What is this?" the first applicant asked, clearly confused by what he saw happen.

"It was a test of sorts," Philippe offered back with as little emotion as he could muster. The scenario was a challenge for him since he never knew what was going to happen. "If you are still interested in working for this company, please feel free to complete your paperwork and a representative will contact you with an answer.

No one in the first three groups passed the test. But in the fourth group, a man who indicated he was a construction welder for high-rise buildings kicked open the door as soon as he heard the arguing get heated.

This was the crucial test that had to be passed before anything else would be considered. Philippe collected all the applications and questionnaires but he only looked at those of the individuals willing to break down the door.

Repairs were a part of the process and Ragnar had given him enough money to ensure that the stage was always reset and the locale was left in the same condition as when they started.

The questionnaire was not difficult. Philippe wasn't looking for perfection, but individuals with less than average intelligence would be a hindrance to their team. Philippe was looking for the best people he could find, and he was not about to put someone in front of Ragnar that was not going to represent his best efforts.

Philippe now had an application to review. The man's name was Miguel dos Santos. He had immigrated to the US from Cuba on a boat that he sailed himself across the gulf with his family on board. They had barely survived the trip. He completed an application that inquired about his family life. It asked about his ability to be away for extended periods of time. It asked about his hobbies and line of work. Interestingly, it did not ask about his education.

Philippe was happy with what he saw on the application. He contacted Miguel and asked him if he would like to meet to discuss the position. The application process had been like nothing Miguel had ever seen or experienced. He was curious about Philippe and any job he might have to offer, so they agreed to meet at a park overlooking Miami beach.

"What kind of job is this?" Miguel asked right away as he sat down next to Philippe on a bench.

"My employer describes it as a 'repossession' company. Are you familiar with this?"

"Not exactly, no." Miguel answered as he folded his hands into his lap preparing for a long discussion.

"It is a new business idea. Have you ever had anything stolen from you?"

"Once I had my bicycle stolen when I was a boy."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Is this a joke? I was mad."

"Did you do anything about it?"

"My father and I walked around the neighborhood, but we weren't able to find it."

"What if there had been a man in your town that you could pay a percentage of the cost of the bicycle, and he would locate it for you. How would that sound to you?"

"Interesting. I mean, I think maybe he could find it faster than me if that was his job. I suppose he would be some kind of expert at finding lost or stolen property?"

"Yes, exactly. What if I told you that once he found your bike that he would also break the leg of the thief? How would that sound to you?"

The man was taken aback by the suggestion. Although a part of him was attracted to the idea, he was shocked by the violent imagery. "I don't know. What if it was the wrong guy?"

"Good point." Maybe the guy wasn't the thief that was selling your stolen bike. What if, instead, the man reached into the thief's pocket and stole fifty dollars and gave half of that to you along with your bike?"

"I have to admit that I like that scenario better."

"Well, my employer is going to do that. There are a lot of crooks and thieves in the world and they have stolen a great deal from everyday folks like you and me. He aims to get those stolen possessions back into the hands of the original owners. The business has the potential to be . . . quite profitable."

Miguel's lips stretched underneath his pencil-thin mustache just enough to indicate his curiosity had been piqued.

Philippe continued, "How many times do the police prevent problems before they occur, and how many times do they recover stolen goods and return them to the people victimized? I would suggest to you that it is a tiny number."

The man considered these statements and could not find much fault in them. "I think I understand the principle.

4

After hundreds of phone calls and dozens of his special interview sessions, Philippe had managed to identify seven individuals that had both the personalities they were seeking and the ability to take on such an unusual endeavor. He had to wait until Ragnar gave him the next set of instructions. He informed the new "employees" that their job would not commence for several weeks and he secured their loyalty with a month's salary in advance. All had understood that they were building a team and that it would take some time to complete this important task.

Philippe always loved hearing from Ragnar. He would sit alone at night in his room and listen to the radio just as his employer had requested. On the nights that Ragnar's voice came across, it was always clear although it sounded hollow and dull. Philippe was amazed at this little secret. He often wondered how far Ragnar was from him. He suspected he was at sea most, if not all, of the time. Hearing from him also kept him connected. He did not feel so alone in his task when he could hear from his new friend.

Eventually Ragnar contacted him with a new, but simple direction, "Stop running ads. Complete any remaining interviews and wait for my next instruction." It took him an additional two weeks to complete the last of the interviews, but he did not identify any new recruits. With almost perfect timing Ragnar contacted him two days after Philippe completed his final interview. "Tomorrow, check out of your hotel. Make your way to the Sea Spray Motel in Charleston. Check into room 220. Bribe the hotel staff to get the room if you need to. Do not use your real name. Wait for my phone call."

Two days later Philippe checked into the Sea Spray Motel. It was late in the afternoon and he required no luck in securing room 220. The entire motel was run down and essentially vacant. A cycle of prostitutes and adulterers were its main clientele. It was a long rectangular two-story building with a flat roof. A faded sign announcing the business sat atop a fat pole at the entrance to the parking lot. A cartoonish crab held up a banner with the words "Sea Spray". The word "Motel" was painted in block print across the crab's shell. Philippe had stayed in places like this many times, and as long as the room seemed secure, he usually had no concerns. He made himself comfortable on the bed and turned on the television while he patiently waited for the chance to tell Ragnar all about his efforts. At exactly 10 PM his phone rang.

"Hello?" Philippe answered with a little unease.

"What was the first food I purchased for you?" came the voice on the other end.

Philippe was certain it was Ragnar's. He assumed, rightly, that Ragnar wanted to make sure he was talking to Philippe. "An apple."

"It is so good to hear you again my friend."

Philippe could hear the happiness in Ragnar's voice. "Same here. Are you close by?"

"Close enough," Ragnar evaded the question. "Tell me, how has it been going? How many men have you found for us so far?"

"Seven. Let me tell you . . . the process was pretty exciting. I had a small problem with the police in Tampa. They got a call from one of the applicants and so they paid me a visit. I told them that I was a researcher for a university and that I was studying human behavior."

Ragnar laughed. He was proud of his partner's ingenuity.

"Well, it's basically true, right?" Philippe added with a smile. "What are we going to do next?"

"I don't have much time here so I will be brief. Do you have paper and pencil?

"Yes. I anticipated you might have something a little more complicated since we are conversing by phone."

"True," Ragnar agreed. "Here is what you need to do next. First, purchase tickets for all seven of our new employees for Tampico, Mexico. If you pull the drawer out of the nightstand next to your bed you will find an envelope taped to the back of the cabinet. There should be enough cash for you to easily take care of this. Look for it now."

Philippe held the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he scooted across the bed to the nightstand. He pulled the drawer out and placed it on the bed next to him. He reached his hand inside and felt for the back. It landed on a thick package. He tugged at it until it pulled free. He opened the envelope and smiled at the stack of fifties and hundreds. "It's here!" he excitedly confirmed.

"Good. That was a little scary. I need them to arrive there on the first of the month. That should give you enough time to coordinate everything. Second, you should visit an old friend of mine. His name is Drake Schoenfield. I went to school with him and he might be interested in joining us. Smart guy and he has many contacts in the business and political realm. I don't want you to do the regular interview process with him. Instead, I want you to tell him that that you are working for me, and I want to offer him a job. Tell him it's a repossession company but don't give him any more information than that. Tell him that he can come down to Mexico and meet with me in order to discuss it. If he is not interested, don't push it. Just thank him for his time and leave. I'd say there is about a fifty-fifty chance he might be ready to tackle an adventure like this."

"How do I get in touch with him?" Philippe asked.

"He's probably still in Cleveland. I suspect he has not strayed too far from his parents. Get to the Patrick Henry University area and look him up. If you cannot locate him that way, contact his parents," Ragnar gave him Drake's phone number and his parent's address.

"Will he believe me?"
"Hmm. I guess he might have a few doubts. Just tell him how much I raved about his mom's fish meatloaf."

"Sounds disgusting," Philippe said from the back of his throat.

Ragnar laughed loudly, "That's exactly what I said."

"Next, I would like you to track down my old assistant. His name is Marlon Henderson. He's an experienced captain, but he has a family so I don't think he will be able to join us. Be careful with him as I am not sure if he is being watched or how he feels about me since all this has happened. Tell him you are a reporter with the Cincinnati press pool. Tell him you're doing a story on me and you want some information, background stuff, whatever might get him talking. I'd like you to try to find out more about my partners: Mr. and Mrs. Storrs. If anyone will have the full story on them, he will. See if he knows anything about the government's interest in my technology. If you get any feelings of suspicion during your visit, bail out of there. It is not worth your being stopped and questioned."

"OK, what else?"

"Lastly, after you visit those two, I have one more person I need you to visit."

5

The taxi pulled into the Schoenfield's curved driveway and Philippe marveled at the display of wealth. The house was two stories tall. The building was made out of brick and the large entryway was bracketed with a Greek style pillar on each side. The manicured landscape was just a little too much for Philippe to consider it tasteful. The giraffe topiary and imitation sculpture of Alexandros' famous Venus made it seem like they were trying too hard. Philippe paid the taxi fare and approached the oversized double doors at the entrance. He pushed the door bell and heard a long series of what he thought were actual bells announcing his arrival.

When the phone number for Drake didn't pan out, Philippe took a chance and visited Drake's parents' home. Philippe found Drake there – alone. His parents were out on another college-related junket, and he always took advantage of his parents' absence to reside in a comfortable home rather than alone in his tiny apartment. When Drake had finished his education at Patrick Henry he took an entry-level management position with a national bank. He kept his head down and did what he was told. He showed up for work dutifully every day at the appointed time. He carried out his responsibilities satisfactorily, and when he was passed over for promotions, he accepted that the individuals given the position must have been better qualified. He did not particularly care for them and viewed them all as cocky and overly ambitious. When Drake answered the door and found Philippe standing before him, both men found their situation confusing – Drake for finding this foreign-sounding, average looking, middle-class person standing in front of "his" home – Philippe for thinking that Drake was the right person for the job. Philippe gained entry to the Schoenfield home without having to use Ragnar's secret passphrase; a mention of Ragnar's name was all it took.

Drake sat in an overstuffed and over-large red armchair. Philippe thought he looked like The Lord of Strawberries, and suppressed a snort at the thought. The house was noticeably cool. And while Philippe felt the lower temperature on his skin, he did not find the environment refreshing. Philippe was anxious to leave, so he quickly carried out Ragnar's instructions.

"So he wants me to come work for him? In a, what did you say, repossession company? I've never heard of that. What position does he have for me? Does it pay well? I am making pretty good money now, and any day I am expecting to get another raise. Maybe a promotion too! What do you mean that is all you can tell me? How the hell do you expect me to take a chance like this on something I know nothing about? What am I supposed to tell my parents? Take it or leave it? I have never heard anyone say that to me before. Does Ragnar know you are handing me an ultimatum like this. I don't like being strong-armed. Well, it feels like a strong-arm to me. I guess it couldn't hurt to at least talk to Ragnar. I always admired him and his abilities. I could use a vacation. I could kill two birds with one stone. When does he want to meet and where is he?"

Philippe gave Drake the instructions on when and where to look for Ragnar. He did not know Drake as Ragnar did, and he assumed he must have a good reason for wanting him in their group. He thanked Drake for his time and then headed to the Cleveland Bus Depot.

6

After a wakeful night at a poorly staffed Cincinnati hotel, Philippe took a ten minute taxi ride to the Storrs Echographics office. He stepped from the car onto a nearly deserted street that looked as if it once supported a major business center. There were few folks around despite the sunny morning.

He approached the building only to find the office doors padlocked. He raised his hand as a makeshift visor and pushed it against the glass to peer inside the darkened space. He saw no evidence that anyone was there or had been there for some time. There were a few papers scattered on the floor, boxes were piled on the tables. The air inside appeared old – in the few beams of light that penetrated the building he could see fine particles of dust seemingly suspended in the stale atmosphere. He felt a shiver course through the back of his neck as he backed away. He stood for a moment longer before turning around. He walked across the street to a bicycle shop and found the owner manning a counter inside. "Excuse me sir, but I was trying to get in touch with someone at the company across the street."

The man's eyes lit up in excitement. "That place closed down after the people inside got caught trying to sell weapons to the Russians."

"Really?" Philippe asked with a practiced act of incredulity. "What happened to the owners?"

The man looked across the street at the abandoned office building, "I don't really know. Arrested? I haven't heard much about it in the news since they came down here are hauled them out in handcuffs. Police were in there for two days looking at stuff. They took a bunch of boxes out and then chained the doors shut."

"Hmm. Well I'm looking for one of the employees – a gentleman by the name of Marlon Henderson. How about him? You have any idea how I can contact him?"

The man dropped his eyes briefly and then looked up with a saddened face, "Mister Henderson is dead."

"What?" exclaimed Philippe. "How? What happened?"

The bicycle shop owner eyed Philippe with suspicion. "Who are you? How do you know Mr. Henderson?"

Philippe thought quickly, "We went to high school together. I knew he was good with boats and I was hoping he could help me pick out one for my business and find an acceptable captain for her." He looked confidently into the man's eyes before dropping them and adding, "I can't believe he's dead."

7

"Officer!" Moretti yelled without taking his eyes off of the man seated in front of him. "Please remove Mr. and Mrs. Storrs from the premises while I continue to question this suspect." Moretti's voice was unemotional, but Marlon could see the agent's lips curl into the slightest smile.

Marlon was no stranger to being questioned by the police. Although he had led a righteous lifestyle and avoided troublemakers, he had been picked up for police questioning on three prior occasions. "I told you that I don't know anything about Ragnar's plans. He didn't tell me anything." He knew he didn't have to tell the agent anything. He knew all about his rights. He had hoped that by cooperating he could avoid being arrested and get home to his family.

Moretti stared at Marlon until he was sure that he was sure the officer had exited the building with the last of Storrs' employees.

Marlon looked into Moretti's eyes and knew that he wasn't going to make it home anytime soon. "What do you want from me, man?"

Agent Moretti removed his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby desk. He rolled up his sleeves and pulled a chair around so that it faced Marlon. He took a seat across from the man wearing a beret. He took a deep drag off his cigarette and blew a heavy stream of smoke into Marlon's eyes. "I don't believe you nigger."

Marlon took a deep breath and released it slowly through his nose. It eased the fire building within him. "I'm gonna need my lawyer."

Moretti sat there a moment longer – unmoving – staring at him. Marlon thought he might be trying to intimidate him. He had to admit to himself that he was succeeding on some level. Suddenly Moretti thrust his head forward and crushed his forehead into Marlon's nose.

Marlon saw stars and blood began immediately flowing from both nostrils as well as a thin tear just under his left eye. His hands were cuffed behind him so that he was incapable of providing any relief to himself or see how much blood he was losing. He could taste the salty, metallic liquid as it flowed over his lips.

"Where is he?" Moretti asked calmly but directly. "I want to know what you all were planning. Where are the plans for the weapon he designed?" He puffed on his cigarette again.

"I can't tell you what I don't know. I told you that he probably left on the –"

Moretti grabbed Marlon's jaw. He dug his fingers into the meaty flesh just in front of his ears. "Shut up! Unless you can tell me something useful for a change. I know you worked for him. You were his nigger! You had to know about his plan. You have to know where he is going." Moretti squeezed his grip tightly into Marlon's face.

Up to this point Marlon had managed to contain any expression of pain, but the sensation that he felt in his jaw muscles was excruciating. He tried to cry out, but Moretti held his jaw closed. All he could do was breathe out a groan through his clenched teeth. Tears began to fall from his eyes – from the pain as well as his building fear. Moretti released his grip and Marlon slumped forward breathing quickly and heavily.

"Why are you crying?" Moretti asked without seeming to be interested in his response. He looked for a place to extinguish his cigarette. Along a near wall was a tall pedestal ashtray. He picked it up, brought it next to the chairs and crushed the butt of his cigarette into the white, powdery sand.

"Please! Agen Muretti . . ." Marlon's nose was swelling and making it difficult to breathe.

Moretti opened the fingers that held the remnants of his cigarette and dipped them into the sand pinching a few thousand grains of the fine white crystals. He grabbed Marlon's face again and pushed his head back. His fingers began to work Marlon's eyelids apart while Marlon tried desperately to clench them tight.

Moretti applied the weight of his body to hold his captive in place. As Marlon twisted his face away to his right Moretti slowly spread apart his fingertips revealing the glossy exterior of his eye. "Tell me where he is."

"Fuck you!" Marlon spat out the words with rage and blood.

Moretti raised the pinched fingers above Marlon's exposed eye and began to sprinkle grains of sand into Marlon's eye. Marlon screamed out in agony and Moretti removed the fingers holding his eye open.

Marlon's pain involuntarily caused his eyes to blink in a frantic attempt to flush out the material that was scraping his sensitive cornea. With each successive blink Moretti dropped more granules of sand into his eye. Marlon thought that he could feel each grain as it dug a track across his eye with every blink. He tried not to blink but that proved just as futile. Nothing relieved the excruciating agony. "OK! OK! I'll tell you where he is!" Marlon had no idea where his partner had gone, but he hoped that by providing anything at this point he could escape further punishment.

"It's too late for that now, darkie. You know niggers can't be trusted." With that Moretti pushed the palm of his hand into Marlon's eye and proceeded to rub it back and forth.

Marlon passed out from the pain. His body couldn't handle any more and he slumped to the side of the chair. Moretti climbed off of him and let Marlon's unsupported weight drag both him and the chair, to which he was bound, crash to the floor. Moretti then pulled his service weapon from the holster, leveled it at Marlon's unconscious body, and fired two shots – one into Marlon's chest and the other at his head.

8

"It hit us all pretty hard. He bought his daughter's first bike from me. Nice guy. Helpful. Friendly. I guess he had some skeletons in his closet too."

"What do you mean?" asked Philippe.

"To take his own life like that. What a waste. He had a family, and everything seemed to be going well in his life. Got wrapped up in whatever was going on over there I guess."

"When did this happen? How?"

"The FBI was questioning him when he grabbed the agent's gun and shot himself in the face. At least that's what the papers said. It's strange because I thought I heard . . . like a shriek . . . but what do I know? Watched the ambulance pull up and take him away just an hour after they arrested the owners."

"Wow," Philippe breathed, "I just can't believe it." He stressed the emotional part of his response to maintain the illusion of his fabricated history with Ragnar's coworker. It came easy, though, because a part of his consciousness agreed with the sentiment. He doubted the suicide story. "Thank you." Philippe turned to exit the store.

"I'm sorry for your loss," the man stated. "What's your name?"

Philippe didn't answer.

9

A day later, Kay Ludlow was startled awake by the unexpected noise of her buzzer. It was almost enough to cause her to fall out of her chair. She had drifted asleep while reviewing a script her agent had dropped off at her apartment earlier in the evening. She assumed he must have returned because she could think of no other that would visit her at such a late hour.

She stood up, her heart racing from the sudden rush of adrenalin, and walked over to the intercom next to her door. "Yes," was all she said. She liked to be cautious because of her celebrity.

"Miss Ludlow?" came a voice from the small speaker.

"Who is this?" Kay asked. She wasn't rude in her tone, but she was not about to have a conversation with a stranger.

"My name is Philippe, Ma'am."

"I don't know any Philippe. I believe you are mistaken and the hour is late. I must go." Kay wanted to end this conversation with the stranger and go to bed so she could get some proper sleep.

"I am a comet. A messenger traveling from solar system to solar system – between worlds." Philippe read the words Ragnar had instructed him to say to her word for word.

It took Kay only a couple of seconds to realize that Philippe had been sent by Ragnar. She pushed the button again with a different kind of emotion surging through her body. "Oh my God. Is he with you? Is he OK? Come up! Please!" She pushed the button releasing the lock on the door at the front of the building

When the elevator door opened, Philippe was immediately assailed by Kay with a thousand questions. They came too fast for him to properly answer. His mind was overwhelmed by her constant barrage along with his own level of awe at her celebrity. Eventually he said, "How about we take this conversation into your apartment?"

Kay nodded her agreement, grabbed Philippe's hand and painfully pulled him towards her apartment. She ushered him through the door she had left standing open, and used her left foot to awkwardly close it behind them. She did not waste time with something as trivial as closing it properly. It banged loudly into the frame, but Kay was too preoccupied to hear it or consider the effect of the noise on her neighbors.

Kay's apartment was modest in its size, but its interior design was well thought out. The colors were vibrant but the space was soothing. A coffee colored leather chaise lounge stretched along one wall. Draped over one corner was a comfortable, but expensive looking throw blanket. Fresh lilies, Philippe observed, exploded from a beautiful, tall crystal vase on the table. The scent of the flowers gave him the sensation that he was standing before the perfume counter at his local department store. It was the view that took his breath away. Two French doors opened to a veranda overlooking the Los Angeles hillside. The city lights made the night look like day. He could just make out the famous Hollywood sign off to the left.

Philippe placed a package he was holding on Kay's kitchen table and turned to find Kay impatiently waiting for him to tell her about her love. "First, Ragnar is fine. I spoke with him two days ago by phone. The story he has to tell is too large for me to cover in the short time that I have. I do not even know the whole story myself. Just know that he was in danger and he took steps to avoid that danger." He saw Kay's reaction flow back and forth from concern to relief. "He wanted me to tell you that he loves you and is sorry that he is not here to speak with you personally. He is hopeful that there will be a day in the future where you two will be together again. I know that you have a lot of questions for me. but he has specifically requested that I not tell you any more than I already have."

Kay started to protest, "I haven't spoken to him in ages and he can't leave me here without some answers. I think I have a right to know where he is and what he is doing. I've been worried about him for months now and all I have is a postcard and a few comments from a total stranger." Kay looked at Philippe who appeared a bit wounded by her comment. "I'm sorry," she said, "It's just that I miss him greatly."

"He wanted me to give you a present." Philippe walked over and picked up the small package. He removed the outer brown paper to reveal a box wrapped in red paper with a black ribbon and bow. He handed it to Kay.

Kay started to unwrap the package slowly at first but soon found herself tearing at the paper and opening the box inside to find the transistor radio. For a moment Kay looked at the item as if it were some kind of puzzle that needed to be solved. When she couldn't figure it out she started to get angry again. She snapped her head in Philippe's direction only to find him grinning from ear to ear. "What's so funny?" she asked irritated.

"Turn it on," Philippe said; eager for his own turn at Show and Tell.

Kay turned it on and then turned the dial. It performed just like any other radio. Philippe approached her and carefully took the radio from her hands. He held it where she could see what he was doing. He explained to her the process of tuning to the special station Ragnar had created. As soon as dial clicked into place, Ragnar's voice could be heard. This surprised both of them. It was much later than Ragnar's usual broadcast hours. "He usually only comes on from 10 PM to 10:30 for me. I didn't expect him to be here now!" Philippe was excited to see Kay so happy. He had to explain to her that she could only listen to Ragnar through the radio – that it was only one way communication – that it allowed him to speak to her safely. Philippe recognized that Ragnar's comments were intended for his girlfriend. He felt uncomfortable; as if he had stumbled upon someone sleeping in a private place. He moved towards the exit – to give her time alone with him, even if it wasn't in the true sense.

Kay thanked Philippe over a dozen times for bringing Ragnar back into her life and coming out at such a late hour. She hugged him goodbye and gave him a small kiss on his cheek which made him blush. He smiled, a little drunk on her charisma. He ducked back outside as quickly and quietly as he could. He looked over his shoulder one last time to see her refocus her attention on the radio she was cradling in her left hand. He smiled as he closed the door for her. He wondered if she was even aware that he had left. He chuckled to himself over how happy she looked.

Philippe returned to the taxicab he had waiting for him. He asked the driver to take him to the airport where, after seven hours of uncomfortable sleep on the terminal floor, he was on a flight to Mexico.

10

Kay jumped onto the same sofa she had fallen asleep on, but now her senses were all activated. She had every reason and selfish interest in staying up. She put all her attention on the little radio.

"…warm here. I know that you would like it. Since I cannot be with you I use it as a reminder of your radiance when I walk through the nearby streets and garden. Frank has a place here that is spectacular. It is not even his main home. He calls it a 'villa' and I think he does that so it will sound more important to him. I would call it a 'village'…" She could hear him laugh a little, "…as it is just a huge, sprawling estate with a large, main residence and several smaller houses. I have been enjoying his hospitality. I wish you were with me Kay. I know that this must be difficult for you, and I am terribly sorry that I couldn't contact you until now. As I said before, I have concerns for my safety, and now that you have this radio, I have some concerns for you as well. There are powerful people that are looking for me, and I want to assure you that I have done nothing wrong. I will come for you one day. One day soon I hope. I do not know when that day will come. I have a few things to do before I can risk making more direct contact with you. I don't know if Philippe told you these things but I suspect that he has. He is a good person and I am trusting my life to him. When I am able to talk to you, I will make contact between ten and ten-thirty at night. I suspect Philippe has reached you by today but just in case I will be repeating most of what I have said for the next couple of days. You cannot communicate with me. I am sorry these conversations will have to be one-way for the time being. I am especially sorry since I cannot hear your voice. I can only imagine it. Actually, Frank has some of your films here at the estate. I have watched them all in order to see you in some small way. It turns out you're a pretty decent actress." Ragnar paused and Kay could almost hear him smile at his obvious sarcasm. Ragnar's took a more serious tone. "You must take precautions in order to keep us both safe. Draw your blinds, or move into a room with no visibility when you use this device. And I know that sometimes it will be difficult to hear what I am saying, but keep the volume as low as possible. The government may be listening in on your phone. When you are finished with our one-way calls, be sure to return the radio to a more normal dial position. You probably should put the radio on a shelf somewhere. Do not hide it as it may make it more likely to be found and draw attention to its significance. I know that probably doesn't make any sense. Anyway, just put the radio on a bookshelf. Hide it in plain sight I guess is what I am trying to say. I miss you terribly. Give yourself a kiss from me, and I will talk to you soon."

Kay stared at the radio hoping that something additional would be said. When all she heard was a low hum for the next couple of minutes she did all the things Ragnar had suggested. She listened to the radio and Ragnar's soliloquies every night. She was able to follow his everyday activities because that is what he would talk about each evening. She assumed that he was a fair distance away from her, and she marveled at his ability to communicate with her at all. She appreciated the gift of the radio more than any gift she could remember in her life.

11

A few weeks after Philippe and their newly acquired crew arrived in Mexico to join Ragnar, Francisco threw a huge gala at his estate. There were hundreds of guests. All of them took advantage of their host's opulent hospitality. They gorged themselves on hors d'oeuvres, caviar, imported Champaign, lobsters and other food beautifully cooked to match the surroundings. Francisco was promoting investments in one of his mining operations, and this was the place to be in order to strike deals.

Ragnar left his crew behind and joined the party; spending most of his time in the periphery of the festivities. He tried to see without being seen, to eavesdrop without being detected. He did not speak to many people, but his attractiveness made him an irresistible curiosity. He told those who asked, that he was employed as Francisco's groundskeeper. After this disclosure, his apparent usefulness to others vanished and they would move on to the next guest they perceived could benefit them in some way with either money or power. It made Ragnar sick to his stomach that so many people like this existed.

Francisco wanted Ragnar there so that he could watch those at his party, but there was one individual he thought Ragnar might have a special interest in. Ragnar made every effort to study the man and understand him. By the time the party concluded, Ragnar had a good idea who he was and what value he held.

12

Ragnar stood on the railing at the front of BabboOned. He wanted to make sure his men were able to see and hear him. His jacket fluttered in the wind, and his long hair danced around his eyes. The crew stood around looking at him but talked amongst themselves. They had enjoyed the time on the boat so far, and most of believed their captain was a quiet and simple man. Their perception was about to change.

"Up to this point, I know I have been a bit of a mystery to you. I know you have met Drake – my oldest friend," Ragnar put his hand on Drakes shoulder before turning his attention to the man at his right, "and Philippe – my first recruit to this endeavor. I haven't had an opportunity to speak with each of you, so I am sure you have questions for me.

"Originally, you were hired to help me launch a repossession business. The efforts of many individuals have been stolen by others over the years. Sometimes those wrongs are righted, but usually the thief gets away with his crimes. Not the lowly street thug. No. They are eventually caught and punished. Not because they are stupid and careless, although most of them do have this trait, but because they lack the financial resources to evade capture and prevent prosecution.

"Tonight, we will make our first repossession and attempt to bring this criminal to some form of justice. Parked just a few births from us is a very powerful man. This man has taken years developing a network of powerful friends. Governments have even assisted him in building and protecting his empire. These friends give him money. They look the other way when he wants to bend or break the laws that you and I have no choice but to obey."

Ragnar paused to let his comments sink in. "This man has come down to Mexico in an effort to do another deal where he sells stolen goods in exchange for future riches. The good news for us, is that by coming here, he has left the relative safety of his home. He will not have the local police available to him. It will not be easy to avoid us as we reclaim what has been taken from the original owners without permission or proper compensation.

"Tonight we will take back what is not his. Our goal is to remind this individual and others that they are not free to abuse their positions of power in order to increase their personal wealth. Soon, they will hear of this event and be forced to change their behaviors or face consequences for their actions. Consequences that do not exist in today's world. Not until today."

The crew had grown quiet and pressed tighter into Ragnar's space in order to better hear the comments from their captain. "Our target is a traitor to man's most basic rights and ideals. You are here because you believe in hard work at a fair price. You are here because you believe in property rights - that no one can just take whatever they want. You believe in equitable agreements where one trades their production or services for something in kind – agreeable to each party. There can be no agreement when the persuasion of a gun replaces the rational offer of a trader.

Again Ragnar took a moment to allow his crew to consider his words. "Tonight we will wait until the thief boards his ship for his return back home. We will wait until he sails into the blackness of the midnight sea. There will be no moon to aid in his escape or make his pursuers more visible. At 2300 hours we will board his ship, recover any stolen materials, and disappear back into the night just as quickly as we appeared.

"The actions we will take tonight come with some risks. It is possible that we could be repelled. It is possible that any of us might be injured or killed in the execution of this plan. It is possible that what we are looking for is not even there. But I am not one to be unprepared. I have every reason to believe that the opposite is much more likely. I suspect that our recovery effort will take place without incident. If we find what we seek, we will all share in the reward. You are putting yourselves at risk, and you are doing a dangerous job. I have selected you specifically for your skills and your abilities to think for yourselves. We are a team, but count on your own abilities before you depend on others. If everyone utilizes their greatest ability, there is no way we will fail." Again Ragnar paused.

"What is it we seek?" came a loud voice from the middle of the group.

"I had hopes that you all would not be afraid to question me and our mission. Since we are still new in our relationship, I would ask that you allow me to withhold that information for now. I am willing to tell you that I expect to find a large amount of cash on the ship."

"Who is this thief?" cried out another.

"Let's just say that he is a member of the biggest and most powerful mafia group in the world."

With that, a jumble of voices rose as crewman talked with fellow crewman. The reality and enormity of what they were about to do began to raise concern in some of the crew.

Ragnar had to raise his voice to regain control, "I do not force you to be here." The voices of the men quieted. "You are always free to go when you do not feel as though I am holding up my end of the agreement. I shall hold no ill will towards any man who wishes to change his mind about joining this crew. I will merely offer my hand, thanks, and a return ticket as you are escorted from this ship. Any decision to leave my employ will be considered final. There will be no opportunity to come back. Anyone wishing to leave please speak up now."

Although there was considerable murmured discussion amongst the men, no one made their intent to leave their new employer known. Ragnar proceeded with his instructions.

"As you know, there are two men that have helped me develop this team over the last six months. I would like to formally introduce them to you. Your first mate is Drake." Drake was standing next to Ragnar and gave a small bow. He didn't really know what to do, but he felt like he should do something and waving seemed so ridiculous. "When I am not available, you should look to Drake as a source of direction. Your second mate is Philippe. Most of you have been introduced to him already through his cooking. If anything, I hope you will consider the contentment of your stomachs in the value of your time with us so far." Ragnar stated with a laugh as the rest of the crew nodded and laughed with him in agreement. "I want all of you to listen carefully so that we have no surprises later tonight.

"The weather is supposed to be clear and the seas calm. We will approach our target from the rear, and once we're alongside, we'll join our boat to theirs and board their vessel. We'll take control of the bridge and immediately secure the engine room. There are between eight and twelve individuals on board. Security is not expected to pose a problem but we should all be prepared for resistance. I do not want anyone to use lethal force unless you are resisted and you believe your life is in danger. When in doubt, protect yourself at all costs. I want each of you to change into your uniforms, grab a gun and enjoy tonight's dinner."

13

Dinner was a subdued event. Most of the crew were nervous about their eminent plans and found it difficult to put food on their unsettled stomachs. All ten of the members of Ragnar's force wore dark pants and white t-shirts. It was his idea to dress alike in order to avoid confusion in their assault. The last thing he wanted was members of his crew shooting each other. Ragnar was not visible to the team as he passed the time tinkering in his lab. He had been working on his prototype sound weapon for a long time, and he had yet to field test it since his accidental slaughter of countless fish and Joy's disappearance. He had made some adjustments - primarily in the ability to direct and focus the sound at a specific target. He also significantly increased the power to his equipment. He didn't know if he would need his invention tonight, but he was making final preparations in case he did.

A couple of hours later BabboOned brought itself to within a half mile of the target vessel. Ragnar assumed a position on the bow and asked the men to gather along the starboard side. All lights had been extinguished with the exception of a dull red glow coming from the bridge. Two of the men held grappling hooks with long stretches of rope looped in their off-hand. Each man wore their pistols in dark leather holsters harnessed over their shoulders. When everyone appeared to be in position, Ragnar turned to Philippe who was piloting their ship and nodded that it was time. The men held on to the railing and each other as BabboOned's engines roared in a deep growl. Ragnar knew that they had to surprise the other ship. They would easily outrun his much smaller vessel. He had no idea if their prey's captain would be looking for trouble or paying any attention to their own radar.

As they drew closer, the men came to understand the significance of their target's wealth. The ship they were approaching was almost twice as large as Ragnar's. It was a beautiful ship. Sleek in design and crafted from exquisite materials. The ship was dark in color and it ran under an American flag.

14

Philippe brought BabboOned in behind the port-stern of their target where the deck was lower and more accessible. He began to draw closer while holding a course parallel to the super yacht. The men could now all read the yacht's designation: Wolf in Ship's Clothing. There was still no observable activity from their mark. Philippe drew even with the rear of the Wolf, and two men let loose their grappling hooks. Both of them were successful in securing their hooks to the bow of the Wolf. As they began pulling the two ships together BabboOned slid over the wake generated by the Wolf and banged into the hull of their target with enough force to nearly knock half of them overboard. There was no time for distractions at this point. Ragnar was certain that the passengers of the Wolf would have felt the collision too. He ordered his crew to board. He was anxious to take as much advantage of their surprise as he could.

Ragnar's men acted like seasoned professionals. Three of the men headed directly for the Wolf's bridge, two were sent to locate the engine room, the rest of the team, including Ragnar, began to work their way through the ship securing its passengers. All of the men had their pistols drawn and ready.

"Who the hell are you?" yelled the Wolf's captain at the three men who entered his bridge.

"Step away from there!" Drake ordered as he motioned to the left with his gun pointed at the man. Drake sounded menacing, but he was shaking so hard one of his crew actually stepped in front of him and his weapon in order to prevent the captain from seeing his lack of resolve. He rushed up to the captain and shoved him hard to the floor. They did not have to shut down the engines as the captain had already done that thinking that he had struck something.

"Who are you people? What do you want?" the captain protested.

"Cuff him," Drake ordered as the only response.

One of Ragnar's crew pulled out a set of handcuffs and proceeded to lock the captain's hands behind his back and to a chair in the room.

The men heading for the engine room broke to join the rest of the crew as soon as they heard the engines stop. Philippe, still on board BabboOned, idled their engines and prepared for any trouble by keeping the ship ready and watching the radar.

Ragnar's group descended into the crew and passenger quarters. There was little light at the bottom of the first stairwell. Ragnar stood at the end of the hallway while his crew fanned out opening doors and rousting the passengers from their comfortable beds. The level of commotion increased as people were yanked from their rooms and ushered outside. Ragnar directed two of his men to begin securing the passengers upstairs on the deck. They escorted each of the Wolf's passengers one-by-one up the stairs to the deck above where they were handcuffed to restrict their movements. There were five rooms on this deck. Ragnar knew that the stateroom at the end probably held the person he was most interested in. That door, his men indicated, was locked. The other four rooms contained three couples and one older, single gentleman. Ragnar maintained his position as he ordered his crew to clear the lower deck; a job made much easier as many of the crew had come up to investigate all the commotion.

Ragnar was happy with their situation. The entire ship had been taken without a single shot fired and no injuries. He looked toward the locked set of doors at the end of the hallway. He called for his men to locate a crowbar as he walked down the corridor. He paused at the double doors and decided it would be prudent to stand off to the side. He knocked on the door and listened carefully for any reply. None came. He knocked again, this time a little harder and added a "Hello?" Again, no reply came. He reached for the door handle and turned it to confirm the door was indeed locked. The handle did not move. He backed to the side of the door once more and said clearly and authoritatively, "Sir, I need to have you unlock the door and step into the hallway with your hands up." He listened again for a response. There was none.

Two men returned to Ragnar's side with a crowbar. Ragnar stepped back and crouched down with his gun pointed forward and just below the threshold of the double doors. He motioned for one of his crewmen to mirror his position and the other to prepare to force the doors open. The two men looked at Ragnar, and with his free hand he held up one finger. A moment later he held up a second. When he held up the third finger his crewman jammed the crowbar into the junction between the two doors just above the handle and pried the doors open in one big movement. The left door swung open revealing a darkened room. The crewman pulled the right door towards him revealing the other half of the room. Ragnar and his team raised their guns and pointed them into the darkness. Both slowly rose out of their crouch, hoping their eyes had not been weakened by exposure to the lighted hallway. They peered into the seemingly empty room and began to approach the gaping doorway. There was no movement, no sound. Silently they both entered the room. Ragnar's weapon and attention were focused high while the first crewman to follow looked low. The third crewman had dropped the crowbar and resumed a grip on his pistol as he followed the other two inside.

The bed looked as though it had been slept in. They checked under the bed and the private bath attached to the room. Ragnar detected the smell of tea and perfume in the air as well as something else he couldn't quite place; like dirt or soil, but that wasn't it. The only other obvious hiding place was a large closet off to the right of the bed.

Ragnar motioned to his men to help him open that next. Each man stood on either side of the double doors and, again, Ragnar counted with his fingers. Just as he reached three and the men pulled the doors open, a naked, skinny, screaming man charged out of the closet directly at Ragnar. He deftly stepped to his right side and tripped the older, stumbling man with his left foot as he went by. He toppled over and bounced his upper torso off of the corner of the bed and onto the floor. A glint of light caught Ragnar's eyes as the man's knife went sailing across the room and skittered across the hardwood floor. Ragnar's men instantly jumped on the man and pinned him to the floor.

Ragnar looked into the closet and saw the source of the odor he couldn't place. Crumpled in corner was a beautiful, nude, dark skinned woman with long black hair that was tossed in every direction. Her head rested on her naked chest. Her face was nearly completely obscured but Ragnar could see that a piece of clothing had been stuffed into her mouth and blood had poured out of a cut along her neck and down her body onto the floor in a darkened pool.

Ragnar turned his attention back to the man they had just discovered. His men had him handcuffed and lying on his back. "Get him upstairs with the others," he ordered.

"Sir," they both replied. The two grabbed the man by his elbows, hoisted him to his feet and ushered him upstairs. Ragnar searched though the man's belongings before finding what he was looking for.

15

Up on the deck of the Wolf, Ragnar's men gathered all the crew and passengers in a group. Many of the people they had gathered were complaining about their hands or asking for information. Ragnar's crew did not respond. They merely held their captives in check.

Ragnar approached the group carrying a large briefcase. "I thought you were a married man Senator," he said as he dropped the briefcase at the feet of the now seated naked man. The man's face turned up towards Ragnar's. He was drunk and trying not to fall over on his side. "Adultery and Murder?"

Two of his crewmen appeared carrying the body of the woman they had found in closet. She had been wrapped tightly in a tan-colored bed sheet that failed to fully contain the massive amount of blood oozing from her mortal wound. The men carefully placed the body onto the deck. All but one of the Wolf's passengers and crew had looks of disgust on their faces.

Ragnar smiled down at man as he dropped the bloody knife that landed point down into the briefcase. "That won't look good in your next campaign."

"Senator Ineske!" exclaimed Drake coming to the realization that he had just participated in the kidnapping and assault of a sitting US Senator. His exclamation caused disquieted looks and uncertainty among Ragnar's crew. Drake looked at Ragnar with his head cocked to the side. "You knew this was the Senator's ship?"

"Of course I did," Ragnar replied matter-of-factly.

"I don't think any of us signed up for this!" Drake shouted at his friend. "Do you know how much trouble we are in?"

Ragnar surveyed the crew and their captives. All of them were studying him waiting to see how he would proceed.

"Here is the situation. This man is a criminal of immense proportion. He just murdered a woman – slit her throat – because he was afraid she would give away his ridiculous hiding place. He won't stand trial for that. He's a drunk and an addict. He has stolen hundreds of thousands, if not millions of dollars from hard working people like you and me.

"He operates his venture in another world – a parallel universe where he controls the answers to every question. Every action he takes, he takes with the knowledge that it will give him some advantage in the future. His vote is for sale to the highest bidder. He uses the money to buy more time in government. Look how he lives." Ragnar held out his arms and swept them back and forth pointing out the obvious results of the Senator's abuse of power. "The real problem for all of us is that we do not know if the authorities have been called." Ragnar stared down the Wolf's captain who gave no indication of his actions. We might only have another hour or two before Mexican or US naval vessels find us and take us into custody. I will not be taken. I will fight. This operation will not come to an end until I say it has ended. So make your choice. Join me – at least until we are safely away from this scene," he paused, "or join our friend here and wait for your future to happen to you."

None of Ragnar's men were quick to say anything. Eventually Philippe spoke loudly and clearly. He had boarded the target ship once everyone had appeared on the main deck, "I'm with you captain. What are your orders?"

Ragnar turned and smiled at his first recruit. "I appreciate your support. I will not let you down, nor any man that puts his trust in me. I need all the sonar equipment pulled from BabboOned and placed onto the deck of this ship. We need all our personal belongings, files and weapons brought on board and stowed below deck."

Drake spoke up again, clearly still frustrated with Ragnar, "Why would you move all our materials to this ship?"

"Because this ship . . . is now mine," Ragnar answered Drake's question with relish. He turned and walked towards BabboOned in order to begin the process of transferring goods and materials to his newly acquired boat. Philippe fell in behind him. Within a couple of minutes the rest of Ragnar's crew had formed a line bringing their items from one ship and handing them up to those on the Wolf. Drake, despite his outcry, felt too much pressure from the fact that the rest of Ragnar's team had agreed to continue following him. He maintained his watch over the Senator and the other captives while the rest of the team completed the unloading of BabboOned. When two of the men appeared to have finished their part of the project, he motioned them over to take his place so that he could get his belongings as well. He dropped below deck to head to his bunk, but he made a quick stop by Ragnar's lab. "We need to talk," Drake stated firmly. His eyes were red and his face was flushed. Ragnar could tell his old friend was angry.

16

Ragnar was busy speedily dismantling his prototype weapon. He needed to reduce it to a size that could be maneuvered more easily. Some of the parts he would have to leave behind. That meant he would need to locate new parts before he could risk another outing such as this. He did not have time to allay Drake's concerns. There would be time once they were safely out to sea. "As you wish, friend. Can we do that once we are moving again?"

Drake knew this was not the time. He answered by uttering a short grunt before heading off to grab his duffle bag and taking it to the Wolf.

Ragnar oversaw the transfer of his prototype to the deck of his new ship. He utilized the small crane on BabboOned to hoist it up and over to the Wolf. Once he was comfortable that the transfer of their supplies and personal items had been completed, he walked up to the small bridge and yanked the radio microphone and ignition key from the console and threw both into the ocean.

He hurried back over to the Wolf again and gathered the men about him. Their group huddled around the captives. He put the last of his plan into motion. Addressing the captives he said, "Listen to me everyone. It is important that you understand these instructions. Believe it or not, it is not my intention to harm any of you. You will each be escorted to our other ship. It is not a difficult jump to our ship, but you may become injured if you do not have all your wits about you." Ragnar glanced at the Senator as he uttered the last few words. "You and you," he pointed at two of the younger looking men among the group and then turned his saddened face towards the bloody form nearby, "You will be responsible for getting this poor woman's body back to her family." He turned back towards the two men who only nodded in solemn acknowledgment. "When we've set sail, we will call in your position so that rescuers can locate you. You will find food, water and flares on board. I have disabled the ship and removed any opportunity for communication. Look out for one another and you'll be fine when rescue arrives." Ragnar looked at his men, "Start moving them to BabboOned. Drake started to gather the Senator up when Ragnar stepped forward and pushed him back down. "Not him. Not yet."

Once Wolf's original passengers and crew had been moved to BabboOned Ragnar grabbed the Senator under his left armpit and wrenched his left arm behind his back. Ineske yelped from the sharp pain that cleared his head slightly. "When you get back home Senator, make sure they all know that I am coming for them. You tell them that Ragnar Danneskjӧld is going to collect everything that you and your kind have stolen." He forced the Senator over to the edge of the deck. "Remember, I own these seas now, and if you come out here again, it will likely be your last time." And with that, Ragnar shoved the Senator across the three foot gap spanning the distance between the two ships. He hadn't sobered up enough to have any measure of balance. The Senator's legs attempted to find ground where there was none. He landed on BabboOned's deck striking his right knee with a sickening, squishy smack before tumbling further forward and crashing his head into the deck a few feet further. He remained motionless as members of the Senator's crew and friends hesitantly moved to assist him. Ragnar cast off the two mooring ropes, turned and walked to the center of the Wolf's deck to join his crew.

They all looked to him for their next set of instructions. "Get everything below deck and secured. Drake, get us out of here. Take us on a course that heads due east for five miles at maximum speed. Then head north for five miles. Reduce speed to one half maximum but continue to alternate the heading as described until I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, sir, "Drake answered but Ragnar could still hear doubt and resentment in his reply.

"Oh, and don't forget to radio in a distress call for our friends over there," Ragnar added.

"You and you," Ragnar appointed two men, "Kill all the exterior lighting."

"Aye captain," they answered in unison.

"Philippe, please perform a basic accounting of our supplies."

Ragnar had to yell as his crew began to run off, "And meet back here in fifteen minutes!"

Ragnar retrieved the briefcase. He pulled the knife out and briefly considered throwing it overboard before folding it and dropping it into his pocket. He took the case and headed down to the lowest deck in order to scout out his new laboratory and living quarters.

Nearly thirty minutes later, he reemerged from below deck to find most of his crew sitting in a loose circle talking about the night's unprecedented events. The only person missing was Drake. As Ragnar stepped towards the group, they became silent and opened the circle to allow him in. He stepped up to the collection of tired looking men and placed the briefcase, one small black bag and a lantern on the deck in front of him.

"First thing's first," Ragnar started his conversation with a big smile. "Precision. We all did a fantastic job tonight. Way better than I could have expected. I have not really compensated any of you since we started this adventure together. I know that I have made many promises and I appreciate your patience with me as we continue to embark on this new endeavor. Paying you with cramped accommodations and rations cooked up by our wonderful chef was not part of our bargain.

"In exchange for helping me – helping us – I agreed to share any goods recovered from an operation. Here is what we are going to do." He reached down and picked up the briefcase he had brought up earlier to show Senator Ineske. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the knife. With some struggling, Ragnar managed to force open the locked case. He stared at the contents for almost a minute while the rest of his crew drew closer with insatiable curiosity. Eventually he turned the case around so that the contents were now visible to the men.

"By my estimates there's close to a quarter million dollars here." He threw the open case into the middle of the circle and several bundles of bills tumbled out onto the deck. Building excitement from the men became evident as they whistled and cheered. "Cash will be split evenly amongst the ten of us. Someone please see that it is counted and delivered to each man." Next, Ragnar squatted down to retrieve the small black sack. While the men were marveling at the money they had just received, Ragnar poured several handfuls of gold coins out into a small pile in front of him. "Gold shall be held in a separate account as repossessed goods.

"Anyone who can show that the government has stolen the product of their effort, in either goods or services, by taxes, or other demands under threat of injury or incarceration, may seek reimbursement from this account." He paused briefly, "There are sure to be more riches hidden throughout this ship. When you find them, we will split them." Ragnar took a moment to enjoy the cheers from his crew. "Oh, and lastly gentlemen . . . this ship is now our new home."

Ragnar waited for his team to settle down. "I know that the target of our mission today came as a surprise to all of you. It was a surprise to me. Of course I was aware that the Senator was on board and that this was his ship. What was surprising to me was that after all the drug dealers and bank robbers, murderers and liars we have either encountered or read about, it turns out our governments have become the biggest criminals of all. If you thought that the mafia was organized and dangerous, they have nothing on the tremendous structure and power of a federal government." Ragnar could see nodding agreement from some of the men.

"Senator Ineske was just a small, villainous cog in this corrupt machine. His presence here in Mexico was not an accident. He was not here on just another one of his cruises for whores. He was here to secure a deal with one of my friends. A deal he has every reason to believe will double his already-massive wealth. Ineske came down here on tax dollars under the guise of acting on behalf of the people. But he used information gained through his position as a senator to act in his own best interests; not my interests, not your interests, nor the interests of a nation. He took actions benefitting one man, not all men or even most men. He did a backroom deal with my friend that he believes will make him rich." Ragnar paused and then looked at his crew with rage building in his heart.

"He took the money you were saving for college, the funds needed to correct your broken nose, the new car you were hoping to buy, the startup funds you needed for that new business you'd always dreamed of . . . He took that money that you paid in taxes or fines or fees and he brought it down here so that he could buy a bigger yacht next year, or to bathe in a tub filled with Champaign, or to help his brother get elected to the same syndicate he belongs to."

Ragnar looked at his crew. He felt, based on their body language, that they understood him and agreed with his assessment. "Things are going to change in this world." Ragnar's voice grew darker and deeper. "The world is heading towards its own destruction. Dependence on others at the expense of personal responsibility, out-of-control government growth, increasing public intrusion into our private lives, and back-alley legislative deals have set events in motion that cannot be reversed; only hastened. Then and only then, from the ashes, mankind can rebuild.

"The smartest and most capable will bring us out of darkness into a new era where man's abilities are praised and celebrated." Ragnar stepped back and stood tall. He pulled his right fist to his chest and proclaimed slowly, "I…WILL…BE…A SURVIVOR." He thought for a moment before turning away from his crew. They all stared – eager for more insight from their captain. "My mission," he took in a big breath and sighed heavily, ". . .our mission," he turned back around to face them, "will be to seize every vessel we encounter transporting the elements necessary to sustain the broken machinery of our current world. We will either take what is of value to us, or sink what we find that is not necessary for our survival, but is essential to theirs. It is not my desire to harm anyone. However, if we are confronted on any level, we certainly are entitled to defend ourselves." Ragnar looked around confidently.

"In a couple of days we will dock this ship at a safe port. We will be there for a few days while we make some modifications to the ship and take on supplies. You have that time to consider my plan. If, after you think about all I have said, you feel our interests are not mutual, of course you will be free to go about your life as you see fit." Ragnar stood at the top of the circle of men and examined each face as best he could in the dim light. Each one seemed to look excited and supportive. "I offer my thanks to you all. Each of you brings an excellence to this team that cannot be easily replaced." Ragnar stooped down to pick up his light and the bag of gold. He bid his crew good night and headed up to see Drake. He had one last person to convince.

17

A bright flare snaked its way skyward followed immediately by two more in rapid succession. The USS Barracuda, a Coastguard rescue ship was responding to the distress signal that Drake had sent out. Despite the fact that Senator Ineske saw the ship and it was clearly headed in his direction, he felt the need to expend all five flares insuring that the approaching ship had seen them. The Coastguard captain was certain that someone's life was in immediate jeopardy considering the number of flares. He pushed his ship to maximum speed. When the ship arrived alongside the drifting BabboOned his crew got an immediate earful from Senator Ineske about their delay in reaching them.

"What the hell took you boys so long? We all could have died out here! Do you have any idea who I am young man?" shouted the Senator at the first member of the Coastguard ship to board their floating prison.

The seaman looked taken aback, unaccustomed to mad outbursts from those they rescued. The fact that the man was only wearing a chef's apron didn't help cement the seriousness of the circumstances. He kept his cool and responded professionally by addressing all the people abandoned on the ship, "Is anyone in need of immediate medical attention?"

Again the Senator screeched, "Hey, Idiot! Can't you see I'm sitting over here with my leg all wrapped up?" His knee had swollen significantly after the fall caused his kneecap to shatter. He had spent the better part of the last six hours propped up in a chair with his leg immobilized. His alcohol-induced stupor was gone, and now he intended to get the preferential treatment he so deserved.

The seaman approached the Senator and knelt down in order to take a closer look at his injury. After a moment he motioned for two other members of his crew to bring a stretcher in order to move the Senator to their ship more safely. The other members of the marooned party were escorted over to the Barracuda and each gave his account of the events that led up to that moment.

Slightly calmer after being transferred to the Coastguard ship, the Senator grabbed the seaman's arm and pulled him closer to his face. "Listen boy, my name is Edward Ineske. I am a Senator from the state of Massachusetts. I do not know what the others have told you, but I must speak with your captain. It is a matter of national security. Please have him find me as soon as possible, so that I can give him information about the pirates that attacked and stole my ship."

"Pirates?" inquired the seaman with an amused look. "Did they fly the skull and crossbones?" he added with a snort.

"Just get the goddamned captain over here now," Ineske seethed through his teeth.

"Aye, sir." The seaman jumped to attention, quickly saluted the Senator and then strolled off.

The seaman made sure to do all his tertiary duties and have dinner before approaching his captain with the Senator's request.

Ineske was the sole occupant in the ship's infirmary. The lights in the room were harsh, and Ineske's attitude had only worsened with time spent there. His leg throbbed and he was unable to get any rest even with the painkillers given to him by the ship's medic.

Captain Williamson entered the room with his hat cradled under his left arm. He walked up to the Senator and offered his right hand. "Sir, my name is Captain David Williamson. I understand that you would like to speak with me?"

Ineske looked at the captain's hand in disgust. He was furious that his request was treated so nonchalantly. Instead of shaking his hand, the Senator used both of his hands to attempt to sit up straighter in his chair while the captain folded his hands in front of him. "Captain, I am a US Senator, and my ship was taken by a band of pirates. You must notify the Navy of this incident at once in order to begin searching for these thieves. I had many sensitive documents on that ship as well as significantly valuable personal property. It is imperative that . . ."

"The initial reports say that you murdered a woman. What do you have to say about that?" Williamson said with a note of growing irritation.

"Total nonsense. Those men killed her, not me! There's no proof that I had anything to do with that. But I insist that you contact the . . ."

Captain Williamson interrupted him curtly, "I have already notified my superiors of the . . ."

"You're not listening to me. You need to contact the Secretary of Defense right now before he can get away!" Ineske was beginning to sound desperate.

"Sir, I can assure you that my superiors will be . . ."

"If you and your band are any indication of what I can expect from the performance of your superiors then I have no hope of ever recovering my property. Get on your radio and call the Secretary at once. That is an order!"

Captain Williamson had never heard of a Senator issuing orders to a naval captain. He wasn't sure they could do such things. He was uncertain how to proceed, but he wasn't about to call the Secretary of Defense just because some guy was claiming to be attacked by pirates. "Sir, I have done all I can do. It sounds to me like a group of men raided your vessel and stole it right out from under you. I am sorry that this happened to you, and we will return you to American soil where you can fill out an insurance claim to . . ."

"Dammit Captain! I am giving you an order."

"The protocol for a rescue at sea is clearly defined. I am following it to the letter," the captain held his hands out in a gesture indicating that the conversation was at an end. "I'll have the medic come back here to check on you. In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable."

Ineske's mouth just hung open. He could not understand why they wouldn't make the call. He watched the captain leave the room before sliding back down into his chair and bringing the pain in his leg to the front of his consciousness.

18

"Let's talk." Ragnar entered the bridge of the Wolf and took a seat a few feet from Drake. "We are old friends, right?"
"Yes." Drake answered, a little ashamed that he had to be reminded of this fact.

"Do you think that I would do anything to jeopardize our friendship?" He leaned in and let his fierce eyes bury themselves into Drake's.

"No." Drake looked down in order to avoid his unyielding stare. "But understand me Ragnar. When you asked me to join your team in this endeavor, I think you misdirected me in your portrayal of our activities. I think that you misdirected most of those men as well."

"How so? Just because we've never opened our eyes to the harsh reality of our corrupt government? I told everyone what to expect. I don't think anyone had considered the idea that the biggest criminal organization is run by people we elected. The history books we studied together painted a beautiful picture of a country so rare that it had never existed in the history of man. A country formed by broken and bloodied men who had fought courageously for independence and freedom. The nation wanted self-determination. The inhabitants of this country wanted to choose their own leader. They wanted to choose their own manner of worship. They wanted to grow their own crops and invent new technologies. They wanted a place to do these things without an overseer managing their activities – telling them where they could live, what they could earn and whom they could associate with.

"Freedom was established. Barriers to success, and failure for that matter, were eliminated. The press kept everyone honest, and the individuals elected to office carried out the limited duties assigned to them before returning to their private lives. Early on, these duties amounted to mostly protection. They protected the borders against invading armies, and they protected property and personal rights – ensuring that everyone had an equal opportunity; succeed or fail – it was up to the individual.

"But one day someone like Ineske realized that if he did a favor for someone, if he made an unequal opportunity, it would give him power. That first favor, like a forbidden fruit, set in motion a chain of favors, each unbalancing the chance at opportunity more and more. Property rights and liberties began to shrink away. The men with limited power now found themselves with unlimited power – the power to take what they wanted and to choose the winners and losers, the achievers and the failures, the haves and the have-nots.

"With power lust in their hearts they began to see themselves as important enough to decide all manner of things for the people they served. After all, once you think you are supposed to determine the next industry to support, it is no longer difficult to believe you should also decide what textbooks students should study, or which farms should close because others need a dam.

"As a direct result of our elections, our judicial and legislative processes, we only have ourselves to blame. We are responsible for the actions of our nation and its leaders. No one is responsible for themselves any longer. We all look to men like Ineske to feed us, clothe us, tell is where to live and how to work. We are entitled to these things, we've been told. The country, hell the whole world, has been sliding down the steep side of a mountain for decades.

"We can wait until the eventual collapse happens – people will starve, men will commit terrible acts against one another, and diseases will spread. The world will fall into a long and dark period that might last years if not decades while we allow our leaders to pretend to know what they are doing." Ragnar moved his chair a little closer to Drake and spoke to him in a serious but calm tone. "Or . . . we can facilitate an earlier renaissance of this once great country. Make no mistake, the picture of the world I have painted for you will happen. It is just a matter of time. Forces are at work that will see it happen.

"I don't want it to happen, but it will. I want to see it over quickly so that one day I can go back to the life I have always dreamed of – where freedom is restored and personal responsibility is reinstated. We can control our destiny. We can roam safely out here at sea while we recover the stolen goods that others have wrested from the working hands and minds of a once great land. I want you to be part of this team, Drake. You have lived under the protective umbrella of your parents and they have shielded you from some pretty stark realities.

"Do you remember that time that you loaned me a tie for that job interview? You helped me land a fantastic job with some really great people. Those people saw something in me, and I was happy to demonstrate my gratitude by further developing their technology and making them the premier producers in the industry. They treated me like their own son. Took me in, nurtured my abilities and expected the best from me. I took their business forward by an order of magnitude. Our leaders – people like Farris and Stadler at the State Science Institute and Senator Ineske – caught wind of my advances. They attempted to take them by force. They arrested both of my bosses and would have arrested me too if I hadn't escaped."

Drake looked down at his watch and adjusted their heading as Ragnar had asked. He then looked up at Ragnar and pulled down the sleeves of his t shirt because he was too uncomfortable to do or say anything else. He attempted to say something, but the words just wouldn't come.

"I won't hurt anyone. You know that right?" Ragnar looked wounded. He did not like having to convince his friend of his sincerity.

"It looked like you wanted to hurt Senator Ineske," Drake slowly said looking out ahead of the ship in order to avoid engaging Ragnar's eyes.

"Oh, make no doubt in your mind that I want to hurt those creatures. Ineske is a cockroach. He scurries around in the dark hoping his actions are not discovered. I will make you this solemn promise . . . no one that we target will be seriously harmed unless I, or any of our crew, are under direct threat of harm. I will do whatever it takes to protect my interests. I will not go to jail or allow my inventions to be stolen by a government to be twisted for their own devious needs. If we are attacked, I will respond with maximum force; otherwise everyone that we encounter will be allowed to return home unharmed. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

"So you brought me on board to take over other ships at sea and steal their cargo? You know that's a pirate, right? We are going to be pirates? Pirates don't exist anymore." Drake finished his comment with a hint of disgust and incredulity.

"Maybe they should," Ragnar replied. "What is it the government should do for its people? Should they protect our boarder?"

"Sure, of course," answered Drake.

"Should they protect our country by forcing you out of your home?"

"Why would they do that?"

"That is not important. They could do that. Is that acceptable?"

Drake hesitated and wasn't sure how to answer the question. He thought both sides were right. He wanted his freedom, and the idea that the government could take what they want did not sit well with him. However, he also felt that sacrifices sometimes had to be made and if it benefitted the country for his home to be taken, maybe that was for the best. "Yes and no. I am not sure. I think you can make a case for . . ."

"Is it your home or the government's?" Ragnar asked with a smile creeping across his face.

"It's mine."

"I think the question you have to ask yourself is, 'If this is my property, how can one even ask that question in the first place'." Ragnar sat back in his chair. He looked out into the night sky and thought to himself how quiet this new ship was. He looked back at Drake to see if he could tell what he was thinking.

"You are right. Property is, by the very definition owned by someone. The government can't just change the rules in order to fit their current need." He stood up and looked down on Ragnar who was relaxing back in his chair. "Just make me this promise. Promise me that the next time this kind of thing is going to happen you will brief us on who it is we are going after and what we hope to get out of it."

"I can already tell you that most of the time it will be to prevent these thieves from holding on to goods that they did not earn and do not deserve. But yes, I will promise to do this for you, as well as the rest of the crew."

Drake took in a deep breath of air and blew it out between his taught lips almost in a whistle. "Ok. I do trust you, old friend." Drake reached out his hand to Ragnar and he grabbed it. But Ragnar didn't shake his hand. Instead he used it to help him get to his own feet. Then he pulled Drake into a brotherly embrace. Drake finally pulled away. He turned and went down to the main deck, leaving Ragnar alone at the wheel.

Ragnar watched Drake leave him. He slid his large frame into the seat behind the wheel of The Wolf and stared blankly out ahead of him. The stars were shining brilliantly against the velvety blackness. Despite the lack of moonlight, Ragnar could see far out into the night – the peaceful reflection of millions of stars on the glassy surface of the water disturbed only by his ship's wake. He had lingering reservations about Drake and wondered if he had been able to clear the clouds obscuring his friend's vision of reality.

audition

1

When the sun finally rose that morning Philippe whipped up an extravagant breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and toasted croissants. All of the crew were up early and still a little anxious about the prior night's activities. Philippe brought a plate up to Ragnar who was still manning the wheel. "I thought you might like a taste of civility."

Ragnar took one look at the plate of food and grabbed the croissant with one hand and a slice of bacon in the other. "To hell with civility. This smells incredible." He ate like he hadn't eaten in days, and it pleased Philippe to know that Ragnar enjoyed his cooking so much.

He handed Ragnar his plate and a napkin, another extravagance not found on BabboOned, and said, "I can take over here if you like."

Ragnar appreciated his offer. He needed some sleep, and there was much to do before he felt that the ship and crew would be ready to tackle any future challenges. "Thank you Philippe. We have just a couple more things to do today, then I can rest. Please continue on this heading for another couple of hours and then turn us south. Our destination is here." And with that Ragnar placed his finger on a small island located south of Cuba."

Philippe smiled and said, "Aye, captain."

Ragnar took what was left on his plate and began to leave the bridge, but he stopped and turned back to his friend, "I was thinking we should rename our prize. What would be a fitting designation for a vessel such as this, carrying our particular band?"

"I kind of like Wolf as it is."

Ragnar thought for a moment. "I like it too, but now it is ours and I think it should bear a name that befits our image and not that of a Washington bureaucrat. In fact it should be the opposite of what those thieves represent." He paused to look at Philippe for a few seconds hoping for a better suggestion. When he didn't get one, he turned back towards the exit and said over his shoulder, "I'm sure we'll think of something."

Ragnar went below deck and reappeared five minutes later with a sheet he had stripped off of one of the beds and a bowl full of charcoal he managed to salvage from the fireplace in the master suite. He spread the sheet over the surface of the deck and began at once outlining a pattern that everyone quickly recognized. Once he had finished the outline, several other members of his crew got down and joined him in filling in the lines with the blackened charcoal. When they were done, Ragnar handed the bundle over to one of his men and instructed them to fly that flag from the highest point on the ship. The crewmate climbed to the uppermost deck and tied the corners of the sheet to a sturdy communications antenna. A soft wind unfurled the sheet to the delight and cheers of the crew down on the main deck. Ragnar's new symbol of freedom seemed so appropriate. They did not represent a country; they represented an idea. That man's greatest capacity to deal with one another in an honest manner happened in a free and open exchange. The white sheet was almost too bright to look at in the early day's sun. The contrast of Ragnar's drawing was less than ideal. The blackness imparted by the small amount of charcoal he scraped together only created a dim shadow of the symbol everyone recognized. Ragnar looked upon it and smiled. He was happy that his crew was coming together. Flapping gently in the breeze was the symbol of civil exchange of goods, services or ideas. A curvy line bisected by a straight line; each side of the line granted an equal share – an "$".

The last thing on Ragnar's agenda for the day was to establish a name for their new ship. He gathered the men around him and said, "This ship was owned by a thief before we relieved him of it. Wolf, as Philippe told me earlier, is a good name. We must change it, though. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

Many of the men murmured amongst themselves discussing possible ideas. Eventually the doctor among them said, "How about we name her Robin Hood?"

Ragnar brought his right hand up to his unshaven face and rubbed his chin and cheek considering the name. All the rest of the crew watched to see if he liked it. "Why the Robin Hood? Robin Hood stole from the rich and gave to the poor. I am not suggesting that we do that. In fact, many times it was the rich that have been wronged. It was our government that acted as Robin Hood – stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, then taking credit for being generous with money that was not their own."

"You have it wrong, captain," Doc was quick to introduce his opinion. "Robin Hood stole from those that earned their monies through crooked or immoral means. Senator Ineske is a perfect example of the kind of person Robin would have stolen from. In the tale, Robin either steals money from dishonest government officials that he believed had 'stolen' it from the common man through confiscatory tax schemes or religious leaders that strong-armed their followers into donating alms for worthy causes. The causes often turned out to be the clergy themselves. He was a champion of justice, fairness and the average, hard-working man." Doc took a second to pause, tilted his head just slightly while both of his eyebrows lifted. The expression was intended to project finality of the argument. "He was an honorable man . . . as I am . . . and I believe you are."

Ragnar closed his eyes and thought about what his crewman had said. "No. That is still not quite right," he said in a serious tone. The men around him all appeared a little disappointed. Then he smiled and opened his eyes looking right at the Doc, "Where did Robin Hood live? What was the name of his village?"

"He didn't live in a village. He lived in a forest – Sherwood Forest." Doc answered also starting to smile as he understood Ragnar's thinking.

"Starting today, this ship shall be named The Sherwood Forest as it is our refuge and shelter and home." Ragnar looked at the faces around him, "Agreed?"

"Aye, captain!" they all cheered.

"Good. That's done," Ragnar sighed with relief. "Everyone keep prepping the ship. We will arrive in port by tomorrow morning. We will have much work to do then. Good night everyone."

The crew chuckled at Ragnar's comment as it was now approaching noon. Ragnar headed below deck and fell into the first bed he could find that didn't have anyone else already sleeping there. He fell asleep quickly and had a beautiful dream. He dreamt of Kay.

2

The following morning the crew awoke to a clear sky and a warm breeze coming from the south. Ragnar felt recharged and exhilarated by the prior day's events. With his initial plans complete, and the capture of his first significant prize, he was more determined than ever to ratchet up his time table. His accelerated plan would require more men and a base of operation clear of prying eyes and any national authorities. He grabbed a bite to eat from the well-stocked galley and made his way up to the bridge. He was surprised to see another crewman piloting the vessel.

"Mr. Newkirk," Ragnar startled the youngest member of his crew when he announced his name. "Interesting to see you here. Where is Mr. Schoenfield or Mr. Martin?" Ragnar stuffed the remaining bite of a left-over steak sandwich into his mouth while he waited for an answer.

Greg Newkirk had been a lieutenant with New York City Fire Department for the last two years. He stood six foot three inches tall and had a rock solid chin. He was a man's man. He was a patriot. He had lived his life watching the Mets and, as most rivalries went, he hated the Yankees. He always stood tall when the National Anthem was played and, unlike most people around him who would either mumble through or just mouth the words, he would belt them out proudly. When he was sixteen he wanted to join the Army, and to further demonstrate his love of country, he got a tattoo of Old Glory waving majestically over his heart. When he finished high school, he pushed aside his plans to join the armed forces after choosing another track. His favorite uncle had been saved by a firefighter, and he determined that was the job for him. He loved the idea of helping others and using his physical abilities to accomplish that goal. Both his mother and father feared the risks that accompany such a dangerous job, but at least it would be safer than joining the army.

Greg was a talented rookie – top of his class in both the physical as well as the mental tests. He was quick to rise through the ranks of his division. Once he had been promoted to his current position, he ran into trouble. He constantly encountered interference from his captain. On at least two occasions his captain had instructed him and his team to pull back from a scene when he was certain people inside the structure would die. Some investigating on his part uncovered a rather nasty connection between his captain, the Mayor and one of the heads of the New York crime syndicate. On his most recent call, he again was ordered to fall back by his captain and when he confronted him on the issue the two came to blows. Greg found himself suspended without pay, so he took a month-long hiatus in Savannah. That's where he was when he happened upon Philippe's ad in the local paper.

"Well, Philippe was manning the wheel and he wanted to go check on breakfast. I guess you didn't see him in the galley?"

"No," Ragnar said with a little irritation in his voice.

Greg was quick to understand his reason for concern so he attempted to reassure him, "Mr. Martin explained all the basics to me and asked me to watch the ship for a short while as he prepared something for the crew to eat. He instructed me to come to a stop if I saw anything on the radar or encountered anything that looked out of the ordinary."

Satisfied Ragnar replied, "Have you eaten breakfast?"

"No, sir. Not yet."

Both of them turned around to see Philippe enter the room with a plate of food in his left hand while he worked the door with his right. He looked sheepishly at the other two as he tried to figure out what to say.

"Good morning Philippe," Ragnar said seriously.

"Good morning," he said in return, but it sounded more like a question to Greg and Ragnar.

Ragnar smiled and said, "Mr. Newkirk here was just telling me how you have been training him on how to sail this ship."

Greg looked at Philippe and then at Ragnar, not sure if he was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.

Ragnar smiled even more warmly at Greg and put a hand on his crewmate's large shoulder. "Let me show you how to read these charts." Ragnar pulled Greg off to the side which allowed Philippe to get behind the wheel again. Philippe placed his breakfast down on the console and watched the horizon while Ragnar began instructing Greg in the basics of ocean navigation and sonar topography. He also filled him in on their immediate plans which included substantial structural and mechanical work on their new ship. He took over Philippe's job as helmsman and dismissed him to perform his assigned duties. He spent the next two hours showing Greg how to navigate the ocean as well as how to pilot the ship into port.

Their next stop was not really a port. It was more of a bootlegger's abandoned hide-out on a small island south of Jamaica. There were limited services on the island, but it did have a fantastically hidden bay that would obscure almost any ship from view. There was fresh water, thanks to an ancient well that had been dug, and plenty of coconuts, bananas and wild chickens.

Francisco had stumbled on the island several years ago while sailing to visit a client. He recommended it to Ragnar as a base from which he could operate. The land was uninhabited as far as he could tell. Its remoteness made it difficult for anyone to use, which is most likely why it was exploited historically by nefarious types - "like him" Francisco had said laughing loudly.

They had to anchor the Sherwood in the middle of the bay and take the small skiff to the beach. Their first order of business was building a dock that could serve a ship their size.

The men were excited to get back on dry land. Most had never spent that much time on the ocean before, and most had spilled their lunch or dinner on more than one occasion. Ragnar let the men relax as he scouted the surrounding area to see what he could find. There wasn't much, but he did locate a small building hidden in the nearby woods that contained a few simple tools and lots of rum stockpiled in dusty bottles. He tasted the bitter-sweet amber liquid and thought it was awful. The fact that it was warm probably didn't help.

A powerful storm pushed its way through in the late afternoon. The bay had protected them from the impressive surf that pounded the other side of the hilly coastline but everyone, including Ragnar, had feared being struck by lightning as the skies lit up every few seconds followed by an explosion of thunder. The crew was cold, hungry and weary after the storm had passed. Ragnar had wanted them all to face the storm together as they could face far worse at sea. He knew that there would be no real threat as he had navigated many storms before. Afterwards, the crew managed to capture a few chickens by hitting them with stones. They built a large fire with wood they had gathered from a few fallen trees. They used several bottles of the rum to facilitate lighting the damp wood, but once open the spirit found its way into the mouths of all the men except Doc. Ragnar taught them how to field-dress one of the chickens and let Greg and Doc handle the other two. Dinner that night had been a crew event. Their moods were elevated with the drying of their clothes and the consumption of some of the smuggler's rum. The delectable chicken was the perfect treat.

The men slept on the beach and woke at the first hint of dawn. Philippe returned to The Sherwood and retrieved the supplies necessary to make coffee as well as a bucketful of breakfast staples. Their hunger satisfied, the men began the hard work before them.

3

The crew did what they could with the limited resources available. They felled several coconut trees in order to reinforce the smuggler's poorly-built makeshift dock. The men scrounged around the island to find anything that might be helpful in construction.

While the men erected their new base of operations, Ragnar went to work installing his newest prototype sonar imaging system on The Sherwood. This one had been outfitted with a much stronger power source. He utilized the materials he had purchased on his last trip to the electronics store to complete the job of installing it on a new ship.

Once the ship had been retrofitted with the new system, and the base was as far along as it could get with the available materials, Ragnar put his team on the move. They were going to need something critically important if they had any hopes of continuing their efforts.

4

"It looks like a fire in the engine room," Captain Alan Hughes said as he lowered his binoculars so that they hung from the strap around his neck. The crew of the tanker ship Bristol had spotted smoke on the horizon thirty minutes earlier. Captain Hughes directed his crew to alter their course in order to investigate and offer assistance. Even though the passenger yacht was a large vessel, the approaching tanker ship was triple her size.

As the ship's visage grew to obscure nearly all of their view, Ragnar and several of his men stood on the forward deck yelling and waving their arms about frantically. Dark smoke continued to pour from the rear of the ship.

The captain of the Bristol put his ship as close to The Sherwood as he felt he comfortably could without risking a collision. He ordered one of his men to attempt to make contact with someone on the smoking vessel.

The crewman grabbed a megaphone and pointed it in the direction of the smoldering ship below. "Can you radio?" the man's voice came down to Ragnar and his band with the usual tinny sound produced by that equipment.

Ragnar held up both his arms and crossed them in front of his face. He wanted to make sure that the man sixty feet higher could understand that the radio did not work. He and his crew continued to cry for help.

The sailor with the bull horn reported back to his captain that the ship did not appear to have radio capability.

Something didn't feel right to the captain, but he had to do what he could to save the folks on the disabled ship below.

Hughes ordered his men to take their skiff over to the incapacitated cruiser and bring the stranded passengers onto their vessel. At the same time he radioed the US Coastguard of their location and situation.

"U.S. Coastguard this is the British Fuel Freighter Bristol. Our current position is 23.5 degrees north Latitude, 86 degrees west Longitude. We are in aid of a stranded yacht – designation unknown – country of origin unknown. We see three to four evacuees on deck. No idea if there are any injured on board. The vessel appears to have a fire in its engine compartment."

The captain released his grip on the transmitter and waited for a reply. After ten seconds, and only static coming from his radio, he broadcast his message again. The same empty static was the only answer he received.

"Any available vessel. Any available vessel. This is the Freighter Bristol. Are you receiving this transmission?"

After another long pause, he looked at his first officer. "Go have a look at the antenna. Make sure it is operational." His first officer left the bridge to check the condition of their communications array while he examined his radio to make sure that the settings were correct. When he looked back at the sea he saw that their small transport boat had almost reached the imperiled ship.

5

Ragnar and two of his men met the rescue crew from the Bristol. One of the men tossed a rope to Ragnar who secured their boat to his. "Thank God you happened to see us out here," Ragnar yelled down to the men in the boat as they began to find a way to climb on board the smoking ship.

Ragnar and his men helped the men climb on board.

"Listen," Ragnar's instruction cut through the chaos. "We have one more injured crew member on board. He's on a makeshift stretcher behind the forward deck. Can you help us get him onto your boat?"

The sailor from the Bristol could say nothing but agree with whatever the tall man with the shaggy blond hair said. The five men briskly made their way to the middle of the ship where they found a man moaning on a stretcher. The man had a bandage around his head that covered one of his eyes. The other was not open, but his mouth was as he cried out in a low voice. There was another apparent wound on the man's right leg. His pant leg had been cut away and a once white towel – now soaked in blood – was secured in place with two splints and some heavy duty tape.

Ragnar again spoke with authority, "You!" He pointed at one of the sailors from the Bristol. "You get the head." He pointed at the other and said, "You support his feet."

The two men each assumed a position at the stricken man's head and feet. "Be careful of those injuries," Ragnar admonished both men. Ragnar took up one side of the injured man while the other two of his crew grabbed the stretcher on the other side.

It was a crude structure. Flag poles that had once belonged to the ship ran down each side of bleeding man. The material for the stretcher appeared to be a simple white sheet. It would be possible to move the man – but not easily.

The five individuals worked together to hoist the man up and carry him over to the waiting rescue boat. The man holding the injured passenger's head climbed over the railing of the ship and down onto their small rescue boat. He held the man and boat as steady as he could while Ragnar and his men followed him; lifting the stretcher over and onto the smaller boat. At last, the man supporting the injured man's feet climbed over and onto his boat. The men all smiled at each other in relief. They had completed the difficult transport of a significantly wounded person without committing further injury. They gathered around the man as they carefully lowered the stretcher into the middle of the rescue boat. The man on the stretcher moaned again and placed one of his hands on his head.

"We can't thank you enough. My name is Dan," Ragnar said as he heartily shook each of the sailors' hands.

"He's been banged up pretty bad," Doc said to one of their rescuers.

"What happened?" one of the sailors asked.

Ragnar looked down at his stricken crewmen. "Don't know exactly. We heard a loud bang and then we saw the smoke. We pulled him out and he was unconscious and bleeding. Something cut a big hole in his leg."

The two sailors stood over the injured man trying to determine what to do next.

"He needs medical attention. We need to get him on board your ship now!" Ragnar pleaded. His cool, icy gaze imparted more command than plea.

One of the sailors loosened the line holding their boats together and barked to the other, "Let's go!"

The small boat, nearly overloaded with the six men, quickly made its way back to the Bristol where they were met by three additional Bristol crewmen to provide whatever assistance possible. They managed to maneuver the injured man onto the rear deck of the freighter. All of Ragnar's crew as well as the two rescuers climbed on board.

Ragnar looked at his surroundings. The back of the freighter was like an open field and they were all at one end of it. They were too exposed here. They needed to move. "Can we move him out of the sun?" Ragnar asked, a little distraught.

6

While four of Ragnar's crew kept themselves out of sight in the staterooms on board The Sherwood, two of his men were struggling to carry out their orders below deck. They were responsible for burning oil-soaked clothing. They had the delicate job of creating enough of a fire to produce copious amounts of smoke without causing a real fire in the engine room. Their eyes burned as if filled with acid. They kept them closed as much as possible; only taking peeks at their makeshift furnaces in order to judge the strength of their fires. They could not breathe the air in the confined space, but they each had access to a hose that had been rigged to allow them to breathe clean air from a different location in the ship. Doc warned them to make every attempt to breathe in from the hose, but to breathe out from their noses. The task was getting progressively more difficult with each passing moment. Both of the men were continuously crying and held the hoses to their mouths with one hand while attempting to pinch their noses with the other.

The men all moved into the shadow of the large forward section of the Bristol and laid the stretcher down onto the deck. The man with the bandaged head grimaced and made a louder, sharp cry of agony.

"Where is your captain?" Ragnar asked with a sound of desperation in his voice and his brow wrinkled as if he was about to cry.

That was the cue. Ragnar expected that the men would all look and point in the direction of the captain, no matter where he was. It was just human nature. At that moment, the injured man – a few months ago he was a high school teacher named Mr. Casey – rolled off of his stretcher to reveal a cache of handguns and one rifle. Ragnar and each member of his team grabbed the first weapon they could get their hand on. It happened so fast that their escorts did not even notice some of them were holding guns until they saw the others standing with their hands held above their heads. Ragnar and his men checked the crew of The Bristol and confirmed that none of them were armed before finding a lockable room to secure them in. He intended to prevent any interference from the tanker's crew.

Ragnar's plan was straightforward. After the deception to get on board, their team would make their way to the bridge and the captain. No one was to use force unless they were confronted with force. Ragnar had no experience with freighters and didn't know a direct route to the bridge. He had observed it from The Sherwood earlier, but now he was on the other side of the ship and a bit disoriented with regards to where he needed to go. He and his men began working their way through the various passageways upwards to where he thought it should be. When they would encounter one of The Bristol's crew, Ragnar's band pointed their weapons and yelled at them to stop. All of them did. None of them had cause to believe an armed gang would have stormed their vessel. It was the kind of story told to children, not something one expected while sailing the Gulf of Mexico. If Ragnar's team could contain the crew in a room, they did. If not, they used handcuffs to secure them to railings.

The team had climbed five flights of stairs and found three other members of The Bristol's crew along the way. When they finally located the bridge Ragnar observed that it was possible to enter the room from either side. He and Mr. Casey split from the other two and took the left entrance while Doc and Drake approached from the right.

7

The Bristol's captain was a wise and experienced sailor. He had piloted dozens of freighters through dangerous shipping lanes during World War II, and he had reached the rank of Lieutenant Commander in the British Navy. When his first officer reported back to him that the communications array appeared to be intact, a second alarm bell in the back of his mind began to ring. He looked down on the passenger cruiser below. Two things had been bothering him. One, where was the fire? With that much smoke for that period of time he was surprised that any part of the ship remained. And two, although this one was much harder for him to define for himself, something about the character of the men on board the injured craft didn't feel right. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Go get your sidearm," the captain said to his officer. He did not speak with fear – more like caution. His confused first officer was about to question the order, but he followed the Captain's gaze out onto the disabled ship and realized this was some kind of precaution. "And grab mine too. It's hanging on a peg just inside my cabin near the door."

"Aye, Captain," his officer replied. He paused for just a moment, but when the captain looked him in the eyes he turned and sprinted off the bridge to carry out his orders.

Minutes later he returned with both weapons. It was the only time that the First Officer had ever worn his weapon for anything other than his annual qualifying examination. He felt self-conscious about the weight and danger strapped to his waist. While the Captain put on his holster and checked his weapon his officer made another failed attempt at the radio.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. Probably nothing. This is just too coincidental for me. I don't like it," the captain replied. His stare was a little vacant. The look on his face increased the anxiety in his first officer.

"Should I go find more of our men?" he offered.

"No!" The Captain replied loudly and noticed his reaction made his officer flinch. He relaxed a little and said more calmly, "No, stay here. I don't want us to separate. Eventually someone will come . . . however I think you could lock the doors."

"Sir." He went to each door and, after locking them, returned to his captain's side to wait.

8

Ragnar had given two instructions to his men: to come in low with their aim high, and watch out for cross fire. There were to be no accidents. The teams split and approached their path of access to the bridge. As they simultaneously crouched down and attempted to open the doors, each team had determined that their path was blocked and moved to assist the other which led to them both meeting again in the middle.

"Locked?" Ragnar asked the others.

"Locked," answered Doc.

Ragnar thought for a moment and determined that this was going to take much longer than he had hoped. His plans changed. He instructed the other three to make their way to the engine room and shut down The Bristol's ability to escape. He needed to get back to The Sherwood.

Mr. Casey, Doc and the third member of their team snaked their way to the engine room without any further contact with The Bristol's crew. Ragnar took the stairwell one more deck higher and found access to an open air platform.

The suspicion held by The Bristol's commander was further heightened when his First Officer exclaimed and then stated that he was pretty sure he had just seen a person fall past the window on the ship's starboard side. The Captain had been watching the passenger cruiser and had observed that the smoke coming from the rear of the boat had substantially lessened. He could also see that there were other people on the boat that had not been visible before. Something was clearly happening that was irregular at best and sinister at worst. He continued his attempts to use the radio. Seconds later he heard and felt the engines stop. He and his First Officer were now captives in a floating metal mountain containing tons of fuel.

9

After a heady drop from seventy feet into the Gulf, Ragnar swam quickly to The Sherwood. His men had seen his jump and began looking for him. Philippe was the first to spot him swimming towards them and yelled for a crewman to throw a lifeline to their captain.

Once back aboard, Ragnar quickly assembled his men and handed out orders. Everyone understood their tasks and scattered across the ship in order to solve the problem of the locked bridge on The Bristol. Two of his men winched their small skiff into the sea and headed for The Bristol. It was this event that made The Bristol's captain so angry with himself. He felt like an idiot for missing it earlier. "Why would a ship in such peril have not launched its boat much earlier?" he had thought while gnashing his teeth. Ragnar sprinted off to his quarters below. He had some modifications to make to his imaging prototype.

Ragnar remained aboard The Sherwood to assemble the materials needed for their task. The crew took word to their team on The Bristol of what was to happen next and how to proceed.

The Captain and First Officer remained in the same spot they had been in for over an hour. Their continual attempts at contact with anyone via the radio had all failed. They had made an announcement using the ship-wide PA system to warn the crew that they were in danger from an unknown entity that had boarded the ship. He had ordered his men to take any means necessary to defend themselves.

Ultimately, though, he had no way of knowing who could hear him or who might be able to provide assistance.

"Captain of The Bristol." Ragnar waited another fifteen seconds to say any more. He wanted the full attention of everyone on board the ship. "My name is Ragnar Danneskjӧld. We have no intention of harming anyone on your ship however we will be taking possession of your freighter. Ragnar continued, "Your reluctance to exit the bridge is making this process unnecessarily difficult. I am kindly requesting that you unlock your bridge doors and turn yourselves over to my men without incident. I assure you that we will not injure you or any member of your crew." Again he paused to allow his words to be digested. "If you do not turn yourselves over to us in the next sixty seconds, we will be forced to remove you from your station utilizing . . . other means." Ragnar did not like to give his opponents time to think. It was an advantage he used effectively.

The Captain and First Officer, as well as all his crew, were able to hear Ragnar. The command and clarity of his voice was impressive. To the officers on the bridge, it sounded as though he were speaking to them from inside the room. The First Officer looked at the captain with a suggestion that perhaps they should comply. The Captain knew better than to take a chance like that. They were relatively safe. They were in a heavily-trafficked shipping lane, and eventually another vessel would come upon them. In the mean time they would work to fix the radio. If they could reach the authorities they could summon help in repelling these bandits.

"Thirty seconds," Ragnar calmly reminded those that could hear him – which was everyone.

"He's bluffing," the Captain reassured his officer. "We could wait them out here for at least two to three days if we had to."

"Ten seconds."

Everyone on Ragnar's team forced the marshmallows they had found in the galley into their ears. They did not know exactly what to expect, but Ragnar had suggested that it would be extremely loud and probably uncomfortable – and that was with makeshift earplugs.

Ragnar did not issue another warning. At zero seconds, he toggled a switch on his prototype imaging sonar and turned it into a harmonic wave amplifier. He had been experimenting with it for months since his initial accident. He had learned how to control the power, range, and type of harmonic sound waves. The damage he could do, based on his real world accident and subsequent bench testing, looked to be extraordinary. He turned a few dials and a loud screech began to emanate from his equipment. Ragnar grimaced in pain as he manipulated the settings on his instrument. Soon, it was nearly quiet on board The Sherwood. The same was not true for The Bristol.

Aboard The Bristol, they too heard a brief screech followed by a few seconds where the soles of their feet tingled as the entire ship seemed to vibrate. When the vibrations lessoned a growing, piercing sound cut through the walls of the ship. All of her crew held their hands over their ears. The attempt to block the sound from reaching deeply into their brains was not successful. The First Officer struggled to yell a question at his Captain. The Captain could barely focus on his mate; he could not hear his words because of the intense noise. His officer couldn't even hear himself yelling; just the pervasive high-pitched squeal that seemed to slice through his very psyche. Both men doubled over in pain and disorientation. Nothing seemed to provide refuge from the sonic attack. The Captain's eyes began to water, and the sound seemed to pulse and echo within his sinuses. He felt dizzy and nauseated. The First Officer moved to in an attempt to support his Captain in order to keep him from falling over. But the temporary lowering of his hand to aid his superior resulted in an instantaneous headache that made him cry out in pain. Afterwards, he would describe it to the authorities as if someone was twisting a corkscrew into the top of his skull.

Then it suddenly stopped. Both men struggled to get back to their feet. The pain they had felt was also gone, but not entirely. A ghost of it lingered in their heads.

"I'm sorry to do that to you," returned Ragnar's voice again – loud and clear. "You may discontinue your attempts at contacting anyone via your radio. I have temporarily disabled your ability to transmit messages."

The First Officer on The Bristol looked at his Captain and simply mouthed the word, "How?" He received no reply.

"That was thirty seconds. Shall we try for sixty, or can my men expect some compliance now?" He asked the question. He suspected he knew the answer. "I'll give you another thirty seconds to consider my request."

The First Officer was already walking to the door, ready to do whatever was necessary to prevent being revisited by that horrible noise. His captain was about to call him back when he too decided to risk the unknown rather than the known assault of that sound. He followed behind him with his hands help up. As they opened the door to the bridge they found three of Ragnar's crew waiting for them with their weapons drawn. The Captain noticed that their team didn't look like they felt any better than he did. Once Doc had relieved them both of their side-arms, Drake sprinted in and sounded the horn with three short blasts. For someone that was not familiar with that ship, Drake was powerfully motivated to find that horn quickly. He used it to notify his crew they had taken the bridge. He did not want another taste of that weapon and he was beginning to understand why the government would desire to appropriate such a thing. He was a little unsettled by the idea that Ragnar possessed something so powerful. He wondered what else it was capable of, and hoped he would never see it used again.

10

"What the hell was that?!" Drake asked Ragnar as soon as he was back aboard The Sherwood.

"That was my redesigned sonar system. I've made a few additional adjustments, obviously."

"I'm requesting alternate duty the next time you plan on rolling that thing out," Doc said shaking his head. "Is there any way to protect us if we ever need that . . . thing . . . again?"

Ragnar hated to smile at the pain he caused his crewmen, but he couldn't resist the feeling of success. "That was the first time I've ever used it in the field like that. I wasn't sure how well it would perform, but I have to admit . . . I impressed myself."

"Bully for you," Drake responded in a huff. He was pissed off at being used as a guinea pig for Ragnar's experiment. "You could have killed us!"

Greg nodded in agreement, his eyes wide from the whole experience.

"Possibly, but not likely," Ragnar offered. "I was monitoring the situation. Even had a little taste of it here on board."

"Little taste?!" Drake looked at Ragnar exasperated. "Sheesh." He turned and headed off with Greg at his side – both men unhappy.

"Sorry. Sorry," Ragnar yelled after them. "We'll know for next time."

"What is that monstrosity called?" Doc asked grinning at Ragnar as if he just pulled off a clever practical joke.

"I've been giving that some consideration. Are you familiar with the mythological poet Orpheus?"

"No, should I?"

"Probably not. He was a poet, a musician, a singer – a minstrel I guess," Ragnar paused and seemed to be searching his mind for something. "Anyway, it was believed he was so skilled at song that he could charm animals and even rocks and trees to carry out his bidding. I was thinking of naming it after him."

"Well, that wasn't much of a song I heard over there, but it sure did a good job of charming the crew into giving up."

Ragnar smiled again, but then looked for some affirmation of his actions from his friend. "Too much?"

Doc thought a moment and then looked at Ragnar seriously, "I think it was just right. Any more and we might truly have been in danger. Any less and they might not have complied."

"Thanks," he said – appreciative of his friend's honest opinion.

Doc smiled, "You're welcome, but I am dead serious about being off duty for the next time."

"Deal."

11

Once they secured The Bristol, they made their way back to base. When they neared a large island, Ragnar marooned Bristol's crew there with a promise that he would radio their location as soon as they were well away. He gave the crew all of the food and water they could carry along with flares and supplies to hold them until they were rescued.

Ten hours after they parted ways with the men of The Bristol, Ragnar did radio for their rescue. Pretending to be their captain, he reported that their ship was sinking and that they were taking refuge on a nearby island. He reported the coordinates and confirmed that the Mexican Navy had the correct information before cutting off his transmission.

The Sherwood piloted into their cove and brought The Bristol alongside. With such a huge source of fuel, the entire ocean was about to become their playground.

The Sherwood Forest began to make a name for herself. Ragnar and his men roamed from port to port looking for drug-runners returning home with vast profits from their deals. They were easy targets with unsophisticated tactics for repelling Ragnar's team – perfect targets for developing their skills and financing their activities.

They never took any drugs they found - only the money. Every man aboard Ragnar's ship became wealthy and Ragnar quickly built a large stockpile of gold and cash earmarked for others that had been robbed of their wealth or property by the actions of the government, or those that colluded with the government. On the occasion when they could get intelligence on corrupt politicians traveling nearby, they would make every attempt to wrestle goods from their hands and maroon them in the process.

binary

1

Thanksgiving found most folks incapable of being thankful. Two years earlier the President had been re-elected based on a platform of empty promises and new programs guaranteed to help the poor and middle-class. The captains of industry were all but gone. No one seemed to know where. It was assumed that they had retired; deserting their obligation to help mankind.

John's offer to the world's innovators, in light of the oppressive environment, was just too inviting to ignore. The joy that had brought them to work each day, that ignited the spark to innovate or create, had been replaced by a sense of hopelessness and dread. As the entrepreneurs abandoned their roles in business, the wheels of society began to fall off.

The public cheered these events. The rich, uncaring corporations – leaderless – began to falter and close their doors. Union bosses and progressive politicians pointed out to their members and followers that this was a natural, predictable outcome. It was time for business leaders to experience what the rank and file had been living under for decades. The unions attempted to run the industries, and when success didn't immediately come, they asked the government to provide assistance; either in the way of subsidies or by limiting competition via rules, regulations and tariffs.

The public expected much from the President. His prior term had seen a disturbing trend in unemployment and national indebtedness. The President insisted that his programs would set things right. He blamed prior Presidents and congress for the country's predicament. Together, we can fix America – this was the campaign slogan that rallied everyone to his side. The people were waiting. Many businesses had closed. Shortages of everyday staples were beginning to exert a palpable impact on everyone. Gasoline lines were present in the northern states, fruit from California and Florida rotted in idled shipping containers. Bridges, highways and other infrastructure were falling into disrepair. People became fearful of rudimentary events such as a hernia repair or flying to a family reunion. Oddly, more people were dying during what used to be considered simple, everyday activities.

Kay Ludlow had been working less as well. She found it difficult to locate competent directors and worthwhile scripts to pursue. Her agent received frequent calls requesting her talent, but the roles they wanted her to play seemed to always portray her as a lustful creature, a whore or an adulterer. Studios wanted her as an anti-hero. They wished to dress her in a costume of immorality and corruption. Then, at the climax of the story, a woman of mediocrity, so far removed from the idea of a heroine, could claim victory over her.

The government asked her to do a public service announcement to promote "Serve the people" – a presidential propaganda initiative intended to correct what they believed to be the root of all problems in society: selfishness. She laughed when they asked if she would provide her talents for free – for the welfare of the people. She instructed her agent to accept nothing less than a hundred times her usual rates – knowing that they would refuse. She was right. There were plenty of actors willing to give sanction to the government's actions – plenty that believed their message – plenty that would do it for free.

She had spent Thanksgiving alone in her apartment. When Friday night arrived, she anxiously tuned her special radio to her favorite station and waited in hopes that Ragnar would speak to her. She had not heard from him for several days. At 10:37 his voice carried clearly to her ears. She grabbed the radio and placed it in her lap; staring down at the speaker as if he might appear there somehow. His message was short and surprising:

"Hello sun!" He sounded more excited than usual. "I will repeat this message for one more day and then I will change plans and communicate with you again when possible. As soon as you can, I would like you to fly to Belize City and then take a ferry to Isla Turneffe. Pay cash if you can, and purchase each segment of your trip at the airport." He paused for a moment, considering the risk before adding, "See you soon."

Kay continued to look down at the radio, but she wasn't listening any longer. She was already thinking about what to take, how long she would be gone, who she should notify – she decided on no one, and how long it had been since she last saw Ragnar. She thought back and determined it had been eight years. The only way for their relationship to have had any chance was her precious radio. It was a lousy substitute for the real thing. She missed Ragnar's presence and how it made her feel when he was around – safe and treasured. Despite the late hour, she picked up the phone and confirmed her travel plans. Getting to Belize City was not an easy itinerary. It required that she fly on two different carriers and make two stops. The trip there would take close to fifteen hours, and then there was the ferry that she knew nothing about. Her excitement grew after hanging up the phone. She danced into her room and began to fill a small designer duffle with everything she thought she might need. She tried to sleep, but thoughts of Ragnar made it nearly impossible. She dreamed of Ragnar and the sundrenched beach.

When Kay awoke the next morning, she left for the airport early. Her impatience led her to wait for nearly two hours at the gate. She was happy. Strangers, sensing her lightened mood, approached her for her autograph. She obliged all of them and even chatted with a few brave women who wanted to know her secret for successfully getting into acting. She told them all the same message – "You gotta love it and want it, and then you have to work tirelessly for it." Most of the young women she told left disappointed. They assumed there was only some simple trick to success. Who did she know? What favors did she need to bestow? What innocence did she have to give up in exchange for fame?

2

An early morning phone call came into Agent Moretti's office. Pete Kitchler had been assigned to monitor Miss Ludlow. When the FBI had detected no contact between Kay and Ragnar for the first six months, they reduced the size of the team watching her from three to two. After the next six months it was cut to just one. Pete was the sole agent left to observe Miss Ludlow's activities. He was young and ambitious. A recent graduate from the FBI cadet school, he had high hopes for an exciting assignment. The agent he was replacing trained him for two months. He warned the young agent to expect extreme boredom. Kitchler kept the faith after Moretti assured him that this target was extremely important to the security of the country. He carried out his duty with a patriotic fervor.

"She is traveling outside the US. It looks like Mexico. She took an unexpected flight this morning from LA to Mexico City via Houston. Should I follow her?"

Moretti replied, "Yes, get down there. I'll try to get some support for you on the ground." The agent grabbed the next flight to Mexico City. He was three hours behind her."

3

She had to endure a long layover in Mexico City, but she enjoyed her time trying some of the local food from a vendor a short taxi ride from the airport. Kay returned an hour later to complete the final segment of her trip. She flew aboard a regional carrier to her destination – Belize City. She purchased the ticket at the airport as Ragnar had instructed. She had never traveled to Belize before. She was unaware of the country entirely until Ragnar mentioned it. Prior to her departure she managed to find it on a map, but that was about all the information she could gather on such short notice. Her flight landed in Belize almost sixteen hours after her journey began. When she stepped down the stairs leading from the aircraft to the ground she was thankful for packing light clothing. The humidity was stifling. She walked through the Belize airport at close to midnight – her white, cotton dress clung to her curves and revealed her beautiful figure. She was grateful to have been able to fly first class for most of the trip. Even though it was late, she felt energized to be so close to her lover. She stepped toward a friendly looking attendant and asked about the ferry. She spoke slowly and clearly hoping that she would understand. The woman surprised her by conversing in perfect English. She carried an unusual accent but was easy to understand. "I am sorry madam. The ferry does not run to the island this late at night. The first trip to the island is mid-morning. I do not know the exact time, but the businesses along the waterfront, about three kilometers south of here, can give you more information in the morning."

Kay thanked her and managed her way outside the airport to the curb. A taxi driver helped her with her bag and delivered her to a little hotel located near the ferry she would take in the morning. Her room was comfortable, but she wasn't accustomed to the heat and humidity. She opened the window and used the fan provided to obtain some relief.

4

Agent Kitchler managed to catch up with Miss Ludlow during her extended layover in Mexico City. He showed his credentials to the airport security and local authorities. They were able to assist him in determining that she had booked an additional flight to Belize City that would be leaving later that evening. They also informed the agent that she had paid for the trip in cash and appeared to be traveling alone. Kitchler called his superior back home.

"This is Kitchler, I have made it to Mexico and managed to catch up with Miss Ludlow."

Moretti, surprised at the success of his young charge asked, "So where is she?"

"She's right in front of me. We are both booked on another flight to Belize City."

"That's trouble. We don't have a good working relationship with the locals down there."

"You still want me to follow her, right?" A slight sound of panic was discernible in his question. This was the most interesting thing to happen to him on this case in over six months, and he hated the idea of going back to LA and sitting alone in that room . . . endlessly waiting.

"Yes. Follow her, but don't make contact with her. Stay out of sight, and try to get back with me when you have an idea of where she's going or what she's doing. This feels really good to me. This trip of hers is out of character, and I know they have got to make contact at some point. Another agent and I are heading down there. We will not make it until sometime tomorrow. When you call in with your report, let the coordinator know where we can find you."

"Yes, sir," Kitchler paused a moment, "What if I find . . . him?"

Moretti could hear another emotion in his colleague's voice. Years of training and experience had taught him to pay attention to little things. He heard fear in his question. "Just follow my instructions. Stay out of sight. Record as much of her activities as you can. Follow her movements, follow your training and contact me with anything that might be useful. You'll be fine," he added hoping it would reassure him.

"OK. Sure. I'll call you either tonight or tomorrow." Kitchler hung up the phone and looked up at Kay who was reading a book she had purchased from a kiosk at the airport. She was beautiful and famous. He could not understand how she could be involved with a dangerous criminal like Ragnar Danneskjӧld. It seemed impossible to him.

She sat in first class, which wasn't much in terms of luxury, but it meant that she would have a significant head-start when getting off the plane. When they landed, Kitchler found himself stranded in the isle sandwiched between two distinguished, but rotund men. When he managed to catch sight of Kay again, his delay in getting off the plane caused him to miss the entire conversation she had held with the attendant. He followed her to a small hotel minutes from the airport. After she checked in, he entered the business fifteen minutes later and secured a room for himself. His eyes burned from many hours of watching Miss Ludlow along with the high concentration of cigarette smoke on his flights. It was the third time in his life he had been in an airplane, and with all the recent crashes in the news, he found it impossible to relax. His body demanded rest. He took a room on the first floor and set an alarm for 4:30 in the morning. He did not know what her schedule was, but he wasn't going to lose her now just because he slept through her decision to get up early.

He wasn't ready for the alarm to go off. In his mind it was possible that only ten to fifteen minutes had elapsed – not four hours. He trudged into the bathroom and took a shower in an attempt to refresh himself. At just after five, he was outside the hotel sitting on a stone fence that bordered the walkway across the street and in front of the pier. He sat there for hours until his stomach insisted that he eat something. A half a block away a small café had opened, and he decided he could pop in and quickly grab a bite to eat. He brought his meal back to his outlook in order to keep watch; he hated the food. The eggs were scrambled and that was ok, but the fruit was foreign and the spices were too much for his inexperienced palate. He ate what he could and focused on the job at hand.

Three hours later, sweating under the strengthening sun, he saw her emerge from the door to the hotel lobby. She strolled down the block and had breakfast at the same outdoor café. By his estimation, she enjoyed her meal. He watched her relax. Something the owner said made her laugh loud enough that he could hear her from his vantage point. He decided that they must have treated her better because she was a celebrity. It never occurred to him that they did not know who she was – that none of them had ever seen any of her movies – that maybe it was a state of mind and not some kind of contrived bias. She paid her bill then crossed the street to the pier. He watched her stop at the company operating a fairy to some place he had never heard of. He approached the desk and asked about their trips. He discovered that they only ferried passengers to and from Isla Turneffe. It was an hour's journey and the next ship was due to depart in just fifteen minutes. He had to make a decision: either call in to Moretti and risk losing her, or continue to follow her and handicap his team by not calling in a report.

5

Kitchler's observations of Kay were accurate. Kay had enjoyed her meal and was relaxed. That morning, she showered, changed into more comfortable clothing and headed out for a bite to eat at a local café – her meal was simple, but expertly prepared. She marveled at the exotic nature of her dish. Although she had never eaten such a meal before, she liked trying new things and was rewarded by a delicious and satisfying breakfast. The owner of the small eatery came to greet her personally. When she told Kay the name of the star-shaped fruit was Starfruit, she laughed at the idea that it would be called anything else. She paid her bill, added a large gratuity and thanked the owner for her hospitality. The hotel staff had informed her that she needed to be at the pier by 10:15 in order to catch the first ferry to the island. She arrived at 10 clutching her bag. She purchased a ticket then took a spot on one of the many benches in the ticket office until it was time to board.

She was finally able to take in the scenery. Belize was beautiful. The shallow water had a turquoise shade that darkened with depth to the truest blue she had ever seen. The sun was bright and the people were marvelously friendly. She smiled and she was happy. Kay wondered when this part of her adventure would be over, and she would finally be reunited with Ragnar.

A stranger approached. He was tall and had a kind face that was partially shaded by an elegant hat. "Excuse me, is this seat taken?" he asked her.

She had noticed the man walking toward her but was too absorbed in her environment to think of engaging him in conversation. "Sure," she replied as if in a dream.

The man stood for a while longer and when Kay's attention was drawn back to him, he motioned that her bag was in the way. "I'm so sorry!" she said a little ashamed. She pulled the bag into her lap as the man took a seat next to her.

Kitchler watched the developing conversation with keen interest. "Did he know her? It didn't look like she knew him," he thought to himself. The man seated beside her opened a newspaper – the pages made it impossible to see Kay's face from his vantage point. He moved closer. He couldn't determine if either person was speaking, and he could only see her eyes.

"Miss Ludlow, please do not look in my direction or speak at this moment," the man hiding behind the paper whispered. "I have some instructions for you. We are pretty sure you were followed here today. When it is time to board the ferry, get to the front of the line and board to the front of the ship. We are here to protect you. Ragnar sent us to bring you to him."

Kay tried to look straight ahead. She suppressed a smile as best she could, but her heart was beating and she needed something to satisfy her curiosity. She didn't move her head, but she shifted her eyes to the left and caught a glimpse of the man next to her. She couldn't make out any features, but his voice was deep and reassuring.

6

"Good luck with that one, mate!" Philippe stepped up next to agent Kitchler who was resting against a wooden pillar near the ticketing counter. He had approached from Kitchler's blind side and silently slipped in next to him.

Kitchler's body jerked at the unexpected comment and sight of a stranger standing beside him. He was caught completely off guard. He examined Philippe and took him for some kind of vagrant. "What? What did you say?" he managed, a little exasperated."

"She is way out of our league. A dame like that, no way she would go for a guy like me. You maybe, but I doubt that."

"What? Who are you?" Kitchler voice squeaked. His focus was now split between Kay and this stranger.

Philippe leaned closer to the agent and said just above a whisper, "I'd like to show a high-class woman like that how to really have fun. I bet she likes it dirty – nasty even. You know what I mean?"

"Who says I'm interested in that woman? What's wrong with you?"

"I just noticed we both been watching her. I think we like the same kinda gal."

"Get away from me!" Kitchler growled. He had to command the stranger with hushed tones to avoid attracting the attention of Miss Ludlow or anyone else at the pier. "I'm with the FBI. Now move off!"

Philippe put his hands up and stood straight, "Whoa. Whoa. Hey we're all friends here. No need to yell at me." He tried to look as if his pride had been wounded. When Kitchler took a moment to look back at Kay, Philippe added, "Sorry, mate. Good luck to you." He slapped the agent's back twice with his right hand as a friendly gesture supporting his goodbye.

Kitchler didn't like it at all. He thought the whole exchange was creepy, and his shoulder was smarting from the sharp smacks Philippe had dealt him.

"Can you spare a little change?" Philippe asked with his hand outstretched.

"Piss off!" the agent hissed at the stranger as he began to back away.

When Philippe moved out of Agent Kitchler's sight, he carefully removed the deadly ring Doc had developed and showed him how to use. Doc had first bent and then fashioned a piece of tin into the shape of a ring. Then he snipped a fine strand from the end and bent it back so that it protruded from the top of the ring by a tiny fraction of an inch. With a surgeon's precision, he coated the sharp tack with a poison he extracted from organs of several pufferfish. He was emphatic in his education of Philippe that he not touch the barb in any way; even a scratch could prove fatal. As far as inoculating anyone that might be following them, that was easy. All he had to do was get the poisonous filament to penetrate the skin. Once should have been enough, but Philippe didn't like taking chances. It would be many hours before Agent Moretti and his team discovered the two, tiny bloodstains on the back of Kitchler's shirt.

Agent Kitchler briefly massaged his shoulder before resuming his watch over Miss Ludlow. He saw her move to the line behind a handful of passengers, clutching her bag and ticket. The rest of those waiting for the ferry still remained in their seats; including the man reading the newspaper. Five minutes later the ferry blew its horn and a steward came forward to begin boarding passengers. Three dozen additional people boarded the ferry after Kay.

Kitchler walked on after the bulk of the waiting passengers had boarded, but he failed to see Philippe jump on board at the last second. He was too busy trying to reacquire his target. As he weaved his way between the ship's structure and the people milling about, he noticed a strange tingling sensation in his lips. He licked them and noticed that his tongue was slightly numb. He contorted his mouth as he explored the feeling further. He dodged two boys running along the deck, and then he saw her again. She was at the very front of the ship looking back in his direction. Not surprisingly to him, Kitchler saw the man with the newspaper next to her but facing outward over the ocean. Kitchler paused where he was in order to stay, more or less, out of her sight.

7

"Miss Ludlow, please continue to look exactly where you are looking now. My name is Leonard Thorn but the people I work with and respect call me Doc. As soon as this ship is on the open water, I can say more." He spoke quietly in her direction. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you." Kay did not move a muscle – except those in her face required to maintain her radiant smile.

As the ship pulled away from the dock, Agent Kitchler lost his footing. He grabbed the railing just in time to prevent a fall to the deck. He was sweating profusely. He blamed his sudden weakness on too little sleep, bad food and the blazing hot sun. He looked for a place to sit and found a collection of chairs in front of the bridge. There was a small amount of shade there and a direct line of site to the front of the ferry.

As the engines kicked into full and the ship pointed in the direction of Isla Turneffe, Doc turned to face Kay. He did not speak, but instead looked toward the rear of the ferry. He spotted Philippe at the opposite end of the vessel who gave him a friendly wave. Doc then took measure of the people nearby. All looked like locals on their way to the island for purposes of their own. "What would you like to know first?" He said to her with a smile.

Kay grabbed for his right arm and pulled him close "Where is he?" Her impatience was almost uncontrollable at this point.

"Close," he answered. "I know that is not what you want to hear, but I promise you we will meet with him within a couple of hours.

"How is he? Is he OK?" she asked. She didn't really fear for him or his well-being. She just couldn't think of a specific question to ask because too many questions were clouding her thoughts.

"I assure you that he is fine and doing quite well. He has spoken about you to us on many occasions. Sometimes I wonder if the stories he tells us are true. If so, he's a uncommon individual."

"That sounds like him." She laughed and relaxed a bit knowing that it would be a while still before they reunited. "What about you? How did you meet him?" She was hungry for any detail related to the man she loved.

"Well that is a long story." He turned to face forward and, as he anticipated, Kay followed his lead. They both looked outward to where the horizon blended both sea and sky. They had an hour's ferry ride, and that was just enough time to fill her in on some of the basics. He began to tell his tale.

8

"Her name was Katerina – but I always called her Kat." Kay could see joy in Doc's eyes as he pulled dusty memories from the recesses of his mind. "She was a mathematics professor at the university where I had attended medical school. We met one day at a coffee shop just off campus. I was returning as a guest lecturer, and she walked in to purchase a ritual afternoon coffee. We fell madly in love with each other, married a year later, and we were expecting our first child a year after that."

Doc paused for an uncomfortably long time, and Kay noticed a change in his appearance. His head hung lower while he stared straight ahead. A flatness in his tone smothered out the lightness in his voice. "I was in surgery – a complicated case. I was forty-five minutes in when one of the nurses came into my operating room. She said that the switchboard had just given her a message that my wife had been taken to another hospital across town. At first I was excited because I thought that it meant that our daughter was about to be born. But the hesitancy in the nurse's words told me something was wrong. Kat was teaching when a part of the wall in her class room collapsed, and she was struck by some of the rubble. She was being rushed to surgery, and that was all she could tell me at the moment. The timing couldn't have been worse. I couldn't stop the surgery, and my case was one that couldn't be rushed. I worked as quickly as I could, finished up and raced across town to the other hospital.

"A colleague of mine was working that afternoon. I was lucky there. Dr. Spence was still operating on her when I got to the hospital.

"The hospital administrator met me at the entrance. I was determined to do whatever I could to help. I asked for an update on her condition. He stated that she had been brought into the hospital by ambulance, she was unconscious, and had a lot of bleeding. I asked about our baby, and that's when I got the first punch in the gut. He told me that she had been delivered surgically, but that my beautiful baby girl had not survived. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I was afraid to ask about Kat. I knew that if the baby had received enough trauma to not survive, that didn't speak well for her chances.

"The administrator, Kirk was his name, he said that she was still in surgery and in the best of hands. I demanded to be admitted to the OR. I wanted to assist. He objected, said I was too emotional, too close, too much in shock to think clearly. That was not the case. My entire existence focused on saving my wife at that moment. I told him to show me the way to the O.R. or I was going to tear the place apart looking for it. Good thing he believed I was serious because he reluctantly took me to her.

"I scrubbed in and tried to mentally prepare myself for what was about to happen. Jacob Spence is a fantastic surgeon. If I ever needed surgery he's the guy I would have chosen to do it. When I entered the O.R., Dr. Spence seemed relieved. He looked a bit anxious. We both worked feverously to first stop the bleeding and then to repair the damage. When the wall collapsed, a broken segment of embedded pipe ripped through Kat's right lung, stomach, and intestines. There were bits of concrete in her belly. It was a mess."

Kay looked at Doc and winced.

"I'm sorry," Doc said, "I often forget that most people are not used to hearing these kinds of details."

"Go on. I'm OK," Kay said reassuringly.

"Well, we managed to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. Her brain had lost too much oxygen and we couldn't wake her back up. I cried more that day than I had my entire life. I went from being a man who had everything – a wonderful wife, a baby to make us a family, I had everything . . . then, nothing."

"It sounds like you did everything you could," Kay offered softly.

"Yes. It seems that way doesn't it?"

"I don't . . ." Kay trailed off trying to understand his reply.

"After surgery, Dr. Spence filled me in on a few details that I wasn't aware of. He withheld this information until after the surgery. He didn't want me to be . . . affected by it. It turned out that before he operated on Kat, he worked on a man by the name of Emery Henson." Doc paused for a moment. "Ring a bell?"

"Governor Henson?"

"That's right. Governor Henson had spent the better part of his lunch drinking with his cronies and then cheating on his wife with a nineteen-year-old stripper. They got into his car, and he proceeded to slam into the back of a garbage truck. Both survived with minor injuries with the exception of the Governor's right leg. It had been crushed in the accident. They brought him here and Dr. Spence spent precious time trying to save his leg while my wife waited for his talents. Kirk, the friendly administrator," Doc said with obvious sarcasm in his voice, "neglected to tell Dr. Spence about my wife's condition at the time. In fact, he ordered the staff to specifically avoid any mention of any patient other than the Governor."

"Is that true?" Kay asked horrified.

"I couldn't believe it myself. I went up to Kirk just a little after my wife was pronounced dead and asked him. He didn't deny it. He apologized by talking about how important the Governor was – how if he didn't take care of his injuries it might have led to terrible publicity – how he needed the Governor to help push through some municipal bonds to fund the hospital's growth – how the Governor was a man of the people. Any control of my emotions was gone by then. I hauled back and hit him as hard as I could. It was the first time I had ever hit another man." Doc smiled faintly.

"Nothing was the same after that. Kirk attempted to press charges against me for breaking his jaw and part of his left eye socket. The judge gave me sixty days probation. Then Kirk filed a formal complaint with my hospital's administrative team. He was buddies with my CEO over there. They brought me in for counseling.

"I broke three bones in my right hand. I could still perform surgery after it healed, but I just didn't have it in me anymore. Between the profound grief at losing both my daughter and the love of my life and the anger at the idea that someone killed my wife by giving care to a hapless ruling elite that curried more societal favor . . . I couldn't function. I quit work. The chief of staff gave me a two month hiatus, but I knew I would not be back.

"Ragnar found me during that period of my life. I was searching for something – I don't even know what. Maybe I was searching for a way to be in charge; fully in charge. I never told him this story. In fact, I never told anyone this story. I think time has given me a chance to reflect on my life, as well as his.

"I'm on an adventure. A journey I never would have thought possible ten years ago. Who could ever imagine a surgeon becoming a pirate?" He laughed at the absurdity. "But meeting you and listening to Ragnar's stories about you both . . . He's so young, but his soul is very old. He's a good teacher and I am happy to call him friend."

Kay wiped a tear from the tip of her nose using a handkerchief she had pulled from her pocket minutes earlier. She turned her face to him and smiled such a sweet and compassionate smile, "You would have made a great father, Leonard."

Doc fought to speak, his appreciative eyes watered and his chin quivered beneath a struggling smile at her words of healing. "Thank you," he managed to say.

Kay put one hand on top of his and said, "Thank you for watching over him. I know what you do is very dangerous. Thank you."

After Doc finished his tale, the two enjoyed the rest of the journey avoiding any serious discussions. They talked about her movies and his favorite Chicago restaurants. As they neared the island a commotion developed aboard the ferry that drew Kay's attention.

9

Kitchler couldn't hold his body upright any longer. He slid out and off the chair as if he were made of Jell-O. When gravity took full hold of him, his face fell forward and hit the back of the chair in front of him with enough force to create a two inch gash in his forehead that immediately started bleeding heavily. His fall caused a commotion just in front of the bridge. Several other passengers moved to assist him. They tried sitting him on the deck, but his muscles would not support him any longer. He thought to himself, "What is happening to me? I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my body. I can't even speak." He was trying though, and the people around him rendering aid attempted to interpret his moans and grunts without success. The agent was aware of an even more frightening problem – he felt his chest getting heavier, and he was sure he was going to stop breathing soon. Just then several people that were attempting to help him stood up and backed away. Their faces twisted into a look of disgust. He did not know it, but he had just emptied his bowels into his pants and partially onto the deck. The locals tending to him were joined by a couple of the ship's crew. They reported to the captain that they had a medical emergency.

Minutes later the ferry reached the island, and everyone was ushered off as quickly as possible. Kay strained her neck in order to catch a glimpse of the sickened man. There were too many people crowded around him, and Doc was guiding her to the exit. No one was allowed to board so that they could take the man who had just gone unconscious back to the mainland immediately. As Kay and Doc approached the gangplank off the ferry, they found Philippe waiting for them.

"Hello you two!" The joy he felt at speaking with Kay again was obvious to both Kay and Doc.

"Where did you come from?" Kay asked – stunned by his sudden appearance. She hugged him and kissed his cheek, smiling while she waited for his answer.

"Me? I was on the same ferry as you."

"What? Really? Why didn't you say hello?"

"I was making sure that we didn't encounter any problems."

Kay looked at him as if expecting something more.

"We should be on our way. I think we're all fine now." Philippe looked at the two and said seriously, "We should go." He took Kay's hand in one hand, her bag in the other, and led them both off the ferry onto the island dock.

There were quite a few people moving about the pier area. A small restaurant was serving food. Fishing boats were being chartered by tourists. Kay saw two men carrying scuba equipment to a nearby boat. A couple of street vendors were selling jewelry, hand-made from collected shells, and other odds and ends. Kay thought that the people looked poor, but they looked happy.

Philippe directed the three to a waiting water taxi which they took around to the other side of the island. There were no structures here, just sand, water and palm trees. As they progressed around the island, a large vessel came into view. Fifteen short minutes later, the taxi had deposited them both onto the beach. Philippe was explaining that this was their ship, and eventually someone would send a transport over to pick them up when they heard a noise behind them. Emerging out of the palm forest was Ragnar. Kay noticed his muscular legs and bare feet as he stepped over a fallen tree towards her. He wore a blue dress shirt with the sleeves removed. His face was fuller and was shaded by two weeks of beard growth. His hair was much longer and hung in loose thick spirals around his tanned face. He stopped and took in the vision before him. The sun shimmered like spun gold in Kay's hair and made her body visible through the weightless, gauzy material of her dress.

She was riveted by his gaze and returned one of her own. Philippe watched the whole thing with a sense of amusement. He had been looking forward to this day almost as long as the two of them. "Well?" Philippe said to them, trying to break the spell.

"Hey Sun," Ragnar managed to say before biting his lip and then smiling. He began to walk towards her – slowly at first and then faster. Kay said nothing. She ran and collided with him in a long and violent kiss. Nothing else existed at that moment for either of them. Each attempted to hold the other closer. Their hands gripped each other tightly and their lips explored each other's lips. It was a sensation so overwhelming that neither heard, nor cared, that Philippe and Doc were laughing behind them. Ragnar was crying, but they were tears of pure joy. He could not remember ever feeling happier than at that moment. Kay felt as if time had stopped. They were together and there was so much to say, so much to feel.

"OK you two," Philippe attempted to bring them back to earth. "The boat's on its way."

Kay and Ragnar parted only their upper bodies and looked at Philippe who pointed at the boat and said, "Time to go?"

Ragnar grabbed Kay's left hand in his right, and they walked together to the waiting transport. Philippe had already put her bag onto the small boat and he assisted Kay by taking her hand while Ragnar steadied her with the other. The crewman that came to get them introduced himself to her, and they all sat down for the quick ride to the ship anchored offshore. Kay pulled at one of Ragnar's curls and said, "I like it!" Her hand dropped down to his jaw and the prickliness of his beard felt course and manly to her. "I don't know about this though – might take some getting used to."

"I'm sorry. If I had known you would be here this early I would have made myself more presentable."

"You're beautiful," she said as she leaned in for another long and passionate kiss.

10

Once they had boarded The Sherwood, Ragnar introduced her to his waiting crew. They were all polite and eager to meet the famous film actress. He brought Kay's things to his room and placed them on a nearby chair. He looked around awkwardly, not sure what to do next. The time that they had spent apart created a strange barrier that he, for once in his life, wasn't able to divine a path through.

Ragnar thought that she could read his mind, but her actions were a byproduct of similar thoughts. She slowly crossed the small room, unbuttoning the top of her dress – the gentle fabric fell in soft rhythms in time with her step. Ragnar was incapable of words. He wanted her with a desire stronger than a drowning man wants air. She stopped in front of him and reached her left hand up behind his head and grabbed a handful of Ragnar's hair. She pulled his head down slightly and exposed his neck. Her lips pressed deeply between his neck and shoulders. She breathed in his scent and tasted the salt on his skin. When he failed to respond, she took satisfaction into her own hands. She continued to suck and bite at his flesh while she grabbed the back of his hand and guided it to a resting place on her chest.

It was as if Ragnar awoke from a dream state. His hands seemed to move on their own, greedy for her entire body. They raced over her torso, and when they happened to meet in the middle of her back Ragnar pulled her tightly to himself and kissed her deeply. He filled his lungs by borrowing her breath and then gently returned it to her. The sensation was intoxicating. He eased the rest of her dress over her hips until it dropped into a heap at her bare feet.

Standing before him she ripped open his shirt sending buttons flying in all directions. Now it was her turn to explore his torso. One hand caressed his face while the other roamed over his toned chest and abdomen.

Ragnar shuddered and made a guttural sound. He grabbed her waist and forced her down on to his unmade bed. She could smell him everywhere on the linens. Kay giggled as he nearly fell onto her, uncharacteristically off balance. He stood at the end of the small bed and stared at her. "How long have we waited for this day to come?" he breathed the words heavily to her.

"For nearly an eternity," she answered him. She held up her right hand and beckoned him, "Come, lover."

Ragnar knelt on the end of the bed with his knee and laced his fingers with hers before lying beside her. Kay looked up into two eyes, so shining and blue she could almost see her reflection in them. Ragnar was trembling with far too much anticipation. "Have me," she said while she stretched her neck up to kiss his mouth.

Kay smiled. She was happy and impressed with her power to satisfy her lover. "I love you, Kay," Ragnar said loudly. His announcement startled her – not the content of his words but the strength with which he uttered them.

"I love you to," she responded and placed a hand on his heart.

Ragnar rolled Kay over and carefully massaged her neck and shoulders. He kissed her body for fifteen minutes. When he was ready, he enjoyed the next half hour satisfying her.

They lay in each other's arms exhausted but content. The time apart no longer seemed significant or important. They were together, and for the moment, it was enough. "Are you hungry?" Ragnar asked, "I'm starved."

"Me too," she replied. "Can I take a shower?"

"Of course. I'll get it ready for you." Ragnar jumped up from the bed and happily prepared the small shower for her. He warmed the water and lit a candle on the vanity. When it was ready he took her hand and led her to the tiny room. The two barely fit into the space, but Ragnar couldn't bear to be apart yet. After he softly washed her body and shampooed her hair, she left to dry and put on a fresh change of clothes.

He shaved and put on a new shirt. His clean-shaven face delighted Kay and she rewarded him with a shower of kisses all over his face and lips. When the two emerged onto the main deck Ragnar's crew all had a knowing look about them. All of them understood and tried to respect the couple's privacy by pretending that they had no idea where the two had been for the better part of the day.

"I have prepared a little something for the two of you." Philippe approached them with a basket of crackers, cheese, wine and mangos. "I thought you might enjoy eating up on the bow." He pointed at two chairs and a small table that had been situated alone at the front of the ship.

Ragnar smiled at his friend and said with deep respect, "Thank you, Philippe."

"It was my pleasure. Please enjoy." He stepped to the side and allowed the couple to move to the front of the ship.

Ragnar and Kay devoured all the food and the bottle of wine. Kay noticed that the crew had gathered nearby. Ragnar stood up from his chair and then offered his hand to help Kay get to her feet. Ragnar reached his fingers into his pocket and retrieved a simple gold ring. He dropped down slowly to one knee and immediately he and the rest of his crew broke into song. Although Kay knew the melody, she was not familiar with this version.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then this traveler in the dark,
Thanks you for your little spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
'Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and little spark,
Lights this traveler in the dark.
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

As the crew and Ragnar serenaded her, Kay smiled and blushed. This just made Ragnar sing even louder at which point she laughed and held his face tenderly in her hands. When they finished singing, Ragnar looked up into Kay's eyes and asked, "Little star . . . you have seen me through the night. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

The ship was silent as everyone waited for her reply.

She leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Yes, Traveler. I will become your wife."

Ragnar shot up and hugged Kay, lifted her up in his embrace, and spun around until both of them were entirely dizzy. The crew cheered and whistled in celebration of the couple's engagement. Ragnar had almost forgotten about the ring he was clutching in his hand. He put Kay's feet back on the deck and then placed the ring on her finger –a perfect fit. He kissed her again.

11

Moretti and two of his trusted field agents arrived in Belize City late in the morning; just an hour after the first ferry had departed for Isla Turneffe. They were tired but motivated by the thought that they were as close as they had ever been to capturing Ragnar. Moretti was irritated that agent Kitchler had not checked in with him. He had no idea where he was or what had happened to their target. He called back to their US office, but no one had received an update from him since yesterday.

They found copies of his passport at the airport immigration office, but that did nothing to help locate their man. A call went out to the local police to assist in the search. Moretti and his colleagues began checking the local hotels for listings for either Kay Ludlow or agent Kitchler.

It didn't take long before they found the hotel that both occupied the prior evening. Kay had not checked in using her real name, but that did not surprise Moretti – it was a common practice for her he had learned. They eventually visited the businesses around the hotel and learned two things. One, their agent had had breakfast that morning at a local café. And two, he had come back on a ferry from Isla Turneffe very ill and had been taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital.

Moretti and his men arrived at the hospital too late. Kitchler had died two hours earlier. The doctor said it was from respiratory failure and Moretti wouldn't believe it. Kitchler was a young and healthy individual. He asked to see the body. There was little he gained from that, but after requesting to examine his personal effects, one of his agents discovered the two small blood stains on his white dress shirt riding the edge of where his shoulder blade would have been.

He left one of his agents behind to manage the toxicology report. The hospital doctor agreed when the two small puncture marks were pointed out to him on the dead agent's back. Moretti and the other agent took a trip to the island. They didn't know if their search would yield anything useful. He doubted it, but decided to try anyway.

Despite locating the water taxi that had transported Miss Ludlow to the other side of the island, Moretti arrived just in time to see a large ship crest the horizon. He couldn't even be sure it was Ragnar's ship. He returned to the mainland and searched out his agent at the hospital. His agent reported that all toxicology results were negative. They had no idea how Kitchler died but Moretti was willing to bet his career that he had been poisoned somehow. The team flew back to D.C. to regroup.

12

Ragnar's repossession business was put on temporary hiatus while he and his crew made plans for a wedding. The crew was appreciative of the break. A few members chose to take some time to visit relatives or relax on dry land. Most of his crew elected to attend the upcoming wedding festivities as everyone enjoyed a good party and looked at Ragnar and Kay as family. Drake felt compelled to return home for a visit to his family. Ragnar accepted his friend's early congratulations, but a part of him was disappointed his old friend would not be present. As Drake departed, Ragnar asked him to await a phone call with instructions on how to return when they were ready to resume activity.

Two weeks flew by for the engaged couple. They had visited many special sites in the Caribbean and along the Mexican coastline. The Sherwood provided quiet sanctuary for the crew; they encountered no challenges during their travels – military or otherwise.

With everything in place, the crew sailed from their base in a much smaller and less infamous speedboat captured during a drug-smuggler repossession off the coast of Bermuda. A dealer to the stars made the mistake of trying to outrun The Sherwood and then firing upon Ragnar's crew. This was the second time that Ragnar had used his sonic weapon. When the drug-lord's crew jumped overboard in a failed attempt to escape the pain caused by that horrible sound, Ragnar left them in the ocean as he took their ship. He reasoned that their lack of cooperation and intent to do him harm must have meant that they did not need his assistance.

The smaller boat was useful in visiting places where The Sherwood was more likely to be identified. They all piled into the yacht and headed west. When they arrived at Playa del Carmen, they were greeted by an old friend.

"Ragnar!" Francisco ran onto the deck and hugged his college friend and then kissed him on each cheek.

"Hey now," Kay spoke up, "he's engaged now. That's my cheek."

Francisco released his friend and stepped over to Kay. "Miss Ludlow, it is such a pleasure to see you again." Kay remembered how relaxed and comfortable Francisco was around people; and especially women.

"Thank you." She replied – the radiance of her smile and countenance revealed her obvious joy.

"I am so happy for you two. Congratulations!" He hugged and kissed her as well. He whispered into her ear, "Are you ready for your big day?"

"What big day?" she answered out loud.

Both Ragnar and Francisco smiled at her.

"Come," Francisco commanded. "We have lots to do and plenty of people to meet." He turned and began walking down the dock.

Ragnar grabbed his fiancé's hand and trailed after him.

"What is he talking about?" Kay asked him.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Ragnar said. Kay could tell he wasn't being completely honest, but knowing him well meant that she did not have to harbor any concern.

Francisco transported them to his estate, thirty minutes away. It was the same villa Ragnar had visited before. Kay was overwhelmed by the size and natural beauty of the grounds.

Once they had arrived on his property, Francisco led them on a tour of the main house. In the kitchen they stumbled upon another man helping himself to a snack from the well-stocked refrigerator. Francisco was pointing out the facilities available to them when the man emerged from behind the refrigerator door and turned to face the new arrivals.

"Fantastic," he muffled through a mouth full of roasted chicken – the remnants of the leg gripped in his right hand.

"John!" Ragnar looked over at Francisco with a wide grin as he hugged him.

"It's so good to see you alive," Galt said gaily to his friend.

"Was there any doubt?"

"No," he answered sincerely. "Just wondering when we would meet again." They all could hear the undertone of friendly concern lying just beneath John's words.

"How is your project coming?" Ragnar asked.

"No. This is your weekend. For once, we will celebrate the greatness that is you and your beautiful bride and the bond you both have created. There'll be plenty of time for business later. I am excited to share our stories, though."

"Is there going to be a wedding?" questioned Kay innocently. She suspected the answer before anyone could state it.

"Of course there will be a wedding. You have the ring and each of you knows what you want out of life. Each of you has found another with whom to share that experience," John answered coyly – withholding enough information to continue teasing Kay.

Francisco continued the tour of the grounds when they ran into another friendly face sitting alone in the garden. "I believe you all know Dr. Akston?"

Dr. Akston stood and hugged Kay and Ragnar heartily. "It has been a long, long time," he said with a smile. "You both look great."

Ragnar, together with his reunited friends and crew, gathered at Francisco's home and reminisced about all the amazing things that had happened in their lives. Kay and Ragnar's crew had only heard a small sampling of the unbelievable stories that each claimed as truth and none suggested otherwise.

"Time raced past us quickly today. Everyone's here and I think this would be a good time to depart," Francisco said to the group during a rare moment of silence from those gathered around him.

"OK, let's go," John said as he jumped up from the spot he'd been sitting in for hours.

Dr. Akston joined him and Francisco as they unexpectedly made a move to the front door of Francisco's home. Ragnar, Kay and his crew took several seconds to shake off their surprise before they, too, followed their host.

13

Francisco led a convoy of three vehicles an hour's drive south along a sparsely traveled road into the village of Tulum. It was getting late in the evening, and he suggested to the group that they make a visit there to enjoy the culture and have a nice dinner at a friend's restaurant.

When they arrived, everyone was hungry and, despite the late hour, the restaurant was overflowing with patrons. Francisco was recognized at once. His party was immediately let in and seated in a reserved section near the rear of the building. The place was really more of a bar than a restaurant.

The smell of roasted meats hung in the air making everyone crazy with hunger. The music was unusual. It, along with the lively chatter of the guests, mixed in the night air. Ragnar and Kay sat next to each other. The rest of the party took their seats. No one asked for anything. The restaurant's hosts took care of bringing delicious food to the table as soon as they sat down. Then drinks started to flow.

After consuming each course, the chef prepared new and more interesting dishes to enjoy. The party ate late into the night. As the hour swept past midnight, the dining and drinking turned to dancing and laughing. Even though it turned out that everyone was able to dance with some ability, it was clear that Francisco was the most graceful and accomplished. Most of the locals returned home in the pre-dawn hours. A few of the more adventurous, seeking to join the celebratory scene, helped ensure each person had a partner.

At a little past four in the morning, Francisco abruptly pulled his group together, thanked the restaurateur for such a wonderful night, and shepherded everyone back to the cars.

"I suspect some of you might be a little tired, but before we head back I thought we should take a short hike over to el Castillo," Francisco said. "They're some old and beautiful Mayan ruins not too far from here."

Everyone was exhausted, but all agreed to follow their host's lead. They walked for a half hour, and when they crested a small hill they saw the outline of a massive walled city silhouetted against the faint glow of an approaching new day. The park was deserted except for a single security guard. It was no surprise to anyone that the guard knew Francisco and allowed them to enter.

There was something awe inspiring about the architecture. Built atop a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean, it looked as if there had once stood a mountain of granite. Did man, looking to hold dominance over his environment, chisel the mountain away until all that remained was a great city? Ragnar thought this as they approached el Castillo. The stone was grey but almost glowed beneath their feet like the moon in the dim, but increasing light.

At the base of the stone stairs that led up to the top of the main building, the group came upon an older gentleman. He stood a few steps up on the structure looking down on the party as they approached.

"Good morning," the man said in a warm, deep voice.

Francisco, who was a step ahead, stopped and turned to face his friends. "Everyone, I would like you to meet another friend of mine. His name is Mr. Narragansett, and he is going to tell us all a little about this marvelous place."

"Thank you Mr. d'Anconia." Mr. Narragansett looked at the faces in the group as Francisco turned to toward him. "Welcome to el Castillo. This is an ancient walled city created by the Mayans over five hundred years ago. In its day, it was a substantial trading hub for this part of the Caribbean. If you would all follow me please." The gentleman turned and began ascending the steep stone steps up to a landing thirty feet higher.

When they had reached the flattened area at the top of the steps, Mr. Narragansett stood near the edge and pointed out some of the other structures that were much more visible from the higher vantage point. He indicated that the city once had a huge wall protecting the inhabitants from invaders. "It is believed that the city fell because of disease brought by Spanish conquistadors. The Mayan leader of this ancient community was enamored by the settlers from far-away lands. The Spanish showed him things he had never seen before. But many in the village asked their leader to sever ties with the foreign men. They feared evil influences and outside ideas would destroy the life they had here. How could they have known that their visitors would kill them? Not with a direct assault, but by the tiny microbes they carried with them – an invisible army. When the old civilization fell, a new one eventually formed here to replace it. It survives today – but for how long? Doing something new, visiting a place you have never been before, making something for the first time – all these things come with risk, yet, in order to grow, we must accept them or perish through a lack of advancement." Their guide paused for a moment to allow everyone a chance to look at the ruins in silence, to contemplate how time changes all things. He resumed his comments by looking directly at the only woman in the group. "Francisco has told me that you are engaged to be married?"

"That is correct," Kay answered plainly. She was beginning to feel the effects of the long and exciting night.

"I am also told that you plan to marry a sailor and that he is here this morning?"

"Yes, sir," Ragnar answered and raised his right hand which was holding Kay's left.

"Congratulations to you both." He smiled and looked directly at Kay again. "Do you understand the commitment you are making to this man? You understand that you will have to support him in his trials and his triumphs?"

Kay thought the man's questions were strange and a bit forward, but she answered him anyway. "Yes, I understand that."

"The people of this village faced many troubles back in the day. The decisions they made had many negative consequences." The man looked at Ragnar now – a serious look of foreboding crossed his face. "Do you think you could make decisions that would allow you to weigh the opinion and judgment of your fiancé?"

Ragnar attempted to answer him, "Yes, but I . . ."

"It's not as easy as it might seem," he said abruptly, cutting him off.

Ragnar tossed a helpless look to the person on his left and found Philippe. His cook understood his friend's confusion and answered him with a silent shrug of his shoulders as if to say, "I have no idea where this guy came from or where he is going."

He broke off and wandered over to the right side of the platform. His temporary students followed. "The Mayans called this city Zama. Does anyone know what that means?" Francisco raised his hand and smiled. Mr. Narragansett pretended not to see. "This settlement was built right here for a very significant reason. The original inhabitants of this area chose this particular spot. Some scholars believe that it was because it was a central location promoting safe and efficient trade with other villages. Others thought that is was because it was a secure position; up here on the cliffs meant that one side of their settlement would be easy to defend." Mr. Narragansett turned his attention back on Ragnar. "Young man, have you considered the safety of your future wife? Financial, physical and emotional? Are you prepared to do what it takes to ensure she has the ability to achieve happiness in her life?"

Again Ragnar and Kay looked at each other. Their faces exchanged looks of both love and confusion at the line of questioning coming from their guide. "I think each of us knows what the other requires in order to be happy," Ragnar replied as Kay nodded her agreement. "Each of us knows it is important to seek, in our lives, that which will foster happiness. Sometimes that may be someone to share our feelings with - our visions and our setbacks. Sometimes it might mean that we will need space or time alone. For my part, it will never mean that I wish to ignore or sever my relationship with my wife. It will mean that in order to accomplish a goal that will make me happy, my wife will know that my happiness has been served and that will make her happy. I know this to be true because it is how I will feel when she needs to pursue activities that will enrich and generate happiness in her life."

Mr. Narragansett looked at Kay. "Does that sound right to you? Could you accept a future where you are expected to seek out your own happiness and not depend on a husband to provide it to you?"

"My husband will not be responsible for making me happy. It is my life and I will do what makes me happy. I know that by doing things for my husband, that it will bring joy into his life. His joy and happiness will serve my own self-interest, because if he is happy, he will appreciate me. He will return the joy to me which will make me happy. It is a wonderful cycle don't you think?"

"Yes," the stately man answered seriously. He continued, "The locals tell a story that the last person alive at this settlement died right here on this spot. The rest of her family and friends had perished, but she remained until the end. You think you can remain together until the very end like that. Do you have that kind of devotion to each other? Even if hardships try to destroy you and your relationship, can you endeavor?"

"That would be the easiest part of sharing a life together," Ragnar answered as he took a step forward. After a long night of celebration, he'd had enough of this stranger's scrutiny. He was tired and intended to request that the older gentleman ease up when Francisco pulled him back into the group.

"He's just a little crazy. Just bear with it for a few more minutes. We've got to be almost finished."

"Hmm," said the man. "It seems that this man and this woman are well suited to each other." He looked at the other faces in the group. "Do any of you see any reason why these two should not unite in a matrimonial bond? Have either given you any cause to doubt what they have said here this morning?"

There was no response from the rest of the couple's friends. But they all smiled at one another in a silent agreement – Ragnar and Kay would make a perfect husband and wife.

The man turned his back on the group and looked eastward, out over the cliffs, past the dark ocean below, to the bruised sky. It was more visible now. Indigo brightened to a turquoise along the horizon and a bright orange crack was developing at the edge of the world.

"Zama means land of the sunrise. This fortress was built here so that when the sun rose each day, this building, this city, would be the first thing kissed by the new day. It reminded the villagers that they were alive and anything was possible. It provided them warmth from the cold night. It provided light so that they could work and develop new ideas – a new beginning and an anchor with which to measure time and progress. The older statesman turned around to face everyone again. His demeanor had changed. He smiled, looking warm and paternal. Slowly he raised his left hand to show a weathered palm – a rough and leathery texture as evidence of many hours of physical labor. "Miss Ludlow, if you please," he said with a genuine smile. As Kay began to step towards Mr. Narragansett he held up his right hand and gave a welcoming nod in Ragnar's direction. "Mr. Danneskjӧld."

As Kay and Ragnar stepped forward he released each of their hands and positioned them to face each other by gently pushing their shoulders as an indication of where he wanted them to be. He cracked a wily smile, "Young Mr. d'Anconia did not give you all my complete biography. In a prior life, when it was possible for me to carry out the duties entrusted to me by the people I represented, I was called Judge Narragansett. And while John, here, has convinced me to retire from that line of work officially, I was requested to be here this morning to resolve a more personal matter for which I am both well qualified and very grateful." He smiled at them both as the rest of the small group gathered in closer. "Ragnar. Kay," he paused after stating their names. The world around them was silent except for the rhythmic crashing of the waves on the shore below. "I realize that this morning has come quickly for both of you; maybe quicker than you might have anticipated, but I only have two more questions. Ragnar, do you take Kay to be your wife this day and forever forward?"

Ragnar looked into Kay's eyes. They were alive and fierce. No one else had ever made him feel the way that she did. Eagerness came upon him, as if he was waiting for this moment, so he could move forward in his life. He took her hands into his with an answer that came quickly and without any hint of hesitation. "Yes."

"And Kay, maybe more of a surprise for you. Do you take Ragnar to be your husband this day and forever forward?"

Kay looked from Narragansett to Ragnar, then to their friends and back to Ragnar. Her face was solemn. There was no hint that she was upset with the direction her morning had taken. She had no cause to doubt her feelings for Ragnar. It was one of the most serious moments in her life. She understood the gravity of what was happening as well as her answer. "Yes. There is no other possible answer."

Judge Narragansett looked beyond the two directly in front of him to the rest of the party. "The rest of you are witness to the pledges pronounced by this couple. You are tasked with supporting them in pursuit of joy and happiness. You also stand as my confirmation that they are now husband and wife."

Ragnar looked confused again. It was all so simple and easy. He asked himself if he was now married. The answer came to him as Kay leaned her beautiful face towards him and he kissed her. Francisco jumped forward and hugged the new couple before giving each a kiss of his own. The members of Ragnar's crew began to cheer and clap. The sun's first rays breeched the horizon as a dolphin might leap from the sea. The entire party was illuminated by a warm, golden blanket of light. John shook the hand of Judge Narragansett with both of his hands. Professor Akston shared a bottle of warm Champaign that he had managed to smuggle on their tour without anyone noticing. Kay and Ragnar embraced each other before the congratulatory wishes overwhelmed them.

After everyone had taken the opportunity to celebrate the newlyweds, Ragnar had a momentary sad thought. He wished that Drake had been there to enjoy it too.

After the ceremony, everyone returned to Francisco's estate. A more subdued party continued until after lunch, but by then exhaustion had forced them to concede the rest of the day and all of the night. Ragnar, John, Francisco, Akston, Kay, and Judge Narragansett met early the following morning to discuss the condition of the world and each individual's progress towards the realization of John's goal. John described a hidden base in Colorado; built in a remote valley, deep in the Rocky Mountains. Those who had not seen it personally were eager to hear details about the budding civilization unknown to the outside world.

14

Drake Schoenfield was tiring of his duties. The faces of the men they had repossessed from, or left to die, weighed on him. He had made a fortune assisting Ragnar in his quest to take back goods and monies he felt belonged to them. He wrestled with his actions and was frightened by his involvement, and what that would mean to his future – when he was ready to return to society and his family.

He telephoned his father from the Miami airport to announce that he would be home the next day. His father was speechless. He had heard little from his son in over two years; the last contact – a post card from the country of Haiti. This had upset his mother greatly. She knew that he was gone but had no idea he would visit such primitive and unsafe locations.

Drake thought back to when he first left home. When Drake originally suggested that he was taking a job with Ragnar, his parents expressed disappointment. They had big plans for him. They had invested too many years, attended too many cocktail parties, and provided too many favors for important people – intending that someday they would be able to collect on their generosity by securing a great job for their son. It wouldn't matter if he was qualified or not, only if it was well paying and carried a position of importance.

The Schoenfields had not been kind to their son when he stated his plans. He had been working as a senior manager at the largest bank in Cleveland for over a year. His father yelled at him that he was passing up a huge opportunity. His mother cried that she wasn't going to be able to survive not seeing her baby for unknown lengths of time.

Drake had explained to his parents what little he could. Only that Ragnar had requested he take a position with his company. That the company was going to be performing repossessions and that he was going to visit him to see what the opportunity was. He was quick to remind them how nice Ragnar was and that they were both keen on him. His father responded by saying that was before Ragnar disappeared under highly suspicious circumstances. His mother forbade him to go. In rebellion over the constraints they put on him, he left anyway.

Now, many years later, as he exited the gateway, both his mother and father stood holding each other in silent anticipation of their son's arrival. At the sight of him, his mother sprang forward and wrapped her arms around him sobbing uncontrollably. Drake had expected this and steadied himself to support her weight. Just a few pleasantries were exchanged on the ride home. Drake cut them off before they could pile questions on him. He promised to answer all their questions the next day. For now, he was happy to be home, in his own room, on his soft bed, in his old life.

"You mind telling me what the hell you think you are doing with him?" Tim Schoenfield barked at his son the next morning as soon as he entered the kitchen – too late for breakfast.

"Good morning to you too, dad," Drake responded curtly. Time away from his parents had the effect of hardening him a bit. He wasn't afraid to state his feelings now.

"You promised." Ellie said to her husband. "Let the boy eat, and when he's ready I am sure he will explain his behavior." She spoke as if he had been caught stealing a package of gum from the convenience store.

His father elevated in his chair and leaned forward, his face reddening, "I did not raise you, feed you, house you, educate you, give you everything you could ever want, in order for you to become a criminal. Your time in this family is at an end if you think that you can just waltz in here forgetting what you have done to me and your mother. What has happened to you?"

"I don't know," replied Drake. At that moment he looked exhausted – not a physical loss of strength, but more emotional or spiritual.

His father was about to lay into him again, but he recognized the shift in his son's expression. "What happened? Why . . ." He couldn't finish his question.

"I don't know." Drake repeated, but this time he looked up from the empty plate in front of him to his father's eyes. "I feel like I could be so much more if someone would give me a chance. Ragnar was offering me something. He has given me a chance to be important for once."

"I don't know if you know this or not," his father stood up looking down on his son. Drake dropped his eyes back down to his plate. "That man is a modern day pirate. He's a murderer. I don't know what kind of brainwashing he has perpetrated on you, but what he is doing is illegal and he is going to go to jail for it. You will too if they ever connect you to his crimes. You know it is just a matter of time before the navy catches him. The whole world is falling apart and that lunatic is making things worse."

Drake's mother approached him and placed her hand on his shoulder. It was meant to comfort, but it caused Drake to shudder briefly. "We love you Drake, and we are desperately trying to understand how we can help you."

"I don't need any help!" he said defiantly.

"Then why are you here?" his mother asked kindly as Mr. Schoenfield fell back into his chair in a huff.

"I miss you guys. I miss Donna. Where is she by the way? I brought something for her."

Drake's father sat back up again, "Well if you weren't so God damn interested in yourself, you would know that your sister has moved to England with her new husband and is pregnant. She wanted to tell you all of this, of course, but you were nowhere to be found. I told her that she couldn't hold up her life waiting for you to reenter it."

The shock that his sister had moved to England and gotten married in his absence was nothing compared to the shock that he was going to be an uncle. He felt as if he were being ripped in two. He never considered that life would go on without him. "Where is she? What's her husband's name? What are they doing there?"

"Oh, no. You aren't going to just check in like that. You either are a part of this family or you're not. Your mother, sister and I can't have you disappear again; wondering if you're dead or alive. We can't allow you to influence your new niece or nephew. You have to make a choice." Tim stated it as an ultimatum. He had struggled with this situation for months in his mind before it became a reality today. He could think of no way to save his family from disgrace if Drake continued to follow Ragnar.

"But Tim," Ellie started to argue, "you don't really mean…"

He cut her off, "Yes I do. There is no other way. You have to make a choice son. Right here and right now."

Mrs. Schoenfield's eyes were pleading with her husband's. She continued to rub her son's shoulders fearing that this might be the last time she would have a chance to be this close to him. Drake did not know what to do. He felt trapped. His dull eyes moved from his plate to his father's and out the window. He didn't see anything, but looking there made him more comfortable than looking at his parents. "Why didn't he give me a chance to decide?" he thought to himself. "The way he practically tricked me into taking this job. He didn't tell me that he was going to do anything illegal. How was I supposed to know? Sure I did some things I shouldn't have, but if I didn't they would have done something to me, right? Right. And now he expects me to come back home and not have a problem with the world we live in and the roll we each play in it. My family needs me, and I need them. The world needs more people like me. People that care about the feelings of others and not about some crazy scheme to right perceived wrongs. Who is he to decide who has wronged him? That's why we have a court system and a government. This isn't the Wild West where you just appoint yourself as judge, jury and executioner – settle scores with a gun. The thought that his baby sister was gone and he might never see her or her new family finally pushed him to speak again. "I don't know how."

"Don't know how what?" his dad asked more calmly.

"I don't know what to do. I can't figure it out."

"What do you mean," his mom asked.

"I don't want to disappoint my friend, but I love you guys too. How can I fix it?"

"You can't fix anything. But you can make a decision. You either abandon the lie your life has become with that criminal, or you abandon your family."

"If I choose to come back . . . back home . . . what about the police?"

"No one knows of your involvement except for me and your mother, and anyone else you have told."

"Well, a senator knows of me, at least sort of."

Tim shook his head. "You better tell us everything."

Drake explained his situation to his parents as best as he could. Told them about their many raids. About how Senator Ineske had probably murdered someone. That he, along with dozens of people might be able to recognize him. He tried to explain how Ragnar used his weapon to incapacitate his enemies. He described the location of Ragnar's hidden base. He painted a pretty good picture of what their daily lives were like and who his fellow crewmen were on the ship.

When he finished almost an hour later, he looked up at his father with hope in his eyes. Hope that he would be understood – hope that he would see his sister again – hope that things would return to normal – hope that his father could help him again as he always seemed to.

"Let me make a few phone calls," his father said.

15

Ragnar and Kay understood that their time together would be on hold again. Ragnar and his crew returned to The Sherwood and Francisco assisted Kay in returning to the States. The entertainment press was fascinated with where Hollywood's greatest actress had disappeared to for the last twenty-three days. Upon hearing rumors that she had returned, a multitude of reporters and photographers camped outside her apartment. She did not divulge much other than to say that she had traveled to Mexico in order to get a little sun. She removed her wedding band and slid it down onto her radio's antenna.

Drake received the call from Philippe that it was time to return. He instructed Drake to get to Oslo, Norway. Philippe laughed in response to his obvious surprise at the unexpected destination. "I guess we're going to Europe," Philippe answered when asked why. Drake explained the situation to his father who reassured him that the plan would still work.

16

Eight days earlier Tim Schoenfield contacted the only individual he could think of with enough clout to get his son out of trouble: Professor Stadler at the State Science Institute. Without divulging too much detail, he asked Stadler that if he could work out a way to capture Ragnar or turn him over to the authorities, "Would there be a way to absolve any crimes my son might have made in the past." He was clear to emphasize the word 'might' as if that were some kind of denial.

Days later Stadler visited the Department of Defense and was in Kip Pulvert's office with an offer he believed Pulvert was incapable of refusing. Stadler explained that an opportunity to capture his star pupil – an internationally wanted criminal – had availed itself to him; there were some concessions that would have to be made of course. The Schoenfield boy would be granted amnesty and he would need to be given more men, capable men, to carry out his experiments at the Institute. The one's he had now were barely competent enough to make his coffee, let alone be trusted with important discoveries. He also requested all the evidence seized from Ragnar's office. That information belonged in his hands and not those of the government.

Pulvert was quick to pounce on his colleague's failure to produce a working weapon from the last "agreement" they had made. Stadler protested that was not his fault, that the FBI had failed to do their job. How was he supposed to apprehend Ragnar? Moretti was supposed to find him and bring him to justice. "Your man can't get the job done! I told you to let me handle it!" Stadler cried out when pressed by his superior.

After a fair amount of name calling and finger pointing, the two sat down and devised a plan that Stadler and Pulvert felt could succeed. Pulvert knew that Ragnar was getting information on important shipments from someone. They didn't know who was providing this information or how it was getting into his hands but they were certain of it. They devised a trap that would use a tempting shipment as bait. A ship would be sent with a navy escort. If Ragnar's team attempted to raid the ship, the Navy would swoop in and either capture Ragnar or kill him in the process. They described the plan to Mr. Schoenfield, who, in turn, passed it on to his son.

"You can't blow this opportunity son," his father scolded him. "You are going to get one chance at redeeming your past mistakes and setting yourself on the right path."

"I understand," Drake said defeated.

"They cannot specify a time, but when you hear the name Amity, you will know it is your turn to fix all the wrongs you have committed against this country – maybe the whole world."

Drake looked at his father but couldn't find any words.

"If you have any trouble finding resolve, just think about your poor sister. You just think about that!"

17

When Drake rejoined his crew, it was not in Oslo. When he arrived there, he was met by Mr. Newkirk who escorted him on a grueling, thirty-hour, cross-country trip to a remote northern section of Norway. Ragnar had secreted The Sherwood deep in a narrow fjord and put her into a dry dock near the small town of Lopsmarka. Lopsmarka was cold and inhospitable. Despite the establishment of a town in the region, few outsiders found cause to visit. The waterway established thousands of years ago had been created when massive glaciers carved gashes into the rocky earth. It was beautiful to behold. The water shimmered like dark purple velvet and reflected the images of the steep and treacherous cliffs jutting up to icy tips on each side.

Drake was amazed at the number of people Ragnar brought in to support his new base of operations. By the time Drake and Mr. Newkirk reached that location, the additional men had almost completed the project of retrofitting their ship. A fabulous new metal had been developed in spite of the world's best efforts at suppressing ingenuity and entrepreneurial endeavors. The new alloy was a miraculous material that not only reduced the overall weight of The Sherwood by more than thirty percent, but strengthened her hull by over a hundred percent. Ragnar's time spent in his ship-board laboratory had also yielded some promising answers to the problem of being detected when at sea. As Ragnar had been studying the results of his imaging technology, he began to notice that certain natural shapes that they encountered in their tests imaged with varying degrees of clarity. The discovery led to a secondary study where he observed that his sonar was much better when the surfaces were hard and sharp. Rocks and abrupt changes in the underwater surfaces were detectable and clearer than rounded, soft curves. Additional field testing confirmed that if he applied the same characteristics to his ship, The Sherwood would be harder to locate with wave-based technologies like radar and sonar.

Philippe intercepted the two tired travelers when they arrived on site of their new base of operations. Philippe took Drake to a local pub were he introduced him to the four newest members of their crew. When asked about their origins, Philippe answered, "They were friends of Senior d'Anconia. They joined us when we left Mexico. Before the world started to collapse, each had important jobs. One manufactured metals, one worked on the railroads, one was an oil baron, and the last one was the personal assistant to a tremendously wealthy industrialist." After a beer and a short rest Philippe said, "Come on. I have something else to show you today."

When Drake first looked at their ship his first thought was that it looked like it was made out of cardboard. Sheets of a new bluish-green metal had been placed into unusual positions. Where the sides of the ship had once been open, now the hull had been extended up and made to merge with the bridge in one seamless piece. Where there had been corners, now existed curved transitions. The ship looked nothing like the beautiful pleasure cruiser they had taken so long ago. It wore a much more menacing appearance now. Anyone who thought she might have been a warship would have their thoughts confirmed when they caught sight of the multiple new guns erected in strategic locations around the perimeter of the ship. Something had happened and he needed to find out what.

18

Ragnar sat at his makeshift laboratory table. As Drake entered, he noticed several items of interest on the surface. He saw newspapers from three different countries. There appeared to be a report of some kind. A stack of Norwegian oceanic charts were open on the floor of the room. Ragnar was actively making notations in what looked like some kind of ledger. Drake also observed that modifications had been made to their sonar instrument as well.

"Good to see you again Ragnar," he said. To Ragnar it sounded more like a question than a statement.

Without looking up from the work in front of him Ragnar asked, "Do you think you will be ready to depart in two days? That's our scheduled completion date. We have much work to do."

Drake stepped closer to his old friend and offered his hand. "I am told congratulations are in order. You and Kay were married huh? That is great. I'm really happy for both of you."

Ragnar looked up at Drake for the first time. He studied his face for several seconds before he accepted his hand and said, "Thanks."

Drake felt as if his friend's reply was programmed. He did not feel that Ragnar really appreciated his offer. At the same time he felt a little guilty about his own false statement of joy derived from their nuptials. "What are we doing here?"

"You mean Norway?" Ragnar clarified.

"Yes, I thought we would be back in the Caribbean. It's sure not very warm here."

Ragnar put down his pencil and leaned back in his chair to give Drake his full attention. "Things are happening faster now. Our objectives are coming to fruition. On the one hand, society is crumbling right in front of our eyes. Businesses are closing, products are getting scarcer, starvation is developing in many parts of the world, disease and death are harder to prevent, and governments are struggling to answer the desperate cries of those they have been shepherding towards an obvious cliff for far too long. We are to step up our attacks at this final hour – removing their last footholds. On the other hand, our effectiveness has drawn the attention of far too many powerful nations. Our previous base was incapable of maintaining the same degree of protection."

Drake stood uncomfortably before Ragnar and hoped his recent betrayal wasn't visible in his demeanor.

"While the previous base was helpful as a preliminary starting point, it was just a matter of time before someone discovered us out there in plain sight. The fjords of my country will provide a significant number of effective hiding places; even against my own country which has labeled me its most wanted." Ragnar smiled at this distinction. "These people mean to do us harm. The threat against us is much bigger. I have taken a few measures to even the playing field. I am not out to kill anyone. They will do that to themselves in time. But we must be capable of defending ourselves. Above all else, I owe that to the men and myself."

"I see," Drake said soberly. "I'll get started on my duties right away."

Ragnar hunched back over his workspace and began leafing through charts. Drake looked at him and felt as if the conversation had never occurred. He turned and exited the room.

monster will save us?

1

Over the years Ragnar, Francisco and John had developed a network of dependable individuals that existed outside their core. Some were sympathetic to their cause and turned a blind eye to their actions while others joined them outright - fully supporting them. Ragnar happily accepted their participation in their grand plan. It made the work much easier and more efficient. It wasn't hard to find supporters. As time passed and people felt the impact of John's plan – felt the disabling response by the governments around the world, hopelessness and helplessness spread amongst those without power. John stood in the shadows ready to either recruit them or watch them self-recruit into the abyss. John went after the brightest in the world, but there were hundreds if not thousands of people that felt the same as he and had already quit on their own. The government would never acknowledge this other than to pass new laws requiring individuals to remain in their positions. But there was little they could do. So many people quit and did so silently. A few took unskilled jobs to earn enough to eat, others simply disappeared – walked off into the night, their ends unknown.

It took no convincing for two of Ragnar's most helpful supporters to join his effort; just a little life's lesson from those around them.

Information on supply transports and humanitarian shipments often ended up in Ragnar's hands courtesy of a janitor working at a federal building in Washington. Jacob hadn't always been a janitor. Before Francisco suggested he change careers, Jacob was a young and exceptionally bright automotive engineer. Years earlier he had been recruited from a highly respected university into the visionary concepts division of an international automobile company. Dozens of companies wanted him, but he accepted a position with that firm because they offered the highest salary and they had a reputation as an industry leader. He loved his job. He combined his knowledge of aerodynamics with his creative skills to design cars that looked like beautiful works of art.

Trouble began when the young engineer had won the heart of a coworker, as well as the jealous hatred of the owner's son. From that day forward Jacob was put into a dead zone. The owner's son was a powerful force within the corporation. He shifted money and personnel out of Jacob's division – forcing him to work alone. Without capital or resources, Jacob complained to the owner as he began to hate his job. The owner was distressed to learn that one of his most valuable employees had been rendered useless and their ability to innovate critically impaired. He called his son to account for his actions and two days later the owner was killed in a highly suspicious accident. Although the son was investigated and cleared, most of the community and Jacob believed that his death was not likely an accident.

Hopeless, the passion he held nearly dead, Jacob was considering his options when a wealthy playboy came to purchase the company's one-of-a-kind prototype. Francisco insisted on meeting the designer in-person as part of the deal and was led to a deserted part of the company's headquarters. There he was introduced to Jacob, and the two discussed that there were plenty of places in the world where a man with intellectual talents could find more meaningful employment.

Jacob quit that day and one month later took his new position and prepared for a brighter future.

The government gave Ragnar another partner when they destroyed Marcel Frey's publishing enterprise. He had millions of readers picking up his newspapers and magazines every day.

Disadvantaged as the youngest son of a single mother, Marcel started at the age of eleven delivering the local paper to his neighbors. After completing his route, instead of playing with his friends, he would often read the remaining periodicals in his garage. At first, he did not understand all the news. He could read the comics and football scores, but politics and business were concepts completely foreign to him and his family. In a few years, he knew more about the world around him than his high school teachers. He felt good about his knowledge; It offered him advantages that he didn't recognize until after many years, when the results of his efforts became obvious. He began investing. He learned about stocks and interest. He studied the news of companies and invested his monies accordingly. He began investing his mother's money after she became aware of his skill as a trader, and put her on a path to a more comfortable retirement.

One day, Marcel read that a large newspaper publisher was on the verge of bankruptcy. He took every penny he had and invested it in himself. He bought the publisher and turned the company around. He earned a reputation for getting things done – impossible things. His competitors cried foul every time he entered their domain. They suggested that he cheated – that he had an unfair advantage. He laughed at that because he knew it was true. He had the advantage of a superior intelligence and experience. His enemies called it luck. He called it hard work. His enemies called it "back door dealings". He called it negotiations – where each side won what they were after. He had a tremendous work ethic, and he demanded the same from his employees. Many of his reporters complained about the long hours, but all of them said they were paid more than at any other time in their lives. Gaining a position with his company was next to impossible due to the abundance of applicants. Candidates could not depend on connections, but instead had to rely on past performance. Experience meant something, but ability meant much more.

A government lackey, supposedly acting at the request of his employees, insisted that he would have to give equal opportunity to all that requested it. No employee ever expressed such a sentiment to him. When Marcel asked the auditor to show him where he had ever hired someone that wasn't the most qualified, the government responded by saying that wasn't important. What was important was that everyone was hired and given a chance to prove themselves. He tried to defend his company and his employees. They had achieved their success through ability, not through need.

It was the unions that were responsible. They wanted access to Marcel's extensive and wealthy network of employees. When a mutual agreement couldn't be reached, Marcel's business was threatened, as well as his life. His report to the police fell on deaf ears. Years of reporting on police and government corruption earned him little sympathy.

An Equal Opportunity board ruled in favor of his employees despite none of them voting for it – it was decided on their behalf. No one could be denied a job. Ability would provide only a minor contribution to any candidate's worth. Because they had not led a life of achievement, Marcel could not hold them to blame. Since the world could not improve equality at the individual level, government would make it their priority at the community level. They forced him to hire the incompetent. He hated it – hated paying people for not doing their job. His employees hated it – hated seeing others receive the same pay for less work. His new hires hated it – hated the feeling that accepting a handout made them lose self-worth and self-respect.

After a visit from John he walked away from his kingdom. He took a position as a gas attendant at a busy dock-side refueling business. Ragnar was one of his most frequent customers. He refueled there as often as he could because no questions were ever asked, and important information was sometimes included.

2

Ragnar appreciated that he could depend on these individuals in low skilled jobs as the world continued to fall into a constant state of disrepair. Hospitals were the first entities to demonstrate the effectiveness of John's plan. There was no greater concentration of advanced thinkers than at the medical centers around the nation. Hospitals became like minefields. To be a patient was a terrifying experience – not because of the malady causing one to require the services of a hospital, but because of the varying reasons people were dying within their walls. Improperly sterilized instruments, incorrect medications, wrong diagnosis, supply shortages all lead to countless accidental deaths all over the country. Newspapers did not report these stories but word of mouth alerted neighbors. Parents chose to give birth at home. Some people sought veterinarians for their broken bones or were forced to make do with the services of those far less qualified. Only a terrific bodily injury would cause a sane person to risk treatment in an emergency room.

Elevators got stuck. Sometimes doors would open and people would fall into an open shaft - dropping twenty stories to their death.

A downed power line might take weeks to repair. Sometimes they were never repaired. Refrigerated food spoiled and led to sickness.

A complete failure of the sewer system in a large southern city led to a massive cholera outbreak. People were forced to bury their waste in their backyards or public places. The water supply became contaminated. Businesses everywhere shut down as there was no way to accommodate their personal-hygiene needs.

Two ships: one a cruise ship on a transatlantic voyage to its final destination in Miami; the other, a Venezuelan tanker carrying refined oil to The People's State of France, collided in a massive fireball. The heat from the explosion prevented any rescuers from getting close to the scene for two days. Of the 955 combined personnel from both ships, there were no survivors.

An underground gas line supplying a California neighborhood with their heating and cooking needs unexpectedly ignited when a new electrical crewman decided to excavate a buried power-line without confirming the underground environment. He was killed instantly and thirty-two households were destroyed. Four men, twenty-two women, and eighteen children died in either the explosion, or the fires that raged for hours afterwards. The death toll would have been greater but most of the men had not yet returned home from work that afternoon.

Grocery and department stores had little on their shelves. Many people turned to gardening at their home. They would awaken in the night to the sounds of thieves stealing their small crops. Guns and ammunition sales were brisk until the supply of these items also fell to a trickle. A black market flourished as people desperate to secure certain items found ways to pay for them.

There was little public movement due to the ever-present fear that something could happen at any time. Danger lurked behind every corner and in every piece of machinery or equipment. The population was paralyzed. Few would risk driving to their destination. Fewer still dared to take public transportation. For every reason one could generate to go somewhere, there were untold reasons to avoid the trip.

3

With the additional men, firepower, improved radar invisibility and maneuverability of The Sherwood, Ragnar's activities only stoked the fears of anyone traveling by sea. Reports from those who had the misfortune of encountering Ragnar on the open oceans conflicted with those of the governments' that searched for ways to destroy him. Several captains that had lost their ships or cargo were confused by his behavior. Rumors held that Ragnar and his crew often killed everyone on board. Even women and children were not safe from his rumored atrocities. These captains sometimes were brave enough to confirm that he was, in fact, the Ragnar Danneskjӧld they had heard so much about. Ragnar was firm in his dealings, but when meeting him in person his polite and courteous manner left his victims feeling awe and respect – not fear. Ragnar's attacks came on an almost weekly basis, but the world's governments were reluctant to confirm his fairly peaceful methods with the media.

His assaults never ceased. The speed of his ship gave no one a sense of security. An attack on one side of the Atlantic didn't mean that a ship on the other side couldn't be attacked within hours. Some thought him a ghost because few ever saw him attack and there was little evidence that anyone was capable of matching his skill as a sailor. Although he managed to find prey on more than a weekly basis, a few of his targets proved to be more interesting that the others.

The US Constance was a passenger ship expected to be carrying refugees from Europe to the United States. Ragnar stopped the ship and boarded her. The ship's bow appeared unexpectedly low in the water, and this caused him to doubt it's cargo of only passengers. With the crew forced off the ship and the shocked passengers required to remain in their berths, Ragnar's team found a small cube shape in the engine room covered with a black tarp. Under the tarp were 384 gold bars. While the excitement at finding such a huge cache of gold left the crew giddy, they had to figure out a way to extract such a heavy load from the bowels of the ship. They blew a hole in the side of the Constance just above the waterline and then constructed a pulley system to bring the gold up to the point where they could transfer it to The Sherwood. The operation took many hours to complete, but the haul was the single largest gold repossession of all his campaigns.

The Greek Kerkini sailed from France carrying medical supplies and two massive stores of wheat. Ragnar sold the medical supplies back to the French, and the wheat he sold to the government of Morocco in exchange for ammunition and fuel.

The US Moonshadow was a difficult target to acquire. His informant had passed on knowledge that the ship was carrying riot gear from Massachusetts to South Carolina. Tear gas, ammunition, army rations, and water were a significant part of its inventory. Despite their night-time tactics, The Moonshadow was alerted to Ragnar's approach. They gained less than a minute's advantage, but it was enough to arm most of the crew and prevent the kind of simple repossession they had grown accustomed to.

A fire fight broke out, and in the melee Ragnar had been shot in his left shoulder. One of his newest crewmen, the oilman, was killed instantly when a bullet tore through his neck as he attempted to board the transport. His body fell into the ocean, so while his death could not be confirmed, the bloody spray left on The Sherwood and across Ragnar's chest seemed to indicate nothing else. Ragnar let Orpheus sing to them, and once the resistance had been squelched, the remaining sixteen crew members of The Moonshadow were forced overboard. Doc stitched Ragnar up and insisted that they take a couple of weeks off in order for the crew to adjust to the loss of one of their own, as well as the recuperation of their leader.

The British cargo ships Answer and Allora Fae were part of an unprotected convoy of vessels heading from America to Europe. As the convoy nearly completed its eastward trip, it passed near the southern shores of Ireland. Ragnar's crew dropped down on them from the north. These two ships broke south in an attempt to evade his pursuit, thus falling into a simple trap. Ragnar's mapping of the ocean floor in this area uncovered a safe passage for him to travel but not the two fleeing ships. Both got caught on an island shelf just below the ocean surface. Granite and coral formations tore open the hulls of both ships flooding compartments with seawater. Machinery aboard The Answer lay ruined. The livestock carried by The Allora Fae had drowned, and its holds full of produce rotted before anyone could manage a salvage mission.

The French designated ship le Whal was a brand new tanker. The Sherwood caught her and boarded her with the idea that she was carrying fuel or heating oil. To the crew's surprise, it was full of fresh drinking water. Ragnar's crew let le Whal continue on her journey after they sabotaged the bilge system to replace the fresh water with sea water.

A Spanish transport ship La Paz was moving a crew of men to repair an off-shore drilling installation near the Canary Islands. Ragnar offered jobs to any man on the ship that wanted to join him. After no one took him up on his offer, he marooned the men on a large island and then sank their vessel.

4

On a cold October night a distress call was issued from the American ship Daydreamer. It wasn't a proper distress call – no "Mayday" – no SOS. Ragnar's communication's officer picked up someone yelling for help. "Help us! God, somebody help us!"

The officer sent for Ragnar and adjusted The Sherwood's course to intercept the closest vessel on radar. Ragnar walked across the deck as a cold damp breeze cut through all his layers of clothing – a breeze that pushed a thick blanket of fog across the seas. When he arrived on the bridge the scene was chaotic. The Sherwood had just exited the Chesapeake Bay, relying completely on radar to carefully avoid the fog-veiled land masses on either side.

Ragnar grabbed the radio. "Unidentified vessel, this is Captain Dan. What is your situation?"

"Oh thank God someone is out there. Our boat was returning from a cabinet meeting in Charleston when one of my aids came up to the bridge to talk to the captain. But there was no one here. We have been running for God knows how long. It looks like the crew abandoned the ship and fled on the life raft at some point tonight. We can't see anything, and no one knows how this boat works."

Ragnar considered what he had had heard. He looked at his officer and asked, "What's their speed and heading?"

"315 degrees and 22 knots, sir."

Ragnar raised an eyebrow momentarily before asking the next question with a bit more urgency, "Time to impact?"

His crewman looked down at the radar again then looked back at Ragnar, "I'd say two to three minutes, max."

Ragnar gripped the transmitter in his hands and looked out upon the ocean's thick, gray skin. He took an educated guess, "How many congressmen are with you Senator?"

"I'm not a Senator," was his reply and after a short pause, when Ragnar was about to give him urgent instructions to turn their ship to the right, he added, "My name is Thomas Fredrich. I'm a representative from the state of Illinois. There are three other congressmen with me, but there are also two Senators and all our wives."

Ragnar could hear additional voices and pleas for help behind Mr. Fredrich's statements over the radio.

"Is Senator Ineske with you, sir?"

"No, he is not. What should we do? Please! We cannot see anything. How do we stop this ship? No one can understand all these buttons and levers and electronic gizmos."

Ragnar took a look over his crewman's shoulder at the radar screen and pressed the button on the microphone. "Here is what we are going to do. First of all, my name is Captain Dan Ragland aboard the USS Wolf. Despite the fact that there is a tremendous amount of fog, we see your vessel on our radar. We are using our knowledge of, and skills with technology to insure safe travel through this treacherous weather. Do you know how cold the water temperature at this time of year?"

After a brief pause when there appeared to be no answer, "No, I suppose you don't. I would estimate that the temperature is probably in the mid-sixties. Now, you know how long you can survive in the ocean at temperatures that cold?"

After another moment Fredrich came back on; the pitch in his voice was higher and he sounded even more nervous than before, "What does that have to do with anything? We need to stop this boat, or slow it down, or something. Tell me how to drive this thing!"

"Teaching oceanic navigation and learning how to pilot a vessel such as yours is not an easy thing sir!" Ragnar acted indignant. "Now please, just tell me your heading."

Fredrich, now at the point of screaming, "I…heading…I don't know what that is. There is a compass here . . . It looks like we are going kind of north?"

Ragnar's crewman looked up from the screen and gave him a look as if to suggest "He's close at least." Ragnar watched the small blip on the radar rapidly approach a large solid line representing the eastern coastline of Virginia.

"That's great. Now what I am going to need you to do is to turn the ship to starboard. You'll need to hurry."

Fredrich's voice replied in a panic. "Starboard? Which way is that? Is that left or right? I think . . ."

The transmission ended abruptly as Ragnar watched the small dot meet the large line. Ragnar looked back up at his crewman with an emotionless face. "Thinking was never part of their plan. Just not enough time to teach them I guess." He put the transmitter next to the radio then returned to his laboratory.

salvage hope - rescue love

1

Many months after their joyful union, Ragnar justifiably feared for his wife's safety. In a world crumbling around her, she was exposed to considerable risks. He found the daily news both terrifying and satisfying. It was clear to him that the impact of John's plan was being felt more with each passing day. The ability for society to exist in its historic form became impossible. He saw a time in the not-too-distant future where he might be able to return to a more traditional life. His time as a pirate was building to a climax, and this put a smile on his face. At the same time, concern for his wife was mounting. Continuous thoughts of her were taking a toll on his performance. He recognized his loss of focus and the cause. She was an intelligent individual – cautious and aware. He had every confidence in her abilities, but she wasn't alone in that chaotic world – she still required the services of others. She lived in a condominium serviced by both gas and electric lines. Public transportation, garbage trucks and traffic cops traveled up and down her street. Airplanes sometimes flew overhead. Opportunities for tragic accidents existed with every piece of machinery she might use and every morsel of food placed into her mouth. She was at the mercy of those around her who were incapable of carrying out common activities taken for granted.

After a number of successful repossessions, Ragnar sold the contents of their hold to a number of Europe's law breakers; like-minded individuals on the other side of the Atlantic who had independently taken the opportunity to ignore the self-damning laws handed down by the world's governments in order to survive. After replacing the contents of his hold with the equivalent in gold, Ragnar sprinted back across the Atlantic. He had a couple of missions to complete on land.

They waited until evening, when fog would cover their arrival on the mainland. The ship docked at a small fishing town along the northeastern shore, where Ragnar and two of his men disembarked. Ragnar sent the two crewmen ahead to prepare for his arrival in Los Angeles. He also sent his ship and crew back out to sea with instructions to evade detection and await his call for a rendezvous. Before he could return to his wife's side, he needed to meet someone of great importance.

2

For two days Ragnar hid in the darkness and watched the industrialist he had admired from afar. He had read hundreds of stories about his fantastic achievements and his own battle with wretched government looters who worked to seize the effort of his mind. He had developed the world's lightest and strongest metal ever produced. Ragnar's methods did not include those practiced by Francisco and John, but he felt the need to make an exception in this case. No other man outside of their threesome had captured his interest to the same degree, because no other man's struggle had appeared so similar to his own.

Waiting in the dark shadow of a large willow tree, he saw the man walking alone on an empty country road. Ragnar thought it a bit odd that a man with such financial ability would have reason to spend precious time walking the great distance from his mills to the city two hours away. Ragnar had watched him make this same journey the night before but took no action. He waited until the man grew close enough to see him clearly. He was lost in a state of deep thought. Ragnar guessed his mind was struggling with a weighty subject. He stepped from behind the tree and took a position directly in front of him. "Mr. Rearden, I should like to speak with you, sir."

Hank Rearden stopped, startled, and reached his hand into his coat pocket to close around a pistol he had been carrying for protection. He never thought he'd need a tool like this to protect himself from men, but increasingly he felt it prudent to be prepared. He looked at the figure that seemed to appear out of nowhere. The man, and the manner with which he had addressed him, gave Rearden cause to doubt his initial thought that the man was a common bandit or thief. The man's rough appearance made him look dangerous, but his demeanor and dress gave him an air of authority. The man wore dark pants and a jacket. A similarly dark blue baseball cap was pulled down tightly, obscuring his face to some degree. He could barely make out his facial features. The man showed no emotion, but he stood tall and proud. Rearden noticed no weapon, but he did see that the stranger carried a small package wrapped in some kind of cloth. He relaxed the grip on his gun but kept his hands in his pockets in case.

"If it's money you want, I have none to give."

"No, I am not here to ask you for money. In fact, I am here to return it to you."

"You borrowed money from me? And you choose this place and time to give it back? That's a little strange."

"No. It is not money borrowed by me. It is money that has been stolen from you over many years," Ragnar said. He tugged at the cloth covering the object in his left hand to reveal the gleaming golden metal that sparkled like the stars in the moonless sky. "This is but a tiny percentage of the money that is owed to you . . . in repayment of a sizable debt. Consider it a token of proof that, eventually, every penny stolen from you will be returned." Ragnar made no movement other than to toss the gold bar at Rearden's feet.

Rearden looked at the lustrous metal for some time before raising his eyes to the stranger in front of him. He bent down and retrieved the heavy bar. "Who are you?" he asked as his mind attempted to determine what was happening to him.

"You could call me a friend."

"I have no friends."

"I think you would be surprised at the number of those that identify with you and believe in your ideals."

"So you had to accost me in the middle of the night on an empty road to give me a kind of golden payment? Why?"

"You should know why. Your business and invention were stolen from you in full view of the public during the light of day. If theft can happen with the sanction of society, it forces restitution into the darkness of night."

Rearden studied the man's face. It was hard and expressionless. "Where did you get this? Where did it come from?"

Ragnar's eyes never left Rearden's. "From those that robbed it from you."

"Who are you?" This time Rearden's question had the quality of a mystery needing to be solved, not the concern for safety that guided his inquiry earlier.

"Ragnar Danneskjӧld."

Ragnar watched as the metal fell from Rearden's hands. It landed with a metallic clunk that resonated in Rearden's ears longer than he expected. "I take it you do not approve of my line of work?"

"Ragnar Danneskjӧld," Rearden spoke aloud as if in answer to a question that had been brewing in his mind for some time. All of the fantastic stories he had heard and read in the preceding years culminated in the vision of the man before him.

Ragnar stood unflinching, watching a man he so admired come to terms with the contradictions building within him.

"You're a criminal. The acts you have committed are . . . you're no better than they are. You're using force to get your own way."

"Yes, but I fight my battles openly and honestly. I don't hide behind some pretense that it's for a greater good – for humanity. I'm not asking people to do what I do on my behalf! My men and I do what we do for reasons of our own. We put our lives on the line each time we stand against someone who intends to destroy a way of life that I am not capable of living without. I put my wits and my skills against an enemy that deems itself capable of fighting me on even ground – an experience they are unfamiliar with. They have grown accustomed to having their way. They are so used to demanding others bow to their needs that when someone stands up to their bullying, they are not sure how to act. They are out of practice, and that provides me with an edge. If they think they can force me to give my mind to them in servitude, let them come and try to force me. I will not willingly cooperate."

"But why fight them? They are too powerful, and time is on their side, not yours."

"I fight them because I can, because I must. They attempted to take something extremely important to me, but I escaped before they could force it from my hands. I was fortunate to have friends watching out for me. I wish I could have watched out for you before . . ."

"Before I had to turn over my invention," Rearden said solemnly.

"No, before you had to lose the essence of your soul . . . your identity . . . your individuality."

"And now you propose to pay me back with stolen gold?"

"It was looted from you first. I merely retrieved it for you after repossessing it from those who stole it originally."

"What if I refuse to participate in your scheme?"

"That is your right."

Rearden felt a strange kinship with Ragnar. He did not believe that they traveled in the same world, but something about the man's character was attractive to him. The man everyone labeled a pirate was cool, intelligent, and polite. He clearly had self-respect and Rearden felt a pang of jealousy when that thought crossed his mind.

Suddenly two beams of light cut across both men as they stood alone on the empty path. A patrol car pulled up next to Rearden, and the officer inside rolled his window down to speak with the man in the suit. "Sir, I'm going to need to see some identification," the officer demanded.

Rearden reached into his rear pocket and removed his wallet. He pulled his license from inside and handed it to the policeman.

"Oh! I'm sorry Mr. Rearden! I didn't realize that it was you. Kind of dangerous to be out here alone don't you think?"
Rearden looked at Ragnar standing still in the relative darkness. His expression remained the same. He made no move to escape or attack. He did not speak. He did not look concerned. "I . . ." he paused a moment uncertain of what to do. "I'm returning home from my office."

"Who's that?" the officer said as he cocked his thumb in Ragnar's direction.

Ragnar continued to hold fast while Rearden looked first at him and then back down at the man in the squad car. "Him? He's my bodyguard."

"A prudent idea Mr. Rearden. The area's not safe. We have reports that Ragnar Danneskjӧld has been spotted nearby, and that's not someone you want to tangle with."

"Thank you for the warning." Rearden shot back. The bar of gold caught his eye as he looked down. He picked his gaze back up quickly, hoping to not draw attention to the treasure lying between himself and the officer's door.

"Well, you gentlemen be careful. Have a good evening." The officer rolled his window up and sped down the road.

A huge grin crossed Ragnar's face and Rearden couldn't miss it.

"You could have turned me in," Ragnar said.

"I assumed you would have resisted."

"A safe assumption, but that's not why you protected me."

"Why then?"
"I'd like to think that it was because you saw a little bit of me in you. You might also have come to the realization that what I am telling you is the truth; the extent of which shall shortly be known to you in full."

"Maybe."

"I am well acquainted with Rearden Metal and its amazing properties. I'd like to personally thank you for inventing it. I'd liked to have purchased it openly from you but, under the circumstances, it was better for me to find it on the black market. I hope you will understand."

Rearden stood with both hands in his pockets. He looked at Ragnar with the same look as earlier, as if trying to figure out some kind of puzzle. He smiled and attempted to ask a question, but his mind was buzzing and he struggled to get the words out.

"We shall meet again someday, Mr. Rearden. Know that I have the deepest respect for you and look forward to longer conversations when all this is over."

Rearden was about to ask him what he meant, when Ragnar turned and bounded off into the shadows with the agility of a ballet dancer. Within seconds the illustrious pirate had disappeared into the darkness and shadows. Rearden thought it odd, that after the reported scoundrel was gone, he actually felt less safe.

3

Once his visit with Henry Rearden was concluded, he helped himself to someone's personal aircraft he found idled at a nearby airfield. It took him almost two days to reach a small town north of Los Angeles. From there he took a bus into the city. He was excited to see his love again, but he knew there was danger in this trip. From the depot, he took a taxi and met his two crewmen at a place he had preselected. "Well, what do you guys think?"

"She's being watched. No doubt about it. She's been staying in her apartment almost all the time. She rarely ventures out. Other than that, everything is ready."

Ragnar waited until the clock struck 9:30 and what was left of the city lights were fully illuminated. He pulled his jacket collar up and his hat down tightly on his head to shield him from the watchful eyes of those he could not see but guessed were nearby. He approached the entrance to Kay's building and pulled a key from his pocket. He unlocked the main entrance and quickly slipped through the door. He took the elevator up to the eighth floor, and once there, he pushed the stop button on the panel. An alarm bell began ringing from inside the elevator. Ragnar didn't waste time. He quickly walked down the hall to Kay's apartment and knocked loudly on her door. He counted five seconds before he announced, "It's me. Open the door."

To Ragnar it seemed an eternity when, in actuality, it took only moments for Kay's beautiful, smiling face to appear before him. She was about to ask what he was doing there when he covered her mouth with his hand and let himself into her apartment. He could tell from the creases in her eyes and the muscles of her face moving under his hand that she was smiling. Tears began to fall from her eyes. Ragnar removed his hand from her face and held up a finger in front of his closed lips indicating he wanted her to be quiet. "Get the radio," he whispered in her ear.

Kay quickly crossed the room to a bookshelf and retrieved the precious object he had given her many years ago. She returned to Ragnar and put the radio in his hands. Ragnar looked at Kay from head to toe, appraising her manner of dress for a purpose he would soon reveal. He pushed her out of her apartment into the hallway before turning his attention to the lock on her front door. The key was resting in the deadbolt so he pulled it free, stepped into the hallway to join his wife and then locked her door from the outside. Kay, looking confused at the situation, patiently watched Ragnar while he carried out a series of actions she knew were part of a bigger plan she was not privy to.

Ragnar saw the confusion on his wife's face and smiled. It was the same smile he had given her the first day they met. It was a smile of supreme confidence, not self-importance. His smile told her, "not to worry" and "everything is exactly as it should be." With Kay's apartment key in his right hand, he reached into his pocket and exchanged it for another key. He turned to face the apartment door opposite Kay's and unlocked it. He quickly pulled her inside and locked the door behind them. Kay replaced an expression of confusion with one of surprise. Ragnar walked to the kitchen and placed the radio on the counter. After he switched it on and tuned it to his secret station he focused his attention on Kay for the first time.

He kissed her gently on each eyelid as tears continued to spring from their corners. He hugged her tightly and covered her lips with his in a kiss that clearly demonstrated his desires. "I have missed you so," he whispered in her ear. When he pulled back, her face was not what he expected. He thought she would be smiling and happy to see him. Her face told a different story. Her reddened eyes and pained expression made her look both scared and sad.

"What is it?" Ragnar said to her.

"I . . . After I returned from Mexico . . ." she seemed unable to continue.

Ragnar continued to comfort her with the reassuring smile his brain calculated she needed, but the rest of his body conveyed the sentiment in his heart – that she was in some kind of pain and he needed to help her. "It's OK. Whatever it is."

"The day after I returned from Mexico three men from the FBI visited me. They asked hundreds of questions about you and our relationship. I tried to . . ."

The radio Ragnar had set up on the counter began to speak to them. "Three vehicles – probably the feds and two more police have pulled up. That brings the count to eight cars. There's got to be a dozen men headed your way. You might want to think about exiting.

Ragnar released his tender hold on Kay to allow him to walk over and peer through the peep-hole in the door of the vacant apartment where they stood. The hallway was well illuminated, and the wide-angle lens in the door allowed him to see a handful of men massing in the space between the two apartments. He grabbed Kay's hand, "Come on. We can finish the story in a while." He led Kay through the empty rooms to the balcony on the other side of the apartment.

He opened the door and a cool breeze refreshed their flushed bodies. "It's time to go," Ragnar spoke softly to Kay.

"OK," she answered. "I'm more than ready."

Ragnar reached up above his head to a harness that was attached to a thin blue-green braided wire that stretched from a rigging affixed to the wall of the building out across the street and into the darkness. He fastened Kay securely into the harness, then went back to the kitchen and retrieved the radio. Just as he moved to return to the balcony he heard a loud crash from outside the door. He was certain that the men looking for him had just busted through Kay's door. He retrieved a small screwdriver from his pocket and opened the radio to expose the internal circuitry. He yanked out the modified parts he had installed and crushed them under his heel before securing the destroyed components in his pocket. He returned to his wife's side again. "Here we go."

He tugged on the harness to test the tautness of the wire. Satisfied he pushed Kay to the edge of the balcony and helped her climb over onto the other side of the railing. "This will be fun. Trust me."

"I always have, and I always will."

Ragnar grabbed the top of the harness with his hands and pushed them both off of the balcony. The rigging in the harness glided silently down the wire. Within seconds anyone a hundred feet below could have looked up into the night sky and seen two human beings hanging in mid-air. Ragnar and Kay were picking up speed as they slid over the city street below toward a building on the other side. Kay was about to shut her eyes in anticipation of a painful crash when two figures in black appeared from the shadows of the balcony in front of them. As Kay and Ragnar flew over the top of the balcony the two men helped catch them and slow them down. Ragnar released his grip and dropped to the floor while his two crewmen helped Kay out of her harness. The foursome quickly made their way downstairs to a waiting taxi. They piled in and told the driver to head north.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Just drive north. Don't call it in and I'll give you an additional $100 on top of the fare."

"Call what in?" the man said with a knowing grin.

Ragnar and his team took the taxi for nearly two hours back to the airfield Ragnar had arrived at earlier in the day. It was time enough for him to coax Kay's story from her.

"What happened to you? What were you trying to tell me?"

"It was terrible," she began. Tears started to form in her eyes, but the knowledge that Ragnar was by her side and they were leaving together gave her the strength to tell the story. "The day after I returned from Mexico I was visited by three foul men from the FBI. I don't remember all their names but the lead agent was a man by the name of Moretti. They asked me about you – about my trip to Mexico and Belize – about our relationship – about if I knew what a horrific criminal you were – what you had done; they showed me pictures of children they said you killed. I told them that we dated for a while and that I hadn't heard from you since. They called me a liar and showed me a copy of the post card you had sent years ago. They asked me to work with them or they would make my life difficult. I just kept repeating that I didn't know you or where you were. They found my wedding ring. I told them a story about how it belonged to my mother and she gave it to me when she died. I don't think they believed it. They destroyed my apartment. They went through every drawer, every book, every piece of paper in my home, looking for something that would connect me to you, or give them some kind of clue to your whereabouts. I just kept my head down and hoped they wouldn't find the radio. Of course they did, but they must not have thought it important, as they tossed it aside and continued searching." Kay smiled at Ragnar for having the foresight to anticipate this possibility and his suggestion ultimately being successful. "When they were unable to find anything Moretti stood over me and demanded that I stop blocking his investigation. I told him that I didn't have anything more to tell and that I wasn't blocking his investigation. He punched me in the face so hard that I passed out. I woke up on the floor with a small pool of blood under my face and missing one of my teeth."

Ragnar looked at Kay with profound despair. He hated himself for not being there to protect her. It was his turn to cry and he caressed her face trying to imagine how much pain she must have been in and how alone she must have felt.

Kay reached up with her own hands and held them over his, gaining strength from his touch; allowing her soul to feed off the humanity she felt from the warmth of his hand. "It's fine now. The bruise has faded and my tooth has been replaced. It was my part to play in this plan of yours. They found nothing and they learned nothing. We're together again and that is all that matters to me."

Ragnar's despair was rapidly turning to rage. Beneath his calm and cool composure an intense hatred began to build for this man, Moretti. He pushed it away so that it would not infringe on the precious remaining time he had with his wife.

At the airfield Ragnar instructed his men to return to the ship and expect him to return in a week's time. Ragnar and Kay climbed aboard the small plane he had acquired and took to the pre-dawn skies. The constant drone of the engine and the late hour caused Kay to fall asleep beside Ragnar. When the sun's first rays struck her face she awoke and asked, "Where are we going?"

"Colorado," he answered.

"What's in Colorado?"

He turned his head toward her and smiled, "Home."

4

John worked to persuade them, those industrialists, inventors and others that carried the thankless burden of running the world, to abandon their critical roles. When they joined him on strike against society that saw no value in their contributions, they needed a place to live – a place to start anew – a place where things were in balance and a future with greater opportunity. It was John who brought them to their new home. He had built a hidden community in a secret valley deep in the Rocky Mountains.

Kay was excited to find Hugh Akston there as well as Judge Narragansett. There were others she knew by name but hadn't met in her prior life: Wyatt, the eccentric oil tycoon; Halley, the famous composer she had watched perform several times in LA and New York; and Newton Blankenship, a mathematician so gifted he had proved three theorems that had stood for decades without confirmation.

Ragnar settled his wife into their home. A modest two room structure he had built with his own hands several years earlier. He introduced her to the grocer and the banker. He explained how to conduct business in town and explained she would need to find a job within the community. He stayed with her for two nights before he needed to return to his ship and crew. She would miss him, of course, but all of them were excited to think that their strike against society was drawing to a close. It was a harder life in terms of physical demands and loss of creature comforts, but it was also a simpler life. Everyone understood their place in the group. Each knew that they must contribute value in order to survive. Every person living in the valley, including Kay, was required to pledge an oath:

"I swear by my life and love of it that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine."

Two days later Ragnar's plane landed on a vast meadow in the middle of a small island off the coast of New York. The Sherwood Forest was waiting for him, tucked in a cove on the eastern side. He joined his crew with a new zeal for destroying those who had caused his wife such pain.

He acted on every tip he received. New information flowed from a recent recruit acting secretly from inside the Department of Equalization, within the People's State of Europe. He fed Ragnar information on every ship believed to be carrying supplies appropriated from one group to be given to those that had not earned them. Ragnar hit all of them. If he couldn't take the cargo easily, he would send it to the bottom of the ocean.

middle eight

1

The sun was at its highest point in the hazy mid-winter sky, but it afforded no warmth. The men felt only the stinging cold on their faces accompanied by painful prickles from the sea-spray kicked up by the ship's bow slicing through the waves.

Ragnar assumed his traditional position at the front of the ship when he wanted to speak with his crew. They gathered closer in order to hear him and to share warmth with their shipmates. "I have received word of another transport that we will intercept. Today we are going to recover goods from the 'peace keeping' and 'humanitarian' ship Amity." Everyone heard the disdain in Ragnar's voice as he described the ship in a sarcastic manner. "This cargo ship is carrying copper, drinking water, and corn to the People's State of Europe. Great Britain, Germany, and Spain are lost, so de-evolved in their society that they are as helpless as a child who's lost sight of his parents. We will not allow them to take the goods created by the hands of so many hard working American farmers, ranchers, and miners and give them to an ungrateful bunch of moochers to just piss away." Ragnar's men needed little instruction. They had been through this process many times. Each person now excelled at their position and could carry out their actions with little to no coaching.

"Aye, Captain," they all replied in unison.

Ragnar moved to his conference room and spread navigation maps next to his cup of coffee. He sat down and began to study them. He always prepared additional options in case something unplanned occurred.

Drake entered the room and closed the door behind him. He drew a chair closer to Ragnar. He paused, struggling within himself, trying to decide if he should discuss his feelings with his captain, his friend. Ragnar was aware of Drake's presence in the room, but he made no attempt to engage him in conversation. Ragnar had plans to formulate, and he used his time to maximum efficiency. It would be up to Drake to speak first, or he would be forced to watch Ragnar work in silence. He decided to attempt a discussion. Perhaps there could be a way to alter the events he and his father had set in motion months earlier. "Our holds are already at capacity and the crew has been at sea for months. Perhaps we should take this opportunity to trade our supplies and give the men a chance to relax," he stated as more of a request than a suggestion.

"The Amity is just the first in a long line of ships expected to deliver aid to the enemy."

"England is NOT our enemy."

Ragnar put down his pencil and turned to face Drake. With an even tone he continued, "This is true my friend. However, we cannot end our actions until the world understands the true depth of gratitude that is owed to people like us. And while we might not be at war with England, we are at war with the idea that a man can exploit the effort and mind of men for the unearned benefit of those unwilling to pick up a shovel or read a book. You know, as well as I, that we all make choices in our lives. Some look within themselves and find a way to improve their station in life. Far too many others look outside themselves for help and alms. They depend on producers to support them or to lie down while they climb over their backs on the way to an unearned position. Some are content to simply exist. What cannot continue is the idea that anyone has the authority to insist I repair their bad choices. I cannot be commanded to assist others. I cannot be commanded to sacrifice my time and my skills for another without proper compensation. And, no one can determine my proper compensation except me. It is my time, my blood, my sweat and my thought that are mine to give, or not give, as I see fit. So, do not ask me again to spare others from their choices. You already understand this Drake."

Drake stood up and finished the last of his coffee before telling his friend "Well, thank you for helping me understand my place in the world." He walked away with his eyes cast down. Ragnar turned his body back to his maps and refocused his mind on strategic planning.

Twenty minutes after their discussion, The Sherwood's course through the northern Atlantic was interrupted by an announcement that they had picked up a vessel on radar.

Ragnar rolled up his maps and tucked them under his arm, grabbed his coffee and returned to the bridge.

Once there, Ragnar approached his officer and asked, "Time to intercept?"

"At current speed, approximately fifteen minutes."

"Do we have a visual yet?"

"Not yet sir," replied a voice in front of him.

Ragnar imagined Moretti on board every ship he stalked. After Kay's rescue the men noticed Ragnar's more aggressive posture, but Ragnar continued to honor his pledge not to harm those aboard any of the ships they targeted. "Prepare Orpheus," he nearly whispered.

"Prepare the weapon. Aye, captain." The officer grabbed a microphone and announced "Tactical boarding and Weapons teams - Report to your stations. We are approaching target."

The Sherwood continued its course to intercept the relief ship headed for England. As it became visible to the men at the front of the ship, the boarding crews prepared to execute their tasks. The ship approached The Amity and Ragnar took the microphone to make their demands known.

"My name is Ragnar Danneskjӧld. We do not wish anyone harm. Our crew will begin boarding your vessel within five minutes. Please move your personnel into the life boats and head back where you came from. I will insure that your location is communicated to the authorities."

Amity's captain immediately signaled full stop to his crew, and they began the process of moving folks into the rafts as instructed.

2

Drake had returned to his room. This was the bait ship sent to snare them. He lifted a frame from a small table next to his bed. It contained a picture of his family taken at Christmas before he left to join Ragnar's crew. "Is it too perfect?" he thought to himself. He looked at the picture and his family's arrangement around the iconic Christmas tree. Stockings hung from a nearby mantle. The image spoke of family in the way a Norman Rockwell painting might express it. All of the trappings of a holiday family portrait were present, but Drake could see through the thin veneer of the photo to the underlying reality beneath.

His picture captured a family that never really seemed to find happiness. His father was smiling, but it was mask worn for the purposes of taking a portrait. No joy, no real joy, existed in his expression. His mother and sister looked happy, but he recognized that was likely due to the distribution of trinkets and baubles that was sure to take place soon.

Whenever his mother and father would fight, it was a necklace one year or a set of earrings the next. His father could always buy his way back into her good graces. And then there was him. He looked happy too. But he remembered where he was in his life when the photo had been taken. Still waiting for a real job; at least what he thought he understood to mean "real".

He was not famous. He was not successful. He had lived in his father's shadow all his life, and he laughed because he literally was in his father's shadow in the photo.

He replaced the frame and tried to picture Ragnar in that photo. What he would look like. His family had loved Ragnar. So many times they had been together. Sure, Ragnar was responsible for his being here now, today, in the conditions that would surely land him in jail – or worse. But he also saw Ragnar smiling in his imaginary photo. Ragnar's spirit was real. There was no pretense. You knew where you stood with him. Nothing fake – just the honesty of a simple approach to life. He had loved him like a brother. He had showed him so much in their time together at Patrick Henry University.

He considered all that had happened in his life since he reconnected with his old roommate. Drake thought it impressive. What they were doing felt wrong to him, but he couldn't deny that Ragnar's impact on the world was palpable. Everyone knew his name. They feared him. Oddly, he thought, "I don't fear him. I admire him." The concern for his sister, pregnant and likely suffering along with all the other citizens of Europe, crept back into his mind. Then he heard his father yelling at him – that he better not mess this up. "It was too late to turn back now," he told himself. He had to protect his sister and, in the process, maybe he would come out all right too.

3

The boarding crew threw large ropes onto the vessel in order to draw the two ships closer together. Once connected, the crew of the Sherwood boarded the transport ship and began taking an inventory of the contents. Mr. Newkirk sent two men into the hold while another was asked to clear the living quarters to ensure their continued safety.

Once the ship had been cleared, Ragnar boarded and came face to face with the Captain as he was being put adrift in his lifeboat

"One day you're going to be hanged for this. Are you even human? For Christ's sake, how could you just leave us out here in the middle of the ocean? How about all the starving children in Europe that won't receive these supplies. You are handing them a death sentence, you know?"

"You handed those people a death sentence when you stole from me in order to feed your own self interests. If you wanted to help those poor children you would have encouraged your leaders to allow man to be the best he could be. You call me 'inhuman'? Yet, it is you that accepted excuses and allowed those with the weakest of the human spirit to dictate how all of mankind shall live. You do not have sanction on my life. Your superiors do not hold sanction on my life. Since you have chosen to follow this path, I will leave you to it."

Back on the Sherwood, the officer monitoring radar observed interesting activity. He had been watching several ships patrolling twenty nautical miles away from the Sherwood's current position. He detected that their course now appeared to be moving in their direction. He radioed Ragnar.

"Sir, two ships appear to be closing in from the West."

"Do you think they are aware of our activities?" Ragnar asked with puzzlement in his voice.

"Don't know sir. But it sure looks strange to me. They were down range when we boarded The Amity. Since then they have been approaching – and approaching fast. Did The Amity call for support? Maybe before we could get to her?"

"Not possible. We jammed their communications as soon as we were in range. They couldn't have called for assistance."

"Well, someone out there is coming to greet us, and I doubt they're friendly."

"I think it would be prudent to go with your assumptions. I'm sending our team back. As soon as we're on board break us away from here."

Ragnar began rounding up his crew. He told them to return to the ship. He had dropped below The Amity's deck to track down his last two crewmembers when he heard an alarm. At first he thought it must belong to The Amity. None of her existing crew remained however, and the more he listened to it, the more he believed it wasn't coming from the ship he was on, but from his own vessel.

He yelled for his crew to get back to their ship. As he climbed up to The Amity's main deck he could clearly tell that the wailing horn was coming from The Sherwood. It took just a second before he noticed that his ship was leaning to the left. He sprinted towards the deck edge and had fully intended to jump from the ship onto the deck of The Sherwood, but before he could, another sight captured his attention.

Ragnar saw a bright red flash of light streak into the sky, followed immediately by a second. The flares hung in the sky as two beacons for all to see. Ragnar resumed his sprint. His left foot left the rear deck of The Amity and rose to the top railing. Once it landed there, his right foot cut passed the left and sailed out over the empty space between the two ships. Ragnar jumped with all his might and just managed to clear the deck railing of The Sherwood. He hit the deck hard and his momentum would have resulted in several broken bones if he hadn't crouched and rolled in his landing to dissipate the force gravity had on him.

The two remaining crewmen on The Amity would have to be abandoned. There was no time to wait for them to get on board. "GO! GO! GO!" Ragnar yelled at his crew as he removed the mooring lines holding the two ships together. Ragnar could faintly hear cheering from Amity's lifeboats as they began to move away.

The Sherwood managed to get only three hundred meters from the Amity when the engines died. Ragnar raced onto the bridge. "Report," was all he said to Philippe and the bridge crew.

"Not sure, captain. As soon as we started moving away the engines just died."

"Keep an eye on those approaching vessels and as soon as we have power take us south as fast as she will go."

"Aye."

Ragnar sprinted off again, this time in the direction of the engine room.

4

Ragnar arrived at the back of the boat. He knew that he needed to resolve the problem and resolve it fast if there was any hope that they would come out of this unscathed. He opened the massive steel door separating the engine room from the rest of the ship and immediately knew something was wrong. Not in the sense that something was broken, but in the sense that things didn't look right. As he stepped towards a bank of monitoring equipment that should have been manned by an engineer, he could tell that several safety stops had been turned off. He cleared his mind in order to fully consider all he had observed and assumed over the last few minutes. The ship was noticeably listing to the side now and he had to rebalance himself in order to compensate. It was at that moment that he spun around – feeling someone's presence.

Drake was kneeling in the water that had filled the compartment. He cupped his hands in the mixture of seawater and oil and launched it at Ragnar's face in hopes that it would either blind him or, at least, distract him enough to attack him safely. It didn't find its mark as Ragnar skipped to his left avoiding the bulk of the liquid missile. Drake's immediate follow-through punch was even easier to avoid. Drake was never much of a fighter, and despite his time in the hockey rink, he had never thrown a punch. Ragnar raised his right leg and caught the saboteur in the ribs twisting him even further off balance. Ragnar didn't have time to contemplate this horrible betrayal. The years they had spent together building their force, their principles, their friendship, in fact - their love for each other, meant nothing if he couldn't get the ship to safety. He ran towards the wincing Drake and forced him to the ground with a quick sweep of one of his legs. The two wrestled on the ground for several seconds with alarms blaring overhead. With a headlock in place, Ragnar loosened his grip just enough for Drake to answer his question. "What has happened to you?" Ragnar asked, believing he had gone mad. He couldn't imagine what could have provoked such an action.

"Millions of people are going to die", Drake replied.

"That's not my problem. They made their choice and I made mine."

"I think you made your point. The world will come around. They will understand if you just explain it to them."

"You haven't learned anything."

And with that, Ragnar torqued his arm and body around so violently that an awful crack echoed through the chamber loud enough to compete with all the wailing and chaos.

Ragnar didn't waste any further time. He stood, releasing his friend's lifeless body as he rose to his knees. His manner grew calm. A measured expression settled onto his face. He found that the bilge pumps had been reversed – instead of pumping water out of the compartment, they were filling it. He returned them to their appropriate settings before heading into the back of the room to restore propulsion. It was there that he found his missing engineer, Wayland Duerr. Wayland was still alive, but just barely. It appeared as though Drake had struck him with a pipe wrench knocking him unconscious. The urgency of the situation required that he leave him behind as he attempted to get his ship functioning again. As soon as he heard the screws start to turn he knew that, at least from a mechanical sense, they were out of the woods. He quickly proceeded back up to the bridge and asked for a status report.

In his absence, and with expected competence, the crew of the Sherwood had abandoned its intended target of plunder. They had moved off to the south and out of visual range of the now disabled vessel in order to avoid detection.

"Sir, we have relocated one nautical mile south of The Amity."

"And our new friends?" Ragnar asked – his voice confident.

"They're out there. They are approaching The Amity from the west but still three to four minutes away from her location."

"Fine. Move us another mile one hundred ten degrees east and that should position us a little better. Orpheus' status?" questioned Ragnar with a note of uncertainty.

"Aye. The capacitors were fully charged prior to loss of power," his weapons officer happily reported.

"Still talking about two ships at this point right?"

"Now we're certain it's three, sir. One large ship and two smaller ones. If I were a betting man I would suspect a battlecruiser with accompanying destroyers or frigates."

"That could prove challenging," Ragnar said aloud, but mostly to himself.

At that moment the radio interrupted them. "This is Captain Horace Vencel with the USS Connecticut. You are in violation of international law. You are ordered to hold position, disarm your men and prepare to be boarded. If you do not comply we will be forced to take your vessel by any means necessary. If you accept these terms, sound your horn once or fire a single flair."

Ragnar thought for a minute about whether he should slink away or face his opponent. He wasn't willing to let the massive load of supplies fall back into the hands of the moochers.

"Divert our radio transmission to Orpheus; lower the power and widen the focus to max." Ragnar ordered his crew. The weapons officer adjusted a couple of dials on his panel and then nodded to Ragnar. He depressed the button on the microphone and began to speak.

On the bridge of the USS Connecticut, the captain was surprised to hear a voice – but not from his radio. The voice seemed to come from everywhere. It was loud, extraordinarily deep in tone and there was a rippling, reverberating quality to the voice. The other naval officers on the bridge were also surprised and looked at each other for some kind of explanation. The same voice could be heard by the crews on the other support ships, as well as the crew from The Amity, now drifting in their lifeboats.

"Hello Captain Vencel and uninvited guests. I am Ragnar Danneskjӧld and I do not recognize your authority over me, my ship, or my men. We mean you no harm, but we will defend ourselves and our . . . 'lost property'. Please reverse course at once to avoid any unnecessary loss of life.

At the sound of the name Ragnar Danneskjӧld, the younger sailors began to talk and clamor about all the stories they had heard regarding this terrible pirate and the things he was capable of.

"Quiet!" The captain ordered his crew. He was uncertain how Ragnar was able to communicate in this manner, but it unnerved him to think that he might be able to listen in on them as well. He turned to his sonar engineer and nearly whispered at him, "Com, can you figure out where that voice is coming from? Can you locate his ship?"

"Uhh. I have no idea about that voice sir. I've never heard, or felt, anything like that before. With the assistance we got from our man on the inside, I would put his location somewhere approximately here." He placed a circle on the board, west of the disabled supply ship.

"Com, light-signal the other ships to maintain radio silence."

"Aye, captain."

"And Com . . ."

"Sir?"

"Signal them to keep their voices down as well."

"Aye, Sir."

"Weapons, prepare to fire the eights in their direction. Send a spread from two to three kilometers and one hundred to two hundred degrees south. Maybe we can flush them out where we can get a lock on their location."

"Yes, sir," his tactical officer replied. The battlecruiser turned its guns in the direction of Ragnar's ship.

The Captain waited until his message had been communicated to his escort ships before he whispered to his weapons officer the order to fire the battery. "Yes sir," replied his crew in hushed voices. Within seconds the big guns let loose all their projectiles.

Ragnar had his answer. The shells all landed safely out in the sea well away from their position, but Ragnar noticed that they had been fired in his general direction. "Could they see me?" he wondered to himself.

Captain Vencel looked through the windows for a sign that his foe was either destroyed or, at least, now visible. No reports from his crew or the other ships were coming in. "This is your last warning to disarm and turn your ship over to us," the captain broke silence on the radio to issue his demand.

Ragnar nodded to his weapons officer and within seconds a crippling sound began to broadcast from The Sherwood's modified sonar system.

Everyone within a ten kilometer radius was bombarded with a terrific noise. The Amity's crew, drifting in their lifeboats, covered their ears and convulsed in pain. The men aboard the navy ships were prepared for this contingency. All personnel had been issued ear plugs; the officers and bridge personnel were issued special headphones – the very headphones worn by the men who had once worked the decks of the now mothballed aircraft carriers.

All had been briefed that Ragnar might employ this tactic, and all had been ordered to use these tools as a way to counter the assault. No one needed an order to act. As soon as the sound reached them, all the men instinctively donned their protective equipment as a matter of self-preservation.

The men were surprised at how little protection the earplugs provided. The headphones worked better, but not to a significantly higher degree. The sound, a high-pitched screech that some said reminded them of a screaming baby while others thought it more like nails on a chalkboard, affected more than just the sense of hearing.

It had a physical impact as well. It seemed to carry a frequency that was capable of vibrating tiny bones. The men could feel the sound in their ears, not just hear it. Their eyes and noses watered as their sinuses vibrated. Some of the men buried their jaws into the crook of their arm while failing miserably at covering their ears. The sound made them feel as if they were about to lose all their teeth. Their skulls were literally rattling.

Many of the men grew nauseated and vomited. They attempted to carry out their duties, but many failed to do more than stay on their feet. Finally, after thirty seconds of agony, the sound stopped as suddenly as it began.

The men at sea were attempting to regain their composure when Ragnar's voice visited them again. This time, as he spoke, the sound of his voice hurt the men that heard him. "I am politely asking that you do not risk further conflict with us. Simply turn your ships around and proceed back where you came from. I will give you sixty seconds to comply."

Captain Vencel took stock of his men and his own abilities after being exposed to Ragnar's weapon. The Secretary of the Navy had personally spoken with him about this mission and provided the intelligence regarding Ragnar's ability to disable his crew. But no report could accurately capture the sensation he and his men had just experienced. There was no way they were going to be able to fight that kind of technology. His men were not capable of working as a team under that kind of assault. "Com, open a channel."

"Aye, radio channel is working sir."

"This is Captain Vencel. I am ordering the crew of The Arnold and The Laski to turn one-hundred-eighty degrees and follow me to a perimeter twenty nautical miles west of here."

"You can make that thirty, Captain," Ragnar interrupted.

After a momentary pause the captain returned to the radio and slowly repeated Ragnar's instruction. His frustration was evident, "Follow me to a perimeter thirty nautical miles west of here."

The Connecticut and the Laski began to alter course, but the Arnold did not move. "Captain Vencel," his radar officer began to announce, "The Arnold is not altering course, sir. She's just sitting there."

"Com, get me the Arnold."

"Aye, sir."

"Captain Tesarik, I am ordering you to alter your course to heading two – seven – five and follow me immediately."

"Captain Tesarik is not in command of this ship. I am. And as the representative for the Department of Defense I am ordering you to proceed forward and carry out your mission to capture or kill the pirate known as Ragnar Danneskjӧld."

"Listen here Moretti, you were brought out here as an advisor. You do not have the authority to make that order."

Ragnar heard the name come across his radio, and he couldn't believe it at first. His mouth became instantly dry, and he struggled to speak, "What did he say?" he asked quietly.

Philippe answered him. He thought he had heard it too. "Moretti?" His eyes widened.

"Captain Vencel, you might have the authority aboard your ship, but I am in charge of this mission. The Secretary of Defense put me here specifically because he didn't want there to be any screw-ups. This is a matter of national security. A few headaches shouldn't stop the Navy. So get your shit together and proceed southward."

"Captain, the Arnold is moving forward," Vencel's officer stated with a note of alarm in his voice.

Captain Vencel yelled into the microphone, "Moretti! I insist I speak with Captain Tesarik. Stop what you are doing, and put him on now!"

"Captain Tesarik has been relieved of duty for mutiny and dereliction of duty. I am ordering both you and Captain Dobson to carry out your orders and provide support to me and this mission. Move now or I will see to it that you are summarily court-marshalled!"

"Belay that order Dobson," Vencel shouted into his radio. Moretti, you have no idea what you are doing. Stop immediately!"

There was no reply as The Arnold increased the distance between herself and the other two ships.

"Captain, they are moving in our direction. Either a frigate or a destroyer."

Ragnar thought for a moment. He was not used to responding to military threats of this size, but the risks associated with engaging a military ship were overshadowed by the incredible opportunity to seek revenge on the one person that had done the most damage to him over the years.

"Captain?" asked his weapons officer.

Ragnar stood for what seemed an eternity to his waiting men.

"Captain? We must move to safety," the navigator urged. "They are too much for us. We're out-gunned here!"

Ragnar's mind was at work. He knew he had time to think. He closed his eyes and focused. He could hear his men around him, but their words and confusion did not interfere with his concentration. Ragnar quickly calculated the outcomes of the several options available to him, and then made a decision. He turned towards the weapons officer and calmly instructed, "Focus Orpheus on that lead ship and set to maximum. Fire as soon as it is locked in and ready."

His navigator protested loudly. He desperately urged, "Captain, we cannot beat the entire US Navy. We will not have enough power to deal with the other ships. We have to escape."

"We won't need to fight the entire Navy. They fight because they are told to fight. We fight because we believe in our cause. We fight for our freedom. They fight because they are told to defend someone else's idea freedom. I know their minds, and this fight will end before it ever begins. They do not believe in what they are doing."

"Firing," the weapons officer stated matter-of-factly.

There was no significant effect on or near the Sherwood. Just the flip of a few switches and a few dials turned. The only thing noticeable was a slight hum and the movement of the weapon's power meter, as it slowly drained towards zero.

5

The Captain on the battlecruiser watched off his port side as the frigate headed toward the location of their random shelling. It started as a low rumble, just barely audible over the constant engine noise of their ship. And then he felt it. His chest started to vibrate along with any loose items on the various work stations in the room. Pens oscillated back and forth. Coins and paperclips tittered on tables. The coffee in his mug was rippling like mad. To his shock, he saw that the frigate had stopped its advance, and its men were streaming out onto the deck. Most of them held their hands over their ears, and many were starting to throw themselves off the deck into the sea; a decision most would not live long enough to understand was the last place they should seek refuge.

He noticed a few of his own men beginning to hold their ears. He yelled out to his navigation officer, "FULL REVERSE! Back us out of here NOW!" The other ship took the same approach to their situation and also began reversing.

The bridge on the frigate experienced the first and fiercest impact from Ragnar's attack. All the glass cracked instantly and then, seconds later, shattered from any framework holding it in place. The glass in the windows went first, followed by the glass over the clocks. The tempered glass that made up the navigation panes was manufactured to withstand a direct blow from a hammer. While it managed to survive several seconds longer than the rest of the glass aboard, it exploded with significant injury to nearby crewmen. Ultimately even the crew's glasses began to crack; spraying glass shards - instantly blinding those whose eyes had been open. Deep in the lower decks of the ship, it was actually worse. The steel, by virtue of its depth in the water and amplification of Orpheus' frequency through a liquid medium, combined to incapacitate any living creature below deck. The four inch seams of metal, held together by rivets put there many years ago by skilled shipbuilders, were no match for the incredible harmonics generated by the weapon. The metal plates appeared to simply shake apart. In doing so, sea water began to pour into the lower reaches of the ship and from every possible angle. Moretti watched in horror and agony as huge bubbles formed around their massive ship. He could feel the metal construction of the frigate crumpling under his feet. The ship felt as though it were speeding over a waterfall. Within seconds the ship began to list towards its left side and the ocean started pouring over the side onto the deck. Topside, men were now stumbling around bleeding from their eyes, noses, and ears. Men tore at their faces and ears in a crazed attempt to make the pain in their heads go away.

"Get me a goddamn damage report!" the captain of the Connecticut cried.

No one heard him. The horrible strange noise was beginning to lessen as they moved further away. The crew started to regain their bearings, but nearly everyone was disoriented and dizzy. This time the ear protection had been pathetic. It did nothing to stop the tremendous physical impact of the weapon. He removed his headphones and looked around at his own bridge, realizing that no one was paying any attention to him. His first officer was on his hands and knees. He had just pulled himself off the floor where he had vomited that morning's breakfast; the right side of his grey shirt was now wet and black in appearance except for the small chunks of oatmeal stuck to it. His navigator was yelling at the men around him. It looked as though he could not hear anything. Blood painted his left earlobe and ran down his neck. The officer of the deck was the only individual that appeared to be in as good a shape as he – which wasn't saying much.

"What the hell was that?" the captain asked.

"I have no idea sir? It destroyed the frigate. I've never seen a ship . . . any ship sink that fast." The officer's eyes were wide with a terrified gaze. "It started to sink us too. DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU SEE IT? And the men . . . it took out most of our men, although that looks temporary."

"Control yourself Lieutenant!" The captain waved his hands at the officer manning his navigation station. When he made eye-contact with his commanding officer he yelled, "Sir?"

"Can you hear me?" the captain asked.

"Yes, sir. I can hear you. I also hear some ringing, but I can hear."

Vencel ignored that his officer was shouting at him. "Can you get me a report here? What is going on?"

He looked back down at the largest surviving piece of glass on the bridge. After a few seconds he looked back up to the captain, "I still don't see the target ship. The frigate is just… gone…and the Laski is matching our course and speed away from the attack."

"All stop," the captain ordered.

"Aye, all stop."

The captain had hoped the other ship would follow course. He did not want to risk any additional communication at this point. "OK. Can someone get me a damage report right now. I don't care who it is. Just get me status of propulsion, weapons and casualties."

6

"What is the position of the navy vessels now?" Ragnar asked.

"Both the Connecticut as well as the smaller ship have extended the distance between us in the opposite direction. Both ships are currently stopped," smiled the officer. "I do not see the frigate on radar any longer sir."

The power gauge on the weapons station monitoring Orpheus was now pinned to zero.

"Com . . ." Ragnar started his instruction but appeared to hesitate. "Com, get me Captain Vencel on the radio."

"Aye, sir."

The communications specialist twisted the dial on his radio and signaled the captain, "You're ready sir."

"Captain Vencel. My condolences to you and your comrades. That was the kind of . . . unnecessary loss of life I was referring to. You and your mates are free to go. You have my word that we will not harm anyone on your two remaining ships, or the crew from the relief ship, provided that you completely reverse course and establish a buffer of fifty nautical miles between yourselves and the relief ship. I am willing to give you one minute to make your decision. If you do not start moving out of the buffer zone within one minute, I must assume that you mean us further aggression, and we will respond in a defensive manner . . . of course." He paused briefly before adding, "Time begins now."

"Captain," the weapons officer said, "I will remind you that the charge on Orpheus is gone. We are recharging, but we will not be able to use it for another ten minutes minimum!"

"Understood. Open the weapons decks – all of them. Open all hatches and blast doors to maximum. Make us as visible as possible."

"You want us to show up on their radar? Are you certain captain?" asked his weapons officer.

"That is exactly what I want you to do. If we are going to bluff, then we have to bluff big. Now hurry. Time is very short."

"Aye, sir." The crew began following Ragnar's instructions. Flags were raised, all doors were propped open and every gun was mounted and put into a firing position.

Ragnar glanced at his watch and then pulled the radio close to his mouth so that he could speak softly. "Captain, you have fifteen seconds."

On the USS Connecticut Captain Vencel had heard every word of Ragnar's warning and was in no position to do much but follow his instructions. He was about to give orders to move outside buffer zone when his navigation officer yelled out, "Contact, sir! I see her. She is fuzzy and moving in and out of radio visualization, but I see her!"

"Direction and course?" the captain asked.

"Traveling at about 40 knots," he answered. Impressed by what he saw, he mumbled out loud, "Wow that's fast."

"Direction, ensign!" the captain yelled.

He paused for a second and, then, with a grave voice said, "She's headed directly toward us."

"Right," the captain said in a hopeless tone. He grabbed his radio. "Officer of the deck, move us out of the buffer zone 180 degrees flank speed. Com, get me the frigate."

"Aye, 180 degrees flank speed."

"Aye, radioing the Laski, sir."

"Laski, this is Captain Vencel, set course to 180 degrees and match our speed. Await further orders at this time."

"Sir, you were right!" the weapons officer said. "They're moving out."

The crew cheered their victory, and Ragnar breathed a sigh of relief. He instructed the crew to change course immediately and return to the humanitarian relief ship. He also instructed them to restore their ship's radar minimizing profile. As quickly as the Connecticut had seen Ragnar's ship moving towards them, they saw it disappear again like a ghost.

Ragnar returned to The Amity to retrieve their crewmen. Although there were few military pilots around and even fewer mechanically sound aircraft, Ragnar believed it prudent to abbreviate their time out in the open.

Unable to loot the ship of all that she was carrying, they opted to place explosives and sink her instead. With practiced and expert precision, his team took only nine minutes to send The Amity to the bottom of the Atlantic. The Sherwood escaped over the ocean's horizon at maximum speed in an effort to put as much distance as possible between them and potential capture.

7

Just after midnight, his navigator knocked softly at Ragnar's door. The crewman doubted a knock was even necessary as their captain's ever-vigilant, conscious mind caused the crew to doubt that he actually slept.

Despite the late hour, Ragnar quickly responded, "Enter." His voice resonated loudly through the door. As the crewman entered his room Ragnar turned on a small lamp on a table next to his bed. "What time is it?" he asked as his thumb and finger massaged some acuity back into his vision.

"Sorry, sir, but I thought you would want us to wake you. In fact, we were told to wake you."

"Told?" Ragnar had trouble understanding. "Who told you to wake me?"

"The gentleman on the radio. He called on the hidden frequency sir."

Ragnar recognized the seriousness of someone contacting him utilizing the communication technology he created many years ago. Ragnar jumped up in alarm and began to gather his shirt and pants. As he threw on his pants he asked, "What is his name? The man who called?"

"It is Mr. d'Anconia."

Ragnar finished dressing. He opted to go barefoot rather than waste time putting on shoes. He sprinted up to the bridge and sat at the communications station. His crewman followed, arriving seconds behind him.

Ragnar grabbed the radio and depressed the transmit button, "Francisco, I'm receiving you."

He released the button and listened to the receiver. After twelve seconds a week signal returned with Francisco's greeting. "Hello my friend. I am glad you are still in range. We have a problem. Over."

Ragnar considered the possibilities. There were too many to contemplate. His primary concern was Kay. He felt a moment of terror. The Sherwood was over five-thousand kilometers away in the middle of the Atlantic. He gathered himself and took a deep breath, "Is Kay alright? What is the problem? How can we assist? Over."

Another agonizing twelve seconds elapsed before Francisco's voice returned, "Kay is fine. I am sure you heard John's speech a couple of months ago. The world is just about to eat itself alive. Everything that we have worked so hard for, everything that we have sacrificed in order to move us closer towards a day where our actions are no longer required – that time is nearly upon us; as I'm sure you know. Our business has been to destroy society's malignant infrastructure – built upon years of acquiescence and tolerance provided by us to the looters of men's minds and ability. That problem is well on its way to being solved. John's ideas that we have turned into action – each in our own ways – cannot be reversed now. It's simply a matter of time and, based on my estimations, that time is nearly here." Ragnar heard an obvious change in the tenor of Francisco's voice. It was a manner of speech that Ragnar had never heard from his friend. The young man who rarely struggled with any problem, no matter how large or impossible it seemed to everyone else, now struggled to find his words. The nature of his voice became dark and ominous. "Our problem is more personal." He paused, and Ragnar strained to make sure that he heard everything broadcast from so far away. He thought he heard another emotion cloud Francisco's words – an emotion he hadn't believed Francisco possessed. Ragnar recognized it at once. He held the same feeling toward Moretti.

Francisco's words came across the radio bathed in vengeful anger. "We need you and your particular set of skills." He spoke with care, choosing his words deliberately. "They've got John."

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