An Angel's Faith

By Michael Wayne

Robert Striker a retired ex-military man, whom in the middle of questioning his life, is approached by Margaret Peterson a beautiful,
intelligent woman. Worried and frightened, she asked him to help solve the mystery of an ominous letter from her missing sister and a
threatening phone call from a mysterious man. During his investigation Robert uncovers a conspiracy by desperate men trying to retrieve a
black box that was stolen from their boss. As a romance blossoms between the two, the box and its contents will put both Robert and
Margarets lifes in jeopardy and cost many others their lives. The one, who ends up with and reveals the contents of the black box, will be shocked at what they find.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 17, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462819539

Book preview

Prologue

Robert had lived a hard life. Both of his parents died by the time he was sixteen. He found himself alone and on his own before his parents or life experiences had had a chance to define him as a man. He drifted from job to job just trying to survive, made many mistakes and had many setbacks. By the time he was nineteen, he had become street savvy, having met and dealt with the upper, and more often, lower classes of society. It was around this time something happened that would change his life forever.

Not long after Robert’s nineteenth birthday, he received his draft notice and was indoctrinated into the military. The Vietnam War was still raging, and there was much political unrest throughout the world. It was a time in history that would define the true nature of many people, a time that would change the world as we knew it then. While in the military, Robert was introduced into a life he never imagined existed—recruited and trained to be a part of the military intelligence family. It was a life that would make him mentally and physically a better man. Yet, despite his training, patriotism, loyalty and the belief that what he was asked to do was right and would make the world a better place, he would be haunted for the rest of his life by some of the things he had done in the name of God and country.

Years after his retirement, fate and a mutual acquaintance brought Angel and Robert together. Angel is an intelligent and beautiful woman who doesn’t fully realize her attributes or potential. Having received a curious letter from her sister, then a disturbing phone call from a stranger, Angel became concerned about both her and her sister’s safety. She confides in a friend who happened to know Robert and his military background. The friend suggested that she contact Robert and solicit his help. Confused, scared, and told by the stranger not to contact the police, Angel goes to Robert and explained her situation. Reluctantly, Robert agreed to help her.

Their adventure will lead them far away from the safe and secure life they once knew into a world where desperate individuals are willing to do anything to obtain their objective. Before it’s over, Robert and Angel must fight for their lives while trying to uncover the mystery generated by her sister’s letter and the threating phone call from a stranger.

Part One

1

The Package

5:00 in the morning, I was abruptly awakened by the sound of B. B. King’s "The Thrill Is Gone." I looked at the clock. Man, only three hours sleep. What the hell! I sat up and started to get out of bed. As I moved I brushed against something soft and warm. I looked down, and there she was just lying there looking so innocent, so vulnerable. Her name was Margaret. Margaret Angelica Peterson. She went by the name Angel. I started to remember last night. I had been at Sherlock’s, a local English pub I frequented. That’s where we had met. An old friend of mine, Mike Baker, had told her where she could find me. She had come into the pub around 10:30 p.m. I had been there at least two hours by then. I already had more than a few drinks under my belt so I was feeling pretty good. When she walked up to me she looked as though she had been crying. I asked her to have a seat and ordered her a drink. Then I asked her a few questions. She said she didn’t want to talk there. Thirty minutes later, we found ourselves in my motel room, a little drive just down the street from Sherlock’s. I had some bourbon and poured myself a few more drinks. That’s all I remember. My head hurt, and I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Had I known my instincts were trying to warn me, I would have laid back down and took advantage of her vulnerability one more time, then asked her to leave.

Instead I got out of bed, stumbled in the dark over to the dresser, and turned off the radio. I pulled the curtains aside and looked out, still dark. The sun would not rise for another hour. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed the room had a dark gray, shadowy look to it. I guess it was from the parking lot lights coming in through the window shades. I managed to find my way to the bathroom. There I started my morning routine—a shit, shower, and a shave. I had found through the years that this morning ritual was just the minimum amount of maintenance my body needed to jump-start my day. I finished, went back into the room and walked over to the bed. Angel was lying there on her stomach, her backside exposed to the world. I hesitated but knew I had to wake her. I put one hand on her shoulder and patted her firm little derriere with the other and whispered her name. She moved just a little. I did it again; her eyes slowly opened. At first, I don’t think she realized where she was. Then suddenly her eyes were wide open, and she turned onto her side and pulled the covers over her soft, tanned, beautifully sculptured body. She looked up at me, and I could see in her eyes she was a little confused. Then her eyes softened; she smiled and said, Morning, Robert, and I replied, Hello, Angel. I leaned over and gently kissed her forehead. She smiled again and slowly started getting out of bed. She slid her right leg from under the cover and off the bed, then her left leg, pushing herself up with her right hand and arm. Then she stood up and slowly started walking toward the bathroom. I watched her as she disappeared beyond the door. I thought to myself, Man, you must be dreaming. How could a broken-down old fart like you pull in a bird like that?

When we had both dressed, we went downstairs to a restaurant that was adjacent to the lobby in the motel and ordered breakfast. By now it was after 7:00 a.m., and we both had time to collect our thoughts. She was the first to speak. Robert, you know things got a little out of hand last night. I hope you don’t think because of what happened, I’m easy. I was feeling alone and vulnerable. You and I both know last night was a mistake. I just nodded my head without saying anything. There was long silence; then, our food arrived.

As we ate Angel looked up at me; she had a small tear just under her right eye. She said, Robert, I need to tell you something very important. I wanted to tell you this last night, but you didn’t give me an opportunity. I apologized to her, stating that I was feeling a little lonely and had had too much to drink. I asked her if I had gotten too out of line. She replied, Nothing I didn’t allow to happen. Look, I hope what happened last night won’t influence your answer to what I wish to ask of you. I didn’t reply to her statement, I just motioned for her to continue.

Robert, I think I’m in trouble serious trouble. I just don’t know what to do. Mike told me that you were in the military, in intelligence or something like that. So I thought maybe you might be able to help me. I looked deep into her eyes. I could see she was frightened so I held out my hand, and she placed hers in mine. Angel, I can see that something is troubling you. You tell me what it is, and I’ll see what I can do. She smiled and said, Thank you, but I don’t feel comfortable talking here. I feel that everyone is watching us. Is there somewhere else we can go? I nodded my head yes and let go of her hand. We ate the rest of our breakfast in silence.

I took her to the local science museum. I liked it there, and I had a membership card. I had learned, years ago, that sometimes the best place to have privacy is in a busy public place. Angel did not understand this and showed her concern. Because of what I had seen in her eyes and in her tone, I had instantly become guarded. On the way to the museum, I found myself practicing some old and almost forgotten habits. I took many turns and back roads to the museum. I kept my eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, looking beyond the closest cars for anything unusual. It took forty-five minutes to get there. During that time, I began to question why I was thinking and acting this way. Angel hadn’t told me anything yet or given me a reason to think we were in danger.

I began to think to myself, Most of the women I’ve known have always overreacted or exaggerated situations. So I began to relax, thinking this was probably the case. Angel didn’t say anything on our way there. I could tell she was collecting her thoughts. She had an intense look on her face.

Once there, I told her what we would do. We would move slowly; stay five or six feet from any one person; change direction from time to time just to make sure no one was trying to stay close to us. We would smile and point at things, every now and then, to give the impression we were talking about what we were looking at. She indicated she understood. I thought to myself, if anything, we would enjoy our little outing to the science museum.

Once inside, she began her story, Robert, I’m sorry to trouble you with my problems. It’s just I really don’t know what to do. I know we don’t know each other, but Mike seems to hold you in high regard. From what he has told me, you must be an honest man. So I’m going to put my faith in your hands. If you feel you shouldn’t get involved, I understand. I just ask you not repeat to anyone what I’m about to tell you. I gently touched her cheek with the back of my hand and gave her a soft smile. She smiled a sad smile and began her story.

"A few Saturdays back I received a letter from my sister, Barbara. Her full name is Barbara Wilson. We haven’t seen or spoken to each other in over a year. I wasn’t even sure where she lived until I received her letter. The letter was postmarked in Crowell, Texas, but there was no return address. When I opened it, I found two keys inside with a note that read, ‘I’m sorry to get you involved, sis … but you’re the only one I can turn to or trust. If something happens to me, go to Parkers Meat Processing Company in Burleson, Texas. One of the keys has a number on it. Go to that locker and open it. You’ll find a package inside. The other key will open what’s in the package. Sis, I will try and get it from you soon.

Love, Barbs

PS: Don’t tell anyone about this and trust no one."

That was all it said. Angel reached into her purse and handed me the keys and letter. I put them in my pocket without looking at them. She continued, I wanted to talk to my sister, so I dialed information. I told them I needed a number for a Barbara Wilson, Crowell, Texas. I was given this number, 940-731-0012. I called it, a man answered. When I asked for Barbara, his voice changed and became guarded. He asked who I was and what I wanted with her. I told him, and he hung up on me. I just sat there for a while staring at the keys and letter wondering what was going on … The phone rang, it startled me, it was the man who had just hung up on me. I guess her phone service had caller ID. He asked me again who I was. I told him. There was a short silence, then I heard my sister’s voice say, ‘Sis, you shouldn’t have called me.’ I told her I had received her letter, and I wanted to know what was going on. In a low voice she said, ‘I knew I shouldn’t have gotten you involved. I’m sorry. Look, just get the package and hide it. When I come to get it, I will explain everything.’ The phone went dead. I spent the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday worrying, wondering what was wrong.

Monday morning the phone rang. I answered it, thinking perhaps my sister had decided to confide in me. But I did not recognize the voice. It was a man’s voice. He did not introduce himself. He just started talking. He said, ‘If you know what’s good for you, you will take the letter your sister sent you and meet me in front of the old Granbury Opera House in Granbury, Texas at noon Sunday, the twenty-fourth of this month. If you don’t, the same thing that just happened to your sister’s boyfriend will happen to her.’ I asked what he meant by that. He laughed and said, ‘You can read about it in the newspaper.’ He added, ‘it’s best you don’t talk to anyone or get too nosy, understand?’ Then the phone went dead. I put the phone down and started shaking. I was confused and scared. I didn’t think I could deal with this myself. Then Mike told me about you. That’s why I came into Sherlock’s last night, Robert, to find you. What should I do? I thought about it for a few minutes and said, I have to say, your story peaked my interest. I’ll try and help you, no promises though. She acknowledged by kissing me on the cheek and whispering Thank you.

For the first time since she woke up this morning, she looked relieved. I said, First we need to try and find out about your sister and her boyfriend and then get the package. We left the museum and drove back to my motel. This time I was very much on alert. Whoever called Angel sounded dangerous and desperately wanted the letter.

I had been living out of a suitcase for the past two weeks. My girlfriend and I had had a disagreement over her seeing other men. She won the argument and kicked me out of her house. I was out on the street for the second time in my life. Probably because she was feeling sorry for me or perhaps not wishing to be alone right now, Angel asked if I would stay with her. So I gathered my things and checked out of the motel. I followed her in my truck to her apartment. It was small and cozy, a one bedroom, which I thought would create a very pleasant sleeping arrangement. I could tell by the way she had decorated and arranged the place that she had class. I thought to myself, you don’t have a chance in hell with this woman; she’s way out of your league. She showed me where I could put my things. I put my bags under her bed; then, we settled down on her sofa. She sat quite close to me, very cozy. First things first, I told her, We need to find out what the guy meant about your sister and her boyfriend. I suggested we contact the local newspaper in Crowell and see if anything had happened that was newsworthy in the past few days. We acquired that number by calling information.

We found out that there had been a house fire very early on Sunday the tenth and that two bodies had been discovered in the house. We then tried to call Angel’s sister, no answer. I asked Angel if she had a computer with access to the Internet. She did. I typed http//www.phonebook.com. This gave me access to a Web site for doing reverse phone and address searches. I typed in the phone number and hit Enter. A name and address came up—Barbara Wilson, 5012 Maple Street, Crowell, Texas. I could only assume now that Angel’s sister and her boyfriend were dead. I found it strange that the phone number was under her sister’s name and not her boyfriend’s. Had he been hiding? Angel became hysterical. I tried to console her, but it was impossible. I found some sleeping pills in her medicine cabinet and had her take two. She fell asleep in my arms. I sat there looking at her. She looked so fragile and helpless, and as I held her, I think I was starting to feel something for her. Right now, that was a bad thing. So I took my eyes off her and started thinking of everything that had happened so far. I thought about the keys and package. I, too, wanted to know what was going on now. What was so important that two people may have lost their lives?

Angel awoke around 8:00 p.m. Thinking she might be hungry, I had scavenged through her kitchen and fixed her a sandwich. I had already eaten mine. She was not hungry. I did talk her into a glass of Beranger White Zinfandel. I had found half a bottle in the back of the refrigerator. She wanted to know what I thought they should do. I told her, It’s too late now, but first thing tomorrow, we’ll drive to Burleson and pick up the package. We have five days before you hand the letter over to the man. I consoled her the best I could under the circumstances by telling her, I’ll do my best to help you find out what has happened. I promise. Together we will solve this mystery. At that moment, I didn’t realize how hard and dangerous that promise was going to be to keep. We walked back to her bedroom. I lay there beside her, holding her tight. We fell asleep.

It was 6:00 a.m. when I woke up. I smelled something good coming from the kitchen and discovered Angel was an excellent cook. Soft scrambled eggs with melted cheese, crisp bacon, buttered toast with grape jelly and coffee. I thought to myself, why is this woman living alone? We made small talk while we ate, both of us avoiding the issue at hand. While she cleaned up her kitchen, I did my morning routine. By the time she was ready, it was 7:45, and we needed to hit the road. From her apartment, it was fourteen miles to Burleson. I figured we should get there by 8:15.

We took my truck. It was a black, 1998 Ford XLT F150 that had 150,000 miles on it. But don’t let that fool you. She was rugged, dependable, and I trusted her to do what I asked. It took us a few minutes to find Parkers Meat Processing Company. I drove past it and then turned around, pulled over to the curb, and stopped. I looked for anyone who looked like they might be watching the place or waiting for someone. I watched cars and people come and go for fifteen or twenty minutes before I was satisfied we had not been followed or someone might be watching the place. I pulled into their parking lot and we went inside. We presented the key to a man behind the counter and he showed us to the locker.

Burleson was a small town. Parkers Meat Processing Company was a small family-owned company that slaughtered and processed local farmers’ livestock. They also had a big freezer unit with individual lockers that people could rent and store their processed meat. The locker we were looking at was one of those lockers. I thought to myself, whatever is going on, someone was no dummy. Using a place like this to hide something was worthy of my old profession. We opened the locker, and there inside was the package. Whatever was in it was wrapped just like a piece of meat with thick, white wrapping paper and brown tape holding it together. I looked at Angel. She was looking at me. Without saying anything, I understood she wanted me to extract the package. It was cold. At first, I thought my hands were going to stick to it, but they didn’t. I closed the locker door, and we left. As we drove back to Angel’s apartment, we speculated on what we would find under the wrapping paper. We had decided when we got into the truck that we would wait until we were inside her apartment before we opened it.

Angel’s apartment was on the first floor at the end of one of the complexes. You could see her bedroom window as soon as you pulled into the entrance. I noticed something wrong. Her bedroom light was on. I remembered turning it off when we were leaving. Turning lights off when not needed was an old habit I picked up during my military days. I told Angel to stay in the truck. I walked to her door. It was shut, but you could see that it had been tampered with. I moved over to her kitchen window and looked inside. I could see that furniture and personal items had been violently tossed around. Someone had been desperately looking for something. I had a good idea what it was they were looking for. I did not go inside, but jumped back into the truck and drove off. For miles, I looked to see if we were being followed. I went fast then slow; I made sudden turns—I would stop and change directions. We had gone ten or fifteen miles before I relaxed and pulled into a Sonic Drive-In. Angel was staring at me with a confused look on her face. I told her what I had seen. Tears started running down her face, but she didn’t make a sound.

It was close to 1:00 p.m., and we had not eaten since breakfast. I ordered us lunch. Whoever had ransacked Angel’s apartment for now was at least one step behind us. I was surprised they had not been waiting for us inside or outside her apartment. We had been lucky this time. From now on, I would rely on my instincts and my experience to help keep us safe and alive. Angel and I did not know each other very well, so while we ate, I told her a little about myself. Just to get her mind off our situation, I told her, "I had just turned nineteen when I received my draft notice. I didn’t have a clue what I was good at back then. But the military had given me a series of tests and physicals during my induction and then shipped me off to basic training at Fort Ord, California. At the completion of that training, I was supposed to have been sent to armor school at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Instead I was sent to a seven-week course on concealment and observation, out in the middle of nowhere. Then on to armor school where I was escorted along with six others to a different building than the rest of the incoming students. We found out that our tank training was going to be a cover. We were actually there for a new type of MI (military intelligence) training. The school was twenty-six weeks long, and there would be a lot to learn in a short period of time. At its completion, we would be sent overseas to complete our OJT (on-the-job training). My first assignment was a unit in Illertissen, Germany. While assigned there, I was involved in a covert mission into Ireland’s interior (that still haunts me today). To make a long story short I told her that after it was all said and done I had spent eight years in the military and twenty-six years working for Gearhart, an International Oil Energy service company as a logging engineer. During that time I had covertly gathered information from our international customers from around the world for our government."

I didn’t bother telling her that I had been married for 24 of those years and divorced during that time. Or that I had two grown children with kids of their own. It wouldn’t have mattered much. My children had not had much to do with me since their mother and I divorced. I’ve been retired for two years. I’m fifty-six years old, and now I’ve gotten myself involved in something dangerous for no apparent reason other than to help a woman I hardly know just because she’s beautiful and sexy. I guess it doesn’t matter how old or intelligent you are. A beautiful, naked woman will make you do stupid things every time. That pretty much summed up my life story.

Angel was in deep thought; I’m not even sure she had been listening to me. I guess it really didn’t matter. When she noticed I had stopped talking she said, I don’t understand what’s going on, what my sister would be involved in that would have put her life in danger. I didn’t have an answer for her. The fact was I needed some answers myself. I told her we couldn’t go back to her place now or any place she frequented because we did not know what her sister may have been forced into telling before she died. As it was coming out of my mouth I knew I shouldn’t have said that. A terrified look came over Angel’s face and tears started running down her cheek again. She half whispered, her lips trembling, You don’t think she was tortured, do you? I tried to console her; I told her I didn’t think so, but in the back of my mind, I knew that was a possibility. To get her mind off that idea, I asked her to tell me a little about herself.

It took her a few minutes to compose herself, but finally she said she’d graduated from UTA (University of Texas at Arlington) but did not say what field her degree was in. She left home right after that and had not seen her parents since 1986. I didn’t ask why. I figured she’d tell me if she wanted me to know. She said she had never quite settled down and had had many jobs and lived in many places through the past twenty years. She had finally settled into the apartment we had just left and was working as a bookkeeper for a small brokerage firm the past year. My math was not very good, but I figured if she had graduated college when she was twenty-two or twenty-three and had been roaming the countryside for the past twenty years, she had to be about forty-three or forty-four years old, give or take a year or so. She never mentioned if she had been married or not, and I didn’t ask. She told me it had been a year since she had seen her sister, and that was just for an hour at the Greyhound bus station in downtown Fort Worth.

I asked her to tell me everything about the meeting with her sister at the bus station. She said she had received a phone call from her sister, asking her to meet her there. She was coming from Houston going to somewhere in North Texas. She wouldn’t tell her where. I asked her if the tone of their meeting was friendly, hostile, or indifferent. She said it had been good. They talked about old times and what they each had been doing since they last met. Her sister told her she had met and fallen in love with a man in Houston who lived in North Texas, and she was going there now to be with him. I asked again, Was there anything said or done by your sister that seemed strange or unusual to you at the time? She said no and then hesitated. She said her sister had made the comment, You don’t have to worry about me anymore, Sis. I’ll be okay. This man has promised me everything I want or need. When Angel asked her how, her sister did not elaborate, nor did she give the name of the man she was going to or what he did for a living. This, she remembered, had concerned her deeply, given her sister’s checkered past when it came to men.

After Angel had finished her story, we both looked down at the package. It had been lying between us in the front seat since we left her apartment. We looked at each other. I said, This is as good a place as any. Let’s open it. She nodded her approval. I started unwrapping the package. There were three layers of packing paper around it. When I got the last piece of paper off, we were looking at a beautiful, maple box with a hand-carved inlaid crest. The box was about twelve-by-twelve-by-six inches and weighed about 2 lbs. It had a small lock on the front of it. I asked Angel if she had ever seen it before. She said, Yes, it looks like the cigar box my father used when I was a child. We did not unlock the box. Instead, we drove off, leaving the packing paper and the remains of our lunch in a trash can at the Sonic.

As we drove off, I told her I needed to get some money. So I went to the closest Chase Bank, and withdrew $600. I asked Angel how she was for days off. She told me that after the man called, she asked her boss for the week off. When her boss had asked why, she told him family problems and left it at that. He reluctantly gave it to her. With that out of the way, I told her we were headed for Crowell, Texas. I figured Crowell was about a three-and-a-half-hour drive, and I was anxious to get there. She asked why we were going there. I told her that except for the letter and the box, we had no clues or idea of what was going on. We had to start somewhere, and that somewhere was where her sister and her boyfriend were last seen alive. She asked why I haven’t opened the box. I told her I didn’t want to open it where there were people. We would open it soon—maybe at the next stop we made. She turned and looked out the window in silence. We took Interstate 35 north to U.S. Highway 287 north. Just before we got to Wichita Falls, there was a roadside park. We stopped to stretch our legs. We were the only ones there, so I handed Angel the key and asked her to open the box. She did. She was silent for a long time, and then she looked at me with a confused expression.

I asked what was in it. She said there were three things: a small package wrapped in plastic and two envelopes wrapped in plastic. I asked her to open the small package first. She did. Inside was a Walther PPK .380 automatic pistol with two full clips. I told her to give them to me, and I put them in the center console. She opened the first envelope. In it was $5,500 dollars in denominations of fifties, twenties, and tens. She looked at me with a puzzled expression and said, I don’t understand. I told her, It looks like getaway money to me, and we may need it before this business is all said and done. Either your sister or her boyfriend was no fool. I asked her to put it back in the envelope and hand it to me. I then jammed it under the dash just behind the radio. She opened the last envelope. In it was a note with three words on it, Veronica knows all. I asked her if she knew what that meant. She shook her head no.

We drove in silence until I turned west on U.S. Highway 70 just past Vernon, Texas. Angel turned her whole body toward me, her eyes wide open and a big grin on her face. She said, "I think I know what the note means! When I was sixteen, my grandparents (my father’s parents) lived in a house on Chestnut Street just off 28th street on the north side of Fort Worth. They had a dog, a Dalmatian named Veronica. When she died, my sister and I buried her in a wooden box by a cedar tree on the south