Sequoia Trail-A Bo Jon Littlehorse P.I. Novel. Second Edition
Page 5
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Bo arrived at the Bureau-office and put-in an inquiry as to David Garr’s residential-address. The records department was to find-information of his whereabouts. His brother, went with him to search-data retrieval. The results showed, all of David Garr’s history; David Garr, was born in New Brunswick, Connecticut in‘51, he grew up in Colorado his mother and father were fairly wealthy. His father was a WWII veteran with decoration for bravery, he became an estate-salesman after 21 years of service; both he and his wife, died in a house-fire in ‘86 while David was in graduate-college. ...He volunteered for Naval-Services, in his early-college skills… He was sent to the Macon, that information was classified. He returned home to receive high-honors, he was a member of the Naval Guard were he did so well, he was commissioned-by the government to work as a ‘specialized-duty-officer’, under U.S.F.S. That’s where he was supposed to be, presently. No further evidence… It had detailed David’s residence, his occupational-supervisor, and all his legal-records… ...Bo Jon had gained alternative, and inquisitive-thoughts. He asked his brother questions about him. ...His brother, was involved, in a seemingly, prominent military life... He explained-earlier that his name, was Chris Garr. He’d called ahead but could not reach-him...
Driving from L.A. He’d hoped to meet him. A federal-officer, working under the rural-system. Bo then asked, him some-questions about his-concerns. Bo was very gentle and concerted, about his brother’s history… After leaving the bureau-office, up-town; Bo asked follow-up questions. And his brother learned he lived in a large-apartment in a suburban neighborhood. They drove to his Villa which was well-cared for. David was always, at-work. He was a well-competent and excelling-at what ever he did, a graduate of Harvard. A graduate of Princeton and by his last-year he was asked to become a program-steward with the U.S.F.S. He’d grown-up with him. He and his-brother were the only children of his parents’ who’d taken them on treks skiing. Their Dad settled along Lake Erie. David was a gentleman, yet he’d seen scrabbles and scrapes. ...Always a Navy National Guardsmen readied for war under-any circumstances, he never-denied that what he-did was his-duty; but he, even though a military-man had suspicious, inhibitions about the aspects of life and the use of deadly-force.
Air-copters swerved, dipped and dived-in throng-formations, searching the hills and valleys, making mid-air scans for a possible potential-assailant. Then moving-in a cross-sectional, through-out the region. Washington-ranges where cool-weather forests, deep-with vegetation and mosses and bogs, water-drainages and steep-valleys. The air was cool, misty whirling-choppers blew grass and weeds up, then moved-on. The deep twenty to fifty year-old bogs were deep and rich, a figure walked knee-high as in the distance, wisps-filled the air, Air-Patrol was on a surveillance recovery-mission… The man named David Garr was covered-with soot, as black as a blend-in, as Marine special-forces trooper. Looking into his face, you would see a warrior who was out-maneuvering, and evading the enemy. ‘This is air-copter-1 responding, any sighting, air copter-4?’ ‘Negative, Air-1. 'What about the eastern-ridge, any torn brush, Air-3…?’ ‘That’s a no, Air-1...’ ‘...Review the lower-range West and East, then make your way-up the valley...meet you back at Station-HQ.’ ‘Rodger, Air-1’... ...A static fizzled; frontal full-metal-jackets, ground-bombing, then screaming, as the sounds faded: he could hear the last rush-out...a battle was expecting, full retreat, or pursuit. And the expected silence, the deep-quiet after which was the body-count... The Navy Patrol on the water-ways carried them to the main established-fort, down-stream, as the gun-boats did-faster than ship-destroyers. He could smell the smoke, in what had become a survival-‘intellect’. But most of all, as important-being, ‘alive’.