3rd World Products, Inc. Book 7 Read online

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  Abintra Press

  www.abintrapress.com

  Copyright ©2005 by Ed Howdershelt

  First published via Abintra Press

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Caution: Some Erotic Content

  Note: I'm not going to re-introduce everybody.

  Read my other 3WP-Books before starting Book VII.

  Chapter One

  The phone rang as I was tinkering with chapter sixteen of a book about a fuzzy gold alien. I let my machine handle the call, as usual, and listened to see who was calling.

  From the kitchen came its, ‘Hi, there. If you're someone I might call back, leave a message.'

  After the beep, a woman's voice said, “Ed, this is Janice ... Miller. I know it's after ten, but ... I never know what to say to these things, so I'll just leave my number. Please call me at..."

  Her voice was as softly thrilling as ever. Visions of her flitted through my mind as Stephanie's presence manifested in the room behind me, but I didn't see her reflection in the computer screen. I waved over my shoulder at her and let Janice recite her number, then picked up the phone by the computer.

  "Hi, Janice. You still have that ear-candy voice, ma'am."

  "Uh...” she said, “Hello, Ed, I know it's been a while, but..."

  Laughing, I replied, “A ‘while'. Yeah, I guess that covers twenty-two years well enough. Why the call, ma'am?"

  "Uh ... well, I don't know how to start ... I got your number from Elaine Parks. She's retired now, you know, but she still consults ... Oh, hell ... Ed, do you remember Jeremy Levine?"

  "Yeah, sure,” I laughed, “He's the guy you dumped me for."

  She quickly retorted, “I didn't ‘dump’ you, Ed! I just found myself having to make some tough decisions..."

  "Yeah, yeah. You wanted a family. Believe it or not, I understood and approved. How's ol’ Jerry these days?"

  After a moment of silence, Janice answered, “He died two years ago, Ed. In a car accident."

  I sighed, “Well, damn. So much for the usual pleasantries, then. Let's just get down to the reason you called me at ten on a Sunday night, Janice. Are you in trouble? Do you need some help with something?"

  Another moment of silence passed, then she said in a tremulous voice, “Yes. Ed, my son is in the Army. In Iraq."

  She still had her irritating habit of doling out only bits of info at a time, damn it.

  Sighing, I said, “That's not quite reason enough to call me after twenty years, Janice. If it were, you'd have called a bit sooner.” I was tempted to give her a set of words she'd heard often enough during our time together, such as; “Get to the point, please,” but I held them in and waited.

  Janice took a breath, then chokingly said, “He's missing, Ed. ‘Absent without leave', the captain who called me yesterday called it. He asked me if we had relatives or friends in the Middle East. We don't. And my Tom isn't the kind who'd...” She hesitated, then sobbed, “He just isn't. Ed, I think he's missing."

  Steph's reflection appeared on my computer monitor and she took a step to stand by my chair as I asked, “When was he listed AWOL, Janice?"

  "AWOL. Yes, that's what the captain called it. Uh ... three days ... almost four, now. It was Wednesday. Ed, you're the only person I know who knows anything much about the military. I was just hoping you could help me figure out how to find out what's going on."

  "So far, it sounds as if it could simply be a paperwork screwup, Janice. All it takes is one miscommunication or dimwit in a paper chain. What does Tom do for the Army?"

  Her voice cracked as she said, “I ... I don't really know, Ed. He started out working with computers and phones and ... and then he said he had to go to Airborne school. Why would he have to go to Airborne school to work with computers?"

  Computers and phones, huh? Right. Likely satellite linkups for commo and targeting near enemy locations. But if he was in Forward Air Control or something like that, he wouldn't only have gone to Airborne school.

  "Janice, did he ever talk about a Ranger school?"

  "Yes. He said it was a way to get a bonus and stripes."

  "Uh, huh. Yeah, it is that, but did he say anything else about it?"

  "No. Not really, except that going through the school was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life."

  "That's what it's supposed to be. See if you can get a message to him tomorrow, Janice. Email or phone. Invent a family emergency or something that'll make them let him take or make a phone call. For now, just give me Tom's full name, rank, and serial number. I'll see what I can turn up."

  She did so. I had her repeat the serial number once as I wrote the info on a Post-It pad, then I asked for her phone number and added that at the bottom of the tear sheet.

  "Got it,” I said, “Not to be difficult, but do you have anything else on your mind, Janice? Do you want to try to chat for a while, or should we save that for some other time?"

  "What ... what do you mean, Ed?"

  As gently as I could, I said, “What I mean, ma'am, is that trying to reminisce could be kind of awkward under these circumstances, and if you'd really had any desire to do that, you'd have found a reason to call me before now. Why don't I just get to work on this info and call you back when I know something definite?"

  There was a brief silence, then Janice asked, “You, uh ... you really think you can find out about Tom, Ed?"

  "Don't know, but it won't hurt to try."

  "I can send you some pictures..."

  "No need,” I interrupted her, “I have the info I'll need to get started."

  Her pause lasted a full two seconds, then she asked, “Ed, are you still angry with me?"

  Sighing, I said, “I was never angry with you, Janice. You couldn't understand that back then and apparently you still can't. Things were slowing down between us; getting a little stale. When you signed on with the pediatrics clinic instead of the ER staff, I knew where things were going. Now let me get to this and see what I can find out."

  After a hesitant goodbye, she hung up. I turned to Steph. As usual, she wore one of her shades-of-green office-casual outfits. Was the skirt slightly shorter than usual? If so, why?

  I said, “Hi, there, computer goddess. You look stunning, as always. Any thoughts on the Levine matter?"

  She arched an eyebrow. “A question first. Why did you volunteer to look into this, knowing what you may have to tell her later, even if you find her son?"

  Shutting off my computer and standing up, I said, “Nope, not me. If he's dead, I'll let the Army tell her. Steph, US Army Rangers aren't known for going AWOL. Have you been able to turn up anything on him?"

  "Yes. His trail stops with a burst radio communication from a location eighty-six miles northeast of Tikrit. Ed, he was marked ‘TDY’ on his company's morning report every day this week, but the record for Wednesday was changed."

  Grinning, I said,"Well, that doesn't ring quite right, does it? If he's on temporary duty somewhere, why would Janice get an investigation call from some captain? Maybe a paperwork snafu? Someone didn't get the word and marked him absent? Have you been able to locate him?"

  Shaking her head, Steph said, “No, but that may only mean he's on a clandestine assignment."

  "Even if he was, some unit or location would have been entered for finance p
urposes. The Army won't issue TDY pay without something on paper about it."

  I called up a field screen and asked her to feed it Tom's last-known GPS coordinates. When the picture appeared, I found myself looking at a satellite's view of four large farms separated by roads. It might as well have been Wisconsin.

  A red circle marked a spot in the middle of one of the eastern fields. I zoomed in on it and—of course—saw nothing other than signs that some stalks of what looked like wheat had suffered some abuse by someone lying on them.

  Zooming out, I saw that there were four faint east-west trails of lesser damage leading to squashed areas. The trails zig-zagged, but didn't converge anywhere. Tom Levine had been part of a four-man unit that hadn't wanted to be seen.

  There were no apparent signs of struggle. No traces of blood on the plants. No evidence that the four men hadn't simply got up and left the field, which was a distinct possibility.

  I zoomed in until it looked as if I was viewing the field from a height of three feet or so. It was kind of like the view you'd get through a large diver's mask.

  Poking the ‘emboss’ icon made the scene become shades of grey. Outlines of grain stalks and dirt mounds seemed raised and boot prints were outlined as indentations, all of which led only one direction; east.

  No tracks led beyond or away from the crushed areas and there was no evidence that the guys had back-stepped in their own tracks. There'd have been no point in doing that, anyway, after leaving trails in the grain.

  "Steph, are there any other tracks of any kind leading to or from the four spots where the grain was crushed?"

  "No, Ed."

  "Any good satellite pix of the area during the time Tom and his unit were there?"

  "No. High clouds obscured their view."

  "Are those farms privately owned or government owned?"

  "Privately owned by an Arab multinational corporation."

  Putting a finger on the screen, I restored normal view mode and said, “The farm on the bottom right is a dairy farm. What are the others?"

  "The eastern two specialize in wheat, the one north of the dairy farm grows corn."

  Zooming out, I looked for signs of civilization and asked, “No villages are in the immediate area?"

  "None. The farms border each other along service roads. Very few of the workers commute; there are quarters for them on each farm."

  Again zooming the view, I spotted several much smaller farms between the big farms and a four-lane highway. Between the small farms and the big ones was a dirt road.

  "That highway looks to be about twenty miles or so from the center of the operation."

  Her eyebrow went up again. “Twenty-two miles. Why is that distance of interest?"

  "It's about a day's worth of casual walking. It's also beyond small arms or effective shoulder-fired missile range, and it's damned hard to hide moving people in a grain field if there are aircraft overhead. Anything you do will leave a trail or a blot in a field. An Army in a hurry might send some people to check out the farms, but unless there was incoming fire from the fields or they saw something suspicious, they'd probably bypass the area. Either Tom and company were seriously off-course or they were sent in to quietly look for something."

  Zooming in on the buildings in the center of the four farms, I studied the region for a while. Barns. Trucks. Cars. Farm equipment and people at work. A few draft animals. Nothing seemed unusual at first.

  Then I noticed the fences. They were topped with coils of barbed wire. I zoomed in yet again and corrected myself. Not plain barbed wire, but concertina, the kind used in prisons.

  A prison farm? But there were no guards. No guard towers. No prison crews working in the fields. There were people working around the farms, but not under armed supervision, as would be the case with chain gangs.

  I returned my attention to the trails through the grain. All of them began about halfway to the dirt road that ran alongside the smaller farms.

  Tom and his buds had slogged about ten miles through grain fields, spent some time in fixed positions, and then they'd been airlifted out. It had to have been a night op.

  There'd been no moon to provide any amount of light, so figure they walked through nearly pitch-dark for about four hours. Add a couple of hours for the zig-zag pattern, position checks, taking leaks, and whatever other trivia.

  "Steph, they were dropped off well inside that field at night and their trails ran zig-zag through the grain so they wouldn't be readily noticeable by people at ground level. Is there any record of air activity—helicopters in particular—near any of those farms about the time Tom disappeared?"

  Steph appeared thoughtful for half a second, then said, “There are no records of any flights over that area that week."

  "What's on record about the farms that would have nothing to do with farming? Official suspicions and like that."

  Shaking her head, Steph replied, “Nothing. They appear to be farms. Nothing else.” With a small, wry smile, she asked, “Could Tom and his unit have simply been recalled because they found nothing to justify continuing their mission?"

  "Have you located Levine yet?"

  "No."

  "Then there's a hitch in that theory, ‘cuz I can't imagine where he'd be on official duty that you couldn't track him down. Why would he be missing after a scrubbed op?"

  Steph shrugged. “There may have been unrelated reasons for his disappearance. Another assignment? An emergency?"

  After a moment's thought, I said, “Could be, but I won't buy that without some proof."

  Chapter Two

  Steph laughed softly and said, “I really didn't think you would. What are you going to do now?"

  "I'm going to sleep on it during the flight to Iraq."

  A human woman might have yelped, “You're going over there?!” or something of that nature. Not Stephanie. Her eyes remained fixed on mine as she canted her head slightly, studying me for a moment.

  "Ed, Linda might object. Strenuously."

  "That's why I hadn't planned to mention it to her. This is a personal matter. An old friend asked for my help."

  "An ‘old friend'? Is that what you call someone who hasn't contacted you for twenty-two years?"

  Sipping coffee, I replied, “Well, she isn't an old enemy, is she? And she isn't a total stranger, so I'll call her a friend. Of sorts. Close enough. How's Sue doing at the factory station?"

  With a slight shrug, Steph said, “As expected. Her Lorunan citizenship will be finalized on Thursday and she and Sara are constructing a separate, automated facility for production of PFM components."

  I grinningly muttered, “Cool. I always knew she'd amount to something someday."

  Steph chuckled, “It's been a whole week, Ed. Do you miss her much?"

  Nodding, I said, “Oh, hell, yes. But it was time. She gave me a year of service and an extra month of sharing her self-discovery. I felt honored and privileged to be part of that extra month, but I knew it had to end on schedule."

  Meeting her gaze, I sighed, “And I said essentially the same thing the night she left, so what you were really asking was whether I'm ready for another one. No, I'm not. Unless you absolutely have to uncork another one for some reason, I'd prefer some time more or less on my own."

  "More or less?"

  "Yes, more or less. If I get in a real pinch in the meantime, I can call on you, Sue, or Elkor, can't I?"

  "Of course."

  Leaning to kiss her, I said, “Thank you, milady. When you make the new one, will she be a lot like you? You spoiled me for all others, you know."

  Manufacturing a sigh, Steph wryly said, “If I'd spoiled you, Sue would have had a much more difficult time with you. But thank you for the sentiment, of course. You said you were going to sleep on the way, so I'll say goodnight now."

  Steph popped out of existence and I began packing for the trip. How long away? Unknown. Better toss in another few cans of soup and veggies and restock the cooler. If I run short, I can ho
p over to Israel and find a decent grocery store.

  I tossed some jeans and shirts in a small suitcase and used a plastic shopping bag to carry my cowboy boots, then put everything by the front door and went to shower and shave while I considered what else I might need.

  As I made a fresh coffee, Tiger came through the front cat door and sniffed my bags, then asked, “Where do you go?"

  "Iraq. It's a country on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Remember the pictures of Iran?"

  "Yes."

  "Iraq is right next door to Iran. It's almost exactly the same kind of place, in fact, but right now there's a war going on in Iraq. I'm going to try to find the son of an old friend."

  He seemed to give the matter some thought, then asked, “Will Stephanie or Sue go with you?"

  "Nope. Not Elkor, either. I may have to do things that would be ... difficult for them."

  After another moment's thought, he said, “I must go, too."

  Meeting his gaze, I said, “You didn't like what I showed you of Iran. I can guarantee you won't like Iraq, either."

  Tiger sat down and spoke firmly.

  "You will be alone there. I must go, too."

  Well, damn.

  I asked, “Who's going to watch the house?"

  "I have been watching this house all of my life. Nothing happens when you aren't here."

  He had a point, there. He'd be aboard the flitter, too. No place was safer than that, really. What the hell. I said, “Okay,” and added a ten-pound bag of cat food to the luggage pile.

  Tiger asked, “Can we take my chair, too?"

  With a glance at the sofa chair, I laughed. “Too big. How about we just take the cushion?” I went to the chair, took the cushion off it, and placed it on the floor. Tiger stepped onto it, curled up, re-curled himself, and pronounced it suitable.

  Once everything and everybody was aboard the flitter, I told it to take us to the all-night grocery store at Northcliffe and Mariner, where I loaded a cart with some cat treats, a big jar of instant coffee, and enough beer, tea, and dr pepper to fill the flitter's cooler.