Bite The Hand

By Don Beverly

Following the senseless rape and murder of his wife by a quartet of drug dealers who also leave him for dead, a former law school classmate of Jake McCall's vows to do two things. Build a memorial in the Rockies to his beloved wife, then track down and kill the assassins. After the formation of an elaborate and cunning plan for revenge, it becomes apparent that a combine exists between the Mexican cartel, las Zetas, and an international network of Islamic extremists who have acquired American businesses as fronts for laundering drug money intended to ultimately be used to fund terrorist activities in this country.
Among the Islamic devotees peddling drugs as a means of subsidizing Allah's presence and fanatically driven to kill all Christians, Jews and Americans as infidels has emerged a converted American extremist, eager to prove his worth by orchestrating an airborne attack on Disney World. Blind to the reality that his American heritage and freedom enables him to plot and conduct such an attack, he and his fellow zealot steal aircraft and take off in the middle of a raging thunderstorm to fly a suicide mission into the Magic Kingdom. Sheer coincidence alerts Jake and John Reed to the plan, producing a courageous and wildly dangerous adventure with the F-18s from nearby McCoy.
The aftermath leads them and their New York FBI counterparts on a long distance chase into Manhattan and across to New Jersey where a shootout occurs in a Teterboro hanger. Hard police work and evidence from New Jersey then enables Jake and his associates to flush out the Dade County end of the connection which has accumulated the money and sophisticated armament intended to be used for a massive stadium bombing and attack on the Goodyear blimp overhead.
When a huge and hidden supply of the plastic explosive C-4 unexpectedly becomes the prize, a suicidal contest begins, indiscriminately destined to kill either some or many.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don Beverly
• Release date: Mar 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9780986000935

Don Beverly

Don Beverly grew up on the shores of Lake Okeechobee in Palm Beach County, Florida, graduated from Vanderbilt University and the University of Florida Law School, beginning his career in Miami as a trial lawyer. He ultimately moved to West Palm Beach where he practices today, according to him, "as little as possible", while he pursues his lifelong love of writing, particularly about his own life experiences, which are numerous. Beverly, known to his beloved wife, Molly, and his many friends simply as "DB", has achieved national prominence as a lawyer, has over five thousand hours as a pilot, has won a multitude of state and national cutting horse championships, enjoys skiing when at his home in Fairplay, Colorado, and operating his high-performance airboat in the Florida Everglades. During this multi-faceted career Beverly has written many articles about his interests as well as academic subjects, including successive editions of his legal treatise, Florida Trial Evidence. He has also served as a Director on the Boards of Chris Craft, Inc., the National Cutting Horse Association, Kirkwood Ski Resort, Inc., the Academy of Florida Trial Lawyers, the trial section of The Florida Bar, and as frequent Chair of the Professional Ethics Committee of The Florida Bar. Beverly was named South Florida's "Best Lawyer'' in the January, 1992, issue of Palm Beach Life.In his Jake McCall Adventure Series, Don Beverly calls upon his vast personal reservoir of knowledge and experience to take a shot at the bureaucratic shenanigans which have irreparably wounded his beloved Everglades while weaving incredibly well-researched but exciting tales populated by colorful and credible characters against the backdrop of an astounding wetlands geography and environment seldom seen by humans. Beverly’s books easily earn the description "page turner", but at the same time, not always so subtly, communicate messages of national consciousness not to be disregarded.

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Following the senseless rape and murder of his wife by a quartet of drug dealers who also leave him for dead, a former law school classmate of Jake McCall's vows to do two things. Build a memorial in the Rockies to his beloved wife, then track down and kill the assassins. After the formation of an elaborate and cunning plan for revenge, it becomes apparent that a combine exists between the Mexican cartel, las Zetas, and an international network of Islamic extremists who have acquired American businesses as fronts for laundering drug money intended to ultimately be used to fund terrorist activities in this country.

Among the Islamic devotees peddling drugs as a means of subsidizing Allah's presence and fanatically driven to kill all Christians, Jews and Americans as infidels has emerged a converted American extremist, eager to prove his worth by orchestrating an airborne attack on Disney World. Blind to the reality that his American heritage and freedom enables him to plot and conduct such an attack, he and his fellow zealot steal aircraft and take off in the middle of a raging thunderstorm to fly a suicide mission into the Magic Kingdom. Sheer coincidence alerts Jake and John Reed to the plan, producing a courageous and wildly dangerous adventure with the F-18s from nearby McCoy.

The aftermath leads them and their New York FBI counterparts on a long distance chase into Manhattan and across to New Jersey where a shootout occurs in a Teterboro hanger. Hard police work and evidence from New Jersey then enables Jake and his associates to flush out the Dade County end of the connection which has accumulated the money and sophisticated armament intended to be used for a massive stadium bombing and attack on the Goodyear blimp overhead.

When a huge and hidden supply of the plastic explosive C-4 unexpectedly becomes the prize, a suicidal contest begins, indiscriminately destined to kill either some or many.

CHAPTER 1

The stranger was a big man, well over six feet tall and always wearing a sweat stained Resistol with a four inch brim and cattleman crease, instantly branding him as a cowboy type who had refused to change his dress code to conform with whatever might be the rage in downtown Dallas. Even though in his mid-fifties, his muscular arms and shoulders seemed almost disproportionate to the rest of his body. The faded condition and waist size of his red tag Levis confirmed they had been purchased many years prior when the stranger, though younger, had been no less imposing.

As is always the case in a small community, rumors quickly began to circulate about where the man had come from, why he was building a cabin out in the middle of nowhere on the way to Mosquito Pass and why he was always alone. More puzzling to the locals was how a total stranger in a new place was able to get things done much faster than they could.

During the few weeks before construction on his remote cabin actually began, the stranger had been known to quietly come and go, always staying at the old WagonWheel Motel on Route 285 overlooking the Platte River. His dual wheel pickup always left before daylight and never returned until after dark. Since it bore Colorado plates, nothing meaningful could be learned with which to support local gossip. His registration address given at the motel was simply the building site of his unfinished cabin and he always paid in cash.

If asked a direct question, the stranger had no reluctance to answer in a friendly way, but never volunteered anything about himself or what he was doing and tended to divert whatever the subject of the inquiry into a discussion about the weather.

After the girls at the Brown Burro learned how easy it was to make the big man smile after weeks of serving him the same breakfast burrito and coffee each morning, they began picking at him for little tidbits of personal information, soon realizing that his responses would be indirect but at the same time complimentary,

Let's talk about you 'stead of me, since you look so nice this morning.

CHAPTER 2

Two weeks after the cabin's footer was poured and the subfloor finished, the logs were in place and the roof dried in, at which time the stranger left the motel and began staying on his property, working non-stop to get it ready for full time living before the predictable first snowfall in early October. His name was now known around the little town of Fairplay, since he had never been reluctant to introduce himself with a smile,

I’m Josh Kendall!

Unless ordering breakfast or a load of lumber, that’s where the conversation, or lack thereof, typically ended. By the end of summer everyone would wave and speak to Kendall but had learned not to expect anything more personal, although generally all agreed that the big and powerful man, though quiet, was friendly, as many big men are. While there had no doubt been many times during the building of the cabin when help would have been welcome, Kendall had never asked for a favor and like the Caterpillar D6 he used to clear the building site, all equipment necessary for the project was trucked in from elsewhere and sent away as soon as no longer needed.

CHAPTER 3

The log cabin had been built just below the tree line in the Rockies at ten thousand, two-hundred feet. It sat at the east end of a small meadow bordered on either side by prolific stands of lodgepole pines which had slowly overtaken the aspen groves from almost a century before when the entire forest from Sheep Mountain to the south branch of the North Platte River had burned to the ground.

Old timers in the valley knew the fire had been Mother Nature’s reforestation program at work and joked cynically over morning coffee as they discussed the mammoth amounts of taxpayer dollars being devoted to eradicating forest fires and powder beetles, two problems which man would never solve but which would solve themselves if left unattended by government bureaucracy.

Kendall obviously understood forest fires in the mountains and had carefully cleared a perimeter around the structure and placed a metal roof on it for two reasons. First to protect the cabin from falling hot embers in preparation for the next inevitable fire, but also to create a frictionless surface capable of shedding tons of snow during the harsh winter months for which this part of Colorado was famous. Nevertheless, when construction of the cabin began, those in the big valley below questioned the stranger’s wisdom in choice of building sites and simply assumed the cabin would be used in summers only and kept closed during the winter.

Construction had begun as soon as the ground began to thaw in late April when trenches could be dug for the concrete footers. A Komatsu excavator on steel tracks had been unloaded from a flatbed semi before daylight one Monday morning and by dark the following day it was gone. Three days thereafter the forms and reinforcing bars were in place and the concrete had been poured. It was becoming apparent that the newcomer knew what he was doing, since to get that amount of work done at this place and time would typically consume a month or more.

Although Kendall had been friendly enough on what had become his daily trips to the lumber yard and Ace hardware store, he never had much to say and had not been seen with anyone other than his construction people.

CHAPTER 4

But even though Kendall and the winter came and went quietly, unforeseen events have a way of changing things.

Kendall unintentionally became a hero and overnight legend throughout the valley when two local teenage cheerleaders returning from a high school football game in Frisco lost control of their Subaru Forester on the ice covered bridge south of Alma and slid down the steep rocky embankment and into the river below, now raging from the spring snow melt. It was Kendall who happened to be less than a mile behind the emergency rescue truck when it got to the scene. While the emergency people stood immobile on the bridge discussing what to do, Kendall stopped his dually in the middle of the road, slammed it into park and within seconds had scrambled down to the river, removed his boots and fought his way into the chest deep freezing river.

It had been impossible to open the submerged car doors underwater, so Kendall dove down, picked up a softball size river rock and smashed out the front windshield. He then climbed up on the hood of the sinking Subaru, grasped the window frame, and reached through the opening with his massive right arm, pulling the sobbing teenage passenger from her seat, fighting his way back to the river bank as they were swept downstream while she clung to his chest like a frightened kitten.

He laid her gently on the river bank, then unceremoniously ran back upstream and again leaped into the river to rescue the driver who was slumped over the steering wheel unconscious in the rapidly sinking car.

Seconds later she too was safely on the river bank where some of the stunned observers had finally come to their senses and begun to help get the girls to the rescue truck and under dry blankets for the ride back to the hospital in Frisco.

Over coffee the next morning the story was being repeated among locals at the Brown Burro and all over the valley about how Kendall had risked his life to save the two young girls, how he then recovered his cowboy boots, climbed up the river bank and left, never having uttered a word or even asked for a blanket, notwithstanding his two trips into the inhospitable rapids of the near freezing North Platte.

CHAPTER 5

Days later the two girls were released from the hospital, one with a broken arm and the other with three cracked ribs and a slight concussion.

As soon as able, both began insisting that they and their parents do something to thank Kendall, all deciding to cook and hand deliver to him a baked ham with sweet potato soufflé, Lima beans and a pecan pie.

Since Kendall's cell phone number was unknown, the families and several friends loaded up two cars and drove out Mosquito Pass Road to Kendall's cabin late one afternoon to thank him for what he had done. As they drove up the long gravel driveway, Kendall saw and heard their approach, stopped his chores and emerged from the woods carrying a big Stihl chain saw, which he placed on top of a gatepost as he began wiping his hands on a bandana pulled from the rear pocket of his Levis. His greeting was a brief but puzzled,

Hi, folks!

Kendall was closing the welded pipe gate as the two girls jumped from their cars and ran across the driveway, shouting,

Thank you Mr. Kendall, Thank you, Thank you!

Then they both threw their arms around the big man’s chest and hugged him, clinging so tightly he was unable to walk and was forced to smile and ask,

What’s this all about?

The girls kept up their chatter as their parents came from the cars carrying food. The taller girl who had been the driver had a cast on her left arm and blurted out,

You saved our lives and we brought you a gift. And I want you to sign my cast since you’re a hero and just disappeared after pulling us out of the car before we drowned.

Kendall was silent for a few moments as the girls clung to him, then spoke,

Hey girls, wait a minute, I’m no hero. I was just in the right place at the right time and able to help. But I’m not gonna turn down this good food so let’s go inside the cabin where it’s warm. You folks drove a long way to get out here and I really appreciate it. Least I can do is brew up a pot of coffee.

They all walked the last hundred yards or so to the split log stairway leading up to the second floor of the cabin and into the big open kitchen where the food was laid out on a long granite counter top. A small fire was already burning in the Franklin fireplace. Kendall opened the fireplace door, threw in three more logs and within a few minutes the cabin was toasty warm and everyone settled in as the girls continued to dominate the conversation while they explored Kendall’s new home. After wandering around the kitchen and into the dining room, they entered the living area where the fireplace was framed by a chiseled marble mantle held in place by two massive logs cast into the stone and concrete chimney.

Scattered about on the mantle were several sets of McChesney, Kelly and Garcia spurs which Kendall explained he had collected years before in his rodeo days.

Hanging above the mantle in a wide gold leaf frame was a portrait type oil painting of a young woman who seemed to be looking down on the room below with widely set green eyes. As soon as the two girls saw the painting they stopped talking and simply stared. Finally, the girl with the broken arm quietly asked,

"Mr. Kendall, who is this? I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful before. She must be your daughter. Will she be coming to visit?’

Kendall spoke quietly from the kitchen as he also looked at the painting,

No, it’s not my daughter and I’m afraid she won’t be visiting this place. The painting is of my wife and was done long ago when we lived in Florida. A few years after the painting was done, she was killed. That was almost three years ago and the painting is all I have left.

The cabin grew instantly silent and uncomfortable since, true to his nature, Kendall said nothing more.

Whatever the rest of the story, no further explanation would come and finally the mother of the shorter girl cleared her throat,

We’re so sorry Mr. Kendall. We certainly don’t mean to intrude or ask about stuff which might be hurtful for you to talk about. We just wanted to thank you for saving our daughters and bring you a little something we hope you’ll enjoy.

Kendall walked from the kitchen across the hardwood floor to the fireplace and looked up at the painting, then began to speak so softly that the others had to draw closer to hear,

"Her name was Kate. We were just kids when we met on the ski lift over in Vail while we were there on spring break from college. Turned out she was a senior at Florida State and I was in my last year of law school at Florida after spending time in the Army. So we ribbed each other about football and I asked if she wanted to make a run together, which we did.

That’s how it started. From that day until the day she died, we never missed a day without talking. After we graduated, I got a job in Miami with a law firm and she went to work as a flight attendant with Delta. We moved down together after graduation with everything the two of us owned in a little U-Haul trailer. Looking back, we hardly knew each other but rented an apartment in Coconut Grove and somehow knew we were doing the right thing. We were just two kids in love and couldn’t wait to get married, which we did a few months later. Turned out Kate couldn’t have kids so it was always just us two, which was fine. We later moved up to West Palm Beach since Kate and I both were from Palm Beach County and our folks lived in Delray and Lantana.

Since we had met out here and came back every year, our dream was to build a log cabin in the Rockies someday so that’s what this is all about. I built this place for Kate and now that it’s finished, I guess I’ll just live here and keep trying’ to get my life back together. People keep telling me I have to move on and need to find someone else. You know the usual stuff. But nobody else knows how I feel or what’s left to be done with my life, so even though I’ll have to come and go a lot, this is my home now.

And girls, I’m just glad I came along when I did and was there to help. But don’t confuse me with some kinda hero ‘cause either of your dads would’ve done the same thing for someone else’s daughters.

But I’m doin’ way too much talkin’. We need to cut up that ham and have ourselves a snack."

CHAPTER 6

After his visitors left, Kendall walked over to the post where he had left his chain saw, picked it up and carried it to the barn where he put it away for the night, a night which had turned chilly as the sun set while he was inside the cabin with his guests. When he exited the barn and began the short walk back to the cabin's warmth the moonlight in the cloudless sky made him stop, stuff his hands deep in his pockets, ignore the cold and, for the hundredth time, stand and gaze in utter awe at what God had done.

It was at times like these that building this place for Kate made complete sense, perhaps to no one other than Kendall, but it had been their dream together and he had vowed to Kate it would happen. Even though she was now long gone, the promise was still in his head and Kate was still in his heart. The years had passed but their passage had changed nothing. Now the cabin was complete and the promise had been kept.

But there remained the second promise which had been made as Kate lay dying before him while the grotesque faces of her killers became forever and indelibly etched in his brain. This promise also had to be kept before Kendall could ever rest, although it was one which would prove difficult and dangerous to keep.

As much as his loss of Kate, it was the second promise which had kept him from allowing other relationships to develop and compelled him to select a desolate location for the cabin, likely not a spot he and Kate would have chosen together. Matter of fact, she would have thought him deranged for even considering such a site, far away from everything as it was and over ten miles from the nearest grocery store or gas station, not to mention the more important things to Kate, like ski lifts and Starbucks. But Kendall’s second promise required that he now have a place like this which he could share only with Kate while completing his remaining pledge to her.

This was a place where Kendall could disappear and now he was ready to do so.

He had begun the process of becoming invisible the minute he left Florida months before.

Thus, his reason for placing title to the land and cabin in the name of a Nevada corporation, all of the stock in which was owned by another corporation, with an address in the Cayman Islands, which led nowhere. The Nevada corporation had a name, Rocky Top, Inc., which was likewise meaningless, and an address which was simply a post office box number in Alma, the tiny, high-altitude village considered by some to be near the end of civilization and agreed upon by the rest to at least be on the way there.

Kendall had a single cell phone which he had purchased from Wal-Mart on a no-contract, prepaid plan for less than thirty dollars. He had not even bothered to memorize the number. After the cabin was finished, Kendall felt there were too many who had been given the cell phone number during the construction process, so he threw the phone into the fireplace one night and a few days later picked up another thirty dollar phone with a new number at the Wal-Mart in Frisco.

During the intervening two years, Kendall had eliminated almost all mail except junk stuff which came to the corporation, had closed his bank accounts and cancelled his credit cards. Other than his real estate taxes and monthly power bill, all of which went to the corporation’s post office box, he had no need for those things and cashier’s checks could always be bought for cash to pay such items.

Kendall knew he needed to extend his exercise in anonymity for at least several more months until his trail had grown even colder and his friends, few though they had become, had simply given up on him as his hermit lifestyle appeared to become obsessive after Kate’s death. He purposely had made it impossible for them to find him.

He had actually been somewhat surprised at how rapidly and easily he had been able to disappear from the so-called mainstream and how little effort, in most cases none, had been expended by those he had considered friends to track him down or even inquire about his welfare or whereabouts. When no more invitations and calls came, Kendall would know the time had come to do what he had patiently waited for years to do in order to avenge Kate's death.

He had four people to kill!

CHAPTER 7

The last thing Kendall had anticipated or wished for would have been two carloads of gracious families and their friends arriving at his doorstep with a baked ham