The Three Stories

By W. R. Hagen

THE THREE STORIES

The Arch

A huge metal arch is rumored to be on a primitive, palm island. Can the explorers locate it? The hostile natives could not have built such a thing. Who did and why?

The Chandler Murder Case

A small-town police chief must solve multiple murders. Who murdered three of the ailing general’s servants, and why?

Options:

An FBI agent lands on New Earth to investigate the cause of a 16-year war with humanoid aliens & rampant corruption. Can he end the war & corruption? Should he?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669826194

W. R. Hagen

W. R. “Bill” Hagen is the father of four. He and wife, Donna, live in the Texas Hill Country, near Austin. When not traveling (enthusiastically), playing golf (poorly), or visiting children (happily), Bill enjoys writing. He is the author of Under the Blue Sun and Alien Future: The Golden Path. Watch for his anthology of short stories, My Favorite Shorts. Interests include technology, history, and human behavior.

Book preview

The Arch

OUR CAST

Another Island

O lof Hansen, a professor of archeology, on summer vacation, sailed his sixty-five-foot, ocean-going sloop toward yet another remote, Pacific palm island. He had visited a dozen such islands during the last six weeks, in search of an arch reported to be located on a primitive island. After sailing his sloop singlehandedly for over six hours, he was weary, stiff, and pleased to finally see his destination.

He sailed to the southside of the island, where his chart indicated a sheltered bay. In the bay, three small sloops were anchored near the shore, and a single, long dock jutted from the beach into deep water. Sitting on his special, raised, padded seat behind the helm, he pressed a button on his control panel to lower the main sail. He then pressed a second button to lower the two jibs. As the handsome sloop began to slow, he pressed a third button to start the small gasoline motor. Olof precisely steered toward the end of the dock, expertly reversed his motor at the proper time, and came to rest next to the dock. Stiffly rising, he looped lines over two separate pillars and moored his boat firmly to the dock.

He had sat for many long hours and gratefully stretched his tired muscles. Wearily, Olof slowly climbed over the port side to the dock and walked slowly along the long wooden dock. He could see the thatched roof of a palapa behind a group of coconut palms. According to his chart, that palapa was Lester’s Watering Hole, a small, open-air bar and grill. According to the chart, Lester’s was the only business on this volcanic island.

The sun, high in the cloudless sky, shone hot, but the sea breeze compensated. Despite the breeze, Hansen, five feet nine and two hundred fifty pounds. was sweating.

As the deeply tanned Hansen entered Lester’s, the thin, blue eyed, balding bartender, wearing a clean, but seriously wrinkled white shirt and matching pants, cried, Welcomes sailor. I is Lester. What can I gets fer ya?

Greetings, landlord, I am Professor Hansen. I’ll have a cold beer if you please.

How’s about a coconut martini, the specialty a the house?

"This island has an abundance of the Cocos Nucifera, that is, the Coconut Palm. I’m sure your elixir is excellent, however, good sir, I am driving, so to speak. I’ll merely have a cold beer.

Cold beers costs a extra fifty cents. Lester watched his guest smile good naturedly and nod, so Lester pulled a beer from a cooler containing precious ice, opened it, and placed it on the bamboo bar.

As he continued to the bar, Professor Hansen scanned the palapa. The circular bar sat directly under the center of the palm-thatched roof, the underside of which was covered with tiny national flags from all over the world. About a dozen small weathered, bamboo tables were scattered around the bar, most in the shade of the roof. There were only three other customers, each sitting at a different table, each in the shade. They looked to Hanson like vacationing sailors.

Landlord, may I trouble you for a glass?

The smiling bartender said, That is a extra quarter.

Hansen handed the man his money and asked, May I avail myself of a table or will that also cost extra?

No extra charge, said the constantly smiling bartender.

As Professor Hansen poured his beer slowly down the side of the nearly clean glass, he asked, Landlord, have you ever heard of a giant, metal arch located somewhere in the interior of this island?

Lester’s smile was replaced with a thoughtful look. Scratching his head, he said, Can’t says I has. Why?

A legend describes a so-called magical arch on one of the many islands in this archipelago. I give no credence to a magical arch, said the professor. But I am an archeologist, and a manmade arch on a primitive site would be worth studying. The edifice is rumored to be near the island’s center.

Lester said seriously, I doesn’t knows about no arch, but the center a this here island has a tribe a bloodthirsty heathen. I wouldn’t goes to the center a this island if they was a mountain a gold there. Folks what runs into them savages doesn’t always comes back.

As the professor carried his beer to a table, he said, Most discouraging. He thought, Well, another dead-end. There are only six more islands in this archipelago. It’s still early, I’ll sail to the next island after I rest a bit in the shade.

A tall man, one of the three men in the palapa, had listened with interest to the exchange between Lester and the professor. He thought, Finally, a potential client.

Minutes later, a disappointed Hansen left the palapa. The tall man casually followed him but made no attempt to talk to the professor until they were both out of sight of the bartender.

Professor, Sir, wait up.

Hansen stopped and turned to face the tall stranger. Yes, what is it?

The ruggedly handsome man was deeply tanned and stood ramrod straight. He had lean muscles and his short hair was graying at the temples. He stopped a yard from Hansen and looked down on the shorter man.

Sir, what would it be worth, if I could tell you which island held the arch?

Hanson wondered if he were about to be scammed. He said suspiciously, Have you seen it?

No, Sir, but I know these islands. Most folks out here know about the arch but pretend they don’t. Lester, the barman knows, but is afraid to say so.

Afraid? asked Hanson.

Speaking clearly and with confidence, the stranger replied, Sir, the legends say those who talk about the arch have a habit of disappearing.

Eyebrows knotted, Hanson asked, Do you believe that?

Sir. I have no reason not to believe.

Hansen led the man to his handsome sloop. Once on board, Hansen pointed to a red, cushioned seat and the man sat. The boat was gently rocking in the sheltered cove, which was pleasant and relaxing. Hansen went below and returned with two cold beers.

The two men sat in silence on the deck sipping cold beer.

The stranger remained silent as he thought, This is the part of my business that I dislike most. I have to convince this guy to part with a lot of money.

Hansen broke the silence. Who are you?

Sir, I’m Colonel Jack Stoner.

Colonel?

Retired soldier of fortune.

Hanson thought, A professional soldier? Well, he is obviously fit, and he looks tough. He might be what he claims. Could you tell me where the arch is located?

I’d have to be paid.

Hanson wondered again if he were about to be scammed. Could you personally lead me to it?

The colonel was pleased to see deep interest in Hansen. He looked at Hansen’s handsome and expensive boat. Hansen was fat, but apparently an experienced sailor, confident enough to sail his boat alone. Also, Hansen looked like money. He wore expensive yachting clothes, was well groomed, and wore a wide gold wedding ring inset with what appeared to be emeralds.

The colonel said, Yes, if we prepare properly?

Hanson asked, What does that mean?

The colonel thought, I need to start slowly and build his interest. He said, We need supplies, including food and weapons, and we need at least five experienced men trained in automatic weapons and jungle combat.

You make it sound expensive and dangerous.

It will be both. The colonel saw concern and doubt on Hansen’s pudgy face. He decided Hansen needed a push, so, he said, Here is something for free: the arch is on this island. Colonel Jack watched Hansen smile in delight.

Hansen studied the calm face of the colonel. How do you know?

I know. However, Lester was correct about the natives. They make it dangerous. I figure the equipment and supplies for this expedition will cost $20,000 minimum.

That’s a lot of money. I merely want to study the arch. I can’t justify that kind of expense.

Colonel Jack Stoner thought, Well, here we go. He smiled a crooked smile. Sir, news travels fast in these islands. In the past six weeks, you’ve been to a dozen islands, before anchoring here. On each island, you asked about the arch. Even though you’ve been warned that searchers do not always return, you still want to study the arch. You’re sailing a top-of-the-line sloop, which you own, not rent.

That may be, but $20,000? There must be others who would guide me for less?

Sir, you might find some desperate numbskull who will agree to lead you in, but one, you will not reach the arch and two, you will never be seen again.

The colonel watched Hansen’s forehead wrinkle in thought.

Sir, I happen to know you brought a fortune in camera equipment. Smart money says you think pictures of the arch are valuable, or you believe a video documentary of your adventure will bring big bucks. Either way you cut it, $20,000 is chicken feed.

Professor Hansen thought, This guy is not just some common beach bum. What’s in this for you?

Professor, Sir, I’m an unemployed soldier of fortune, a profession I’ve pursued for twenty-two years. During my last contract, I was a colonel responsible for a combat battalion. I’m now forty-two years old and have eight hundred dollars to my name. In short, I’m essentially broke and getting too old for that kind of life. I want one last big score before I hang up my spurs.

A big score? said Hanson suspiciously. So, Jack Stoner, what do you expect to receive from me?

I want one million dollars, in cash.

The professor’s eyebrows arched in surprise, and he stared at Colonel Jack trying to determine if he were joking. Remaining outwardly calm, Hanson said, So far, you have me spending $1,020,000. I assume your five men won’t work for free, so what is my real total?

Two million.

Professor Hansen’s large belly shook as he silently laughed. He said, I can’t afford two million. My documentary might bring in half of that, but I’d have to give it all to you, then I’d still have to come up with the second million. I don’t even know for sure that I’ll even see the arch.

Jack stoner reached inside his shirt and removed a thick piece of folded white paper. He unfolded the paper and held it so the professor could see it. It was an aerial photograph of this island, showing Lester’s Watering Hole, the palm forests, a stream, and, in the center of the island, on the summit of a hill, a clearing with a huge arch. The detail in the picture was excellent.

Hansen’s jaw dropped and his eyes grew big. He looked from the picture to the Colonel’s calm face. Where did you get that?

The CIA was helping our side during my last contract. This satellite picture was accidently included in a group of pictures they provided. I removed it from the pile. When my contract ended, I spent all the money from that contract and a year of my life searching three oceans for this island.

Both men stared silently at the picture for many heartbeats.

Professor, note that the arch is obviously made of polished metal. It sits in the center of a perfect circle of white sand. Now, look closely at the arch. What do you see?

The amazed Hansen said, By Jove, within the arch is a blurry field. It could be some kind of energy field.

Exactly. And it’s unlikely the primitive natives of this island constructed such an arch. If that were someone’s military construct, I think they would have camouflaged it.

By Jove, then who built it?

This could be something of extraterrestrial origin.

Professor Hansen shook his head. Well, I doubt that, but someone with a lot of money built it. But how long ago, and for what purpose?

Colonel Jack Stoner did not answer the rhetorical questions.

Okay Jack. Since you put your cards on the table, I’ll show you mine.

Hansen went below deck and returned with two more beers and a drawing, which he handed to the colonel.

Colonel Jack stared at the picture, then looked up at the professor. That looks like a drawing of the arch, made at ground-level.

Yes, it certainly does. One of the groups that went into the interior but did not return, apparently transmitted this drawing to someone. How I acquired the drawing will remain my expensive secret. That your photograph proves the drawing is accurate, is all the evidence I need. I will fund an expedition. . . . However, we need to talk.

The professor and Stoner bartered for another thirty minutes. In the end, Stoner agreed to a total price of one million dollars for himself, his men, and the supplies. The colonel feigned disappointment, but he could not completely suppress a smile. He thought, Finally, someone with money and spirit. This will be one more great adventure. Jack Stoner lived for adventure. He would rather die during an exciting adventure, than suffer the boredom offered by the life lived by most men. He knew, deep down, he would eventually die with his boots on.

Preparations

F ive full months were required to plan and organize the expedition. Stoner ordered, and Hanson paid for, supplies, and Stoner contacted, with some difficulty, five men and arranged to transport them to the island. Excited by everything, Hanson hired a helicopter from a larger island to search for the arch. However, due to the thick canopy, the helicopter found nothing useful. Clearly, the CIA satellite picture showed more useful information, than the helicopter had found.

It was odd that the CIA picture showed the arch with no canopy, because the helicopter saw only unbroken canopy. Why the difference? The colonel and the professor were more determined than ever to find the arch and discover the truth. However, it was also clear there was risk. The search would not be easy.

Stoner and Hansen only argued about one thing. Hansen insisted on being part of the expedition. Stoner was against it. Professor, I can take photographs and videos. It isn’t necessary for you to be there in person. And, no offense intended, but your age and … er … your physical condition make you a liability, which will put everyone’s life at risk, including your own,

It’s my money and besides, I am an archeologist. I will be invaluable when it comes to analyzing the arch. Don’t forget, I am to be the star of our video.

Money talks, so Hansen was going.

The five men Col. Stoner hired arrived together by boat late one afternoon. Stoner and Hanson were waiting for them. The smiling men each carried a duffle bag as they came down the long dock.

Stoner said, These men are the cream of the crop.

Hanson thought, They look more like the cream of the crud. Stoner recruited these men? They do not look like soldiers; they look like the types who hang out at some dive shooting pool. The black guy looks tough. The other four couldn’t scare my mother. I paid fifty thousand a piece for these guys?

The colonel quickly introduced everyone, then led the way to Hanson’s sloop. The seven men sat on the gently rocking deck and the professor supplied each with a cold beer.

As Hanson studied the men, his opinion was beginning to change. The five arrivals were former compatriots of the colonel, and each had acquired at least one major scar during their years as a soldier. They had another significant trait in common: each had survived decades of combat.

Colonel Jack Stoner introduced Professor Hansen to the men, as the one financing the expedition. The men each nodded respectfully to Hanson.

The colonel then formerly introduced each man to Hanson. He pointed at the black man and said, This is Sgt. ‘Black George’ Katumbi, from the Congo. We used to have two Georges, so we called one, White George, and the other, Black George. The name stuck. He is a fearless expert at hand-to-hand combat. Jack turned to Hansen, He once saved my life. I trust him completely.

Black George said, Colonel, you saved my life more than once.

The colonel smiled at his friend.

Hansen studied the large, lean black man with a shaved head. He thought, I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley.

The second man is Sgt. Danny Two-Moons. He’s a full-blooded Comanche, an excellent tracker, a marksman, and he can run all day. Stoner whispered to Hanson, That calm, hairless face makes him look harmless but what he can do with a knife is truly . . . ah, amazing.

Well, thought Hansen, the black braided hair makes him look like he just walked out of a teepee.

The third man is Sgt. Edward ‘Fast Eddy’ Harper from somewhere in North America. Eddy can run full speed through the thickest forest and climb trees like a squirrel. He knows how to use all types of weapons.

Hansen thought, Eddy looks like a squirrel with that narrow face and darting black eyes. His hair style is truly squirrely: long on top, shaved sides, exposing lightning bolt tattoos. He looks like a carnival freak.

The fourth man is Capt. Tim Torino. He is exceptionally quick-witted and good at strategy. He is second in command after me.

Hansen whispered, You should call him Tiny Tim.

The colonel whispered back, Audie Murphy, the most highly decorated soldier of World War II, weighed one hundred twelve pounds. Don’t let Tim’s size fool you.

Hansen whispered, He looks like an average Joe, someone you’d see bagging groceries.

Still whispering, Jack said, Of all these guys, the last one I’d want hunting me would be Tim; he’s smart, relentless, and a deadly shot with a gun or a bow, even a slingshot.

Hansen thought, There is intelligence in those eyes and a wary intensity.

The fifth man is Sgt. Jeff ‘C4’ Jones, he’s an explosives expert. He can set a charge to blow out a match, level a building, or anything in between. Colonel Jack whispered, He’s also a smart-ass.

Hansen said, He looks like—

Yeah, said Colonel Jack aloud, C4 looks like a young Ernest Borgnine, don’t you, Jeff?

C4 said proudly, A handsome Borgnine.

The five mercenaries had each worked with the colonel on previous contracts. They trusted and respected him. Equally important, he offered them a lot of money. They knew that meant there would be high risk. Each eyed the chubby, aging sponsor of this mission with some trepidation. They knew the professor would be a liability, not an asset.

The colonel had warned these men, The mission has risks. One, due to the number of kilometers we must travel in hostile territory, we can each carry only two-thousand rounds of ammo. Two, the mission will take two weeks, maybe more, but we will carry only one week of food. We’ll have to live off the land for the additional days. Three, the island and its natives are primitive. There are two groups of natives: one friendly, one hostile. The arch is in the hostile’s territory. Our mission is to locate a sophisticated artifact, so we may encounter unexpected technology. Four, our benefactor is an aging, overweight man who will accompany us. However, I will give you half your wages before you come, and you will not be required to risk your life to save our benefactor.

The five men came despite the warnings.

41316.png

That evening the seven members of the expedition met at Lester’s Watering Hole. They pulled several tables together and sat down.

The colonel said, We leave at sunrise. No one is to have more than three drinks. He looked straight at C4.

C4 said, Yeah, yeah. But since this is a suicide mission, what’s the difference?

Suicide mission? said the professor.

For the money you guys are paying, said C4, what else could it be. I already made a will and sent the money to my sister.

The colonel said calmly. C4, have you ever known me to sign up for a suicide mission? I’m going into the interior, just like everyone else. I intend to return, and I don’t intend to lose anyone at this table. He looked from man to man. They each held a thumb up, even C4.

As the first drink worked its magic, the conversation became lighter.

C4, who considered himself a lady’s man, asked, Will we meet any ladies on the mission?

Fast Eddy said, We may run into some females, but no ladies. Besides, you’re never fussy. The ones you hook up with are usually coyote ugly.

Coyote ugly? asked the professor.

Black George chuckled and said, That means they are truly ugly. After a night on the town, if you wake up next to one of them, you’d rather chew off your arm, than wake her.

C4 likes them ugly, said Fast Eddy. Most are two-baggers. That’s when they’re so ugly, you put two bags on their head for fear one will fall off.

You guys is jealous cause all the loving I get, said C4. He smiled proudly.

Last girl I saw you with, said Tim, was so ugly, she could make a train take a dirt road.

The professor smiled.

My problem is, said C4 seriously, I fall in love so easy.

Maybe you need glasses, said Eddy.

Danny Two Moons sat quietly with a faraway look in his eyes.

You doing okay, Danny? asked the observant colonel.

Yes, said Danny Two-Moons. I look forward to the mission. I love nature; living wild is satisfying. Society imposes unnatural desires and behaviors.

The professor said quietly to the colonel, He sounds like a neo-stoic.

The colonel replied, Danny is exceptionally deep.

Hey, Black George, said C4. Do you believe in God?

Which one? asked Black George.

There is only one, said Fast Eddy, It’s just that different folks use different names.

Hey, Tonto, said C4. Do you believe in the Great Spirit?

Tim said, God is in each of us.

Danny Two-Moons shrugged. Whether gods are inside humans or outside humans, they are the same.

Eyebrows raised, the professor looked at the colonel, who smiled and nodded.

Why are we drinking in this dump? said C4. Lester charges extra for everything.

This, said the colonel, is the best place on the island, since it’s the only place.

Gentlemen, said the professor. The drinks are on me.

C4 smiled and nodded in appreciation.

Fast Eddy said, I don’t judge a man by where he drinks, but by what he drinks.

Oh, hell, said Tim. It’s time to leave when Fast Eddy gets philosophical.

After the third drink, the group left Lester’s. Danny had not drunk anything but water, and C4 only had three drinks, but they were doubles.

As they walked back to the sloop, the professor asked the colonel, Do any of your men suffer from PTSD?

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? No.

But they’ve seen a lot of combat, how do you explain that?

In my experience, the only ones who get PTSD are the naïve who go somewhere horrible.

The professor looked up at the colonel through squinted eyes.

The Adventure Begins

T he seven men met at sunrise on the shore near Hansen’s sloop. They were used to rising early, as their profession demanded it. The Professor, an ex-Marine, also normally rose early.

The colonel did not allow emotion to show on his face, but he was excited, as always, at the start of a mission. He thought back to other adventures and recalled how they began and what they evolved into. During his last contract he had four hundred men whose mission was to search for and destroy guerrilla bands hiding in dense forest. This time, he had six men who needed to infiltrate a dense palm forest, inhabited by hostiles, to search for an artifact. It was ironic.

He was satisfied with his plan for reaching the arch, but aware that plans usually changed after the first shot was fired. Reworking plans to account for surprises was the exciting part for the colonel, and he believed he was good at it.

Professor Hansen watched the colonel carefully check each man’s equipment. Each man had a light machine gun, capable of firing fully automatic, a semiautomatic pistol, and a knife. All their weapons were identical, and both the pistols and machine guns were chambered for the same caliber, so only one caliber of ammunition was needed. However, they each carried their own favorite type of knife, and Captain Tim also carried a small crossbow and a dozen vicious-looking arrows.

The professor noted with amusement that Danny Two-Moons dressed like an Indian out of the old west. He wore moccasins, a breechcloth, and a headband, which contained two feathers, and his face was painted.

The other men each wore mesh camouflage shirts, and camouflage cargo shorts, whose pockets were bulging. Each man also had one of the professor’s tiny cameras fixed to their shirt just below their neck.

Each man was equipped with a backpack with clothes, shaving kit, medical kit, rope, a hooded raincoat, and seven days of food. Each also carried three pounds of C4’s C4, a plastic explosive and two-thousand rounds of ammunition. Each had a canteen.

Colonel, said the professor, Tim’s backpack is smaller than the others.

Tim is also smaller, so his clothes and kits are smaller. However, he carries the same amount of ammo and C4 as the rest. I am carrying your equipment, so you will be unburdened.

No, no, Colonel, I can carry my own pack.

Let’s see how you do today; maybe I’ll let you carry the pack tomorrow. He nodded politely to the professor, raised his voice, and said, Okay men, let’s get this show on the road.

For the first three hours the pace was unhurried, and the men talked and joked among themselves. However, the professor noticed that their eyes were alert and constantly, secretly, scanning the trees, high and low.

The seven men followed a well-worn trail that led to a native village, called Wambojon. The trail was covered by the same thick, palm canopy that covered the entire island.

The professor had initially listened with interest as the men talked, but the trek was tiring him, and he began to sweat heavily. Within an hour, the professor focused exclusively on putting one foot in front of the other. He frequently drank water to replace what he had sweated out. He thought about the forced marches of Marine bootcamp and shook his head at his current deteriorated physical condition. He wondered if he would survive this first day, much less the entire trek inland.

The observant colonel had closely watched the professor, and when it seemed the poor man could take no more, he called a halt. We’ll rest here a while. He watched the professor heavily drop to the ground and rest against a palm tree. The old man was quickly asleep.

41321.png

The professor woke with a start. He was lying on the ground with a blanket over him. He sat up and looked around, not knowing where he was. It was nearly pitch black, but the moon was throwing light on the trees, some of which made it through the thick canopy. He heard a voice.

Hello, Professor, how are you?

The professor immediately recognized the colonel’s familiar voice. Colonel, what…

We made camp. It’s about eleven at night.

Embarrassed, the professor said, Colonel, I’m sorry I fell asleep.

No problem. I anticipated this stop and planned around it. The men are out scrounging for food and water. Danny Two-Moons is scouting the village ahead. I plan to rest there tomorrow evening. Then we’ll decide what to do next. Here, have some food and water. He handed the professor a chicken breast and a cup of water.

Wambojon Village

I n late morning, after a tiny breakfast, the seven adventurers leisurely walked toward the native village. In a mere three hours, they arrived at the Wambojon village, located on the nearside of a wide, slow-moving river. There was the sound of playing children and the strong, pleasant odor of flowers. About forty-five or fifty thatched huts, each with an opening on the eastside, were grouped