A Darkening Acre of Shade

By Alan Meyers Starkey

A Darkening Acre of Shade takes the reader on a twisting, turning adventure into a part of South America that most people never knew existed. Enter the world of a ruthless and sinister man who will stop at nothing to achieve his desires. Even to the point of risking the livelihood of his closest family members. To him, nothing matters more than achieving the status of an American citizen, where he can walk freely through the nation expanding his illegal enterprise.
In this adventure, Spanish culprits wreak havoc through arson and destruction to camouflage their real motive; kidnapping Jake’s best friend to a remote airfield where a twin engine airplane whisks them off into the darkened night. Jake’s attempt to follow them fails and leaves him staring into the moonlight as the plane flies away. Then he notices movement in the shadows of the trees lining the airfield. A cigar smoking man speaks to him in accented broken English. The man tells him he must travel to Cartagena, Colombia if he ever wants to see his friend alive again.
Upon arrival in the foreign land, Jake finds himself held against his will, in the high walled estate of a prominent business socialite with ancestral ties to the Escobar Empire. Eduing Vargas is the ruthless commerce magnate who forces Jake to design and network a distribution system. Moving designer drugs into the United States through a business masked with legitimate products using the EBay and Paypal organizations. Jake must also consent to a marriage with Vargas’ daughter in order to procure U.S. citizenship for Eduing in the most expedient way possible. Jake’s life as he knew it suddenly ceases to exist. Heavily guarded by the nasty Vargas henchmen, Jakes choices are made very simple; cooperate and his friend will live, refuse and they will both die.
Written in the first person, A Darkening Acre of Shade rides a rollercoaster through veiled questions, coded messages, map details and the secret sealed tunnels of the ancient fortress which overlooks the beautiful city of Cartagena. Intrigue, mis-direction, corruption, and romance reach up from the pages and shake your hand in this third in the series of Jake Snow adventures, from burgeoning writer Alan Meyers Starkey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Meyers Starkey
• Release date: Oct 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466130326

Alan Meyers Starkey

I really was born in Pennsylvania in the early sixties. My mother was always my best friend and was really the best writer in the family. She left this world much too soon. My father was an insurance man, then a car dealer for thirty-some years, and then found the desire to try his hand at fiction and poetry writing, without much success. He is still living. I have a brother and a sister, six and eleven years older. My sister has the special ability to shed the light on the things that shouldn’t be included in my books and slice them out with her editing knife. Some of which have been reinserted in the Blurbs section of my upcoming website. You may find some humor there. As I wrote in the Jake Series, I was raised in the farmland settings of south central Pennsylvania. There really was a one hundred and eighty acre farm. There really was an old path carved by the trolley cars from years before, and there really was an amusement park from the eighteen-nineties, complete with that special, hand carved carousel which now resides in the Smithsonian. All of the land is now suburban housing tracts. I think the old buildings in the park may still be there, though I haven’t been back there for more than a decade. I grew up racing go-karts and mini-bikes and motorcycles on the trails and in the clay pits, and rambling through the raspberry patch that was along the trail to old McClintock’s automobile junkyard. We always found ways to explore the creeks with makeshift rafts, and build tree forts in the woods with borrowed items. And... always being in that Tom and Huck mode, finding trouble was often easier to do than not. In those early years, I found a knack for performing in country club kitchens and fine restaurants. Cooking fancy dinners for hundreds every night. When I saw no clear path to success in the culinary arts, I dropped back and punted, to enlist in the United States Marine Corps. Initially, as a radio operator in a Hawk missile battalion when they found that I was color blind and then as a maintenance data analyst in the helicopter side of the air wing. There was a total of seven years, five months and ten days in service with the Marines, not one of which I have ever regretted. I have been to most parts of the world where Marines were found when I was with them. As the years went by I wound up in the maintenance field, and yes... I really am a conveyor guy and have been for decades. In fact, I worked for many years with the company that invented barcode sortation. I can claim to have all the abilities and knowledge of a mechanical engineer, without the degree. I have a strong affinity for classic rock music and have fronted bands in years gone by. And... I really am a Light Sport pilot, albeit a bandit, which means I am not licensed. Now... I really do live in Central Florida and know all of the places and people Jake talks about. Most of the fictional characters are based on real persons. I’ve learned that the most successful writers either spin yarns about what they know, or have endless resources to research what they don’t. I live in the former reality. I am married to a wonderful Colombian girl, Maria, who has a beautiful, seventeen year old that I am proud to call my daughter, Licci. And... about four years ago, we were blessed with the birth of a boy, Henri Diamond Blue. There are some more works planned in and outside of the Jake Series. Maybe some of that will be a sharing of all those childhood adventures. I hope you enjoy my work and care enough to pass the word, if you do. Thanks to all of you who have spawned the inspiration and encouraged me. And...thanks have to go out to Tom Sawyer, Indian Jones, Popeye and Clark Kent. Without them, there would be no Jake. A.

Book preview

A Darkening Acre of Shade

Alan Meyers Starkey

Copyright 2011 by Alan Meyers Starkey

Smashwords Edition

This novel is dedicated to my wife; Maria Mercedes Vergara Starkey who supports my writing endeavors even though my stories haven’t made any money.

A cover graphic conceptual credit is due to Glenn Southwick. Cover graphics by Alan Meyers Starkey. Original story concept by Alan Meyers Starkey and Donna Marie Keith. Editing credits are also due to Donna Marie Keith.

This book is purely a work of fiction. Names, items, characters, incidents, and places are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any reference or resemblance to actual places, events, or persons, either dead or alive, is coincidental. The author may also employ some artistic licensing to add to the enjoyment of the story or when referencing other works of fiction.

Preface:

The woman kneels in lush green grass in front of the small child while holding both of his hands in hers. Her eyes are moist and one lonely tear begins to cascade down her left cheek. She looks toward the sky as the sound of a jet airliner passes overhead. Suddenly, she points toward it and says to the boy in Spanish;

Avion papi, avion. Algun dia nos vamos a ir volando en un avion!

The English translation, not exactly clear, would be something like; Flyaway baby, flyaway. Someday we’re going to fly away from here in an airplane.

Chapter One:

"E Way Puta!"

I just couldn’t get that song out of my head.  It just stayed in there, even though Johnny was wailing away about something else in the backseat of the Jeep.

"...Things have been dark for too long.

Don’t change for you; Don’t change a thing for me."

It was about eleven o’clock at night and we were driving home from Danny Knight’s annual, mid July, cook-out party in my Jeep Grand Cherokee. The Lake County Florida night was its usual hot and sticky self and there was a three quarter moon shining brightly. Danny holds the event at his house and restricts the guest list to about forty of his closest friends and family. If he didn’t do the restricted list, hundreds would show up.

He has all this cooking stuff. Grills and smokers and deep fryers, and this year he pulled out all the stops. There was a magnificent smorgasbord buffet which produced compliments all night long. Danny couldn’t have been beaming brighter. I was placed in charge of keeping all the liquid refreshments on ice, a task that wasn’t really as laid back as you might think. There were a lot of heavy drinkers on Danny’s guest list.

We were now on that long, winding, hard packed, dirt road that leads through the valley and connects to the other dirt road which takes you right passed The Landing, where I live.  Moving along at good clip, having fun keeping the rear wheels from spinning too much around the corners, while enjoying the dirt track, race car effect. Speedometer was bouncing up and down around the sixty mark. The high beams illuminating the whole area well. The sun roof was open on Johnny’s insistence, even though I could feel the dusty dirt from the road filtering in.

Johnny Miller, my business venture partner and best friend, was laying sideways in the back seat of the Jeep singing about bottles on beer on the wall. His saxophone sprawled across his chest. He’s been developing a knack for getting sloppy drunk ever since we had that run in with the crazy people down in Boca Raton. He got busted up pretty good in that event and I think it affected him more than he lets on. So I thought It would be a good idea if he slept it off on my big leather couch, and we could maybe talk about it in the morning. He did hit all the notes right tonight though. The boys in the band had all hit on every cylinder tonight.

We’d been getting tired of the same songs in our repertoire, and lately we’d been delving into new musical areas. Areas far removed from our normal classic rock roots. We are a cover band that gets together when we can or whenever everyone feels like jamming. We have developed just enough talent to sometimes get invited to play at a large dinner club venue over in Clermont. We are also mostly made up of light aircraft pilots or pilot wannabes who have established themselves well enough financially to have the time to spend chasing the cumulus and cirrus clouds from the sky. Most of us do have some type of day job though.

Danny, the main drive behind the band, had always wanted to record and market, and Joey was interested as well. Danny has written an entire stable of material, everything from deep twang country to blues to mainstream classic rock and even into the heavier avenues. Some of it is really pretty good. Johnny is always up for whatever everyone else wants.

But I just didn’t want to get involved with all that. I guess I always thought of us as a low key, Emerson. Lake and Palmer type garage band, who had gained enough of a local following to have fun when we wanted to. Danny has always wanted to be Metallica.

Speaking of Metallica, have you heard their cover of Bob Seger’s classic Turn the Page? James Hetfield really butchers it. I’m not completely convinced Hetfield isn’t trying to impersonate the voice of that old wrestler guy, Macho Man Randy Savage. Please take note; when you decide to do a cover of something as special and exceptional as Turn the Page, you should go in thinking to do it as close to the original as possible. You shouldn’t change the style and the rhythm of the lyrical flow. You owe that to Mr. Seger, certainly in tribute, if for no other reason. I don’t even care if he granted you specific permission. Mr. Hetfield, you don’t have the right to go your own way with his artwork. You’re not even in the same class.

Maybe you should just stick to your thrash, you’re doing alright with it, and leave the classics alone.

Anyway, getting off that tangent and back to the band; by expanding and testing new waters, Danny thought he could generate some label interest and that I would take the wind in my sails when it happened. We were even looking around for a female lead to work the old Springsteen song, Because the Night, in a Natalie Merchant vein. Really good piano stuff in that song. And maybe even roll in some Stevie Nicks stuff too.

It was the first time we’d tried some of this new stuff in public and there’s always a little nervousness associated with a new debut. Johnny had spent a lot of time publicizing, so that those in attendance wouldn’t expect what we usually dialed up. Though it was a small party, we still felt strongly about disappointing anyone, and because it would be a small party, we chose it for the debut. If it worked well, which it did, we’d probably appear sometime soon over at Harrison’s in Clermont.

Even though we’d worked up over a dozen, it was planned for just five songs, and Danny opened with Coldplay’s Clocks, throwing in a little comedy during the break by proclaiming that the original artist’s lead singer had actually named his daughter Apple and followed that up by naming a son Moses. Danny finished it nicely and though we’d only rehearsed it three or four times fully through, it came across really tight. Next, I stepped away from the small Korg piano that I use in rehearsals, picked up my Stratocaster and kicked into Brian Wilson, A very popular parody song about the Beach Boys legend penned and formed by those Canadian characters, Page and Robertson. Danny followed in with the Goo Goo Dolls; Name, which has some really good keyboard banging, so I was back behind the Korg. Staying behind the piano, I brought out a Deep Purple revival of Highway Star because we wanted a serious jam in there.

The last song we did was an INXS tune called Don’t Change and to introduce it I spoke softly to the audience;

Let me take a minute to tell you about genius lost…about candlelight flicker… about a tragic departure. He was a brilliant lyricist and an amazing singer, one of the most talented and charismatic performers in rock and roll, he was…as good a vocalist as I have ever heard. Place him right up there with Jagger and Morrison. He was at the forefront of his craft and worldly popular, and at one point he held everything in his hands. Then he got caught in a moment he couldn’t get out of…And he let it all fall away just like sifting sand through fingers. How is it that you really left us, Michael? What really happened? I paused a moment and then said

You can never have it all and you can never get enough. The water is always so warm until you discover how deep….  I started in with the organ chords.

Ladies and gentlemen, in tribute to Michael Hutchence, please don’t change…

Danny brought in the rapid fire lead guitar, followed quickly by Pete and Joey on the bass and the drums. I reached up and pulled the mike a little closer.

"I'm standing here on the ground

The sky above won't fall down

See no evil in all directions

Resolution of happiness

Things have been dark for too long

Don't change for you

Don't change a thing for me

I found a love that I had lost

It was gone for too long

Hear no evil in all directions

Execution of bitterness

Message received loud and clear

Don't change for you

Don't change a thing for me…"

We finished it well. The audience approved and when we thanked them, they cried out for more. Danny tossed a single nod my way while raising an eyebrow. I just shook it off as non-chalantly as I could. Sometimes it’s good to just let it be. We’d accomplished what we wanted to do. The mood was good. Just let it be as it is.

The rest of the evening was spent sitting in lawn chairs surrounding a medium size fire out behind Danny’s garage, singing airplane stories, drinking and telling lies. One of those things pilot’s love to do.

Like I said, I just couldn’t get that song out of my head. I rounded one of the last long curves before the road drops down in the deep valley  a half mile or so before we get to my lane. A flash of white in the headlights up ahead, maybe a hundred yards or more.  I could see a young girl walking on the side of the road. She was wearing a short white skirt and a ragged red t-shirt. As I drove closer I could see that she wasn’t as young as I initially thought. Anyway, she should not be there or anywhere on a lonely road by herself at this time of night. Just about the time I started to feel the prickly pears crawling up the back of my neck, she moved slightly out onto the road and I tapped the brakes with enough pressure to knock down the speed without skidding the tires. I was beginning to wonder what this was all about as I brought the Jeep closer to where she was walking. I could see that she was wearing some type of mask, two sets of strings trailing around the back of her head, one below and one above the ears, causing the dirty blonde hair to appear stiff. She wore white sneakers on her feet.

At fifty feet she suddenly turned, moved in front of the Jeep, grabbed the bottom of the ragged red t-shirt and flashed a healthy set of breasts directly at me. I hit the brake pedal hard and felt the tires skid and the vehicle slide slightly to the left. I heard something murmured from the back seat. I was just about to call Johnny’s name when I felt the Jeep move upward violently and then I heard that alarming screech of steel being punched by steel and the Jeep was rolling over on its side.

When the dust settled, I found myself laying against the side door wondering what happened when the sudden slap of knowing reality caused the adrenaline to move the muscles, unhitch the seat belt and scramble myself out through the sunroof and into a lower area of ground where the water runs off the road during heavy rain storms.

This was no accident. This was a planned attack, and while that piece of information was still filtering, I heard the snapping of the automatic weapon shots hitting the other side of the Jeep. Two separate bursts of about seven or eight shots each, with more than one hitting the ground behind me. The shooter had fired at the bottom of the Jeep and Johnny was still in there.

The shooting stopped almost as quickly as it had started, although there wasn’t a complete silence; the lesser amount of noise was welcoming. I could begin to think and concentrate without distraction. I dared not move, but I found myself somehow hidden and somehow toward the rear of the vehicle where I could partially see the other side, the spot where the activity had come from. The engine of the Jeep was still running  but now began to cough and choke as though it was being starved for gas and that’s when I saw the flames reaching up and lighting the area of the road which before had been dark. The engine finally gave out and I saw movement over beyond the wreck that used to be my Jeep. A silhouette, two shadowy figures. One of a man dressed in combat fatigues, an Uzi or a Mac10 hanging from his right hand and the other of the girl in the red ragged t-shirt still wearing the Halloween mask. Maybe more than just dark shadows, maybe some kind of mercenary task force. The flickering light of the flames showing some color of clothing, but not enough to see more detail than that.

I was suddenly afraid that the half tank of gas was going to explode, maybe that was in their plan.

Johnny was still in the Jeep and I didn’t know if he was dead or alive. There was no sound and no movement that I could see from inside it. Though there was some very rapid movement going on outside on the road. They were gathering something, what appeared to be equipment, from the road where the Jeep had been. It appeared to be heavy and awkward to carry. It took both of them to get it into the back of an ATV that had probably been hidden before, but now was right there by the side of the road. The flames were reaching higher now and I was really worried about Johnny. I had to get him out of there. The girl was behind the wheel of the ATV now and the man walked quickly toward the Jeep, stopping a few feet from it, just far enough away so as not to feel the heat of the fire and then he spoke.

E way Puta! And with that he threw something at the Jeep which exploded on impact. This sent the flames even higher than before and blinded my sight beyond the bright light. I could hear the ATV moving quickly away and guessed that they were both gone. I knew enough about the Spanish language to recognize it, and also to know that what he’d said wasn’t meant to be nice. I had no time to waste. I could see smoke rising out of the sunroof and realized the fire was creeping inside.

I got to the opening and jammed my head inside and though the smoke burned my eyes, I could see that Johnny was not in the back seat. I heard the rear glass shatter and saw the movement and realized that Johnny was planning to go out that way. He climbed over the rear seats and kicked the rear window out. I recovered in time to open the hatch and pull him out.

Johnny was lucid enough to ask what the hell had happened, but I was intent on getting us far enough away so that when the Jeep blew up we wouldn’t be caught in the explosion. I swung his arm over my shoulder and dragged us both away, down the road toward The Landing. I heard it go. The gas tank erupted and as we turned, we saw the fire ball reach up into the sky. What ever was in the Jeep was lost forever. My cell phone, John’s saxophone and anything else he’d left in there. Luckily, I’d left the piano, the amps and microphone and my Fender guitar at Danny’s. Anything else in there was either related to the Jeep or could be replaced.

If the gunfire didn’t get anyone’s attention, this will. I said.

What the fuck happened? asked Johnny.

Someone set an I.E.D. in the middle of the road, John, then they staged a distraction to get us to stop long enough to set it off right under us.

An I.E-what? He yelled.

An improvised explosive device, John, a bomb designed to disable a car. And I must say that it worked pretty well. They use them in Iraq and Afghanistan to kill our troops. But they weren’t trying to kill us. They were sending a message and I can’t figure out if it was meant for us or just a random act for the first car that came down the road. I paused for a minute to give him time to respond but he didn’t.  As we were walking, I could see him limping and rubbing various parts of his body.

I don’t understand the Spanish connection either, I said, That guy who lit the Jeep after the explosion swore at me, or us, whichever. What’s that all about?

John still didn’t respond and we continued walking. Getting closer to home now, we were cresting the last small knoll before the road goes into a valley. At the bottom of the valley lies the entrance to my ranch style house, nicknamed The Fortuitous Landing because of the way it was acquired. Nineteen acres of the most beautiful pasture land in this part of Florida. I converted the ranch into a grass airstrip and I keep my ragwing, open cockpit float plane in a big, barn type, garage with a hanger style door. Suddenly I saw a glow on the horizon off to our left and realized that it was coming from my home.

I don’t think this was a random act anymore, John, I screamed, My house is on fire!

The glow was becoming brighter as we watched, the flames started to illuminate the area around it. I started to run and then stopped. I saw the lone tall tree off to the left of my hanger and was able to piece the distance from it to know that it wasn’t the house that was on fire. It was the hanger.

Where’s your phone? I asked Johnny. He pulled it out of his left front pocket.

Here, he said handing it to me. But I was already gone.

Call 911, I yelled over my shoulder as I ran through the field toward my land.

As I ran closer to the hanger, I could see that the flames had breached the roof and the shingles were beginning to melt. My mind could not get passed the idea of why the sprinkler system hadn’t put out the fire. I reached the corner of the barn, hit the door opener and waited impatiently for the hydraulic cylinders to open the hanger door. Hoping the fire hadn’t reached the electric power pack which drives the cylinders. As the door opened, I could see that the wings of the Beaver were already destroyed, their aluminum struts and spars blackened with soot. The seats, as well as the fuselage, were gone. The fiberglass liquefied and dripping molten globs of fire onto the floor of the building. The blazing was also well into the rafters and that’s when I noticed that no water came from the sprinkler heads, even though the wax had surely melted.

Looking and moving at the same time toward my Ninja motorcycle, I noticed that the tail section was not ablaze, though there was a section of rudder fabric missing and upon closer inspection I found it had been cut out with a knife. Arson. Probably done by the same group who blew up the Jeep. Not wasting anymore time, I wheeled the Ninja out of the barn and away from the flames. As I went back to retrieve something else I realized that the two fire extinguishers that had been mounted at each end of the hanger doors were gone. Turning, I saw Johnny running toward me.

John, run into the house and get me a fire extinguisher...in the hallway by the wine closet! I yelled to him and went back toward the fire. The blaze was now so intense that I couldn’t get very close. There were some gas cans toward the rear of the plane that I focused on. If they went up, the explosion might blow over to the house. I ran into the hanger, trying the block the heat on my face with my arms and starting to doubt the sanity of this plan. Reaching the cans, what should have been four, but were now only three, I grabbed two by the handles and went straight out the back door. I ran twenty yards or so and spiraled, launching one can after the other, discus style as far away as I could. Got my footing back from the spin, turned and ran back toward the back door. I remembered to grab a deep breath and hold it before re-entering the inferno. When I got my hands on the third can, I took a few seconds to look for anything else I could get, but the heat became so intense that it literally caused an involuntary exhale and upon the next air intake my lungs felt like they were on fire.

Now coughing and choking and almost abandoning the gas can, I made my way back out of the blaze. With the can carried as far away as I could get it before collapsing to the ground, I knelt on my knees choking and spitting. The coughing turn to convulsing and then to vomiting. Everything I had eaten, not just at Danny’s party, but everything I had eaten in the last week, seemed to come up. In the light from the burning barn, seeing the vomit on the ground in front of my knees caused my sickness to continue. With every once of strength I had, I rolled over on my left side and pushed myself away from the mess.

As I lay there collecting myself, I began to wonder about where Johnny was, hoping he hadn’t tried to attack the fire armed with a single fire extinguisher. I gathered enough strength to get on my feet and stagger out in front of the hanger door. Johnny wasn’t there. I started toward the house; saw the open door and the house fire extinguisher lying on the ground to the left of the walkway leading to the doorway. The ground by the extinguisher was disturbed, like something heavy had been dragged across there. Moving into the house and calling Johnny’s name I got no response, I went back out the door and through the veiled illumination from the fire I saw shadowed movement out by the airstrip. While running toward the runway the darkened figure became better defined. The single figure suddenly became three, two dragging an obviously unsettled third between them. I froze in mid stride. Horror in my mind, tingling sensation zipped down my spine and fear crept into me agonizingly slow. The man in the middle was Johnny. His head was bowed forward and his legs were dangling, dragging as the two men carried him out to the middle of the grass runway.

I saw more movement coming from the right side. A car, no, a mini van, moving quickly toward the men. Its sliding side door opening. The van was dark in color and by the light of the interior dome; I could see its only occupant was the driver. As I watched the car slow in front of the trio, the two men shoved Johnny into the van then scrambled in behind him. The van immediately accelerated down the runway and off the end of it. In moments I saw it brake suddenly and turn right on to the dirt of Buckhill Road. My paralysis didn’t last long and before I realized it, I was running, making fast tracks toward the Ninja. All the effects of vomiting long forgotten. Adrenaline was taking over. I had to catch them, had to get to them before they hurt Johnny.

I jumped on the Ninja, flipped the switch and thumbed the starter button. The engine roared to life. I threw my right foot out to the side, kicked the shifter up with the left and gunned the throttle. The Ninja spun a half circle in the grass and I was on my way out the lane. I flipped on the high beam and took the time to grab the sunglasses from between the forks and flip them on my face.

All that I knew was that they had turned right. Their taillights long gone from view. In the haste, I forgot to take it easy on the hard packed dirt road of Buckhill and almost lost control through the fist part of the ‘S’ turn. Keep it calm Jake, I kept telling myself. There’s no way that van can outrun this bike. Keep it calm ‘til you get on the paved road. It seemed to take forever to drive the mile and a half out to County Road 455. I was keeping it at about seventy and only feeling the rear tire break loose on the turns. But, my fear was realized as I approached the intersection. Which way did they go? I had to guess that they’d be heading to population, or toward a main thoroughfare like the turnpike or Highway 27, so without slowing down much, I geared her down and leaned her over hard to the right. As soon as I felt the rear tire grab on the macadam, I twisted the throttle tight and held it that way. I didn’t even use the clutch. I just took her up through the gears as fast as she would get there. When I crossed the top of the ridge a glance at the gauge said I was doing a hundred and a quarter. By the time I got near the bottom of the hill I was over one fifty. I braked with both the front and the rear while gearing down, leaned her hard into the left turn, straightened her up and climbed back on the throttle. 

I saw tail lights ahead, glanced down and saw the needle rise back up over the one fifty mark. Tail lights coming up fast, but it wasn’t the van. It was a red Ford pickup truck and when I went by on the left he almost took it off the road on the right. By now I was passing under the turnpike overpass and needed to make