Memories Found

By Michael Ross

In a South Florida stem cell research lab, a resourceful scientist named Trent Pennington, accidentally unlocks an old genetic mystery. A subsequent family vacation turns into a nightmare. Simultaneously, on the other side of the globe, two Siberian brothers are working on their own mystery. It involves an object from antiquity. With little to go on, the two seek outside help at their own peril.

A ruthless, clandestine Russian organization learns of these discoveries and is determined to obtain them at any cost. Vicious assassins are dispatched to recover a priceless treasure.

The thrilling chase around the globe will change the lives of those involved forever and perhaps society as we know it. A great secret will be exposed. Some will survive the experience, if theyre lucky.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468534610

Michael Ross

Multi-award-winning Electric Fields create a striking and haunting merging of living traditional culture with electronic music, bringing moments of breathtaking beauty and power to the stage. Featuring the rare and beautiful voice of Zaachariaha Fielding - who often sings in his traditional languages of the Anangu people - and the brilliance of producer Michael Ross, Electric Fields' music ranges from soulful pop to epic-scale electronic works, from intensely intimate story-songs through to contemporised versions of traditional music from the APY Lands. Named as 'Movers for the Next Gen' by Vogue magazine, and finalists for the ARIA Award for Best Live Act, their awards include the three top spots for the National Live Music Awards in 2019: Best Live Act, Best Live Voice and Electronic Act of the Year. 2022 has seen them playing the G'Day USA AAA Gala in Los Angeles; at the SummerStage festival in Central Park, NYC; composing the music for the VIVID Lighting of the Sails, and live performance for the AFL Dreamtime Round. Tjitji Lullaby is a very special lullaby written and performed by Electric Fields for ABC Kids, and is now an accompanying board book.

Book preview

Memories Found

Michael Ross

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AuthorHouse™

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© 2012 by Michael Ross. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 04/03/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-3463-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-3462-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-3461-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011963451

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

Twenty Five

Twenty Six

Twenty Seven

Twenty Eight

Twenty Nine

Thirty

Thirty One

Thirty Two

Thirty Three

Thirty Four

Thirty Five

Thirty Six

Thirty Seven

Thirty Eight

Thirty Nine

Forty

Forty One

Forty Two

Forty Three

Forty Four

Forty Five

Forty Six

Forty Seven

Forty Eight

Forty Nine

Fifty

Fifty One

to Jean, my inspiration

If we wonder often, the gift of knowledge will come

____Arapaho proverb

One

The morning of June 30, 1908 was sunny. There were no clouds in the sky. Summer was in the air. Residents of a small central Siberian town called Kirensk were awakened to a beautiful morning. The air was fresh and the breezes were light. The trees and surrounding areas were green after another season of hibernation. The birds were serenading each other as they swooped down from their tree top nests in search of breakfast. The Lena River passed close to the town. The fishing that Spring had been spectacular! The Lena was fed by Lake Baikal, situated to the south of Kirensk.

S.B. Semenova, a thin 23 year old, had just awakened that morning. Around 7 am, he went out onto his porch to sit for a few minutes before eating his breakfast. Semenova lived in Vanovara, another town located in central Siberia northwest of Kirensk. He frequently woke up early so he could relax a little and enjoy the fresh air this time of the year.

Two brothers, Chuchancha and Chekaren, were sleeping in their tent that morning. They were camping out in the woods. This was something they always did this time of year when they went hunting.

The forest along the Stony Tunguska River was thick with fir trees and full of wildlife. The forest was so dense in spots that it blotted out the sun nearly most of the day. This kept the temperature down at night. The trappers still wore their heavier clothing even this late in the season. They stocked their tents with extra heavy blankets in case of a late season snowfall. Summer was approaching everywhere else.

The water rushed down the Tunguska River with intense ferocity. This was the result of melting snow feeding into the river from the surrounding hills. The water bubbled and swooshed over the rocks by the river’s edge. It was immensely refreshing to be close enough to the river to enjoy the sounds of nature this late in spring. Multicolored butterflies were everywhere to be seen. They were in search of open flower petals. The humming sound from bees filled the air as the temperature rose with the ascent of the sun.

Dima Popov was in Vanovara, fishing in a local stream. The bass and trout were a challenge to catch and he enjoyed the delicious meal they made. He was a poor man. Dima caught most of the food for his family, which was the rule in these parts. You could not find a more tranquil place on earth.

*  *  *  *

That all changed shortly after 7 a.m. The peace and serenity of that early summer morning was abruptly interrupted. Although there are several versions of what happened next, all those who witnessed the event agree a streak of light came from the southeast corner of the sky.

Dima had just entered the water’s edge to fish when he was startled by a giant fireball passing right over his head. The sky was filled by a huge red, intense bright light. Trappers said it seemed to change directions a few times as it zigzagged. The white-hot fireball was visible to everybody on the ground for at least two hundred miles. It made a very loud, crackling sound as it traversed from one horizon to the other. It crossed over Lake Baikal first, than headed northwest toward the town of Vanovara, on its way to the Tunguska River area.

It was so bright you could hardly look at it. It was like looking at the sun. The ball of fire seemed to have cylindrical shape to some observers. As the fireball approached the northwest horizon, it disappeared behind a hill. Dima witnessed a huge explosion as the object struck the ground. It sounded like a thousand artillery rounds going off simultaneously. Some witnesses compared the sound to a war being waged beyond the low-lying mountains.

Semenova sat on his favorite rocking chair just at 7. Katrina, can you make me a glass of orange juice?

Mrs. Semenova, a 21 year old newly wed was putting milk in the cat dish when she heard her husband call. They were married three months earlier and still were honeymooners. Would you like a muffin on the side? she replied standing up to stretch. She still had her flannel baby blue nightgown on.

Sure thing. Thanks!

S.B. stood up in disbelief as he saw the fireball cross the sky. He walked to the edge of the porch. It happened so fast it caught him by surprise.The explosion that followed was so intense it threw him off his porch some fifty feet onto the dirt road that led up to his house. It was so strong that it knocked all the dishes off the table and the cabinets inside. All the wall hangings fell down. Katrina Semenova was thrown off her feet into the front of the wood-burning stove, hitting her head. She temporarily lost consciousness. The event had the fury of a powerful earth quake. When she came to she was dazed. Katrina ran outside to see what had caused such a convulsion of the ground. In her confusion, she was oblivious to the great danger that awaited her. All the excitement had pumped up her adrenalin so much she was reacting instead of thinking. Her husband always thought of Katrina as the thinker of the family and himself as the worker. That was not the case this time.

To her utter amazement, Katrina found her husband across the road under a tree. He seemed to have escaped serious injury though there was blood trickling down the side of his face. Several tree branches had fallen around him. Katrina carefully removed a larger branch from his left leg. Lucky for S.B. none of the larger trees that fell down hit him. They were lined up like fallen cordwood. Katrina sensed a great event beyond her control just occurred outside her door.

Katrina and S.B survived the ordeal but many others were not as fortunate.

Few peasants who lived near the epicenter of the blast lived to tell the story.

They were instantly vaporized. Nobody knows just how many perished that morning.

The explosion was on the order of at least three Hiroshima atom bombs. The explosion was so vigorous it produced an earthquake of the magnitude of 5.0 on the Richter scale.

The heat from the carnage was hotter than at the center of our sun. It was so bright nobody within the viewing area of the blast could look directly at it or they went blind. Those who did lost their vision for the rest of their lives. Survivors had the event burned into their minds forever.

Within a few minutes after Dima stood to his feet, an intense wave of heat followed the initial sound blast. At first he felt a light breeze that steadily built in intensity until it became unbearably hot so much so he ran into a cave nearby to seek shelter. The heat wave melted the bark off those trees still standing. Anything made of paper ignited into flames. All the farm animals died instantly from the blaze of heat that lasted some 30 minutes.

The heat wave was followed by shock waves that leveled whatever trees and homes were still standing after the initial explosion. The people of Central Siberia essentially experienced the first known extra terrestrial nuclear explosion on earth.

It would take approximately thirty-seven years more for humans to recreate the same horrible devastation to win a war less than thousand miles away. Nothing remained standing in the face of such total devastation.

S.B. and Katrina also sought shelter in a cave for three days without food or water. Katrina never made it out. She died from internal injuries sustained during the blast. Once S.B. got up the courage to venture outside, he found his world had completely changed. He had no idea the lead and rock in the cave had protected him from the carnage caused by the blast. If he had known about nuclear fallout, a concept years away from being fully understood, he might have never left his safe haven. Fortunately for him as well as the other survivors, it turned out there was very little nuclear contamination. Even so, Soviet government officials avoided the area for some thirteen years thinking the region was toxic. At least that was the party storyline for a long time.

Over eighty million trees were blown down for a radius of 30-40 km. All the trees were facing away from the epicenter of the impact. No man made structures were standing. The whole area was smoking for months. Pine needles and leaves as well as the bark on many of the trees were gone. The contour of many mountains was altered forever. It was like a giant came along and stomped all over the region picking up the trees and throwing them back down neatly in a row.

Dima walked back to where this home once stood. All he could find to document his previous existence for the last fifteen years were some old knives and spoons. The utensils were melted into different shapes from the intense heat. A few pieces of shredded clothing were scattered about as well. All that was left of Dima’s wife’s wedding dress was a shred of cloth with a pocket next to a couple of melted buttons. All of his possessions were gone, taken away from him instantly by an unknown force.

*  *  *  *

The epicenter of the explosion occurred somewhere between the Khushma and Kimtschu rivers. This was about two hundred Km north of Kezhma and 60 Km north of Vanovara. For several nights following the explosion, it was said that the night sky was much brighter than usual throughout Russia and Europe. So much so that one did not need to use artificial lighting at night to read when outdoors.

To this day, the cause of the tremendous explosion at Tunguska remains a mystery, subject to various interpretations. Some scientists feel it was caused by a large meteor crashing to Earth. Others say a comet intercepted Earth’s orbit.

This might explain the bright light Europeans experienced for several nights following the event. The Russian authorities of the day did not voice their opinion. In fact it is said they did not research the source of the explosion or even mount an official attempt to visit the area for another thirteen years.

Two

September 2001 was unlike any other. Pennington was dead. At least he thought so for an instant. His senses were confused. Those God given senses he took for granted every moment of his life were in turmoil. The total darkness confused his vision. Eyes open or shut, it all seemed the same. There was a deafening silence as well. All of this had a frigid finality to it. He was in a squeeze. He tried to move but couldn’t. He was flat on his back. His hands and feet were tied. He felt a chill. All of his extremities were numb. He was still dazed from the blow to his head. How long have I been out?

He felt each click of life’s grand clock ticking by ever so slowly. Time was nearly standing still, or at least passing in slow motion. Was it day or night he wondered. Did it really matter? He had no way to tell and could not remember yet. One thing he did know. If that throbbing headache on his left temple kept up, he would blow his cookies any minute. There was no extra space for that kind of stuff. He did his best to keep that Italian dinner he last remembered eating from traveling up his esophagus.

The air was growing thin quickly. It reminded him of the top of Pike’s Peak. He once drove up the famous mountain in a Lincoln town car. He can still sense the fear he felt that day as the tires struggled to stay on the narrow roadbed. That sound of the tires skidding on the loose gravel still gave him goose bumps. He was beginning to grow faint. In fact, the headache was the only feeling keeping him awake. Pennington knew if he intended to stay alive much longer, it was time to figure a way out. What would MacGyver’s next move be if he was here in Pennington’s place?

Another wave of nausea struck along with sweats and mild shortness of breath. The air supply was quickly dwindling. Time was short. Think hard. Concentrate.

Stay awake!

Barely conscious, he thought he heard a faint tapping sound. It was distant at first. It grew louder. That’s a shovel. They are digging me out. I am being rescued. Thank God. The digging was taking longer than he thought he could stand. Jesus, come on, I can’t wait much longer. Hurry up, will ya!. I am not kidding. I am out of air.

The digging was just above him now. It sounded so near that he felt he could reach for the shovel head if he had the space. He could hear the dirt being thrown aside. Then there was a loud thud. The top of the box shook violently as though it would splinter in a thousand pieces. A deep voice commanded, Get him out of there. We’ve given him enough time to think about it. He wondered who was speaking.

The next thing he heard was the roof of the wood box opening. Wood splinters fell on his face. He spit out a few from his mouth. Bright sunlight filtered in, temporarily blinding him. A few minutes later, his eyes would be fully adjusted to the daylight.

A large burley man threw the box cover aside like a toothpick. Dust sprayed back onto the big man’s face. He spit a wad of dusty saliva toward Pennington. Mable yanked him up by his shirt collar and threw him to the ground. He hit with such force that it knocked the wind out of him. He was resilient however and quickly regained composure.

He stood up and dusted himself off. He sensed he had only a brief moment to size up his opponents. The larger of the two seemed to enjoy inflicting pain.

Pennington made brief eye contact with the younger of the two men. He was shorter, smaller and seemed Latino. His English was broken. It appeared to him that the younger man seemed to be taking orders from the big guy. He studied them for any weaknesses. That might take more time than he had. Both men were overweight and unfriendly types. Loose fitting clothing was the fashion of the day. The Latino wore jeans while the big guy had on cutoffs and a weathered looking leather Harley Davidson vest covering a Grateful Dead T-Shirt. The thugs could have been guest stars on The Sopranos.

Dr. Trent Pennington was a seasoned, brilliant scientist. He specialized in genetics. He had a fabulous job at a cutting edge company. The man was known for his creative thinking. He was very good with words and gave lectures for drug companies all around the country. When he was younger, he could talk himself into any ladies bed and out of any jam. Having had been married for a long time, he was not performing that particular skill any longer.

Still, Pennington enjoyed an active life. But the activities really began when he was sleeping and dreaming. He stared in his own movies every night. He was so busy that he was worn out the next morning upon awakening. The most amazing thing about it is that he remembered them for days. Most involved elaborate plots and chases.

After zoning out for an instant Trent thought, What if this was another one of those dreams. Trying to mask the terror on his face, he thought, Oh Shit . . . I am in big fucking trouble. This is no dream.

He stepped back and said, Fellas, let’s talk. Can you tell me where I am?

Shut up! No one asked you, answered the large guy with the Russian accent. Pennington answered back, You are not from around here, are you?

Are you deaf? The Latino barked. Shut up. Got it?

Pennington backed off. He pondered if the oriental looking tattoos on their arms meant anything.

The scenery wasn’t threatening. It was actually quite pleasant. There were tropical palms and sandy areas. He imagined hearing waves crashing gently to the shore. The climate was mild and the breezes light. He could be in South Florida. Maybe St. Thomas’ Magen’s Bay! Nope. Pennington focused. He knew those gorillas meant business. He needed to watch what he said and control his non-verbal signals.

It looks like the drugs have worn off, Mable observed as he eyed Pennington.

Yea… I think so. Too bad we had to dig him up, replied Gracie in broken English. His Spanish accent still dominated his speech.

So true. But let’s think of this from another angle. Now we can play with him for awhile before cutting him into a thousand pieces, Mable grinned fiendishly as he pushed him back into a tall palm with his strong right arm.

Not so fast. Don’t hurt him yet Mable. First we need to find out what he knows. If he decides to cooperate, well… then… maybe, we’ll let him live. If he can’t seem to remember then you have my blessing to do what you will with the pig.

Yeah, alright… we will do it your way for now, Mable snarled, but don’t get disappointed if I lose my patience. I would love to slice him up."

Trent, recovering from the midget toss against the palm, overheard them discussing his fate. Two things came to his mind. Why do these creeps have ladies names and how am I going to get out of here in one piece. His options were limited at best.

They were not good sports. At least they could have offered him a smoke, a cell phone, or a getaway car before killing him, he thought, trying to humor himself.

Okay, get up. It’s time to go for a walk amigo, Gracie ordered.

Leave his hands tied. Loosen his leg ties just enough so he can keep up with us, the Russian added.

All three of them started walking down a narrow pathway that led away from the grave site. In the distance Trent could see they were headed toward a two story white cinderblock building with a blue tin roof. He thought this was his best chance to escape, if he had the moxie. He was outdoors and maybe he could outrun them. I don’t think these goons could keep up with me, he figured. The Harvard Grad had always been in good physical condition. This was his moment. Improvisation was the Mother of Invention or something like that.

Pennington knew if he did not act soon, a painful death by torture was next. They made it clear what to expect if he did not cooperate.

As Gracie bent down to loosen Trent’s leg ropes, Pennington noticed that a knife hung from under his captor’s T-shirt. It was small enough for concealment but had an antique pearl handle with strange initials on it. He could not clearly make out what they were. GR something. The trio walked slowly toward the white house up ahead. Nobody said anything for a few seconds.

The break in the small talk allowed him to plan an escape. He would pretend that his hand ties were coming loose. When he thought the time was right, he acted. He jerked his hand suddenly. It was just long enough to get the attention of Gracie, the ape with the knife.

Gracie bought the bait. He turned to Trent to check out his hand ties. When the goon came close enough, he immediately went for the knife. It happened so fast Gracie was taken by surprise. Very quickly, Trent tripped the guy to the ground, using his Taekwondo moves. He quickly stabbed the Latino several times before withdrawing the knife. Then he threw it right into the chest of the other guy like he was playing darts. The knife pierced him right through his button down shirt. It was a pretty slick move for a guy who never threw a knife before. Little did he know, it only grazed Mable with a flesh-wound. He thought he had taken care of him.

He immediately ran toward the partially opened building door up ahead. He was unsure where it would lead. Once inside, he found a completely empty room void of any furniture with only stark white walls. He could not tell at first whether there was any way out. He looked back toward the door. Oh Shit! Trent cried out. There was Mable. He realized to his chagrin that he had only injured the dude. The wounded foe was now chasing after him full throttle with his Glock semi-automatic in hand. The crafty scientist swiftly leaped toward a second doorway across the room that suddenly caught his eye. He burst through the door with one big kick and ran down the hall toward the street entrance of the building. The angry Russian was in hot pursuit not far behind.

Once out the front door of the building Pennington found himself standing on the sidewalk right in front of a Boxster S Porsche which he quickly leaped into. The late morning sun was shinning brightly. The reflection off the front hood blinded him for a second. A quick look at the dash revealed there was no key in the ignition. Pennington peaked under the car. He found a small magnetic black box. After jumping into the vehicle without opening the driver’s door, he opened the box and found the spare key.

Mable came to a halt as he exited the building street side. He glanced in both directions searching for his former hostage. Mable did not initially see him sitting in the German sports car. Incredibly, he was almost directly in front of the Russian. Trent started the engine. The throaty sound caught Mable’s attention. He gave her a few revves then sped off, leaving rubber. Mable drew his gun and fired desperately off target. The bullets whizzed by the Porsche, narrowly missing the doctor.

Thank God for those maple trees the city planted on both sides of the street, Pennington thought, as he quickly read the small plaque commemorating the event. The trees were planted to spruce up the city five years ago. The trees filled out nicely having grown into fifteen footers. Good for Pennington they blocked Mable’s view. The Russian wildly fired two more shots striking the bronze plaque instead. The bullets made a clink clink as they harmlessly struck the metal.

With a loud smooth whine and a squeak from the eighteen inches of high performance rubber, the Boxster was off in a dash. Luckily for him, local traffic was light this morning. He drove to the end of the street. Pennington went through a stop sign. Three more short blocks and Trent was nearly at the far end of this small town. Pennington was not sure where he was.

He came across a sign that read Frenchtown Road. Frenchtown Road? Where the hell is that? Trent searched for anything that would help him with his bearings. He could have been in any rural American town. The foliage suggested he was north of the Mason Dixie line. But, there was nothing unique or distinguishing about this town. It seemed quite ordinary. There was no store signage stating the name of the town. Pennington found that to be odd. Eventually, he came across several businesses using the phrase Milford this or Milford that. There was a drugstore and a hardware store. Business was brisk at the Milford diner.

It was summer. School was out. There were lots of teenagers around. Groups of teen girls were sharing stories of their boyfriends he guessed. The boys were riding their mopeds. A few elderly men were taking a stroll down the main street wearing light colored cardigans. Trent always found it curious why older men wore sweaters even when it was over eighty degrees out. He was in no rush to find out however.

Trent slowed the two hundred seventy odd ponies down to a stop at the next traffic light. As he waited for the light to change, a young, shapely thing suddenly opened the passenger door and hopped in.

Trent looked at her. "What’s this all about? He said to her incredulously. She was wearing a blue shear top and a denim skirt. Pennington first impulse was to throw her out. Instead, he starred at her eyes and then her chest. Her bosom was so ample he almost broke his neck staring. The girl made no eye contact with him for some thirty seconds.

Finally she looked at Trent and exclaimed, Heh! I really need a ride. I hope you don’t mind me busting in like this. I don’t have any money for a bus. Will you help me?

What’s your name? Trent replied sympathetically.

It’s Dorothy… Dorothy Potts!

Pennington thought to himself, Dorothy?

Listen, I can give you a lift for a few blocks but than you will have to get wherever it is your going yourself. Okay?

Sure, Mister. And another thing, my friends call me Dottie! responded the girl as she popped large sounds with her bubble gum.

Trent laughed inside as he thought the girl should call herself Dottie the body.

He tried to let his mind go blank momentarily forgetting about his recent brush with death. He forgot all about those two guys who were about to kill him. The whole coffin thing. Everything. Dottie was another thing. She was having an adverse effect on his pulse. For the last few minutes, his heart was pounding as hard as it could. Narrowly escaping bodily harm from the hands of a Cossack did not help either.

You would not believe the morning I am having Dottie. Pennington said to his passenger as he pulled away from the light. Ms. Potts attempted to listen but had no clue what he was referring to. She was a mere baby compared to Pennington. She could not have been more then twenty. Dorothy was cute but not smart. Pennington stomped on the accelerator. The car responded instantly. The light barely turned green and they were down the block. Sweat beaded on Trent’s brow but quickly dried from the air rushing around him. Driving a Boxster with the top down was quite a visceral experience. The wind shield behind the seats did little to keep the air from rushing into the passenger compartment. It was invigorating.

He kept one eye on the road and the other eye on the rear view mirror. He was not completely certain no one was following him. He did not know where he was going either. The buildings appeared to be old and not well maintained. Most of them were made from stone and brick. None were over three stories tall. There were several empty lots, some had cars parked in them. He could see a Micky D’s a few hundred yards up on the left. Even a courthouse sized town like this always seems to have a McDonalds, he voiced loudly with a laugh. Up ahead was a post office and across from that was a Shell Gas Station. Milford appeared to be one of the small financially strapped towns across America. At the next traffic light, he down shifted the Boxster to second, then brought her to a screeching halt. Man that sounds great. I have to get myself one of these when I grow up, he said laughing.

Finally, Trent let his guard down. It appeared he and his temporary guest were out of trouble. His rear view mirror remained empty of un-welcomed followers. He still felt a bit insecure about the situation so he kept an eye on his rear periodically.

You will let me know when we get to where it is your going? asked Pennington.

Of course.

Dottie seemed in no hurry to get out. She should have gotten out by now he thought. He suspected she had nowhere to go.

"So, what do you do for a living? Do you have a job? she asked.

I do actually. I am a professional golfer. Perhaps you have heard of me. I am Bruce Winters. Have you ever heard of Pebble Beach? I am playing in the U.S. Open there next week said Trent confidently. It sounded impressive he thought but it was a total lie. In fact, he wasn’t certain the US Open was ever played at Pebble Beach but the girl probably had no clue anyway. She did not seem terribly impressed nor did she seem to believe him.

Too bad it’s the wrong time of year Bruce, if that’s even your real name! she countered, I have never played golf in my life, but my sister Ellen has been taking lessons. Dottie wanted to sound intelligent but was having a hard time trying. She knew deep down inside she was no brighter than she looked. At least, that is how most people responded to her. I should not be saying anything to this guy, but he is kind of cute. she thought.

Their conversation was cut short when Ms. Potts suddenly noticed something through the rear mirror, Are you expecting somebody, cuz it looks like someone is following you. She tried to cover up her Brooklyn accent but failed miserably.

Pennington suddenly had a realty check. He should have been busier trying to escape then wasting time with Dottie. He never should have allowed this woman to get in the car with him. It was unlike him to become distracted so easily. He was usually obsessive compulsive, not to mention married.

Doctor Pennington noticed a motorcycle was racing toward him from his rear. He could see in his drivers’ side mirror that the fast approaching crouch rocket was gaining on him in a hurry. "Dottie, it was very nice to meet you but you need to get out, Now! He quickly exclaimed. Trent practically pushed the young woman out of the car. She nearly fell to the pavement, before regaining her balance. That was not easy for the girl considering the height of her platform silver shoes. Trent stepped on the accelerator. The Porsche growled as it pulled away from the intersection in a mad dash.

A Sport Utility Van narrowly missed Pennington as he crossed the intersection against traffic. This was no time to be driving like a model citizen in Milford. he said to himself. He quickly gained speed and put the short throw shifter into second. The Boxster immediately responded to his command. The car had kick and boy did he ever need it. The yellow R1 Yamaha that Mable had stashed in the garage next to that white building was every bit the match for the Boxster. In fact, it was faster. It certainly could out run the Porsche from zero to sixty.

Just after Trent sped off from the white safe house, Mable broke into the garage using the same crow bar he used to open up Penningtons’s coffin earlier that morning. Of course it could have been easier if he had not locked himself out. Once inside, he came across the crate that contained every teenager’s dream, an R1 Yamaha. This was one of the quickest bikes around. It could beat anything on the street, stock or otherwise.

Mable quickly started her up and was through the garage door. The Yamaha was a quiet machine until you give her the gas. Once you throttle her up, the R1 sings. The faster she goes, the sweeter she sounds.

Once out of the garage the R1 raced down the block after Pennington. It did not take long for the Russian to catch up to within sight of the Boxster. He cursed himself the whole length of the block for botching up the operation.

Mable witnessed the near collision at the intersection. To avoid the van himself, he had to jump the sidewalk on the R1. The cycle narrowly missed several couples browsing the shoppes early that morning, Mable zigzaged his way through the sidewalk traffic. One young man was thrown into a vender selling flowers. An elderly lady with a cane wobbled as he grazed by her within inches. Once by her, he saw the old lady flip him the bird as she stood up. Taking his eye off what lay ahead for a split second, he drove right between a young couple holding hands. Acting on sheer instinct, the couple quickly separated to let him pass. The young man yelled What the fuck…

Trent adjusted his mirrors so he could keep track of the advancing bike while he continued to drive as fast as he could. He made a right turn at the next corner.

Pennington drove hastily down to the end of the block. He eyed a steel bridge up ahead. The two story buildings that lined either side of the street gave way to a small sandy bank on the river’s edge. The old, silver, country expansion bridge was constructed from crisscrossing steel girders. It had one lane in either direction with a fading painted line down the center. There was an old gray and black sign at the other end.

Welcome to Pennsylvania, The Quaker State. Pennington read. This must be the Delaware River. PA. ain’t a bad place to die I suppose, Pennington thought trying to comfort himself. Another look in his mirror revealed his pursuer closing the gap ever so swiftly. Mable made a sharp banking turn, downshifted and picked up speed as he drove over the bridge. Meanwhile, Trent barely stopped for the traffic light on the Pennsylvania side. It was amazing he thought that no cops took notice of the chase. If this chase was taking place in Florida, the police would have been all over him by now. But, he was not in Fort Lauderdale and he was not familiar with the area. He had to make a quick decision which way to proceed. Should he turn left or right on Route 32? Trent chose left then headed south. The street sign read Upper Black Eddy.

The tree lined road offered a canopy of shade from the bright sunshine that filtered through the dense trees. The roadway was curvy and narrow. The brick houses along the way mostly were set back from the road. It was fairly hilly and very green as though there had been a great deal of rainfall recently. The foliage was lush.

He wondered if George Washington and his continental army would still recognize the place as Trent passed by where they crossed the Delaware. The exact spot had a sign.

The winding road hugged the Delaware River. Trent glanced to his left to see an occasional motorboat pass by. There were kids swimming. Some were horsing around on inner tubes. He passed by more signage telling of Revolutionary War events. Pennington’s route was spotted with a number of old houses that were converted into restaurants. There were a few bed and breakfast inns. Some had open front porches with guests gathered reading the morning newspaper. One of two inns appeared out of business.

Suddenly, shots rang out to break the tranquility. The shots seemed to be coming from behind he thought. It was tough to tell at first due to the echo. Trent looked in his mirror to see the pesky motorcycle with its rider pointing a gun. He stepped on the gas again. The Boxster responded with a sweet whine, accelerating quickly but the road was too curvy to gain any distance. He approached an old, narrow, stone bridge that was no more than 20 feet long. There appeared to be a sharp bend in the road just before. Trent was going at least fifty miles an hour and had little time to slow down before he was over the bridge. The Yamaha was no more than a hundred yards behind. The Boxster’s gas gauge was on E for big trouble. Just as he made it over the bridge an oncoming Acura sedan appeared from nowhere. Pennington realized he did not have time to get out of the way.

He quickly jerked the steering wheel right. The Porsche pointed right but not in time. The two cars side swiped each other resulting in a loud impact.

*  *  *  *

Dr. Pennington awakened to find himself in a semi-private room at Holy Cross Hospital, in South Florida. He was dazed and confused. He knew something had happened to him, but he could not remember. He took his hands and explored his body to see if all his parts were in the right place. To his relief everything seemed fine though he had a large surgical dressing covering his abdomen. Just then, an attractive, young brunette nurse came in to check on him. He asked her if he was badly hurt from an accident.

She said Dr. Pennington, What are you mumbling about? You had your gallbladder removed late yesterday. It was an emergency operation. You nearly died. Sir, you had a car wreck but you will recover.

Any broken bones? he asked trying to lift his head off the pillow.

Nope, all your bones are fine. You are banged up a bit but I am sure you will recover nicely!

A car crash? Pennington shook his head. He could not recall anything yet.

He did not even know where he was. Betty Peters sensed her patient was not fully with it yet.

You did suffer a mild concussion. That may be why you don’t remember yet Doctor Pennington but I am sure it will all come back soon.

Pennington tried to focus, What will?

Why, your memory of course.

Okay… uh. Listen, thanks for your help. What did you say your name was?

Betty… Betty Peters.

Great. Thanks… Betty! Trent said with a smile.

Shortly after Betty went back to the nursing station, Trent reached for the telephone next to his bed to call his wife Sarah.

Good morning sweetheart. Are you there? No one answered. Trent did not know Sarah was already at the hospital. She slept in his room overnight but slipped out before he awakened. Since he was still not up yet, she thought she could catch a light breakfast.

Just as he put down the phone, Sarah entered his room.

How are you? It’s good to see you up and talking, Sarah said delighted.

Thanks dear. Come over here.

Sarah walked to the left side of the bed and gave her husband a big squeeze and a kiss.

Careful… careful. That hurts!

Sorry. Did the nurse medicate you yet?

A minute ago, honey.

You look like you are in pain.

I will be fine. You know I heal quickly.

"You’re stubborn too, like your father. His dad had died in a private plane crash five years earlier. He was on a business trip to Aspen Colorado when the plane missed the runway on approach. Pennington senior was a self made businessman with an attitude. He was not as coarse as his old man but he did not like to be bossed around either.

Listen honey, what exactly happened to me? The nurse tells me I had emergency surgery on my gallbladder along with a car crash. Is that so? Sarah verified that he was in a car crash. He was transported back from Jersey after he was stabilized. It turned out he needed his gallbladder out so they decided to do it in Florida. Dr. Bates, a local surgeon performed the operation.

I can see you don’t’ remember anything, do you? Dr. Bates took you to the OR late last night! The surgery went great and you should be able to go home in a few days.

He was not convinced. How could he have been in a car crash and in New Jersey no less. By early afternoon, his memory returned. It was beginning to seem real. In fact, he could still feel the coldness of the coffin. The thing felt like a bad dream. His wife always told him that he dreamed more than any body she ever knew. His dreams were like stories. Sarah was jealous of the second life he had at night. She took sleeping meds some nights and rarely had any dreams. If she did, she did not remember them like he did.

Sarah walked over to the nurse’s station for some more water for Trent. She brought him back a USA Today for him to read once he felt more energetic. They talked for the next hour or so. By two in the afternoon, Sarah decided it was time for him to get some rest.

"When will you be back? Trent said in a loving, soft tone.

I will be back by 6.

Bring me back a roast beef sandwich from Too Jay’s

You are NPO honey.

So what! Trent exclaimed.

I am glad you are getting hungry. That’s a good sign but the doctor said you can’t have anything by mouth yet. All you can have is a few sips of water. Is that understood?

Yes dear, Pennington answered reluctantly. He was recovering at an unusually fast pace. Most people were not in the mood for food so fast even after a laparoscopic cholecystectomy.

*  *  *  *

The next morning, Pennington got word from his doctor that he could go home. Bandages were changed. With that, his nurse helped him freshen up for his wife’s arrival. Sarah arrived by 11 am to pick him up despite encountering a great deal of traffic along the way. Construction around the hospital entrance and an aggressive building project made parking spots a cherished commodity. She parked her baby blue BMW 320i as close to the building as possible. The foyer of the Holy Cross Hospital had just been remodeled. The carpet had been replaced by 18 inch off white ceramic tile, which was laid in a diamond pattern. The furniture was