The Border Agent Strikes

By Dr. Richard A. Olson

Meet Scott Lund, US Border Patrol agent, the hero and hope of the future. Men want to be like him, women want to be with him, and children look up to and admire him.

In this first amazing super adventure, it's man versus an army with the president's life at stake.

In this thriller full of suspense and intrigue, Lund is on what should had been a routine patrol, but he witnesses his partner's death. Depressed, battered, and broken, he takes leave to regroup. While on vacation, Scott rescues a drowning boy and is befriended by the boy's Black family.

Scott finally accepts the family's invitation and attends a megachurch that is led by a Hispanic pastor. The president of the United States is scheduled to speak to the congregation. An Asian army invades the church to capture the president. Scott is tossed into this action-adventure against an evil dragon colonel. Scott rescues a mysterious beautiful woman who accompanies him throughout this wild roller-coaster ride.

See Lund as he rises and grows into a true leader fighting for victory against death and defeat!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hawes & Jenkins Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781637841709

Book preview

cover.jpg

The Border Agent Strikes

Dr. Richard A. Olson

ISBN 978-1-63784-168-6 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63784-170-9 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Dr. Richard A. Olson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Hawes & Jenkins Publishing

16427 N Scottsdale Road Suite 410

Scottsdale, AZ 85254

www.hawesjenkins.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Gambit: The Bullet

Part 1

The Alarm Clock

The Rescue

The Family

The Dream

The Dinner

The Rose

The Cruise

The Coast Guard

The California Girl

The French Braid

The Codfather

The Sandcastle

The Dojo

The Range

The Invitation

Part 2

The Alarm Clock Part 2

The Reverse

The Knitting Needles

The Blast

The Surprise

The Closet

The Cutlery

The Sanctum

The Hall from Hell

The Splash

The Calvary

The Knock

The Meeting

The Other Door

The Church Parking Lot

Epilogue

About the Author

Gambit: The Bullet

It seemed like any other ordinary night, if you ever have an ordinary night on the US-Mexico border. Sure, it was hot and humid, but there was a certain stale presence in the air. It seemed to choke you. The breaths of air were heavy and foul. The moon was a half disc, angry and shimmering brightly, rising slowly in the sky. Its rays were reflecting off the windshield of our Hummer. My partner Mike Renny and I, Scott Lund, were United States Border Patrol agents. We were on a routine border patrol, we thought, and then it happened.

A shot! Then there was a crash of glass. They say you never hear the bullet that gets you. Well, somebody did. I was standing, looking at the moon, when I heard the shot. I quickly turned to the Hummer. I saw a hole and spiderweb in the windshield, but it was too late. My partner was already dying. I raced to the Hummer and peered through the windshield. A small blotch of blood was already forming from his throat. Then it grew and grew. The blood started running down his neck. It became a drizzle, turned into a stream, then quickly transformed into a river. His life was pouring out of him.

Then Mike was gone…

I was reacting before I knew it. It's amazing how fast reflexes can kick in. I was on the ground rolling under the Hummer. My M4A1 was pointed and ready. But at what? Inky blackness was all I could see. Silence…then another gunshot. The dry ground in front of my face shattered violently. Dirt and dust blasted into my face and eyes. Great, now I really couldn't see anything. All I could do was keep rolling under the Hummer.

Regaining my senses quickly, I was spitting dirt out of my mouth and wiping grime out of my eyes. I rolled to the other side of the vehicle. I was alert and ready for action. This time, I saw the flash. I reacted. Perhaps it was instinct or maybe even luck, I fired. A dim shadow of a figure fell onto the ground. Were there more, and if so, how many? Where was my backup? I knew that checking on my partner was useless, but I still had to look. His body lay bloody, still, and silent. I tried to fight off any emotions. Maybe I could cry later…much later.

Then all hell broke loose!

Ping, ping, ping. There were numerous shots, too many to count. Suddenly I heard the reassuring bull sound of a Heckler & Koch UMP, a .40-caliber submachine gun. Hey, not all good guys were dead yet. A vehicle rumbled up next to me.

A rough voice shouted, Get in now!

I did not need to be told twice. Now the bullets were really flying and guns flashing. It seemed the night had truly exploded into madness. We had stumbled into a viper's nest of drug traffickers. We were hopelessly outnumbered. Three of us were against an unknown number of bad guys, minus the one I shot.

Hang tight! yelled the driver, Gus, as the Hummer surged forward.

But forward to where? The tires chirped, and the motor roared, gears ground. I held on for dear life. The ground seemed to have a million bumps and ruts; Gus wasn't missing any of them. I felt my teeth chatter and sharply click a couple of times. Hopefully, there were no broken ones. I didn't need a dentist's bill either. Tom was leaning out the window, his UMP chattering away. Return shots were hitting the Hummer. The windshield was looking like a spider's nest, cracked and webbed. None of the shots were fatal, at least not to us yet.

Then I saw their vehicle, a large dilapidated truck. It was brownish gray with a weathered canvas-covered bed. It could have been any ordinary truck, but it wasn't. It was a truck from hell! A truck used for a mission of evil. A mission we did not fully understand at the moment. Several figures standing around it were shouting and waving while others were firing at us. Flashes in the darkness of the night revealed shadowy silhouettes and their positions. This was our chance. I opened fire while Tom was reloading. Another figure dropped to the ground rolling, withering in pain and agony. Then it was still…

Gus somehow kept the Hummer surging forward. The vehicle was shaking, rolling, and bucking toward the truck.

Ping, ping, ping, more gunshots.

Flashes of death kept up a relentless pace on the Hummer. Something had to give. By now, Tom's UMP was roaring a battle cry once again. Another figure dropped; Tom was on a roll also. Now we were close enough to see them more clearly. But they could also see us more clearly. The sky was lit up like a lightning storm. The gunshots were the thunder. Another shot, and this one was fatal! Gus's body kicked in death, and his head slumped over the wheel. His dying body convulsed and kicked again, then lurched forward against the horn. The pressure of his body weight caused a continual honking blare.

Then the Hummer started careening and rocking back and forth. Our senses were reeling from the sound of the horn, from the shaking and bouncing of the vehicle. The next several seconds dragged on like a short eternity. Then I snapped out of it. I leaned forward, trying to grasp at the wheel, which was not easy with a body slumped between me and my goal. The gunfire never seemed to stop. The speed of the vehicle did not help either as I was clutching, grabbing, and pulling at Gus's inert body. He seemed to weigh a ton. Gus was almost impossible to move. I was quite strong and worked out a lot. I gave it my all. Finally, I tore the wheel out of my poor departed colleague's hands, opened the Hummer's door, and I shoved for all I was worth. My face grimaced as the body hit the ground and thumped away.

Finally, the wheel was in my firm grasp. It was mine! I grasped the wheel like my life depended on it, which it did. But now what? Should I urge the Hummer forward or turn away to safety? Well, I was taught to never turn back, and Tom had just slipped in another ammo clip. Forward we went, blazing into chaos. There appeared to be fewer flashes in the night. Apparently, Tom's UMP had been taking its death toll.

Now there were only a few hundred meters between us and the truck. Scant moments to decide on a plan. Ahead we charged. The road seemed to get angry; it got bumpier and bumpier. The Hummer was shaking more so, and violently. Thinking the world was going to explode, I stomped on the brakes. It threw the Hummer into a sideways skid. It almost tossed Tom out of the vehicle. Tom grabbed the windshield trim, hanging on for his dear life! The right front tire exploded with a loud whooshing sound of air. Then there was a repeated flapping of the tire hitting the road. The rim was scraping the ground. I gripped the wheel harder, if that was humanly possible. My knuckles were turning a ghastly white. The Hummer grounded to a screeching halt.

The halt made it seem like time had stood still. Tom was in instant action, already leaping out of the vehicle, then dashing to my side of the Hummer to take cover. I quickly grabbed a weapon and leaped out also. Hitting the deck once again, I was rolling around in the dirt, dust flying everywhere. My dry-cleaning bill was going to be outrageous this month. I leaped to my feet upright, quickly leaning against the vehicle. My lungs were heaving. I was regaining my breath. Ready to fight!

Tom gasped out, What are we going to do?

I yelled, pointing my gun in the air, I'm not prepared to die!

Only you would say that! Tom answered back.

It's hard to believe, but we both let out a laugh. Then reality quickly kicked back in. I leaned forward, compressing my body, presenting as small a target as possible. It was difficult to discern how many figures were out there. Another gun flash, and a ping slammed against the fender of the vehicle or what was left of the Hummer. Then several chunks of ground started exploding, rocks, dust, and pebbles scattering amok.

We need to move quickly before they pick us off, or we're dead meat, Tom said. Thinking quickly, he said, Does the radio work or your mic? Mine is on the fritz.

We obviously needed backup and now. It was a matter of life and death, our death! Tom leaped into the remains of the Hummer. His hands started fiddling around with the controls. I started systematically firing my gun at the flashes, hoping for the best. Another dark shadow tumbled to the ground. It was hard not to say Yeah!

The gunfire rotated in a grid pattern toward the truck in an ever-tightening circle. I could see Tom working furiously on the radio. His voice was mumbling something under his breath. I quickly reloaded the M4A1 and paused.

We need to move out now! I bellowed.

I saw Tom was still bent over the radio. It was hard to know what was going on. Was the radio working? Could we get backup? I had to deal in the now. I picked out another gun flash and fired several times in what seemed like a blink of an eye. Another shadowy figure went down? I could not tell for sure this time. Tom needed to hurry up. I didn't know how long we could last. Talk about suspense, but somehow, I was holding up fine.

Finally, Tom yelled, I think so.

I think so what? I thought.

Tom scampered out of the vehicle, landing on the ground in a crouched position. Another few chunks of ground exploded within a meter of my feet. This was getting old fast. Staying here was not going to last long. If this was a John Wayne movie, he would charge the bad guys and get away with it. Well, what the hell, I'm not John Wayne, but I am a highly trained agent, a member of BORTAC or Border Patrol Tactical Unit, and we don't mess around.

I cried out, Let's take them down. Was it a statement, or was it just words of hope?

Tom and I gave each other the look. Let's rock! We checked our weapons, nodding grimly. We knew what to do. Tom sprinted to the left and I to the right. The fight was on!

The night was exploding with flashes; it looked like a firework display. I heard a thud, and I felt a hammer-like fist hit my chest. I've been shot! My body quacked backward. I stabilized myself. Thank God we were wearing chest plate armor and ballistic helmets. With the adrenaline flowing, the shot didn't slow me down at all. In fact, now I was determined not to stop. I quickly glanced to my left. Tom had dropped to his knee. Pointing at the shadows, he fired twice. Another figure of a shadow dropped; I was so close that his death-rattle moan could be heard as the figure stilled…

We were close now to the truck. I could see the mud-stained license plates. I sighted a silhouette of a figure and fired. Another hit, but I could not stop now. The remaining figures took cover behind the truck. Two of them darted into the truck bed, one ran behind. We had them on the run now. But how many were left? I had no way of knowing. Tom was less than fifty meters from the truck; he fired again. This time there were several misses. I carefully picked a target and fired a short burst. Da-da-da-da-da-da!

A figure grasped at its chest, staggered away, and hit the dirt. I heard a bullet whiz by my left ear but hardly gave it a thought. I couldn't stop until they were dead or captured. We're the good guys, and I wanted to keep as many alive as possible.

I yelled in English, Drop your weapons. Hands up. No response. Then I yelled, Manos arriba! in Spanish. That got them to answer, but the answer was more gunfire. I couldn't see Tom. Was he still alive?

Seeing a weapon aimed at me, I dropped and rolled, a miss! Again, I scampered on the ground with the dirt and dust. I didn't care about my dry-cleaning bill by now. I aimed instinctively and fired. I could see the astonished look on the man's face. His mouth gasped open as he dropped to the ground, his life spent. Who was left? Where was Tom? How many others were there? I put my last clip into my M4A1, rolled, and leaped back to my feet much like a cat. Several figures dropped their guns and started running away. Maybe I looked as crazy as I felt. I couldn't shoot them in the back. I had to remember we were the good guys.

Cautiously, I walked to the back of the truck, looking right and left, knowing there were at least two in there. Suddenly, a head popped out. Then a man cautiously emerged, holding a smaller body. Oh no, a child hostage, now what was I going to do? What kind of mess was I into?

Drop the weapon, said a heavily accented voice.

I slowly stepped back and lowered my M4A1 to the ground. It was basically empty anyway. One by one, out of the truck came three dark men. They were each holding a child as a shield. Great, not only were they drug smugglers, but they were also human traffickers. The worse kind of scum.

As they stood on the ground, I was staring at them, deciding what to do. I heard a click and felt the cold pressure of a gun barrel pressed against the nape of my neck. One had been unaccounted for; he must have been hiding behind the truck. I felt a slowly rising anger in my body, a sense of helplessness to boot. But I only felt helpless for the moment… I gradually started to move my left hand to my newly issued Glock 47.

Alto, commanded a voice. I knew that meant stop in Spanish, so I froze.

Seconds were like minutes, men and captives both were like frozen statues. They started talking in Spanish. I understood muerte. I knew enough Spanish to know that they were going to kill me. What could I do? I needed to save the kids, but how?

I felt the pressure of cold steel increasing against my neck and knew it could be my last moment on earth. I felt like I should pray for a miracle. But it was not for me but for the helpless children. What kind of life were they going to have? I did not want to imagine it. This was it—the end of my line, my life existence.

Bang!

I wasn't sure what happened. I leaped to the side, drawing the Glock 47, firing three times in three seconds at the men with the children. I knew it was risky; I could hit a kid. On each of the men's foreheads, red dots appeared, growing bigger, bigger, and bigger! I whirled at my assailant behind me and saw him standing there with a surprised look on his face. His hand slowly started to let go of his gun. The gun hit the ground, followed by the resounding thump of his body. Standing behind him was Tom. His eyes were blazing with his Glock 47, smoke was slowly drifting out of his gun barrel. It was a moment that I would never forget. It was a moment frozen in my mind forever.

Tom flashed me a smile that said it all. That's what buddies are for, we always have each other's back.

I didn't do it, but I wanted to hug him at that moment. The children were saved!

Gradually, I approached the truck and cautiously looked inside. No more bad guys were inside. Inside the truck bed was a foul fetor. A dozen small figures were crouched and trembling in fear with crates and crates of what would be drugs. It yanked my heart to see them, the scanty rags of clothes they were dressed in. The truck smelled of human stench, it reeked of evil. The children stared uncertainly at me, not sure who I was.

I calmly and slowly said, Soy amigo. Esta bien, no problema.

They looked somewhat relieved but confused. I gently backed away from the truck toward Tom. The children started to get up, moving slowly at first, then quicker. Then they started to run forward toward us. They did the hugging for us. The children squeezed us tightly, looking for safety and security. We had a few precious moments with them. Then we started to slowly pull off the kids. At that moment, sirens were heard. Four of our vehicles pulled up. They grounded to a stop. The border agents started jumping out. The calvary was here!

The agents acting in a precise trained manner started a grid search. They checked the area to make sure it was efficiently secured. The children were one by one taken to our vehicles. They were shy, scared, and uncertain of us. Then the agents started systematically checking the drug traffickers' bodies. Who was alive and who wasn't? Some were placed in body bags. The few that were alive were placed on stretchers. By now, a medical team had shown up. They were doing their rounds. The several men that could stand were handcuffed and arrested. It was quick, efficient, and highly organized. Other agents were collecting guns and other paraphernalia. The truck and drugs were secured and locked down and driven away back to the main highway. Then the captain came up to us, stood silent for a moment, and took a breath.

His face softened. Then he stated, We have this under control. The few remaining were caught. A few of them escaped and ran away. Great job, especially with saving the kids! He gazed directly at me, square in my eyes. Sorry about your partner Mike…and Gus. They were great men. We will miss them. They will get a note of commendation in their files.

That was it. The captain dismissed us. He turned his body and walked away. He was always a man of few words.

Well, that's the beginning of the story, and what an adventure it was. It was also my last assignment and the end of my career as a Border Patrol agent, or so I thought.

My name is Scott Lund, border agent.

Now here is my story…

Part 1

Chapter 1

The Alarm Clock

Scott woke up in a start; a cold sweat was upon him. Why didn't the alarm clock go off? Where was the annoying, irritating beep? Whose bed was it? Then Scott realized, it dawned on him, that he was in a hotel bed; he was no longer in the Border Patrol. No need for an alarm today, he chuckled. In fact, he was going to throw away the alarm clock. He dragged himself out of bed and hit the ground. He did a couple of quick stretches, much like the way a lithe cat would.

Then reality started to sink in. What was he going to do today? It was the first day of the rest of his life. Well, caffeine and food would be a great start. He had a sleep hangover. When was the last time he had a full night's sleep? he wondered. Scott really was not sure, but he could get used to it.

He looked around the room carefully, noticing everything—where the windows, the bathroom door, and the entrance door were. Where were his weapons? He had been trained to see every detail, and instinctively, Scott planned several exits and contingencies. Then he stopped, shook his head, and told himself to relax; it was safe, at the moment. He was on holiday and was going to have to decondition himself and prepare for a normal life, at least he hoped so. Scott wanted to leave his former life before it totally engulfed and completely embitter him.

It was a really nice room with a large king-size bed and even larger headboard, and talk about a ton of pillows. He was not used to all this, but man, did he sleep great. There was a small table, a dark brown sleeper sofa, and a desk with a small green lamp in the corner. A clutter of stuff was forming on the desk from the night before. It did not take much time to mess up a room. There was also a small college refrigerator with a microwave on top. Scott could still smell the microwave popcorn he had the night before. There were even a couple of empty beer cans in the garbage can with wrappers of the pizza he had wolfed down last night. Life was going to be good from now on.

He had a quick trip to the bathroom. Even the bathroom was very ornate, with a faux marble sink and counter and matching faux walls. The walls had an attractive etched border. The shower was also of a stone resin with a matching large whirlpool tub. He would have to get in later to soak and relax. Scott brushed his teeth slowly; for once, he was not in a hurry. Scott started thinking about breakfast down by the lobby.

A little later, Scott emerged from the bathroom, feeling fully refreshed and clean. He was heading for the closet, thinking, Oh, what to wear? No longer was it going to be uniforms and dress codes. He was a civilian now and had to get used to it. Here was a tough thought in his head, What to wear to the beach? Scott rifled through the clothes in the closet and realized he had not unpacked everything.

Scott searched the suitcase and pulled out a light-blue button shirt and grabbed a pair of dark-blue tropical cargo shorts. Now where were his rope sandals? Ah yes, under the desk. He picked them up. He felt good dressing casually like this. It had been a long time since he was on vacation.

Should he pick up some in the room before he left? He was not usually a messy or unorganized person. But right now, he really did not care, and was getting very hungry. Scott really could hear his stomach growling now. When getting ready to leave, he always made a mental checklist: a belt, a wallet, and, of course, the room key card. Now where was that crazy thing? He briefly looked, and sure enough, it was hiding on the desk under a pile of things.

He looked in the mirror and saw his sandy blond hair, unshaven face, and auburn eyes. Scott was fast approaching thirty, but his shoulders were still wide and strong, his abs were hard and flat, and his biceps were chiseled. The thighs were thick and muscular. He had diamond-shaped calves. His legs still served him well. Scott was about six feet tall and looked like he could play for the Green Bay Packers.

He jutted his chin out in the mirror and thought, I am not shaving today. Quickly, he combed his hair and headed to the door. Scott gave a final glance around the room out of habit and realized he did not have his cell phone. Normally, he would never be without it. He thought about leaving it for a moment but considered it could be swiped by the cleaning team, so he shoved the cell into his left front pocket. He still did a second glance around the room and touched his pockets to make sure of things and opened the door to his new life and, more importantly, to breakfast and coffee!

The hotel café was remarkably busy this time of the morning, and the waitstaff was scurrying around everywhere serving people. Scott was told he would have to wait. Oh no! he cried inside his head.

How long is the wait? he queried.

The hostess said about fifteen minutes. He knew that could mean anything. His stomach was really rumbling by now. The smell of the food was intoxicating. He saw a waitress and winked at her, opened his mouth, and mimed, Please! The waitress smiled back. Luckily, a table opened up, and she marched Scott over to it.

Anything you need on…or off the menu? she said demurely.

Scott noticed she was a cute redhead with big ocean-green eyes, a pouty lower lip, and legs that did not stop.

Only water and coffee for now. I'd like to take a look at the menu, he stated.

She flashed him a cute pout and walked away. Scott noticed her backside was not bad either. He picked up a menu and looked around the café, noticing the people and doorways. He sat facing the door like an old gunslinger so he would never be taken by surprise. Some of his trained habits were still good habits.

What to order? he thought. Scott felt he could eat three breakfasts, but he knew he shouldn't have more than two. He would just skip lunch. The waitress came back with coffee and water. She flashed him an even bigger smile. What's it going to be, honey?

Scott knew he should keep it straight for now and ordered two breakfasts, then took a sip of the coffee. It was strong and black, the way he liked it, just the way a good Norwegian would. The food came after a reasonable time period. It looked good and hot. He enjoyed the meal and ate slowly, enjoying each and every bite. Another cup of coffee and he was good to go. His was just short of being too full. The waitress brought the check and gave another hopeful smile.

He smiled. Thanks for the wonderful food and awesome service, he said in his strong, assuring voice.

She was definitely a doll. It felt good to smile again. His mom had taught him to always talk nice and be empowering to all people. He looked at the check and turned it over and saw the name, Rose, and a phone number. Oh boy, I don't need trouble. I need to get out of here. He did not want trouble this fast on the first vacation he had in a couple of years. Maybe later this week, he might give her a call.

After breakfast, where should he go, what should he do? Several ideas flashed though his head, then all at once: Of course, to the beach! Scott went to the cashier, paid his bill, and left Rose an extremely healthy tip. Then he headed to the front desk. Walking through the lobby, he stopped abruptly, narrowly avoiding two small kids running by.

The parents were following and yelling, Slow down! It was good to see children having fun. He wished he was that happy. It was brutal seeing all those depressed people as a border agent.

The kids yelled, Last one to the beach is a rotten egg!

Scott turned around slowly and followed the family toward the door and then to the beach. After a short walk and glimpse at the hotel surroundings, he was, at last, at the beach or playa in Spanish.

Bananas and sand are in my new world. He could smell the salty air and the brine. The sound and roar of the ocean was reassuring to him. The sun was big and swollen in the sky, like it was angry. Its heat was beating on you, the heat growing as the sun was rising. Scott felt the squish, squish of sand, and he kicked his sandals in the air one at a time, deftly catching them in his hands. Walking on the sand felt good, gritty, and warm to the touch of his feet. Approaching the shoreline, the splash of the waves danced on his feet. It was amazing how many nerve receptors there were in your feet, and Scott sensed every one of them as the tepid ocean water repeatedly lapped against him. It was going to be a good day; he smiled.

Scott heard yelling to his left and darted a glance at a boy and a girl running in and out of the waves. Don't go too far out, be careful! yelled the mom.

You know how moms were, always watchful, alert, and vigilant. The kids were having a blast playing in the waves. Scott thought about going back to his room and getting his swimsuit. He decided not to and started heading leisurely down the beach. Scott was really enjoying his surrounding; his senses were heightened and alert. For once, time did not matter to him, and an hour quickly went by.

Scott then came to a pier; it was sturdy and solid with lots of algae gathered on its weathered wooden posts. The pier was crowded with many people enjoying themselves. A few were fishing. It was a long pier and stretched out quite a way into the ocean. Scott wanted to be on the pier. He slipped on his sandals and walked out onto the pier. An older lady and her small dog brushed by him. The dog yelped and nipped at Scott's legs. The lady pulled back on the leash and apologized for the dog's conduct and behavior.

Not a problem, said Scott, but inwardly, he frowned at the stupid dog and lady, but he still bent over and let the dog smell his hand. The dog started to lick his hand for a moment, and the lady shrugged her shoulders. She tugged on the leash, and they walked away. Scott then turned and marched to the end of the pier.

The roar of the ocean was booming, and Scott could feel the thunder of the waves against the rugged pier. He looked out and saw a fishing boat and a guide helping a tourist pull in a great silver fish. It looked like a struggle for both. Scott was surprised when he felt a smile on his face as he watched the festivities. Finally, the fish landed, and a holler was heard from the excited tourist. Somebody was going to have a great dinner tonight.

Just then, another fisherman next to him on the pier got a hit also. The fisherman cranked furiously on his reel, setting the hook. The pole was bending wildly as he reeled. It looked like it was going to be quite a fight for the fisherman. The fish must be a good size, looking at the bend of the pole.

Need some help? asked Scott.

Sure, grab the net. I think I got a big one! the man yelled as he worked his pole back and forth.

Scott bent over the rail and stuck the net over the pier. Just in time for the ten-pound sea bass; its skin shiny and wet was within reach. Scott deftly swooped the fish into the net and was almost as excited as the fisherman to be part of the action.

It looks like a beauty! stated Scott.

Sure is! said the fisherman in agreement. Once the fish was off the hook and secured, the fisherman looked at Scott. Thanks for the help. That's the best fish I've caught in quite a while. I am glad you were on hand to help me land it.

You're welcome, anytime. Glad to be of service. It looks like a great day to fish, maybe a little hot. Do you fish here a lot? Scott was making small talk; he knew nobody here.

I like to fish, just not every day, usually like to get down to the pier once or twice a week. But I do have some other watering holes. There are some great freshwater places to fish around here too. I don't think I've seen you here before. Are you new here?

You could say that. My name is Lund, Scott Lund. What's yours?

Roland Winters. You might say I am a regular around here.

I just got here. I'm supposed to be on vacation, I think. Scott paused. But you might say it's the first day of the rest of my life, Scott said in a sullen voice.

That is a very interesting statement, young man. You're supposed to be on vacation? repeated Roland. He looked at Scott. Roland could read depression a mile away. This guy needs a laugh. Roland forced out a chuckle. I have a small cottage back in the hills behind the resort. Are you hungry for some fresh fish tonight?

At first, Scott wanted to say no, but his mouth was already watering at the thought of the freshly caught sea bass. So they traded contact info on their phones.

Scott said, I will be looking forward to supper, and I'll bring the beer and—

You'll bring nothing and be my guest, stated Roland. You can trust me to have all the necessary requirements. There might even be wine.

They both smiled and agreed on the time, and Scott left the pier. Scott could feel the heat of the sun on his body and realized he hadn't put on sunscreen. He walked back to his room a little quicker than he wanted, but he knew he needed sunscreen and better hydrate with a few bottles of water.

Once in his room, he guzzled two bottles of water and felt better. Now a tough choice, should he take a short nap or go to the pool? Scott went to his suitcase and grabbed a protein power bar as he pondered the decision. Well, the pool might have girls… So he found a swimsuit, grabbed a towel, and applied sunscreen to his hard muscular body. He was sure he had already gotten his D3 requirement for the day.

Wait a moment, my book. He remembered he had brought a book to read. Scott used to have time and liked to read. It was an action-adventure book. It sounded great to sink his teeth into a novel by the pool. He did his habitual look around the room and headed to the pool.

Once he reached the pool, he surveyed the surroundings. It was an exceptionally large pear-shaped pool and very crowded. Scott spied a lounge chair and headed over to it. A boy and a girl scurried by in front of him. He thought it was the same two kids from the lobby. Apparently, they were everywhere, the ocean and now the pool. I bet they sleep good tonight. He jaunted over to the lounge and adjusted it. Scott tossed his towel on the lounge, crawled onto the towel, let out a big sigh, and relaxed. After a few moments of rest, he saw a server, sat up, and waved his hand.

The server came over and asked, What can I get you?

Scott ordered, A piña colada and two bottles of water, please.

Scott knew he should stay hydrated, especially when drinking alcohol in the sun. Scott picked up his book, opened the cover, and read the credits. Then he looked at the number of pages. He always liked to know how many pages there were. He was only a few pages into the second chapter when the drink showed up.

He tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the tray. Keep the change.

Thanks, mister, mumbled the young man, smiling at the tip. The server walked away toward another hotel guest.

The piña colada was exceptionally good but not as good as the ones he makes. Scott's secret to a colada was adding a healthy splash of Myer's dark rum on top and, of course, guava juice when you can find it. Yum!

After he had a couple of sips, he returned to his book. The beginning wasn't that exciting yet. Scott hoped it would get better; he always likes a book with an exciting start. By the fourth chapter, Scott was starting to really sweat not from the action of his book but from the heat of the sun. Beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead, trying to make their way onto the pages of the book. Scott swiped his forehead with the back of his hand and knew it was time to get into that refreshing pool.

Carefully he got up, you never can trust the sun lounges on stability. He stood and stretched. Then Scott dropped to the hot pool pavement and knocked off thirty knuckle push-ups. It was a habit he had learned to do studying martial arts as a teenager. Scott studied his calloused knuckles. Push-ups on hard surfaces will develop callousness on your knuckles, so when you hit someone, it will hurt them, not you. Now at last, a dip in the pool. He paused at the edge, then jumped in all at once.

The water was invigorating…

Slowly, he floated to the bottom, much the way a wet leaf gradually descends in water. He lay at the bottom for a jiff and then kicked himself off, bursting to the surface. Quickly looking around to check his surroundings, he did not want to hit anybody, he then dove underwater, swimming for ten or twelve meters.

The water was so refreshing, he didn't want to surface. Then his lungs started burning for air. He popped