The Journal of Secrets

The Journal of Secrets
By Ian De Shils (Ernest Shields)

Chapter 8

ON OUR OWN

Christmas came faster that year than ever before. What with the initiation and the emotional upset that followed, the months just slipped away and suddenly, it was Christmas. I took my vacation to coincide with Jake's holiday break. We flew to Cancun for a week, it was our gift to each other. Cancun is an absolutely gorgeous spot overlooking the Caribbean and we lounged in utter comfort for the entire time. It was there we started talking about a business venture once again. Jake would finish the spring semester with a few credits more than he needed for his degree. I was all ready thinking about the graduation party. I told Jake I would etch that date permanently in the cement of the L.A. freeway system. He laughed,

"That should keep you busy. Between earthquakes and progress, there's almost nothing permanent in L.A. I think it's time we started looking again, Teddy. If we keep going the way we are, we'll likely end up retiring from construction and never knowing what we could've accomplished."

I thought him a bit pessimistic since we were still shy of twenty-eight, but he had a point. When we returned from our idyll, it was again back to the three R's; Reading, Researching and Ruminating. Carefully we searched. Exhaustively we checked claims of potential profit. There seemed to be one thing or another wrong with nearly everything we looked at, but mostly it was a question of money. Some of the franchises we investigated required a two-hundred thousand dollar investment and those that didn't had little potential for making us independent.

It was spring and Jake was working on finals when I discovered an ad in the L.A. Times that not only looked promising, but drew me like a magnet. Why hadn't I thought of it before? It was right down our alley and we wouldn't need two hundred grand in startup money. I was as excited about that little ad as Jake had been about the limo service.

FOR SALE: Private Investigator retiring. Leased offices with owned equipment. Assumable business contracts available to the right party. Reasonably priced. Good potential. Contact Edwin Phelps at 805-555-9141

Jake took to it instantly. We made the call and talked to the man for a good half hour. He agreed to send over the information we asked for and I think he was anxious to sell for we received it the very next day. Phelps was asking only thirty-five thousand, but he wanted cash and we had but a third of that on hand. It meant another excursion to the bank and I for one, was a bit leery of running into yet another Mrs. Pevey. Rip stopped by that evening. When we mentioned what we planned, he immediately picked up the phone.

"It's all set." he said, grinning from ear to ear as he handed me a slip of paper. "You have an appointment for ten-thirty, Thursday morning. Abel's a Brother. He won't steer you wrong."

At ten-thirty on the dot, Abel Carson ushered us into his office at the Crocker-Anglo bank.

"Good morning, Friends," he said warmly, "It's a pleasure to meet you at last."

He was a distinguished looking man in his late forties or early fifties and the oldest Brother we met so far. He walked with a pronounced limp, but otherwise appeared extremely fit. We shook hands all around and then turning to Jake he said,

"I hear you've done excellent on your finals, young man. I'm told you have a high nineties score straight across the board."

"That's news to me!" Jake replied in astonishment, "The results haven't been posted yet."

Able glanced at his watch, "They have by now. Anyway, congratulations, Jake!"

Not only did we have Jake's graduation to celebrate, but Able informed us our loan was pre-approved and surprised us further by having the applications all ready filled out. He told us what an excellent deal we were getting.

"Phelps has a good reputation, but he was never much of a business man. It's predicted that with a little smart promotion, that agency can return five to ten times more than it has these last few years." He then handed us the paperwork saying, "You will note that the loan is for twice Phelps' asking price. The extra money is for refurbishing, advertising and so on. I'll give you the name of a Brother who is a genius in promotions. Take his advice and you will be amazed at the results."

As we signed the papers, Able folded our copies neatly into an oversized envelope,

"In this packet you'll find the applications for city, county and state licenses. My advice is to talk Phelps into staying on until your own licensing is complete. That way, you can remain open during the transition."

I was astonished at how much effort Abel put into researching our loan request. He brought forth a copy of Phelp's profit and loss statement, even a projection of future business, all done up nicely on graph paper. He seemed completely satisfied and the confidence he displayed removed the last nagging doubts I had over the size of the loan. We spent less than thirty minutes reading and signing documents, then another ten drinking coffee and kibitzing. The whole experience was so far removed from the one we had with Lorena Pevey that I felt like kissing Abel's hand.

"Remember," he said, "If you have any problems, just call. You have an army of friends who will do all they can to make your new business a success."

There was a light rap on the door. It opened slightly and a strikingly handsome man looked in.

"Are you finished yet?" he asked.

"Ah, Jim,--- come in. Did you find Bill, okay?"

"Right where you thought.. He was trying to corner the pork bellies market or something."

"It was wheat futures, damnit, and I wasn't trying to cornering anything!" came a booming retort as a large muscular man pushed his way past Jim. "You guys better hope I guessed it right. I used your money." His voice was gruff, but he said it with a wink and a grin aimed at Jake and me. Abel looked unperturbed.

"I'm glad you made it back. I wanted you to meet our new friends. Ted, Jake, these are my partners Jim Fisher and Bill Eaasy. Bill is the one who evidently has us awash in wheat."

"It's good to see you again." Eaasy said as we shook hands all around. Again? I wondered, I couldn't remember ever meeting the man. The puzzlement must have shown on my face.

"Last fall," he clarified, "at your initiation."

I don't know why it still bothered me, but it did. I blushed. The conversation flowed around me, but all I could think of was; how many people were there that night, the whole damn Brotherhood? If Eaasy noticed my embarrassment he ignored it and just went on talking like we were all old friends,

". . . the committee wanted to bring you fellows in a year ago, only they felt Ted wasn't ready yet."

The sound of my name finally brought me back into the conversation.

"Not ready? Hell, there isn't time in this century I'd be ready for that initiation." I said honestly, "I like everything I've seen so far, except, for that,--- only I'm wondering how the committee know all about us and not know how I'd react?"

"Oh,--- they knew. That's why the delay."

I looked at him blankly. Eaasy smiled and patted my knee,

"Look at it this way, Ted, you stuck with the Brotherhood. A year ago, that wasn't in the projection."

It still made no sense to me. I considered that initiation the worst kind of violation and I told him so.

"Then change it!" he challenged, "Find a better way and I'll back you to the hilt. As a Delphic Brother, you have access to every bit of information we have, including the psychological profiling and our methods of bringing in members. Get involved. Make recommendations. I guarantee you'll be heard."

Abel changed the subject by inviting us to lunch and two hours later we were on our way to meet Mr. Phelps, but I can't forget Bill's challenge was only the first of many he was to offer. He became our friend and mentor and the one most responsible for drawing us into the inner labyrinths of the Brotherhood.

Ed Phelps turned out to be a crusty old character who acknowledged sixty years, but looked closer to seventy. When we told him the deal was 'go' he mellowed on the spot and readily agreed to stay for a few months.

"Of course, I'll expect a paycheck every week!" He declared emphatically.

Ed stayed on for five years in one capacity or another, mostly as resident curmudgeon giving his views on everything whether asked for not. Ed was honest as they come, ever willing to help on a case, be it the drudgery of research or simply making coffee and his help and insight proved invaluable. He was also a favorite with the secretaries in the surrounding offices, a father confessor and dear friend to most, and perhaps to some, even a lover. We never knew for sure, it was merely supposition on our part, but in order to accommodate all his female fans, his lunch spanned the hours from eleven-thirty to two, and did so for all the years he stayed with us. Ed became a friend, a wise and tempering voice who saved us much grief in those first years. His favorite saying was,

"Remember boys, we just find the guilty party. It's the courts that find the party guilty"

Ed saw many changes in those five years, most of which he didn't agree with, like the office remodeling that took place in our first weeks of ownership. Out went Ed's 'classic' forties motif replaced by a modern affluent look we hoped would give our clients a greater feeling of confidence. The refurbishing and decor, the logos, advertising and business advice came from firms owned by Brothers and we found Abel Carson was correct. We did have friends, lots of them, all eager to help us make GSI a roaring success. (GSI = Gibson/Sanders Investigations)

I loved it. Even minor cases held challenges that intrigued me. My mind sharpened as the weeks went by and as it did, the small but important details of a case began leaping out and crying for attention. Ed told me I had a knack for this business and I'm sure he was right. No job was ever more satisfying or better suited to my temperament. Jake was in seventh heaven. He was bursting with grandiose expansion plans from the day we took over and he carried with him an absolutely determination GSI would become the best detective agency in L.A. It was almost magical to watch him work with a new client.

His compelling personality came to the fore and he become the salesman who could sell ice boxes to eskimos. He simply wouldn't take 'NO' for an answer; yet, the client was left with the feeling they had somehow struck a remarkable deal. I might get nervous when interviewing some high powered executive, but not Jake. Be it one on one or in a corporate board room, Jake was always in command. Those first months found us tracing stolen equipment and precision instruments for several of his new clients and he signed us to a long term contract researching the backgrounds of prospective employees for a high tech corporation. The big jobs ate money fast, but they soon gained us a reputation for being thorough and accurate.

At that time, there were not enough corporate accounts to keep the ship afloat but other work poured in and a year after we opened under the GSI name, the case load forced us to expanded our office space to include an empty suite next door. At first we hired office temps as needed. Several concurrent cases might require two or three, but after an incident in Riverside we abandoned temps in favor of building a full time permanent office staff. That job also turned out to be our first physically dangerous case.

Riverside Electro Devices manufactured laser components, primarily the light source of a laser, the very expensive heart of a laser and their shipments were being hijacked. No actual holdups of course, that would have been too obvious; instead, the shipments were being pilfered from common carriers at depots and truck stops along their routes. It had to be an inside job; however, at first we couldn't determine who was passing on the shipping information. The company had all ready shuffled staff several times, hired more temps and taken other measures to stop the thefts, but without much luck.

Our first recommendation was to keep randomly shifting freight carriers on a daily basis and that did stop the losses,. . . for a while. In those days we had no handy desktop computers to correlate all the names and hours worked by different individuals; instead, it was done on a blackboard or by building a sort of spreadsheet of three by five cards laid out on a conference table. Our methods then were more time consuming than now, but they did work and if not as fast, at least as well. After the losses began once more, one name became prominent. Sally Adler.

Sally worked as a temp and had been in and out of Riverside ED many times in those months they suffered their worst losses. In the process of rooting out Adler, we uncovered several other people from the same agency who were also obviously involved. Those leads led back to the temp agency itself and we discovered it was nothing more than an elaborate front for a gang of high tech thieves. Our many interviews uncovered the fact that a number of their former clients suffered from exactly the same problems as Riverside. It took us only about six weeks to solve that case and we did so almost entirely by using Riverside's own office records.

Movies, books and television paint private investigators as more able than the police departments. Supposedly we rush about solving cases the cops can't fathom, but that's far from the truth. PI's work for lawyers and insurance companies, for bail bondsmen and private individuals, doing the things police departments are not allowed to do. PI's have no more legal power than the average citizen. We can't arrest or file charges so we seldom get shot at. That thrill we gladly leave for the cops. But in the case Riverside Electro Devices, we upset a major operation by people who didn't take kindly to outside interference.

One night as we were leaving the office, a car sped by and laid down a hail of lead that did little to improve the appearance of our office building, but a whole lot toward making us aware of our mortality. It was only a warning, but one that could well have cost someone's life. Unfortunately for the culprits, that warning came too late. The case was closed. We left it to the insurance company and Riverside ED to press charges, that was after all, their responsibility. Ours, was only to find the guilty party.

* * * * * * *

Notes on a surprising development.

I wasn't sure how much to tell Jake about Bill Eaasy. He upset Jake pretty badly that day, so I put down just the fact that we met and he later became a close friend. Bill is really a great guy, intelligent and humorous, only he has a side to his personality that takes some getting use to. Abel told us he was like that even before he was inducted into the Brotherhood, and afterwards no Brother was ever safe from his advances. Later I heard stories of his prowess and stamina that seemed almost too wild to believe; yet, somehow, I'm sure much of it was true. Even now, in his middle sixties he is a contantly horny old man.

That day, however, Bill put the make on Jake, right there in Abel's office. I kidded Jake about it afterwards, but the truth is I never saw him move so fast as when Bill's hand landed in his lap. The surprising thing is while I didn't mention that incident, Jake remembered it vividly. I'm amazed at his constant improvement. He sometimes stays for half a day now, but while he's making great progress, he is by no means connected to the present. He speaks of Annie as though she just started working for us and has recently began asking questions about babies, (our children, I'm sure); although, he is thoroughly confused as to who they are or where they came from.

There are still large chunks missing from his early years. He still insists he never knew anyone named Carla even though I've written extensively about their marriage. But the odd thing is even talking about her now makes him extremely uncomfortable. In fact, he retreats almost as soon as I mention her. To me that suggests a block. I'm becoming convinced Carla and those missing memories are somehow connected. How could that be? I have absolutely no idea, but I'll try to figure it out. In the meantime I'll attempt to jog his memory about Annie and the kids..

* * * * * * *

Annie

Annie Dawson came to work for us one smoggy August day and immediately made herself indispensable. She wasn't beautiful,--- that is,--- she didn't fit the California ideal of beauty with a petite figure and stunning features. She was tall and fashion model slim; raw boned might describe someone with less grace than she. Her Irish ancestors peered through her face, providing her with an abundance of freckles and ruddy tresses. It was those same ancestors who gave her a sharp and wicked wit. No one got the best of Annie in repartee, not even Ed, the master of retorts. No,--- Annie wasn't beautiful, yet there was something extremely attractive about her.

Maybe it was her laugh, her flashing green eyes or perhaps it was the complete and utter self-confidence she displayed. In a matter of days she had the office whipped into shape and all of us doing exactly what she wanted. In that same short time Annie managed to learn enough about GSI to answer most questions put to her by clients. She was a gem to work with, cool under pressure, yet warm and friendly to the clients; in every way an asset to GSI far beyond her starting wage.

Ed fell hopelessly in love. One day he muttered sorrowfully, "Now that the right one finally comes along, I'm too damn old to do anything about it."

He wasn't alone in his admiration for Annie. There were always guys hanging around, angling for a date or offering to take her to lunch, but mostly their efforts were in vain. Annie had just gone through a bitter divorce and had little interest in starting another relationship.

GSI was only about a year old when she started. We were attempting to make a name for ourselves with our corporate clients, but we actually paid the bills by being the guys who kept the divorce lawyers in business. Sometimes it's not all that glamorous being a PI, especially in California where the amount of a divorce settlement is in direct proportion to the number of peccadilloes one can pin on their mate. Our clients wanted all the dirt, not just a clear indication of unfaithfulness so we dogged people far beyond the point either Jake or I thought necessary.

We were twenty-nine, Annie's application put her age at thirty-two; although, she looked younger, but we found she was actually three years older than she admitted. Age had no bearing on her employment, of course, but as we later learned it held a great deal of importance to Annie. For two years she and Ed were the entire office staff, then Jake started pushing hard on security services and Annie became office manager. In another year and a half we had contracts coming out our ears, six hundred employees, an office staff of twenty-five and Jake was talking about expanding into Phoenix.

After Phoenix, GSI fairly exploded. Branch offices seemed to multiply like rabbits. Two more in the L.A. metroplex, then Denver, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle. At our main L.A. office we were now up to our necks in paperwork and practically standing on each others shoulders. We needed more room and quickly, so when a former bank building on La Brea became available, we bought it. It was Annie's idea to leave the building looking like a bank which was a very smart move image wise. It was also her idea to make use of the existing vault by offering our customers a safety deposit service. That was a huge success, so much so we began incorporating safety depositories in all GSI offices in major cities.

If it wasn't for Annie I doubt we could've kept up the pace. She was a supreme organizer who had complete confidence in herself and those she trained. She could delegate authority and things got done correctly without the fuss of office politics that bog down so many growing business. We gave her the title of 'Vice President in charge of Practically Everything' with a pay increase to match, and later, a percentage of the net. Annie was worth every penny.

For several years the three of us spent our working days together sometimes well into the evening and it was inevitable Annie would learn Jake and I were mates. One night she ask us what it was like but before we could get over the shock of her question, she inquired if we had ever considered adding a woman to our lovemaking. Then, it all came out in a rush. Annie wanted children, she didn't want another marriage, she was closing in on forty, she admired us both and would we please think about it.

Suddenly I was scared to death. My worst fears were at last realized. Jake loved kids and would undoubtedly make a fine parent, but would that be the end for us? For years I worried the urge for a family of his own might someday become so strong he would simply walk away, and here it was, being offered to him on a silver platter. I couldn't even fight against it. That might drive him directly to Annie. I had no choice but to go alone with whatever Jake wanted. It was my only hope and yet I also knew it had to appear to be a mutual agreement.

It took several days to come to a consensus. We both threw in stipulations. Mine, in hopes of remaining in the picture,--- Jake, because of his childhood. We finally agreed if Annie still wanted it, then she would have her wish, only with some strings attached. First, any child born from our three way union would have a legal father. If a pregnancy occurred, then so would a marriage to one or the other of us, followed swiftly by a divorce, but there would be no further shirking of our paternal responsibility. We would provide for the child's financial support. Second, we wanted visitation privileges. Our's might not be the family most people know but it would be a family, nonetheless, and the child would grow up knowing there was a father or fathers who cared. Annie agreed.

I'm sure she was as uncomfortable as we were those first few nights, but we soon overcame our inhibitions and found it quite delightful. It was remarkable how excited I could get as Jake made love to Annie. I'd lie beside them, kissing, touching them both and as Jake climaxed I sometimes found myself on the verge of doing so. When Annie and I made love, Jake became the coach, running his hands over us, pressing against us, doing all sorts of little things that made it exciting. Afterward, we'd lay mingled together talking, drifting toward sleep, but in the night Annie would retire to the spare bedroom and Jake and I would have the mornings to ourselves.

To my great relief, Jake didn't change toward me. With Annie we simply added a new facet to our relationship. What fun it was escorting Annie to restaurants, theaters and openings. We became the threesome of the town with enough income to enjoy the pleasures of the city. We hit the night spots on a regular basis and for awhile, at least, became well known at many of them. In these new circles we entered, the Brotherhood again opened doors. Sometimes the mere sight of the signet rings got us the best tables. It was a delightful time. Annie was more worldly than either Jake or I, especially me, and she took special pains in teaching us the ins and outs of handling snobby waiters or wangling hard to get reservations.

She also found a hair stylist who knew how to handle a mop like mine, which after a bit snipping, clipping and thinning, began to look quiet dashing. Even Jake liked the results. I began depending on Annie's tastes to pick my clothes. Jake had been saying for sometime I went to work dressed more like an office boy than the boss, but I did favor jeans and sweatshirts for comfort. That is, until Annie showed me the real comfort of lambs wool slacks and silk shirts. With her help and prodding I soon took on a well dressed affluent look and I'm afraid for awhile I became somewhat of a clothes horse. It was Ed who finally brought me back to earth when he laughingly remarked I should stop before I completely outclassed the office decor.

Through it all, Annie was considerate and never demanding of our attention; although, we included her in nearly everything. It was a pleasant life and while I can't claim to love Annie with the same intensity I hold for Jake, I do care for her very deeply; however, I most assuredly love our children. We three stayed together off and on for nearly four years. The first pregnancy came only ten months into our relationship and Jake married Annie. They filed for divorce as soon as J.T.(Jacob Theodore) Sanders was born, hale and hearty, all eight pounds of him. Two years later I married Annie. We were expecting another child, Andrea Dawn Gibson, as our beautiful daughter is known.

With the coming of J.T., our lives entered a new phase. Overnight, Jake took on the fierceness of a mother lion protecting her cub while at the same time displaying all the pride of a new parent. Everyone had to see the baby, and everyone had to wear a mask. I doubt Dr. Schweitzer himself could have gotten past Jake unless dressed for an operation. He carried it to ridiculous lengths and Annie and I laughed about it for years afterwards. By the time Andrea was born, Jake came to realize babies don't necessarily curl up and die if someone sneezes within a hundred yards of them, but his pride in our new addition lessened not one whit.

I believe Jake and I have precisely the same feeling for our children, but it came to us at different times. From the moment they were born Jake became hopelessly entranced. My enchantment came as personality developed. I walked in one day to find Jake holding two week old J.T. on his lap and with a tear in his eye he looked up at me.

"This has to be the most beautiful child in the world!"

Some thirteen months later, I found myself echoing those exact words when J.T. came running to me on his chubby little legs, (he was new at running then), planted a big, wet kiss on my cheek, and said,

"Night, night, Daddy."

With Andrea, my enchantment came even sooner. At a year of age, she was speaking in full sentences and all ready twisting my heart around her little finger.

Annie insisted on moving out before J.T. entered preschool, saying it would simply be too stressful for him trying to explain two fathers in the same household,--- and, of course, it would be. She chose an apartment building nearby, so little actually changed for Jake and me. The children were with us about half the time, but it was a slow pulling apart and I fully understood her reasoning. Soon would come the questions that would be much more difficult to answer if we continued living together.

The following summer, Annie's father died in a car accident. She was grief stricken and went to Portland to be with her mother. Annie stayed a month and when she came back it was only to select a replacement. She picked Josephine who had been her alter ego for the last two years and who Annie swore knew as much about the business as she did. I had no doubt GSI would survive without her, but it was awful to see her leave. In my heart I knew she was doing what was best for her, her mother and possibly, even for the children, but that move left a hole in our lives and we have suffered for it in one way or another.

All the years the children were small, we phoned them at least once a week and visited every month or so, as well as on birthdays and Christmas and the kids always stayed with us a part of each summer, but it was not the same. I longed for a way we might be together, to live openly as a family and at the same time not expose the kids to ridicule. Maybe in the far future that might be possible, but not in our lifetime. We live in a society that places name tags on everything and the vast majority of people can't see past a label. It might sound strange, considering how I feel about Jake, but I hope with all my heart our children grow up fully heterosexual. In itself that's no guarantee of happiness, but in most ways its much easier than being gay.

* * * * * * *

Notes:

Jake read about Annie and once more retreated, but the next day he remembered the kids being born and started asking questions about where they were now. I hoped by tweaking his memory it would all come back, since the kids were such an important part of his life, only it didn't seem to work that way. I'll try a different approach. This time I'll tell him about the worst summer of our lives. It's a trip I'd rather forget; however, it might help him remember.

Hawaii

I knew the kids arrived.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" and the patter of racing feet. Andrea and JT came charging through the maze of desks in the outer office and made it to my door in a dead heat while a frazzled looking Alex brought up the rear. As I scooped up the kids, Alex dropped in the nearest chair.

"Don't ever ask me to do that again!"

"I thought you liked flying?" I responded.

"Flying, yes. Chasing your daughter through airports is something else again. Doesn't she ever rest?"
I looked at Andrea in mock severity.

"Have you been giving Uncle Alex a hard time?"

"Oh, Daddy, he's no fun. All Uncle Alex wants to do is sit down!"

"Fat chance." Alex muttered.

J.T. said nothing as he slid off my arm and onto the corner of the desk, but he smiled at Alex.

"Daddy!" Andrea shrilled, "We left the presents in the car!" she wiggled loose. "I'll go get 'em." she said as she started for the door." Alex grabbed her.

"Oh, no you don't. You stay put, I'll see to it." With a sigh he heaved himself upright and left the office.

"Where's Papa?" Andrea demanded.

"He's driving in from Long Beach, but you can call him. We've got something new. Car phones, just like James Bond."

"Really? Can I try it?" JT asked, his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation. I handed over a card with a long complicated number printed on the back and watched him take command of the situation. What a handsome boy. He was growing up before my eyes and seemed even taller now than just a month ago when we went north to celebrate Annie's birthday. Our error was becoming more evident every day. Soon Jake and I would have to take JT aside and try to explain the mix-up, although I hoped that moment could be put off for another year or so. JT punched in the numbers with the confidence only an experienced eight year old video game player can muster. How different his generation than ours I thought. I worked at keeping abreast of new technology while JT and Andrea seemed to absorb that stuff with the air they breathed. A moment later JT said,

"Hi, Papa!" and then found himself hard pressed defending the phone as Andrea cried,

"Let me talk to Papa,--- let me talk!"

I quickly turned on the speaker phone and sat her on my lap.

"Wait your turn." I said firmly, which did nothing at all to suppress our irrepressible six year old.

"Where are you, Papa?" Andrea wanted to know.

"Only a few blocks away, Honey. I'll be there in a minute." Then he added, "JT, does Grandma Margaret like her new kitchen?"

"I guess so, she told Mom it's almost too nice to cook in. Grandma sent you a surprise present, but I'm not supposed to tell what it is."

"I know, I know!" Andrea shouted, "It's homemade jam. I helped Grandma make it!" she said proudly.

"I'll bet you helped a lot, Little Lady." Jake replied. I could hear a smile in his voice. Suddenly a screech of tires came through the speaker and he said, "Damn, I almost hit that guy! Look, kids, I'll be there in a minute. I'm going to hang up now, the traffic is fierce."

Alex returned toting a large shopping bag with some interesting looking packages sticking out. Minutes later Jake arrived and as the kids said their 'hello's,' Alex slipped out of the office. He is a great one for putting on a show, but I believe he cares for the kids almost as much as we do and I know they adore him. He's the first one they ask for when they visit.

"Well, Gang, what shall we do this summer,--- skin diving,--- mountain climbing?" Jake asked.

"Disneyland!" came the unanimous reply.

"Ah, Disneyland. You never get sick of that, do you? Okay, Disneyland it is, but not right away. First we have a little surprise. How would you two like to see a volcano and fern tree forests and fields of pineapples? Our first stop this year is Hawaii, then Disneyland and after that,--- who knows?"

As always our summers were filled with travel and adventure. Jake never tired of showing the kids new places and new things, be it a tide pool searching for baby octopus or the wonders of some far off city, he was Mr. Exuberant. I, on the other hand truly enjoyed the quiet times with the kids, so between us it seemed to work out beautifully. He gave them excitement, I gave them time to rock and talk and doze a lazy afternoon away.

A few days later found us aboard a 747 bound for Honolulu. The kids were experienced travelers and with the exception of Andrea's burning desire to explore the marvels of all air terminals, they behaved very well. I suspected Alex's trials with Andrea came more from the party he attended the night before, than anything she did, but his point was valid. When the kids got tired JT always curled up on the nearest lap while Andrea fidgeted and got more active. It always took coaxing to get her eyes closed. That day we sat with the kids sprawled across our laps asleep. Jake was running his fingers through JT's blond hair when he said quietly,

"He looks exactly like you."

"And Andrea like you." I replied, "We're going to have to do some explaining one of these days. Got any ideas?"

"I was kind of hoping it would work itself out. Annie has never differentiated, it's always Papa Jake and Daddy Ted, never YOUR father or your sister's father. As far as the kids are concerned, we're interchangeable and I hoped it could always stay that way." He looked at the children and smiled, "Of course when they get to be teenagers, you just know we'll be the biggest embarrassment of their lives. All parent's are, even the most conventional kind, so I can imagine you and I will have to hide out for a few years until they get over it. The only thing I worry about is someone seeing the obvious and throwing it in their faces. People can be damn cruel. My aunt used to call me "Janie's little bastard." I don't want that shit happening to our kids."

"I don't think you have worry about that. Knowing Annie, anyone who spouted off wouldn't survive long enough to do it again. Sure, it would be nice to grow up in perfect family with perfect parents, like some TV show, but how often does that happen? You know Jake, the kids are going to have to make their own lives just as we have. No matter what, our kids have it pretty darn good. They've got their mother and they know we love them. That's sure a step ahead of what you and I went through.

"Are you going back to Michigan to see your old man? You talked about it, but never said for sure."

"I guess I should. Uncle Rex says he want's to see me and that he's not in very good shape. The booze must have finally gotten to him."

"So you've forgiven him?"

"Not on your life! He's the meanest, most uncaring bastard who ever lived. Unfortunatly he is my father, so I guess I should do something. You know, I dropped him a postcard once a year just to let him know I'm still alive, and he has never answered once. This is the first time in all these years he's wanted to see me. Trouble is, I'm not really sure I want to see him. There's a lot of bad memories lurking back there. If I do go you'll have to come with me, I don't feel like facing him alone."

"Teddy, it's been eighteen years. I'm sure he's changed, anyway you have. You're no kid anymore. "

"Just the same, I'd like you to come. I still get queasy just thinking about him. He was always slapping me around. A couple of times Grandma had to call in the doctor. As I think about it now, it's a wonder I didn't kill him when I got bigger. It's a good thing I didn't go home after the army, I don't know what would've happened. God, he was a mean bastard. You know, I don't ever remember one good moment with him."

"There's no law says you have to see him. If he still bothers you that much, why not just write or call and let it go at that?

"I can't. This has more to do with me than him. I've despised him all my life and I'd like to think I'm better than that."

My father and I were always been at odds. Grandma Fox lived in a small house on the far end of the farm and if it hadn't been for her, I doubt I would have survived to grow up. She was my refuge, the only person who could stand between dad and me when he got full of liquor. Even sober he was no jewel. A slap up side the head was how he communicated and all it took to learn I was doing some chore differently than he wanted it done. I actually spent most of my time at Grandma's when I wasn't doing farm work. After Grandma died, I moved back to dad's house and lived there for another year and a half until joining the Army.

It was hell, but at that age I was bigger and better equipped to handle it. In the summer I camped out, showing up in the morning to do chores and any other work he wanted done, then I'd slip away and spend my nights down by the river while he headed into town for another night of carousing. Even in rainy weather the river was preferable to staying in the house and knowing he'd be back in the middle of the night ready to 'make a man of me' again. At twelve and thirteen, I had no idea of what he was talking about. Later on, I figured if being a man meant beating kids, then I never wanted to be his kind of man. Toward the end he backed off from the violence. I took to keeping a baseball bat next to my bed and while I never threatened him with it, I think he realized his dominance over me was finished.

I saw my father three weeks after returning from Hawaii. There was another letter from Rex, again stating it was urgent without specifying the emergency and so I went, but not alone. Jake, Annie and the kids came along. Somehow the fear of being separated again even for a little while, made us hold very tightly to each other. Hawaii had been a disaster, and while the kids appeared nearly recovered from the harrowing experience, Annie, Jake and I were still shellshocked. On top of that I was now using a cane and my leg ached constantly. It wasn't the best time to confront my father, if there ever was such a time.

The house looked different with a fresh coat of paint. It was never been painted in all the years I lived there. The yard was cleaned up, too, no more rusting farm machinery sitting along the drive. Even the grass was mowed. It looked like a different place and much smaller than I remembered it, but inside it was the same. It even smelled the same. Old, and musty, more like a barn than a house. The furniture was the same worn out junk I recalled; although, a piece to two looked different. A TV now sat in the dinning room and I noticed he turned the little parlor into a ground floor bedroom.

I went no further than the dinning room, but well remembered the two bedrooms above the parlor. In my day, he slept in one and I in the other. My clearest memories of that time was of him coming home in the middle of the night to bang around in the kitchen until I woke up. I'm sure he did it intentionally as a sort a warning signal. I could then lie awake wondering if he was on the rampage again or just drunk. Would he find something wrong down there? Was the garbage emptied, were the milk pails clean enough? Some nights he just went to bed, others, he opened my door and when he came to my room it was always with a belt in his hand.

Our reception was about as chilly as my leave taking had been, but I didn't expect a warm greeting anyway. He was never that kind of person. He looked thin, frail and old and at first I thought maybe Jake was right. Sometimes people do change when they get older and he certainly looked different. I thought we might be able to talk through our differences; as it turned out, we hardly talked at all. We just yelled. And I have to admit, at least part of that was my fault. I had no tolerance left for his self righteous denial. I was on edge, not only from an aching leg, but from seeing him again, so when he started questioning me in the same tone of voice I remembered, I automatically went on the defensive. After the introductions, Annie and Jake shepherded the kids outside.

"Who are those people?" he asked querulously.

"My family. Jake is my business partner. Annie was at one time married to both of us and the children belong to Jake and me."

"You married?" he asked, his voice carrying a tone of astonishment.

"Does that surprise you?"

"No, no," he said unconvincingly, "I just assumed. . ." his voice trailed off. What was going on in his mind? I wondered. Did he the think those beatings actually changed anything? Worst of all, I wondered if he felt he'd done me a favor. I could have left it alone and probably should've, but inside me there is a perverseness that I can't control at times and so I said,

"Well, I wouldn't want to disillusion you. Jake is more than a business partner. We're mates and have been since 1970."

"But,. . . you said you were married,. . ."

"One doesn't preclude the other."

His face went through a dozen changes as he digested that tidbit until it finally settled into the old familiar scowl of my childhood.

"It ain't natural." he hissed. "What a' you gonna' tell them kids? That their dad's are a couple of fairies?"

I lost it then. If there had been any chance of reconciliation, it went out the window.

"Well,--- first of all it's none of your Goddamned business what we tell our kids. Secondly, you're sure one to talk about what's natural to me, you Goddamned hypocritical, selfrighteous, son of a bitch. You used to knock me around whenever you had a bad day. I never did a Goddamn thing to you nor deserved the way you treated me as a child. My children have two loving fathers,--- I didn't even have one. I remember it all, Old Man, especially how you'd work yourself up to it. You never knew I figured out, it became a sexual turn on for you to beat me. You got your rocks off beating a defenseless child,--- you own son,--- for cries sake! Was that natural, you old bastard? Christ, you don't have the right to say a Goddamned thing about what's natural or not. You're the last person on this Earth to make a judgement like that."

"I was just trying to straighten you out. Make a man of you." he answered, his voice filled with indignation.

"I am a man and I've got a brain cell or two, so cut the bullshit. You were slapping me around years before either one of us knew I was gay. From the time I was a little kid I was a whipping boy for everything that was wrong in your life. Remember the time you broke my arm,--- I was,--- what,--- maybe five? Remember what you told the doctor? You lied to him then just like you're lying now. How come you can't face yourself?"

Grandma told me once he had a rough time as a kid and her second husband, Abner Fox was mean and unforgiving. I never knew him, he died years before I was born, but I always had a feeling he successfully turned my father into someone just like himself. That knowledge didn't change how I felt. Any sympathy I might have had was long ago beaten out of me. My father gave me the same old fish eyed look I remembered as a youngster and I realized he hadn't changed one iota in all these years. He was still the embodiment of everything I despised in a human being.

"I figured it right," He said bitterly. "You turned out just like ma's brother, only he had sense enough to kill himself."

He at last said exactly what he thought of me but I wasn't particularly shocked. In my youth there was plenty of indication of how he felt, but he never voiced it like that. Better dead than queer. Yet there was something in his bitterness that made me wonder. The years of drinking, his lack of any visible humanity; what was behind that if not some deep seated fear? I didn't know about my great uncle, Grandma once mentioned she had a brother who died young, yet never elaborated. Being worked up as I was, I grabbed that bit of information and threw it back in his face.

"Well, well. So it runs in the family, does it? I've heard say it's in the genes. I guess you shouldn't of had a kid, old man. You've got queer blood in you. So you see,--- it ain't my fault,--- you passed it on to me."

It was totally off the wall and with no basis of truth as far as I knew, but it was meant to hurt and it seemed to strike a nerve. He went white as a sheet. He might of all ready had that idea in his head, but if not, it was enough to stop him cold. Without a word he got up and went into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. We hung around the farm for another hour or so but my father stayed in his room. He obviously had nothing more to say to me. That afternoon we returned the rental car, caught the next flight back to California and it wasn't until weeks later I learned why he wanted to see me in the first place. All he really wanted was my signature, not a reconciliation.

That was my assumption, and it was a thought that probably never entered his mind. It seemed there was a standing offer for the farm, but since Grandma left a portion of the land to me, I had to sign off on the deal. When I found out about it, I turned my share over to him for the minimum one dollar, then returned the dollar to him by mail. I'm sure he got the message.

In all my years of growing up I don't recall a single instance when my father tried to teach me anything; yet, on that final visit I did learn something from him. Very simply put; you make your own hell. Others may thrust you into it, but you don't have to stay there unless you want to. I think he probably did love my mother, at least Grandma thought so and maybe if mom hadn't died things would be different; then again, maybe not.

There was something twisted in my father I sensed at a very early age. I think at times he enjoyed what he did to me. Grandma said after mother died, he was mad at the world, and maybe at first it was just his uncontrollable temper, but I think that changed. Later he got off on it. Of course I didn't know about such things back then, but I knew there was something wrong with him, I always knew.

It was a bad summer all around. Our trip to Hawaii which we planned as an entertaining and educational experience for the kids, turned into a nightmare when they became the focus of an attempt to punish Jake and me. It started out with an invitation to dine with a Mr. Koto which was delivered by a man dressed far too warmly for the Honolulu afternoon. It was his clothing that first caught my eye. Black slacks topped by a dark blue long sleeved shirt buttoned tightly at the cuffs and collar and completely out of place in lobby of the Hilton on that fine sunny day. He stopped us as we left the elevator loaded down with beach paraphernalia and said something to Jake in heavily accented English.

"Pardon me?" Jake responded.

"Koto-san say you come to dinner." The man repeated "Eight o'clock."

The man might have been be a servant, but there was nothing servile in his manner toward us. That invitation was issued with all the force of a command. He thrust a card in Jake's hand and before either of us could ask a question he was gone, but not before I noticed something that rather startled me. As he reached out to give the card to Jake, the man's sleeve slipped back far enough to expose elaborate tattooing that seemed dense enough to cover his whole arm and I suddenly realized why he wore his shirt that way. He must have been covered with tattoos from neckline to wrists and that rang alarm bells. In my years in Japan I had seen several men with markings like that. Each one had been a member of the Yakaza, a sort of Japanese crime syndicate.

Jake looked at the card then handed it to me. It was a simple affair with the name Haji Koto embossed in black ink on a plain white card. No phone number, just an address, and on the corner the notation "Dinner 8:00 PM". The card was as uninformative as the messenger.

"Who the devil is Koto?" Jake asked.

"Beat's me, I never heard of him. But I'm pretty sure I know what he is. I think maybe it's a good idea to bow out of this invite."

I told Jake of my suspicions about the courier as we headed for beach, or more accurately as the kids dragged us toward the beach. It was our first day on the island. The ocean spread out before us in all it's splendor and seemed somehow different than the one that laps the shores of California. It was warmer and more inviting here. Later, we moved from the beach to the beach front vendors in search of the perfect gifts for mom and Grandma Margaret. The afternoon just slipped away and Koto's invitation slipped my mind. It was almost ten before the kids were finally tucked in bed and asleep. An hour later Jake and I were ourselves getting ready for bed when I discovered Koto's card still in my pocket.

"Damn, I forgot about this." I said, pulling it free. "I should have sent a note."

"Why bother? If he's what you think he is, we wouldn't go anyway. Besides, I didn't like that guy's attitude."

"Neither did I, still, it wouldn't hurt to find out what Koto wants. A note might have accomplished that without actually showing up for dinner."

"Aw, don't worry about it. Tomorrow, I'll have Johnson run a background on the guy. If he's legit, we can make our excuses then. In the mean time," his voice took on a seductive tone, "there's a fine looking bed in the other room we haven't tested yet." And he began undoing my shirt in his playful, proprietary way.

"What is it about air travel that makes you so horny?" I laughed.

"Beat's me," he answered, "it must be the company I keep." His eyebrows moved up and down in a Groucho Marks leer as he began an even more suggestive undoing. I pretended to fight him off, and that led to a hilarious bit of foreplay that soon had us shushing each other for fear of waking the kids. We finally made it into the bedroom, our clothes scattered around the suite. And it was a fine bed, a very fine bed indeed. Jake was right of course. It is the company we keep that makes life fulfilling. It is also the thing that keeps one strong when it all blows up in your face.

Near midnight a week later, we lay atop a knoll overlooking a walled estate some miles from the city. Dressed in black we wore cat burglars garb; tight fitting jersey jumpsuits so soft they made no sound as we moved. Our clothing smelled exactly like new mown grass, an added protection to help mask the odor of human sweat since attack dogs patrolled the grounds. I looked around trying to pick out our five accomplices from the background of dark underbrush. Here and there I caught the hint of movement or the whiteness of an eye against a blackened face, otherwise they were mere
shadows blending with the night.

Jake led the excursion with the same precision he once lead patrols in Nam, only this was the most important one of his life. JT and Andrea had been missing for nearly three days. If they were still alive, we were positive they were somewhere on the grounds of the house below. Koto,--- that bastard with the bland smile and regal manners had brought this about, but why? Retribution over the loss of some damned piece of ancient dross? I couldn't fathom a mind that would use children as a tool for revenge. Perhaps that was my downfall. Even though I knew the value certain Japanese place on ancestral rigmarole, I never thought it possibly to carry it to this extent. Our refusal to acknowledge his family's ancient claim was followed by a veiled threat so nebulous it sounded more like the moral of an Aesop fable. "Unlucky is the tree that tries to stem a rising tide."

Moonlight outlined Jake's face in silhouette. His jaw thrust forward, the tightness of his mouth spoke volumes. I've always been able to read Jake by set of his head. Nothing can deter him when he holds that look. He touched my arm, then pointed. From around the corner of the main house came a man walking a pair of large dogs straining at leashes. They seemed to be checking the perimeter close to the wall. He was hardly out of sight when a pair of men emerged from the smaller of two cottages that lay between us and the main house.

Lighters flared. The men talked as they smoked, their voices modulating on the breeze, their words not quite discernible. When the perimeter guard came around again they spoke a few words to him and went back inside. All grew quiet. No one else showed up, just the guard taking about a quarter hour for his round.

"How many?" I whispered, meaning guards. Jake understood.

"About fifteen supposedly and a kennel full of dogs" Came his faint reply. "Remember, the dogs are trained for silent attack."

I heard it all before at the GSI office that afternoon, but was so keyed up the numbers went right over my head. Three days ago when the children first came up missing, we assumed they just wandered out of the hotel and gotten lost somewhere in the city. We notified the police, but when their response wasn't quick enough to suit us, we rousted out every off duty GSI man on the island. The search went on late into the night and covered an area far beyond where the children could've possibly walked; yet, nothing came of it. No one saw them.

We appealed for help from the local TV stations and the next day when Annie arrived, their pictures were all ready displayed several times. Not great pictures, only some individual shots we snapped with a Polaroid the day before, but Annie brought better ones. We hoped it would make a difference showing them side by side. If the kids were simply lost and wandering, we knew they would be together. JT would never leave Andrea alone. Then came a call from Koto. He saw our plea on TV and offered to help in the search, declaring he was ready to put forty of his employees on the task.

It was Koto's men who "found" Andrea's shoe. Her name was printed on the inside, the same as with all Kindergartners at her school. From the moment that shoe turned up, I knew Koto had a hand in the disappearance. I couldn't prove it in any way, not even to Jake. His reasoning was straight forward. Koto made absolutely no demands on us, so what would be the object of a kidnapping? His point was valid, yet a feeling inside told me he was wrong. There was a rat gnawing at my bones, the little rat that always chewed when something isn't right. I felt that same gnawing a few days before when Koto began speaking of "An article of great sentimental value to his family." It was stolen, he said, a hundred and fifty years ago and his family had been trying to recover it ever since. The gnawing grew more intense when he mentioned they were now offering a fifty thousand dollar finders fee, or more if it became necessary. Why tell us about it, I wondered? I made several failed attempts to change the subject, but when he casually mentioned this family heirloom was traced to Hawaii, I stopped him. I could sense he was leading up to something we didn't want to hear.

"Is it worth a great deal more than fifty thousand?" I asked.

"No, no, much less. However respect for our ancestors and for ourselves demands its return. One cannot place a cash value on family honor."

"Well if you're willing to spend that kind of money, why not offer to buy it outright?" Jake asked.

"It's not for sale, besides, the family who has it are the same ones who stole it." He replied grimly.

I heard tales of feuds that ran through old Japanese families for generations; yet, never actually encountered one until this moment. There was an edge to Koto's voice, controlled and smoothed by a civilized veneer that couldn't quite hide the boundless passions of an honor bound fanatic. Koto didn't need to tell me where we entered into the picture. I could lay odds the thing Koto searched for was stored in GSI's safety deposit vault right here in Honolulu.

We beat a hasty retreat without actually declaring the obvious and in doing so declined to be involved. Koto pursued it no further, no outright bribes, no pressure of any kind. The only hint of displeasure came from the old man who sat in on the meeting, when he said something in Japanese I didn't understand. Koto translated. It was an old saying; 'Unlucky is the tree that tries to stem a rising tide.' Had I only known the meaning of that quotation!

Koto's demeanor never changed all through our search for the children. One would've thought he was as shattered as we were. For two days he stayed in constant contact with us, ever helpful, ever hopeful while at the same time offering platitudes we didn't want to hear. I was sick of his calls and his constant interruptions; yet, I was very careful not expose my feelings. That was difficult. Many times I simply bit my tongue and handed the call off to someone else.

When the shoe turned up and Jake couldn't be convinced of my suspicions, I called Ken Mitsume in L.A. Ken is a Brother, a second generation Japanese graphic artist who I thought might clarify my feelings about Koto. At first he reacted the same as Jake.

"Has he made any demands?"

"No," I replied, "only there's something wrong here, Ken. The guy he sent to meet us was Yakuza, I'm sure of it."

"Well,--- they do hire out as body guards, you know. Besides, some of those secret societies were disbanded awhile back so you're liable to find ex-members working anywhere."

"Yes, I've read about that, but why would he need bodyguards here in Hawaii? Would you do me a favor and see what you can find on Koto? Our local office comes up clean on the man, but of course we don't have anyway of knowing his background in Japan. You know who to ask and I'm at my wits end right now."

"I'll get right on it, and Ted,--- you're absolutely right, I know exactly who to ask. I'll make a call to an old friend at UCLA and get back to you as soon as I can. Don't give up hope. You know everyone in the Brotherhood is doing all they can to find your kids."

An hour later Ken called back with some startling news. Haji Koto was only part of the man's name. The rest was Yakashita. Haji Koto Yakashita was truly a blue blood, a descendent of samurai and later, shoguns of the Imperial clan. Ken said it wasn't unusual for aristocratic Japanese to drop part of the family name when they entered into a commercial enterprise. He then began asking questions about our meeting with Koto, he wanted every detail.

"I thought I told you all about it." I said

"Tell me again. Did he say anything that sounded odd?"

"Besides trying to bribe us? No. He didn't even push that. We cut him off at the pass, so I guess you couldn't even call it a bribe attempt. The old man said something about trees and rising tides, but that's all."

"Quote it exactly" Ken persisted.

"Let's me see, ahhh. . . 'unhappy is the tree that tries to stem a rising tide.' I believe that's right.

"Damn, that sounds familiar! Look, I've got to make another call. I'll get right back to you." and the phone went dead. When Ken called back awhile later, Annie answered and then flipped on the speaker so we could all hear.

"Okay, here's what I've got. That quote is from an old manuscript dealing with points of honor. I don't understand it myself. It doesn't sound the least bit honorable in the way we think of it today, but remember it was written some five hundred years ago. Anyway, it has to do with an offer made that's rejected and later, an entire family is laid waste because one man refused to help in a just and honorable cause. The entire quote is, "Unhappy is the tree that tries to stem a rising tide, for its roots will wither and its seeds turn to salt." My friend suggests that coming from a Yakashita elder you can consider it real threat. He also said, without a doubt, Haji or his uncle took your kids."

"How did he arrive at that conclusion? Jake asked, still skeptical.

"Because that quote is a death threat, pure and simple. Few people but history buffs would even know it, and to my friend's knowledge it was never used in any other way. Now I have to tell you what else my friend said, and you're not going to like it. IF your children are still alive and that's a big if, then you have to find them quickly and quietly. In other words, if Koto has the slightest idea you suspect him, the kids will vanish from the face of the earth.

My friend also said that since Koto in staying in touch, there is a good chance the children are still alive. He's fishing to find out what leads you've uncovered. If leads do develop, and he learns about them, he'll waste no time in setting someone else up to take the fall, someone totally unconnected to him who will leave no stain of dishonor on the Yakashita name. You have to move fast, Brothers, my friend thinks you have very little time left."

I saw the blood drain from Jake's face, a stillness settled over him like a touch of death. In all our years together, I have never seen Jake look like that: Such pure hatred for anyone. At that moment I thought Koto was a dead man, but finally Jake snapped out of it and got things rolling.

* * * * * * *

Jake gave the signal. In two's we crawled off the knoll staying in the shadow of the undergrowth. Slowly, quietly, we worked our way to the wall. One man climbed up to attach a tiny microphone to the top, then we settled back counting the minutes for the guard to make another round. Our timing had to be precise if we hoped to pull this off.

* * * * * * *

Koto owned an Import-Export company legitimate in all respects as far as the locals were concerned. He and his company had a history of honest dealings and the man himself was well thought of in Honolulu. The report showed nothing to indicate an involvement with the Yakuza, so we assumed the man we saw that first day was simply an employee. It was a couple of days after the failed invitation when we finally joined Koto for dinner at a downtown restaurant. He was courteous, friendly and was accompanied by an older man whom he introduced as his uncle. It turned out to be a fairly pleasant meal with Koto offering advice on what to order from the extensive Japanese menu.

Afterwards, he escorted us to his office for drinks and for what we assumed would be a round of business talks. Koto Enterprises had extensive holdings in Hawaii which included several private warehouses as well as a facilities in the duty free zone. His headquarters occupied a large imposing structure in the best part of town and it was there in the privacy of his office that the "finders fee" was offered. Until that moment, I rather liked the man. Throughout the evening I used my meager and rusty Japanese and my attempts made both the waiter and Koto smile.

The only one who didn't seem amused was the older man. He remained rigidly formal and spoke only to Koto. As formal as he was, he was far less patient than one expects from old world Japanese. He hurried Koto through the meeting with rapid little comments I couldn't quite catch. I don't think the old man had a very high opinion of us, or maybe it was Americans in general he didn't like. Two days after the aborted meeting, the kids vanished. I should have put two and two together, only I didn't.

* * * * * * *

It took eighteen minutes for the guard to walk this round. After he passed we waited exactly nine which we calculated would take him to the far side of the compound along the ocean cliffs where the sound of the surf would cover any noise we might make going over the wall. It seemed to work in our favor. We made it over and down the ropes undetected. Our research of the place uncovered no elaborate electronics. Koto, depended on manpower to protect, and of course the dogs. In only seventeen hours we learned a great deal about this estate.

From a local fencing company it was determined that the kennel doors were electrically operated. The push of a single button and a half dozen vicious beasts could be loosed on the grounds. The dogs remained our main fear. Even with the scent deadening grass smell we drenched ourselves in, we felt the dogs would be our biggest obstacle. Our only weapons were compressed air pistols carrying a half dozen darts loaded with a nerve paralyzing drug. From old architectural drawings we committed floor plans to memory and studied the landscape lay out.

We knew how to get from one point to another in the most efficient way. The only thing we didn't know for sure was how many people were inside, armed or otherwise. Our plan was simple: A lightening survey of the one place we felt the kids might still be held. During daylight hours we had instigated searches on Koto's other properties by using telephone failures, power outages and freight mix ups to get our men inside. We checked his warehouse facilities, even his main office complex, but nothing turned up. This was our last shot.

The estate was also about the only place he could hold someone captive for three days without outsiders being aware of it. This was not a genuine raid we warned our men, simply a search. We wanted it thorough, clean and so quiet Koto might never know. That was our plan, such as it was. Basically we were winging it. An earlier attempt at getting a man inside the estate under the ruse of an UPS delivery, failed. There were no options left.

The dogs came first. Jason from our L.A. office, headed for the kennels. His job was to disable the kennel door system in a way that would look like a simple failure. The rest of us spread out keeping an eye open for the roving perimeter guard. If we could avoid him and the two leashed dogs, we could approach the guest cottages, and then on to the main house if necessary. Stealth was our only hope of getting in and out undiscovered. Our orders to the men on that score were simple. At the first sound of an alarm, get back over the wall. Above all else, Koto must never know it was us who penetrated this place.

* * * * * * *

I guess it takes a crisis to really know a person. Annie who is so warm and gentle in normal circumstances became an iron maiden when the chips were down. No hysteria for her, she was as solid as a rock while I went around blaming myself for not having bowed to Koto's demands. She put me back on track.

"Damn it," she said, "it's not your fault. Now pull yourself together and get in there and do what you do best. Find out where that bastard has our kids!" And I did.

It was tax records that told me a small parcel belonging to Koto's company was more than leased out farm land as listed. He was paying far too much taxes. I did some digging and found it was originally an abandoned cliff edge manor sold to Koto by owners of a much larger piece of property. It was also the only place in all of his holdings that was absolutely private. We dug up aerial maps showing the grounds, dredged out every bit of information we could find concerning the place and came up with our hasty plan. In the meantime, Annie stayed in contact with Koto as if nothing had changed. She played the worried mother, so everlastingly grateful for all his help, and thus bought us the time we needed. Neither I or Jake could have done that. Koto would have known instantly we were on to him.

* * * * * * *

The roving guard surprised us by coming through a small grove of trees to our right some five minutes ahead of schedule. Someone got a dart into him and as he dropped the dogs came charging toward us. There was a flurry of darts, the "Pfft, pfft, pfft" of dart guns and the dogs went down without a whimper. It was surreal, like watching a silent movie. The only sound was the pounding of my heart.

One miscue like that was all it took to wreck our hasty plan. With a guard down, Koto would know for sure someone had been here. With nothing much left to lose, everything changed. Now we would take out the guards, not avoid them. What started as a survey was now a raid, only our forces were out gunned and out numbered.

By twos we slipped through the darkness, hunkering in the shadow of the few scattered shrubs until finally flattening ourselves against the wall of the smaller house. This was where we saw the two men earlier. Checking around the corner, I heard a "Pfft" and saw a man fall as he stepped from a doorway. He was caught and dragged into the shadows. I waited a moment, then went inside and came face to face with the another man. "Hoi!" came his startled response as I pressed the dart pistol against his side and pulled the trigger.

The place was empty and rather cramped, looking more like servants quarters than a guest house. A TV in the main room played a rerun of Hawaii Five-0 and on a low table in front of it were two automatic weapons with stacks of clips beside them. The casual way those two had been wandering about told me they were on night duty, but not really expecting any trouble.

Jake and I moved on to the larger guest house, a two story affair while the rest of the men checked out the garden sheds and garages. The ground floor was dark, with only a couple of lights showing from second story windows. The back door opening onto a small kitchen and I carefully surveyed the room looking for any sort of clues. A cereal box sat on the counter and there were two bowls in the sink still with milk in them. My hopes soared. Cereal was the kid's favorite bedtime snack. I slipped down the hall to a large main room that took up the entire front of the house and there by a couch in front of the T.V., I found a little grass skirted hula doll, exactly like the one I bought for Andrea on the day she
disappeared.

I nearly called out her name. Jake came in the front as I inched up the open stairway. I glanced into the first room and couldn't believe my eyes. There was Andrea, sound asleep on the bed. But where was JT? The next room was empty, then I heard a toilet flush. A moment later a door opened and JT stepped into the hall. He stopped when he saw me, a startled look on his face. It must have been frightening for him meeting a black apparition looming out from the shadows. He didn't recognize me until I put a finger to my lips and said "Shhh." His face lit up and before I could stop him, he shouted,

"DAD!"

And the jig was up. A door at the far end of the hall flew open. A man stuck his head out, but jumped back before I could place a dart. I snatched up JT and dodged back into the bedroom for Andrea as Jake come charging up the steps.

"Watch out!" I yelled, "There's one down the hall."

I was wrong in the count, there were two. Jake got the first, but the other one held back and as we raced across the lawn each carrying a child, my legs suddenly went out from under me. I thought I tripped, strangely enough, I never felt the bullet; although, I should have realized. Behind us, a rapid burst of gunfire filled the night. It lasted only a moment. One of our men must have got a dart into the guard, because the noise stopped with a spray of bullets in the air.

Now, there was no need for stealth, our men headed pell mell for the wall. A black figure darting past snatching a crying Andrea from my arms. Without her weight I managed to gain my feet again and stagger as far as the wall, but for the life of me I couldn't climb the rope. Blood overflowed my shoe making everything slippery. My muscles had somehow turned to lead. The kids were all ready out of sight and as the last man went over I slumped to the ground. We had done it! The kids were safe. I could hear our men clambering up across the hillside through the brush, Andrea's crying fading in the distance. A mile from here, cars waited to take them back to the city, and with that thought the last of the adrenaline I'd been running on drained away.

It seemed like only seconds before armed men, more than the fifteen we counted on came pouring out of the main house. They appeared confused as to where the gunfire came from, but it was only a minute before they headed for cottages, spreading out across the lawn and coming my way. I heard a noise above me and looked up to see a man sliding down the rope. It was Jake. He hunkered down beside me touching my leg.

"Is it bad?" he whispered,

"I don't know, I got this far, but I can't climb. Get out of here, Jake, while you've got the chance."

"We're in this together, Teddy. That's the way it's always been. I can't leave you now."

And so sitting on the ground with our hands raised we faced the oncoming tide, not knowing if they would shoot first and ask questions later.

Luckily they didn't shoot, which is not to say they greeted us with open arms. They beat the hell out of us and it was only when their compatriots started coming around that they eased up. As it turned out, the guards were Yakuza to a man and I know in my heart things would have been far worse for us, maybe even fatal had any one of them died from that drug. When the Yakuza finished their rough stuff, they locked us in a tiny airless room, but I'm sure the pair that escorted us there will remember Jake. After throwing us inside they thought it was a good idea to give us each a few extra kicks. Somehow Jake got to his feet and busted both their noses. It took a gun butt to put him down again.

I think we got the children out just in time. Koto was on the estate that night, probably giving orders on what to do with them. He was furious; although, it hardly showed when he spoke to us. It was only with his men that he displayed any real emotion. The way he talked to them, I figured that a few fingers might come up missing the next day if those guys were still into that sort of thing.

With the kids now able to testify against him, Koto found himself parked firmly between a rock and a hard place. He didn't dare kill us; although, I'm sure he would've like to. We on the other hand, had reasons of our own for not wanting the authorities involved. Kidnapping or no, one does not simply bypass the police and FBI, pull a raid on private property and then feel no repercussions from it. At the very least we could expect to see the inside of a court room and there was a good possibility of losing our state license.

I will say one thing for Koto, he made no excuses, no weaseling of any sort. My one thought was, could he actually bring himself to order the cold blooded murder of children? Maybe not, he had children of his own, but with the Yakuza involved he might not need to. They have their own ways of making youngsters disappear and some can be even worse than murder, like the child prostitution rings they run in the uncaring corners of the world. I hold no sympathy for Koto whatsoever, but I do believe he was pushed into the kidnapping by his uncle.

It was so weird, so old world Japanese, almost like an ancient play, to westerners makes no sense at all. Did the old man think because he was an aristocrat his honor was more important than ours? I couldn't fathom it. My short time in Japan didn't give me a whole lot of an insight into the Japanese psyche, especially one that appeared lost in the past.

We were free within a couple of hours. Annie and a contingent of GSI employees showed up at the front gate, armed, this time, with real guns and several video cameras. With Annie in charge there was no fooling around. Even in our locked room we could hear the uproar. A bull horn blasted and Annie's voice carried across the acreage,

"Koto, get your ass out here, pronto, and bring Jake and Ted with you. You've got five minutes or I'll have every cop on the island here."

It was the kind of threat that worked, but the way she talked to Koto afterwards awed even me. By the time she was through with him there wasn't a thing left to say. I don't believe in all his life, Koto ever encountered anyone like Annie.

We were back in Honolulu post haste where a doctor patched us up well enough to travel. A chartered jet brought us back to the mainland and into the hands of our own doctors who did the surgery on my leg. We were both pretty banged up, sore and tender everywhere, but I couldn't seem to put the kids down. Sitting up in bed I had to have one or the other in sight or I broke into a cold sweat. Jake was experiencing something similar and it went on for a couple of days. It was a reaction, I suppose to our near loss and while I got over that immediate fear fairly soon, it was a long time before I could stand the thought of Annie taking the kids away again. We spent the entire summer together, half the time in Brentwood, the rest in Portland and the only other trip we made that season was to see my father.

A deeper and more thorough check into Koto's background at last turned up the connection between him and the Yakuza. It was through his uncle. The man belonged to a secret society called 'The Dark Pool,' one of oldest Yakuza organizations. We also turned up the hint of a connection tying Koto's firm to a South American arms dealer by the name of Madria. The best we could figure was that Koto was supplying Madria from a Chinese source and maybe that's where the estate came in. It was located directly on the coast in the center of some extensive private acreage and with an anchorage nearby. It was the perfect sunny spot for shady business.

We found Yakuza dealings were harder to trace than most illegal activities. No one is willing to talk or admit association with them and so we built our file on Koto almost entirely on inference. We spoke of turning it over to the FBI, only we had no hard evidence of anything except the kidnapping and that would have meant trials, headlines and notoriety. We refused to put the children through it. That experience was behind them and that's where it was going to stay.

Instead, we pressed Koto by putting dozens of men on surveillance. Everything his company did, every meeting he attended was photographed and noted and we didn't care if he realized it was happening. In fact I wanted it that way. I intended to make sure he never forgot an enemy dogged his every step. The Yakuza disappeared like the wind. One minute they were there, the next gone, probably shipped back to Japan or on to South America. Individually they became lost in the shuffle of international flights.

It appeared Koto was down sizing rapidly and the trend continued. In a matter of months he sold off his holdings one by one and finally left the islands, going back to Japan and out of the reach of GSI harassment. We kept track of him through other sources, watching carefully to see if he would expand this way again. He didn't, and the following winter, Ken dropped by to tell us Koto's uncle was dead.

"What happened?" I asked.

"About what you'd expect from someone living in the past. Hara-kiri, that most ancient form of atonement."

It rather shocked me; although, I can't say any of us shed a tear at his passing.

* * * * * * *

Notes:

Confusion reigned supreme today. Yesterday Jake read about the Hawaii incident and then got up this morning and began making plans for JT's birthday party. It was a while before I realized he was talking about JT's thirteenth birthday, (the one Jake missed while in a coma). He now remembers everything about the kids right up to the time of the shooting, only he's not connecting any of it to what's going on around him. Here it is the middle of winter with snow ass deep outside. JT's birthday is August tenth and Jake insists that's only a few days away. The weird part is he knows the difference. If I ask him what month this is, he'll say February. Why that doesn't conflict with JT's supposed 'birthday' next week is beyond me. Still, it's a big improvement over not remembering the kids at all. I just wish everything else would come back as clearly as JT and Andrea. It makes me wondering though, if Jake can ever integrate the memories of these last three year with those from before.

The children were old enough to understand the terrible thing that happened to their Papa and they handled it like pros. When Jake wanted to play cards they made up games he could understand, they brought him coloring books and took him out for ice cream and they did it all on their own, no one had to tell them. I was proud of them. What terrific kids we have. JT will be sixteen next August, so I guess I can't call him a kid anymore. All the things Jake and I worried about never came to pass. The children figured it out for themselves and if it upset them at all, it never showed. In fact JT mentioned it just last summer. We were going over some old photographs and ran across a picture of me at fourteen standing in front of grandma's house. It was a dead give away. JT and I could have been twins at that age. He looked at the picture and said,

"You know, Dad, I'm sure lucky to have two fathers. Half the kids I know don't even have one." I think our boy is going to be a diplomat.

Jake still thinks of Carla as someone connected only with Lonnie and Dan Harris, but when I mention he, too, was married to a Carla, I see a sudden fear in his eyes and directly afterwards he retreats. I know I'm on to something here, but I haven't figured it out as yet. Until I do, I'll just keep writing. It's almost like his progress depends on it. He never retreats while reading, only afterwards, so I guess the best thing is to keep him occupied. Jake seems to enjoy reading about the special times in our lives, those sweet moments I cherish, so I'll tell him now of a day that sticks in my mind as being absolute perfection.

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