EOEChapterSample

Extension of Evil
by David Rosenberg
Sample Chapter

Chapter 1

Wednesday, October 24, 2007, 12:17 A.M., Maplecrest, New Jersey

   Maplecrest Yardmaster, Frank Wiggins, silenced the security panel alarm. He immediately keyed the portable radio for the security guard, Tyrone Sharpe, who was in the process of investigating the sudden loss of lighting near the east entrance to the yard.
   “Tyrone, I just got an intrusion alarm. Someone broke into the locomotive maintenance shop. Watch your ass—man.”
   “Copy, Frank--thanks. It’s probably another Newark crack-head trying to steal something to sell for more drugs,” Tyrone responded with his smooth baritone voice.
   “Copy, Tyrone. I know you’re a tough guy, but don’t take any chances. Besides, I can’t afford to lose the best bowler on the team,” Frank chided.
   “I hear ya, man,” Tyrone laughed. “Hey, it looks like someone’s been using our yard lights for target practice.”
   “Back away, Tyrone. I’m calling the police and my supervisor,” Wiggins said, scrambling for the list of emergency numbers recorded in the front of the Maplecrest Train Yard Operations Manual. He suddenly realized that Tyrone failed to acknowledge his last instruction. He keyed the radio again.            “Tyrone, did you copy my last about backing away?”
   “Tyrone—can you hear me?”
   When the guard failed to answer, Wiggins grabbed the binoculars and stepped out on the narrow catwalk platform outside his third floor office. He adjusted the focus on the binoculars and scanned the eastern end of the yard and the locomotive repair shop that was partially obscured by two large diesel-driven locomotives. The engines received extensive maintenance and were ready for service. With the yard lighting out of service and the moon still blocked by the Bayonne skyline, Wiggins realized there was little hope of seeing anything in the dim light and deep shadows.
   He checked the main line that ran through the yard, then the receiving tracks where tank cars and the large cars carrying entire truck-trailers stacked two-high waited for switching to the outbound tracks. He saw nothing, but anyone ambush Tyrone by waiting between the cars. He turned toward the office door but stopped when he heard the familiar roar of a diesel engine cranking and starting. He looked toward the locomotive shop and saw the cab light in one of the engines. “Shit—someone’s stealing our engines!” Wiggins stepped toward his office door to call for help but fell backwards over the railing when a forty five-caliber bullet penetrated his skull.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007, 12:25 A.M., Newington, Virginia

   “It looks like we dozed off,” Jocelyn whispered in her husband’s ear as she struggled to free herself from the tightly wrapped arm around her waist.
He stirred, as she broke free. “Did you put drugs in the wine?” Donald Corbbitt asked, lunging to recapture the beautiful woman who was attempting to escape.
   “Oh, no you don’t, mister. It’s time to go to bed.”
   “If we can find it,” Don chided. “Your idea of an indoor picnic was great, but I’m hardly in the mood to move the packing boxes around at this hour of the night.”
   “Come on, big boy—besides, I have to do most of the unpacking while you’re in Quantico tomorrow playing professor to the new batch of fledgling FBI agents.”
   “I’d rather stay home tomorrow and play house with you.”
   She struggled to her feet and reached for his hand to help him up from the floor. “There won’t be much playtime here tomorrow. It’s not everyday you move into a four-bedroom home and just hanging the curtains here will be an all day job. This place is like a mansion compared to my small apartment in Bethesda.”
   “I know how you feel. Remember the dump in Hoboken, where I lived?” Don said, as he carried his share of their picnic debris into the kitchen and rinsed several dishes. “I’m glad your parents are driving down from Syracuse to lend a hand. I hope they understand that I won’t be here and that I didn’t bail out on you.”
   “I think they know better. Besides, it’s a labor of love for them to see that their thirty-three year old little girl finally did get a real home of her own,” Jocelyn said, climbing the stairs to the master bedroom.
   “Wait honey,” Don requested when she reached the fifth stair.
   “I’m pretty sleepy and I have a chill since you let the fire go out while we snoozed. Can’t it wait until morning?”
   “Absolutely not! We’ve shared a kiss in every room in this house and it won’t be our home until we kiss on the staircase.”
   Jocelyn smiled. “Okay, Pucker Man, lay one on me. Just do it quick before I drop in my tracks.”
He stood on the fourth stair and held her. “May each day here be happier than the day before,” Don whispered and then kissed her softly.
   “I love you, Don. It will take a while to get this place in shape, but we’ve done the right thing to have a home of our own.”
   He followed her up the rest of the stairs to the master bedroom. It took them twenty minutes to build the bed and find the pillows and bed linen before they could settle down for the first night in their new home.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007, 12:25 A.M., Lexington, Kentucky

   “I’ll see your three hundred dollars, and raise one thousand,” Gordon Noble said without hesitation to Frank Chandler, the remaining challenger in the weekly Texas Hold ‘Em poker game.
The ever-cautious Chandler, a corporate lawyer, studied the eight and nine of clubs he held as hole cards for the fourth time to verify the strength of his ace high club flush. He raked his hand through his snow-white hair while he studied Gordon Noble, who was known to steal a pot with his aggressive betting.
   “Come on, Frank—grandma is slow but she’s old. What’s your excuse?”
Frank weighed the likelihood that the wiry Noble had anything that could beat his flush. With the ten of diamonds and the three, four, and ace of clubs showing, Noble’s chances of winning the pot were very slim. “There’s only one card to go Gordon, and I can’t throw away my flush—so I’m ‘all in’.”
   “Call,” Noble said without hesitation and matched Chandler’s seven thousand two hundred dollar bet. Noble turned over his two hole cards, a king of hearts, and a king of clubs. “You guys want to see this?” Gordon asked over his shoulder to the three other players that he forced out of the game by his masterful domination of the poker table.
   Instantly, the conversation that drifted to the realm of international investments, stopped. James Tanner, Marcel Beauchamp, and Henry Cordello pried themselves from Gordon’s plush leather chairs, grabbed the remnants of their last pull from Gordon’s finest Kentucky bourbon, and lumbered back to the poker table.
   “I think I got him now,” Chandler boasted. “I got an ace-high flush against his two kings.”
   “Well let’s get on with it—deal the last card, Frank,” Gordon said.
Frank's smile indicated his confidence in the strength of his hand, but the slight tremor in his fingers exposed latent uncertainty. He flipped the top card from the deck face up and stared in disbelief at the deuce of clubs.
   “Better luck next time Frank. He’s got an ace-king high flush against your ace high flush,” Henry said.
   “I swear, Gordon, you’ve got to be the luckiest man that ever played this game,” Marcel said. “I don’t know why we just don’t hand over our ten thousand dollars when we walk in the door and put the time to better use.”
   “Gentleman, thanks for playing,” Gordon said with a wry smile. “Another game--same time next week?”
   “Sure,” James Tanner said, while shaking hands with Gordon and congratulating him for winning again.
   “I’m not sure I’ll be back in town,” Marcel said, returning with the others to the leather chairs for the traditional post-game gab session.
   “You haven’t mentioned that you were going on a trip. Something happen, Marcel?” Gordon asked as he poured his first drink of the evening.
   “It’s not really an emergency or anything like that. My daughter Marie’s kids are giving her a tough time. I swear those grandkids of mine are growing up wild as weeds.”
   “It’s the nature of the society that we live in,” Henry added. “They’re under a lot of pressure from their friends and we push too much on them. I had the same problem with my own kids when they were growing up. But they eventually learn.”
   “What about you, James? Have you noticed the same thing in your family?”
   “Yes, I suppose so. There seems to be a lot of conflict and rebellion, but so far, it hasn’t been to an extreme. I can’t believe the foul language that my own grandkids use—hell, even the six year old uses the ‘F’ word.”
   “What about you, Gordon? You have a large family, yet there seems to be harmony,” Marcel said.
Gordon paused before answering to give him time to think whether he wanted to give them what they wanted to hear or what he perceived to be the truth. “I’m going to give it to you straight. It’s true; my family doesn’t have problems with their children. Frankly, I don’t think it’s society’s fault, or our fast paced mode of living.”
   “Then what is it, Gordon?” Henry asked.
   “Most children feel insecure because the parents aren’t actively engaged in the family. The parent’s priorities are upside down.”
   “What do you mean, Gordon? My sons and daughters spend a lot of time with their kids,” Marcel said.
   “Don’t take my comments personally, Marcel. I’m speaking in generalities here. Many of today’s problems with children should be anticipated because families become ‘thing’ oriented. The quest for things puts enormous pressure on the parents to earn money and to do that they take high-pressure jobs and work long hours. All of this comes at the expense of proper nurturing, mentoring, and provides the wrong example. The parents are too busy or too tired to interact with their children in a positive and constructive manner. They placate them with gifts—often rewarding them for poor behavior.”
   “I’m not so sure it is as simple as that, Gordon. As the kids get older, they begin to sense that their opportunities for success are limited. Things are different today than when we were young,” Henry said.
   “Hogwash! Look, Henry, you made your fortune in investment banking, James made his in repackaging health insurance, Marcel made his in real estate development, Frank made his protecting corporations from outrageous lawsuits, and I made mine making the finest bourbon in the world. That didn’t happen without a lot of personal energy,” Gordon countered.
   “Yes, but doesn’t that prove my point,” Marcel asked. “Didn’t you take away from your family to build your fortune, Gordon? What about the race horses?”
   “Gentlemen, perhaps that’s where we differ, my family never suffered from lack of attention and love that they needed to thrive. They always knew they came first; business was always second. As far as what you said about opportunity, nothing can be farther from the truth.”
James shook his head. “I guess I disagree with you, Gordon. Big business dominates every aspect of our society. It’s like a death grip on innovation and success.”
   “Disagree all you want, but I really believe in my heart that opportunities abound in this country. Most folks are just too lazy to apply themselves or they expect a handout from someone else.”
Marcel’s eyebrows rose. “You really believe that anyone can still do anything they want if they put their heart and soul into it?”
   “Absolutely!” Gordon replied without hesitation. “Immigrants flock to this country by the thousands for a reason. People that are born here are bathed in opportunity all the time and they have the freedom to act on it, but most of them fragment their time and energy and windup doing nothing.”
   “And there’s absolutely no goal that can’t be achieved?” Frank asked after recovering from his recent defeat at cards.”
   “None,” Gordon countered.
   “Would you care to prove your point with a little challenge?” Frank asked.
   “If it’s legal and worthwhile—sure.”
Frank thought for a second. “How about running for President as an independent candidate?”
   “Now there’s a challenge,” Henry said. “What about it, Gordon? We’ve been listening to you bellyache about the Republicans and Democrats for years. If you’re a man of your convictions, shouldn’t you jump in with both feet and help shape the world?”
   Gordon Noble frowned. “It looks like you’ve just hoisted me by my own petard, but I’ll tell you what. If you’re so sure that I’m wrong, let’s make a wager out of it. Let’s say a million dollars.”
   “A million dollars!” Henry said in astonishment.
“Each,” Gordon countered. “After all, I have to do all the work.”
   “Aside from getting you to admit you were wrong and the effort you wasted if you fail, what’s in it for us?” Frank asked.
   Gordon thought for a moment. “I’ll put up my prize horse, Prospero, against your four million.”
   “That horse isn’t worth four million,” Frank argued.
   “Shows you what you know about horses, Frank. Prospero’s true value is incalculable if you consider the stud fees and the horses he’ll sire. So put up or shut up, gentlemen.”
   “Won’t losing this horse cripple your breeding stock and essentially destroy your reputation for breeding the best of the best?” James asked.
   “He’s exactly right. Winning your four million dollars is nothing compared to losing that horse, and that’s exactly why I’ll do everything to achieve my goal of becoming the first Independent President of the United States. Is it a bet?”
   Each man nodded in agreement even though they knew his reputation and dogged determination to achieve his objectives. Gordon Noble simply never failed at anything.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007, 1:38 A.M., Washington, D.C.

   The First Lady of the United States, Marilyn Stanford, reached across the bed to check on her husband and knew instantly that Jim was in trouble. She turned to her side and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed with his head bowed low. “Having another bad night?” she asked.
   “I’m all right, really Marilyn. Go back to sleep.”
   “Jim, you can’t keep depriving yourself of sleep. The last stress attack nearly killed you.”
   “What am I supposed to do? Even the sleeping pills aren’t helping,” he grumbled.
   “Eight years as President is simply too much,” Marilyn offered.
   “You would think that I could hang in there for another year without coming apart at the seams.”
   “If you had to narrow it down to what’s really bothering you, what would it be? Be specific.”
   “Are you trying to be an amateur shrink?”
   “No, just a loving wife. I want my husband intact so we can flee this coop and enjoy life again. So dig deep and answer my question. Give me a little credit for understanding what really makes you tick.”
   “There are two things that are really bothering me. I still think about the thousands I killed in Iran by dropping the nuclear weapon. The world is always going to label me as a bloodthirsty killer of women and children.”
   “Jim, you did what you thought was best at the time. No one has the right to condemn you for putting the interests of our citizens first. You taught the world that we’re not afraid to use the weapons we have when we’re provoked. That’s why the terrorist groups have gone into hiding.”
   “Yes, but I keep thinking about the innocent civilians who died hideous deaths.”
   “Patrick Henry would say that citizens have a right to fight against a corrupt tyrannical government. Their citizens didn’t have the guts to stop their government’s aggressive behavior and many of them paid the price. That’s why the civil war still rages in Iran; eventually the people will decide to live in peace with themselves and everyone else.”
   “It still haunts me, Marilyn. I see the pain-racked bodies of those who suffered terrible burns and the slow deaths of those irradiated by the nuclear bomb.”
   “Don’t you see? You made a decision that changed everything and most of it will be for the good of our country and eventually theirs. You can’t undo what happened, and frankly, I think you did the right thing. Don’t think for a minute that any decision you make won’t be micro-analyzed by everyone. Jim, even when we escape for a well-deserved week off, the media makes us feel guilty.”
   “It’s nice to know I have at least some support.”
   “Believe me Jim, when it happened, thousands in this country cheered your decision. Only your political adversaries keep the issue alive by trying to dilute the importance of what you did. What’s the other thing that’s troubling you?”
   “I’m concerned about the mastermind behind the previous attacks. First, Jobran al-Tarabolsi orchestrated a take over of an American Communications company hurting thousands of employees and investors; then he tried to corrupt the Senators on the Judiciary Committee; then he financed the development and use of nanotechnology that killed civilian and military personnel. He was responsible for the destruction of three B-2 bombers. I don’t think I’m doing enough to capture that bastard. I don’t want to leave my dirty laundry for the next President.”
   “Then do more. Go to bed every night knowing that you’re closer to capturing and punishing him. The entire nation will rejoice when he’s captured,” Marilyn said, while rubbing his back and shoulders to try to get him to relax.
   “You’re right of course. I’m brooding rather than acting and that mental frustration is behind my inability to sleep.”
   “Then pledge to yourself to act first thing in the morning.”
   “You’re better than three Washington think tanks.”
   “Thanks, but I am your wife,” Marilyn whispered in his ear. “
   "Sometimes a gal just needs to be held, how about a little tenderness?”
   He nodded. “It’s a pity you have to remind me. I swear you’ll never have to do that again once we’re out of office.”

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