Chapter 2

North Dallas – Today

In August, Savannah Douglas was packing up to go to college. Technically, she was moving to a campus dorm at UT Arlington – the University of Texas, Arlington campus – although that was only on the other side of Dallas from her home. She selected UTA because they had a martial arts team, with instructors in TaeKwonDo and Aikido. Savannah was almost a black belt in TKD, now. Ever since her sister was abducted more than two years ago, she had been almost a demon at the local TKD dojo.

Maggie had recovered well but had transferred to a girls-only college. She avoided boys and was seeing a therapist every week for over two years now. To Savannah’s eyes, that was not ‘recovering’ well.

Vannah had followed the trial of the three abductors and was confused when they took a plea and were sentenced to only 18 months and already out. It was barely covered by the Dallas Morning News and didn’t make the local TV stations at all. She called the DA’s office and after much run around and obfuscation on the part of the Assistant District Attorney, Vannah managed to learn that the trio had turned out to be cooperative witnesses for the state and federal prosecutions of a white slavery ring, operating out of Piedras Negras, Mexico – about 140 miles west-southwest of San Antonio. The ring was full of Yemeni nationals with only a few Mexicans as front men. The ring was wrapped up by the authorities and three young women – two from California and one from Colorado – were saved from being sent to the Middle East.

All that was good, but to Savannah Douglas it mattered little. The men who had abducted her sister, and sent her into a tailspin, got off easy. They had an all expenses paid vacation for 18 months, and her sister was still seeing a psychotherapist. She’d followed the story as they went to a federal prison in Lee, Virginia. Vannah couldn’t figure out why they went to Virginia, until she talked to a guy she met at the UTA dojo, in about the 4^th week of classes. He was an assistant to the sensei there, and a former U.S. Army hand-to-hand combat instructor.

Max Stofford was his name and he noticed the extreme and focused aggression she had during her first session at the dojo. He’d cornered her after the class and asked what her problem was. “You’re not going to make the TKD team with that attitude,” he said.

“What?” replied Vannah. “I thought this was combat.”

“No, it’s a sport,” said Max. “It’s an NCAA sport. It’s designed to be CONTROLLED aggression. What you’re showing me is all aggression, no control.”

“So, I can’t be on the TKD team?”

“I didn’t say that,” Max temporized. “But you have to control how hard you go after your opponent. And I noticed a couple of kicks that would be disallowed.”

“Disallowed? Why?” she asked.

“Because they’re aimed at hurting an opponent, not scoring points. Didn’t you ever see Karate Kid? The leg sweep was illegal because it was a move designed to hurt, not a kick to the scoring area.”

“Okay.” She was disappointed and angry. “I guess I’m not destined for the TKD team. ‘Cause I want to learn to injure an opponent. You know ... like self-defense? Hurt the other guy so you’ll survive an attack?”

“Why do you want to learn that?” he asked. “TaeKwonDo is a sport. It’s designed for competition. Especially the way it’s taught in America.”

She asked him to meet her for lunch tomorrow, so she could explain. No, wouldn’t work ... he had a job. It never occurred to her that a late-50s, 6’2” guy with a military haircut, who was built like a – well a guy would look if he was a combat instructor in the military: broad shoulders, muscles everywhere, gray eyes, a Denzel-style mustache – why would a guy like that have a job? She asked where he worked. Insurance claims adjuster he said. But he could meet her at 3 o’clock.