The Brown Recluse - Part 1

Preface

The Brown Recluse is a work of fiction. It is coincidental if the characters resemble anyone living or dead.  Such was not our intent.

Some of the places depicted in the story are real, such as the Sulphur River, Morris County Texas, Chateauneuf du Pape in the Rhone Valley of France, Monte Carlo, Cannes, Nice, St. Paul de Vance, the Hong Kong Stadium, the Louis XV Restaurant, the Grande Casino, the Hotel de Paris, and the Hotel Hermitage.  The model for the Northeast Texas Park described in the story is Daingerfield State Park, and it exists.

Fictional places described in The Brown Recluse are Piney Springs, Mt. Mariah, and the base of Mossad Operations in Tel Aviv. They do not exist.

The acts depicted in this novel are the fruits of our imagination and never happened in the real world.

Acknowledgements

We dedicate this novel to the members of the Tejas Club (1947-1960) of East Texas State Teachers College, living and passed. Without the prior existence of this social organization and the dedication of Jace Carrington in keeping the membership together, the authors never would have met and collaborated on this work. We add a special thanks to Nancy Stubbs, who worked diligently to repeatedly proof read the manuscript, and Dr. Fred Tarpley for his editing expertise.  Thanks to a good man and friend, Randy King, for providing the time on his wonderful deep-sea boat, Paparda Rey, which was critical toward writing the nautical chapters?

We attempted to research described places to the best of our ability. At the end of the day, we assume responsibility for errors found in this work and for any entertainment The Brown Recluse may provide.

Earl Stubbs/Dick Rothwell

The Brown Recluse

Part 1

One

Oh, what a tangled web we weave,

When first we practice to deceive!

Sir Walter Scott

Jian-mei

11 September 1986

Until two weeks ago, I enjoyed a life filled with comforting routines.  I attended a private school during the morning hours, enjoyed a light lunch, and then I spent the afternoon with Mr. Ni, who has served as my martial arts instructor for the past eight years. 

Then, without warning, Mr. Ni informed my mother he had entered me in the Asian Tae Kwon Do Championships in Hong Kong.  My tranquil life of school and practice suffered the first major interruption I can recall.  However, I must admit to a high degree of excitement, now that I am here and have reached the finals. 

The early rounds of the tournament went as expected.  I had little difficulty defeating my opponents, even though they were usually larger and stronger than I was.  I relied on guile, skill, and quickness and those aspects of my arsenal served me well in the prelims.         

Even though I am not overly powerful, I am tall and strong enough.  Over the years, I became comfortable competing with foes that were more physically powerful.  During this period of my development, I established myself as a fierce competitor.  That one trait made up for my lack of muscle mass.  Even though I fight almost daily with strong, well-trained adversaries, I have not lost a match in years, and I do not intend to lose the championship match that begins in five minutes. 

Amidst the noisy crowd, I made my way up the steps to the ring and stepped through the ropes.  I took in the throng of the screaming Tae Kwon Do fans one final time and observed the judges huddled together.  The referee prepared himself for this highly anticipated first match.  My adversary, Dia Washi, was already stretching his ample muscles and staring rudely.  Refusing to abandon good manners, I ignored him and glanced up at my mother seated thirty rows up.  She appeared anxious with her hand over her mouth.  I smiled at her, and she smiled in return.  

The thunderous noise level faded as the short, rotund announcer spoke into the ring microphone and asked for the attention of the fans.  He gestured in my direction and introduced me as a finalist from Macau in the twelve-year-old division.  I had captured a multitude of fans during my journey through the preliminary bouts, and they responded with a roar.  I bowed with exaggerated dignity.

Next, the announcer pointed toward the powerfully built finalist from Osaka, Japan. Dia Washi leaped up and danced around for his many supporters. 

I had made it a point to witness each of his matches.  I knew he depended on a modicum of talent and enormous brute strength. His opponents hardly challenged him during his march to the finals, and two of them suffered, what I deemed, unnecessary injury.  Dia Washi was very good, but so am I. 

In our age division the speed of action, the skill level, and even the brutality of the prelims captured the interest of the fans. The crowd’s reactions to our introductions were deafening. 

I turned and faced the champion from Japan.  We performed the traditional kyong bow.  Afterwards, the referee glanced at both of us and shouted "jun-bi".  I took my stance, as did Dia Washi.  He displayed a fierce passion with his stocky body and burning eyes.  Then the referee screamed "shijak," and I advanced three steps toward the boy from Osaka and stopped.

Dia took one step forward, and performed a high-spinning kick.  Having judged distances in the ring for many years, I sensed that the kick would not cover the space between us, so I didn’t react in any way.  I knew the move was only to incite the multitude, and they answered with a howl.  Dia Washi was something of a showman. 

He advanced once more and thrust straight out with a kick.  Once more, evaluating the distance between us with perfection, I did not move an eyelash.  I noticed a fleeting look of consternation cross the countenance of Dia, but it quickly evolved into a snarl and a charging jump kick.  This time he was serious, but I timed my defensive movement for the last possible instant, and the foot of Dia Washi hissed past my face.

Appearing bewildered, Dia Washi circled to his right.  To erode his confidence even more, I maintained my stance without reacting to his circling movement but watched him with peripheral vision.  He employed a lesser-used hook kick intended to break through my defenses with his heel.  To counter, I did a lightening-fast full turn with the blow, and once again, Dia’s foot found air. 

Dia Washi growled in a muted voice, "It is time for a broken bone."  He became a whirling pattern of movement, employing a series of rapid attacks.  He used a sidekick and another hooking kick. Finally, he leaped high in the air, and employed a jumping front kick, which required him to fold his lower leg back and snap it forward with maximum power.  I decided it was time to go on the offensive.

To this point in the match, I had used little energy in eluding the hazardous blows, but I knew fatigue would soon slow my reaction time, and I would become vulnerable to his superior strength.  When the Japanese boy extended his lower leg with all of his considerable strength, I leaped into the air and used the downward momentum of my body, as well as the upward thrust of Dia's leg, and snapped my elbow into his shinbone with all of my strength.  The resulting crack was audible to the patrons several rows back.

Dia Washi fell to the canvas in a state of shock.  His lower leg was grotesquely misshapen.  The referee and Washi’s handlers ran toward him to administer aid.  Medical personnel soon arrived with a stretcher and removed the Japanese boy from the arena.  Luckily, a hospital was nearby. Their blood lust temporarily sated, the crowd was euphoric.

I waited patiently until the referee, almost as an afterthought, signified my victory.  I bowed toward the referee, the judges, the fans, and departed the ring. 

Seeking a few moments of calm, I retired to the dressing locale.  Unfortunately, the area contained shouting boys in various stages of undress, and several Tae Kwon Do masters expounding on the pros and cons of various strategies.  Towels popped on butts, and boys chased each other much to the consternation of their handlers.  I took a seat near the door to avoid the rowdy activity.  Several boys and their masters came over to congratulate me on my resounding victory. 

I finally managed to cool down the excitement of the match.  Before returning to ringside and the remaining matches, I waited for a toilet stall to empty.  When one did, I entered, closed the door, and passed water.  Then, I strode out the back door of the dressing room and returned to my seat at ringside.

I sat stoically as the other matches concluded over the next few hours.  Finally, the moment arrived when the meet authorities presented the medals. 

Tae Kwon Do fans from all over Asia had their television sets tuned to this popular event.  My image achieved instant notoriety and had the situation been different, I no longer could have walked down the streets of Macau with any degree of privacy.  However, since circumstances were not as they appeared, my fans soon would not hear the name, Feng, Lei-mang, unless spoken in infamy.

At present, they had no way of knowing that the meet officials would eventually strip me of my title.  It would revert to Dia Washi, and I have no quarrel with the inevitable outcome.  My victory was fraudulent. My papers were forged.  I am not a twelve-year-old boy at all.  I am, in fact, a twelve-year-old girl. 

At the conclusion of the games, I began looking for my mother.  I made my way toward the exit and soon observed her waiting near the wall. Even though she could barely contain her excitement for the sake of propriety, she refrained from any physical contact other than briefly taking my hand. 

As we made our way out of the stadium, she said, “I am so proud of you.  I was apprehensive about this match.  The Japanese boy was very strong and seemed to enjoy hurting his opponents.  I am glad this is over.”

“I am glad as well, Mother,” I replied.  “I will be pleased to get back to Macau and get a good night’s rest in my own bed.  Besides, I have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on.”

I responded to the attention of the remaining fans, as we strode toward the bus stop and stopped several times to sign my chop on programs and pieces of paper.  I enjoyed the accolades of the boisterous fans streaming away from the stadium. 

My mother and I continued to the bus stop for the ride back to the Hong Kong – Macau ferry.  Suddenly, Mother reached out and grabbed my sleeve. "Wait," she said with a fearful tone in her voice. 

A large man approached us and spoke, "Come with me."  The man spoke no other words, as he turned and strode away.

I was confused and asked my mother, "Who is that man, Mother?"

Mother could hardly stand.  She placed her hand on my arm and spoke with a shaky voice, "We must go with him, Jian-mei.  Do not be afraid.  We will not be harmed."

We walked behind the man, until he reached a large black sedan, opened the door, and gestured for us to get inside.  We seated ourselves in the car, and it moved away.  We drove to the ferry landing, moved onto the ship, and traveled back to Macau.  We disembarked at the Macau landing. 

By this time, I became more anxious.  When I attempted to gain information from my mother, she only squeezed my hand and said nothing.  After a moderate journey, the automobile stopped at a high-rise office building in the heart of the city.  The men ushered us into the building and onto the elevator, which stopped on the nineteenth floor.  They escorted us into the corporate offices of Chang Enterprises, Limited, and told us to wait.

*****

Two

…the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds, which hardly any later friend can obtain. 

Mary Shelley

Billy Ray

22 October 1981

I leaned against the goalpost at the south end of the football field at Piney Springs High School in Northeast Texas.  Sweat formed on my face only to dry quickly because of the fierce, frigid wind howling out of the North.  I was exhausted and disheartened.  The score in the football game between my Ram teammates and the top ranked Bowie-Hughes Titans was in our favor until a few moments ago when their superior size, speed, and skill produced the go-ahead score. 

The so-called experts picked the Titans to win the game by three touchdowns.  On paper, we did not have the athletes to compete.  However, none of those super heroes scared me.  I was big, fast, and possessed some talent on both sides of the ball.  I lined up at linebacker on defense and spent the game plugging the holes created by the big Titan linemen.  In this game, I parlayed my one hundred ninety pounds and sprinter’s speed into over one hundred fifty yards rushing.  That was enough to keep the highly efficient Titan offense off the field for long stretches of time and allow us to cling to a lead for most of the game.  However, football midnight approached.  Our team needed something akin to divine intervention to overcome the four-point lead of the Titans.

As we prepared for the resumption of the game, I stopped feeling sorry for myself.  I moved into position to field the kickoff, and a thought occurred to me.  I don't want to have to explain to everyone in Piney Springs why we lost this game in the last two minutes, Titans or no Titans.  I began to feel a slight surge of energy plus an emerging case of the red ass.  Maybe those knuckle-draggers from Bowie-Hughes could do the explaining.  They are just as tired as we are.

I trotted over to my close friend and the best blocker on the team, Richard McMichael, and said, "Richard, the play calls for going up the middle, but I plan to run for daylight, wherever that happens to be."

Richard nodded and snapped, “You just run. I'll be there."      

A stunned silence cloaked the home crowd.  I strode back to the ten-yard line and noted the Titans team members already celebrating to a degree.  They knew that with a couple of tackles, the game would be a matter of Texas High School football history.  Every fan stood as the referee's whistle sounded, and the Bowie-Hughes team advanced toward the ball.  It was a huge kick, a high floater sailing with the frosty north wind, and I could see it was coming to me.  I took a few steps back with my eyes glued to the ball and made the catch.  The final charge of the Piney Springs Ram's version of the Light Brigade was underway. 

I no longer heard the crowd noise.  I did hear the slap of pads and the grunt of effort, as big, strong football players made hard contact.  While no game requires more physical exertion than football, this moment unreeled in slow motion for me.

After I took a few steps toward the middle of the field, I could see no real avenue to the goal line, and nothing but a touchdown would do.  Like most running backs, I use my vision and instincts to take advantage of the efforts of my teammates and the mistakes of my opponents.  What the other athletes did would greatly affect what I would do.

A white jerseyed Titan detached himself from the mass of struggling humanity and moved toward me.  Quickly, a player with the Ram uniform of blue and gray blocked him out of the picture.  I had sixty yards to go.

A second tackler challenged me on the forty-five yard line.  He looked a bit heavy, so I slammed my left foot into the turf and leaned right.  The Titan responded and shifted his weight to his left foot.  That was a mistake.  I planted my right foot and slid opposite the tackler's motion.  The big Titan tried to knock me off balance with his powerful arm.  He almost succeeded, but I managed to spin around, and left the Titan sprawling and frustrated.  I had a little over fifty yards to go.

The defensive scheme for covering a kickoff is like a funnel.  Tacklers usually cover the breadth of the field, and then they gradually move inward toward the ball.  The solution was to get outside the funnel. 

Battles went on all around me. Tacklers strove to annihilate me, and my teammates were just as determined to protect their last hope. 

Only seconds had passed since the kickoff whistle, yet, the final tackler between me and the goal line loomed ahead.  I knew the kid and had played against him for three years.  He was smart, very fast, and a deadly tackler.  He would not go for any fakes, but I had to get past him if I was to score and win the game.  I needed some help. 

As fate would have it, I sensed a teammate coming up on the outside.  A glance told me that it was Richard, and number seventy-three had fire in his eyes.  I ran ahead of my friend, but the rest of the players came up fast.  It would be close.  I had little choice but to slam on the brakes and allow Richard to take a shot at blocking the safety. 

Richard McMichael knifed past me and hurled his thin, six-one frame at the opposing tackler.  The safety attempted to avoid him, but just when the he thought, all of number seventy-three was past; Richard’s feet came along, and cut the Titan's legs out from under him. 

The opportunity was there.  I planted my right foot, charged hard left, and ran for open space.  The goal line was still forty yards away.  I couldn’t see who was coming up behind me, but that was of little concern.  I had long since shifted into overdrive.  It was now just a matter of doing what I did best, and that was to run faster than anyone else did.  Nobody would catch me from behind.  Not on this run.  Not in this game.  

For some inexplicable reason, the crowd noise began to break through my consciousness.  Something very special was in progress.

Finally, I covered the ninety-five yards and sprinted into the end zone. The referee raised his hands signifying a touchdown. I pitched the ball to the ref, turned, and observed the roaring crowd. 

Even though the entire run had taken less than fifteen seconds, a lot had happened along the way, not just to me, but to twenty-one other players as well.  I watched my teammates running full tilt toward me.  I observed the gloom on the faces of the Bowie-Hughes players.  Those impressions would endure for a lifetime, not only for my teammates and me, but for the community of Piney Springs as well.  The run transcended just a high school football game to me.  I had measured my own worth and determination.  I would use the run as a yardstick throughout my life.  

We kicked off and managed to shut down the disheartened Titans for the few remaining seconds.  The final whistle blew, and members of the opposing teams mingled and offered words of praise to friend and foe alike.  I removed my helmet and shook the hands of several players, but my eyes roamed the field seeking the whereabouts of a certain sophomore cheerleader.  I soon spotted Cloud McFarland strolling in my direction with no sense of urgency.  She had a smirk on her face. 

Cloud was tall and leggy, and her cheerleader's sweater covered a well-developed bosom.  She had fashioned her wavy auburn hair into a ponytail.  She grinned in my direction, and when she reached my side, she took my hand.  There was no hug or kiss.  We both acted from having intimate knowledge of the other. 

Cloud spoke first.  "Where is Marvin?"

"Here he comes," I answered.  Marvin Calhoun advanced toward us with a big smile on his face.  He was rangy like me.  He sported a large white Stetson hat creased in the local western fashion and wore hand-made, elephant skin boots.  While his appearance was cattle country, close friends knew just how few times Marvin had actually been astride a horse.

Marvin picked his teeth with a kitchen match and allowed his gaze to wander off into the distance.  Then his eyes came back to me.  "Billy Ray, you done good, boy.  You got one hundred and forty-two yards plus the kickoff run.  I don't see how Texarkana Junior College can keep from giving you a scholarship."

This discussion had occurred on other occasions.  I placed my fists on my hips and responded, "Texarkana Junior College?  Daddy, you know I'm going to the University of Texas. You promised, and I need my car back.  Besides, it was one hundred and fifty-two yards."

Marvin reached in his pocket and pitched Cloud a set of car keys.  "You and Cloud take the Buick tonight.  I'll get by with the pickup for a few days.  Billy Ray, you know that I'll have your car back before you know it."  Still grinning, Marvin slapped me on the shoulder and drifted away to expound on the talents of his only child with his cronies.

Cloud asked.  "What happened to your car?"

I could feel myself getting that distant look in my eyes.  "You know Marvin.  One day he's fat and the next day he's skinny.  He told me he was in a fix and needed some cash.  He'll be back on top in a few weeks, and I might get a convertible this time."

We reached the door of the locker rooms. I turned to Cloud and said in a low voice, “I’m starved.”  We both grinned.  The night was young, and I was beginning to get my strength back.  I went inside to shower and dress.

*****

Three

“Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night

And pay no worship to the garish sun.”

William Shakespeare

Maryanne

10 August 1983

My French father, Jacque, and my Israeli-born mother, Rachel, met while attending a large wine convention in Paris.  Both were young, but knew their own minds.  The short time they spent together at the convention caused both to realize life without the other was not an option.  They forged the commitment of a lifetime soon afterward. 

Rachel delivered me on their small vineyard located near the village of Chateauneuf du Pape in the Rhone Valley of France.  The family vineyard grows Grenache Noir grapes for the blending of Chateauneuf du Pape wine. 

When blessed with my arrival, both parents doted on me without smothering my personality.  There was little to fear in this rural setting, so I spent my leisure time doing as I pleased within the confines of the vineyard and surrounding area.  I acquired a reputation around the area for having an agreeable demeanor, athletic ability, and a pleasing appearance.

During my formative years, I ran the dusty roads with other area children in search of amusement. The adults, mostly vintners, were often outdoors tending their vines, so they kept a watchful eye on the children.  I enjoyed a happy childhood in a desirable community. 

On a warm, sunny day during my seventeenth year, Victor Grindou, the son of a neighbor, and I strolled along a rocky lane.  Victor was eighteen and I was almost two years younger.  I admired his hefty frame and broad shoulders.  He had a shock of dark, curly hair and gray eyes.    

This relaxation time for the two of us followed a pattern we established years ago.  The tacit agreement was after our day of weeding the rows of vines, pruning, or doing whatever else the vineyards needed to keep abreast of the ravages of nature, we would share some time together. 

As was often the case, we gleefully engaged in an ongoing argument as to which of us was the taller.  We both measured five feet ten inches, but that did not keep us from constantly striving for an advantage in the contest.  I wore spiked heels on occasion, just to tower over Victor and watch the momentary look of horror on his face.

As we strolled along, I commented, “I measured my height yesterday, and I have grown two centimeters.”

Victor rejoined, “What you really have done is improved your capacity to lie.  You appear to have shrunk two centimeters to me.”  And so it went.  

We both wore shorts and cotton shirts, the major difference being that my recently developed teenage bosom captured center stage.  I wondered if my physical changes had caused Victor to view me in a different light.  I knew my attitude toward him had changed, but I could not exactly identify how. 

Victor walked alongside me with his muscular arm casually draped across my shoulders.  He spoke in a low, sultry voice.  “What do you have under your shirt?”

I punched him in the side, and then I stopped and placed my hands on my hips.  I attempted to appear annoyed, but the hint of a grin on my lips gave me away.  The truth was that I didn’t know exactly how I felt at the time.  I knew I was feeling something.  “I have me under my shirt.”

After we continued our stroll, Victor managed to put his arm back across my shoulders, and I allowed it.  He grinned and said, “I will take my shirt off if you will.”

This time I shoved him away feigning offense in an attempt to hide my satisfaction that Victor was so absorbed by my body.  I shot back, “Idiot!  What’s got into you?”

Victor was still grinning as we strolled on.  Not to be deterred, Victor was quiet for a moment then he said in a jovial voice, “I want a peek.”

I discarded my façade of anger and grinned.  Then I offered my usual technique for besting Victor, “Here is what I will do.  You beat me to the top of the mountain, and I will give you a peek.” 

I had raced Victor countless times and had not lost in years.  After all, I was the female cross-country champion of the Rhone Valley and a candidate for a berth on the upcoming French Olympic team.  It was a safe wager.

Victor sprinted away and yelled, “It's a bet.”  I quickly followed, and the race was on.

The raceway was a continuation of the sandy road leading to the top of a steep hill almost a mile away.  The real test would come with the elevation in altitude requiring some steep climbs.  I settled into my long, loping stride, as did Victor ahead of me.  The length of my legs gave me an advantage, and I gradually closed the gap until at about the halfway mark; I took the lead with a laugh.  I maintained a comfortable lead for the next several hundred yards.

Nearing the summit, I decided to put him away and increased my speed.  To my surprise, Victor actually closed the gap by a couple of yards, his heavily muscled legs pumping smoothly.  My smile disappeared, when I realized Victor was not fading away.  I shifted into my ground-eating finishing stride.  Astonishingly, Victor drew alongside, and then he displayed the audacity to move into the lead.  This is not possible.  I thought.  With only a hundred yards to go, I gave it my all.  Victor responded by opening his lead.  When he reached the summit, Victor stopped and turned to greet me with a large grin covering his face.

After we sat down to catch their breaths, I said.  “You have never run that well in your life."

 Victor patted me on the back with his large hand calloused from the labor of working in a vineyard.  He grinned and spoke, "You are not the only one who works to get what they want." 

“You pig, you suckered me.”  I sat in a state of confusion for a couple of minutes. What was I to do?  As much as the thought embarrassed me, I had a debt to pay.  The more I thought about it, the less offensive it became.  I rose and walked a short distance away, gazing out over the rows of Grenache Noir vines.  The mountaintop lay hidden behind the vines and the distances to area homes were extensive.  Without another thought, I pulled my shirt over my head followed by my sports bra, and then turned back to face Victor, wondering what he would do. 

Victor moved toward me and placed his hands on my shoulders.  He kissed me.  My confusion became something else.  I felt strange, pleasant feelings in the lower part of my abdomen.  I kissed him back with passion.  We explored each other's body, and the emotions and urges mounted.  I surrendered myself to the sensations. 

Victor caressed my face and body with touches and kisses.  Then, he lifted me into his arms, made his way to the shaded rows of vines, and laid me on the soft earth.  He removed the remainder of my clothing and his own as well.  For a brief period, we enjoyed touching and exploring.  Then, I welcomed his large member into the incredibly sensitive depths of my body. We joined while peering directly into each other’s eyes.

I dismissed the momentary pain, and feverishly settled into the exquisite, age-old rhythm of lovemaking.  Not knowing what to expect, I was pleasantly surprised when the feelings built to a blinding crescendo amidst pulses of rhythmic pleasure beyond anything I had ever experienced.  Soon, Victor’s body language signaled that he was feeling the sensations as well.  When he became still, we lay in our embrace and held the mind-set for as long as we could.  

Afterwards, I viewed Victor in a new light, as I would until the end of my days.  At that moment, I failed to realize I had crossed a threshold and could never return. 

*****

During the remaining weeks of the summer, Victor and I were inseparable.  Our love consumed every waking hour.  Then, the summer was over, and it was time for Victor to leave for the Sorbonne.  During the first few months, while he was in Paris and I was at home, Victor made infrequent visits back to the area leaving me with periods of lengthening expectation.  I sustained my powerful emotions in the beginning with anticipation and then fulfillment when Victor arrived, but soon we both realized we were spending very little time together and a great deal of time apart.  The situation increasingly evolved into more frustration and less fulfillment for us both.  Little by little, time and distance caused our ardor to cool.  Since we were both highly focused individuals and busy with our divergent lives, the reality of the circumstances won out over our emotions, and we gradually drifted apart. 

Victor came home for a visit late in the spring near the end of his first year at the Sorbonne. He called me and we met.  While strolling down the sandy lane, he asked, “Where will you attend school when you graduate?”

I gazed ahead at the familiar vista.  “I have made no plans along those lines.  I have no idea what I will do with my life.”

Victor took my hand, squeezed it lightly, and then let it drop.  “My next year will be much more difficult than this one.  It will be impossible for me to come home as often as I did this year, and it seems we had so little time together.”

I stopped in the middle of the lane and asked, “what are you saying Victor?’

Victor didn’t speak for a moment, then he dropped his head and said, “I don’t know.  It almost appears the fates are working against us.  I love you Maryanne, but I don’t know what to do about this situation.”

I had already experienced thoughts along the same lines, but my love for Victor pushed them out of my mind.  I answered, “We have our lives ahead of us.  If what we have is important, it will endure.  If it isn’t, well---.”

Victor gazed at me.  He said, “We have little choice in the matter.  We can only go on with our lives and see what is in store for us.  I can only say no matter what happens, you will always have a special place in my heart.”

I turned my face away to hide the solitary tear that escaped my control.  “I understand what you are saying Victor.  I have no answer for this dilemma as well. If we are lucky, and I do believe we should be together, our time will come.  You must not spend your thoughts on matters of the heart.  You have a hazardous road ahead of you at the University. Please just lead your life and give me an occasional thought.  When your education is complete, we can talk again.”

Victor attempted to lighten the moment.  “I’ll race you home.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon walk,” I said and I took his hand, which was to be the last time for many years. 

The next time Victor came home, I made certain I had no spare time.  It was easier way for me, and he did not press the issue. I immersed myself in my final year of prep school. Victor must have felt a measure of relief in that he could fully concentrate on his own studies.  Neither of us realized we were marked for life, but we attempted to lead a normal existence without the other.  

***********

     As the years passed, my knowledge of my mother’s homeland increased along with my affection for those things Israeli.  When I got home each day from prep school, Mother and I usually lapsed into Hebrew, unless Father was in the room. She passed on routine reports about our Israeli family members.  Additionally, I made annual visits to Israel, which caused me to develop a strong affection for my maternal grandfather, Matthew Lev.  He gave me his undivided attention when I visited, and he routinely communicated with me when I was at home in France. 

***********

During the final year of my schooling in France, Jacque Passeron pushed his empty plate back one evening and allowed his eyes to drift to one of his favorite places, the face of his only child.  He reached over, squeezed the back of my hand, and said, “My Darling, refusing to choose a school for your higher education will not make the problem go away.  What is your current thinking?”

Mother interjected with, “I have reason to believe Maryanne would be happier in Israel for her university work.  I would like to see her attend the Hebrew University of Jerusalem.  Even though Matt is getting feeble, she would have the best my family has to offer in the way of care and attention.  Of course, she must make up her own mind, but this is my opinion.”

Father smiled at his beloved wife and said, “Yes, I know your preferences.  As for myself, I prefer my daughter stay here for the rest of her life and remain a companion to her father, but she has my blessing no matter what she decides.  By the same token, should she decide on Israel, I will expect frequent visits.”

As it turned out, I knew Mother had an ulterior motive.  There was the matter of Victor Grindou and his relationship with another local girl who was attending university in Paris as well.  Local gossip indicated that the association might be a serious one.  Mother likely felt I did not need to deal with that on a daily basis should I attend a university in Paris.  I felt the same way, but I had not voiced my concerns.

I touched my lips with a napkin and looked at my father, and then my mother.  “I am so fortunate to have you two for parents, and I love you dearly.  I have given the matter much thought, for about a year if you really want to know.  Living without Victor is a problem and will likely always be one, but I must move on to the best of my ability. I have a good background in the areas of science and languages to do well and enjoy university life in Jerusalem.  Perhaps, I can complete my work and finally give up Victor along the way.  Whatever happens, I can always return to the Valley or not, according to my needs at the time.  One thing is sure.  You two are the most important people in my life, and that will never change.”

Rachel took her husband’s hand, and asked, “Should we begin to make arrangements?  Can we tell Matt?  He will be so thrilled.”

“As the emperor said at the Circus.  Let the games begin,” I retorted.

*****

Two years after I left for Israel, Mother and I were enjoying a telephone conversation.  There was a short moment of silence broken by Mother who said, “As you know, Victor completed his studies at the Sorbonne and returned to Chateauneuf Du Pape this summer.  He is soon to marry Della Blain. Apparently, Victor will take over the bulk of the vineyard work since his father’s health is failing.  I suppose we knew this would happen.  You are in my thoughts, my darling.”

I was silent at first, but then spoke with manufactured brightness in my voice, “Yes Mother, we knew it would happen.  It was not to be between Victor and me.  I am making a life for myself here, and doing very well.  Matt will look after me.  You are not to worry.”

We chatted for a few more minutes about inane subjects, and then broke off the conversation.  I sat staring into space, then I huddled on my bed and began to sob.  It was on that day that I became an Israeli.

***********

I attended university in Israel where I excelled physically and academically. While graduating in the top five in my class, I achieved Israeli Hall of Fame records in women's athletics.  My tall, lithe body powered by potent muscles provided the strength needed for athletics without detracting from my femininity.  My strengths in athletics were distance running, basketball, and field hockey; the latter two allowed me to take advantage of my quickness and excellent hand-eye coordination.  The former was a matter of endurance and will. 

My exceptional record at the Hebrew University began the first year. I learned later that Israeli Intelligence monitored my progress at the request of Mother, through Matthew Lev.  Initially, Mossad recruited me surreptitiously and then overtly, when my studies were near completion.  By this time, I had matured into an adult. My men friends told me my chiseled features, creamy complexion, gleaming blue eyes, and thick, glossy hair caused most people to take a second look.  I began to believe my men friends passed that line around since I had heard it so often.

I managed to get back to the Rhone Valley at least once each year, and my parents usually came to Israel for a visit during the winter.  I loved my second home and the people who lived there, so I signed on with Israeli Intelligence.

I met Joshua Simon my first day on the job.  He stood five feet three inches tall, and his slight body did nothing to make his physical appearance more impressive.  While he made an unimposing visual impression, after a few sentences came out of his mouth, his massive intellect was difficult to hide.  After inviting me to seat myself in one of the comfortable office chairs, Simon began with my personal history.

“I hope you will not take this personally, but we investigate prospective members of our organization in a comprehensive manner.  Please do not view the fact we know these things about you as an invasion of your privacy.  We must not allow just anyone to join Mossad.”

I ventured, “In case you didn’t find out during your search, I prefer pink tooth brushes.”

Simon grinned and retorted, “Actually, you prefer blue, but let’s not quibble.  You were born 9 May 1967 to Jacque and Rachel Passeron.  You are an only child.  The worst grade you made in gymnasium was in the low nineties, and your favorite teacher was Raphael Maignuy, who taught chemistry.  You sat on the inside row, three seats from the front.”  And, so the orientation went.

I smiled at the little man and felt warm in his presence.  At first, the information he possessed startled me to some extent, but then I realized I should have expected nothing less. 

After what I must assume was only a small portion of the information Mossad had on me and my life, Simon explained the particulars of my upcoming training.  Once more, I felt a pleasant glow when I considered the preparation and subsequent career in the intelligence field.  I could hardly wait.     

After initial training with Mossad, I moved into operations.  My assignments gradually increased in importance and danger.  The almost daily risks, the challenges, and the nature of my work left little room for personal digressions and fulfilled my emotional needs to whatever extent anything could, but an empty place remained in my soul. 

The basic melancholy of my life without Victor did not deter my diligence, dedication to duty, or zest for life.  I took each assignment as it came and if there was a solution, I found it.  I excelled at fieldwork.  When Israeli command approached me about supervisory promotions, I would only agree to take the promotions if I could still go into the field. 

While I never developed a deep interest in the idea of a family or husband, I remained a lusty woman, and due to my appearance and pleasing personality, I had no difficulty in fulfilling my physical needs. 

***********

Four

“There are two tragedies in life.  One is not to get your heart’s desire.  The other is to get it.” 

George Bernard Shaw

Wen-biao

3 February 1988

I felt the light rainfall drift down from the low flying clouds.  It collected in puddles that quickly ran off into the gutter. My gang of teenage companions and I strutted down the sidewalk, all aware there was an element of danger when intruding on the territory of a rival gang.  I hooked my arm around the neck of my large companion, Ya-gong, and said, “These Pan thugs won’t even think about stopping us.  They know we are from Big Chang’s territory, and Pops is the king in Macau.  I just want to see what they will do, and they had better be careful.”  As usual, he made no response, and I glanced back at the other gang members.  I asked, “Does everyone know the play?”  They either nodded or spoke in the affirmative, but their eyes peered around with some degree of trepidation.

I enjoyed pushing the envelope. I lived for the excitement of danger and doing battle with the odds.  On this day, my wait for a challenge was a short one.  A small group of teens about our age advanced toward my band and stopped about ten feet away.  They wore headbands with gang colors.  One flipped a throwing star, while another twirled his escrima stick. 

The obvious leader strode up to me and stood too close for proper respect.  He spoke in a loud, high-pitched voice, "You better have a good reason for being in our territory."

I smiled and made no effort to widen the gap between us.  I spoke in a low voice, "We are out for a walk, and we wanted to check out the slums.  Pan territory is in the slums, is it not?  Besides, Macau is a large city and people from Big Chang’s territory walk where they please."

The Pan gang member leaped back and proceeded to do a quick complete turn ending in a ferocious kick that missed me by inches. Then he shouted, "Do you want some of this, fool?"

I started forward but felt a large hand on my shoulder.  Chan Ya-gong had protected me since we were both small children.  The big boy whispered in my ear, "I will settle this."  I jerked my arm away but knew better than to argue.  Ya-gong only spoke occasionally, but when he did, I listened. 

                      ***********                                       

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Ya-gong was tall at near six feet.  He weighed about two hundred pounds.  His head was square, his neck muscular, and his physique impressive.  His eyes were close together and small.  His large mouth, flat nose, and protruding ears prevented any claim to personal attractiveness.  

Over the years, Ya-gong had steadily gained the trust of my father, Big Chang, due to several instances of salvaging me from situations I could not manage on my own.  During my constant battle with personal boredom, I occasionally got myself in over my head.  

Ya-gong had little life outside my family.  His only hobby was martial arts, at which he excelled.  He had already established himself as a force in Big Chang’s territory by protecting me and, when matters became physical, taking on all comers. 

The big teenager slowly advanced on the gang leader, who snapped a lightening quick frontal kick aimed for his genitals.  Ya-gong made no effort to elude the blow but caught the gang member's foot in a beefy hand, grabbed a handful of the boy’s shirt, and slammed him onto the pavement.  The Pan gang member moaned but made no effort to rise.

I sensed, rather than saw, the throwing star sail past my head.  On my command, members of my gang filled their hands with semi-automatic handguns.  The Pan gang, with its traditional martial arts weaponry, was no match for such firepower, and immediately realized it.  Each member of the Pan gang slowly abandoned their lethal stances and either dropped or hid his weapon.

Once more, I took the forefront.  At first, I swept the rival group with a cold stare and asked,   "Who threw the star?"  No one answered.  I spoke again.  "If I don't find out who threw the star, none of you leaves this street alive.” 

Only the sound of one of my gang members injecting a round into the chamber of his handgun broke the silence.  After a minute, a boy in the back pointed to another gang member in front of him.  I pointed at the perpetrator.  "You, come here."  The boy had no choice but to step forward fully expecting to die.   I fixed my eyes on the trembling youth, replaced my weapon under my tunic, and slapped the boy on the shoulder, "I have to hand it to you.  You have courage.  Big Chang needs men with courage.  Would you like to work for Big Chang and make some important money?"

"I might," answered the boy, who would have agreed to anything.

"Good," I said.  Having subdued the rival gang past being a threat, I signaled my gang members to conceal their weapons.  Then I paced back and forth in front of the rival gang long enough to make them even more nervous, and then growled, "If you are tired of children's games and would like to make some real money, be at the Mu warehouse on Rua de Francisco tomorrow at 4:00 p.m.  I want you to meet some of Big Chang’s bosses, and if you haven’t figured it out already, I am Big Chang’s son.  Anyone interested?"  The boys shuffled their feet and looked at one another.  I smiled.  I knew several would grab at the chance to move up in the world of crime. 

"Now if you will excuse us?"  We moved through the street gang and continued our walk in Pan Territory.  No one challenged us.

*****

The following afternoon, a rattling van stopped in front of the Mu Warehouse and slowly disgorged several teenagers including the star thrower.  Ya-gong and I met them in front of the door and raised our hands in greeting. 

I spoke in a contrived friendly manner, "You guys are smarter than I thought.  I didn't really expect you to leave your mama's kitchen to join us today, but I am pleased you did.  Follow me into the warehouse, and I will make the introductions to the Chang bosses."

To lessen their apprehension, I placed my arm around the shoulders of the star thrower, and ushered the group into the warehouse core.  The gang members unhesitatingly followed close behind us.  The interior of the warehouse was dark and gloomy.  Large boxes were stacked around with a circle cleared out in the center. 

I stopped and turned to the boys. "Wait here.  I will only be a minute."  Then I disappeared into the gloom. Soon, my entire squad filed into the dim area containing the rival gang members and surrounded them.  Some pointed guns at the teens to prevent their escape.  The others grasped Bo staffs.  The Pan boys paled at the sight and watched the Chang teens advance.  I relished the looks on their faces and took pleasure from what came next. 

Blows from the heavy staffs quickly felled the boys and unfettered screaming filled the interior of the warehouse. Finally, before my people killed the lot of them, I shouted, "Enough.  Don't kill any of them or at least don't let them die here."  I smiled.  "Load them on the truck and take them back to Pan Territory.  Make sure people see you dump them.  We need lots of screaming."

The hardened gang members did as ordered.  They knew I liked to hurt people.  The word would soon spread in Macau's criminal world.  Little Chang was on the move.

*****

At little after 6:00 p.m., Chang Dong-hue’s private line rang.  The caller was Pan Ming-yi, the territory boss of the Pan district.  His voice shook as he addressed Big Chang, “Mr. Chang, five young men from my neighborhood were thrown from a moving vehicle onto my street.  All of the boys are presently in hospital.  They suffered extensive injuries including broken bones and concussions.  One may not live to see another day.”

Big Chang interrupted, “Ming-yi, tell me who perpetrated this foul deed and I will, personally, see they pay a heavy price.”

Pan took a moment to answer.  “Mr. Chang, the person responsible for of this b                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     rutal crime was your son, Chang Wen-biao.  I am not sure what it will take to make this right, but the parents of the boys and other members of my clan are preparing for all out war.”

Big Chang gathered his emotions and attempted to still his rapid heartbeat.  “Mr. Pan, you have known me many years, and we have done a great deal of business together.  You know I would never condone such a heinous act.  You also know I will take care of Wen-biao in my own way.  You can relay to the                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            parents that I will take care of all necessary medical fees and see that the victims never have to worry about money again.  Tell them these things, Mr. Pan, and please contact me when you have their answer.”

“Mr. Chang, I will do my best.”  Pan broke the connection.

Big Chang searched his rolodex, and found the number of Ya-gong. When he answered, Big Chang wasted no time.  “Ya-gong, did Wen-biao beat up some boys from the Pan district?”

Ya-gong quickly responded, “Yes, Mr. Chang.”

Chang countered, “Is he with you?”

“Yes, Mr. Chang,” Ya-gong retorted.

Big Chang said, “Send him to me.”

*****

It cost Big Chang five million American dollars to save Wen-biao's life and retain his own place in the crime scene of Macau.  It represented the only time in his life that he struck his son, and he did so more than once.  By the time Chang Dong-hue finished explaining the situation to Wen-biao, the son was fully aware of the errors of his ways and required emergency room treatment to stitch the wounds.  He carried his bruised face as a silent message, while he delivered the cash settlements to the homes of each boy injured, and it was only due to the local power of Big Chang and the honor of Pan Ming-yi that he survived those deliveries.

*****

Chang Wen-biao eventually wormed his way back into the good graces of his father.  Big Chang viewed his son with as much affection as it was possible for him to generate, and he secretly admired the bravery exhibited by Wen-biao during his foray outside the confines of Big Chang’s territory. 

Wen-biao continued his physical and mental development during the years to come.  He demonstrated high intelligence, courage, but maintained a weakness in the area of decision-making.  He was prone to allow his personal desires to interfere with the needs of Chang Enterprises Limited.  He maintained and displayed an innate brutality that often reared its ugly head when such behavior was without real purpose.  This facet of his personality prevented his father from bestowing upon him the trust that would result in Wen-biao assuming important responsibilities in Big Chang’s criminal empire.

Five

“It is no use lying to one’s self.” 

Henrik Ibsen

Cloud

17 May 1982

Life was changing in the small towns of the Southwest.  The boisterous Saturday nights of decades past were no more.  By this time, many of the local teenagers had their own cars or hung out with someone who did.  The grownups and wallflowers had television.  Unlike in years past, there was no reason to drive around the triangle of downtown Piney Springs or pace up and down the one street in hopes of finding entertainment. 

During the years following World War II, most mobile young people out on a date attended a movie in neighboring Mt. Mariah, followed by innocuous necking in front of the girl’s house as they strove to get her home by 10:30 p.m.  Now, with the enlightenment of the sixties and seventies behind the culture, teens headed straight for their regular parking places and got sex out of the way.  At least that’s what Billy Ray and I did. Then we often motored to the state park to slow dance or over to Mt. Mariah to find some Tex-Mex. 

Graduation was just around the corner for Billy Ray.  I knew he had his heart set on going to the University of Texas, and for the life of me, I could not find a place in that scenario for me.  The idea of me going to college was ludicrous for more than one reason.  My mother lived off welfare, and the occasional paying boyfriend, but she drank more than we ate.  The money for me to attend any university was not there.  Besides, the world of academia held no attraction for me.  Mostly, I had not thought much past being with Billy Ray.  Maybe he has some ideas, I often thought.  Deep in my heart, I knew better. 

The state park surrounded a clear East Texas lake.  Federal funds and the labor of the Citizen Conservation Corp built the park back in the thirties. Pines covered the low prominence and maintained a green aura year round.  Nestled on top of the hill sat a pavilion.  It offered dressing rooms, a dance floor, and a small kitchen for greasy cheeseburgers, fries, and canned drinks.  A jukebox blared current popular music.  Young people from twenty miles in any direction considered the state park as the place to go when the slim pickings of the area’s social opportunities did not bear fruit.

I enjoyed the warmth of late spring that shrouded the state park on that night.  Billy Ray and I arrived and set up shop on the dance floor.  Between dances, I gazed down the hill from the pavilion to the swimming area.  A diving platform stood about ninety feet from the bank.  Mostly, younger children utilized the swimming facilities during the summer months.   At night, the swimming area closed.  The high school and college crowd frequented the pavilion to scout out members of the opposite sex or to dance on the slick cement floor that had served thousands of dancers for over a half century. 

I nestled my head on Billy Ray's shoulder, as we danced to an old Patsy Cline record. "I like your new car," I offered. 

Billy Ray drew me in a bit closer and said, "It's about time.  Marvin put me off since football season, but I never thought it would be a Charger Convertible.  Don’t you think that shade of yellow is a bit much?"

I did not like to criticize but offered, "I might not have chosen it, but what do I know?"

Billy Ray's brow furrowed in thought.  Then he twirled me around and brought me back.  In an agreeable voice he exclaimed, "I just might check with Jackie Wayne Dawson and see how much it would cost to give it a good paint job.  A convertible should not cost as much to paint as a regular car.  Should it?"  After a momentary silence, he continued, "You know Marvin hit a couple of pretty good Cotton Valley wells.  It looks like I can go to Texas without any money worries.  Do you think you might get to go when you graduate?"

The dancing continued, but the atmosphere dramatically changed.  My world commenced to crumble.  "You know I can't go to college, Billy Ray.  Between bouts with the bottle, Mama can barely feed us.  Do you think I like dressing like this?  If it wasn't for your Christmas and birthday presents, I wouldn't have any clothes at all." 

The music stopped as my composure disintegrated.   I said in a shaky voice, "I guess you will just have to head on down to U. T. and take care of business.  I still have two years in school.  By that time, we won't even know each other."  Fat tears began sliding down my cheeks. 

I knew Billy Ray had no answer for the problem.  Obviously, he had given no thought to taking me with him.  I knew he really wanted to go to the University of Texas and get a petroleum engineering degree, so he could take over Marvin's business.  Sure, he liked me a lot, and we enjoyed great sex.  He might even love me in his own way, but I suppose when a young man gets out of school and goes out on his own, there is no time for too much serious girl stuff.   There would be plenty of time later for that.

I pulled from his arms and headed for the car.  "I want to go home, Billy Ray."

I knew the conversation was not going according to Billy Ray's plan.  He wanted to continue spending time with me, until it was time for him to leave for Austin.  He followed my retreating figure and said, "It's still early, Cloud.  How about we go get a burger somewhere?" 

I cut to the chase.  "Billy Ray, take me home, and I mean right now."

My behavior caught Billy Ray by surprise.  He had never witnessed an inflexible Cloud before.  He expected I would cry a little, he would sooth my hurt feelings, and then he would drive to Mount Mariah and buy me a burger.  Everything would be fine until the end of the summer.   Caught with no backup plan, Billy Ray offered, "All right, Cloud, but I just know you would feel better after something to eat." 

We headed for the convertible, got in, and drove away.  It was not often I pitied myself, but this was one of those times.  I thought, it seems like Billy Ray has everything and I have nothing.  It hurts that he cares so little about how I feel and what I will do.  He could take me with him if he really wanted to.

I sincerely wished I could better control my feelings for Billy Ray.  It finally occurred to me, as the Charger left highway 67 and drove down the dirt road to our dilapidated mobile home that a new day was beginning, and it was one without Billy Ray.  It might as well start now, I thought.  I knew I would hurt for a long time, but waiting would not make it any easier.  When we reached the0  cluttered mobile home set off in a pasture, I got out of the car and did not even bother to say goodnight.

*****

The summer ran its course.  I began working at the Piney Springs Cafe’ to earn a few extra dollars.  During the approaching school year, I would be a junior, and the sponsor expected me to be head cheerleader.  I really needed to work, and since I had no further interest in ball games anyway, I resigned from the cheerleading squad. 

The word gradually got out that Billy Ray and I were not seeing each other any more.  My attitude puzzled Billy Ray, but did not slow him down.  He quickly began parading a series of girls around in his currently candy apple red convertible.  A few boys started hanging out at the café where I worked, but none had the nerve to approach me until, Curtis Floyd, the six foot eight inch center on the basketball team sauntered up to me one day in July and asked, "Cloud, would you like to take in a movie over at Mt. Mariah?"

I looked up from removing empty dishes from a table.  It occurred to me that I could use some good sex.  "Sure, Curtis, why not?"

*****

After his first year at U.T., Billy Ray came home for the summer.  We often came into contact at the Piney Springs Café, since it was a popular hangout for young and old alike.  We always spoke but didn’t converse. 

On a blistering day in late June, Billy Ray finished his lunch at the Cafe’ and got up to leave.  I was nearby ringing up a ticket.  Billy Ray smiled and spoke.  "How are things going, Cloud?"

I answered in an indifferent tone, "You know how things are with me, Billy Ray.  How are things with you?"

"Not bad," said Billy Ray.  He thought for a moment then blurted out, "Say, why don't I pick you up after work?  We could drive down to the state park and slow dance."

I didn’t even think about it.  I just answered, "Sure, Billy Ray.  Why not?"  The past year had weakened my resolve. 

*****

Even after Billy Ray left for the University of Texas, graduated and moved to Houston, we still managed to spend quality time together.  Like Billy Ray, I had other sexual partners along the way, the reason being I enjoyed sex, and the boys who could not cut the mustard soon found themselves out in the cold.  I always brushed aside any attempts by my paramours to establish a lasting relationship.  

The up and down feelings I harbored for Billy Ray never really diminished to any great degree, and they marred other relationships as the years passed.  I was not at all sure if I understood those feelings.  Being married, having and raising children, and doing the young social trip did not appeal to me, and I doubt if it appealed to Billy Ray.  I just wanted to have him in my life in some capacity.  He was my security blanket, and it was impossible to deal with the idea of his absence for the rest of my life.  Since I couldn’t even conceive of the emotion of jealousy, I did not care if Billy Ray was with other woman.  I just needed a small, regular slice of the pie.

*****

For me, the final two years at Piney Springs High School divided themselves into killing time and surviving.  They were not enjoyable.  I had no interest in school activities and little in academics.  My grades were better than average but accrued without any great effort or curiosity.  Boys from a thirty-mile radius took a shot at spending time with me.  I always went with my gut while making those choices.  Some suitors were good picks, and some became troublesome when I was ready to cut the cord.  More than one bloody fight erupted, but I cared little.

The river of time until my graduation flowed slowly but relentlessly, and finally, with school out of the way, it was time for me to move on.  Mother produced nothing in the way of seed money to get me started elsewhere, but I had managed to squirrel away enough for a month or so in Dallas. 

The Greyhound bus got me there, and during the trip, I sat behind the driver and learned he lived in Dallas.  Needing information about the city, I ventured, “I am on my way to Dallas to look for work.  Do you know of a place where a girl could find a clean, cheap room?”

Men naturally wanted to help me, and the bus driver was no exception.  “There are some rooming houses on Live Oak street, north of town.  You can ride a city bus to take a look if you like.”

I was relieved and said, “That sounds just perfect.  Thanks so much for your help.”

“You are more than welcome, young lady.  I hope you find a good job.”

After arriving in Dallas, I parted with some of my meager savings for a city map, and soon found the area I was seeking.  Next, I explored and figured out the bus system, caught the correct one, and made my way north.  I found the outdated rooming house and secured a clean space with a private entrance.  I paid for a month's rent, got a good night’s sleep, and the next day, I hit the ground running. 

*****

Six

“My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining light as to the tendencies of a child by the study of the parents.  Don’t you see that the converse is equally valid?” 

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Big Chang

22 September 1986

As I prepared for the first face-to-face meeting with my daughter, I reviewed my needs and the methods I would use to achieve them.  I required a person to perform an important job.  I needed a new wet-work specialist.  I could make do with interim practitioners with lesser skills for the next few years, since the need for such services had diminished after I gained control of the cartel.     

After Feng Jian-mei demonstrated both physical and mental superiority at an early age, I began her training.  At first, I placed her with the best Tae Kwon Do master in Macau.  Now, after having just demonstrated the quality of her training by winning the Asian championship posing as a male, it was time for the next step in her development.  Her future training would be of a different nature, and only the brutal Korean, Ki Jin, could accomplish my goals with regard to Feng Jian-mei.

I called Ki Jin into my inner office.  The old man remained standing in front of the large desk.  I growled in a deep voice, “Ki Jin, I will require your services for the next five years.  You will train a female child to serve as my deadly weapon.  She will master all of the killing tools at your disposal.  In addition, you will purge any weaknesses of character that could interfere with the performance of her duties.  She must have the skills to become a shadow in the night and must be willing to do my bidding without question.  You are free to use whatever methods you see fit to achieve these goals.”

The old Korean spoke in heavily accented Mandarin Chinese with a raspy voice, “I am at your service, Mr. Chang.  It will be as you desire.”

“Good,” I said.  “She will arrive shortly.” 

I knew Jian-mei had no knowledge of me as her father, and that would not change this day.  However, her mother, Feng Gui-lian knew me very well.  She had served as my sexual toy until she became pregnant with my child.  When the issue turned out to be female, I made no move to legitimize her as my own, but rather than ignore the child completely, I chose to wait and see if she might be of value.  After all, she was my daughter, and would likely have some useful characteristics. 

Over the past twelve years, I provided a modest lifestyle for the two of them.  I did not do this out of any sense of obligation or affection.  Both Gui-lian and Jian-mei were my property and both either served a purpose at present or would serve one in the future. 

I demanded periodic updates on my daughter's progress from Gui-lian, but made no personal contact.  Jian-mei showed immense intellectual and physical aptitude at an early age.  I was pleasantly surprised, and I intended to make use of her talents.

On this day, I gazed out the large window in my office suite and enjoyed the sights of my domain.  I now owned three casinos and controlled four more.  I felt secure in my position but knew life did not work that way.  I recognized any loss of my aggressive ways would bring about my downfall.  Besides, even though I could count my personal fortune in the tens of millions, I was just getting started. 

Kim Lili-kue, my long time administrative assistant, knocked softly on the office door and entered.  She was the only person allowed to do so.  "Feng Gui-lian and the girl are here," she announced.  

I never pass up an opportunity to build on the anxiety of others, so I said, "Let them sit for thirty minutes and then bring them in." 

The time passed slowly for me as well.  Finally, Lili-kue knocked once again and ushered in Gui-lian and Jian-mei.  I sat behind an enormous desk that only added to my illusion of power.  I didn’t ask either of them to sit.

I rarely see Jian-mei and then only at a distance or through photographs.  She was taller than I had visualized. She gazed straight into my eyes, demonstrating a complete absence of fear.  I spoke to her in a deep rumbling voice, "Do you know me, girl?"

"Yes,” she answered.  “You are Mr. Chang.”

A look mixed with surprise and utter horror crossed the face of Gui-lian.  She turned to her daughter and asked, "How did you know?"

Jian-mei showed no emotion, when she answered her mother, "Mr. Chang is well known in Macau.  Why would I not know his face?"

As equally startled as Gui-lian, I remained intently interested in Mr. Chang’s answer.  I chose to accept it at face value.  "Yes, Girl, I am Mr. Chang.  I have an interest in you, because you do extremely well at both the mental and physical aspects of life.  I require someone of your ability to serve my purposes during the coming years.  I have planned the rest of your life, and it is time to begin your training.  Do you understand what I am saying?"

Jian-mei stared at me directly and said, "No, Mr. Chang.  I do not understand what you are saying."

I continued as if she had not spoken, "Following each morning of school work, you will make yourself available to Ki Jin.  He is a martial arts grand master, who will train you in a variety of useful skills for the next five years.  At the end of that time, you will pursue and obtain a good business degree from a local university.  When your training and education is complete, you will serve my needs.  Now do you understand?"

Jian-mei looked at her mother, but when Gui-lian dropped her eyes, she found no comfort there.  The g                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     irl turned back to me.  "Mr. Chang.  I must respectfully decline your most generous offer. My life is my own.    I have no love for fighting, so I hope never to wear a dobok again.  I plan to spend my life as a nurse or physician."

I snarled, "Girl, your wishes have no place in this equation.  I decide what you will do and when you will do it.  The sooner you accept your fate, the sooner you can make the best of your situation."

A look of determination crossed the face of Jian-mei.  "Mr. Chang, I must respectfully decline."

Having expected no less from this girl, I moved my gaze to Jian-mei's mother and spoke with apparent anger, "What do you have to say Gui-lian?  Can you convince your obstinate daughter to see the errors in her thinking, or shall I do that for you?"

Gui-lian tried hard to remain stoic, but tears already seeped from her eyes.  She turned to her loved one and said, "Jian-mei, Mr. Chang provided for our rooms and food for many years.  He wants a return on his investment.  He is a powerful man and accustomed to getting what he wants.” 

Gui-lian placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and continued, “I knew this day would come, but I could do nothing to prevent it. If there was a way for you to go your own way, I would support it, but there is none.  Believe me, there is none.  Mr. Chang will never accept no.  He will only accept yes, and I believe the best course for you is to give it to him."

Jian-mei’s eyes burned fiercely.  "There must be a way.  I don't know Mr. Chang, and I owe him nothing."

A smile curled my lips.  I had expected such from this strong-willed girl, so I had prepared for the eventuality.  I opened a drawer in my desk, secured a jeweled dagger, and pitched it on the desktop.

Jian-mei glanced at the knife without fear.  "What does this mean, Mother?"

Gui-lian wailed, "It means, child, that if you refuse, he will kill us both."

Jian-mei was a very intelligent and emotionally mature twelve-year-old.  She quickly considered several alternatives, but all were rife with hazards, more for her mother than for herself.  Her face showed no sign of fear.  After Jian-mei completed her considerations, she spoke.  "I will do as you say, Mr. Chang."  What she was really saying was that she would do as I said until an alternative presented itself.

I buzzed Kim Lili-kue and snapped, "Send in Ki Jin."  The old man entered, bowed to me, and said, “Mr. Chang.”  He wore a dobok, and possessed muscular legs and arms.  Even at his advanced age, his body was relatively free of fat.  His voice sounded like a wood rasp due to an old neck injury.  Most of his teeth were missing.  Gnarled and calloused hands hung by his side.  His head was completely bald, and he wore a bright yellow band around his forehead.  His eyes spoke of cruelty.

I growled at Jian-mei, "This is your master, Jian-mei.  You will obey his every command or your mother will suffer.  Do you clearly understand?"

Having made her decision, Jian-mei responded immediately, "I understand, Mr. Chang."  She now realized the life of her mother depended on it.  She also realized her life would move in an unimaginable and frightening new direction.

Seven

But what was a girl to Dombey and Son!  In the capital of the House’s name and dignity, such a child was merely a piece of base coin that couldn’t be invested—a bad Boy—nothing more. 

Charles Dickens

Jian-mei

1986 – 1991

During the early days of the brutal Ki Jin’s training, I came home in a state of hysteria and sobbed inconsolably.  Mother held and comforted me, but could not conceive of going against the wishes of Big Chang.  It was not so much the physical stress, though that alone was enough to destroy the psyche of most.  It was Ki Jin’s way of destroying any vestige of my humanity. 

At first, he took away my modesty by forcing me to perform in the nude with an audience.  Then he destroyed my self-respect with sex acts of all descriptions.  The first goal of these exercises was to block out the invasion of my body, and the next goal was for me to feign pleasure at the contact.  By the time I reached the age to attend the university, I was as accomplished in the pleasures of both men and women as any whore on the streets and with even less personal involvement.  Finally, by forcing me to mutilate animals of all kinds, he eliminated my sense of compassion.

I could not deal with the horrors perpetrated on my natural emotional state. My life became so unbearable, I approached insanity.  When I had a few moments to myself, I withdrew deeply into my mind and found some peace in hidden places.

When Mother noticed I responded less to the sessions with the old Korean, she asked, “Daughter, you appear to be in better spirits after your time with Ki Jin.  Is it easier now?”

I was hesitant to tell her about my developing ability to withdraw, but I decided it might be the best choice.  “No Mother, it is not easier.  It is more difficult if anything, but I have discovered a way to bear the time with Ki Jin.  In a certain sense, I don’t go.  I am not there.”

Initially, my mother looked bewildered, then apprehensive when it occurred to her I might be skipping the sessions and ignoring the wishes of Big Chang.  Mother did not have the education or sophistication to comprehend what she heard, but she was willing to accept anything that would save her daughter from the horrors she suffered. 

“I go to Ki Jin in my body, but my mind is not always there.  When the pain is too great, my mind finds a place of peace.” 

Mother nodded her head but understood little of what I told her.  She feared I had lost my mind, and, indeed, I may have.  

Over the years, the old man gradually transformed me into a callous killing machine.  I could not endure those terrible times without withdrawing to my place of safety.  In addition, the complete absence of empathy, my skills with disguises and impersonations, and the ability to use my body in a completely unfeeling way allowed me to become the perfect assassin, at which point it came time to repay Big Chang's investment.  At the age of sixteen, I made my first kill while playing a girl of the street.  Ki Jin was my pimp.  During my next foray into the world of death, I worked alone.

After five years of torment and unspeakable horrors at the hands of Ki Jin, my final day with the Korean arrived, but not to the knowledge of either of us when it began. 

When I arrived, I noticed the tools of the Korean’s craft all arranged for use.  The old man had decided to retest his work.  I quickly realized Ki Jin would beat, probe, and drive me to exhaustion once again.  For some reason, I was aware of the circumstances today.  I thought.  Not today.  Not ever again.

*****

An hour later, an attendant happened into the room and discovered the body of Ki Jin crumpled on the floor.  His limbs were malformed and grotesque.  It appeared every major bone in his old body had lost its natural shape.  His open eyes held the glaze of death. 

The attendant immediately called Big Chang's office.  At first, he explained the situation to Lili-kue, and she told him to hold.  Soon, Big Chang came on the line.  “What are you saying?  What is wrong with the Korean?”

The attendant was petrified to be speaking with Big Chang himself, but he mumbled, “Mr. Chang.  The Korean is dead.  His bones are broken.  What should I do?”

After a moment of silence, Big Chang spoke, “Do nothing.  Say nothing to anyone, now or later.  Leave the building and lock the doors.  Come back to work tomorrow.”

“Yes Mr. Chang,” answered the man, and then he hung up.

Another hour passed, and the remains of the Korean were gone.  Feng Jian-mei never heard one word about the matter.  From that time until she left Macau to pursue a graduate degree, she answered only to Big Chang and only then through Lilli-kue.

*****

Eight

Considering how much we are all given to discuss the character of others, and discuss them often not in the strictest spirit of charity, it is singular how little we are inclined to think that others can speak ill-naturedly of us, and how angry and hurt we are when proof reaches us that they have done so.

 Anthony Trollope

Billy Ray

9 March 1984

I introduced myself to the antique gatekeeper of my faculty advisor’s office located in the engineering building of the University of Texas.  “Good morning.  My name is Billy Ray Calhoun.  I received a message from Dr. Tarpley to be here today for a conference.” 

The slight, blue-haired woman smiled and gestured toward an empty seat.  “Please have a seat Mr. Calhoun.  Dr. Tarpley will be with you shortly.”

I found a seat and rested my Tony Llama boots on a low table.  To kill time, I mentally reviewed my first semester of university life in Austin and found nothing unusual, except for a few cut classes.  After all, I was a tall, handsome young man, and drove a candy apple red Dodge convertible. In addition to scholastic responsibilities, I did have a personal life.

It didn’t take long for the Greeks to discover me and invite me to join their ranks.  I made the rounds of the frat houses and concluded I liked the people from Sigma Phi Epsilon best.  They had a nice house and enjoyed having a good time. Since I sought a well-rounded experience at the university, I pledged the Sig Eps to best take advantage of the social aspects of university life.

Unfortunately, my first semester academic schedule contained the usual English, math, and history courses, which required considerable reading and library time. A full fraternity schedule left little time for either. There were only so many hours in a day.  Something had to take a back seat, so I gradually sacrificed a few hours spent on academics.  Besides, my new friends had a nice collection of quizzes for me to review when test time came around.  

I looked up when a fellow student left the dean’s office, a look of shock on his face.  The receptionist gestured toward the door and said, “Mr. Calhoun, you may go in.”

I entered the office. A small delicate man sat behind a desk piled with papers. “Please make yourself at home Mr. Calhoun.  Perhaps we needed to have this visit sooner, but conditions are sometimes hectic around here, what with so many students to look after.  How do you feel about your first semester?”

It was time to turn on the charm.  I leaned back in my chair, crossed my legs, and smiled.  “Dr. Tarpley, for as long as I can remember, I have dreamed of attending UT.  My time here has exceeded my expectations.  I may decide to pursue an advanced degree and spend more than four years here.”

The Professor studied the sheets of paper in his hand then said, “That is most gratifying, Mr. Calhoun.  I sincerely hope your next semester will be just as enjoyable.”  Dr. Tarpley paused, and then spoke again.  “Mr. Calhoun, have you given any thought as to where you will attend school next year?”

I was bewildered at such a question. “Right here at UT.  Why would I go anywhere else?”

The Dean and Professor of Chemical                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           Engineering laid down the papers.  When he spoke again, his voice was stern.  “Mr. Calhoun, presently, your poor grade point average necessitates you be placed on scholastic probation.  If you had ever bothered to read your college mail, you would know this.  You have the current semester to improve the average of both semesters.  If you are unable to do so, the University of Texas will deny you admission in the fall.” 

Dr. Tarpley handed me a scrap of paper and continued, “Mr. Calhoun, this is the grade point average you must achieve during the spring semester if you hope to remain at UT.  While very few students dig themselves out of the predicament you created for yourself, the opportunity is there.  In light of the present status, perhaps you should not be concerned with how many years you spend at the University of Texas but how many months.  Thank you for your time, Mr. Calhoun.”

The Professor returned to the papers on his desk, signifying the interview was over. I rose and left.  I saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing, as I made my way out of the building and to my car.

This was unplowed ground for me.  Since I could remember, my family members and teachers praised me for anything I did.  I was Marvin’s boy.  I was nice looking and had a great car most of the time.  I had gorgeous girls all the time. 

Marvin will have that asshole’s job, I thought.  Then I pictured my father attempting to muscle the UT administration and realized these people would swat Marvin like a fly.  Hope vanished.  What have I ever done that leads me to believe I can exercise this kind of discipline?  What if I tried my hardest and still can’t do it? 

I reached my car and got in. What is the hardest thing I have ever done?  Then I remembered the run.  Now that was hard, I thought.  Miracles can happen, but running with a football is nothing like changing my entire approach to living.  I considered the options for a few moments, and then I decided to give it my best shot.

*****

 As it turned out, my best shot was very good.  The first thing I did was go inactive from Sig Ep.  Whenever I received an academic assignment, I didn’t rest until I completed it.  I actually reviewed my work and made corrections. I spent considerably more time in the library than in class, and my professors rewarded my efforts and accomplishments with excellent grades.  In May 1988, I graduated magna cum laude from the University of Texas with a major in petroleum engineering. 

After matriculation, I decided to go to work for a large oil company and learn the business.  A Houston based company snapped me up.  The money was good if not excessive. Nevertheless, from the outset, taking directions from other people wasn’t a lot of fun for me. I performed well, but I had to accept a subordinate role, and some of my corporate superiors were not that sharp. I forced myself to stay for a couple of years, but I concluded there must be something better. 

When I resigned, my immediate supervisor offered me a better job, but I was committed to something else, something just out of the reach of my conscious mind. 

Finding an international job was relatively easy.  After doing so, I traveled from oil patch to oil patch, from Iraq to Saudi Arabia, to Africa, to India and South America.  I solved problems and made deals for my company.  Since I was on my own much of the time, and the job was part of my chosen learning curve, it lasted several years.  The money was good, but my parents’ health declined rapidly during these years, and I concluded I needed to be more readily available to them in case of emergencies. 

To compound matters, I still was not having fun.  About the only good times I experienced was when I could get to New York and spend time with Cloud, or she could arrange to meet me in some foreign country.  She was another factor in the equation, when I walked into my boss's office.

I took in the tall, thin man with the shaved head. “Good morning Clyde.  How is the world treating you,” I ask.

Clyde Crump, the vice president of foreign petroleum development for Global Oil looked stressed.  “Things couldn’t be better, Billy Ray.  Now what is so important that it couldn’t wait until after lunch?”

I took a seat and stretched out my legs.  “Jack, it’s time for me to move on.  The shelf life of this gig has expired.”

Clyde put down the sheaf of papers in his hand, and asked, “What’s the problem, Billy Ray?”

“There really isn’t a problem, Clyde.  I have no quarrel with the job or with working for you.  I need to find out what it is I want to do with the rest of my life and start doing it.”

“Billy Ray, I have already spoken to Vernon about your taking over the transportation desk after the first of the year.  That would mean a sizable increase in salary and influence.  It is just a matter of time until I retire and you get this job.  You are a valued employee, and we can’t afford to lose you.”

I smiled, stood up, and said, “Thanks Clyde, but there isn’t a job in this entire company that would satisfy me.  I need to work things out on my own.  I can work for a few more weeks if you think it’s necessary.  That’s about the best I can do.”

Clyde rose, moved around his desk, and offered his hand to me.  “I know where you are coming from.  I had the same feelings twenty years ago, but didn’t have the courage to make the break.  Leave when you feel like it, Billy Ray, and good luck, whatever you end up doing.”

I returned to my condominium in Houston, sat around for a few days, and then flew to New York and spent time with Cloud.  Finally, I went back to Houston and began making phone calls.   The first person I contacted was an Indian broker with whom I had done business for years.  After we chatted for a few minutes, and I told him what I had in mind, he asked if I wanted to move a shipload of oil for a Middle Eastern consortium to India.  I said sure.  That was easy. I thought.

Fortunately, other oil professionals knew what I could do, and they were delighted to give me work. Within a few short months, I realized working for me was fun.  Maybe it was because I didn’t have to answer to anyone other than myself.                                                                     

*****

After my mother passed, it created no financial strain to see that Marvin drove a new Cadillac and had walking around money after his health took a bad turn.  He had some money of his own, and when it ran out, I took up the slack. 

Even so, the day came when Marvin could not drive or take care of his everyday needs.  I had to do something, so I enquired around Piney Springs, and learned that Kelly Bethea, a former schoolmate, had lost his job at the Lone Oak steel plant due to a mill closing.  Year                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           s ago, Kelly’s wife and children moved to Idaho, where she remarried. He lived alone. 

I drove the couple of miles from town to Kelly’s residence.  He lived in a small white frame house with a barn and pasture.  Kelly answered the door and a smile appeared on his face. “How in the world are you doing, Billy Ray?”

“Tolerable, Kelly, just tolerable,” I responded.

“Come on in and have a beer.  It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

I entered the clean, well-kept room and sat in a comfortable chair.  I accepted the can of beer offered by Kelly and took a swig.  “Kelly, I’ll get right to the point.  You may know Marvin is in a bad patch.  He just can’t take care of himself anymore.  He needs someone to look after him.”

Kelly gazed into space for a moment, and then he offered, “The steel plant is slowly closing down.  Its first one mill and then another.  I don’t expect the pipe mill, where I worked, will ever open again, so I can’t look forward to going back to work there.  I would be more than happy to look after Marvin, if that is what you have in mind.  He has always been awful nice to me.”

“Kelly, you can’t imagine what a relief to me that would be.  I can pay you a fair wage, but you would need to move into Marvin’s house.  Would that be a problem?”

Kelly grinned, and said, “No problem at all.  You give me fifteen minutes, and I can go today.”

I offered my hand and said, “There is no hurry, Kelly.  Take thirty minutes.”  We both laughed.

*****

Kelly took good care of Marvin.  In the beginning, they attended an occasional gathering of oilmen, but then Marvin became too feeble.  Kelly drove him to his doctor's appointments. They visited the local café to spin yarns with his old friends on the days Marvin felt up to it.  He wore his cowboy boots and hat even in a wheelchair.  He looked the part of a Texas oilman right up to the end.

The years flew by. I sought and found a level of business that would support my lifestyle without turning me into a workaholic.  I got pleasure from what I did professionally but enjoyed other pursuits as well.  I found time for Cloud several times each year, but not enough to alter the lives of either of us.  Life was good until in early 2007, I got a call from Hong Bin-zhou, a good source of business in London who had become a close friend.

*****

Nine

A witty woman is a treasure; a witty Beauty is a power. 

George Meredith

Maryanne

3 February 2007

I sat at a long oaken table tracing the wood grain with my fingernail.   My mind was of two parts.  One part wandered through my past, reliving snippets of my professional and personal life.  The other part monitored the room, waiting for something to earn my full attention. 

Occasionally, I would wad up a piece of paper and toss it at Joshua Simon, my immediate superior.  He would not react even if I hit him.  Later, he would retrieve the wad and throw it back in my direction.  Our informal behavior surprised no one in the room.  We had a history. 

This particular subdivision of Mossad operated out of a squat building on Shein Kin near Derech Petah in Tel Aviv. The unremarkable building epitomized self-containment in that there were no phone lines, no electrical lines, no sewage or gas pipes entering the structure from the outside.   Policy insisted personnel encrypt even inter-office memos and shred them after reading.  There were no real windows on the exterior of the building, but false ones adorned the walls complete with lights that turned on and off in various parts of the structure throughout the day and night.  The thick exterior walls were lead lined.  The parking lot used a large portion of the above ground levels.  Ten stories of the structure were below ground surrounded by thick steel and concrete walls.  Inside, white noise slightly impaired the acoustics.  Deadly security in both human and technological form protected the building and its multitude of secrets. 

To enter this base of Israeli Mossad Operations, one must pass retinal and fingerprint scans in addition to a personal recognition by a member of security.  If for some near-impossible circumstance someone breached the building's security, an alarm would sound and a cell phone carried by the Prime Minister would vibrate at which point the PM would contact military command, obtain input, and make a decision.  If the breach was sufficient to allow the disbursement of encrypted information from the databases, the Prime Minister would order a mass departure of the premises.  As soon as the evacuation of known personnel was completed, the PM would trigger devices that would immediately reduce the building, its contents, and equipment to rubble.  The Israelis were anal about security.

I still looked good.  In all honesty, better than good.  My trim, athletic body responded to a regular regimen of weights and aerobic exercises.  I enjoyed running cross-country, but could not deal with the risks involved, so I ran on a treadmill and watched the BBC. 

Today, I wore faded Levis and a cotton turtleneck that drew attention to my well developed bosom, but then just about anything I wore drew attention to my body.  To me, attracting attention was like breathing, and I paid no mind to the condition, unless it suited my purposes, at which point I used my feminine attributes to whatever extent I could.   

Encouraged by my mother, I learned English and Hebrew while growing up, and then added Farsi before graduation from Hebrew University. My physical strength and ability to think on my feet made me the ideal operations agent for Mossad. Eventually, the Israeli intelligence arm recruited me. 

After training, I cut my teeth on dangerous assignments in the Middle East, after which I earned leadership roles and the respect of my colleagues because of my fearlessness and determination.  If backed into a corner, I could usually out shoot, out think, and out fight most of my male colleagues.  Many would have sold their souls for a night in my bed, and a few had actually done so.

I gazed dispassionately at the world map covering the east wall of the conference room and occasionally glanced at the banks of large computer screens covering the south wall. The controller, a woman with red hair and a Ph.D., sat at a console with the world at her fingertips.  Team members involved with the everyday operations of Israeli security passed back and forth from the room after conferring with Joshua Simon.  Comfortable chairs sat strategically around the table accompanied by the ubiquitous, yellow lined tablets and cheap ballpoint pens.  

Of more interest to me was the activity of Joshua Simon standing in front of the map.  It was easy to follow the targets of his attention, as his eyes wandered from one portion of the world map to another.  He was the head of Mossad's International Counter-Terrorism group, and I was his Chief of Operations. 

Our history as a working team began soon after my recruitment more than sixteen years ago.  When I met Josh, I had just graduated from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem while majoring in Israeli Studies.  After joining Mossad, I remained under Simon's wing as he climbed the ladder of Mossad leadership.  Mutual respect for the other’s ability and a warm personal association made up the basis for our professional association.  Neither of us could imagine anyone else with whom we cared to share the demands and risks of our jobs.  I trusted Josh and the feeling was mutual. 

As other summoned attendees slowly filed into the conference room, I felt my well-known companion of melancholy stealing into my conscious mind.  I asked myself the same old question.  Why must I spend my entire life in a state of paradise lost?  Then my thoughts forged a path of their own, and I briefly relived the race up the mountain, as I had countless times before.  It was the day I became a woman and lost any possibility for future happiness.

*****

Ten

…’tis misfortune that awakens ingenuity, or fortitude, or endurance, in hearts where these qualities had never come to life but for the circumstance which gave them a being. 

William Makepeace Thackeray

Cloud

7 June 1986

I had a plan when I left Piney Springs for Dallas.  The first order of business was to get a serving job at a nice steakhouse with the potential for good tips. After securing a source of income, the next phase was to accumulate enough money to get a decent dress for interviews with modeling agencies. 

The server job came quickly at Ed’s Steak and Chop House.  In fact, the interview lasted less than five minutes, after which the bug-eyed manager told me I had the job.  He gave me a brief description of my duties and had me fitted for a uniform.  I came to learn I usually had short and successful interviews. 

I worked a month, striving for as many hours as possible, and got a couple of paychecks.  My tips were impressive, and funds accumulated rapidly.  When it was time to buy clothes, I went to a department store famous for its Yellow Lemon sales.  I purchased a beige outfit that emphasized my hair, slim hips, and skin.  I added shoes and purse to match.  It was time to test the modeling waters.

Dallas had a world famous department store that used quite a few models.  Car shows, runway work, and special events produced a limited demand for models citywide.  Of course, there was clandestine demand for model/hookers, but I shared sex with men whom I found attractive.  I didn’t sell it.

I made a list of the various modeling agencies in Dallas and decided to start at the top.  I had no appointment and did not attempt to get one.  I dressed in my finest, approached the receptionist, and smiled.  “My name is Cloud McFarland.  I would like to do some modeling.”

The receptionist, obviously a former model herself, looked me up and down, and then she smiled.  “There is no question that you have the look, Cloud.  Do you have any modeling experience?”

I shook out my auburn hair and said, “Can we count the Watermelon Festival in Piney Springs.”

The receptionist laughed.  “I like you Honey.  You just have a seat, and let me see if Glenda can spare a couple of minutes.  She owns the place.”  She rose and passed through a blond wooden door into the interior of the office suite.

I glanced at my appearance in a mirror and liked what I saw.  As I waited, I fiddled with my new purse, considered sitting down, but decided against it.  About five minutes passed, and the receptionist reappeared.  “Have a seat.  Glenda will see you in a few minutes.  Now, Cloud, you had better make a good impression, since I went out on a limb to get you the time.  My name is Shirley Chastine.  I was on the cover of Urban Homes.”

I laughed heartily.  “It’s a pleasure, Shirley.  If I ever make a cover, I will tell them you sent me.”  With that, I parked in a comfortabl e chair and picked up a copy of Housewife magazine.

More than fifteen minutes passed before Shirley’s buzzer sounded.  She got up and beckoned me to follow her.  We went through the blonde door and passed down a hall with noisy activity spilling out from both sides.  At the end of the corridor, Shirley knocked on another blonde door and entered.  Behind an empty desk sat a tiny woman dressed in a severely cut black suit. She rose and offered her hand.  “Hello, Cloud.  I am Glenda Hampton.  Won’t you have a seat?”

I glided across the room and seated myself in a chair facing the desk of the agency owner and manager.  Glenda spoke first.  “Shirley tells me that you want to be a model.” 

I crossed my legs and smiled, “That is correct, Ms. Hampton.  Since I am not smart enough to be a brain surgeon, I might as well go for second best.”

Glenda Hampton, used to fidgeting, nervous girls found my answer quite amusing.  She smiled, but then grew more serious.  She said,   “Cloud, not only are you beautiful, but you have a sense of humor, which is essential for this kind of work.  Modeling is not so glamorous when you have been on your feet for long hours.  Here is my offer.  You don’t know beans about the work, so you will need to train for a while.  That means you attend shows to watch and learn.  We have the top people in North Texas working here, and they will all give you advice, even though you will cost them money in the long term.  At some point, they were all where you are now.  Our girls will teach you to do make-up, arrange your hair, walk, and perhaps most importantly, do PR with customers.  You do not have to screw anyone, but you need to entertain our customers and make them feel good about themselves.  You will receive standard second tier money, until you are in demand.  At that point, you will get top dollar for Dallas.  Quite truthfully, Cloud, the only flaw I see is you are a bit too bosomy, but we can work around that.  In fact, I don’t see you working here for any great length of time.”

My elation came to a halt.  I asked, “Why is that, Ms. Hampton?”

The tiny woman rose from her desk and patted me on the arm.  Then she said, “The reason you will not be here long is New York will soon snap you up.  Okay, Darling, Shirley has some papers for you to fill out.  When would you like to start?”

“This afternoon if it’s not too soon,” I said.  We both laughed                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                .                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

*****

As the weeks and months passed, Glenda proved visionary.  I learned quickly, so I spent a modicum of time practicing.  My first real job was at the State Fair of Texas showing automobiles.  Next, I did a series of shows at an established shopping center.  Glenda began receiving special requests for the redhead with the long legs.  I gladly filled the requests, and I became the top model in Dallas within a few short months.  Consequently, a well-established New York agency contacted Glenda enquiring about buying my contract.                           

Glenda was in the habit of sending girls to the Big Apple.  She had worked there herself as an administrator for a top agency, while she learned the business.  She knew the score and pretended to drag her feet to get the best deal for me.  Since Glenda had me under contract, it was the best deal for her as well. 

Finally, I said my goodbyes to the agency, got on an American Airlines flight for Kennedy Airport, and took the next step.  It was a huge one. 

When I reached New York and exited the aircraft, I spotted a pudgy, middle-aged woman holding a hand sign reading Cloud.  The woman’s eyes instantly settled on me. She walked up and said, “I am Francis with the Top Hat Agency. Come with me please.”

We made our way to the luggage recovery area.  I turned to Francis and spoke, “I am so excited about being in New York.”

Francis responded, “Good.”

I tried again, “Is Top Hat a nice place to work?”

Francis pointed to a terminal sign signifying the baggage claim area and said, “Yes.”

I considered the matter, accepted that New York people were different, and remained silent for the remainder of the time in the company of Francis.  The agency rep deposited me at a small hotel in Manhattan and gave me instructions for the following day.  I was to take a taxi to the agency address and be ready for work at 9:30 a.m. When Francis asked me if I understood the directions, I answered “Yes,” turned my back, and walked away.

The next morning, I arrived at the corporate offices at 9:00 a.m. and parked myself in the lobby.  I was not due for my appointment until 9:30 a.m., but I wanted to get a feel for the place.

A series of beautiful women passed through and hardly gave me a glance. They were dressed casually, so grooming was in store for all of them.  At 9:20 a.m., I announced my presence, and the receptionist directed me to a seat.  Nothing happened as 9:30 a.m. came and went.  When 10:00 a.m. approached, a young woman walked up to me and said, “Are you Cloud McFarland?”

“I am,” I answered and rose to my feet.

The woman made no effort to greet me.  She spoke quickly and walked away.  “Come with me, please.”

I followed close behind.  We stopped at an office door with no identification, and the young woman walked in without knocking.  Inside was an obese man sitting in the middle of a large room barking orders and shuffling papers. He ignored us both. 

I stood for ten minutes or so and then decided on an unoccupied chair.  I tuned out the office activity and spent my thoughts wondering what the assignments would be like. 

After a while, the activity slowed, and the fat man glanced my way.  “You McFarland?” he asked. 

“I am.”  I answered in a calm, melodious voice.  

He shouted instructions to a passing model, and then he turned back to me.  “You were due at half-past nine.”

I smiled sweetly.  “I was here at nine.”

He did a double take.  “Are you calling me a liar?”

I nailed him with my most aggressive stare then said, “I guess so.” 

At which point the fat man broke into laughter.  “Cloud, I heard you were a pistol.  Straight out of the Texas, bottom lands.  Come on, girl.  Let’s put you to work.  My name is Conrad, and I know modeling.”

I grinned.  “The pleasure is mine, Conrad.  Glenda told me you were the best of the best.”

At that moment, I entered the high-powered world of New York modeling, and I intended to make a mark.  Conrad turned me over to a make-up artist and a hairdresser who went to work.  Within an hour, I was about as glamorous as I was ever going to be.  While I was under the care of the office staff, Conrad came back in and explained my first gig.  It was a runway job at a second tier department store.  I liked the runway.  Before I left in a taxi, Conrad squeezed my hand and said, “Cloud Girl, you are going to be a very successful model."   

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

*****

For the next ten years, I climbed the New York modeling ladder.  I never quite made the top, because there was always the matter of the boobs.  They were a bit full for the purists.  I refused several invitations to have them surgically reduced.  That decision cost me a great deal of money and a portion of my career.  I was not worried.  I patrolled the runways of the department stores, graced the covers of magazines, and made very good money.  Having once been destitute, I hoarded as much as possible. 

When Billy Ray came for visits to New York, I began pumping him for investment advice, which he was very glad to give.  He had many business contacts, and he put me onto some sweet deals.  I even joined Billy Ray on a couple of capers that turned out well for us both, but always better for Billy Ray.  The old passion was gone, but our ties were deep and permanent.

Even before I left Dallas, I sent money to my mother, even though my visits were rare.                                                                                                                                                                                      With my financial help, she made little attempt to better her quality of life.  She still drank to excess, and showed no pleasure in my visits.

After five years in the New York spotlight, I received                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        a call from Piney Springs.  The mail carrier had found my mother dead.  I thanked the caller, arranged for her cremation over the phone, and flew home.  I desperately wanted to ask Billy Ray to support me during this time, but he was in the Far East buried in negotiations.  I knew he would drop everything and come if I asked him. That knowledge was enough to sustain me, so I managed on my own. 

After I retrieved Mother’s ashes from the funeral home, I located the fire marshal in Piney Springs and made a request.  He agreed and sent the fire fighting equipment to the mobile home.

I went inside and took one last look around for anything to salvage from my childhood.  There was nothing.  I spread mother’s ashes around the rooms, followed that with kerosene, and tossed a match on my way out.  By the time I reached my rented car, the place was an inferno.  I never looked back.

A few days later the person I had hired for the job brought his equipment, removed the remnants of the mobile home, and leveled the ground.  His final act was to plant a magnolia tree where the home had stood and leave the rest to nature.    

 Eventually, my modeling career went the way of them all.  I no longer looked like a teenager.  The make-up sessions took longer, and the results were less effective.  My eyes and hair bought me a couple of extra years, but one day Conrad called me into his office and invited me to come into the business.  I thought it over, had a good cry, and took him up on the offer.  I made the transition just as I had all the others.  I hit the ground running.

*****

Eleven

Yes.  He saw her in his mind, exactly as she was.  She bore him company with her pride, resentment, hatred, all as plain to him as her beauty; with nothing plainer to him than her hatred of him.

Charles Dickens

Jian-mei

27 July 1996

Since the idea of spending time with a contemporary for the purpose of companionship or sex was abhorrent to me, I had no life other than that of a scholar during my years at the University of Macau. That condition, coupled with my natural aptitude, allowed me to perform at a highly successful level in the world of academics.  I graduated at the top of my class after three years. 

Because of my impressive intellectual display, two Ivy League schools, Cambridge, and numerous other institutions worldwide offered me academic scholarships.  Even though I did not need a scholarship of any kind, Big Chang chose Cambridge.  Within two years, I earned a graduate degree in international business.  After I took my degree, I was chronologically 24-years-old, had an outstanding education, but still possessed the soul of a pit bull.  At this point, Chang Dong-hue called me back to Macau.  It was time to repay his investment.

Upon returning to Macau, I began working in the offices of Chang Enterprises, Limited.  Meetings with Chang Dong-hue became a matter of routine, but the first one set the tone.

We had not met face to face in over a decade.  When I arrived at his office, Big Chang motioned me to a comfortable chair and placed two items on his desk.  One was a long polished container made from wood.  The other was a small cardboard box.

Chang opened the wooden box.  Inside was a wooden dagger fitted exactly to blend with the rest of the wood.  The point was sharp, and the blade extended seven inches.  Its cutting edge was of little consequence, since it would serve only as a stabbing instrument.  Big Chang spoke, “This knife is made of snakewood, the hardest wood known.  This will be your calling card.”

Next, he opened the small box.  A brown spider carefully emerged, sat still for a moment, and then retreated into the box.  Big Chang spoke again in a rumbling voice, “This is a brown recluse spider.  It is common only in the southern USA.  This species of spider is infamous for two reasons.  The mark on the back of the creature is that of a violin.  Rural Americans refer to it as a fiddle-back spider.  Of more importance, large populations of this poisonous arachnid can occupy a human dwelling without the knowledge of the inhabitants.  The spider hunts at night, often in close proximity to the inhabitants.  

Big Chang pressed his fingers together forming a steeple.  He continued, “The brown recluse represents the kind of weapon I wish you to be.  You will operate in the shadows, use disguises, and remove any obstacle in my path that I point out to you.  Your modus operandi will consist of using the snakewood dagger as a killing tool and leaving behind a small paper sticker with the image of the brown recluse spider.  After your reputation is established, there will be little work for you to do in the area of assassination, since fear is a far more potent weapon than action.  In addition, you will use your considerable education and business acumen to serve Chang Enterprises, Limited in any way I choose. Perform your duties as I direct, and your mother will have my protection.  Do you understand this arrangement, Feng Jian-mei?”

Big Chang’s revelations did not surprise me at all.  Being away from the years of lethal training had done nothing to alter my persona.  As Ki Jin’s creation, I would give little thought to the propriety of any assignment. I answered as expected, “I do, Mr. Chang.”

Big Chang rose to his impressive height and said, “Should you attempt to alter the status quo, I will act quickly and decisively.”  He brought his large fist down on the small box crushing it and the spider inside.  He stared at me for a full minute, and then he motioned toward the door.

We both needed to make a point.  I gazed straight into Big Chang’s eyes, remained seated, and spoke in a calm voice, “Mr. Chang, I suggest you take very good care of my mother.  Any abuse of Feng Gui-lian will tip the balance of our arrangement.  In such a case, no one is safe, not even you."

Chang Dong-hue reddened.  He was not accustomed to challenge in any form. He roared, "Are you threatening me?"

"Mr. Chang.  You of all people know my capabilities.  Please do not test me.  If I have any value to you and Chang Enterprises, then treat my mother with kindness or there will be consequences."

Big Chang grimaced and said, "You may not leave this room alive."

I serenely responded, "That, Mr. Chang is a two-way street."

Big Chang relaxed and smiled.  "We will get along fine, Jian-mei.  You take care of your responsibilities, and I will take care of mine.  You mother is perfectly safe as long as our agreement holds."

After a slight pause during which I stared into his eyes, I rose and left.  The ground rules were set, unless some event unbalanced the playing field.   

*****

In addition to a liberal salary, each special assignment I performed resulted in a generous bonus from Chang Dong-hue.  I was a well-paid assassin with exquisite business skills, which was exactly what Chang Dong-hue had envisioned for me from the beginning.  I deposited all surplus funds, and they were significant, into a numbered Swiss bank account and did nothing to hide this fact from Big Chang. Other than leasing a nicely furnished flat in Macau, I lived a monkish lifestyle in close contact with my mother.  

On a routine day, I spent most of my time in the corporate offices of Chang Dong-hue, where I took on a business persona.  At work, I was a reserved, but highly competent, officer of the company.  Big Chang often summoned me to his office concerning business matters, especially of an international nature, and he began seeking my opinions more often as time passed.  My responsibilities in the affairs of Chang Enterprises, Limited did nothing to improve my relationship with big Chang’s son, Wen-biao.  He resented me from the moment I joined the firm, especially in light of my rise in the hierarchy of the company, and my relationship with his father.

The fact that most of Chang Enterprises, Limited activities were crime based made no difference to me.  I treated the business plan for the marketing of drugs the same as selling rice.  Extortion was no different from any other enterprise on the ledger.  I no longer viewed matters in terms of right and wrong, good or evil.  It was all an issue of my mother living or not.

*****

I had immersed myself in spreadsheets one spring day, when Big Chang called and ordered me to meet with him at the Lotus Blossom Casino.  I logged off my work, caught a cab, and arrived at the casino.  I used my office key to open the back door, and then I slipped silently into Chang’s occasional office on the second floor.  I did nothing to disclose my presence. 

Chang sat with his back to the door.  I stood very still.  This was a way for us both to send a message.  The message from me was that I was silent and deadly.  The message from Big Chang was that he did not fear me.

“Greetings, Jian-mei.”  Chang spoke with a resonant baritone that could remove any semblance of fear from a kitten or cause the blood to drain from the face of an adversary. 

I glided around the desk and stationed myself in front.  “Greetings, Mr. Chang.”  I spoke with a soft lilt to my voice.  He observed me and saw a becoming French twist confining my luxurious black tresses.  I wore light beige pants that stopped at my ankles and a pale yellow blouse buttoned up the front.  My shoulders were slightly broader than were most women due to the excessive physical pressure I placed on them through exercise.  My height gave me the additional appearance of strength.  My breasts were full.  A relatively small waist set off the slim lower part of my body.  My skin was slightly darker than the average Chinese.

“Did you take care of that little matter we discussed?” said Chang in Portuguese-accented Mandarin Chinese. 

I contrived a smile.  “Everything went as planned.  I enjoyed Hong Kong as usual and did some shopping.” 

“Good,” countered Chang.  He moved a letter opener to a different place on his desk and replaced a pen in its holder.  Then he spoke, “Your Swiss account grows fat.  Whatever will a woman married to some wealthy man do with all of that money, especially considering your large salary from Chang Limited?” 

“I have no husband and no plans to get one.” I mused.  “However, one never knows what the future will bring.” 

Such patter was currently the norm between us.  A stranger listening to us interact would guess we shared a warm relationship.  While Chang Dong-hue’s attitude toward me had improved over the years, my loathing for him burned as brightly as ever.

Chang pointed to a chair, and I seated myself.  He remained silent for a moment, and then spoke in a low voice.  “There are times when the small people forget their manners.  Johnny Ming is pushing his loan business into territory everyone knows belongs to Chang Dong-hue.  He insults my family and me.  He causes me to lose precious sleep.” 

Big Chang rose from his chair, moved to a window overlooking the casino gaming floor, and said in an acid tone, “I need to send him a message he will not soon forget.  I feel it is time for the Brown Recluse to remind the greedy and insolent in this city that Big Chang commands respect.  The news of this action must spread throughout the underworld of Macau and gain the attention of those who would dare to imagine otherwise.”

I asked, “Shall I remove Johnny Ming?”

A look of horror claimed Big Chang’s countenance.  “Good heavens, no.  His very resourceful son would take his place and become twice the threat.  We must send Johnny a message that will strike fear into his very soul but leave him in place.  The Brown Recluse will remove his favorite companion, Connie Babb, the English girl.  It must be done in a public forum, where her demise cannot be hidden.”

“It is done, Mr. Chang,” I said as I smoothed my skirt and met his eyes once again.

He pursed his lips, as he was prone to do, and formed a steeple with his fingers.  They were both affectations that surfaced when he was nervous.  Then he fixed his eyes on me and asked, “Now Feng Jian-mei, how is my lovable son performing these days? 

I spoke with a fluid delivery, avoiding a monotone, and without gestures of any kind.  “Chang Wen-biao has multiplied the prostitution revenue by using more strong-arm tactics on both the girls and their pimps.  He is taking a higher percentage and requiring longer hours of work.  Heroin prices from our supplier continue to rise, but Wen-biao passes the increase on to our customers and even ups the ante on occasion.  Both segments of the business are doing well.  Numbers are not doing as well.  Rough treatment of some clientele, who attempted to move their business to competitors, has scared off some of our best customers.  Strong-arm tactics worked in some instances but not in others.  Wen-biao doesn’t always see the difference.”

Big Chang used his traditional statement where Wen-biao was concerned.  “Chang Wen-biao is my son.  He must make mistakes and learn from them.  Just keep me informed of anything that requires my attention.” 

As I often did when in the presence of Big Chang, I pondered the option of killing him here and now.  Physically, I could do it easily.   Old Ki Jin had taught me many ways to incapacitate a large, strong foe, and I could employ any of them.  Should I choose such a path, I saw no problem leaving the premises. The problem was I could not protect my mother.  Big Chang had Feng Gui-lian’s residence under surveillance around the clock together with periodic reports to his security headquarters.  Both Big Chang and I knew it would be unlikely for me to spirit my mother away undetected by her guards. Conditions being what they were, I said, “Yes Mr. Chang,” smiled, and moved smoothly through the door never once revealing the deep-seated revulsion that lay festering in my soul.

*****