The Cabal Trilogy

By Earl Smith

Enter the world of Omega/Alpha. Non-stop action, psychic connections, telepathy & shape shifting. Meet Anna, a paranormal private detective engaged in a global battle against a dangerous cabal. Her confidential assistant Ian MacGregger from Scotland Yard via Interpol, the French electronics expert, an ancient Catalan butler, a cleaver wielding Chinese chef, a gardener older than dirt, the old man who lives up on the mountain, a panther, grey wolf, a seven-foot bushmaster and a resident raven.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Earl Smith
• Release date: Nov 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215727720

Earl Smith

Rev. Earl Smith became the youngest chaplain ever hired by the California Department of Corrections when he was asked to become the chaplain at San Quentin in 1983. In 2000, Earl was named National Correctional Chaplain of the Year. He currently serves as chaplain for the San Francisco 49ers and the Golden State Warriors. He has appeared on HBO, CNN, The 700 Club, Trinity Broadcasting and the Discovery Channel, and has been featured in Newsweek and Time. He was born and raised in Stockton, California, where he lives today with his wife, Angel, and their children Ebony, Earl Jr., Tamara, and Franklin.

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The Cabal Trilogy

An Omega-Alpha Mystery Series

Earl Smith

© Raven Press 2023

License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to [e-mail] and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

The Toast of Broadway

Assault on Omega

The Sound Of Fury

The Omega/Alpha Family

The Toast of Broadway

-1-

Her name is Anna. That’s how I know her. There’ll be more for you later but, for now, what you need to know is that she once saved me from a particularly gruesome fate. I’ll start with that story. You’ll need the background.

My name is Ian MacGregger. It was in Paris about six years back. On loan from Scotland Yard to Interpol and assigned to a counterterrorism team that’s hunting arms dealers. We’re close on the trail of a couple of very nasty bad guys who have made a special business of stirring up conflicts on the African continent. Then supplying both sides with a carefully balanced array of weapons. It’s a great business model. A small investment in the ego of a dandy is all it takes. The rest is both predictable and highly profitable. The midget Napoleon begins systematically slaughtering his countrymen in the name of some hollow but high-sounding slogan. An opposition forms and the dealers have a second client. Once the second client shows up, the business almost runs itself. Bodies pile up as fast as the orders for more weapons. The dealers tap into the treasuries of both sides and their sponsors’ deep pockets. There are always sponsors with deep pockets. They drain them until nothing’s left. Then they withdraw leaving the ‘generals’ to wonder why their calls are no longer being returned.

It seems that these guys weren’t content with their vast profits. They never are. They had decided to expand into providing weapons to terrorist groups on the European continent. That’s where we came in. We tracked these guys to Montmartre, the somewhat seedy area in the north of Paris. Sixteen months of hard work and years more of background research is about to pay off. We have a real chance to catch the buyers, sellers, and their banker. All with one cast of the net.

The meeting’s in a flat above a sex shop and within sight of the white dome of the Basillica Sacre Coeur. We gather behind the church and review the plan. According to sources, there are going to be five of them. The two sellers, two representatives of the buyer and a banker to handle the electronic transfers.

The plan’s simple. We ambush them as they leave. They exit out the back into the alley. Right into our waiting arms. To make sure they use the back door, we have a couple of team members dressed in police uniforms chatting up a series of female officers dressed up as hookers. Just guys looking to use their authority to score. They’re across the street from the sex shop. Clearly visible from the flat windows. If you’ve ever been to Montmartre, you know how normal that looks. Every so often they would be replaced by others. The rotation’s scheduled to run all night and into the dawn if necessary. Their combined presence should convince the players that the back way out’s the best.

Jacques Dubois, our group leader, is a twenty-five-year Interpol veteran and it shows. Hard as nails and totally focused on the mission. Six feet three. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. A very dangerous man. He’s also very demanding. You do it his way or get your skull cracked. A true professional. Nothing’s left to chance. Everybody knows their responsibilities. We’ve rehearsed the plan until we can execute it in our sleep. The rules of engagement are clear. We take them alive if at all possible. Without a lot of commotion. Clean and quiet. The intelligence value is high. We need to find out where the arms are. Plus, they will provide links deeper into the network.

Jacques divides his team and deploys each half at opposite ends of the alley. That way it doesn’t make any difference which way the targets turn when they come out. We’ll have them boxed in. He turns to me. Ian, he says with authority, get your butt up on the roof and provide cover. You’ll have a good field of vision. Stay alert just in case they try to get out that way. And try to stay awake. He flashes a wide grin.

Now my countrymen have a few choice expletives that I could have offered. But my Scottish mither would have risen from the grave and paddled me red as the setting sun. So, her son behaves himself. I pull down the ladder and climb the fire escape to the roof. I don’t like it much. But it makes sense. Given a choice, I want to be closer to the action. But it isn’t my choice. I’m the new man on the team. An unproven commodity. The assignment’s the right one. The roof gives me a good chance to see how it’s done in Paris.

Once up, I survey my surroundings. It’s a typical flat roof. Off to the left is the access door structure. The door is metal and looks solid. I try it and find it bolted from the inside. There’s the usual selection of antennas and dishes scattered around the roof. No real cover but I figure I won’t need it. I don’t expect company. The building is hard up against those on both sides and the line of roofs extends the full length of the block. I carefully check each roof for possible lookouts and find none. Nothing in either direction. I pick a good spot and settle in. I figure that the access door structure will give me some cover from prying eyes. So, I take up a position in the narrow space between it and the perimeter wall of the roof.

Jacques is right about one thing. The view is first rate. If I lean out, I can see the door below. Both ends of the alley are visible. I watch the two groups move into position and fade into the shadows. There are overhead lights about half way down in either direction. The alley is about three meters wide with nothing but a few trash cans against the far wall. There are entrances on my side but none on the other. It’s a good place for the kind of operation we have going. From my position, I can cover the entire alley.

I check my rifle and set it against the wall. My handgun is next. I made sure that there’s a round in the chamber, screw on the silencer and set the safety. Then I settle down to wait. If things go wrong, my job is to set them right. In a firefight, I will be in the best position to neutralize the bad guys before they can harm members of the team.

First out of the door is one of the shop staff. He carries a bucket of trash across to the bins and deposits it. Then he stops for a cigarette. The French do love their smokes. He hangs around for close to half an hour and then heads back inside.

After that time slows down. It’s close to two hours later when two of our targets come out. The buyers are leaving and, from the way they hug each other and grin, the deal has been done to their satisfaction. They turn left and hurry down the alley. I watch them go under the light and into the shadows. Then comes the muffled sounds of a struggle as the team takes them. It’s quick and quiet. Very professional. No loud noises or screams. Just a few hard thumps. Two in hand and three to go.

Two minutes later comes the banker. He turns right down the alley and suffers a similar fate. This time with less noise. Three in the bag and two to go.

After about an hour I start to get worried that the sellers might have gone out the front. I go over to the other side of the roof. Two faux hookers and one of the guys in uniform are on station. If the sellers had tried to go out the front, they would have alerted the rest of the team. I start back to my nest. As I get close to the access door, I am startled by the sound of fast-moving footsteps. Somebody’s in a hurry to get onto the roof. It‘s then that I realize that I’ve left my rifle leaning in plain sight against the wall. In a split second I decide to make a dash for it. Just as I move in front of the door the bolt is slammed back. The door flies open hitting me full in the face. Knocking me flat on my back. The only thing that saves me is the fact that I give better than I got. Just as the door starts to open, I lower my shoulder and hit it hard. The guy in front gets a face full of door and falls back into the guy behind him. They tumble down the stairs. That gives me the seconds that I need to regroup.

Somehow the sellers have become alerted to our presence and are making a run for it. I get vertical again and draw my handgun. I have one advantage. I know who they are. To them I might be just a drunk who happened to get in the way. A squatter who had decided to sleep it off on a vacant roof. One thing is sure. No matter who I am, they are going to see that I don’t get to watch the sun rise.

They regroup and thunder up the stairs. I know that I’m not going to get to my rifle. It’s too far away. I’ll be exposed as I pass the door. An ambush is my only option.

I hit the first guy with the butt of my pistol as he comes through the door. He drops like a sack of rice. Out like the proverbial light. The second guy holds back for a split second and then slams through the door. Catching me just as I turn. The door slams into my gun hand and the pistol flies out of my grasp. I stumble backwards. Working hard to keep my balance. He charges out from behind the door and straight at me. I see the glint of a knife and know I’m in trouble. He spins me around and pushes me back against the access door. God he’s strong. His left hand is around my throat as he lifts me off the ground. I hold his knife hand in a vice grip and try to pry his fingers from around my neck. But I realize that I’m losing the battle. Things start to go blurry, and I feel the strength going out of me.

It was then that I hear the low growl. My attacker hears it too. I can tell because his fingers loosen a bit as he begins to look around. We both see the grey wolf at about the same time. About ten feet away. Moving slowly towards us in a low crouch. It looks huge and really pissed. From somewhere in the shadows a voice gives a command and the wolf lunges forward. He bites the guy in the ass. It isn’t a love bite. From the look on his face can tell that there’s a serious amount of real estate involved. And believe me. I’ve got a very close look. He drops me and makes his first mistake. He turns to face the wolf and raises his knife. The wolf releases his grip on the guy’s ass and stands his ground. He stares at the guy with the knife. Its fangs look enormous as the lips curl back.

Another command rings out. The wolf lunges forward and takes possession of the guy’s family jewels - lock, stock, and nut sack. The guy screams and raises the knife to strike. A silenced shot rings out and most of his knife hand disappears behind a red mist. The bullet passes through the middle of his wrist. His hand hangs limp. The knife falls to the roof. He slumps back against the door’ Letting go of me. Another command and the wolf releases his grip and backs off.

The guy is clearly coming unglued. I’m not feeling all that glued either. All I can see are those fangs and the hackles on the wolf’s shoulders standing up. The guy stares at the wolf in disbelief. Then he makes his second and last mistake. Spying my rifle, he decides to make a run for it. He gets about two feet away from the rifle when the wolf hits him square in the back. Slamming him against the thigh-high wall at the edge of the roof. He falls over the wall and down into the alley. I think he screams but I’m not sure. You see I’m distracted.

The wolf moves towards the middle of the roof and lies down. He’s about ten feet from me. The guy I clocked is still out cold at my feet. All I’m aware of is the wolf’s intense stare. It’s eyeing me intently and, I am sure, it would relish a chance for a repeat performance. Slowly I start to raise my hands.

The voice from the darkness says, Put your hands down, Ian. He won’t harm you if you behave. She steps out of the shadows. The woman is tall - about five eleven - and slim. She moves smoothly. With an almost feline grace. She wears a completely black outfit that shows off an ample, if somewhat boyish, figure. I would have noticed more. I usually do. But, as I’ve said, I’m distracted.

In her right hand she casually holds a nine-millimeter browning. Across her back is a bow, arrows, and quiver. Two throwing knives are on her belt. She moves silently and gracefully across the roof. When she gets about five feet away, she looks directly into my eyes. Hers seem coal black. The same color as the wisp of hair that peeks out from under her balaclava. I notice that the wolf has moved along with her.

I was not here, is all she says. But she says it like I should pay attention. More of a command than a statement. She turns and calls to the wolf. Both disappear into the darkness of the adjoining roofs. That was the first time I laid eyes on Anna.

By the time Jacque arrives there is only me and the groggy guy. I have already decided what I am going to do. My report mentions nothing about the woman or the wolf. (I’ve already apologized to Jacque for the omission) As far as anybody is concerned, two guys crashed through the door and I handled the situation. One gets clocked and the other tries to fly.

By the way, we do manage to find out what spooked them. It seems the dealers had attached a listening device to the overcoat of one of the buyers. The purpose was to get some information that would be useful in future deals. But, when they heard the struggle, they decided to bolt. That changed their lives and mine.

After the debriefing, I return to my hotel room. There’s a note slipped under the door. I will be contacting you. Return the favor. A.

-2-

Six Years Later

It’s one of those soft spring mornings that can put a man in a mellow mood. And being all of that, I’m standing at the big bay window that overlooks the garden and off to the Hudson River far below. Chang’s breakfast confections are settling in nicely. My favorite mug is warm with his trademark strong, black coffee. Chang Hun Lee is the resident chef. A real master at pleasing all the senses that goes into fine dining. Well fed, satisfied with the way life’s treating me. Feeling at home with who and where I am. The world seems to be arranged for my personal satisfaction. Well, mostly. But more of that later.

The view out the office window is spectacular. The main house - Anna calls it Omega for some reason I’ve never been able to fathom, and she has never found the inclination to explain - sits high above the river on a gently sloping ten-acre plateau that runs from the cliff edge to the mountain. The big stone house is in the middle of the plateau. Between the main house and the cliff is the garden. Completely walled, it has all the feeling of a sanctuary. There are just under four acres of growing things, babbling brooks, meandering paths, a koi pond surrounded by willows, a tea house, and the occasional waterfall. A creek rises out of a spring house to the east of the house, flows into the koi pond, over the dam then meanders through the gardens before cascading down the cliff face into a pond at the base. It’s as close to perfect as could be.

Before going further, I need to let you in on what perfection means to Anna. Most people would have maybe a couple of dogs or cats to round out such a landscape. Maybe a pair of ridgebacks or wolfhounds. But not Anna. Her menagerie is decidedly not domesticated. Omega’s garden is a dangerous place. And there’s something else. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Resident in the spring house is a very large bushmaster. Lachesis stenophrys is the Latin name. I looked it up once. It’s a member of the genus of venomous pit vipers found in remote forested areas of Central and South America. Lachesis, it turns out, refers to one of the Three Fates in Greek mythology who determined the length of the thread of life. Anna calls him Edit. I’ve seen the snake many times. He’s around seven feet long and big around as my arm. He hunts at night. In the early months of my stay, Anna forbade me to enter the garden alone after sunset. The terrace was okay. But no farther. I didn’t need to be reminded.

Behind the house are the greenhouses, storage and equipment sheds, cold cellar, and the gate house. There’s also an acre and a half of vegetable gardens.

The bulk of the estate’s four hundred and fifty acres is the mountain. The highest point in Westchester County. It covers the entire top of the peak and part of the valley on the other side. Ringed by a security fence, an array of sensors and many no trespassing signs, the mountain is the wild part of Omega. There’s an eagle’s nest, a variety of hawks and a passel of owls that intone the evenings.

Then there’s the cabin that the old man lives in. It’s somewhere up on the mountain. I’ve never been to it. I’ve seen in aerial photo. But that’s all. A green gate in the wall leads to a dirt road that climbs up to the cabin and the peak beyond. Other than the old man, Fred and Anna are the only humans that go beyond the stone wall that separates the mountain from the plateau.

I like the garden. It’s more Scottish than English. Less groomed. Wilder. Civilized but not by too much. Flowers are in full bloom. Off to the left a thick growth of rhododendrons is showing signs of soon adding color. Below them the azaleas are well into the beautification. To the right by the tea house is a grove of Japanese maples adding their own special hue.

Butterflies and bees are busy doing what nature intends them to be doing. Off to the right, among the flower beds, the ancient gardener is plying his trade. I watch as he stands up creakily and strains to get vertical. Uncle Fred is almost older than dirt, Anna is fond of saying. There, in the middle of his creation, he looks like Zeus himself. All white beard and floppy hat. Master of his domain.

Uncle Fred is one of Anna’s extended family and an odd bird. She seems to prefer the company of odd birds. The man lives for his gardens. If I try to talk to him about something other than plants, the weather, fertilizer, insects, or the gardens, I get a blank stare. Unless, of course, we are on a case and there’s a murder involved. Then, even for an old fart, he proves uncommonly handy. I suspect that, in his former life, he saw some action. But now, he mostly just tends the garden.

When it comes to ‘older than dirt’, Anna is more obscure than usual. And, let’s be clear on this, she’s always obscure. A cipher within a riddle... However, that saying goes. All I’ve gathered so far is that Uncle Fred has known Anna for longer than anyone else at Omega - except for the old man who lives up on the mountain. But, since the old man seldom sets foot in the house, I don’t really count him.

I’ve always suspected that Ooof - Anna’s nickname for Uncle Fred - knows things about her past. Their relationship seems to be rooted in a long-shared history. They share a casual familiarity and, every occasionally, I see exchanged glances that seem to hold deeper significance. Ooof knows things about Anna’s past but, like the stone facade of the house, he keeps the secrets to himself. I’ve never learned his last name.

Off to the left and below the terrace the panther is lounging under one of the willows next to the koi pond. Yeah, you heard me right. The panther. Remember, I told you that the garden’s a dangerous place. She looks for all the world like a statue until she moves. Black as night with bright yellow eyes. Regal and relaxed. The garden is her domain. Raised by Anna from a cub, Ning knows, and at least tolerates, all the regular inhabitants of the house. If Anna says you’re okay, Ning follows her lead. Strangers never fair nearly as well.

Ning is one of reasons that I almost didn’t take the job as Anna’s confidential assistant. Think about it. You show up for an interview and settle in on a wide terrace overlooking the garden and valley below. The house is magnificent. Your quarters are better than any ten thousand dollar a night hotel suite in Manhattan. The pay’s good. The opportunities to ply your trade look promising. The office work will be tolerable. Your soon to be boss is one of the most unique people you’ve ever met. A detective, psychic, and genius; if you believe even part of what you hear. And she once saved your life. There is something deeply spiritual about her. But you chalk it up to the aura of the day.

The coffee is first rate. As is the cherry pie. You are just settling into the feeling that this could be the gig of a life time when this big black cat eases up the terrace steps and around the corner. She stops short and fixes her gaze on you. Your whole world becomes those bright yellow eyes as they bore into you. The cat goes into a crouch and the tip of her tail begins to twitch. You’d like to toss a question, or at least a glance, at your host. But something inside your brain is screaming ‘don’t move’. I am fighting hard to keep from reaching for the snub 38 in the shoulder holster. Anna breaks in.

And this is Ning. We are sisters. She lives here and is free to roam the garden and occasionally, if a door is left open, the house. Then she reaches across the table and touches me on the arm and smiles. The big cat immediately relaxes and eases up to Anna for an ear scratch. Her purring is like a cement mixer and a look of complete contentment crosses the big cat’s face.

Having that need seen to, Ning moves in my direction, Do not worry she won’t hurt you. Do not show fear or move quickly. Particularly in my direction. Ning stands looking at me. She then comes to my feet and sits down. A large paw finds its way to my knee and sharp claws gently press against my leg through the trousers. I struggle hard to keep my reactions in check. Those intense eyes bore into me as if she is memorizing everything about my life - past, present, and future. Satisfied, Ning turns around and heads back down the stairs and into the garden. I watch her cross the bridge by the koi pond. She settles down under her favorite willow. Anna smiles at me. She likes you. Welcome to the family.

Ning did take a bit of getting used to, I’ll admit. The first couple of days on the job I stayed in the house. Then Anna took me on a tour of the garden. Ning followed us around like a dog. She even fetches. Of course, she prefers logs to sticks. Damned curious animal that. But the cat and I have reached an understanding. She’ll even allow me to join her under the willow for a summer afternoon snooze.

Movement brings me back to the garden. Off to the right Ranger trots into view. The big grey wolf moves past the gardener and into the creek that runs through the center of the garden and eventually cascades down the cliff face. For a moment I am back in Paris on that rooftop.

Ning notices him but quickly settles back. Ranger flops into the cold water, gets good and soaked. Have you ever noticed that the smart ones have the good sense to point nose upstream when they do that? Then he climbs up the far bank, shakes off and chooses a sunny spot. Two turns around and then the big wolf flops down. Another one of Anna’s companions, Ranger, like Ning, has the run of the compound. He’s very protective of the inhabitants and, strangely, gets along with Ning. They might be brother and sister if it wasn’t for their obvious differences. Cats and dogs, you know.

From the beginning, things went easier with Ranger. Our first encounter involved a show of very large white teeth and a low growl that you would have to hear to appreciate. At Omega, Anna introduced us more formally. There was still a growl and show of teeth. But, as soon as Anna touched my arm, Ranger was all play and happiness. Most of the time he’s more a puppy than mature predator. He just loves to play. Now that might sound like fun to you. Even charming. But I’m now Ranger’s favorite tackling dummy. He loves to sneak up behind me and bowl me over. I try to reciprocate but his stealth is better than my radar.

I should warn you that there is something else about these animals that you will eventually need to know. Something about all the animals at Omega. But it is too early in the game to let you in on that secret. For now, just accept that they are more than they appear to be.

A wren flies into the garden and straight towards the old gardener. Ning lazily watches its flight. Not enough of a meal to bother with, I guess. Ranger couldn’t care less. As if to say, ‘good morning’, the bird lands about ten feet away from the gardener. Ooof takes a bit of string out of his pocket, dangles it seductively and then tosses it gently in the direction of the bird. The wren picks it up and flies off to one of the twenty or so nesting boxes that are scattered around the garden. Another doing what nature intended, I think to myself.

I’m not sure why. That thought brings an edge to my mood. I feel a chill. Something has set me on edge. I’m not one to grouse unnecessarily mind you. But things have been moving rather slowly around here. I’m itching for some action. I don’t mind doing the office work. Managing a portfolio as large as Anna’s is a constant adventure. It’s, after all, mostly what I’m paid for. But it’s not what I’m mostly here to do. Give me a good murder to chew on. Be careful what you wish for, a voice whispers somewhere between my ears. I wonder if I’m catching Anna’s tendency towards clairvoyance. I have noticed that things sometimes occur to me before they happen. Easy Ian, I mutter. Let’s not get all mystical about this.

A single bell sounds to let me know that a car has turned onto the drive. We don’t have many visitors to Omega. Those that do come generally bring trouble. If so disposed, I can walk over behind Anna’s desk and see the camera image. But I’m in a mellow mood and things have been quiet lately. Besides, there’s a second monitor in the gatehouse. My coffee needs attention.

The trip up from the main road is a quarter mile of tight turns and steep hills. The first bell tells me we will shortly have visitors. It rings in the office, kitchen, the gate house and my bedroom. Andre, the electronic wizard, driver and bodyguard, lives in the gatehouse. He will see to the formalities.

That brief description doesn’t do him credit. Andre Louveteau is another from Anna’s Paris collection. He was working electronic surveillance for Département de la Sûreté/SécuritéTerritoriale - known as the Sûreté - the French equivalent of the FBI. He got loaned to Anna when she was working on a particularly sensitive matter for the US State Department. After the bad guys were either dead or deported, Anna suggested that there might be a spot on her team. Andre jumped at the chance. That was seven years ago. Andre is just over six two and a hundred and eighty pounds. He has the weathered good looks that only the French can produce well. Trained in electronic surveillance and savte, he has more than once proven his worth.

A bit later, a double bell sounds letting me know that the visitor has arrived at the gatehouse. I wait for any indication of trouble. A triple bell would tell me that I’m needed. In that case, the drill is that I grab a weapon and head out to support Andre. But none comes. I am not needed at the gatehouse. I return to my coffee and the scene outside the window.

Another regular shows up. In the very middle of the garden is an ancient maple. It contributes a blaze of color in the fall but is now showing that early green that trees put on when spring is well established. About twenty feet up, and extending directly towards the house, is a large branch that extends out over the creek and flower beds. The branch is so long and heavy that Ooof has provided a stout support timber. About two-thirds of the way out along the branch is a roofed platform with three sides closed in. It is open towards the house. This is the home of Trickster, our resident raven. Anna says that he is the creator of the world. The dreamer of all that’s around us.

Anna and the raven seem to have a particularly strong relationship. He comes to her when she’s alone in the garden. Particularly when she’s meditating on the platform just below the tea house. They show all the signs of having conversations. Now don’t think I’m batty. I’m just reporting what I see. They talk and that’s that. For now. As with Ning and Ranger, all you need to know for now is that the raven is not just what he seems.

-3-

My reverie is interrupted by the butler. Fernando de Santos is incredibly old, very Catalan, and usually very formal. He clears his throat once and then again. I turn to acknowledge his presence. Now you need to imagine the scene.

Fernando enters through the door at the north end of the office. He proceeds, in a stately manner, across the room. He never hurries or sends his voice off ahead of his arrival. There’s a protocol to his every movement. Even after five years of being Anna’s confidential assistant, he still treats me as if I’m a first-time guest due all the honors.

I study his face as he comes on but see nothing that indicates concern. Of course, he never gives much away. Fernando’s a dangerous man to play poker against. As he arrives within what he considers a civilized conversational distance, he looks at me and nods gravely.

Yes, Fernando, what is it, I ask.

Mister MacGregger, Inspector Tann has arrived and wants to see the Senorita. I told him that she is not available. He is insistent. But you know how things are when she is beyond the wall. I nod. He then said that you would have to do. Fernando pauses to show his disapproval of the insult. I suspect that his mission has some urgency. He seems agitated.

It’s going to be a morning for odd birds. Tann Che Yun is head of a special division of Manhattan homicide. He’s Korean by birth and started his career as an officer in the ROC army. That’s Republic of Korea for those of you who have never had the pleasure of visiting that fine country. White Horse Division - the elite arm. He’s five eight, close to two hundred pounds and built like the proverbial fire hydrant.

After his stint in the army, Yun comes to the states to get an education. He plows through Harvard. Then Columbia law school. Then he takes a side trail to the FBI to learn criminal investigation.

Homesick for his native sod, Yun heads back to Korea. It doesn’t take him long to get a gig with the Korean National Police Agency, or KNPA, as an investigator. Run by the Ministry of Government Administration and Home Affairs, KNPA is the only police organization in South Korea. Given his experience and connections within the US, Yun rises quickly through the ranks. He’s soon an inspector with an extensive team. They give him the hard cases. And that’s what gets him into trouble.

You see Yun heads up a series of investigations that brings down one of the more corrupt presidents that South Korea has ever been burdened with. The guy goes to jail, but his minions are out for blood. Things get a little hot for Yun, so he heads back to the States on an exchange program. He soon takes a liking to criminal investigation American style. An opportunity opens to join a special branch of Manhattan homicide and Yun jumps at the chance. The then president of Korea thinks it’s a good career move. He aggressively supports Yun’s application. I figure that he would rather have Yun out of the country for a good long while. Now he’s with Manhattan homicide. He has an inscrutable way about him. He’s another dangerous poker opponent.

Because he’s not a regular at the house, Yun must suffer the indignity of being escorted from the parking area just outside the main gate to the garage at the back of the house. They make the trip in Andre’s Range Rover. The old Series Three is an estate wagon. Normally you could describe it as a glorified tractor. But the Three has had numerous upgrades. The old four-cylinder diesel engine has been replaced by a big slant six. Drive train, suspension, steering, and transmission are all a lot more potent. Plate glass windows have been replaced with bullet proof glass and the entire cab’s armored. It carries an impressive array of electronics for communication, defense and attack. From the outside it looks like an old Land Rover. But, like most things at Omega, it’s more than it appears.

Yun is escorted because Anna prefers guests, no matter how unwanted, not be attacked by Ning, Edit or Ranger before they have a chance to plead their case. Of course, that doesn’t apply to those who attempt to enter without notice. There’s a garage at the back of the main house with doors that open and close electronically. Once inside, the doors are closed. Guests are then able to enter the house by the back door. Yun thinks that he’s due better treatment. But, for Anna, family is family and everyone else is a stranger.

The other thing that gets to him is Andre’s insistence that he leave his weapons locked in his car. Anna does not allow any guest inside the wall armed. No weapon is ever brought into Omega by anyone. There are no exceptions. Inside the compound, family members can pack and often do. In fact, all of us have ready access to a wide range of weapons. If you know where to look, they’re scattered everywhere and always loaded. And we do know where to look. But visitors are never allowed to carry anything that might pose a threat. If you want in, you follow Anna’s rules. Yun always follows the rules because, when he comes visiting, he almost always wants something. He grumbles but complies.

I hear him enter the back door of the house. My nose immediately tells me that Yun has come bearing gifts. That means that he wants something badly enough to make nice. Now you may not know what kimchi is so let me fill you in. Back in the days before refrigeration was common in Korea, the natives came up with a way to preserve vegetables, particularly cabbage and cucumbers. You take a bunch of them, slice up and mix with lots of spices. Add water and into something called a kimchi pot the whole mess goes. Then you bury it in the back yard, preferably in a shady area. It sits there fermenting until it’s ready. You know it’s ready when it digs itself up!

Now it’s an acquired taste so don’t go buy a barrel full. I acquired the taste mostly thanks to Yun. He’s a first-rate Korean cook. Of course, he never gets a chance to demonstrate his prowess at either of Anna’s houses. Chang would erupt into a fit of cleaver savagery. You see, Chang can’t stand the idea of anybody invading his kitchen other than his wife. And he just tolerates her. Well, he does make a limited exception for Fernando.

But, back to Inspector Tann. I have visited Yun’s home in Brooklyn and benefited from this gratitude for help we gave him on a tough case or two. Yun’s a fine cook. My nose catches the unmistakable aroma of kimchi and my taste buds immediately began to set the table for a feast. His is among the very best I have ever had. I see you have come bearing gifts. You know what they say about Greeks. Does that apply to Koreans as well?

My attempt at humor falls on deaf ears. Yun’s in no mood for levity. He bows gravely. An-nyŏng-ha-se-yo? The Inspector’s in one of his formal moods. He gets that way when the load proves heavy and the road is littered with stones, potholes, snakes and corpses. I return his greeting. Hwan-yŏng-ham-ni-da. Chal ji-nae-shŏ-ssŏ-yo?

I’ve been better, comes the reply. I lead him over to the chairs in front of the fireplace and we sit down.

I’ve got to talk to Anna, he says with some urgency. There is something going on in the City and I have no clue what it is. We are making no progress and the bodies are stacking up. The Mayor is going ballistic. The Chief is on my neck morning to night. The Commissioner has been declared a no-fly zone. The District Attorney is reaming new orifices for anybody who happens to be in the same zip code.

At this point we were interrupted by Chang. Now Chang holds the unshakable belief that Chinese cuisine is the best in the world. For him, the Japanese are in second place. After six years at Omega, I’m a convert. He will, under pressure, agree that the French sometimes get it right - but not often - and mostly then from the Mediterranean parts of the country. He can whip up an awesome Bouillabaisse. He serves it with a creamy white garlic paste that’s so strong just a bit on your tongue can stop your heart - and then start it again. When it comes to European cuisines though, he is particularly fond of the Catalan region. Maybe that’s because Fernando is Catalan.

Chang considers all Korean cuisine peasant food and only tolerates it in his kitchen because of Yun. He brings a ceramic container and holds it out so that Yun can deposit his gift.

Chang, I think that we could use some sake. What do you say Inspector?

If you have it, comes the reply, I would enjoy some makgeolli. I smile at the suggestion. That’s a great idea, I respond.

Makgeolli is an alcoholic beverage native to Korea made from a mixture of wheat and rice. They ferment it. The stuff looks like diluted milk of magnesia. It’s a milky, off-white color with a bit of sweetness. I like it a lot. Yun and I have consumed many gallons of the stuff. I nod to Chang.

Chang bows stiffly and heads back to his kitchen. I watch him shake his head as he goes. Makgeolli is close to dishwater for him. With good sake on hand, he can’t fathom why anybody would drink the stuff. Only Koreans. My suspicion is that he’s going to bury the kimchi in the backyard out of spite.

I turn back to Yun. She’s not available. You know how she is. Up on the mountain. Been there since before sunrise. If you think it’s necessary, I’ll send Fred up the road with a message or raise the flag. That’s the only way to do it. Nothing of the modern world extends beyond that wall.

The flag is one of Anna’s concessions to the possibility that interruptions of her journeys beyond the wall might be occasionally necessary. There’s a pole at the back of the house that’s visible from the mountain but nowhere else. We have a series of flags to convey different messages. It’s almost never used. First because I’m charged with handling all but the most catastrophic situations. And I take pride in being able to do just that. Second, because it’s almost impossible for a situation to develop that Anna isn’t somehow aware of. She just knows. If she’s truly needed in the house, she’s always there.

Yun stands up and walks to the window. I can tell that he’s working a big problem and trying to decide if I’ll do as a place to start. I’ve learned over the years not to intrude when he gets this way. Just let him work it out. Yun, like many of his countrymen, can be stubborn beyond belief when they get their back up. After a good long think, he turns back and resumes his seat. Let us start without Anna. Telling you will help me get it straight. And we both know that, if she wanted to hear it first, she would be here. The Inspector pauses. I nod in agreement. I know I don’t have to say this, but nothing leaves this room. I silently cross my heart and hold up the Cub Scout salute. Still no smile.

-4-

Yun settles back into the chair searching for the right place to start. Chang comes in with the makgeolli and an array of Korean snacks. I notice that Yun’s kimchi is among them. Both of us recognize the gesture. Have I mentioned that this gruff old, cleaver wielding Chinaman has a soft spot for people carrying heavy burdens? Like most of Anna’s extended family, he seems to have a second sense. He serves us with a formality due lord of the manor. Seeing to the placement of the drinking bowls. He fills each and nods gravely. Then bows and withdraws. Yun rises and returns his bow.

After Chang leaves, we sit in silence. Each sipping our makgeolli. Yun’s lost in thought and I’m just lost. This is not like him. It’s almost like he’s afraid to start. It’s got to be a big burr that’s worked its way under his saddle. But I haven’t a clue what it is. I read the papers every morning. Five of them online. And pay close attention to major crimes in the area. Particularly when they occur in Manhattan. Aside from a rash of murders, there’s nothing that caught my eye. I just chalk them up to the exuberance of spring finding its foulest manifestations.

Finally, Yun turns his attention from the makgeolli. As you are probably aware, there have been a somewhat higher number of murders this month. I nod. We have reserved certain information. There is more to these murders than has been reported. He pauses and then continues. Reserving information may not be the right way to describe it. Here it is in a nutshell. There have been seven killings on the island within the last three weeks. They fit a pattern. The treatment of the corpse after death and location of the murders are the constants. We can’t find any other connections among the victims. I’ve had an army chasing down details. Background checks, interviews with friends and families. The usual drill. We have come up empty all around. None appear to have known each other. They are not from one part of society, economic strata, or neighborhood. They are not in the same profession. The first was a literary agent. The last was a nurse. In between a utility worker, valet, cab driver, haberdasher, electrician. Except for the nurse, they were all from the metropolitan area. The nurse was a tourist from Cleveland. No connections that we have been able to find. The only thing we are sure of is that there is probably going to be more.

I lean over towards Yun and ask, So the only connections are the method and location of the murders? He nods. Well, give, I say. Details.

They were all killed in the theater district, and all incinerated afterwards. The killer or killers douse the corpse with gas and set it on fire. The coroner tells me that they were all dead before being torched. So, they were burned after the murder was committed. But why? It makes no sense. The fire does not keep us from identifying the victims. It hides no clues. It is unnecessary. All it does is cook the corpses crispy and draw attention to the crime scene.

Yun takes a sip of makgeolli and continues. The morgue is filling up with bodies. They all look the same, but we can’t find any real connections. Somebody is incinerating random victims.

I couldn’t resist it. The toast of Broadway.

Yun looks at me with sharp, dagger eyes. Sorry, I offer. That was uncalled for. He softens a bit. What are your profilers telling you about the perp or perps, I ask?

Nothing useful. This one is off the charts as far as they are concerned. They are down to rage finding random outlets. We have tried every angle. I have a lot of manpower on the theater district angle. Maybe they all went to the same play or ate at the same restaurant. Dead end. Maybe they all shopped at the same store. Again nothing. We looked at their recent movements and came up empty. Some lived within walking distance. Some took cabs or the subway to the area. The nurse from Cleveland had never been in the City before. So, the profilers say random victim selection. That does not help much in a city of millions. They think that the incineration is just a signature. Like Sir Charles and the glove in the Pink Panther. Yun makes a face of disgust and continues.

So, we cannot figure out who is doing this or why. There is no sense to the method or the pattern of victims. Ian, we’re stuck. I am here because I need a shot of that higher plane stuff that Anna seems to be able to access. I don’t see how else we are going to solve this.

I pause to digest and then ask, How about opening the bag and dumping the contents. It might help if we go through it together. He nodded. I owed him. He called me Ian rather than MacGregger or Gregger. For me that’s the same as a big Lab getting scratched behind the ears. So, we settle down and get to work.

Over the next hour I collect a pile of facts. One thing about Yun, when he dumps the load, you’d better be ready with several trucks to handle the volume. He’s one of the most exacting observers I’ve ever worked with. Nothing escapes his notice. He files it all away and has a photographic memory. Coupled with total recall and his ability to describe accurately and in detail, it’s like being there. He describes every victim, what they were wearing. What they had in their pockets, where they came from, how long they had been in the City, why there were there. He goes over each crime scene in detail. All the forensics, the lines of inquiry that they followed and the results. The people they talked to, the weather and time of day when the killings occurred, traffic patterns and volume. He even brings show and tell. Pictures of the crime scenes, victims, corpses. He has maps and aerial photos. Yun has the crime reports on his laptop. We go through it all. We also go through half a gallon of makgeolli.

We approach it systematically from every direction. Anna says I’m too logical for my own good. But, when it comes to mining for nuggets, that’s the only way I know. If pressed, she will admit that it’s one of the reasons she keeps me around. It works almost every time. And, when it doesn’t, Anna’s way is the only way forward.

I’m not bragging, mind you. But I can squeeze an orange until there’s absolutely no juice left in it at all. The problem with this crop is that it only appears that there’s juice in the orange. We squeeze and squeeze. Lots of facts tumble out. Masses of descriptions, assumptions and conclusions line up. But not a drop of juice.

I could give you the crop, but it would bore the hell out of you and not get you anywhere you aren’t already. The long and short of it is that I get to where Yun is when he arrives and no farther.

After about an hour we decide to take a break. It’s getting on towards noon and lunch time. Lunch at Omega is at one. How about a break before lunch, I offer. Any place but inside the compound, comes the reply. Yun knows about the animals and hasn’t been properly introduced. I’m not sure if he resents or appreciates that. The times that Ning or Ranger have come up to the window while Yun was in the office leads me to believe that he’s not in a hurry to make their acquaintance. I go over to my desk and hit the button four times in quick succession. That alerts Andre that we’re coming out.

We leave the office and go down the hall towards the back door. To the left are the stairs to Anna’s private rooms. Further on is the door to the dojo. Anna is an Aikido dan. A black belt. Yun is a Taekwondo black belt. In calmer times they sometimes spar on the mats. Chang is the most advance in the house. He’s never told me what art he follows. All I get is a grin. But I suspect that he can take either Anna or Yun whenever he wants.

On the right is the door to the kitchen where Chang is busy with lunch preparations. The thing about a Chinese kitchen is that it might not smell like anything until the cooking begins and that sometimes is only a few minutes before it hits the table. This time, however, a wonderful aroma of ginger and soy is wafting into the hall. Yun and I look at each other and grin in anticipation. Fernando is busy organizing the table setting. I let them know that we are going out for a bit and will be back in time for lunch.

Andre has pulled the Three into the garage. We hop in and he pushes the button that opens the doors. We back out into the graveled area behind the house and turn right towards the gatehouse. Andre uses the remote to open the inner gates. Did I mention that the gates are double? The stone arch that holds them is about twenty-five feet deep and fifteen wide. We pull into the middle and Andre closes the inner gates. As soon as they are closed, the outer ones begin to open.

We get out of the Three and head to Yun’s car. As soon as we get there, Yun takes off his coat. I smile as he dons the shoulder holster. I understand. I feel naked without mine. As we head down the drive, I touch my shoulder holster.

As we are pulling away, I look back up the drive and smile. On the back seat is a cooler with a dozen bottles of Hite Prime on ice, a Korean beer that both of us favor. Chang is such a treasure, I observe. I wonder how he knew. And wonder how something like that happens so often in Anna’s family.

The drive down to the main road is not bad except during the dead of winter. The hills are steep and the turns tight. The road surface is tricky. Anna wants it that way. It’s impossible to either arrive or leave in any but a leisurely manner. There are also devices along the way that can neutralize a vehicle and its occupants. But more of that later.

At the bottom of the drive, we turn left onto the main road and then a quick left again into a short drive that leads to the pool into which the water arrives after its long fall from the garden. Ooof has worked the area into a very comfortable place to relax and reflect. If Anna, or any of us, has visitors we would rather not let into the compound, this is where we meet.

There’s a small cabin on the far bank of the pond. It’s a one room affair with all the necessary amenities. A couple of wooden benches sit in front and a big willow overhangs the roof. Yun parks the car and we take the beer with us. A footbridge takes us over the pool to the cabin. Ooof has put a number of large rocks together in a kind of natural sculpture between the cabin and the pond. He calls the arrangement ‘nature’s graveyard’. You figure it out. He won’t tell me that it means. It looks like a smaller version of Stonehenge.

We walk to the bench under the big willow and start on the Hite Prime. I open two bottles and hand one to Yun. Here’s to swimmin with bowlegged women, I offer. Yun smiles and raises his glass. Jookja Roughly translated, ‘let’s all just die’. I told you he’s an odd bird with a strange sense of humor. But this time, given what’s about to happen, I wonder.

High overhead I notice Trickster is making large lazy circles above us. His departure from that station will mean that Anna has returned from beyond the wall.

We settle in for a stroll down memory lane. A year earlier, we’d helped Yun crack a murder for hire syndicate. It was set up by a bunch of mercenaries who worked for the Dark Water Group. Their contracts had run out. Federal funding dried up because of a series of political scandals. So they went into business for themselves. As it turned out, their best clients were international companies and the mega-wealthy who wanted to send messages to their competitors. Let’s hear it for free enterprise! It was an ugly business and our efforts to shut it down brought on all sorts of anti-social behavior; including an attempt on Yun’s life that almost succeeded. How he was saved was never explained. At least by the authorities.

Yun had been lured to the dock area on the Hudson River by a snitch that he had found reliable it the past. The contact promised to deliver information key to his investigation. At two in the morning, Yun showed up alone and without backup. The snitch had insisted that he couldn’t take the chance of being seen talking to a homicide inspector. Yun decided to take a chance. It was almost his last. He was ambushed. Six of them jumped him and the lead guy hit him hard enough to put out his lights. By all rights he should have been killed or taken somewhere to be tortured. But something or someone interceded on his behalf. When he came back from the darkness, the bad guys were scattered all around him with their throats torn open and deep gashes all over their bodies. A quick cell phone call brought reinforcements. And then the circus began.

When they asked him what happened, all he could tell was up until he went down. Nothing about how all these corpses came to be. That was bad enough but when his snitch showed up dead not three blocks away and in the same condition, the legend began to grow. Yun became the man who killed seven while he was out cold. A spirit warrior. He suspects that I know something about that. He’s right. But he also has enough sense not to ask.

The aftershocks from the Dark Water investigations are still with us. The FBI got involved and managed to turn several of the minor players. The Manhattan DA managed to do the same. Once the beachheads were established, they pushed deeper. The threads lead to Wall Street, several major international companies, a nest of super-wealthy whackers and a handful of elected politicians and appointed officials. The press went into a feeding frenzy. Unfortunately, some indications of our role leaked out. Anna squashed most of it. But we were added to several enemies lists. An occupational hazard.

Our walk down memory lane brings us to the latest developments. Bits and pieces. Talked out, we relax and enjoy the beer. The main road isn’t heavily traveled, and we enjoy the quiet. I’ve always seen that as part of a