Prelude (An Alec Winters Series, Book 1) Read online

  “Better get in line, Sir. There’s a lot of brass ahead of you already on the list to get him,” Sergeant Jones advised.

  “That’s all right,” Atwood replied. “I usually have a way of getting what I need.”

  That was all that it took. Immediately, Alec Winters became a valued member of Atwood’s counter-intelligence operations.

  “Who is that guy?” Alec asked when he got his new orders.

  “He’s the closest thing the army has to a spook,” Sergeant Jones responded. “That crazy bastard is the one who slips behind enemy lines to extract critical intelligence. He finds out where and when a target will be, and then he moves in like a ghost to get them.”

  Later that week, Alec met with Bubba and Willy in the armory. As Private First Class (PFC), Alec supervised weapons assembly for Private Second Class (PV2) soldiers.

  “We heard you got some new orders, Sir,” Bubba commented.

  “Yep, I’ve been assigned to Chief Warrant Officer Atwood’s detachment.”

  “That’s a crack-pot team of ten soldiers who do some crazy shit,” Willy commented.

  “What do you know about them?” Alec asked.

  “I heard some of the officers talking while I had KP duty,” Willy replied. The other soldiers grew quiet and the metal gun parts ceased to click as Willy continued, “Atwood is some kind of genius. The army recruited him during his second year at Georgia Tech. It seems he’s real quiet, but crazy smart. Get this, his parents taught him to be a ‘free thinker.’ That’s a really valuable asset to the army right now.”

  “Are you saying he’s a hippie?” Bubba threw out. “Was he home-schooled?” Loud snickers chased the sarcasm.

  “You can laugh all you want, but no, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying he is very peculiar. He solves problems because of the way his folks raised him. He thinks outside the box and the army uses his talent to get certain jobs done, if you know what I mean,” Willy tried to explain. “He plans his missions based on the information gathered from regular intelligence sources, but he uses counter-intelligence methods to detect and stop terrorist threats…to get what he’s really after. They say he is a true patriot and that he’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done.”

  “What else did you hear?” Alec inquired.

  “I heard that for a thirty-five year old, he has the respect of the White House. I also heard that he trains the Navy Seals, Marines, and CIA in martial arts. I heard he’s the guy you send to kill James Bond…Isn’t that enough?” Willy proclaimed.

  “You’re either the luckiest bastard here or the unluckiest, Alec,” Bubba added. “Not sure I can envy your new assignment, but you’ll certainly have more opportunities to see the world.”

  During his twenty plus years of service, Alec completed college and studied every close-hand combat technique and tactic his commanding officer suggested. His team, inserted into every major US military conflict from 1993 to 2012, convened in Kuwait, Somalia, Haiti, Bosnia, Iraq, Yemen, Pakistan, Nigeria, and Afghanistan to await their instructions. Orders to kidnap this diplomat or rescue that dignitary soon followed.

  Alec’s primary job was to attend to the injuries of nine other soldiers on his team. On only one occasion did he treat Joey Atwood’s injuries. Dropped in by helicopter, the team stealthily moved into Afghanistan. As they slipped quietly through the night on foot, Atwood was shot in the left shoulder just below the clavicle from a rapid burst of artillery fire. A mortar blast separated him from the rest of the soldiers. Joey was pinned down and none of the other men could reach him. Alec rushed into the ensuing live action to get Joey. After dragging him to safety, Alec removed the bullet.

  “You’re a crazy son-of-a-bitch,” Joey commented. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed. You should’ve let the team pick me up on the way back.”

  “You’re the only one who can identify the target, Sir,” Alec reminded. “We needed you.”

  “True,” Joey conceded. “Still, that was pretty ballsy of you to rush into the fray like that to get my sorry ass. You were like a blur of white light or something…not sure how to describe that.”

  “You’d do the same,” Alec concluded ignoring the reference to his angelic persona.

  It was also Alec’s job to patch up any wounds sustained after the capture and torture of extracted informants and prisoners. It didn’t matter how brave or how well trained these captives were, they all talked by the time Atwood got through with them. They all needed medical attention too…if they survived the interrogation.

  Due in part to the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878, Alec’s detachment also landed on domestic soil from time to time such as in the Oklahoma City bombing, the Waco, Texas siege of the David Koresh group, Branch Davidians, and the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center in New York. The Posse Comitatus Act, which initially was put into effect to limit the powers of the federal government, prohibited military occupation by U.S. troops in former Confederate states by the U.S. Army during Reconstruction. After the violence and fraud disputes during the Presidential election of 1876, stopping federal interference was a big deal.

  Although revised and amended several times, the Act was used primarily in conjunction with the Enforcement Acts. It was a tool used by the President to call up troops whenever the state authorities were either unable or unwilling to suppress violence and opposition to the constitutional rights of the people.

  Although he would never discuss his activities while in the army, the strategies Alec learned to kill an opponent served him well. He had plenty of opportunities to use those killing methods while serving in other states and countries. There were pedophiles, rapist, murderers, serial killers, and sexual predators worldwide. Although he was the first international redeemer in the Saguache family, no matter where stationed, Alec prowled the streets during his free time to punish men and women for their heinous crimes against children and innocent victims. Without mercy, he destroyed the ones who took advantage of the helpless, hopeless, and fragile. He redeemed the ones who prayed for a savior and feared their prayers went unanswered.

  By the time Alec was thirty-three years old, he had attained full adult stature. He was solidly built, fit, and muscular at six feet tall. Weighing two hundred pounds assured that his biceps and thighs were thick and hard. Without flexing, his abdominal muscles were strong and well-developed. Alec’s most remarkable feature was striking, aquamarine eyes, but even those often disappeared behind sandy-brown lashes when he grinned. Alec, satisfied with his life, and away from the slanderous reports in his hometown, grinned a lot.

  He was especially happy as he marked off the months and years before his permanent return to Sabrina, his family, and the city he loved. Although he missed them very much, he only returned to New Orleans once a year and never at the same time. It was an effort to protect the ones he loved. Any hint of his presence caused a new outbreak of reporting that invariably rehashed his father’s death and renewed the public’s hostile, insulting speculations about that night. To avert such chaos and spare them, Alec used various disguises during his annual visits. Knowing that, if spotted at the Carrollton Avenue home, a nosy neighbor would alert the press he was forced to meet Cassidy and Sabrina at other venues. To see Catalina, he called Madeline O’Day. The understanding guard allowed Alec to slip in the back entrance to see his sister.

  Chapter 22

  Sabrina sat with Cassidy at the breakfast table. They were having coffee before their planned Saturday visit with Catalina. The younger woman recalled the memories of a brightly lit dining room and that her parents’ united front and persona was similar to the television characters of Ward and June Cleaver. Henry and Sue Devereux had been a committed, loving couple during their marriage. They had also provided a safe, comfortable home for their only child.

  She could still hear her mother’s lilting voice calling out, “Sabrina, it’s time for dinner. Is Chaz staying? There’s plenty of food and he’s always welcome.” An extra place setting was out and
waiting, just in case Chaz or another friend wanted to stay and dine with the Devereux family.

  Sue, a throwback from the fifties, still dressed for dinner and she expected her family to do the same. At the very least, there was an edict for Sabrina’s company to ‘wash-up’ before coming to the table. The memory brought a lump to Sabrina’s throat and she quickly wiped away a tear.

  “What is it dear?” Cassidy, keenly aware of her guest’s moods, asked.

  “I miss my mother,” Sabrina admitted.

  “Of course you do,” Cassidy consoled as she tenderly patted Sabrina’s hand.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that you care about me and always allow me to vent my troubles, especially after Dad has lost it…well, as you know, he was never very stable anyway.”

  “How is Henry?” Cassidy gently prodded.

  “I don’t know for sure. He doesn’t confide in me. It seems my father doesn’t have room for anyone in his heart other than Natasha Flint. She’s only ten years older than I am, Cassidy. I just don’t understand. Yes, she is very pretty in a bleach-blonde sort of way, but I’m his daughter. He chooses her over me. He chooses her over the memories of my mother. It hurts.”

  “Of course it does,” Cassidy sympathized. “Have you heard anymore from the police? Do they have any leads on the driver or car that struck and killed your mother?”

  “Nothing,” Sabrina replied. “They don’t know any more today than they did on the day it happened.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. You’ve faced many challenges while Alec has been away,” Cassidy soothed. “I know it hasn’t been easy. Maybe, one day, we’ll look back on this time as the worst year ever. Maybe, there are only good times ahead.”

  “Maybe,” Sabrina hesitantly agreed. “I’m just worried that it will only get worse.”

  “Whatever will be will be, dear,” Cassidy comforted.

  “Que Sera, Sera,” Sabrina tearfully hummed the tune.

  “Yes, dear, whatever will be, will be.”

  Cassidy’s heart went out to Sabrina. The younger woman had lost so very much. First, Alec joined the army and left the area. Next, during her first year at Tulane, a drunk driver killed her mother. Then, her father went off the deep end. Cassidy knew Henry was grieving, and she felt for him, but his sorrows had led to mistakes that had destroyed Sabrina’s peace of mind.

  Although Henry Devereux was neither very stable nor bright, he was well compensated as a financial planner for a highly respected insurance firm. Henry’s successes were attributed to following a specified plan of action that the company laid out for all their employees. He excelled because he stayed on task, dressed well, and made himself available to his clients. However, after the death of his wife, Henry hit the slab facedown. He was too depressed to go to work and too distraught to follow his normal routine. His weekly sales rankings began to slip which only caused more worry.

  In response to the additional work-stress, Henry began to drink heavily. He spent a great deal of his time at Harrah’s Casino playing blackjack. The distraction was harmless in the beginning, but casinos are notorious for criminal activity. It didn’t take long for Natasha Flint’s pimp, Randy Petrov, to point him out to her.

  “Look at him, Natasha,” Randy encouraged. “Poor guy! He’s so sad. He seems lost, doesn’t he? Give the man something to be happy about. More importantly, see if he can give you something that I’ll be happy about, okay?”

  “Is this a project?” Natasha sullenly asked as she eyed the fiftyish looking fellow with a receding hairline. “He looks soft. Why do I get all the old guys? Why not someone young and virile?”

  “It is an assignment,” Randy grinned as he forcefully squeezed her hand. It let her know who was boss and not to argue. “You’re the right one for the job so quit bitching. See how long you can make it last. I want everything the bastard has.”

  “How do you know he has anything worthwhile?”

  “I’ve been watching him for weeks now. I will teach you to see the things I see yet. Look at his shoes,” Randy shrugged as he instructed his number one hooker. “They’re Italian leather. Look at his suit; it didn’t come off the rack. See the wedding band on his finger? Now, look at his eyes and tell me, what do you see?”

  “His eyes are red…like he’s been crying. He must be very sad,” Natasha acknowledged.

  “Yep, he’s one miserable sack. That means he’s ripe for the picking. Go get him, girl. Find out what tragedy has struck him square in the jaw. Then, step-in and become his salvation. Men like that always need a savior. You will be his,” Randy made a clicking sound with his tongue as he nodded in Henry’s direction, “Giddy-up!”

  “Hello handsome,” Natasha’s husky Slavic whisper breezed against Henry Devereux’s cheek as she slid sideways into the chair at the gaming table. “Is this game called blackjack?” At his nod, she continued. “I’ve always wanted to play this game, but I don’t know the rules. Can you teach me, please?”

  Henry looked up from his cards. When he saw the pretty blonde woman sitting next to him, he couldn’t help but return the smile she offered. In the current lighting, she was truly lovely. Her blue eyes were locked on his and his heartbeat quickened. They were inviting eyes, eyes without judgment, and that made Henry feel important. The dealer seemed to know her and waived a server over with her favorite drink, a brandy Alexander. By the end of the evening, it felt natural when Harrah’s comped a room for the couple.

  Soon, Natasha’s well-honed father-complex had successfully drawn Henry in and pulled him from the brink of despair. A slender blonde and twenty years his junior, her admiration, along with a vibrant and flashy lifestyle, jolted him back from the depths of his depression. The attention and appreciation she showered on him made Henry feel alive again and he threw caution to the winds.

  “You taught me how to play a new game,” she cooed, “Now, let me introduce you to something new.”

  Henry, genuinely looking for a distraction from the painful loss of his wife, fell headfirst into a brand new world of cocaine and ecstasy. The Mexican Cartel made sure the drugs were plentiful and Natasha always knew where to get what she wanted. The French Quarter was flooded with the stuff. Henry supplied the money and Natasha procured their nightly entertainment.

  After complaining that her landlord was a pervert who frequently walked in her apartment unannounced, Henry wanted to help his new companion. He offered her a safe place to stay. In only a short while, Natasha was dressed in the late Mrs. Devereux’s sexiest nightgown and sitting at the breakfast table in the Devereux home.

  “Sabrina, this is Natasha,” Henry curtly introduced one morning. “She’ll be staying here for a while until she finds a safer place to live.” At Sabrina’s quizzical gaze, he added, “Although English isn’t her first language, she speaks it well enough. Maybe the two of you could be friendly and try to get along. Natasha hasn’t had an easy life, but I’ve agreed to help her. There’s plenty of room so you can avoid each other if that is a concern.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Sabrina offered as Henry left that morning. She was glad to see that her father had stopped crying and had returned to his work routine, but she worried about the new woman in his life.

  ‘A while’ turned into six months. Each day became more uncomfortable for Sabrina. Natasha had the run of the house and took whatever she wanted. She raided Sabrina’s closets and took her very best outfits. When Sabrina confronted her, Natasha only commented with a shrug, “Your dead mother’s clothing is too old fashion for me. I am young, like you. I will wear these clothes from now on. Daddy will buy you more, yes?”

  Often Sabrina would return from class to find Natasha sitting with a friend in the formal living room. Natasha made no introductions, but on more than one occasion, Sabrina overheard her call the man Randy. When asked about the visitor, Natasha brushed the question off with a delicate laugh and said, “Oh, Randy is a long-time friend. I used to work for him. Perhaps, you would like
to work for him too.”

  “I have a full schedule at Tulane. With the pressures of school and homework, I don’t have any spare time,” Sabrina cautiously replied. Randy seemed seedy and disreputable. She couldn’t imagine what kind of work Natasha had done for him, but whatever it was, she knew she wanted no part of it.

  After that conversation, Natasha’s attitude changed. She no longer attempted to get along with Henry’s daughter. Only a short while later, as Sabrina prepared to head to class one morning, Natasha suggested, “You know, Sabrina, you should find a new place to live. A girl of your age, what are you now…Twenty? You should have a man to take care of you or already be living on your own. You don’t want to always mooch off your father, do you?”

  “No, I don’t want that,” Sabrina admitted with surprise. Then, she added, “But I bet that you do.”

  “Aww, come on, little girl,” Natasha responded in her thick Slavic dialect. “Grow up. Your father has many pleasures with me. You wouldn’t deny him that, now that he is happier. He was so sad about your dead mother. I have given him something to be happy about once again. He needs the pleasures I provide. He needs me. What have you done for him lately? Are you there to shoo the misery away? I think not. The point I intend to make is that we would like to express our desires and affections freely, not to contain it. You understand that we cannot do this with you here, always coming and going, coming and going. It’s annoying. Let’s say that you have a week to find a new place to live, all right? That works for you. Good!”

  Chapter 23