Date: Sun, 5 Dec 1999 20:55:26 -0000
From: Ernie <ernies@ionia-mi.net>
Subject: Secrets chapter 8

Secrets
by Ian DeShils

Chapter 8

ON OUR OWN


Christmas came faster that year than ever before. What with the initiation
and the emotional upset that followed, the months just slipped away and
suddenly, it was Christmas. I took my vacation to coincide with Jake's
holiday break. We flew to Cancun for a week, it was our gift to each other.

Cancun is an absolutely gorgeous spot overlooking the Caribbean and we
lounged in utter comfort for the entire time. It was there we started
talking about a business venture once again. Jake would finish the spring
semester with a few credits more than he needed for his degree. I was
already thinking about the graduation party. I told Jake I would etch that
date permanently in the cement of the LA freeway system. He laughed,

"That should keep you busy. Between earthquakes and progress, there's
almost nothing permanent in LA. I think it's time we started looking again,
Teddy. If we keep going the way we are, we'll likely end up retiring from
construction and never know what we could have accomplished."

I thought him a bit pessimistic since we were still shy of twenty-eight,
but he had a point. When we returned from our idyll, it was again back to
the three R's; Reading, Researching and Ruminating. Carefully we
searched. Exhaustively we checked claims of potential profit. There seemed
to be one thing or another wrong with nearly everything we looked at, but
mostly it was a question of money. Some of the franchises we investigated
required a two hundred thousand dollar investment and those that didn't had
little potential for making us independent.

It was spring and Jake was working on finals when I discovered an ad in the
LA Times that not only looked promising, but drew me like a magnet. Why
hadn't I thought of it before? It was right down our alley and we wouldn't
need two hundred grand in startup money. I was as excited about that little
ad as Jake had been about the limo service.


FOR SALE Private Investigator retiring.  Leased offices with owned
equipment.  Assumable business contracts available to the right party.
Reasonably priced. Good potential. Contact Edwin Phelps at 805-555-9141

Jake took to it instantly. We made the call and talked to the man for a
good half hour. He agreed to send over the information we asked for and I
think he was anxious to sell for we received it the very next day.

Phelps was asking only thirty-five thousand, but he wanted cash and we had
but a third of that on hand. It meant another excursion to the bank and I
for one, was a bit leery of running into yet another Mrs. Pevey. Rip
stopped by that evening. When we mentioned what we planned, he immediately
picked up the phone.

"It's all set." He said, grinning from ear to ear as he handed me a slip of
paper. "You have an appointment for 10:30 Thursday morning. Abel's a
Brother. He won't steer you wrong."

At 10:30 on the dot, Abel Carson ushered us into his office at the
Crocker-Anglo bank.

"Good morning, Friends," he said warmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you at
last."

He was a distinguished looking man in his late forties or early fifties and
the oldest Brother we had met so far. He walked with a pronounced limp, but
otherwise appeared extremely fit. We shook hands all around and then
turning to Jake he said,

"I hear you've done excellent on your finals. I'm told you have a high 90's
score straight across the board."

"That's news to me!" Jake replied in astonishment, "The results haven't
been posted yet."

Able glanced at his watch,

"They have by now. Anyway, congratulations, Jake!"

Not only did we have Jake's graduation to celebrate, but Able informed us
our loan was pre-approved and surprised us further by having the
applications already filled out. He then told us what an excellent deal we
were getting.

"Phelps has a good reputation, but he was never much of a business
man. It's predicted that with a little smart promotion, that agency can
return five to ten times more than it has these last few years." He then
handed us the paperwork saying, "You will note that the loan is for twice
Phelps' asking price. The extra money is for refurbishing, advertising and
so on. I'll give you the name of a Brother who is a genius in
promotions. Take his advice and you will be amazed at the results."

As we signed the papers, Able folded our copies neatly into an oversized
envelope,

"In this packet you'll find the applications for city, county and state
licenses. My advice is to talk Phelps into staying on until your own
licensing is complete. That way, you can remain open during the
transition."

I was astonished at how much effort Abel had put into researching our loan
request. He brought forth a copy of Phelp's profit and loss statement, even
a projection of future business, all done up nicely on graph paper. He
seemed completely satisfied and the confidence he displayed removed the
last nagging doubts I had over the size of the loan. We spent less than
thirty minutes reading and signing documents, then another ten drinking
coffee and kibitzing. The whole experience was so far removed from the one
we'd had with Lorena Pevey that I felt like kissing Abel's hand.

"Remember," he said, "If you have any problems, just call. You have an army
of friends who will do all they can to make your new business a success."

There was a light rap on the door. It opened slightly and a strikingly
handsome man looked in.

"Are you finished yet?" He asked.

"Ah, Jim. Come in. Did you find Bill OK?"

"Right were you thought.. He was trying to corner the pork bellies market
or something."

"It was wheat futures, Damnit, and I wasn't trying to cornering anything!"
came a booming retort as a large muscular man pushed his way past Jim. "You
guys better hope I guessed it right. I used your money." His voice was
gruff, but he said it with a wink and a grin aimed at Jake and me.

Abel looked unperturbed.

"I'm glad you made it back. I wanted you to meet our new friends. Ted,
Jake, these are my partners Jim Fisher and Bill Eaasy. Bill is the one who
evidently has us awash in wheat."

"It's good to see you again." Eaasy said as we shook hands all
around. Again? I wondered, I couldn't remember ever meeting the man. The
puzzlement must have shown on my face.

"Last fall." he clarified, "At your initiation."

I don't know why it still bothered me, but it did. I blushed. The
conversation flowed around me, but all I could think of was; how many
people were there that night, the whole damn Brotherhood? If Eaasy noticed
my embarrassment he ignored it and just went on talking like we were all
old friends,

". . .  the committee wanted to bring you fellows in a year ago, only they
felt that Ted wasn't ready yet."

The sound of my name finally brought me back into the conversation.

"Not ready? Hell, there isn't time in this century I'd be ready for that
initiation" I said honestly, "I like everything I've seen so far, except
for that, only I'm wondering how the committee know all about us and not
know how I'd react?"

" Oh, they knew. That's why the delay."

I looked at him blankly. Eaasy smiled and patted my knee,

"Look at it this way Ted, you stuck with the Brotherhood.  A year ago, that
wasn't in the projection."

It still made no sense to me. I considered that initiation the worst kind
of violation and I told him so.

"Then change it!" He challenged, "Find a better way and I'll back you to
the hilt. As a Delphic Brother, you have access to every bit of information
we have, including the psychological profiling and our methods of bringing
in members. Get involved. Make recommendations. I guarantee you'll be
heard."

Abel changed the subject by inviting us to lunch and two hours later we
were on our way to meet Mr. Phelps, but I can't forget that Bill's
challenge was only the first of many he was to offer. He became our friend
and mentor and the one most responsible for drawing us into the inner
labyrinths of the Brotherhood.

Ed Phelps turned out to be a crusty old character who acknowledged 60
years, but looked closer to 70. When we told him the deal was go he
mellowed on the spot and readily agreed stay for a few months.

"Of course, I'll expect a paycheck every week!" He declared emphatically.

Ed stayed on for five years in one capacity or another, mostly as resident
curmudgeon giving his views on everything whether asked for not. Ed was
honest as they come, ever willing to help on a case, be it the drudgery of
research or simply making coffee and his help and insight proved
invaluable. He was also a favorite with the secretaries in the surrounding
offices, a father confessor and dear friend to most, and perhaps to some,
even a lover. We never knew that for sure, it was merely supposition on our
part, but in order to accommodate all his female fans, his lunch spanned
the hours from 11:30 to 2:00, and did so for all the years he stayed with
us. Ed became a friend, a wise and tempering voice who saved us much grief
in those first years. His favorite saying was,

"Remember boys, we just find the guilty party. It's the courts that find
the party guilty"

Ed saw many changes in those five years, most of which he didn't agree
with, like the office remodeling that took place in our first weeks of
ownership. Out went Ed's 'classic' '40's motif replaced by a modern
affluent look that we hoped would give our clients a greater feeling of
confidence. The refurbishing and decor, the logos, advertising and business
advice came from firms owned by Brothers and we found that Abel Carson was
correct. We did have friends, lots of them, all eager to help us make GSI a
roaring success.

I loved it. Even minor cases held challenges that intrigued me. My mind
sharpened as the weeks went by and as it did, the small but important
details of a case began leaping out and crying for attention. Ed told me I
had a knack for this business and I'm sure he was right. No job had ever
been more satisfying or better suited to my temperament. Jake was in
seventh heaven. He was bursting with grandiose expansion plans from the day
we took over and he carried with him an absolutely determination that GSI
would become the best detective agency in LA. It was almost magical to
watch him work with a new client. His compelling personality came to the
fore and he become that salesman who could sell ice boxes to eskimos. He
simply wouldn't take NO for an answer, yet the client was left with the
feeling that they had somehow struck a remarkable deal. I might get nervous
when interviewing some high powered executive, but not Jake. Be it one on
one or in a corporate board room, Jake was always in command.

Those first months found us tracing stolen equipment and precision
instruments for several of his new clients and he signed us to a long term
contract researching the backgrounds of prospective employees for a high
tech corporation. The big jobs ate money fast, but they soon gained us a
reputation for being thorough and accurate.

At that time, there were not enough corporate accounts to keep the ship
afloat but other work poured in and a year after we opened under the GSI
name, the case load forced us to expanded our office space to include an
empty suite next door. At first we hired office temps as needed. Several
concurrent cases might require two or three, but after an incident in
Riverside we abandoned temps in favor of building a full time permanent
office staff. That job also turned out to be our first physically dangerous
case.

Riverside ElectroDevices manufactured laser components, primarily the light
source, the very expensive heart of a laser and their shipments were being
hijacked. No actual holdups of course, that would have been too obvious,
instead, the shipments were being pilfered from common carriers at depots
and truck stops along their routes. It had to be an inside job, yet at
first we couldn't determine who was passing on the shipping
information. The company had already shuffled staff several times, hired
more temps and taken other measures to stop the thefts, but without much
luck. Our first recommendation was to keep randomly shifting freight
carriers on a daily basis and that did stop the losses. . . For a while.

In those days we had no handy desktop computers to correlate all the names
and hours worked by different individuals, instead, it was done on a
blackboard or by building a sort of spreadsheet of three by five cards laid
out on a conference table. Our methods then were more time consuming than
now, but they did work and if not as fast, at least as well. After the
losses began once more, one name became prominent. Sally Adler. Sally
worked as a temp and had been in and out of Riverside ED many times in
those months they suffered their worst losses. In the process of rooting
out Adler, we uncovered several other people from the same agency who were
also obviously involved. Those leads led back to the temp agency itself and
we discovered it was nothing more than an elaborate front for a gang of hi
tech thieves. Our many interviews uncovered the fact that a number of their
former clients had suffered from exactly the same problems as Riverside. It
took us only about six weeks to solve that case and we did so almost
entirely by using Riverside's own office records.

Movies, books and television paint private investigators as more able than
the police departments. Supposedly we rush about solving cases the cops
can't fathom, but that's far from the truth. PI's work for lawyers and
insurance companies, for bail bondsmen and private individuals, doing the
things police departments are not allowed to do. PI's have no more legal
power than the average citizen. We can't arrest or file charges so we
seldom get shot at. That thrill we gladly leave for the cops. But in the
case Riverside ElectroDevices, we upset a major operation by people who
didn't take kindly to outside interference. One night as we were leaving
the office, a car sped by and laid down a hail of lead that did little to
improve the appearance of our office building, but a whole lot toward
making us aware of our mortality. It was only a warning, but one that could
well have cost someone's life. Unfortunately for the culprits, that warning
came too late. The case was closed. We left it to the insurance company and
Riverside ED to press charges, that was after all, their
responsibility. Ours, was only to find the guilty party.


Notes on a surprising development.


I wasn't sure how much to tell Jake about Bill Eaasy. He upset Jake pretty
badly that day, so I put down just the fact that we met and that he later
became a close friend. Bill is really a great guy, intelligent and
humorous, only he has a side to his personality that takes some getting
used to. Abel told he was like that even before they were inducted into the
Brotherhood, and afterwards no Brother was ever safe from his
advances. Later I heard stories of his prowess and stamina that seemed
almost too wild to believe, yet I'm sure much of it was true. Even now, in
his middle sixties he is a contantly horny old man. That day, however, Bill
put the make on Jake, right there in Abel's office. I kidded Jake about it
afterwards, but the truth is I never saw him move so fast as when Bill's
hand landed in his lap. The surprising thing is that while I didn't mention
that incident, Jake remembered it vividly.

I'm amazed at his constant improvement. He sometimes stays for half a day
now, but while he's making great progress, he is by no means connected to
the present. He speaks of Annie as though she had just started working for
us and has recently began asking questions about babies, (our children, I'm
sure), although he is thoroughly confused as to who they are or where they
came from. There are still large chunks missing from his early years. He
still insists he never knew anyone named Carla even though I've written
extensively about their marriage. But the odd thing is that even talking
about her now makes him extremely uncomfortable. In fact, he retreats
almost as soon as I mention her. To me that suggests a block. I'm becoming
convinced that Carla and those missing memories are somehow connected. How
that could be, I have absolutely no idea, but I'll try to figure out. In
the mean time I'll attempt to jog his memory about Annie and the kids. . .


Annie

Annie Dawson came to work for us one smoggy August day and immediately made
herself indispensable. She wasn't beautiful, that is, she didn't fit the
California idea of beauty with a petite figure and stunning features. She
was tall and fashion model slim: Raw boned might describe someone with less
grace than she. Her Irish ancestors peered through her face, providing her
with an abundance of both freckles and ruddy tresses and those same
ancestors had given her a sharp and wicked wit. No one got the best of
Annie in repartee, not even Ed, the master of retorts. No, Annie wasn't
beautiful, yet there was something extremely attractive about her. Maybe it
was her laugh or those flashing green eyes or perhaps it was the complete
and utter self confidence she displayed. In a matter of days she had the
office whipped into shape and all of us doing exactly what she wanted. In
that same short time Annie managed to learn enough about GSI to answer most
questions put to her by clients. She was a gem to work with, cool under
pressure, yet warm and friendly to the clients; in every way an asset to
GSI far beyond her starting wage.

Ed fell hopelessly in love. One day he muttered sorrowfully,

"Now that the right one finally comes along, I'm too damn old to do
anything about it."

He was not alone in his admiration for Annie. There were always guys
hanging around, angling for a date or offering to take her to lunch, but
mostly their efforts were in vain. Annie had just gone through a bitter
divorce and had little interest in starting another relationship.

GSI was only about a year old when she started. We were attempting to make
a name for ourselves with our corporate clients, but we actually paid the
bills by being the guys who kept the divorce lawyers in business. Sometimes
it's not all that glamorous being a PI, especially in California where the
amount of a divorce settlement is in direct proportion to the number of
peccadilloes one can pin on their mate. Our clients wanted all the dirt,
not just a clear indication of unfaithfulness so we dogged people far
beyond the point that either Jake or I thought necessary.

We were twenty-nine, Annie's application put her age at thirty-two,
although she looked younger, but we found that she was actually three years
older than she admitted. Age had no bearing on her employment, of course,
but as we later learned it held a great deal of importance to Annie. For
two years she and Ed were the entire office staff, then Jake started
pushing hard on security services and Annie became office manager. In
another year and a half we had contracts coming out our ears, six hundred
employees, an office staff of twenty five and Jake was talking about
expanding into Phoenix.

After Phoenix, GSI fairly exploded. Branch offices seemed to multiply like
rabbits. Two more in the LA metroplex, then Denver, San Francisco,
Portland, and Seattle. At our main LA office we were now up to our necks in
paperwork and practically standing on each others shoulders. We needed more
room and quickly, so when a former bank building on La Brea become
available, we bought it. It was Annie's idea to leave the building looking
like a bank which was a very smart move image wise. It was also her idea to
make use of the existing vault by offering our customers a safety deposit
service. That was a huge success, so much so that we began incorporating
safety depositories in all GSI offices in major cities.

If it wasn't for Annie I doubt we could have kept up the pace. She was a
supreme organizer who had complete confidence in herself and those she
trained. She could delegate authority and things got done correctly without
the fuss of office politics that bog down so many growing business. We gave
her the title of Vice President in charge of Practically Everything with a
pay increase to match and later, a percentage of the net, and Annie was
worth every penny.

For several years the three of us spent our working days together sometimes
well into the evening and it was inevitable that Annie would learn that
Jake and I were lovers. One night she ask us what it was like and before we
got over the shock of that question, she inquired if we had ever considered
adding a woman to our lovemaking. Then, it all came out in a rush. Annie
wanted children, but she didn't want another marriage and she was closing
in on forty and she admired us both and would we please think about it.

Suddenly I was scared to death. My worst fears were at last realized. Jake
loved kids and would undoubtedly make a fine parent, but would that be the
end for us? For years I worried that the urge for a family of his own might
someday become so strong that he would simply walk away. And here it was,
offered to him on a silver platter. I couldn't even fight against it. That
might drive him directly to Annie. I had no choice but to go alone with
whatever Jake wanted. It was my only hope and yet I also knew it had to
appear to be a mutual agreement.

It took several days to come to a consensus. We both threw in
stipulations. I, in hopes of remaining in the picture, he, because of his
childhood, but we finally agreed that If Annie still wanted it, then she
would have her wish, only with some strings attached. First, any child born
from our three way union would have a legal father. If a pregnancy
occurred, then so would a marriage to one or the other of us, followed
swiftly by a divorce, but there would be no further shirking of our
paternal responsibility. We would provide the child's financial
support. Second, we wanted visitation privileges. Ours might not be the
family most people know but it would be a family nonetheless and the child
would grow up knowing there was a father who cared. Annie agreed.

I'm sure she was as uncomfortable as we were those first few nights, but we
soon overcame our inhibitions and found it quite delightful. It was
remarkable how excited I could get as Jake made love to Annie. I'd lie
beside them, kissing, touching them both and as Jake climaxed I sometimes
found myself on the verge of doing so. When Annie and I made love, Jake
became the coach, running his hands over us, pressing against us, doing all
sorts of little things that made it exciting. Afterward, we'd lay mingled
together talking, drifting toward sleep, but in the night Annie would
retire to the spare bedroom and Jake and I would have the mornings to
ourselves. To my great relief, Jake didn't change toward me. With Annie we
had simply added a new facet in our relationship.

What fun it was escorting Annie to restaurants, theaters and openings. We
became the threesome of the town with enough income now to enjoy the
pleasures of the city. We hit the night spots on a regular basis and for
awhile at least, became well known at many of them. In these new circles we
entered, the Brotherhood again opened doors. Sometimes the mere sight of
the signet rings got us the best tables.

It was a delightful time. Annie was more worldly than either Jake or me,
especially me, and she took special pains in teaching us the ins and outs
of handling snobby waiters or wangling hard to get reservations. She also
found a hair stylist who knew how to handle a mop like mine, which after a
bit snipping, clipping and thinning, began to look quiet dashing. Even Jake
liked the results. I began depended on Annie's tastes to pick my
clothes. Jake had been saying for sometime that I went to work dressed more
like an office boy than the boss and I did favor jeans and sweatshirts for
the comfort. That is, until Annie showed me the real comfort of lambs wool
slacks and silk shirts. With her help and prodding I soon took on a well
dressed affluent look and I'm afraid that for awhile I became somewhat of a
clothes horse. It was Ed who finally brought me back to earth when he
laughingly remarked that I should stop before I completely outclassed the
office decor.

Through it all, Annie was considerate and never demanding of our attention
although we included her in nearly everything. It was a pleasant life and
while I can't claim to love Annie with the same intensity I hold for Jake,
I do care for her very deeply, and I most assuredly love our children. We
three stayed together off and on for nearly four years. The first pregnancy
came only ten months into the relationship and Jake married Annie. They
filed for divorce as soon as J.T.(Jacob Theodore) Sanders was born, hale
and hearty, all eight pounds of him. Two years later I married Annie. We
were expecting another child, Andrea Dawn Gibson, as our beautiful daughter
is known.

With the coming of J.T., our lives entered a new phase. Overnight, Jake
took on the fierceness of a mother lion protecting her cub while at the
same time displaying all the pride of a new parent. Everyone had to see the
baby, and everyone had to wear a mask! I doubt Dr. Schweitzer himself could
have got past Jake unless dressed for an operation. He carried it to
ridiculous lengths and Annie and I laughed about it for years
afterwards. By the time Andrea was born, Jake come to realize that babies
don't necessarily curl up and die if someone sneezes within a hundred yards
of them, but his pride in our new addition lessened not one whit.

I believe Jake and I have precisely the same feeling for our children, but
it came to us at different times. From the moment they were born Jake
became hopelessly entranced. My enchantment came as personality
developed. I walked in one day to find Jake holding two week old J.T. on
his lap and with a tear in his eye he looked up at me and said,

"This must be the most beautiful child in the world!"

Some thirteen months later, I found myself echoing those exact words when
J.T. came running to me on his chubby little legs, (he was new at running
then), planted a big, wet kiss on my cheek, and said, "Night, night,
Daddy."

With Andrea, my enchantment came even sooner. At a year of age, she was
speaking in full sentences and already twisting my heart around her little
finger.

Annie insisted on moving out before J.T. entered preschool, saying it would
simply be too stressful for him trying to explain two fathers in the same
household. And of course it would be. She chose an apartment building
nearby, so little actually changed for Jake and me. The children were with
us about half the time, but it was a slow pulling apart and I fully
understood her reasoning. Soon would come the questions that would be much
more difficult to answer if we continued living together.

The following summer, Annie's father died in a car accident. She was grief
stricken and went to Portland to be with her mother. Annie stayed a month
and when she came back it was only to select a replacement. She picked
Josephine who had been her alter ego for the last two years and who Annie
swore knew as much about the business as she did. I had no doubt GSI would
survive without her, but it was awful to see her leave. In my heart I knew
she was doing what was best for her and her mother and possible even for
the children, but that move left a hole in all our lives and we have all
suffered for it in one way or another.

All the years the children were small, we phoned them at least once a week
and visited every month or so, as well as on birthdays and Christmas and
the kids always stayed with us a part of each summer, but it was not the
same. I longed that we might find a way to be together, to live openly as a
family and at the same time not expose the kids to ridicule. Maybe in the
far future that might be possible, but not in our lifetime. We live in a
society that places name tags on everything and the vast majority of people
can't see past a label.

It might sound strange, considering how I feel about Jake, but I hope with
all my heart our children grow up fully heterosexual. In itself that's no
guarantee of happiness, but in most ways its much easier than being gay.


Notes

Jake read about Annie and once more retreated, but the next day he
remembered the kids being born and started asking questions about where
they were now. I hoped by tweaking his memory it would all come back, since
the kids were such an important part of his life, only it doesn't seem to
work that way. I'll try a different approach. This time I tell him about
the worst summer of our lives. It's a trip I'd rather forget, yet it might
help him remember. . .


Hawaii

I knew the kids had arrived when I heard"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" and the
patter of racing feet.  Andrea and JT came charging through the maze of
desks in the outer office and made it to my door in a dead heat while a
frazzled looking Alex brought up the rear.  As I scooped up the kids, Alex
dropped in the nearest chair, saying,

"Don't ever ask me to do that again!"

"I thought you liked flying?" I responded.

"Flying, yes. Chasing your daughter through airports is something else
again.  Doesn't she ever rest?"

I looked at Andrea in mock severity,

"Have you been giving Alex a hard time?"

"Oh, Daddy, he's no fun. All Uncle Alex wants to do is sit down!"

"Fat chance." Alex muttered.

JT said nothing as he slid off my arm and onto the corner of the desk, but
he smiled at Alex.

"Daddy!" Andrea shrilled, "We left the presents in the car!" She wiggled
loose. "I'll go get 'em." she said as she started for the door."

Alex grabbed her,

"Oh, no you don't. You stay put, I'll see to it." With a sigh he heaved
himself upright and left the office.

"Where's Papa?" Andrea demanded.

"He's driving in from Long Beach, but you can call him. We've got something
new. Car phones, just like James Bond."

"Really? Can I try it?" JT asked, his blue eyes sparkling with
anticipation. I handed over a card with a long complicated number printed
on the back and watched him take command of the situation. What a handsome
boy. He was growing up before my eyes and seemed even taller now than just
a month ago when we went north to celebrate Annie's birthday. Our error was
becoming more evident every day. Soon Jake and I would have to take JT
aside and try to explain the mix-up, although I hoped that moment could be
put off for another year or so. JT punched in the numbers with the
confidence only an experienced eight year old video game player can
muster. How different his generation than ours I thought. I worked at
keeping abreast of new technology while JT and Andrea seemed to absorb that
stuff with the air they breathed.

A moment later JT said, "Hi, Papa!", and then found himself hard pressed
defending the phone as Andrea cried, "Let me talk, let me talk!"

I quickly turning on the speaker phone and sat her on my lap.

"Wait your turn." I said firmly, which did nothing at all to suppress our
irrepressible six year old.

"Where are you, Papa?" Andrea wanted to know.

"Only a few blocks away, Honey. I'll be there in a minute." Then he added,
"JT, does Grandma Margaret like her new kitchen?"

"I guess so, she told Mom it's almost too nice to cook in. Grandma sent you
a surprise present, but I'm not supposed to tell what it is."

"I know, I know!" Andrea shouted, "It's homemade jam. I helped Grandma make
it!" She said proudly.

"I'll bet you helped a lot, Little Lady." Jake replied. I could hear a
smile in his voice. Suddenly a screech of tires came through the speaker
and he said, "Damn, I almost hit that guy! Look, kids, I'll be there in a
minute. I'm going to hang up now, the traffic is fierce."

Alex returned toting a large shopping bag with some interesting looking
packages sticking out of it. Minutes later Jake arrived and as the kids
said their hello's, Alex slipped out of the office. He is a great one for
putting on a show, but I believe he cares for the kids almost as much as we
do and I know they adore him. He's the first one they ask for when they
visit.

"Well, gang, what shall we do this summer, skin diving, mountain climbing?"
Jake asked.

"Disneyland!" came the unanimous reply.

"Ah, Disneyland. You never get sick of that, do you? OK, Disneyland it is,
, but not right away. First we have a little surprise. How would you two
like to see a volcano and fern tree forests and fields of pineapples? Our
first stop this year is Hawaii, then Disneyland and after that, who knows?"

As always our summers were filled with travel and adventure. Jake never
tired of showing the kids new places and new things, be it a tide pool
searching for baby octopus or the wonders of some far off city, he was
Mr. Exuberant. I, on the other hand truly enjoyed the quiet times with the
kids, so between us it seemed to work out beautifully. He gave them
excitement, I gave them time to rock and talk and doze a lazy afternoon
away.

A few days later found us aboard a 747 bound for Honolulu. The kids were
experienced travelers and with the exception of Andrea's burning desire to
explore the marvels of all air terminals, they behaved very well. I
suspected Alex's trials with Andrea came more from the party he attended
the night before, than anything she did, but his point was valid. When the
kids got tired JT always curled up on the nearest lap while Andrea fidgeted
and got more active. It always took coaxing to get her eyes closed.

That day we sat with the kids sprawled across our laps asleep. Jake was
running his fingers through JT's blond hair when he said quietly,

"He looks exactly like you."

"And Andrea like you." I replied, "We're going to have to do some
explaining one of these days. Got any ideas?"

"I was kind of hoping it would work itself out. Annie has never
differentiated, it's always Papa Jake and Daddy Ted, never YOUR father or
your sister's father. As far as the kids are concerned, we're
interchangeable and I hoped it could always stay that way." He looked at
the children and smiled, "Of course when they get to be teenagers, you just
know we'll be the biggest embarrassment of their lives. All parent's are,
even the most conventional kind, so I can imagine you and I will have to
hide out for a few years until they get over it. The only thing I worry
about is someone seeing the obvious and throwing it in their faces. People
can be damn cruel. My aunt used to call me "Janie's little bastard." I
don't want that shit happening to our kids."

"I don't think you have worry about that. Knowing Annie, anyone who spouted
off wouldn't survive long enough to do it again. Sure, it would be nice to
grow up in perfect family with perfect parents, like some TV show, but how
often does that happen? You know Jake, the kids are going to have to make
their own lives just as we have. No matter what, our kids have it pretty
darn good. They've got their mother and they know we love them. That's sure
a step ahead of what you and I went through.

"Are you going back to Michigan to see your old man? You talked about it,
but never said for sure."

"I guess I should. Uncle Rex says he want's to see me and that he's not in
very good shape. The booze must have finally gotten to him."

"So you've forgiven him?"

"Not on your life! He is the meanest, most uncaring bastard that ever
lived. Unfortunatly he is my father, so I guess I should do something. You
know, I drop him a postcard once a year just to let him know I'm still
alive, and he has never answered once. This is the first time in all these
years he's wanted to see me. Trouble is, I'm not really sure I want to see
him. There's a lot of bad memories lurking back there. If I do go you'll
have to come with me, I don't feel like facing him alone."

"Teddy, it's been 18 years. I'm sure he's changed, anyway you have. You're
no kid anymore. "

"Just the same, I'd like you to come. I still get queasy just thinking
about him. He was always slapping me around. A couple of times Grandma had
to call in the doctor. As I think about it now, it's a wonder I didn't kill
him when I got bigger. It's a good thing I didn't go home after the army, I
don't know what would have happened. God, he was mean bastard. You know, I
don't remember even one good moment with that man."

"There's no law that says you have to see him. If he still bothers you this
much, why not just write or call and let it go at that?

"I can't. This has more to do with me than him. I've despised him all my
life and I'd like to think I'm better than that."

My father and I had always been at odds. Grandma Fox lived in a small house
on the far end of the farm and if it hadn't been for her, I doubt I would
have survived to grow up. She was my refuge, the only person who could
stand between Dad and me when he got full of liquor. Even sober he was no
jewel. A slap up side the head was how he communicated and all it took to
earn it was doing some chore differently than he wanted it done. I actually
spent most of my time at Grandma's when I wasn't doing farm work. After
Grandma died, I moved back to Dad's house and lived there for another year
and a half until joining the Army. It was hell, but at that age I was
bigger and better equipped to handle it. In the summer I camped out,
showing up in the morning to do the chores and any other work he wanted
done, then I'd slip away and spend my nights down by the river while he
headed into town for another night of carousing. Even in rainy weather the
river was preferable to staying in the house and knowing he'd be back in
the middle of the night ready to 'make a man of me' again. At 12 and 13, I
had no idea of what he was talking about. Later on, I figured if being a
man meant beating kids, then I never wanted to be his kind of man. Toward
the end he backed off from the violence. I took to keeping a baseball bat
next to my bed and while I never threatened him with it, I think he
realized his dominance over me was finished.

I saw my father three weeks after returning from Hawaii. There was another
letter from Rex, again stating it was urgent without specifying the
emergency and so I went, but not alone. Jake, Annie and the kids came
along. Somehow the fear of being separated again even for a little while,
made us hold very tightly to each other. Hawaii had been a disaster, and
while the kids appeared nearly recovered from that harrowing experience,
Annie, Jake and I were still shellshocked. On top of that I was now using a
cane and my leg ached constantly. It wasn't the best time to confront my
father, if there ever was such a time.

The house looked different with a fresh coat of paint. It had never been
painted in all the years I lived there. The yard was cleaned up too, no
more rusting farm machinery sitting along the drive. Even the grass was
mowed. It looked like a different place and much smaller than I remembered
it, but inside it was the same. It even smelled the same. Old. Musty, more
like a barn than a house. The furniture was the same worn out junk I
recalled, although a piece to two looked different. A TV now sat in the
dinning room and I noticed that he had turned the little parlor into a
ground floor bedroom. I went no further than the dinning room, but well
remembered the two bedrooms above the parlor. In my day, he slept in one
and I in the other. My clearest memories of that time was of him coming
home in the middle of the night to bang around in the kitchen until I woke
up. I'm sure he did it intentionally as a sort a warning signal. I could
then lie awake wondering if he was on the rampage again or just
drunk. Would he find something wrong down there? Was the garbage emptied,
were the milk pails clean enough? Some nights he just went to bed, others,
he opened my door and when he came to my room it was always with a belt in
his hand.

Our reception was about as chilly as my leave taking had been, but I didn't
expect a warm greeting anyway. He was never that kind of person. He looked
thin, frail and old and at first I thought maybe Jake was right. Sometimes
people do change when they get older and he certainly looked different. I
thought we might be able to talk through our differences, yet as it turned
out, we hardly talked at all. We just yelled. And I have to admit, at least
part of that was my fault. I had no tolerance left for his self righteous
denial. I was on edge, not only from an aching leg, but from seeing him
again, so when he started questioning me in the same tone of voice I
remembered, I automatically went on the defensive. After the introductions,
Annie and Jake shepherded the kids outside.

"Who are those people?" He asked querulously.

"My family. Jake is my business partner. Annie was at one time married to
both of us and the children belong to Jake and me."

"You married?" he asked, his voice carrying a tone of astonishment.

"Does that surprise you?"

"No, no," he said unconvincingly, "I just assumed. . ." his voice trailed
off. What was going on in his mind? I wondered. Did he the think those
beatings actually changed anything? Worst of all, I wondered if he felt
he'd done me a favor. I could have left it alone and probably should have,
but inside me there is a perverseness that I cannot control at times and so
I said,

"Well, I wouldn't want to disillusion you. Jake is more than a business
partner. We're lovers and have been since 1970."

"But. . . You said you were married. . ."

"One doesn't preclude the other."

His face went through a dozen changes as he digested that tidbit until it
finally settled into the old familiar scowl of my childhood.

"It ain't natural." He hissed. "What are you gonna tell those kids? That
their dad's are a couple of fairies?"

I lost it then. If there had been any chance of reconciliation, it went out
the window.

"Don't talk about natural to me, God damn it. You used to knock me around
whenever you had a bad day. I remember it all, Old Man, especially how
you'd work yourself up to it. Was that natural? Christ, you don't have the
right to say a God Damned thing about what's natural or not."

"I was just trying to straighten you out. Make a man of you." He answered,
his voice filled with indignation.

"I am a man and I've got a brain cell or two, so cut the bullshit. You were
slapping me around years before either one of us knew I was gay. >From the
time was a little kid I was a whipping boy for everything that was wrong in
your life. Remember that time you broke my arm, I was what, maybe five?
Remember what you told the doctor?  You lied to him then just like you're
lying now. How come you can't face yourself?"

Grandma told me once that he had a rough time as a kid and that her second
husband, Abner Fox had been mean and unforgiving. I never knew him, he died
years before I was born, but I always had a feeling that he successfully
turned my father into someone just like himself. That knowledge didn't
change how I felt. Any sympathy I might have had was long ago beaten out of
me.

My father gave me the same old fish eyed look I remembered as a youngster
and I realize he hadn't changed one iota in all these years. He was still
the embodiment of everything I despised in a human being.

"I figured it right," He said bitterly. "You turned out just like ma's
brother, only he had sense enough to kill himself."

He at last said exactly what he thought of me and I wasn't particularly
shocked. In my youth there was plenty of indication of how he felt, but he
never voiced it like that. Better dead than queer. Yet there was something
i n his bitterness that made me wonder. The years of drinking, his lack of
any visible humanity: What was behind that if not some deep seated fear? I
didn't know about my great uncle, Grandma once mentioned she had a brother
who died young, yet never elaborated. Being worked up as I was, I grabbed
that bit of information and threw it back in his face.

"Well, well. So it runs in the family, does it? I've heard say it's in the
genes. I guess you shouldn't of had a kid, Old Man. You've got queer
blood."

It was totally off the wall and with no basis of truth as far as I knew,
but it was meant to hurt and it seemed to strike a nerve. He went white as
a sheet. He might of already had that idea in his head, but if not, it was
enough to stop him cold. Without a word he got up and went into his
bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

We hung around the farm for another hour or so and my father stayed in his
room. He obviously had nothing more to say to me. That afternoon we
returned the rental car and caught the next flight back to California and
it wasn't until weeks later that I learned why he wanted to see me in the
first place. All he really wanted was my signature, not a
reconciliation. That had been my assumption, and it was a thought that
probably never entered his mind. It seemed there was a standing offer for
the farm, but since Grandma left a portion of the land to me, I had to sign
off on the deal. When I found out about it, I turned my share over to him
for the minimum one dollar, then returned the dollar to him by mail. I'm
sure he got the message.

In all my years of growing up I don't recall a single instance when my
father tried to teach me anything, yet on that final visit I did learn
something from him. Very simply put; You make your own hell. Others may
thrust you into it, but you don't have to stay there unless you want to. I
think he probably did love my mother, at least Grandma thought so and maybe
if mom hadn't died things would be different. But then again, maybe
not. There was something rather twisted in my father that I sensed at a
very early age. I think at times he enjoyed what he did to me. Grandma said
that after mother died, he was mad at the world, and maybe at first it was
just his uncontrollable temper, but I think that changed. Later he got off
on it. Of course I didn't know about such things back then, but I knew
there was something wrong with him, I always knew.

It was a bad summer all around. Our trip to Hawaii which we planned as an
entertaining and educational experience for the kids, turned into a
nightmare when they became the focus of an attempt to punish Jake and
me. It started out with an invitation to dine with a Mr. Koto which was
delivered by a man dressed far too warmly for the Honolulu afternoon. It
was his clothing that first caught my eye. Black slacks topped by a dark
blue long sleeved shirt buttoned tightly at the cuffs and collar and
completely out of place in lobby of the Hilton on that fine sunny day. He
stopped us as we left the elevator loaded down with beach paraphernalia and
said something to Jake in heavily accented English.

"Pardon me?" Jake responded.

"Koto-san say you come to dinner." The man repeated "Eight o'clock."

The man might have been be a servant, but there was nothing servile in his
manner toward us. That invitation was issued with all the force of a
command. He thrust a card in Jake's hand and before either of us could ask
a question he was gone, but not before I noticed something that rather
startled me. As he reached out to give the card to Jake, the man's sleeve
slipped back far enough to expose elaborate tattooing that seemed dense
enough to cover his whole arm and I suddenly realized why he wore his shirt
that way. He must have been covered with tattoos from neckline to wrists
and that rang alarm bells. In my years in Japan I had seen several men with
marking like that. Each one had been a member of the Yakaza, a sort of
Japanese crime syndicate.

Jake looked at the card then handed it to me. It was a simple affair with
the name Haji Koto embossed in black ink on a plain white card. No phone
number, just an address, and on the corner the notation "Dinner 8:00
PM". The card was as uninformative as the messenger.

"Who the devil is Koto?" Jake asked.

"Beat's me, I never heard of him. But I'm pretty sure I know what he is. I
think maybe it's a good idea to bow out of this invite."

I told Jake of my suspicions about the courier as we headed for beach, or
more accurately as the kids dragged us toward the beach. It was our first
day on the island. The ocean spread out before us in all it's splendor and
seemed somehow different than the one that laps the shores of
California. It was warmer and more inviting here. Later, we moved from the
beach to the beach front vendors in search of the perfect gifts for Mom and
Grandma Margaret. The afternoon just slipped away and Koto's invitation
slipped my mind. It was almost ten before the kids were finally tucked in
bed and asleep. An hour later Jake and I were ourselves getting ready for
bed when I discovered Koto's card still in my pocket.

"Damn, I forgot about this." I said, pulling it free. "I should have sent a
note."

"Why bother? If he's what you think he is, we wouldn't go anyway. Besides,
I didn't like that guy's attitude."

"Neither did I, still, it wouldn't hurt to find out what Koto wants. A note
might have accomplished that without actually showing up for dinner."

"Aw, don't worry about it. Tomorrow, I'll have Johnson run a background on
the guy. If he's legit, we can make our excuses then. In the mean time,"
his voice took on a seductive tone, "there's a fine looking bed in the
other room that we haven't tested yet." And he began undoing my shirt in
that playful, proprietary way of his.

"What is it about air travel that makes you so horny?" I laughed.

"Beat's me." he answered, "It must be the company I keep." His eyebrows
moved up and down in a Groucho Marks leer as he began an even more
suggestive undoing. I pretended to fight him off, and that led to a
hilarious bit of foreplay that soon had us shushing each other for fear of
waking the kids. We finally made it into the bedroom, our clothes scattered
around the suite. And it was a fine bed, a very fine bed indeed. Jake was
right of course. It is the company we keep that makes life fulfilling. It
is also the thing that keeps one strong when it all blows up in your face.

Near midnight a week later, we lay atop a knoll overlooking a walled estate
some miles from the city. Dressed in black we wore cat burglars garb; tight
fitting jersey jumpsuits so soft they made no sound as we moved. Our
clothing smelled exactly like new mown grass, an added protection to help
mask the odor of human sweat since attack dogs patrolled the grounds. I
looked around trying to pick out our five accomplices from the background
of dark underbrush. Here and there I caught the hint of movement or the
whiteness of an eye against a blackened face, otherwise they were mere
shadows blending with the night. Jake led the excursion with the same
precision he once lead patrols in 'Nam, only this was the most important
one of his life. JT and Andrea had been missing for nearly three days. If
they was still alive, we were positive they were somewhere on the grounds
of the house below.

Koto, that bastard with the bland smile and regal manners had brought this
about, but why? Retribution over the loss of some damned piece of ancient
dross?  I could not fathom a mind that would use children as a tool for
revenge. Perhaps that was my downfall. Even though I knew the value certain
Japanese place on ancestral rigmarole, I never thought it possibly to carry
it to this extent. Our refusal to acknowledge his family's ancient claim
was followed by a veiled threat so nebulous it sounded more like the moral
of an Aesop fable. "Unlucky is the tree that tries to stem a rising tide."

Moonlight outlined Jake's face in silhouette. His jaw thrust forward, the
tightness of his mouth spoke volumes.  I've always been able to read Jake
by set of his head. Nothing can deter him when he holds that look. He
touched my arm, then pointed. From around the corner of the main house came
a man walking a pair of large dogs straining at leashes. They seemed to be
checking the perimeter close to the wall. He was hardly out of sight when a
pair of men emerged from the smaller of two cottages that lay between us
and the main house. Lighters flared. The men talked as they smoked, their
voices modulating on the breeze, their words not quite discernible. When
the perimeter guard came around again they spoke a few words to him and
went back inside. All grew quiet. No one else showed up, just the guard
taking about a quarter hour for his round.

"How many?" I whispered, meaning guards. Jake understood.

"About fifteen supposedly and a kennel full of dogs" Came his faint
reply. "Remember, the dogs are trained for silent attack."

I heard it all before at the GSI office that afternoon, but was so keyed up
the numbers went right over my head. Three days ago when the children first
came up missing, we assumed they had just wandered out of the hotel and
gotten lost somewhere in the city. We notified the police, but when their
response wasn't quick enough to suit us, we rousted out every off duty GSI
man on the island. The search went on late into the night and covered an
area far beyond where the children could have possibly walked, yet nothing
came of it. No one had seen them. We appealed for help from the local TV
stations and the next day when Annie arrived, their pictures had already
been displayed several times. Not great pictures, only some individual
shots we snapped with a Polaroid the day before, but Annie brought better
ones. We hoped it would make a difference showing them side by side. If the
kids were simply lost and wandering, we knew they would be together. JT
would never leave Andrea alone. Then came a call from Koto. He saw our plea
on TV and offered to help in the search, declaring that he was ready put
forty of his employees on the task.

It was Koto's men who "found" Andrea's shoe. Her name was printed on the
inside, the same as with all Kindergartners at her school. From the moment
that shoe turned up, I knew Koto had a hand in the disappearance. I
couldn't prove it in any way, not even to Jake. His reasoning was straight
forward. Koto made absolutely no demands of us, so what would be the object
of a kidnapping?  His point was valid, yet a feeling inside told me he was
wrong. There was a rat gnawing at my bones, the little rat that always
chewed when something isn't right. I felt that same gnawing a few days
before when Koto began speaking of "An article of great sentimental value
to his family." It had been stolen, he said, a hundred and fifty years ago
and his family had been trying to recover it ever since. The gnawing grew
more intense when he mentioned they were now offering a fifty thousand
dollar finders fee, or more if it became necessary. Why tell us about it, I
wondered? I made several failed attempts to change the subject, but when he
casually mentioned that this family heirloom had been traced to Hawaii, I
stopped him. I could sense he was leading up to something we didn't want to
hear.

"Is it worth a great deal more than fifty thousand?" I asked.

"No, no, much less. However respect for our ancestors and for ourselves
demands its return. One cannot place a cash value on family honor."

 "Well if you're willing to spend that kind of money, why not offer to buy
it outright?" Jake asked.

"It's not for sale, besides, the family that has it are the same ones who
stole it." He replied grimly.

I had heard tales of feuds that ran through old Japanese families for
generations, yet never actually encountered one until this moment. There
was an edge to Koto's voice, controlled and smoothed by a civilized veneer
that couldn't quite hide the boundless passions of an honor bound
fanatic. Koto didn't need to tell me where we entered into the picture. I
could lay odds that the thing Koto searched for was stored in GSI's safety
deposit vault right here in Honolulu.

We beat a hasty retreat without actually declaring the obvious and in doing
so declined to be involved. Koto pursued it no further, no outright bribes,
no pressure of any kind. The only hint of displeasure came from the old man
who sat in on the meeting, when he said something in Japanese I didn't
understand. Koto translated. It was an old saying: Unlucky is the tree that
tries to stem a rising tide. Had I only known the meaning of that
quotation!

Koto's demeanor never changed all through our search for the children. One
would have thought he was as shattered as we were. For two days he stayed
in constant contact with us, ever helpful, ever hopeful while at the same
time offering platitudes we didn't want to hear. I was sick of his calls
and his constant interruptions, yet I was very careful not expose my
feelings. That was difficult. Many times I simply bit my tongue and handed
the call off to someone else.

When the shoe turned up and Jake couldn't be convinced of my suspicions, I
called Ken Mitsume in LA. Ken is a Brother, a second generation Japanese
graphic artist who I thought might clarify my feelings about Koto. At first
he reacted the same as Jake.

"Has he made any demands?"

"No," I replied, "Only there's something wrong here, Ken. The guy he sent
to meet us was Yakuza, I'm sure of it."

"Well they do hire out as body guards, you know. Besides, some of those
secret societies were disbanded awhile back so you're liable to find
ex-members working anywhere."

"Yes, I've read about that, but why would he need bodyguards here in
Hawaii? Would you do me a favor and see what you can find on Koto? Our
local office comes up clean on the man, but of course we don't have any way
of knowing his background in Japan. You know who to ask and I'm at my wits
end right now."

"I'll get right on it. And Ted, you're absolutely right. I know exactly who
to ask. I'll make a call to an old friend at UCLA and get back to you as
soon as I can. Don't give up hope. You know everyone in the Brotherhood is
doing all they can to find your kids."

An hour later Ken called back with some startling news. Haji Koto was only
part of the man's name. The rest was Yakashita. Haji Koto Yakashita was
truly a blue blood, a descendent of samurai and later, shoguns of the
Imperial clan. Ken said it wasn't unusual for aristocratic Japanese to drop
part of the family name when they entered into a commercial enterprise. He
then began asking questions about our meeting with Koto, he wanted every
detail.

"I thought I told you all about it." I said

"Tell me again. Did he say anything that sounded odd?"

"Besides trying to bribe us? No. He didn't even push that. We cut him off
at the pass, so I guess you couldn't even call it a bribe attempt. The old
man said something about trees and rising tides, but that's all."

"Quote it exactly" Ken persisted.

"Let's me see, Ah. . .  Unhappy is the tree that tries to stem a rising
tide. I believe that's right.

"Damn, that sounds familiar! Look, I've got to make another call. I get
right back to you." and the phone went dead. When Ken called back awhile
later, Annie answered and then flipped on the speaker so we could all hear.

"OK, here's what I've got. That quote is from an old manuscript dealing
with points of honor. I don't understand it myself. It doesn't sound the
least bit honorable in the way we think of it today, but remember it was
written some five hundred years ago. Anyway, it has to do with an offer
made that's rejected and later, an entire family is laid waste because one
man refused to help in a just and honorable cause. The entire quote is,
"Unhappy is the tree that tries to stem a rising tide, for its roots will
wither and its seeds turn to salt." My friend suggests that coming from a
Yakashita elder you can consider it real threat. He also said that without
a doubt, Haji or his uncle took your kids."

"How did he arrive at that conclusion? Jake asked, still skeptical.

"Because that quote is a death threat, pure and simple. Few people but
history buffs would even know it, and to my friend's knowledge it was never
used in any other way. Now I have to tell you what else my friend said, and
you're not going to like it. IF your children are still alive and that's a
big if, then you have to find them quickly and quietly. In other words, if
Koto has the slightest idea you suspect him, the kids will vanish from the
face of the earth. My friend also said that since Koto in staying in touch,
there is a good chance the children are still alive. He's fishing to find
out what leads you've uncovered. If leads do develop, and he learns about
them, he'll waste no time in setting someone else up to take the fall,
someone totally unconnected to him who will leave no stain of dishonor on
the Yakashita name. You have to move fast, Brothers, my friend thinks you
have very little time left."

I saw the blood drain from Jake's face, a stillness settled over him like a
touch of death. In all our years together, I have never seen Jake look like
that: Such pure hatred for anyone. At that moment I thought Koto was a dead
man, but finally Jake snapped out of it and got things rolling.

#####

Jake gave the signal. In two's we crawled off the knoll staying in the
shadow of the undergrowth. Slowly, quietly, we worked our way to the
wall. One man climbed up to attach a tiny microphone to the top, then we
settled back counting the minutes for the guard to make another round. Our
timing had to be precise if we hoped to pull this off.

######

Koto owned an Import-Export company legitimate in all respects as far as
the locals were concerned. He and his company had a history of honest
dealings and the man himself was well thought of in Honolulu. The report
showed nothing to indicate an involvement with the Yakuza, so we assumed
the man we saw that first day was simply an employee. It was a couple of
days after the failed invitation when we finally joined Koto for dinner at
a downtown restaurant. He was courteous and friendly and was accompanied by
an older men whom he introduced as his uncle. It turned out to be a fairly
pleasant meal with Koto offering advice on what to order from the extensive
Japanese menu. Afterwards, he escorted us to his office for drinks and for
what we assumed would be a round of business talks. Koto Enterprises had
extensive holdings in Hawaii which included several private warehouses as
well as a facilities in the duty free zone. His headquarters occupied a
large imposing structure in the best part of town and it was there in the
privacy of his office that the "finders fee" was offered.  Until that
moment, I rather liked the man. Throughout the evening I used my meager and
rusty Japanese and my attempts made both the waiter and Koto smile. The
only one who didn't seem amuse was the older man. He remained rigidly
formal and spoke only to Koto. As formal as he was, he was far less patient
than one expects from old world Japanese. He hurried Koto through the
meeting with rapid little comments I couldn't quite catch. I don't think
the old man had a very high opinion of us, or maybe it was Americans in
general he didn't like. Two days after the aborted meeting, the kids
vanished. I should have put two and two together, only I didn't. . .

######

It took eighteen minutes for the guard to walk this round. After he passed
we waited exactly nine which we calculated would take him to the far side
of the compound along the ocean cliffs where the sound of the surf would
cover any noise we might make going over the wall. It seemed to work in our
favor. We made it over and down the ropes undetected. Our research of the
place uncovered no elaborate electronics. Koto, depended on manpower to
protect, and of course the dogs. In only 17 hours we learned a great deal
about this estate. From a local fencing company it was determined that the
kennel doors were electrically operated. The push of a single button and a
half dozen vicious beasts could be loosed on the grounds. The dogs remained
our main fear. Even with the scent deadening grass smell we drenched
ourselves in, we felt the dogs would be our biggest obstacle. Our only
weapons were compressed air pistols carrying a half dozen darts loaded with
a nerve paralyzing drug. From old architectural drawings we committed floor
plans to memory and studied the landscape lay out. We knew how to get from
one point to another in the most efficient way. The only thing we didn't
know for sure was how many people were inside, armed or otherwise. Our plan
was simple: A lightening survey of the one place we felt the kids might
still be held. During daylight hours we had instigated searches on Koto's
other properties by using telephone failures, power outages and freight mix
ups to get our men inside. We checked his warehouse facilities, even his
main office complex, but nothing turned up. This was our last shot. The
estate was also about the only place he could hold someone captive for
three days without outsiders being aware of it. This was not a genuine raid
we warned our men, simply a search. We wanted it thorough and clean and so
quiet Koto might never know. That was our plan, such as it was. Basically
we were winging it. An earlier attempt at getting a man inside the estate
under the ruse of an UPS delivery, failed. There were no options left.

The dogs came first. Jason from our LA office, headed for the kennels. His
job was to disable the kennel door system in a way that would look like a
simple failure. The rest of us spread out keeping an eye open for the
roving perimeter guard. If we could avoid him and the two leashed dogs, we
could approach the guest cottages, and then on to the main house if
necessary. Stealth was our only hope of getting in and out undiscovered Our
orders to the men on that score were simple. At the first sound of an
alarm, get back over the wall. Above all else, Koto must never know it was
us who penetrated this place.

#####

I guess it takes a crisis to really know a person. Annie who is so warm and
gentle in normal circumstances became an iron maiden when the chips were
down. No hysteria for her, she was as solid as a rock while I went around
blaming myself for not having bowed to Koto's demands. She put me back on
track.

"Damn it," She said, "It's not your fault. Now pull yourself together and
get in there and do what you do best. Find out where that bastard has our
kids!" And I did.

It was tax records that told me a small parcel belonging to Koto's company
was more than leased out farm land as listed. He was paying far too much
taxes. I did some digging and found it was originally an abandoned cliff
edge manor sold to Koto by owners of a much larger piece of property. It
was also the only place in all of his holdings that was absolutely
private. We dug up aerial maps showing the grounds, dredged out every bit
of information we could find concerning the place and came up with our
hasty plan. In the mean time, Annie stayed in contact with Koto as if
nothing had changed. She played the worried mother, so everlastingly
grateful for all his help, and thus bought us the time we needed. Neither I
or Jake could have done that. Koto would have known instantly that we were
on to him.

#####

The roving guard surprised us by coming through a small grove of trees to
our right some five minutes ahead of schedule. Someone got a dart into him
and as he dropped the dogs came charging toward us. There was a flurry of
darts, the "Pfft, pfft, pfft" of dart guns and the dogs went down without a
whimper. It was surreal, like watching a silent movie. The only sound was
the pounding of my heart.

One miscue like that was all it took to wreck our hasty plan. With a guard
down, Koto would know for sure someone had been here. With nothing much
left to loose, everything changed. Now we would take out the guards, not
avoid them. What started as a survey was now a raid, only our forces were
out gunned and out numbered.

By twos we slipped through the darkness, hunkering in the shadow of the few
scattered shrubs until finally flattening ourselves against the wall of the
smaller house. This was where we saw the two men earlier. Checking around
the corner, I heard a "Pfft" and saw a man fall as he stepped from a
doorway. He was caught and dragged into the shadows. I waited a moment,
then went inside and came face to face with the another man. "Hoi!" came
his startled response as I pressed the dart pistol against his side and
pulled the trigger. The place was empty and rather cramped, looking more
like servants quarters than a guest house. A TV in the main room played a
rerun of Hawaii Five-0 and on a low table in front of it were two automatic
weapons with stacks of clips beside them. The casual way those two had been
wandering about told me they were on night duty, but not really expecting
any trouble.

Jake and I moved on to the larger guest house, a two story affair while the
rest of the men checked out the garden sheds and garages. The ground floor
was dark, with only a couple of lights showing from second story
windows. The back door opening onto a small kitchen and I carefully
surveyed the room looking for any sort of clues. A cereal box sat on the
counter and there were two bowls in the sink still with milk in them. My
hopes soared. Cereal was the kid's favorite bedtime snack. I slipped down
the hall to a large main room that took up the entire front of the house
and there by a couch in front of the TV, I found a little grass skirted
hula doll, exactly like the one I bought for Andrea on the day she
disappeared. I nearly called out her name. Jake came in the front as I
inched up the open stairway. I glanced into the first room and couldn't
believe my eyes. There was Andrea, sound asleep on the bed. But where was
JT? The next room was empty, then I heard a toilet flush. A moment later a
door opened and JT stepped into the hall. He stopped when he saw me, a
startled look on his face. It must have been frightening for him meeting a
black apparition looming out from the shadows. He didn't recognize me until
I put a finger to my lips and said "Shhh." His face lit up and before I
could stop him, he shouted,

"DAD!"

And the jig was up. A door at the far end of the hall flew open. A man
stuck his head out, but jumped back before I could place a dart. I snatched
up JT and dodged back into the bedroom for Andrea as Jake come charging up
the steps.

"Watch out!" I yelled, "There's one down the hall."

I was wrong in the count, there were two. Jake got the first, but the other
one held back and as we raced across the lawn each carrying a child, my
legs suddenly went out from under me. I thought I tripped, strangely
enough, I never felt the bullet, although I should have realized. Behind
us, a rapid burst of gunfire filled the night. It lasted only a moment. One
of our men must have got a dart into the guard, because the noise stopped
with a spray of bullets in the air.

Now that there was no need for stealth, our men headed pell mell for the
wall. A black figure darting past snatching a crying Andrea from my
arms. Without her weight I managed to gain my feet again and stagger as far
as the wall, but for the life of me I couldn't climb the rope. Blood
overflowed my shoe making everything slippery. My muscles had somehow
turned to lead. The kids were already out of sight and as the last man went
over I slumped to the ground. We had done it! The kids were safe. I could
hear our men clambering up across the hillside through the brush, Andrea's
crying fading in the distance. A mile from here, cars waited to take them
back to the city, and with that thought the last of the adrenaline I'd been
running on drained away.

It seemed like only seconds before armed men, more than the fifteen we
counted on came pouring out of the main house. The appeared confused as to
where the gunfire came from, but it was only a minute before they headed
for cottages, spreading out across the lawn and coming my way. I heard a
noise above me and looked up to see a man sliding down the rope. It was
Jake.  He hunkered down beside me touching my leg.

"Is it bad?" he whispered,

"I don't know, I got this far, but I can't climb. Get out of here, Jake
while you've got the chance."

"We're in this together, Teddy. That's the way it's always been. I can't
leave you now."

And so sitting on the ground with our hands raised we faced the oncoming
tide, not knowing if they would shoot first and ask questions later.

Luckily they didn't shoot, which is not to say they greeted with open arms.
They beat the hell out of us and it was only when their compatriots started
coming around that they eased up.  As it turned out, the guards were Yakuza
to a man and I know in my heart things would have been far worse for us,
maybe even fatal had any one of them died from that drug. When the Yakuza
finished their rough stuff, they locked us in a tiny airless room, but I'm
sure the pair that escorted there us will remember Jake. After throwing us
inside they thought it was a good idea to give us each a few extra
kicks. Somehow Jake got to his feet and busted both their noses. It took a
gun butt to put him down again.

I think we got the children out just in time. Koto was on the estate that
night, probably giving orders on what to do with them. He was furious
although it hardly showed when he spoke to us. It was only with his men
that he displayed any real emotion. The way he talked to them, I figured
that a few fingers might come up missing the next day if those guys were
still into that sort of thing.

With the kids now able to testify against him, Koto found himself parked
firmly between a rock and a hard place. He didn't dare kill us, although
I'm sure he would have like to. We on the other hand, had reasons of our
own for not wanting the authorities involved. Kidnapping or no, one does
not simply bypass the police and FBI, pull a raid on private property and
then feel no repercussions from it. At the very least we could expect to
see the inside of a court room and there was a good possibility of losing
our state license.

I will say one thing for Koto, he made no excuses, no weaseling of any
sort. My one thought was, could he actually bring himself to order the cold
blooded murder of children? Maybe not, he had children of his own, but with
the Yakuza involved he might not need to. They have their own ways of
making youngsters disappear and some can be even worse than murder, like
the child prostitution rings they run in the uncaring corners of the
world. I hold no sympathy for Koto whatsoever, but I do believe he was
pushed into the kidnapping by his uncle. It was so weird, so old world
Japanese, almost like an ancient play that to westerners makes no sense at
all. Did that old man think because he was an aristocrat his honor was more
important than ours? I couldn't fathom it. My short time in Japan didn't
give me a whole lot of an insight into the Japanese psyche, especially one
that appeared lost in the past.

We were free within a couple of hours. Annie and a contingent of GSI
employees showed up at the front gate, armed this time with real guns and
several video cameras. With Annie in charge there is no fooling around.
Even in our locked room we could hear the uproar.  A bull horn blasted and
Annie's voice carried across the acreage,

"Koto, get your ass out here, pronto, and bring Jake and Ted with you.
You've got 5 minutes or I'll have every cop on the island here."

It was the kind of threat that worked, but the way she talked to Koto
afterwards awed even me. By the time she was through with him there wasn't
a thing left to say. I don't believe in all his life, Koto ever encountered
anyone like Annie.

We were back in Honolulu post haste where a doctor patched us up well
enough to travel. A chartered jet brought us back to the mainland and into
the hands of our own doctors who did the surgery on my leg. We were both
pretty banged up, sore and tender everywhere, but I couldn't seem to put
the kids down. Sitting up in bed I had to have one or the other in sight or
I broke into a cold sweat. Jake was experiencing something similar and it
went on for a couple of days. It was a reaction, I suppose to our near loss
and while I got over that immediate fear fairly soon, it was a long time
before I could stand the thought of Annie taking the kids away again. We
spent that entire summer together, half the time in Brentwood, the rest in
Portland and the only other trip we made that season was to see my father.

A deeper and more thorough check into Koto's background at last turned up
the connection between him and the Yakuza. It was through his uncle. The
man belonged to a secret society called The Dark Pool, one of oldest Yakuza
organizations. We also turned up the hint of a connection tying Koto's firm
to a South American arms dealer by the name of Madria. The best we could
figure was that Koto was supplying Madria from a Chinese source and maybe
that's where the estate came in. It was located directly on the coast in
the center of some extensive private acreage and with an anchorage
nearby. It was the perfect sunny spot for shady business.

We found Yakuza dealings are harder to trace than most illegal activities.
No one is willing to talk or admit association with them and so we built
our file on Koto almost entirely on inference. We spoke of turning it over
to the FBI, only we had no hard evidence of anything except the kidnapping
and that would have meant trials, headlines and notoriety. We refused to
put the children through it. That experience was behind them now and that's
where it was going to stay.

Instead, we pressed Koto by putting dozens of men on surveillance.
Everything his company did, every meeting he attended was photographed and
noted and we didn't care if he realized it was happening. In fact I wanted
it that way. I intended to make sure he never forgot that an enemy dogged
his every step. The Yakuza disappeared like the wind. One minute they were
there, the next gone, probably shipped back to Japan or on to South
America. Individually they became lost in the shuffle of international
flights. It appeared that Koto was down sizing rapidly and the trend
continued. In a matter of months he sold off his holdings one by one and
finally left the islands, going back to Japan and out of the reach of GSI
harassment. We kept track of him through other sources, watching carefully
to see if he would expand this way again. He didn't, and the following
winter, Ken dropped by to tell us that Koto's uncle was dead.

"What happened?" I asked.

"About what you'd expect from someone living in the past. Hara-kiri, that
most ancient form of atonement."

It rather shocked me, although I can't say that any of us shed a tear at
his passing.




Notes


Confusion reigned supreme today. Yesterday Jake read about the Hawaii
incident and then got up this morning and began making plans for JT's
birthday party. It was a while before I realized he was talking about JT's
thirteenth birthday, (the one Jake missed while in a coma). He now
remembers everything about the kids right up to the time of the shooting,
only he's not connecting any of it to what's going on around him. Here it
is the middle of winter with snow ass deep outside. JT's birthday is August
10th and Jake insists that's only a few days away. The weird part is that
he knows the difference. If I ask him what month this is, he'll say
February. Why that doesn't conflict with JT's supposed 'birthday' next week
is beyond me. Still, it's a big improvement over not remembering the kids
at all. I just wish everything else would come back as clearly as JT and
Andrea. It makes me wondering though, if Jake can ever integrate the
memories of these last three year with those from before.

The children were old enough to understand the terrible thing that happened
to their Papa and they handled it like pros. When Jake wanted to play cards
they made up games he could understand, they brought him coloring books and
took him out for ice cream and they did it all on their own, no one had to
tell them. I was proud of them. What terrific kids we have.

JT will be sixteen next August, so I guess I can't call him a kid anymore.
All the things Jake and I worried about never came to pass. The children
figured it out for themselves and if it upset them at all, it never
showed. In fact JT mentioned it just last summer. We were going over some
old photographs and ran across a picture of me at fourteen standing in
front of grandma's house. It was a dead give away. JT and I could have been
twins at that age. He looked at the picture and said,

"You know, Dad, I'm sure lucky to have two fathers. Half the kids I know
don't even one one."

I think that boy is going to be a diplomat.

Jake still thinks of Carla as someone connected only with Lonnie and Dan
Harris, but when I mention that he too was married to a Carla, I see a
sudden fear in his eyes and directly afterwards he retreats. I know I'm on
to something here, but I haven't figured it out as yet. Until I do, I'll
just keep writing. It's almost like his progress depends on it. He never
retreats while reading, only afterwards, so I guess the best thing it to
keep him occupied.

Jake seems to enjoy reading of the special times in our lives, those sweet
moments I cherish, so I'll tell him now of a day that sticks in my mind as
being absolute perfection. . .