Firestorm

This is our eighth story featuring Karin Roland, Private Investigator, and the fourth Karin Roland mystery since the Roland family moved to Portland, Oregon. We hope you enjoy the tale as much as we enjoyed writing it. As with our other Karin stories, there's no explicit sex in this one. We chose not to publish this story in Loving Wives since so many complained our previous stories didn't fit in the category. That being said, we believe Karin is a Loving Wife

This is a work of fiction. All characters and incidents portrayed and names within are fictitious and any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental.

FIRESTORM - A Karin Roland Mystery

Chapter One

Colonel James Perrison, USA, (Retired) was enjoying a quiet evening in his Cascade Mountain get-away 'cabin' when a special news bulletin interrupted Mark Harmon relating one of his 'rules' on NCIS. James stared at the TV screen with horror as the latest news from Afghanistan was being broadcast. The camera panned on a long line of Taliban holding up the US made rifles and cheering as a confiscated helicopter attempted to take off from the tarmac in the background. There were buildings burning beyond the tarmac.

But it wasn't the sight of the fires, helicopter, rifles or other equipment that caused the retired Army officer to panic, it was the fact that this riffraff were all shod in the latest in military desert footwear. James jumped up from the leather love seat and picked up his phone off the kitchen island.

Quickly scrolling through his contact list and finding the number, he hit the green button, all the while quietly swearing and whispering, "pick up, pick up".

"Clayton Industries, Kyle Turner speaking."

James almost shouted in response. "Kyle, thank god you're still in. I'm watching the news. Tell me we got paid for that last shipment of boots to the Afghans."

"Colonel Perrison? I'm certain we did but let me check." Kyle Turner hated that he had to address Perrison by his Army rank. It seemed so damn pretentious on Perrison's part, but that's the way his boss required everyone to address him; as if you couldn't swing a dead cat and hit a thousand retired colonels, generals, admirals, and other assorted brass here in the Beltway. All of them using their former rank and connections to sell the military and our allies with all the gear and weapons needed and not needed. "Oh well," Kyle thought to himself, "it pays my bills."

Turner finished typing the query on his computer and within seconds the answer came back.

"Yes, Colonel, that's confirmed. Payment was received Tuesday via wire transfer. We're good as gold."

James sighed out loud. He didn't know how he would have explained to the Clayton Industries Board of Directors if the two million dollars never showed up.

"That's great. G'night" He pressed the red 'End' button before Kyle had a chance to reply. On the other end of the call, when Kyle realized that his boss had hung up, the Colonel didn't hear Kyle mumble, "What a rude piece of shit."

James Perrison went back to the love seat and continued watching as the scene switched to the chaos as thousands of people tried to climb the fence before the last American plane left the airport.

*****

Meanwhile, approximately two hundred and fifty miles south-south-west of where James Perrison watched the cluster-fuck in Afghanistan unfold, Karin Roland watched the same scenes but with an entirely different perspective. The last time the Taliban controlled that country two planes crashed into the Twin Towers, killing a few thousand civilians and four of her friends - two police officers and two fire fighters. Five years later, as Karin led a raid on a New York based terrorist cell, she lost a leg in the ensuing exchange of gunfire.

Karin shook her head thinking about all the strides Afghan women have made over the past two decades, allowed to be educated and given some semblance of basic rights; now those gains were in jeopardy. Karin moved closer to her husband Bill and felt a little better as his arm went over her shoulder and he squeezed her tight to his breast.

*****

James Perrison rarely thought of anyone other than himself and watched, thinking the fall of Kabul as a 'good news -- bad news' scenario, at least from his perspective. The good news? He wouldn't have to spend another day in that hellhole trying to sell them more gear. The bad news? The cash spigot will turn off, at least from that country. For the last five years, Afghanistan has been Clayton Industries' best customer and James Perrison the exclusive Clayton representative in that part of the world; trading on the contacts he made while he served in the Army. Now what?

Or rather, now where? Which third world country has the capacity to make up the difference in sales? He had already made some contacts in Southeast Asia that may pan out. But maybe it was time to retire a second time and concentrate on his land development project. There wasn't a better time to finish subdividing his grandfather's land and making some real money -- enough to buy a decent yacht and go sailing for the rest of his life. Not bad for a guy just shy of fifty.

The whole thing got him thinking; Perrison turned the TV off and walked down the hall, unlocked the door to his home office, poured himself an eighteen-year-old Scotch, and leaned over the map on his desk one more time. Four hundred-sixty acres in the Mitalkwi Valley originally settled by his grandfather, passed down to his mother and now inherited by James with the passing of his mother. Four hundred-sixty acres ready to be divided into twenty-acre exclusive parcels, each priced at least at a mil-two. Even after taxes and paying off all the bribes, enough to tell anyone and everyone to 'kiss-my-ass'.

The town of Wolford's earliest white settlers were trappers, loggers and miners. Most logging has been shut down and the gold mines played out. There's copper in the mountains, but little sentiment among the new, wealthy valley residents to tear up the countryside to get to it. Any hunting done now is almost exclusively deer hunters chasing the ubiquitous white tails that haven't already ended up stuck to the front bumpers of the SUVs charging up and down the highway.

As wealthy Seattleites moved in, built resorts and second homes, the price of land skyrocketed. It's always difficult to predict when any land values have peaked, but Perrison considered all the current indicators and he thought prices were, if not at the peak, at least within ninety percent of it; good enough for him to sell out and vanish. The Covid crisis was drawing more people from the westside of the Cascade Mountains to consider living here on the eastside, especially now that so many techies can work remotely from home.

The local Citizens' Council was doing its best to contribute to the scarcity of available plots through their lobbying efforts. The current minimum lot in the Valley is five acres and it would soon be twenty if the Council has its way. Before you know it, there won't be many working-class people left in the Valley. Just as in Aspen, Telluride and Park City, the maids, waiters and other workers will need to be bussed in from miles away because they won't be able to afford living here.

The wildfires this summer almost threw all his plans into disarray, but Providence once again shined down on the Colonel. Although thousands of acres were consumed by the fires and portions of both sides of the valley were evacuated, no homes were lost in the fires -- the firefighters did a tremendous job holding the lines -- and people's memories were short. The fires of 2014 and 2015 were already distant memories and soon, so would the fires of 2021.

If anything, the summer's fires increased the value of his four hundred plus acres because not a single Perrison tree was lost to the fires.

*****

All the lifelong privileges bestowed on James Perrison did not make him a good man. His grandfather was only half joking when he claimed his grandson was born under a bad sign. Sally Perrison, nee Miller, gave birth to Daniel Perrison's only son while Daniel was still stationed in Korea on August 6, 1974, the very day Richard Nixon resigned the Presidency to avoid the embarrassment of being impeached.

Grandpa Miller insisted on one thing as the boy grew up -- young James would attend West Point and serve for at least the minimum years required of a West Point graduate. It was either that or the boy could kiss any inheritance away. That's how James, a self-centered, entitled bastard, found his eighteen-year-old ass on the train platform kissing his mother good-bye one late June morning on his way to Cadet Basic Training. Few, if any, of James' high school classmates were sorry to see him leave town.

James found his niche in the Army, although not without a few controversies. In 2000, feeling full of himself after his promotion to Captain and following in the footsteps of the then-current Commander-in-Chief, James was reprimanded for convincing one of the female civilians working on base to perform oral sex in his office. James was lucky to escape with only a verbal tongue lashing from his superior officer. Unfortunately, his wife Laurie, pregnant with their first child, didn't accept the transgression with the same 'stand-by-your-man' attitude as the First Lady. Laurie divorced him and moved back to Philadelphia to give birth to their daughter, Geena, and raise her as a single mother.

James, in all probability, would have ignored the birth of his daughter if not for his mother Sally Perrison - "I WILL be part of my granddaughter's life -- no ifs, ands, or buts". His mother's insistence guaranteed James Perrison would be eternally tied to his ex-wife, the woman who dumped him because of one lousy blowjob (well, at least the only time he was caught!), so that his mother could be a part of Geena's life.

In 2003, eleven years after stepping onto that train that took him to West Point, Major James Perrison stepped off a C-17 onto the tarmac at one of the base camps in the Northern Zone in Iraq; ready to assume his duties as camp supply officer.

Iraq is where James Perrison met Sgt. Alexander Crawford. If James merely skirted the fringes of immorality prior to this meeting, Alexander Crawford held the pen for James to sign the Faustian bargain and complete his descent into hell.

Prior to James' arrival, Crawford was skimming small quantities of supplies and selling whatever he could to locals willing to pay for American rifles, footwear, and other gear. It was a low-key operation until the new officer in charge of supplies came through the door. It took the Major less than a week to understand there were unaccounted shortages and when he dug deeper, concluded Sgt. Crawford was responsible for the thefts.

Perrison was leery when approaching Alex Crawford with his suspicions. He had no definite proof and Crawford was a 6'3" 240-pound mountain of a man who had a reputation as a mean son of a bitch with whom even most base MPs were afraid to tangle. Some suspected that it was Crawford who was responsible for the last supply officer's untimely death, the man Perrison was replacing. One brave MP took it upon himself to search Sgt. Crawford's locker in hope of finding the officer's onyx handled Colt.45, a gift from the officer's grandfather. But the search proved fruitless, the.45 was never found.

As Perrison and Crawford sat sizing each other up, Crawford came to the realization that his new commanding officer was no 'boy scout' like the last one. No, Perrison wasn't a hero and showed every sign of being corruptible. Crawford came right out with it. "How would you like to supplement your pay by a few thousand a month?"

Perrison was surprised by the question, but as Crawford outlined his current operation and how he could expand, given the right commanding officer, Perrison grew intrigued. Crawford had more trouble negotiating the split of the proceeds than convincing Perrison to take part in the larceny.

For the next two years materials flowed out of the supply room and money flowed into the two men's pockets. Everyone expects a certain amount of 'shrinkage' in any such military operation, Sgt. Crawford had somehow worked out how to exceed anyone's expectations without being caught. The operation wasn't without its dangers, not only the danger of being caught and ending up in Fort Leavenworth, but each exchange of materials for cash carried its own danger. A good percentage of each transaction was syphoned off paying the soldiers guarding the exchange from going sideways. Despite the extraordinary expenses of larceny in the war zone, both Perrison and Crawford left Iraq with a couple hundred thousand in their offshore accounts.

Ten years later, the two men retired within a year of each other. When Perrison began working for the defense contractor, Clayton Industries, he contacted Alex Crawford and offered him a job in their Security Department. Crawford traveled with Perrison as his bodyguard and wasn't above extraneous tasks when the rewards outweighed the risks.

Chapter Two

"Are you seeing Geena tonight?" Anthony Roland hoped his voice disguised the envy he felt as he asked the question.

Ted Harris looked up from packing his day pack to answer Anthony's question. "Yeah, her father's out of town; so don't expect me back tonight. I'll see you at work in the morning."

"Don't be late." Anthony tried to sound threatening. "We're supposed to head up Four-Mile Creek to check out that report of an illegal campsite first thing in the morning. If you don't show I'll have to take Morgan; I'll never forgive you if you stick me with spending a full day with that blowhard."

Ted almost laughed at the thought of Anthony and Morgan spending the day together, but decided it was best not to piss off his roommate. Morgan was one of the full-timers, a complete jerk and know-it-all. There wasn't one forest ranger, summer help or full-timer, who could spend more than a few hours with Morgan. How he kept his job was a miracle of public employment. For every nine hard working, dedicated Forest Service employees, there was one lazy, inept Morgan who was almost impossible to get rid of.

"I'll be there, don't worry. But you'll have to drive to the trail head; I plan to be up late tonight." Ted grinned, as he teased Anthony with the inference that he'd be busy with Geena until late. He knew it was mean, he just couldn't help himself.

Looking down on his roommate, Ted asked, "So, what are you up to tonight? Another book?" Ted never knew a guy who read as many books as Anthony. The kid must read two or three books a week. And not just trashy paperbacks, this guy reads Tolstoy, Conrad, even Faulkner. Who does that?

"My dad sent me this draft of my mom's detective novel. I'm supposed to read it and give her some feedback."

Ted knew Anthony's mother was some kind of detective. One night last month Anthony started bragging how his mom had helped break up a terrorist cell in New York years ago and how she helped catch a wife and her lover after they murdered the husband. It was an interesting story; Ted wasn't certain it was true until he Googled the story and read about a Karin Roland in an online news article covering the trial of the two murderers.

"So, is this about that guy that got murdered down in Portland?" Ted asked.

"No, Mom's trying to write a novel, it's fiction."

"Well, don't stay up too late. Remember, you're driving in the morning." Ted picked up his backpack and headed out the door with a happy, "See ya" without sticking around to hear his roommate's angry response.

Anthony laughed at himself, recognizing the futility of swearing at a closed door. But, hell, it felt good to let it out. He also knew that it wasn't Ted's fault that Anthony would be sitting home alone without his girlfriend.

As he sat, staring into space, Anthony resisted the urge to call Lisa. "Talk about acting like a desperate, broken, heart-sick boy!" he thought to himself. He put the phone down, instead he picked up a red pen and the three-hundred loose leaf printed pages of his mother's novel and began to read.

*****

Their first college year apart was difficult for the two, Lisa attended Stanford while Anthony was studying Forest Management at Eastern Oregon University. Both had counted on spending this summer reconnecting; until two things disrupted their plans.

First, the opportunity of a lifetime presented itself; Anthony was offered a paid summer internship with the U.S. Forest Service. When Anthony was directed to report to the Forest Service office in North Central Washington, near the Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest, he found a waitressing job for Lisa in the little tourist town of Wolford.

Lisa seemed excited to join Anthony, until Lisa's father came through with a job offer at his Portland law firm which paid double what Lisa could expect as a waitress. Add that to the work experience she'd gain and the guilt trip 'Daddy' laid on Lisa regarding the cost of tuition at Stanford; and voila -- here's to Anthony's summer of loneliness.

Mr. Collin's intervention of their summer plans to reconnect wasn't the first time he disrupted their youthful romance. Midway through their freshman year, when they were both home for the Christmas break, Daddy Collins made it clear he felt they should date others while attending their respective schools.

"I know you two are in love, but you're both too young to make a lifelong commitment. You both need to see other people while you're at school. You need to experience everything college life has to offer -- and that includes dating other people. You're missing out on half of what college has to offer."

Mr. Collins didn't understand the damage he did with this statement and his subsequent interruption of their summer plans. If Lisa and Anthony ever made it past his roadblocks and eventually married, he just made a lifetime enemy of his future son-in-law.

Anthony was initially puzzled by Lisa's acquiescence to her father's demands, but his father said it best. "Son, you can't ask a nineteen-year-old girl to sever ties to her family. It's not fair to her; the best you can do is show her you understand her position in this and support her. No one knows what will happen; I'm not going to trivialize your heartbreak and tell you that you'll find someone else, or that it's for the best; but I am going to demand that you not fall apart. Don't go back to school and start drinking, smoking weed or whatever. You're too strong a person to let this turn you into something you're not."

Anthony and Lisa spent New Year's Eve together; but something had changed, there was a disconnect between the two high school lovers that hadn't been there before. Anthony couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't misinterpreting what Lisa expected of him. Was he supposed to fight for her, tell her father his ultimatum was unacceptable? In the end, they kissed while wishing each other a Happy New Year before Anthony drove home.

Back at school, Anthony dated a few girls, friendly dates getting pizza or going to a movie, nothing romantic. Lisa and Anthony exchanged emails during the Spring term, but neither mentioned activities with the opposite sex, so Anthony had no idea if Lisa was obeying her father by dating. He was especially pleased when Lisa agreed to spend the summer with him -- until 'Daddy' nixed that plan. Twice this summer he drove to Portland to visit her; both weekends were strained. Now, with less than a month before they would be heading back to their respective schools to start their sophomore years, they planned one last weekend together before the Fall term, Anthony would use that weekend to settle most of the questions swirling around his head.