Prelude

Recently I joined some friends on their sailboat off the coast of Belize. Belize, adjacent to Mexico's Yucatan, is the size of the state of Massachusetts but with a miniscule population of only 280,000. The principal language is English the crime rate is nonexistent and its coastal waters are some of the most beautiful in the world. It has a barrier reef some 400 miles long and its waters are dotted with cays that could be used in any commercial touting the Caribbean basin. One day while the six of us were in the southern town of Placentia doing a little shopping and some sight-seeing, I struck up a conversation with a tall and fit looking man who seemed to be around fifty. He was also from San Francisco and he and his family had sailed out of San Diego about six months before. The upshot of the conversation was a dinner invitation to all of us to join him and his family aboard their boat moored in Placentia Harbor. The three females in our group readily accepted his invitation — they claimed they were dying to eat something they didn't have to cook themselves and they wanted a look at his beautiful boat although one sheepishly admitted later that she thought our host was one of the sexiest men she had ever met. When she was teased about the man being old enough to be her father she replied, "If he was my father... I would have never left home!" Our host was tall slim and tan from the tropical sun, and had piercing blue eyes dark brown hair, graying at the temples. He carried himself in a way that spoke of confidence and of having seen much and experienced more. He had a scar that started high on one cheekbone and extended into his hairline, and what appeared to be a bullet wound scar on his tanned leg just above his knee. This evidence of past battles added to his air of mystery and certainly to his sex appeal to our ladies.

Prologue »