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  BLACK Star Bay

  THEAUTHOR T. C. Miller’s twenty-four year Air Force career, combined with his study of Hakkoryu Jujitsu have given him a unique perspective from which to write. It was during his assignment at Mather Air Force Base, California that he formulated the basic plot for his debut novel,

  BlackJack Bomber. His love of hiking and camping produced the locale information that also inspired him to write Black Star Bay.

  He is the founder of Coffee With the Author, a twice-weekly event in the center court of Shawnee Mall, Shawnee, OK that features local authors discussing and signing their books.

  T.C. is a speaker at writing conferences He is also available for televideo, (Skype) calls to conferences and book clubs.

  He is a member of the Military Writers Society of America (MWSA), the Oklahoma Writers Federation Incorporated (OWFI), and the McLoud Writers Group. T.C. welcomes comments and suggestions in the form of e-mails at:

  [email protected]. Cover Painting by Steve Daniels. Cover Graphics by Ken Farmer

  Black Star Bay

  BY T. C. MILLER

  Cover Painting by Steve Daniels. Cover Graphics by Ken Farmer

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form with out prior written permission from the author.

  ISBN-13:

  Copyright 2014 by T. C. Miller. All rights reserved. Timber Creek Press

  Imprint of Timber Creek Productions, LLC 312 N. Commerce St.

  Gainesville, Texas

  ACKNOWLEDGMENT No book is written in a vacuum, or without the support of family and friends. Thank you to my wife of almost twenty five years, Jake, for her assistance and patience through the sometimes all-absorbing process. Members of the McLoud Writer’s Group, led by Glenda Kuhn, have been a source of encouragement and cameraderie, and Bill Howard has given me breathing room by taking over the scheduling duties for Coffee With the Author. I founded the program two years ago, but he has kept it alive. Bob Wendland has been gracious in his sponsorship of the program.

  Ken Farmer and Buck Stienke of Timber Creek Press took me under their wing and for that, I will be forever grateful. Editors are easy to find, but editors with their patience and help are as rare as hens teeth. (They’ll undoubtedly edit this.) I can only hope they are as proud as I am of the result.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or did not win it in an author/publisher contest, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Contact Us:

  Published by: Timber Creek Press [email protected] www.timbercreekpress.net

  Twitter: @pagact

  214-533-4964

  Facebook Fan Page: Black Star Ops Group Website: www.blackstaropsgroup.com DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to anyone who has picked up a pen or tapped a keyboard and wondered, what if, and why not? It is also dedicated to my smart and lovely wife, Jake.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First printing -6/1/2014

  PRAISE FORBLACKJACK BOMBER “TC Miller has created a true page-turner with Blackjack Bomber. He draws you into the rather mundane lives of a group of poker buddies who hatch a scheme to take the big wins from the local casinos. As you can imagine this plan does not end as well as the group would have liked. With the mob expecting repayment the group gets led down another path of illegal activities by one of the members.

  There are twists and turns in this story that will definitely hold the readers attention. Blackjack Bomber is guaranteed to keep you involved in the story so do not start your read late at night. I found myself staying up far too late just to see how things worked out, or as the case may be - didn't work out for the group.

  Great job, TC Miller, can't wait for your next book.”

  —Nancy D. Pendleton “Author T. C. Miller has created a suspense novel that will keep readers turning pages. The events are so plausible it is frightening. There are many unsuspected twists and turns, which is what readers of mystery thrillers are hoping to find. BlackJack Bomber will not disappoint; you'll find yourself begging for the sequel.”

  —Joyce Gilmour “Compelling drama, a page turner with multiple twists, couldn't read fast enough to reach the finale. Can hardly wait for the next book.”

  —Barbara Telford “Enjoyed the military accuracy and twist in plot. Good character development. Kept my interest and appreciated the lack of profanity. Looking forward to sequel.”

  —Duane Winstead, USAF, Retired

  OTHER NOVELS FROM TIMBER CREEK PRESS MILITARY ACTION/TECHNO

  BLACK EAGLE FORCE: Eye of the Storm (Book #1) by Buck Stienke and Ken Farmer

  BLACK EAGLE FORCE: Sacred Mountain (Book #2) by Buck Stienke and Ken Farmer

  RETURN of the STARFIGHTER (Book #3)

  by Buck Stienke and Ken Farmer

  BLACK EAGLE FORCE: BLOOD IVORY (Book #4) by Buck Stienke and Ken Farmer with Doran Ingrham BLACK EAGLE FORCE: FOURTH REICH (Book #5) BLOOD BROTHERS - Doran Ingrham, Buck Stienke and Ken Farmer

  HISTORICAL FICTION WESTERN

  THE NATIONS by Ken Farmer and Buck Stienke HAUNTED FALLS by Ken Farmer and Buck Stienke HELL HOLE by Ken Farmer

  DEVIL’S CANYON by Buck Stienke

  WESTERN ROMANCE

  SURRENDERED by Peggy Patrick SURRENDERED II by Peggy Patrick

  Coming This Summer

  SCI/FY

  LEGEND of AURORA by Ken Farmer & Buck Stienke

  WESTERN ROMANCE

  SURRENDERED III by Peggy Patrick

  MILITARY ACTION/TECHNO DARK SECRET by Doran Ingrham

  HISTORICAL FICTION WESTERN

  ACROSS the RED by Ken Farmer & Buck Stienke TIMBER CREEK PRESS

  CHAPTER 1

  CANNERY

  NEAR SEAWIND BAY, CALIFORNIA “Who’s there?” she croaked through a dust-dry throat as the squeaking sound of rusty bedsprings pierced the darkness. “Joanna…That you, Nora?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You okay?

  “Think so. You?”

  “Tasered…Shot me up with something. Where are we?”

  “Old building, from the musty smell.

  “Other smell what I think it is?”

  “You mean rat droppings and pee?”

  “I hate rats!”

  “Me, too. See the guys who got you?”

  “No. We waited at the diner for a couple hours. Went to look for you…Got us in the parking lot…Real pros.”

  “Didn’t see them?”

  “Like I said, real pros…hit us from the side. Got a pretty good lick in on one…Then they zapped me…Heard a sizzling sound before that…Guess they got Jake first. Woke up and heard snoring…Thought you were one of them. ”

  “That’s okay…Thought you were a rat.” She laughed.

  “Thanks a lot…Like I said, I hate rats.”

  “It was the smell and skittering around.”

  “Oh, don’t say skittering…I’ll come undone. So, what’s next?”

  “First of all, I’d hate to be whoever grabbed us…They’re gonna have to answer to Bart…Wouldn’t want to be in their shoes when he gets a hold of them. I suppose it was the smugglers…”

  “More than likely…And you’re right, the Colonel will lay one big hurt on them. In the meantime, though, we can’t just lay here and wait. We need a plan…Any ideas?”

  “No…still coming to. Trying to think of what Bart would do…Sure help if I could see.”

  “Adds new meaning to being in
the dark…Can’t even see my own hand. Wait…think I see a crack of light under a door.”

  “Where?”

  “Other side of the room…Least I think it’s a door…Can you get free?”

  “Not sure. They did a good search…Gun’s gone, knife’s gone. Had a fingernail file in my back pocket…Hope they missed it. Thank you, Jesus! Still there…If I can just get it…”

  “Hurry, before they come back.”

  “If I was going any faster, I’d be a blur. Got a strand cut!”

  “Way to go…Now hurry up.”

  “Hold your horses, little missy.”

  “Can’t stand being tied up…I feel so damned helpless.”

  “Yeah, it’s the worst part…Okay, hands are free. Give me a minute, I’ll have my feet loose…there.” She carefully swung her feet over the edge of the bed and felt her shoes touch a hard irregular surface. “Rough concrete.”

  “Come this way.”

  “Feeling with my foot…Seems clear.”

  “Your voice…getting closer.”

  “Roger tha…ow! Hit a corner…Like a box or maybe a footlocker…A metal railing.”

  “The bed moved.”

  Nora felt like screaming with joy when their outstretched hands met, but remembered the situation and remained silent. She felt the other woman tugging at the fingernail file.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “Let’s get you loose first…You’re younger and a better fighter.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “Welcome.”

  It didn’t take as long as she thought to saw through the ropes that bound the younger woman’s legs to the bed. It took a little longer to free her hands, but a few minutes later her fellow team member stood on shaky legs. After a quick hug they turned and started moving slowly toward the sliver of light across the room.

  They moved carefully, searching for anything that might serve as a weapon. She felt like doing a happy dance when she nudged a piece of metal pipe on the floor that was as long as her arm. They reached the area above the sliver of light and she reached out and touched it—it was a door. She turned around and whispered, “How do we get them in here?” Joanna shrugged her shoulders in an unseen reply.

  “Can’t bang on the door…They’d know we’re free. Can’t scream and yell…They’ll know we’ve come to.”

  “What if I say you can’t breathe?”

  “They’ll know we’re awake.”

  Despair covered them like a wet blanket. Nora felt like sitting down on the floor and crying like a little girl. Where’s my knight-in-shining armor? She took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

  Joanna sensed her frustration and whispered, “Time to put on big-girl panties and deal with it…We’re warriors, right?”

  “Hoo-rah,” she whispered back. “What would warriors do?”

  “Wouldn’t panic.”

  “I think...”

  Her sentence was interrupted by the metallic sounds of a padlock being opened on the other side of the door. Maybe it’s Bart!…Dammit, eyes haven’t adjusted. The door began to swing open as the sliver of light became an ever-growing triangle that spread across the floor.

  Joanna slipped behind the opening door as Nora stood frozen with indecision. A well-worn work boot stepped into the widening fan of light as the barrel of an automatic rifle was thrust cautiously ahead of the figure. The smell of body odor and tobacco breath wafted into the room.

  Nora faded back into the darkness and waited, her shoulder-length brunette hair offering some camouflage in the darkness. A sense of calm settled over her, as training and instinct took over. Adrenaline began to pump through her arteries and events seemed to play-out in slow motion.

  Their captor was halfway through the door when she raised both hands and charged with all of her strength. Take that, sucker. The guard saw the movement and turned toward her just in time to have the edge of the door strike him from his groin to his forehead. He seemed to be divided in two with a look of shock frozen on the right half of his face.

  Joanna gave the door a powerful kick, and the added force robbed the guard of consciousness. His eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped to the floor.

  The rifle fell away from him and Nora scooped it up, recognizing the AK-47 design in an instant. She pulled back the bolt to chamber a round and flicked the safety off. Her finger rested along the trigger guard—ready to release a spray of deadly fire on anybody unlucky enough to be in the hall.

  A quick pull on the door revealed an empty corridor running thirty feet to a cavernous area that appeared to be part of a warehouse or factory. The hallway was lit by ceiling-mounted bulbs that cast an anemic yellow glow every ten feet or so. She returned to the room and grabbed a radio from the belt of the unconscious guard.

  “Looks clear,” she whispered to Joanna. “Smell the salt air? Must be close to the water.” They moved carefully into the hallway.

  The younger woman pulled the door shut and replaced the lock. “Left the keys in his pocket…They’ll have to find the spare. Let’s see what’s out there.” They moved slowly down the hallway.

  ***

  CHAPTER 2

  MATHER AIR FORCE BASE

  RANCHO CORDOVA, CALIFORNIA FIVE WEEKS EARLIER

  “Sir, I have a federal agent out here…Says she needs to talk with you right away,” the voice of Sergeant Williams, his administrative assistant, carried a tone over the intercom that either meant she was annoyed, or the agent who was requesting time with Bart was trying to intimidate her.

  Lieutenant Colonel Bart Winfield, Executive Officer of the Security Police Squadron, picked up the phone. “Really busy right now…She have an appointment?”

  “No, sir…And you’re due at the ‘O’ Club in less than thirty minutes for Captain Morgan’s going away lunch…This Benson insists she talk with you now.”

  “Agent Mary Benson, NSA?”

  “What her ID says.”

  “Send her in immediately and tell the ‘O’ Club I might be a

  few minutes late.”

  “She needs to use the ladies room…I’ll bring her in when

  she comes back.”

  He hadn’t seen Benson since the Extortion at the Lake six

  days ago. That was how news people characterized the attempt

  to smuggle a bomb into the Majestic Casino in Lake Tahoe to

  blackmail the owners. The actual nature of the event was kept

  secret to avoid a panic and conceal the real motive.

  They talked briefly by telephone the day after returning from

  Lake Tahoe. There was some talk about making Bart the focal

  point of the publicity around the event, since he directed the

  team that located and defused the device. It wasn’t in his nature

  to be in the public eye and they finally agreed the Air Force

  team member’s identities would remain hidden from the civilian

  community, since their participation might generate unnecessary

  questions. The thanks he got from the people around him who

  knew about the mission were enough for him.

  The disarmed device and another bomb hidden in a vehicle

  in the casino parking lot were returned to the base the next day.

  Unfortunately, two other bombs and a highly classified piece of

  communications equipment called the Black Star System were

  still missing.

  Much of his time since returning to the base had been

  occupied with coordinating reports to dozens of government

  agencies. Everybody wanted to locate the equipment, and

  nobody had a clue about where to begin the search.

  In the meantime, his Squadron Commander was rushed to

  the base hospital for an emergency appendectomy and would be

  out of action for another two weeks—which meant he was

  filling two jobs. Like tap dancing on roller skates on an ice
<
br />   rink.

  He stretched his six foot six inch frame as far under the

  solid walnut desk as space would allow, rubbed his hands over

  chiseled cheekbones, clasped them behind his head and closed

  his eyes. It was almost noon and he had been in meetings of one

  sort or another since before six. Meditating was one way he

  dealt with the pressure—something he learned from his

  life-long study of the martial arts. He held black belts in four

  diverse styles, including the highest level in Hakkoryu Jujitsu,

  the Menkyo Kaiden Shihan San Dai Kichu.

  The commander’s desk saw enough administrative work

  cross it to keep a person busy full-time, but now there was the

  added responsibility for day-to-day management of squadron

  operations. Be glad when Hadler’s back, so I can get back to

  workouts.

  The startling image of a digital timer thrust itself into his

  thoughts, as bold red figures methodically counted down the

  seconds…1:32…1:31…1:30. He flashed back to the casino

  theater at Lake Tahoe where the work of a hastily assembled

  team of Security Police Squadron personnel and National Security Agency Agents that he led prevented a disaster of

  unthinkable scale.

  The beauty of the largest alpine lake in North America

  would have been replaced by a glassy crater of gargantuan scale

  and the Sierra Nevada Mountains would have been permanently

  scarred. Tens of thousands of people would have been

  vaporized in an instant. That is what a well-placed nuclear

  device can do in the hands of a terrorist. Only the work of the

  handful of security professionals he led prevented the

  catastrophe.

  His thoughts switched to Nora, his wife of nineteen years,

  who was undeniably his first love and Eagle One, his second

  love—a Silver Eagle bus they were converting from a

  commercial passenger carrier into a recreational vehicle. It was

  parked next to their home in Rancho Cordova, the community

  next to Mather Air Force Base. Nora had shown him another

  revision of a floor plan the night before and he was mulling it