by Tom Haase
“I’m sorry to see you go. You know we still need men like you. I now have to find someone to fill the SOE billet that you have filled so admirably.”
“It’s time for someone else to fill it. Good-bye, sir.”
* * *
Gerti took Tasha on the company jet to New York. The two girls had bonded quickly and at a basic level, with both suffering from the loss of their respective fathers. During the lawyer’s presentation the next day, Gerti learned what her new empire consisted of. The sums were well beyond anything she had ever imagined.
She inquired of Tasha if she wanted her to accompany her to Russia to hear the reading of her father’s will and what she now would acquire. Five days later, they heard the Russian lawyer reveal the numbers and possessions that Tasha had inherited from her father. She revealed to Gerti that she couldn’t believe all that she would inherit.
That night, before going to sleep, Gerti realized that she now controlled a multibillion-dollar organization. In order for it to succeed, she would have to take hold of the reins and run it like her father had. She knew she could. She remained her father’s daughter and currently exhibited all of his traits. Perhaps she had inherited the characteristics she’d despised in her father until recently.
She realized that trying to turn into a stay-at-home mother behind a white fence that she and Scott dreamed of would not now be possible. The unreachable dream Matt Higgins had destroyed. She now needed to forge ahead in a different direction for herself and for her unborn child.
“Gerti, do you think you might want to work together? We could do some great business things by uniting on some aspects of our operation,” Tasha suggested over a glass of vodka.
“My thoughts exactly.” Gerti smiled and they clinked glasses.
In the recesses of her mind, the idea of vengeance emerged, the same way she had visualized it would in her father. With the assets she now commanded, and the reach of her new, combined organizations, she decided to take all the steps required.
With venom in her voice, she said aloud, “Matt Higgins, you are as good as dead.”
Epilogue
Lying on a beach near Buckroe Beach, Virginia, Matt rolled over to get some tan on his back. The morning sun emerged into a midday scorcher. He wanted to rub some cream on his back but knew he couldn’t reach all the spots. Next visit to the seashore, he’d buy some of that spray-on sunscreen that he could use to cover his back.
The real reason he probably couldn’t reach his back belonged to the throbbing hangover he experienced from the huge amount of vodka consumed the evening before. In addition, he did not consider the still-healing gunshot wound received from Dmitri. At night, his mind drifted to Bridget; then he would bring out the booze in his hotel room. This happened too often, and he knew it.
A gust of wind pushed sand into his mouth. He tried to spit it out, but some remained. He desired to get a drink, a hair-of-the-dog type drink that might mitigate the effects of the hangover and stop the throbbing.
Two weeks after he’d quit the FBI, his father had passed. The old man had left him over twenty million dollars in his hedge fund account. He couldn’t process that big a number, so he’d decided to return to the place of his birth and lay by the sea to see what he wanted to do. After a week, he hadn’t gotten very far and felt as lost as the day he’d arrived.
This afternoon, he planned to go and look at some places to buy. He wanted to decorate a place to be his own—not a house in the suburbs, but something that would be unique to him. He had no idea what that might be, but he would start to look for it soon.
Today, however, he would remain here, drink beer, and think about Bridget. That sounded like a good plan. He reminded himself that he had no Bridget, no future, no plans worth a damn, and no job.
While he cogitated on all his predicaments, he committed the error of not paying attention to his surroundings. Not like a former special operator in the military nor a trained FBI agent to commit such a breach. He failed to keep his situational awareness sharp and operating.
Without any warning, a lady stealthily came up and lay down near him. He hadn’t noticed her approach. The first thing he heard was the sound of a woman’s voice next to him. It startled him. He turned and saw a beautiful blond-headed woman of about his same age. She rose up on one arm with her palm under her head as she lay on her side.
“I’ve been looking for you, Mr. Matt Higgins. I hope I’ve allowed enough time for your grief, but now we need you.” Her voice sounded familiar.
“Who’s we?”
She rolled over and stood up. With a look over her shoulder, she said, “Come, follow me, and see.”
THE END
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Betrayed Angel (Excerpt)
Former soldier Chuck McGregor is done with combat and itching for something to do. He's got wealth on his side, but no direction to guide him. For now, he spends his days on the Georgia beach and his nights drinking too much. He has no job, no friends, no purpose.
Until one day on the beach he hears a young woman scream, fighting to get away from two men. When he goes to help, one of them pulls a gun. And, as the men drag the girl away, Chuck McGregor finds his new purpose: save this girl he's never met. No matter the cost.
1
Chuck McGregor heard the scream. He raised his head off the sun-drenched sand, lifted his Georgia Bulldog baseball cap up, adjusted his sunglasses, and then looked around. He could see no one as the sound faded away without recurring. He reclined back into the warm sand.
He then rolled over to get some tan on his back, still expecting he might hear the sound again, but no scream came. In the war-torn cities of his recent past experiences, he would have reacted differently to any scream, but here in the safety of the American homeland, not so much.
Without success, he attempted to cover all of his back with sunblock. On his next visit to the beach, he’d have to buy some of that spray sunscreen that he could use to reach those areas. A cool ocean breeze provided light relief from the intensity of the scorching noonday heat. A soothing warmth radiated from the sand on this section on the nearly deserted beach at Tybee Island, near Savannah, Georgia.
Then the scream came again. At least it sounded like a scream. But the wind and the roaring of the waves as they rolled in made him decide it must be some kids screaming as they played a game. It sounded far away, and again the sound didn’t repeat. Not hearing more, he scrunched his shoulders deeper into the warmth of the sand as his mind contemplated the immediate problems facing his life. He hoped the kids he had seen when he’d arrived had moved away or left the area and would stop screaming.
He returned his focus to the problem of his back but realized the primary reason he couldn’t reach that area was probably the uncoordinated effort he exerted due to the substantial amount of vodka consumed the evening before. Every night, his mind drifted to what a miserable life he now led, and then he would bring out the booze in his hotel room. This scenario happened too often, and he recognized it for what it was—an escape mechanism.
A sudden gust of wind pushed some sand into his mouth. He tried to spit it out, but some grit remained. He needed to get a drink, the hair-of-the-dog type drink. That might take the edge off and stop the beginnings of an incipient throbbing headache. For days he had sat in his room and consumed only Raisin Bran cereal, alcohol, and little else. A habit began to emerge where he stared at a blank TV in his room for hours, contemplating his situation but not producing any focus for his life. His life, he laughed, as the life he knew, had ended when he’d left the Army.
Ten days after he’d recently separated from the Army, his father had passed.
“Why did you go into the Army? You’ll never get rich there and you’ll be wasting your life.” His father used to say. The old man had never forgiven him for joining the service a
nd had done everything to get him to leave.
“Come and join me as my partner. We have a multimillion-dollar business. You can have a safe and secure life.” The old man had repeated this at every opportunity.
Now it was too late. His old man had left him over twenty million dollars in his inherited hedge fund account which was in his and his father’s name, thereby bypassing the probate that might have been required. He had access to it immediately, but couldn’t readily get his head around that big of a number.
His mind raced over his life. After college, Chuck had spent two years on the Savannah police force before deciding to join the Army after a painful divorce. He had loved the military, but he knew his sell-by date had arrived after all the tours to jihadist territories on special missions and the loss of friends there. He had lost his drive, and with reluctance, he knew it was time to get out. So, he’d decided to return to the place of his birth after his father’s funeral and lay by the sea to ponder what he might do. After a week, the process hadn’t gotten very far, and he felt just as lost and down on himself as the day he’d arrived in Georgia.
Today, he planned to go and look at some places to buy. He wanted to get a place to fix up to be his own, not a house in the suburbs, but something that would be unique to him. He entertained no ideas on what that might be, but he would start to look for it today.
Then again, maybe he would just stay here today and drink beer and think about things and what would he do with his life. That sounded like a better plan. He reminded himself that he had no one to love, no future, no plans worth a damn, and no job. On the other hand, he was rich.
While he cogitated on all his predicaments as he lay there, he committed the error of not paying attention to his surroundings. It was not like a former special operator for the Defense Intelligence Agency, the DIA, in the military to commit such a breach. He failed to keep his situational awareness sharp.
He vaguely heard the sound of a nearby muffled scream. Then the sound of sand being kicked reached his ears. He instinctively rotated his head toward the intrusive noise that now drew nearer. Probably those bothersome kids who had been playing on the beach had returned.
His sunglasses hid the direction his eyes looked. When he raised the bill of his cap, he observed two men who appeared to be pulling a woman along. They were closing to within ten feet of where he lay. He could see from the way she resisted that their actions militated against her free will. She let out another muffled scream that was stifled by the man’s hand over her mouth. In a sudden flash, he wondered if she had made the earlier screams before the men had grabbed her.
“Move, you bitch,” he heard one man say.
Squinting his eyes, he could see one man was white and one black. The woman, barely more than a girl, possessed the dark complexion of what he assumed to be some Hispanic lineage. Even through the sunglasses, he observed her beauty and calculated her age at late teens or early twenties at most.
“Let me go. You don’t own me,” came from the woman when the man removed his hand after she bit him.
“Yes, we do. You ran away. You’re our property. You need to understand that. We bought and paid for you.” The blond man put his hand back over her mouth.
They pulled her forward in a direction that took them directly beside Chuck. He could see that the two men possessed powerful physiques, evoking the image of bodyguards or barroom bouncers.
His sense of honor and his moral compass said he needed to act to help the young lady. He moved his hands, intending to raise himself up. He would see what this was about, but before he could move, the black one, seeing him making an effort to get up, pulled up his shirt, exposing a gun under his loose-fitting garment.
“Stay still, buddy. This is none of your business.”
Chuck’s earlier failure to keep his guard up now precluded him from acting. They were probably both armed, and he had no weapons. He knew better than to engage in a fistfight against a gun—a no-win situation for him. He relaxed back to his supine position and memorized the faces of the thugs. The image of the girl was already imprinted in his mind.
What did they mean by their comment that they had bought and paid for her? Was this some form of slavery? Perhaps she had run off after they’d paid her for sex—would that account for the “paid for” comment?
The three figures progressed rapidly up to the road behind the beach and disappeared while Chuck was still processing the scene he’d just witnessed. In his world, this type of treatment couldn’t be condoned.
As a person searching for something to do, perhaps he’d look into this. He would find out what had happened to this young lady. On a scale of one to ten, doing something beat the hell out of lying on the beach all day. His whole adult life had been one of action, not lounging around, feeling sorry for himself like he’d been doing lately. He needed to get a grip and get moving, become engaged again in this new non-military world.
He got up, collected his things, and left the beach, heading for his hotel in downtown Savannah in a rental car. While driving, he came to the conclusion that he needed to tell the cops about the events on the beach. He hated bullies like the two goons who’d dragged the young girl off the beach. His sense of right and wrong rose up and slapped him in the face. The girl, he was certain, hadn’t given her consent to the event.
He dialed 911 on his cell and told the operator what he’d witnessed.
When he reached downtown, he parked the car into a public parking garage, walked out onto Liberty Street and strolled toward his hotel.
On the side of the street at the corner of Liberty and Bull, he saw a cop car. It took him back to years ago when he had served on the Savannah police force. They were decent years, except for that one ass, his sergeant. The force had in fact prepared him in some ways for his military service. He waited for the signal to change and the white walk man signal to appear. He approached the cruiser.
He believed the girl on the beach had been in trouble, especially when he’d perceived her pleading eyes filled with tears. What did it mean that the men had claimed the girl belonged to them? Perhaps slavery? Or perhaps sex gone bad, and she had run off. One thing for sure, the girl had been terrified.
The police officer looked up as Chuck drew next to the cruiser.
Chuck saw an officer sitting in the car with his face in the shadow of a live oak tree. The tree’s branches possessed an abundance of hanging Spanish moss. The cop’s head rotated down to read something, but he looked up when he noticed Chuck’s approach.
The officer, whose face remained in the shadow, looked at Chuck for a few seconds.
“Chuck,” the cop eventually said.
Chuck was taken aback at hearing his name. How could the officer possibly know him?
“With the hat covering most of your face and the few days’ stubble, I didn’t recognize you. You look a lot older.” The cop turned more toward him and moved out of the shadows. Chuck could now see his face.
“Eddie?” Chuck spoke in amazement. At that moment, he recognized his old partner, Eddie Gordon.
“I thought you were in the Army,” Eddie said.
“Was till recently.”
“Why are you back here?”
“Had to go somewhere, so I came back to my roots,” Chuck said. “Did you get the info I called in on the girl taken on Tybee?”
“Heard it on the radio. What you saw is undoubtedly human traffickers at work on Tybee. We don’t have the manpower to do much about it, even though we try. It’s a crime hardly anyone reports, especially the girls.”
“I want to find out more about it,” Chuck said.
“Those guys play rough. If you get mixed up with them, you better be prepared for some bad shit.”
“They won’t know what hit them when a combat-trained soldier engages them,” Chuck said with a grin.
“Well, if you want to know more about that business, I know a place where you might start. A local bar named Bronco on Habersham. The bartender migh
t know something. I know him and he is pretty straight if he likes you.”
“Thanks, Eddie. Let’s get together and have a few.” Chuck looked around and saw another cop car approaching.
“Sounds good. Here’s my number.” He handed Chuck a business card with the police logo and his number.
“See you soon,” Chuck said and walked away, heading to his hotel.
Chuck thought that on his scale of one to ten, doing something moved the number up the ladder to at least a five in his rock bottom condition, while still unsuccessfully trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.
From deep within himself, his Army Airborne training told him it was time to get going. He set himself a new mission, just like in the Army. Find out about the damsel in distress and maybe ride to her rescue. He smiled to himself at that image. Perhaps a modern Don Quixote? No, he couldn’t see that happening, but he laughed for the first time in weeks. As he walked along, he thought that perhaps he had found a new path forward.
END OF EXCERPT
Don’t miss BETRAYED ANGEL, now available on Amazon in eBook and paperback!
About the Author
TOM HAASE is the author of the Donavan Adventure series and Chuck McGregor Coastal Adventure series.
Tom had a thrilling experience when he jumped out of an airplane for the first time as an Army paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division. During his distinguished 28 year military career, Tom lived in Korea, Nepal, Ireland, Greece, England, and Cyprus. He had the honor of commanding a firing battery in combat in Viet Nam and representing the Department of Defense as a United States diplomat and Defense Attaché in four embassies. After retiring from the U.S. Army as a Lieutenant Colonel, he flew as a commercial pilot for a regional airline, and was rated to fly the Boeing 737.