Chapter 11

"Are these real diamonds?"

We were filling our coffee cups in the Rangeman break room when Tank mentioned a storm moving in and asked if I would be interested in watching the ocean waves. I knew it was a set-up for the bugging microphones and Rangeman around us. I needed to talk to Ranger. "I've spent most of my life in deserts or large cities. I'd LOVE to see the ocean roar, from a safe distance. I don't want to be washed out to sea," I said enthusiastically.

"Then we'll leave shortly. Lester will fill in while we are gone."

As we got into his big SUV Stephanie drove up in her RAV 4. "You two lovebirds heading out someplace fun?"

"We are going on a date! Tank says there's a storm moving in and asked if I wanted to watch the waves."

"Lucky you! Enjoy your date," she waved and winked as she went towards the building entry.

"A date?" Pierre asked as he climbed into the driver's seat.

"She asked me if I've ever been on a date. I told her no, except for our trip to the fair."

He made sure the in-vehicle microphone was turned off. "Never?"

"No, sir. I didn't date in high school or at the Academy. I was still mending. The only crack in my armor was at Billabong bar meeting the most impressive and beautiful man I have ever seen."

"That was a very short date," he said as he pulled out of the parking garage and turned left.

"We got physical enough to stir my pot, mister."

"It was fun, though you intimidated me at first. Then I saw the twinkle in your eyes."

"Actually, I first saw you instructing the Rangers in hand-to-hand, I wanted to join the fun. Niko was the only one I would spar with after Egypt until I was forced to at the Academy. You weren't quite as massive as you are now, but you dwarfed the little pipsqueaks like Manoso."

"Pipsqueak?" He chuckled as he turned onto Hamilton Avenue.

"Relax, I'll never use that term around him."

He nodded his approval. "Is your brother married?"

"Yes, to a lovely Creole woman from New Orleans. They have two daughters, teenagers."

Pierre was silent but glanced at me. He was remembering my experience in Egypt. "Young teenagers?"

I continued, "Thirteen and fifteen. He's been a nervous wreck since they entered puberty."

"I don't know how I'd handle my child being kidnapped and molested." He was quiet for a while, "How old is your father?"

"He's 64. He maxed out at 40 years' service a year and a half ago. The President has the ability to ask officers to remain on for no more than 3 years. So he must leave service anywhere from 6 to 18 months from now. If you are counting up on your fingers and toes, Niko and I used to kid him we were conceived in the back of the limousine as it left the church."

Pierre glanced at me. I laughed, "Not quite, but close."

We stopped at a restaurant/bakery with giant windows overlooking the Atlantic. Tank removed one of the table's chairs so I could roll up to the table. He looked around before stepping back outside.

I was mesmerized by the waves as they rolled in, crashing onto the shore. Perhaps it was my imagination but I could feel the waves' power. Someone sat down at the table with me. He smelled different and had a short beard. "Carlos, thank you for coming," I said.

"This is a bit out of the way."

"You have officially disappeared. We can't have you being found in Trenton."

"Is that Tank outside?"

"Keeping watch. I've kept much of the investigation from him for his safety. Now, who runs the private searches at Rangeman?"

"You could have asked Tank."

"Not everyone, I take it."

"Only three of us: Tank, Silvio, and me."

The number is five now, but we'll get to that. "Do others outside the three know they exist?"

"Bobby and Lester, but they don't have access. I'm curious how you found out?"

"Nobody squealed. I found them on my own while helping Stephanie. It's what I do. I found an open path between her unit and the programs but none had yet gotten past the security. I sealed it and threw up a tougher defense. I'm sure her skills are not up to such a sophisticated hack. I spent several hours working with her. She's adequate but not computer savvy. Now I assume each person has his own personal password?"

"Yes."

"How long have you used Gorchichnoye 13 semya? (Mustard seed)

He didn't grimace but he realized there was a security flaw. "Obviously, it's been too long. How long did it take you to figure it out?"

"You did a brief stint in Army language school learning Russian. The number thirteen probably refers to the two of the chapters in the Bible where the parable is found."

He just shook his head. He was really going to have to change his password.

"I've visited Martha. I'm assuming your searches are not FTAs but rather your….field work."

He looked at me strangely, "Some are FTAs with security issues, but most are the other work."

"Do you trade or even give the information to other agencies, countries or contractors?"

"No, never."

"Have you had any reason to suspect one of the other four who have access might be profiting from the information?"

That earned me a serious scowling. "Other four? I assume you are the fourth."

"If you are counting that way, then it's five. I know the fourth is Rangeman's Guardian Angel. I cleaned a few deep smudges from his system and looked for signs of sabotage."

"Do you suspect him?"

"Your company would be in a pile of poop if Hector turned on you. He is clean. Now, since he or Silvio didn't develop the programs, where or from whom did you obtain them?"

He didn't want to answer but decided I'd eventually find out and probably already had. "The programs were given to me by my handlers for Black Ops missions."

He was telling the truth. "Yes, they are military searches. I wrote one of them. I was testing you. If they were FBI search engines, you and Rangeman would be history. The hacking attempt was extremely sophisticated. What do you do with the information once you have drawn it? Do you send it to Martha?"

"Yes."

"Why not delete and sanitize?"

He shrugged, "I figured I'd need them again. Plus, I need to keep track of past problems so they don't come back and affect me, Rangeman or the ones I love."

"I'll accept that," I said. He seemed a bit paranoid, but I wasn't going to argue with him. "Your searches have caught the eye of someone or something. How I'm not sure, but there have been repeated attempts over the months to overpower Martha. Don't worry, your security system has repelled the attacks."

"You mean your security system."

I froze, "How?"

He looked a little smug. I couldn't blame him. I've been upping him for months.

"Silvio mentioned you upgraded our systems, but your brother told Tank you wrote many of the initial programs."

"Pierre and I went to Miami and had a nice long conversation with Martha My Dear. (I wondered who gave the system a Beatles song title.) I've cross-checked Martha with names I've been collecting on my own and through my other sources."

"What have you discovered?"

"There is a growing family moving in and up."

"Are they from one country or region?"

I wasn't sure what he was asking: Italian, Latino, or Russian? "Yes and no. Most are American born. Some members live in other countries. All are very closely related and often in positions of authority."

"So how am I involved?"

"Well, once upon a time you pissed off Big Bird down in Nicaragua. Though seemingly on our side, he betrayed you and us. That's how you and the other two were captured. We both know what happened after." I never expected this to tie back to our shared Hell. "I can't see where your actions would have caused a big ruckus except perhaps to him and his…nefarious work. The key to this whole cesspool is Martha. Her secrets probably hold the identity to the tiercel and clad."

He hesitated and then nodded, he understood. 'Tiercel' is a male falcon, El Falcon, and 'clad' is a term for falcon offspring. "You know who he is?"

"Closer. I can't exactly roll into the FBI in Washington and ask them to spit in test tubes for DNA tests."

He smiled. "FBI...that explains a few things."

"What?"

"Silvio's initial briefing, plus I've had friends in the agency, but they are less willing to take my calls recently."

"Why?"

"It's not something I've done. I tread very carefully around the Feds, all of them. More often than not, I'm the one helping them. So the cold shoulder has been curious."

I handed him several sheets of paper. "Please look at these names. Do you recognize any and if so, who and possibly where or when."

He glanced up, "This is a long list."

I almost snorted. He had no idea how big the list was originally. "This is the pared down version. I had to throw out a large net."

He scanned the sheet, his eyes skimmed over most but when they stopped he spoke. He wasn't hiding anything. "Mitchell Jenkins, FBI; Steve Hampton, FBI; Sharon Carmichael, CIA, Robert Blass, Homeland; Monte Plumber, State Dept.; Santiago Blanco-Ruiz, Colombian Justice Department; Javier Oliveriera-Sousa, Peru; and ….Raul Campos-Meijia, Army Colonel, Nicaragua." The last name he nearly spit.

"Yeah, that's who betrayed you on orders from Big Bird. OK, switching tracks, Lee Sebring, any idea where he'd hide?"

Ranger's head snapped up immediately, "He's not dead?"

"No, that was his identical twin brother."

"I didn't know he had a twin. No, I don't know anything about his private life other than his wife died several years ago."

"Do you ever work for him?"

"He has his own BEAs but yes, he's called me from time to time, but not in a while."

"Did he ask you to do an apprehension for him?"

"No, he was asking for general background information."

"Have you talked to him recently?"

After being forthcoming, he suddenly refused to answer. I found that curious.

"What about the spy at Rangeman?" he asked.

"I know who."

"Who?"

"They are younger clad. One is our Trenton computer hacker. No, you can't have them for dinner, yet. They may yet serve a purpose."

"There is more than one at Rangeman? What about after?"

I shrugged. "So far their crimes are minimal."

"Not to me," he hissed.

"Stay safe." I pushed myself back from the table.

He glanced at my hand on top of the chair wheel. "You are Orthodox Christian aren't you?"

I nodded yes.

"Tank?" he asked with his eyes pointing to my ring. "I thought you wore your ring on the right hand. Your ring is on the left."

I smiled, "It's transferred to the right during the wedding ceremony."

"Congratulations. I hope I'm invited."

I laughed, "There was no way we would NOT invite you even if you couldn't be the koumbaro. We are waiting for this problem to end. Drive carefully. A storm is coming in."

I rolled away towards the bakery case and purchased several dozen cookies and pastries before joining Pierre. He saw the boxes. "Is Stephanie corrupting you?"

"No, I'm just treating her and the men. Everyone has been so kind to me. Maybe next time I'll take them to dinner."

Ranger returned to the bar, grabbed the handcart and returned to the beer semi-truck and pulled away. Nobody pays attention to the beer delivery guy.

-0-

Stephanie stepped out to her car parked in front of Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. She no longer drove a POS car. While she had her choice of cars, she still wanted to remain somewhat anonymous around town. Her Toyota wasn't the only one in town. She would have preferred her own Porsche Turbo or sportier Audi R8, but it was too flashy for the Burg. She saw Joe coming towards her and moaned. "Now what does he want?"

"Cupcake, I really need to talk to Ranger. The FBI is riding my ass pushing me to find him."

Stephanie had talked with Tank and VC and worked out a story. She didn't know everything that was going on but was worried about Ranger as was everyone else. "I told you before. I don't know where Ranger is. He just vanished."

"Does he do that often?"

"Actually, yes, several times a year."

"I thought you two were close."

Stephanie wasn't going to disclose just how close she and Ranger had become. "I am his employee. He doesn't share his travel schedule with mere employees. If I had to guess, I'd say he's in Monte Carlo."

"What?"

"I assume he's a super-secret government agent, like James Bond. So he's probably playing baccarat with a despot."

"Not funny," Joe scolded.

Stephanie used the example as an absurdity, not as a clue. She raised her arms out to the side in exasperation, "Joe, I don't believe for a minute he killed Jeanne Ellen or Lee. If you haven't noticed, he isn't always in Trenton. Maybe he's climbing the Himalayas, fishing for marlin, playing golf with the President, or he's at one of the other Rangeman headquarters."

"What other headquarters? Yeah right, Leavenworth, Florence, and San Quentin."

She threw her best Burg glare. "Miami, Atlanta, and Boston," she sneered. "Plus, there are several other cities being explored for future Rangeman expansion. I'm assembling the data on them. Maybe he's looking at those. Do your research, Joe, and get off the Stupid Bus. Your Burg racism is showing."

"Cupcake, I don't want to see you hurt by him. I know we are over, but I still care for you."

"Joe, you've been using that line about not hurting me for years. How will he hurt me? He respects me, listens to me, he doesn't yell at me trying to get me to fit his opinions of what I should be, an irrelevant Burg housewife. He doesn't call me a demeaning name like Cupcake. Most of all, he doesn't listen to my mother's rants. She is just as controlling as you. Let me go, Joe."

"He will fall and bring you down. He's a thug."

Stephanie seethed. "This is why we are over, Joe. Listen to yourself! I'm so tired of hearing your same drivel. Yes, he carries a gun like most people in the security business. Is it because he only has a permit and not a badge? That makes him a thug? Was Lee Sebring or his employees thugs? His company provides security to homes, businesses, and important people throughout the eastern United States. Does that make him a thug? Only part of his business is bond apprehension, work the police don't do. Does that make us both thugs because that's what I used to do, though not as efficiently as he? He was an Army Ranger. Does that make him a thug?"

"He's been in jail."

"He was a juvenile caught boosting a car! Something you admitted doing yourself with your uncle's Ford. The difference is you didn't get caught. As an adult, the few arrests were because of some imbecile policeman misinterpreted the law to fit their racist prejudice to his skin color. Each case was either immediately dismissed by the officer's superior or thrown out before it ever made a trial. Anyway, you've been in jail, too, Joe: the brig in the Navy and when you supposedly shot your informant, Carla.

"Joe, as I've told you, motherhood is not my aim. It is all the further my mother can think: motherhood, housewife, church potluck dinners. My childhood was miserable. I do not want to relive that especially here in Gossipville. Yes, I have had a crush on you since high school, but I finally grew up. We were never lovers, just sex partners, and occasional friends. Our goals are completely different. I want my OWN life not what you, my mother, or the Burg have planned for me."

"You are a failure…" he stopped, embarrassed by what he was about to say.

The Jersey Girl glare shone brightly. "Yes, I'm a failure in the tiny, racist minds that comprise the Burg. I am not, and will never be, an obedient, conforming, woman who believes she is only destined to marry within her ethnicity, make ziti, and push out babies. Go find a brain-dead Burg woman, multiply, be happy."

As Stephanie turned and walked back into the bonds office, her neck tingled. Ranger was close. She hesitated, touched her neck and smiled.

Ranger was smiling as he removed the earbud and lowered the directional microphone. James Bond? What happened to Batman?

-0-

VC POV

How many weeks have I endured this torture and how many more are there? The migraines are exhausting. Once the latest one was over, I was hungry, having not eaten for several days except for some vile concoction Pierre and Bobby developed for me to drink. I knew it contained fruits, vegetables and misc. powders, the latter of which made it vile. I was opening the window blinds after days of darkness, giving my houseplant friend some much-needed light when Pierre came in with a brown box.

"I thought we'd have dinner and play a game."

I wondered what type of game he had in mind. No, he had said we'd wait until our wedding. I read the brown box, Scrabble. "What, we aren't playing Naked Twister?"

He smiled broadly, cupped my face, and kissed me, "I hope we will be, soon."

I flushed. It was my own fault. I pulled the tiger's tail.

My first real food meal after treatment was always a delicious vegetable soup. Today was minestrone. There was a sandwich for Pierre as well as the soup. We turned our attention to the board game and laid out the board and tiles. My mind wasn't in the game but I was holding my own. The tiles on my tray were M, D, D, A, A, and S. I immediately saw Addams. I remembered Lee Sebring's baby pictures, Addams. I included the name on Ranger's list but he didn't react to it. My mind went back to my tiles and arranged Sad Dam. I smiled; no, Lee's father wasn't Saddam. The phone rang. Hector was calling Pierre and asking a question. Pierre responded in Spanish. My mind switched languages. Sad was Triste in Spanish, but what was a dam?

"Love, what is Spanish for dam?"

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow, "What type of a dam?"

"Barrier."

He chuckled, "Presa." He looked at me, "Why did you ask? Are you trying to change the rules to include foreign words?"

"You'd better hope not, I speak more languages than you. The reason I asked is I've been through the FBI roster for current and past employees and there's no double-D Addams, plenty of single D, but not in higher positions. I keep coming back to the original, old FBI code." I sighed, "I know a lot of this started in Central and South America so I was just playing a Spanish word game with the various names that have come up."

Later that night, I tossed and turned. Something was bothering me. I angled out of bed into my chair and opened up the Scrabble game and pulled out tiles for Presa and Triste. I quickly recognized a pattern and turned on the laptop. I took my list of past and present FBI employees and began the search. I smiled wryly, among the high ranking employees of the FBI, Arturo Estripe.

Was he Addams? Was he El Falcon? Was he the father of Lee Sebring and his twin brother and a bunch of others? I found his file. I arranged all the suspicious, fatherless births by birth date to see if there was any correlation between his postings. There were. I checked his early career, he was sent to Central and South America as an adjutant to various ambassadors. The odds were improving, but no proof. I had pictures of suspected offspring and put them up against the Arturo Estripe's photo for similarities. Some were darn close. I'd run these through government facial ID programs, but not US programs. What I needed were DNA samples. I momentarily thought about my comment to Ranger about test tubes for spit. I needed to tie at least the locals together to begin to begin to prove my theory.

I'd start with Julio, Joyce and the late Jeanne Ellen, and the maybe deceased Lee. Just how I was going to get the latter two? I needed personal items. Damn, I needed Carlos Manoso to break into Lee Sebring's home in Hamilton Township and Jeanne Ellen's apartment in Newark.

"What do you want him to do?" Pierre asked the following morning over breakfast.

"To get into Lee Sebring's home or office and see if there's something we can get a DNA sample. I don't think forensics will cooperate and I'm hoping they didn't strip his house when they went for samples. The same applies to Jeanne Ellen Burrows. I don't know how to get Lee's brother's DNA as he's been off the grid for years. I can handle getting a sample from Joyce Barnhardt."

Julio was easy. I followed him into a coffee shop and retrieved his cup when he threw it away. It helped he also had shoved a used tissue into the cup. Bingo.

-0-

Joyce and I met for lunch. "Joyce," I began to butter her up. "Your hair color is bold and sassy so I imagine you don't worry about early grey hairs. I've noticed I'm getting a few and don't know what to do about them. I think it is too early for the drastic hair color change. Do you have suggestions?"

"I'd start with the old-fashioned treatment," she said as she reached up and pulled several hairs from her head.

"Ouch" I winced as I and two other Rangeman at another table watched where she flicked the hair.

"It's easy. Maybe with your short hair, it hurts." I hoped she got the base follicle, as I wasn't sure if the red dye would interfere with DNA results. "I'm thinking of letting it grow now that I'm no longer in service. I'll have to start visiting a salon. Do you have suggestions?"

"You are too young for grey hair," Joyce shot back.

"Thank you for your kind words, but Father Time disagrees. I figure with various rinses I can hold it off, but I need help in applications."

"Are you now planning to stay in Trenton?" she asked. The reason she didn't bust her butt looking for a home for me was just explained. She thought I was leaving.

"I don't know. I need to live near VA facilities so Newark would be better, except there are too many people up there."

"Are you still looking for a handicapped accessible house?"

"As I told you initially, Trenton's architecture is heavily into two stories. I need a single floor house."

She nodded, "There are single stories further out of town."

"Keep your eyes open, I'm sure there is something around." I knew for a fact she lived in a single story pseudo-Colonial within Trenton but in an all-white neighborhood. She had no intentions of following up on my requests.

"Are you dating?"

I wondered if she was planning on making a play. "I found a guy from McGuire-Dix. I wasn't looking, it just happened. He isn't put off by the chair. He has friends who are missing limbs or in a chair."

"Is that his ring on your finger? Are you married?"

"It belonged to my mother. I wear this to discourage anyone from looking for someone with a disability check. He and I are taking it slow."

"Sounds like a sneaky way to get out of buying a ring."

"No, I've already told him I expect sapphires or emerald in addition to diamonds. I can wear this on my right hand when we get married."

It wasn't the truth, but she bought it. After we left the restaurant, the Rangeman employees watching where Joyce flicked her hair, retrieved the hair sample as well as her napkin and martini glass and fork.

I had to get the lists, pictures and samples examined but didn't know who to trust. They had to be done out of the country, as I wasn't sure how far this spread. When in Newark for my latest infusion, I met with my Israeli-born doctor and told him the story. He arranged for them to be sent to Tel Aviv. Shortly thereafter, I received the results. Jeanne Ellen and Julio Gaspar were half-siblings as was Lee Sebring. Ranger had found Lee's or his brother's hair in his home, but no natural blonde hair for Jeanne Ellen. He went to Newark and got her sample from the shower drain. Joyce Barnhardt wasn't a half-sibling, but rather a half-niece. So Mr. X's son had fathered Joyce. How deep and how complicated was this? The potential offspring number suddenly exploded.