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  Acknowledgments

  A special thanks to Father James Danner, (Captain, USN, Retired). Shipmate, friend and Chaplain aboard USS Iowa, who helped with my research and wrote the prayer used in the story.

  Arctic Wind

  Hunter Goforth

  The view was breathtaking. The large picture window overlooked the heart of the old city, and the lights highlighted each of the old structures creating a tapestry of color against a starry night sky. The cigar and cigarette smoke inside the room only partially dulled the overall sparkling vista as the eight men inside sat back in their rich leather seats to both admire the view and to discuss the weighty matters that only very high ranking executives and political leaders addressed. The curling smoke was only diminished when one of the men took a sip from the crystal glasses each held.

  The men in the room savored both the drinks and the moment. Each had worked very hard to be included into this august group, although none of them had what many would consider a spotless career. In fact, several would be what many would be considered a felon by any standard. None the less, here they were, controlling a huge sector of power of their country, and ready to expand their empire at any cost.

  One of the men turned his seat to face the others. He continued the discussion they had been having. “We have clearly outgrown the capacity of our nation to meet our needs. True, we have now gained over ninety five percent of the market at home and are each secure in our business or our political influence, but I hope you will agree this leaves a hollow feeling. We must expand beyond our borders where there are more raw materials, more industry and in particular, more customers. So far, we have been successful in bringing in our smaller neighbors, but now we must look beyond this. Our goal must be to expand from coast to coast. Only in this way can we solidify our influence and control,” the man said.

  “This is true. It also means bringing in much needed technical expertise which we do not currently have. This will allow our operations to become much more efficient. This, in turn, will save us enormous amounts of money in the long run,” said another man in the room. He was dressed in a tailored suit and wearing his signature red carnation in his lapel.

  “Don’t forget the added materials. My people need much more of the raw minerals available elsewhere. It is too expensive to import these. Having the mining operations, smelting and refining centers under our control will benefit all of us,” said another man, dressed in a suit which could best be described as “off the shelf.”

  There was a chuckle from across the room. “I am fortunate that we do not need so much of the raw materials, but more of the customers themselves. My facilities are at only half what my people say is our full capacity, yet, we have saturated our markets.” He sat forward in his seat. “But to be able to eliminate the competition would mean more people purchasing from us. Can you imagine what that might bring?” he asked sitting back in his seat.

  “I believe we are all in agreement,” said the first man. “The question is, when do we proceed,” he said looking at each of the men.

  “It will be extremely expensive. It always is,” said one.

  “Yes, but I believe we must make this short term sacrifice in order to reap the benefits in the long term. I, for one, am ready to make this happen,” said the man with the carnation.

  “It has worked so far with little real effort or expense,” said another man.

  “True, but that was with our former allies. There is only one real one left. Do you feel they will come our way?” asked the carnation man again.

  “I feel they will as long as we move as we have in the past. With just the right pressure, they will come around. After all, they know what we are capable of,” said the first man.

  The men sat in silence for a moment. The decision would be a weighty one. Each would have to make sacrifices in one way or another.

  “What of our people,” asked one man sitting to one side. He had been silent up to now.

  The first man snickered. “What of them? You know what our people are like. As long as they are well paid, they shut up and do as they are told. If not, we have ways of dealing with the problems which do not jeopardize what we are doing. We have made each of their lives much better through our efforts. They can buy things, go on vacations, and live their lives as they see fit because of us. Ultimately, they will live an even better life. If they cannot see that, then they cannot reap the benefits. It is plain and simple. We are the driving force behind our nation and we make these kinds of decisions. Ultimately, it is up to us to take care of them in a manner we plan and execute. In the end, we all prosper,” he said.

  The men around him were nodding their heads. He knew he had won the argument even before the meeting had begun. This simply confirmed it.

  ‘Then we must move as soon as we can. The quicker we do this, the better off we are,” said the man in the simple suit. The man nodded again. “We leave it to you Alexi Andreovich,” he said.

  Alexi Borodin nodded and looked back out the window at the beautiful onion domed spires gleaming below him. Unbeknown to the others in the room, the effort had already begun.

  Courthouse, Houston, Texas

  The proceedings had taken three weeks, but the jury’s verdict had been unanimous. The Austin, Texas, courtroom was filled with onlookers, but the ones standing out from the rest were the fourteen mayors, a master sergeant, and an admiral, who had attended every day of the trial including the testimony they had each presented. They all sat quietly, yet despite the verdict, the tension inside the courtroom remained high. The jury was now recommending a sentence.

  Everyone had been crammed into the wooden bench seats trying to get a look at the man who, just two years earlier, had tried to take down the government of the United States. He sat on the left side of the courtroom with his trial lawyer. A Venezuelan lawyer had been requested, but firmly denied by the judge, who sat behind his bench just to the left of center in the front of the courtroom. Instead, a special legal team had been assigned to defend the accused. That way, there would be no doubt that the accused would get a fair trial. The guilty verdict hadn’t gotten any response from former Venezuelan President Parente, who sat smugly in his seat. Despite his protestations that he should wear his military uniform, he was wearing a simple orange jumpsuit. He acted as if he didn’t care what might happen to him.

  The evidence had been damning. There was testimony of what had happened at the dinner, what had happened to each hostage in their makeshift cell in the mountain compound, photographs of Parente personally stabbing his victim, Mayor Jim Mitchell, and further testimony from the Special Forces team members who had rescued Mayor Patricia Hammond from being Parente’s second murder victim. Parente was even forced to show his mangled hands to prove he had been the man lifting the obsidian knife in preparation of stabbing the mayor in the chest. Even Sergeant Miller had taken the stand to tell how he shot the knife out of Parente’s hands with his rifle. When asked why he didn’t simply kill the man with the knife, Miller had shrugged and said, “We were told to bring back the people responsible, if possible. I made it possible.”

  From the front of the courtroom, the bailiff stood. “All rise,” he said as the door to the jury room opened and the jury made its way back into the courtroom, sitting in their box to the right of the people in the room.

  “Please be seated,” the bailiff said. After everyone was seated, the judge turned to the jury.

  “Have you reached a sentencing recommendation,” he asked.

  The jury foreman stood. “We have, Your Honor.” He handed a single sheet of paper to the bailiff, who then took it to the judge.

  The room was quiet as the judge looked over the paper. There was a slight nod as he refolded the paper and reached out to ha
nd it back to the bailiff.

  Two muffled shots rang out and a woman screamed at the back of the courtroom. Both the bailiff and the only other deputy fell to the floor as two men jumped into the center aisle and bounded toward the front of the courtroom. The leading man suddenly tripped and fell to the floor as a leg was thrust out from the crowded bench. He hit the floor with a thud, his gun clattering away toward the front of the room.

  The second man saw what happened and began to turn toward the opposite rows when he, too, suddenly felt his legs shift from under him. He held onto his gun, which went off, leaving a hole in the courtroom wall. Rapidly he felt arms grab him in a vice – like grip. Master Sergeant Dale Ricks began wrestling with the man, keeping the gun hand pointed safely away from the others in the room. The man was strong, but Ricks was a very well trained soldier and he was not about to be bested by some extremist. The man tried swinging his arm down and with all the strength he had, squeezed off a round that entered Ricks’ right shoe. With a grin on his face, the man was somewhat surprised when Ricks placed both hands on his arm, slammed it into the side of a bench and then calmly broke his forearm. With a scream, the man crumpled to the ground, holding onto his now misshapen arm. Ricks then calmly shoved the man’s head into the side of the wooden bench, knocking him senseless.

  At the same time, the other assailant, stunned by his fall, suddenly found someone sitting on his back. Mayor Patricia Crowell-Hammond had her knees on either side of the man, sitting firmly half way up his back. The man began flailing his arms trying to get loose and kicking wildly with his feet. “Better calm down. You don’t want me to get angry,” she said as she reached over the man’s head, placed her index and middle fingers firmly up his nostrils and began to pull. Now the man’s hands began trying to grab her wrists, but she pulled her fingers tighter and jerked his head back almost to the small of his back.

  “Roger!” shouted Patricia as she saw Parente grab the ball point pen used by his legal counsel, and stab him in the chest with it. Parente turned quickly to help his allies, and became entangled in the extra chairs at the defense table. An arm closed around his neck from behind and Admiral Roger Hammond began to squeeze. “You know, you really don’t want to give me an excuse to break your neck,” Hammond said quietly into Parente’s ear. The harder he fought, the tighter Hammond squeezed until Ricks walked up in front of Parente.

  “I warned you I would be around,” he said with a death-like stare. Then he punched Parente solidly in the stomach, knocking the wind from the man and dropping him like a stone.

  “He has a knife!” someone shouted. Both Ricks and Hammond turned to see the assailant on the floor swing his arm around. There was a ceramic knife in his clinched hand. Before he could move his arm into position, Patricia Hammond gave a mighty heave. Her fingernails pierced the man’s skin and she peeled his nose back like a banana. There was a scream in the room. This time, it was the assailant. The knife clattered to the floor and he grasped at his now bleeding face.

  “Better get some paper towels. He’s going to make a mess,” she said, glancing down at her bloody hand and then wiping it on the man’s shirt. She leaned over to the man, sobbing under her. “I warned you,” she said. Then looking around, she exclaimed, “Will somebody get some help in here? He’s very uncomfortable.”

  It had only take about thirty seconds in all, but three men lay on the floor with two men and a woman standing over them. When the deputies came crashing into the room they weren’t sure what had happened, but the judge banged his gavel and very quickly gave the orders on whom to seize. Ricks raised his hand.

  “Your Honor, these guys couldn’t have been working alone. I bet there is someone lese waiting outside with a car. You want to get them too?” he asked with a sly grin.

  The judge’s face spread into a wide smile. “I most certainly do.”

  “Well, I think I can get this young man to tell us their plans,” Patricia said as she reached into her purse and took out a pencil. She also removed one of her shoes. “I always wondered if it was like the cartoons and something could go all the way through,” she said leaning down toward the man. He immediately began telling them everything they wanted to know.

  Five minutes later the outside door to the judge’s entrance sprang open and three men ran outside. Two were dressed as the assailants. In between was Parente, his orange jumpsuit draped in a towel. He was having a hard time keeping up, since his hands and feet were manacled. A yellow painted taxi suddenly sprang down the side of the street and screeched to a halt in front of the men. The door was flung open and the three men jumped inside. As soon as the men were in, the driver slammed his foot down on the accelerator heading toward the main road.

  Suddenly the road was blocked by nearly a dozen patrol cars. The driver spun the wheel slinging the car around so he could exit down the other side, but he was blocked in. This became even more evident when he felt the barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of his neck.

  “I think you need to stop now,” said an unfamiliar voice behind him. Glancing in the rearview mirror, the driver saw two unfamiliar men, with Parente between them looking angry and disgusted. One of the men spoke again. “Just pull to the side. You are now in the custody of the Texas Rangers. Partner, you just screwed up big time,” he said with a grin.

  Fifteen minutes later, Parente was led back into the courtroom. Everyone was still there, but his legal counsel had been changed. Then the judge entered the chamber and everyone took their seats.

  “We will resume to sentencing phase of this proceeding. Fortunately, the jury had already presented me with its findings and they cannot be changed. In this case, the jury has asked for the death penalty. Therefore, I must ask two questions of the jury before handing down the sentence. Those answers have already been given to me, but I must ask the foreman to provide the answers orally. The first question is whether there exists a probability the defendant would commit criminal acts of violence that would constitute a "continuing threat to society". Did you find this to be so?”

  The foreman, standing at his seat, nodded, “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “The second question is whether, taking into consideration the circumstances of the offense, the defendant's character and background, and the personal moral culpability of the defendant, there exists sufficient mitigating circumstances to warrant a sentence of life imprisonment rather than a death sentence?”

  The foreman shook his head, “No, Your Honor.”

  The judge looked at the other jurors. “So say you all?”

  They all nodded.

  The judge nodded solemnly. “Very well. I thank the jury. It has been a very difficult and tedious trial, and your perseverance is appreciated.” He then turned to face the accused. Parente’s new lawyer had Parente to stand.

  “Mr. Parente, you have been found guilty of capital murder, conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping and attempted murder of thirteen others. Upon the deliberation of a jury, and their recommendation, I hereby sentence you to death by lethal injection. You are to be turned over to the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. Your case will be automatically appealed to the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals where it will be reviewed. I am ordering that you be placed in solitary confinement until such time as prosecutors can try you for the acts of terrorism you and your co-conspirators performed in this very courtroom. You will also be made available to the United States Department of Justice for any trials which their prosecutors may wish to bring, however, I am ordering that you never be transported, for any reason from the Great State of Texas. Any further trials and proceedings must take place within this state. Is there any other business for this court?” he asked.

  “You bastard. You think you can kill me? You are all beneath me. I will not tolerate…” Parente began to snarl. He was stopped by the sound of a fist slamming into a hand behind him. He turned to see Ricks standing there. His eyes were like fire and it appeared as if he would rip Parente’s head off with one quick jerk.


  “Does the court require assistance?” Ricks asked with a voice that Parente thought sounded like death. Three deputies grabbed Parente and slammed him down in his seat.

  The judge gave a slight smile. “Thank you for your offer, Master Sergeant. Bailiff, if he utters another word in this building, you are to gag him.”

  “I ask everyone to remain after the court adjourns, including the jury. If there is nothing further, this court is adjourned.”

  Parente was snatched up by the three deputies and dragged out of the courtroom. Once the door was closed, the judge stepped down from his bench. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for what you have been through today. We take every precaution, yet, somehow, these two managed to sneak two plastic guns into this courtroom. I am sure our procedures will be changed,” the judge said quietly. Turning to the jury, he continued, “I especially want to thank the jury. This has to be one of the most heinous crimes I have seen on the bench. You were forced to sit through it all, listening to things that might be otherwise unbelievable. Yet, I believe you rendered the only verdict possible. You then had to make the very difficult decision on punishment. It is not easy or pleasant, what you did, but you did it, and the people of this state applaud you.”

  He then turned to Roger, Dale and Patricia. “As for the three of you, I cannot find the words to express how much we all are indebted to you for your courageous actions in this court. Were it not for you, there might have been many more deaths. It is no wonder to me that two of you are recipients of our nation’s highest award. And as for you, Mayor Hammond, I hope you are always on my side,” he said with a grin. Applause echoed through the courtroom and into the marbled halls outside the door causing several to wonder why the sanctity of the court was being so disturbed.

  Brussels, Belgium

  There was a tenseness in the air as the men sitting around the great table took their turns to speak. The room itself was very ornate. The walls were painted in rich colors and actual gold gilt highlighted the carved features. Someone had mentioned to the delegates that the table itself was over three hundred years old. Indeed, the deep rich colors of the wood seemed to glow beneath the men’s hands. No one in the room had even noticed the colors and decoration. They were there to discuss something so serious that the fate of the world seemed to drip from the ornate walls. The men sat uneasily in their chairs. Some perched with their elbows on the table, leaning forward as if to stress the interest they had in the proceedings, while others sat back in their seats with hands in their laps, trying to remain calm.