Chapter I

illiam looked up from the book that had just arrived from the Postman to see the car slow then make a turn into their driveway.  Although they were financially sound, they chose to stay in the house which he had owned for years.  Because of the age of the house, the drive approach was quite narrow, and though he nor Sharon had little problems maneuvering the narrow drive, many others did.

Such as the man in the black Crown Victoria.  The vehicle was actually a gun metal gray, but the sun shining overhead and directly on it, made it look black.  Still the dark enough soaked in the ultra-violet rays of the sun making the inside an oven.  William recognized it as one of the loaner vehicles of the FBI office where he and Sharon worked.

 The man who got out of the vehicle was obviously experiencing that oven effect, judging by the sweat that drenched him.  He looked back at the curb he had just jumped with the back wheel of his vehicle and shook his head.  At that he started toward the porch.

"Howdy" he said approaching the porch where William sat.  It was quite cool in the shade, the breeze which flowed through was almost constant.  He looked at the man in the wilted suit and said "problems with your A/C?"

"Yeah," drawled the man, then after wiping his brow again with the soaked handkerchief continued.  "They told me it was hit and miss but worked most of the time.  But it hasn't worked a bit for me.  It was the only car the Bureau could lend on such short notice."

Sharon appeared out of the coolness of the house with a tray of refreshments.  She looked beautiful and young as always, hair perfect, poised, graceful . . . beautiful.  "Would you like some lemonade?" she asked.

"Yes, very much so.  He was distracted by the sounds of brakes and turned around to see a vehicle almost identical to his loaner.  He watched with interest the car which was parking close to the curb right behind his vehicle, effectively blocking him in.  Len Mathers stepped out of the car and walked quickly toward the house.

"Hey Len" William called out.  You're just in time for refreshments!  Meet Mr. . . . ah . . . " he trailed off.

"Tack Guinn" Len finished.

The man in the wilted suit looked at Len, then back to William.  He held out his hand to William, and a business card in the other.  "That's right," he said.  "Mr. Tack Guinn, detective, reporter, internal investigator, ATF.  I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes if I may."

That backbone chill one feels going up their spine when they see the lights of a cop in the mirror after making some illegal move such as running a red light went up Wills back.  For a sickening moment, a series of scenes of distasteful moments flashed through his mind.

On the card William could see the official AFT logo, but thought it curious the correct current logo was not listed.  The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (BATFE) is a federal law enforcement organization within the United States Department of Justice.  Its responsibilities include the investigation and prevention of federal offenses involving the unlawful use, manufacture, and possession of firearms and explosives; acts of arson and bombings; and illegal trafficking of alcohol and tobacco products.

The BATFE was notorious for being involved in situations they were supposedly supposed to be preventing.

Prior to the 911 Terrorist Attacks, it had taken on the "B" standing for Bureau making it BATF.  Then after 911, the "E" had been added standing for Explosives making it BATFE.  But there was some serious indications of dirty dealings in connection with the Feds, namely, the Fast and Furious operations of gun running, and the Benghazi incident, which was a very nasty situation where the Ambassador was killed and 400 SA missiles "disappeared," and eventually found out to be a cover for supplying ordinance to Muslim ISIS.

Caught off guard, William hesitated for a moment, then glanced at Len.  Len had a stern look in his eyes, and he motioned ever so slightly a negative indication.  William said "well, I don't know that I'm up for any questions right now Mr. Guinn.  Can you tell me what this is about?"

"Well, yes and no.  You see, there have been some questions raised as to your involvement in a ring of investors in Real Estate in the city of Stillwell . . ." he started.  He stopped short when William lifted up his hand palm out for him to stop.

"Mr. Guinn, all that has been gone over numerous times and I've been completely exonerated by two judges, an FBI investigation, a private investigator as well as my own superior, Mr. Jake Stamler.  Ever heard of double jeopardy?"

Tacks voice took on a different tone, and on his face a demeanor William had experienced before.  "But murder, Mr. Travis, has no limit of statutations.  And, you're being investigated as to your involvement after the fact of the death of Mr. Greg Wheaton.  Others come to mind, whose names I need not mention here, but if you've anything to hide . . . I'll find it."

Sharon stood up and whisked the tray holding the glasses of lemonade back into the house just as Tack reached for one.  "Well now, is that the way it's going to be?" he asked with a sarcastic tone.

"Well, I guess you got your answer Mr. Guinn.  I'm sure you can find your way off my property?" William nodded toward his car.

"May I insert a word or two here?" Len stepped closer to the investigator.

"By all means Mr. Mathers" Tack answered then said.  "I also have some questions for you in this matter.  Seems like you and Mr. Travis here have been pretty good pals up to this point.  Is there anything of importance with which he has confided that you will depart peacefully with?"

"There's no point in getting nasty simply because that is your MO," Len spat back.  Seems to me your method of operations grates pretty hard on peoples nerves from the get-go.  I see the description that proceeds you is quite fair, although I am normally not one given to such gossip.  But in your case, I'll make an exception."

"Am I supposed to thank you Mr. Mathers?"  William silent and was aghast at how nasty this thing was turning in mere seconds.

"No thanks necessary Mr. Guinn.  But I am putting you on notice.  I've studied a little about you since I learned you were coming in this direction.  And I find many disturbing things in your resume.  For instance your involvement with Ruby Ridge . . .  Waco . . .  Waco still burns . . ."  He paused to let his innuendo sink in. Then he continued.  The tricks you've applied in the big city do not apply here in small town USA.  Here, blood runs thicker than water.  Get your investigation done and get out of town.  Do you understand?"  Len was not getting riled, but he was standing there like an Oak tree and was not about to be buffaloed.

"So, I see how it is here in Hicksville, USA.,"  Tack drawled.  "From the bum vehicle to the police department, even to the FBI, that 'good ole' boy' locked arm syndrome fights against anything they dislike, even to the including of justice . . . but there are ways around that.  Good day."

With that, Tack turned and walked back to the sweltering car.  He drove a large arc on Williams lawn as he circled around to avoid Len's vehicle.  He dropped off the curb and gunned the car leaving a huge cloud of black smoke as the fuel poured through the carb.

Lens phone rang and he snapped it open and answered.  "Yeah, I'm here now.  No, he just left.  Ok, I'll wait."

"Let's go inside, Melinda is on her way, and she talked with Jake about Tack already.  She doesn't care for him at all!"

Jake Stamler had risen to the rank of Commander after Tracey Blaine had died at the hands of Sharon Travis in his attempt finish William.  William and Sharon, Len and Melinda all had tendered their resignations, but had been promptly turned down by Jake.  After he made his case, they had all resumed their roles in the FBI and had worked tirelessly in the field of justice and the keeping of peace.

They thought they were finally through with this era of their lives.  But only a couple of weeks prior, William began having flashbacks.  When he spoke to his Pastor about it, he was advised of the human side of nature, and, that once a seed has been planted, it will at some time or another, sprout and bring forth fruit.

The case in point which was to be a harbinger of reality, of a harvest.  Perhaps not a pleasant one.  A felon, although he has fallen on God's mercy and is forgiven, must still pay the price of sin, sometimes in prison, sometimes he may still even be executed.

What in the world could possibly happen next was anyone's guess.  Will was sure he had paid all his dues, reaped all the harvest for his wild seeds sown, even though they weren't actually sown by him.  There must be a way to be completely out from under the yoke of this bondage.  At times he felt as though people were looking at him with an evil eye thinking he was making a fortune off what he had been trained to do.

And the truth of the matter was, yes, he was enhanced when it came to memory functions, computer programming, monetary manipulations, but, he was always honest down to the penny. But those of lesser quality of integrity looked at him through eyes influenced heavily by their own lack of integrity.

By people that did not know him, he was perceived to be, and judged accordingly, to what they suspected of him, influenced by their own notions.  Never mind his track record.  Never mind his life of justice and on the side of the law.  He could never convince them.  He was quite well off and it could only be that he was using his ill-gotten abilities to make it big. And there just had to be a way to exploit that.

Dark clouds were on the horizon of these four friends.  And they would really have to work hard to stick together if they were to withstand the wedges that would be forced into their midst.  The trials would be hard, the work long and tiresome, but the sunshine would shine through the darkness once again.

Help was also on the way.  But would it come in time to keep their relationship from crumbling?

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