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There was a knock at the door and Brian Davis and ‘Boats’ Patnaude nearly pushed their way through the Secret Service agents to get to their friend. Only Bill Peter’s okay had kept the two from being shot.

  “What’s wrong, Captain?” asked Patnaude, his short grey hair almost bristling in concern.

  Hammond looked at the two men. “Patricia’s been kidnapped,” he said. Hammond looked as if he’d been struck a blow. His eyes had a vacant, hurt look and he sat is his seat without moving.

  “Son of a bitch!” exclaimed Patnaude. “Any idea who?” he asked.

  Hammond shook his head. “It was her and the rest of the mayors at the conference. I don’t know much more,” he said.

  “I take it the President thinks Roger may be in some danger or you guys wouldn’t be here,” said Davis.

  Bill Peters nodded. “Just a precaution, but you guys did a lot in the last war and somebody might not like it,” he said.

  “Okay, were should he go? If he goes home, the bad guys will probably know where he lives. If you want, he can come aboard my ship, or we can take him to a hotel,” Davis said.

  “Your ship would be the best,” said Peters. “By tomorrow we might know a little more. This was set up very quickly and I’d appreciate a secure place.”

  Davis nodded. “Is that okay with you, Roger?”

  Hammond nodded. “Yea, but for tonight only. I need to get back to San Diego tomorrow anyway,” he said as he slowly stood.

  Davis gave the Secret Service agent a look and then all of them got up and left the stateroom. They walked down the interior port ladder and out the port side. Within a few minutes Hammond was firmly established in a cabin and away from the others. As they walked out the door, Davis looked at Patnaude. “All officers and chiefs in the messdecks in ten minutes,” he said. Patnaude scurried down the opposite passage and out the after door to the waiting crew.

  After getting Hammond settled, Davis secured his ship and set additional guards along the deck, then he crossed back over to the Iowa. The messdecks were filled with anxious crewmen waiting for the word on their captain. Davis went up to the high end of the deck. “Gentlemen, our mayor, Patricia Crowell, has been kidnapped.”

  There was a gasp throughout the crew. Some men cussed, while some just got angry. “I don’t know much, but it appears the mayors at that conference she was attending in Colombia were taken. I don’t think they know who or where yet. The President sent the Secret Service guys to give the Admiral some protection.”

  “They should leave him to us,” shouted one crewmember. Several raised their voices in agreement. “Nobody’ll get to him while we’re around,” another said. The anger was growing rapidly in the space.

  Davis raised his hand. “I know that, and so does the President, but he’s doing what he can,” said Davis. “You guys remember they are friends, right?” That got many nods around the room. “Right now we have him aboard my ship. We’ll take care of him, guys. By this time I figure people in Washington are going nuts trying to get to the bottom of this. When they do, something is going to happen. I don’t know if it will involve us or not, but it might be a good idea to be ready.” Davis looked around the room. He could see it in their faces. They were ready to go back to war for their captain and they wouldn’t leave until the job was done. “Are there some of you who can hang around a few days, just in case?” Nearly every hand flew up.

  “You know, XO, sometimes you ask the stupidest questions,” said Patnaude from one of the tables. The men let out a hearty laugh. Davis shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

  “You know I can’t give you guys any orders,” Davis said. “But I’ll see what we can get going.” He looked straight at Patnaude. “Boats, you know what to do. Make all preparations for getting underway.”

  A cheer rang out throughout the ship and was heard by the families and friends on the pier. They didn’t know what was going on, but for some reason, they felt good about it.

  Caracas, Venezuela

  Colonel Juan Rojas had to work late again. The military aide to Presidente Emilio Parente was a thankless job which usually only lasted one year. Rojas was well into his second. He had worked very hard to get to this position and had worked equally hard to win the good favors of Presidente Parente. It was one of the best ways he knew to rise to the exalted rank of general in the Venezuelan army. It didn’t make any difference that, to him, his leader was clearly insane. His job was to make sure everything El Presidente wanted, he got. More than likely Parente would eventually be killed or overthrown by the military. Hopefully it would be after Rojas was repaid for the work he had done.

  To get his job done he had been instructed to do a number of things – many of which made absolutely no sense. Military events and parades were going on every week. But then he had been trusted with other, more bizarre tasks. At first it had been things like buying goats to help keep the palace grounds neat. Then it was joy rides on newly acquired aircraft for the military. It hadn’t mattered Presidente Parente didn’t know how to fly or that they were mostly single seat fighters. El Presidente simply wanted to drive them around the runways. The one time he did try to take off he ran the new jet off the side of the runway into a ditch.

  Then there were the boxing matches which Rojas arranged. El Presidente had him make sure none of his opponents could beat him. He thought it made him look virile to the women. Rojas had lost count the number of women he had taken to his personal rooms in the Presidential palace. Yet despite it all, Parente was still held in high esteem by the masses in Venezuela. Not with the wealthy, who gave a half hearted show of support, but with the working class and the indigenous people in the countryside. By adopting a “macho” appearance, he played into what many uneducated felt was the image of what a president should be.

  More recently things had started to become even stranger. Rojas arranged for the army to build a special center high in the mountains so that he could commune with the gods. Taking a page from some ancient rituals, El Presidente evoked the ancient deities and especially the name of Wei, the ancient sun god. He used both to instill the homage and support of the mountain people. To do so, Rojas had procured elaborate feathered headgear and special equipment so that El Presidente could look the part. Parente would hold elaborate ancient ceremonies to venerate the ancient gods. The funny thing was that most of the gods he played to weren’t even native to Venezuela, but reflected some ancient folk lore of the hill people, so he made them fit. Parente made the rituals so extremely thorough and realistic that the people were mystified.

  Although popular with the people, Parente was inept in foreign relations. Rojas watched as Parente undermined the diplomatic ties with just about every democratic nation in South America and north to Canada. His relations with the United States were particularly in tatters. Parente openly criticized President O’Bannon for the last war, siding with the North Koreans. It was well known that he was building up the drug trade in Venezuela while nationalizing any foreign held businesses. He had even seized American held companies. Yet the American ambassador, Craig Jonas, was always seen with him, smiling and getting along as if nothing bad had ever happened. Three of the embassy staff had been ordered out of the country, yet Parente refused to have Jonas leave. Whenever they were together it was most cordial.

  Over the past three days El Presidente had been in conference with one military group which Rojas had not been allowed to participate – his personal guard. They had met four times each day and were even now behind closed doors. Something was happening and Rojas hadn’t a clue what it was. He was about to go over a report he would brief tomorrow when a messenger came running through the door. He rushed through the outer office and was getting ready to brush past his desk when Rojas stopped him.

  “Don’t you know where you are? This is the office of El Presidente, not some gymnasium,” he growled.

  The young man stopped in his tracks. He was dressed in a black army uniform with insignia which made him a corporal in the pe
rsonal guard. He braced in front of the Colonel’s desk. “I have an important message for El Presidente,” he nearly shouted. There was a folded piece of paper in his hand.

  “Give it to me,” Rojas said sternly.

  “I was ordered to take it to El Presidente.”

  “You are in his office and I am his military aide. When you give it to me, you are giving it to him,” Rojas said a little more softly, yet with a firm tone which indicated he was not used to being disobeyed.

  The young man hesitated for a second, then straightened and handed the paper to the Colonel. He saluted and then walked quickly back out the way he came.

  Curious, Rojas unfolded the note. It read, Truck with prisoners back in country. Proceeding to compound. There was no signature or origin listed.

  What is going on, Rojas wondered. Quickly refolding the paper, making sure it didn’t betray his reading it, Rojas walked back to the large double doors which opened to El Presidente’s office. Straightening his shirt, he knocked and waited for a reply.

  “Enter,” he heard from behind the doors. Rojas quickly twisted the knob and opened the door.

  The room was huge. It measured thirty feet wide and fifty feet long. The floors were polished marble which gleamed under the light of the silver chandeliers hanging above them. The walls were white marble with gold accents and trim. The furniture was also trimmed in gold and included lounges with deep blue cloth and gold pillows. El Presidente’s desk was two steps above the main floor. It appeared to be wrought from iron with gold gilt crowned with a glass top and more gold accents. Behind it was a marble seat with matching blue and gold trim. Most visitors thought they had stepped back into the age of Rome. Presidente Parente was seated in his seat wearing his crisp uniform. Around the desk were four officers from his elite guard dressed in black uniforms, one of whom was a colonel like himself. “Ah, Colonel Rojas. You have something for me?” the President asked.

  As the president had instructed, Rojas marched stiffly to the bottom of the two steps and gave a stiff salute. “A message I was told was quite urgent, Señor Presidente.”

  Parente scowled. “Do you know what the message is?” he said with a hiss.

  Thinking quickly, Rojas shook his head. “No Señor Presidente. However the young messenger was not in the proper appearance to come into your presence. He told me it was for you only, and I am delivering it as you have instructed,” he said, hoping he was not giving away the fear he felt.

  Parente’s face softened. His lips spread wider and a hint of a smile crossed his face. “Very good, Colonel. This is a personal matter and I applaud your attention to duty. Now if you will leave us. I will call you in shortly,” he said gently.

  Rojas stood firmly and saluted again. He then did a crisp about face and left the room as he entered, marching stiffly. He silently closed the big double doors as he left. Once in his outer office, Rojas let out a breath of air. He was lucky that El Presidente had not questioned his lie about not seeing the message and he would have to make sure to never give any hint that he had seen it in the first place. Too many men had disappeared when they had gotten too close to Parente’s personal matters.

  Sitting at his desk, Rojas began to wonder what the message had meant. After over a year working for him, Rojas knew it was probably nothing good. Somehow it was tied into this personal guard, but prisoners? And what compound? He hoped he hadn’t stepped into something which would get him killed. Rojas sat alone at his desk pondering what it might be until the buzzer under the desk sounded, summoning him back into El Presidente’s office.

  Standing, Rojas straightened his uniform once again and made his way back to the double doors. He knocked and when he heard the reply, opened the doors and stepped in. Surprisingly, Parente was coming towards the door as he entered. Rojas stopped and saluted sharply.

  Parente walked up smiling. He raised his arms to welcome the Colonel in. “Come up here, my Colonel. I am feeling particularly well tonight and desire some company. Let us sit here,” he said joyfully as he escorted Rojas to a corner pillowed sofa and chair. Sitting in the chair he gestured for Rojas to sit on the sofa.

  Rojas had warning bells going off in his mind. It wasn’t normal for Parente to act this way. As indicated, he sat at the edge of the sofa and waited for El Presidente to start the conversation.

  “Colonel, how long have you served me here?” he asked.

  Rojas thought a moment. “Just a bit more than fifteen months, Señor Presidente,” he said softly.

  “Not so long, Colonel. And you have served me quite well during that time,” Parente said.

  “Thank you, Señor Presidente.”

  Parente waved his hand. “No, I notice these things. You do your job without shirking and without questions. That is something a leader needs in these times,” Parente said watching him. “You are also very loyal. Now tonight, something very important happened and you were the one who brought me the information I needed,” he said. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about that?”

  Rojas carefully selected his answer. “Of course I am, Señor Presidente. Anytime history is being made so near me, I would be curious. But I am content to wait until I am told what part I may play or to simply watch and admire the outcome,” he said with a smile. A hint of praise and reverence never hurt with Parente.

  Parente sat back and smiled. “And I have decided to share this with you tonight,” he said as he sat back in the chair. “You see, tonight I have begun the process of shaping the world,” he said smiling. “Tonight I have set things in motion which will place me in the position of selecting the next President of the United States.”

  Rojas’ eyes shot upward in surprise. The President of the United States, he thought. It was something which even he had not imagined could happen. Rojas quickly framed his response. “I cannot imagine something so vast in scope, Señor Presidente. I doubt even Bolivar could accomplish such a thing,” he said, citing Parente’s favorite hero. “What things must we do to help you carry out such a plan?” Rojas asked.

  The level of praise and flattery appeared to work. A broad smile appeared on Parente’s face. “That is why I have decided to keep you with me, Rojas. Never a question, just a willingness to help your presidente,” Parente said as he leaned forward and slapped him on the shoulder. “Beginning now, I want you as a permanent member of my staff. I usually promote my aides just to get them out of my sight, but you are different. I know you are not like the others, hungry for promotion and power. I know all you wish to do is serve your presidente. You will get that wish and together we shall achieve great things,” he said in a lofty tone.

  Rojas fought the urge to scream. Working for this man was the least desirable thing he could imagine. In a brief instant, all his plans and aspirations had vanished, and he was stuck serving a lunatic. Now all he concerned himself with was staying alive. Any show of displeasure could evoke El Presidente’s wrath.

  “What? Can you not speak, Rojas?” Parente asked.

  He must think quickly. Already Parente had a questioning look on his face. “I am too stunned Señor Presidente. I never imagined you would honor me so,” Rojas exclaimed.

  The look on Parente’s face returned to a wide smile. “Of course. Please forgive me for surprising you so, but I will need you with me to make my plans work and I wanted you to know before we begin in earnest.” Parente glanced at his watch. “I see we have worked late enough. Go home and get some rest. Be back here tomorrow morning at 6 am. You and I will go on a short trip together and I will explain it all to you.” The two men stood and Parente placed his hand on Rojas’ shoulder. “You have proved to me you are a trusted servant, Rojas. It is time you should be working even closer to me,” he said. “Now go get some rest.”

  Rojas straightened. “Yes, Señor Presidente, and thank you,” he said in a strong tone. He took a step back and saluted sharply. After receiving one in return he quickly made his way to the door and exited quietly. As he turned to open the door, Pare
nte appeared to be watching him closely, with a smile still on his face.

  Once outside the door Rojas seemed to deflate. His mind could not imagine how catastrophic his life had suddenly become. Everything he had worked for was now a shambles and he was stuck at his current rank and in this position for possibly the rest of his days. He sighed deeply as he made his way to his desk and put his things away. The walk to his car was usually refreshing, but not on this night. He drove through the streets under a cloud, wondering in his mind what he could possibly do to get out of this situation. Everything he came up with ended either in one of El Presidente’s work camps or with a bullet in his head. His mind turned to what Parente had said. Select the next President of the United States? The mere thought brought chills to his spine. The United States was not a nation to trifle with. Not only did they possess one of the best militaries of the world but its influence could ruin a nation like Venezuela. Nothing he could imagine would be good.

  Almost mechanically he pulled the car into his parking garage. After locking the gate he made his way to his apartment. There would be no sleep tonight. He turned on his computer and pulled up the internet. Within four hours he had his answers.

  Chapter 3

  Allegiances

  Aboard USS Kings Mountain

  Roger Hammond couldn’t sleep. He felt as if the wind had been taken from him. His marriage to Patricia Crowell had been his second, and although he had loved his first wife, Patricia meant much more to him. From day one, she had been a loving, supporting partner. They did things together instead of separately. Where his first wife had been a tag along, Patricia had been a willing participant. Likewise, Hammond had come to enjoy going to the political functions Patricia enjoyed. They discussed policies for the city and ideas for Navy events with equal enthusiasm. But the best part was that both were having fun with everything they did together. Roger was extremely happy.