Naked Ambition

By Dan Roberts

It is a murder/mystery novel.

Nicholas Blick, a highly skilled twenty-year-old volleyball player, was "just snooping around" when he came across the corpse of a person who had been brutally murdered. The police have arrested another young volleyball player but Nick, thinking the wrong person has been locked up, begins his own investigation into the matter. In working on the case, the young athlete meets FBI Special Agent Tom Davis and eventually joins with the agent in not only investigating the murder but also in trying to find the person attempting to steal plans for the U.S. Navy's new missile guidance system, one called ArrowStar.

At the center of the espionage plot is globe-hopping Chen Xong Wu, a man of tremendous wealth, who is working behind the scenes to help bring about a shift in the power structure of the Chinese Communist party and, in doing so, attain for himself more influence as well as more wealth. As the story unfolds, it is Nick who, unwittingly, becomes the key person in bringing both of these cases â â together. Eventually, young Blick and Special Agent Davis find themselves working together in a race against the clock. Their goal: to find the murderer as well as uncover the identity of the espionage agent's "mole" before the Navy's plans end up in the wrong hands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781456617301

Book preview

ONE

DAY 1

IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL, WARM SUMMER evening in London. The air was fresh and the sky seemed unusually clear for this time of year. Chen Xong Wu smiled as he looked out over Hyde Park, a glorious green expanse located just across the street from his hotel. Nine stories above the street, Chen stood at the edge of the balcony with his hands on the railing, viewing the park and the skyline of the city beyond. It was a stunning sight, especially when seen from the Terrace Suite at the Hotel Dorchester.

Being a discriminating man, Chen usually chose smaller hotels when visiting large cities. But this was London. This was different. Here, at the larger Dorchester, he found the romantic design and pleasing character of this prestigious hotel reminiscent of the glory, glamour and romance of some of the older luxury hotels of Hong Kong. So, when in London, the Dorchester, with its ambiance and highly efficient service staff, was the favored abode for Chen, one that provided him with comfort and solace as well as many good memories. An added factor for Chen’s choice of this hotel was that the Dorchester was the preferred gathering place for the movers and shakers of England’s business world, as well as prominent members of British society, the very people admired by Chen; those people often used by him for his own personal gain.

The forty-eight-year old Chen was a rather restrained man. In both attitude and action he was a man in control, guarded, almost choreographed in his movements and always careful in his personal appearance and presentation. But when it came to his private life, especially his personal goals, he had unconstrained ambition—an ambition that allowed him to live an adventurous life that most others would only dream about.

If there was one thing that Chen wanted with a passion, it was to be an important man; an influential man involved with influential people. To be associated with people of influence in the political and financial arena was his ultimate objective. From his perspective, to attain a certain level of wealth and power was essential only as a step toward being accepted by—even sought out by—those who held the greater reins of power and wealth of the world.

Chen was, indeed, a rich man, flushed with a wealth that he had made through mostly disreputable means, using skills that seemed to come naturally to him. That is not to say that he was uneducated. In fact, part of his success was due to his being schooled in some of the best institutions of learning in the world. His father, a British citizen, had worked for the diplomatic corps as a communication attache, a position that was never explained to Chen but one that he questioned as he grew older. The question—is my father a spy?—never crossed his lips but was very much in mind throughout his teenage years. Because his father’s assignments were of relatively short duration, Chen’s family moved several times during his childhood. Therefore, his elementary and secondary years were spent in some of the best private schools in England, France and Germany. From there, Chen studied at the highly ranked University of Hong Kong where he focused his attention and energies on law and political science.

After receiving his baccalaureate degree, he went to France where he entered the University of Paris—the Sorbonne—to refine his knowledge of the arts. It was there that he met a young woman with whom he fell in love. Glenna Holden was an American, the lone child of an affluent couple from the suburbs of Chicago. She was intelligent, fun-loving and extremely beautiful. One of the qualities that Chen loved about Glenna was that she could easily move back and forth between social settings. She was comfortable with herself and competent whether dressed in jeans, hanging out at clubs listening to jazz, or in high heels, wearing an elegant Gucci gown, exhibiting all the polish and charm one would expect from a woman of social means.

Based upon what seemed like an instant mutual attraction, it took less than a month for the relationship to take on roots. In less than five months after they first met, they were married. Announcing the official union to Glenna’s parents was difficult, especially when done through a long distance phone call. As could be expected, the Holdens were upset, not at all pleased with the coupling of their daughter with this unknown quantity, this ‘Chinaman.’ Glenna reminded her parents that Chen was only half Chinese, being the offspring of a Chinese mother and a British father. But that made no difference. Mr. Holden, especially, was vehemently opposed to the marriage and said so in words that Glenna had never heard her father use before. Yet, after several more months, Glenna’s father got used to his daughter being a married woman and, eventually, warmed to the idea of her having a husband with ‘international roots.’

It was during his one and only visit to their small Parisian apartment that Glenna’s father and Chen became quite interactive, communicating on many different levels about a number of subjects of interest to Mr. Holden. Within the time span of the visit—three days—Chen had made great inroads into the heart and mind of his once emotionally distant father-in-law. It did not take long for Mr. Holden to move from opposition to the marriage to very much liking the young man he now affectionately called ‘son.’ In seeing how Chen made his daughter happy, Glenna’s father, just before flying back to Chicago, gladly deposited $50,000US in a Paris bank account as a wedding present to the young couple.

Whenever Chen recalled the memories of his not-quite-twelve months with Glenna in Paris, he always came to the same conclusion: those months were the happiest time of his life. Sadly, that happiness was short-lived. For Chen, all the joy of life came to a screeching halt when one rainy Wednesday evening Glenna was tragically run down—killed—by a drunken driver.

As alive and bright and carefree as the months before the accident had been, those that followed were filled with darkness and despair. Rather than seeing the world as a place to be explored with an invitation to see new horizons and meet exciting people, joining with them in the dance of life, Chen now found the world as a foe to be fought, an adversary to be pushed back, an enemy that seemed to always hover over him, ready to destroy any glimmer of hope for happiness.

Entrenched in a state of malaise, Chen didn’t know what to do for the future, a future that challenged him with grief each day as he awoke from long nights of agitation and restlessness. And so he did nothing. That is, nothing that most people would consider useful. Not wanting to stay in a lonely apartment for fear he would kill himself, he began walking the many streets and neighborhoods of Paris, stopping by bistros and bars to drink away the day and the night—and his troubles. In doing so, he began to mingle with the people who frequented these establishments. They were the common people, mostly men, who one would find in the various communities to the north of the city. Chen especially liked the environs of the Quartier Pigalle, a rather raucous, artistic neighborhood near Montmartre, a locale known for its sex shops and topless cabarets.

Chen’s wanderings—and his alcoholic binges—eventually brought him into a circle of men who enjoyed gambling, especially the playing of poker. He had tried his hand at it when at the university but never on a serious level, certainly not with an eye to making it his profession. However, after several months, Chen found that he was good at the game, which he played for seemingly endless hours—day and night. In fact, he was so good at it that he found that he could actually make money from the playing of it. Within a short time he was bringing home his winnings in a small bag. Every night, with bleary eyes, he would count out the cash, put it in a safe place, then take it to the bank at the end of the week, as if depositing a paycheck.

Within a year, Chen was earning several times the average wage of most professional young men his age. In fact, over the next couple of years he did so well at the poker table that his name became legendary throughout all levels of the gambling community of Paris, mingling with some of the shadowy, mafia-types as well as being invited to the private games of the more sophisticated, upper class gentlemen. Occasionally, through his interaction with those men, he found himself overhearing talk about politics or business, inside information that could be useful to him in the present and the future.

As good as he was at gambling, he found that it was his innate instincts that seemed to be the magic that made all the difference. His knowledge and education aside, somehow he just knew how to connect with people in such a way that they trusted him. He was a natural conversationalist, being able to address most any topic and was able to do so in a number of languages. He was, after all, fluent in English, French, Italian, German and several Chinese dialects including Mandarin.

It did not take long for Chen to become a wheeler-and-dealer of information that others found valuable, and that that information—news that people wanted or needed for whatever reason—could be sold. Or given away. He found that even free information was a powerful asset for his future. As he gave freely of news that was not yet public, he recognized that people would be beholden to him, making them indebted to him for some future want or need of his own.

Over the next decade, Chen became a very well-known man among people of influence in a variety of social settings. Not just Paris. but places like London, New York and Rome, to name a few. He also became very wealthy, a wealth that he was constantly assessing. Daily he would inventory his assets in his mind; weekly he did the same on his computer. However, that inventory was not just a long list of financial statements or an accounting of material goods; it was also his storehouse of information that he would carefully go over. Equally important were the vast numbers of people—human resources—who were indebted to him for favors he had done for them. In the end, it was the human element—those people who he used as steppingstones to further his climb to wealth and power—who brought him to the position he was in today, one that enabled him to cause political or economic calm or havoc across the globe and in doing so make more money than he could ever spend during his lifetime.

And so, from his very expensive and very luxurious penthouse suite at the Dorchester, on this glorious evening, with his next project in mind, Chen, using a highly sophisticated encryption program, texted his contact in the far-off, nondescript American town of Reading, Pennsylvania, where something big—something important—was about to happen.

>> when is final plan to be approved? must have it in two weeks!

Within minutes, a reply text, also encrypted, came in:

>> approval on track. to be this week. you will have it as promised.

Only moments after reading the incoming text, Chen heard a soft, feminine voice call out from behind him. Drinks are ready. He did not have to turn around to know that Melinda was standing at the door wearing nothing but a see-through negligee he had given her only yesterday. He knew she was standing only a few feet behind him, holding two martini glasses, one in each hand. He also knew that if he looked in her direction he would see her perfectly sculpted body with its voluptuous curves fronted by superbly succulent breasts and topped off by a splendid smile that had such an appeal for Chen that his heart, as well as his lips, were drawn to it like a magnet.

Before he turned to face Melinda, Chen once more raised his eyes to view the picturesque sight before him. The sky was now filled with the brilliant shades of evening, a mix of golds and oranges and pinks. London at sunset as seen from the Dorchester. Ah, Chen thought as he smiled with satisfaction, the end of another magnificent day!

SUNDAY

WEEK ONE

DAY 2

IT HAD BEEN A LITTLE OVER twenty-four hours since Nick had last talked with his good friend, Zach Baker. That phone conversation had revolved around plans for an upcoming volleyball tournament and had ended on a positive note. Now, after having answered his cell phone’s ring, Nick heard a completely different tone in his buddy’s voice, one that was serious and solemn. Zach’s words were spoken with a sense of urgency as he said, Nick, we need to talk. I can’t explain over the phone, but I gotta see ya soon. In person. Like fast!

Nick was immediately puzzled by this request. The only response he could think of was, Like how fast?

Tonight!

Where?

How about Zinn’s Dairy Bar? At our usual spot.

What time?

8:30

Knowing that Zach’s call was extraordinarily out of character, Nick quickly agreed.

Oh, and dude, Zach paused a moment. I’m bringing my dad along.

With that said, Zach abruptly hung up.

ZACH’S INSISTENT WORDS WERE ROLLING around in the head of twenty-year-old Nicholas Blick as he drove north on Route 272. As his mind focused on the strained tone of Zach’s voice— an obvious indicator that something very serious was going on—Nick’s eyes momentarily glanced off to the west. The sun was setting; darkness was beginning to settle in. Nick checked his watch. It was 8:35. Damn, he said to himself, I’m late! With that thought in mind, his foot pressed down on the accelerator, bringing the speedometer needle up to the number 45, five miles faster than the posted speed limit.

Within minutes Nick pulled into the nearly full parking lot at Zinn’s, a popular gathering place for friends and families on hot summer evenings like this one. After getting out of his car, Nick walked toward two shadowy figures, indistinguishable because of the now dim light of dusk. Those two figures were at the prearranged meeting place, a picnic table located at the far edge of Zinn’s park-like property. As Nick approached, two men stood up—one young, like himself, and one older, in his mid-50s.

Hey, bud, Nick said looking toward the younger one. Zach returned the greeting in their usual way—with a knuckle bump. Hey, was Zach’s verbal response. Then, to the older man, Nick said, Hi, Mr. B. How’s it goin’?

The older man reached out his hand and said, Hi, Nick. Then, with a voice hinting of uneasiness, Mr. Baker said, I’m really glad you were able to come on such short notice.

As Nick shook the outstretched hand, he noticed that both Zach and his father wore somber expressions on their face. So what’s up? I mean, what’s so important that we had to meet here—like this—now?

Mr. Baker looked at Zach first, then back to Nick. We have a problem that I think you could help us solve.

How? was Nick’s reply.

By saying yes.

Hearing that, Nick’s eyes widened with surprise. Slowly, carefully, he said, And just what do you want me to say yes to, Mr. B?

Nick, I want to hire you.

Nick wasn’t sure he heard right. "You want to hire me? To do what?

I need you to do some… some snooping around for me.

Snooping around?

Mr. Baker nodded as he said, Yes. Then, after a short pause and a glance toward his son, the older Baker continued, It was actually Zach’s idea. He thought of you when talking to me about this… this problem.

Nick’s senses were now on high alert. While he was curious, he was also a bit wary. But he said nothing as he waited for Mr. Baker to explain.

Zach told me about a situation that’s happening at the volleyball camp where he’s volunteering. After he filled me in on the situation I recognized how serious it was. Or could be, anyway. So serious that I thought about calling the police. But then I realized we couldn’t do that. At least, not yet.

Nick, feeling frustrated, put up his hand and said, Whoa. Slow down. With his eyes darting back and forth between Zach and his father, Nick continued. What’s this problem? And what’s so serious that you think you needed to call the police?

The father and son looked at each other. Then Mr. Baker said to Zach, Go ahead. Tell him the story.

Zach took a breath. Dude, this has to do with the volleyball camp I’ve been helping with. You know, the one sponsored by my father’s company?

Okay, Nick said in acknowledgment.

Well, there’s this guy who oversees it. He works at my dad’s company and was actually the one who had the idea to start the camp. I think I told you that it’s for boys twelve to eighteen who want to upgrade their skills in volleyball.

Yeah, you did.

Well, over the last week I’ve seen some… some stuff going on that I’m not comfortable with.

That got Nick’s attention. Stuff? Like?

Last week, one night after practice, I saw one of the kids from the camp getting into this guy’s car. The guy who started the camp.

Okay.

I’ve had some uncomfortable feelings about this guy. He’s kinda been hanging close to this kid. Several kids, actually. Zach looked down at the ground and then back up at Nick. I don’t know, Nick, but I just felt something was funny about what I saw.

Again, Nick noted his interest by saying, Okay.

Anyway, I saw this other guy who’s helping out—his name’s Max—go over to the car and talk to the guy with the kid. So, thinking maybe I could hear something, I walked closer to the car.

And…?

Well, when I got closer I could hear them talking about how things went at practice that night. You know, talking about some of the plays and stuff. And then the guy inside the car—he likes to be called Coach—said something like ‘gotta get going.’ That’s when the other dude said, ‘Good thing you can take him home ‘cause it’s going to be dark soon.’

So, Max knew what was happening?

Zach confirmed with a nod and, Yeah.

So what happened then? Nick asked.

Well, Coach and the kid drove away.

What did you do?

I was just standing there when Max turned around. He saw me and knew I had seen what had happened. So he said something like, ‘The kid’s mother called and asked if someone could take him home.’

Nick shrugged his shoulders and said, Well, that explained it. He had the mother’s permission.

Yeah, said Zach. That’s what I thought, too. So I felt better and didn’t think anything more about it. At least, not until this afternoon. That’s when I was out at the mall and that’s where I saw Coach with this same kid. They were walking to the parking lot, toward the coach’s car.

Anybody else with them? Nick asked.

Nope. No one else.

It was then that Nick asked Zach the obvious question. So, do you think there’s something weird going on with the coach and the kid?

Zach’s reply was, Yeah, I do.

And so do I, said Baker, breaking into the conversation. And it’s not just because of what Zach is telling you. For over a year I’ve heard some stories—rumors—about this guy at work.

You mean the coach?

Yes, said Baker. "Those stories have all been, well, let’s say, hinting at his being interested in boys. Seems like most of his free time is spent with younger males. There’s even a rumor going around now that he has a fondness for skinny-dipping with young men. One of my co-workers said that he had heard that Herb... that this coach has a pool at his house and invites guys over in order to swim that way. Zach’s father seemed uncomfortable as he said, I mean, you know, naked. So when Zach told me about what he had observed, I immediately thought of what I’d heard."

Nick followed up with Zach. Have you seen any kind of unusual stuff going on between the coach and the kid? I mean like touching… or more

Zach shook his head. I gotta be honest and say I haven’t seen anything like that. But my gut feeling is that this guy has something special goin’ on with the kid.

Still feeling frustrated, Nick looked toward Zach’s dad. So, Mr. B, where do I come into this? I mean, I don’t understand what I can do.

Zach thinks you can get some information about this kid and the coach.

You mean, like find out if there is actually something going on?

Yes, was Baker’s answer. I think you could, Nick. Like I said, that’s what Zach came up with when we were talking about this earlier today. And I agree.

Nick thought for a moment and then shook his head. I don’t know, Mr. B. If you think the kid is in danger or something, then you need to go to the police. Or, at least, go to the kid’s parents. Even if you don’t have anything specific, at least you ought to tell someone about what’s going on.

Well, Baker, taking a deep breath, said, It’s a little more complicated than that, Nick.

Complicated? Nick asked. What’s so complicated about just talking with someone? Don’t you feel obligated? I mean, to the boy? Nick’s assertive response was a bit surprising to both the father and son. Even to Nick himself.

Mr. Baker replied, It’s not that easy, Nick. You see, the coach—his name is Herb Clarkson—is my boss.

Suddenly, Nick saw how this additional information revealed the delicacy of the situation.

Baker continued. So, I have to be really careful in handling this thing because if I come to the wrong conclusion and act on it, well, it could blow up in my face.

You mean, affect your job?

Well, yeah, Zach interjected with a nod of affirmation. He might as well have added the word, ‘duh!’

Mr. Baker then clarified the delicacy of the situation. Nick, this is a very sticky thing for me. If I don’t say anything and there is something going on with Herb and this boy then I’ll feel terrible. On the other hand, if I say something about this to the authorities, even to the parents, and it’s not true—or if we can’t prove anything—then my relationship with my boss is, well, it will be impacted. And that could put my job in jeopardy.

Yeah, said Nick, I can see how it would. But what can I do? I mean, specifically, what do you want from me?

Zach broke in with, Dude, are you kidding? You’re good at this. I mean, look at what you’ve done. You’ve solved two murders in just two years. Murders that the cops couldn’t solve. Or chose not to. And you did that before you were twenty years old. Obviously, you seem to know what to do or what to look for. So, why not you? He then added, Plus, you know volleyball and….well, with your background…. Zach left this sentence hanging in the air, but Nick knew what he was thinking. Finally, with a pleading look on his face, Zach said, I just thought you’d kinda be a perfect person to bring in on this. You know?

Nick’s eyes looked upward toward one of the parking lot lights that illuminated the area. He was thinking, trying to bring all the information he had been given together, to make sense of it.

Mr. Baker was next to speak. Look, Nick, I’m asking you to help with this situation because I have to find out what’s happening or not happening in order to know how to respond appropriately. But I need to find out fast.

‘Fast’ was given a timeline by Mr. Baker: two weeks. In those fourteen days Baker was asking Nick to come up with evidence needed to either convict or clear Herb Clarkson of inappropriate interaction with a minor. It really didn’t matter to Baker what the outcome was, he just needed it to be convincing enough that he would know what to do. That is, either do nothing if Clarkson was innocent of improper behavior or, if there was enough proof to show that he was in some way abusing an underage boy, then go to the authorities. The fee to be paid to Nick, suggested by Baker, was a base of five hundred dollars plus one hundred dollars a day for up to two weeks and any appropriate expenses.

And I’m going to add an incentive bonus, Baker had said. I’ll give you another five hundred dollars if you can get the information I need by next Monday.

Next Monday! That’s only seven days away, thought Nick. Why by next Monday, Mr. B?

That question was answered when Baker explained that the president of M/X Technologies was stepping down and next Monday the M/X board would be naming someone to take that position. He went on to say that Herb Clarkson, a highly respected engineer, headed up the Division of Product Development and Implementation, one of two vice-presidential positions in the company. It seemed that the present president, Jeremy Wilcox, son of one of the founders, favored Clarkson and had been grooming him for the top position for the last year. Therefore, it was assumed by most employees that Clarkson would be named the new president by the start of next week—next Monday.

If Clarkson does turn out to be involved with this kid, Baker said, it will reflect very negatively on my company. But as bad as that would be in his present position, it will be even worse if he is the newly named president. That’s why I hope you can get what I need by next Monday. It’s as much for M/X Technologies as it is for me.

To Nick’s question of how Baker thought the investigation would best be done, Zach spoke up. He told Nick that next week was the camp’s last week of classes. The classes meet Monday through Thursday, from 6:30 to 8:00 p.m. The staff is made up of volunteers like me. What I thought is that I could bow out and then you could step into my shoes.

You think this Clarkson guy will accept me like that?

Dude. I think there will be no problem. I mean, you’re a great player. And I know you did some coaching last year, right?

Yeah. Coached a high school girls’ team all season. Nick then added with a smile, They won second place in their division.

So that means you have had a police background check, right?

Yeah. I have a copy of my clearance at home.

Good. Then there shouldn’t be any problem. Once that was said, Zach went on to explain the set up. Here’s what I suggest. You present yourself as a high school volleyball player. Like sixteen years old. I’ll suggest to Clarkson that you take my place as an assistant coach. Dad will give you a good recommendation. And he’ll make sure Coach Clarkson knows you are under age. Then… There was a pause. Well, you have to make Coach believe that you want him to, like, take you under his wing. Talk with him. Confide in him. Do anything you can to get close to him. Zach looked at his good friend and asked, almost as a plea, You think you can do that?

Nick, following Zach’s line of thought, said, Sure. That word ‘sure’ was said with an ease that belied the doubt that Nick had as to whether he could carry off being a high school student once again. To Nick the whole thing was pretty strange, even creepy.

Zach continued. And then there’s the kid. His name is Jack. Get to know him, too. See if you can strike up a conversation with him. Maybe a quick friendship. And then let it go from there.

Let it go from there. That was easy for Zach to say. The plan sounded simple enough. But, implementing it was not so simple. In fact, as Nick thought it over, he recognized that there were several substantial challenges to be overcome.

After a time of silence, Mr. Baker said, So, Nick, what do you say? Are you in?

Nick had already made up his mind. He looked at his buddy, Zach, and then at Zach’s father. For you, Mr. B, I’ll do it.

Baker replied quickly with a smile, a couple of firm pats on Nick’s back and a hearty, Thanks, Nick. Thanks a lot!

Zach’s response was a little less dynamic: a simple knuckle bump and Dude, you da best.

MONDAY

WEEK ONE

DAY 3

NICK HEARD THE CLOCK DOWNSTAIRS chime six times. As he rubbed his eyes—eyes that had been mostly open for the last half hour—he looked toward the window nearest his bed. He saw that the soft yellow rays of the morning sun were already peaking over the treetops.

The night had been a difficult one—a restless one—for Nick. He would sleep for a while, then wake up and stare at the ceiling for what seemed like an hour. Maybe more. Always in his mind was the problem of how to do what had been asked of him: to integrate himself into the M/X Technologies-sponsored volleyball camp staff and do it in a way that would bring him into a close, trusting relationship with Coach Herb Clarkson. And to do it in a very short time. How would he go about doing that? That was the really tricky part.

However, it wasn’t just Nick’s apprehension over the ‘how’ of doing the job but, also, of the ‘why.’ That ‘why’ was one of his major concerns, one that made saying ‘yes’ to Mr. Baker’s request very easy. The thought of any kind of inappropriate interaction between an adult male and a young victim made a deep impact on Nick. That a man would maneuver and manipulate a boy like that, Well, he said to Zach at one point, that just makes my skin crawl. Adding to his overall revulsion of this kind of relationship was the feeling of anger brought up by memories of a situation where one of Nick’s friends, a boy named Jimmy, had been physically and emotionally abused by Jimmy’s mother’s boyfriend. The very thought of Jimmy and what he had endured and the resulting impact that the abuse had made on his young life brought Nick to the point of wanting to strike out in some kind of vengeful manner, a behavior that was an anathema to his basic peaceful nature.

Seeing that the day had started and knowing that to lie in bed another moment was a waste of time, Nick got up and dressed. Within minutes he was rolling his bicycle out of the garage. Once at the road in front of his house he looked at his watch. It was 6:15 am.

As Nick mounted his bike, he looked up at the blue, mostly cloudless sky. What a joy it was for him to be outside in nature on such a beautiful day. Anxious to get going, it took him very little time to get the bike up to speed as he peddled down an open stretch of road. Almost from the start Nick had maintained a velocity that would challenge most cyclist, especially as he raced down the first hill, the first of several hills he would encounter on this particular route. However, upon entering the longer, flatter part of his chosen circuit of the day, he settled into a regular cycling rhythm, pacing himself for the long haul. As his feet moved in a rapid, repetitive manner, he began to pick up on the tempo—the rhythmic beat—that could be so mesmerizing. Over and over, his feet went round and round. The constant, recurring sound of the chain as it moved through the sprockets were, like musical notes, pleasing to his ears. Eventually, Nick noted that the cycle of pedaling matched the beat of his own heart. Once that synchronization happened, he smiled with delight.

For Nick, biking was as much therapy for the mind as it was exercise for the body. It was, in fact, one of the activities that he relied on to help him when faced with some difficulty or problem, particularly one that needed to be thought through. As strange as it seemed, repetitive activity like biking, swimming or jogging had the potential of unblocking what he called the ‘mental junk’ that, at times, impeded his ability to problem-solve. A bike ride of this kind could actually bring clarity to his sometimes foggy or confused mind. In fact, it was not unusual for him to come back from a long ride on his bike to find that he had an answer to a question or a solution to a problem.

And so it was on this morning, approximately one hour after he had taken his bike from the garage and after many miles of riding, that a hungry Nick Blick was back in the house, standing at the kitchen sink eating a slice of cold pizza. As he did so he knew what his next move was going to be regarding Herb Clarkson and the boy, Jack.

NEW YORK’S CHATEAUX 54 is a small but elegant boutique hotel located on the Upper West Side, near Central Park. It was there that Chen Xong Wu, still experiencing some jet lag from yesterday’s cross-Atlantic flight, was finishing his breakfast—a croissant, homemade strawberry jam and coffee that had been delivered by room service. After folding and smoothing his linen napkin, a habit from his youth, he lifted a silver carafe from the tray and poured himself a second cup of the Chateaux’s special blend. After taking a sip of the steaming brew, Chen opened the newspaper that had come on his breakfast tray. He read the headlines; a war here, an uprising there, and, of course, the local police activity from the night before.

One article of interest to him was the update on changes within the Chinese Communist party. He read it with extreme concentration, noting the way it was reported as well as the names mentioned. In China, the nuisances of such an article were extremely significant. In fact, names not referenced were as essential to the story as those that were. It was important for him to keep abreast of the developments of the party since his way of life was dependent on some of the men in leadership—both those presently in authority and those aspiring to be placed in such an honorable and powerful position. Chen often compared the behaviors exhibited within the party to the game of chess with each member, like a chess piece, ready to move ahead, many times at the cost of another member’s position; sometimes their life.

Noting the time, Chen scanned through the rest of the section. Then it was onto the financial pages, which were of interest to him not only because he had investments in the stock market but also because of his investments in the people who controlled some of the banks, brokerage houses and financial institutions around the world. Fortunately, everything seemed to be on the upswing today, which pleased Chen very much.

Not being one interested in sports, at least, not the kind of sports that most Americans were so hyped about, Chen mostly passed by this section, stopping only to see what the Yankees had done the night before. That was important because he needed to have at least one sports-oriented subject in mind as he spoke with a small group of American businessmen later in the day. Chen didn’t want to be completely out of touch when it came to the topic that would inevitably come up. In fact, he found it to be impressive to some Americans when he was the one to broach the subject, like, I see that your Yankees won last night. It made him seem more approachable, even trusting, with some, which allowed him to go to a deeper level of interaction with them. Trust was one of the qualities that Chen tried his best to demonstrate and, eventually, elicit in others.

Chen was just about to review the Lifestyle section when the telephone rang. He placed the paper down onto the serving cart, reached out to the nearby phone and answered it.

Hello.

There was a brief pause and then a male voice spoke. The only thing the man said, in Chinese, was, Call me. With that said, the phone went dead. Chen knew who it was. And he knew what the man wanted.

After hanging up, Chen reached for his cell phone, one that had a sophisticated encryption function. Not wanting to leave anything culpable on the phone, in case it was lost, stolen or, worse, confiscated, Chen had memorized all the necessary telephone numbers so as not to rely on the phone’s directory. Just after pressing the last number on the dial, Chen heard one ring and then a voice. It was the same voice that had called him moments earlier.

Knowing the reason for the call, Chen was quick to speak. In Chinese, he said, I’m in the process of taking care of the problem that we discussed last time. It’ll be done by tomorrow night. After that there should be no further delay. The package should be delivered on schedule. He then added, Anything new on your end?

The reply from the voice on the other end was, Nothing at this time. I just wanted to make sure you made it to your hotel and that things are on track.

In less than a minute the phone conversation came to an end.

After putting down the cell phone, Chen reached for his coffee cup, took a sip of the now cooler contents and sighed as he looked at his watch. The time was 9:12. The day was still early. Although he had planned an afternoon filled with lots of hand shaking and smiles, he was not looking forward to the hours in between. For him, there wasn’t much more to do until lunchtime. My god, he thought, how dull is my life at times. How utterly dull.

I UNDERSTAND. THAT WAS THE RESPONSE from Herb Clarkson when George Baker called him to tell him that Zach had been asked by his boss to fill in for a café manager that had a sudden family emergency. It’s at one of their locations in Philly. He’ll be starting over there on Wednesday but has to get some additional training this week here at the store in Reading. So he just can’t continue with the coaching right now.

I’m really sorry to see Zach go, George, was Clarkson’s follow up. He was a valuable asset to the camp.

It was then that Mr. Baker said, The good news is that one of Zach’s volleyball buddies is willing to fill in for him.

Oh, said Clarkson, that’s great. We can definitely use him.

His name is Nick. I think you’ll find him very helpful. He’s a really good kid and a very talented volleyball player. I’ll bring him by this afternoon so he can get started right away.

It was no surprise that Clarkson enthusiastically thrust out his hand when Baker introduced Nick to the coach on Monday afternoon just before the camp class was to start.

Good to meet you, Nick, Clarkson said in welcome.

As Nick shook Clarkson’s hand he responded with, Same here.

Baker had already given Clarkson some background information. "Nick is a high school junior this year. He lives with his mother down near Ephrata. His mom is away for the next week. She’s getting some treatments for a reoccurring