Fate´s Redemption Chapter 1

Bio



Ann Coulter



Jada Pinkett-Smith



Wicked Wisdom



Phillip Thomas Duck



Alisha Yvonne



Laura Schlessinger



Dr. Frederick K.C. Price



James Patterson



Eric Jerome Dickey



Jackie Collins



L.A. Banks



Brandon Massey



Kendra Norman-Bellamy



Fate´s Redemption Cover
Two years earlier . . .

"Truce"

The Warehouse District
Boston, Massachusetts
August 1997

The streets in the warehouse district were quiet enough to hear the water from an early evening rain dripping into the sewers. The city was unseasonably cool and the figures that were about to enter the district made the night air all the more chilling. After midnight, when all the warehouses were closed, the district was perfect for munitions deals, drug deals, payoffs, and murder. From the cop on the beat, to the Police Commissioner, to the mayor's office, all were getting a piece of the million dollar deals that took place in the Warehouse district.

On this particular night, Jericho Michael Wise, the leader of an elite group of former military personnel, and Cyrus King, the leader of the Jamaican Posse, were going to be there to discuss a territorial truce and a possible merger.

The limousine and a rented van were waiting for Jericho and his crew near the runway when "The Nighthawk" Jericho's private jet landed in Boston at 11:25 p.m. Victor Marshall, third in command, took the keys from the driver and gave him five hundred dollars. Jericho got into the limo and called Sergio, his lieutenant in Boston, to make sure he had the usual fifty street soldiers on standby. The rest of the crew began loading the weapons and equipment into the van.

"How come we always gotta bring all this shit when we never use it?" Charlie fumed. "We got a fuckin' arsenal here. We got rocket launchers, grenade launchers, stinger missiles, and twenty thousand rounds of bullets. And for what? We never use the shit. None of it. We just load and unload this heavy shit for nothin'."

"SHUT UP! And do yo' goddamn job," Victor retorted. "I'm sick of yo' belly aching. Every time we make a trip to the States. You know we have to be prepared for any contingency."

Victor made sure all the equipment was loaded before getting into the limo. Both vehicles left the airport, but went in two different directions. Jericho, Victor, and Cochise, the six foot, nine inch Seminole who drove the limo, went to dinner at Carmen's, a vibrant soul food restaurant with a New Orleans flavor. The van and its occupants went on to the Warehouse district.

Cyrus King was an ambitious and ruthless drug dealer from New York City. He had been taking over parts of Boston for a couple of months, and wanted to control the Warehouse district because that's where the real money was.

Jericho and Cyrus had agreed to discuss their differences and to try and forestall a war. He thought he could convince Cyrus to work with him and further solidify his seat of power on the East Coast. But he didn't trust Cyrus, so he sent in a team to scout the Warehouse district and make sure there would be no surprises. If Cyrus were true to his word, Jericho would do business with him. The team was lead by Pin Tuan My-Khanh (Peen Tung Mee-Khan), Jericho's wife, closest companion, trusted bodyguard, and second in command.

It was 12:35 a.m. when Pin led the team into the Warehouse district under the cover of darkness. They were dressed in black and green camouflage uniforms and equipped with state of the art electronic surveillance equipment. They used heat scanners, motion detectors, listening devices, night vision goggles, 30 channel radios, and a superfluous array of weapons.

Using the heat scanners and listening devices, Cyrus' men were easy to locate. One by one, Pin and the team skillfully captured all ten Jamaicans. Most of them weren't even aware of their presence until it was too late.

Pin took pride in her ability to extract information quickly. She had the Jamaicans lined up ten across. Without even asking a question, she pulled out her 9mm Remington P228 Sig Sauer, and promptly executed five Jamaicans. She shot them at point blank range right between the eyes without so much as changing the innocent expression on her face. Just as Pin was about to shoot the sixth Jamaican, he started telling her everything she wanted to know.

The other Jamaicans yelled at the trader, trying to shut him up so Pin continued the executions letting only the trader live for Cyrus's call. After the trader convinced Cyrus everything was set, Pin told him he could go. When he turned to leave, she shot him in the back of the head.

At about 2:00 a.m., Jericho's limo was on its way to the Warehouse district for the rendezvous when the phone rang. He was reading a copy of Niccolo Machiavelli's "The Prince." Prior to being expelled from Berkeley University, Jericho had started reading the classic works of Shakespeare, Sophocles, Milton, and many others. He enjoyed philosophy more than any other literary work. He turned the book over and placed it on his thigh, splitting it in two. Then he picked up the phone and said, "Talk to me."

"You right. It masquerade," Pin said into a secure cell phone, looking at the moving limousine with a pair of binoculars from the roof of one of the warehouses. She had been a citizen of the United States for about twenty years, but she still spoke broken English.

"How many?"

"Ten."

"Did they talk?"

Pin was silent. She felt insulted he questioned her effectiveness after all this time. Jericho realized he had offended her with the question and quickly moved on. He thought about reminding her to make sure they were using armor-piercing bullets, but thought better of it.

"Did he check in?"

"He check in five minute ago."

"Can you see him yet?"

She moved her binoculars to the right and saw Cyrus's limo. "Yes. He approaches from east. He be here about two minute after you."

"Okay, go to channel B on the radio," Jericho instructed.

"Okay."

Only the unit knew that channel B was actually channel 7. Even so, they never said anything incriminating on the phone or radio because they never knew who was listening even though they used secure phones. Better to be safe than locked up! They also talked in short controlled sentences so that whoever listened couldn't figure out what they were talking about. Victor handed Jericho an electronic earpiece that served as both a listening device and a transmitter, standard CIA equipment. He said, "Eagle leader, this is Raven, how do you read?"

"Raven, this Eagle lee-dar, I read loud and clear," Pin said. Then the rest of the team acknowledged in sequence.

"Okay," Jericho continued, "Is everybody in position?" They all answered in sequence again.

"Eagle lee-dar in position."

"Eagle two in position."

"Eagle three in position."

"Eagle four in position."

"Eagle five in position."

Jericho asked, "What's the signal Eagle leader?"

Pin answered, "When he light cigarette."

"Where is he now?"

"Just turn corner. E.T.A. 30 second."

"Get a fix immediately and hold until he gives the signal. As soon as you have a fix let me know. Until then, maintain radio silence."

Victor waited until Jericho was finished talking to Pin. Then he asked, "We're going to have to kill 'em, huh?"

"Yeah. It's a damn shame too."

"So what was his plan?"

"When he lights his cigarette, the action is suppose to start. But we gon' reverse it on his ass."

Jericho, Victor, and Cochise sat in the limo and waited for their prey to enter the trap. A few seconds passed and they saw the headlights of Cyrus's oncoming limo. Even with the windows up, they could hear Cyrus's music. Cochise signaled the car by flashing the bright lights twice. The limo acknowledged by flashing its lights in like manner. Then both parties got out of their cars.

Victor and Cochise got out of the car first and looked around; surveying the area to make sure Cyrus wouldn't suspect anything. Then Jericho stepped out of the limo. He was five feet nine and half inches tall, all muscle, and a lean one hundred sixty pounds. Even though he was forty-eight, he had the face of a thirty-year-old, and a granite chin. When he wore his wire rim glasses, he looked like a college professor. He was dressed in a pair of black slacks, a collarless mustard colored long-sleeve shirt, and a black leather vest that had an Oakland Raider's emblem on the back.

They could hear the music much clearer now. It was James Brown's Living in America. Cyrus got out of the car, flanked by his bodyguard and three of his men. Cyrus inexplicably danced to the music and sang the chorus. He was wearing a red, white, and blue leather jacket with an American flag on the back.

As they got closer to each other, Jericho fixed his eyes on Cyrus. He could feel the murderous intent that exuded from him. Yet there was a beaming, almost angelic smile on his face. Cyrus's smile was so wide he could see the gold that covered his left canine. He must love killin' as much as I love fightin', Jericho thought. As they moved closer still, he could hear Pin giving orders to the other snipers.

"What the hell are we waiting for? We could take 'em all right now," Charlie barked on the radio.

"Knock off chatter," Pin snapped. "I have Cyrus."

Then they confirmed in sequence the person each of them would kill.

"Why don't you turn that shit off?" Cochise shouted.

"What's the matter, mon? You don't like James Brown?" Cyrus teased.

"Naw, the Godfather of Soul is cool. I don't like unprofessionals," Cochise said, with a menacing snarl.

Cyrus turned around and pointed what appeared to be a remote control for the stereo system. Suddenly there was quiet again.

"So what's this deal supposed to be?" Jericho took the initiative. In his ear piece, he could hear each member of the Eagle squad say, "Ready in sequence."

"Dat's what I like about you, mon. You so direct," Cyrus said, as he moved his dread-locks out of his face and onto his shoulders.

"Get to the fuckin' point!" Jericho snapped.

"Okay, mon," Cyrus said with that same angelic smile. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

Reaching into his pocket, Cyrus pulled out a book of matches. He struck the match with his right hand and brought his left hand around the end of the cigarette. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his men fall to the ground in the same instant. Stunned by what had taken place, his smile vanished as he looked at the clean bullet holes in their chests. He didn't hear a shot, yet his bodyguard, and three of his best men were lying dead before him with blood seeping through their shirts. He reached for his gun, but Victor and Cochise had already drawn their weapons. Victor went over and pulled Cyrus's gun from its holster, and put it in the front of his pants. Cyrus stood there with a confused look on his face. Then he realized Pin wasn't there.

"So where's the chink?" he wondered aloud.

Jericho said, "Come on down, Pin. Our guest of honor misses you." Then he looked at Cyrus and said, "You're a fool. In a few years, you would have made more money than you could have ever dreamed." His distribution network had begun in San Francisco in the early eighties and spread to the heartland and various parts of the United States. "I'm going to give you the chance to finish what you started. But know this, even if you kill me, make no mistake, you're going to die tonight," Jericho promised Cyrus. "You don't have the vision to run this muthafucka. Now do you want it done quickly, or do you want to go out on your feet like a man?"

"Den we all die tonight," Cyrus said firmly.

Jericho's men formed a small circle around the combatants. Jericho and Cyrus stood in close proximity of each other with their hands in a defensive posture. They circled each other looking for an opening. Both men could hear the jeers Jericho's men made. One said, "Fuck 'em up Jay." Another one said, "You 'bout tuh get yo' ass whupped Cyrus." Cyrus moved into striking distance and swung wildly with his left hand. Jericho ducked under the blow. As the blow went over his head, he kneed Cyrus in the stomach. Cyrus grunted in pain but he was determined to continue the joust.

Angry, Cyrus swung wildly again, this time with his right. And again, Jericho ducked under the blow, and delivered another knee to the midsection. Cyrus groaned again; he was furious now. Not only was he outsmarted by Jericho, but he was also being humiliated. Cyrus screamed maniacally and charged, but Jericho dropped to one knee at the last possible second and delivered a powerful blow to the groin. Cyrus grabbed his crotch, fell to his knees, and vomited his dinner. They could see bits of shrimp, lettuce, and some sort of salad dressing that he had eaten earlier that night. He was more determined than ever to kill Jericho. He struggled to his feet. Sensing his weakness, Jericho moved in again to punish him some more. Under ordinary circumstances, he wouldn't have toyed with him but he wanted to torture him before he killed him.

Cyrus tried to jab, but Jericho slipped the punch, stepped inside again, and threw a three punch combination to his body. The thunderous blows thudded loudly when they landed. Cyrus doubled over and spit up blood. He stood up and tried throwing punches in combination, but the constant missing drained him of any strength he had left.

Jericho moved in again, and threw a wicked right to the midsection which made Cyrus double over again. Jericho then grabbed Cyrus's collar and kneed him in the midsection repeatedly, then let him fall to the ground.

"No more, mon," Cyrus said after that series of blows. "Just kill me and be done with it."

"I thought you Jamaicans were supposed to be tougher than this. Get up!" Jericho shouted. "I thought a bigshot wannabee like you would put up a better fight."

His taunting words gave Cyrus the will to get back up. He tried to jab him, but once again, his wild blows missed badly. Jericho slipped the jab, stepped inside and threw another three punch combination to his midsection and ended it with a sharp uppercut to the nose that brought Cyrus to his knees again. His blood splattered all over his face. While Cyrus was still on his knees, Jericho kicked him in the face. Then when he saw he had no more fight in him, he told Victor to give him Cyrus's gun.

Jericho stuck the gun in Cyrus's mouth and fired. As the sound of the shot echoed off the nearby buildings, they could hear the shell casing hit the ground.



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