Chapter 13

Lunar Base.

July 18 – July 23, 1976

Saturday

Lunar Base.

The Ghost was summoned again to His Supremacy’s presence. He was ushered toward the large double doors. The liaison told him, “He’s been waiting for you, what’s worse, you’re late.” He instinctively looked at his watch, then the chronometer on the wall. According to both, he was right on time. Which meant he was late. The doors silently opened, and he stepped into the chamber. There was no light. He used his training, expecting to be attacked at any moment. He made his way to the Dias and the throne-like chair that was upon it. The chair appeared empty, but it wasn’t. Only a neophyte would believe that. He got to the base of the raised dais at the foot of the throne. He stopped, bowed, and prostrated himself. He didn’t move until the voice told him to rise. It was a long wait.

Finally, the voice with exasperation announced, “Arise, you worthless slave.” Silently the assassin known as Ghost arose to his feet. He stood at attention and appeared like a statue. He didn’t even blink. His Supremacy was incredibly angry. He was always incredibly angry. You didn’t meet him because you succeeded. For many, this meeting would have been their last. The voice got right to the point. “You have failed me yet again. How is it you missed your target again? This is very curious to me. Your opponent has exposed a vital weakness in you, and you have exposed us as weak to our enemy. I should simply end you, here and now. Your life belongs to me. I should collect on your oath of allegiance. Do you remember that oath? What you pledged to me if you failed me in any task, great or small? I see by the look of your eyes that you do. Good. You would do well to continue to keep mindful of that pledge. I will hear your report now. Do not leave out even the slightest detail.”

“Your Supremacy, I tracked the boy to his home and waited for him to leave the house. He invited another boy into the house. Where they remained for most of the afternoon. Using the most dangerous weapon I had, I destroyed the house. I was sure that escape from the devastation was not possible. The hit was disguised as a gang-related hit by hitting several other houses as well. It made it less likely to be seen as a lone hit that way. It would keep the local law enforcement busy trying to figure out how and why. I had just enough time to escape the area before their presence would impede my escape. When I left, there were no signs of the boy leaving the structure. I had to assume I had hit him. I did not have time to verify his death. In any other situation, I would have, but it became apparent I had to escape. I confess, in hindsight, it was poorly executed. I was able to leave the area without being identified.

That he survived, it seems is more evident the other side is more heavily involved than they have ever been before. In my experience, they don’t usually take a hand-on approach to these matters. If I may say so if they are, he may be untouchable for the time being.

From the reports on the local news outlets, it appears I was successful in part of the attack. The local law enforcement agency had no clues and assumed it was a local gang with a vendetta that perpetrated the attack. Our involvement has not been questioned nor contemplated. I, of course, lost contact with the subject after I discovered he had survived the attack. The boy’s uncle informed a local criminal element that they had attacked too soon and that he would have to wait until the boy received the settlement arising from the auto accident. I learned this from one of my contacts within that criminal faction. He is staying at the hotel, which is guarded by the other side. So it is impossible to hit him while he is there.

I later caught a glimpse of him at a neighborhood recreational facility. I was unable to do anything about it at that time due to how many other people were around. I figured a more personal touch would be given to this matter. I have determined the best course of action is to wait until the local educational system reconvenes classes in a few weeks.

Then I plan on trailing him and studying his path to and from the school and finding time where I can achieve the hit with the least amount of chance for failure or detection. I have multiple contingencies planned for his demise. I think the best chance of success lies in either a hit and run with a motor vehicle. Or a close up hit in or around the school itself. I will determine the details of both when I have a better idea of his daily activities.”

His supremacy listened to the report, his anger slowly dissipating. He thought about what he had been told and mentally reviewed the pics of the damage done to the house. It was true. The boy should not have survived. It seemed unlikely that his best assassin could fail him this many times without some sort of outside influence. He was not sure if that meant that The Guardians were the source of that influence, but it did seem to point in their direction. Why would they get involved personally? He knew that the young boy was marked for greatness. It was his aura, and its intensity shined brighter daily. It should have started to dull and fade like many others who were honored but unwilling to step up to the challenge. Many who were marked for greatness never knew or realized their destiny. In fact, merely telling them over and over again that they were nothing special was usually enough to convince them they were not. You could never wholly turn them into failures. Their true nature would win out in the end. But that was nothing compared to what they were destined to achieve.

In this boy’s case, his aura went from waning dull to positively glowing, blindingly so. He was becoming aware of himself, or someone had made him aware of his destiny. Now he appeared to be acting on it. This could not be allowed to continue. It would undo centuries of planning. If need be, he decided to take out the boy himself, which sounded like the best idea yet.

Monday

I woke up earlier than usual. The bedside clock read 5:30 am. Instead of going back to sleep, I got out of bed. I started my morning run and exercise routine. Running 3 miles and increasing my calisthenics by twenty percent. I was finished by 6:40 am and returned to the hotel to shower and dress for the day.

Then I sat on the floor of my suite and concentrated on trying to meditate. I had gotten into meditation the first time through around age 50 or so. I found that it helped me focus, and I could visualize my goals becoming a reality. It worked for me then, so I figured I might as well try it now.

I had a lot to think about, and I needed to figure out a formal strategy. I began to slow my breathing and clear my mind of distractions. I sat there and began to look inward. How have I used this second chance? What, if anything, have I achieved? Is it what I want, or is it just what the Guardians have asked me to do? Where do I fit into this? Is there a way to make my wants and needs come in line with that? Should they?

The questions kept coming. I cleared them from my mind and concentrated on just meditating. Soon I had reached that quiet place I sought. I stayed in that state until I felt at peace with myself and the goals I had set. Then I slowly brought myself back to a more aware state until I was awake. I felt better, and I felt less stressed about what I needed to be doing. I decided I would do this every morning to get back into the practice.

In my past life, I read the daily newspaper and the Wall Street Journal, so I went down to the lobby and picked up complimentary copies of each. I read them throughout breakfast. I decided I wanted some more information. So, I rode my bike to the library and went inside. I asked the reference librarian where the back issues of the Wall Street Journal were kept. She informed me that they had back issues in the basement going back to the first of the year. The rest were on microfiche or microfilm and could be viewed in the back. I was looking at stocks that I was interested in investing my money in. I was looking for trends, and for companies I recognized. Intel was a going concern and publicly traded since October 1971. Apple and Microsoft weren’t going to be public for years, 1980 for Apple and 1986 for Microsoft. IBM was listed in 1911, so I would do well to invest in it. It paid a healthy dividend every year. Motorola has been a publicly-traded company since 1951. I knew that they were safe and would play a big part in what I needed to accomplish. I also invest in Ford and a few other transportation-based companies. I knew that the Hunt brothers were already buying up as much silver as they could get, and mostly on margin. I would ride their coattails, but not on margin as they did, but by buying contracts. I would have some silver and gold bullion buy only a little. And try not to bring too much attention to myself. I knew that by early 1980 the whole thing would come crashing down because they would miss a margin call.

Tuesday

I started the day by meditating, this time with specific goals in mind. I thought hard about the economic trends and the cycles I lived through the first time. What were the significant dips and the big highs? How far apart were they? What kind of indicators were there? Were there any warnings I could look to as a guide for each? If so, what were they, and how far out did they show themselves? I thought upon this and went back through as many as I could recall. Starting in the late ‘70s, I didn’t pay attention to the news as much as I did in my later years. But by my late thirties, I read the paper or listened to the radio and watched the tv news daily. It was something I felt would make me understand what was going on in the world. I caught onto trends and accurately predicted the beginning of upticks or downturns reasonably regularly. This helped in anticipation of whether to buy additional old cars or to look at selling some of them. It also gave me a gauge of how much new commission works I might expect.

After meditating for about 30 minutes, I was ready to start the physical part of my morning. I kept to-form with the program I had established and worked my heart rate up to optimal and held for about 15 minutes and slowed down and started my cool-down exercises. I did the rest of my workout, then grabbed my towel, and dried the sweat of my face. I drank a big bottle of water and started to paddle back to the hotel.

Everything was going well until the hairs on the back of my neck started to stand on end. I had the feeling of being watched, worse, intensely studied. I slowed the bike and turned my head slowly. I was looking for anyone out of place who might be the culprit. Nothing appeared out of sorts. At first glance, everything was normal. I started to cross the street and caught the green car that looked like the one from the day of the shooting. At first, I tried to convince myself that there were probably hundreds of mint green Impalas in and around Detroit. But this one started to turn in the same direction I was headed. When I turned onto a side street going away from the hotel, the vehicle took the next parallel road and turned in the direction I was going. I know this because I was watching the cross-streets to see if I could see it. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes, the car showed up. Keeping tabs on me. I was out in the open and exposed. I had made an error in judgment. I had gotten comfortable and had fallen into a predictable pattern.

I needed to escape this area quickly. I could not panic. To do so would mean death. I had to remain calm. I increased my speed and started looking for a way out of this situation. The car finally made a turn to intersect with my street. When he did, I knew it was my only shot. I made a u-turn, and then I cut across yards and in between buildings, staying in the alleys and such. I finally had an idea and headed to the library. I was going to go there today anyway. I got there, only to discover it wasn’t open yet. I looked at my watch and saw that it was barely 7:30. I took off to the only store open close-by at this time of the morning, the bakery. I figured a cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee would be just right. I sat down at the counter and waited to be served.

I spent an hour getting free refills on my coffee and reading the morning paper. I made a great show of looking engrossed in the article but was continually looking to see if the car drove by or if the driver stepped inside. I waited until I could confirm I had not seen the vehicle for a considerable time and then went to the hotel from a previously unused route. I climbed into the bathtub. I was too worn out to stand in the shower.

I awoke to a tub full of ice-cold water, and a loud pounding on the door to the suite. I quickly found a robe. I put it on, tying the belt. And then I peeked through the eye hole of the door to see a man dressed in a bellhop uniform. I asked, “Who’s there?” I heard the reply, “Room service.” Now I knew I was in trouble. I had not ordered room service. I looked for something to use to defend myself.

There was nothing in the suite that I could see that would be a good weapon, and then I spotted a table lamp. It had a massive, clay pot base, glazed a horrid purplish pink color. I hefted it in my hands. It had some weight to it, I took it and prepared to answer the door. I slowly opened the door. When the person on the other side busted through, I immediately hit him over the head with the lamp.

He slumped and went unconscious. I took the opportunity to tie his hands behind his back. I grabbed another lamp, yanked the cord from the base, and tied his feet together. The guy was wearing a too-small uniform. I rolled him over onto his back to get a good look at him. It looked like the gang banger from the pool. I took the precaution of frisking him. I felt what I thought could be a gun but didn’t touch it or remove it. I called the front desk, telling them to send up a manager and to call the police as I had just been attacked.

Within minutes, the day manager and in-house security were in my room. They were both asking questions. I tried to answer them as best I could. I told them about how this guy said he was from room service, but I had not ordered anything. I asked if he was an employee of this hotel. They both answered no. By then, the police had made their way up to the suite. That was incredible speed. If this were my neighborhood, you might never see a cop arrive. But this being the Hilton, it got the police here quickly. I told the police the same story I told the manager and head of security. The officer grabbed him and brought some smelling salts to his nose. When he came to, he started to struggle with his bonds. The police picked him up and patted him down. They found the gun a snub-nosed .38. They read him his rights and arrested him, put him in cuffs, and then cut the electrical cords. I asked the manager to have the lamps replaced as soon as possible since I did not want to be in the dark this evening. They told me that replacements were on the way.

The rest of the day was pretty quiet, with one exception. About 5 O’clock, I received a phone call. I wasn’t expecting one. So, I hurried over to the phone and answered it.

“Hello, who’s calling?”

“Hello, Michael. It’s Eve. I have a question.”

This sounded interesting. “Go ahead, Eve. How can I help you?”

“Oh, it’s not about me. It’s Mary. She wants to know if you’d like to go out with her some night this week?”

“Well, I am not sure. Why isn’t Mary calling and asking me this question?” I decided this was a setup, and I would not make it easy. Eve could not date, but her friends could. I was about to get the, ‘Go ahead and date all you want it won’t bother me, speech.’ It was the kiss of death for any kind of relationship. In fantasy, this is where the main character got to screw all the girls he could ever dream of. In reality, this was where you lose any chance of getting past the batter’s box. Girls don’t like guys who date or sleep around. Don’t let erotic fiction fool you.

I finally answered, “Eve, I was rather hoping to date you. Yes, I know you can’t date until your mother permits you, but I would much rather wait for you than go on dates with your friends. Besides, they might make you angry or jealous, and I would not be happy about that. Please tell Mary I am flattered by her interest. If you and I find we are not compatible or not happy, then I would like a chance to date her at that time. But I think for the moment that it’s best I remain your girlfriends’ friend.”

I heard a little sigh, and then a sharp intake of breath like there might be more than one person on the other end of the call. That also made sense. I think it was a test to see if I was serious or not. I am not into the games that girls play, as evidenced by the handful of relationships the first time around. So, I tried to keep things in perspective. These girls were young, and they may be just a little inexperienced, and probably horny and not sure of themselves yet. It made for an intoxicating mixture that I was turned on by.

Wednesday

It was more of the same. I called the Jameses and asked if they needed help with packing up their house in preparation for the move this weekend. Mrs. J was pleased with my offer. I told her I would be there soon. I rode my bike over to the Jameses house, being careful to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.

I walked in the front door, just like always. A chaotic mess greeted me. I found Mrs. J. in the master bedroom, packing clothes into boxes. I asked where she wanted me to start. Her answer was the hall closet and bathroom. Then go to the guestroom, which was Junior’s old room. And that the boxes were in the garage. I went out and brought in a few. They were flat new boxes, so I folded them into shape and taped the bottoms. I started by packing all the blankets and towels in the hall closet. Then I packed all the clothing that was hanging. I filled two boxes very quickly. I moved on to the guestroom. I took the bedding off the mattress and folded it neatly, stowing it in a box. I found a marker and labeled the boxes I had completed.

The room was used for overflow. There were lots of things stacked in piles. The pile next to the sewing machine I assumed was for repairs and put all of the clothes into one box. The closet had what appeared to be mementos from Junior’s high school days. These got their own box. Soon I decided not to worry what was being put into each box. I just started labeling them by the area that they came from. Then I began to ask where in the new house these things would be going. For many of the items, the answer became the basement. A feature this house didn’t have. It had a crawl space under the house. I added markings of where in the new home these boxes should be placed.

After a couple of hours, RJ and I were assigned to the garage. I was still upset with him, but I decided to give this a chance, he was my best friend. Maybe with my influence, I could steer him back toward the person he once was. It might let him see success was possible, and the hood wasn’t the only option. He had to stop hanging out with gang bangers for this to work. I thought maybe the move into a nice neighborhood would help. So, I decided to bury the hatchet and apologized for my behavior towards him.

We were to take inventory of what was there, what should be thrown out, and what to pack. I asked Mrs. J if that was a good idea. Maybe Mr. James would be better at determining what he wanted and what could be thrown out. I was informed that he would keep it all if it were up to him and that she wished for a dispassionate view to take charge and organize it. I knew that this was going to be one of those family stories that got retold, and with each retelling, it would get further from the truth. I was about to step into a minefield. Unless I could navigate this correctly, my name would be mud.

It started simple; old magazines got thrown into the trash, old newspapers, same thing. Then I noticed old Playboys and I knew better. They were packed into a box. They’d be worth a fortune if they could be kept in good condition. The next thing I packed was various Mitchell Books. These gave detailed descriptions of how to repair a car. Each book was for a single model. These also would be valuable, especially for what I did in my first life. These books in this condition were tough to find. I had to look through boxes of junk, and I made split-second decisions. I asked RJ when was the last time he’d seen anything that was in the box. If he gave me a funny look or the answer was years and years ago, I looked to make sure that nothing looked like it was a collectible or had value in the future, then I tossed it.