The Power and The Plunder

Chapter 1 Have to get up. Have to keep going…Jenny! Where is she? Can’t hear her. “Jenny!” Laura Manning’s voice was a whisper. No answer. Where is she?…can’t leave her behind. That last brute had hurt her. Tore her up, inside. Maybe the bleeding…no ,it couldn’t have stopped…it was just last night. “Jenny!” A loud whisper this time. A tiny voice from out of the dark. “Here.” Laura Manning pushed herself up. The concussion with the forest floor had stunned her. An exposed root had caught her foot. She stood still for several moments breathing deeply in the thick jungle air, before turning and stepping back toward her friend and bleeding fellow escapee, Jennifer Hoover. “What’s the matter, Jen?” asked Laura Manning. “I can’t…. I can’t go on…sorry.” Laura, only 18 but raised Texas-tough, grimaced. Returning to the brothel was a certain death sentence – either now or later. No! Returning was not an option! She closed her mind to the dangers of their only option…but nighttime in the jungle was a fool’s bargain. She had earlier studied the tropical forest. It consumed itself like no other biome on the planet. The racing legs of the living barely kept a single stride in front of the snapping jaws of death. Every living creature had its attackers, even the jaguars, at the top of the food pyramid, could be stung to death by the highly aggressive Warrior Spiders. Life and sudden death were hand-in-hand partners in the voracious tropical rain forest. But Laura knew that the most feared of all jungle inhabitants were the ‘proud green’…the ransacking soldiers of the powerful militia ‘generals’ who were in constant warfare against each other. They burned villages, captured the boys and young men, raped the women then hacked them down as they clutched their crying babies. They left them mortally wounded and dying beside their butchered fathers. And seldom did they bother to take the effort to put them out of their misery. They could not get caught by the ‘proud green’. “You must go on.” “I can’t.” “I’m not leaving you behind…you’ll die.” Jenny felt too weak to argue. In a steady flow, her blood seeped out of her and down her inner thighs.The pain from the torn tissues inside her billowed and ebbed, robbing her of strength. She felt too exhausted to keep going. Besides, Laura had always been the stronger one. Even way back, in the distant world now, when she first met Laura – it was fourth grade – her new friend was more athletic, more outspoken. But Laura had shown a gentle side to the ‘new kid’ at school, Jennifer Hoover - a very fair girl and as delicately beautiful as the most talented gardener had ever grown a lilly. The two girls seemed to provide proof to the old adage that opposites attract. Laura Manning’s athletic physique had come from her Jamaican mother – a nurse and former Olympian. Her father was a cardiac surgeon and had come from a long line of Texas oilmen, wildcatters all, and as untamed as the land itself. But it was her ‘hell-merchant’ grandfather who would, after a time, lavish attention on his coffee brown granddaughter…teaching her how to hunt, fend for herself in the wild and develop that Texas kick-ass attitude. “Up!...get up!” Jennifer moaned. “Here…put your arm around…good…now let’s go.” • • • • • “Excuse me, “said Max Jhonphor to the other men at the dining table. As he rose he made straight for the private booths in the lounge strictly reserved for club members. Because the phone made no noise, the other men had no idea he was receiving a call. Despite his thick body and shortish limbs, Max moved with surprising alacrity. A shot of adrenalin had helped. But the twist he now felt in his guts tended to freeze him with apprehension. Every time he answered his special phone he knew the C.I.A would be listening. The call always originated outside the U.S.A – that was the phone’s sole purpose. Inside the booth, Max slapped a voice modulator over the phone’s transmitter. “Speak” he said. Silence followed briefly while Max waited for his voice profile to be confirmed by the caller. “Two of our specimens have escaped,” the caller finally replied. Max felt his mouth become thick. This was the one flaw…the single, damn flaw in the whole system. “Which?” he asked. A pause. “Blue Angel and Monarch.” “Continue.” Max felt his throat tie itself into a knot. He had hit the jackpot with Blue Angel and Monarch. But it was more than just the heaping piles of money. He had carefully recorded the goods on several powerful men from South America, Asia and the Arab nations…and of course, America. But be carefull about Americans…there was always a chance they could find Jesus, spill their guts and put you in jail. Blackmail would never be considered – it didn’t have to be. Max smiled to himself. The secret videos all by themselves were already a giant roll of plastic explosive capable of igniting an outburst of American outrage. And with it, the complete destruction of hard-won positions of power – incarceration would be the final public humiliation. But the private hell would be the most painful. How does a ‘patron’, a violator of children ever again face his friends, his family – his daughters? Just the sight of him in an old photograph, a chance meeting, even the hearing of his name would be a psychological emetic to any family member. The stakes were sky-high here. No tracks could be left in the sand. Everything depended on it. “You can have Monarch for the message. Not Blue Angel.” Max listened carefully to the caller’s voice. It contained a trace of protest. “But, sir, the other … specimens… would they not be encouraged?” “I said not Blue Angel!” A pause. “Yes sir, I understand … not Blue Angel.” Max’s felt his face sprout peas of perspiration as they began their slow roll down his forehead. He didn’t own that many Blue Angels. Never had. The competition was fierce The whole world wanted them. Blonde, blue-eyed, mouth-wateringly crushable, their shelf life was barely two years. They went to the highest bidders and the bids were enormous. Sometimes it took only a few months to squash their will to live. Once the will was gone, the tears in them dried up, life’s fire was extinguished and the customers complained about paying for a ‘turtle’…just a shell of a girl and little more. It was not an easy business. No one, it seemed, took the time to understand that. Not a sliver of appreciation Not even a goddamn, ‘Thanks Max.’ “Not Blue Angel,” Max confirmed his voice quiet now. There was still more than enough spark of the quick in her to command truckloads of fees. The last patron had forked over sixty large for her. For just one afternoon! Yeah, ok, so he tore her up inside, but come on, that’s what they pay for. Gimme a goddamn break! Chapter 2 Everything gone…everything that matters…nothing left…nothing … Alexander Eastman Hoover gazed lazily at the deeply polished, solid mahogany wall unit as his mind’s image of his dead son’s face gradually melted away. He knew that the image would come again …and again…and again…usually called up for the fleeting pleasure of seeing him again and for that, he was willing to endure the fresh stabs of pain that always quickly followed the memory. Was it that death at eight years of age shattered the natural sequence of events in the universe? And after that, what the hell mattered anymore? He let his mind drift. His gaze floated to the wall unit. He half-remembered having it built. No expense had been spared and why not? Money was so easy then. In fact, everything in his three thousand square foot office was either imported or hand-built. With an income of ten and half million dollars a month, the expense of a nine hundred thousand dollar office was hardly an assault on the treasury. Besides, it impressed the bankers and scared the hell out of the investors.