Who Killed Ben?

By Annagail Lynes

Ben, the husband of Colonel Jessa Strazzer, commander of the USS Liberty, a space vessel on the frontlines of the Freedom Alliance-Crimson Fleet war, has been killed. His last wish was for Jessa and her Intergalactic Intelligence Bureau partner Nate to solve his murder. What did Ben overhear? What plot did Ben try to stop that got him killed? Was his IIB partner a double agent as he suspected? Read the adventures of Jaguar & Peacock in this introductory novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781387789498

Book preview

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CHAPTER ONE

Ben, I'm pregnant, I told my husband, Benjamin Masters, who sat in the driver's seat of our state-of-the-art mini-van. The way it smoothly guided us through the traffic that we faced traveling back to Andrews Air Force Base, in Washington, D.C., amazed me. Its internal navigational system pinpointed every troublesome spot and displayed an alternate route.  When I announced I was pregnant with our first child, Ben insisted that we buy a practical, family vehicle. I had to admit that it came in handy when I needed to move a piece of furniture or chauffeur diplomats around Washington, D.C., but it wasn't my Porsche. There was just something about being behind the wheel of my Porsche that made me feel alive.

I moved closer to him, laying my head on his broad shoulder.

He kissed the top of my head. Oh Angel! This one's a boy! I just know it! What do you think about the name Joshua?

Since the day I agreed to marry Ben, he called me his Angel sent from up above. He even wrote a song for me entitled, From Up Above, that he recorded with his band, the Space Vigilantes. The song spent ten weeks at the top of the local music charts.  Even in the dimness of the streetlights, I could see his cappuccino-colored eyes lighting up with a brightness that would have outshone the sun.

Joshua Benjamin Masters it is, I agreed, smiling broadly. I love you.

I love you too.

Just then, a bright light from an oncoming car blinded my eyes. Shielding them with my hand, I looked up at the road. A car barreled through the intersection, then sped up and made a beeline for our car. Ben, watch out! I heard a deafening crash as metal slammed against metal.  A sound that echoed in my ears long after the event.  Thrown forward, I felt my body sail through the window shield like a missile flying through a war-torn sky. Pieces of glass erupted over the hood of the car and on the street below. I landed face down a few feet away from the vehicle, lying in a bed of jagged glass. Even though every bone and muscle in my body ached, I lifted my head to look back at the mini-van. I saw Ben's dark head slumped over the steering wheel. When I heard the piercing cry of the sirens seeking us out, I collapsed back onto the asphalt. At that moment, everything went black.

SIX MONTHS LATER

We need your help, Lieutenant General Preston Graham said. He and another man greeted me as I opened the door of my Base house. Graham stood on the left. His dark blue dress, button-down, uniform announced his visit as business, rather than pleasure. His medals decorated the left side of his jacket while his name plate and a pocket hung on the right. The belt around his waist made him appear as though he had lost several pounds. I noticed the three silver stars pinned to his lapel. He earned another star. Good for him. With his hat in his hand, he left his bald head unprotected from the sweltering rays of the Washington, D.C. sun in the springtime.

Next to him, stood Major Nathaniel Jaguar Masters. By the way Nate loosened his collar and opened the first button of his uniform, he appeared uncomfortable. I recalled him looking that way at many Embassy parties, diplomatic functions, weddings, funerals. Basically, anytime his superiors required him to wear formal clothing.

Behind the two men, a row of houses, all identical in shape and size, stood. They looked like a row of soldiers falling in for inspection. The yards in front of the houses were green and meticulous. Outside, no children played. No one rode their bikes. No one watered their lawns. It appeared as dead as a cemetery when the clock struck midnight and just as eerie.

Unlike Nate, I was a perfect soldier. I required excellence both of myself and everyone around me. My dark blue dress, button-down uniform and my flight coveralls never saw a wrinkle nor did the other uniforms that stood at attention in my closet. My chestnut brown hair, which I wore neatly pulled back into a ponytail, wouldn't dare move out of place without my permission. I even spit-shined my boots every morning.  Only today, just like every day for the last six months, as I donned Woodland-camouflaged fatigues instead of my flight coveralls, I felt a dull, empty ache gnawing at my soul. I wanted to go back to work, to command a StarVessel again, to catch the bad guys, to wipe out a little more evil from this world. I stood with my back against the door; my arms folded. My cane hung on the doorknob. Without saying a word, I just watched them. If I stared at them long enough, I could usually get them to let me in on their plan. Alone, I could have made either of them crack in less than ten minutes. Together, though, the task became more difficult, but still possible.

We need you to come back to work, Nate clarified, tilting his head to one side and pressing his eyebrows together.

I graduated from the Intergalactic Intelligence Bureau Training Program, an intelligence organization that solve crimes in space, twelve years ago. After Nate's first partner died, General Graham assigned me to Nate.  We'd become each other's best friend through the bad times, the good times and the worst times. He had been my constant support. He'd been my rock. What would I have done if Nate hadn't been by my side these last six months? Being Nate's partner, I could tell the severity of a situation just by looking at his face. And this situation seemed to be very grave.

Why didn't you say so, I asked, motioning them to come inside. I grabbed my cane, leaning on it. After waiting for them to step into the house, I locked the door and followed them. If you'll join me in the kitchen, Joey just made some fresh lemonade, and I believe there is some leftover cake from Reggie's slumber party last night, I noted.

I overheard Nate whisper to the General, Don't worry, Peacock didn't make it. My sister Joey did.

I heard that, I yelled, slightly smiling to myself. I loved hearing Nate call me by my codename–Peacock–again. It suggested that the time had come for me to go back to work.  He and I had been partnered so long that we referred to each other by our codenames.  Mine—Peacock.  His—Jaguar. When I hobbled into the kitchen, I found Nate reaching into the cupboard to pull down three glasses. He already set the dessert plates on the counter. He spent a lot of time here since the accident. He probably knew his way around my kitchen better than I did. Then again, the extent of my culinary skills consisted exclusively of spaghetti and meatballs and sandwiches. I walked over to the refrigerator.

Nate scolded me, you just sit. I'll get everything.

I pulled out a chair. Before I sat, I smoothed out the wrinkles in my Woodland-camouflaged fatigues. Then I laid my cane on the floor beside me. Intertwining my fingers and resting my elbows on the round table, I stared straight at General Graham. I demanded, What is this all about?

Graham licked his lips once before blurting out in a very steady voice, We declared war on the Crimson Fleet last night, and we need our best StarVessel commander to lead the fight. He tried to avoid my glance. A gesture he used when he wanted to hide something from me. He called me his best StarVessel commander. He only did that when he desperately needed me to assist Nate in solving a case that suddenly became either messy or urgently important. And I suspected this case might be both.

In 2100, with more SpaceVessels exploring space, Earth's Armed Services joined forces to form the Freedom Alliance. Each branch functioned on its own as it always had. Only now they came under the rules and regulations created by the Freedom Alliance. Now, fifty-one years later, some members didn't agree with the Freedom Alliance's rules and actions any longer and broke away to form the Crimson Fleet. The Crimson Fleet wanted to establish a totalitarianism one-world government on Earth and all its colonies on other planets. When the Freedom Alliance tried to stop them, the people of Earth and its colonies took sides.

Nate approached the table, passing around the glasses of lemonade and slices of sour cream pound cake. A fork accompanied each slice. Just before Nate sat down in an empty chair, he and the General exchanged a look. A dark, troubled look. These two were definitely covering up something! And I intended to find out what.

"Okay, that's the mission that you want Colonel Jessa Strazzer to go on, I prompted, slicing a piece of the cake off with my fork. I put it to my lips, but before eating it, I gazed at the General. What's the assignment you have for Federal Agent Peacock Strazzer?"

Graham took a sip of his lemonade and replaced it on the table before answering, Every time we plan a move, Peacock, the Crimson Fleet is one step ahead of us.

You suspect a leak, I observed, rubbed my left pant leg and recoiled in pain. I then added, And you want me to plug it up.

Worse than that, we suspect that the Crimson Fleet is working on a secret weapon, Graham reported. He stroked his chin and prodded a little too abruptly, "So are you going to command the Liberty, Peacock? Or do I get someone else?"

I held up my hand. Now, when have I ever turned down a chance to go to work, I asked him while cutting another piece of my cake. I waved my fork from Graham to Nate and back again. "I'm presuming, that you have transferred all your suspects to the Liberty."

The suspects are all senior staff members. Your first officer is Rochelle Polk. Head of Engineering is Annie Ryan. Head of Sciences is Elizabeth Meadows. Head of Communications is Phillip Genova, Graham confided, counting the names off on his fingers.

I set down my fork and leaned back in my chair. Jag is obviously Head of Security. And, we both know he is no traitor. I closed my eyes briefly and took a deep breath. You didn't mention my Head of Medicine. I hope he specializes in physical therapy, I declared, deliberately changing the subject. Even at a distance, I detected the strong fragrance of Graham's cologne that smelled like a combination of amber, cedar and oak, like going into the wood section of a home improvement store. A smell that somehow put me at ease.

He's the best, and he's not on the suspect list, Graham remarked, then he chewed on his lip. He's an android, Peacock. He snapped his fingers repeatedly to remember the doctor's name. Doctor Lex Manning.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. An android?

He has been through medical school and the Academy. He did his residency at one of the Freedom Alliance Hospitals.

But this is the first time he will be on a StarVessel, I concluded, digging my nails into the palm of my hand. He better have one magnificent bedside manner, I noted.

Then your leg still hurts, Graham surmised.

I thank God that I can feel my legs at all, I clarified, feeling the need to explain. "After months of not knowing whether I'd walk again, a