Act one : The Town of Split, all the kings men.

The Town of Split lay innocently on the Adriatic Sea, its red tile roofs reflecting the countless centuries that it has been safe harbor for sailors and travelers alike. It was also a lay over spot for one Russian named Roman, whose fleet of Yachts and boats traveled in and out of its port.

Roman sat in a large dark wood paneled office the glassy sea lay calm and blue out the window behind the large desk. Two hooded figures sat across from him, their faces hidden from view, the dark brown robes in discord with the white shorts and loose blue shirt that Roman himself worn.

" We have started phase one of our operation, and your first payment has been deposited in the account, there will be another fifty million deposited in your account upon delivery of the girl and the two tons of material that is out lined in our agreement. "

Roman nods, he shifts casually in his chair, then leans forward.

" And how will I contact you, I have no number or adress to alert you to if there are problems ?"

The Two dark figures look at each other, a almost red glint comes from under the darkness of their hoods.

"We will contact you, we will know when things are ready, we are always watching."

" Ok then, that is fine" Roman seems unphased, but pushes his point.

"So what happens if there are problems and I need to change things around"

The two figures stand, and prepare to leave.

"Mr. Roman, we didn't hire you to call us with problems, it is your job to solve them, do not disappoint us in this matter, the High Priest will not be as kind as we have been, complete the job, and all things will be fine."

The two figures walk to a small black helicopter that sits on the back deck, its rotors turning slowly in the breeze, it seems to almost hang from the boat. They enter into a small door at the center of the flat black, and low profile bird, it almost seems to small to hold much more. Silently the rotors turn and the little machine hovers for a minute then moves swiftly out to sea, in less than two minutes its shape is lost in the horizon.

Roman swears, then turns to a large gray toned man, his bald head and broad shoulders poking out from the white tank top he has on.

"Go find the girl, and set the bait for the others, I want to stir things up a little."

"Yes sir. " The bulking frame of over six feet four inches heads toward a small speed boat tied to the back of the Yacht.

Prolog

It was the ungodly time of 3:28 in the morning when the only people who enjoyed being up where peppy morning show news anchors and bar hopping lunatics who still believed they could down four more pints of liquid amber before they needed to turn in for the night.

The military men were not happy about the fact that they were still awake. It had been a grueling 36 hours of training and people were getting slow. Everyone was wet and cold and stressed. Two opposing groups were participating in the exercise, the soldiers from A and C companies of The Royal Gurkha Rifles (RGR) had staged themselves against two fireteams of irregulars. That is to say, about 450 men against 8. The two irregular teams had split up into 4 teams of two individuals to make the hunt more interesting. The two yank-brothers were together and a far bit ahead south of the pursuing RGR.

Rick was caring the 180 pound dummy that was their simulated “wounded comrade”. Utah was working point.

Rick pressed his two-way short range radio mike twice.

“Copy,” Utah whispered in answer.

“Buddy’s hemorrhaging again.” Rick whispered into the mike. The card deck of this game was stacked against the irregulars as their trauma manikins had tracking devices in them. Hemorrhaging was code that it was transmitting a signal.

Utah answered with two static clicks to his mike, and he hunkered down into a hollow. He searched the perimeter with his night scope to check for any close unfriendlies. A few seconds later, Rick slid in behind Utah and unceremoniously dumped the dummy and then dropped down beside it, totally out of breath.

“We need to stop playing by their rules big brother.” He said as he tried to catch his breath. “I really don’t want to run another 8 miles while the Colonel cheats and gets his giggles playing master of the Quorn fox hunt.”

“I agree,” Utah said as he leaned back against the muddy embankment and slams his fist into the trauma manikin to scramble the electronics again. “They stacked the deck in their favor, and you know they will boast that they are better than us. I say change the game.

Rick propped forwarded and slowed his breathing. “What do you have in mind?”

“You think the Colonel is out in the middle of this or home sleeping?”

Rick smiled, guessing what his brother was thinking. “Sleeping, you want to go after him?”

“Why not? His objected is to see how strong his security is and see if they can hunt us down. Our objective is to penetrate the base, rescue a prisoner,” he pointed his thumb back at the dummy. “And then evade getting caught. Let’s dump that damn dummy and go for something a little more animated. That should teach him how strong his security is at any rate.”

“So we booby-trap the dummy and then double back and get another one?”

“Take the Colonel while he has his pants down around his ankle.” Utah said as he pulled out two simulated IEDs.

Rick suppressed a laugh. “That will make us popular. What about the rest of the team?”

“Ah, let them run around and get some exercise. It will be good for the newbies.”
The two placed the first IED in an obvious location and then set a second hidden trap. Then they headed south. To avoid being seen by any thermal imaging as the “hunting” party passed them they went swimming across cold waters of Loch Migdale, humped the hill and dropped down onto the A949. There they were able to hitch a ride up to Carbisdale Castle Youth Hostel where they stashed their MILES gear (Multiple Integrated Laser Engagement System designed to detect laser pulses that determine if someone was 'hit' during training engagements), cleaned up and changed into some “borrowed” clothing. After the clean change they easily walked through the main gate of the RGR base. No one even asked to see their badges. Sure enough, the Colonel was home in bed. After cutting the phone line and setting the security alarm into a harmless feedback loop, the two walked unnoticed into the Coronel’s house, bagged the fat otter, and drove out in his own Mercedes with tinted window.

Interestingly, the Colonel took the whole this in stride and even enjoyed himself. He was writing notes like crazy and asked the brothers questions about what his RGR teams had done well and what obvious security issues they had found. The trip to Scotland had ended well with an added surprise bonus. Utah had stumbled on a classic Aston Martin DB5 Vantage Convertible and fallen head over heels for it. It was worse than when Utah fell in love for some dame. The car was all he would talk about. The owner didn’t know what he had and was trying to get rid of the old thing. He happy sold it for the insane prince of a 10 pound which was an absolute steal! Utah arranged to have it delivered to London and the money spending spree began to restore the rare car.

Dave, who had been mysteriously absent to go north for the training in Scotland, was back. He was at first especially itching to get his hands into the thick of things to fix up the Aston. Everyone was aware that Dave us up to some secretive activities and even though they pestered him about what it was, Dave wouldn’t talk about it. This really bothered Utah who in turned absolutely refused to let Dave touch his car. It was his baby and he was going to do it himself. Rick, like Utah was likewise annoyed with his little brother but let Dave help him on own car, the Maserati GT. Rick thought Utah’s outright rejection of any help from his youngest brothers was odd but he just thought Utah was being moody. However, a palpable tense was building between the brothers.

Dave ended up disappearing just two day before Barett returned from China with a story that they could hardly believe. Barett joined in the fun of vehicle modification by getting himself a huge covered trailer full of mechanical gear, a few BMW 1200cc Enduro, and a monster Mercedes Benz G55 AMG. Utah’s and Rick’s jaws just hit the ground. Barett hinted that he an outside sponsor to help him with setup expenses.
The three spend almost every waking minute fixing and fiddling with their cars; that and talking about women. One day Maria came by to visit them. She had dyed her hair black and was wearing a seductive one-piece dress of white with silver embroidering. After flirting with the three brothers and getting a grand tour of their work, she kissed Utah and Barett on the cheeks and then she and Rick went off to talk. She was leaving for a long mission and wanted to say goodbye.

After a few weeks the brothers were more or less done. Rick had his white Maserati. Utah’s Aston turned out to be a truly beautiful piece of seductive artwork, an absolute gem from its custom hand-stitched black suede leather dash, sleek forest green paint job, to its polished, and somewhat modified, V8 Volante Tadek Marek engine. Barett had heavily armored his Mercedes G55. He panted it black and added carbon fiber mirrors, vents in the fenders, and a larger front grill. He increased the engine performance to 750 hp, included new electronics, and re-engineered the transmission. The thing was beast of a power house.

Contact at King's Weigh House Chapel

A tall figure walked down the coble stone sidewalk of Gilbert Street, his jacket pulled tight against his frame with his head bowed against the misty rain. The sound of an approaching moped bike echoed between the red brick building walls. The figure continued at his current speed but turned his head to watch the small bike splash pass him on the street.

“What idiot rides a bike in this weather?” he mumbled to himself. He was sure this was the second time he had seen that exact bike which meant he was being followed.

The bike continued straight down the narrow street. The tall man turned sharply at the corner onto Weighthouse Street but his gaze was continually towards the bike making so that he wasn’t paying attention to the road ahead of him. Just as the bike moved out of sight, he walked headlong into a set of plastic orange construction walls that where placed inconveniently in the middle of the walk. With a crash, the orange walls gave way and fell with the man. Quickly jumping up from his blunder, the man breathed out a low curse of his own stupidity. There was nothing graceful he could do to recover nevertheless he tried to find his composure as he attempted to dust himself off from the gravel and water. He replaced the knocked over wall and began walking on, acting as if nothing had happened.

“Pissing, banana eating-surrender monkeys”, he said as he looked behind him again. He was referring to Britain’s SIS. He was sure that was who was following him. He walked another block and then stopped, leaned up against the red brick wall building and waited.

His name was Rick, Rick Coontail and he was a west-coast, American old-Yank product, walking the wet streets on London on a Sunday morning. His longish blond hair was ruffled up but it still had a quality of style that only good looking people seem to naturally exude. He was wearing a dark gray tweed jacket, brown collar shirt with a mustard orange necktie. And jeans.

A few people passed him, most minding their own business. One older looking gentleman in a bowler hat and a blue neck-tie looked up at him as he passed by. But Rick merely ignored him and continued wait as he looked up and down the street. He was sure his lead was solid but he was taking a terrible risk coming here.

Another ten minutes passed until the Rick moved again. He looked one more time up the street, then set of to his right at a fast pace. Just ahead of him threw the rainy mist loomed the church of King’s Weigh House Chapel with its dark red brick and terracotta dressed tower.

Two individuals were approaching on the side of the church. The first was a sensible woman holding a weather-grayed umbrella. The second was a man walking double time holding a magazine over his balding head. Rick studied them as they passed him but neither lifted their eyes to meet.

Reaching the intersection of Duke St and Weighthouse, Rick stopped again and looked behind him. It looked clear. He reasoned momentarily with himself, knowing that he had doubled back a number of times and zigged zagged his way through the underground tunnels. If someone had been good enough to tail him, maybe they deserved finding him.

He looked at his watch to note the time. It was now or never. He made his choice and walked up the steps and through the front doors of the church.

Inside was bright compared to the overcast morning outside. It was a pity the church was so well-lit. A gloomy Gothic twilight cathedral meeting would have been preferable but Rick had no control over where and when. He just needed to make the contact and get the information.

Rick walked forward to the font with holy water at the entrance. He reached down and dipped his fingers into the water and the made the sign of the cross. The mass was about to start. He scanned the congregation, trying to identify his man among the backs of heads. He spotted his target at the end of a row near the back sitting next to a family with three little girls. There was a massive wooden pillar behind the man that nearly hid him from the entrance.

“At least he had picked a decent place to sit.” Rick thought as the congregation was just starting to sing a hymn. Rick quietly moved forward and slid into an open seat next to his contact.

“Good place.” He whispered with a sarcastic undertone.

The man he sat down next to turned and looked up. He was middle-aged, looked ironically to be a mole and had the air about him that bespoke years of being a bachelor. A small man, neat in dress to the point of fussiness, the neck-tie knotted tightly, and every button done up on his blue jacket suit that shinned from years of cleaning and brushing.

“You’re Monique’s friend?” he asked in a heavy accent.

“Yes,” Rick looked around the church and noted the balcony. “We can still be observed from the galley.”

“I don’t think so; everyone will be looking toward the front.” The man said as he turned his attention forward.

“Hope your right. I appreciate you meeting with me.”

“Just get on with it.” The mole said, “I could get into a boat load of trouble if my boss at the embassy finds out I talked to you.”

“You need something from us?”

The little man turned to say something but he stopped as the hymn, “Rock of Ages” by the sound of it, came to an end and a hush fell upon the congregation. A priest in heavily embroidered robes got up and began the service. There was no mistaking that this was a service for Slovaks as everything was being said in Russian. Rick didn’t understand a word of it. The two sat in silence listening to the priest while the child sitting next to them fidgeted with her mother.

As soon as another hymn began, Rick whispered surreptitiously to the mole: “What’s the mood in St. Petersburg?”

“They favor the EOH,” said the man.

“So what is up with all the pirate and slave trading activity?”

“They don’t consider it piracy. It is just a matter of business to them. Hybrids aren’t always considered people to them. You have to remember that. The men are privateers; they all have letters of marque from the tsar.”

“I am looking for a missing agent. Pretty Devon silver-fox girl: Name is Huntington, Reagan Huntington.” Rick said as he slipped a photo to the man.

The man looked at the image for a brief second and then stuffed it under his leg as the hymn ended. He said no more as the service continued. Rick had to wait for another twenty minutes. After the congregational donation was finished and Rick had dropped in a £5 pound note, another hymn began.

"The man you are looking for is Roman Nikonov . . . Nasty man . . . Big Russian bear.” The mole said as he handed the photo back from under his leg. “I wouldn’t count my chickens on finding Ms. Huntington.”

“You have a place?” Rick asked as he pocketed the photo in his jacket.

“Croatian coast, maybe Split or Dubrovnik.”

“Thank you my friend.”

“I ain’t your friend.” He said. “But you helped out Monique and she is why I am doing this.” He said with finality. He got up and moved to the front of the church to partake of the holy sacrament with the rest of the congregation. When he returned to his seat, Rick was gone.

Rick's Car

While Rick is not looking for a racing super car, he is interested in getting something very fast with curves that would make anyone's sense of adventure melt at the sight of the car.

So he is looking at the Maserati Gran Turismo S. It is a great car, maybe a little under powered, but that is something he can fix.









One might say that the Coontail brothers were good mechanics. Well, one would be dead wrong. It would be like saying Versailles was a quaint valley cottage. The brothers were more than mechanics; they were nothing less than spot-on fantastic wrench-wielding-ninjas when it came to mucking around with a petrol eating beast of metal. Watching them work on a car wasn’t like watching a lion-tamer work with some gentle overgrown African cat, but that of a knight is silver bright armor taking out a dragons.

So good with a wrench? Yes. Impervious to mechanical troubles? Not so much so.

Rick was building a dream car but he was already into the project three times longer than his original estimate and more money than he cared to think about.

A few months ago, he had come across the antique rusting remains of an old world Maserati GranTurismo S. The car was astonishingly practical for a something that looked like pure porn. It was like discovering a nymphomaniac Page 3 girl that cooked, sewed her own fashion line of clothing, and enjoyed doing freelance accounts. The car had room for four men and a boot large enough for luggage, which was unheard of as all supercars were notorious for having stone hard seats with a ride that pulverize your spine into pudding and a boot smaller than a preschooler’s lunch boxes.

Rick saw potential in this car. He wanted to remake it into something that when other guy saw it, they would think of abandon wife and kids so they could get one. Well maybe not abandoning so much as selling wife and kids for it.

He wanted to put in a new 6.2-liter V8 monster engine to power the car but it wouldn’t fit and he came to his senses and settled for the smaller 4.6-liter V8. However, Rick ever the showman, beef it up with a dual system of screw supercharger/turbo charger combination package. The belt-driven supercharger compressor provided a mammoth kick of torque for the low rpms while the turbocharger jumped into the game to provide added performance at higher rpms. He accomplished this by setting the supercharger to declutch when it reach ideal speeds for the turbocharger which triggered an electronically controlled bypass valve to direct air to the turbocharger, delivering the high-end power without the generally associated "turbo-lag". It was so sexy it would make any self-respecting car enthusiast’s manly parts simply melt with awe.

The original chassis was a problem. It had rusted beyond repair. So Rick remade the whole thing out of aluminum, hoping to reduce the weight. He also spent a fortune getting the body fabricated out of carbon fiber. He overhauled the suspension, decided it wasn’t good enough, threw more money into the car and added a German made high-end electronic suspension system. He also thought it would be best to update the braking power of the now fire breathing monster. He equipped it with racecar quality carbon ceramic brakes to stop his now slightly less heavy, but still knee-weakening-sexy, big fat Italian opera star on 21 inch premium, ultra-performance SP Sport Maxx GT tires.

The results were not unlike any unruly child with a mind of its own. The car was the sexiest, most fabulous, most desirable car Rick had ever made and it was almost drivable; that is if you didn’t mind the psychotic handling and never applied pressure to the gas pedal.

Frustrated, Rick got together with some blokes with lots of pens in their top pockets to fiddle with the car. And the weeks of tweaking commenced.

In the end they modified vehicle's ESP system, transmission behavior, throttle response, and totally change out the differential to put in Ferrari’s most sophisticated differential controls, the E-Diff. Then they added a Manettino (Italian for little lever) control system that tied all the electronic components of the car and allowed for the quick and adjustments of the suspension settings, traction control, differential, and change speed of electronic gearbox. More tweaking happened and then they cracked it!

The Maserati GranTurismo S was pure art. Rick had it custom painted a pearl white. Black leather interior finished it off. It wasn’t dripping of wealthy vulgar like Dave’s Bugatti Veyron, nor was it as fast. But is exuded all the sexy thrill a supercar should.

The Hidden Kingdom - IV

She knew he was standing there behind the door and she knew he was looking at her. Many men had. Most were nothing more that lusty stares from little men. They weren’t worth the air they were breathing. At first she was annoyed with him. But that was only for an instant. She found she was pleased that he had stopped and was stealing a peek.

Her thoughts were running at a hundred miles per second. It was a river of words, emotions, and a bit of sorrow. What was she doing with a “Gwia luo”? All women ever want was to feel a sense of belonging and security. Barett was a lot like her. Yet he was so different at the same time. She was so strong in her ability that many thought she had reached a secure and safe place. But she wasn’t inside. No one saw this. She wouldn’t let them. But could she let the foreigner inside? He was so much like her; strong, independent, driven. What would happen if they became lovers? Would she satisfy him? Would he satisfy her? Was that all he was after, sex? If they joined would he be her man or would he turn and run after he got his fill of rutting?

Tsai Lee realized her hair was a total mess and she wished she could have fixed it. But her cargo pants, tennis shoes and simple black shirt were an outfit that was different to flirt with. She wondered what he had picked up for her to dress in. How were his tastes in fashion?

All of these thoughts passed through her mind in an instant. It was a complex look at her inner being. Tsai Lee, like all women, passes through different moods and phases each day. At times she was in love, and then she was in pain. Confusion and feeling of powerless would haunt her mind only to be replaced by strength and control. Hormones played a frustrating role in her that she was constantly trying to master. It would be easy to be a man. Just like Barett, standing there at the door, simple and direct and knowing exactly what he wanted. He wanted her, she was sure of it.

Did she want him? As times she could scream yes! Other times no. She wanted to tease him, to play with him and with his mind. She was doing that now. A smile ticked her thoughts as she thought of the surprise she had for him.

Barett opened the door and slid onto the deck like the trained hunter he was. It was humorous to watch him. The danger of the wolves was gone but she wasn’t going to tell him just yet. She knew what room they were staying in.

Tsai Lee bounced her head playfully in his direction and gave him a smile. Damn, he must think I’m a stupid flirtatious little girl, she thought but then remembered her messy hair and her smile melted away.

“Wong bat dan.”

Barett knew she was swearing at him but he didn’t know what it meant; something about being a king of eggs. “I got the stuff. You have any problems getting a room?”

Barett was trying to force his eyes to stay on her face. It wasn't his fault that she had such alluring features. The problem with getting just a mental arousal was your brain switched into overdrive and everything it did was to get more.

“No,” Tsai Lee looked at the bags he had bought. They were cheap.

As she looked Barett let his eager eyes run down to her feet, then up her legs to her chest and then over to her face again.

“Stop it! Focus man. You have a job to do.” He chanted over and over to convince his mind to let go of her figure.

She smiled again. “Let’s go.”

“What about the wolves?” Barett whispered back.

“Don’t worry,” she said as she began walking to the elevator. “I have someone watching them.”

This floored him. All thoughts of her beauty evaporated. How did she have someone already on them? He followed her into the elevator and the door shut.

Tsai Lee pushed the second to the top button, number 40. Barett wasn’t paying attention. The man was frustratingly single minded!

“What do you mean you have someone watching them? How did you do that?” His eyes were alive with focus.

The elevator began to move.

“I have people who work here.”

“What? Don’t you know these guys are professionals? And they’re jumpy! They could just as easily rip your lacey’s head off as well as they could piss on a wall.”

Tsai Lee glared at him. “You don’t think my people can handle this?” She asked in a tone that was clear she was wondering if he were judging her.

“No, I mean yes. But I have a plan and it won’t work if my timing is off.” His said too loudly.

“And it won’t work unless you are doing the spying?” Right!” She asked accusatorially and turned her back on him.

The fire in the eyes of the phoenix tattoo stared angrily back at him from under her black tank-top. Her head was bowed slightly. Barett looked up from the angry ink image and saw the side of her face. Her eyes were closed and her cheek was smooth. He had expected anger but for the first time he had ever looked at her, he saw sorrow and vulnerability; almost like a little girl.

The elevator came to a stop.

The door opened as Barett turned and his jaw hit the floor. He realized what a jerk he had just been. The door opened into an opulent room that just went on and on into other rooms that must have covered the entire floor. Windows circled the rooms and gave a magnificently overview of the harbor. She had gotten the Presidential Suite! How had she done that? It must have cost a small fortune. Hell, for all he knew, she owned the place! And he may have just blown his chances to have a romantic day she was planning for him.

Tsai Lee turned and walked into the room, leaving Barett to stand in wonder.

The Story Continues

Quick Review –




Hong Kong city-state is thickly crowded with inhabitants. The city is old and dilapidated, a city that looks to be weighed down heavy from centuries of over population. The skyline is still jam-packed with giant buildings but most of these are aged rusting steel and dull-glassed skyscrapers; old but still teaming with life, like a cockroach heaven. Life is eeking out of every nook and cranny and leaving the city in an eternal balancing act between holding its inhabitants in check to busting its seams to collapse utterly into the gray harbor seas.
It is an ancient city; ancient in customs; ancient in smell; ancient in people.
Ironically Hong Kong has never been truly independent. The island state is again under the colonial rule of the Europeans, in particular the British Island, book-ending the place to when it was in an incubated state raising for the first time under the old British Empire from a forgotten time. Hong Kong’s northern border of old China resembles nothing of the kingdom that once was. The southern part of the Chinese continent is torn and crumbling under civil turbulence and war. The main land is a very dangerous place to venture where only the strongest or foolhardy dare to tread.

In Hong Kong, the Triads are in the middle of a turf war for dominance with the passing of the late king-pin who had them all under his control. Our story started out with Tsai Lee and Barett Coontail taking out a rival Triad boss and coming into possession of a mysterious computer disk of an unknown source. The two were tracked and almost apprehended until the two rained down an extra measure of violent chaos upon the authorities.

That was three days ago.

Barett and Tsai Lee slipped cleanly out of the net cast to catch them and found a hideout in a secure apartment room on the second floor of a two story very red, traditional Chinese medicine establishment. The computer disk is a mystery to them other than the clue that it was housed in a box that held the symbol of the Albino, a powerful leader from the mainland by the name of Dong-Mei. They have contacted someone Tsai Lee thinks may be able to read the disk. The man is a nearly blind mole-rat that said he needed to get some equipment to be able to read the disk. He called in a friend to see if he could barrow a certain computer component. That is where things have stalled. Come to find out the needed equipment is hard to get. The mole-rat promised news if he can do it or not in two days.

Meanwhile the Barett and Tsai Lee had sent a cryptic message to the Albino of what they have come in possession of.

The Chinese medicine store is a front for the Black Dragon Triad, a group that Tsai Lee is close to being the leader of. The old man that runs the store is, according to Tsai Lee, a partial-looks orangutan. Truth of the matter though he just looks like an original orangutan wearing a straw hat who grunts and “ohs” a lot. Barett likes the old fellow well enough but hasn’t understood a single word that has escaped the monkey’s lips. He just calls him “gramps” and wonders if there is really some logic to the mad method of his mixing unidentifiable objects into powders.

A message has returned from a runner from the Albino informing them that she is willing to meet with them.

What would they like to do?

Trap, Counter-trap....Barett's strategy tested.

Barett worked his way slowly to a spot that looked down the upper trail, a fallen log giving him some cover to break up his profile. The sky was a flat gray, the kind that scrubbed the life from the desert landscape and stripped the joy from the vastness of the desert. But for Him, this was the best light to shoot in, no glare, no sun spots, a perfectly dull background. He checked his escape route, to the left and up wound a light game trail, to the right and down a thicket of brush and aspens. Behind him the trail made its way up to the crest of the ridge, then opened up to low sage brush and rocks and then crested down again beyond his view. Somewhere along that trail Hoss was making his way, at least that is what Barett was hoping for.

The forest breathed in slow and exhaled, breathed in slow and exhaled again, the rhythm of the leaves and the sway of the trees made him feel like he was laying on the chest of a sleeping giant. Struggling to stay sharp and awake, he moved his eyes from side to side and up and down, trying not to make noise, but use every trick he knew to keep his senses sharp. Barett sat on the cool earth, waiting and hoping, hoping that he choose the right spot, waiting until one way or another the conflict was brought to a head.

Through the motion of the trees and rustle of the leaves his sensitive hearing picked up on the steady pattern of footsteps moving stealthily down the trail. Placing the handgun on the edge of the log to steady the scope Barett waited for his kill shot. Hoping to end this quickly, and gain control of the situation, instead of just responding to it.