Preview
Here’s a sample chapter from my book. Just to give you a little taste before you buy…
CHAPTER 1
You could be dead tomorrow, so if not now, when?
It was Friday September 13, a quarter to four in the afternoon and already an hour and a bit into what was sure to be a dreary flight. There was something up, nobody was quite sure what but it involved finding something lost long ago.
Harri had left home at 1:15p.m. and ten minutes later picked up the chief, aka, White Rhino. As usual Harri was a little short of readies and desperately needed to share a ride to the airport. They were headed for a meeting in Hawaii that The Driver had arranged. The Oregon based sub-chief had located a hideout on the Big Island that would be invisible to prying eyes.
On the night previous in a misguided attempt to keep things secret from the true brains of his own outfit White Rhino had considered checking in for the flight online. His cunning plan was to do so in the early morning hours while ostensibly heading for a whizz, a man his age made many stops in the middle of the night. Later in a quiet moment over a refreshing and calming glass of red wine he reconsidered it was likely best not to generate the boarding pass at home. While the printer was set up down the basement of his modest war-time residence it had been constructed by elves in the early 1990’s and its dreadful clatter could wake the dead. Fortunately he was able to check-in quite easily and without incident once they arrived at the airport.
In Harri’s case his personal circumstance necessitated keeping a low profile and that dictated an absence from the internet. He knew well that the prying eyes of a prying government could do him real mischief. But unhappily Big Brother is everywhere and when he presented himself at the conveniently placed walkup check-in counter an Amazon in blue forced him bodily over to a standup machine. Being insistent on covering his tracks he was not inclined to give in easily and so would have none of it. A little sleight of hand ensured that his check-in could not be managed electronically. The infernal godless machine was unable to recognize neither passport, credit card nor the reams of computer generated confirmation papers. Harri won the little skirmish and thwarted The Man. The Amazon had no choice but to allow check-in by personal contact. Sirens were screaming and red lights were flashing as Harri smirked to himself.
Having both successfully navigated the check-in procedures the duo next needed to navigate the baggage handlers. This was also a problem as White Rhino had brought along a guitar case, the violin case was just not big enough. The plan had been to keep it to hand in case of need but the stacked blond Gestapo counter-agent insisted that it be checked right through to Kona. They’d be defenseless for nearly eighteen hours, cursing beneath his breath White Rhino had no choice but to agree. Having won the little dance the counter-agent smiled viciously as the lads reluctantly headed to the large item baggage station. Fortunately the guy in front of them was making a clamour around the safety of his golf clubs. The guitar case slipped onto the belt with nobody in authority checking too closely. They were momentarily pleased with themselves until a dozy baggage handler innocently dropped a clanger. All passengers would need to identify their stuff at US customs in Vancouver by way of some sort of video process. They were immediately alarmed, if anyone poked around the case on the Left Coast they would be goners.
Meanwhile during all the confusion Crazy Dave’s moll silently slid up to them. Crazy Dave was temporarily a wanted man, his likeness had recently been captured on one of the City’s photo law enforcement cameras and he felt it would be best to arrive incognito. Travelling under his nom de guerre, Turkey Legs, he’d made his way to the airport in the trunk of the moll’s car having secreted himself into his own suitcase to ensure an unseen departure. The moll whispered conspiratorially to White Rhino that the case containing the great one had just slipped down the baggage chute. He of course had some sort of plan to emerge undetected and join them on the other side of the security station. In a further nod to their mutual security he’d arranged a seat a few rows back from the duo to avoid anyone putting two and two together. Or more rightly put, putting one and two together!
Heartened by this news White Rhino and Harri headed for the security gate where the whole thing could still fall apart if they weren’t vigilant. White Rhino was an Austrian national who’d fled the fall of Vienna during the troubles of 68 with forged papers that suggested he was of Mexican parentage. Nowadays this usually resulted in his having trouble of some sort at any border crossing, plus he was always his own worst enemy. He’d once spent a fortnight in a Guatemalan slammer having been caught trying to smuggle some “tools” to Dakota Slim’s Roatan hideaway. On that occasion the false papers had been so patently ludicrous that there was little chance they could have passed any scrutiny. He was posing as a successful property manager!
Harri had his own issues with border crossings that dated back to the Viet-Nam War protests. Whenever travelling outside the country he was always wary in case that legendary picture of he and Teacher holding the infamous rock out front of the American Embassy on Donald Street ever surfaced. It was well known that the incident had terrified the Greatest Country on Earth. The embassy had struggled on in fear for a decade before finally losing heart and shuttering the office for good. That said he was convinced they still wanted their pound of flesh.
You can imagine the tension. They bucked up though as both believed heartily in that old Arabic proverb, luck is the just reward of the skilful. Putting their fears behind them they marched right up to the security gate entrance and put their faith in the age old saw. They were to be rewarded as they entered the security area. Just ahead of them was a clutch of the UofW Westmen women’s soccer team. They were all resplendent in tight fitting black track suits with white stripes running down their shapely gams, and most were blonds. The so called trained professionals manning the complex electronic security apparatus could see nothing else. Our heroes breezed right through without even having to so much as take off their shoes or unclamp their belts.
They would later learn that fourth man of their little group had called in a marker from his alma mater to create a diversion. Dakota Slim had spent decades undercover pretending to counsel the criminally insane in the wide open frontier village that was Edmonton. This government sponsored employment had provided him with a well-spring of people with unholy talents to call upon whenever he had need of a favour. Such was the type of man he was that when he had need of a favour they were always granted. He would be joining up with the caravan in Vancouver.
Dakota Slim had spent his entire life living and working in the dark and cold that passes for a climate in mid-central Western Canada. He had been successful in all his endeavours even down to getting a hold of what every Canadian lad desired, a farmer’s daughter. But Dakota Slim had a lifelong addiction and while he claimed it was only a two a day habit the sad reality was that he was a smoker and while he had on occasion manfully tried to kick it he’d never been able.
Compounding his problem was that decades ago the government of the land decided smoking was one of the greatest evils known to mankind. Notwithstanding that tobacco tax revenues were beneficial in paying for partisan government advertising the powers that be felt they had to make examples of the addicts. It was mandated that those horribly afflicted could only indulge their habit in the great out of doors. The immediate result was unfortunates cowering late at night in doorways or behind garbage bins with the rest of society’s’ cast offs. Smokers became pariahs in their own land.
While he’d never been one to care what others thought he had reached the point where he could no longer stand 30 below when indulging his weakness. Now, it was true he had a tropical island hideaway where he could smoke to his heart’s content but at the back of his mind there was the nagging thought that his modest habit might come back one day to bite him on the butt, pardon the pun. He just could not risk giving up universal health care. In a typically calculated response he and the farmer’s daughter had recently relocated to what passes for the tropics in his home and native land. This allowed him to struggle on with his curse in some degree of comfort and at the same time manage the Tanqueray Crew’s business in Lotus Land.