Jordan and Maria had now heard about the attack on Lester McFarlin and admired the way he defended himself.
“I googled some information about Lester. While he was working for the Sheriff’s Office in Hot Springs, Arkansas, he was awarded a fourth-degree black belt in karate. I understand he still trains in San Francisco. He shoots pistols and shotguns in competition and is an expert with automatic weapons. He also boxes in his spare time for exercise. He completed the Little Rock Marathon five years in a row,” Maria said, as she skimmed through the information on his attacker. “This Muslim clown never stood a chance—even had Lester been barehanded. He is like a superhero and now is completing law school. I want to marry this guy,” Maria said.
“He has a pretty wife. And now I’m jealous. I have competition out there,” Jordan said, lowering his head in a mock pout. “He probably likes country music since he’s from Arkansas.”
Maria laughed. “Honey, you got me as long as you want me. I wouldn’t be alive without you.” She kissed him and quickly pulled away realizing they were in the office, even though it was so early it was still dark out, and only a couple of people were there. “I could get used to country music, I think,” she laughed.
They had spent an enjoyable night together, and being eight hours ahead of North American Central Time Zone, they were back at the office working in front of a giant murder board with almost 100 ship pictures on the wall. Using specs they had collected from several sources, they first tried to see what they had in common.
It appeared there wasn’t anything similar. Almost all of them had different itineraries, different cargo, different cruise amenities, and different sizes. They decided to look for ships that were not infiltrated with Muslim jihadists and compare those to the infected ones to see if there was a difference. Nothing made any sense, and they began to believe that finding something in common wasn’t even necessary. At a given time, they would just blow up 104 ships. It would be horrific, brutal, and would undoubtedly usurp the 9/11 tragedy. Both were hoping that today they would get the supercomputer results. They had their eyes on a certain radical cleric in Sydney, Australia, as did the authorities there. They decided to go to breakfast and tackle it on a full stomach later.
*****
Lester was anxious to be seated at dinner, so he could find out what Holton and Lance had discovered from the Bluffdale. As he and Debi were seated next to the two men, Lester noticed they were looking at him with unusual expressions. Lance spoke first.
“Please don’t kill us with your butter knife because we didn’t call you last night.”
“We didn’t hear from Bluffdale until 5:30 this morning,” Holton said. “We went back to bed, and you had already left—to go on your killing-spree—when we woke up. What in the hell happened out there?”
Lester explained, “I got a warning from DC that someone was probably after me. I was prepared to be attacked and took care of the situation. That’s done, so tell me what happened when all the information was fed into Godzilla.”
“Godzilla found the source rather easily. It timed the calls from all the ships to a common destination in Sydney, Australia. Some goofball radical cleric named Nazeem Dastyari, has been on their radar for some time. Can’t do anything to him that would bring down a hundred ships, so we’re marching in place until somebody says go,” Holton said, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow.
“Can you guys add all the ships that have terrorists on board into the computer with their itineraries to see if we have something in common or something that might tell us when the optimum time would be to blow them all up? Boys, we’ve got to get on this,” Lester said. He knew they didn’t have much time.
“Lester, they were adding that information today, so I expect they will be calling you soon with an answer. You realize that if we find that out, we still would have to find the explosives and defuse them before they triggered the event. We are truly sitting on a powder keg,” Lance said, wiggling his bottom on his chair causing an eruption of laughter from the entire group.
*****
Monte and Simone decided this night to eat at one of the fancy restaurants that had a cover charge. Monte insisted on paying for both since it was a date. He also felt that tonight would be the time Simone would ask him to spend the night in her room. Both were starving for steak since it rarely shows up on the regular menus.
Monte had worn his best dress uniform, and Simone looked beautiful in her black dress with thin straps. When she walked, her breasts fought against the thin material and threatened to jump completely out of her dress. Monte was mesmerized by how beautiful she was on this night. How could he have gotten so lucky as to be starting a relationship with a walking, talking goddess? He found himself staring at her at times but worked to avoid it.
“Should I get a filet or a ribeye, Monte?”
“Let’s see. The filet is a full eight ounces and the ribeye is twelve ounces. The filet will be tenderer and have zero waste. The ribeye will have more flavor because of the heavy marbling of fat. You choose—flavor or tenderness.”
“What are you getting?” Simone asked.
“The sixteen-ounce porterhouse—king of steaks, but rather large,” Monte said, holding his hands apart like he was demonstrating the size of a fish he caught.
“I want to taste steak—it’s going to be ribeye for me. Had them quite often in South Africa. Big cattle ranchers there.”
“Think you’ll go back there to live someday?” Monte asked, wondering if he would he go to live there if things progressed.
“Probably. My parents are there and a sister and brother. A bunch of other relatives. I’m not sure all of them will stay there. Parts of South Africa are dangerous. Johannesburg has riots, murders, rapes, and robberies it seems every day,” Simone said with a faraway look in her eyes.
Both ordered the main course and a chocolate brownie with ice cream for dessert. Monte had the staff dig around for a South African wine and they came up with a Graham Beck pinot noir. Simone was thrilled and read to Monte the back label which described the conservation efforts done by that particular winery for native species of animals.
“The winery is in the small town of Robertson, not too far from where we lived in Cape Town. Mostly farming and wineries. Lovely area. Thanks for getting that for me. You’re very sweet.”
“Hey, I’m drinking it too,” Monte said, “but you’re welcome.”
“I was able to get a second bottle sent to my room. I don’t have a roommate either, and I believe it’s my turn to be a host,” Monte said nervously and smiling a little too much.
“Ha! All this wine and more in your room. Monte, dear, are you trying to get me drunk, so I’ll be a little easier to get in bed with you?” Simone said with a smile.
“It’s been a while for both of us, I’m guessing.”
“Way too long,” Simone said and reached over and squeezed his hand.
“Did you hear about the knife fight that that Arkansas sheriff got into today?” Monte asked.
“Yes, I heard some Middle Eastern man attacked him in Nicaragua with a machete. Somebody said that this Lester guy had brought along a big kitchen knife, cut the guy’s hands off at the wrist, then drove the big knife into his heart in about two seconds flat.”
“We just met them last night. He and his wife seemed nice enough,” Monte said.
“I had met him a couple days back when he got a massage. He started asking me about expensive cell phones and if they were issued to workers. I had a feeling then he was trying to investigate something,” Simone said.
“My guess is he was asking about sat phones. Those would really stand out, and people can use them to call all over the world. If someone thought he was getting a little nosey, they may have sent a hit man after him. A lot of people googled his name. So did I. He is something else. Expert at hand-to-hand combat. Black belt, gun expert, knife fighter, and has a strange religion. He goes to a café in a small town in Arkansas and just listens to conversations. Somehow gets a lot out of it. He’s about to finish law school in San Francisco. The weird thing is that he couldn’t read or write until he had an operation about three years ago. Had to learn most everything over again. His mother was killed in a car wreck when he was five. She was classified as a genius and they think he is, too. Bunches of write-ups on him on the internet,” Monte said as he looked at his iPhone for the time. He had a watch but rarely wore it.
“Are we ready to go to your room?”
“Believe so.”
Monte led Simone to his room and was pleased to see that room service had delivered the South African wine, glasses, and a cheese tray and crackers. They sat on his balcony and consumed a great pinot noir. They both talked about their families and their hometowns and whether they would like to raise a family there.
After the wine was gone, Monte took her hand and led her to the bed. He slid the loose dress off her and hung it in his closet. Then he stood eye to eye and kissed her for a long time. She removed the rest of her clothes and so did Monte. He wasn’t a large man but had rippled muscles on his stomach and chiseled chest muscles. Simone ran her hands over his chest and felt how hard and toned he was. She let him explore her body which was also very defined, sculpted, and beautiful. They lay on the bed and started with basic positions that felt wonderful to both since they had done without sex for a long time. The night was pure ecstasy.
Monte walked her to her room early the next morning. They would see each other for lunch and drinks the next night in her room. If there was a source of conflict or incompatibility, neither of them could sense it. They had found what they were looking for.