Chapter 4 - Time Share

Sheila:

There is an old joke. A student answers a professor by saying, "I have a deficient education. My high school did not offer mind reading." I hoped Sean's school did offer mind reading, because I was going to test his skill.

Sean:

Arriving at the airport in Honolulu was the same, but different. As expected, there was a sign in the exit area. Unexpected were the second and third signs. The expected sign was held by George Kada, with Trina Brooks at his elbow. The somewhat unexpected sign was held by Kiku Toda, or Toda Kiku if you were in Japanese territory. She was an airline employee, so getting our flight information would not have been difficult for her. The truly unexpected sign was held by a Sergeant First Class named Tanner. I started with him. Sheila was busy hugging Kiku and Trina.

SFC Tanner said, "General Buehrle would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience." That was Army speak for get the bags and use the latrine, but nothing else. I was about to ruin his day.

I asked Sheila, "There's a General that wants to talk. Do you want to make time to see him?" SFC Tanner looked annoyed when I looked to my wife. He paled to shock when I suggested that we might refuse the invitation. To a sergeant, Generals are next to God. This particular sergeant had ass-kissing-lackey embossed on his forehead.

Sheila knew the type. "We can go down to baggage while he figures out the details."

Sure enough, by the time we reached baggage claim, SFC Tanner had a cell phone attached to his ear. After a while, he held it out to me.

Phone: What the hell did you say to Roscoe? He hasn't been this wound up since Hillary visited.

"General, I have not spoken a word to him. I asked my wife if she wanted to accept your invitation. It was Sheila you wanted to talk to, wasn't it? She's the talent. I just run the company."

Phone: Run it pretty damn well from what I've seen. But, you're right. She is the person of interest.

"General, I am going to speak plainly. We are on our honeymoon. Half our time, so far, has been in airports or on planes. We have three days scheduled, on an island, in a luxury time share. You are not going to compete with that."

Phone: Not awed by my august position are you Sergeant? I am guessing that you won't go to the island today. I can offer you VIP accommodations and a traditional luau. Your wife can try hula ... What's so damn funny?

"Sorry General, but my wife studied ballet—Bolshoi and Carnegie Hall. Tourist level hula will not impress her. As to the other, we have arrangements for tonight. I plan a nice meal, a long shower and serious sack time. Based on the VIP accommodations we have seen so far, that would be a 'No Go.'"

Phone: I can see your reputation is not exaggerated. How's this. I will get you a boat to take you to the island. One of my people can ride along. Reputation? What reputation?

"That sounds workable. I have a request. Send food, a saw—suitable for bamboo—a knife and lashing. Sheila is starting to complain about missing workouts."

Phone: OK. I'll bite. All that is easy, but what does it have to do with your wife's workouts?

"Ballet bar. She wants to stretch. I have video you would not believe. I assume Roscoe is available in the morning. He isn't really named Roscoe is he?

Phone: [laughing] No. His given name is Michael. Roscoe comes from Dukes of Hazard. Give him the phone. I'll tell him his agenda.

SFC Tanner left. When I approached my crew, George was speaking Japanese to Kiku, looking impressed. That would be House Toda. Kiku had some serious Japanese FAMILY connections, even if she was American by birth. I told Sheila about the General and his offers, purely for form. I knew how Sheila would respond and she did not surprise me. Once SFC Tanner was gone, we went to baggage claim. No joy. Kiku led us to the misrouted luggage desk, where our footlocker waited. We took out a few things, principally a change of clothes for Sheila, then sent it on to JFK. It can be nice when an airline is cooperative.

By the time we returned, our flight was on the baggage carousel. We loaded up and went to the big SUV George had waiting. Kiku hugged Sheila, then gave me a formal bow. I was unsure what to make of it. Kiku left without explanation. The rest of us went to our (mid range) hotel.

Compared to some of the places we had slept, it was nice. Compared to my usual traveling accommodations, it was Holiday Inn. However, we had reservations at Colony House, which was as close to a five star restaurant as Waikiki gets. There was time for a quick shower and change, then back to the car. George dropped us off, leaving his cell number with Sheila.

Dinner was excellent. We had the mahi ceviche and steamed snails as a appetizer. Sheila ordered the snapper and mushrooms, with pilaf and stir fried greens. I had the prime rib and madeira sauce, with heart of palm salad and breadfruit. Sheila did better. We lingered over tea and coffee.

After dinner, George deposited us at our hotel and said good night. It was still early. Our hotel had an agreement with a local gym, so we went to sweat a little. The gym was as second rate as the hotel, but it had a suitable elliptical trainer. I did some no resistance work and watched Sheila on the mat. A gym trainer took one look and kept going. They ignored me, which says all that is necessary about the quality of the establishment.

Sheila did some stretching, then began something resembling martial arts katas. It was mesmerizing. I tended to stop my own workout to watch. Eventually, I moved from the elliptical machine to the weights, so I would not be distracted. After about half an hour, I was told the gym would close in thirty minutes, so I threw in the towel. That was when I made the biggest mistake of my life.

Sheila:

I was glad to see George and Trina at the airport. Trina was letting George take the lead, which said interesting things. Seeing Kiku was a bonus. She told me she would try to be here, but was not sure she could juggle her schedule. I introduced everyone. Kiku and George were soon conversing in Japanese. Trina looked a little put out, but I waved her off. This would not end well for George.

There was another person wanting our attention. Since he was in uniform, I let Sean handle him. The soldier may have wanted to take me somewhere, but he paid attention to Sean, who was an excellent buffer against idiots. It was one of the things I liked best about our relationship. Sean jerked the soldier's chain a few times, then sent him away. We went to baggage claim.

Our flight was not yet on the carousel, so we went to the missing baggage desk. They had the footlocker from Guam. Kiku had handled it as misrouted baggage. They let me open the locker and do some swapping. I lightened my purse and carry-on bag and I retrieved the flower dress. The footlocker was forwarded for pickup at JFK. It can be nice having someone on the inside pulling strings.

By the time we finished repacking, Sean had disposed of the soldier. We collected our bags and went to George's car. Kiku said goodbye. We would keep in touch, but parting is never fun. Things were very quiet on the drive to our hotel.

We checked in, showered and changed for dinner. The restaurant was better than the hotel. Sean had his usual beef, while I had some outstanding fish. After dinner, sipping tea and talking was one of the best parts of the trip so far. If we did not have a ride waiting, we might have stayed for hours. I suspect George and Trina would not have minded, but it would still be an imposition.

It was still daylight when we returned to the hotel. Sean sent George off, telling him we had a ride in the morning. That would be our soldier. Whatever. Sean was good with such details. I read a poster that started, "Free Gym Visits." Our rooms allowed us to use a nearby gym at member rates. After three days in airplanes, I was dying for some work. Sean made arrangements for the hotel to take us over.

The "Fitness Center" was about what I expected for a second (or third) tier hotel. They had the bare minimum of equipment, a few free weights and no help to speak about. For myself, any open floor was good and overdue. I felt tugs doing a simple split, much less actual stretching. Rather than anything strenuous, I kept myself to some martial forms. It was enough. I was soon lost in the ritual of stretch, hold, shift, hold...

Surprisingly, only one trainer came by to offer "assistance". I showed him my ring and he backed off. I smiled as I thought of what Sean might have done to him, if he was pushy. My Teddybear is very protective. The thought gave me a glow that had nothing to do with exercise, which was a shame. My lactic acid levels were just starting to get warm when Sean told me they were closing. I thought a walk would be a nice cool down. I must have been born stupid.

We had gone less than a block when I noticed our shadows. They waited til we were in front of a row of closed businesses. That cut off one direction of escape. We found out later it also gave the police useful security video, so the muggers were only half smart. Sean would say half wits. In any event, there were three of them—one in front, one out of an alley, one from behind. Given my early experience at the warehouse, I should have expected someone bird dogging the gym. As I said, stupid.

Things developed normally. The leader accosted Sean, while the other two moved to cut off our escape. That lasted only a few seconds, then the two others—call them Big and Stupid—moved to flank me. What began as attempted robbery was turning into attempted rape. That was good. It brought them closer. My face might have warned them, but they were watching Sean and Boss.

Sean is not the most impressive physical presence, but he has a significant advantage. He never hesitates. Watch Unforgiven. Hesitation is what separates the killers from the dead. All I needed to do was provide a distraction. Either Big or Stupid would do for that. I needed to get both within reach. Then it was a choice of which knife hand was easiest to disable. Stupid lived down to my nickname. Not only did he bring the knife within reach, he took his eyes off me.

I reached cross body to grab Stupid's wrist. My other hand went behind his elbow and pushed. Simple leverage started him moving and the arm bar kept him going. He was halfway around the circle before he started screaming. I sent him crashing into Big, dislocating his shoulder in the process.

If Stupid was stupid, Big was worse. When he saw his buddy coming toward him, he put out his hands to block, including the one with the knife. The idiot had it blade up. I did not see the knife bite, but I could hear it. We would need an ambulance. With his knife out of play, it was trivial to kick the side of Big's knee. He went down, bellowing.

I looked up in time to see Sean sucker punch Boss. Ouch. The Army, or someone, had taught Sean how to pivot for power. He did his best to punch through Boss' sternum. Everything connects to the breast bone and it had to be broken. I just hoped Sean had not broken his hand.

The whole confrontation had taken a minute or two. The fight took only seconds. We spent five hours dealing with the police.

Sean:

Back home I travel with a guard. My staff has three certified martial arts trainers. I think Sheila might take them all down. Everyone comments on how she understands motion on a deeper level than mere mortals. They never consider what that means in a fight. Add a willingness to do permanent damage and you get a dangerous package.

At the time, I thought nothing of the sort. I was focused on giving Sheila a chance to run. One of the three was clearly the leader. I turned to face him and said we didn't want trouble. He said trouble was free and we could have all we wanted, then he laughed at his own joke. Half wit. I settled my weight. Mr. Leader shook his head and lifted his shirt to show a .45 revolver, as if I missed the bulge.

Once he showed the piece, he stood upright, so the bulge was more pronounced. This ruined his balance, interfered with his ability to draw, but it was not the dumbest thing he did. He stopped watching me to check out Sheila. I readied a punch and waited for an opening. Sheila rarely disappoints and this would not be one of the times. In quick succession I heard a high, girlish scream, a thud, and a baritone bellow. Mr. Leader completely forgot about me, so I punched his solar plexus as a reminder.

That fast, it was over, except for the reports. I am the first to tell anyone that a job is not done til the paperwork is signed. That truism came home to nest. Spare me cops. Given the noise, we soon attracted attention. I was still dialing 911 when an elderly woman looked out of a window. I asked her what the address was. She disappeared without answering.

The first officials on the scene were Navy Shore Patrol. That made sense. Mugging seamen is a centuries old tradition. They had no jurisdiction, but I was able to get useful information. Next on scene were the fire department and EMT. This proved fortunate, since one of the thugs was close to bleeding out. Finally, Honolulu PD arrived in force.

Had we been hurt, things would have gone quickly. Muggers hurting tourists is normal. Tourists hurting muggers is unusual. Slightly built women sending knife wielding men to the Emergency Room is strange. They wanted us to explain the strange. When a lawyer called, asking for us, they got insistent.

Curtis was grumpy at three in the morning. He got over it. After the usual, "Don't say anything." he contacted a firm in Honolulu. Within five minutes the firm contacted the police. In half an hour a defense attorney, named Daniel Ngo, arrived and presented credentials. This did not endear us to the police, who kept saying, "If you are innocent, you have nothing to worry about." No one is innocent. Ask a priest.

We spent several minutes giving our story to our lawyer. He obtained statements from the responding officer and made calls to the hospital. That was when we learned one of the thugs almost died. The EMT team was still at the hospital, but the fire crew had returned to the station. Danny promised to get their statement before they went off shift. Everyone forgot about the Shore Patrol until Sheila asked why they were gone.

More calls were made. The two SP at the scene were off duty, but their report was faxed over. I asked to talk to the SP Officer of the Day. More eyebrows went up. I told the OD that I was escorting a civilian of military interest and asked him to forward the situation to General Buehrle's office, with copy to the Judge Advocate's office.

With everything going on, it was a wonder they let us go to our hotel about 3:00 AM. Danny Ngo walked us to our room. He unbent enough to say things looked good. Our scheduled departure was an issue, but he expected it to be workable. He wished us good night and left. Before he was out of sight, Sheila had me in a bear hug.

Call me dense. My first reaction was to wonder why Sheila was feeling threatened. It took a minute or two to unravel that she feared for me. The two knife wielding thugs were an inconvenience. She was worried about the .45. She knew, if it came to a choice, that I would sell my life to give her a chance. It was the biggest compliment anyone had ever paid me. I stroked Sheila's hair and promised that I would never let it happen again. I was still reassuring her when she fell asleep.

Some habits are hard to break. I had been up all night at Kwajalein. In Honolulu, we went to bed at 3:30 AM. I was up again at 7:00 AM. My call to Schofield Barracks was quickly routed to General Buehrle himself. It was going to be that sort of day. After listening to the Cliff notes version, his reaction was the same as mine would have been. "Damn, Richards, are you sure you want to be married to that?" I told him to read Cordelia's Honor by LM Bujold. He surprised me by getting the reference. He retorted that I thought well of myself. Since I was cast as Aral Vorkosigan, he had a point.

The fallout was that he would send a JAG officer to meet with the police. Sheila and I were due at ten o'clock. Hopefully, between the JAG and Daniel Ngo, our visit would be brief. A call to Curtis informed me that nothing major had happened in the last four hours. A call to Danny Ngo informed me that the smaller thug would survive, but would loose a length of intestine and some use of his arm. His partner would never walk without a cane. In comparison, Mr. Leader would be back to normal in six months. He only had broken breast bone and three cracked ribs. Thinking about it made my hand hurt.

I ordered coffee, tea and eggs from room service, then woke Sheila. To my surprise, she ate with appetite. At 9:30 AM Roscoe the driver called up. We loaded out luggage into his SUV. Helping out was the JAG, who had the unlikely name of Mikal Tigranovich Petrosian. On the way to the police station he explained that he was not the son of a world chess champion. Several of his uncles and cousins were named Tigran. When the Grandmaster became famous, the name became a family favorite. I may have made too much of it, but I needed some comic relief.

The police station was exactly what I expected in daylight. Several cops tried to glare and intimidate. One elderly desk Sergeant named Wilson and a female Detective named Rowland found it amusing. I sat, cross armed, and let Captain Petrosian and Danny Ngo do their jobs. Sheila was doing a good imitation of CC. It finally came to a head when a Detective Tanaka said, "If they didn't do anything wrong, why all the legal muscle?" Cpt. Petrosian grinned. Danny Ngo looked disgusted.

Detective Rowland was the one who answered. "Because, Detective, some police officers assume that the Constitution does not apply in Hawaii. They assume the only reason to be careful is to hide guilt. Mr. Richards runs a multi-billion dollar company. Mrs. Richards damn near killed someone in self defense. I think they have reason to be careful.

"Look at her. Do you think someone that looks like that can work at a gym, in New Jersey, and not learn some self defense? From the way she moves, she could probably teach classes. She says she did two moves—one throw and one kick. SWAT backs her up on that. So, yeh, someone almost died. He was threatening her with a knife and his partner stabbed him. Why the hell isn't she out enjoying her honeymoon?"

From behind us, another voice said, "That's a good question. We have video from the head shop that backs up the whole story, including the timeline. She took down two bigger guys, with knives, in under two seconds. There are no foreign prints on either of the blades. She told the truth, just like you asked, but you didn't believe her. Tanaka, you're off the case. Sorry Sunny, that means you get the paperwork. Wrap it up and get 'em out of here." The speaker was a Captain named Soto.

It wasn't that simple. "Sunny" turned out to be Detective First Class Rowland. She turned us over to Sgt. Wilson. Twenty minutes later we promised to check in before returning to New Jersey. Sheila promised wedding pictures for Sgt. Wilson's wife and Det. Rowland. This quickly expanded to include Danny Ngo's wife and Cpt. Petrosian's girlfriend. For someone remarkably shy, Sheila made friends easily. Danny said good bye. Cpt. Petrosian rode with us to the Navy's small craft pier.

This time we were riding a boat with a crew. It was commanded by an Ensign Sanchez, who turned out to be SN Sanchez' uncle. Small world. Two crewmen passed our bags on board. There was also a large box, which was likely from the General. Cpt. Petrosian told me it was a pleasure to meet us and his report would be favorable. I had to tip my hat to Gen. Buehrle. Using JAG to cover a security check was smooth.

That left me with a wife to consider. Sheila had taken some heavy hits.

Sheila:

When I woke, Sean was gone. From there, things kept getting worse. Sean had ordered breakfast, which I did not want. I forced myself to eat, because there was no guarantee of lunch. There was a car, driven by the soldier from the airport. He kept his distance, but brought a lawyer. Captain Petrosian was there to check me out, while giving assistance with the police. The help I could use. The inspection I could do without. To give him due credit, he was good at his job.

I was not so lucky with the police. I had made a statement the night before. Daniel Ngo had gone through it carefully. Everything was factual and much of it could be verified. Several of the police refused to believe it. Stupid had a stab wound in the gut and nearly died. Even though his blood was on Big's knife, Detective Tanaka seemed to think I put it there. When that was disproved, he switched to a fictional sixth person. Supposedly, this person stabbed Stupid, broke Big's leg and disappeared. I sat quietly and let the lawyers do my talking.

Help arrived in the form of another detective. DFC Rowland piled contempt on Det. Tanaka's speculations. Before they came to blows, the Captain intervened and threw Det. Tanaka off the case. I promised pictures of our wedding to several people and we were allowed to leave. By that point, I did not know what I wanted, but curling up in a ball and crying for hours seemed a good place to start.

Thank G_d for my Teddybear. Never was my nickname more appropriate. Sean was a walking, talking comfort toy and guard dog. Our driver delivered us to a pier. The vessel—Sean warned me not to call it a boat—was commanded by a familiar face. Sure enough, the boat driver at Kwajalein was his nephew. Ens. Sanchez' face lit up when I made the connection. My day was not a total loss.

The ride out to our time share was long. Sean kept passing me bottles of water. That was the most interesting thing that happened. One piece of ocean looks very much like the next one. From time to time a ship or an island would come into sight, but always far away. My ennui had passed enough to allow serious boredom before our island was sighted. Ens. Sanchez had two crewmen load our bags into a power boat, which we rode to a dock. The crewmen took the bags up to our cabin, then left. At that point I had to look at Sean.

It was not that I had been ignoring him. I could sense his presence and feel his actions. They were comforting—I leaned on that—but I could not force myself to look at his face. Good heavens, I had almost killed a man. I felt freakish enough without seeing it reflected in his eyes. But, by their natures, such evasions only work in a crowd.

To lengthen my isolation, I focused on the island. Calling it an island was a bit much. It was more a large rock sticking out of the ocean. From where I stood, there was a high point to the left, and a sand covered tongue to the right. That was our beach, such as it was. While there was soil and sand, grass and trees, much of the island was exposed rock.

I could see three buildings and the roof of a fourth. All were built back in the folds of the big rock to the left. That made sense. It put them well above sea level and used the mass of the island to break any storm winds. The cabins were not large and seemed to grow out of the rock, with gently sloping metal roofs and lots of glass. Toward the ocean, there were large patios, partly sheltered under the roof. Everything looked both rustic and expensive.

Sean said his piece to the Ens. Sanchez, then turned to me. It was just a glance, directing me toward cabin #4. The Navy crew had stacked our luggage on the porch. Sean pulled a note off the door, then waved me inside. I grabbed two of my bags and entered. Inside it was much cooler. The stone motif continued on the interior, but softened by rugs and wall hangings. The living room was dark, but beyond was a small kitchen, which was brighter. To the right of the door was a closet, then a bathroom. The closed door had to be the bedroom. I stacked my bags by that door and claimed the toilet.

I had to go, but it also gave me a couple of minutes alone. This was clearly a guest bath, because there was no tub or shower. That said, it was not small. There was a nice pedestal sink and a large, well lit mirror. It would have been the perfect place to repair makeup. I was wearing only a little eye liner, but it motivated me to check the cabinet. Inside were the basics—comb, brushes, eye liner, mascara, clear lip gloss, moisturizer and aloe vera. The last two were in large bottles. I used several pumps of the moisturizer.

When I came out, Sean was not in sight, but the bedroom door was open. I went to the kitchen and looked around. At the back was a broom closet/pantry. It was well stocked for an emergency—bottled water, bins of beans, rice, sugar and flour, canned meat and vegetables, dried soups and seasonings. There was a broom and dust pan, bucket and mop, bottles of bleach and disinfectant cleaners. On the top shelf were flashlights, batteries, a charger, portable radio, a large water filter and a couple of bottle size, canteens and instruction books. In case of a hurricane, we would be set for at least a week.

Back in the kitchen, there were two small refrigerators, a freezer and an ice maker. One fridge contained basic mainland breakfast items, condiments in squeeze bottles and a covered bowl of cut melons. Taped to the melons was a note. The other refrigerator was empty, probably intended for beer and soda. The freezer contained only a bottle of vodka and some pizza rolls. Out in the living room was a table, with a huge basket of fruit. At least we would not starve. Next to the fruit was the box I had seen on the boat.

Sean chose that moment to return from the master suite. He picked up the box, opened it and set it on the counter. Inside was food for lunch and a rolled parcel. Sean handed me the Italian rolls and cold cuts, then unrolled the parcel. It contained a branch saw, a multi-tool and three skeins of parachute cord—red, white and blue. I did not know what to expect, but that was not it. It was like receiving gift wrapped copy paper.

Sean had given me responsibility for lunch. We had bread, cheese and cold cuts, fresh fruit and filtered water. That would work. I debated soup, since there was a microwave, but decided to keep it simple. One of the refrigerators contained a variety of sauces, spreads and dressings, some already open. Since these were vinegar based, like pickles, yellow mustard and Italian salad dressing, I could deal with open. Mayo was in individual serving packets, which made me laugh.

I split two rolls, piled them with cheese, deli meat and a sliced avocado and dressed Sean's end with mayo. I would have liked onion and tomato, but no joy. The bowl of cut fruit had a note. "Barb" left it for us. I added some papaya, bananas and white pineapple. For dressing I used honey and fresh squeezed lemon juice. It was not Club Med, but it would do. I cut the sandwich and slid it onto a plate, wishing for chips. Potato chips are the downfall of many diets and they were one of my weaknesses. The irony was almost enough to make me smile—almost.

Sean did not give me time to appreciate my humor, He grabbed his sandwich and handed me the note from the door. We were invited to visit cabin #6. There were six cabins on the island, so that would be the last one to the right. The note was signed Don and Barb. That would be Barb from the fruit basket. I could handle her, them, whatever. If Sean noticed my turmoil, he gave no sign.

Instead he ate his sandwich, drank his water, snarfed the fruit salad and generally behaved like a guy in an emotional situation. There are worse things. There have been worse lunches. After he finished, he reminded me of the tropical sun and headed for the master suite. The guest bathroom held no sunblock, so I followed Sean into the bedroom. I was immediately reminded I had married a CEO. Sean said nothing. but there were messages in plain sight.

On the bed was my swimsuit, shorts, one of Sean's shirts and sandals. Next to that was a similar outfit, male version—swimshorts, polo shirt, sandals. Next to that was the flogger. My stars.

Sean:

I love competent subordinates, but occasionally it can be a pain. They ask questions I don't want to answer. Sheila was the same, only more so. Her questions were subtle, often non-verbal. She was non-verballing all over my day, not that it was a good one to start with. Once we cast off from Hawaii, I could spend some time reading my message queue. I was hard to concentrate while Sheila was having trouble coping with almost killing Bozo #2. The police had given me his name, but I persisted in thinking about him as a clown.

I would bet a tall stack of money that Sheila did not know his name. I would bet the company that she could chart his movements to centimeters. If there was a more spatially aware person than Sheila, I have never heard of, much less met, him or her. Sheila had used a simple throw. I could see it replaying behind her eyes. To answer this, I had the Army's eternal wisdom—when in doubt, put 'em to work.