Blameless: No Way Out! and Dead Ringer 4

By F. EUGENE BARBER

BLAMELESS: No Way Out!


A young girl is arrested and convicted of being part of a robbery. She is let out of prison on parole and flees to start a new life in another State. She has found a 'dream' job and tries to find ways of not revealing her true identity. The new job opens up an entirely new life--one she had not even dreamed about.

She becomes involved in an international bank robbery of a huge magnitude and follows it to a unexpected conclusion.
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DEAD RINGER #4

A former female Air Force Captain has become part of the "Agency" and is transferred from the Middle East to the Central Valley of California where she is thrust into a morass of atomic fusion material and terrorists who want to blow up a huge power plant and reservoir.

During her endeavors to stop this--she falls in love with an agent from a friendly foreign power who is on special assignment to America.

She is hit with radiation from the material but survives to take the weapon of mass destruction to its end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491837740

F. EUGENE BARBER

F. Eugene Barber grew up in the Midwest and worked on farms and ranches until at age seventeen, and just out of high school, he enlisted into the Air Force. He served during the Korean War, was at Pusan Air Field for a short time, and was transferred to the B-29 Bomber as an engine mechanic and then to the atom bomb carrying B-36 Bomber as a Crew Chief, and then Flight Line Chief, attached to the 5th Field Maintenance Squadron, 5th Reconnaissance Wing—Heavy, 14th Air Division, 15th Air Force, Strategic Air Command (SAC), Travis AFB, California. Using the GI Bill after discharge, former Staff Sergeant Barber earned an AS in Engineering, a BA, and an MBA. He has worked in the defense, aerospace, and intelligence communities all of his working life, and for the last twenty years or so he has consulted on FAA related aircraft, DoD projects, satellite covert INTEL projects, and other agency projects. He fi nished a three year assignment at the Birk Flight Test Center, Edwards AFB, CA on the Airborne Laser Project; 208 another year with a large defense fi rm near Minneapolis working on a computer controlled remotely fi red Navy gun program; a year-long task at a remote site ninety miles out in the Nevada desert where he was assigned to the special projects offi ce for UAV DoD ops; and he just fi nished another six month consulting task in Washington on a new composite jet aircraft. Mr. Barber has worked all over the world; North, South, and Central America, Europe, the UK, Finland, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Russia, Russian Siberia, Republic of South Africa, French Polynesia, mainland China, Republic of Korea, Japan, and Australia. He and his wife, Yvonne lived for a time in Yorkshire, UK where he was a status of forces contractor/consultant on a clandestine joint ops base—they have resided in Nevada for twenty-two years. www.readerskorner.com

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BLAMELESS:

No Way Out!

F. EUGENE BARBER

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AuthorHouse™ LLC

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© 2013 F. EUGENE BARBER. 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 11/21/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3775-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3774-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013921516

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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

BLAMELESS: No Way Out!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

About The Author

DEAD RINGER 4

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

BLAMELESS:

No Way Out!

CHAPTER ONE

The early morning walk to the main office complex had been brisk in more ways than one—it was starting to get chilly in the late afternoons and this early in the morning it was cold—probably because the sun stayed hidden behind the clouds and fog banks longer this time of year—the days were shorter too—this old earth had almost ended its precessing 24◦ and would soon be heading back in the other direction on its timeless and lonely orbit around its star—its only friend, the Man-in-the-Moon orbited listlessly about the earth in dark space only showing fifty-one percent of his orb.

Carly shivered and started walking faster. The walking path was full of small randomly swirled piles of dry and colorful late autumn leaves. The front lawn of the main prison building had a variety of a dozen deciduous trees and almost as many evergreens. The leaves crinkled noisily as she walked hurriedly along—she could hear the heavyset lady Sergeant scuffling along behind her.

There had been a frost during the night—Carly shivered again, wishing she had worn a wool shell or a sweater beneath the light blue prison jacket. She sped up! The middle-aged Sergeant was huffing and puffing behind her even harder now—dry leaves crunching.

The woman called out, Carly girl! Slow down! Slow down! I’m not as young as you. The board will wait for you! They know the ‘blocks’ were late getting organized this morning due to the power outage. And there are ten brand new inmates who don’t know the drill yet—they held us up for over twenty minutes. The new ones come in every Friday and the board members were advised of this by the assistant warden so they know—slow down!

Carly thought, Lose some weight! This was one of the few female guards she didn’t like.

We don’t have to be there until 0920—they moved it up almost a half an hour. You will notice that the blinking florescent lights in the vestibule are just coming on now, so slow down! One tube appeared to be burnt out.

I noticed Sarge! Carly kept walking at the same pace.

The two walked up the stairs, went through the open steel-faced door, and arrived in front of the heavy oak double doors at the end of the long tiled hallway. It was chilly in the hall—somebody should close the steel door. The wind whistling down through the hall made it seem like a small canyon—there was a handful of dry autumn leaves piled in the far corner of the vestibule.

Her cellblock guard had told her to act contrite and to carry a little New Testament in her hand. She had one in her pocket. The young girl straightened the collar of her light weight, pale blue prison garb, and brushed the toes of her heavy work shoes against the back part of the legs of her trousers—the shoes didn’t shine, but the prison yard dust was knocked off at least.

She liked the blue garb better than the orange-blue colored prison clothes were only allowed to be worn when a prisoner was to appear officially in front of the warden or a board or sometimes a special State watchdog legislative committeeman; some high level social workers asking probing questions about conditions in the prison; or personal questions about her adaptation into prison society and being rehabilitated for the outside someday in the dim future.

Once an ACLU lawyer had showed up in the prisoner meeting room and had asked to see her. She had looked through the one-way window as she walked by. He looked like a marmot—his eyes were cast towards the floor. He was tapping his left foot restlessly on the hard floor. She didn’t like his shifty looks. Carly had refused to talk to him. The warden had smiled to himself and had stricken the entry from the visitor book-like it never happened. He wasn’t too happy with the ACLU folks either—they never said anything good about him or his prison. He had worked hard to keep it as ‘normal’ as he could—after all the State’s goal was rehabilitation, not punishment.

They were five minutes early, Carly hesitated for just an instant longer and then lightly knocked on the heavy oak doors. The sound was louder than she had anticipated. She jerked her hand down quickly!

A lady’s muffled voice from the other side said, Come in please!

She carefully opened the left door, walked in, and stood to one side of the large podium on her right. It looked out of place. She figured it was just being stored—there were wires with plugs dangling from the microphone and dust had gathered on the wooden top. Her guard stayed outside and gently closed the large door behind Carly.

Good morning! You are Miss Carly M. Girdner?

Yes Ma’am and good morning!

Fine! Have a seat there in front of our table. She pointed.

Facing the four seated people at the long table was a single dark oak chair, it was large and intimidating. She sat in it carefully with her feet flat on the floor. The seat was high—her feet just barely touched the floor. It reminded her of an encyclopedia photo of a large oak chair that President Taft had once sat in at a hotel in Riverside, California.

One of the inmates had warned her yesterday—it was best to not cross your legs—and you didn’t fidget. And you didn’t twirl or wiggle your fingers around. Nervous! Clasp your hands firmly together and try not to let them shake!

The elderly lady seated at the end of the row to the left of the other parole board members looked at Carly and then down at a thick file. She seemed to be in charge—she looked in charge. She turned her head to the right looking at the other members and then to the far right at the prison stenographer who was punching away at the 22 keys on her machine.

Carly figured the lady was entering the date and time of day and Carly’s name plus the board member names.

The ‘in-charge’ woman looked directly into Carly’s eyes. Let’s get started! She ruffled her papers and picked up a pen.

Carly sat very still. The lady nodded to the stenographer.

Good Morning again Miss Girdner and how long have you been incarcerated here?

The legal stenographer punched the keys rapidly.

Carly decided that the chairlady already knew the answer. She was asking just for the record, Good Morning! And almost three years Ma’am; thirty-one months and nineteen days to be more exact.

The chairlady smiled slightly and nodded at the countdown. She knew that most prisoners kept track of each passing day. What crime did you do to be placed here?

Carly knew that the lady knew that answer as well. Ma’am I was on a blind-date that a coworker had fixed up for me. It was a double date. My date was an acquaintance of her boyfriend. One of the other young men in the car with us robbed the liquor store while I was talking to my date. The robber didn’t have a girlfriend—I just thought he was along for the evening—kind of like a fifth wheel.

Carly paused and looked at each member of the board before speaking again—they were staring at her with blank looks.

We had only met thirty minutes before. He got out while we waited in the parking lot behind the store; I had no idea that he was robbing the store. I did not know what had happened until the driver peeled rubber and we roared down the alley. And then a black and white caught the car I was in within fifteen minutes. The driver was trying to make it across the river bridge into the next county.

She paused and looked at each one again quickly—they were paying little attention. The man was fingering through his wallet—shuffling his paper money and sorting his credit cards.

That was the first that I detected anything was wrong. Carly kind of mumbled—smiled a little—almost a sneer.

None of the board members were smiling. The lady on the far end was drowsing—she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open.

She must have had one too many wines last night during and after her dinner.

Carly had heard a prison rumor that the parole board members stayed at a pricey downtown hotel and sipped lots of taxpayer paid for wine with their evening steaks.

She continued. "I was taken to the precinct station and locked up for the police to decide my fate the next day—they said they could hold me for 24 hours without cause. They should have let me go as I was innocent, but I was booked the next morning and held over for trial. They wouldn’t listen to a word I had to say. I didn’t have any money for bail and I didn’t know anybody that did. I didn’t know a lawyer. They finally furnished me one on the fifth morning—a very young girl—pro bono; she had just graduated from a small law school somewhere in Arkansas."

So you are still denying you had anything to do with the robbery?

Yes Ma’am! I just happened to be in the car—kind of in the wrong place at the wrong time. Carly frowned again and was tempted to bring out the small New Testament in her pocket, but didn’t.

Miss Girdner, I’m looking at your bank statement at the time of the robbery. You had about eighteen dollars in the bank.

Yes Ma’am. That’s true. I had not deposited my paycheck yet. It was due to me the next day—the day after my arrest. I never did get my pay!

You only made eleven-fifty an hour. How did you exist on that? Did you get food stamps?

Forcefully, No! I did not sign up for food stamps, I paid my own way! She was tempted to glare at the lady, but held back.

"But I also delivered the ‘Times Republican’ seven days a week. I got up at 0330 each morning and picked up my bundles of papers at the truck drop-off and delivered them house-to-house—mostly one room apartments pretty much like the one I lived in back then. I made enough per month from my paper route to buy all of my groceries and with a few cents left over for clothes. I had to save a long time for both nice dress clothes and sturdy work clothes—I almost always bought them at the Salvation Army Store; when I could that is."

She stopped and caught her breath. This was the longest she had talked without stopping in three years—not since being in front of the incompetent judge with her incompetent lawyer.

I had an old motor scooter with an extra muffler attached that belonged to the fellow who had the paper route before me. The extra muffler made it very quiet so as not to wake up my customers who did live in houses. About a third of my customers lived in regular houses. I still owe him twenty dollars for the last scooter payment. I have no idea where my scooter is now, the police took it. They probably sold it or junked it.

She stopped and laughed lightly. She couldn’t help it; she curled her lips into a real sneer this time and said, I’ll pay up when I get my last check.

The paper route job is not listed as a place of employment on this sheet. You should be more careful when filling these forms out. She gave her a glare of admonishment.

Carly thought to herself, She isn’t about to take any of the blame for not being more thorough in her investigation of my background. I have had my second job listed for over two and a half years. I guess I won’t argue with her, she is stupid and those around her probably know it. Or they are stupid too!

She looked at the other board members. They were paying little attention. She shook her head. A typical group of bureaucrats," Carly thought. Politicians and bureaucrats never take the blame for anything that goes wrong—only take credit for the good stuff."

She laughed inwardly and thought about her comparison, Politicians and bureaucrats is there any difference? I don’t think so.

She shook her head slightly again. They are the same the world over. She had grown more cynical in prison.

The chairlady turned the page. You had a small apartment on the other side of the railroad tracks. Who lived with you in the apartment?

Marcy Hyland. It was really small. We put up a hand-made two-by-four plank bunk bed to make more room. Oh, and Ma’am, I often worked overtime on Saturday. I got almost seventeen dollars an hour when that happened.

The lady ignored her add-on comment—the stenographer typed her small keyboard rapidly.

Marcy? Isn’t she the girl that was in the middle of the front seat of the getaway car? She turned one of the pages over. The robber sat on her right.

Carly figured that she already knew the answer to that question too. Yes Ma’am! She was. She sat close to the driver, her boyfriend.

Do you think she knew her boyfriend and his friend were robbers?

Ma’am, I have no idea. Marcy had only been my roommate for a little over three weeks. We hardly saw each other. Her shift started an hour before mine and she had usually eaten supper and gone out or to bed when I got home—I had to walk four miles—there was no city bus route on that side of the tracks.

She iterated, Most of the time she was already gone somewhere or asleep by the time I got home from work.

The balding man on the end had been reading while the head of the parole board had been talking and asking questions. He spoke up, But didn’t you work with her for several months? In fact, it was almost a year. He looked at