The Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match

Complete Novel

by THE T PARTY

CHAPTER ONE

Bethany reached for a low forehand in the back corner of the court and didn't get the ball back, but she was putting on a good show. The other woman had more skill and Bethany was forced to do most of the running, but she tried her hardest on every point, and by the third game she was sweating profusely. Her teammates were playing their matches on adjacent courts, and they were all wearing light blue T-shirts that had their individual names on the backs. Meanwhile, Bethany's ample front side was revealing itself impressively as she raced around the court and stretched into awkward positions to try to return shots.

It was 8:30 Monday night, ten hours since Christian had had to drown the guy.

"You look like you're into this match," someone said.

Christian looked up. A woman in a fancy sweatsuit and was smiling at him. "It does get the hooks into you," he said. "Especially this angle through the glass back wall."

"So I take it you don't play then, yourself," she said. "How come?" She was petite, early 30's, no mistaking her enthusiasm.

"Why should I? I'm fine just watching my friend."

"Which one?"

"The one waiting for the serve."

"Bethany. She's great. Not at squash so much, but a lot of fun to talk to around the club."

"You work here then, or what?"

"Sort of. I give beginner clinics, run some round robins. As an independent contractor."

"That what you're doing tonight?"

"About to be, yes."

Christian stood up. "I'm Chris, by the way . . . Would you want to, get a coffee or something, on the late side?" Bethany was real red in the face now, and looked increasingly frustrated. She appeared to be losing most of the points.

"Golly. Could we be a little more forward, how about?" Hard to read, but at least seeming amused.

Christian said, "So what time?"

"Well, I'm finished at eleven. It's up to you if you'd like to check back, but I'm thinking probably not. It's Kim, though." She handed him a card.

Soon Bethany and her opponent were shaking hands, and they opened the door and came out of the court. Bethany walked past Christian without saying a word and returned fifteen minutes later, showered and changed.

"You're more of a battler than I realized," he said. "You have a temper."

"I'm not a great sport," she said. "It's something I need to work on. But thank you so much for coming and watching my whole match."

He said, "I'm a doe-doe bird sitting here, but I saw something you can do to improve."

"No, Chris. With all due respect, I take lessons sometimes. I don't need you telling me how to play."

Christian said, "What you do, you hit the ball higher up on the front wall. So it travels further back into the corners. That's what she was doing to you."

"Dammit, Chris, I mean it. I'm not in the mood."

"Your ball was landing short, where that line is across the floor? Right in her wheelhouse."

"Will you shut up!"

Bethany's teammates Phyllis and Jeff, from the dinner at her house, were nearby. Phyllis said, "Nice to see you again Chris. How do you like our little sport?"

"I think it's terrific," he said. "Tennis's better half, for sure." Bethany had moved to another court to watch the end of Gloria's match.

Jeff said, "B was upset about her result?"

"That, and me trying to give her advice, that's what put her over the edge," Christian said.

"Don't worry about it," Jeff said. "She's a terrible loser. Always takes her about an hour, and then she's back to normal the rest of the night."

"Competition works in funny ways," Phyllis said. "You see a side of someone you never imagined."

#####

They went to the Big Horn on Sansome Street, Bethany's team plus him, which he figured was how it would work. Christian thought the place was only so-so, the menu a cross between New Jersey-diner and California-fusion, and pricey.

He sipped his beer, glad to be in a social situation, but fighting hard not to replay the incident in his head. The backpack was sitting in the trunk, too much to deal with after the morning but needing to be addressed, the guy liable to wash up somewhere at any time.

The team was discussing the matches, and Bethany was coming around, laughing at certain things. Jeff and Gloria and Steve were doing most of the talking, with Phyllis and John chiming in.

"I had my guy 9-6 in the fifth," Steve said. "Then I don't know what happened."

"What happened was you hit the tin four times in the last five points," Jeff said. "If you'd just kept your poise there, we would have won the overall match."

"Hold on Jeff," John said. "You lost three-zip to your guy. Let's not be too critical."

"Okay, but I was playing number one," Jeff said. "I wouldn't have let that guy off the hook two points away, is all I'm saying."

Gloria said, "Chris, we're sounding foolish here. How have you been?"

"Fine, but the shop talk doesn't bother me a bit. Makes me wish I had something as exciting going on."

"Well, you certainly look fit," Gloria said. "What do you do?"

"Mostly just run, which is boring. When I lived in Santa Barbara I enjoyed playing tennis, until my partner got mad at me."

"What happened?" Phyllis said.

"Oh, I got in his business where I probably shouldn't have. He beat me five sets in a row one day and I thought he was making bad line calls on top of it. I said you were beating me straight up, why'd you need to make shaky calls?"

Steve said, "So you got in his business by questioning his on-court character?"

"No, I got in his business by adding in my opinon of his personal life. He had a really nice, devoted girlfriend who would come to the courts sometimes. He was cheating on her with his ex-wife." Christian noticed Bethany and Jeff shifting around.

"How did you know that?" Phyllis said.

"He'd bring it up, brag about it. Though he put it on the ex-wife, that she couldn't get past him."

"What a son of a bitch," Gloria said.

"Yeah, that's a crock of horseshit," John said. "It's not like someone was putting a gun to his head, making him participate."

Phyllis said, "So what did you tell him?"

"That if he wasn't going to stop doing it, then stop talking about it. Evidently that hit a nerve, because the guy never spoke to me again."

"Well good for you," Gloria said. "That is scum of the earth behavior. He should be shot, and the ex-wife too for that matter."

"I agree," Phyllis said. "But just find another partner then."

"Oh, I still play once in a while. But the other day I was watching some hackers, and it was embarrassing. I realized that's how I look too. On the other hand, you guys all look good out there."

"That's very kind of you, "Gloria said. "But really?"

"Absolutely. You're giving it your all, running around like chickens with your heads cut off. What can I say, you look like athletes."

"Gosh, just hearing it put like that is amazing," Phyllis said.

"Totally," Steve said. "That's over the top, Chris, but we'll take it."

"We will," Bethany said, glaring at Christian.

"So where do you like to run?" John said.

"The waterfront usually, down to the point and back." Christian said. "The scenery helps."

"And that's what you did today?" Gloria said.

"Yeah . . . Although today I actually repeated it twice. I was looking for a little extra."

"How far?" John said.

"I'd say maybe eleven, twelve total. I'm feeling it now, that's for sure."

Bethany said, "Jesus Christ, Chris. Do you really think you should be out there trying to run eleven miles?"

Jeff said, "B, take it easy, what's the big deal?"

"Exactly," Phyllis said. "Why not?"

Bethany said, "It's just . . . I don't know, increasing your intensity like that, without building up to it . . . it seems unwise."

"I'll keep it in mind next time," Christian said.

#####

They were at their cars, and Bethany had said goodnight to everyone, including Jeff. She said, "Chris, what got into you? You certainly know to humiliate someone."

"What do you mean? The only one who might have raised an eyebrow was Jeff. My educated guess is he's the only teammate you're schtupping."

"My God, do you have to be so crude."

"While we're on the subject, it work out any better with him?"

"Jeff? . . . No."

"So, one more time--it's not me, my prognosis, whatever else."

"It isn't . . . In fact, since we're being so honest here, Jeff wants to go to Arizona and have a talk with Kyle."

Christian was digesting this.

Bethany said, "What?"

"No, I was trying to visualize how that'd go. I wouldn't mind being on hand to find out."

"Believe me, it couldn't go well. Jeff might get hurt, and I'd probably lose him as a friend."

"Kyle a tough guy then?"

"I already told you. Scary."

"He have a new wife, kids, anything?"

"A girlfriend, and I think she's expecting."

"Kyle ever ask you for an official divorce?"

"No. . . Can we please change the subject? You're welcome to come over, if you'd like."

Christian was thinking he might check back with Kim, what could it hurt.

"Tell you the truth I'm pretty worn out. That eleven miles you scolded me for, it's starting to kick in."

"All right, then."

"I were you, I'd tell Jeff to sit tight. Little baby coming into the picture, Kyle could get his priorities straight. Wouldn't surprise me if you didn't hear much from him going forward."

"Chris," Bethany said, "you have no idea what you're talking about."


CHAPTER TWO

Chapter Two – Knowing Your Surroundings

by Steve Hufford


Bethany’s parting comment clinched it. It used to trouble him when women discounted his ideas, but he had learned over the years. Some women just can’t see talents and powers below the surface. Others can. So be it.


Remembering Kim’s quick wit and welcoming smile, he found her card and began texting:


Coffee?

Who is this?

Chris – u gave me ur card, can we hit tmrow?

Wow. U r relentless

Coffee b4 my first lesson?

When is ur lesson?

Whenever u can teach me

Haha lol ok. Coffee on u, lesson on me

Mayb 8am at Star$ next 2 club?

Gr8. C u then

Sweet dreams!


He drove to his apartment, willed his stiffening legs to propel him to his bed, and slept the sleep of the just.


Even so, his dreams were far from sweet.


Truly, Christian’s powers of observation were exceptional. That was why he could so easily diagnose Bethany’s squash problem. Her ball was landing mid-court. If she hit higher she would hit deeper. If she hit deeper, she would force her opponent into the back corners and actually have a chance. Christian could see patterns. He could also extrapolate from other parts of his life, like from tennis, or krav maga.


Without the last two years of practicing that discipline, he surely wouldn’t have survived Kyle’s assault. But with it, he had been a match for the big man’s hostility, strength and murderous intent.


As Christian slept, his dreams replayed the run and battle as his brain integrated the day’s events, well below the level of his conscious mind. Park at the northern end of the neck, then run down toward the point. A slight wind coming off the water, waves about normal, and lowish tide. Not a crowded day, yet pleasant for running in shorts and tee shirt. The car going slowly along the shoreline road, roughly at his pace, then accelerating when he looks over.


The run feels good and his ‘runner’s high’ kicks in -- one benefit of being a regular runner. This is when he thinks about big topics, with his body set on cruise, flowing smoothly with no appreciable effort. Then a big guy is blocking the path, looking out over the water. Considerate of whatever the guy was doing, Christian runs around him, skirting inland a bit, and onward. Minutes later, the car goes past again, and parks down at the point.


At the halfway mark, Christian picks up the pace, so as to arrive at the point winded, do some stretching, then tackle the return trip. The big guy was down at the turnaround point -- the wooden pier. Christian went to the waterside bench to stretch, and was surprised to be addressed as the man approached closer:


“You Christian?”

“Yes, how do you know my name?”

“Because I know the name of every a..hole who sleeps with my wife. Every dead a..hole.”

Christian registered the threat as the big man grabbed his left wrist.

“We’re going to take a short ride together.”


From the strength of his grip, Christian knew he had no chance in a brawl with this man. And there was no doubt a gun in the car. Or a knife. But he had neither.


“I don’t think so,” said Christian, struggling to recover his arm. The big guy, taking handcuffs from his left pocket, slammed them onto Christian’s wrist and then his own. “Wrong again a..hole.”


Situational awareness can be learned, as can counter-attack, and that’s where the Israeli self-defense discipline came in. His krav maga instructor’s first principle was avoidance of battle; but Christian was already chained to a man who meant him serious harm. Principle two -- rapid, efficient and brutal counter-attack, appropriate to the surroundings. A land battle was not winnable, but they were near water. About three feet deep.


Christian’s lunge caught Kyle off balance. They toppled from the pier into the water. As they righted, chained together, Christian was first to orient, widen his stance, and hit as hard as he could into the man’s solar plexus. Kyle’s reflexive crouch brought his head back down into the water, only to be quickly scissored and held between Christian’s legs. His first deep gasp, after the punishing solar plexus blow, was of naught but water. So was his second, and his last. A final shudder from all his muscles, and Christian was astride and handcuffed to a corpse. A large one, at that.


No one around on the pier, no other cars at the point parking lot. All to the good. He didn’t want to drag the body out of the water, so he fished in Kyle’s pockets. Car keys on a big tag from a rental company. In the other pocket, small keys, like for handcuffs! Christian undid his cuff and thought to hide the body. He saw old pilings nearby and moved toward them, keeping the body underwater. He was able to hook the handcuff onto some driftwood tangled in the piling below the water line. Not permanent, but it would keep the body stationary and underwater for a while. He climbed the boat ladder back onto the dock, and tried to decompress from the adrenaline jolt of the fight. It took three miles to do it.


It all played in his mind as he slept. The run back to his car, awkward in wet shoes. The dawning realization that his name might be written somewhere on the body or in the car. The second run back down to the solitary point, capped by the effort of removing a sodden wallet from the submerged corpse. The ransacking of the car for evidence, like the backpack he removed, and the difficulty of jogging back encumbered.


All these scenes and thoughts played in his mind, his sleep riddled with images of the confrontation and its watery ending. Jolting awake, and then tossing once again in his bed, he yearned for real sleep, the kind that knits the raveled sleeve of care.


At 7:30 am he arose with less feeling of dread and an extreme need for coffee. At the coffee shop, Kim couldn’t resist teasing him about his appearance, but his ebullience when the coffee kicked in made up for it. She led him on court, showed him a typical stroke, put him on the ‘T’ and fed him easy forehands. As he hit deep to her in the back corner, and as she expertly fed the next ball off each drive, he appreciated her skill and began to feel the pleasure of repeating the shot along the right wall.


“This is a comfortable room, isn’t it?”, he said. “It seems very predictable. The ball comes off the wall just like you’d expect. Except for any spin, of course.”


Kim’s answer surprised him a bit in its honesty. “With a good opponent, squash is anything but predictable, but yes, it’s a real retreat. I come here to hit by myself whenever my life is out of control. It’s where I go for simplicity and consistency. The walls and the ball never lie.”


Christian began to see that squash, and Kim, might fill some yearnings in his life.


CHAPTER THREE

Chapter 3 - Rough as it comes

by Richard Millman

Kim walked shamelessly naked from her small kitchen to her equally small bedroom.

She carefully placed two cups of coffee on the nightstand and slipped smoothly into the single bed behind the seemingly dreaming Christian.

She wasn't a promiscuous person by nature, but with repeated appearances of small masses within her over the past several years, she had decided not to miss out when she came across someone she liked.

And she liked Christian.

Apart from his wiry hard body, he had an intriguing turn of phrase, a quizzical humor that appeared superficial but afterwards left you pondering. She liked that. It suited her coach's mentality. Humorous but deeply inquiring.

For his part, Christian's love life was held hostage by wherever the Service sent him - usually not places conducive to meeting beautiful, athletic, Squash coaches with lovely voices and warm, soft, sensitive skin.

Christian turned around to face her in tight proximity.

"Seems like the only way to lie in this bed is one on top of the other," he teased.

She smiled.

"Really? Perhaps you had better show me how that goes again."

Within a few moments the Coffee cups on the nightstand were chinking rhythmically together as the bed bounced and moved.

The bed stopped moving as the couple sighed simultaneously in satisfaction.

But then, as they lay motionless, the Coffee cups began to shake and chink again.

First quietly, then loudly, then they fell on the floor.

Suddenly the nightstand was knocked over and the two naked bodies were flung like rag dolls against the bedroom wall as the boxlike structure of the room became an amorphous mass.

The whole world became an explosion of booming, shaking, rumbling sound for what seemed an eternity but was actually only four minutes.

Then - for about thirty seconds - there was silence.

First one, then another, then finally dozens of sirens across the city started whining their alarms. These were interspersed with a gradually increasing number of crying and moaning voices. Occasionally a desperate shout of "Help!" or "Help us!" could be heard and more rarely, the distressed yelping of a dog.

Rubble continued to fall and move, with larger structures collapsing with louder explosions as gas lines burst. Trickling water could be heard gradually increasing in strength.

Christian moved his head sideways.

"Kim?" he croaked uncertainly.

"Here." she said in a voice devoid of emotion.

Christian sensed trouble.

"Are you OK?"

She moved very slightly as he pushed the mattress and boxspring from on top of them.

"Don't know yet. More scared than anything else."

"What was that? An explosion?"

"No." Kim said, " San Andreas fault. An earthquake. A doozie. At least a six I would guess."

"Christ." said Christian. " We better see if we can get out of here. Can you move?

"I think so." She said.

Christian helped Kim up and they both surveyed each other and then what was left of the apartment.

They found their clothes strewn in various places.

"Thank God we're only on the second floor and it's only a four floor garden apartment complex." Kim said.

They scrambled over rucked up rugs and broken chairs. Everywhere there was a white dust - crumbled plaster, brick and sheetrock.

Finally they made it to where Kim's front door used to be.

Fortunately the stairwell was in order and they got out quickly.

Kim's building was actually structurally OK, despite the damage to the individual apartments.

As they emerged onto the street they saw that there were several buildings that hadn't been as lucky and like old fashioned dolls houses had had their entire facades removed.

An off-duty cop was flashing his badge and directing everyone to clear the area immediately for safety reasons.

"What now?" said Christian.

"Better check the Club." said Kim, "If we can get there."

Christian thought about his car.

"Where the Hell is it?" he thought to himself as he looked at the mayhem around them. " And what about that Bloody backpack?" he muttered darkly, under his breath.

They started picking their way toward the Club.

.....................................................................................................................................

The phone was ringing constantly.

"14th Precinct. Donnelly speaking." said the desk sergeant, clearly fighting a losing battle.

Behind the glass windows that the sergeant stood in front of, in the offices of the criminal investigation unit, Chief John Mihalski was talking to his most senior detective, Shay Samuels.

" So at this point, four hours after the 'quake, the butcher's bill isn't quite as bad as we might have expected," Mihalski droned on, " twenty dead and sixty-eight injured in the downtown apartment complexes, unbelievably only five killed on the roads and cross town bridges and one guy in the marina near one of the piers."

Samuels cocked his head to one side quizzically. " I thought there was limited damage quayside?"

" Yes but I guess this guy was just unlucky. A couple of the yachts rode up on each other and one of the struts on the pier gave way. We assume he was on one of the two. Kinky thing was he had cuffs on one hand. Anyway you better get down there and check it out - make sure there's nothing to it. No good staying in town. EMS and the FD have got their work cut out for a couple of days and anyway it's too dangerous for you. Gas, electric and unstable buildings an' all."

"OK Chief," said Samuels and, sliding his threadbare corduroy pants off of the desk, sloped off with his big, athletic, loping gait toward the rear of the station and out into the chaos that lay beyond.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Kim and Christian managed to pick their way through the pandemonium of downtown and in just less than an hour found themselves uptown outside Squash City.

Miraculously the 'quake had barely touched this part of town.

Kim used her personal key to open up and nervously tried the mains electric panel.

Nothing.

"Never mind," she said, and reaching further into the electrical closet, emerged with an enormous flashlight.

"Wait here," she told Christian and walked off into the gloom toward the back of the club.

Christian heard a few clicks and then a slowly accelerating whirring sound and then all the lights in the club came on simultaneously, followed by the reappearance of a smiling Kim.

"Generator's working. Fancy a shower?" she beamed.

Christian couldn't believe she was serious. This woman had just been in a major earthquake. He knew real field agents who would be more affected than this.

"Kim, we nearly died not two hours ago. Aren't you in shock?"

She shrugged her shoulders, threw back her head and gave him a winning smile.

"Get busy dying or get busy living buddy!"

"Or both." she thought to herself ironically.

She faced him provocatively with her hands on her hips.

"So which is it? Dyin' or livin'?"

Christian started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Livin' " he said as he walked through the door to the Women's locker room that she was holding open for him.

This girl was either crazy or a woman after his own heart.

He didn't know which - but he intended to find out.


CHAPTER FOUR

Chapter 4—Six Degrees of Separation

By David Smith


Suds. Lots and lots of slippery suds.

Perhaps it was surviving the earth actually moving, but Kim had truly unleashed the hounds in the club’s shower. While Christian was appreciative of her, ah, athleticism, he was strangely grateful when the hot water began to fade. He truly had been distracted, though Kim did not seem to notice.

Damn that backpack. Damn Kyle.

“Awwww,” moaned Kim softly into his neck. “The gas must be out, too. That’s the last of the hot water.”

“You know, there might be a leak. Maybe we should get out of here,” he said as an idea started to form in his mind. Take advantage of the unexpected, and he thought he knew just how to do that. “Let’s get dressed before we catch cold,” he said, wrapping her in a towel.

Kim sighed, realizing a cold was the least of her problems. But she refused to surrender the moment to those dark thoughts, and turned her attention back to…”Yo, Chris! What’s the hurry?”

“Gotta bounce. I have to go check on my place. Is there someplace you can stay for a while? I promise I’ll catch up with you a little later in the day.”

-----------------------

Feeling a little whammed-bammed-thank you ma’amed, Kim declined Chris’s offer to walk her to her brother’s house in the Marina. She chuckled as she realized it was several whams, more than a few bams, and quite frankly, she was pretty thankful. Thank you, sir! The imagery caused an appreciative shiver to scurry up her spine. With a wry smile, she decided to forgive Christian his quick exit. “Don’t sweat the small stuff, girl!”

“Damn, are the mobile phones working?” Kim muttered to herself as she tried to reach her brother for the third time. She decided to continue on to his place and check it out. He was no doubt tied up with the earthquake’s aftermath. Assuming his apartment had survived the tremor, she would hang and wait for him there. With this emergency ongoing, her brother wasn’t likely to be home for some time.

------------------------

Christian felt bad for his quick exit from Kim. Unlike the superficial “Bethanys” he usually hooked up with, he found Kim had stirred something in him. Beyond the obvious physical attraction, he sensed there was a deeper connection. He knew he wanted to follow this through, and that was a feeling he hadn’t known since they had found him on the kibbutz and recruited him into the Service. Ironically, he realized his ability to follow through with Kim might be out of his control.

He couldn’t dwell on that. He had to clean up his current mess, or he would be using his “go” bag sooner than he or the Service wanted.

---------------------------------

Bethany’s phone startled her as it began playing Kelly Clarkson’s “Never Again.” That ringtone warned her that Kyle was calling. “Can this day get worse,” she wondered?

She stared at the phone as the call bounced into voicemail. Seconds later, the chime signaled a new message. With a feeling of dread, she punched up her voicemail and listened for Kyle’s voice.

Not Kyle. Shockingly, a women’s voice. Loud. Frantic. Kyle’s current high-priced trophy named Krystal, who Bethany had heard was a former stripper, seemed to be trying to find her boyfriend---and was in near-hysteria!

“Bethany—this is Krystal! I live with Kyle. Do you know where he is? I know he went to San Francisco, and I’m sure he went to see you, you little bitc…, sorry. That was wrong. I saw the news—the earthquake. I need to make sure that he is ok. Please, I am crazy with worry. Did he tell you? I am pregnant…twins…what am I fricking going to do without him? Call me. Leave a message if you get voice mail. I have a massage at 2, so my phone will be off for a couple of hours.” Click.

Krystal to the Main Stage.

Bethany would have laughed at the vapid bitch, if she wasn’t chilled by the thought that Kyle was here, in San Fran. This can’t be good. Oh, no, this can’t be good.

--------------------------

The morning fog was beginning to lift as Det. Shay Samuels parked behind the squad car. Recognizing one of the uniformed officers, he asked, “Walsh, where’s the Medical Examiner?”

“Could be hours before someone is here, Detective. They are all tied up with the quake--20 dead and a dozen rescue efforts ongoing.”

Walsh and Samuels strolled over to the white sheet-covered lump. Walsh ran it down for the detective. “Big guy, fully clothed, not too long in the water. No ID. The handcuffs are sure odd.”

“Sex games?”

“Doubt it. Where’s his partner, if that were the case. We’ll have to wait for the ME to check the body.

---------------------------

Christian jogged through North Beach to his apartment. He and the rest of the city were going to go through serious caffeine withdrawal if they didn’t get power restored quickly. Not an open Starbucks or Peet’s to be found.

A quick right on Lombard and he could see his apartment building at the base of Telegraph Hill, still standing with only cosmetic damage to the faux Victorian façade. An improvement. From the plumes of smoke rising in the distance, he knew other parts of the city had not been so lucky. He had to move quickly.

Christian dashed inside and surveyed the broken glass in his apartment. Minor, no sweat. His nomadic life kept him from accumulating life’s normal clutter. Futilely, he checked the power. Moving swiftly to his bedroom closet, he removed the false panel behind his clothes. He pulled out his emergency bag and his “go” bag. Preparation was the ultimate advantage. He removed the small, emergency radio and cranked it up. A quick spin down the dial, and he realized that many of the radio stations were still off the air. He zeroed in on the all-news station whose transmitter was apparently not damaged and listened as he changed into his running clothes.

Earthquake officially 7.6. Fillmore district badly damaged. Heavy equipment brought in on several rescue efforts. No word of a body in the bay yet.

Chris grabbed a few key items from the bags, and left.

-------------------------

Kim found her brother’s place in good shape. She let herself in and again tried unsuccessfully to reach her brother. She dialed Christian’s number from memory.

“Hey! Good to hear your voice,” said Christian as he juggled the phone and locked the door to his apartment. “Where are you?” He bounded down the stairs two at a time.

“At my brother’s apartment on Bay. You?”

“Just heading out to take care of something. And I need coffee.”

“When you are done...hey, the lights just came on here. Come over when you are done and I’ll ….uh…..be happy to froth your latte for you,” Kim teased.

“Deal! Just give me a couple of hours. Text me the address.”

As soon as he ended the call, he heard the ding and checked his message.

“5416 Bay, Apt 3B. Name on bell is Samuels. C U soon.”Chapter 5
Chapter 5


CHAPTER FIVE

Chapter 5
The Earthquake Made Me Do it
by Tom Oberdorfer

Shay unlocked the door to his apartment anticipating that Kim would be there. It had been a long, tough day. As he walked into the small foyer he spied Kim lying on his used rose-colored sofa. She was a hottie even if she was his sister.

“Hey, K,” he said as he threw his keys onto the divot-scarred kitchen table…. “Glad to see you’re safe. Thanks for letting me know!”

“Say what? I called you several times and couldn’t get through.”

“You know if you need me, call the precinct.”

“Whatever…. Glad to see you’re safe too.” She rolled her face into the pillows before mumbling, “So what was it like out there?”

Shay walked to the refrigerator, opening it expecting to see something to eat but knowing there was nothing there. “Want a beer?”

“Sure, why not? We’ve been through an earthquake and I met a man, let’s drink.”

“A man--that’s not news. You’ve done that before! But man and an earthquake, pray tell.”

“Later. He may come over! Must have been one hell of a day.”

‘‘Right about that.  Don’t know why they let me go tonight…. There will probably be more bodies through the night--29 deaths and more missing. Some died from falling structures; two were electrocuted by power lines. And one guy drowned with handcuffs on. Puzzling! No word yet from the medical examiner. I went to the dock and checked him out. He must have hit hard because his face…nasty. I’ll follow up tomorrow.”

“Ugh. I’ll take a squash ball I can drive down the wall any day over some of your gruesome stories.”

“I couldn’t hit the ball over and over to someone knowing the outcome each time. No spice in that. Speaking of which…tell me about your spice man.”

“Spiceman…that’s a cute nickname. Wonder if he would take to it.”

“What’s his name?  Does he have a record?”

“NO! and who the fuck cares? You’re not sleeping with him.”
  
“Alright. Should I call him Spiceman or does he have a name that the first woman in his life bestowed on him?”

“You can be such a prick…. Christian.”

“You slept with a Christian?”
 
“Forget it! No more!”

“Ok, ok… sorry. Just a little comic relief after a stressful day. Yours sounded like the best earthquake experience ever.”

A small smile emerged from her face. “Yeah, it wasn’t bad.”

“Can you humor me a little and tell me about Christian, seeing how he is coming to my apartment?”

“Well, he is very good looking and in wicked shape… Everything happened so fast, not sure I can tell you much.”

“Really,” he said, drawing out the “real.” “You do remember how you met him?”

“At the club. He was watching Bethany play, who I guess is a friend of his. I was standing there and he struck up a conversation. Well, barely.  He asked me for a drink.”

“And K being K you said sure?”

“Not right away. I actually put him off a bit, but when he texted me I thought, why not? He must not be that interested in Bethany.”

“I wish I met women like my sister, but I wish my sister wasn’t like women I would like to meet.”

Kim’s text buzzed. Shay took a manly chug of his beer to push his system to a calmer state.
 
“We don’t need to talk much more because he’s coming over. You mind if we stay here? My apartment is toast.”

“You didn’t tell me that. I’ve never met the guy and you want to shack up with him in my apartment? Pretty ballsy, K. What the fuck? Oh, why not, it’s been a crazy day already.”

“Thanks.”

As if on cue, Christian knocked.  Kim stared meaningfully at Shay as she headed for the door. “Treat him nicely!” She opened the door.
 
Christian greeted her, “Long time, no see,” and went to give her a gentle kiss. K put her arms around his muscular frame and offered a more satisfying welcome. “I texted from just outside your door,” Christian explained.

After unhooking, K introduced the two men to each other. “Christian, this is my brother, Shay.”
 
“I understand the earthquake was quite an event,” Shay said. Kim sent him the ‘Don’t you dare’ look.

“Yeah, never been through one before.”

“Nothing like the first time for everything.”

Kim guided Christian passed her brother to the sofa in hopes of curtailing this conversation. “You want a beer?”

“Sure. Nice place you have here.”

“I like it,” Shay said. “I hear you are staying tonight.”

Christian looked at Kim and gathered himself quickly. “Thanks…appreciate that.” He sat down on the sofa, and Kim handed him a frosty can of Pabst.

“Haven’t had one of these in ages! Here’s to firsts.”

Cans clicked, and Shay said, “Amen, I’m for firsts,” and winked at Kim. “What did you do in the city before the earthquake?”

“Contractor. Kind of a nomad in my business. And you?”

“Detective. Been one most of my life.”

Christian placed his can on the coffee table.  “Must be interesting, particularly today.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t do what Kim does but I could kick her butt if she had the balls to play me.”

Kim did not let that line float away. “Last time you beat me was? Hmm. Let’s see, I was 12.”

“I told K earlier, there are nearly 30 dead and several missing, plus a weird case where a guy drowned with handcuffs on. Pretty kinky.”

Service training prepared Christian to deal with surprises. “For a detective, bizarre might be interesting.”

“I use to say, ‘Seen everything,’ then this happens and I’m like, really?”

“How do you look into something like this?”

“Obviously we scan the scene for signs of foul play. You’d be amazed at the stupid mistakes criminals make. We look for prints, video cams, and witnesses, of course. At this point, it’s the handcuffs. We don’t even know his name.”

“I’m with you, I’d rather be doing what you are doing than hit the squash ball back and forth all day.” He threw a smile at Kim. “How many guys will work this case?”

“Me and another guy.”

Kim tired of this conversation quickly. “Could we talk about something else?”

“Yeah, sure,” Christian said. “If we’re staying here, I need to go back to my apartment on Telegraph Hill and pick up my things.”

“Yeah, we can…”

“Don’t think so,” Shay said. “That area’s been blocked off due to falling debris. But, given your new relationship with my sister,” he winked at her, “I could get you there.”

The Service’s mock torture and interrogation training gave him the ability to not betray his emotions. “Didn’t think of that. Never mind. I’ll wait til the earthquake blows over.”  He considered how he was going to get back to the apartment. For now…the backpack from the drowned handcuffed man, possible evidence against him, was in his car’s trunk. A problem, but on the other hand he was sitting in THE detective’s apartment, downing Pabst Blue Ribbons.

He was not worried. He was trained.


CHAPTER SIX

Iran. Contra.

By The Squashist

Shay had been called out to attend to the still-fluid post-earthquake crises that continued to harrow the city. Christian and Kim, finding themselves alone in Shay’s apartment, together performed an enthusiastic deep dive into the pool of mutual attraction, which new lovers are wont to do. Not just a dive, but an Olympics-caliber spin and twist and flip maneuver that sliced through the merry waters of love and earned their collective sighs of approval.

Eventually Christian stumbled out into the hallway, a bit afflicted with the mild hangover that comes with sexual overexertion. “I better make some coffee and snap out of this,” he thought.

Kim was still in bed, working off her own fatigue with a well-deserved nap.

Christian had time to reflect. He was happy that Kim hadn’t asked him where he had been when he showed up at Shay’s apartment. The assumption was that he had gone to his apartment to attend to the post-temblor mess, but he had in fact spent most of the two hours away from Kim focused on the central reason for his stay in San Francisco, namely keeping to a scheduled meeting with his Mossad handler to discuss his target, Sadegh Zahedi, the Iranian Undersecretary of Foreign Affairs and Expatriates.

His journey from Midwest Jewish kid to his current profession had been unusual. He grew up as a bit of an oddity, a member of a rather exotic group amounting to maybe 1% of the inhabitants of Omaha, Nebraska. Seeking more information about his roots, he decided to attend university in Israel, where his Hebrew became fluent and his interest in Israel became acute. He attended the Israeli College of Security and Investigations, earning a BA with Specialization in National Security and Counterterrorism, for which he had concentrated on Iran. He lived and breathed all things Iran, learning Farsi and following the political machinations there, where byzantine maneuverings were an important part of the political process. He even wrote a poem, originally in Farsi but translated into English, which he submitted for extra credit in his Persian Culture course. It was about the Iranian revolution, when the crowds surged and chased out the old regime of the Shah. He called it “The Latest Rage”; it won an award at school. He still remembered it word for word:

In print we read of acts atrocious,
Methodical in spirit, in deed ferocious.

Incensed with rage, the people surge
On power, dishonored, intent to purge
The imagined wrongs of the elected few.
When all’s complete, what goods accrue?

The order passes and power’s changed;
Past power’s puissance is thus estranged.
The mob, cajoled, believes they’ve bettered
The state of things that had them fettered.

But time may kill new hope’s procession;
The mob clamors loud—a new obsession!
Pollsters and bureaucrats and academes sage
See the mob’s screams—it’s the latest rage.

The unfolding of time in its circular motion
Makes We and They a disheartening notion;
Why is it the people in power don’t see
That, like They before, the mob is We?

Indeed, thought Christian, what is it about power that presupposes its own demise? The pendulum swings to and fro, and as it does it knifes through the sinewy necks of the old order.

Christian grabbed a biscotti from the cupboard and drowned it in his coffee.

After he graduated with his security degree he worked on a kibbutz, mostly to goof off, but while there he learned krav maga and attracted the attention of the Mossad. With his pure American accent they wanted him to work undercover as a typical American male, so they killed off his birth name, Ben Gold, and bequeathed him the ironic Christian Townsend.

Christian had worked hard on the Zahedi case. In many ways Zahedi was an interesting man. A graduate of MIT, he was urbane, intellectual, a great raconteur, an admirer of the United States, and a hit with the ladies. Although there were many politicians in Iran whose religiosity was intense, albeit sometimes for show, Zahedi was viewed as a special case. He was not motivated by religion, although he did go through the motions. Clearly intellectually gifted, he was allowed to work for the betterment of Iran so long as he maintained a semblance of respect for those more religious than he.

His Mossad handler had told Christian that Zahedi was regularly meeting with two Iranian-Americans whose knowledge of the American nuclear industry would be valuable to the Iranian cause, if he could persuade them to return home. The Mossad had eliminated a few of Iran’s highly placed scientists, with the result that some of the smarter nuclear engineers in the country had been less than eager to step up to replace them. A paucity of intellectual power had begun to hinder the nuclear effort.

Zahedi’s motivation was purely political. He wanted to see Iran regain the luster of a bygone age. The country’s nuclear ambitions were a stepping stone that, while difficult, needed to be taken in order to enter a select group of nations. Once in, it would be hard to kick them out.
 
In truth, and rather guiltily, Christian admired Zahedi, and felt that if they could ever sit down together they would have a great conversation. Christian realized that his own motivations were also not religious and were also entirely political. He wanted to see the state of Israel succeed, and so far, he felt, it wasn’t in a position to declare success. There are many more miles to go yet, he thought distractedly, as he stirred his biscotti.

======================

Kim awoke, meanwhile, bestride two cottony pillows, which, in the netherworld that exists just before the firing of full consciousness, she interpreted as Christian having yet another go at it. She smiled at the thought and hugged the pillows, but as she did her mind carried her away to a place of dread, a place ruled by fear and subject to the one fact that has dominion over us all: death. Kim, so awash in love that she hurt from its overabundance, could never completely escape the awful hindrance to her happiness that was caused by her body betraying her--renal cell carcinoma, burrowing away within her.

Distracted and suddenly upset, she got up and wandered into the bathroom.

She had opted for chemotherapy, not surgery, which was an unusual decision, but the early results had been encouraging. She had been miserable for a few months, but her oncologist had eventually declared that her short-term prognosis looked good--the chemo seemingly had routed the disorder. But renal cell carcinoma being what it is, the doctor couldn’t make any promises. He told her to watch carefully for any symptoms and visit him regularly following the schedule they had worked out.

The symptoms included low back pain, which she had been having lately, and blood in the urine, which now, looking down, she saw had come back to haunt her.

Oh Christ, she thought. “Chris,” she yelled from the bathroom, “are there any more Pabsts? I could really use one."


CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER 7
by Jeanne Woods

THE DETECTIVE

Shay Samuels was bone tired at 6:15 PM on Thursday when he pushed open the heavy glass door to the reception counter of the Medical Examiner’s office. The rescue crews had started at dawn and he’d be back at it again with them in the morning. The chief of police had cancelled all non-medical leaves and days off until further notice. On-going homicide investigations were in the back seat for the moment, so Shay was now on his own time.
 
The harried clerk had told him they’d be working on his John Doe this afternoon and as soon as the doc signed the report she’d shoot him a copy. But the way things were going that could be days out. The ME’s office normally closed at five, but then normal hadn’t been seen around the City/County offices since the first growl of the quake on Tuesday morning.
 
“Well, Mr. Shay. You here tryin’ to wheedle a peek at an unsigned report, Darlin’? Doc’s not here, but if he was he’d run you out on the end of his shoe.” Niki’s chortle of mock reproach animated three-inch gold hoop earrings and a more than ample midriff of dark flesh that seemed to have escaped the tight confines of red stretch jeans and chartreuse knit top.
 
“Yeah, that, and to take a little abuse from your lovin’ self, Miss Niki.” Shay smiled, removed his A’s cap, revealing a band of forehead with less plaster dust than the rest of his face. He raked a hand through straight, brown hat-hair and replaced the cap. Leaning his elbows on the counter, he sank into them with a long sigh and interlaced his fingers.
 
“They just brought in four more from that parking garage and..., oh honey,” she inhaled deeply, “what a mess.” Bangles on her thick wrists chimed softly as she placed her large hands over his. Shay welcomed the gesture. He hadn’t touched another living human in a long time.
 
“ 'A mess' pretty well sums it up. You and your kids doin’ OK, Niki?”

Niki nodded. “Yeah, my sister’s with them and school should be open Monday. Right now we’re wingin’ it like everybody else,” she said. “You may be in luck, Shay. A couple pathology assistants showed up here to help with all the extra folks they bringin’ in. You might do better with one of them anyway.” A door opened as a slender thirty-something woman wearing a lab coat, shoulder-length dark brown hair tucked behind her ears and a frown of concentration briskly exited the lab, heading down the hall.
 
“Hey, Michele,” Niki called. “This here’s Detective Samuels from homicide, about the guy with the cuffs. Could you run it down for him? Shay, this is Michele Ko….”
 
“We’re under strict orders to hold all reports for the doctor’s signature,” she snapped, crossing her arms around a folder.
 
Niki flashed her mile-wide smile, “Aw, Shay’s a good guy. Couldn’t you just tell him about it? Unofficial like, so he can drag his sorry ass out of here?”
 
Michele regarded Shay’s not-quite-handsome face. Irregular features; begrimed, stubbled, a little sad maybe. Not unkind. “OK, but this is completely off-record.”
 
“Right, I didn’t get it here.” Shay grinned, adding, “I’d say ‘pleased to meet you,’ but of course we’ve never met.”
 
“OK,” she began. “White male, mid forties, about 6’2”, 236 pounds. Cause of death, strangulation. Alive when he entered the water. Small amount of aspirated water in the airways and some water in the stomach, but there’d have been more if he’d drowned. Also, bruising and blood-staining below the sternum midline and to the face. Diagonal bruising and tearing at the left wrist.” She was warming to the subject. “…Fractured hyoid bone, something we rarely see.” Shay looked at her, puzzled. She explained, “The hyoid sits high up in the neck, above the larynx and below the jawbone.” She indicated the area on her own lovely neck and continued. “It takes significant force to crack it, usually associated with ligature strangulation, so you’d only see this if the guy’s head were pulled back and major force applied high up on the neck.”
 
Shay processed this for a few seconds. After the dust and rubble and suffering of the day he needed something to make sense. The whole business at the pier hadn’t smelled right to him, even given the havoc of the earthquake. “Any trauma to the hands or the other wrist?” Michele shook her head, “Nothing fresh. They’re not the hands of a workman.”
 
“Hey, thanks a lot, Michele. That gives me something to ponder falling asleep.”
 
“There’s one more thing. Your guy sat around here just long enough for delayed signs of blanching to develop, where the blood was forced out of the vessels in the compressed area of the neck. The surrounding area of petechial hemorrhage can sometimes show the outlines of shapes. In this case have the imprint of a double-stitched seam. My guess? It’s the inseam of pants worn by someone with a very impressive grip. Probably not cotton, some kind of synthetic fabric, judging from the crisp outline.”
 
Shay stared at her, as the details filtered through his exhaustion. He shook his head, smiled and surprised himself by saying, “There’s a decent taqueria down the street that seems to be up and running again, if you’d like to get a burrito...” Michele looked down at the guarded folder as a slight flush bloomed on her neck. “Uh, no… but thanks. I uh…”  “Sure,” he said. “Another time. And thanks again, it was nice not meeting you.” She smiled, “Nice not meeting you too.” He waved his thanks to Niki on the way out, asking himself, “What the fuck were you thinking?”
 
-------------------------------------------
 
Shay entered his flat with the remains of the foil-wrapped grande burrito from Arturo’s that he’d torn into on the way home. He went straight to the fridge, hoping Kim and company had left him a Pabst or two. Or three.  He found a six-pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and several full take-out containers from Whole Foods, along with a dozen eggs, a wedge of cambazola and a bag of Peet’s dark French roast. A bowl of perfect fruit sat on the counter with a note:

“Thanks. Enjoy. Rest.
See you soon,
XOX,
K
PS – Christian shopped. I cleaned.”
 
Shay smiled. The place was spotless.
 
He indulged a wistful thought of the now-cancelled three-day weekend scheduled to start tomorrow. He’d moved the squash rackets aside to retrieve his bike from the storage locker, checked it over and aired the tires. It had been nearly a year since he’d been out on it. Sarah’s bike was still in there. He needed to do something with that.
 
Shay placed the remains of the burrito on a plate, opened a beer and took a chug, then another. “This’ll do,” he thought, and opened a second bottle. He carried the beers, burrito and a couple of paper towels to his spot on the old rose couch. He took off his shoes and clicked to the on-going TV coverage of the quake’s aftermath.
 
The burrito and the first beer went down fast. Shay settled into the couch, feet up, head down and never got to the second beer.


CHAPTER EIGHT

Chapter 8: Decisions
by Margot Comstock


Bethany was still nervous about Kyle being in SF, though maybe, she thought, he would have left by now.

As if it had a way of knowing, her phone burst forth with Kelly Clarkson again. This time, Bethany hoped it was Krystal telling her Kyle was home.

It was Krystal—more upset than before.

“Bethany, have you heard from him? I haven’t! I finally called the SF police and reported Kyle as missing. They said due to the earthquake they have several people who could fit Kyle’s description. Well, that isn’t what I wanted to hear!

“But they said someone needed to go and see the people who might be Kyle--dead people!--to identify him! He might be dead!”

She was sobbing now. Bethany was hating it all. She knew how much she did not want what Krystal was going to ask her. But she also knew she too had to know.

“All right, Krystal. I’ll go. What precinct, what officer, did you talk with?”

“Oh thank you! Oh I hope none of them is Kyle!” Krystal sobbed.

And I hope one is, Bethany thought. I hate it but I do.
………

Christian told Kim he was off to get his car; once back with wheels, he said, he had a couple of errands to do and then, if she needed anything, he’d pick it up on his way back.

Kim had her own errand to do, and she was glad to have the place to herself for a short time. There’d been blood again in her urine; she needed to deal with it.

Ready to go, Chris took her in his arms for a big hug and kisses. Kim welcomed him, but somewhere in her nearly subconscious she felt that each of them had something they weren’t talking about. The feeling distressed her; she was falling hard.

When he’d gone, she went to the room they were sharing and raised her phone to call her oncologist.
…….

Shay could hardly believe he’d fallen asleep without even finishing his beer. Musta been really zonked, he thought. But forgetting the beer! That was a first.

He got up, washed up, and felt much better. Physically.

Okay, he needed to get a handle on the handcuff guy. Who the hell was he? What strangeness had got him killed? Who had killed him? Not a clue about the latter.

He ate and took off for the precinct. With coffee and a doughnut, actually two, at his desk, he rang up Missing Persons, gave his credentials, and was put through to Melba, who listened to his detailed description of the vic. She asked him to hold on while she took a quick look at the latest reports.

“We have two reports that could correspond to your description. A wife on Divisadero claims she and her husband met for lunch at the Fog City Diner, then she went home and he went back to his office in the Transamerica. He never came home for dinner, his office says he didn’t go there after lunch, and no one seems to have seen him since.

“A woman in Arizona said her husband flew to SF last week with a return ticket for four days ago," Melba continued. "She wasn’t awfully worried until she heard about the earthquake. She gave me the name of a woman in town who knows her husband and who’s willing to take a look. I haven’t called Arizona’s local proxy yet.”

Shay thought for a minute. “What happens next?” he asked.

“The local woman is coming in; she said she’d be here in an hour; that would be about ten minutes from now, if she’s on time. Indeed, if she turns up. They don’t always.”

“Right. Well, if she does turn up shortly, will you let me know? And, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to bring in the rep for the Arizona person right away.”
………...

Christian had a pretty good idea where his car was, once he thought about it. Somewhere near the club … and there it was. There was a major dent in the roof over the passenger side back, compliments of the earthquake, but nothing that should affect its running.

He climbed in and fired it up. He drove to a Peet’s and ordered a coffee. Then he pulled out his iPad and searched google for dumps. He chose one out by the ocean, south of the zoo, memorized the address, finished his coffee, and set off toward Route 1, the zoo, and the dump.

When he reached the dump he drove half a mile further, found a commuter parking lot filled with cars and no people, and pulled in. Before he ditched the backpack, he needed to know what was in it. He pulled gloves from his glove compartment and put them on. He retrieved the backpack from the trunk and opened it. Not much interesting--change of clothes, six-pack of Anchor Steam, a Diamondbacks hoodie, and, under the hoodie, guns. In a side pocket, he found several parking tickets, a ticket stub from the latest Die Hard flick, and an ID. There were some other papers, sales slips, ads. He gathered all the papers, including the ID, and put them in a grocery bag. He put the guns in another bag. He put away his gloves.

Then he left the lot, made a u-turn, and headed for the dump.

The large site was comprised of many uneven hills of detritus. There was a narrow road inside the periphery. He drove to the point farthest from a small building that might house a caretaker.

He left the car and moved some junk to create a hole. He dropped the backpack in the hole and moved back the pieces he had displaced; it all looked pretty much the same as before. Back in his car, he headed to the city and Bay Street. He’d burn the papers and deal with the guns later.

The attendant, who’d noticed the car arrive, lazily watched it leave. He’d wander back that way later and see what might have been dropped there. 
………..

Usually, driving was restful for Christian, but not today. En route to Bay Street, he chose to drive through the Presidio and stopped under a stand of redwoods to think. The trip to the dump had taken little time. What about now? The relief he had felt getting rid of the backpack gave way to pressure: he was neglecting his assignment. He must deal with Sadegh Zahedi, and there was preparation involved. He could not quit; there was no quitting.

Why was he even thinking such a word? It was his work. He was well trained for it—he was good at it; it was meaningful; it made a huge difference for Israel--for the whole world. For the first time in his life, Christian was seriously torn: he--no, he couldn’t--but he did. He wanted Kim.

It was a selfish thing.

Tomorrow he would locate Zahedi, he would think it all through, and he would strike a plan.

He left the park and headed toward Shay’s place and Kim.

Chapter NINE

Chapter 9
by Steve Hufford

May I Have a Let, Please?

Kim, having almost been defeated by the receptionist at her oncologist’s practice who relished her gatekeeper role, was relieved to have arranged a same-day visit.  At least she would know more soon.  And knowing was better than not knowing, even if the news was bad.  It meant you could take positive steps, add more specialists to your team if needed, compare treatment regimens, and possibly improve your odds.  The cancer survivor’s club was a crappy one to join, but she wanted to remain a member.

It was inevitable that Kim’s anxiety would be substantial.  Her year had been awful; the interleukin left her depleted and despairing.  The prospect of a recurrence, and having to undergo treatment again, had her deeply scared.  She realized she wanted Christian at her side if the news was bad, so she called him.

“Christian?”
“Hi Kim, I’m almost back.  Are you still at Shay’s?”
“Yes.  Can I ask you a favor?”
“Anything.  The moon?  The stars? Or maybe some more groceries?”
“You lunk.  I’m serious.  Can you come with me to my doctor’s?  They said they’d fit me in at noon.”
“Sure.  I’m your man.”
“I know.  I’m counting on that.”

Christian pulled onto Bay Street and parked.  He puzzled about Kim’s doctor visit.  To Christian, and even to his inner Ben, she was so vibrant and radiant she couldn’t be ill.

Shay, meanwhile, was at his second home - his desk at the precinct.  And true to her word, Melba arrived at Shay’s desk with another woman, just fifteen minutes after they ended their call.

“Detective Samuels, this is Bethany Vega.  She’s the one who called to possibly help identify the man’s body.”

Greetings accomplished, the three headed downstairs to the morgue for a ceremony that was routine for those in the building, but often life-changing for the visitors.  Bethany was calmer than most when Melba lifted the sheet.

“Yes, that’s him.”
“Who?”
“My husband, Kyle Vega.”

Shay let his surprise show.

“Melba, I thought you said the wife was in Arizona.”

Bethany saved Melba the explanation.
“Well, she may think she’s his wife, but that was bigamy.  I’m his real wife … or was.”

Shay escorted her back upstairs to get some background.  He needed to know a lot more about the man.  To build rapport, he tried to comfort her on the loss of her husband, though she seemed far from upset.

“Do you have somewhere to go?  Family nearby?  Or some friends who can help you through this time?”
“Hah!  I can probably get through it!  I haven’t seen Kyle for over a year, and that was a good thing.  I’ll probably just go to the club tonight for some exercise and distraction.  We have a league match.”
“Where’s that?”
“Squash City.  Have you heard of it?”
“Yes.  I’ve heard squash is a small world, and this is proof -- my sister works there.  Maybe you know her.  Kim?”
“Wow.  Too funny.  Sure, Kim’s great.  I took some lessons from her a while back.”

Shay kept the discussion going, learning more about Bethany, her separation from Kyle, Kyle’s violent tendencies, and her recent concerns for Jeff’s welfare when Jeff considered going to Arizona.   She definitely seemed relieved that her boyfriend would never have to face Kyle.  When Shay pressed, Bethany revealed that Kyle had beaten up two of her prior boyfriends, both so badly that they had become ex-boyfriends.

Seeing the situation was a bit tangled, Shay resolved to learn more, but in his own way, and outside the office.  He might even start with his sister; she always wanted him to visit Squash City anyway.

Shay closed the interview conventionally.

“Mrs. Vega, here’s our counselor’s card.  She can help you with some of the details that come next, and please call me if you think of anything that might help us find out more about why your husband was in town.  Or anyone who might have wanted him dead.  And thanks a lot for coming by.  You were a great help.”

----------
 
Kim was grateful for Christian’s offer of a ride to the doctor’s in his car.
“Thanks so much for doing this.”
“You’re very welcome.  Any time in fact.  And you don’t even have to put me up at your brother’s apartment as part of the deal!  I’m just glad my car didn’t get totaled.  And I really would give you the moon or stars if I could.”
“Can you get me a reprieve?  That’s what I really want.”

Christian was puzzled, but glad to be getting to the bottom of Kim’s worries.
“A reprieve from what?”
“The big C.  I had renal cell carcinoma a year and a half ago.  Stage 3, which is serious.  And I may have a recurrence.”

Christian’s hug was immediate, consoling, and better than words.

“I saw blood in my urine this morning.”
“Is that your sole symptom?  Aren’t there other reasons that could happen?”
“Well, that’s what I’m going to find out.  But I’m really scared.  I want you with me.”

He saw she could use a break from the pressure.
“Let’s do something fun afterwards.”
“Thanks.  Maybe thirty minutes of hitting and then some lunch?  My squash therapy might help.”

She grabbed her rackets and they headed to her appointment.

It was, for better or worse, inconclusive.  A blood sample, which would take time to analyze.  A prescription for a CT scan, which would have to be quickly arranged with Imaging.  Some reassurance that, yes, there were several things that could cause blood in the urine other than renal cell cancer.  And a little harsh medical humor that one of them, kidney stones, was so painful it might make you wish you had cancer instead.

Kim left the appointment still wondering.  She hated not knowing.  She had resolved to live each day as a gift from God, a resolution commingled with her many prayers raised throughout her chemotherapy regime.  Still, this day seemed hard to celebrate.  She looked forward to some exercise and mastering the ball, if not the uncertainty in her mind.

Shay, meanwhile, had made his way to Squash City.  Showing his badge, he learned about Bethany, how long she had been a member, her league participation, teammates and friends, usual court times, and more.  Bethany seemed to have quite a few male friends.

When Kim and Christian arrived at the club, they found Shay near the entrance, talking with the front desk staff.

“Hey, Shay!  Finally getting back on court?  About time!”
“Just wanted to check on my little sister.  Actually, I’m working.  Murder investigation.”
“One of our members?”
“No – but a member’s spouse.  Bethany’s husband Kyle.”
“Oh no.  Christian, had she told you?”
“Wow, no.  That’s news to me.”

Shay stored an awareness of Kim’s last question, as he joined Kim and Christian going toward the courts.  He would learn more later.

Kim, remembering Christian’s patience at the doctor’s, and not wanting to make him wait again for her, had a sudden inspiration.

“Hey, while I get my head glued back on straight, why don’t you boys hit in here for a while?  I’ll be right next door."



Chapter 10 - Deception, or how to send your opponent the wrong way
by Richard Millman

Christian smiled at Shay. 'Let me just grab my stuff from the car.'

Behind the smile he did a rapid assessment. Either the guy knew or he would soon. He was a smart man. Not the usual caricature of a gumshoe.

Time to put some insurance in place.

He hated that he had gotten himself into this situation. Collateral damage did happen of course, but rarely, and usually it happened with the wet workers who were hardly subtle in their methodology. But Christian wasn't a wet worker. He was a facilitator. Well, most of the time. He did have two official kills on his record, but they had been unavoidable. Now he had strayed into a US collateral mess. On top of that the 'vic' was connected by less than three degrees of separation to two women he had been intimate with and a brother who happened to be the lead detective. Careless? Perhaps. Unlucky? Too damn right!

So now what? Mossad really frowned on killing law enforcement officers from friendly powers. And anyway he had taken a liking to Shay, not to mention he was pretty sure that he was falling in love with Kim.

'So, you mind playing with a novice?' Christian offered in the locker room, where Shay had found some gear to borrow. Shay smiled as they both changed quickly. 'Something tells me that the word novice doesn't apply in your case.'

'Let's give it a whirl and see how we get on,' Shay continued, gesturing toward the courts.

After raising a sweat by sprinting a few lengths of the court, they started to warm up the ball. Shay hit it a few times and as soon as it gained some life he hit it across to Christian's forehand -- the left side of the court.

Funny, he hadn't noticed he was a lefty before. Ambidextrous?

As the warm-up progressed, Shay tracked the ball mentally, physically and emotionally, with every fiber in his being. This was not only how he had been trained as a kid, this is who he was -- a survivor and a hunter -- who locked onto his primary focus and who had all of his survival mechanisms on full alert at all times.

Christian knew who he was dealing with. He not only liked Shay, he respected him. Christian, however, was a survivor of a different kind. Shay was a hunter of the plains. Out in the open, always on guard, he was not used to having to hide. Christian on the other hand was a hunter of the jungle. Nothing he did was as it seemed. He had learned to hide in plain sight, alert, but always surreptitious.

Christian was not tracking the ball. Staring at the front wall, when the ball appeared, he would volley it back aggressively.

Was this for real, Shay wondered? Would Christian really give up precious milliseconds between the ball leaving Shay's racquet and hitting the front wall?

The first game was pretty much one-way traffic as Shay single-mindedly targeted Christian's backhand back corner. With a very decent array of lobs and drives he penetrated consistently there, despite Christian's attempts to volley his way out of trouble.

The second game was a different matter. Christian started changing his volleys from tennis-style smashes to deft cross-court volley lobs, and suddenly it was Shay who was having his backhand tested.

Shay noticed that Christian wasn't wall-watching anymore, either. And his stance was more crouched, reminiscent of a hunting panther or something more dangerous than that -- a fugitive human on the attack.

In the end the match was poised, with Shay 2-1 and 10-9 up in the fourth.

The backhand-to-backhand competition was typical of intermediate players with dubious skills in the back corners, but Shay's superior court craft and experience had gained him an advantage.

Hadn't it?

The question remained -- how much of Christian's performance was exactly that -- a performance?

Shay played a final drop and the match was over.

They shook hands, and Shay said: 'As I said, the word novice doesn't apply.'

'Oh, you were just being nice to the newbie,' said Christian, 'but I'll get you next time!'

'Not if I get you first,' thought Shay.

They went to the locker room and Christian quickly stripped naked. 'See you in a minute,' he said as he headed for the showers.

'Sure,' said Shay, appearing to be taking a long time over his shoelaces.

As he heard the shower and Christian pull the curtain, he quietly examined Christian's athletic shorts. Sure enough: Double stitched. He gently opened Christian's gym bag and looked inside. Wallet, aviator watch, shoes, socks, keys stuffed in a side pocket.

The shower was still running so Shay decided to join Christian before he was missed. 'You and Kim got any plans later?' he said conversationally.

No answer. Shay raised his voice. 'Hey Christian, I said, have you got any plans later?'

Still no answer.

Shay got out and ripped back the curtain of the cubicle next to his. Empty.

He ran to the lockers. Christian's bag was still there. Wallet, clothes, watch, keys, everything. He threw on his sweats and ran to the front desk.

'Did you see the guy I was playing with?' Shay asked urgently. The blank face told him what he needed to know. He must still be in the club or the locker room.

Shay looked everywhere he could in the deserted club.

Nothing.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
No one paid attention to the filthy old bagman pushing a shopping cart full of plastic bags filled with god-knows-what out of the alley behind the squash club.

It wasn't until later that Shay discovered the vital information that Christian had remarked on during his previous visit, that the only other egress from the club was via the window at the back of the ladies’ locker room.

Shay had never been in there, so he didn't know.

Having seen Shay going through his bag, Christian had jumped into the alley and retrieved his 'Go' bag from the dumpster, unseen. He had put it there when he had gone to his car to 'grab his gear.' The shopping cart had been a happy coincidence.

He arranged for the remaining backpack evidence to be left in a package with an explanatory note at a suburban police station, marked 'Detective Shay Samuels.'  It wouldn't stop Shay, but it made Christian feel better. He'd call Kim later. That would be a tough conversation.

He called the extraction unit and told them he wanted out in 24 hours. That was the time he had to either turn Zahedi -- or ruin him.

'I wonder if Shay and Kim would come to Israel if I sent them tickets?' he mused. 'There's a great squash club in Tel Aviv.'

Nobody paid any attention to the old bagman as he shuffled into the Transbay Transit Center and unobtrusively worked his way to the left-luggage lockers. If anyone was surprised that a bagman had one of the lockers and was removing a brown paper parcel, they certainly couldn't be found later.

Similarly no one recalled the smart, balding, blue pin-stripe-suited Moroccan businessman carrying a passport proclaiming the name Zacharia Zar that walked out of the Transbay Transit Center 20 minutes later.



Chapter 11

Fifty Shades of Shay

by David Smith

Shay stormed back to the front desk.

“How the hell can someone leave here without being seen?” he unloaded on the teen-ager working the front desk. 

Kim came sprinting when she heard the shouting.  “Shay!  What’s going on?”

“Your boyfriend….where is he?   How can he just disappear without anyone seeing him leave?”

“Shay, you are not making sense.  Are you saying Christian left?   He would have had to go out the front door.  The only other exit is through the women’s locker room---and why the hell does it matter?!” 

Shay spun and charged toward the ladies’ locker room without another word.

Luckily, the locker room was empty---until Kim crashed through the door and demanded to know what was going on.  Shay had barely begun to explain his suspicions about Christian when Kim damn near tossed a clot.   “Are you out of your freakin’ mind!  Every damn time I get serious about someone you find a way to blow it up.   Get out!   Get out of the locker room right now!   Get out of my face, you complete ass!  God, I hate you when you are like this.  Stay away from my boyfriend and stay out of my life!”
________________________________

Christian stayed below the speed limit as he wound his way south from San Francisco to Palo Alto.   His actions in leaving the club were instinctive—the result of years of training.  But now his emotions were overwhelming that training. The sense of loss that he felt was almost overwhelming.  He couldn’t lose Kim.   No way.  He needed to complete his mission before the extraction—if he left at all.  There must be a way to salvage things with Kim.

As for Sadegh Zahedi, the Undersecretary, there was no time left to get to him.   Instead, he would go straight after the nuclear scientists Zahedi was co-opting.   Arya Sharifi was the key to undermining Zahedi’s efforts.  Sharifi’s parents had left Iran in 1979 as the Shah was retired by the revolution.    Arya was a brilliant child and enrolled in the nuclear engineering program at Michigan State at the age of 17. 

Though his parents were loyal to the Shah, Arya rebelled as a youth and was more closely aligned with the Mullahs who now ran the country.   Shortly after accepting a research position at Stanford’s National Linear Accelerator, he was recruited by VEVAK, the Iranian Intelligence Service, to spy for his mother country.  He had proven to be an invaluable asset for Iran within the mile-long building that ran among the western hills of Palo Alto.  He had funneled substantial information through Zahedi, his handler.   He wanted to return to Michigan State to work with the rare isotope accelerator currently under construction on the East Lansing campus.  Zahedi, however, wanted Arya and another colleague to return to Tehran and work directly on the Iranian nuclear program.

Mossad had been tracking Sadegh and Sharifi for the past year and amassed considerable evidence of their duplicity.   Over the previous months, Christian had befriended the younger scientist.   Realizing that he no longer had time to turn Sadegh, he was now focused on Sharifi.
________________________________

Kim stormed out of the ladies’ locker room and Shay raced out the back door into the alley.  He spent several minutes searching for someone who might have seen a naked man, to no avail.   

Retreating back into the women’s locker room, he startled a half-naked lady changing for her workout.   At the sight of Shay barging in through the back door, the woman screamed bloody murder…and kept screaming.  Shay ran from the locker room and ran headlong into two male members, club members that is, who grabbed Shay and roughly threw him to the ground.

“You’ve got this all wrong.  I’m a cop.  I’m Kim’s brother!  Get off me.”

“I don’t care who you say you are, you freakin’ pervert.   Tell it to the cops when they get here.”

Shay laid his head back on the floor, closed his eyes, and wondered if this day could get any worse.  Taking a deep breath, he tried to rationalize with the men who had him pinned to the floor.   Eventually they and the now towel-wrapped woman accepted that it was an unfortunate occurrence.  Since he agreed to leave immediately, they let Shay up off the ground.   Shay beat feet out the front door as quickly as he could.   In his embarrassment, he forgot Christian’s bag was still in the men’s locker room.     
________________________________

Kim pulled her car over and parked in an empty spot on the Embarcadero.   She was too upset to keep driving.  And she needed to figure out where to go.   She was not going back to Shay’s apartment.   The thought of her brother and what he had said brought the tears again.  She needed to find Christian.

Christian’s phone went unanswered, and Kim pleaded into voicemail for him to call her.    She needed him---the weight of Shay’s accusations, the impending test results, and her boyfriend’s strange exit from the club were just too much for her to handle.  As the emotion bubbled to the surface, she tried to shake it off.   She would stay positive and stay in control.    She cursed her brother, cursed the dreaded disease which threatened her life, and cursed into Christian’s voice mail when he didn’t answer his phone again. 

A few minutes later, when she felt she was more under control, she decided to return to the club. 
“Shay better be gone when I get back.”
_______________________________

As was his habit, Sharifi stopped at Starbucks after work.   Sitting outside in the warm winter sun, he sipped his latte and smiled as he read the new Sports Illustrated.  He was absorbed in the story of his Spartan’s epic victory over Stanford in the Rose Bowl, and never noticed the well-dressed man slip into the chair opposite him. 

“Congratulations on the game, Arya,” Christian/Zacharia said to the startled man.  “You must be having fun talking trash to your colleagues at Stanford.”

“Ah, Zacharia, it’s good to see you.   Yes, I have enjoyed having my Spartans stick it to these entitled rich kids.  24-20, fantastic game.”

The quiet young man eyed his friend curiously.  “What brings you to Palo Alto on such a beautiful day?  You’re certainly not here to talk about football.”   

“Finish your latte, Arya.  We need to find a more private place to talk.  I have some things to show you.”
________________________________

When Kim returned to the club, the chaos that Shay had stirred up was beginning to calm down.  Nonetheless, she got an earful from the girl in the towel and her favorite male members.  She searched the club to make sure that Christian really was not there, and found his bag in the men’s locker room.

“Why would he leave his wallet and keys here,” she muttered as her sense of dread continued to rise.   “Oh, Chris!  Please let me know you are alright.”

Kim tried Christian’s phone once more, and swore when it went into voicemail.   “Christian, Kim.   Look, I don’t know what happened, but I am really worried.   I have your gear, wallet, keys.  I’ll keep them with me.  Please let me know you are ok.  I love you---more than you know.  Let me help you!  Whatever you do, don’t go back to Shay’s!”


Chapter 12

Nuclear Waste?
by Thomas Oberdorfer

    Arya heard the buzzing again. “It’s very polite of you to put your phone on vibrate,” Arya said to Zacharia, “but it’s okay if you answer it. Sounds like someone really wants you.”

    Christian desperately wanted to answer it, but knew bringing Kim into this scene would compromise his effectiveness. “It’s probably just a business matter that can wait,” he said as he peaked to see who called.

    “Must be very important business since they’ve called that many times. I would be worried it was an emergency.”

    Christian, wanting to avoid any further distractions, said, “No, it’s not an emergency. If it were they have a special way of reaching me.”

    “Ah, should have guessed that. So what is it you wanted to share with me?”

    “It’s quite simple, actually. We have a problem. Apparently you have been helping out the Iranians with your nuclear knowledge. The problem is this: If you continue I will have to terminate you….”

    Christian/Zacharia was caught off guard by Arya’s calm response. “Wow. You plan on killing me if I don’t stop? I had thought we were friends….”

    “My assignment is to stop you and if that means terminating you then I will.”

    “You tell me this knowing full well that I will have to do something to prevent you from killing me.”

    “Yes, but you won’t be able to do that, and you could choose to stop helping them.”

    “You are very confident in your work.”

    “Yes, I am, which is good for me but not good for you. So, what do you think about not working for the Iranians?”

    “That would be difficult. Iran is my country.”

    “I realize that, but you are not going to do anyone any good dead, so why not think about living a little longer?”

    “You have a point. How much time do I have to consider your proposition?”

    “Tomorrow at the latest. I have some other things I need to deal with besides you.”

    “All right. I’ll think it over and get back to you.”

    “Don’t bother, I’ll get back to you — and I hope it wont be the last time we meet.” For some reason they shook hands and parted.


    By now Christian had 6 messages from Kim. He hesitated to listen to them but couldn’t resist. The first several were frantic, asking where he was, and Kim said she wanted to help him no matter what kind of trouble he faced. (Sure, he thought, but how is a cute little squash teacher going to help absolve a murder charge and then help terminate a bad guy?) He held his emotions under control… that is, until he heard the fifth message. “Christian, I don’t know what has happened!” she cried into the phone, “and I don’t really care. I have a limited time to live!” she gasped through her tears, “and I want to spend it with you. PLEASE call me!” The sixth message was different: “Dying is going to be hard enough, but with you gone it will be unbearable. I need you more than ever,” she said, sounding remarkably sober.

    What the fuck? thought Christian, what is she doing to me? Did she hear something from the doctor after I left? Shit. Not now. He tried to return to his professional demeanor to contain his emotions, but it wasn’t working.

Against his better judgment, he made the call.     Three rings later he thought he would just leave a message, but then she answered. “Christian…, are you alright? I’ve been scared to death. Where are you?”

    “I’m fine. I had to take care of some business. Forget about me, what in the world is going on with you?”

    There was a long pause as Kim tried to gather her breath to speak. “My cancer has come back and they say it doesn’t look good.”

    “What do you mean it doesn’t look good, you haven’t even finished all the tests.”

    “I don’t know,” she said, choking on her words. “They found something that told them they didn’t need to do all the tests to know things weren’t good. Where are you? I need to see you. I need you by my side.”

    “I have some business here tomorrow and then I will be there,” he said, gathering his professional demeanor.

    “Is it about Shay?” she asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

    “No, it’s something else. Look, I’m sorry I can’t leave right now, but tomorrow I will be there and we will figure this out.”

    “Figure what out? I am dying!! They told me there is little hope except for this one thing and it costs an outrageous amount of money.”

    “What’s the one thing? Tell me what it is!”

    “I don’t really remember, it was so outrageous. It had to do with nuclear medicine. Who cares? I am dying, don’t you get it?"

    “Who can I talk to about this?” he asked, agitatedly.

    “What are you talking about? You are not listening!”

    “Kim, now you listen to me. I need to know who I can talk to about your one shot at life. Just give me a name,” he said, returning to composure.

    “I knew I shouldn’t have fallen for you! I don’t know what is going on but you are being no help. The one thing you can do for me, you can’t do till tomorrow. Don’t even bother! I’ll go to Shay.” She hung up sobbing.


    Kim immediately gathered herself enough to call Shay. She needed someone she could trust.

    Shay didn’t waste a moment. “Where is your boyfriend?” he asked in a sarcastic, accusing tone. But when he heard nothing but tears, he quickly became the older brother. “Kim, what’s wrong? I’m sorry about the comment about Christian, but it’s my job.”

    “Fuck your job! I’m dying. Doesn’t anyone get it? I am fucking dying!”

    “No way. You just saw the doc and he said it would be awhile before there were any results.”

    “That’s old news.”

    “Oh my god. Where are you? Have you told Christian?”

    “I’m in my car. I just talked to him. He says that he can’t be here till tomorrow. He has some fucking business to take care of. What is it with men that they always have something else to do? I can’t take this, Shay.”

    “OK. I’ll come and pick you up.”

    “Thanks.”

    “I have to ask, did Christian say anything about why he ran from the club?”

    “No. He just said he would be here tomorrow and that he wanted to talk with someone who recommended this crazily expensive nuclear treatment for me.”

    “Huh… Okay, I’ll see you in a bit.”


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Arya, or Arya Not?
By The Squashist

He left his meeting with Arya Sharifi, traitor wannabe, with a grim look on his face. That look was for Arya’s benefit, but inside, he couldn’t help but grin.

Christian Townsend was a “riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma”—Ben Gold wrapped in Christian Townsend inside Zacharia Zar. Who was he really? At this point, even he didn’t know.

But he did know that the trap was set for Arya and any co-conspirators. Why give Arya a full day to think about his proposition of sparing his life in return for stopping work with the Iranians? Because he knew that there would be a frantic emergency meeting between Arya and anyone else involved in the deception to figure out what they should do. That meeting would be in person, because they would not trust digital means, and then Christian and his allies would have them all in one room. One nice little package, ready for either slicing and dicing or redirection. Christian, in the guise of Zacharia, was hoping for the latter.

With Mossad assistance, Arya was followed to an apartment on, ironically, Persia Avenue, right off Mission. The conversation inside the apartment was monitored and its intent was confirmed. With two agents standing guard out on the street, Christian, armed with a handheld battering ram, forced his way into the apartment to find Arya and his fellow Iranian-American, Ali Ghani, seated around a table.

“Zacharia!” Arya yelled, mouth agape. Ali, a big man, immediately turned to charge the Moroccan businessman, whom he had met before and thought was a friend. Ali shaped his body to pound a fist into Zacharia’s on-rushing face, but as he was about to deliver the blow a kick to his throat knocked the wind out of him and nearly flipped him on his face. Christian, dispensing with his Moroccan identity, whipped the handgun from the small of his back and tried stuffing it up Ali’s nose.

“Call me Christian, asshole,” he said, settling the gun hard onto Ali’s forehead as Ali squirmed on the floor. Christian stared meaningfully at Arya. “Have I ever mentioned krav maga? Don’t think about moving,” Christian glared.

Two handcuffs were applied to two uncomfortable Iranian-Americans, and all of a sudden it was time for a chat.

“Gentlemen,” Christian said, “my name is not Zacharia and I’m not from Morocco. My name is Christian, and let’s just say I represent a country that is very interested in the workings of Iran’s nuclear programs. Now we have a bunch of evidence” – here Christian took out a small packet of photos from his hip pocket – “of you both meeting with Sadegh Zahedi, the Iranian Undersecretary, and we have several wires where he praises the information you’ve handed over.” Christian poked the photos in each of their faces, enough for them to realize that indeed the evidence was there.

“We set this meeting up to see if there were any others in your group and, happily, there are not. So what we have to do is make a deal. Your choice is stark, but it can end in freedom.”

“I demand to know where you are from!” Ali bellowed, shifting his manacled wrists uncomfortably.

“Shut it!” Christian yelled. “Both of you came with your families after the revolution, and what did you get? You got freedom, a great education, understanding. And how have you repaid that? By being traitors to your adopted land. As such, you will rot away in prison for the rest of your lives. Unless…. I have an ultimatum to offer, and I think you will see it’s damn attractive.

“Here’s the deal. We let you go and you hook up with your handler the Undersecretary. Tell him you both have been talking and have decided you want to do what he has been suggesting for some time – go to Iran. Once there, you will be admitted into the nuclear complex, because that’s your value to them. You will each be given a simple thumb drive that we ask you to download onto the F drive of any computer in the complex. The download will take all of 15 seconds, no more. The downloaded material will do the rest on its own, and it will be devastating. Once your mission is accomplished, we will extract you and bring you back to the US, where a new identity will be waiting.

“So do you boys understand? I’m offering you a stark choice: life in prison or freedom, but only after you perform a 15-second job for us. One more thing: Double-cross us after leaving here, and you and your family are toast. Now, feel free to discuss this amongst yourselves.”

Christian wandered over to the window and waived down at Uri, watching from below. Both Mossad men had been wired in all the while, so they knew what was happening, but a nod from Christian confirmed it. Arya and Ali meanwhile were mumbling to one another, and Arya seemed to be half-crying, but their conversation was over in a minute.

“Take these handcuffs off and we have a deal,” Ali said.

The Mossad backup team came in and went over some further details with the Iranians. Christian, however, was ready to deal with a matter much closer to his heart.

He dialed Kim’s number and, after a few rings, Shay surprisingly answered. “Christian,” he said, “you have some explaining to do.”

Momentarily taken aback, Christian regrouped. He figured he would explain what happened and go from there. “Shay, have you received the package I left with my note, the one with the dead man’s papers and a few guns?”

“Yeah, I got it. It says you were only defending yourself, and that this guy Kyle was after you because he thought you were messing with Bethany. We are going to do a check on those guns, and if they can be traced back to Kyle then your story will have some meat to it. I can also say that I have confirmed with Bethany that Kyle was a violent and jealous drunk. So that part of your story is holding up. What I don’t get is why run, and why run even from Kim?”

“I can’t explain myself without further clearance. I know that makes no sense, but that’s the truth. But let me add one thing, and maybe you can draw your own conclusions: I was actually calling to tell Kim that I want to take her to Tel Aviv’s Center for Proton Therapy. They have something there called a superconducting synchrocyclotron, the best in the world, and early results on renal cell carcinoma have been stunning. Proton therapy, on a less advanced machine in the US, would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. Israel’s national health insurance coupled with my service to the state means that the therapy would be free and clear, if Kim will come.”

“Service to the state?” Shay asked.

“That’s all I’m saying,” Christian said. “Now, can I speak with Kim?”

Out at the dump site the attendant finally wandered over to see what had been dumped in the hole. Poking around a bit with his foot he found nothing, just an old backpack. Shit, he thought, nothing but a bunch of crap. Picking his nose absentmindedly, he realized the game will start soon. “I better get back,” he mumbled to no one but the wind and the waste.


Chapter 14

We Need To Talk
by Jeanne Woods
 
Kim finished the morning lessons, hoping her students hadn’t registered the full measure of her distractedness. She slipped into an open court and after about twenty minutes of aggressive slam therapy, her level of anxiety was somewhat reduced. That left time for a quick shower. She’d filled every moment of the morning to capacity, leaving the least possible room for her fears.
 
Now at just after 1 PM she tugged her favorite jeans over half-dried legs, tied on purple running shoes and shrugged into a chalk blue pullover, not much lighter than her eyes. Her hair, once medium brown before chemo, had come back lighter, wavy and, she realized, was just now long enough to dampen her collar when wet. “Oh, God, not again” she thought. She whispered to her image in the mirror, “You will not go there now.” and was out the door and down the steps.

Midday sunshine had burned through the fog and felt delicious after a morning in the nearly windowless club. Warmth settled onto her shoulders and damp hair. She’d decided against taking the bus in favor of a brisk walk through the “Aves.” Sitting still for even a 10 minute bus ride could allow the blacks and blues of fear to jimmy their way into her thoughts. Last month’s considerations of returning to teaching high school English were no match for the current variations on the themes of “Shit, I am really dying.” and “Who is this man, really?”
 
Christian had been serious and mysterious on the phone yesterday, conceding that his work--which subject he’d adroitly dodged in their prior conversations--was “national security-related”. He’d asked if she had a passport (yes) and promised to tell her all he can when they meet at the Arboretum in Golden Gate Park about twenty minutes from now.

As she entered the park along the eastern edge of the arboretum where 9th Avenue becomes Martin Luther King Drive she was aware of the warm smell of freshly cut spring grass. She began looking for Christian as she passed the sign for the Shakespear Garden. At the first clutching thought of “what if he doesn’t show up?” Christian materialized at her side as though they’d been walking together for blocks.

“Hi beautiful, let’s walk,” he said.  His arm fit around her shoulders with an easy precision. He bent to kiss her temple. Kim leaned into him as they steered down a path away from the road. They stopped and clung together with tender fierceness before settling onto a heavy redwood bench, worn smooth by years of use.

“There’s lot’s to tell you, so please hear me out all the way to the end,” he began. Kim nodded. He promised that, within the conditions of his employment, he’d answer her questions truthfully.

“I’m not who I’ve claimed to be. My name is Ben Gold. For fourteen years I’ve worked in a special capacity for the state of Israel…”  With few particulars and no mention of Mossad he thumb-nailed his history, from Nebraska to Israel to their park bench in  the dappled sunlight. He spoke with candor of his brief dalliance with Bethany and subsequent misadventure with Kyle. Of his nomadic and guarded life that had precluded any real human attachments and of how his falling for Kim had brought him face to face with the need to change his life if the two of them were to explore being together.

“But Kim, the most important thing now is to get you well. This will sound high handed, but I’ve arranged for us to fly to Tel Aviv tomorrow. The University of Israel’s Medical Center has your records. They want you there the day after tomorrow to evaluate you for the most advanced proton irradiation therapy available anywhere. Please, please agree to do this. I’ll see you through all of it. There’s an apartment nearby where we’ll be comfortable. I’ll start the process of closing out that part of my life. When we know you’re OK we’ll leave Christian behind in Tel Aviv.” He paused. “So, what do you say?”

“Yeah, that was a lot,” Kim half whispered, inhaled deeply then shook her head to clear her mind as she slowly exhaled. “What about your—your legal problems? That Kyle thing.   And Shay!   How could I…?”

“Let me jump in here” said Christian. “I spoke with Shay this morning. Seems a certain U. S. federal agency has arranged for the SFPD to abandon the homicide investigation and call it another earthquake fatality. They don’t want to jeopardize the operation I came here to set in motion. Shay and I still have a few things to work out, but he agrees this is your best shot at beating the cancer.”

“Jesus! What can I say?” Kim found herself almost giddy as a heavy chunk of tension loosened its grip. “I’m just going to have to trust this, so I guess the first thing to do is pack some warm weather clothes. When can I start to call you Ben?”

“Outside the bedroom, not until we’re out of Tel Aviv.”

 
Shay walked the two blocks from the station for his customary Friday lunch at Arturo’s, a not-very-glorified former drive-in, and took the only available outdoor table. Cheap back yard variety plastic chairs were oxidized and scuffed, the tables wobbled under squares of oilcloth, brightly patterned in tropical fruits and flowers. He opened The Chronicle onto the sticky surface, noting that the number and length of earthquake-related articles were waning.

“Hey, you’re the detective I didn’t meet the other day. Remember?” The pleasant voice belonged to the attractive woman in black jeans and off-white cotton knit top standing at his table.

“I remember, even without the lab coat. Med Ex office, Michelle, right? Care to join me?” Shay asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Thanks, I will. I was hoping to sit outside. You told me about this place and I came here the next day—kinda cruddy but good tacos al pastor. What else is good?”

Shay folded the newspaper and admitted a little sheepishly “I seem to be stuck in Burritoville. Maybe it’s time to branch out and explore new options. I mean…”

Michelle smiled and half winked. “Sounds good, but let’s start with trying a couple new menu items.” Their ensuing nervous chuckles signaled to Shay that the invitation he’d issued last week in the MED EX office had not been so unwelcomed after all. The flirtation lamp, it seemed, was now lighted.

“Ok, but let’s choose well, it’s my last day here. The M. E. is pretty well caught up now, so it’s back to Santa Rosa for me.

Shay cleared his throat: “Well in that case may I take you to dinner tonight.”

Michelle nodded, smiling: "OK, but let’s share the dinner tab and go somewhere swell. Lunch, however, is on you. You did invite me here after all, didn’t you? I mean to collect.” Shay laughed, “It’s a deal, madam.”

"So, Detective Samuels, how’s your investigation going on that strangled guy with the handcuffs?” Asked Michelle, leaning in for details.


Chapter 15

A Little Traveling Music
by Margot Comstock

"So, Detective Samuels, how’s your investigation going on that strangled guy with the handcuffs?”

Michelle smiled her curiosity as Shay’s left eyebrow rose. Something was up. “Well? Must be interesting!”

Shay swallowed, and decided he already trusted this woman.

“Well, turned out the guy had assaulted the suspect, intent on killing him. The decedent believed the suspect had been with his wife. But he picked the wrong person: the fellow he picked was an expert in martial arts. When the guy pulled out cuffs and cuffed himself to his prey, the suspect used his skill to move them both to the edge of the pier and into the water. The guy continued to fight, and his victim held him under water.”

“Good grief. So, what, it was self-defense? Really?”

“Yes. And I’m satisfied it was. We’d found the guy’s wife, his legal wife; they’d been separated for over a year. She described him as violent. His marriage to the woman in Arizona was bigamy; but that woman is pregnant with twins. No-win situation there.

“The suspect is important to the U.S., a diplomat of some sort. Washington recorded the death as an earthquake casualty.”

He looked apologetic, Michelle thought.

“What do you think, Shay?”

“I think that was a good decision.”

“Sounds like something Spenser would do.”

“What?”

She grinned, and Shay was further enamored.

“I enjoy mystery books,” Michelle said. “Spenser was a sexy P.I. who sometimes took judgement into his own hands.” Her eyes twinkled. “Quite fun. I always thought he made the right call.”

“I can’t wait for dinner,” Shay said.

…….

Arya Sharifi and Ali Ghani sat in their rooms, Arya brooding, Ali deep in thought. Eventually, Ali stood.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I like it here. I like being free. I like college, I like learning, I like my work.

“And you do too, Arya.”

“But…”

“It’s no crime to like a better way of living. Isn’t that the goal anyway?”

“But for Iran….” Arya said.

“Making nuclear weapons isn’t a better world, unless the country behind them is a better world. That’s hard to think. I’m thinking it, this USA, is a better world than Iran.”

“It’s not perfect.” Arya said.

“What is? But it’s trying to be. It’s been a better world for me. And for you. Face it, Arya, we will be really free--to study, to learn, to build an even better world.

“I think we’re lucky. I think we’re going to come to believe we owe Zacharia—”

“Christian!” Arya interrupted. “He said to call him Christian.”

“—Christian, by whatever name, for what he’s done.”

“But what about loyalty? To our country?”

“This is our country, Arya. This America. I will contact the Undersecretary tomorrow. And we will begin packing for the trip overseas. I will contact Za--Christian to arrange for those belongings we want in our new life.”

“New life,” Arya said. “A brand new life.” He drew a long breath. “All right. I see.”

…….

Bethany was at the squash club when Jen Chu, the counselor Shay had recommended for details about dealing with Kyle’s death, called.

“Bethany, we’ve received the life insurance benefit from Kyle’s death—”

“I had no idea,” Bethany said. “I don’t want anything of his, not even money.”

“Well, you’re the beneficiary. If you really don’t want to take it, you need to decide what’s to be done with it.”

Bethany was annoyed. Then she thought of silly Krystal, soon to have twin babies. It wasn’t their fault their father was a creep.

“Can I transfer the benefit to someone else?”

“Yes, you can.”

“Kyle was living with a woman in Arizona; she thought they were married. Heck, maybe he thought so too, just like him to not realize that bigamy crosses state lines.

“You have the name of that woman, don’t you? Or the M.E. does. Her first name’s Krystal. I want to make her the beneficiary. And can I be left out of it--so she thinks it’s from the state, or that Kyle arranged it for her…. And make it a limited trust fund so that the babies are assured of being all right.”

“I expect there’s a way for all that. Let me look into it. You do know that’s extremely generous of you, don’t you?”

“Maybe. But it feels like freedom to me.”

…….

While Shay was enjoying lunch with a woman he wanted to know better, Kim had piled her bed with clothes to pack for the trip to Israel in the morning. Ben watched with amusement.

“There are fine stores in Tel Aviv,” he commented. “They carry lots of stuff, dresses, jeans, toothpaste….”

Kim laughed.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “But I want some things; I might not get to shop before, well, before seeing the doctor.”

“So you’re right too. Kim, we’re both on the verge of huge changes in our lives. I’m so glad we’re doing all this together.”

“Me too. Not that I like all we’re having to do, but together is definitely good. It hasn’t been very long. And yet I’m so certain.”

“As am I.” He interrupted her packing again. The hugs felt so good.

…….

A few weeks later, Krystal was moping, depressed and scared, when the phone rang. She had no idea how to provide for two babies or even herself.

She answered the phone without hope; probably dunners, more problems.

“Ms. Vega?”

“Who’s calling?” she said, ready to hang up.

“I’m Cora Martin, with the Tucson South Citizens Bank. I’m sorry about your loss. We’ve received the insurance benefits from your common-law husband’s death. Can you visit the bank today or tomorrow? I’d like to go over the terms with you personally.”

Krystal, still suspicious, was intrigued.

“Is this a scam? I didn’t think he had insurance.”

“No scam, ma’am. Kyle Vega, who died in the earthquake last month, had purchased a life insurance policy for $500,000—”

“Oh my god!” Krystal gasped. “My twins!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I’m pregnant, Kyle and I were to have twins in a couple of months. I had no idea how I was going to provide for them. Is this real? Is this really happening?”

“Yes. But you need to know two things right away. The insurance benefit is in the form of a trust fund controlled by the bank. You’ll receive $3,000 monthly; the remainder will grow through investment. Still, it’s your money. You can petition the trustee for additional funds for specific needs--special needs for your children and the like. This ensures that you and your children will be covered for many years.”

“I can’t believe he did this!” she muttered. “Oh, poor Kyle!”

“There are papers to sign. May we make an appointment now?”

Krystal agreed to meet in the bank the next day. Then Krystal took to her bed and cried for the good man she hadn’t quite believed Kyle was.

Back at the bank, Cora Martin called Bethany: the deed was done. Bethany was free.






(This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, or to any other works of fiction, is entirely coincidental.)