The Problem With Martha

By R. P. Ward

Martha Sheridan, the daughter of a wealthy oil tycoon and a student at Princeton University, witnessed something that she shouldn’t have seen. Now, she is the target of foreign spies entered into our country illegally. Fortunately, an intervention saved the life of the attractive co-ed for the moment, but a more permanent plan need to be devised to hide the girl from a deadly danger.
Can Tim and Buddy formulate a workable solution? They need a scheme which would rescue Martha for all time. And, as it turns out, in a world where reality crashes against perceptions, we discover that the more bizarre the plan, the more successful it becomes. And out of the two key elements of this plan, one is determined to not be alive, and the other is a murderer.
Will Martha accept the plan? Does she have any other choice? In order to participate, Martha will have to die!

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. P. Ward
• Release date: Feb 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370454747

R. P. Ward

Born in Indian Territory in Northern Indiana at the start of WWII, he entered the military in late 1961 and spent the next twenty years living the adventures that most only dream about. Now in his 70’s, r. p. ward leads a somewhat modest lifestyle in the biggest little city of Reno, Nevada. There, his imagination is allowed to run rampant, and he is inspired anew daily.

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THE PROBLEM WITH MARTHA

A novel by:

r. p. ward

In collaboration with roger hull and albert seveir

Self-Published at Smashwords with assistance from

MIDNIGHT EXPRESS BOOKS

THE PROBLEM WITH MARTHA Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 by r. p. ward

Smashwords License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters are totally from the imagination of the author and depict no persons, living or dead; any similarity is totally coincidental.

Self-Published at Smashwords with assistance from

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CONTENTS

Foreward

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

About the Author

FOREWORD

There are two types of people in this world: Skeptics and Dreamers. Thank GOD for dreamers for they bring LIFE into an otherwise drab and dreary world.

* * *

The Problem With Martha is a story that attempts to tie up some of the loose ends created by the first book Quarter Past Five.

While this story closes some doors, at the same time it opens others.

* * *

Do you want to find out how the story ends? Of course you do! Then wait for the release of the third book Puffer.

* * *

MARTHA

A girl born before her time? We’ll let the reader decide about her. But one thing for sure, Martha isn’t shy about launching herself into dangerous situations. Martha! The icing on the cake....

r. p. ward

ONE

A Long Way From Sanity

This was a man who had killed many and often. He is a German Army Officer, highly trained and motivated, a man accustomed to respect in his motherland. In his custody are two Americans, not declared enemies, but for him, all Americans are enemies.

He is not in his motherland now. No, he is standing on American soil. His two prisoners are certain now to pay the ultimate price, their lives! This German is here on a mission, one that would allow nothing to interfere with his duties. His concern now was on how to dispose of the bodies. He could just shoot the two right here but that would certainly bring the law. No, he’d rather go out to sea aboard a concealed motor boat, shoot the men, and dump them overboard into the cold Atlantic. He had done that before and his victims would either become shark bait or they would wash ashore several miles to the north. The North Atlantic Current carried everything to the north which offered him a certain degree of protection. If nothing else, this man was cautious. He had been here for months and not been detected.

The German Officer was not a man of indecision either and quickly forced the two prisoners into a small boat. The sun was down, visibility good, but right above the water line it was near total blackness. The moon would be up shortly to provide what light he would need for the return trip. He, however, planned on being back on dry land within the hour.

The boat’s engine coughed a few times then started. The old 2-cycle outboard motor didn’t much care for the thick oil that was mixed with the cheap fuel but he figured the trip was only a half-hour out and another half-hour to return, a piece of cake according to this murderer.

He throttled the engine up and the small craft leapt forward nearly tossing out its two unwilling passengers.

They both knew their lives were in jeopardy but neither knew or understood why. One thing for sure though, this killer would never feel remorse for what he was about to do. It was his job.

Twenty minutes went by, then twenty-five. Land was no longer visible in the distance. Just a few of the big dock lights in New York a long ways off. The German didn’t concern himself with such things. He just quickly drew out his German made Luger automatic pistol and shot each man square in the chest.

He watched each of his prisoners die, a look of abject terror and confusion on their faces. The Officer would have preferred a quicker death; one single shot to their forehead would have been most expedient. However, there was insufficient light to insure a direct hit. Besides, tonight he was feeling a little more cruel than usual; the blood from these two bodies would go a long way in attracting large fish, even sharks which would quickly make short meals of the two. Now they were dead and could not disclose anything they may have seen or heard.

Besides, he was still rid of two more of his enemy. How many did that make now? He had been here nearly two months making preparations; he’d killed maybe two men each week on the average, so maybe twenty or so. His boss would be proud of him.

The moon was rising in the east and offered a shimmering light across the low swells of sea water. In the diffused light, the officer caught a glimpse of something in the water- A shark perhaps? No, it was the top of a periscope of a submerged German submarine playing cat and mouse in waters not deep enough and .which was routinely patrolled by American vessels both above and below. This sub captain was taking a huge gamble, he was in dangerous territory.

It had happened before that a sub-captain, trying to show off for his crew, ran into shallow water and put his vessel onto a sandbar. Embarrassing for sure but not usually fatal. He would simply wait for the tide to come in, blow his water, and back out on the surface.

Sure, he might be exposed temporarily but all that is quickly forgotten in the heat of battle and a good sub captain knew how to exploit the talents of his crew.

This could be the same submarine that had dropped him and four others off a couple of month’s age. Five people had gotten off the German war machine; two German Army Officers destined to take over explicit areas of the country, after the war that hadn’t started yet, and three experts in espionage and sabotage. Their job was to sink American ships carrying so-called farm equipment on its way to Great Britain.

Most Americans didn’t yet know that England was just beginning its down-fall into German hands. It was inevitable that they would succumb easily against the might of the Third Reich. All the other countries had already given up, even France!

The submarine made a wide port turn. The man in the motor boat watched the periscope for a long while until it too disappeared in the blackness of the water. This cold-blooded killer was to learn everything he could about the area he was assigned, the area he would govern: roads, river ways, language, dialects, currency, produce, weapons, and schools—especially colleges. There was one close by too; it was called Princeton! Ah, well, they’d all be under German occupation within a few years anyway.

He wondered how his fellow officers had fared. They were not in any kind of direct communication nor was he to know the locations of their particular areas. One officer said he was heading toward Chicago, but that was several hundred miles inland in the Ohio Valley. What a wasted area. These Americans had almost ruined a country that otherwise could have been very profitable. They just couldn’t see very far into their own future. The German army would change all that, of course. These Americans were weak, they would cave in quickly and easily and the war would be short lived.

The man kept the bow of the small boat pointed southwest of the big lights he knew to be the New York shipping docks. He did not wish to make landfall north of the Hudson River and he pressured the boat1s, small motor for more speed which increased the likelihood that it could just as easily give up the ghost. If that happened, he and his old boat would be at the mercy of the ocean’s current and much like this German, the Atlantic knew nothing of mercy.

He backed off on the tired old motor slightly and rode the hard wooden seat as best he could as the boat slammed against wave top after wave top. At least he knew that land was not far off and ten minutes later, just left of his present track, were more lights making their presence known. And a few more lights to the right indicated where Atlantic City was, but again,’ he didn’t want to land there either. He steered further south.

He had parked his vehicle behind an unused building on the outskirts of a small town. He remembered its name; it was Bringintine. It was a quiet place, kept that way by a big Irish cop...a really big cop.

The German was not afraid of the cop but he did maintain a healthy respect for him all the same. He figured the cop, like most Americans, was weak in spirit if not of body. Still, the German wasn’t keen on testing that theory...not just yet anyway. The cop kept the town in good order which might prove useful when his own country took over here. And there would be very little resistance from the town’s citizens after he took over as the political power.

Five more minutes slipped by and the man could hear small breakers slapping the beach in front of him. All he had to do was drive the old scow up onto the sand. He would shut off the motor, get out, and pull the rig up the beach to a place he knew the boat would stay hidden and the tide would not come in to wash it away.

The boat suddenly lurched. It had come ashore a little too quickly but he killed the engine anyway and tossed out a rope attached to a small anchor. He found himself on dry land once again. Getting busy, he jumped out, picked up the rope, and easily pulled the little boat down to its hiding place and then up into the sand. Satisfied the boat was out of danger; he stored the small motor on some driftwood and turned the boat upside down over it. He doubted that anyone would bother it there.

Certain that he had completed his mission unnoticed, he walked up to the roadway that entered the town from the north. Down a couple of blocks and there, across from that Diner, was the unused building that hid the automobile he had parked there just over an hour ago.

A hurried trip around the old building and, sure enough, there it was just as he had left it, his car. Okay, it was American built, but he had to admit that a lot of the products constructed here were far superior to what he was accustomed to in the Motherland. The man checked the surrounding area carefully looking for any sign that might suggest that he was being watched. But seeing nothing, he entered his car, started its engine, and slowly pulled out onto the road leading out of town. There was nothing to worry about, no one had seen him nor cared. He would drive on back to his home where a few hours of sleep awaited his arrival.

Little did the man know that his presence in the small town had been witnessed by one of the best field detectives in the world; a girl, the granddaughter of the world-famous Charlie Chan.

Yes, Lisa Chan, Charlie Chan’s granddaughter, was in town doing some preliminary detective work. She referred to it as ‘scouting around’, of course, just to get the lay of the land. She had been sent here under the advisement of one of her very best friends, Donald Watson, in order to set up and operate a search for the missing father of two prominent women living in town’. No, she had not revealed herself to anyone here as yet. She did not want to clutter up her mind with wild speculation, supposition, or useless facts. It was better to allow the true nature of the town and the situation to settle over her first. Then she could shed all the tidbits of scuttlebutt off her like a duck discharges water off its back. She would be in better condition to determine what was truth, and what was someone’s theory; what was important information, and what was to be tossed out with the trash.

She had learned most of what she knew from her grampa Charlie, the rest from her father. Then she met Steven Holmes and Donald Watson, and made up her mind what she would pursue for an occupation. From that point on, she sharpened those skills necessary to locate missing persons. She became very proficient at her job too. So much so that her presence was always in high demand throughout Europe; she was well respected and well paid for her services. She always completed the job to a satisfactory conclusion although sometimes the person she was hired to find left only a tombstone behind. Now this job, this one she would take on as a gift, a favor to her best friend, no charge!

She wasn’t above accepting donations periodically, you know, due to shortness of funds, as the situation dictated. But this job she wanted to do as a freebee, just to get her feet in the door in a country where she had never worked. Well, a missing person is only missing for as long as no one is searching-right? Lisa would ask herself. So this shouldn’t be all that difficult She needed to get out of Europe for a while anyway. That Hitler guy in Germany was pushing his way around the continent and making problems everywhere he went. A few years in this country might very well prove beneficial; profitable too. And, she could pick up on some education at a nice college all at the same time.

For her immediate situation, Lisa figured she would roll into town quietly and secretly, gather as much information as she could, and then establish a meeting of sorts with the big Irish cop here and the two women with the missing father. She liked to prowl around at night, under cover of darkness. Nighttime offered a view of the underbelly of things not meant to be observed, things illegal, things that sometimes would cost a person their life.

So it was that Lisa rolled into this town on a Friday evening; she figured three nights worth of secret watching might be very useful. She had also brought with her the very telescope that her grandfather had used, a precise viewing instrument that Charlie had had made in Italy during the 1800’s. It was very good, an expensive piece of equipment for the time in which it was made. It had proved its worth this very night, watching the three people enter that small boat, two of them with their hands tied behind their backs. Then an hour later, the boat returned with only one occupant. It didn’t require a genius to come to the conclusion that two of those had met their end at sea.

Lisa waited patiently, staying perhaps an extra five minutes after the man departed. She was covering herself and her hiding place just in case the man decided to backtrack, like some animals were prone to do. Satisfied the man had truly gone; Lisa slowly crept out of her hiding place and sauntered slowly down to the waters’ edge; there was something there that she wanted to check on, maybe confirming any suspicions that she may have had. And there, in the slightly wet sand, where the man had stepped out of the boat, was the clue she was hoping for; a pristine set of footprints. Fortunately for her, the tide was on its way out, leaving the footprints looking brand-new. It was exactly what she was seeking. And feeding her suspicious nature was precisely what kept her in such high demand throughout Europe.

It didn’t always go her way but the bigger percentage of the time proved her gut-feelings to be pretty accurate. She knew that a great number of German officers had been trained to assume a post in this country should the tide-of-war flow the right direction, and she knew also that those men were selected from only a handful of prestigious echelons throughout Germany.

In the end-run though, those men, despite all their training, were still harboring certain weaknesses and the man she had painstakingly watched through her grandfather’s telescope was not exempt.

Lisa’s experiences reminded her of one important habit among these men; a weakness if you will, all these men favored the footwear they had trained in over the past several years. And in this case, it was a very distinctive type of boot, offered only to a small handful of military officers that had been trained in the Alps, the bottoms of which possessed a very unique pattern not found anywhere else outside their country.

Lisa recognized that boot print immediately and was both exhilarated and dismayed at the same time. Despite the man’s inherent footwear weakness, he would be the toughest to deal with. If cornered, he would show no quarter, no mercy, no compassion. He would fight to the death: either his own, or yours and he preferred it to be yours.

She had nothing to make a cast of the print, not even pencil and paper to draw a picture. She simply filed the information away for now, she would put it to use later. She would certainly have to bring Tim McCord up to date on what the Germans were up to, but not tonight. It was too late at night now to seek out the detective and too early in her canvass to burden herself with introductions and the barrage of questions that were sure to follow.

The next day, Saturday, Lisa rested briefly and looked the town over to get a feel for its layout. She would need to know the locations of the police station, the morgue, the restaurant, of course, and the homes of both Tim and Doc and their wives. Lisa found an empty apartment, odd for this time of year, and made arrangements to rent it for two months and maybe longer if she found it necessary. She didn’t figure she would be spending a lot of time in it but it would be a place of rest, safety, and refuge.

Lisa briefly stopped at the flower shop where Veronica worked but no one was there at the moment. A sign was hung on the door which said: OUT TO LUNCH-BE BACK SHORTLY. Lisa didn’t wait. Instead, she spent the next two hours walking the streets of the small town.

She wanted to be able to find her way in the daytime or night in case she needed to get somewhere quickly. Satisfied that she had had enough for one day, she found her way back to her apartment for some much needed sleep.

She awoke at dusk, and discovered she was very hungry so she made her way quietly to the Diner just down the street from where she lived. There, she found the short-order cook very adept at concocting some of the best tasting sandwiches she had ever eaten. She stayed there much longer than her plan allowed for but her stomach was thankful for the delicious meals. The tea was not so great. Then she remembered that Donald had told her to stay clear of the tea. Lisa didn’t much care for coffee, not American coffee at any rate, it was too weak. Oh well, she’d have to make some concessions, so bad tea would have to suffice for the time being.

Lisa left the Diner and noticed the building across the street. She recalled that Donald Watson had told her that he and Steven had used it to set up a stakeout when they were here. He said it was an empty firehouse. Lisa thought to herself, Hmmm, maybe it’s still not being used. At least I should go check it out, no harm done. Zipping quickly across the street, Lisa discovered a door at the side of the deserted structure; it was not locked. She went in unnoticed, closed the door. It was dark inside, very dark. The moon was not yet up to provide any light so Lisa sought in her bag for a box of matches. She didn’t keep much in the bag so finding them wasn’t all that difficult.

Match box in hand, she struck one of the long stick matches, the shimmering light showed only a dusty floor and a narrow staircase leading to what should be a loft. One more match and she was climbing to the second story.

There was a single window in the room, it was facing the street below and it let in some of the light from the Diner across from her. This was perfect! No wonder the pair of British detectives had utilized the place. It was so nondescript that people passed right on by without a second look. Lisa wasn’t ready for this yet, she needed a shower first so she left as quickly and quietly as she had arrived and headed once again to her apartment. In another hour, Lisa was ready for a night full of observation. The moon came up around midnight casting long shadows here and there, but at least it offered some light to see by. There was nothing going on here, nothing unusual anyway, and it wasn’t until five a.m. or so that Lisa saw anything move at all. And that was just an old man walking a dog and heading toward the Diner.

It got stranger still when the two reached the section of beach that extended up to the road beside the Diner. It looked as if the dog was preparing to use the sand for his toilet, but he started digging a long hole, deep too, and long enough to conceal a body perhaps. It took the dog several minutes, then he and the man moved away about twenty feet. A buzzing noise commenced; not loud, but constant. Then a light appeared; a blue light. It was pulsing. The light formed what Lisa decided was a large bubble which settled over the hole that the dog had dug out. Streaks of flashing strobes of light like lightning from an electrical storm raced through the bubble. It lasted only seconds, fifteen maybe, then the whole thing: light, bubble, noise everything just disappeared as quickly as it had started. The man and his dog turned around and walked back in the direction they had come from. Lisa stood transfixed at the window. Nothing else happened and Lisa waited for a couple more minutes before reacting at all. How strange, she thought.

There was no one around. No people, cars, or animals Lisa decided it was safe to exit. She picked up her bag and carefully made her way back down the stairway. Reaching the side door, she cautiously checked the area, then slid out and crossed the street, toward the edge of the sand where she was certain the man, the dog, and the light bubble thing had just departed. But try as she