Heralding Freedom of the Press Since 2003
JoneStranger
GRAPHIC NOVEL
JARRETTE FELLOWS, JR.
JoneStranger is a self-styled vigilante, ex-US Army intelligence officer (retired full bird colonel) fed-up with runaway crime, failure of law enforcement to curtail crime like gang turf wars, illicit drug trade, sex trafficking, and police, and political corruption in fictional city of Metrobia.
JS’ alter ego Rushia (RUS-sha) Gerard makes himself a committee-of-one to make an impact on the madness, initially to bring to justice the young urban thugs (JS calls Yutties) to justice, whom law enforcement has had little success (purposely) in interdicting.
What drives Rushia Gerard into action is a rumor on social media of a declaration by Crips and Blood gang factions a 100-day gangland murder spree to kill 100 innocent people adorned in a red or blue clothing item. Several random shootings marked by one physically-challenged teenager who wore green laces in his sneakers sends JS into the night to find and apprehend the shooter and deliver him (with evidence) to the Metrobia County Sheriff Department or the Metrobia Police Department (MPD) 77th Street station.
JoneStranger is adorned in carefully designed attire that blends with his environment (black trousers, shirt, gloves, loose-fitting trench coat, black Stetson brim hat). Attire blends with ordinary to onlookers. Items are in actuality high-tech garments digitally wired, bullet-proof, stab proof; Wears a high-tech waist-belt device that obscures his physical appearance rendering him nearly invisible at night.
JoneStranger zips about in the darkness in a modified Swedish-made hyper sports car—the Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut, with a top speed of 330 miles per hour, the fastest car in the world.
WEAPONS
JoneStranger’s modus operandi is to refrain from killing, but when unavoidable can and/will use deadly force in drastic situations. As story evolves, he will kill one individual who left him no choice. This is when law enforcement interest in him will go from casual annoyance to “Top-10 Fugitive" when charges against him escalate to homicide.
JS has a number of miniature immobilizing crime-fighting devices at his disposal attached in his light-weight trench-like coat. Here is his total weapons cache (doesn’t carry all of these weapons at once):
• Light weight flex steel toe/rubber sole boots
• Black attire is light weight made of special super tough fabric
• 60,000 watt miniature rechargeable (cell phone-size) taser
• Tranquilizing darts tipped with concentrated ketamine tranquilizer
• Red powder mist immobilizer (small cubes that explode into red mist on impact)
• Special light-weight alloy .357 magnum with 20-clips and silencer
• Miniature lithium battery-operated police scanner
• Portable lithium battery operated night vision (infra-red wrap-around eyewear); cell phone and camera
• Specially-designed unbreakable, cut-proof, fire proof plastic hand ties
• Street fighter. Japanese combat judoka/jui jitsu expert; Zendoryu karate, Hapkido expert. JS’ repertoire of offensive/defensive skills include pin-point kicks, punches, knee strikes, back fists, 180- and 360-degree spinning kicks, elbow strikes, knife hands, ridge hands, back fist/bottom fists, spear hands, joint manipulation, arm/wrist locks, arm/knee bars, and a multitude of chokes.
JoneStranger also employs tiny robotic creepy-crawlies—Micro Drone Insect Operatives or MDIOs that ingenuously mimic bugs, insects and arachnids, engineered with cameras and recording devices for intelligence gathering. The design of US biomechanics, the MDIOs operate as flying drones—bees, flies, butterflies and dragonflies—and common crawling insects like water bugs, beetles, grasshoppers, locusts and crickets.
JoneStranger targets murderers, thieves, rapists, drug dealers, gang bangers, abusive cops, and illicit drug lab operatives—message to them, “I will be watching!”
Will be spun around real crimes in the fictional city of Metrobia with interplay from mayor, council, police chief, activists, community leaders with fictitious names to provide a sense of reality, although the storyline will be enhanced with false, but imaginative angles and sub-plots.
JoneStranger is not a full-time crime fighter, but hits the streets periodically to throw off law enforcement about his movements, and to keep the Yuts (Young Urban Thugs) and other criminal elements skittish, unable to get too relaxed for fear of “The Spook With the Brim” as they call him, lurking nearby at the edge of darkness.
THEME SONG LYRICS
Into the night a figure of good,
figment in black draped in secrecy,
repressor of all lawless and vice.
Into the night a force for good,
a hero crushing crime and spite,
savaging denizens, predators.
EPISODE 1
The 'Green Shoelaces' murder
AWAKE IN THE A.M. AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT...
Rushia Gerard springs awake, abruptly throws the covers from his body,
knowing he has much to do. A glance at his bedside clock reveals a false
alarm—it is only a quarter past five. He’d been restless all night and
didn’t sleep well. The "Green Shoelace Killer" weighed heavily on his mind.
Hopping out of bed, Rush grabbed his bathrobe and flopped into the
big black leather chair before his computer, fired it up and waited
for the Google 10 logo to appear.
Before the screen in thought the lit screen casts him in silhouette:
“Crimes have gone down since I slept…. I know County Sheriff
Rob Muna's cowboys failed to corral the killer of that young boy!
Perhaps the press should pay more attention to escalating
crime in Metrobia, and less to side-shows like
Ronald Rump's media theatrics!”
"The strategy meetings between the political heirarchy
gettin' stale. Mayor Katie Fisch, Congresswoman Roxanne
Rivers, Sup. Janna Hall and Muna may mean well, but I
THINK IT'S TIME FOR THE STRANGER TO HIT THE SCENE!
IN THOUGHT FACING COMPUTER…
“Time to make another round—pay those Yuts, the
Lime Street gang a night call. They killed that kid
‘cause he wore greenlaces! And they're still
walkin' around free and braggin'!
“I’ll round ‘em up! Congresswoman Rivers is
right—‘someone’s gotta pay for the damage they
did to Metrobia, flooding it with drugs and guns!'”
FRONT VIEW OF RUSHIA FACING COMPUTER
Consternation in his expression.
“… and gotta plug the cartels too or they’re
gonna reduce America to a stupor ...
if she's not already there!
"But, first need to gather some intel on the
Lime Street gang responsible for the kid's
murder. They hang out daily at The Bistro ... .
I'll pay the joint a visit and deploy MDIO-1 to
gather some irrefutable intel for indictment
and conviction... ."
LATER THAT AFTERNOON...
Rushia Gerard sits at a patio table outside The
Bistro inconspicuously munching on a double
cheeseburger and fries, having already released
MDIO-1 water bug, which scurried to a hidden locale
out of sight inside the guest dining area ahead of any
of the arriving Lime Street gangsters.
"Now, I'll await for the transferral of the intel..."
Rushia thought to himself, slurping a Pepsi.
MEANWHILE...
Several hours elapsed since Rushia Gerard planted
the robotic spy at The Bistro, now enveloped in the
darkness of nightfall. The Lime Street gang numbered
20 strong on this night—several engaged in a game
of bid whist, four more slamming dominoes, and the
rest munching edibles, fixated on the Lakers and
Nuggets game on a mounted 60-inch big screen.
Unbeknownst to them, the robotic spy had been
gathering intel and transmitting undetected to
Rushia Gerard for hours now in a chandelier
hanging from the ceiling.
The bid whist action dominated the scene,
with the gang set's 30-year-old leader Rayvon
"Gallows" Charles commanding attention with
his raucous outbursts.
Slapping a winning card hand on the table...
"That's a plus-seven," he bellowed. "Me and my
pot-ner triumph! Hell, that was easier than
smokin' that lil chump wearin' green shoe
strings in my 'hood! He had to go, and ya'll
gotta pay! That's "Gallows" truth!"
ELSEWHERE...
"MDIO-1 aced it!" Rushia Gerard shouted.
"Got a confession and photo ID. I will make
a house call tomorrow at The Bistro to gather
the package for the Metrobia County Sheriff,
along with digital evidence—and a scoop for
Metrobia Herald Editor Jerrold Goodfellows...
"I will sleep soundly tonight."
THE NEXT DAY, MONDAY, RUSHIA GERARD
initiated his action plan before sunrise,
messaging the same intel directly to both
the rookie Sheriff Muna and the Metrobia
Herald's veteran publisher Goodfellows.
Glancing at his watch, several hours expired
since he pushed the "send button" on his PC.
"Both men should have the message by now,
aware that an extraordinary event will befall
them soon—that a new breed of crime snuffer
will emerge in Metrobia to make the city a
safer more lawful place.
MEANWHILE ... at both Sheriff Muna's office and
the Metrobia Herald, similar energy was churning.
Muna read the note with interest, aware from
36 years in law enforcement that vigilantes would
from time-to-time rise with grandiose notions of
single-handedly circumventing crime. Muna was
very careful not to overreach as former Metrobia
Police Chief Renard C.P. Larks had done in the
1990s to Kurt Sliwall and his Guardian Angels,
when they voluntarily instituted patrols of
Metrobia's worst neighborhoods.
Instead, he assigned Undersheriff May Tardee
to follow-up and keep him posted.
At the Herald, Jarrold Goodfellows wasn't
about to pass on a potential scoop, unaware
if any other media had been apprised. He
assigned coverage of the story to long-time
reporter Doug Lincoln and the Herald's
star photojournalist Roddie Rashly. Their
task was to quickly get the story posted
online ahead of the competition.
LATER AT 7 P.M. MONDAY EVENING ...
The Bistro was teeming with activity, with the
entire Lime Street Gang present—as was the case
most nights during the week—engaged in table-top
gambling, billiards, attuned to sports on the big
screen or chowing down.
They hadn't noticed the sudden appearance of the
guest adorned in all black at the entrance to the
cafe—until he caught Gallows' eye.
"This ain't open to the public from 7 to 10 p.m.
—it's a private party," Gallows lied, something
he and his cohorts had been doing for a year to
maintain their exclusivity. The owner dare not
object and the gang kindly obliged him with $10k
per month to serve them food, and to use the
cafe as their private gang set for three hours on
weekdays and two additional hours to midnight
on the weekends and holidays.
The stranger held a red cube in his right clench,
trench coat collar turned up, and brim hat tilted
low over his brow so that his face was hardly
discernable. He also wore a black mask over his
mouth and nose, and didn't flinch.
"I said this is a private set, maan—why you still
standing there?" Gallows barked. That's when all
eyes turned on the stranger, who subsequently
tossed the red cube several feet above the gang,
hitting the ceiling and bursting profusely into a
red mist, quickly enveloping the entire cafe in
a rouge mist, rendering everyone instantly
unconscious, collapsing to the floor and
slumping where they sat.
Unfortunately, the cafe owner suffered the same
fate. But the stranger took special precaution to
turn off stove-top burners and ovens to prevent
a fire in the cafe.
"Never planned to remain here, Gallows," the stranger
said, after which he shackled the gang leader's hands
together with two indestructible plastic ties around a
circular steel pole in the center of The Bistro dining
area extending from the floor to the ceiling.
The stranger emerged from the cafe activating a device
within his trench coat that renders him hard to detect
during nightfall. He blended into the darkness not a
moment too soon.
Just then, four Metrobia Sheriff units pull up and one other
vehicle bearing a reporter and photographer from the Herald.
The time was 8 o'clock p.m.
EPISODE 2
By the Light of the Moon:
Justice in the 'Green Shoelaces' murder
WHAT KIND OF MUCK? ...
Sheriff Rob Muna didn't take part in interrogating
suspects or attending interrogations. But this one was
special involving the slaughter of a kid scarcely
past the growth spurts of puberty.
The indicted but yet unconvicted Rayvon Charles, aka "Gallows,"
was seated on a stool with hands bound behind his back.
"I just had to see for myself what kind of muck puts a .38
caliber slug into an unarmed kid over some damn green
shoestrings?" Muna said.
"I'm innocent. I AIN'T DONE WHAT I'M ACCUSED OF ...
THIS IS A RACIST SET-UP!" Charles snapped.
"Oh, we got our man! We have your confession on tape,
and a video of you mouthing the confession bragging
about your deed, Rayvon Charles, alias GALLOWS!"
Charles turned to Sheriff Muna in the low-light room.
"The Sheriff Department ain't piss—ya'll deputies ain't dog
piss! Some spook in all black crashed our party and somehow
drugged us," Charles complained. "Next thing I know, um in
the back of a police car! My homies laid it out for me!
That's got to be illegal!
"The evidence will stand up in court this week, where I'm
confident you will be found guilty and hopefully put away
for life in a Federal or State penitentiary!" Muna scowled.
"You won't be a guest here at Metrobia Central, long.
We're shipping you out, Charles!"
"W-h-a-t-e-v-e-r ... just another Black political
prisoner," Charles bemoaned.
MUNA GLARED AT CHARLES FOR AN EXTENDED MOMENT.
"Send this misfit back to his cell!"
LATER THAT WEEK AT A THURSDAY NEWS CONFERENCE
IN FRONT OF THE METROBIA COUNTY JAIL ...
Sheriff Muna stood at a podium joined by Undersheriff
May Tardee and other members of his brass. He revealed
a disconcerting expression to a bevy of reporters and
photojournalists assembled before him.
"I don't know how a newspaper managed to upstage me,"
Muna said, "but they did. Anyway ...
"I'M HERE TO ANNOUNCE THE SUSPECT THE SHERIFF
DEPARTMENT APPREHENDED AND BROUGHT TO JUSTICE,
WAS SENT TO STATE PRISON WEDNESDAY, CONVICTED
BY A JURY OF HIS PEERS ON 4 CRIMINAL COUNTS,
INCLUDING FIRST DEGREE MURDER IN THE
KILLING OF 12 YEAR-OLD ANDRAE TAY!"
A local activist interrupted the sheriff, holding a
newspaper above his head bearing the a banner—
"JONES STRANGER NABS 'GREEN SHOESTRINGS KILLER!'"
"Looks like there's a new sheriff in town," joked Ali Najae,
prompting members of the press to turn to him.
"Where did you get that?" a young White female journalist
from the mainstream Metrobia Examiner asked.
"I don't know—you'll have to ask them ... the story reads the
Stranger said his name was 'Jones'. I don't know. Interview
the editor—Jarrold Goodfellows," Najae chuckled.
EPISODE 3
MDIO-WB Keeps on Transmitting:
Slippin' Into Darkness
Early Friday morning, Rushia was on the computer checking
with MDIO-1 to listen in on the chatter at The Bistro. Gallows,
their leader was tucked away in the California Correctional
Institute at Carlsbad, but it was business as usual with the
gang set busy as normal in the proliferation, movement
and sale of illicit drugs in Southern California with the
Colombia-based Zorra Colombiano Cartel .
A red light flashed intermittently on the computer
screen. Rushia was eager to learn what intel the
robotic operative had gathered for him this time.
"MDIO-Water Bug has attained the following intel for
Agent Rushia Gerard by text messaging and audio:
First, the test message: 'Representatives of the
Lime Street Gang will meet with representatives
of Zorra Colombiano Cartel @ 1 a.m. Sunday next,
at the remote rear of the South Bay Airport for
the transfer of 1000 multi-colored plastic
vials, each containing 1,000 tablets of the
opioid fentanyl for a combined total
of 1 million tablets.'"
"Now the audio intel."
Rushia zeroed in on one of the Lime Street gang—
Caspar Robinson, aka "Boo," who assumed "No. 1 G"
in place of the deposed Gallows who was sentenced
to 90 years+ 10 years for each of the Andrae Tay's
12 years of life, without the possibility of parole.
Rushia Gerard turned up the volume on the PC.
"The meet and exchange of the package is set for
Sunday at 1 a.m.," Caspar confirmed aloud
to no one in particular.
"This one is extra SWEEET! Gonna make
bank on this one. Gotta do our due diligence.
Who said the American Dream ain't for us?
Believe that if you want sucka. Not me!
Turn up the jams—let's party!"
The Lime Street gangsters were completely
oblivious to MDIO-1 and its meticulous spy work.
It hadn't occurred to them the place might be
bugged. Rudy Smith, The Bistro's owner, had
his suspicions that the gang was being watched.
Rushia Gerard pushed back from the computer
screen, rubbed his eyes and sighed.
"There's a helleva haul coming in," he mused. "This may
be one of the biggest illicit movements of fentanyl in the
drug's history. Well, I'm gonna upset the apple cart.
"Uncle Sam is a chronic addict, and his lust for
mind-altering drugs is being fed at every turn. He's
desperate to escape the realities of life."
SUNDAY AT 9 P.M., SOUTH BAY AIRPORT
"All quiet at ground zero—a mite too quiet," the
stranger thought, sitting in his Black Cloud Koenigsegg
Jesko Absolut cloaked in near invisibility at the end of
the back street bordering the airport. "I'm indebted to
Army engineering for creating this cloaking mechanism
that enables me and the car to blend in the darkness ...
"Engenders the 70's soul classic, 'Slippin' Into Darkness,'"
by War," the stranger chuckles. "I inherited my dad's gold
LP collection. That jam soothed me a many days. But,
here I am now, slippin' in the darkness..."
Movement at the other end of the block snapped the
stranger out of his trance. He'd done his part. In position
and ready to close in once the cartel contacts appeared
with members of the Lime Street gang, were the sheriff
department, Drug Enforcement Agency, ATF, agents of
the FBI, and South Bay Police. They had positioned
themselves out of sight since the afternoon.
The stranger was only there to observe and mop up
any stray bad guys attempting to slip the trap. The
coalition had no inkling of his presence.
THE RENDEZVOUS
At 10 p.m. four vehicles—all dark-colored SUV's
turned onto the street and parked spaced apart
at the other end of the block. The stranger spied
them through night-vision goggles. Several men
occupied each vehicle. They did not exit the
vehicles immediately.
The stranger knew they were scanning the area
for anything appearing conspicuously out of place.
Unbeknownst to them, they had already given the
coalition justifiable cause to search them.
Four SUVs appearing roughly at the same time late
at night on a sparsely driven street was suspicion. The
stranger wondered what was holding the coalition back.
"I gather the drug dealers are content to wait as close
to the switching hour or until 1 a.m. to execute the
transfer, making sure of no encroachment," the
stranger surmised.
TWO HOURS ELAPSE ...
The stranger flashed the time on the dashboard.
The time was 12:30 a.m. There had not been any
movement from the occupants in the SUVs for
more than two hours since their arrival.
Then the stranger discovered why. Abruptly
appearing in the sky was a single helicopter
that didn't betray it presence. The stranger
spliced it all together.
"Obviously the other half of the party—
most likely the Zorra Colombiano Cartel
arriving in a stealth chopper."
The stranger watched the helo through his
night vision goggles touch down minus any lights
or noise. He readily recognized the craft.
"Hmmm ... heavily modified Sikorsky UH-60
Black Hawk helo, specifically to achieve several
goals: invisibility to radar, reduced infrared signature
minimizing the heat emitted by the engine exhaust,
and acoustic noise reduction," he thought. "The
cartel certainly has the money to buy such
crafts, no doubt through a third party."
It all became clear to the stranger.
"I understand now why the coalition didn't move in
when the SUVs first arrived. They had intel I didn't,
that the cartel would arrive separately by helo.
Kudos to them! he said.
The stranger watched 16 occupants vacate the
SUVs and enter an unlocked gate to the tarmac.
He knew someone at the airport had abetted
the drug exchange—clearing the helicopter
landing, and leaving the gate unlocked.
"I'm confident the coalition will tie-up all the
pieces in the caper," the stranger thought,
as he could see coalition members with guns
drawn, slowly moving in on and surrounding
the illicit drug merchants.
Then, in a July Fourth-esque explosion of flash
bang grenades, flashing red lights, wailing sirens
and a bullhorn blasting commands, the quietly
serene wee morn was transformed.
"STOP WHERE YOU ARE OR WE WILL SHOOT!"
LIE DOWN FACE TO THE GROUND—EXTEND
YOUR ARMS ON THE GROUND ABOVE YOUR HEADS!
"EXTENDER TUS BRAZOS EN EL SUELO POR ENCIMA
DE TUS CABEZAS!" a second command blared in Spanish.
Members of the coalition began handcuffing the drug
dealers, while others removed metallic cases containing
the contraband from the helo.
The operation was carried out without a hitch. Not
one shot was fired in the sting with a round-up
of 20 total suspects, and an estimated grab of
1 million fentanyl tablets.
The stranger was gratified by the outcome of the
operation. It was just one more evil deception
crushed into defeat.
BACK AT THE PAD FEELING TRIUMPHANT
Rushia Gerard knew that the South Bay Airport haul,
and the huge intercept augmented by The California National
Guard supported counter-drug operations of the seizure of more
than 1 million fentanyl pills at the California-Mexico border two
months ago—including more than 592,900 pills at the state's
ports of entry, didn't amount to a scratch in the big picture.
EPISODE 4
Morning Ritual:
Fitness to ocean sea breeze
Rushia Gerard's lair overlooks the Pacific Ocean, tucked
away amid the rugged embrace of terrain created by the
canyons and mountains throughout the Palisades. Panoramic
vistas prevail offering sweeping views of the ocean shoreline,
dramatic undeveloped scrub canyon and mountain landscapes.
Perfect seclusion for him and his alter ego.
Rushia took it upon himself to retreat to the rear—military
jargon of rest and relaxation from the front lines of criminal
interdiction in Metrobia and to throw-off law enforcement,
lest he provide insight of his clandestine movements.
The secluded property was formerly annexed by the Oxnard Air
Force Base, part of Air Defense Command in Camarillo, Calif., as
the residence for commanding officers of the 414th Fighter Group,
the last of whom was Col. Paul D. Cofer when the base was still active.
The installation, which was built in 1940, served the US military until
1970, and was home to the 354th and 437th Fighter Interceptor Squadrons.
The base fielded F101 Voodoo interceptors, which were replaced in 1960 by
17 new F-106 Delta Darts. The base was highlighted in US Air Force Training
Film "Nuclear Attack Preparedness Procedures: Survive to Fight."
On January 1, 1970, Oxnard AFB, which deployed 99 officers and 990
enlisted personnel before its closing, was deactivated and the base became
surplus property. Through a special arrangement with the US government
and the army, the five-thousand square foot property was purchased from
the US Air Force for a sum that remains undisclosed. The property also
included some high-tech modifications—an olive drab eight-foot
high metallic grill around the perimeter of the property, wired
with cameras and motion sensors that spied twenty-four
hours. The grill blended with the soil and rugged scrub
brush from the air, and included an access gate
for the Absolut that opened and closed on
voice command from inside the vehicle.
The property also included a heli-pad for stealth choppers that
was camouflaged from the air. The craft were able to detect
the landing pad in darkness and light by onboard
sensors and receptors embedded in the pad.
Fortunately, Ret-Col. Rushia Gerard was authorized
with the unrestricted use of the compound.
HOT MORNING JOE AT THE CONTROLS
Rushia Gerard rolled out of the sack at 8 a.m., Saturday morning. Peering
through his bedroom window, which overlooked the ocean, balmy, grey overcast
skies filled the canvas. Through an open screen, a restless wind was adrift,
complementing ocean waves crashing the rocky seashore 300 yards away.
It was symphonic to Rushia's ears.
Rushia slid cocoa blinds to one side, opened the sliding window all the
way, and deeply inhaled the sea breeze that wafted in.
"I just love the smell of fresh ocean air in the morn," he exclaimed,
parting a thick tan cotton bathrobe to allow the breeze to envelop his
muscular dark-skinned six-foot frame.
When it gets warmer in the summer, I won't be wearing these skivvies to
bed, Rushia said walking back to his PC. Slurping his brew quickened
him to a daily ritual he had overlooked.
"Maan, I got calisthenics to do!"
Rushia burst into a rendition of Robert Preston's morning exercise
theme song, "Chicken Fat" ...
"PUSHUPS EVERY MORNING, TEN TIMES STARTING LOWWWW, GO AWAY
CHICKEN FAT, GOOO AWAAAY, GOOO AWAY CHICKEN FAT GOOOO! ...
Rushia Gerard turned on a music tape of Preston's "Chicken Fat," as he
has done for 30 years on active duty to keep his physique taut, firm, and
ready for any physical challenge that might present itself on the dark, cold
streets of Metrobia—following the song's commands for multiple sets
of push-ups, sit-ups, deep knee-bends, body, arm, and neck twirls;
jumping jacks, running in place, bicycles, and a variety of martial
arts techniques, including straight punches, knife hands, spear
thrusts, knee and elbow strikes, front, side-thrust, back, and
spinning back kicks; and blocks.
Following 30 minutes of exercise, Rushia entered his spacious
bathroom—an exquisite work of craftmanship featuring marble face
bowl and drawers with pearl handles, and a huge 6x10 foot bevel crystal
glass mirror ringed with miniature one-hundred-watt light bulbs,
a silver-plated toilet, and a padded oak bench with footrest. To
one end of the bathroom was a steam room with two levels of
red wood bench seating, room enough for a dozen persons.
But the defining features of the bathroom were its step-down bathtub
and jacuzzi with twelve jet nozzles, and a large rustic slate & quartzite
shower bearing multiple copper fixtures for convenience and pamper.
This was the ultimate shower for the alpha male or female built to
accommodate two in sheer luxury.
But for now, it was the sole haven of Rushia Gerard.
He had grown to appreciate the finer luxuries of life as a reward of
sacrifice, hard work, and preparation.
Stepping out of the shower, spot-drying his chiseled black body
with a soft, oversized white towel, Rushia harbored special
praise for his benefactor:
"Thank you, Lord for all this you've blessed me with.
I am truly humbled."
EPISODE 5
Backstory:
Intensity of Criminal Turpitude
First Lt. Rushia Gerard's military career was shining brighter than the north star
very early soon after matriculation at the Virginia Military Institute, where
he graduated at the top of his class of 600 cadets.
Only 23 years old and two years removed from college, Rushia was already
totally immersed in military intelligence norms at the Central Intelligence
Agency, where he had been highly sought bearing a high-level recommendation
by the then Forty-second President Greg H.W. Bosch. Cadet Rushia
had maintained the highest scholastic standards, earning a
baccalaureate degree in Global Military Intelligence,
compounding a perfect 4.0 GPA.
Additionally, he successfully completed ROTC Advanced Camp at Fort Knox, KY,
was designated as a "Distinguished Military Graduate" by the Professor of Military
Science there, and ultimately ranked in the top 1 percent of United States
Army ROTC Cadets nationwide in 1999.
Lt. Gerard's life and career was surrounded by family luminaries. His wife,
Second Lt. Jeanine Gerard, in service to the US military, as well, was a army communications officer at the Pentagon in Arlington, VA at the time. Her
father, Ret.-Gen. Zachary Otis taught "History of Warfare" at West Point,
following retirement from active duty where he commanded the all-Black
92nd Infantry Division in Sommocolonia, Italy. Of the 909,000 Black
Americans selected for duty in the Army during World War II, only
the 92nd Division saw infantry combat in Europe.
Rounding out Rushia's circle of luminaries was his mother-in-law
Maybelle Otis, a retired professor of African history at
Spelman College in Atlanta, GA for twenty years.
Lt. Jeanine had arranged for her parents to be part of a special media
tour of the Pentagon on Sept. 11. 2001. Lt. Rushia was scheduled as a guest
of the tour delegation but was forced to cancel a week earlier after
CIA operatives in the Middle East uncovered a plot by Islamic
terrorists to attack targets in America in September.
The plot involving the US proved prophetic. The glimmer radiating
around Lt. Rushia Gerard was shattered on Sept. 11, 2001, when Islamic
jihadists hijacked American Airlines Flight 77, deliberately crashing into
the West Wall of the Pentagon killing 189 — 58 passengers, 125
Pentagon personnel, including 6 hijackers. Lt. Rushia's wife,
motherand father in-laws perished in the attack.
Ironically, the 9/11 tragedy could have been averted had the
CIA been able to clearly decipher its findings one week earlier.
The plot involving a team of suicidal al-Qaeda operatives crumbled
the World Trade Center when American Airlines Flight 11, and UA
Flight 175 plowed into the skyscrapers at 600 mph, with a
fourth plane crashing in a field in Pennsylvania at 10:03
a.m. after passengers fought back. Intel surmised the
hijackers planned to attack the Capitol Building
in Washington DC.
The CIA quickly learned American Airlines Flight 77 was a scheduled
domestic transcontinental passenger flight from Dulles International
Airport in Northern Virginia to Los Angeles International Airport in
Los Angeles. The Boeing 757-223 aircraft serving the flight was
taken by five al-Qaeda terrorists on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001,
as part of the Sept. 11 attacks.
Flight 77 became airborne at 08:20 ET. Thirty-one minutes after takeoff, the
attackers stormed the cockpit and forced the passengers and crew to the
rear of the cabin, threatening the hostages but initially sparing all of them.
Lead hijacker Hani Hanjour assumed control of the aircraft after having
undergone extensive flight training as part of his preparation for the attack.
In the meantime, two people aboard discreetly made phone calls to family
members and relayed information on the situation without the
knowledge of their assailants.
Hanjour flew the airplane into the west side of the Pentagon at 09:37.
Many people witnessed the impact, and news sources began reporting on
the incident within minutes, The Boeing 757 severely damaged an area of
the Pentagon and caused large fire that took several days to extinguish.
By 10:10, the damage inflicted by the plane and ignited jet fuel led to a
localized collapse of the Pentagon's western flank, followed forty
minutes later by another five stories of the structure.
Flight 77 was the third of four passenger jets commandeered by
terrorists that morning, and the last to reach a target intended by
al-Qaeda. The hijacking was to be coordinated with that of UA 93,
which was flown toward the US capital in Washington, D.C., The
terrorists on Flight 93 had their sights set on a federal target
not far from the Pentagon, but were forced to crash the
plane in a Pennsylvania meadow when the passengers
fought for control after being alerted to the previous
suicide attacks, including Flight 77's.
Lt. Rushia Gerard conducted himself becoming of a professional
soldier and intelligence officer, even though he was under great
duress over his loved ones in harm's way.
That became the impetus for him to devote a solo career to fight
a blitzkrieg against criminal malfeasance in Metrobia,
and wherever he encountered it.
EPISODE 6
City of South-East Metrobia
SE METROBIA
South-East Metrobia is a city of 98,000 in Metrobia County, populated
primarily by Blacks and Latins. Blacks retain a strong grip on political
power, even though out-numbered three-to-one. But accounting for
the heavy numbers of Latins are undocumented persons, who have
not gone unnoticed by the US Citizenship and Immigration
Services, US Immigration and Customs Enforcement
and the Metrobia County Sheriff's Department.
While the three agencies are keeping a watchful eye on the
undocumented populace, Rushia Gerard has developed a keen
interest in South-East Metrobia due to credible intelligence
that the city, which is patrolled under contract by the
Metrobia County Sheriff's Department may harbor an
illegal deputy gang called Executioners, an outlaw
group mired in racism and lawlessness.
Sheriff Rob Muna denies the existence of the Executioners, but
US Congressional Representative Roxanne Rivers called for a
Department of Justice inquiry into the existence of the gang.
COURTESY VISIT TO SOUTH-EAST METROBIA
Up at 6 a.m., Rushia Gerard worked out for an hour,
showered, consumed a breakfast of hot oatmeal, sliced
apples, scrambled eggs and sausage and freshly
squeezed orange juice, before plotting a
strategy of action for SE Metrobia.
"South-East Metrobia is not a town I have had much
interest in," Rushia thought. "The confusion there is
untenable. A couple mayors have exacerbated the
undue tension that roils daily—namely twice-
elected Chyna White, and now Irma Shareed.
But that's politics—not my baliwick!"
RUSHIA TAKES A SEAT AT THE BREAKFAST
NOOK TO SIP A CUP OF HOT MOCHA
"My interest is the existence of the Executioners,
who need to be eradicated, if they do indeed operate
there, and to a lesser extent—for now anyway—intel
that indicates truckers in 18-wheeler semi's may
periodically roll into South-East Metrobia at
the airport in the wee hours off-loading
illicit drugs and guns."
The time was now 9 a.m. Rushia knew the drive time
from Oxnard to South-East Metrobia was going to
consume more than ninety minutes and could
take longer if morning traffic persisted.
"Okay—will be deploying two MDI0 agents—at
the South-East Metrobia sheriff's sub-station, and
the airport traffic control tower," Rushia said,
recording the message into his cellphone.
"Time to go!"
Rushia entered the garage attached to the house,
where his black Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut and white
Range Rover SV Carmel were parked.
Entering the Range Rover, he turned on the ignition,
then activated the system-wide security system to the
compound, which wouldn't go hot until the vehicle
passed the gate. He glanced quickly about, then
proceeded ahead to the main gate, which
opened and shut automatically.
Rushia drove slowly another half mile along a gravel road
before it became Occidental Drive, which ensued for another
quarter mile before arriving at Interstate 101 at a stop
sign. Rushia looked left, then turned right onto I-101,
quickly accelerating to high speed.
Traffic was light on a beautiful sunny morning, amid a
cloudless powder blue sky. Rushia embedded ear plugs and
turned the radio dial to his favorite Christian talk radio
station—KKLA 99.5 FM, where programming included
progressive talk, Bible teaching, news, and
contemporary Gospel music.
"Lord, what good Word do you have for me today?"
Rushia invited. "Lord, I accept all the wisdom you want
to impart to me as I undertake this mission today.
Oh gentle Savior, cover me with your protection
as I enter the stronghold of the enemy. I am
declaring the victory in your precious
holy name, Jesus—Amen.
EPISODE 7
Operatives MDI0
Waterbug and Dragonfly
The succession of KKLA-FM radio talk programming and praise music
was so relaxing to Rushia Gerard, and the Carmel Range Rover such a
smooth ride, fifty-five minutes driving time felt much shorter to him.
Encountering very light traffic, Rushia was already transitioning from
the 101 South to the 405 East flying past Westwood and UCLA.
South-East Metrobia was only thirty-five minutes away now.
Rushia thought the time was appropriate to brief his tiny
operatives on their mission. A digital app embedded in his
vehicles allowed him to speak to his robotic cohorts to plot
intelligence strategies against an enemy or target—in
this case the S.E. Metrobia Sheriff's station, and
the airport traffic control tower.
The communication was one-way—from Rushia to
the MDI0s. This generation of robotic units weren't
engineered to exchange discourse; but merely to
absorb strategic planning. Rushia was only able to
input to one at a time.
He turned off the radio.
"MDI0 Waterbug, Come Alive!" Rushia commanded.
The units were in a wooden enclosure in the
vehicle console. MDIO Waterbug acknowledged the
transmission, emitting a pulsating red aura in its
abdomen, and its antennae moved circularly.
Rushia noticed traffic was slowing after he exchanged to
the 10 Freeway from the 405 near Western Avenue. He
also peeped a California Highway Patrol motorcycle
officer through his left sideview mirror, twenty feet to
his rear shadowing and watching him.
"This guy's got his eye on me. But why? I'm moving
with the flow of traffic ... must be 'DRIVING IN AN
EXPENSIVE CAR WHILE BLACK!'
"MDIO Waterbug—Stand By/Stand Down!"
Rushia ordered.
MDI0 ceased to pulsate immediately. No sooner
did he order it to "go dark," did the CHP officer
flash his blue and red lights and blip Rushia to
pull over. Rushia was in the third of six lanes and
the officer stalled traffic in the first and second lanes
permitting him to pull over to the right shoulder.
Rushia's driver's license and registration were in
the console preventing any unnecessary movement.
He watched the officer through his side view mirror
slowly approach him, then he pressed the button
lowering the driver's side window.
"Driver's license and registration, please!" the
officer asked politely.
"Sure, officer," Rushia acknowledged without malice,
grabbing his registration and wallet from which he secured
his license, handing them to the officer. He was burly
more than six-foot.
"Sit tight. I'll be back shortly ... ."
Rushia watched the officer walk back to his cycle
and call his information in.
"He's checking to determine if the Carmel's stolen,"
Rushia thought, jotting down the officer's badge
number and name on a notepad. "CHP 6856.
His name tag read 'T. Cox.'"
In less than five minutes the officer returned
the items to Rushia Gerard.
"Retired army colonel, eh? I served two army
tours in Afghanistan," the CHiP officer said.
Rushia Gerard was not impressed.
"Just wanted to peek the car, Officer Cox?" he deadpanned.
"No sir. Standard procedure for extremely expensive
vehicles," the officer responded.
"More like an unwarranted stop to me... ."
The officer grinned wryly.
"Have a pleasant day, colonel," he said walking back to his cycle.
Rushia didn't start the ignition right away. The CHP officer
motioned for him to enter traffic while he stalled oncoming traffic.
But Rushia sat there. He didn't have to move.
The officer doused his flashing lights and finally sped away.
Rushia started the ignition, signaled left and entered
traffic, which was flowing freely.
"MDIO Waterbug, Come Alive!"
MDI0 WB was pulsating luminous red at once and
twitching its antennae.
Moments later Rushia Gerard was transitioning
to the 110 Freeway South from I-10
"MDI0 Waterbug, Notate! S.E. Metrobia Sheriff Station
is your target for intel. Upon arrival seek cover, avoid
identification and capture. Seek photo and audio intel
of the presence of Executioner deputy gang. Over!"
MDI0 WB then went dark.
"MDIO Dragonfly, Come Alive!" Rushia commanded.
MDI0's sheer wings pulsated luminous blue.
"MDI0 Dragonfly, Notate! The S.E. Metrobia Airport
Air Traffic Control Tower is your target for intel of any
suspicious activity. Gather photo and audio intel by
aerial means; avoid identification and capture.
Zero in on the suspected presence of gun-running
and illicit drug trafficking by small single and double
engine aircraft, helicopter, 18-wheeler semi trucks
or any other vehicular means parking on streets and
in lots parallel and adjacent to the airport. Over!"
MDIO Dragonfly then went dark.
A few minutes later Rushia Gerard exited the
Harbor Freeway at Alondra Boulevard. Towering in
the distance was the S.E. Metrobia Superior
Court Building situated downtown.
The sheriff's station was in the same complex.
The airport was a mile due West.
Rushia arrived at the S.E. Metrobia Airport first.
Exiting his vehicle, he gingerly gathered and cradled
MDI0 Dragonfly in his right palm, raised his arm
high, and the robotic spy fluttered into the air
toward the air traffic control tower, where it
would launch its covert operation.
"Now onto the sheriff's station," Rushia muttered,
Re-entering his vehicle, the crimefighter drove three
minutes to Willowbrook Avenue, where he turned right
and parked directly in front of the mid-sized station,
next door to City Hall and Council Chambers,
and where the mayor's and council offices
were located.
Before he exited the car, Rushia placed MDI0
Waterbug in the right pocket of his sweater.
Walking up a slight metal-railed incline, Rushia gently
took MDI0 WB from his coat pocket, releasing it behind
him outside the entrance to the station to avoid video
detection by digital cameras, which may or may not be
concealed. MDI0 WB was going to have to use its
ingenuity to gain entry into the station.
Rushia was surprised to find the waiting area of the
sheriff's station so austere and uninviting. The first
thing that caught his attention was a help counter
shielded by thick bullet proof plexi-glass, which
spanned the width of the public area.
Rushia approached the lone deputy at the counter.
"I'd like to know when Capt. Jon Bonhart will host
his next 'Coffee With the Captain'—I'd like to
attend," Rushia Gerard pretended.
"Those coffee klatches meeting times change all
the time, sir. You'd do better checking the website
at www.se.metrobiasheriff.com for updates.
That's my best advice," the deputy said.
"Okay, thanks deputy. Much obliged."
Exiting the sheriff's station, Rushia exhaled. This was the
town he grew up in, matriculating at Franken Roosevelt
Junior High, and Manuela Domingo High School where
he ranked third academically in his graduating class.
Rushia Gerard was an only child born to Jay and
Charlotte Gerard. His parents succumbed in their
early sixties to natural causes ironically days apart
while Rushia was away preparing for military
service at the Virginia Military Institute.
The interment and double funeral he was granted
special leave by the army to arrange, had been the
saddest time of his life. Months later he was tasked
with having to arrange the sale of the home he'd
grown up in, to a young Latino family.
Rushia contemplated driving to his old home
at 1528 S. California Ave. for nostalgia reasons,
but he turned back after driving onto Greenleaf
Avenue, which intersected with his old street.
He loved his mom and dad and was content to
tuck them away amid his fondest memories
of them in his heart, soul and spirit.
"This town is not the same place I once knew.
It's a stronghold of vice now. But mission accomplished
today. Better be getting back to Oxnard. I'll do more
to interdict the vice here that has ruined a once very
nice middle class enclave.
"But I will be back to help lift up this town, eradicating
the dark virulent shadows that have seized
S.E. Metrobia," Rushia promised.
EPISODE 8
Fort Belvoir, Virginia
US Army Intelligence and
Security COMMAND
Rushia Gerard was thankful the return trip to his Oxnard compound was much faster than the drive to S.E. Metrobia minus the traffic. Back at his computer, he ran a quick assessment of MDI0's Waterbug and Dragonfly. He was pleased to learn that Waterbug
had successfully infiltrated the sheriff's sub-station, and Dragonfly was perched atop the air traffic Control Tower awaiting nightfall to probe the tower, airport and corresponding activity.
MESSAGE FROM FORT BELVOIR
Rushia also noticed a message from intelligence headquarters at Fort Belvoir.
Fort Belvoir, VA, the United States Army Intelligence and Security Command
(INSCOM), is a direct reporting unit that conducts intelligence, security and
information operations for US Army commanders and partners in the
Intelligence Community, and national decision-makers.
Ret.-Col. Rushia Gerard owes all of his intelligence capability to INSCOM.
A gifted intelligence officer when he was on active duty, primarily keeping track
of the globe's tyrannical terrorist strata in the Middle East, the army's powerful intelligence component have now provided Rushia with the power and apparatus to interdict the criminal strongholds in Metrobia, the drug cartel intrusion, political/
police corruption, and other facets of criminal malfeasance that may manifest.
LOGISTICS SUPPORT FOR RUSHIA GERARD
Rushia hastily received a message from the Sierra Army Depot, a strategic
component of his crime fighting network, providing critical logistics support
including compound maintenance, vehicle mechanics, fuel, clothing, food
and water, and toiletries. The periodic visit also provided medical exams
to assure he was in top health. Rushia looked forward to her calls.
"Hello Maj. Smith, how's my favorite 'Gingerbread,'" Rushia teased
audibly, referring to commanding logistics officer, Maj. Ginger Smith.
Maj. Smith is based at Fort Belvoir but rendezvous' with the Sierra Army
Depot to join with key personnel and gather supplies, including gas and oil
for his vehicles, which were always topped off, and the surplus left behind.
The major attained a medical degree from the University of Chicago. After a
one-year residency, Smith was admitted into the University of Chicago Medicine physicians a University of Chicago Physicians Group, which includes about 900 physicians and covers the full array of medical and surgical specialties. The
physicians are faculty members of the Pritzker School of Medicine.
Smith was already enrolled in Reserved Officer Training Corps when
she entered UChicago Medical School. She had a duty to serve, and
and always knew the right time would converge, preparing her for
interdisciplinary thought leadership to lead within the military.
Maj. Dr. Smith had a lot crammed into that brain of hers, but
no one could determine that by looking at her calm, youthful
demeanor. At thirty-nine, she looked ten years younger.
Her appearance was probably due to an ever-present smile.
"I'm doing fantastic, Col. Gerard. I trust you are as well?"
"I absolutely am. This operation couldn't be smoother."
"I'll have to take your word for it on a number of things
due to the classified nature of them," Maj. Smith resigned.
"We will look at the high performance Koenigsegg Jesko
Absolut—that's one of the tasks."
"The Koenigsegg is out of this world—just a fantastic machine.
And the cutting-edge enhancements are incredible," Rushia said.
"We've got a lot to go over when we get there, colonel.
High priority, at the least, anyway," Maj. Smith said.
EPISODE 9
CHP Unwarranted Stop
Rushia did not forget about the CHP motocycle officer that ordered an
unwarranted stop on him, and the deliberate lie he spoke about certain
expensive vehicles being subject to law enforcement stops. A high-level Army
intelligence officer, he knew everything there was to know about global
terrorism, domestic terrorism, and US law enforcement agencies
operating outside of the purview of the law.
Now he was going to file a complaint with the US Justice Department,
California Highway Patrol, California Attorney General, and Metrobia
District Attorney to impart a lesson to CHP Officer T. Cox.
And he had direct access to the top personnel due to his stature
in the global US and allied intelligence community.
Rushia was going to present himself as a solo victim of
an unwarranted stop because he knew police, deputies,
and state patrol officers did not maintain official records
for unwarranted vehicle stops as a standard procedure.
But he possessed the intel to prove what occurred
to him may befall Black and Latino motorists
routinely on a national basis.
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON
Rushia presented as "Ret.-Col. Rushia Gerard of Army
Intelligence, because he knew there would be no mistake
who he was. The respect was high-level. No major metro
police chief, county sheriff, federal marshal or state
highway patrol officer didn't know who he was or
his stature in the intelligence field.
He initially sent emails to each agency's boss at
the US Justice Department, California Highway Patrol,
California Attorney General, and Metrobia District Attorney.
But now they were returning his call.
One call zinged his office land line, and another rang
on the second of four lines, going directly to voice mail.
"Hello, Col. Rushia Gerard," he answered.
"Good afternoon, Col. Gerard! Delighted to hear from you,"
CHP Commissioner Shaun Dury said.
"Good day Commissioner Dury. I'll get right to the point.
I sent an email earlier to apprise you of an unwarranted
traffic stop regarding me, that I documented from the
beginning to the end I hope you might investigate."
"Yes, Col. Gerard. I read the message, and I must say,
I'm disturbed. The department is on top of this and
probing Officer Cox's actions," Dury said.
"The Commissioner of the CHP is responsible for one of the largest
law enforcement agencies in the nation," Dury explained. "With more
than 11,000 employees and 100 offices, the CHP is responsible for
more than just patrolling the more than one million miles of road.
"It also serves in protecting California citizens and visitors against
terrorism, computer theft, and is responsible for emergency response,
anywhere in the state. By land, sea, and air, the CHP is there to provide
the highest level of Safety, Service, and Security," Dury added.
"I hold the CHP in the highest regard," Commissioner, Col. Rushia
said. "That's why your officers must harbor a sense of discipline and
the highest professional conduct. It must always be the honor
system—you never know when someone's watching."
"Sir, the CHP will investigate, and submit a report
to you. We will not tolerate a rogue patrol policy
that is not CHP policy."
"Thank you, Commissioner Dury. Much obliged,"
Col. Gerard ended.
Rushia saw that the second call originated from the
California Attorney General. The AG Walt B. Csonka left a
message for him to call back ASAP at (916) 210-6276,
extension 711.
Rushia dialed the number. Surprisingly, it was picked up
on the first ring. It was AG Walter B. Csonka.
"Greetings, my friend Col. Gerard. How are you dear Sir?"
"I'm doing great, optimistic," Attorney General Csonka,"
Col. Gerard professed.
"I was hoping you'd call back before I had to leave for
a news conference, which I'm due for in ten minutes,"
Csonka said. "Colonel, I want you to understand, I will
pressure the CHP to discipline the motorcycle officer for
his unlawful activity. Errant law enforcement cannot
be tolerated. My office will not stand for it."
"I'm thankful for your concern," Attorney General. "I'm
concerned whenever crime happens — at the hands of
criminals in the street or at the hands of lawmen and
lawwomen that masquerade bearing a badge or shield."
The time was five-thirty five p.m. Rushia was pleased
that fifty percent of the powerful men that headed the
agencies he petitioned, reached back to him promptly.
Given they were as critically busy as they were, it could
have required several days for a response. It demonstrated
the gravity of importance attached to Col. Rushia Gerard,
and what his skills meant to national security.
Rushia was content to wait until the Metrobia District
Attorney or the US Justice Department responded by letter
or phone, when the phone rang a third time at five-fifty five p.m.
Rushia Gerard was mildly surprised.
"Col. Gerard!" he said tersely.
"Absolutely, Col. Gerard! How are you this day?"
greeted Metrobia County DA Joseph Newfield.
Like the others, the district attorney had sat through
a number of Army intelligence briefings by Col. Gerard
on the possibility of domestic terrorist assaults
on home soil, especially in the wake of 911.
"You know I'm not one to complain, Joseph. It
never worked in the Army. It will not work now.
You know that ol' buddy!'
"How well I know, Rushia. Well, how are you getting
about. As for me, I recently won a second term to
to the District Attorney's office."
"I'm working on some minor projects that keep me
consumed — keeps my noggin alert," Rushia said.
"Nothing momentous like your work bringing charges
against criminals, indicting them, ultimately
convicting them in a court of law, sending
them to state or federal prison."
"I've been in meetings the day long, Rushia," Newfield
said. "Unfortunately, I was only able to read your
very important letter a few moments ago."
"I appreciate that, Joseph."
"Obviously, I don't have any jurisdiction over the
California Highway Patrol as Metrobia DA," Newfield
said, "but I'm a good friend of CHP Commissioner
Shaun Dury, and I'm going to lean on him to brand
Officer Cox — not terminate him, but hand him
the full letter of the law for that traffic stop."
"I'm gratified, Joseph,"
Rushia thanked his long-time friend and Iran War veteran.
"My comrade you're one of the top soldiers
the United States Army ever produced. You're
one of our distinguished and noble. What our
nation owes you is an incalculable debt."
"It sounds like a cliche ... freedom come
at a high price, Joseph. But that is
exactly what America requires."
"It certainly does, Rushia. Good night."
"Good night, Joseph."
Rushia Gerard revealed a slight smile, folded
his arms and eased back in his recliner.
"Three out of four ain't bad," he exhaled.
EPISODE 10
Another Shadow
Descends On the Street
Rushia Gerard knew tonight's mission cracking down on a major movement
was going to be special. It was going to coincide with a smuggling operation in California, Arizona and Mexico, integrating a network involving Gov. Gabe Oldsom, doubling the California National Guard’s Counter Drug Taskforce operations
statewide, including 400 service members at ports of entry along the
borders of Arizona and Mexico.
Embedded in cross-government initiatives to combat transnational criminal organizations and the trafficking of illegal narcotics—like fentanyl—these
Taskforce have been hired, trained, and placed at key locations statewide.
Specifically, the Taskforce focuses on gathering information to interdict
illegal narcotics trafficking, utilizing air and ground assets to build criminal investigations, and supporting personnel at border ports of entry to stop
illegal narcotics trafficking.
Earlier this year, Gov. Oldsom announced CalGuard operations supported
the seizure of 5.8 million pills containing fentanyl this year alone. Last year, the governor increased the number of CalGuard service members deployed to interdict drugs at US ports of entry along the border by approximately 50 percent.
The operations CalGuard supported resulted in the record seizure of 62,224
pounds of fentanyl in 2023—a 1066 percent increase since 2021. CalGuard’s coordinated drug interdiction efforts in the state are funded in part by California’s
$30 million investment to expand CalGuard’s work to prevent drug trafficking
by transnational criminal organizations.
While the taskforce will attempt to interdict the Zorro Colombiana Cartel,
Rushia and his alter-ego will launch a surgical strike on the cartel and a new mysterious individual, who intelligence has identified as someone of considerable finances wo operates with the realm of voodoo and black magic. Intel wants
to disrupt the rapidly-developing ties between the entities before they
forge an iron grip on the Southland and all of California.
Rushia was mired in deep thought, looking ahead to tonight.
"The one thing I know ... a majority of fentanyl is smuggled into the US
at ports of entry by US citizens, not by migrants seeking asylum, according
to the Department of Homeland Security. They've got a bad rap!
They're not all drug dealers and bad people," he mused.
"And thank God, Gov. Oldsom's staff and the California Department of health
are aware that synthetic opioids like fentanyl cause 70 percent of overdose
deaths. Californians can get help for prevention and treatment, and on
how California is working to hold Big Pharma and drug-traffickers
accountable in this crisis," Rushia said.
Rushia cued up his mini recorder to document the state of affairs ...
"The state is now set to purchase life-saving naloxone for approximately half
of the current market price—saving more lives with this drug and maximizing
taxpayer dollars ... the governor’s Master Plan for Tackling the Fentanyl and
Opioid Crisis addresses the opioid and fentanyl crisis, including through
aggressive steps to support overdose prevention efforts, hold the opioid
pharmaceutical industry accountable, crack down on drug trafficking,
and raise awareness about the dangers of opioids, including fentanyl."
"That's a rap! The FBI, DEA, ATF, and Sheriff Department have all
been notified," Rushia said. "NOW HURRY SUNDOWN!"
EPISODE 11
The Axis: Cartel, China
and the Voodoo Priestess
Rushia Gerard eased back into a soft, velvet chaise lounge in his den,
accompanied by a hot cup of green tea and lemon, to read the latest Army
intelligence report on the nation's fentanyl street drug crisis.
With upwards of 110,000 drug overdose deaths every year in the US,
Rushia knew a major challenge was laid before him. It was going to require
every scintilla of moxie he'd learned in his military intel career to wrestle
the fentanyl beast to the ground — not subdue it, just pin it down.
The virulent drug is at the heart of the US overdose epidemic
Fentanyl has become a major nemesis in the ongoing law enforcement
effort against street drugs. Rushia was privy to Army intelligence's
latest report described the investigation as a bi-partisan campaign.
FENTANYL THREAT:
ORIGINS, THREAT ASSESSMENT
Introduction
Fentanyl is a highly potent synthetic piperidine opioid primarily used as an
analgesic. It is twenty to forty times more potent than heroin and one-hundred
times more potent than morphine; its primary clinical utility is in pain management
for cancer patients and those recovering from painful surgeries. Fentanyl is also
used as a sedative. Depending on the method of delivery, fentanyl can be very
fast acting, and ingesting a relatively small quantity can cause overdose.
Fentanyl works by activating u-opioid receptors.
It is sold under the brand names Actiq, Duragesic and Sublimaze.
Pharmaceutical fentanyl's adverse effects are identical to those of other
narcotic opioids, including addiction, confusion, respiratory depression,
drowsiness, nausea, visual disturbances, dyskinesia, hallucinations, delirium,
a subset of the latter known as "narcotic delirium," narcotic ileus, muscle
rigidity, constipation, loss of consciousness, hypotension, coma, and death.
Alcohol and other drugs can synergistically exacerbate fentanyl's side effects. Naloxone or Narcan can reverse the effects of an opioid
overdose but because fentanyl is so potent multiple
doses might be necessary.
CHINA CONTINUES TO SUPPORT FENTANYL PRODUCTION
The Army report underscored how pervasive the effort is by
dark global forces to maintain an iron financial grip of America's
chronic dependence of the deadly opioid.
While President Josephus Biding has been working with China's President
Ginping Zi to curtail shipments of chemicals from China used to make fentanyl,
investigators for a US House committee released a report detailing what they
describe as new evidence the Chinese government is continuing to "directly"
subsidize "the manufacturing and export of illicit fentanyl."
"Our intel says Chinese officials encourage production of precursor chemicals
by giving 'monetary grants and awards to companies openly trafficking illicit
fentanyl materials' ... specifically, researchers found companies making fentanyl
precursors and analogues could apply for state tax rebates and other financial
benefits after exporting the product," Rushia mused.
"That's a damn shame America has stooped this low! Street fentanyl
has driven a devastating surge in fatal overdoses, killing tens of
thousands of Americans every year!" Rushia blurted to no one.
"The Biding administration and drug policy experts say China is the primary
source of precursor chemicals used by the Colombiana Cartel, Mexican drug
gangs, and a sinister new Los Angeles cohort—a mysterious cultist called the
Voodoo Priestess—to manufacture and expedite the powerful street opioid.
Reading the expansive report with keen interest, Rushia found it hard
to part with the threat assessment.
"Last November, the Biding Administration said their counterparts
in China promised to crack down on the illicit fentanyl industry," Rushia
thought. "President Biding said—'We're taking action to significantly
reduce the flow of precursor chemicals and pill presses from China to
the Western hemisphere' following a summit with President Zi."
"But five months after that announcement, a report produced by a bipartisan
team with the US House Select Committee on the Chinese Communist Party,
found the tax rebates and other incentives appear to still be in place—
"I'LL BE A MONKEY'S UNCLE! WHO'S THE FOOL HERE? ...
Rushia Gerard shouted.
China's role in fentanyl production was previously documented. Many of
the findings were known previously among drug policy experts. They appear
to confirm reports the Chinese government is aiding production and
export of fentanyl-related substances, Rushia concluded.
"It's all adding up. An NPR investigation in 2020 found that a web of
Chinese companies were openly marketing fentanyl precursors,
selling them to clients in Mexico and the US," he thought.
"Hmmm, this report has many interesting disclosures ... despite US
diplomatic efforts to stem the production of precursors, China has
done little to enforce global and domestic laws banning fentanyl
production," Rushia muttered.
"According to the House report, Chinese officials appear to have taken
steps to conceal financial incentives linked to fentanyl, but failed to end
them. One of the investigators told reporters it was clear, companies
contributed directly to the overdose crisis by leveraging gains
through China's complex bureaucracy.
"We must impose on this crisis," Rushia thought. "It has helped Chinese
Communist Party-linked organized criminal groups become the world's
premier money launderers, enriching the Chinese chemical industry,
with a devastating impact on Americans."
Rushia looked pensively out of the large living room plate glass
window, thinking to himself ...
"I'm eager to hear testimony about China's illicit fentanyl trafficking
from former US Attorney General William Bard and Roy Donnely, a
former Drug Enforcement Administration official.
"And this mysterious Voodoo Priestess ... who is she, what's her
role? I guess I'll find out soon enough ... as soon as tonight!"
EPISODE 12
A RECKONING WITH
BLACK MAGIC
Day was soon blending to dusk along the gentle Pacific coast. Cars beamed
bright headlights along I-101, and cosmic bodies beyond
shimmered in crystal clarity.
Rushia knew it was close to the time to make another multi-agency fentanyl
raid, and to confront the bizarre Voodoo Priestess who was playing a
strategic role in the synthetic drug's scourge of the nation.
The time was now ten fifteen p.m.
Rushia sat to his computer to activate the compound's expansive security
network and ready his prime Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut Black Cloud. He was
also consumed by the reality fentanyl had now become a hot political potato,
with former president and Republican presidential nominee Ronald Frump
blaming the Biding Administration for the seething escalation, which has
claimed three-hundred-thousand American lives, pushing President Biding
to prod Congress to help him do more to combat the fentanyl
epidemic before he leaves office.
Rushia read from a New York Times story outlining efforts by the
president at curbing the problem, including a push on Congress to pass
legislation to establish a pill press and tableting machine registry and
enhance penalties against convicted drug smugglers and fentanyl traffickers.
The Democratic administration's new policy push comes as Frump steps
up attacks against Vice President Jamala Farris, who Biding endorsed to
succeed him as presidential candidate after exiting the campaign for a
second term due to frail health. Frump painted her as Biding's feckless
lieutenant in the battle to slow the illegal drugs and immigrants
without authorization coming into the US from Mexico.
Rushia Gerard took special note that Biding also wants to tighten
rules on importers shipping small packages into the US, requiring
shippers to provide additional information to Customs and Border
Protection officials, aimed at enhancing the detection of fentanyl
precursor chemicals that frequently find their way into the
country in low-value shipments lightly regulated by
customs and trade barriers.
The president's new efforts at combating fentanyl may also benefit
Farris, as Frump and his surrogates ramp up attempts to cast her
as a central player in the Biding Administration's struggles at the
US-Mexico border throughout his term.
"President Josephus Biding and Vice President Jamala Farris have
their hands full on the political end. Now it's up to us at the point of
the spear to vanquish this drug beast," Rushia thought, heading for the garage.
"The multi-agency component should be in place by now set to spring
into action on my signal, precisely at eleven o'clock post meridiem,"
Rushia murmured, entering the Black Cloud. He was dressed in
all-black, outfitted with brim, armed with his .357 magnum,
taser, red mist immobilizer cubes, ketamine darts, police
scanner, night vision goggles, camera, and cell phone.
"ALL SYSTEMS GO!" proclaimed the night crime fighter.
The garage door slid open, and the Black Cloud automatically drove
to the gate. It was not under manual control. Rushia entered coordinates
to the Pico-Union District, eased back, and permitted Black Cloud to
proceed to the destination.
Black Cloud was soon slicing through the darkness at one-hundred
miles per hour on US 101, a rolling version of an F-22 fighter jet, complete
with fore, aft and side cannons; miniature missile launcher, and a
police radar detection scanner.
In a mere forty minutes Black Cloud was transitioning to I-405,
exiting at La Brea Avenue. The radar scanner immediately picked up
a police cruiser less than a half mile away, and the Black Cloud took
evasive maneuvers to avoid it, AI-aware the cops would be curious
about the sleek black futuristic-looking vehicle.
Black Cloud eventually found Pico Boulevard and the old Pico-Union
District of West Metrobia. That's when Rushia took command of the controls.
"A large ominous-looking brown Victorian dwelling as the intel described
it and the digital pix affirmed," the stranger mused, flipping on the vehicle's
radar camera and typing in the description. The dwelling flickered on the screen.
"There it is—three blocks away! I will stop here."
"PARK AND CLOAK," commanded the stranger, who then exited the vehicle.
The stranger and the Black Cloud simultaneously faded into the night. He
looked for signs of the task force. But found none. Walking the three blocks,
then up a short flight of concrete steps to the front door of a screened deck
to the mansion, the stranger took out his cell phone.
"MULTI-FORCE. MOVE IN!"
The stranger expected an abrupt swarm of officers and agents, but none appeared.
"MULTI-FORCE. MOVE IN!" Again, no response.
"What's happening here? Something's wrong," the stranger surmised,
just as the door opened inside the deck area and the stranger's cloaking
device flickered off, revealing him in his entirety.
A woman dressed in a multi-colored low-cut Kaftan appeared. She wore
a turban head wrap matching the kaftan, with assorted jewelry hanging
from her neck, and a bird's talons suspended from a silver chain.
"No need to hide anymore—I've been expecting you, Jones," the woman said.
The stranger appeared bewildered. "What's going on?"
"Your technology and tricks have no effect against the ancient power
of the black arts," she said. "Your multi-agency task force has been
sent astray as well. ..."
The stranger attempted to slide his gloved hand inside his coat.
"NO, NO, NO!" the woman admonished him. "THAT WOULDN'T BE SMART!
By the way, where are my manners? I believe your business here is to
see me—Tara, the Voodoo Priestess!
Just then, two men in Metrobia County sheriff's deputy
uniforms rushed through the door.
"LET US KILL HIM!" declared one deputy, whose name tag identified
him as 'Robles.' That'd save us a lot of trouble."
"Yes! He's been giving us nothing but grief!" said the other deputy.
Tara expressed sympathy. "We can't kill him without first knowing
whether or not we can recruit him. He would be a valuable asset."
"You two dorks must have sabotaged the operation," the stranger said.
Turning to Tara — "You're the Queen of the terrible synthetic fentanyl,
that has killed three-hundred-thousand Americans. You're an enemy of
America. Evil to behold. I'd never align with you," the stranger railed.
"Like I said, kill him. He's trouble," Robles repeated.
"THE COCKY S.O.B. WANTS ME TO BEG!" Tara growled. "Do what you want with him!"
Robles and his partner deputy, whose nametag revealed "Patterson,"
fired several shots at the stranger, one round catching him in the neck,
knocking him down the short flight of concrete steps. He managed
to grasp his .357 magnum, return fire, killing them instantly.
"BLACK CLOUD—DOWN AND DISTRESSED!" the stranger cried,
prompting the smart vehicle to rev-up and drive to him, lying immobile
and prostrate in the street, seriously wounded.
Tara watched the unfolding drama in disbelief the stranger was
able to get off a volley of shots taking down both deputies.
She didn't attempt to render aid to them, nor did she
know whether the stranger still lived. Then she
retreated inside the Victorian abode.
Meanwhile...
The Black Cloud's passenger side door opened and a flat shovel-like
device protruded from it, sliding beneath the stranger's bloody upper
torso, lifting him off the street into the car. Knowing the likelihood
of injury, Rushia was prepared, swallowing two pills designed to
lower his heart rate, blood pressure, and put him to sleep while
Black Cloud raced him back to the compound where medical
care summoned by the AI-enabled vehicle would be
in emergency mode awaiting his arrival.
The wail of sirens could be heard in the near distance. But
Black Cloud—its radar scanning the area, and deploying its
blistering speed—was already on the I-10, zipping toward
I-405 when a sheriff's department chopper and patrol
units arrived at the scene of the crime.
The sheriff's helo flew in the direction where the
1-10 and 1-405 intersect, but Black Cloud restored
the cloaking mechanism and the chopper crew
was at a loss to detect them.
EPISODE 13
BOTCHED TACTICAL
MISSION; PICKING UP
THE PIECES
WELCOMING PARTY AT THE COMPOUND
Dr. Maj. Ginger Smith and her medical team were eagerly awaiting the
arrival of Rushia Gerard, when Black Cloud pulled into the garage. They were
not sure of the nature of his injuries or what condition he was in.
Maj. Smith opened the car door to find a conscious, but groggy
Rushia Gerard with a bloody gauze about his neck.
"He's sustained an injury to the neck—don't know what caused it, but let's
get him onto the gurney and into the house," Maj. Smith said.
Two male medical assistants gingerly moved Rushia onto the gurney on
his back. The doctor was well aware of the risk that moving someone with a
neck or back injury, could damage the spinal cord and cause permanent paralysis.
Maj. Smith needed to know the exact nature of the neck injury, aware that a
wound to the front of the neck can damage the carotid artery, which could
prevent blood from reaching the brain.
"Wheel him into the bathroom," she ordered. "It's spacious enough for all
of us to move about and also contains running water."
Maj. Smith immediately removed the bloody gauze to find that Rushia had
sustained a graze to the left side of his neck.
The medical assistants removed Rushia's trench coat and shirt, expressing
surprise and bewilderment at sight of the .357 magnum, taser, ketamine
darts, and red capsules.
"Looks like Colonel Gerard was grazed by a bullet. It's already coagulating,"
Maj. Smith said, just as Rushia opened his eyes.
"Hello Maj. Smith ... from what battlefield did you scoop me
from?" he groaned, attempting to lighten the mood.
"Not sure where you engaged in your last battle, colonel, but miraculously,
your car delivered you back here. There was no driver in the car. I would like
to know a lot more about that, but it's well above my pay grade.
"But, more importantly, how do you feel colonel?"
The colonel grimaced—"Like a mule kicked me in the neck."
"This will stop the pain, colonel," the doctor said, piercing his bicep
with a syringe bearing a clear liquid. "I'm administering one milligram
of fentanyl—a synthetic opioid painkiller that will ..."
Rushia cut her off ...
"I'm quite familiar with the drug, major ... ."
"Looks like you sustained no major damage. I'll apply an occlusive
dressing—convotec duoderm, a hydrocolloid dressing and cover it
with a sterile petrolatum gauze, and you should heal nicely.
The good thing is, you won't have to be hospitalized."
Rushia Gerard smiled wryly.
"Let me start over Dr. Maj. Smith—how's my favorite 'Gingerbread'
and commanding logistics officer?" Rushia humored her.
"I admit I was a mite more than concerned when we got the
communique at the Sierra Depot that you were injured severely.
I never thought we'd meet under such conditions," Maj. Smith said.
Maj. Smith's calm, youthful demeanor defied her age. Looking
ten years younger than her thirty-nine years coupled with her
resume of accomplishments—medical degree, officer rank,
the colonel admired her greatly.
EPISODE 14
STRATEGICALLY
CALIBRATED INTEL
SUBDUES ENEMY
Gov. Oldsom and the California National Guard’s (Cal Guard) Counterdrug
Task Force were all over the news being credited with the latest major haul of
fentanyl pills and chemicals to create it—8 million pills and a seizure of more than 4,000 pounds of fentanyl powder to manufacture the deadly drug,
responsible for 564,000 deaths in the US from overdose alone.
What the public didn't know was the the diligent, carefully cultivated
intel by the JoneStranger is what led to the triumph by the
governor's office and Cal Guard.
Rushia had no qualms with Oldsom or the Guard taking full credit;
his work was always carried out in secrecy where the hoodlums, thugs,
crooks, and cruds would never seem him coming. But even he was made
of clay, as his latest caper attested with him sustaining injury.
Thus, while Oldsom bragged, Rushia Gerard and JoneStranger would
strive to perfect their offensive attack and defensive shield. In the
wake of his injury, JoneStranger could only listen to Oldsom in
silence, consumed by a smoldering rage to settle the
score with a voodoo priestess known as Tara.
"Fentanyl is an extremely strong opioid," Oldsom spoke to a bevy
of news cameras and recorders at a news conference of the state
capital, carried by live broadcast. "An amount the size of a few grains
of salt can result in a deadly overdose. Over 150 people die every day
because of synthetic opioids like fentanyl. We’re doubling down on our
work to tackle the opioid and fentanyl crisis.
"California, and specifically urban hotbeds like Metrobia, are hard
at work getting illegal fentanyl off our streets, interdicting the drug
at our border, holding traffickers accountable," Oldsom said.
One female broadcast journalist broke away from Oldsom's remarks
to report that last month, the governor announced the state was doubling
Cal Guard’s Counter Drug Task Force operations statewide, including at ports
of entry along the border from 155 to now nearly 400 service members.
"The Cal Guard Task Force focuses on stopping narcotics trafficking
by gathering information and assisting personnel at southern border ports
of entry as well as conducting criminal investigations through utilizing air and
ground assets," she said, adding, "The task force has been invaluable
in helping federal, state, local, and tribal law enforcement agencies
get drugs, including illicit fentanyl, off the streets and out
of California’s neighborhoods."
The reporter resumed live coverage when Cal Guard
Major Gen. Matthew Beevers was introduced. Rushia Gerard
was always interested in what high-level military brass had to say.
“The California National Guard’s Counterdrug Task Force continues
to play a critical role in the fight against fentanyl,” said Gen. Beevers.
“We are proud to be a part of this effort to provide critical resources
to our local, state, federal, and tribal law enforcement partners.”
Last year, the governor increased the number of Cal Guard service
members deployed to interdict drugs at US ports of entry along the
border by approximately 50 percent. The operations Cal Guard helped
result in the record seizure of Cal Guard’s coordinated drug bust
and interdiction efforts in the state are funded in part by a
$60 million investment to expand Cal Guard’s work to
stop drug trafficking by transnational organizations.
"Fentanyl is primarily smuggled into the country by US citizens.
From 2022-2024, law enforcement officials in California seized
1,386 percent more fentanyl at the border than border
seizures by Texas and New Mexico combined.
"Also included in the governor’s Master Plan for Tackling
the Fentanyl and Opioid Crisis is the availability of over-the-counter
CalRx-branded naloxone across the state," Beevers said. "CalRx-branded
over-the-counter (OTC) naloxone HCL nasal spray, 4 milligrams, will be
available through the Naloxone Distribution Project. It will be free
to eligible organizations throughout California or for sale
through Amneal for twenty-four dollars per twin-pack.
Gen. Beevers continued:
"Gov. Oldsom has more than doubled the deployment of Cal Guard
servicemembers and launched a tool for Californians to easily access
resources for prevention and treatment at opioids.ca.gov."
Maj. Smith had been entering a report in her laptop regarding
Col. Gerard's injury and subsequent medical treatment. Now, she
took a seat next to him to listen in on the news conference.
"I would not be surprised by the kind of work of which you are
involved—hazardous work for which US Army intelligence is
all in. Keep up the good and noble work, sir!" she said.
Col. Gerard did not acknowledge her.
Now CHP Commissioner Shaun Dury was introduced
by the governor's staff to report on yet another
element of the fentanyl scourge.
"Hello—California Highway Patrol Commissioner Shaun Dury
here to provide an update on my department's probe and action
against a Valley White supremacist street gang endeavoring
to break into the lucrative illegal fentanyl business.
Commissioner Dury read from a prepared statement.
"Dozens of a Southern California White supremacist street gangsters
with ties to the state’s most prolific prison-based gangs were indicted
on a slew of drug trafficking, fraud and violent crime charges on Oct. 2,
following a CHP investigation with invaluable help by multiple agencies,
including US Army intelligence, found that the Valley-based Peckerwoods,
a neo-Nazi gang with ties to some of the state’s most domineering prison
gangs, engaged in a years-long pattern of racketeering activity. That
probe led to sixty-eight indictments, with forty-two persons
taken into custody following a coordinated effort."
Commissioner Dury stepped aside to make room for another
spokesperson representing the task force.
"Now I want to introduce Allan Mathis, Los Angeles-based Drug
Enforcement Administration special agent, who will share another
aspect of the months-long probe.
"Thank you commissioner ... ladies and gentlemen of the media, the
San Fernando Valley Peckerwoods, the Aryan Brotherhood and their
associates are fused by one thing: hatred, It appears, however, that
the business of hate was not enough for them,” said Allen.
“Driven by greed, they engaged in other crimes, including drug
distribution, pushing out deadly fentanyl onto our streets. Throughout
the investigation, law enforcement seized large quantities of fentanyl, methamphetamine and heroin, as well as illegal firearms," Allen
disclosed. "At least three defendants are accused of operating
drug stash houses where pounds of illegal drugs were stored
before being distributed to customers, sometimes in the
mail, according to the indictment."
"Agent Mathis, could you be more specific how the gang
proliferated their income in addition to fentanyl trafficking?"
a reporter interrupted him. "Rumor is afoot that the gang infused
elements of White collar crime to advance."
"Certainly," Mathis said. "In addition to drug trafficking, the gang
generated revenue through financial fraud, including identity theft
and fraudulent COVID-19 benefit schemes, according to the Justice
Department. In one instance, one defendant falsely claimed
to be a self-employed artist to swindle ten thousand
from the Paycheck Protection Program.
"The same defendant later used stolen identities to apply for
unemployment benefits, according to the Justice Department.
Reporter Julie Lee for Metrobia's NEWS4U:
"According to the Justice Department, the Peckerwoods gang
distinguished themselves with tattoos of White supremacy iconography,
such as swastikas or the symbol '88' which is the numerical code for
'Heil Hitler,' to broadcast their White supremacist, extremist ideology.
They sometimes took orders from the Aryan Brotherhood.
"The gang is also accused of having an alliance with the Mexican Mafia
prison gang, also known as “La Zem,” which is the head of multiple
Hispanic street gangs in Southern California.
"Julie Lee in Sacramento reporting for Metrobia's NEWS4U!"
After the news concluded, Col. Gerard turned to Maj. Smith.
"I guess I needed this respite ..." he said, his voice tailing off.
Something else weighed on his heart.
"Is there something you want to share with your doctor, sir?"
The colonel reflected momentarily.
“... in due time 'Dr. Gingerbread'. In due time."
EPISODE 15
HERO TO MOST WANTED
Maj. Smith knew Col. Gerard's covert work was extreme.
Advanced automobile grounded in artificial intelligence, hardened
maximum digitally secure ex-US Army compound bearing around-the
-clock ultra-sensitive perimeter motion detection apparatus, helo
landing pad, all a mile from the main drag, I-101, spoke volumes.
Her suspicions about him were all the more palpable due
to his gunshot wound. But army brass had not made it her
business to know. And she dare not breach that line.
But it weighed on her mind.
"Not sure who the colonel really is or his billet, but he's
definitely somebody unique with special talents and abilities,
engaged in a disparate kind of warfare," Maj. Smith thought.
Maj. Smith was more than a doctor to Col. Gerard, and a
fellow soldier—but she served as a personal aide, as well,
to a point on general matters.
One was not preparing his meals. Maj. Smith assigned
that duty to a corporal in her detail.
The time was seven-thirty a.m., when the young
soldier announced breakfast was served.
He prepared sausage/spinach/Roma tomato and cheese
omelets, sliced avocados, fresh wheat biscuits, chilled
blueberries, cranberry-pomegranate juice, Masala Chai
tea, Ethiopian Yirgacheffe coffee, and spring water.
"My breakfasts never turn out this way," Col. Gerard
marveled, joining the others at a medium breakfast nook.
"Thank you Corp. Hayes!" he squinted to read the soldier's
name emblazoned on his uniform.
"Thank you sir!"
"As you can see colonel, this unit wears multiple hats,"
Maj. Smith said, scooping an omelet onto her plate,
avocado, and a biscuit.
"The Army builds well-rounded personnel, Maj. Smith! Enter
as a seedling, leave as an oak tree," the colonel replied.
The major took a bite of the omelete, then a cautious
sip of steaming hot coffee.
"Amen to that, sir. 'This We'll Defend'—
always true to our service motto!"
"Precisely ..." Col. Gerard said, who was drawn away
to a breaking segment on the morning news.
EIGHT A.M. NEWS CONFERENCE AT
METROBIA COUNTY SHERIFF DEPT.
Sheriff Rob Muna and several top brass in his administration
assembled to announce to the local media the addition of a new
suspect-fugitive to the department's "Most Wanted List."
Sheriff Muna stood at a podium, clearing his throat.
"Hm-hm,"
"We can begin now. Sheriff Rob Muna here to share with the
media a person of major interest to the Metrobia Sheriff's
Department. The individual appeared initially in our city
and county just a few months ago as a self-styled type of
crime-fighter interdicting it, then contacting the MSD.
"The department has pretty much tolerated this individual
because he hasn't broken any laws or brought harm to
anyone. But that has all changed now.
"Several weeks ago, very late in the evening, this person of
interest may have been involved in an exchange of gunfire with
two MSD deputies in the 8100 block of Pico Boulevard in the
Pico-Union District.
"Both deputies were shot and killed by this assailant. The
person is a suspect and person of interest. At least one
witness has come forward by phone. She said when the
gunplay concluded, a sporty black vehicle was seen
speeding away at a high rate of speed."
"Sheriff's units, and a chopper arrived within minutes,
but failed to spot the vehicle. Our investigation is
ongoing. This may morph into a one-eighty-seven
double homicide."
"I'll take any questions at this point?" Sheriff Muna said.
A white-bearded man amid the thong of reporters obliged.
"Jerrold Goodfellows of the Metrobia Herald,"
he identified himself.
"According to my information, Sheriff Muna, the person
'of interest' you speak of is self-proclaimed, self-deputized,
self-styled bulwark against crime who was engaged in a tactical
sting operation with the MSD, FBI, and DEA, to intercept a
shipment of fentanyl inducing chemicals off-loaded at the
Los Angeles harbor from a Republic of China-based
cargo vessel.
This person of interest is variously known as Jonestranger
or The Spook or something like that... .
"For some reason, the sting went sour. The only two law
enforcement personnel on scene were your deputies,
both of whom are now dead."
"Interesting you didn't mention any of this in your report
to we, the media. What else have you omitted sheriff—
what about the owner or habitant of the Victorian
house at 1806 Pico Boulevard? Your deputies died
on her concrete stairs! Have your detectives
even questioned her?"
"We have no further comment. That's all we have
at this time," Muna said.
Several journalists appeared flummoxed.
"Yeah, what about it Muna?" one woman asked.
"This is pure-dee garbage sheriff!"
A TV reporter instructed her cameraman to keep rolling,
the tape, to take in the aftermath, recording the testy
exchanges between the sheriff and reporters.
"What kind of circus is this?" another questioned.
Sheriff Muna and his staff appeared overwhelmed.
"Let's get out of here!" he mumbled.
"I now conclude this press conference: This probe
remains active and ongoing. We will keep you apprised.
Several journalists turned to Goodfellows.
"It's all very peculiar, Goodfellows," a reporter from the Times said.
"I'd be very interested, man, in what you have, if you don't mind. The
Times would gladly credit you. I could check on remuneration, too."
Meanwhile, at the compound, Col. Gerard and Maj. Smith
watched the live news conference with great interest,
finishing up breakfast in silence.
But the doctor's mind was overrun with questions and suspicions.
"... tactical sting operation ... he was wounded ...
sporty black vehicle racing away? ... she thought.
Col. Gerard excused himself from the breakfast nook to
take a seat in his recliner in the living room to peer
through the picturesque window at the restless surf.
Maj. Smith eyed his every move, her mind encumbered.
But her spirit was ever-discerning.
EPISODE 16
TO BE CONTINUED
NEXT EPISODE COMING SOON