WHO IS JONESTRANGER

JoneStranger

GRAPHIC NOVEL

JARRETTE FELLOWS, JR.

JoneStranger is a self-styled vigilante, ex-US Army intelligence officer (retired full bird colonel) fed-up with runaway crime, failure of law enforcement to curtail crime like gang turf wars, illicit drug trade, sex trafficking, and police, and political corruption in fictional city of Metrobia.

JS’ alter ego Rushia (RUS-sha) Gerard makes himself a committee-of-one to make an impact on the madness, initially to bring to justice the young urban thugs (JS calls Yutties) to justice, whom law enforcement has had little success (purposely) in interdicting.

What drives Rushia Gerard into action is a rumor on social media of a declaration by Crips and Blood gang factions a 100-day gangland murder spree to kill 100 innocent people adorned in a red or blue clothing item. Several random shootings marked by one physically-challenged teenager who wore green laces in his sneakers sends JS into the night to find and apprehend the shooter and deliver him (with evidence) to the Metrobia County Sheriff Department or the Metrobia Police Department (MPD) 77th Street station.

JoneStranger is adorned in carefully designed attire that blends with his environment (black trousers, shirt, gloves, loose-fitting trench coat, black Stetson brim hat). Attire blends with ordinary to onlookers. Items are in actuality high-tech garments digitally wired, bullet-proof, stab proof; Wears a high-tech waist-belt device that obscures his physical appearance rendering him nearly invisible at night.

JoneStranger zips about in the darkness in a modified Swedish-made hyper sports car—the Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut, with a top speed of 330 miles per hour, the fastest car in the world.

WEAPONS

JoneStranger’s modus operandi is to refrain from killing, but when unavoidable can and/will use deadly force in drastic situations. As story evolves, he will kill one individual who left him no choice. This is when law enforcement interest in him will go from casual annoyance to “Top-10 Fugitive" when charges against him escalate to homicide.

JS has a number of miniature immobilizing crime-fighting devices at his disposal attached in his light-weight trench-like coat. Here is his total weapons cache (doesn’t carry all of these weapons at once):

• Light weight flex steel toe/rubber sole boots
• Black attire is light weight made of special super tough fabric
• 60,000 watt miniature rechargeable (cell phone-size) taser
• Tranquilizing darts tipped with concentrated ketamine tranquilizer
• Red powder mist immobilizer (small cubes that explode into red mist on impact)
• Special light-weight alloy .357 magnum with 20-clips and silencer
• Miniature lithium battery-operated police scanner
• Portable lithium battery operated night vision (infra-red wrap-around eyewear); cell phone and camera
• Specially-designed unbreakable, cut-proof, fire proof plastic hand ties
• Street fighter. Japanese combat judoka/jui jitsu expert; Zendoryu karate, Hapkido expert. JS’ repertoire of offensive/defensive skills include pin-point kicks, punches, knee strikes, back fists, 180- and 360-degree spinning kicks, elbow strikes, knife hands, ridge hands, back fist/bottom fists, spear hands, joint manipulation, arm/wrist locks, arm/knee bars, and a multitude of chokes.

JoneStranger also employs tiny robotic creepy-crawlies—Micro Drone Insect Operatives or MDIOs that ingenuously mimic bugs, insects and arachnids, engineered with cameras and recording devices for intelligence gathering. The design of US biomechanics, the MDIOs operate as flying drones—bees, flies, butterflies and dragonflies—and common crawling insects like water bugs, beetles, grasshoppers, locusts and crickets.

JoneStranger targets murderers, thieves, rapists, drug dealers, gang bangers, abusive cops, and illicit drug lab operatives—message to them, “I will be watching!”

Will be spun around real crimes in the fictional city of Metrobia with interplay from mayor, council, police chief, activists, community leaders with fictitious names to provide a sense of reality, although the storyline will be enhanced with false, but imaginative angles and sub-plots.

JoneStranger is not a full-time crime fighter, but hits the streets periodically to throw off law enforcement about his movements, and to keep the Yuts (Young Urban Thugs) and other criminal elements skittish, unable to get too relaxed for fear of “The Spook With the Brim” as they call him, lurking nearby at the edge of darkness.

THEME SONG LYRICS

Into the night a figure of good,

figment in black draped in secrecy,

repressor of all lawless and vice.

Into the night a force for good,

a hero rebuking crime and spite,

crushing denizens, predators.

JS: EP 1

EPISODE 1

The 'Green Shoelaces' murder

AWAKE IN THE A.M. AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT...

Rushia Gerard springs awake, abruptly throws the covers from his body,

knowing he has much to do. A glance at his bedside clock reveals a false

alarm—it is only a quarter past five. He’d been restless all night and

didn’t sleep well. The "Green Shoelace Killer" weighed heavily on his mind.

Hopping out of bed, Rush grabbed his bathrobe and flopped into the

big black leather chair before his computer, fired it up and waited

for the Google 10 logo to appear.

Before the screen in thought the lit screen casts him in silhouette:

“Crimes have gone down since I slept…. I know County Sheriff

Rob Muna's cowboys failed to corral the killer of that young boy!

Perhaps the press should pay more attention to escalating

crime in Metrobia, and less to side-shows like

Ronald Rump's media theatrics!”

"The strategy meetings between the political heirarchy

gettin' stale. Mayor Katie Fisch, Congresswoman Roxanne

Rivers, Sup. Janna Hall and Muna may mean well, but I

THINK IT'S TIME FOR THE STRANGER TO HIT THE SCENE!

IN THOUGHT FACING COMPUTER…

“Time to make another round—pay those Yuts, the

Lime Street gang a night call. They killed that kid

‘cause he wore greenlaces! And they're still

walkin' around free and braggin'!

“I’ll round ‘em up! Congresswoman Rivers is

right—‘someone’s gotta pay for the damage they

did to Metrobia, flooding it with drugs and guns!'”

FRONT VIEW OF RUSHIA FACING COMPUTER

Consternation in his expression.

“… and gotta plug the cartels too or they’re

gonna reduce America to a stupor ...

if she's not already there!

"But, first need to gather some intel on the

Lime Street gang responsible for the kid's

murder. They hang out daily at The Bistro ... .

I'll pay the joint a visit and deploy MDIO-1 to

gather some irrefutable intel for indictment

and conviction... ."

LATER THAT AFTERNOON...

Rushia Gerard sits at a patio table outside The

Bistro inconspicuously munching on a double

cheeseburger and fries, having already released

MDIO-1 water bug, which scurried to a hidden locale

out of sight inside the guest dining area ahead of any

of the arriving Lime Street gangsters.

"Now, I'll await for the transferral of the intel..."

Rushia thought to himself, slurping a Pepsi.

MEANWHILE...

Several hours elapsed since Rushia Gerard planted

the robotic spy at The Bistro, now enveloped in the

darkness of nightfall. The Lime Street gang numbered

20 strong on this night—several engaged in a game

of bid whist, four more slamming dominoes, and the

rest munching edibles, fixated on the Lakers and

Nuggets game on a mounted 60-inch big screen.

Unbeknownst to them, the robotic spy had been

gathering intel and transmitting undetected to

Rushia Gerard for hours now in a chandelier

hanging from the ceiling.

The bid whist action dominated the scene,

with the gang set's 30-year-old leader Rayvon

"Gallows" Charles commanding attention with

his raucous outbursts.

Slapping a winning card hand on the table...

"That's a plus-seven," he bellowed. "Me and my

pot-ner triumph! Hell, that was easier than

smokin' that lil chump wearin' green shoe

strings in my 'hood! He had to go, and ya'll

gotta pay! That's "Gallows" truth!"

ELSEWHERE...

"MDIO-1 aced it!" Rushia Gerard shouted.

"Got a confession and photo ID. I will make

a house call tomorrow at The Bistro to gather

the package for the Metrobia County Sheriff,

along with digital evidence—and a scoop for

Metrobia Herald Editor Jerrold Goodfellows...

"I will sleep soundly tonight."

THE NEXT DAY, MONDAY, RUSHIA GERARD

initiated his action plan before sunrise,

messaging the same intel directly to both

the rookie Sheriff Muna and the Metrobia

Herald's veteran publisher Goodfellows.

Glancing at his watch, several hours expired

since he pushed the "send button" on his PC.

"Both men should have the message by now,

aware that an extraordinary event will befall

them soon—that a new breed of crime snuffer

will emerge in Metrobia to make the city a

safer more lawful place.

MEANWHILE ... at both Sheriff Muna's office and

the Metrobia Herald, similar energy was churning.

Muna read the note with interest, aware from

36 years in law enforcement that vigilantes would

from time-to-time rise with grandiose notions of

single-handedly circumventing crime. Muna was

very careful not to overreach as former Metrobia

Police Chief Renard C.P. Larks had done in the

1990s to Kurt Sliwall and his Guardian Angels,

when they voluntarily instituted patrols of

Metrobia's worst neighborhoods.

Instead, he assigned Undersheriff May Tardee

to follow-up and keep him posted.

At the Herald, Jarrold Goodfellows wasn't

about to pass on a potential scoop, unaware

if any other media had been apprised. He

assigned coverage of the story to long-time

reporter Doug Lincoln and the Herald's

star photojournalist Roddie Rashly. Their

task was to quickly get the story posted

online ahead of the competition.

LATER AT 7 P.M. MONDAY EVENING ...

The Bistro was teeming with activity, with the

entire Lime Street Gang present—as was the case

most nights during the week—engaged in table-top

gambling, billiards, attuned to sports on the big

screen or chowing down.

They hadn't noticed the sudden appearance of the

guest adorned in all black at the entrance to the

cafe—until he caught Gallows' eye.

"This ain't open to the public from 7 to 10 p.m.

—it's a private party," Gallows lied, something

he and his cohorts had been doing for a year to

maintain their exclusivity. The owner dare not

object and the gang kindly obliged him with $10k

per month to serve them food, and to use the

cafe as their private gang set for three hours on

weekdays and two additional hours to midnight

on the weekends and holidays.

The stranger held a red cube in his right clench,

trench coat collar turned up, and brim hat tilted

low over his brow so that his face was hardly

discernable. He also wore a black mask over his

mouth and nose, and didn't flinch.

"I said this is a private set, maan—why you still

standing there?" Gallows barked. That's when all

eyes turned on the stranger, who subsequently

tossed the red cube several feet above the gang,

hitting the ceiling and bursting profusely into a

red mist, quickly enveloping the entire cafe in

a rouge mist, rendering everyone instantly

unconscious, collapsing to the floor and

slumping where they sat.

Unfortunately, the cafe owner suffered the same

fate. But the stranger took special precaution to

turn off stove-top burners and ovens to prevent

a fire in the cafe.

"Never planned to remain here, Gallows," the stranger

said, after which he shackled the gang leader's hands

together with two indestructible plastic ties around a

circular steel pole in the center of The Bistro dining

area extending from the floor to the ceiling.

The stranger emerged from the cafe activating a device

within his trench coat that renders him hard to detect

during nightfall. He blended into the darkness not a

moment too soon.

Just then, four Metrobia Sheriff units pull up and one other

vehicle bearing a reporter and photographer from the Herald.

The time was 8 o'clock p.m.

JS: EP 2

EPISODE 2

By the Light of the Moon:

Justice in the 'Green Shoelaces' murder

WHAT KIND OF MUCK? ...

Sheriff Rob Muna didn't take part in interrogating

suspects or attending interrogations. But this one was

special involving the slaughter of a kid scarcely

past the growth spurts of puberty.

The indicted but yet unconvicted Rayvon Charles, aka "Gallows,"

was seated on a stool with hands bound behind his back.

"I just had to see for myself what kind of muck puts a .38

caliber slug into an unarmed kid over some damn green

shoestrings?" Muna said.

"I'm innocent. I AIN'T DONE WHAT I'M ACCUSED OF ...

THIS IS A RACIST SET-UP!" Charles snapped.

"Oh, we got our man! We have your confession on tape,

and a video of you mouthing the confession bragging

about your deed, Rayvon Charles, alias GALLOWS!"

Charles turned to Sheriff Muna in the low-light room.

"The Sheriff Department ain't piss—ya'll deputies ain't dog

piss! Some spook in all black crashed our party and somehow

drugged us," Charles complained. "Next thing I know, um in

the back of a police car! My homies laid it out for me!

That's got to be illegal!

"The evidence will stand up in court this week, where I'm

confident you will be found guilty and hopefully put away

for life in a Federal or State penitentiary!" Muna scowled.

"You won't be a guest here at Metrobia Central, long.

We're shipping you out, Charles!"

"W-h-a-t-e-v-e-r ... just another Black political

prisoner," Charles bemoaned.

MUNA GLARED AT CHARLES FOR AN EXTENDED MOMENT.

"Send this misfit back to his cell!"

LATER THAT WEEK AT A THURSDAY NEWS CONFERENCE

IN FRONT OF THE METROBIA COUNTY JAIL ...

Sheriff Muna stood at a podium joined by Undersheriff

May Tardee and other members of his brass. He revealed

a disconcerting expression to a bevy of reporters and

photojournalists assembled before him.

"I don't know how a newspaper managed to upstage me,"

Muna said, "but they did. Anyway ...

"I'M HERE TO ANNOUNCE THE SUSPECT THE SHERIFF

DEPARTMENT APPREHENDED AND BROUGHT TO JUSTICE,

WAS SENT TO STATE PRISON WEDNESDAY, CONVICTED

BY A JURY OF HIS PEERS ON 4 CRIMINAL COUNTS,

INCLUDING FIRST DEGREE MURDER IN THE

KILLING OF 12 YEAR-OLD ANDRAE TAY!"

A local activist interrupted the sheriff, holding a

newspaper above his head bearing the a banner—

"JONES STRANGER NABS 'GREEN SHOESTRINGS KILLER!'"

"Looks like there's a new sheriff in town," joked Ali Najae,

prompting members of the press to turn to him.

"Where did you get that?" a young White female journalist

from the mainstream Metrobia Examiner asked.

"I don't know—you'll have to ask them ... the story reads the

Stranger said his name was 'Jones'. I don't know. Interview

the editor—Jarrold Goodfellows," Najae chuckled.

JS: EP 3

EPISODE 3

MDIO-WB Keeps on Transmitting:

Slippin' Into Darkness

Early Friday morning, Rushia was on the computer checking

with MDIO-1 to listen in on the chatter at The Bistro. Gallows,

their leader was tucked away in the California Correctional

Institute at Carlsbad, but it was business as usual with the

gang set busy as normal in the proliferation, movement

and sale of illicit drugs in Southern California with the

Colombia-based Zorra Colombiano Cartel .

A red light flashed intermittently on the computer

screen. Rushia was eager to learn what intel the

robotic operative had gathered for him this time.

"MDIO-Water Bug has attained the following intel for

Agent Rushia Gerard by text messaging and audio:

First, the test message: 'Representatives of the

Lime Street Gang will meet with representatives

of Zorra Colombiano Cartel @ 1 a.m. Sunday next,

at the remote rear of the South Bay Airport for

the transfer of 1000 multi-colored plastic

vials, each containing 1,000 tablets of the

opioid fentanyl for a combined total

of 1 million tablets.'"

"Now the audio intel."

Rushia zeroed in on one of the Lime Street gang—

Caspar Robinson, aka "Boo," who assumed "No. 1 G"

in place of the deposed Gallows who was sentenced

to 90 years+ 10 years for each of the Andrae Tay's

12 years of life, without the possibility of parole.

Rushia Gerard turned up the volume on the PC.

"The meet and exchange of the package is set for

Sunday at 1 a.m.," Caspar confirmed aloud

to no one in particular.

"This one is extra SWEEET! Gonna make

bank on this one. Gotta do our due diligence.

Who said the American Dream ain't for us?

Believe that if you want sucka. Not me!

Turn up the jams—let's party!"

The Lime Street gangsters were completely

oblivious to MDIO-1 and its meticulous spy work.

It hadn't occurred to them the place might be

bugged. Rudy Smith, The Bistro's owner, had

his suspicions that the gang was being watched.

Rushia Gerard pushed back from the computer

screen, rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"There's a helleva haul coming in," he mused. "This may

be one of the biggest illicit movements of fentanyl in the

drug's history. Well, I'm gonna upset the apple cart.

"Uncle Sam is a chronic addict, and his lust for

mind-altering drugs is being fed at every turn. He's

desperate to escape the realities of life."

SUNDAY AT 9 P.M., SOUTH BAY AIRPORT

"All quiet at ground zero—a mite too quiet," the

stranger thought, sitting in his Black Cloud Koenigsegg

Jesko Absolut cloaked in near invisibility at the end of

the back street bordering the airport. "I'm indebted to

Army engineering for creating this cloaking mechanism

that enables me and the car to blend in the darkness ...

"Engenders the 70's soul classic, 'Slippin' Into Darkness,'"

by War," the stranger chuckles. "I inherited my dad's gold

LP collection. That jam soothed me a many days. But,

here I am now, slippin' in the darkness..."

Movement at the other end of the block snapped the

stranger out of his trance. He'd done his part. In position

and ready to close in once the cartel contacts appeared

with members of the Lime Street gang, were the sheriff

department, Drug Enforcement Agency, ATF, agents of

the FBI, and South Bay Police. They had positioned

themselves out of sight since the afternoon.

The stranger was only there to observe and mop up

any stray bad guys attempting to slip the trap. The

coalition had no inkling of his presence.

THE RENDEZVOUS

At 10 p.m. four vehicles—all dark-colored SUV's

turned onto the street and parked spaced apart

at the other end of the block. The stranger spied

them through night-vision goggles. Several men

occupied each vehicle. They did not exit the

vehicles immediately.

The stranger knew they were scanning the area

for anything appearing conspicuously out of place.

Unbeknownst to them, they had already given the

coalition justifiable cause to search them.

Four SUVs appearing roughly at the same time late

at night on a sparsely driven street was suspicion. The

stranger wondered what was holding the coalition back.

"I gather the drug dealers are content to wait as close

to the switching hour or until 1 a.m. to execute the

transfer, making sure of no encroachment," the

stranger surmised.

TWO HOURS ELAPSE ...

The stranger flashed the time on the dashboard.

The time was 12:30 a.m. There had not been any

movement from the occupants in the SUVs for

more than two hours since their arrival.

Then the stranger discovered why. Abruptly

appearing in the sky was a single helicopter

that didn't betray it presence. The stranger

spliced it all together.

"Obviously the other half of the party—

most likely the Zorra Colombiano Cartel

arriving in a stealth chopper."

The stranger watched the helo through his

night vision goggles touch down minus any lights

or noise. He readily recognized the craft.

"Hmmm ... heavily modified Sikorsky UH-60

Black Hawk helo, specifically to achieve several

goals: invisibility to radar, reduced infrared signature

minimizing the heat emitted by the engine exhaust,

and acoustic noise reduction," he thought. "The

cartel certainly has the money to buy such

crafts, no doubt through a third party."

It all became clear to the stranger.

"I understand now why the coalition didn't move in

when the SUVs first arrived. They had intel I didn't,

that the cartel would arrive separately by helo.

Kudos to them! he said.

The stranger watched 16 occupants vacate the

SUVs and enter an unlocked gate to the tarmac.

He knew someone at the airport had abetted

the drug exchange—clearing the helicopter

landing, and leaving the gate unlocked.

"I'm confident the coalition will tie-up all the

pieces in the caper," the stranger thought,

as he could see coalition members with guns

drawn, slowly moving in on and surrounding

the illicit drug merchants.

Then, in a July Fourth-esque explosion of flash

bang grenades, flashing red lights, wailing sirens

and a bullhorn blasting commands, the quietly

serene wee morn was transformed.

"STOP WHERE YOU ARE OR WE WILL SHOOT!"

LIE DOWN FACE TO THE GROUND—EXTEND

YOUR ARMS ON THE GROUND ABOVE YOUR HEADS!

"EXTENDER TUS BRAZOS EN EL SUELO POR ENCIMA

DE TUS CABEZAS!" a second command blared in Spanish.

Members of the coalition began handcuffing the drug

dealers, while others removed metallic cases containing

the contraband from the helo.

The operation was carried out without a hitch. Not

one shot was fired in the sting with a round-up

of 20 total suspects, and an estimated grab of

1 million fentanyl tablets.

The stranger was gratified by the outcome of the

operation. It was just one more evil deception

crushed into defeat.

BACK AT THE PAD FEELING TRIUMPHANT

Rushia Gerard knew that the South Bay Airport haul,

and the huge intercept augmented by The California National

Guard supported counter-drug operations of the seizure of more

than 1 million fentanyl pills at the California-Mexico border two

months ago—including more than 592,900 pills at the state's

ports of entry, didn't amount to a scratch in the big picture.

JS: EP 4

EPISODE 4

Morning Ritual:

Fitness to ocean sea breeze

Rushia Gerard's lair overlooks the Pacific Ocean, tucked

away amid the rugged embrace of terrain created by the

canyons and mountains throughout the Palisades. Panoramic

vistas prevail offering sweeping views of the ocean shoreline,

dramatic undeveloped scrub canyon and mountain landscapes.

Perfect seclusion for him and his alter ego.

Rushia took it upon himself to retreat to the rear—military

jargon of rest and relaxation from the front lines of criminal

interdiction in Metrobia and to throw-off law enforcement,

lest he provide insight of his clandestine movements.

The secluded property was formerly annexed by the Oxnard Air

Force Base, part of Air Defense Command in Camarillo, Calif., as

the residence for commanding officers of the 414th Fighter Group,

the last of whom was Col. Paul D. Cofer when the base was still active.

The installation, which was built in 1940, served the US military until

1970, and was home to the 354th and 437th Fighter Interceptor Squadrons.

The base fielded F101 Voodoo interceptors, which were replaced in 1960 by

17 new F-106 Delta Darts. The base was highlighted in US Air Force Training

Film "Nuclear Attack Preparedness Procedures: Survive to Fight."

On January 1, 1970, Oxnard AFB, which deployed 99 officers and 990

enlisted personnel before its closing, was deactivated and the base became

surplus property. Through a special arrangement with the US government

and the army, the five-thousand square foot property was purchased from

the US Air Force for a sum that remains undisclosed. The property also

included some high-tech modifications—an olive drab eight-foot

high metallic grill around the perimeter of the property, wired

with cameras and motion sensors that spied twenty-four

hours. The grill blended with the soil and rugged scrub

brush from the air, and included an access gate

for the Absolut that opened and closed on

voice command from inside the vehicle.

The property also included a heli-pad for stealth choppers that

was camouflaged from the air. The craft were able to detect

the landing pad in darkness and light by onboard

sensors and receptors embedded in the pad.

Fortunately, Ret-Col. Rushia Gerard was authorized

with the unrestricted use of the compound.

HOT MORNING JOE AT THE CONTROLS

Rushia Gerard rolled out of the sack at 8 a.m., Saturday morning. Peering

through his bedroom window, which overlooked the ocean, balmy, grey overcast

skies filled the canvas. Through an open screen, a restless wind was adrift,

complementing ocean waves crashing the rocky seashore 300 yards away.

It was symphonic to Rushia's ears.

Rushia slid cocoa blinds to one side, opened the sliding window all the

way, and deeply inhaled the sea breeze that wafted in.

"I just love the smell of fresh ocean air in the morn," he exclaimed,

parting a thick tan cotton bathrobe to allow the breeze to envelop his

muscular dark-skinned six-foot frame.

When it gets warmer in the summer, I won't be wearing these skivvies to

bed, Rushia said walking back to his PC. Slurping his brew quickened

him to a daily ritual he had overlooked.

"Maan, I got calisthenics to do!"

Rushia burst into a rendition of Robert Preston's morning exercise

theme song, "Chicken Fat" ...

"PUSHUPS EVERY MORNING, TEN TIMES STARTING LOWWWW, GO AWAY

CHICKEN FAT, GOOO AWAAAY, GOOO AWAY CHICKEN FAT GOOOO! ...

Rushia Gerard turned on a music tape of Preston's "Chicken Fat," as he

has done for 30 years on active duty to keep his physique taut, firm, and

ready for any physical challenge that might present itself on the dark, cold

streets of Metrobia—following the song's commands for multiple sets

of push-ups, sit-ups, deep knee-bends, body, arm, and neck twirls;

jumping jacks, running in place, bicycles, and a variety of martial

arts techniques, including straight punches, knife hands, spear

thrusts, knee and elbow strikes, front, side-thrust, back, and

spinning back kicks; and blocks.

Following 30 minutes of exercise, Rushia entered his spacious

bathroom—an exquisite work of craftmanship featuring marble face

bowl and drawers with pearl handles, and a huge 6x10 foot bevel crystal

glass mirror ringed with miniature one-hundred-watt light bulbs,

a silver-plated toilet, and a padded oak bench with footrest. To

one end of the bathroom was a steam room with two levels of

red wood bench seating, room enough for a dozen persons.

But the defining features of the bathroom were its step-down bathtub

and jacuzzi with twelve jet nozzles, and a large rustic slate & quartzite

shower bearing multiple copper fixtures for convenience and pamper.

This was the ultimate shower for the alpha male or female built to

accommodate two in sheer luxury.

But for now, it was the sole haven of Rushia Gerard.

He had grown to appreciate the finer luxuries of life as a reward of

sacrifice, hard work, and preparation.

Stepping out of the shower, spot-drying his chiseled black body

with a soft, oversized white towel, Rushia harbored special

praise for his benefactor:

"Thank you, Lord for all this you've blessed me with.

I am truly humbled."

JS: EP 5

EPISODE 5

Backstory:

Intensity of Criminal Turpitude

First Lt. Rushia Gerard's military career was shining brighter than the north star

very early soon after matriculation at the Virginia Military Institute, where

he graduated at the top of his class of 600 cadets.

Only 23 years old and two years removed from college, Rushia was already

totally immersed in military intelligence norms at the Central Intelligence

Agency, where he had been highly sought bearing a high-level recommendation

by the then Forty-second President Greg H.W. Bosch. Cadet Rushia

had maintained the highest scholastic standards, earning a

baccalaureate degree in Global Military Intelligence,

compounding a perfect 4.0 GPA.

Additionally, he successfully completed ROTC Advanced Camp at Fort Knox, KY,

was designated as a "Distinguished Military Graduate" by the Professor of Military

Science there, and ultimately ranked in the top 1 percent of United States

Army ROTC Cadets nationwide in 1999.

Lt. Gerard's life and career was surrounded by family luminaries. His wife,

Second Lt. Jeanine Gerard, in service to the US military, as well, was a army communications officer at the Pentagon in Arlington, VA at the time. Her

father, Ret.-Gen. Zachary Otis taught "History of Warfare" at West Point,

following retirement from active duty where he commanded the all-Black

92nd Infantry Division in Sommocolonia, Italy. Of the 909,000 Black

Americans selected for duty in the Army during World War II, only

the 92nd Division saw infantry combat in Europe.

Rounding out Rushia's circle of luminaries was his mother-in-law

Maybelle Otis, a retired professor of African history at

Spelman College in Atlanta, GA for twenty years.

Lt. Jeanine had arranged for her parents to be part of a special media

tour of the Pentagon on Sept. 11. 2001. Lt. Rushia was scheduled as a guest

of the tour delegation but was forced to cancel a week earlier after

CIA operatives in the Middle East uncovered a plot by Islamic

terrorists to attack targets in America in September.

The plot involving the US proved prophetic. The glimmer radiating

around Lt. Rushia Gerard was shattered on Sept. 11, 2001, when Islamic

jihadists hijacked American Airlines Flight 77, deliberately crashing into

the West Wall of the Pentagon killing 189 — 58 passengers, 125

Pentagon personnel, including 6 hijackers. Lt. Rushia's wife,

motherand father in-laws perished in the attack.

Ironically, the 9/11 tragedy could have been averted had the

CIA been able to clearly decipher its findings one week earlier.

The plot involving a team of suicidal al-Qaeda operatives crumbled

the World Trade Center when American Airlines Flight 11, and UA

Flight 175 plowed into the skyscrapers at 600 mph, with a

fourth plane crashing in a field in Pennsylvania at 10:03

a.m. after passengers fought back. Intel surmised the

hijackers planned to attack the Capitol Building

in Washington DC.

The CIA quickly learned American Airlines Flight 77 was a scheduled

domestic transcontinental passenger flight from Dulles International

Airport in Northern Virginia to Los Angeles International Airport in

Los Angeles. The Boeing 757-223 aircraft serving the flight was

taken by five al-Qaeda terrorists on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001,

as part of the Sept. 11 attacks.

Flight 77 became airborne at 08:20 ET. Thirty-one minutes after takeoff, the

attackers stormed the cockpit and forced the passengers and crew to the

rear of the cabin, threatening the hostages but initially sparing all of them.

Lead hijacker Hani Hanjour assumed control of the aircraft after having

undergone extensive flight training as part of his preparation for the attack.

In the meantime, two people aboard discreetly made phone calls to family

members and relayed information on the situation without the

knowledge of their assailants.

Hanjour flew the airplane into the west side of the Pentagon at 09:37.

Many people witnessed the impact, and news sources began reporting on

the incident within minutes, The Boeing 757 severely damaged an area of

the Pentagon and caused large fire that took several days to extinguish.

By 10:10, the damage inflicted by the plane and ignited jet fuel led to a

localized collapse of the Pentagon's western flank, followed forty

minutes later by another five stories of the structure.

Flight 77 was the third of four passenger jets commandeered by

terrorists that morning, and the last to reach a target intended by

al-Qaeda. The hijacking was to be coordinated with that of UA 93,

which was flown toward the US capital in Washington, D.C., The

terrorists on Flight 93 had their sights set on a federal target

not far from the Pentagon, but were forced to crash the

plane in a Pennsylvania meadow when the passengers

fought for control after being alerted to the previous

suicide attacks, including Flight 77's.

Lt. Rushia Gerard conducted himself becoming of a professional

soldier and intelligence officer, even though he was under great

duress over his loved ones in harm's way.

That became the impetus for him to devote a solo career to fight

a blitzkrieg against criminal malfeasance in Metrobia,

and wherever he encountered it.

JS: EP 6

EPISODE 6

City of South-East Metrobia

SE METROBIA

South-East Metrobia is a city of 98,000 in Metrobia County, populated

primarily by Blacks and Latins. Blacks retain a strong grip on political

power, even though out-numbered three-to-one. But accounting for

the heavy numbers of Latins are undocumented persons, who have

not gone unnoticed by the US Citizenship and Immigration

Services, US Immigration and Customs Enforcement

and the Metrobia County Sheriff's Department.

While the three agencies are keeping a watchful eye on the

undocumented populace, Rushia Gerard has developed a keen

interest in South-East Metrobia due to credible intelligence

that the city, which is patrolled under contract by the

Metrobia County Sheriff's Department may harbor an

illegal deputy gang called Executioners, an outlaw

group mired in racism and lawlessness.

Sheriff Rob Muna denies the existence of the Executioners, but

US Congressional Representative Roxanne Rivers called for a

Department of Justice inquiry into the existence of the gang.

COURTESY VISIT TO SOUTH-EAST METROBIA

Up at 6 a.m., Rushia Gerard worked out for an hour,

showered, consumed a breakfast of hot oatmeal, sliced

apples, scrambled eggs and sausage and freshly

squeezed orange juice, before plotting a

strategy of action for SE Metrobia.

"South-East Metrobia is not a town I have had much

interest in," Rushia thought. "The confusion there is

untenable. A couple mayors have exacerbated the

undue tension that roils daily—namely twice-

elected Chyna White, and now Irma Shareed.

But that's politics—not my baliwick!"

RUSHIA TAKES A SEAT AT THE BREAKFAST

NOOK TO SIP A CUP OF HOT MOCHA

"My interest is the existence of the Executioners,

who need to be eradicated, if they do indeed operate

there, and to a lesser extent—for now anyway—intel

that indicates truckers in 18-wheeler semi's may

periodically roll into South-East Metrobia at

the airport in the wee hours off-loading

illicit drugs and guns."

The time was now 9 a.m. Rushia knew the drive time

from Oxnard to South-East Metrobia was going to

consume more than ninety minutes and could

take longer if morning traffic persisted.

"Okay—will be deploying two MDI0 agents—at

the South-East Metrobia sheriff's sub-station, and

the airport traffic control tower," Rushia said,

recording the message into his cellphone.

"Time to go!"

Rushia entered the garage attached to the house,

where his black Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut and white

Range Rover SV Carmel were parked.

Entering the Range Rover, he turned on the ignition,

then activated the system-wide security system to the

compound, which wouldn't go hot until the vehicle

passed the gate. He glanced quickly about, then

proceeded ahead to the main gate, which

opened and shut automatically.

Rushia drove slowly another half mile along a gravel road

before it became Occidental Drive, which ensued for another

quarter mile before arriving at Interstate 101 at a stop

sign. Rushia looked left, then turned right onto I-101,

quickly accelerating to high speed.

Traffic was light on a beautiful sunny morning, amid a

cloudless powder blue sky. Rushia embedded ear plugs and

turned the radio dial to his favorite Christian talk radio

station—KKLA 99.5 FM, where programming included

progressive talk, Bible teaching, news, and

contemporary Gospel music.

"Lord, what good Word do you have for me today?"

Rushia invited. "Lord, I accept all the wisdom you want

to impart to me as I undertake this mission today.

Oh gentle Savior, cover me with your protection

as I enter the stronghold of the enemy. I am

declaring the victory in your precious

holy name, Jesus—Amen.

JS: EP 7

EPISODE 7

Operatives MDI0

Waterbug and Dragonfly

The succession of KKLA-FM radio talk programming and praise music

was so relaxing to Rushia Gerard, and the Carmel Range Rover such a

smooth ride, fifty-five minutes driving time felt much shorter to him.

Encountering very light traffic, Rushia was already transitioning from

the 101 South to the 405 East flying past Westwood and UCLA.

South-East Metrobia was only thirty-five minutes away now.

Rushia thought the time was appropriate to brief his tiny

operatives on their mission. A digital app embedded in his

vehicles allowed him to speak to his robotic cohorts to plot

intelligence strategies against an enemy or target—in

this case the S.E. Metrobia Sheriff's station, and

the airport traffic control tower.

The communication was one-way—from Rushia to

the MDI0s. This generation of robotic units weren't

engineered to exchange discourse; but merely to

absorb strategic planning. Rushia was only able to

input to one at a time.

He turned off the radio.

"MDI0 Waterbug, Come Alive!" Rushia commanded.

The units were in a wooden enclosure in the

vehicle console. MDIO Waterbug acknowledged the

transmission, emitting a pulsating red aura in its

abdomen, and its antennae moved circularly.

Rushia noticed traffic was slowing after he exchanged to

the 10 Freeway from the 405 near Western Avenue. He

also peeped a California Highway Patrol motorcycle

officer through his left sideview mirror, twenty feet to

his rear shadowing and watching him.

"This guy's got his eye on me. But why? I'm moving

with the flow of traffic ... must be 'DRIVING IN AN

EXPENSIVE CAR WHILE BLACK!'

"MDIO Waterbug—Stand By/Stand Down!"

Rushia ordered.

MDI0 ceased to pulsate immediately. No sooner

did he order it to "go dark," did the CHP officer

flash his blue and red lights and blip Rushia to

pull over. Rushia was in the third of six lanes and

the officer stalled traffic in the first and second lanes

permitting him to pull over to the right shoulder.

Rushia's driver's license and registration were in

the console preventing any unnecessary movement.

He watched the officer through his side view mirror

slowly approach him, then he pressed the button

lowering the driver's side window.

"Driver's license and registration, please!" the

officer asked politely.

"Sure, officer," Rushia acknowledged without malice,

grabbing his registration and wallet from which he secured

his license, handing them to the officer. He was burly

more than six-foot.

"Sit tight. I'll be back shortly ... ."

Rushia watched the officer walk back to his cycle

and call his information in.

"He's checking to determine if the Carmel's stolen,"

Rushia thought, jotting down the officer's badge

number and name on a notepad. "CHP 6856.

His name tag read 'T. Cox.'"

In less than five minutes the officer returned

the items to Rushia Gerard.

"Retired army colonel, eh? I served two army

tours in Afghanistan," the CHiP officer said.

Rushia Gerard was not impressed.

"Just wanted to peek the car, Officer Cox?" he deadpanned.

"No sir. Standard procedure for extremely expensive

vehicles," the officer responded.

"More like an unwarranted stop to me... ."

The officer grinned wryly.

"Have a pleasant day, colonel," he said walking back to his cycle.

Rushia didn't start the ignition right away. The CHP officer

motioned for him to enter traffic while he stalled oncoming traffic.

But Rushia sat there. He didn't have to move.

The officer doused his flashing lights and finally sped away.

Rushia started the ignition, signaled left and entered

traffic, which was flowing freely.

"MDIO Waterbug, Come Alive!"

MDI0 WB was pulsating luminous red at once and

twitching its antennae.

Moments later Rushia Gerard was transitioning

to the 110 Freeway South from I-10

"MDI0 Waterbug, Notate! S.E. Metrobia Sheriff Station

is your target for intel. Upon arrival seek cover, avoid

identification and capture. Seek photo and audio intel

of the presence of Executioner deputy gang. Over!"

MDI0 WB then went dark.

"MDIO Dragonfly, Come Alive!" Rushia commanded.

MDI0's sheer wings pulsated luminous blue.

"MDI0 Dragonfly, Notate! The S.E. Metrobia Airport

Air Traffic Control Tower is your target for intel of any

suspicious activity. Gather photo and audio intel by

aerial means; avoid identification and capture.

Zero in on the suspected presence of gun-running

and illicit drug trafficking by small single and double

engine aircraft, helicopter, 18-wheeler semi trucks

or any other vehicular means parking on streets and

in lots parallel and adjacent to the airport. Over!"

MDIO Dragonfly then went dark.

A few minutes later Rushia Gerard exited the

Harbor Freeway at Alondra Boulevard. Towering in

the distance was the S.E. Metrobia Superior

Court Building situated downtown.

The sheriff's station was in the same complex.

The airport was a mile due West.

Rushia arrived at the S.E. Metrobia Airport first.

Exiting his vehicle, he gingerly gathered and cradled

MDI0 Dragonfly in his right palm, raised his arm

high, and the robotic spy fluttered into the air

toward the air traffic control tower, where it

would launch its covert operation.

"Now onto the sheriff's station," Rushia muttered,

Re-entering his vehicle, the crimefighter drove three

minutes to Willowbrook Avenue, where he turned right

and parked directly in front of the mid-sized station,

next door to City Hall and Council Chambers,

and where the mayor's and council offices

were located.

Before he exited the car, Rushia placed MDI0

Waterbug in the right pocket of his sweater.

Walking up a slight metal-railed incline, Rushia gently

took MDI0 WB from his coat pocket, releasing it behind

him outside the entrance to the station to avoid video

detection by digital cameras, which may or may not be

concealed. MDI0 WB was going to have to use its

ingenuity to gain entry into the station.

Rushia was surprised to find the waiting area of the

sheriff's station so austere and uninviting. The first

thing that caught his attention was a help counter

shielded by thick bullet proof plexi-glass, which

spanned the width of the public area.

Rushia approached the lone deputy at the counter.

"I'd like to know when Capt. Jon Bonhart will host

his next 'Coffee With the Captain'—I'd like to

attend," Rushia Gerard pretended.

"Those coffee klatches meeting times change all

the time, sir. You'd do better checking the website

at www.se.metrobiasheriff.com for updates.

That's my best advice," the deputy said.

"Okay, thanks deputy. Much obliged."

Exiting the sheriff's station, Rushia exhaled. This was the

town he grew up in, matriculating at Franken Roosevelt

Junior High, and Manuela Domingo High School where

he ranked third academically in his graduating class.

Rushia Gerard was an only child born to Jay and

Charlotte Gerard. His parents succumbed in their

early sixties to natural causes ironically days apart

while Rushia was away preparing for military

service at the Virginia Military Institute.

The interment and double funeral he was granted

special leave by the army to arrange, had been the

saddest time of his life. Months later he was tasked

with having to arrange the sale of the home he'd

grown up in, to a young Latino family.

Rushia contemplated driving to his old home

at 1528 S. California Ave. for nostalgia reasons,

but he turned back after driving onto Greenleaf

Avenue, which intersected with his old street.

He loved his mom and dad and was content to

tuck them away amid his fondest memories

of them in his heart, soul and spirit.

"This town is not the same place I once knew.

It's a stronghold of vice now. But mission accomplished

today. Better be getting back to Oxnard. I'll do more

to interdict the vice here that has ruined a once very

nice middle class enclave.

"But I will be back to help lift up this town, eradicating

the dark virulent shadows that have seized

S.E. Metrobia," Rushia promised.

JS: EP 8

EPISODE 8

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

US Army Intelligence and

Security COMMAND

Rushia Gerard was thankful the return trip to his Oxnard compound was much faster than the drive to S.E. Metrobia minus the traffic. Back at his computer, he ran a quick assessment of MDI0's Waterbug and Dragonfly. He was pleased to learn that Waterbug

had successfully infiltrated the sheriff's sub-station, and Dragonfly was perched atop the air traffic Control Tower awaiting nightfall to probe the tower, airport and corresponding activity.

MESSAGE FROM FORT BELVOIR

Rushia also noticed a message from intelligence headquarters at Fort Belvoir.

Fort Belvoir, VA, the United States Army Intelligence and Security Command

(INSCOM), is a direct reporting unit that conducts intelligence, security and

information operations for US Army commanders and partners in the

Intelligence Community, and national decision-makers.

Ret.-Col. Rushia Gerard owes all of his intelligence capability to INSCOM.

A gifted intelligence officer when he was on active duty, primarily keeping track

of the globe's tyrannical terrorist strata in the Middle East, the army's powerful intelligence component have now provided Rushia with the power and apparatus to interdict the criminal strongholds in Metrobia, the drug cartel intrusion, political/

police corruption, and other facets of criminal malfeasance that may manifest.

LOGISTICS SUPPORT FOR RUSHIA GERARD

Rushia hastily received a message from the Sierra Army Depot, a strategic

component of his crime fighting network, providing critical logistics support

including compound maintenance, vehicle mechanics, fuel, clothing, food

and water, and toiletries. The periodic visit also provided medical exams

to assure he was in top health. Rushia looked forward to her calls.

"Hello Maj. Smith, how's my favorite 'Gingerbread,'" Rushia teased

audibly, referring to commanding logistics officer, Maj. Ginger Smith.

Maj. Smith is based at Fort Belvoir but rendezvous' with the Sierra Army

Depot to join with key personnel and gather supplies, including gas and oil

for his vehicles, which were always topped off, and the surplus left behind.

The major attained a medical degree from the University of Chicago. After a

one-year residency, Smith was admitted into the University of Chicago Medicine physicians a University of Chicago Physicians Group, which includes about 900 physicians and covers the full array of medical and surgical specialties. The

physicians are faculty members of the Pritzker School of Medicine.

Smith was already enrolled in Reserved Officer Training Corps when

she entered UChicago Medical School. She had a duty to serve, and

and always knew the right time would converge, preparing her for

interdisciplinary thought leadership to lead within the military.

Maj. Dr. Smith had a lot crammed into that brain of hers, but

no one could determine that by looking at her calm, youthful

demeanor. At thirty-nine, she looked ten years younger.

Her appearance was probably due to an ever-present smile.

"I'm doing fantastic, Col. Gerard. I trust you are as well?"

"I absolutely am. This operation couldn't be smoother."

"I'll have to take your word for it on a number of things

due to the classified nature of them," Maj. Smith resigned.

"We will look at the high performance Koenigsegg Jesko

Absolut—that's one of the tasks."

"The Koenigsegg is out of this world—just a fantastic machine.

And the cutting-edge enhancements are incredible," Rushia said.

"We've got a lot to go over when we get there, colonel.

High priority, at the least, anyway," Maj. Smith said.

JS: EP 9

EPISODE 9

CHP Unwarranted Stop

Rushia did not forget about the CHP motocycle officer that ordered an

unwarranted stop on him, and the deliberate lie he spoke about certain

expensive vehicles being subject to law enforcement stops. A high-level Army

intelligence officer, he knew everything there was to know about global

terrorism, domestic terrorism, and US law enforcement agencies

operating outside of the purview of the law.

Now he was going to file a complaint with the US Justice Department,

California Highway Patrol, California Attorney General, and Metrobia

District Attorney to impart a lesson to CHP Officer T. Cox.

And he had direct access to the top personnel due to his stature

in the global US and allied intelligence community.

Rushia was going to present himself as a solo victim of

an unwarranted stop because he knew police, deputies,

and state patrol officers did not maintain official records

for unwarranted vehicle stops as a standard procedure.

But he possessed the intel to prove what occurred

to him may befall Black and Latino motorists

routinely on a national basis.

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON

Rushia presented as "Ret.-Col. Rushia Gerard of Army

Intelligence, because he knew there would be no mistake

who he was. The respect was high-level. No major metro

police chief, county sheriff, federal marshal or state

highway patrol officer didn't know who he was or

his stature in the intelligence field.

He initially sent emails to each agency's boss at

the US Justice Department, California Highway Patrol,

California Attorney General, and Metrobia District Attorney.

But now they were returning his call.

One call zinged his office land line, and another rang

on the second of four lines, going directly to voice mail.

"Hello, Col. Rushia Gerard," he answered.

"Good afternoon, Col. Gerard! Delighted to hear from you,"

CHP Commissioner Shaun Dury said.

"Good day Commissioner Dury. I'll get right to the point.

I sent an email earlier to apprise you of an unwarranted

traffic stop regarding me, that I documented from the

beginning to the end I hope you might investigate."

"Yes, Col. Gerard. I read the message, and I must say,

I'm disturbed. The department is on top of this and

probing Officer Cox's actions," Dury said.

"The Commissioner of the CHP is responsible for one of the largest

law enforcement agencies in the nation," Dury explained. "With more

than 11,000 employees and 100 offices, the CHP is responsible for

more than just patrolling the more than one million miles of road.

"It also serves in protecting California citizens and visitors against

terrorism, computer theft, and is responsible for emergency response,

anywhere in the state. By land, sea, and air, the CHP is there to provide

the highest level of Safety, Service, and Security," Dury added.

"I hold the CHP in the highest regard," Commissioner, Col. Rushia

said. "That's why your officers must harbor a sense of discipline and

the highest professional conduct. It must always be the honor

system—you never know when someone's watching."

"Sir, the CHP will investigate, and submit a report

to you. We will not tolerate a rogue patrol policy

that is not CHP policy."

"Thank you, Commissioner Dury. Much obliged,"

Col. Gerard ended.

Rushia saw that the second call originated from the

California Attorney General. The AG Walt B. Csonka left a

message for him to call back ASAP at (916) 210-6276,

extension 711.

Rushia dialed the number. Surprisingly, it was picked up

on the first ring. It was AG Walter B. Csonka.

"Greetings, my friend Col. Gerard. How are you dear Sir?"

"I'm doing great, optimistic," Attorney General Csonka,"

Col. Gerard professed.

"I was hoping you'd call back before I had to leave for

a news conference, which I'm due for in ten minutes,"

Csonka said. "Colonel, I want you to understand, I will

pressure the CHP to discipline the motorcycle officer for

his unlawful activity. Errant law enforcement cannot

be tolerated. My office will not stand for it."

"I'm thankful for your concern," Attorney General. "I'm

concerned whenever crime happens — at the hands of

criminals in the street or at the hands of lawmen and

lawwomen that masquerade bearing a badge or shield."

The time was five-thirty five p.m. Rushia was pleased

that fifty percent of the powerful men that headed the

agencies he petitioned, reached back to him promptly.

Given they were as critically busy as they were, it could

have required several days for a response. It demonstrated

the gravity of importance attached to Col. Rushia Gerard,

and what his skills meant to national security.

Rushia was content to wait until the Metrobia District

Attorney or the US Justice Department responded by letter

or phone, when the phone rang a third time at five-fifty five p.m.

Rushia Gerard was mildly surprised.

"Col. Gerard!" he said tersely.

"Absolutely, Col. Gerard! How are you this day?"

greeted Metrobia County DA Joseph Newfield.

Like the others, the district attorney had sat through

a number of Army intelligence briefings by Col. Gerard

on the possibility of domestic terrorist assaults

on home soil, especially in the wake of 911.

"You know I'm not one to complain, Joseph. It

never worked in the Army. It will not work now.

You know that ol' buddy!'

"How well I know, Rushia. Well, how are you getting

about. As for me, I recently won a second term to

to the District Attorney's office."

"I'm working on some minor projects that keep me

consumed — keeps my noggin alert," Rushia said.

"Nothing momentous like your work bringing charges

against criminals, indicting them, ultimately

convicting them in a court of law, sending

them to state or federal prison."

"I've been in meetings the day long, Rushia," Newfield

said. "Unfortunately, I was only able to read your

very important letter a few moments ago."

"I appreciate that, Joseph."

"Obviously, I don't have any jurisdiction over the

California Highway Patrol as Metrobia DA," Newfield

said, "but I'm a good friend of CHP Commissioner

Shaun Dury, and I'm going to lean on him to brand

Officer Cox — not terminate him, but hand him

the full letter of the law for that traffic stop."

"I'm gratified, Joseph,"

Rushia thanked his long-time friend and Iran War veteran.

"My comrade you're one of the top soldiers

the United States Army ever produced. You're

one of our distinguished and noble. What our

nation owes you is an incalculable debt."

"It sounds like a cliche ... freedom come

at a high price, Joseph. But that is

exactly what America requires."

"It certainly does, Rushia. Good night."

"Good night, Joseph."

Rushia Gerard revealed a slight smile, folded

his arms and eased back in his recliner.

"Three out of four ain't bad," he exhaled.

JS: EP 10

EPISODE 10

Another Shadow

Descends On the Street

Rushia Gerard knew tonight's mission cracking down on a major movement

was going to be special. It was going to coincide with a smuggling operation in California, Arizona and Mexico, integrating a network involving Gov. Gabe Oldsom, doubling the California National Guard’s Counter Drug Taskforce operations

statewide, including 400 service members at ports of entry along the

borders of Arizona and Mexico.

Embedded in cross-government initiatives to combat transnational criminal organizations and the trafficking of illegal narcotics—like fentanyl—these

Taskforce have been hired, trained, and placed at key locations statewide.

Specifically, the Taskforce focuses on gathering information to interdict

illegal narcotics trafficking, utilizing air and ground assets to build criminal investigations, and supporting personnel at border ports of entry to stop

illegal narcotics trafficking.

Earlier this year, Gov. Oldsom announced CalGuard operations supported

the seizure of 5.8 million pills containing fentanyl this year alone. Last year, the governor increased the number of CalGuard service members deployed to interdict drugs at US ports of entry along the border by approximately 50 percent.

The operations CalGuard supported resulted in the record seizure of 62,224

pounds of fentanyl in 2023—a 1066 percent increase since 2021. CalGuard’s coordinated drug interdiction efforts in the state are funded in part by California’s

$30 million investment to expand CalGuard’s work to prevent drug trafficking

by transnational criminal organizations.

While the taskforce will attempt to interdict the Zorro Colombiana Cartel,

Rushia and his alter-ego will launch a surgical strike on the cartel and a new mysterious individual, who intelligence has identified as someone of considerable finances wo operates with the realm of voodoo and black magic. Intel wants

to disrupt the rapidly-developing ties between the entities before they

forge an iron grip on the Southland and all of California.

Rushia was mired in deep thought, looking ahead to tonight.

"The one thing I know ... a majority of fentanyl is smuggled into the US

at ports of entry by US citizens, not by migrants seeking asylum, according

to the Department of Homeland Security. They've got a bad rap!

They're not all drug dealers and bad people," he mused.

"And thank God, Gov. Oldsom's staff and the California Department of health

are aware that synthetic opioids like fentanyl cause 70 percent of overdose

deaths. Californians can get help for prevention and treatment, and on

how California is working to hold Big Pharma and drug-traffickers

accountable in this crisis," Rushia said.

Rushia cued up his mini recorder to document the state of affairs ...

"The state is now set to purchase life-saving naloxone for approximately half

of the current market price—saving more lives with this drug and maximizing

taxpayer dollars ... the governor’s Master Plan for Tackling the Fentanyl and

Opioid Crisis addresses the opioid and fentanyl crisis, including through

aggressive steps to support overdose prevention efforts, hold the opioid

pharmaceutical industry accountable, crack down on drug trafficking,

and raise awareness about the dangers of opioids, including fentanyl."

"That's a rap! The FBI, DEA, ATF, and Sheriff Department have all

been notified," Rushia said. "NOW HURRY SUNDOWN!"

JS: EP 11

EPISODE 11

The Axis: Cartel, China

and the Voodoo Priestess

Rushia Gerard eased back into a soft, velvet chaise lounge in his den,

accompanied by a hot cup of green tea and lemon, to read the latest Army

intelligence report on the nation's fentanyl street drug crisis.

With upwards of 110,000 drug overdose deaths every year in the US,

Rushia knew a major challenge was laid before him. It was going to require

every scintilla of moxie he'd learned in his military intel career to wrestle

the fentanyl beast to the ground — not subdue it, just pin it down.

The virulent drug is at the heart of the US overdose epidemic

Fentanyl has become a major nemesis in the ongoing law enforcement

effort against street drugs. Rushia was privy to Army intelligence's

latest report described the investigation as a bi-partisan campaign.

FENTANYL THREAT:

ORIGINS, THREAT ASSESSMENT

Introduction

Fentanyl is a highly potent synthetic piperidine opioid primarily used as an

analgesic. It is twenty to forty times more potent than heroin and one-hundred

times more potent than morphine; its primary clinical utility is in pain management

for cancer patients and those recovering from painful surgeries. Fentanyl is also

used as a sedative. Depending on the method of delivery, fentanyl can be very

fast acting, and ingesting a relatively small quantity can cause overdose.

Fentanyl works by activating u-opioid receptors.

It is sold under the brand names Actiq, Duragesic and Sublimaze.

Pharmaceutical fentanyl's adverse effects are identical to those of other

narcotic opioids, including addiction, confusion, respiratory depression,

drowsiness, nausea, visual disturbances, dyskinesia, hallucinations, delirium,

a subset of the latter known as "narcotic delirium," narcotic ileus, muscle

rigidity, constipation, loss of consciousness, hypotension, coma, and death.

Alcohol and other drugs can synergistically exacerbate fentanyl's side effects. Naloxone or Narcan can reverse the effects of an opioid

overdose but because fentanyl is so potent multiple

doses might be necessary.

CHINA CONTINUES TO SUPPORT FENTANYL PRODUCTION

The Army report underscored how pervasive the effort is by

dark global forces to maintain an iron financial grip of America's

chronic dependence of the deadly opioid.

While President Josephus Biding has been working with China's President

Ginping Zi to curtail shipments of chemicals from China used to make fentanyl,

investigators for a US House committee released a report detailing what they

describe as new evidence the Chinese government is continuing to "directly"

subsidize "the manufacturing and export of illicit fentanyl."

"Our intel says Chinese officials encourage production of precursor chemicals

by giving 'monetary grants and awards to companies openly trafficking illicit

fentanyl materials' ... specifically, researchers found companies making fentanyl

precursors and analogues could apply for state tax rebates and other financial

benefits after exporting the product," Rushia mused.

"That's a damn shame America has stooped this low! Street fentanyl

has driven a devastating surge in fatal overdoses, killing tens of

thousands of Americans every year!" Rushia blurted to no one.

"The Biding administration and drug policy experts say China is the primary

source of precursor chemicals used by the Colombiana Cartel, Mexican drug

gangs, and a sinister new Los Angeles cohort—a mysterious cultist called the

Voodoo Priestess—to manufacture and expedite the powerful street opioid.

Reading the expansive report with keen interest, Rushia found it hard

to part with the threat assessment.

"Last November, the Biding Administration said their counterparts

in China promised to crack down on the illicit fentanyl industry," Rushia

thought. "President Biding said—'We're taking action to significantly

reduce the flow of precursor chemicals and pill presses from China to

the Western hemisphere' following a summit with President Zi."

"But five months after that announcement, a report produced by a bipartisan

team with the US House Select Committee on the Chinese Communist Party,

found the tax rebates and other incentives appear to still be in place—

"I'LL BE A MONKEY'S UNCLE! WHO'S THE FOOL HERE? ...

Rushia Gerard shouted.

China's role in fentanyl production was previously documented. Many of

the findings were known previously among drug policy experts. They appear

to confirm reports the Chinese government is aiding production and

export of fentanyl-related substances, Rushia concluded.

"It's all adding up. An NPR investigation in 2020 found that a web of

Chinese companies were openly marketing fentanyl precursors,

selling them to clients in Mexico and the US," he thought.

"Hmmm, this report has many interesting disclosures ... despite US

diplomatic efforts to stem the production of precursors, China has

done little to enforce global and domestic laws banning fentanyl

production," Rushia muttered.

"According to the House report, Chinese officials appear to have taken

steps to conceal financial incentives linked to fentanyl, but failed to end

them. One of the investigators told reporters it was clear, companies

contributed directly to the overdose crisis by leveraging gains

through China's complex bureaucracy.

"We must impose on this crisis," Rushia thought. "It has helped Chinese

Communist Party-linked organized criminal groups become the world's

premier money launderers, enriching the Chinese chemical industry,

with a devastating impact on Americans."

Rushia looked pensively out of the large living room plate glass

window, thinking to himself ...

"I'm eager to hear testimony about China's illicit fentanyl trafficking

from former US Attorney General William Bard and Roy Donnely, a

former Drug Enforcement Administration official.

"And this mysterious Voodoo Priestess ... who is she, what's her

role? I guess I'll find out soon enough ... as soon as tonight!"

JS: EP 12

EPISODE 12

A RECKONING WITH

BLACK MAGIC

Day was soon blending to dusk along the gentle Pacific coast. Cars beamed

bright headlights along I-101, and cosmic bodies beyond

shimmered in crystal clarity.

Rushia knew it was close to the time to make another multi-agency fentanyl

raid, and to confront the bizarre Voodoo Priestess who was playing a

strategic role in the synthetic drug's scourge of the nation.

The time was now ten fifteen p.m.

Rushia sat to his computer to activate the compound's expansive security

network and ready his prime Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut Black Cloud. He was

also consumed by the reality fentanyl had now become a hot political potato,

with former president and Republican presidential nominee Ronald Frump

blaming the Biding Administration for the seething escalation, which has

claimed three-hundred-thousand American lives, pushing President Biding

to prod Congress to help him do more to combat the fentanyl

epidemic before he leaves office.

Rushia read from a New York Times story outlining efforts by the

president at curbing the problem, including a push on Congress to pass

legislation to establish a pill press and tableting machine registry and

enhance penalties against convicted drug smugglers and fentanyl traffickers.

The Democratic administration's new policy push comes as Frump steps

up attacks against Vice President Jamala Farris, who Biding endorsed to

succeed him as presidential candidate after exiting the campaign for a

second term due to frail health. Frump painted her as Biding's feckless

lieutenant in the battle to slow the illegal drugs and immigrants

without authorization coming into the US from Mexico.

Rushia Gerard took special note that Biding also wants to tighten

rules on importers shipping small packages into the US, requiring

shippers to provide additional information to Customs and Border

Protection officials, aimed at enhancing the detection of fentanyl

precursor chemicals that frequently find their way into the

country in low-value shipments lightly regulated by

customs and trade barriers.

The president's new efforts at combating fentanyl may also benefit

Farris, as Frump and his surrogates ramp up attempts to cast her

as a central player in the Biding Administration's struggles at the

US-Mexico border throughout his term.

"President Josephus Biding and Vice President Jamala Farris have

their hands full on the political end. Now it's up to us at the point of

the spear to vanquish this drug beast," Rushia thought, heading for the garage.

"The multi-agency component should be in place by now set to spring

into action on my signal, precisely at eleven o'clock post meridiem,"

Rushia murmured, entering the Black Cloud. He was dressed in

all-black, outfitted with brim, armed with his .357 magnum,

taser, red mist immobilizer cubes, ketamine darts, police

scanner, night vision goggles, camera, and cell phone.

"ALL SYSTEMS GO!" proclaimed the night crime fighter.

The garage door slid open, and the Black Cloud automatically drove

to the gate. It was not under manual control. Rushia entered coordinates

to the Pico-Union District, eased back, and permitted Black Cloud to

proceed to the destination.

Black Cloud was soon slicing through the darkness at one-hundred

miles per hour on US 101, a rolling version of an F-22 fighter jet, complete

with fore, aft and side cannons; miniature missile launcher, and a

police radar detection scanner.

In a mere forty minutes Black Cloud was transitioning to I-405,

exiting at La Brea Avenue. The radar scanner immediately picked up

a police cruiser less than a half mile away, and the Black Cloud took

evasive maneuvers to avoid it, AI-aware the cops would be curious

about the sleek black futuristic-looking vehicle.

Black Cloud eventually found Pico Boulevard and the old Pico-Union

District of West Metrobia. That's when Rushia took command of the controls.

"A large ominous-looking brown Victorian dwelling as the intel described

it and the digital pix affirmed," the stranger mused, flipping on the vehicle's

radar camera and typing in the description. The dwelling flickered on the screen.

"There it is—three blocks away! I will stop here."

"PARK AND CLOAK," commanded the stranger, who then exited the vehicle.

The stranger and the Black Cloud simultaneously faded into the night. He

looked for signs of the task force. But found none. Walking the three blocks,

then up a short flight of concrete steps to the front door of a screened deck

to the mansion, the stranger took out his cell phone.

"MULTI-FORCE. MOVE IN!"

The stranger expected an abrupt swarm of officers and agents, but none appeared.

"MULTI-FORCE. MOVE IN!" Again, no response.

"What's happening here? Something's wrong," the stranger surmised,

just as the door opened inside the deck area and the stranger's cloaking

device flickered off, revealing him in his entirety.

A woman dressed in a multi-colored low-cut Kaftan appeared. She wore

a turban head wrap matching the kaftan, with assorted jewelry hanging

from her neck, and a bird's talons suspended from a silver chain.

"No need to hide anymore—I've been expecting you, Jones," the woman said.

The stranger appeared bewildered. "What's going on?"

"Your technology and tricks have no effect against the ancient power

of the black arts," she said. "Your multi-agency task force has been

sent astray as well. ..."

The stranger attempted to slide his gloved hand inside his coat.

"NO, NO, NO!" the woman admonished him. "THAT WOULDN'T BE SMART!

By the way, where are my manners? I believe your business here is to

see me—Tara, the Voodoo Priestess!

Just then, two men in Metrobia County sheriff's deputy

uniforms rushed through the door.

"LET US KILL HIM!" declared one deputy, whose name tag identified

him as 'Robles.' That'd save us a lot of trouble."

"Yes! He's been giving us nothing but grief!" said the other deputy.

Tara expressed sympathy. "We can't kill him without first knowing

whether or not we can recruit him. He would be a valuable asset."

"You two dorks must have sabotaged the operation," the stranger said.

Turning to Tara — "You're the Queen of the terrible synthetic fentanyl,

that has killed three-hundred-thousand Americans. You're an enemy of

America. Evil to behold. I'd never align with you," the stranger railed.

"Like I said, kill him. He's trouble," Robles repeated.

"THE COCKY S.O.B. WANTS ME TO BEG!" Tara growled. "Do what you want with him!"

Robles and his partner deputy, whose nametag revealed "Patterson,"

fired several shots at the stranger, one round catching him in the neck,

knocking him down the short flight of concrete steps. He managed

to grasp his .357 magnum, return fire, killing them instantly.

"BLACK CLOUD—DOWN AND DISTRESSED!" the stranger cried,

prompting the smart vehicle to rev-up and drive to him, lying immobile

and prostrate in the street, seriously wounded.

Tara watched the unfolding drama in disbelief the stranger was
able to get off a volley of shots taking down both deputies.

She didn't attempt to render aid to them, nor did she

know whether the stranger still lived. Then she

retreated inside the Victorian abode.

Meanwhile...

The Black Cloud's passenger side door opened and a flat shovel-like

device protruded from it, sliding beneath the stranger's bloody upper

torso, lifting him off the street into the car. Knowing the likelihood

of injury, Rushia was prepared, swallowing two pills designed to

lower his heart rate, blood pressure, and put him to sleep while

Black Cloud raced him back to the compound where medical

care summoned by the AI-enabled vehicle would be

in emergency mode awaiting his arrival.

The wail of sirens could be heard in the near distance. But

Black Cloud—its radar scanning the area, and deploying its

blistering speed—was already on the I-10, zipping toward

I-405 when a sheriff's department chopper and patrol

units arrived at the scene of the crime.

The sheriff's helo flew in the direction where the

1-10 and 1-405 intersect, but Black Cloud restored

the cloaking mechanism and the chopper crew

was at a loss to detect them.

JS: EP 13

EPISODE 13

BOTCHED TACTICAL

MISSION; PICKING UP

THE PIECES

WELCOMING PARTY AT THE COMPOUND

Dr. Maj. Ginger Smith and her medical team were eagerly awaiting the

arrival of Rushia Gerard, when Black Cloud pulled into the garage. They were

not sure of the nature of his injuries or what condition he was in.

Maj. Smith opened the car door to find a conscious, but groggy

Rushia Gerard with a bloody gauze about his neck.

"He's sustained an injury to the neck—don't know what caused it, but let's

get him onto the gurney and into the house," Maj. Smith said.

Two male medical assistants gingerly moved Rushia onto the gurney on

his back. The doctor was well aware of the risk that moving someone with a

neck or back injury, could damage the spinal cord and cause permanent paralysis.

Maj. Smith needed to know the exact nature of the neck injury, aware that a

wound to the front of the neck can damage the carotid artery, which could

prevent blood from reaching the brain.

"Wheel him into the bathroom," she ordered. "It's spacious enough for all

of us to move about and also contains running water."

Maj. Smith immediately removed the bloody gauze to find that Rushia had

sustained a graze to the left side of his neck.

The medical assistants removed Rushia's trench coat and shirt, expressing

surprise and bewilderment at sight of the .357 magnum, taser, ketamine

darts, and red capsules.

"Looks like Colonel Gerard was grazed by a bullet. It's already coagulating,"

Maj. Smith said, just as Rushia opened his eyes.

"Hello Maj. Smith ... from what battlefield did you scoop me

from?" he groaned, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Not sure where you engaged in your last battle, colonel, but miraculously,

your car delivered you back here. There was no driver in the car. I would like

to know a lot more about that, but it's well above my pay grade.

"But, more importantly, how do you feel colonel?"

The colonel grimaced—"Like a mule kicked me in the neck."

"This will stop the pain, colonel," the doctor said, piercing his bicep

with a syringe bearing a clear liquid. "I'm administering one milligram

of fentanyl—a synthetic opioid painkiller that will ..."

Rushia cut her off ...

"I'm quite familiar with the drug, major ... ."

"Looks like you sustained no major damage. I'll apply an occlusive

dressing—convotec duoderm, a hydrocolloid dressing and cover it

with a sterile petrolatum gauze, and you should heal nicely.

The good thing is, you won't have to be hospitalized."

Rushia Gerard smiled wryly.

"Let me start over Dr. Maj. Smith—how's my favorite 'Gingerbread'

and commanding logistics officer?" Rushia humored her.

"I admit I was a mite more than concerned when we got the

communique at the Sierra Depot that you were injured severely.

I never thought we'd meet under such conditions," Maj. Smith said.

Maj. Smith's calm, youthful demeanor defied her age. Looking

ten years younger than her thirty-nine years coupled with her

resume of accomplishments—medical degree, officer rank,

the colonel admired her greatly.

EPISODE 14

STRATEGICALLY

CALIBRATED INTEL

SUBDUES ENEMY

Gov. Oldsom and the California National Guard’s (Cal Guard) Counterdrug

Task Force were all over the news being credited with the latest major haul of

fentanyl pills and chemicals to create it—8 million pills and a seizure of more than 4,000 pounds of fentanyl powder to manufacture the deadly drug,

responsible for 564,000 deaths in the US from overdose alone.

What the public didn't know was the the diligent, carefully cultivated

intel by the JoneStranger is what led to the triumph by the

governor's office and Cal Guard.

Rushia had no qualms with Oldsom or the Guard taking full credit;

his work was always carried out in secrecy where the hoodlums, thugs,

crooks, and cruds would never seem him coming. But even he was made

of clay, as his latest caper attested with him sustaining injury.

Thus, while Oldsom bragged, Rushia Gerard and JoneStranger would

strive to perfect their offensive attack and defensive shield. In the

wake of his injury, JoneStranger could only listen to Oldsom in

silence, consumed by a smoldering rage to settle the

score with a voodoo priestess known as Tara.

"Fentanyl is an extremely strong opioid," Oldsom spoke to a bevy

of news cameras and recorders at a news conference of the state

capital, carried by live broadcast. "An amount the size of a few grains

of salt can result in a deadly overdose. Over 150 people die every day

because of synthetic opioids like fentanyl. We’re doubling down on our

work to tackle the opioid and fentanyl crisis.

"California, and specifically urban hotbeds like Metrobia, are hard

at work getting illegal fentanyl off our streets, interdicting the drug

at our border, holding traffickers accountable," Oldsom said.

One female broadcast journalist broke away from Oldsom's remarks

to report that last month, the governor announced the state was doubling

Cal Guard’s Counter Drug Task Force operations statewide, including at ports

of entry along the border from 155 to now nearly 400 service members.

"The Cal Guard Task Force focuses on stopping narcotics trafficking

by gathering information and assisting personnel at southern border ports

of entry as well as conducting criminal investigations through utilizing air and

ground assets," she said, adding, "The task force has been invaluable

in helping federal, state, local, and tribal law enforcement agencies

get drugs, including illicit fentanyl, off the streets and out

of California’s neighborhoods."

The reporter resumed live coverage when Cal Guard

Major Gen. Matthew Beevers was introduced. Rushia Gerard

was always interested in what high-level military brass had to say.

“The California National Guard’s Counterdrug Task Force continues

to play a critical role in the fight against fentanyl,” said Gen. Beevers.

“We are proud to be a part of this effort to provide critical resources

to our local, state, federal, and tribal law enforcement partners.”

Last year, the governor increased the number of Cal Guard service

members deployed to interdict drugs at US ports of entry along the

border by approximately 50 percent. The operations Cal Guard helped

result in the record seizure of Cal Guard’s coordinated drug bust

and interdiction efforts in the state are funded in part by a

$60 million investment to expand Cal Guard’s work to

stop drug trafficking by transnational organizations.

"Fentanyl is primarily smuggled into the country by US citizens.

From 2022-2024, law enforcement officials in California seized

1,386 percent more fentanyl at the border than border

seizures by Texas and New Mexico combined.

"Also included in the governor’s Master Plan for Tackling

the Fentanyl and Opioid Crisis is the availability of over-the-counter

CalRx-branded naloxone across the state," Beevers said. "CalRx-branded

over-the-counter (OTC) naloxone HCL nasal spray, 4 milligrams, will be

available through the Naloxone Distribution Project. It will be free

to eligible organizations throughout California or for sale

through Amneal for twenty-four dollars per twin-pack.

Gen. Beevers continued:

"Gov. Oldsom has more than doubled the deployment of Cal Guard

servicemembers and launched a tool for Californians to easily access

resources for prevention and treatment at opioids.ca.gov."

Maj. Smith had been entering a report in her laptop regarding

Col. Gerard's injury and subsequent medical treatment. Now, she

took a seat next to him to listen in on the news conference.

"I would not be surprised by the kind of work of which you are

involved—hazardous work for which US Army intelligence is

all in. Keep up the good and noble work, sir!" she said.

Col. Gerard did not acknowledge her.

Now CHP Commissioner Shaun Dury was introduced

by the governor's staff to report on yet another

element of the fentanyl scourge.

"Hello—California Highway Patrol Commissioner Shaun Dury

here to provide an update on my department's probe and action

against a Valley White supremacist street gang endeavoring

to break into the lucrative illegal fentanyl business.

Commissioner Dury read from a prepared statement.

"Dozens of a Southern California White supremacist street gangsters

with ties to the state’s most prolific prison-based gangs were indicted

on a slew of drug trafficking, fraud and violent crime charges on Oct. 2,

following a CHP investigation with invaluable help by multiple agencies,

including US Army intelligence, found that the Valley-based Peckerwoods,

a neo-Nazi gang with ties to some of the state’s most domineering prison

gangs, engaged in a years-long pattern of racketeering activity. That

probe led to sixty-eight indictments, with forty-two persons

taken into custody following a coordinated effort."

Commissioner Dury stepped aside to make room for another

spokesperson representing the task force.

"Now I want to introduce Allan Mathis, Los Angeles-based Drug

Enforcement Administration special agent, who will share another

aspect of the months-long probe.

"Thank you commissioner ... ladies and gentlemen of the media, the

San Fernando Valley Peckerwoods, the Aryan Brotherhood and their

associates are fused by one thing: hatred, It appears, however, that

the business of hate was not enough for them,” said Allen.

“Driven by greed, they engaged in other crimes, including drug

distribution, pushing out deadly fentanyl onto our streets. Throughout

the investigation, law enforcement seized large quantities of fentanyl, methamphetamine and heroin, as well as illegal firearms," Allen

disclosed. "At least three defendants are accused of operating

drug stash houses where pounds of illegal drugs were stored

before being distributed to customers, sometimes in the

mail, according to the indictment."

"Agent Mathis, could you be more specific how the gang

proliferated their income in addition to fentanyl trafficking?"

a reporter interrupted him. "Rumor is afoot that the gang infused

elements of White collar crime to advance."

"Certainly," Mathis said. "In addition to drug trafficking, the gang

generated revenue through financial fraud, including identity theft

and fraudulent COVID-19 benefit schemes, according to the Justice

Department. In one instance, one defendant falsely claimed

to be a self-employed artist to swindle ten thousand

from the Paycheck Protection Program.

"The same defendant later used stolen identities to apply for

unemployment benefits, according to the Justice Department.

Reporter Julie Lee for Metrobia's NEWS4U:

"According to the Justice Department, the Peckerwoods gang

distinguished themselves with tattoos of White supremacy iconography,

such as swastikas or the symbol '88' which is the numerical code for

'Heil Hitler,' to broadcast their White supremacist, extremist ideology.

They sometimes took orders from the Aryan Brotherhood.

"The gang is also accused of having an alliance with the Mexican Mafia

prison gang, also known as “La Zem,” which is the head of multiple

Hispanic street gangs in Southern California.

"Julie Lee in Sacramento reporting for Metrobia's NEWS4U!"

After the news concluded, Col. Gerard turned to Maj. Smith.

"I guess I needed this respite ..." he said, his voice tailing off.

Something else weighed on his heart.

"Is there something you want to share with your doctor, sir?"

The colonel reflected momentarily.

“... in due time 'Dr. Gingerbread'. In due time."

JS: EP 14

EPISODE 15

HERO TO MOST WANTED

Maj. Smith knew Col. Gerard's covert work was extreme.

Advanced automobile grounded in artificial intelligence, hardened

maximum digitally secure ex-US Army compound bearing around-the

-clock ultra-sensitive perimeter motion detection apparatus, helo

landing pad, all a mile from the main drag, I-101, spoke volumes.

Her suspicions about him were all the more palpable due

to his gunshot wound. But army brass had not made it her

business to know. And she dare not breach that line.

But it weighed on her mind.

"Not sure who the colonel really is or his billet, but he's

definitely somebody unique with special talents and abilities,

engaged in a disparate kind of warfare," Maj. Smith thought.

Maj. Smith was more than a doctor to Col. Gerard, and a

fellow soldier—but she served as a personal aide, as well,

to a point on general matters.

One was not preparing his meals. Maj. Smith assigned

that duty to a corporal in her detail.

The time was seven-thirty a.m., when the young

soldier announced breakfast was served.

He prepared sausage/spinach/Roma tomato and cheese

omelets, sliced avocados, fresh wheat biscuits, chilled

blueberries, cranberry-pomegranate juice, Masala Chai

tea, Ethiopian Yirgacheffe coffee, and spring water.

"My breakfasts never turn out this way," Col. Gerard

marveled, joining the others at a medium breakfast nook.

"Thank you Corp. Hayes!" he squinted to read the soldier's

name emblazoned on his uniform.

"Thank you sir!"

"As you can see colonel, this unit wears multiple hats,"

Maj. Smith said, scooping an omelet onto her plate,

avocado, and a biscuit.

"The Army builds well-rounded personnel, Maj. Smith! Enter

as a seedling, leave as an oak tree," the colonel replied.

The major took a bite of the omelete, then a cautious

sip of steaming hot coffee.

"Amen to that, sir. 'This We'll Defend'—

always true to our service motto!"

"Precisely ..." Col. Gerard said, who was drawn away

to a breaking segment on the morning news.

EIGHT A.M. NEWS CONFERENCE AT

METROBIA COUNTY SHERIFF DEPT.

Sheriff Rob Muna and several top brass in his administration

assembled to announce to the local media the addition of a new

suspect-fugitive to the department's "Most Wanted List."

Sheriff Muna stood at a podium, clearing his throat.

"Hm-hm,"

"We can begin now. Sheriff Rob Muna here to share with the

media a person of major interest to the Metrobia Sheriff's

Department. The individual appeared initially in our city

and county just a few months ago as a self-styled type of

crime-fighter interdicting it, then contacting the MSD.

"The department has pretty much tolerated this individual

because he hasn't broken any laws or brought harm to

anyone. But that has all changed now.

"Several weeks ago, very late in the evening, this person of

interest may have been involved in an exchange of gunfire with

two MSD deputies in the 8100 block of Pico Boulevard in the

Pico-Union District.

"Both deputies were shot and killed by this assailant. The

person is a suspect and person of interest. At least one

witness has come forward by phone. She said when the

gunplay concluded, a sporty black vehicle was seen

speeding away at a high rate of speed."

"Sheriff's units, and a chopper arrived within minutes,

but failed to spot the vehicle. Our investigation is

ongoing. This may morph into a one-eighty-seven

double homicide."

"I'll take any questions at this point?" Sheriff Muna said.

A white-bearded man amid the thong of reporters obliged.

"Jerrold Goodfellows of the Metrobia Herald,"

he identified himself.

"According to my information, Sheriff Muna, the person

'of interest' you speak of is self-proclaimed, self-deputized,

self-styled bulwark against crime who was engaged in a tactical

sting operation with the MSD, FBI, and DEA, to intercept a

shipment of fentanyl inducing chemicals off-loaded at the

Los Angeles harbor from a Republic of China-based

cargo vessel.

This person of interest is variously known as Jonestranger

or The Spook or something like that... .

"For some reason, the sting went sour. The only two law

enforcement personnel on scene were your deputies,

both of whom are now dead."

"Interesting you didn't mention any of this in your report

to we, the media. What else have you omitted sheriff—

what about the owner or habitant of the Victorian

house at 1806 Pico Boulevard? Your deputies died

on her concrete stairs! Have your detectives

even questioned her?"

"We have no further comment. That's all we have

at this time," Muna said.

Several journalists appeared flummoxed.

"Yeah, what about it Muna?" one woman asked.

"This is pure-dee garbage sheriff!"

A TV reporter instructed her cameraman to keep rolling,

the tape, to take in the aftermath, recording the testy

exchanges between the sheriff and reporters.

"What kind of circus is this?" another questioned.

Sheriff Muna and his staff appeared overwhelmed.

"Let's get out of here!" he mumbled.

"I now conclude this press conference: This probe

remains active and ongoing. We will keep you apprised.

Several journalists turned to Goodfellows.

"It's all very peculiar, Goodfellows," a reporter from the Times said.

"I'd be very interested, man, in what you have, if you don't mind. The

Times would gladly credit you. I could check on remuneration, too."

Meanwhile, at the compound, Col. Gerard and Maj. Smith

watched the live news conference with great interest,

finishing up breakfast in silence.

But the doctor's mind was overrun with questions and suspicions.

"...Shoot out ... tactical sting operation ... wounded ...

sporty black vehicle racing away? ... she was thinking.

Col. Gerard excused himself from the breakfast nook to

take a seat in his recliner in the living room to look out

of the oversized window to the restless surf.

Maj. Smith eyed his every move. They deciphered little. But

her spirit was ever-discerning.