Operation: Astronomical

By J. Aric Keith

Approached by his sister, his brother-in-law and an old friend, Dale Pennington finds himself ensnared in a new underground world where nothing is quite what it seems. Coaxed into continuing by his wife who seems to be swayed by the impressive payment for the jobs Dale is hired to perform, will he bend to the will of the Jerome Society? Will he find who pushes Fallfayer's buttons? And who are these kids?

André Chávez was appointed as a Champion long before General Nicanor slithered himself into the House Chávez stronghold of San Buitré. Can he survive long enough to find a way from this torture? Or will he be swayed by his young protégé?

The Maraude Series is at least 30 to 35 novels in length, and this is book one. J. Aric Keith's longest running design, spanning 30 years of planning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Aric Keith
• Release date: Jul 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476050805

J. Aric Keith

J. Aric is a musician, artist, and author who is just now beginning to set his idea collection to print after 30 years of dreaming about it. His writing centers around the unlikely child heroes, conspiracy theory, espionage, music, cars, sometimes about post-apocalyptic events, and sometimes about paranormal stuff. The Maraude Series alone is planned for at least 35 books. He can be found nearly anywhere online as Sir Keystone or keystone045. By the way 045 is his racing number. He lives in Northwest Arkansas with his wife in the recent empty nest. Nope, no grand kids yet, but one on the way.

Book preview

Chapter One

21 February, 1974 – Villa of San Buitré, Cuba

The boy sat by himself at a table arrayed in fine American breakfast staple. Ham, eggs, bacon, pancakes, muffins, sausage. The smell might be inviting, but it was all cold. Breakfast had been two hours ago. He had been outside, finishing the chores while the rest of the house ate their fill.

He had heated his own bowl of oatmeal as the food was now just a greasy reminder of the joy of the family banter that might have played here two hours ago.

His vantage point allowed for one of the best views of the sea from the entire house. That in and of itself made this a wonderful meal. Not many people knew of this mansion's existence. It snuggled against the hills north of Jamal, and opened majestically on to a very secluded beach.

He stirred the contents of the bowl absentmindedly.

The girl of about nine, slightly rotund for her age, but not so much that she could not run quickly, crossed the formal dining room floor, the next room over. As she glared at him, he took aim with his finger and blew her away with his imagination.

Her glare turned evil and she struck at him with a long string of derogatory Caribbean Spanish. He smirked back at her. And then smiled.

He had heard the foot fall behind him, but ignored it as his Father became irresponsible with his temper if he felt he had not bested his son. The man gripped his shoulder, thinking he was dealing a crippling blow with his imaginary, vise-like grip. André, what do you think of when you act like you are shooting at your sister?

That I am killing my bratty sister. She had made her way out of to the terrace to keep from hearing the exchange. André sneered at the perquisite pain he was about to receive. Though, it was far from painful these days. He didn't allow his Father to know this, however. When the grip tightened he didn't even have to brace anymore, but his Father would continue until a scream came from his lips.

André was upset that it had come to this, but this situation was not much different the one with the General. General Nicanor was afraid of him and he had every right, as he had paid for the training for André to become the best fighter possible.

This was not how he had wished for this day to start. He yelped in a defeated tone.

The General would not be happy that you gave in so quickly. He shoved the boy forward as he released his grip.

The day will come, when I will not care what that old man thinks.

Be careful what you ask for son. The man waved his hand in the air, indicating the property they enjoyed. With out your Master, our family would not be this favored.

"This belonged to our family long before he forced his way in. Besides, without my Master, I would be spending my time in a real school with friends and girls."

You will obey his wishes or he will send you to meet your Mother and Enrique.

André thought of his Mother and older brother, murdered in General Nicanor's rise to power under the thumb of General Castro. He could not even remember their faces anymore. His brother had dies to protect him. He had died in vain.

I'm not sure I care anymore. Is it really worth all of this?

I will not tolerate you wishing ill on the General, understood?

André understood that this was a forced arrangement. For survival, his father now had to continue the situation. His father was not only protecting him and his sister, but the legacy of his own father. André's father, Rodrigo hoped in all of his Catholic faith that André's grandfather, the head of House Chávez would someday return and bring the family power back to San Buitré. André didn't believe in the fairy tales of the Nuns and Priests. He believed in the true power of this planet, nature herself. But none of that would help his plight today.

Yes sir.

Then if you aren't eating, get to your training. You will be accompanying the General and his Service Agents to an outing in Havana.

Will I be leading the agents?

Of course not. Only as a cooperative.

Oh, he' going to the clubs again.

André? His father's voice rose in that special way that denoted a backhand was coming shortly. Besides you will need to save your body for the Ring next month.

Why do I have to fight my cousin? André was distraught. This match was to be to the death. I don't wish to hurt her, not her me.

Do not disappoint us. There is an extra amount of money riding on my sister's daughter losing.

Can't we just make it look good? André rose from the table.

you would be wasting all of our resources. Rodrigo drew close to André's face. To make that choice, you would be killing everyone in this house, including yourself.

A lot of heap on a thirteen year old boy.

You stopped being a boy the day you helped the General to our house. If this displeases you, keep remembering this is your fault.

André knew the true culprit of course, was the Uncle whose name his father would never repeat. Magistrate Martinez of the Trend Council who married into House Chávez and then dismantled it piece by piece. André was the biggest pawn. Well, and his cousin, Amanda. General Nicanor was the figure head of the Trend Counsel's take over of the higher Cuban society.

He blinked his eyes in slow motion at his father. He knew the look of concern, but his father would never voice it.

As a pair of tiny girls in yellow robes cleared the table, André turned to make his way outside where his trainer was waiting. Rintaro Toshio was warming up as he does every morning facing the sea on the west terrace, opposite the huge pool that his sister now swam in. Sensei Rintaro was deeply in meditation in his fluid movements of the ancient forms.

André fell into step, even though he was several steps behind. André's mind was a whirlwind of thought as he tried to bring his mind into subjection and quiet his soul. But the turmoil of his perception of his reality was torturing his body as well as his mind.

He fought to keep his sanity. He was at the point of hating his Master and his Father. This was the hate that boils over into mistrust and eventually murder. It didn't help that he was being trained by one of the Tao's most requested assassin. Ha To Shito had made the deadly mistake of betting against a job that he had sent Rintaro on.

It was one thing to bet on the outcome of Rintaro's abilities, but his Master had bet against him. Rintaro's honor, tarnished. Many who looked at the event and said that his only way out was to destroy the house that Ha To had built. Rintaro had done so, in such a quick succession and so completely that the rest of the Tao politely asked him to leave out of fear.

Afraid of retaliation by the other Societies, he took bids to train Champions after that and had made a good living with the Council of St. Elisbeth in the Soviet Union before taking the job at the former Cuban house to train a rising star.

All of this to André meant nothing more than being a glorified part of the same cloth that Rintaro had woven for himself. Rintaro though, had become an unlikely friend in a very friendless world.

As they danced the way of student and teacher – and it was becoming hard to tell the difference – André continued the path that always brought him peace when faced with his father's obstinate behavior with regard to the General.

His own eyes closed, he could feel the little eyes on him from the pool. His little sister's pity, fear and concern for him, washed over his soul.

Dear Salvadora. He loved her, he did. His father and the General had tried for so long to keep them apart by teaching him only English and her only Spanish, but he was eight when the General took this house and André had already a firm understanding of the language. Salvadora had been sneaking in to work with him to keep him fluent.

The General had nearly beat her to death once when he thought that she had taught André to speak Spanish. One of the few times his father had stood up to the General, which, because of his position, André had to put a reluctant stop to.

But it would not happen again. If the General even so much as threatened Salvadora again, André would protect her, even if it meant killing his own Master. After all, had not Rintaro done the same?

As he twisted his body though the motions of cloud hands and pulling the tail of the dragon, he breathed. In came the cool, salty, cleansing air, and out spewed the dark muddy cloud of confusion. His desperate situation was, for the moment, was leaving him clear of mind.

The fog lifted from his soul. The clarity was intelligible.

Rintaro Kano Toshio knew when it happened.

He always knew.

The supposed, surprise kick at André's face, which was easily ducked and retaliated, said as much.

Now, they attacked each other with a fury of movement that might have been mistaken for a blood match in itself. For nearly an hour, they tested each others stamina, strength, strategy, tact, and patience. Each knowing the others limits and pushing those to the edge, yet never allowing their own breathing to escalate.

As sudden as it had begun, they both stopped. Even the wind seemed to take notice, as if holding it's own breath for the next volley of fighting for practice.

But the volley never began. They just stood breathing. Eyes closed. As if waiting for something.

The breeze must have needed a breath, a warm gust from the north brought a salty humid air from the Atlantic.

The two young men heard the crunch of the gravel on the drive, before vehicles were ever seen. Together, even though Sensei Rintaro was not to be inside the house, they strode into the house and settled in at the foyer windows.

A black limousine. Mercedes. Shadowed by a Land Rover with a menacing tripod mounted machine gun, manned by a nondescript man wearing green fatigues. Leading the Mercedes was a small black pickup, sporting the same style of weapon.

The two trucks flanked the limousine as the driver let two men, armed with assault rifles out. He then proceeded to the rear of the car opening the rear passenger door. The man in mirrored sunglasses and an array of campaign badges on his pressed suit stood as the girl in a red dress emerged from the car, adorned with the same Russian made rifle as the men.

General Flavio Primiero Nicanor had arrived.

Unannounced.

Chapter Two

21 February, 1974 – Phoenix, Arizona

The match flashed to life and the flame drawn into the end of the waiting cigar. The ritual of the raw puff was a staple in this office. In front of my desk sat two men that I would trust my life to.

Lieutenant Colonel Sheldon DuBois was a slight man, nearly six-foot tall. He had always been well able to take care of himself in any tactical situation, from the decisions on a battlefield to the quick thinking of a pub brawl. He was not much younger than I, at thirty-five.

He was a transfer from the Canadian Air Force, still wore his garrison cap cocked sideways. The General was an understanding man but this one rule probably kept DuBois from being advanced to Captain. As long as there was a stand off about the issue, DuBois would even wear the offending hat inside the buildings. Which we all knew would eventually be his down fall. The excuse was that the ranks were frozen, but we all knew better.

I exhaled the cherry apple smoke from my lungs. I'm having a real problem about putting the F4s in as the ground recon. I say we need the Dragonflies, low and fast.

I agree Colonel, but we need four more of them to pull off a third wing. said DuBois.

I sighed, We will be putting the wing in a lopsided front if we can't pull the same planes out.

I'll see what I can do. Rafferty shuffled the paperwork in front of him. We might be able to pull a few old T-37s from a couple of other units.

Captain George Rafferty. It wasn't unusual for such a brain to be behind the desk at an Air Force base, but Rafferty was a supreme brain. I always pictured him in a lab coat waiting for the lightning to strike his amalgamation of body parts to bring the dead back to life. Sometimes he was too smart for his own good. He was a delight as a pencil pusher. I still believe he could requisition a steak dinner direct from the White House and make the President himself deliver it.

A good man to have behind the desk for your team. He wasn't typical of the desk type either. He was a lean man, and could hold his own in a fight. I had been in day dream before, wondering just which of these men could best the other. Perhaps I would never find out.

I wish we had a decision on that A-10 platform. I pushed my pen back into it's useless, ornate holder toward the ash tray at the left side of my metal desk.

I'm pushing buttons Sir, but I haven't heard yet. Didn't it pass the fly off last year? Rafferty asked.

Yes. I smiled, the memory of that plane that was such a contradiction of terms. GE is already working on the cannon. But the board is wanting another fly off.

A new plane? I could tell DuBois was curious about where I was getting my information.

No, the Corsair II.

Oh, I thought somebody had brought another design to the table. Rafferty mused.

No, the Thunderbolt has it, but they want the A-X platform to run against a tried and true plane.

Do you think it will survive? It's so damn ugly. DuBois chuckled.

I have about half an hour in one at the proving grounds, but it's only a mock up. The bathtub is not fully fabricated yet as the cannon has not been refitted after the new ejection system was designed.

You've flown it already? Rafferty exclaimed.

Why do you think I want it so bad for my Three-Five-Five? I smiled at his surprise. He keeps forgetting I can push a pencil also.

A knock at the door surprised us.

I was instantly irritated. No one was to know I was here. I wasn't due to have this meeting for two more weeks. I was here in Phoenix on a surprise visit. I should have been at my desk in Tucson. I said no visitors, Bradley!

Sir. I understand that you will make time for these. He yelled with an audible smile.

When the door opened, my little sister and her husband filed through. they were followed by a man I knew very well. Come on then, make ye-self at home. I let my Scottish-British accent shine, when I normally tried to hide it. It did it's job of being part jest at the lack of space in my tiny office, which was part sarcasm and part honesty since this space was likely a broom closet at some point in history. My wit was received as intended, they made their way to lean against the walls, smiles all around.

Even my hippie brother-in-law.

Shinerique, what a pleasant surprise, Tovarishch. My men and I stood and proffered hands as I introduced them.

The first to need introduction to my wary men, and possibly my family as well, was the Soviet standing closest to the wall. Agent Shinerique Exandrov of the newly formed KGB. He is the man who single-handedly brought down my Sabre in Korea. The years had been good to him. Very fit, he looked as if able to bench press a good two hundred pounds and knowing how well he was trained, I had no doubt he would have no problem handling everyone in this room. His closely shaved head was starting the gray though. There had been twenty years of our secret friendship since that day in Korea.

I turned next to one I had not cared to see for almost that long. This is FBI agent Anne Dawson. My sister. I didn't like this short hair cut of hers. Her delicate face aged more than I wished, though her short bobbed strawberry hair framed it nicely. I just remembered my sisters long glimmering hair when we were children, we were so close once.

And then he happened, And this is FBI liaison for the CIA Liam Dawson. I reversed the introductions as my sister dropped the brown folder to my desk with a thud.

Sorry to be short Dale, but we has matters that need be discussed. Oh, she didn't even try to hide her exquisite accent. Hers had always had that Irish flair to it too. It helped to add to the heritage of our reddish blond hair I suppose.

This folder, she continued, is only a scratch of the mount of paperwork sittin' on me desktop at the moment. Paperwork that be blacked out by both agencies. Nothin' but black marker in that folder. Me brass bein' decided that we should get someone inside to find out what these bloody people are up to.

And you just happened to pick me?

The male Agent Dawson took his liberties to join in the conversation. The main entity seems to be an entrenched network of mostly business men and politicians. We have an in, but we really have no idea other than this one meeting spot they gave us, to start looking for them. They have put out a hand for someone to join them from the military.

Oh, let me guess, Metermaid, this is where I come in?

Dale, I received commendation that you should do this. It is what I have been telling you about since Korea. Exandrov's Russian accent was hard for a few of the others to follow. There is something amiss. Or they would not use this moment. St. Elisbeth is hearing certain rumors but, nothing definite.

St. Elisbeth? Liam grunted. What's that?

Shinerique glared at the agent and then turned back to me, My Society had plans for you as well but we are trumped here.

Society? Anne received Shinerique's reproach this time.

I know not why you here, but do not interfere with proceedings. They are not kind to innocent parties. His anger was growing exponentially at the interruptions.

What does the hell is that supposed to mean? Rafferty nearly rose from his chair.

Gentlemen. Anne held up her hands to quench the hostility. "As Liam said, we have an in, but Dale it will involve ye doing some less regimental work." Shinerique shook his head in disgust and stood in silence the rest of the conversation. I wished he could have continued, but Meter-maid and my sister thought they had something more important to say, than the recommendations or warnings from my old friend.

Liam lathered on a bit of sarcasm, That is if you can get off your high and mighty officer's club golf cart and do this for us.

"I have a job to do here. I can't be bothered by the work of meter maids." I was trying to eye my way back into Shinerique's good graces, urging him to continue. He stood his ground. Liam on the other hand, folded. My last comment bested his somehow. Just when I thought he might finally have something for me.

Anne set her hand on Liam's shoulder and gave me a wilted look of despair.

Okay, what is this exactly? I cut my eyes in such a way that she knew I would hear her out, even though it was against my better judgment at this point.

This particular group calls themselves the Jerome Society. Me believes they are ordered from very high on the food chain, but we haven't been able to nail down just who pushes all the buttons. She glanced at my Russian friend. Could possibly have something to do with the fabled secret societies. But as far as the Jerome Society themselves, we know very little about them.

A switch was thrown. The look that Exandrov had on his face when she said secret societies. It was nearly one of those evil grins from the movies when the anti-hero gives away his plan to the hero. So where do I come in? The thought of secret societies intrigued me, and to think that this was Exandrov might have been hinting at the whole time, was just icing on the cake.

The way I understand it, each of us was contacted with the exact moment that we needed to be able to be waiting for each other's planes when we got to Sky Harbor. Liam said.

"They contacted us inside of our departments. I don't like the idea of someone having that kind of control over our country's security. Anne nodded, wringing her hands. They told me to contact ye, Rafferty and DuBois here today, at exactly this time. Everything had been timed to the second."

Shinerique continued to stand silent. Liam jumped into the quiet, The Chairman James Fallfayer and his entire committee will be there to meet us, and we are to escort you to Jerome Mountain.

Jerome? The ghost town? My question, framed in nearly expletive form, as if the dregs from the Haight-Ashbury settling there had tainted it, but yet again it was my intrigue that framed my words.

Not for them apparently. Liam answered.

I smiled. My sister continued her briefing with the details that they did know, which wasn't much, but after only a few moments we were decided that this would be a simple thing. We were going to talk to this Fallfayer fellow.

Chapter Three

21 February, 1974 – En route to Jerome, Arizona

The air in the limousine had become stuffy. We had already exhausted the small talk. It turns out we didn't have so much in common. Now we concentrated on the task.

Do you really think that my talking with them will offer any change in my opinion? I hoped in my sister's point of view.

Me hoped that ye would. It would definitely be a positive venture. She nodded emphatically.

How could working with an international bunch of thugs be positive? DuBois and Rafferty were silent during the exchange, watching and waiting for their turn to weigh in. That turn would not come very soon. George kept pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The three officers sat across the back seat, the three agents sat in the curved couch in front of us, facing back to us. We had raided the mini-bar but none of us had really touched our drinks for the discussion up to this point.

Because, man. That's the way the Feds do it. You do something for us and we reward you for it. Liam said. His disposition was grating on my nerves. He remained cocky even though my sister continued to reprimand him for it. Though, now in the confines of this car for the better part of an hour, he had loosened his tie at least four times.

That hasn't been my experience. Besides, I asked for my sister's opinion, not yours. I added the Meter-maid to the end for effect.

Oh, come now boys. Liam you promised, be nice.

I see who wears the pants in that family. I grinned.

Dale! She was a bit less gentle that time.

What? I'm just stating that it is surely wearing on him being in a house full of females.

Liam was sullen but responded, Like you have it that much better, your wife making your kids nudists and all. My nephew been wearing the girl's hand-me-down dresses yet? Anne slapped his shoulder with a puckered lip and a jutting jaw.

I only smiled. Now see, I figured a hippie like you would understand the communal spirit of nudism. There aren't many hand me down dresses, because they don't wear them enough. Saves hundreds on clothing and washing supplies every year.

Now the back of this car were of hinted smiles all around. Liam turned to Anne and cracked, Maybe we should try it then? She slapped his shoulder again, but this time with a blushed cheek and a look that said more than she had planned. Was it possible that she already