Secret Shepherd

by James Osborne

  He’d have to face Jafari alone. Paul had no idea whether Jafari was a trained fighter. He guessed that Jafari was about the same size as him.

  Paul began rehearsing in his mind his Muay Thai training.

  Jafari banged again on the heavy wood door, this time with something heavy. It sounded like a rock.

  I’ll have to get that away from him, Paul thought. Without any weapons except Karl’s little switchblade, his only advantage would be a fleeting second of surprise.

  Paul reached for the heavy plank across the door and lifted it from the iron brackets on either side. He stepped behind the door as it burst open inward.

  It’s him or us, Paul thought.

  He saw Jafari’s left hand first. It was holding a bag, likely the food he’d been sent to get.

  Is the rock in his right hand? Paul wondered. Is he right handed or left-handed? Is he expecting trouble because of the delay opening the door?

  “Where the fuck are you, Karl?” Jafari said as he walked through the open door into the semi-darkness.

  Paul grabbed Jafari’s left wrist. The bag went flying. Paul pulled Jafari off balance into the room, and forced the blade of the small switchblade up and under the thug’s ribcage.

  Jafari coughed and turned as he fell. His mouth opened in surprise and pain. He saw Paul and reached behind his back with his right hand, pulling out a Glock 17 and aiming it. Paul kicked Jafari’s hand hard with his bare right foot using a Muay Thai kick. The Glock went flying toward Janet. He had only a split second to cringe from the searing pain in his foot.

  Paul was shocked how quickly Jafari came back at him despite his injury. Jafari had his own switchblade knife. He snapped open a six-inch blade. Paul’s knife would be little help... it had fallen on the floor out of reach. Jafari pulled back his arm with the knife and rushed forward, opening a one-inch cut on Paul’s left chest as he ducked away.

  A shot rang out.

  Paul saw a look of surprise appear on Jafari’s face. The thug started coming at him again, the knife poised in his hand.

  A second shot followed quickly... and a third.

  Jafari sank awkwardly to his knees on the floor at Paul’s feet and then rolled onto his side, his eyes open, unmoving.

  Paul looked over at Janet. She was on her knees swaying back and forth. She lowered her hands with the gun and slumped down sideways.

  “Shit, Paul!” she said weakly, after he rushed over. “I was afraid I was going to hit you... damned near did.”

  “You didn’t, Janet,” Paul said. “Thank you!”

  They exchanged weary smiles.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.

  He dug through Karl’s jacket pockets and found both his own cell phone and Karl’s.

  He stuffed Karl’s in his pocket. The police would want it.

  “Where’s your phone?” he asked.

  “Don’t know,” she said.

  He handed his phone to Janet.

  “Better call your people to come get us. You know where we are better than I do.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “I’d sure like to know how in hell those bastards knew I was in Amsterdam,” Paul said.

  That damned cab driver was in on this, he thought. Probably stole the cab. Hope the driver’s okay.

  “No idea,” she said. “And I sure as hell intend to find out how many airport security guards are on the wrong side of this investigation. I can ID a few. This bloody job damned near got me killed... got both of us killed.”

  Janet made a call and handed his phone back.

  “They have your cell number now,” she said. “They’ll call when they get close... five, ten minutes.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Time for one call.”

  Janet looked at him questioningly.

  “Home,” he said.

  She smiled, and slumped onto the chair where Karl had thrown his jacket earlier.

  Paul retrieved the jacket from the floor and draped it over her shoulders. After gently putting his socks on her injured feet in lieu of bandages, he helped her put her sandals on. His bare feet felt strange in his shoes.

  Once he felt they were relatively safe, he called Anne.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Earnscliffe

  “Something’s troubling you, Paul,” Anne said. “I can tell. You’ve been home for a week and it’s obvious. Is there anything you can share with me?”

  Paul and Anne had just retired to their elegantly restored sitting room on the main floor of the five-hundred-year-old manor house.

  They’d put Catherine down for the night and had just finished tucking in Doug. Even at seven going on eight years old, their son still enjoyed time with his parents before rolling over to sleep. A chat about their day had replaced the bedtime stories of his early years.

  “I can’t get it out of my mind, Anne,” he said, leaning his right elbow on one shelf of a ceiling-high bookcase. He felt relieved being able to assume Anne meant thoughts that had preoccupied him since getting home, not his other burden—her mother’s apparent dalliances into adultery and espionage. “In the past few weeks, Anne, I’ve been responsible for the deaths of three people. It’s a horrible thing... to take someone’s life. I can’t stop feeling guilty.”

  “Please listen to me, my love,” Anne said, turning her still-attractive post-natal body to face him squarely. “You know how much I prize life, in all its forms. In Sierra Leone, you saved the life of a wonderful humanitarian and probably many other lives. You had no choice, Paul. That criminal would have killed Dr. Rucker and you, for heaven’s sake, and others!

  “I don’t know how I could have lived without you, my love,” she added. A look of anguish disrupted an otherwise gorgeous face. And with Dr. Rucker gone, what would have become of all those children depending on her? You were the only one in a position to save her life and the lives of those precious little children. Any responsible person would have done exactly the same thing, my love.”

  “I know,” Paul said. “I’ve tried to justify what I did dozens of times. And those two men in Amsterdam... maybe if I had done something differently, one or both of them might still be alive. I just don’t know.”

  “From what you told me, and what Daddy said that Janet Wallis told him, both of you did what you had to do. You were in grave danger of being killed yourselves! Janet shot one of those terrorists to save your life, Paul. You didn’t kill him. You did what was necessary to save Janet and yourself. I’m terrified every time I think of what happened, Paul.”

  “I get that,” Paul said. His voice was subdued. “Do you know what disturbs me most? I’m also feeling a sense of relief those men are no longer around to possibly... most likely... harm other people.”

  “There’s not a thing wrong with how you’re feeling,” Anne said. “It’s okay to feel relieved, and to be relieved also that you’re alive. Those people don’t deserve your remorse, Paul!”

  He paused, and looked at Anne.

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right, love,” he said.

  Anne threw her arms around his midsection.

  “Do you think we did the right thing helping Ahmed?” Anne asked. “It’s put you in a lot of danger... you’ve had some close calls. That frightens me.”

  Paul chose not to correct her, that even though he seemed to be the prime target, the gang had also threatened her and the children.

  “You know, my love,” Anne said. “If it ever comes down to it, I’d rather die with you than have to live without you.”

  “Let’s not think about that just now,” he said.

  “You’re home and you’re safe... we’re all safe,” Anne said.

  Paul watched a tear roll down her cheek as she tucked her face into his broad chest, apparently trying to hide it.

  “Let’s celebrate that, okay,” she said

  “Okay, my love,” he replied, looking down and kissing her lovingly... longingly.

  “Time for bed, huh?” she aske
d, looking into his eyes.

  “Uh-huh!” he replied. The sparkle in his eyes was back!

  ***

  Ken Hagerman’s Office

  “Something’s going on,” Paul said. He looked at Ken and Richard. “There can be no doubt any longer we have a confidential leak, possibly even from one of your offices.”

  “What makes you think that?” Ken said.

  “That gang knows everywhere I go,” Paul said. “They seem to know even before I arrive at some places. It happened in Sierra Leone and again when I went back to Amsterdam. Both times it was as if they were expecting me.”

  “What makes you think the leaks came from one of our organizations?” Richard said.

  “Not many others are aware of where I am at any given time,” Paul said. “Someone in the loop has to be tipping them off.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Antlers Hotel

  Colorado Springs

  “Are you sure you want to see her?” Paul asked. “After what she tried to do to you... to us? Maybe I should have hung up when she asked us to visit her today.”

  “I know how you feel, love,” Anne said. “Part of me is angry with her and another part of me feels sorry for her. Sure, Pamela got what she deserved. But it must be tough, with her daughter in foster care. Sounds like it’ll be a while before she’s paroled. Regardless, she deserves a boost.”

  “It was nice of George and Elizabeth to look after Doug and Catherine today,” Paul said. “Although Elizabeth didn’t need much convincing.”

  Both chuckled remembering the big grandmotherly-like smile on Elizabeth’s face when they’d asked her.

  “Pamela made a big mistake,” Anne continued. “And she’s paying the price. It sounds like she’s trying to make amends. Surely we can grant her that.”

  “I suppose you’re right, love,” Paul replied.

  ***

  Colorado Women’s Correctional Facility

  Canon City, CO

  “Thank you for coming, Paul,” Pamela said. She turned. “And y’all are Anne, right? I appreciate your coming also.”

  The three of them exchanged awkward pleasantries. They were in a visitor meeting room at the Colorado Women’s Correctional Facility.

  “Before either of you say anythin’ more,” Pamela said, “I want y’all ta know how truly sorry I am to have put y’all and your family through what I did. It was a terrible thing to do. I hope that both of you will someday find it in your hearts to forgive me.”

  “Your apology is accepted,” Paul said stiffly, glancing at Anne. “Are you willing to answer a question?”

  “It’s the least I can do, Paul. What da y’all need to know?”

  “Why?” Paul said. “What motivated you to develop that elaborate scheme about me fathering your daughter... to go so far as to get someone to falsify DNA test results and go to the news media? Do you realize the damage you did to my family’s reputation?”

  “I’m very sorry, Paul,” Pamela said, a sob escaping her. “I was desperate. I know that’s no excuse for what I did to y’all and Anne, and to your families. I’m awfully sorry. But that’s the reason. I was broke and that whore-chasing ex-husband of mine was almost two years behind on his child and spousal support. That’s no excuse. I know. But wishful thinking got the better of me.”

  She glanced wistfully at Anne.

  “What about your family,” Paul said. “Couldn’t they help you out a bit?”

  “I’m from eastern Tennessee,” Pamela said. “My family surely is among the poorest of the poor families back there. You wanna see hard-core poverty? That would be the place. Soon as I was eighteen, I couldn’t git outta there fast enough. Most kids never escape the poverty.”

  “Why is that?” Anne said.

  “Many reasons,” Pamela said. “Lack of education, no money, old-fashioned ideas, you name it, but mostly absentee corporations. They on everythin’ of value... they’ve sucked the wealth outa there... still doing it. Economic slavery, that’s what it is. What they’re doin’ leaves no opportunities for the people who live there... never will be.”

  “You sound like you’ve done some homework,” Paul said.

  “I’ve had time on my hands recently,” she replied, making an attempt at humor. “I got two brothers and a sister still there. I tried to talk them inta leavin’, to find a better life. Everyone there is being screwed by big corporations and by government officials paid off to help them do it.

  “For example, would y’all believe that when coal-mining was big in the Appalachians, the companies paid royalties of just 1/50th of one cent per ton, and what little that produced disappeared into state government coffers? None was spent on economic development or on the families living where the coal was git. The same applies to what’s left of the lumber industry. Two centuries ago, companies quite literally raped that region bare of timber and other trees to make way for tobacco and cotton plantations. Those are mostly gone too, now. Some trees have grown back but huge corporations control what little there is of a lumber industry. Another problem is education. Most kids my age didn’t go past the eighth grade. It’s changed a bit since, but the teachers still git discouraged. They see the few gifted kids who finish twelfth grade goin’ ta work on farms or in the service industries. Families need extra income just to survive. Few kids ever go on to higher education. Good teachers become frustrated and leave after a while.”

  “My goodness!” Paul said. “I was under the impression that life in the Appalachia region had improved dramatically since the days portrayed on The Beverly Hillbillies and The Andy Griffith Show.”

  “In some places, I suppose,” Pamela said, “but not where I come from. Those old TV shows are closer to the truth even now than most folks want to admit. I shudder every time I think of the misery my parents and my brothers and sisters are living with. Did you know that alcoholism and suicide there are among the highest in the country?

  “God, I wish something could be done ta help them,” she added.

  ***

  One Week Later

  Earnscliffe

  “I need to go to the Appalachians,” Paul said.

  Anne laughed.

  “What’s so funny, love?” Paul asked, smiling awkwardly.

  “I’ve been wondering when you’d get around to it,” she replied. Her understanding smile warmed his heart, as always. “Pamela was quite convincing, wasn’t she?”

  Paul nodded. “And it’s my home country, Anne.”

  “From what I’ve been reading,” she said, “Lots of people and government agencies offer to help folks there but none of them actually does anything. The feds recently cut funding to research for a whole bunch of good projects there.”

  “Maybe something can be done,” Paul said. “I need to have a look for us... for Secret Shepherd.”

  “If something can be done, you’ll find it, my love,” Anne said. Her graceful eyebrows arched with her loving smile.

  “Even one modestly successful project might bring a spark of hope to these folks,” Paul said. “Maybe something like that will inspire confidence in others. I’m not sure. What do you think?”

  “That sounds enough ‘out of the box’ to suit us both,” she replied. “I like it.”

  “I’ve been looking into the Appalachians online,” Paul said. “Pamela Milliken is right. A vicious circle has been going on in that region forever. It’s been destroying generation after generation. Can you imagine how much human potential has been squandered... wasted because no one will give them a chance to realize their potential? Pamela was right, you know, love,” he added. “The sad truth is, it’s driven by indifferent greed. We both know companies have to make money. We want our companies to be profitable too otherwise the jobs they provide will disappear along with a chunk of our income. But there’s a massive ethical difference between fair profit and unbridled greed.

  “It seems to me the place to look for opportunities to help people is by identifying what they need the mo
st, right?” Anne said. “At the top of that list is ‘hope’.”

  “Go on, my love,” Paul said.

  “After we visited Pamela, I looked up the Appalachians online, too,” Anne said, smiling. “That area still has a lot of individual farms... in Tennessee, Virginia, Kentucky, West Virginia, all the way north to Pennsylvania and Ohio, and all the way south to Alabama and Georgia. It’s really sad, though, from what I read, more and more people are losing their family farms to absentee owners, to companies creating huge corporate farming operations. They cut prices and starve the little guys out... forcing people into towns and cities unprepared for the job market. It makes me angry.”

  “Has your research come up with any ideas how we might help, or rather what Secret Shepherd could do?” Paul asked.

  “Almost everything I’ve read about that region says the local people are the problem,” she said. “Well, I don’t believe that. Usually it’s the exact opposite – chances are the folks who live there may very well hold the answers... they’re most likely the solution.”

  “You make me proud!” Paul said. He leaned over and gave her a hug and a warm kiss. “Any other thoughts?”

  “Yes,” Anne said. “Shelter is a basic necessity. What about some kinds of industries owned and operated by the people themselves to do that... employee owned companies that would reinvest their profits locally?”

  Paul allowed a proud smile to light up his face as he admired his lovely wife’s impressive brainpower at work.

  “Wonderful ideas!” Paul said. “We need to tread carefully. Things like this need to be local initiatives or they won’t have any credibility,” he added. “Just like elsewhere, outsiders like us will be seen as interfering, and be unwelcome. Maybe the way to start is with a visit... to be just a tourist, for now.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Atlanta, GA

  “Do you mind me asking what this is all about?”