by Tim White
“That explains how someone who never ran on the national collegiate or amateur circuit came out of nowhere to win gold,” the source said. “And it probably explains why he was so good.”
My mind flashed back to Hawaii; I had guessed back then that Ulee might be taking a growth hormone when in the Marines because his muscles were extremely developed even though he was so young. I knew that there was no science to determine with certainty that use of a steroid as a teenager could have lasting impact. But there it was—our nightmare coming true while we were awake. It was the Jim Thorpe Story repeated.
The front yard was full of paparazzi again.
Ulee was called to testify in the inquiry with the Athletic Games Committee about his performance-enhancing drugs. He honestly said that he did not know what he was being injected with, and in Vietnam he did not really care. He had asked if it was a drug, and they had told him that it was medicine to help him recover from injury. A pulled muscle could mean death on a mission in the jungle. Others testified that these were anabolic steroids and human growth hormone that were used by East Germans in the Games and that had been brought to the Marines through sources that were impossible to trace. Most of the men did not know what they were taking—they just knew that it allowed them to come back from injury quicker and to break through the plateau that every weight-lifter or runner would come up against in their workouts.
The Committee came to a conclusion quickly. Even though Ulee had been young when possibly taking steroids it could have had a lifetime impact on him being the world-record breaking athlete that he had become. Therefore, like Jim Thorpe before him, he was forced into the emasculating position of having to return his gold medal.
Chapter Fourteen
The Vengeance of Telemachus
EVERYONE AROUND THE fire at the Sundown cabin seemed saddened by the injustice Ulee faced. He was their hero, too, and was now seen as a victim. I hoped that they would see that strength overcomes setbacks. I would now tell them about how good character prevails over misfortune.
While Ulee had become a hero to so many he felt an emptiness. Celebrity was a roller coaster ride and it wasn’t worth debasing your life pursuing the admiration of others. Ulee began to focus once more almost entirely on his church and trying to bring together all kinds of people into one respectful kind family. It was a huge endeavor. We had a lot of missionary projects. I was determined that I would go back to the city dump of Tegucigalpa to turn that Dante’s Inferno into a better place. Ulee raised the money for us to build a medical center, housing, a church, and a school there. I found a Honduran family that had started a project there that was working miracles and we decided to bring our full strength as a church to bear on this endeavor.
Nhung moved to Honduras to help with this project. She was now so beautiful and noble. It worried me sick to see our kids grow up. After the 2001 attack on the World Trade Center, Telemachus, Plato, and Aristotle all joined the Marines. Our beautiful kids were growing up.
One day I went for a walk with Ulee along the Wallowa River. I told him that I loved him and thanked him for his heroism in my life. But Nhung had told me that MS-13 was demanding a war tax or protection money for the Honduran school and medical clinic to continue. I told him that I needed to go and confront this problem. Ulee said, I am trained for this. Let me organize a team. I laughed and said, you are getting old; he laughed and gave me the same compliment. I explained that someday I had to confront my own demons and see if I could do something lasting to help my countrymen. I did something I almost never do. I quoted his own sermon back to him.
“Everyone has a Goliath that they need to step out in faith and face trusting God to do what only he can do; this is my Goliath.”
“Ulee, you have been my hero and tried to be everyone’s hero. But there comes a time when the best thing a hero can do is realize that he or she has woken the hero that hides in even the most common human beings.” There was silence. I said, “I need you to be the one who stays this time while I go off on my crusade.”
Then an amazing transformation in Ulee’s life took place and he promised me that he would not interfere and that he would be the one waiting at home and praying.
Honestly, I worried about Ulee. Former professional football players often die in their late fifties from all the pounding and concussive syndrome. Ulee certainly had his share of war wounds and even though he always surprised everyone someday he would have more brash machismo than he could deliver on. He had fought his wars–I was actually in better shape than he now. He had trouble walking, let alone running.
My adopted daughter, Nhung, looked like a supermodel, but she had the soul of Mother Theresa. Of course, Ulee made sure she knew the old ways and could survive in the mountains, but she refused to go hunting and didn’t like fishing—she was a vegan. Still, she enjoyed the hiking and mountain climbing trips that she would take with her Nez Perce cousins.
Nhung excelled at kickboxing, and it seemed to come natural to her. After she graduated from Seattle Pacific University, she went on to Princeton Seminary on scholarship. She took classes in Arabic to learn about Islam. She prayed for peace, and she studied the Quran so that she could be a Christ follower and dialogue with those who seemed so far from her Christian roots.
My mother Elicia had moved to Honduras to live with the pastor’s family who lived in the community bordering the dump. We felt the best thing we could do was back this Godly family with all our strength as they developed this holistic ministry to the people of the dump.
In Honduras we built something as a congregation that churches should strive to accomplish. Under the courage and skill of Elicia, we were able to build a school that had 180 children from the dump attending as students. It was a nursery and pre-school through high school. They had a computer lab that any school in Seattle would be proud of. We established a medical clinic and a locker room so they could shower and practice hygiene. We built hundreds of homes for families in the dump. And we fed all the dump people, a hot meal once a day. I could see myself in the little fresh-faced kids being dropped off at this Dante’s Inferno. I can’t tell you enough about the great local Pastor Juan Carlos and his wife Carmen who God had raised up to courageously pioneer this ministry. They were really the genius behind the whole project, and we trusted him and his family. Christians from all over the world began to help. Together as supporters of this great pastor, we provided for any graduate of the high school with a college scholarship. Twice a year, we sent mission teams down to work with the people. They would build homes or do some project in a neighborhood. Quite a few young couples from our church moved down to live around the dump to give their community a degree of safety.
At this moment, Honduras was the most dangerous nation in the world that was not at war. Gangs ran Honduras. The US had a treaty with them for years, since the Cold War, and would deport prisoners to Honduras. The gangs had made a Supreme Court justice disappear, and a powerful politician who was the head of the presidential task force to fight gangs had disappeared. The gangs charged a war tax (protection money) on almost everyone.
I went to the downtown cathedral in Tegus and spread the word that I wanted to speak to the head of MS-13. By the time I had returned to Juan and Carmen Carlos School I found that my daughter Nhung had been kidnapped. I returned downtown where I had once walked as a slave in front of the international hotel. I walked up to the prostitutes and asked them where I could find the head of MS-13. I told them that I too had once been enslaved as they had and Jesus had set me free. The pimp came out and I told him with confidence as my mother Elicia held my hand that I demanded to speak to the head of MS-13. The pimp smiled and said, “Okay senoritas, come with me.” We both rode in his pickup truck as he traveled out of the city toward the cloud rain forest to wealthy compound surrounding a mansion. We walked up the stairs to see my nemesis, an old, evil-looking Hernando Cortez.
There, holding Nhung, was the same old man that had killed my family, took th
e life of my little brother, and tortured me as a little innocent girl. His name was Hernando Cortez, and I will never forget his tattoos; they are the material of my nightmares.
I walked up to this very evil man and prayed under my breath just before I slapped him. I counted coup on this enemy just as a Nez Perce warrior would do to demonstrate his complete lack of fear for his enemy. The large old man just laughed.
“What was that and who are you? I will have you all tortured and killed or I will turn you out on the streets again.” He looked over at the younger stronger right hand man that pretty much ran the gang now. He was covered with tattoos over his face as his leader Cortez was also. Mama Elicia took my hand and said, “We are under the protection of almighty God so I would be careful if I were you.”
Cortez laughed, “You were under his protection when I abused you before. Who are you anyway?”
I spoke quietly as Ulee had to Raul that day when we were kids. My name is Penelope Morales Santos Sundown. You killed my parents, you sold my little brother Homer into slavery and you robbed me of my childhood. I am the terror every criminal should tremble about—a victim who is no longer afraid of you—I am a warrior ready to avenge all the children you have hurt.”
Cortez began to laugh as he totally lost control to his crazy laughter.
Nhung took the cue; she stomped on his foot, head butted him, and kicked him in the groin with a powerful forward thrust kick. Just then shots were fired coming through the window as a sniper prevented any of the gangsters from helping. The evil gang leader turned and dove out the window and landed in the pool. Several of his young thugs ran to protect him. He ran for the jungle, and I was in full pursuit, diving into the pool right after him. Catching up to me was my son Telemachus.
“You really didn’t think Dad was going to let you try this without backup. He called and had me flown back from the Middle East, and I have been following you the whole time.” Telemachus looked strong and handsome. He was the best of his dad and myself.
Telemachus asked, “What are you going to do, Mom, to an armed gang lord?”
Telemachus was fast like his father and determined and had learned well the tracking skills from his Nez Perce heritage. The old gangster godfather had a shootout with my boy. Three of the four thugs were wounded by Telemachus’ Marine shooting skills. After Telemachus was out of shells, he still pursued heroically. I picked up a rock, determined that these evil men would not hurt my son.
I threw a rock and hit Cortez in the head. He pointed his gun at me and walked up to me, punching me in the gut and grabbing my hair, holding me hostage once again.
Cortez said, “You were always too pretty to kill.” I felt all the pain of my childhood as the man slapped me and told me how sexual I was. My son ambushed them, jumping down from a tree. Cortez had to let me go during the fight. I kicked him with a strong roundhouse kick slamming his head and punched my fist into his Adam’s apple.
I heard a shot from Cortez’s last bodyguard, and I disappeared into the jungle to find my son wounded. I took his belt off and tied off a tourniquet. It was getting dark, so we used our Nez Perce knowledge to prepare a well-hidden shelter just as the buzz of the bugs signaled the rise in humidity and it began to rain a torrential downpour. I found the right herbs and made him a compress and then found plants for a medicinal tea to work as an antibiotic. The rain was so thick our tiny fire could not be seen or smelled very far at all. As Telemachus slept after I took his bullet out, I sanitized the wound, stitched him up with one of my hairs, and I began to look for Neolithic tools—the kind the Kennewick man would have used. Ulee’s father, Caleb, and his brothers had taught me the art of making weapons. I could not create a recurve bow in the time the short time I had. And I had no time or tools for the bow string. My mind went back in time to the time Ulee showed me how to make an atalei like the Kennewick man may have used. An atalei was a spear thrower and would increase the speed and distance of light Clovis pointed spears. It was once the revolutionary weapon that allowed humanity to prevail.
I found some soft rock and used Telemachus’ k bar knife to make the spears and chip the Clovis spear points. I slipped out of camp and hunted Cortez and his right hand man. They were both armed, so I decided to wait until morning when Telemachus could help. But now I knew the lay of the land. I looked forward to the coming battle tomorrow; I wanted my enemy to know that my husband wasn’t the only savage he needed to fear. When I returned to Telemachus, he woke up to hear the roar of a jaguar. I wasn’t the only one feeling predatory instinct. He asked me where I was going. I said, “I am going hunting.”
“Mom—you are no longer a little defenseless girl; you are a Nez Perce—you know how to be a warrior.”
I felt Ulee speaking to my heart when Telemachus called me a warrior. I looked over to Telemachus to see he was in no shape to fight anymore. There was no one else coming to chase this terrible criminal—only I and everything the difficulties of my life had taught me. And I was still fast. I had run all my life. One big gangster who smoked dope, snorted cocaine, and lived an epicurean life was going to be easy prey, even if he was armed. I stopped by a jungle bog and pushed my hand in the mud, then carefully making three stripes of war paint down each side of my face. I was his worst nightmare—a former victim who had strength that he never imagined.
I followed their trail as a Nez Perce. I was not going to let these men continue to impose their evil ways on little children any longer. I could hear war drums, but they were in my mind. I eliminated my scent with certain plants from the jungle. I saw how Cortez followed a jungle trail and noticed that a large jaguar was trailing him ahead of me. He moved, not knowing he was leaving a scent in the breeze for the jaguar and for me. I circled around to ambush them. I enjoyed seeing the terror in their panting bodies. They knew they were being hunted by the jaguar and by me. I camouflaged myself—it was evening and they could not see me. I could hear from the bugs, birds, and monkeys where they were. They stopped, and I listened to him talk to his lone bodyguard. I enjoyed sensing their fear. They wondered, “Is it an American Special Forces soldier?”
When his fear reached its peak, I let my first spear fly. It hit Cortez in the leg, right where I was aiming. I am not a killer—I am a doctor, and I had vowed to do no harm, but I was not going to let them get away to continue harm. The Neolithic spear’s damage was a horrible sight. I didn’t enjoy the bloody mess, but I enjoyed the fear in Cortez’ eyes. I stepped into the open. He pointed his semi-automatic pistol at me.
He laughed, “You fool. You don’t even have a gun.” I had gone shooting many times with my Ulee, so I knew at forty yards in this light this was not an easy shot. I didn’t have to be quick—I just had to be quicker than Cortez expected. His young second in command was gone; perhaps he had gone for help. Cortez’ hand was shaking. I was calm with the confidence of justified vengeance.
He said, “Who are you?”
“You don’t remember me, Cortez?”
“I know I kidnapped you and forced you into sexual slavery, but that includes so many children that I can’t remember one from the other.”
“You abused my brother, you killed my family, you tried to turn me into a prostitute, but I was too strong for you. I am Dr. Penelope Morales Santos Sundown, and your evil did not ruin my life. Now it is going to end. No more children sold into slavery.”
He laughed with the force of evil. “You don’t know this world as I do, good intentions never win—you idealists are weak—evil is so much stronger.”
I just said, “Not today. Women have always been courageous. They are always fearless when protecting their children.”
“Now I remember you and your little brother. Wasn’t his name Homer?” He started to laugh hard. He shot, but I saw it coming in his eyes before he pulled the trigger and ducked to the left behind a bush. The sweat in his eyes made it seem as though I disappeared in the dark—he shot into the jungle, emptying his gun, swearing and laughing in his evil laugh, which I r
emembered from a lifetime of nightmares. Then he was shooting with no bullets. He searched for more ammunition, fumbling to fill up his magazine. I smiled. A Neolithic spear is much more painful than a modern bullet. He was struggling in pain. He begged me to kill him.
I said, “That is not my way. I am a doctor and I am going to take you back to civilization to face justice”
He laughed again. “The gangs own Honduras; there will be no justice for me.”
Our verbal battle was interrupted by the roar of an approaching, 250-pound jaguar, smelling the blood and the fear of Cortez. Before anything else could be said, the apex predator found its dinner. There was no more laughter, only swearing and screaming. I turned my head—not something a doctor wanted to see. I guess Honduras has its own vengeance. Evil had its day, but justice would eventually find its way—the souls of so many children demanded it.
As I returned, moving away from the Jaguar, I ran into his henchman, who also was covered with evil tattoos all over his face. He had his gun pointed at Telemachus.
The young man sneered with evil and said, “I am going to kill your boy in front of you and then kill you. After hearing the roar of the Jaguar and the scream of Cortez, the young man said, “Cortez will be avenged, and MS-13 will go on under my leadership.”
I said, “No!”
“Why not?” laughed the evil tattoo-covered gangster.”
Because that is your nephew, Homer Morales, and I am your sister, Penelope.”
The gangster looked shocked. Telemachus made a Marine move and took the gun from him.
The table was now turned. Homer cried, “I thought you were dead.”
I ran to hug him. “I thought you were dead also.” We both sobbed.