The Oath Keeper Trilogy: Book Three - The Assumption

By R.D. Sexton

As Commandant of the Order of the Knights of the Way, Aedan O’Neall has immense power and responsibility. His job is to protect the Constitution of the United States for a nation who will never know of his existence. But he has a private life, too.
O'Neall inherited his uncle's conglomerate of businesses in Europe and, without the help of a man he trusts, he couldn't handle them. Despite his diverse and demanding workload, O'Neall finds time to spend with his teenage daughter. Although she seems angelic, O’Neall is concerned with the possibility she might bring home a young man with wrong intentions. After O'Neall's wife died in a horrible accident, he was forced to raise their child on his own. While he readily accepted the responsibility of a single parent, the last thought in O’Neall’s mind is that he might himself fall in love again.
The Order is immersed in a series of major events in the country’s history that threaten to destroy the nation. Although the Order continually monitors threats abroad and at home, from time-to-time, there are threats to the Order. A continual problem is the nephew of a deceased D.C. detective who, until his death, dogged some cases he didn’t know involved the order. As a detective in Texas, the nephew continues to follow one of his uncle’s cases that could lead back to the Order. Another threat comes from a drug cartel who stumbled on the Order while searching for a man who stole an aircraft they owned. O'Neall is also concerned about domestic problems within the United States: Greedy politicians, communist infiltration of government agencies, Muslim terrorists and illegal aliens, each with an agenda diametrically opposed to the U.S. Constitution, threaten the nation's survival.
Protecting the Constitution is more difficult than at any other time in the nation’s history and O’Neall is in a dilemma. He now understands he can no longer kill all the bad guys.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.D. Sexton
• Release date: Jun 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463690123

R.D. Sexton

R.D. Sexton is a former U.S. Marine and Vietnam War veteran. He lives in Texas with his wife where he retired as a Certified Public Accountant. He holds the following degrees: Bachelor of Business Administration (Accounting) and Bachelor of Theology.

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THE ASSUMPTION

The Oath Keeper Trilogy

Book Three

by

R.D. Sexton

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 R.D. Sexton

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COPYRIGHT

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Assumption - Oath Keeper Series, Book Three All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2018 by R.D. Sexton. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

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Cover Art: U.S. Central Intelligence Agency (Assessing the Soviet Threat: The Early Cold War Years)

Copyright: 2018 R.D. Sexton

Published by: Smashwords.com

Version 2021.01.00

Oath, n.

An Oath is a solemn affirmation or declaration, made with an appeal to God for the truth of what is affirmed. The appeal to God in an oath implies that the person imprecates His [God's] vengeance and renounces His [God's] favor if the declaration is false, or if the declaration is a promise, the person invokes the vengeance of God if he should fail to fulfill it. A false oath is called perjury.

– Noah Webster Dictionary – 1828

The Knight's Oath

I do solemnly swear by the Almighty Creator and in His Name, to serve as a Knight of the Way.

I do swear by the Eternal Power of Jehovah to obey orders of my Commandant and those who lead me, to aide brother knights, and to aide my countrymen against those who would usurp the freedom guaranteed by the Constitution of the United States.

I will be loyal of hands and mouth, and serve every man as best I may, seeking the fellowship of good men and hearken to their words and remember them.

I will be humble and courteous wherever I go, boasting not nor talking overmuch.

I will see that no lady or damsel or woman be in reproach despite her station or quality in life. If I fall into company where men speak with disrespect of any woman, I will show by gracious words it pleaseth me not and I will depart from them.

This oath do I give of my own free will, without coercion, so help me God.

10 November, 1986

This is my last diary entry about the Order.

The United States is headed down a bad road from which there may be no return. If the Founding Fathers knew about the freedoms their countrymen have so easily thrown away, about the rapid decline in the belief in the rich Judeo-Christian heritage passed down from the founders, about the decline in moral values and character those men held in such high esteem, they would turn over in their graves.

I have passed the mantel of leadership to a man I hold in the highest regard. His life has been lived in a manner the Founding Fathers would have admired and respected. Certainly, had this young man lived during their time, he would have been a leader in the revolt against British tyranny. He is, now, a leader in the fight against our own would-be tyrants and demagogues.

After speaking with him on many occasions, I firmly believe he understands what our country faces. He knows the path he must take to help prevent the eventual demise of our nation. He now commands a ruthless business that he may tell no one about. Americans will continue to benefit from the countless, incredible acts he will oversee while none will even know those acts were his decisions. May God the Father and the Grace of Jesus Christ give him strength when he needs it.

– Kimoni Chirchir, Former Commandant

10 November, 1992

Although I was instructed by Dr. Chirchir, our former Commandant, to keep a daily diary of the things pertinent to the Order, I have, in part, failed on that account to do so. While his diary focused almost exclusively on matters related to the Order, I have decided my diary will include both my personal and professional activities as closely as possible and to the extent I am able to recall the details at the time of each entry. However, from year to year, I may leave gaps in the record, some due to insufficient time and memory, others because I chose not to make entries for my own personal reasons.

– Aedan O’Neall, Commandant

Afghanistan

We do what Allah calls for us to do, Osama bin Laden said to his friend. He pointed towards the iron gate on the front of the house where, outside, as the midday sun beat down on the earth, little boys kicked the soccer ball across the sandy yard in front of the tan, adobe style home.

They play, now, but soon their lives will change.

Change, almost constant change, had been part of his life since he was born in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia in March of 1957, the son of Mohammed bin Awad bin Laden, father of 126 children and husband to 22 wives. Before Osama reached puberty, his father became a billionaire Saudi businessman, primarily in the construction industry. His business success had been fueled by Abdul Aziz Ibn Saud, the first monarch of Saudi Arabia. Twenty-two years later, the devout Sunni Muslim Osama joined the Pakistan’s Mujahideen to fight the Soviets in Afghanistan. Early in 1988, he created al Qaeda as a separate Afghan fighting force with visions of taking on jihadist causes outside Afghanistan after the Soviets withdrew.

He glanced around the spacious patio. We sit at this shiny, wrought iron table upon polished stones surrounded by lush green foliage while most of our people live in squalor.

In his view, the blame could be traced to both Israel and the United States. Not only had their decadent ways influenced Muslims around the world, worst was that they had oppressed, killed or harmed Muslims in the Middle East. The Islamic world was in crisis and the only fix was to establish Sharia law throughout the Muslim world.

What are you trying to say, my friend?

Bin Laden glanced at him with squinted eyes. My own country’s king has taken up with the United States and its evil ways, putting aside what is the desire of Allah for our people. In his mind’s eye, he visualized the current state of Saudi Arabia with its women dressed like Americans, attending college, assuming roles in business and the government, wearing bathing suits on the beach as if they were Infidels.

It is not, as you believe, the fault of the king, his friend said. The fault lies with the United States. It is that Great Satan who has led the king down this evil path.

The king knows what Allah wants. He could have told the Americans, No.

You know better than that.

Maybe. Maybe not.

What will happen now? his friend said.

Now? Just planning.

Planning what?

Something that will teach the Great Satan, who sucks at the teat of Israel, a lesson.

It is foolhardy to entertain any action against such an adversary. What could you possibly plan that would teach the Americans anything at all?

Something big. Very big. Something that will be in their memory for many, many years, Osama said.

How is that possible?

Allah. Allah will bring to my mind what needs to be done.

1993

New York City, NY

Air Canada’s Airbus A330 burped down on New York’s LaGuardia airport at Queens on one of its regular afternoon flights. Most of the passengers leaned forward in their seats waiting to jump up to exit the aircraft. Others glanced around with sleepy eyes, yawning, in no hurry to be sandwiched in the line about to form between the aisles. One of the yawners leaned back in his seat to wait. Like most of his flights, the trip from Toronto had been relatively uneventful. He looked like any other businessman, probably on his way home after a hard day at work. It would be impossible for any of the other passengers to know his real identity or of what he was capable.

After disembarking the aircraft and entering the terminal, he noticed the crowd around him sounded like zoo animals. He picked up his pace to distance himself from the pack hoping to spot a sign for car rentals. Although tired, this trip remained a high point in his career thus far, and he prayed all would go well during his stay.

When he spotted the Avis car rental sign pointed ahead, nervous sweat soaked through his white dress shirt under his suit coat draped over his right shoulder held by his right hand. When he walked through the Avis Rental door, he noticed there were no other customers.

Great. Not going to have to wait, he thought.

He stopped in front of the Avis agent and dropped his briefcase on the floor.

Keep conversation to a minimum, he reminded himself. Just answer the agent’s questions.

The paperwork for his previously arranged rental car was quickly completed and the clerk handed him the keys.

Have a great weekend, sir.

He nodded, grabbed his briefcase, then headed out to the parking lot.

Snow covered the area and many of the rental cars held a light layer on hoods, roofs and trunks. He spotted the white Ford, Fairland 500, sedan fifty feet from the Avis door. Exactly what he’d asked for. He opened the driver’s side door and tossed his briefcase over to the passenger’s seat. Except for clothing he would buy while in New York, the case contained everything he would need other than food h a new toothbrush with the rubber pick on the bottom of the handle, a small tube of Pepsodent toothpaste, his electric shaver, a small bottle of Old Spice aftershave lotion, three new pairs of white boxer shorts and black, nylon dress-socks, his Koran, and his instructional diagram needed to build the bomb.

He pulled the Ford out into the traffic and began to follow the map in his head. A thirty-minute drive beyond New York City would take him where he needed to go. A traffic jam delayed him fifteen minutes, but he finally pulled into the All-Week Motel driveway and steered towards the end of the building where room 213 was supposed to be on the second floor. He glanced to his left and spotted their cars, a late model BMW and a new Mercedes. His anger bubbled up because their owners knew not to draw attention to themselves, but they did it anyway.

Had he not already invested time and effort in them, he would cut off their damned heads.

Both FBI contractors were up in the room waiting. Months ago, FBI and CIA provocateur Ali Mohammed had trained them. He tested their new skills on Israeli men, women and children. These two men would do anything he wanted them to do including die. They were highly intelligent so following his plans would be simple. They understood that extreme care would be necessary to keep from vaporizing themselves in the building process. He expected they already had the chemicals and other devices at the rented storage unit. They used a third man’s credit card to purchase the materials. He thought how confused the public might be to learn that Islam was working with agents of Islam’s enemy, the United States. To grasp the situation, they must know the ancient maxim, the enemy of my enemies is my friend. The Chinese military leader, Sun Tzu, may have coined the phrase, but governments ever since have followed it without question.

If all went well, he would be on his return flight to Canada about the time the bomb exploded.

Wednesday, January 13, 1993, 7:25 p.m. (Brasília time)

The Castle

Campos do Jordão, Brazil

The door to the left of me opened and I glanced that direction thinking, I can’t even escape to the damned bathroom for a second.

Mr. O’Neall, we have a situation developing.

Jack didn’t look well, and he rarely addressed me as Mr. O’Neall. In addition, he was frowning and that was not good. Just give me a minute.

Yeah, Heller said on his way out.

What’s this yeah crap? I wondered. I expected a little more respect from my senior analyst and personal assistant. I glanced back at the mirror, forced my body to relax, then I took five deep breathes and exhaled each slowly, a relaxation technique I leaned while serving the U.S. Marine Corps during the Vietnam War.

My hands continued to grip the sink while my bloodshot eyes stared back at me from the mirror.

Just for a second, I didn’t recognize myself. I turned on the faucet and splashed water on my face hoping things would improve. Deep down, I knew it would take a hell-of-a-lot more than water.

From the day I joined the Marines in 1965 until seven years ago, I never delegated solutions to problems. I handled them up close and personal. Bad guys rarely saw me coming. I drew satisfaction from operating on my own, taking care of business on my terms. God help me, I loved the roll of executioner, rare as that opportunity presented itself. It dawned on me that serial killers got that same feeling, only their deeds were not sanctioned.

My oath to the Order was clear and I understood it, lived it just as I’ve done with every other oath I’ve taken in my life. Back then, my world as a knight was limited to work assigned to me. To a large degree, there was no big picture for me in that world. Nothing came into view beyond what I needed to know to carry out my tasks. I had no real grasp of the size and complexity of operations of which I was a part, nor should I have. That all changed the day Dr. Chirchir swore me in as Commandant of the Order of the Knights of the Way. Now, things are not so clear. And while I’m standing here thinking about this crap, the world is being dragged back into the middle ages by Islam, one suicide bomber at a time.

I glanced back at the mirror one last time, then closed my eyes.

Lord, I don’t talk to you near enough. You already know the sins I’ve committed since a few days ago. Anger, pride and some level of depression have captured me since then. Right now, I need the strength only you can give me to do the things you expect of me. Help me now to lead these men and do your will. In Christ’s name, Amen.

When I walked into the ready room, Heller was standing next to one of the twenty-five booths manned by knights who handled incoming communications by phone, fax and email. He was arguing with one of the knights, something completely out of character for Jack.

What the hell is wrong with him?

I glanced to my right and spotted Father Dexter Caldwell. I noticed he was rubbing one of his legs above the knee that no longer existed, all that remained after losing everything from the knees down in the Vietnam War. Although the bionic legs worked almost as good as real legs, science still couldn’t duplicate God’s handiwork.

Quid agis? I asked in Latin.

Ego bonus sum, he responded. Sir, your Latin is getting much better.

Don’t hold your breath about me mastering the language, I said. Pain coming back again?

"Yes sir. It’s a nerve problem. Phantom pain from legs no longer there. But I’m not the only one

here with war wounds. I noticed your limp is back."

It is. Cold weather doesn’t help.

No one else, not even Dexter, knew how I dealt with the reoccurring pain. I simply reminded myself that the North Vietnamese soldier who shot me through the right knee didn’t live to tell the story.

Hope it gets better, sir.

It usually does.

I glanced over at Heller and his eyes shifted my direction.

In a second, he said with a little too much attitude for my liking. He finished his heated conversation and walked back to me carrying a big file under one arm. His blue eyes looked slightly grey and bloodshot.

Are you alright, Jack?

This one's thicker than the one I gave you yesterday, referring to the file he carried.

Why does he ignore my question?

I grabbed the file. "Okay. What is this situation to which you referred?"

It’s about one our knights working on assignment in Israel. Robert Gibbons passed it to me right after one of his Israeli cells gave him the news.

Which one of our knights?

Dan Banter. I’m sure you remember him.

What about Banter?

I wanted to say: Hell yes I know Dan Banter. The two of you were in one of my cells before I got this damned job.

Gibbons said he’s missing.

What?

"Two days ago, he didn't check in with his handler at the appointed time. His schedule indicated he was to have dinner with a Mossad officer at a Tel Aviv restaurant. Other members of Banter’s Israeli cell questioned restaurant employees. They said the two men left together after their meal. According to the Mossad officer’s superior, he is also missing."

Who is Banter’s handler?

Elona Kline.

For a moment, the name rocked me. The last time I saw her was when Dr. Chirchir sent me to Israel to learn Mossad interrogation techniques. That was years ago.

What was Banter working on?

The Mossad had information about a potential attack on U.S. soil.

What steps are we taking?

With respect to Banter’s recovery, Knight Klein has all of her Middle-East cells putting out feelers. In the meantime, two of Gibbon’s international cells are rounding up anyone remotely connected to any of the terror groups we know about. Concerning this potential terror attack in the U.S., we are listening for any relevant information within U.S. intelligence agencies.

Are our agents inside CIA and NSA on alert?

Of course! What do you think I do, sit on my ass all day?

I frowned at Heller, then reached out and put my hand on his shoulder.

Jack, what’s going on with you?

Nothing.

When you get back to Texas, I want you to take some time off.

I don’t need any time off.

Damn it, Jack, do what I say.

He took a deep breath. Yes sir.

Good. We will not lose a knight on my watch and I damned sure don’t want to hear Americans have died from some explosive concoction built by terrorists.

Understood, sir.

Was there anything else?"

Heller took another deep breath, then licked his lips. It’s time to replace members of the Knight’s Chamber. The list of names we’ve talked about over this last year are in the folder.

The current chamber has fulfilled its five years?

In a month.

That soon?

Yes sir.

Next week I will review the names to refresh my memory and get back to you with my selections.

"Yes sir. Oh, before I forget, please say hello to GySgt McCleary for me."

I’ll do it. He’s a good ranch manager, but he’s probably giving my daughter a hard time while I’m away.

Deep down, sir, McCleary is a big Teddy Bear.

Well, when I served under Don in the Vietnam War, he was no damned Teddy Bear, believe me. How is Eva? I haven’t seen her for more than a year. Maybe longer. Last I heard, she started studying Engineering at Texas A&M.

She’s fine. She tells me her engineering classes aren’t much of a challenge. I don’t think she takes after me. Not with her 185 IQ. Got her mother’s wit too. And she speaks Spanish like a Mexican.

Funny how I never thought of her as brainy. I always knew she was smart, but 185 IQ? That’s up there. What ever happened with that radio-controlled model aircraft contest she entered last year?

Eva hasn’t heard a word from the Academy of Model Aeronautics. In my opinion, no one can beat her, but of course, I’m biased.

"I’m sure she will win. Tell her hello for me."

Will do.

I flipped open Heller’s file and glanced at the summary page, then I looked up at him.

You know I'm headed back to Texas later, right?

That's why I also included last minute situations our intelligence cells have picked up. Those situations don't have a full analysis but you'll get the drift of what's happening. I also took the liberty of including a brief history of Muslim attacks in the U.S. since we first started keeping such records.

Good work, Jack. I’ll be in my office if you need me. Be sure to take some time off.

I turned and walked out to the hallway to return to the recluse of my office.

When I sat down, my mind was reaching for anything that would comfort me knowing one of our men was missing, particularly one I knew personally. This wasn’t the first time, of course. It had happened several times while Dr. Chirchir occupied this seat. But this was my first and I hoped the last such incident. So far in our history, we managed to save all of them. Somehow, that didn't make things better. Well, I had to do what he did, rely on knights within our Order trained for these situations.

Heller was on top of it so I probably didn't need to worry about Banter, although I did need to worry about Jack. Elona Klein’s image reappeared in my head but this time, she wore a red and white jogging outfit and took the package I was told to lay down next to the public phone she was using. At the time, we were both in our twenties and knew nothing about one another other than what our handlers told us.

For now, I needed to put those thoughts out of my mind.

For two-hours, I sat at my desk while reviewing Heller’s file. Even in summary form, there was so much bad going on in the world it made my head throb just reading about it. I rubbed my face then started to wade through Jack’s summary of Muslim terror in our own country, facts about which few Americans had even limited knowledge.

Islamic terrorists started off slow in America. In April of 1972, several members of a New York mosque murdered a New York cop responding to false alarm they called in. The Order managed to track them down. Two died of arranged natural causes, the third died from a hit and run driver, one of ours.

In January of 1973, Islamic terrorists murdered a Brooklyn, New York policeman when he caught them robbing a sporting goods store. The Order located them but they escaped. In July, Muslims murdered seven members of a Washington, DC family. One Muslim was hit by a train, the other died when his private aircraft ran out of fuel over the Atlantic, Knight Robert Gibbons’ handiwork. In October, Islamic terrorists raped and murdered a woman and decapitated her partner. All of the terrorists burned to death when their van blew a tire and ran off the road into a ravine, the accident elaborately set up by the Order. They were trapped inside the van when the fuel tank exploded. That same month, another Muslim shot a Berkley woman in the face, killing her. In November, Muslims murdered a grocery store owner. In December, they rampaged Oakland, California by killing a man in a phone booth, a woman walking down the sidewalk, an eighty-one-year-old janitor, and three other innocent Oakland residents.

Between January and the end of April of 1974, Muslim terrorists hit Oakland and Ingleside killing six people including a Salvation Army employee. The Order captured them and, after lengthy torture to learn of future operations, their lives ended in a meat packing plant, thanks to one of our knights who worked there. After a three-year hiatus, Islamic terrorist started again.

In March of 1977, they hit DC, this time killing two people while holding one- hundred thirty-four people hostage followed by another lull in Islam’s lust for mayhem.

In July of 1980 a covert Iranian soldier in Bethesda, Maryland murdered an Iranian dissident here on political asylum. The soldier died when his car slammed into the side of a train when his accelerator stuck and the brakes failed at a railroad crossing. The following month in Savoy, Illinois, an Iranian student shot his next door neighbor. Eight quiet years followed.

In November of 1989 a St. Louis, Missouri teenage girl was stabbed to death by her Muslim parents in an honor killing for dating an infidel.

In January and November of 1990, Muslim terrorists targeted Tucson, Arizona and New York City. A Sunni cleric was killed in front of his Tucson mosque when he remarked that two Qur’an verses were incorrect. One of the attackers was found with most of his Qur’an lodged in his throat, put there by Knight Joseph Delgado. A NewYork City Israeli Rabbi was murdered in his hotel by a Muslim attacker who was later found in an alley with his throat cut.

No one in the intelligence business doubted that all of this terror brought to our shores emanated from the Islamic religion itself. On the other hand, no politician would even consider that as a realistic possibility. That was our supreme dilemma and it did not look like things were going to change. Although the Knights’ Chamber had made great effort to bring down as many of the terrorists as possible, it simply couldn’t keep up with all of them. The Chamber currently retained a long list of Islamic terrorists who had been judged guilty and sentenced to death but who had managed to escape capture. U.S. intelligence agencies had been covertly notified of their names and last, known locations. Hopefully, those agencies would eventually catch up to them. If they didn’t, we would.

Deep down inside my mind, a small voice said, one day, you might have to build an army to stop them. I responded with, Yeah, but them is a damned big group who includes practically every politician in my country and half the rest of the world.

Someone knocked on my door as I was about to shuffle my papers into a stack to drop them in my briefcase.

Yeah?

The door opened and Ray Slaymore leaned in.

Sir, can you spare me a moment of your time?

Anytime Ray, come on in.

We’ve come a long way since we met in 1974, he said when he sat down across the desk from

me.

We kicked ass in Venezuela, didn’t we? I said. Ray and I were auditing a petrochemical plant in

Venezuela under construction by our employer, L&M Industrial in Houston. Ray was L&M’s computer guru and I was one of their internal auditors. At the time, Ray had no idea the Order sent me to assassinate a terrorist leader in Venezuela.

If I had not been along, I don’t think you could have done it, Ray said, followed by Ha, Ha.

"Yeah, right. Maybe you were a brainy MIT computer science graduate, but it was my idea to

sabotage their computer systems when the damned communists took over the plant."

Touché. I was a little timid back then, wasn’t I?

You did okay, Ray. You did okay. What’s up?

Sir, I’m concerned about our computer systems vulnerabilities.

Dammit, I figured if I put you in charge of our systems, we wouldn’t have any vulnerabilities.

He raised his eyebrows. Although you know I keep my eyes on potential hackers, my focus has always been on my old employer, the National Security Agency.

Are they poking our systems?

Not yet. But our knights inside the NSA make it a point to keep on top of any new programs NSA has in development.

What’s the threat?

As you know, we communicate worldwide using transcontinental underwater communications cables as well as land-based Loran signal towers and the ionospheric signal communications systems used by the military, cellphone companies, and the television industry. While they don’t concern me, I’m worried about our encryption.

You think it can be compromised?

Strong possibility. Highly probable.

What are our options?

Stronger encryption.

For God sakes, Ray, I thought we had the strongest encryption available?

Sir, we do.

Then what’s the problem?

I want us to stay ahead of NSA. I need your permission to take our systems to the next level.

Damn, Ray, you know full well that you have the authority to do whatever you need to do.

Well, in this case I need the help of someone outside of any of our organizations.

Outside the Order?

Yes sir.

You know how to protect the Order. Do whatever you think is necessary.

Good. We might need to kidnap a top encryption scientist, a woman.

Who does she work for?

NSA. She’s a contractor.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at Slaymore. He wants to poke a stick in a hornet’s nest.

We’ve done it before, I thought, although only rarely.

From the moment NSA started business in the 1950s, the Order had infiltrated the organization. While they began with signals intelligence and decrypting foreign intelligence information, we maintained a covert presence and watched their growth into an intricate labyrinth of interconnecting organizations including NASA and DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. Today, although the U.S. Congress believes they have control over the NSA, they have no clue about NSA or DARPA. Through massive 24/7 spying coupled with blackmail and extortion, NSA gains insider information about financial investments before the market knows about them. Although NSA continues to be funded through the Department of Defense, they frequently self-fund questionable activities through their own ill-gotten gains. Slaymore’s stick in the NSA hornet’s nest might cause problems for us and I don’t even want to think about what DARPA might do considering they are basically a bunch of out-of-control scientists bent on discovering how to defeat God. On the other hand, we absolutely need to keep our computer security a few steps ahead of NSA, DARPA and any other government agency who might due us harm.

Do it, Ray.

I watched Slaymore walk out as a name popped into my mind – Julian Assange. I think it was back in 1987 when I read about this sixteen-year-old Australian kid, maybe one of the first to be referred to as a hacker. Operating under the name Mendax, Assange hacked several U.S. government computer systems including the Department of Defense, MILNET, NASA, the Navy, and the Pentagon. And that was just for starters. He would have gotten away with all of it, too, but in 1991 he hacked the Melbourne Nortel master terminal, Canada’s multinational telecommunications giant. The Australian police arrested Assange for thirty-one counts of hacking. I hate to say it, but I’d sure like to have him on our payroll.

* * * *

When I walked out of the castle, the chilly forty-degree Fahrenheit wind whipped through my suit coat. The elevation, a little over five-thousand feet above sea level, kept the locale at temperatures below Brazil’s otherwise tropical climate. Personally, I wouldn’t have put my castle here, but the Templar knight who built it in 1315 originally lived near the Swiss Alps before he and a few of his fellow Templars escaped the clutches of French King Philip.

Mr. Terrizon, my driver, was waiting for me in the limo.

Mr. Terrizon, I said after climbing into the backseat, I never asked you when you were knighted.

As he pulled away headed towards the gate, he glanced back over his right shoulder. In 1978, sir.

Where?

"Here in Campos do Jordão. At the time, I was stationed at Camp Pendleton, California with five months left on my enlistment. A Marine knight aviator from my squadron flew me here. Dr. Chirchir mastered my knighthood. Afterwards, when we were about to leave the castle, his driver had a massive heart attack and died on the spot. Dr. Chirchir asked me to drive the limo and take him to the airport.

When we got to the airport, he asked me if I wanted to be his permanent driver, conditioned on my not reenlisting in the Marine Corps. I accepted."

Hell-of-a story, I said. Where were you born?

Right here in Campos do Jordão. When I finished high school, I moved to the U.S. and joined the Marine Corps. That’s how I earned my citizenship.

Tell me, how do you rate me as commandant compared to Dr. Chirchir?

Sir, I wouldn’t even touch that question wearing a pair of welding gloves.

Good answer, Mr. Terrizon, good answer.

As the limo paced evenly around the curves down the mountain, through the streets of the city and out Highway Floriano Rodrigues Pinheiro for the thirty-five-mile trip to the Sao Josedos Campos – Professor Urbano Ernesto Stumpf Airport, my Maggie’s face popped into my head and my chest squeezed my heart until it hurt. Eva, my sixteen-year-old daughter, was all I had left of her mother.

Now Eva was in college and I expected to lose her in a few years to some young, horny bastard.

Terrizon entered the airport and drove around the terminal until he pulled up to the hanger where the aircraft was parked. I still wasn't good at his native language and he spoke perfect English but I thanked him in Portuguese and he said Goodbye in mine.

The hatch was open and stairs down so I walked up into the Lear, then brought the stairs up and closed the hatch to prepare for takeoff. I turned towards the cockpit and my co-pilot.

Are you ready to get this bird up in the air, James?

Maggie’s only brother glanced back at me. Yes sir. How was your stay?

Good. But I’m always ready to head home where my heart stays.

I walked into the cockpit and slipped over to the left seat. Although MacFayden was normally the pilot in command, he often deferred to me because I love to fly.

I put on my headset, then, while my eyes swept the instruments, I started both of the Learjet 55C’s rear fuselage, side mounted, Garrett TFE731 turbofan engines. NM&E bought the Lear new in 1987 and it came with the Collins ADC-85L air data computers with WXA-1000 Radar Adapter, the Dual Mode TCAS II along with a host of other electronic goodies that made long trips pleasant. Although we could carry up to ten passengers, we adapted it so we could jerk out the seats and carry cargo.

The ADC-85L air data computer is an essential piece of avionics equipment found in most modern cockpits. This little gem replaces other individual instruments and it determines the aircraft’s altitude and trend, Mach number, and calibrated airspeed. It accomplishes these tasks using the aircraft's GPS, accelerometers, gyroscopes, and pitot-static system.

The WXA-1000 Radar Adapter allows us to look miles ahead to avoid bad weather. The Dual Mode TCAS II is an electronic traffic collision alerting system that keeps tabs on other aircraft that might be in the area and prevents us from being a statistic.

Is the landing gear warning light still acting up? I asked.

Yes, sir. I’ve rechecked the landing gear and it works perfectly even with the intermittent warning.

Guess that means were still going to land at Bush Intercontinental in Houston?

I’ve got to take the Lear over to Standard Aero. They can diagnose what’s going on with the landing gear.

What a bitch. We’ve got a perfectly good runway at the ranch and we can’t land there until this problem is resolved. Other than that, are we good to go?

Yes sir.

I eased the throttle handles forward and taxied the Lear across the ramp towards the runway while I contacted with the ground controller to tell him we planned to take off. After waiting a minute for a small, single engine to get into the air, I lined up on the runway end and pushed the throttle handles forward. We began rapid acceleration. When the Lear reached V-2 of 146 knots (168 mph), I eased the yoke back for lift off. A few minutes later, I leveled off and put it on autopilot.

Maybe conversation would help kill the time.

How’s Raven doing? I asked.

I've always meant to ask, why does Mr. Kidman like to be called Raven?

I grinned. He got that nickname when he was flying Phantoms for the Marines in Vietnam.

MacFayden shook his head. Mr. Kidman is doing fine. I like working for him but he’s really a wild man when he’s behind the stick. But I guess you know that.

Oh, yeah. Raven was my flight instructor.

I’ve done some pretty hairy stuff in my day while flying Marine Corps jets off carriers, but sometimes he even scares me. Please don’t tell him I said any of this.

No problem. Raven’s fearless. Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.

Maybe he needs to get married to tone things down.

Ha! Never going to happen. Raven will die a bachelor.

How is Jack Heller? James asked.

Good. MacFayden didn’t need to know that Heller was really, really stressed.

I haven’t seen Jack for couple of months now, James said. I guess since I flew him out to California. I can’t imagine how he manages to handle all that he does.

Sometimes, I can’t either. Particularly now.

Jack was a Marine Criminal Investigation Agent, right?

Yes. He’s an expert when it comes to human analysis. He can read a person as if peering into his soul.

"I wish I’d known that before I met him."

Should have asked me.

Didn’t he work for the Houston Police Department in Intelligence?

Until I hired him.

Good guy.

So far.

According to our Doppler radar, James said, the weather ahead looks a little rough.

No problem, we’ll fly on instruments most of the time anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

That heavy thunderstorm flight service indicated was one-hundred-fifty-miles north and along our path home isn’t going to be fun.

I glanced at James. The Lear has flown through worse.

At the half-way point, I turned it over to James. You drive. When you land in Caracas, Venezuela to refuel, don’t wake me. I’m going to catch some Zs.

I put my head back and closed my eyes to try and rest. I managed to shut out NM&E and the Order, but my late uncle’s empire, D.O. Enterprises, popped into my head. Having full control and responsibility for his empire was more than I wanted to think about right now, even if the share I inherited did make me a billionaire many times over. I’ll worry about it when I get back to Houston.

With MacFayden in command, the Lear danced in and out of the raging storm hanging over the Gulf of Mexico. Despite the almost zero visibility on approach to Houston’s Bush Intercontinental Airport, James ended the trip with a perfect landing. After he got the Lear parked, I climbed down the stairs and glanced back at him while rain soaked me.

We’ve got to get some damned umbrellas, I said, with rain running down my face.

I’ll bring some next flight.

You’ve got an appointment with the Marines tomorrow out at Ellington field, don’t you?

Don’t remind me, James said. "I’m having second thoughts about my decision to stay in the

Marine Air Wing reserves."

Yeah, but don’t you get a kick out of getting to fly Harriers again?

Maybe.

Won’t you be a little tired tomorrow? I asked.

"You know me better than that. I flew Harriers in the Corps for days with just a few hours’ sleep.

I’ll be fine."

"Yeah. Just take it easy, do you understand?"

Yes sir.

He pulled the Lear’s stairs up and closed the hatch while I jogged towards my Jeep. Even now after all these years, I still get that momentary anticipation of getting back to Maggie after a trip. Only when my brain realizes that she will never be there again, does that sinking knot form in my stomach.

Thursday, January 14, 1993, 12:30 a.m.

The Ranch

Cut and Shoot, Texas

When I drove across the cattle guard at the front gate, the smell of fresh cow manure and bailed hay filled my nostrils. The Jeep bounced on the rough road that snaked across the pasture towards the house, now bathed in moonlight peeking through the overcast sky. It dawned on me that Maggie and I were smart to build the house on the front section of our 2,500 acres, otherwise, I’d be driving a lot longer to get home.

When I pulled up next to the barn behind the house, my mind switched to my sixteen-year-old daughter, Eva. How her name came about to me flooded back in my mind. When Maggie announced she was pregnant, I wanted to give my daughter an Irish name. A little research revealed that the name Eva (pronounced E-E-F-A), meaning beautiful, radiant, and joyful was derived from Aoife Dearg, the daughter of an Irish king who had her marriage arranged by St. Patrick. Over Maggie’s protests, we named our new daughter Eva.

I walked through the backdoor and Eva, as usual, was waiting up for me. Her long, red hair was French-braided and she was wearing weather beaten brown leather work boots, faded jeans, and a gray sweat shirt bearing the Marine Corps eagle, globe and anchor on the front.

Hey, kiddo, did you miss me?

She hugged me. What do you think?

I glanced at steak frying on the stove, a pot of mashed potatoes, and a small pan of green peas.

Are we having company?

No! It’s for you, silly. Sit down and I’ll fix you a plate.

Fifteen minutes later, I had worked my way through a second helping. Thank God she cooked like her mother, a real blessing for a guy like me who enjoys good food.

I forgot to say Buenas noches, padre. How was the castle? she asked. Her elbows were on the table and her chin rested on her hands. Wish I could go with you more, you know.

"Buena hija la noche back at you. Yes, I know because you remind me of that fact every time I leave. Before I forget, Jack Heller told me to say hello to you."

Mr. Heller sure is a handsome man. He reminds me a little of you when you were young.

"I will be sure not to tell him that."

The meal is great, I said.

Thanks. Now, tell me about the trip.

The castle was as stunning as you remember from your last visit there.

....which was over two years ago, she said. The memory is fading.

Okay, okay. I got the picture. I’ll try to take you in the near future.

Good answer.

When You enter the castle, you get the impression you have stepped into the middle ages, I said.

She had no idea, thank God, that in some ways, we used the castle in a manner not far removed from the middle ages.

Dad, please tell me more about the trip. I want to try and visualize everything.

I walked over to the counter and poured a cup of coffee, then glanced at her. "Okay, you asked for

it."

Her eyes remained glued to me while I gave her my fictionalized version of the trip as if I was a famous author reading my latest novel to her. I had lied to her mother, then Eva for so many years that, sometimes, I even believed my stories. Later, I would get depressed from the remorse of lying to Maggie and then Eva. As I learned early on as a new knight, no one, not even my own family, could know about the Order.

Some five minutes later, I said, That about boils down my trip.

She shook her head. You know, if you took me along every time, we wouldn’t have to go through this.

Yeah. I suppose. On another note, what’s Don up to? Did he have any challenges this past week?

Well, maybe the dead cow on the runway would qualify as a challenge.

"What dead cow on the runway?"

Bessie. Gunny McCleary found her lying out on the runway. He said there was major swelling in one of her legs and the fang marks indicated it was probably a snake bite. He used the tractor and a chain to drag her off the runway. He used the frontend loader to carry her to the back fence. He dug a hole and buried her there.

Sorry about Bessie, Eva. You grew up with her. She was like a pet to me too.

"I won’t lie. I cried a little. But she was getting old and her joints kept her in pain most of the time.

Her death was probably a blessing."

I nodded. That’s the first cow we’ve lost to a snake bite.

I know.

Have you been practicing martial arts while I’ve been away?

Some. It’s a lot easier to spar with you, though. When I was in high school, keeping a regular early morning schedule was easy. Now that I’ve started college at Texas A&M, I have to fit practice into a much tighter schedule.

Yeah. Commuting is a bitch. You are doing what I did. I empathize with you.

Dad, I practice when I can. Besides, I haven’t had to kick anyone’s ass for real yet.

But you’ll know how when the time comes.

Let’s hope so.

How about your Arabic and Swahili? Did you study them while I was away?

She nodded. You’ve been teaching me those languages since mom died, she said in Arabic. What’s the big deal? she said in Swahili.

Like I told you years ago, those languages might be very important to you one day. The Islamic religion is spreading all over the world like cancer. Knowing those languages might save your life.

I won’t hold my breath about ever having to use them.

When I was your age, I thought the same way. But Dr. Chirchir assured me they would be good to know. He was right.

I stared at her for a minute while sipping my coffee. She already spoke Arabic and Swahili better than I did at her age. In my mind, Eva would eventually find them useful.

If you see Don tomorrow morning, tell him I got in late and didn’t want to walk out to the bunk house and wake him up. Maybe I’ll see him tomorrow afternoon.

Yes sir. Guess what?

What?

I flew to Galveston today.

My God, Eva, I don’t like it when you take off by yourself, particularly when the weather is turning to crap.

Dad, you know I’m a good pilot.

Yeah, I know. But I still worry about you in that damned Piper Cub. How did the Gulf look?

Choppy and its usual dirty green.

Is the Cub still handling well?

"Like a well-trained animal.