Guarding Savage

by Edlund, Dave;

  Fires, raging out of control even before fire suppression crews were able to respond, rapidly overheated the steel bulkheads. Quickly the fire spread across the hangar deck in a conflagration that consumed the parked helicopters.

  With the keel severed and the associated devastation to the upper decks, the structural integrity of the Izumo was compromised beyond the point of recovery. Two minutes after impact, the mighty ship—the pride of the Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force—broke in two and slid beneath the waves.

  Chapter 2

  Bend, Oregon

  August 20

  It was the type of Central Oregon day that visitors raved about and locals loved. Peter Savage and Todd Steed had just finished a long mountain bike ride that took them through miles of forested trails on the western boundary of Bend. After making a quick stop at Peter’s loft residence in the Old Mill District to pick up Diesel, they peddled into downtown Bend, Diesel trotting by his master. It was late afternoon, and they had no trouble finding a shaded table on the west side of Wall Street, led there by their hunger and thirst.

  While Peter tied Diesel’s leash to the table leg, the waiter placed two glasses of water in front of the men, which they each consumed in a single, long gulp. Then they ordered local microbrews and a couple appetizers.

  “You gave me quite a workout,” Todd said. “Next time, I get to be in front and you can eat my dust.”

  Peter laughed. “You could’ve passed me any time.”

  “I thought you’d say something like that.” Todd shared a rare grin. Standing just shy of six feet and with broad shoulders, a chocolate-brown goatee, and short-cropped hair of matching color, he almost always wore a don’t-mess-with-me look.

  In contrast, Peter was quick to smile and laughter came easily. Slightly taller than his friend, and of medium build, Peter sported brown hair in a conservative cut. But his most distinguishing feature was his eyes—steel gray and determined.

  “Okay, next time you can have the lead,” Peter said. They were more than just good friends. Todd was also the Chief Engineer at Peter’s company, EJ Enterprises. Following engineering designs Peter created, Todd was responsible for building the prototypes of unique magnetic impulse weapons—small arms used primarily by Special Forces—that the company sold to the U.S. military.

  The waiter brought a bowl of water for Diesel, who was lying quietly under the table. He stuck his tongue in the water, took a few laps, then returned to lounging, completely ignoring the pedestrian traffic. Peter slunk lower in his chair, sipping his ale and people watching from the partial anonymity of his ball cap and sunglasses. A steady flow of locals and visitors occupied the sidewalk, rivaling the volume of street traffic.

  “That’s something you don’t see here often,” Todd said, nudging his chin toward the silver and black Rolls Royce cruising by slowly.

  Peter agreed. “I saw a Bentley once, and a few Ferraris, but never a Rolls. That’s a Phantom model, if I’m not mistaken. Watched a Discovery Channel show about the factory in England.”

  The waiter arrived with their order just as the luxury limousine turned at the corner. “What do you figure a car like that costs?” Todd asked.

  “A lot. Maybe half a million or more.”

  “Huh. Do they also build trucks?”

  Peter laughed. “Nope. You’re outta luck.”

  As they were enjoying the sushi roll, two young women emerged from the restaurant and stopped at the curb. Their merry laughter carried through the background noise and attracted Peter’s attention. He watched while one of the women spoke into her phone. By appearance, she was Asian. Her companion, who was blond, fished her phone out of a pocket and began scrolling through messages. A couple minutes later the Rolls came into view a block away, and the Asian woman raised an arm and stepped into the street like she was hailing a taxi.

  The limo double-parked in front of the restaurant, and the driver stepped out and hustled around the rear of the car to open the door. Another car halted behind the Rolls Royce, which was blocking the lane. Two men jumped out and rushed the limo driver and his passengers.

  Diesel emitted a deep, reverberating growl, his body taught and alert.

  Both men were tall and very muscular—they could have been professional wrestlers, or body builders. The lead guy had a Fu Manchu mustache and his black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Wearing a white, sleeveless T-shirt, his brawny arms and shoulders rippled in the sunlight as he tackled the limo driver from behind, sending the unsuspecting man to the pavement.

  Startled, the two young women stepped away. The blond screamed. Immediately, the second man, who wore a light-weight checkered shirt with the sleeves torn off at the shoulder, was on the Asian woman, his massive hands gripping her arm and shoulder. He pulled at her, but she resisted, screaming as she planted her feet and struggled to get away. She managed to land a hand on his head, trying to get a fist full of hair, but he wore it very short, military style, and there was nothing to grab. As she pulled her hand away she dragged her nails across the side of his face. He back-handed her viciously, and a trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth.

  Peter was already moving toward the commotion. He grabbed a wine bottle from a neighboring table without breaking stride. The blond was now on Checkered Shirt, pummeling him with her balled fists, but to no avail. He swung a right hook at the blond, connecting with her chin and sending her tumbling to the ground—out cold.

  Diesel launched after Peter, but came up short on his leash, still secured to the table. The table tilted and then crashed to the sidewalk, becoming wedged against a tree as Diesel pulled to protect Peter. He barked and growled in protest, the leash taught and his collar constricting around his thick neck.

  Todd squared off with Ponytail, who had completed a rapid series of punches that left the limo driver unconscious. Todd took the first swing, a solid jab to his chin. His head rocked back, but otherwise he was unfazed. Todd punched again—a hard right fist to his nose. The blow drew blood, but Ponytail shook it off, and then unleashed a torrent of blows on Todd.

  Peter ran up behind Checkered Shirt and swung drown hard with the nearly-empty wine bottle. The green glass slammed against his head, breaking around the middle of the bottle. He staggered for two heartbeats and then loosened his grip on the Asian woman. He fell first to his knees, then toppled to the side.

  Peter wasn’t sure if he’d killed him or not, although he knew the former was certainly a possibility.

  “Are you alright?” he asked the woman. She was shaking, her arms wrapped around her chest and her eyes moist with tears. “Are you hurt?” Peter repeated. She shook her head no.

  Peter turned to his friend, who appeared to have become a punching bag for Ponytail. Todd was bleeding from a cut above his left eye and from a split lip. His arms were tucked in to protect his body and face as much as possible; he was fighting a losing battle. As Peter looked on, Ponytail leaned back and extended his leg in a powerful kick that connected with Todd’s leg. He fell to the side.

  Still holding the bottle by the neck, a razor-sharp, jagged edge where the bottom should have been, Peter ran forward. Ponytail held Todd down and reared back with his right arm, ready to slam a massive fist into Todd’s face for a killing blow.

  Peter lunged forward with the broken bottle at the same time Ponytail accelerated his fist toward Todd. But the pummeling blow never arrived. The ragged edge of glass connected with his meaty forearm. The combination of Peter thrusting the bottle forward while Ponytail swung his arm toward Todd, ended in a gruesome spectacle as the razor-sharp glass peeled away nine inches of muscle and flesh from his wrist to his elbow, and all the way down to the bone.

  Ponytail screamed in agony and retracted his arm, blood spurting from the hideous wound. He pulled away, wrapping his left hand on the wound in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of blood. Without pause, Peter swung the broken bottle, aiming for Ponytail’s face. Upon contact, the remainder of the wine bottle exploded into
a hundred fragments, some embedded in his face. Peter placed both hands behind the stunned man’s head and pulled his face downward while raising his knee forcefully. The collision of knee into nose did the job, and Ponytail also went down like his partner.

  By now the blond had come to and was sitting with one hand to the back of her head while her Asian friend held her other hand. A crowd had gathered and cell phones were out, no doubt filming the conflict. Peter hoped someone had called the police.

  “Are you okay?” he asked Todd, extending a hand to help his friend to his feet.

  “I’ll live,” Todd answered. He moved his jaw from side to side. Convinced it wasn’t broken, he asked, “What about these guys?”

  “I don’t know about those two,” Peter indicated Checkered Shirt and the limo driver, “but Ponytail is bleeding badly.”

  Sirens screamed, but they were still distant. “I hope that’s not only the police,” Peter said. Then he grabbed several linen napkins from a table. “Someone call an ambulance! We need medical help!”

  A murmur worked through the crowd of gawkers. Diesel’s barking had subdued to a whimper, and the growling had also ceased once the two assailants were incapacitated. Peter wrapped a couple napkins around Ponytail’s ravaged forearm, and then used two more to tie it off. It wouldn’t due for long; blood was already soaking through the bandage.

  “Check for a pulse on the other guy,” Peter said, nodding his head toward Checkered Shirt. “I’ll check the limo driver.”

  Todd leaned down and pressed his finger against the man’s neck. “He’s alive.”

  The sirens were much louder now.

  “Same here,” Peter said. The driver was a stocky man. Peter estimated his weight at 240 pounds. He was older than his two women passengers, maybe late 30s or early 40s. He was wearing a light tan suit, and the jacket wasn’t buttoned, revealing a handgun secured in a shoulder holster. “Looks like this guy’s also a bodyguard. He’s packing.”

  The Asian woman had approached Peter. She said, “Yes, he’s my driver. He’s also here to protect me. His name is Robert.”

  Two police cruisers came to a stop, lights flashing. The officers approached with service weapons drawn. Moments later the first of several ambulances arrived.

  “Hands on your head! On the ground!” the officers commanded with guns pointed toward Peter and Todd.

  They did as ordered. “They’re alive,” Peter said, the side of his face on the asphalt. “But that one is bleeding badly. The man in the suit has a pistol in a shoulder holster.”

  The medics rushed to Pony Tail and got to work. One medic started an IV while another replaced the make-shift dressing on his arm.

  A second ambulance arrived and medics began to administer aid to the other two unconscious men.

  “They assaulted the limo driver—he’s the suit—and the two women,” Peter tried to explain. A third officer had appeared and was questioning the Asian woman and her blond friend.

  “He’s telling the truth!” the Asian woman shouted.

  After being searched for weapons and having their ID checked, Peter and Todd were each placed in the back of separate cruisers while the patrol officers questioned the witnesses. “That’s my dog over there,” Peter told one of the officers. “He’s leashed and follows my commands.”

  The officer nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on him. He looks calm now, and we should be done once we get a little more information.”

  Diesel sat quietly, but never took his eyes off his master. After about thirty minutes, Peter and Todd were told they could leave. “If we have further questions, someone from the department will get a hold of you,” the officer informed them.

  The EMTs transported all three men to St. Charles hospital. Robert, the driver and bodyguard, was the first to regain consciousness. At first he refused further treatment, but the EMTs explained the importance of a complete and thorough examination for head trauma by the emergency room physicians.

  “Robert, you should follow their instructions,” the Asian woman told him. He relented and was loaded on a gurney into the ambulance. The other two remained under armed-police supervision while being treated and transported to the hospital.

  “I’m Jade,” the Asian woman said, extending her hand to Peter. “And this is my friend Amanda. Thank you for saving us.” She spoke with a hint of a British accent.

  “Do you know those men?” Peter asked.

  Jade shook her head. “I’ve never seen them before.”

  “Well, they seemed to know you. Any idea why they’d want to kidnap you?”

  Jade stared back in silence. Her straight, raven hair extended to the middle of her back. With eyes the color of black coffee, full lips, and a rounded nose, her facial features looked more consistent with Malaysian or Indonesian heritage.

  “Do you live here?” Peter asked. The police had the street closed and were still busy taking photos and measurements. They sat at one of the tables, waiting for the investigation to conclude.

  “No. We are just visiting. Robert was going to drive us to Portland; we were planning to spend the night there.” Jade went on to explain that she and Amanda were students, attending Stanford during the school year. They were presently enjoying a vacation traveling through the Pacific Northwest.

  “I don’t know what to do with the Rolls,” she said. “I don’t have a driver’s license.”

  “Just a few blocks away is the Oxford Hotel, and they have valet service. We can see if they have a vacancy, if you like.”

  Jade smiled, and was typing into her cell phone, but Amanda found it first. She dialed the number and booked a room.

  “I’d be happy to drive your car over to the hotel once the police open the street.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she said. “I didn’t get your name?”

  “Peter. Peter Savage. And this is my friend, Todd Steed.”

  Amanda said, “I hate to think what would have happened if you didn’t help.”

  “I don’t know how I can thank you,” Jade added.

  “Not necessary,” Todd answered.

  Jade smiled at the dog standing next to Peter. “Is this your dog?”

  Peter nodded. “His name is Diesel.” Jade and Amanda both reached down and rubbed the big, blocky head of the red pit bull. He closed his eyes and raised his nose to the attention. “He’s so cute! But what happened to his ear?” The canine’s left ear was half gone.

  “Long story,” Peter answered. “He saved my life. Up in the mountains,” he nodded his head toward the west, toward the Cascade Mountains.

  Jade’s eyes widened. “Oh! A bear attacked you?”

  “Well, it was big, furry, and black.” Peter didn’t want to elaborate on the deadly contest that had taken place near the Tam MacArthur Rim.

  “Oh my! The bear bit off Diesel’s ear!” Clearly Jade was fine with filling in the gaps using a bit of her own imagination.

  A uniformed officer approached and thankfully interrupted the conversation. She told Jade that they had finished and she needed to move her limousine. “I’ve got it,” Peter said. The officer glanced at Jade, who nodded approval, and then gave the ignition keys to Peter.

  “Never ridden in a Rolls before,” Todd said. “Mind if I come along?”

  With Peter behind the wheel, Todd took the front seat and Jade and Amanda sat in back with Diesel in the middle. The Rolls Royce Phantom was long, offering a roomy back seat. The interior was upholstered in luxurious leather and exotic wood veneer door panels matched the wood on the dash.

  The drive was only a few blocks, and Peter deftly navigated the car to a stop in front of the Oxford hotel. An attendant was immediately opening the rear door and Jade stepped out, followed by Amanda.

  Peter gave the valet ticket to Jade and then walked the women into the hotel lobby. With Diesel healing obediently on leash, Peter and Todd hung back in the lobby, making sure they checked in without any problems.

  Jade walked up to Peter and extended her hand a
gain. “Thank you. In the morning I want to visit Robert at the hospital. But afterward, would you accept my invitation to lunch? It’s the least I can do for both of you.”

  “I’ll have to pass,” Todd said, shaking Jade’s hand. “I have some drawings to finish in the morning and then an important conference call.”

  “Why don’t you call me after you visit your driver?” Peter gave Jade his business card.

  Jade’s smile engulfed her face causing her dark auburn eyes to sparkle. “Okay, Peter. I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Chapter 3

  Bend, Oregon

  August 21

  Jade arrived at the hospital early and helped Robert check out. Following a CT scan and overnight observation, the attending physician thankfully concluded there was no indication of a concussion, notwithstanding the large bruise and associated lump on his forehead.

  A few minutes before noon, the silver and black Phantom pulled into a visitor parking spot in front of EJ Enterprises. Jade signed in at the front desk. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman named Nancy, paged Peter and he met his guest in the lobby.

  “Hello. You’re looking well today,” he said. He offered his hand and Jade accepted it, wrapping her left hand around the clasp. Peter felt his neck warm as he slipped his hand back.

  “Thank you. I must confess it was a restless night. I should have been exhausted, but I just couldn’t fall asleep.”

  “How about Amanda and Robert?” Peter asked.

  “Amanda is fine. She has a small bump on her head, and I helped her stay awake until late in the evening. That’s what the EMTs asked me to do, just to be sure she was okay. I let her sleep in while I went to the hospital. The doctors said Robert is also fine, and he was released this morning. He drove me here.”

  Peter craned his neck and saw the Rolls parked out front. “Todd is still tied up with business, so it’s just the two of us for lunch. When you phoned from the hospital, I took the liberty of making a reservation. The restaurant is not far away—just a five-minute walk, if you don’t mind.”