Escape from Darkness

By Raul Aguilar

A crystal discovered in the rapids of the Rio Alseseca in the depths of the Veracruz jungles leads to the development of a revolutionary engine by a young engineer. Oil-rich interests seek to destroy the prototype engine and to eliminate the young engineer.
Sherman Allen is hired to protect the invention and is caught in the crossfire. Sherman Allen fights to overcome a debilitating emotional depression by protecting the young engineer's life.
Sherman Allen, the engineer and a young waitress struggled to demonstrate to the United States government the value of the young engineer's invention and secure the government’s protection.
Their trail flows from the jungles of Veracruz through the Costa del Sol to a secret army test facility in the Anza-Borrego Desert along the United States Mexican border.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raul Aguilar
• Release date: Nov 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301224968

Raul Aguilar

Raul Aguilar has lived in the San Francisco Bay Area for over 35 years. A degree in Electrical Engineering lead to a career as an Electronic Analog Design Engineer for 10 years and ultimately inspired him to pursue a Juris Doctor degree from the University of San Francisco. Admission to the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office diverted his interests temporarily, but ultimately fate led him to pursue a career as an Insurance Regulatory Attorney.Raul has pursued writing short stories as a means to express his interests in travel, 13th Century European History and International Relations. Raul's travels have led him from San Francisco across all the major cities in America to London, Paris, Cote d'Azur, Monaco, Germany, Italy, Rome, Spain, the Cayman Islands, the Caribbean, Mexico and South America. His writings reflect many of the places and cities visited by Raul and his lovely wife Diane.

Book preview

ESCAPE FROM DARKNESS

Sherman Allen Series

By Raul Aguilar

Copyright 2012 Raul Aguilar

Smashwords Edition. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Acknowledgments

I dedicate this book to my wife, Diane. A sweet and gentle soul who patiently stood by my side and unselfishly gave her last measure of love and life in support of my efforts. Without Diane, nothing would have been possible.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 - Opposites

Chapter 2 - The Engineer

Chapter 3 - The Banker

Chapter 4 - Rio Alseseca

Chapter 5 - A Diversion

Chapter 6 - What to Do?

Chapter 7 - Carrier Pigeon

Chapter 8 - Trouble on Rio Alseseca

Chapter 9 - The Offer

Chapter 10 - The Maria Isabella

Chapter 11 - Wedding & Proposal

Chapter 12 - Sam's

Chapter 13 - Betrayal

Chapter 14 - Hôpital Sainte Marie à Nice

Chapter 15 - The Boys Meet

Chapter 16 - The Residence Sea

Chapter 17 - Strategy Meetings

Chapter 18 - The Bradley

Chapter 19 - Test Run

Chapter 20 - Success

Epilogue

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About the Author

Connect with the Author

Other Books by Raul Aguilar

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ESCAPE FROM DARKNESS

Chapter 1 - Opposites

1Marbella, Spain

A slow cool wandering breeze was spreading across the sky blue Mediterranean Sea as a massive passenger Ocean Liner had just been pushed alongside one of the five 2,000 foot docks by three brightly colored tug boats in the resort port servicing Marbella, Spain. The harbor workers and the ship's crews feverishly pulled at the heavy lines between the cruise ship and the dock, securing them to the metal arrestors anchoring it to the pier. The cruise ship The Residence Sea was bathed in sunlight as the early morning sun reflected off her pristine white and gold outline. As the Residence Sea finished the process of securing herself to the side of the dock at the harbor in Marbella, the activity surrounding the ship grew more intense.

Trent Brown was the first person off the majestic ocean liner with a human cargo of less than 200 passengers. The Residence Sea was an ocean-going city where several hundred passengers with a minimum net worth of $5 million owned individual condominiums. This luxury cruise ship was of opulence unheard of anywhere in the world.

Trent Brown made his way past the offices of the Port Master and found his way to the large warehouse at the end of the 4000-foot long dock. The entrance to the warehouse was surrounded by busy loading dock crews who were responsible for providing supplies, fuel and other necessities, to the large ocean liners, which stopped daily at this busy Mediterranean harbor. Trent Brown was a muscular 230 pound, six-foot tall man with a confident casual stride. He was dressed in white slacks, a thin black belt, white shoes and a single button white sport coat, which set off his bronze skin and jet-black hair.

Trent looked inside the warehouse and spotted the person he was looking for standing on top of several palettes used for carrying boxes of produce. Mr. Gonzales, he said in a loud voice. A short, well-dressed stocky man with a badly fitting black wig turned toward Trent and forced a smile of recognition. Trent, how nice to see you again, he said motioning Trent to come over. Trent walked quickly and carefully across the warehouse floor toward Mr. Gonzales. The warehouse floor was cluttered with crates of every imaginable size and shape. Trent climbed nimbly onto the palettes where the short stocky man was standing and extended his hand in greeting. Gonzalez shook Trent's hand with little or no force, although it was clear to Trent that Gonzales could crush his hands with his vice like grip.

Trent pulled a small manila envelope out of his coat pocket and handed it to Gonzales. I trust this will be satisfactory. We expect to be back within the next 30 days. Mr. Anderson, the ship's loading manager, will be by later in the day to confirm the loadings of the items ordered, said Trent respectfully. Gonzalez accepted the envelope and squeezed it as if to weigh the contents. Without another word, Gonzalez put the envelope into his coat pocket, turned toward a longshoreman pulling a cart full of fish and crushed ice and yelled Take that to locker 36, they have been waiting for you for over 30 minutes.

Without another word, and without looking at Trent, Gonzales stepped off the pallets following the longshoreman pulling the cart toward wherever locker 36 was located. Trent stood there for a moment, understood he was dismissed. He turned and headed back to the ship. You would think that they would be more appreciative of the messenger. Instead they'll treat you like garbage, he thought to himself. His work done for the day, Trent started back to the cruise ship. As he reached the cruise ship, the entryway was crowded with people disembarking. The crew and purchasing agents for the various restaurants on the ship were leaving to buy fresh vegetables, meat, fish and other supplies for the next leg of the trip. Several golfers were off to the various golf courses in the general area and all added to the hubbub surrounding the arrival of a cruise ship to a new port.

Trent made his way up the gangway through the entry port, through the metal detectors and underwent the usual screening for weapons. Security procedures had now become commonplace on most cruise ships after 9/11. He took the main elevator down to the lower floors were his stateroom was located. While Trent's room was not very large, it was a larger room than those allowed to most of the ship’s crewmembers. Trent pulled a bottle of wine out of his refrigerator and poured himself a large glass of white wine. He had done his job this morning and could spend the next week drinking wine at the various lounges on the ship, take in a movie, use the gym and otherwise fight the boredom of his position.

Trent went over to the wall, opened the room’s small porthole and let the cool Mediterranean breeze to flow into his room. He lay down on the small bed and stared at the porthole. Trent hated the thought of being the ship's bagman. It was a good job and it paid well. He was the person entrusted with the thousand of Euros in cash, which were paid as a bribe to each local longshoremen group, which serviced the luxury ship. In this part of the world, it was not illegal, and in fact, it was the practice, to bribe the local workforce to do their jobs.

Trent had gotten the job because the son of one of the multimillionaires who owned several condominiums aboard the Residence Sea had been a classmate of Trent's at Cal-Berkeley and had seen Trent play football and admired his athletic accomplishments. After Trent had been disbarred and lost his ability to practice law in California they had met at a bar at the San Francisco University Club. His rich friend had referred Trent to his parents who had just purchased several condominiums on the luxury cruise liner, the Residence Sea. It was always like that, with little effort, Trent found that he had a job with the cruise ship. After his bankruptcy and divorce there was nothing keeping him in California and life on a cruise ship had its extra benefits. Over the past year, Trent had dated every single woman crewmember and a few of the Residence. Dating a resident owner on the cruise ship was a dangerous practice and he had been very relieved when they tired of the life on a cruise ship and went back to their social lives on dry land.

The job was boring and Trent spent most of his time learning about wine and its special qualities. If it were not for the fully equipped gymnasium on the cruise ship, Trent would have lost his trim athletic figure. Trent might not be the smartest man in the world but he knew that he needed that athletic look to carry out his job as a muscleman bagman as well as to charm and seduce the newly arriving female crewmembers who constantly rotated between jobs on shore and on the cruise ship. As Trent opened a second bottle of white wine, he started daydreaming about the good old days. The happy carefree days when he was in college without any responsibilities, lots of girlfriends and when he was the big man on campus made life great. His classmates had all been very wealthy and he rarely had to pay for anything. He was bright and did not have to put in endless hours in the library. With little effort, he could coast along with a C+ average. In his sophomore year, he decided to try out for the football team and became one of the better athletes of the school. He was very charming, personable and parlayed his success as a football player with the coeds at Berkeley. As a bagman for the cruise ship The Residence Sea, Trent had little to do aboard the ship except daydream about the good old days. He thought about the best day of his life.

Trent remembered that it was a cool afternoon in Berkeley California. The cool breeze from the porthole and the wine made him feel mellow and he slowly started to fall asleep drifting effortlessly into his favorite dream. He remembered how tired, sweaty and thirsty he was that afternoon. He remembered that his reactions were starting to slow and his muscles were reaching the limits of their endurance. He had been on the field for almost the whole of the second half of the football game and he was bone tired. The roar of the crowd in the stadium kept him going.

The California Golden Bears had a two-point lead with only seconds to play in the fourth quarter. Stanford needed a few more yards to be within range of the game winning field goal. The entire 55,000 fans, including the players themselves, knew that Stanford's field-goal kicker could not miss from that distance. One more play, a timeout and Stanford would snatch victory from the Golden Bears. Trent had played brilliantly that day. Trent had made tackle after tackle at critical points of the game. The crowd loved him. At one point in the game, the crowd was chanting his name and stamping their feet. This was the best game of his life. This was the last game of his college career. He was not going to allow anyone to take his game from him. Nobody remembers a loser, he thought to himself. He swallowed and his mouth was dry.

He watched the quarterback carefully. He planted his right foot firmly into the grass, crouched, shifting his weight forward, leaning into the equally tired player before him, and waited for the quarterback to finish his cadence count. Suddenly, the quarterback took several quick steps backwards holding the ball firmly against his chest looking away from him. At the same time, the huge Stanford guard in front of him suddenly smashed his helmet against his chest with the full weight of his body.

Trent grabbed the player's red jersey, pulled and pivoted outside of the incoming locomotive deflecting his weight and body, sliding around behind him, never taking his eyes off the quarterback. The quarterback made the slightest glance in Trent's direction and continued running toward the other side of the mountain of humanity that was clawing and scratching to reach him and intent in throwing him violently to the ground.

In that same moment, in the crowd of giants, he saw the right halfback almost casually running and slowly moving to Trent's right. What caught his attention was that the halfback was staring intently in the direction of the quarterback. A lateral, he thought to himself. In a move that would have impressed the Ballet Master at the San Francisco Conservatory of Dance, he instinctively pivoted around his right leg, turned his body toward the halfback and called upon the last few ounces of energy in his tired legs. Trent commanded his tired legs to propel him in the halfback's general direction. He concentrated on the halfback's face, his eyes.

Almost imperceptivity, Trent saw the halfback's eye's focus move skyward followed by a pair of slender and muscular arms into which a football suddenly appeared. He had been right. Forcing himself to take one last breath and planting his right foot firmly in the ground, he hurled his outstretched body toward the Stanford player. He could feel the large muscles in the player's thighs pound against his face as he attempted to accelerate away from him, but to no avail. Trent had his arms around his legs and his momentum threw them both to the ground.

For several seconds, he was unaware of the roar or of the crowd, the cheerleaders or the noise of the band. The clock had run out of time, the game was over and his teammates were hugging him and slapping him on the head, arms legs, and back in the youthful exuberance that comes from victory. All the players on the field were reacting out of the pure joy of the moment and in the full appreciation of the fullness of life. He sensed that it would never get better than this.

The crowd then ran onto the field, congratulating players left and right. Several Stanford players came over and offered him the most genuine tribute among warriors. Good game man. Good game. Suddenly a buxom brunette cheerleader threw her arms around him and gave him a hug and a kiss. You were wonderful sweetheart, absolutely wonderful, she said while jumping up and down uncontrollably, you are going to be the man tonight. Trent was looking forward to the sorority party. He knew that everyone there would admire and envy him. He had lived for this very moment. He wasn't sure what he would do in life to make it any better. He also knew that he would marry this innocent impressionable girl. She adored him and with her figure and personality, she would make him look good in any situation.

He was starting to feel tired as the adrenaline was starting to wear down. The noise of the crowd had not diminished, but he did not really notice it anymore as he walked toward the locker room. He had been Big Man on Campus from the very beginning. He had dated the best-looking girls and his athletic ability had allowed him to socialize with the kids from wealthy families. He had been invited to join the San Francisco University Club on an athletic waiver. The club was a hangout for wealthy San Francisco families and up-and-coming judges and lawyers.

As he exited the stadium, he turned and took one last look at the best day of his life and decided to become a lawyer where he could take advantage of his reputation and connections. The shrill ringing of the telephone next to his bed brought Trent back to reality. For a moment, he fought to stay in his dream and relish in the moment. The electronic shrill would not stop until he answered the phone. He rolled over and pick up the telephone and mumbled This is Trent.

Nice, France

A man with strong square muscular shoulders and a slightly receding hairline stared at the pistol lying on the table. His brown eyes housed in dark sunken orbs were crystal clear. He was intensely absorbed with the task of pushing bullets into a pistol's cartridge clip. He had not eaten for several days although thirst had gotten the better of him more than once. The room was dark and furnished with a collection of inexpensive furniture, which hotels purchased by the thousands. The room was comfortable but utilitarian.

The man’s teeth were tightly clenched giving his jaw a sharp definition in the dark gray room. He stared at the gun intently. He had loaded and unloaded the weapon’s clip several times. He now broke the pistol down, removing the barrel and cleaning the weapon with clean rags and fine oil. He fingered the bullets, putting each one carefully into a second bullet clip. He lay the weapon down and stared at it.

She had been his constant companion and she was the only person that he trusted implicitly. Over the years, she had become so much a part of him that in talking to her it was like speaking to himself. She rarely disagreed with him and always supported his decisions. She never let him down. She was his best friend, confidant and lover. After six or seven months, he had slowly come to the realization that she was never coming back. That he would never see her smile or hear her laugh again. She was gone forever and that the only thing that he had left was her memory. He was overcome with feelings of loss, guilt and regret.

A profound sadness had overcome him knowing that he let her down. He failed to pay enough attention to her symptoms and did not discover her illness in time. He felt guilty, feeling that if he had paid as much attention to her as he did to his work he would have discovered her illness and taken steps to be certain she had treatment. He felt a deep responsibility for not having aggressively pursued the manifestations of her illness. He thought about all the small petty arguments, which were his entire fault, and most of all regretted taking her for granted. As he snapped the bullet clip into the pistol, he knew that there was nothing he could do in this world to make up for all the wrong that he had caused her. He contemplated whether there was any penalty he could pay to make it up to her.

Perhaps this was the easy way out. He did not know whether he could live forever with all the wrongs that he had done to her while she was alive. The all-encompassing guilt for the way he treated her and for having taken her for granted would always be with him. Perhaps that was his punishment. He had never been an emotional man. The only joy he ever experienced in life where his children and they had been taken away from him. He was strong, decisive and aggressive. He feared no one and could not be hurt. After she was gone, he found himself filled with uncontrolled emotion at the most simple things. He would break into tears at the slightest provocation. Could he continue living when she was gone? Without her, he was devoid of motivation and saw no purpose to continue life. The only question was how to end it.

He grabbed the pistol firmly, pulled back on the housing and released it sharply. He heard the bullet snap into the firing chamber. He remembered receiving a condolence card. At the time he dismissed the comments because he really didn't believe the note. It said, Diane was happy and she told me that you were the best thing that ever happened to her. Diane was always radiant and she delighted in just being around you. He wanted to believe those words so much, but he knew better. The only thing that sustained him was that for some part of her life perhaps she was happy being with him and she looked forward to her remaining years to traveling around the world with him, her friends and enjoying life to the fullest. The broad square shoulders seemed a slump ever so slightly as he was consumed with tears. He carefully lowered the pistols firing hammer and flipped on the safety.

He shook his head with the realization that she would not be happy with what he was going to do. He also thought of his children and how disappointed they would be when they found him with a bullet through his head. He knew that he would have to learn to hide his emotions and focus upon whatever fate had left before him. He was healthy and had many years of life that he could not escape. He still wanted revenge against those that he thought had been unkind to her, but revenge would have to wait. He did not look forward to the rest of his life without joy or anticipation. She had been so much a part of his life that without her he lacked the motivation that had driven him all of his life.

Like the song's refrain, she truly was the wind beneath his wings. He would never again soar like an eagle or delight in any accomplishment or success. He would merely trudge through the rest of his life, a warrior facing certain death and taking each opponent one at a time awaiting that certain fatal blow, which would bring an end to his struggle. He was not afraid of death; in fact, he welcomed it with open arms. He prayed that there was a God. If there were a God, he would see her again, if only for a moment, and ask for her forgiveness. Sherman Allen drifted off into an anguished, depressed and restless sleep, with a grim determination to take each struggle one day at a time.

A month before Sherman Allen had walked up and down the streets of downtown San Francisco shivering from the swirling fog, which obscured the streetlights until the early morning sunrise brought into clear focus the canyons of buildings lining the streets. It had been several days since he had anything to eat or drink and he was starting to feel a profound weakness enveloping him. As the early morning traffic started to fill the streets, he began to feel out of place. He walked against the tide of people coming into the city to start their workday and made his way to the parking lot. He fumbled for his keys, unlocked the car and sat there for several hours.

Suddenly, Sherman heard a knock on the window. Sherman looked up and saw the security guard who roamed the parking lot. Is everything okay? asked the security guard. Yes, I am fine. I was just leaving, replied Sherman. He started the car and drove from the parking lot toward Lands End, a promontory at the far west of the entrance to the Golden Gate Bridge. He got out of the car, went to the embedded remnants of the USS California and stared at the ocean. He did not feel the cold wind tearing at his clothes until his body shuddered and he realized he was slowly freezing. He got back in the car and drove across the Golden Gate Bridge to his home in Mill Valley.

Sherman stood outside the door to the place he had called home. He unlocked the door and went inside. He closed the door, sat at the foot of the stairs and cried uncontrollably. He woke up several hours later huddled at the foot of the stairs. Life is not fair. It should have been me, he said to himself as he entered the large empty house where he had spent his time with the sweetest gentlest creature that ever lived. Diane was gone and was never to return. The house was no longer his home. Home was where he would return to find his wife and share his most intimate thoughts and dreams. Now he had no home. It was just a large empty house. Sherman had never felt so alone.

Sherman had been in Nice in the South of France for several weeks. He had wandered from restaurant to restaurant, from bar to bar, from hotel to hotel findings and rejecting each place that he had spent time with his wife when she was alive. He had been trying to capture a glimpse of her beauty and charm. All he had found was dark, cold and uninviting places. The warmth and happiness, which his wife had brought with her, was gone, never to return.

Sherman had managed to secure the 9 mm Beretta from a shady acquaintance who was a cook in a small restaurant in Marseille. 700 Euros and no questions asked. It was illegal to carry a gun anywhere in France and the penalties were severe. Sherman did not care. He had not decided what to do with the Beretta. He simply wanted to have the option to decide what he wanted to do. The weapon came with a shoulder holster, a box of ammunition and two 16 bullet clips. This was the darkest period of his life.

When Sherman finally awoke, he took a shower, dressed and carefully buckled the pistol’s shoulder holster around his waist. Sherman was not certain why he needed to have the weapon close to him, but since a sports jacket concealed it no one would notice. Sherman needed to fully wake up and take a second look at what was left of his life. He walked from his hotel to the airport along the Promenade des Anglais and then back to Quai Lunel. He watched the ferry load passengers for a while and then went back to the hotel. Sherman had made the long walk along the Promenade des Anglais several times in the late morning over a period of a week. He was stopped once at three in the morning but was promptly allowed to go on his way since he had the appearance of a very well dressed tourist. Tourists were the lifeblood of the economy of this resort city on the edge of the Mediterranean.

Around midnight, he was overcome with an overwhelming fatigue. Sherman managed to get back to his hotel. He removed the bullets from the clip, stripped, and cleaned the gun. He stared at it for the longest time and then fell asleep. Sherman Allen slept for almost 2 days. But for his snoring, the hotel staff would have called in the police for fear that he was dead. Sherman did not have a single drink for fear that he would lose control of his emotions. When he woke, he dressed and walked to the beach. Sherman watched all of the happy couples enjoy the afternoon sun. He knew if he did not overcome this dark depression, which was overwhelming his life, he might as well be dead.

When he returned to his room Sherman removed the bullets from the clip, stripped, and cleaned the gun again. The depression had lifted enough for him to recognize where he was and he started to make decisions. Sherman gathered his belongings and packed them neatly into one of the suitcases. The other suitcase he had not touched since he arrived. Sherman found his cell phone and dialed the number of a hotel in Monaco. I do not have reservations, but I would like a room for a few days. He listened intently and returned the telephone to his pocket. And now back to civilization, said Sherman to himself. Sherman checked his rental car from the parking lot behind the hotel and drove up the coast to the Hotel de Paris in Monaco.

Good morning Mr. Allen. Your room is ready, if you would be so kind as to sign the registry, said the elegantly dressed hostess at the Hotel de Paris. Sherman signed the registry and an eager bellboy picked up his bags and took them to his room. Sherman went to the elevator and took it down to the hotel swimming pool. He purchased a pair of swimming trunks from the hotel shop and went into the men’s locker room. He quickly showered and came out to the Olympic size swimming pool. To the left was a restaurant overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. To the right was a huge 40-foot high and 100 feet wide seashell overlooking the Olympic size swimming pool. Sherman walked into the pool and started swimming. He swam lap after lap until his arms and legs screamed with pain. The pain seemed to have a calming effect on Sherman.

When he was almost to the point of collapse, Sherman walked out of the pool, grabbed one of the hotel robes and walked into the Hotel de Paris poolside bar and restaurant. He took a seat under an umbrella overlooking Monte Carlo and the Mediterranean Sea. I will have a double Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks and a Mimosa for my guest, he told the waiter. The waiter returned quickly with Sherman’s drink and placed a Mimosa on a napkin on the table in front of Sherman. Sherman reached into his wallet, pulled out a picture of his wife and placed it against the Mimosa. He talked to her for a long time oblivious to the people around him. Diane, sweetheart, I love you. I am so sorry I let you down. I did not mean to take you for granted. You deserved a better man than I. Please forgive me, he whispered. After several hours, Sherman finished his fifth double Johnnie Walker Black, signed the check and made his way back up to his room. Sherman slept restlessly, tossing and turning until the morning sunlight awoke him.

Sherman Allen had not spoken with anyone from his office for several weeks. His smart phone mailboxes were all full as was his voice mail. He thought about calling his office, but he really did not know what he would tell them. He was certain they were concerned about him but none of that really mattered. Before his wife passed away so suddenly, Sherman had already become bored with the practice of law. He had done everything at least once. He had seen almost every type of case and situation. He had been looking for matters outside of the office that would be interesting and exciting. He had lost interest in reviewing contracts, interpreting statutes and pointing out loopholes in the law to people who were not interested in him personally, but only what he could do for them. All of them paid very well, but money was not the most important driving factor of his existence.

Now, with his wife gone, he had no interest at all in anybody else’s problems. For the moment,