Copyright © 2000 HHT Irrevocable Trust. All rights reserved.

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Chapter 12

Darkness settled over the Marianas once again, and Bill snuggled into a corner of the bunker with one hand touching the Orphans. His heart was still with the hard, cool Orphans, even though the Infants were more valuable. He drifted into sleep making plans to spend his wealth—a new Jacuzzi, a new stereo setup that would rock the neighborhood—maybe a new neighborhood…like one of those gated estates outside the city. Sound sleep silenced his thoughts, and he lay in the same position for the next ten hours.

Loud laughter and the sounds of children playing jolted him into consciousness. Quickly, he rolled toward the slit opening to look toward the beach. He saw two young native boys and a large portly Chamorro man—possibly their father. One of the boys was explaining something—pointing first toward the ocean then at the marks in the sand made by Bill and Orphan-moving crew. He appeared to be explaining the “Cat”. Was it possible that the children had observed them unloading the Orphans?

Grabbing his ST, he quickly dialed ‘Big O’. “We might have a problem here. It looks like some kids saw us unload Jack’s plane. They are on the beach telling their father about it.”

“We’ll be right there. Stay out of sight unless they come toward the bunker; then you have to lead them away. Maybe you could sneak up the tree line and approach them from up the beach.”

“That sounds like a plan. I’ll keep them occupied ‘til you get here.”

“It will be a while…Doug, Capt. Scott, and Ken are leaving for the States this morning with pockets full of Infants to make arrangements for our film. Luis the chef is staying with us. I’ll have Doug take me to the boat and Luis the chef can drive them to the airport. I’ll be there in about an hour.”

“Okay, I’ll do my best to cool the situation.”

‘Big O’ explained the situation and asked Doug to drive him to Smiley Bay and the motorboat. He loaded some scuba gear and shook everyone’s hand, wishing them well. “Keep your ST with you at all times. We’ll have to keep in touch several times a day.”

On their way to the boat ‘Big O’ asked Doug to stop at Seven-Twelve Grocery Store. (The name was taken from Seven-Eleven Stores in the States.) He wanted to pick up a few six packs of beer.

Doug looked at him with a questioning expression, knowing that ‘Big O’ didn’t drink beer.

‘Big O’ laughed at Doug’s expression. “I only want some beer in case we have to befriend the natives.”

Doug laughed and turned into the Seven-Twelve, then drove to the boat. He watched ‘Big O’ leave shore at full throttle…skipping across the waves of the bay. With an anxious feeling, Doug returned to the hut and proceeded to organize their departure. “Double check everything…got your passport, watch, wallet, spectacles, testicles.” He joked. “Let’s go. Are your Infants securely attached to the inside of your pocket?” He then felt his own Infants—which he would do regularly throughout the trip—a bag in each front pocket. He had never traveled with two million dollars in his pockets before.

Doug allowed Luis the chef to drive the jeep to the airport—partly to check out his driving skills. They were good enough for island traffic. They pulled into the unloading area and the three men unloaded the jeep. Luis the chef drove away immediately, as he had been instructed. He returned to the hut without being noticed—he was to maintain a low profile.

The flight from Saipan to Guam was on schedule, the plane having arrived from Japan. Each of the men sat in different areas of the plane. They intended to hide any relationship they had with each other. Doug and Ken were especially nervous about having to spend time at the air terminal in Guam. It had only been a few days since their last encounter with the local police and being followed by the Yakz. To camouflage themselves to a slight degree, Doug had allowed his scruffy beard to grow and wore sunglasses and a baseball cap; Capt. Scott wore cutoff pants and a tank top with sunglasses. Ken was a well dressed businessman with his white flowing hair and small handlebar mustache.

The layover wait in Guam turned out to be one hour. Ken sat in full view of anyone—he had nothing to hide; so he spent the full time reading the Wallstreet Journal. Capt. Scott sat near a far wall with earphones on—listening to music. Doug spent forty-five minutes of that time in the men’s restroom. He felt secure sitting in a stall while calling Bill on his ST to find out what was happening.

Bill answered and Doug inserted an earplug; so he could listen confidentially.

Speaking in hushed tones, Doug asked, “What’s happening bro.?”

“Not much, ‘Big O’ is here with me but nobody has returned to the beach.”

“What’re your plans?”

“We are laying low with the boat on the beach and our scuba gear laid out like we’re planning a dive. If anyone comes by we are planning to visit with them and tell them we like this place to dive and come here often.”

“Do you think the children saw the plane?”

“It looked like they were pointing toward the are where the plane landed, but we don’t know for sure. It will be hard for us to try moving the Orphans to a new location if it comes to that; so someone has to stay with them around the clock.”

“You know those Chamorro kids…they’re like ants—into everything and show up everywhere.”

“I know. We’ll have to suffer this through until you guys get back.”

“Nothing is easy; is it? We are on our way to Hawaii in a few minutes and I don’t see any trouble…of course I’m hiding in the toilet right now.”

“Don’t tell me your troubles. I’m sleeping on the dirt in a cave.”

“Is it worth it?”

“We’ll do anything for a few billion dollars, won’t we? See ya later. I hear a motorboat coming now…it must be ‘Big O’.”

“Good luck, bro..”

Bill began sweeping the beach with palm branches to eliminate the trail of footprints leading to the bunker as ‘Big O’ coasted onto the shore.

“Anything new happening?” ‘Big O’ asked.

“Not since those kids took off running.”

“That could develop into a problem. I like your sweeping job.”

“Well, I wanted to wipe out our trail to the Orphans.”

“Good idea…I brought scuba gear to lay out on the beach to give the impression that this is what the kids saw.” ‘Big O’ looked over the beach and toward the bunker. “You’ve done about as much as possible. Here, help me with this gear. I also brought a cooler full of beer to pacify the natives.”

Together, they beached the boat and placed the scuba tanks and vests in a row on the sand near the tree line—about fifty yards from the bunker. Just as they completed their task, two Chamorro men suddenly appeared out of the jungle and walked toward them.

Both Chamorros wore only cutoff pants and sandals—no shirts. Their physics were robust and strong—not well defined but large. Walking toward them, a gray-haired man, in his mid forties, led the way. The stern expressions on their faces could have been disconcerting, but both Bill and ‘Big O’ knew it was only their nature.

“Hafa dai,” the lead Chamorro said, becoming the spokesman.

“Hafa dai,” ‘Big O’ responded. “How are you today?”

“Okay,” he answered. “You go diving?”

‘Big O’ walked to meet the man and stood slightly to his side in a friendly manner. “Yes, we’ve been diving here for a few days. Some of the coral is still living over here.”

Bill, carrying the cooler, joined them. “We were about to have a cool Budweiser. Would you join us?”

Both Chamorros looked at one another and their expressions changed instantly. “Too early, but sounds good to me,” the spokesman replied.

Bill plowed ahead without hesitation and pulled a couple beers fro the cooler. The caps popped with a refreshing sound, and new friends were made.

Both Bill and ‘Big O’ pretended to drink as they stimulated conversation. ‘Big O’ asked, “Are there any unique dives around here?”

“Have you seen the tunnel?” asked the Chamorro who had laid back.

“No, what is the tunnel?” Bill asked, sliding closer.

A long explanation ensued. “A long tunnel goes down in rocks about ninety feet, and the current shoots you out to the ocean. The Gods made it. Water goes from warm to cold and shards like cold. Don’t bother sharks though—they don’t like man. Go deep for octopus and Mai Mai.” The man continued adding mystery to the tunnel dive. It had much danger, but very interesting.

Bill watched their bottles empty and popped another and exchanged their empties. In the process of putting the empties in the cooler, he switched his full bottle for an empty and returned to the conversation. “We live in Saipan, but we’re planning to camp out here on the beach for a few days,” Bill explained in a casual manner.

The natives had done the same thing many times, sometimes in a drunken stupor, and saw nothing unusual with their plans. In fact, they might return soon for a couple more beers.

“Maybe we’re treating them too good,” Bill thought while he watched them for any indication of distrust. They gave no indication of their purpose for the unexpected visit.

In between swallows, the largest of the two Chamorros stated, “My boys saw big airplane out there,” as he pointed toward the bay.

‘Big O’ quickly answered, “We saw it—must have been an army plane. It landed then flew away.”

“I thought army too,” the man responded. “They land sometimes from Guam.”

Bill agreed, “I’m sure they were only practicing.”

Both Chamorros seemed satisfied with the explanation and simultaneously took a long gulp of beer.

Just then, two young boys came running up the beach—the same boys who were there before. They stopped a long distance away, and one of them shouted, “Daddy…Mama wants you to come home.”

One Chamorro arose and with a sheepish smile said, “I have to go now.”

All four men were on their feet as ‘Big O’ thought that he would like to know how close the Orphans were to their dwelling. He asked, Do you have drinking water at your house?”

“Only rain water, but we drink it okay.”

“Could I borrow some from you?”

“Oh, yes, no problem.”

“How far to your house?”

“Maybe one mile.”

‘Big O’ turned to Bill and said, “I’ll go get some water.” Then, as he turned his back to the men, he whispered to Bill that he wanted to check out how close people are to the Orphans.

Their flight to Honolulu was announced and they mingled into the crowd, cautiously watching for suspicious characters. At one time a police officer stood directly behind Capt. Scott, bringing beads of sweat to Scott’s forehead. Running his fingers lightly across the million-dollar bag of Infants in his pocket, he wanted to look at the officer but didn’t dare. This was not the time to have another confrontation with the local police.

The officer stepped slightly ahead of Capt. Scott then moved away without incident. Capt. Scott glanced at Doug and exhaled a sigh of relief.

Passengers began boarding the plane; Capt. Scott and Ken moved along with the crowd. Doug held back, looking for any suspicious character that would try to follow them. He evaluated each passenger’s potential association with the Yakz—anyone of Japanese nationality worried him, but most men on the plane were with families or girl friends—none seemed to be watching the passengers. Feeling safe, he boarded the plane.

Random seating arrangements brought interesting situations to each man. Doug sat next to two lovers…possibly on a honeymoon. Two energetic Japanese children crowded Capt. Scott, and it took him a while to make friends but eventually began entertaining them. Ken, as luck would have it sat next to the only single, executive-type, Japanese businessman on the plane. Ken shared his newspaper and leaned back feigning a nap—finding it difficult to avoid a conversation but felt it was the wise thing to do.

Doug wanted to recheck those on board but decided to remain low-key and disappear the best he could—pulling down the food tray in front of him, sliding his cap down over his face and drifting off into sleep. The trip would only take seven and a half hours, but they would loose one day. He awakened five hours later to find a lunch on the tray in front of him.

He repositioned his seat, ate his lunch and read two magazines from the seat pocket. After his second time through the magazines, the pilot announced they would be descending to ten thousand feet to prepare for landing at Honolulu—a welcome announcement.

‘Big O’ and the two Chamorros joined the boys, who frolicked ahead of them, running in an out of the lapping ocean waves. Their lifestyle was carefree and simple.

They walked along the beach for about a quarter mile then turned into the jungle, on a narrow trail. Distance is difficult to calculate while walking in the jungle, but after thirty minutes they arrived at a group of five houses—small houses, elevated on poles and made of plywood of various sizes and color with a tin roof.

“That’s mine,” one of the men said with pride, as he pointed to a ridiculous looking box of a house.

“Nice house,” ‘Big O’ said to be polite. “Is that your water reservoir?”

“Yes, my cistern,” he answered. “I’ll get you some water.” ‘Big O’ watched as he rinsed an old used plastic milk container and filled it with water. He knew that he would never use the water, but thanked the man with enthusiasm and turned to leave.

A dozen or more children came running from all directions. They were timid at first; but after one approached, they all worked their way to surround him. ‘Big O’ knelt on one knee to talk to them at their own level. “What’s your name?” he asked a little girl.

She wouldn’t answer at first, but after looking at the smiling faces of her playmates, she said, “A…A…Amy.”

“Amy! That’s a pretty name.” The girl beamed with pride.

“I’m Sam!” a boy shouted.

“Sam? Come here Sam,” ‘Big O’ said in a friendly manner.

Sam, a shirtless, shoeless boy of about eight years came slowly toward him.

“Give me five,” ‘Big O’ said, holding out a hand…palm up. The boy slapped his hand with glee and all his friends laughed spontaneously. ‘Big O’ stood and walked amongst the children giving and receiving high and low fives.

“Got to go now,” ‘Big O’ said and began to walk down the trail. “See ya all later.”

Most of the children responded, “See ya later.”

He came back at them, “See ya later, alligator,” which brought a barrage of laughter, and everyone shouting at one another, “See ya later, alligator.” ‘Big O’ could still hear them as he disappeared from sight.

He hurried along the trail, anxious to reach Bill. His concern for the safety of the Orphans increased as he thought of the distinct possibility of the children finding the bunker. He could visualize the group of children that he had just played with coming to the beach with only Bill guarding the Orphans. While Bill played with a few of them, others would investigate every nook and cranny of the area—including the bunker.

Upon reaching the beach, he saw Bill still waiting near the boat. ‘Big O’ began jogging, mainly for exercise, but partly to reach Bill more quickly.

With a degree of anxiety, Bill watched him run, feeling an urgency. “What’s wrong?” Bill asked as ‘Big O’ came within range.

‘Big O’ stopped and bent over with his both hands on his knees to catch his breath. “Nothing serious, but there’s a swarm of children in them thar’ hills.”

“Children?” Bill questioned with a look of bewilderment.

“The only problem is that controlling these kids is like holding sand in your fingers…some will always fall through; and if one kid gets into our bunker, we’re in a pack of trouble.”

Bill rubbed his head and thought for a couple minutes, “Maybe we should block the entrance.”

“I wish we had a shovel, but I guess we can use our hands,” Bill added as they walked toward the bunker.

“Let’s do it now and get it over with,” ‘Big O’ stated. “You’d better fill in that observation slit first…probably have to do some from inside.”

Bill made his way around the bunker and checked the slit. Gathering some mud from around the roots of a palm tree, he pressed it into the opening and packed it full. Next he pulled brush from nearby and created a barrier in front of the slit, hiding it from sight.

‘Big O’ began dragging dead bushes and branches and stomping them into the rear crawl space. Bill assisted him until the bunker completely disappeared from sight. “That should do it,” he said. “I don’t like the thoughts of digging it out through.”

“We’ll let Doug do it,” ‘Big O’ joked.

“He seems to get out of the dirty work…it’ll serve him right.

Their landing in Hawaii presented a totally different set of circumstances—crowds were more intense, and it was a twenty-minute run to their next terminal, and their flight left in thirty minutes. Dozens of people rushed after leaving the plane—most of the passengers were transferring to a continuing flight to California.

Doug watched Ken lagging behind and adjusted his pace accordingly, in case Ken needed help—also to observe boarding passengers. Ken passed Doug without a word and hurried to the boarding gate. Most of the rushing passengers were recognized from the previous flight, but Doug was surprised at the large number of Japanese men lined up at the boarding gate.

Stepping aside and sitting near the gate, Doug studied the men in the area while appearing to read a magazine.

Capt. Scott was near the front of the line, and Ken arrived it in time to blend into the center. Doug decided to board last—that way he could see if anyone rushed to get behind him. Remembering the fiasco in Guam when he and Capt. Scott were followed from the motel, he gave a great deal of credit to the Yakz, and suspected everyone.

Doug glanced casually at a group of three men standing near a window, just as one of them gestured toward Capt. Scott. Then all three looked in Doug’s direction and quickly turned away upon making eye contact with Doug.

“Those duck look suspicious to me,” Doug thought. “I’ll have to keep and eye on them.”

Passengers began boarding, and Doug waited until the last minute to rush through the gate. He turned the corner of the loading tunnel and stopped to listen. He heard sounds of people moving quickly; so he waited. Suddenly, the three suspicious men came around the corner—nearly colliding with Doug. Each man simultaneously looked away and tried to look casual. Their guilty body language made Doug cringe—he was being followed.

Doug allowed them time to be seated before entering the plane. There they were—three peas in a pod—sitting in the first row of coach seating. He brushed past them and found his seat at 6D, next to the aisle, near the emergency exit…out of habit, he always sat near an exit.

Fifteen minutes after the plane left the runway, Doug wrote instructions for Capt. Scott and Ken—There are three men in the first row following us. As soon as we land at LAX, Ken, you rent a speed rental from Avis and park at the curb near the exit door, be sure to get insurance on the car. Capt. Scott and I will come out at the same time and jump into the car.— He then walked toward the restroom and passed the notes to his associates.

After using the restroom, he returned to his seat, catching an affirmative nod from both men.

Lowering his seat slightly, he closed his eyes and began planning his move once they reached Los Angeles. “They’ll be on my turf then. No way they’ll keep track of us there.” Then he dozed.

The snack cart awakened him an hour later; so he ate a small lunch, and placed his earplugs to block out all sounds, and settled in for a long nap. The next several hours passed in total oblivion. A sudden jolt of tires hitting the runway brought Doug into a startled awareness. It took a split second to gather his senses. “What a life saver these little devils are,” he thought as he removed his earplugs. Next, he looked around the plane catching Ken’s eye as he shuffled to collect his belongings.

The plane taxied toward the terminal, and the sound of seat belts snapping created a welcome chorus. It was good to be home again, even for a short stay. As the plane came to a stop, Doug noticed the three men in the first seats were on their feet immediately led the coach passengers to the waiting room. That worked for Doug, because he wanted to keep them within view.

Following the crowd of passengers into the terminal and down the long hallways toward the baggage claim, Doug noticed that the three men had stepped aside allowing the people to move ahead, then joined the crowd about ten feet behind him, leaving little doubt that they were on his tail and most likely Yakz.

The baggage claim area was a beehive of activity. Once again the multicultural environment erupted, with mass confusion ignited by many different languages. Doug joined the scene and looked around for Ken and Capt. Scott—spotting Ken at the car rental desk and Capt. Scott waiting at the luggage carousel. He also saw the three men standing near the exit doors. They were without luggage, only their carry-on bags and seemed to be waiting for transportation.

Doug made his way to a carousel to await his bag—positioning himself so that he could watch the men. He noticed one of them made a gesture to the others and saw them leave—after making one more glance in his direction. He watched Ken leave through the same door and get into an automobile at the curb.

After several minutes, Doug motioned for Capt. Scott to follow him. Ken was at the curbside waiting in a car. Doug walked around the rear of the car and asked Ken to slide over—he wanted to drive because he noticed the three men waiting in a car behind them. Both cars pulled away together, and Doug adjusted the rearview mirror watching the car remain close to them.

Upon entering the freeway, Doug drove at top speed, 70 mph, traveling with the fast moving traffic. “Ah, the joy of civilization,” he thought, sarcastically. It did seem good in an uncomfortable way to be out of the third-world countries again. “Those poor people back in the jungles and poor countries can’t even imagine this scene,” he said to his companions, who nodded in agreement. “By the way, don’t look back right now, we are being tailed by the long arm of the Yakz.”

Restraining themselves from turning around, Ken and Capt. Scott looked at each other and had the same type of thoughts, “Is there no end…What can happen next?” All three men, as if telepathic, touched his pouch of diamonds at the same time.

Doug continued to direct the conversation. “Tighten your seat belts. I’m going to loose these goons at the next exit. It’ll be an exciting ride, so hang on.” Even he couldn’t imagine how exciting it would actually be.

He worked his way through the traffic to the outside lane and the Yakz vehicle stayed with him. Watching the signs for the Hermosa Beach turn off at Highway 91, he saw it one mile ahead. “Get ready, this turn goes in a complete circle, and I plan to put some space between us and our pursuers…here we go!” he shouted, and turned onto the exit at the last second. The car behind him swerved and skidded through a divider guide and fishtailed—picking up centrifugal speed, becoming airborne and charging directly toward Doug’s vehicle.

Doug pumped his brakes to avoid a rollover and looked into his rearview mirror just as the vehicles collided. The crash caused him to slam on his brakes, throwing his car slightly sideways; enough for the other car to hit him again near the front end and spin him crossways on the off-ramp. The sound of crunching metal caused both Capt. Scott and Ken to instinctively lock their hands behind their heads and assume a crash-landing position. Everything suddenly seemed to move in slow motion—sounds of scraping metal and flying gravel seemed ethereal and unreal.

Squealing the tires, Doug gained control of the car, spinning it to the right and impacting the other car with bone crushing force, throwing it halfway off the asphalt—two tires on the gravel. Both cars were now traveling forward at a speed of around thirty miles an hour in a tight curve. Doug held the steering wheel with an iron grip, locking the cars together with the intention of forcing the attackers over the embankment. To his surprise, a tall steel light post suddenly appeared off the side of the highway, directly ahead of the car at his right. The cars screeched, and gravel flew as Doug held fast and guided his opponent’s car directly into the post. With an explosive bang, the car and the post fused together. Doug’s car shot ahead with sudden, released speed, and he struggled to gain his composure. As he looked through his side mirror, the light post sparked, folded and crashed over the top of the car, locking them tightly together.

Breathing heavy gasping breaths, Doug managed to ask his exasperated passengers, “You guys okay?”

Neither spoke coherently at first—only moans and groans. “What happened?” Ken finally verbalized.

Capt. Scott dropped his hands, shook his head and looked around in disbelief. “I…I’m okay…I guess.”

Doug came to a stop at the end of the off-ramp circle and looked back at the crash scene. Several cars were backed up with blinking lights flashing. Suddenly the car and the light pole burst into flames—people ran for cover.

“Just another routine day,” Doug joked as he drove west on Highway 91. “Hasta Luego, Yakz. See what happens when you mess with the Goodwin Brothers,” he said sarcastically… “You did get insurance on this car, didn’t you,” He said, glancing at Ken.

“Thank goodness, yes, I never imagined this could happen, and where did you learn to drive?” Ken answered.

“That was nothing…wait ‘til you see me pull a 180 degree turnaround. That’ll make your hair stand on end.”

It was Capt. Scott’s turn to finally speak. “I see now that I have lived a humdrum life. You guys are a thrill a minute…Can we go home now?”

Doug continued driving within the speed limit to avoid suspicion. The Pacific Coast Highway turn-off appeared; so he turned south. “I think it would be best if we follow this highway all the way to Long Beach. We’ll leave you at your house and go on to my place in Newport Beach,” Doug said over his shoulder to Capt. Scott.”

“I’d be more than happy to have you stay with me if you want too; I have two bedrooms and a hide-a-bed,” Capt. Scott responded.

“You should be anxious to get rid of us,” Ken said, “We’ll get together tomorrow to make plans to buy you a new yacht and pay off your old one, plus meet with your brother-in-law.” Ken then added, “We’ll go on to Doug’s house to pick up his car and get this bucket of bolts back to the rental.”

“Whatever…We need some rest right now,” Capt. Scott responded.

Doug directed his mind back to the project at hand and asked, “Did you transfer money to John’s account?”

“Yes, I did it before we left the bank,” Ken answered.

Capt. Scott then said, “I’ll check my E-mail when we get home. He should be here tomorrow.”

“Ken, tomorrow you’ll have to turn the car in to Avis and file an accident report…say it was a road rage thing, where a frustrated driver banged the devil out of you and took off…say it was on the number five freeway near Anaheim on your way to Avis; that will take us out of the accident area. I’ll follow you in my car; then we can swing back to Scott’s and make plans.”

They discussed their immediate plans until they reached Long Beach and left Capt. Scott at his condo.

“Hide your Infants in a safe place,” Ken shouted back at Capt. Scott. “I’ll pick them up tomorrow and turn them into cash.” He then said to Doug, “I’ll let him keep his Infants tonight. It will give him a sense of security…poor guy has lost his friends at the bottom of the sea and a yacht that has ongoing monthly payments.”

Doug replied, “We’ll get him involved with John, putting together photograph equipment, while you collect the cash. I’ll work with them…you can deal with the bankers; then I’ll look at yachts with Capt. Scott as soon as possible.”

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” Ken said, then shifted his thinking to Hatchet Jack. I will check on him tomorrow when my mind has settled down.” “I must be getting to old for high level adventure.”

“It can be tiring,” Doug agreed. “I feel like we’ve been around the world in one day,” as he continued toward Newport Beach.

Leaving Pacific Coast Highway at Freeway 22 and entering 405, the traffic came at him in bunches, like packs of wild dogs. Doug felt as though he had reentered civilization after a lifetime in the jungle. Car lights came from behind in rapid succession surrounding his car on three sides, and then passing with a blast of fury followed by silence until the next pack came with their yellow eyes flashing rays into the night. He tried to speed ahead, but could never outrun them—it became a game—like trying to be accepted by unknown civilized people.

“Don’t we turn here?” Ken said, breaking the silence.

Doug jumped with a start—back into reality. “Excuse me,” he said. “I drifted away in my thoughts for a while…I’m back now.” He turned south on Brookhurst and drove toward the ocean, through Costa Mesa, past the hospital, turned left and straight to his unforgotten home.

The familiar smell and feel of home generated pure nostalgia in Doug’s soul. “I don’t want to leave again,” he said while flicking on the lights. “But -----.”

Ken completed his sentence, “but you will never be able to stay long.”

“That’s sadly true. This project has more twists than most…or maybe we’re getting older,” Doug said.

“I know I am, but you just need some good old R&R,” Ken stated in matter-of fact tones.

Doug tried to relax by getting a snack from the kitchen, but couldn’t release the thoughts of the last few hours. The long arm of the Yakz had nearly captured or destroyed him in his own stomping grounds…who could have imagined it? “I’d better contact ‘Big O’, he said, trying to calculate the time in Saipan—his mind failed to compute. “Help me out Ken. What time is it in Saipan right now?”

“Well, let’s see…it’s tomorrow minus seven hours—late afternoon.”

“Good,” Doug said while opening his ST and dialing ‘Big O’’'s number.

“Hello, is this Doug?” came Bill’s voice through the speaker.

“You’d better believe it,” Doug answered. “How’s everything with you guys?”

“Not to bad…we’re still alive and sleeping in the jungle next to the Orphans.”

“We just arrived at my house in Newport.”

“Did the trip go okay?”

“It did until the end. We had an ugly encounter with the Yakz.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, I’m not. We were tailed from Hawaii and they tried to run us off the road at Hermosa Beach.”

“What happened?”

“You know me. After they hit our car and tried to push us off the embankment, I attacked them and drove them into a light post. Their car burst into flames just as we took off.”

“Did they escape?”

“I doubt it, but we had to leave before getting involved with the police. I think they were trapped inside the burning vehicle.”

“‘Big O’ is sitting next to me listening to your wild story.”

‘Big O’ entered the conversation, “Hi Doug. How do you know it was Yakz?”

“Watched these three Japanese men checking us out at the Hawaii airport and saw how they stayed behind to follow us; then at the LA Airport, they were met by a car that stayed behind us and followed us down the freeway until they rammed us on an off-ramp.”

“It certainly sounds like them. I’m wondering if you are safe now.”

“I’m quite sure that we are okay. Nobody could have followed us to my home.”

“We have to consider the possibility that they back-traced your flight to Saipan. If that is the case, they will be looking for us here.”

Doug looked at Ken with concern and shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “I have to agree with you…be careful over there, and we’ll hurry as quickly as possible to get back.” He had already forgotten his vow to stay home. “We will make contact with John tomorrow and get him started on the photography equipment, and Ken will get our money…He thinks he can do it in one day…I’m wondering about Hatchet Jack.”

“I have a surprise for you there. Jack is waiting in Hawaii right now, waiting for the word to come on to LA.”

“That’s good news. I was worried that we’d have to wait for him. Can you tell him to come and email me with his flight information?”

“Okay, shall I have him come tomorrow?”

“You might as well. We’ll arrange to pick him up.”

‘Big O’ prepared to sign off. “We must keep moving; so get your beauty rest.”

“Roger, see ya later.”

Doug checked the late night news for a spot on a flaming car wreck on Highway 91, but no such news was forthcoming; so he and Ken retired to what felt like the lap of luxury—warm, cozy, comfortable blankets on real beds in a quiet peaceful environment. They both slept soundly.

The early morning sunlight trickled through the Venetian blinds and worked its way across the bedroom reaching Doug’s eyes causing them to twitch and finally open. He rolled to one side for a few minutes of extra snooze, and then rolled out of bed making his way to the shower. It had long been his custom, set many years ago while in college, to drag himself immediately to the shower and allow the hot water to force him awake. The hot steamy water striking his head and back caused him to smile and close his eyes, drinking in the bliss of the moment.

He finished and shaved, brushed his teeth and returned to his bedroom to dress. Ken waited for him to finish by sitting on the edge of the bed; then walking in slow motion to the shower and went through a similar enjoyable experience.

Doug gave up the thought of preparing breakfast after checking the refrigerator—two jars, mustard and mayonnaise, and two bottles of salad dressing—even the freezer was bare. It came back to him in a flash that he had cleaned it out for the duration, not knowing when he would be returning. “I’ll treat you to breakfast at Denny’s,” Doug shouted to Ken.

“That sounds good to me. I’ll be dressed in a few minutes.”

As they left the house, Doug said, “I’d like to look at the rental in the daylight.” It was total disaster—the rear end caved in, passenger door crushed, right fender and front right bumper mutilated.

Ken could only shake his head in disbelief. “I have to explain this…mess,” he said, using words that he never used.

“Better you than me,” Doug replied. “Explanations are your specialty.”

Ken slid into the drivers seat and seemed surprised when it turned over on the first try.

“Wait for me to get my car and I’ll follow close behind you,” Doug explained while opening his garage door and exposing his silver gray Mazda RX7. “You beautiful thing,” Doug spoke to his long lost friend. “It’s time for a joy ride.”

The familiar comfort felt good, as he positioned himself into the seat and latched the safety belts.

They left Doug’s house to return the Avis rental, at least what was left of it, by traveling up Freeway five and making a U-turn back toward Anaheim. Doug had no trouble following Ken. He had to force himself to hold his sports car back, especially on the freeways. They circled around to Freeway 5 and approached the rental yard from a direction far removed from the Yakz episode.

After pulling into the Avis return yard, Doug thought as he watched Ken enter the office, “I’m glad it’s him who has to explain the condition of that car.” Of course it was insured, but still, there were papers to fill out and fictitious explanations to concoct.

Staying near the entrance, Doug watched as office people came out of the office with Ken to inspect the car. A tall, middle-aged female secretary followed a short, balding older gentleman as he walked around the car, shaking his head in disbelief. Doug could only imagine the conversation.

The man would point at the car and ask questions; which Ken would explain in his verbose manner. The secretary took notes but kept one hand over her mouth between statements, as if she were holding back gasps and sighs.

Finally, at long-length, they returned to the office. As the door shut, Doug checked his watch; and in exactly fifty minutes, Ken came out of the rental office with a concentrated expression and slid into the passenger’s seat of Doug’s car.

“We would do well to leave quickly,” Ken said while shutting the car door.

Doug started the engine and began moving as Ken’s seat belt clicked. “What happened in there?”

“They are upset to say the least—mainly about the extra paper work caused by the car being dropped at their location—they are responsible for getting repair quotes and having the work done.”

“Poor souls…I feel so sorry for them,” Doug said, sarcastically. “At least they didn’t have to fight for their lives.”

“Ken finally smiled. “I don’t have to think about it any more. My mind is already working on the Infants.”

“We’ll go to Long Beach and pick up another rental for you and have a meeting of the minds with Capt. Scott,” Doug said, then relaxed into a silent mode.

Ken thought for quite a while without conversation, then said, “I’ll leave you two to take care of John; so I can meet with the Bank of America officials.”

“You have a solid contact there?”

“Only the CEO,” Ken stated with a sense of pride.

“I’ll accept that as good enough,” Doug remarked, feeling Ken’s confidence.

“I am sure it is good for 5.2 million.”

Doug mentally reviewed their needed expenses for the next phase of their adventure: 1 million for a new yacht down payment, sixty grand for photographic equipment, two hundred thousand for jet lease, one hundred thousand for flight expenses, twenty thousand to grease the Mariana government officials for filming permits, and 1 mill. for unexpected costs—including shipping costs.

“There is our Long Beach turn,” Ken said pointing to the exit ramp, and bringing Doug out of his meditation.

Exiting, Doug began watching for a car rental office. He saw naval shipping yards, the Queen Mary Tourist Park, local airport. “There’s a Hertz Rental,” Doug said. “We’ll avoid Avis for a few years.” He pulled into the Hertz yard.

Ken stepped out of the car and walked around it; then he walked back to the driver’s window and tapped on it for Doug’s attention. Doug lowered the window, and Ken asked with a joking voice, “Shall I get insurance?”

“You bankers do have a sense of humor, after all,” Doug remarked, as Ken turned and walked briskly to the office. He waited for Ken to receive his car and followed him out of the yard. Ken knew the area as well as Doug; so he led Doug directly to Capt. Scott’s apartment.

Capt. Scott had checked with John and found him sitting in a plane on the tarmac at the Chicago International Airport with a one-hour ground delay because of rain. He would arrive at LAX sometime around 2 p.m., and had arranged with MGM to meet a Mr. Finch at the props warehouse. A list of equipment had been sent, and the equipment would be available for inspection upon his arrival.

Contacting Hatchet Jack, Doug reached him still waiting in Hawaii with a 3:35 p.m. reservation on Continental flight 76. He would arrive at late evening—Ken could meet him and drive to Doug’s house while Doug and Capt. Scott worked with John.

Ken collected the pouches of Infants, including the “Big Red”, and headed down town to the Bank of America Corporate Offices.

He was met by a male aid that escorted him to a conference room and waited with him until Mr. Gardner, the CEO, and two jewel experts entered the room.

Ken stood and cordially shook Mr. Gardner’s outstretched hand. “It is good to see you again, Ken said with genuine sincerity.

“I always look forward to our meetings. I’m ready to inspect your most curious collateral.”

“You know me…while traveling around the world, never a dull moment.”

Mr. Gardner avoided introducing his experts and had them sit at a table. They unrolled felt pads, stacked notepads and were ready for business.

Ken sat at the table across from them and passed the first pouch of diamonds. Each man, in unison, lowered the magnifying lenses over his glasses and spread the diamonds on the pad. Ken watched curiously for body language that would indicate a positive report, but the men moved methodically, checking and entering notations.

“I’ll stir this meeting up,” Ken thought, as he slid across the table the pouch containing the “Big Red”. With his tongue in his cheek, he could hardly await their reactions.

Both sets of eyes enlarged, and the experts sat up straight preparing to inspect a red diamond, probably for the first time in their lives.

The first man to look through his lens made an audible gasp. The second expert asked, “What…what?”—anxious to get his hands on the diamond, but the one with the diamond had no intentions of relinquishing his moment in history. He would brag about that experience for the rest of his life—he had seen and held a ten karat red diamond, most gemologists would never see one…especially that large.

At long last, he looked up with a glazed expression and passed it to his partner, who relived the experience of the first.

Mr. Gardner couldn’t contain himself any longer, “What’s going on here? I feel an electricity in the air.”

“We have just examined an extremely rare diamond. I have only seen one small red before.”

“What is its value?” Mr. Gardner asked, trying to remain calm.

“Possibly two million plus.”

Mr. Gardner turned to Ken and asked, “Do you have more of these?”

“Probably not, hut here are some large ones.” Ken passed the pouch containing the hundred-carat gem.

It was a red-letter day for the gem experts. They could hardly believe the treasure before them.

As Ken watched their expressions and heard their comments, he felt certain the would leak out to De Beers—the diamond world was a close-knit society. He knew these two gemologists would never be able to contain their excitement. He would have to consider that fact while trying to avoid being linked to the thousands of Infants that would soon enter the retail market.

Mr. Gardner reviewed the expert’s report before they had completed the inspection. Taking Ken aside, he asked, “How much do you want to borrow?”

“Only five point two.”

“There certainly isn’t a problem with that,” he answered. “How many diamonds do you have here?”

“Two hundred fifty-seven.”

Mr. Gardner instructed the experts to spot check twenty diamonds each and double count the total number for inventory—their total matched Ken’s count; so the experts were excused.

Ken spoke as soon as the door closed, “I hope those two are not privy to my name or identification.”

“I took every precaution to keep it from them. I even stretched the truth to indicate you were from Switzerland.”

“It is good doing business with you. I might need you in the future to do some side business for me.”

“Any time Ken, what terms do you wish this loan?”

“Ninety days with a ninety day extension clause at prime plus two, drafted to my Bank in Saipan.”

“I miss being able to haggle on the terms, but you know the business as well as I. Shall we transfer it to Saipan?”

“I would prefer to open an temporary account in your bank. I have business to attend to in LA. In fact, I’ll probably disperse a large portion of the funds within a week.”

With that information, Mr. Gardner paged a bank vice president, to whom he dictated the transaction, and the paperwork was underway. He then called for three jewel trays to be brought to the conference room.

Another VP buzzed the door and entered with three felt padded trays. The diamonds were laid on the felt, and the trays stacked together.

“We’ll place the diamonds in the safe deposit vault and give you a document that will entitle you to the master key upon timely satisfaction of the note,” explained Mr. Gardner.

Ken agreed, “Entirely acceptable. Please add two names to the agreement in an ‘or’ phrase so that any one of us partners can access the box.”

Mr. Gardner made a few notes, and the three men walked through a side corridor and into a safe deposit vault. A box number 1321 was selected, and the trays were deposited—the memory code word for the box number was “DiaMoND”.

“The paperwork should be completed within a few minutes. Could I get you a cup of coffee?” Mr. Gardner asked Ken.

“No thank you,” Ken answered, “but I would like to use a private, secure phone for a minute.”

“Certainly,” Mr. Gardner responded and led Ken into a private office, then left him alone.

Ken was able to reach Doug on his ST and reported his success, “What is happening on your end?”

“We’re trying to spend some of that money right now. We picked up John, and I’m sitting outside the MGM props warehouse as we speak,” Doug reported.

Ken said in his business voice, “Not a bad days work, I’d say. I need some lunch and a few hours rest.”

“Why don’t you spend some of that money and get a room at the Regency for the night for you and Hatchet Jack.”

“That sounds like an acceptable plan,” Ken responded. “I hadn’t thought of that, but Jack and I might as well work from here tomorrow. The jets we need to look at are in hangers near the airport anyway.”

Doug then explained his plans for the day. “I’ll be with these guys to check the equipment and make financial arrangements; then it will have to be crated tomorrow and moved to a warehouse in a Sea\Land container. We’ll be tied up all day tomorrow with that.”

Ken leaned back in the plush office chair and took a deep breath. “We can keep in contact by phone. Right now I am sitting in the president’s office with five million in the bank…life is good.”

Doug laughed at Ken’s unexpected humor and went along with his scenario, “Hot-diggety-down, some day we’ll own this town.”

“It sounds good to me,” Ken responded, feeling a successfully relaxed joy. “When Jack calls, tell him that I will meet him at the Continental baggage claim area near the exit door.”

“Okay, call me as soon as you’re registered.

Capt. Scott and Jack were inside the warehouse taking care of preliminaries—inventorying and checking equipment; while Doug waited outside the in his car contemplating his responsibilities for next several weeks. Now that he had received the good news from Ken, he could make plans with more confidence.

Capt. Scott came out the warehouse door and signaled. Doug reacted to the signal and joined them in the huge warehouse, the size of two football stadiums. It had been used for the props and costumes for over fifty years of movies. He could see endless rows of shelving from the floor to the concave roof with items categorized according to scenes in movies—complete dental offices with equipment, both antique and modern—ballrooms with chandeliers, dining tables with china and silverware set for royalty. The vastness of the inventory seemed endless.

Doug walked beside Capt. Scott, stopping occasionally to observe areas such as the chariots from Ben Hur. It was the most extensive museum in the world—stocked with millions of items from the past, but still being used in modern movies.

John looked up as they approached and pointed with pride at a large array of cameras, tripods, small golf cart-like vehicles equipped with camera mounts, cans of film, flood lights and stacks of wooden cases containing a wide variety of items.

The first thing Doug thought of and said was, “How much are the damages?”

John handed him a clip board full of papers, and Doug flipped down to the last sheet—one hundred forty three thousand dollars.” Man…we don’t want to buy the stuff,” He commented with a touch of humor.

“That’s a six-month lease with insurance coverage on breakage, theft and terrorism…I explained it was going overseas,” John stated, hoping he had done the right thing.

Capt. Scott interjected his thought, “I can vouch for the careful selection. We even have an under water cameras.”

Doug scanned the equipment thinking, “Under water…yes, that’s good…that looks like an underwater sub with cameral mounts.”

“Take a look at this set up,” John explained, pulling a plastic cover aside to expose electronic equipment. “With this monitor, the director can visually observe the scene below water and pass instructions to cameras and actors.”

Doug asked, “Can the director observe from different angles?”

“Yes, this is a remote drone that travels around under the director’s computer commands and inspects the area in high definition detail. That is the same equipment used by treasure hunters.”

Doug smiled to himself and praised John and Capt. Scott for their attention to detail. “Can you run this equipment?” Doug asked Capt. Scott.

“With a few days practice,” he responded.

Doug looked around for an office, but couldn’t see one. “How do we wrap this up?”

“We have to go to another building to sign the papers for this stuff and pay in advance of course,” John explained, pointing toward a large sliding door.

“Let’s do it,” Doug said. “Can you explain that we want individual items packed in large wooden crates with plenty of extra padding?”

“I already have,” John stated. “I’ll be here tomorrow to supervise the packing.”

“Did Capt. Scott explain that we’ll be bringing other equipment back in the same crates; so we need extra room?”

“Yes, I’ll take care of it…don’t worry Mr. Goodwin…I understand.”

They left the warehouse and spent the next hour reading and signing papers in the high-rise office building next to the warehouse complex. Doug paid the lease from his Worldwide Enterprises account; then they returned to their cars.

Doug saw a message from Ken on his ST. Ken had registered at the Regency and would catch a couple hours rest and then meet Hatchet Jack at LAX. He would check in later.

Capt. Scott led the way in his car, back to his apartment. Doug, driving in his car, managed to remain directly behind him all the way.

‘Big O’ and Bill took turns living with the Orphans, shuffling back and forth between Saipan and Tinian for food supplies and local news. Protecting the Orphans filled their thoughts both day and night; but aside from a few occasional native children, the area remained isolated.

‘Big O’ commented, “At first I thought we should transport the Orphans to Saipan, but they seem safe enough buried in that bunker.”

“As long as one of us is with them around the clock,” Bill added.

“We might as well enjoy the calm before the storm. When Doug gets back here we’ll be working around the clock,” ‘Big O’ commented as he stared out into the dark night.

Ken pulled into the LAX parking lot about an hour ahead of Hatchet Jack’s anticipated arrival. He checked the arrival time on the Continental monitor and proceeded to the proper gate, stopping at the gift shop to purchase a Wall Street Journal. He selected a seat near the door to the jet bridge and closed his eyes for a few moments rest before reading the newspaper. The mental strain of the unique day had worn him out—not every day does one negotiate a five million dollar deal—especially using diamonds as collateral.

He actually dosed and awoke suddenly as the arrival of a flight was announced from the speaker directly over his head. He jumped to his feet and rushed to a monitor. It indicated Flight 76 from Hawaii had arrived. “I must have slept for over an hour,” he thought while returning to his seat.

The plane taxied to the bridge, and within ten minutes passengers began unloading. Hatchet Jack appeared in the doorway, nearly filling the space. Totally expressionless, he recognized Ken with a slight nod and the two of them walked down the corridor together.

“Did you bring luggage?” Ken asked, breaking the silence.

“Only this carry-on,” he answered.

“I originally planned to go to Doug’s house for the night, but I changed my mind and rented a room at the Regency,” Ken explained as they rushed along with the crowd. “We can stay there and meet Doug in the morning. I know you need food; so we can eat at the hotel.”

“You know that flight, don’t you?—a sandwich and three cokes doesn’t do it.”

Ken led the way to the parking garage, found his car and left joining the heavy traffic of the freeway. The sudden onslaught of noise, speed and hordes of motorized people caused Hatchet Jack to think about leaving Los Angeles as soon as possible—he suddenly remembered his reason for leaving the States.

The Regency cam into view and Ken, feeling like five million dollars, pulled into the valet parking and slipped the valet ten dollars. Once inside, they walked across the plush carpet to the restaurant and ordered prime rib with all the trimmings.

Ken excused himself and went to lobby telephone and called Doug. “I have Jack with me…no problems. I already have a room at the Regency so we will stay here for the night.”

To that, Doug replied, “That sounds good to me. Capt. Scott is with John. They’ll be busy all day tomorrow supervising the crating of photography equipment and sending John back to New York. With you guys working from there tomorrow, you can get a jet lined up then come to my house tomorrow evening.”

“That is right. We can make contacts and check out the planes at Long Beach airport tomorrow. I will call you around 2 p.m..

They ended their conversation and Doug laid back in his lounger and clicked on the television to watch the Lakers ball game. He stroked his stubble beard while thinking; “I’m going to enjoy the peace and quiet while I can.” He and Capt. Scott had decided to grow beards as a disguise to cover their identity when they returned to Guam. Capt. Scott would become the film producer, Doug and Bill perform as actors (scuba diving around the wrecked yacht looking for gold), and ‘Big O’ would be the executive producer and front man for all dealing with government officials. It would be quite a ploy.

The Sea/Land container would go directly to Saipan. Doug Ken and Capt. Scott, flying with Hatchet Jack would arrive ahead of the container and set up for shooting the fake movie—‘Big O’, probably had leased a beach area on Saipan, directly across from Tinian, as a film location. The girls who were hired in Hollywood will make perfect decoys while the Orphans are placed in hidden compartments in the crates with photograph equipment and shipped by container. The Infants, along with personnel, would travel to the Guam in Hatchet Jack’s jet.

The same sham scenario would take place in Guam while trying to locate the sunken Orphans.

It was a simple plan. “I hope it works,” Doug thought as he drifted away into sleep.

The morning sun, usually a red glare, lit the hazy, smoggy sky of Los Angeles. Ken had been awake for over two hours; while Hatchet Jack snored away, enjoying the plush comfort to the maximum. The sound of his shoring was the reason Ken awoke so early.

Ken completed showering and shaving just as Jack awoke, entering the real world again. “How are you feeling this morning?” Ken asked.

“Like a million,” came the response in a low-pitched voice.

“I’m finished in the bathroom; so you can use the shower now,” Ken suggested as he turned the television on to catch the early morning news. Hatchet Jack stopped to watch.

Freeway rage shootings dominated the first part of the newscast; then a startling scene flashed across the screen—a burned gray sedan with a thirty-foot light post creasing its top—four occupants burned beyond recognition—a rental car, rented by a Mr. Tosh Ito, whose address didn’t check out—single car accident caused by excessive speed and nearly missing the turn-off.

Ken absorbed the details before speaking. “Did you catch that?”

Jack answered, “I wonder what happened.”

“I’ll tell you exactly what happened…we were involved in that accident. Doug is the one who forced them into that light post after they tried to run us off the road.”

Hatchet Jack pulled up a chair, sliding it close to Ken, asked, “Who were they?”

“Yakz men who followed us from Hawaii.”

“For cryin-out-loud…It’s hard to imagine them finding you.”

“The best I can figure is that they spotted Doug and Capt. Scott in Guam and telephoned ahead or followed them.”

Jack stood and headed for the bathroom, “I’d better hurry. Let’s get out of here as soon as possible.”

After showering and dressing Jack made a few phone calls and set an appointment near the Long Beach airport. They could checkout a few jets that were stored there—the main requirements were: flight range over four thousand miles and the capability of carrying about two tons and eight passengers.

Doug decided to become involved with the crating of the photography equipment. He needed to be sure the crates were oversized and excess crating material was placed in the bottom of each crate—enough to construct a hidden compartment for the containment of the Orphans. At 7:30 a.m. and told him that he’d be at the MGM warehouse by 9:00.

Capt. Scott and John enjoyed working together. Being related, they shared family news and photograph stories. John had recently presented a screening of a weekly sit-com to NBC, costing over a million dollars to film one episode. NBC had picked it up for an eight-week trial run. They dressed, ate breakfast and rushed to MGM, arriving there slightly ahead of Doug.

Crates were stacked near the equipment; and four men, standing by the crates, were assigned to pack them. Doug arrived just in time to instruct them to lay in a double layer of wood on the bottom of each crate.

The packers were efficient in their work, having done the same task many times. They filled the crates and packed them tightly with Styrofoam, forming a tight mold around each piece of equipment.

Doug paid particular attention to the underwater cameras and the radio controlled sub. They would be needed to search the bottom of the bay for the ten lost Orphans. The explosion should have forced the Orphans straight downward, but there was a good chance that they were scattered if the steel case had not held.

Thinking of the Orphans, Doug turned to John and asked, “Do you think they have an underwater metal detector around here?”

John answered, “They probably do but I know of an equipment rental that has all kinds of that stuff.”

“I’d like to get one, but it would be good to pack it in these crates,” Doug stated.

“I’ll check it out,” John said and left for the office. Thirty minutes later he returned carrying a four-foot, thin box.

“I see you succeeded,” Doug commented.

“They threw it in as a favor.”

“Good for them, I’m glad I thought of it.”

The stacks of crates grew, and a forklift began moving them to a Sea/Land container outside the warehouse.

Doug went to the Sea/Land office and filled out the necessary paperwork to ship the container to Saipan, Northern Marianas. He used his company, Worldwide Enterprises, as the shipper—it had served the Goodwin Bros. For over three decades and had been registered in fifteen countries, including Saipan.

The container would be loaded on a ship, being certified by MGM that the crates contained only photograph equipment and film to be used in Saipan and neighboring countries then returned to the United States. This was a major factor in using a reputable, world-renowned company. The container would arrive in Saipan within seven to twelve days.

Doug contacted ‘Big O’, giving him the shipping numbers and other details. ‘Big O’ had already met with the mayor of Saipan and three other officials to acquire filming permits and gain their confidence—and grease their palms with money, of course. Everyone responds favorably to money. ‘Big O’ had explained the pending arrival of Hatchet Jack in his jet, carrying actors and personal gear.

Before ending their conversation, ‘Big O’ reminded Doug that they needed three actresses as part of the acting staff. They would be used as a decoy away from the actual purpose of the façade—running on the beaches, splashing in the water, drawing attention to their blond hair and skimpy bikinis.

His reminder was needed, for Doug had completely forgotten about using girls. His life activities, and those of his companions, did not usually include females. They did not wish to expose them to danger and poor living conditions.

Doug returned to the warehouse in time to watch the last crates being loaded and securely braced inside the container. The steel doors were closed, latched, locked and fixed with a seal and moved to a certified warehouse.

He took John aside and explained their need for three girls to be used as window dressing. They would be needed about two days after the equipment arrived in Saipan and used for two weeks. Their pay would be two hundred a day and all expenses paid.

John, of course, knew exactly who to call—three blond extras that roomed together in Hollywood: Carla, Audrey and Kim. Blonds were more desirable than brunettes in this project; because they drew more attention in that part of the world, and drawing attention was their only purpose.

John called their telephone number, and Audrey answered.

“Hello, Audrey, this is John…How you doing?”

“Hey, John. I’m fine…How’s the movie business?”

“Always grinding…Are Carla and Kim still around?”

“For sure…We’re just having a snack.”

“How would you three like two weeks work?”

“Yes, we need it…You know how it is.”

“I’ll fly you girls to Saipan and pay each of you two hundred dollars a day for two weeks.”

“Sure, why not…Where’s Saipan?”

“A small island in the mid-Pacific. Do you know where the Marianas are?”

“No, but it sounds like fun. When do we leave?”

“In about ten days. We just need some gorgeous girls in the scenes as we film...no lines to learn, just frolicking on the beach and lounging in the sun…all meals and motel rooms will be paid.”

“Oh, I’m so excited,” Audrey said. “Let me tell the girls.”

John could hear her muffle explanation and squeals of excitement in the background. “We all want to go,” Audrey reported.

“Okay, I’ll send you the details, in a couple days,” John explained. “You’ll probably be traveling in style—private jet.”

“We’ll be waiting. Don’t forget to call back.”

“Okay, don’t worry about that…bye for now.”

Ken and Hatchet Jack went to the Long Beach Airport and met with Mr. James, a representative of the jet leasing division of Intercontinental Airways. They described their needs and requirements and were escorted, via a shuttle bus, to a nearby hanger about the size of three city blocks.

Mr. James pressed a button, and the heavy hanger doors slid wide open, allowing the dark interior to be flooded with natural light.

Hatchet Jack’s eyes expanded to full capacity as a vast array of jets came into focus—hundreds of millions in value, possibly billions. Jack led the pack as they walked toward the planes.

“This is the Challenger 604,” Mr. James explained, “at 4,000 nautical miles, it has the intercontinental range you need to perform globally.” Then he continued his sales pitch, “It has dependable transcontinental capabilities plus speed of Mach 0.83 and carries 5 passengers and 2 crew—able, agile, extraordinarily economical.”

Jack turned to Ken, “That has to be the gem of jets, but it is right on the verge of our needs…four thousand miles barely makes it and seven passengers is close to our needs.”

Ken glanced at the sleek aircraft and responded, “I never like to be on the close edge of anything.”

“What else do you have, slightly larger?” Hatchet Jack asked Mr. James.

“The next in line is much larger…called the Global Express,” Mr. James answered, pointing to the opposite end of the hanger. “But, it fits a new category called business aircraft. It will fly at high speed over great distances—up to 6,000 nautical miles at Mach 0.87.”

Ken was the first to turn and walk toward the Global Express; the others followed.

Hatchet Jack began to drool and moved ahead of the group. Mr. James continued his pitching. “Every bit as important as a global aircraft's performance and productivity is its ability to enhance yours. The Global Express cabin is more than merely spacious; it's optimized for 15 passenger comfort on extended flights, with advanced systems and overall design characteristics that create a uniquely quiet ambiance.”

Jack heard words coming from behind him, but he didn’t listen. Knowing money and cost were out of the question, he hungered for the experience of sliding this bird through the air at 51,000 feet at nearly the speed of sound. His steps hastened ahead of Ken’s and he climbed the stairs with Mr. James talking incessantly behind him, “A spacious wide body cabin designed for long range comfort, fully automated pressurization system, advanced environmental control system, ozone converters, optional humidity control, spacious dressing room and lavatory available.” Jack disappeared into the cabin.

Mr. James turned to face Ken just as Ken asked, “How much does it cost to fly a plane like this?”

“It averages around $1500 an hour, but you can fly all the way to Tokyo.”

“Hey Jack,” Ken shouted. “What do you think?” No answer came—Jack had moved directly into the cockpit and sat entranced in the pilot’s seat. He began lightly touching controls and switches, while thinking, “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Ken interrupted his reverie by asking, “How does she look?”

“No need to look any further.”

“Planning on a test flight?”

“For me a test flight isn’t necessary, but the leasing company usually requires it with one of their pilots onboard.”

Ken glanced at the hundreds of dials and switches, “Are you sure you can fly this thing?”

“What man has done once he surely can do again.”

“So you have flown a Global Express before?”

“Well, I’ve been in one a few times, but only flown once.”

Ken expressed his relief by breathing a sigh and slouching into the copilot’s seat, watching Hatchet Jack’s expression.

After ten or fifteen minutes, Jack looked at Ken and said, “Let’s wrap it up and get on with it.”

“I hate to hear the damages,” Ken said, using a phrase out of his character.

“It’ll set us back around five hundred thousand with a million five security,” Jack said without batting an eye.

Ken pulled a small pad from his shirt pocket and jotted down a few figures: Between the lease for the plane and replacing the sunken yacht, three million would be tied up with two million of that spent. Thirty thousand would be eaten up in jet fuel with a few thousand miscellaneous. He whispered under his breath, “It certainly is not hard to spend a million dollars any more.”

Hatchet Jack heard the whisper and turned toward Ken. Seeing that he was engrossed in his figures, Jack left the cockpit and walked into the cabin where Mr. James sat patiently.

“We’d better use this larger plane to be safe. We have about eight people and photograph equipment to transport seven thousand miles with one refueling in Hawaii,” Jack explained, not knowing exactly what would be transported.

Mr. James stood and began explaining details of the transaction.

Jack interrupted him with the statement that he would provide the documentation of his qualifications as a pilot, but Ken would have to handle the financial details.

Ken hearing his name and money mentioned, moved into the cabin to take over the conversation. “I’ll work with you on all financial matters. Do you have the figures on leasing this plane for thirty to sixty days?”

Mr. James moved quickly and took papers from his briefcase and began shuffling through them. “A thirty-day lease will come to five-fifty thousand plus a million deposit…assuming your pilot is qualified.”

“There is no problem with the pilot, but I only budgeted five hundred thousand for the lease. Maybe we will have to take the Challenger,” Ken said, looking directly into Mr. James’ eyes—He couldn’t resist negotiating.

Mr. James studied his paper for several minutes, knowing he would earn a larger commission on the Global Express. He finally spoke, “I can let you have the Global Express for five hundred, but you’ll have to cover the insurance.”

Ken, knowing that the lessee is usually responsible for the insurance, responded, “We can handle that. Time is of the essence; can you move the process along?”

“Let’s go to my office. I’ll arrange to have Mr. Jack certified, and we can take care of the paper work. I’ll need references of course.”

Ken didn’t hesitate as he thought of bankers he could use for references…possibly the CEO of the Bank of America. “You lead the way Mr. James.”

The three men went down the stairs, and Mr. James hailed the shuttle bus.

Hatchet Jack spoke up as the bus approached, “If you could get the pilot to certify me right away, I’d like to do it while you’re working on the paperwork.”

“I have a test pilot on twenty-four hour standby. He can be here in fifteen minutes,” Mr. James responded, while pulling a cell phone from his shirt pocket. He contacted his pilot and arranged for him to meet Jack at the hanger.

Jack listened to the conversation and said, “I might as well stay here at the plane. You don’t need me anyway.”

“We’ll be a little over an hour,” Ken said, “I’ll take care of the mundane details while you wrap up the technical.”

Jack looked toward the plane and knew that he would never want to trade places with Ken—paperwork was not part of his life. Returning to the plane he waited for the test pilot.

The shuttle bus circled the three hangers and pulled up to a four story brick off building. Mr. James and Ken went inside.

Once inside, Mr. James paged his secretary and met her in room 103. He dictated the terms of the lease agreement while she recorded the information in a steno pad. The secretary left after the dictation.

“She’ll have everything ready within thirty minutes,” Mr. James explained. “Meanwhile, I can check your references. How will you cover the lease payment and deposit?”

“I’ll have an electronic transfer into your account from the Bank of America,” Ken explained. “In fact, the CEO of the Bank of America will be my first reference. Let me use your phone, and I’ll contact him for you.”

Mr. James slid the telephone across the large walnut desk, and Ken dialed. “May I speak with Mr. Gardner please? This is Mr. Apple.”

After a few seconds, Mr. Gardner answered, “Hello Ken, what can I do for you?”

Ken wanted to joke with him in a friendly way but restrained himself. “I’m signing a lease on a rather large company sized jet, and Mr. James of Intercontinental Airlines needs a character reference. Would you mind speaking to him?”