The Abandoned of God: Book One: a Life Becomes a Better Life Through Living!

By Monroe Silver

An adventure ride into the lives Matthew Lee Stuart and his son Mason Cole Stuart. Although forty years separate the tragedies, they discover sharing the same type of deadly life-changing event. This story delves into the complicated, funny, adventurous, exciting, often deadly lives of both these men as they discover the truth of their being led to do the holy will of God the Father. Enjoy this visit to another time and place with two extraordinary men! You will understand that their special lives of hazards, heartaches, adventures, death, love, war, and action made it true for both: a life becomes a better life through living!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543438222

Monroe Silver

Monroe Silver is a former Investment Councilor and Sales Director for Pharmed Services to Nursing Home and Courier Service to Nursing Homes with Outsource Business Solutions. He had 6 years of active duty in the US Military and got his Master Degree at Northwestern University. Now retired, he is pursuing a long held and often encouraged writing passion to give to others the ideas, dreams, and visions that have swirled around in his head for a long time. He writing, yoga, resistance training and caring for his dog named “Pretty”.

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Copyright © 2017 by Monroe Silver.

Library of Congress Control Number:           2017911355

ISBN:                  Hardcover                   978-1-5434-3824-6

                            Softcover                     978-1-5434-3823-9

                            eBook                           978-1-5434-3822-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 02/21/2018

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1     Introducing Wild Willie Corcoran And Another Flight To Nowhereland

Chapter 2     I’m Going To Niger, But Why Me?

Chapter 3     Fright-Night Flight Begins

Chapter 4     Lieutenant Corcoran And General Corcoran

Chapter 5     When Intelligence Wasn’t Very Smart

Chapter 6     The Flight Scare Won’t Stop

Chapter 7     This Is Your Young Life, Mason Cole Stuart!

Chapter 8     Good-Bye To Judy Foster

Chapter 9     When Boyhood Ended For Mason Cole Stuart

Chapter 10   Why Was Trouble Following Mason Cole Stuart?

Chapter 11   Mom Said I Made Us The Outlaw Stuarts; Dad Said I Had Changed Forever

Chapter 12   How Matthew Lee Stuart’s Life Changed Forever One Night In 1921

Chapter 13   Matthew Lee Stuart: Talking Rock Runaway

Chapter 14   Go West, Young Matthew Lee Stuart, Go West

Chapter 15   Father Knows Best

Chapter 16   Reflection And Confessions From A Father And A Son

Chapter 17   Prayer, True Confessions, And Bargaining With God: Please Save Our Plane! We Will Do Your Will If You Will Save Us!

Chapter 18   I Learned So Much After I Stopped Knowing It All, Especially About Fay Elizabeth Stuart

Chapter 19   Lura Jane Stuart And Old Girty

Chapter 20   Matthew Lee And Mason Cole: The M&M Boys, The Two Amigos

Chapter 21   Personal Life Analysis On A Doomed Flight

Chapter 22   Army Life Was Most Interesting For Matthew Lee Stuart

Chapter 23   Those Are Ivory Handles, Not Pearl Handles, And Don’t Forget It

Chapter 24   You Are A Traveling Man, Young Matthew Lee Stuart

Chapter 25   Welcome To The Land Of The Moros And Drawing First Blood In Army Combat

Chapter 26   Rescue Mission To China

Chapter 27   Escape From China And Back To The Philippines—With A Detour

Chapter 28   Back To Hawaii With General George S. Patton Then To Panama

Chapter 29   There Are No Atheists In Foxholes Or On Doomed Flights Over The Atlantic

Chapter 30   The Japanese Attack Pearl Harbor And Wwii For America Begins

Chapter 31   Santa Claus Does Not Live On Christmas Island, But Love Waited At Camp Livingston

Chapter 32   An Old Vision Guaranteed Our Safety To Paris, Or Was I Totally Insane?

Chapter 33   Amphibious Training For The Invasion Of Japan

Chapter 34   Mystery Train Trip To New York And Reuniting With An Old Friend

Chapter 35   Flight Fright Continues In Overdrive

Chapter 36   The Sergeants 5 And One Was A Secret Weapon

Chapter 37   Who Were The Seargeants Five?

Chapter 38   Fright Flight Night Continues With Ava And Marshall Cantor

Chapter 39   General Patton Gets The Ball Rolling

Chapter 40   Fright Flight Continues As I Visit With Missionary Victoria Adair

Chapter 41   Something Big And Wicked This Way Comes

Chapter 42   The Sergeants 5 Get A Needed Break!

Chapter 43   Fright Night Flight With Lacey Graft And Judy Ann Graft/Judy Foster?

Chapter 44   Von Rundstedt’s Ardennes Offensive: The Battle Of The Bulge

Chapter 45   The Beginning Of The End Of Wwii

Chapter 46   The War Is Over But Not For Matthew Lee Stuart

Chapter 47   Long Way Home

Chapter 48   The Flight Fright From Hell Is Over! We Land In Paris!

Chapter 49   My Second Good-Bye To Judy Foster/Judy Ann Graft Plus A Cherokee Thunderbolt Strike

About The Author

PROLOGUE

I, Mason Cole Stuart, sit here knowing I should record many of the special events that have become my life. For a very long time, I have had the desire to tell what made Mason Cole Stuart. I have backed away from attempting this task because of procrastination. There was the serious doubt that anything important to Mason Cole Stuart would be of any interest to anyone. There was also the cowardly reluctance to drag up some very disturbing memories.

So the question is, why now? It may be that I feel my mortality. Get these memories down before I can’t remember the details or I leave this plane of existence. Like anyone with their special memories, if something happens to me, those memories are gone forever. No one knows all of what has occurred in the life of Mason Cole Stuart, from boyhood until now. Only very few living individuals know even parts of my memories. Most of what I have inside my head, no one in existence knows but me. I am the only living human being to tell this tale!

It is my desire to share some memories of others who have a big part in my memories. These individuals are a big part of Mason Cole Stuart’s unique story. Their part in my story must be remembered. Many of these wonderful people are no longer among the living.

Everyone has heard that a cat has nine lives. My nine lives were used up long before now. I want this recorded before it is too late. I may not be rewarded with a cat’s tenth life.

Many people can look back and recall an event at a certain point in their life where things changed. Something happened to alter their path in life, their plans, or their dreams. I have had so many of those directional changing points. There are so many changes to a different path because of a dramatic/traumatic event at that point in my timeline. I want to record those events. Of all the people I have ever known, only my father, Matthew Lee Stuart, had as more life-altering events that set the stage for his future. I wish to share many of my father’s life-changing events along with mine.

Is it worth dragging up all the pain, fear, and downright strangeness? Is it worth reliving those turning points and the bad memories attached to them? Is it worth remembering so much loss while wondering, Did God allow those things to happen to my life? Did I intentionally or unintentionally draw them to myself? Where they just random events? Where they destined to happen? Maybe by writing everything down, getting it all out in the open, Mason Cole Stuart will discover the truth!

The answer is finally yes to writing these memories for anyone to see. I have lived through them, with all the pain, loss, and bad memories. I am still here. I am still somewhat sane. This must be done now. I hope I am capable of telling what made the life of Mason Cole Stuart for anyone to read.

A person’s memory is a large part of his life. It is, in some degree, the makeup of that person. Memories and their influence on our lives dictate a lot of why we make the choices we make as we move forward.

What you shall read are the memories of Mason Cole Stuart!

CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCING WILD WILLIE CORCORAN AND ANOTHER FLIGHT TO NOWHERELAND

Well, here I am, Mason Cole Stuart, boarding another flight to some godforsaken shithole on some mission of somewhat importance for my old pal Wild Willie Corcoran. How long has this been going on now? For about fourteen years! Could that be correct? Yes, from a couple of years after my divorce, when I was about thirty-eight years young—yes very young—until now at fifty-two years old and, yes, quite old!

Off and on, off and on, for fourteen years of this international expedition—what are they called? Field trips, photo safaris, adventure vacations, exotic-locations experiences, far-flung escapes! All in the premise of a legit guest paying for an in-the-middle-of-nowhere travel trip to a destination that was off-the-beaten-track, scenic, well organized, not too dangerous or strenuous or physically demanding. These semi adventure trips were to include, good food, as in a lot of military meals ready to eat (MREs) and protein bars; comfortable accommodations, usually a pop-up tent with your own sleeping bag; experienced guides, cooks, interpreters—all for the adventure of a lifetime!

How many of these had I been on for old Wild Willie boy? I think this was my seventh or eighth, in that fourteen-year span. No, this is definitely my eighth. How could I possibly forget all the fun and games? This was definitely not steady employment for me from Willie’s employer, the National Security Agency (NSA), because I had steady employment! Oh yes, the NSA, the folks who want to know things that are going on in foreign countries that could be of importance to the good old US of A!

Oh please, it does not picture James Bond–type spy activity! I would not be qualified for or desire to try those serious endeavors! No, not at my age and not anymore! My usefulness was more of go observe a situation or activity for Willie and the NSA. They wanted information of some type in some backwater country most of the time. Then write up a report and no big deal! Except that you could not be known to be doing any detailed observation of any official nature and definitely not for someone like the NSA or the US government or all hell could break loose! Needed tools of the trade was being desecrate, low-key and blending in as a tourist. These talents were vital to all of Willie’s assignments! Remember, these were the days before real computer sleuthing was possible and you had to have eyeballs, balls, and boots on the ground to do the observing!

So for the moment, the briefest of a background on old Willie boy, my longtime pal. William F. Corcoran earned his nickname of Wild Willie many times over. He was christened this moniker playing football at Perdue and by the men he led, trained, and organized for a special military intelligence gathering team for service in Vietnam. Many of Willie’s exploits that richly earned him his nickname will be fleshed out as this story unfolds. Just understand that William F. Corcoran truly earned his lifelong nickname of Wild Willie Corcoran.

We were in the army together a hundred years ago in a real shithole in Southeast Asia with initials of South Vietnam. Most of our unit got out of the service at around the same time. Willie is a good Irish lad, a few years older than most of us. He had a college degree, played major college football at Purdue. Willie went to Officer Candidate School (OCS), stayed in the service for a few more years after the rest of us got out and he earned the rank of major. He made contacts with and served with other intelligence officers that ended up working for the NSA after their army service was over. They encouraged Willie to join them in their new cleaner intelligence work. Willie did just that and did very well in his new calling. Willie was a very smart, hardworking guy, well connected, possessor of a pair of brass balls, and good old Irish blarney to the max.

After a few years of successfully working and impressing his superiors, Willie became the head of a department that gathered low-key information from mostly third world countries. This was all a non-undercover/non-espionage nature but still very important. Again, to repeat, not James Bond–type assignments, but it had to be done unnoticed, quietly, efficiently, and intelligently. Right up Wild Willie’s alley! Oh, he was a sharp guy, and did he ever have connections. Typical of Willie, he figured out a way to place NSA contract folks, like me, into areas of interest to do our observations of the subject of NSA’s interest and make it all look so very legit, touristy-type activity, all aboveboard with no questions being asked of Why are you here?

Old Willie had a relative, a first cousin that was owner of an adventure travel company, International Expeditions (IE), headquartered in Helena, Montana. Willie would find out where eyes were needed to be on the ground and then check to see if his cousin at IE had a tour in this country. IE had been around for quite a while and did these adventure-type tours in some really remote areas as their specialty. IE specialized in smaller groups, paying big bucks to see out-of-the-way scenic locations, in distant places, where most tourists did not travel. IE had been a successful travel company for years, providing their niche for exclusive small group adventure travel.

Often IE had been scheduling tours where Willie needed an NSA observer to get positioned and be just part of the tourist group. We would make the needed data collection or get the needed questions answered for the NSA about this spot or person of interest. Then we would continue on the tour with no other tourist in the group the wiser about our intentions. Then we wrote up a report from info gathered, got paid a nice sum of unreported cash for very little work, and enjoyed a free adventure vacation all from Uncle Sam! All fun and semi-serious games that needed done for USA’s national security and NSA’s need-to-know!

Sometime, IE had to tweak an itinerary to meet Willie’s needs for positioning in a certain locale. Willie’s cousin would work out all the details. He and his company would be handsomely paid for these adjustments. Sometimes this tweaking required a couple of guided tours in this area before the needed observation work. This was to have a tour group become expected and not odd to the locals or the area of interest. Willie and his cousin at IE worked it all out with no one else at the company knowing anything unusual was going on. Willie’s cousin was paid unreported cash for his help on all of Willie’s needed trips that IE performed for the NSA.

Once in a while, a full-time NSA agent would have to be inserted on a tour for some technical expertise. These NSA personnel were not a contract agent as were we Wild Bunch. Usually, this was an interpreter or linguist, sometimes someone with certain technical expertise, maybe in archeology or geology or mineralization. This would all be needed for special technical situations. This most definitely did not include a hit man or bomb expert or such, thank god! This was easy for the company to handle as new field people were often needed for these out-of-the-way places on the spur of the moment for a scheduled tour. It aroused no suspicion.

I must saw that Wild Willie basically stopped the use of NSA personnel being inserted into these IE trips. They did not blend in as well as us Wild Bunch teammates of Willie. These NSA men and women were too reserved, too stiff, too know it all, too uncomfortable in a group of paying tourist. They got too restless when their info gathering was concluded. They couldn’t sit back enjoying the remainder of the sightseeing. They just stood out like a sore, swollen thumb. Willie soon saw his old Wild Bunch were perfect for this IE intel-gathering missions. The NSA agents were soon not needed by Willie.

So where was I headed this time for my eighth NSA assignment? Ever heard of Niger in North Central Africa that is located east of Mali? Ever heard of Mali? No, I guessed maybe not. OK, how about east of Burkina? Not that one either? Fine! So let’s try southeast of Algeria, south of Libya, and north of Nigeria. Some of those may be a bit familiar! Remember this is happening in 1999. This is pre-9/11, pre–al Qaeda, pre-ISIS, pre–Second Iraq war, and pre–direct US troop involvement in Iraq or Afghanistan. These wonderful countries I mentioned around Niger in 1999 had an old bunch of bad guys even back then. They were not too friendly to Uncle Sammie in those days either. Nice guys like Muammar Gaddafi in Libya and so on!

But the question is, why Niger? Niger is pronounced with the French flavor of naa-jeer. Well, it seemed the Chinese government had paid the Niger government in Nimany $1 billion to have exclusive rights to explore for natural resources in the desolate Sahara Desert portion of Niger. The Sahara covers more than two-thirds of Niger, all but the southern part, along the Niger River. Along the Niger River, things are green. It is definitely not very green in northern Niger, in the Sahara Desert!

A tiny bit of boring facts: the majority of the population of Niger is located along this green southern part along the Niger River. This majority is mostly Tubu ethnic people of Negroid stock, and because of their population advantage, they control the government of Niger since Niger became independent from France.

The thinly populated vast Sahara portion is mostly nomadic Tuareg (pronounced twar-ray) tribes and clans. Except for a few small isolated scattered villages, the only town of any size in Agadez. Agadez has twenty thousand residents and the only airport in northern Niger. The Tuareg are tall and fine boned with shiny ebony skin color. They are of non-Negroid stock, being that they are a Berber people of northern Africa, not sub-Saharan Africa. They have never gotten along real well with the Tubu government in Nimany; in fact, they have had several revolts against the legitimate Tubu government in the decades prior to my trip. The last sure uprising was in 1991. These revolts are usually over the government spending no money on northern Niger especially in Tuareg country. The disputes are over no money for schools, teachers, hospitals, doctors, nurses, medicine, and medical care for the Tuareg people, especially the children of the Sahara.

The truth is the Tubu and Tuareg have never been friendly. Back in the tough old days before French influence in Niger, the Tuareg were the warriors of the vast Sahara Desert regions. The Tuareg raided across the many borders around their tribal/clan home turf. Vast isolated caravans crisscrossing the northern Sahara found themselves the prey of these desert ghosts.

The Tuareg struck anywhere at any time. They fought other desert nomadic tribes for water locations and best grazing areas. They fought whatever government tried to control their activities. The Tuareg fought anyone at any time as they had always been a warrior society. Time finally led to a less confrontational Tuareg society. As the twentieth century progressed with technology to overcome the advantage of vast untracked, unmapped wastes of the Tuareg Sahara, they settled into their nomadic agrarian lifestyle. They evolved into caravan leaders, hauling material for trade to many countries around Niger. This ancient means of moving goods and material across the roadless Sahara was still most economically hauled by camel than by trucks.

The Tuareg had fought, raided, and dominated Niger for centuries. This was especially true of much more numerous Tubu people. Despite the smaller numbers of the Tuareg, their fierce warlike nature gave them the upper hand. Once the French began taking control of Niger and surrounding North African countries in the late 1800s, the Tuareg fought the French. The Tuareg were always fighting someone, just in their nature, like the Comanche Indians in the High Plains of Texas. The French had a difficult time subduing the Tuareg. They knew the trackless desert’s prize waterholes, canyon hideouts, and barren mountain passes. The key reason for Tuaregs’ success over the French was their specialty bred smaller, faster, and long-distance water-hearty camels. The French, nor anyone else, could catch the Tuareg in the desert chase.

The Tuareg outmaneuvered the French until the 1930s when modern technology, such as longer-distance airplanes, helped sway the advantage to the French. The Tuareg were never really defeated by the French that chased them all over the Northern Sahara, built French foreign legion forts, hired mercenary North African Sahara Desert tribesmen to scout for the Legionnaires, all to no avail. It took modern machinery and technology to force the Tuareg to stop the aggression against the French.

The French helped set up the larger population Tubu’s to control the government in Nimany in Southern Niger. This was done before France allowed Niger’s independence in the 1960s. The Tuareg were left to continue their caravan-operations, nomadic lifestyle, herding their livestock to seasonal grazing and waterholes in their vast hostile Sahara Desert wasteland. Now the Tuareg were dominated by the French-assisted Tubu population in the water-rich south of Niger.

What was the NSA and friend Wild Willie’s interest in what the Chinese were doing in the godforsaken empty area of northern Niger? The answer: They wanted to know what the Chinese were primarily exploring to locate. Also, what might they have found under the Sahara sand at this point in time? Was the treasure coal or oil or—drum roll—uranium? Yes, the NSA was interested to know if the Chinese were primarily seeking uranium. There are uranium mines in northern Niger owned by the French for decades. However, little exploration had gone on in the vast Saharan portion of Niger until the Chinese went to work. China was eager to find and secure needed natural resources. Their economy was booming. They had lots of cash to invest for the future natural-resource needs of mainland China. Natural resources that China does not have! They had plunked down $1 billion to lock up whatever they could find in the unexplored vastness of northern Niger.

The USA had a keen interest in knowing if China had found uranium or if it was primarily uranium they were seeking. I’m no expert, but uranium can potentially end up as big loud bombs that can do a lot of damage.

If new uranium deposits of size were to be found in Northern Niger and developed by China, then China would have a potentially large supply of uranium bomb making material. The NSA was concerned because the United States would have no reporting on the quantity of Chinese uranium mined in Niger. Therefore, no idea of how many hydrogen bombs China could produce and potentially use! This is the type of info that the agency desired in backwater shithole countries like Niger! That is why I was on this excursion. Not a big change was made in the travel itinerary to get us settled for a couple of days in the area where the Chinese were operating from a base camp in an extremely isolated area near the only water well within three hundred miles.

CHAPTER 2

I’M GOING TO NIGER, BUT WHY ME?

OK, Niger is where I’m headed in this trip for my pal Willie Corcoran, who happens to work for the NSA. I’m to observe, gather info, and write the NSA and Willie a detailed report on what the Chinese nationals are looking for or may have found under the Sahara Desert in Northern Niger.

But where else, over the fourteen years of Willie’s arm twisting, cajoling, pleadings, and green cash, did I go for these paid-for observations? Niger was to be number eight. The other seven, not in order of travel, were Morocco, Algeria, Costa Rica, Mali, Belize, Mongolia, and Peru! I may have made these travels sound horrible; but actually the people I meet in these countries were wonderful people, often the scenery was outstanding, and I had great fun. The folks on the International Expedition tours were almost always most interesting people with a few exceptions!

All these seven NSA field trips were relatively dull, boring affairs as far as the mission I had to complete was concerned. The details of these far-flung missions to gather facts are not worthy of recounting. The other assignments were similar arrangements as Niger: NSA and Willie Corcoran arranged with IE to get me to a site or person or activity of interest, allowing me to do my thing for God, the USA, and the NSA.

These trips were all part of a regular scheduled tour with paying guests with a continued itinerary of travel and sightseeing either before or after my required place of interest. Real simple! All I had to do was be very observant without being observed being observant. Gather needed facts, info, and data without appearing to be gathering anything. I was required to be friendly, fun loving, just having a good old touristy fun time. Talk to key people, quietly getting certain needed answers, but not arouse any suspicion with the facts gathered or questions asked. Sounds real, real simple—but it ain’t simple!

Some needed characteristics include military training,-educated, well-heeled, well-traveled, dumb acting while having a good old time! You are just part of the tour group, most important of which is you don’t stand out. It helps if you are a quasi-good actor, full of bullshit, have a great memory, look and act dumb, be unassuming, tell some good jokes, have a sense of humor, appear to drink a lot yet not get shitfaced so you could remember all that was said by those getting shitfaced, and never arouse suspicion as to what you are really doing.

Did I fit all these requirements? Yes, I most certainly did to a T. Being a good intelligence personnel agent means looking, being, and acting older, nonlethal, nonthreatening, well dressed, well educated, well traveled, and good conversationalist without saying anything revealing about your past. You should mix in well with your travel group but don’t stand out, be a typical American tourist with a camera, look a bit dumb, and wear a big friendly smile. What is needed is not to sound or smell like a military-intelligence-trained person, but be that person.

Was I successful at these IE-traveling missions? I was very well trained in military intelligence gathering, trained by excellent officers over several years, to include William F. Corcoran at the top of the list. I never had a glitch or problem that caused suspicion. I came home from these tours with IE, wrote my report that went to Willie, got my cash, and decided what other tours I wanted to accept when they were offered if my day job schedule allowed the time away. These excursions were always several weeks in length up to more than a month in a foreign country. I was very gainfully employed all those fourteen years of doing those eight IE jobs; so I could pick the ones I had time, the right schedule, and the interest in doing. The amount of cash to be paid was also an important factor.

You need to know that I was not the only traveler with military intelligence experience doing these IE tours into places of interest for the NSA! Some needed intelligence observations for the NSA were under way at the same time in different locations several times a year. So who were the other persons doing these missions for Wild Willie and the NSA? Other shitheads like me that had been trained by and under the command of Captain William F. Corcoran, US Army Intelligence Corp!

The F in William F. Corcoran stands for Forrest as in Lieutenant General Nathan Bedford Forrest, Confederate States of America. General Nathan Bedford Forrest was a legendary Civil War cavalry leader and fighting genius. General Forrest was a distant relative of our boy Willie and Willie’s uncle General Nathan Bedford Corcoran, as anyone might guess from the name bestowed upon him at birth that I will introduce later. These two men had a lot of their distant relative’s audacious charter, genius, and flair for the dramatic flowing through their veins.

So were we all successful at this low-level espionage, nonspy, report-writing, bookkeeping-type, and semi-spook assignments? Yes, absolutely! We were all trained and served under First Lieutenant, then Captain, Willie Fucking Corcoran, a genius in his own right! Yep, once old Willie landed that cushy desk job, making big safe easy, nondangerous bucks at the NSA, sitting on his ever-expanding fat ass, he knew where to recruit the grunts to do his needed dirty work. That fell to his old unit from the bad old days of serious training from 1965 to include airborne, ranger, and jungle warfare schools and HALO jump training. Then the real deal in the Central Highlands of Vietnam during 1967/1968 to include the quite interesting Tet Offensive of 1968!

All of us members of Captain Corcoran’s team had all stayed in touch over the years from scattered locations. In due time, Willie came a-calling! Oh, he could be persuasive at anytime but especially so when he had a somewhat unlimited, off-the-books intelligence-gathering budget, as in unreported cash, at his disposal! What Willie needed was success with the information gathering with no international incidents to make the evening news from someplace like Tanzania or Sri Lanka or Niger. He needed no pissed-off Chinese nationals feeling they had been spied upon by agents of the US government. It was essential to have happy NSA bosses above Willie that received those reports we wrote using the correctly gathered intelligence to the betterment of the USA’s safety and security! For this task, Willie needed his old gang of personally trained intelligence operatives affectionately known as the Wild Bunch.

The nickname, the Wild Bunch, came from an old Western movie directed by San Peckinpah. It was about a washed-up group of old Wild West gunfighters that wandered down to Old Mexico during the Mexican Revolution in 1912, managing to go out in a blaze of glory, taking a bunch of bad guys with them! There were twelve of the original members of the Wild Bunch that were still alive who agreed to help Willie and the NSA. Our title was the exciting term NSA contract agents with no OO prefixes or lethal gadgets at our disposal or beautiful lady spies to seduce. All our activity was off the books and employment records of the US government. Each of us had full-time careers. Therefore, we ended up selecting the assignments we wanted when offered to us by Wild Willie Corcoran. We were contract agents and not employees, so we got to choose only the assignments we wanted to take.

So it’s late October of 1999, and I caught a plane from Houston, Texas, to New York City, then to Paris, France. Flight travel was to have us arrive in Paris early afternoon Paris time, go straight to our hotel at the airport, and try for some sleep. Then we’d wake up at two in the morning the next day, arise with luggage ready to go, and assemble in the hotel lobby. I would meet our IE group leaders along with paying tourists, get introduced, receive instructions on what to expect once on the ground at Agadez airport, receive a brief rundown on the travel itinerary in Niger, head back to Paris airport, and catch a long direct flight to Agadez, Niger.

CHAPTER 3

FRIGHT-NIGHT FLIGHT BEGINS

It was on my flight from New York to Paris that was one of those my whole life flashed in front of me type series of real scary moments, except those moments lasted many harrowing hours. It seemed like days, not hours, of gut-wrenching fear. I will never forget this flight for several reasons, always thankful to God to say that everyone survived. I have never experienced a flight so nearly doomed to destruction as this flight to Paris in 1999.

I should have expected problems because of the delays in leaving New York. We were told several stories of what the unimportant reasons were for the continuing delays: fueling problems, plane not properly cleaned, flight crew delays, weather delays over the Atlantic, baggage transfer problems. We heard everything but a bomb search going on or a motor fell off or a wing was missing or the pilots were trying to sober up to fly. It just seemed this booked solid flight was a jinx as we were to soon learn over the Atlantic Ocean.

Now, if anyone has flown a bunch, they will have had some really rough, bumpy flights that can cause real concern, discomfort, and a review of your religious beliefs on matters such as death, dying, our sinful nature, and what our status is in eternity. I have been on a lot of flights some of which could be labeled real hairy and scary, but nothing compared to this flight to Paris over the Atlantic in total darkness. I honestly thought the wings would be ripped off the body of the plane while over the deep blue cold Atlantic Ocean! I will state all that happened on this flight in a funny way to describe my feelings, but nothing is overly exaggerated for drama. This was a serious, turbulent storm our pilots were forced to fly through, not over or around. Once into this monster storm we did not have the fuel to retreat back to New York.

Most passengers were asleep when it got real bad. Somehow they were able to stay asleep but not Mason Cole Stuart. Maybe it was