Chapter 1

Special thanks to Phil Gorman 2014 for his expertise in re-editing and proofing.

Each time I enjoy the view from the veranda of the cottage, I can appreciate the reason my great-great-great grandfather filed a claim for this pile of rocks. The claim consists of four hundred acres of rock, some timber and underbrush; basically, a mountain face, part of Everett's Mountain Range. Mineral wise, until there is a market for volcanic rock, I won't get rich from my inheritance; but, that wasn't the main reason for the original claim. Many, many years ago, there were a large number of fresh water creeks with an abundance of beaver in the surrounding area. Great, great, great grandfather trapped for years. When the trapping ended, a result of too many trappers and too few beaver, the cottage became a hunting camp for the next generations. Which, for all intents and proposes, it still is. Even though I haven't hunted game animals for years, I have hunted, not animals, MEN!

Who am I, you ask? My name is Don P. Johnson, forty-six, single, never been seriously involved. While in the Special Forces for my twenty-five, I never felt comfortable with the thought of getting involved with anyone for a number of reasons. First, it would not be fair to anyone, always wondering if I would return from an assignment. Second, without a very clear focus on my task and the many risks, I could end up very dead. My profession was killing: a sniper; a profession I excel at. And, no, it doesn't bother me. I looked upon my job as being an exterminator: getting rid of vermin.

With the exception of my sister, Rayne, and her fourteen year old daughter, Jayden, I have no other persons of interest in my life and, to be really truthful, my only interest is in my niece: Jayden is my rock. Both of my parents died young from cancer, the same disease that took my grandparents and great grandparents. I hate to admit this, but the only time my mind isn't on guard is when my time is spent with Jayden; unknown to her, she is the closest thing to a girlfriend I have ever had. Anytime I was down, because of my assignment, just the thought of her gave me a purpose to be very successful at what I did; so, leaving her to the wiles of my mixed sister is not an option!

I am self-sufficient as a result of inheritances from parents and grandparents, plus my own savings, all invested at a New York Brokerage firm. My funds are managed by a compatriot who, many years ago, acted as my spotter in many exercises, as well as in the field. I was instrumental in saving his life three times during various tours of action: I know he will never knowingly let me down. The value of my investments keeps growing.

From the cottage, I can see at least fifteen miles of rough wilderness. There are a few lakes and rivers, among the miles of timber that is yet to fall to the harvesters. The majority of the terrain is inaccessible to harvesting machines, making it uneconomical to consider at this time; that is, until technology figures a way to harvest the forest profitably; fortunately, that is not likely in my lifetime! The only mar on this pristine view is a road that seems to have followed a snake. Many years ago, the engineers just followed the path of least resistance, blasting through the rock bed to create a road for some limited logging. The timbering didn't pan out but the road, which ends up on the other side of the mountain, is here for eternity. It is the shortest route to get to the other side, but also for a very dangerous trip; a few use it regularly, but those are the experienced, cautious drivers.

A billion years ago, when this area was formed, the pressure from the earth forced upwards large slabs of granite; some nearly two thousand feet in height, those slabs are supported by many smaller slabs. From my view, you can make out the layers. Actually, the cabin is located in a valley between two massive slabs; over time, vegetation grew, and died, building up what we call soil. The cabin is located approximately seven hundred feet up from the road: it is a very steep grade. This location was selected because of an active, fresh water spring behind the cabin.

Through time, many of the outcroppings grew moss which in turn, died and created more soil. Thus, somewhere in history, a lowly blueberry plant took hold. Now, every spring and summer, the hills are blue with berries. My mom was a great baker and many a blueberry ended up in her pies and muffins.

I've been out of the service for seven months and, during that time, I have been approached six times by my prior superiors trying to convince me to re-enlist. Poo-poo on that idea! I like the solitude and not being a target; at least I keep telling myself that.

Many years ago, in my grandfather's time, a large power line company wanted rights to cross his property: they needed to construct two large towers on the highest part of granddaddy's land claim. Grandfather, being a wise old man, knew if he refused, they would go to court; win and the towers would be built anyway, as the lower part of the state needed that power! So he gave them permission, at no cost to them, other than they had to supply power and maintain the service to the cabin for perpetuity. It was a good trade off. Another plus factor is that the company had to blast out a trail; you can't call it a road, it was built only to transport the tons of steel needed to build the towers. That 'trail' gives me access to the cabin; my Yukon XL sits behind the cabin.

Ten or twelve years ago, a large cellular company approached my dad with the same request for cell towers; like granddaddy, he gave them permission with the same condition that will have free cell phone service and internet use forever. Another excellent trade since the rocks, where the towers stand, will never have any other use.

Sitting in a very old, but comfortable, chair, surveying the panoramic view, I can recall a number of times cars were wrecked on the winding road. In my younger years, it was a good place to race; actually, it was a stupid place to race as there are very few areas wide enough to pass at high speeds. I lost six of my classmates on this road. Rock cuts are very unforgiving. From the deck, to the left, about two miles of twisting road can be seen; to my right, maybe one thousand feet. This is because of a very large slab of granite sticking upwards nearly five hundred feet. That particular slab has resulted in at least twelve lives lost in wrecks, as the speeders could not make the curve and totalled their vehicles. From this distance, I can make out a number of painted red crosses at the base of that outcropping, denoting the deaths.

In the evening, at dusk, I often hear the powerful motors of vehicles as two or more are racing to their possible deaths; fortunately, most survive. They will never learn.

Being discharged from the force doesn't mean you leave the force. Your physical body? Yes. Your mind? NO! I am always on alert! After all of the years in the service, it is inbred in me: I'm always scanning my surroundings, even at the cottage. I have no reason to be so vigil; it is just part of my survival training. You can't just turn it off.

One of my little quirks is surveillance. With the advances in technology, you can buy small, remote, wireless cameras, which can be set to activate by sound at a fixed rate of decibels, as well motion sensors. They can be equipped with night vision lenses as well. I have installed twenty-three of little gems: three at the back of the cabin, and the rest in front of the cabin, facing the access road and highway. No, I am not paranoid, just cautious; it comes from my years of experience with my prior job.

Each morning I check the control board for the camera; as usual, two or three have had their small LED lites activated, usually by a rabbit or a coyote. Today is no different. After erasing the tapes, I reset the recorder.

After breakfast, it is a repeat of what I've been doing for the past week: enjoying a hot mug of coffee and the view.

The road traffic is few and far between. This morning, to my left, there is the sound of a large diesel engine, a transport that is cautiously moving forward. He is driving according to the road's condition, approaching each turn slowly and sounding his air horn. Some of the corners are blind; you are virtually blind of anything around the corner, so the driver is very cautious. That, I can respect.

Soon all I can see is a large blast of diesel exhaust from the truck as the trailer moves around the last rock cut to my right. The only reminder of the truck is the sound of the driver changing gears, then nothing.

The sound of my cell brings me back to earth.

"Hello."

"Uncle Don?"

It is Jayden, my Jayden. Jayden is the only good thing my useless sister has done in her life. Jayden is the result of a one-night stand. Unknown to Jayden, she provided me with the will to keep me going in some of the far off shit holes of the world. Just thinking of her beauty always gives me a lift!

Jayden is fourteen going on twenty-two, she very wise for her age and able to function very well, despite the handicap of her mother, my useless sister.

Jayden Johnson is about five feet tall, maybe ninety-five to hundred-five pounds. The weight is very well distributed. She has beautiful, thick, blonde hair, and striking blue eyes, that have sheen to them. Her look makes me feel uncomfortable when I'm thinking un-uncle-like things, especially when she seems to be reading my dirty mind. Her bottom is perfect for her body, her breasts call me, all the time, to come and pay homage; well, in my mind. Her face is to die for. She is destined to make every male humble himself in her presence.

A number of years ago, prior to going on a tour, I hired a caregiver for Jayden, ensuring she had everything a young lady required, from food to clothing and an allowance. I have zero confidence in my sister. And, as expected, my sister didn't give a shit what I did for Jayden. She looked at it as a gift and was happy that she could use more of her waitress' salary to get shitfaced. Jayden was never a priority for my sister: she looked at her as more of a burden. To me? Jordan is my lover, who is never to be.

"Hi Jayden, what's up?"

"When are you coming back to town?"

Jayden and my useless sister live in Abbotsville, approximately thirty miles from here. When Jayden and her mother moved to Abbotsville, I rented a two-bedroom apartment for them and I'm still paying the rent and utilities. Jayden's caretaker lives in the same building; that, in itself, gives me peace of mind. Jayden will never want for anything. In the event something happens to me, all my assets go into a trust fund administered by my long time buddy. My sister will have no access and no influence to the disposition of the funds. When Jayden turns sixteen she will be provided with a monthly allowance, plus the cost of her education and any costs related to it will be taken care of as well. Her accommodation, if required while at school, will be paid. At the age of twenty-one, the administration of the estate will be passed to her.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I just miss you."

"I will be in town on Saturday. Can you wait till then?"

"I guess I will have to."

"Tell you what ... let me take you to dinner at an upscale restaurant and maybe a movie, your choice!"

"Hmmm ... what if I want to see a tearjerker?"

"Then I will have to sit through it."

"What if I had said a porno?"

"Then I would have to consider the fact that I am not talking to my sweet, loveable, beautiful niece Jayden, and I would wonder who the imposter is!"

There is a giggle on the other end of the line: the same giggle that makes my spine tingle as the vibes end at the tip of John Thomas. Just the sound of Jayden's voice makes me hard.

"I'll make a deal with you: I will let the real Jayden accompany you for dinner and a movie, then we can go to see that new action movie with Brad Pitt."

"Hey, that sounds like a plan! I will call you Saturday morning to set up the times. If you have a particular restaurant in mind, tell me, so I can make reservations."

"I'll call you back later today, okay."

"Talk to soon, Jayden. I love you."

"Hmmm, I really love you to!"

I am now listening to a dead line. She does it every time, at least in my mind. I have a boner of all boners, and it is a result of talking to, or just thinking of my lovely niece. What I wouldn't give to be fifteen or fifteen and dating her. Really, that thought doesn't help my current condition.

She did call back and told me she wanted to eat Italian, fortunately, Theodore's was still taking reservations for Saturday evening. I booked us for five thirty; Jayden told me the movie starts at eight-forty-five.

When I pick up Jayden, her outfit has me panting; she is wearing a short, black, pleated skirt that shows a vast amount of flawless nylon covered skin, and a white semi-sheer blouse that does her breasts proud. They stand out like beacons calling me. Dinner, and the movie, goes well, I think. Jayden surprises me or, should I say, shocks me. During the movie she slides herself under my arm, slips her hand under my shirt and slowly caresses my stomach, gradually going lower and lower till my belt blocks further advances. When she sees my tent, she whispers in my ear.

"Is that for me, or because of me?"

It is hard to concentrate on a movie with that kind of distraction. I want to take her in my arms and touch her in kind; but, I restrain myself. Finally, the movie ends. Walking to the car, she clings to my arm, bouncing her soft thigh against mine.

Assisting her into the passenger seat, I notice she has a very guilty look on her face; that should have been a red flag to me. Jayden has always been a soul of propriety, but tonight, for some reason, the devil Jayden is here. As soon as I close the driver's door she is on me like a second skin: Jayden is on a mission! The way her breasts are mushed against me it's obvious they were unencumbered. She had unhooked her bra. The final shock was when she tried to climb over the console into my lap. With my hands on her legs, attempting to block that movement, I encounter bare skin, lots of bare skin. This young lady, whom I don't know, has removed her panties and my hand is now caressing her soft, warm, moist pussy; my finger slides between her luv lips, it feels so inviting! My mind is screaming at me, 'this is wrong! She is your little niece!' But, John Thomas says, 'go for it, do the deed man, where are your balls!' The saving grace is we are still in the parking lot, and a number of other patrons from the movie are moving about, with headlights illuminating the inside of the cab. Jayden slips back into the passenger seat, with a large satisfied grin on her face. The witch has her skirt tucked into her waistband exposing my nemesis, her luscious bare moist pussy. Her sexual essence fills the cab.

"Jayden! What the hell do you think you are doing?"

"Uncle Don, don't be a prude. I want you and I know you want me. Look at your hardon!"

John Thomas is going to be the death of me; he is all for being introduced to Jayden's honey pot.

"You can't think like that, you're my niece."

"Like that matters! You know I love you and I know you love me. I also know what you have done for me over the years, yeah, and I know my mother isn't much. How many years have you taken care of me? Hmmm, all of them? Right!"

As I try to formulate an answer, her hand grasps my excited John Thomas, who is now enjoying being the centre of attention. Oh, how I want Jayden! Looking between her legs, I am sure there is luv juice accumulating. John Thomas votes go for it. My good side is yelling, 'she's your niece for god sakes, get a grip!' Good side wins! When I drop her off at her building, she smiles that evil smile, then sticks her sexy tongue out at me. I didn't trust myself to walk her to the door.

Needless to say, I am frustrated, I am not happy; I could bite the heads off rattlesnakes. You guessed it: I am not in a good mood.

I had a helluva sleep, thinking how close I came to making love to Jayden. John Thomas keeps reminding me that his frustration and mine could have been taken care of by a very willing Jayden. She wasn't any help; actually, she kept instigating all kinds of un-uncle/niece like things during the evening. She wanted me to take her cherry! John Thomas voted yes for that scenario!

It is just past five in the morning, my shitty sleep has done nothing for my shitty disposition! The big question is should I get up or try to fall asleep again. Two squirrels having an argument outside my bedroom window decide for me.

Once the coffee is perking, I return to the bedroom to get dressed. The bed looks worse than some of the places I had to conceal myself while wearing my ghillie suit while on a mission. My conscience is a helluva advisory! Just as I am tying my shoes, there is a horrendous crashing noise; someone has hit the rock cut. I know that sound: an unforgiving pillar of granite and the dying scream of twisting metal.

Looking down the hill from deck, there is a black, full size sedan, squashed up against the granite pillar; another cross will likely be added. There is no movement. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see more carnage. Not noticing it before, I see four tires in the air; from here, it looks like a black SUV in the ravine on the other side of the road, on its roof, and steam is rising from its punched rad.

Quickly dressing, I travel down the hill, cautiously, for if one was to slip and start rolling down the hill, the odds are you would end up dead by the time you stopped rolling; the outward cropping of sharp granite would ensure that. Now, on the road, I rush to the car, there is no hope here, only one passenger, the driver is sitting next to the engine, and the magnitude of the collision had so much force it pushed the engine through the firewall. All that is left is blood and brain matter splatter on the windows. I have seen that combination many times before.

The SUV is another story. Steam is now rushing from the damaged radiator and there is snapping sounds, like electrical shorts. The big surprise is the ground is covered with one-hundred dollar bills. The crash had sprung the back doors of the SUV, dumping most of its contents on the ground. Five, very large, black, soft sided, duffel bags are on the ground; one burst its fastenings, and a bundle of bills broke its band, but the rest of the full bundles are still in the bag. Also on the ground are a number of sealed plastic bundles of, what I assume is, coke, or drugs of some kind. There are about twenty bundles, my guess three to five pounds each. It is major weight that someone will be looking for.

The SUV has two males in the front seat, both dead. In both cases, the airbags released, but the force of the rolling vehicle snapped both of their necks. Their bodies are secured by their seat belts, hanging upside down. Both heads are sort of dangling from their necks, not in a natural position. Blood is seeping from their noses, ears, eyes and mouth. Not a good sign.

Then, I smell gas. The unit is leaking gasoline from the filler hose; it is seeping into the wheel well then dripping to the ground, not a good situation. There is a good possibility the SUV will go up in flames. More sounds of electrical shorts from the engine compartment make the possibility of a fire eminent! Time to get the hell out of Dodge!

Being a good conservationist, I remove a pair of surgical gloves from my pocket (this is a habit from my service days: leave no trace is always the motto) and I pick up all the loose bills, replacing them in the open duffel bag. After moving all five bags away from the possible inferno, I pick up all the drugs bundles and place them in the wheel well, under the gas drip; waste not want not! Grabbing the heavy duffel bags, I return to the wrecked auto for one last look. Still just blood and brain matter, nothing has changed. Then I get an eerie feeling, like something about this scene is wrong. At the back of the unit, the trunk lid is sprung, but not open. Curious, I lift the trunk lid. The surprise is it contains luggage. It's not that the luggage is a surprise; the fact that it is all feminine is the surprise. It is a very large set of very expensive matching designer luggage, consisting of three large suitcases, two smaller cases, a makeup case and a smaller travel case. The scent of leather is evident. This is odd, since I've only found male bodies. Did I miss something? Unless one of them was gay!

Slowly walking around the car, I look for anything suspicious; the passenger side window is shattered, so much for safety glass. Peeking in the back seat, I notice the seatbelts are engaged, securing what looks like rolls of blankets. Then I hear what I would consider a whimper. Not sure what it is, or where it is coming from, I stand still and listen. There it is again. Something or someone is in the back seat, still alive. Getting the back door open is a challenge: it is jammed! Again, I take all precautions of leaving no trace. Finally springing the door, I am looking at a pair of shoed feet of a young girl. Her legs are bound in such a way that they would not be bruised by the restraints. Quickly releasing the seat belts, I remove three rolled up blankets; the girl is wrapped in a heavy quilt. Opening the quilt reveals a beautiful young girl; her olive complexion gives her an era of mystery. She is not conscience, but she is moaning. There is a large bruise on her forehead: she likely struck the arm rest during the collision. Her hands are bound by a similar restraint as her legs. Whoever is responsible for this wanted to keep the young lady bruise free! First thing I think of is 'white slavery.' This girl was just a chattel for these creeps. They were delivering her to a purchaser.

The girl is wearing a form fitting dress, not the run of the mill type, but a designer dress tailored to fit her young body. Her shapely legs are encased in off white stay-ups. There is a gap of flawless skin, then a mini white thong, where her large luv lips are embedded in the small V of cloth. It appears she was dressed for presentation. A sickening thought turns my stomach; she appears to be the same build as Jayden ... what if!! Removing her restraints, it is a struggle to remove her limp body from the vehicle. With her slung over my shoulder, I carry her to the cabin, put her to bed and cover her. She was my first trip.

The luggage, and the young lady, was not the only surprises in the car. When I removed the luggage, I found another interesting item: a large, custom made rifle case containing an SVD Dragunov Sniper rifle, with accessories, plus twelve boxes of ammunition - 7.292 x 79 mm Warsaw. This is not your average gun. This is a very serious type of weapon! I will examine it later, as time permits. It is certainly not a priority right now!

It took me six trips, up the steep rock face, to remove the girl, all her luggage, the rifle and its accessories and, of course, the litter I picked up from the SUV still in the duffle bags! A true conservationist does not leave any litter, including one hundred dollar bills.

Just as I complete the last strenuous climb, I hear a loud WHOOSH, then an explosion. The gasoline, in the wheel well, had ignited and the gas tank exploded. A large cloud of black smoke rose from the SUV. No more drugs, no more cash, a tragedy in the making and two crispy critters in the front seat. Being a good citizen, I place a call to 911 advising them of the accident. In forty-five minutes, the place is crawling with people, including two local television crews. Fortunately, the investigators accepted the terrible scene as the truth: an unfortunate accident; the result of speeding drivers. It took three wreckers to remove what was left of the burnt SUV. Every time the SUV scraped and banged on the granite, it removed more traces of the dope and the 'theoretically burnt' cash.

My guest is still unconscious. In all of the activity, my priority was to remove her, and all traces of her, from the car. I even removed the blankets and comforter from the back seat. Then I stood beside the vehicle for a good ten minutes, just looking at the scene. I removed six, obvious, long, dark hairs from the back seat; there may be more, but the obvious ones are gone. Being ruled an accident, I don't believe anyone will be looking for anything more. The cause of death of the driver was obvious.

The young lady is either a preteen or a young teenager; but, I am no expert on young girls, with the exception of Jayden. There are fresh needle marks on her left arm: they had her drugged. It is fortunate for them that they are dead. Nobody hurts young kids on my watch. I can feel the wrath seeping up my body.

My subconscious reminds me to do things in priority. Until the drugs wear off, there is nothing I can do or glean from the young lady. My first task is to hide the duffel bags. Counting the funds is not a priority; hiding the stash is. Having them in the open would only invite questions. There is bound to be someone nosing around to determine if any of the funds and drugs were found and, of course, the girl, who could be my undoing. The authorities do not know she exists; but, the bad guys do! They will be looking and the only one close to the accident scene is me!

Years ago, Granddaddy made several attempts to mine the property and, as a result, there are many blast holes of various depths around the cabin. With beaver stock depleted, he had hoped to prove all the naysayers wrong, and there actually was something of value in the rock face. He was wrong!

One of those craters, close to the cabin, is actually covered with a heavy slab of granite. It takes all my strength to move it! There is just enough room to get all the duffel bags in and, when the rock cover is lowered into place, no one is any the wiser. If anyone finds this cache, it would be horseshit luck!

The cottage consists of one large room divided by storage closets and shelving; it has one double bed, where the young girl is now resting. The designer luggage is piled neatly at the foot of the bed. She is still in a trance from the drugs. Since I don't know what they used, I just let her sleep. The drug certainly wasn't meant to harm her; just to keep her comatose as they moved her from one place to another.

My mind is analysing the circumstance trying to come up with a possible scenario: Was the girl being transported to the head honcho? Considering the cash, the large volume of drugs, the fancy sniper rifle and, of course, the young lady; if my conjecture is true, then there is one helluva pissed off individual somewhere! And when you consider his three delivery boys are dead, he /she will be screaming for answers, especially the whereabouts of his money and dope: the girl could be easily replaced!

The squeal of brakes from the road has me on the veranda. There is a large county dump truck parked on the shoulder where the SUV went down. The men, carrying sacks, are picking up pieces from the wreck. I watch them for two hours before they decide the wreck area is now clean. Anyone trying to determine what actually happened, by what is left, will be lacking any clues, another point in my favor. The only thing left from the crash is blackened rock face from the burning fuel and tires from the SUV.

As the truck returns from whence it came, I brew another pot of coffee. Then I notice the console that monitors the cameras. If the camera has recorded anything the LED blinks: the twenty facing out from the front of the cabin are flashing. I turn on the viewer to watch what they captured! It shows various views of the car leading and the SUV that is following closely behind. When the car piled into the rock face, the SUV swerved to miss hitting the car; but, over corrected and rolled over the edge; it took a very rough ride before it came to rest. I don't think even professional drivers, with all of their protective gear, could have survived the punishment. The cameras also have recorded my rescue of the young girl plus the lugging the duffel bags, luggage and rifle case up to the cabin. That tape is now smoldering on the hot coals of fireplace. As I said, leave no trace.

Just as I am enjoying a fresh cup of coffee, the bed squeak; the young girl is moving as the drug is wearing off. Standing and looking at her in the bed, a pair of very frightened, big, brown eyes are staring back at me.

"Hi, please don't be frightened, you are safe!"

The look she gives me tells me that she has no confidence in my statement. She looks scared, not that I can blame her! She surveys the cabin. Of course, I have no idea of what her last conscience memory was or where.

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes!"

At least now, I know she understands.

"The car you were riding in was in a severe accident. The driver was killed."

"What car? I don't remember any car! The last thing I remember is a woman dressing me in these fancy clothes, then everything went dark. Where am I?"

"This is my cottage in the mountains; the crash occurred on the road below the cottage, you can see the spot from the veranda. We are about thirty miles from Abbotsville. Do you know the city?"