The Chancellor Organization is a world-wide secret 'information enterprise' owned by the reclusive multi-billionaire Duke Chancellor, whose colorful executive Joe Czarzhynensky orchestrates its influence to benefit or punish people where the law has proven inadequate. Denver psychologist Jake Lewis stops at Eddie's Place for entertainment and food after a day of counseling veterans at the Denver VA Hospital. There he falls hopelessly in love with Sasha, a gorgeous and uniquely talented vocalist, and only niece of Duke Chancellor. Jake and Sasha agree to meet again at Eddie's Place after she returns from her next performance in Fresno, but she never arrives because she is among the missing after Khalid Kayani executes the most devastating terrorist attack since 9/11. Jake is suspended in emotional limbo, unaware of her fate, fearing she stood him up, or is dead. After a professional conference at NYU, he joins friends at Club 46 in Manhattan, where he is shocked to hear her distinctive voice from the stage. However, when his friends try to reunite them after the show, Sasha does not recognize him because she suffers from amnesia. Join the rich and compelling suspense, running the entire gamut of human emotion, as The Chancellor Organization arranges creative psychotherapy for Sasha and then assists General Murray of the CIA in their search for Rasheed Shirani, the planner of the Fresno incident. Delight in their creative persuasion techniques, as Joe and General Murray manipulate influential people to capture Rasheed and bring him to justice in an unusual exercise of 'the law of the jungle' where the jury expresses the true conscience of the people. KIRKUS REVIEWS Rettew, Philip L. THE FRESNO INCIDENT pA terrorist attack shakes Fresno, and Jake Lewis is left to mourn the woman of his dreams - or is he? When Jake meets beautiful singer Sasha, his life changes irrevocably. But then the city of Fresno suffers a
The Fresno Incident
By Philip L. RettewAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Philip L. Rettew
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4670-7305-9Chapter One
Monday, September 10, 2007 Fresno, California
It's five minutes before eight o'clock. I should have just enough time to shower, change my clothes and get ready ...
That's odd.... That police car has the flashers on and it's turning into the same street where I need to go ... I wonder why ... That big truck must be blocking the street ... Come on people! Let's get going here ... I don't have all day!
She was simply innocent. She was in danger.
"OH ... OH ... MY GOD! OH, NNNOOO! OH ... MY ... GOD ... NNNOOO! OH! OWWWWW! OUCH! OH MY GOD, NO ... NO ... NO ... OWWW! EEEEEEEAAAAGH!"
Jake? I ... love ... you ... Jake? Save ... me ... Uhhh ... Now ... I'm ... going ... to ... die ...
What ... is ... that ... white ... light?
The beautiful young woman lay still, hanging out of the overturned and severely damaged van as utter chaos continued around her.
Their selfish and misguided beliefs masqueraded as compelling truth. The world still did not understand, so they felt compelled to act. His plan was born almost five years ago in a simple small teahouse on the other side of the world. His self-righteous intelligence would eventually lead to this tragic and delicate balance between life and death.
Chapter Two
Saturday, November 2, 2002 Mingora, Pakistan
Within sight of some of the highest, most inspiring and majestic snow-capped mountains on earth in the distance, two men in their mid-twenties huddled at a small table in the rear of a small teahouse, away from all the other patrons. They conversed in hushed voices, looking casually over their shoulders from time to time to assure themselves that no one was paying any attention to them.
Then Rasheed fixed his penetrating stare on the younger man's eyes and said quietly, "Khalid, you must soon take a wife and prepare for your mission against Satan in the United States. I will need you for important work in a few years. You can sustain yourself with your shoe business there just as you have here, and when the time is right, I will call you. We must be patient. You will need a period of several years to become a part of the local community and blend in with a minimum of suspicion so you can ultimately achieve your proper purpose on this earth and serve Allah as effectively as possible. The struggle will be long and difficult, but eventually, the rest of the world will recognize that serving Allah is the only destiny of all mankind."
Rasheed Shirani was fully comfortable with himself, the truth as he knew it, and was planning to make a significant contribution to the future, as he believed it should be. Only thirteen months had passed since the September 11 attacks upon the World Trade Towers in New York City, the Pentagon and an unknown target, probably the nation's Capitol building. Since that time, authorities throughout the world discovered and defeated several terrorist threats, but several other attacks succeeded. Some of the incidents received greater than average attention in the media, and others did not. Life would continue that way for most of the next five years.
Eventually, Khalid Kayani and his wife Farah moved to San Diego in late 2003. He developed his reputation as a skilled artisan as word spread throughout most of the southwest about his fine custom-made boots and shoes. Farah was so excited about moving to the United Sates, that she could not see beyond her husband's words into his radical ideas. All she saw was an experienced artisan who could make anything out of leather to fit even the most unusual foot sizes and in any style that one could imagine or explain to him, even for children and people with foot deformities or other special requirements. She believed he was a good man and a hard worker. When he was not using his own ideas, he was working from rough drawings supplied by his customers, and sometimes from actual old or discarded shoes. Some of his customers' drawings were quite good, and others were relatively poor, requiring more of his artistic imagination to transform into the final product. If his customer did not like the finished footwear, Khalid would keep the returned shoes or boots in his shop, waiting for the unlikely coincidence of another buyer with the same size requirements and artistic taste. He could do this because he required a deposit of fifteen percent with each order. The customer would forfeit that deposit if he returned the product for any reason. Both men and women ordered shoes from him from as far away as Maine, Alaska, Mexico, Canada and Japan, and customer dissatisfaction was rather low. He did not advertise because it was not necessary. Word of mouth and internet traffic from satisfied customers spread sufficiently to maintain a steady flow of business and his acceptance in the local community, just as it had in Pakistan.
Farah cleaned three or sometimes four houses a week in the wealthier suburbs of San Diego. She earned $100 in cash per house. The rest of the time, she handled orders for footwear for her husband. She was happy and optimistic in her adopted country. They had money in the bank that she intended to use to buy their own house some day and live the American dream. She also looked forward to having a child or two through which she hoped to enrich their lives. Whenever she brought the subject up, Khalid always put her off.
He had other priorities that required dedicated work, patience and meticulous planning. Their marriage was proper and traditional, but devoid of the romantic passion in Farah's dreams. She had become accustomed to a life of only adequate happiness. That was her fate, given her limited upbringing and her current position in the most promising land of opportunity on earth. However, she carefully nurtured whatever opportunities for optimism she could find.
Almost four years later, his old friend Rasheed finally called to tell him it was time. They were ready to execute Rasheed's plan.
Chapter Three
Wednesday, September 13, 2006 Manhattan, New York
Eddie Barringer was in Manhattan at a restaurateur's convention for three days, trying to learn the latest ways to keep his mid-size Denver restaurant and bar competitive in the current tough and uncertain economic cycle. He was fortunate enough to keep his head chef, and he was smart enough to believe that people who liked his food probably would be willing to pay a little extra for good entertainment. For the last twenty-seven years, he had provided his patrons with a relatively inexpensive evening of delicious food that they did not have to prepare for themselves and usually good music at the same location without paying a small fortune.
He did not follow the entire schedule of events for the convention every day. He liked to walk around on his own and explore the entertainment districts in the late afternoon and evening for what he believed to be the additional benefit of exercise and the illusion of losing some of his `extra' weight someday. He visited various entertainment restaurants, lounges and bars where he believed he had a credible chance of finding good talent, but he always hoped for something extraordinary. As a rather rusty musician himself, he still knew good musical talent when he found it, and simply preferred to do his own research this time rather than rely exclusively upon professional scouts or entertainment agencies.
Shortly after six o'clock, he walked into The Bitter End in Greenwich Village, and not just heard, but also felt a woman's voice far superior to any other he had heard in many years. He was fifty-four years old, almost five feet, eight inches tall, somewhat pudgy and gradually losing his dark brown hair that was also changing to grey where he still had it. However, he was still young enough physically and mentally to appreciate a beautiful woman when he saw one. He sensed a winner for his bar in Denver, and waited patiently at his table for an opportunity to meet her and her backup musicians after their performance that evening. They were all talented men, one on keyboard, one on soprano sax, one on drums and one on electric guitar.
Quite an interesting group of instruments, he thought.
He was ecstatic as he approached the stage after their current number ended, and brazenly handed his card to the woman.
He announced with his most gracious and inviting smile in a voice loud enough to ensure that she could understand him above the background noise in the club, "My name's Eddie Barringer! I want to book your group at my restaurant and bar in Denver at your earliest convenience. I will wait until the end of your show tonight to talk further, OK?"
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he mused to himself.
He discovered that she was just as beautiful at close range as she was attractive at a distance. He was doubly impressed because the latter circumstance did not always translate into the former in his experience.
To his complete amazement, she smiled and said pleasantly, "OK!"
Eddie returned to his seat and eagerly settled in for the rest of the evening, nursing a Budweiser as the world around him dissolved, leaving only the comforting sound of her voice. He did not need to explore any more entertainment venues. When it was obvious that they were through for the evening, Eddie returned to the stage, and true to her word, she spent a few moments with him.
"Hi Eddie," she said brightly as he approached her. "My name is Sasha. I'm more or less the business manager of the group."
"I'm more than pleased to meet you, Sasha!" he said with obvious and uncontrolled admiration. "How long have you all been performing together?"
"About three years," she said pleasantly, inviting further conversation with a smile.
"Have you ever been to Denver?" he asked without a strong preference for 'yes' or 'no,' but would have liked to hear 'no' so he honestly could claim to be the first to introduce her to the greater Denver area.
She unwittingly rewarded him with a friendly "No, I haven't, but I would really like to visit there, especially to see the mountains!"
"Well, you are most welcome to come out as soon as possible, which would be when?" he asked a little too directly in his excitement at the possibility.
He was completely prepared to rearrange his schedule if necessary to accommodate her.
She sighed briefly and continued, "We are booked rather solid for the next fifty-one weeks, Eddie, I'm sorry to say for your sake but I would be willing to visit you after that if it's okay with you!"
Her response told Eddie that he was on the right track. They were good enough to be booked throughout almost a year, so they were good enough for him to pay whatever she wanted to perform in his club.
He continued with a hopeful tone, "I would like to have you perform at my club for a two-week period, or more, if you can manage that."
"I'm really sorry, Eddie, but we have another engagement after Saint Louis in Fresno that would eliminate anything longer than about five days in between those two in Denver."
The length of the potential engagement disappointed Eddie, but he decided five days was certainly better than nothing at all and effectively masked his disappointment as he continued with gracious acceptance of less than what he wanted.
"I would be simply delighted to have you at my club for five days, Sasha!"
She asked how large the restaurant was, where it was located, and how many people Eddie would expect to have as an audience, whether he had a performing stage and how big it was. She did not want to perform in some low-class dive or a small place with too few people. She wanted a certain minimum length of performance time, and a fair effort from Eddie to advertise their performance engagement in advance. After all, her group was still relatively new and she wanted to get as much exposure and free advertising as she could and as efficiently as possible. Even though her group had never been to Denver before, she wanted to have an audience big enough to make her feel comfortable with the expense and effort to get there, as well as to help spread the word about their music.
Eddie was quite happy to grant all of her requests and would do whatever was necessary to accommodate her and advertise her group at his place. He pulled out a simple contract form from his pocket to finalize the deal with The Autumn Dream, the name of her group. They exchanged all relevant particulars and contact information before Eddie returned to his hotel for the night feeling excited and optimistic, but dreading the long wait until she showed up in Denver. He felt like a fifteen-year-old again having to wait a whole year for his driver's license.
Chapter Four
Friday, September 15, 2006 Baltimore, Maryland
Eighteen-year-old Willie Jones was lying almost unconscious on a gurney in the emergency room at Sinai Hospital, bleeding from a gunshot wound of his right thigh.
His mother, Bertha Jones was a heavy-set, almost six-foot tall black woman with fire in her slightly bulging, blood-shot eyes, and a life full of enough disappointment to keep that fire burning. She raised three boys into their teens, but two were shot and killed in downtown Baltimore gang warfare before they reached the age of sixteen. She had not seen the boys' father for many years. He had abandoned the family when the oldest, Darien, was just three and the middle son, Damon, was only fifteen months old and the youngest, Willie, was merely an infant. Darien and Damon never finished high school. They succumbed to visions of a life of luxury and riches beyond avarice from the sale of drugs, and fell into the world of Sigma, one of the most notorious drug dealers in the state of Maryland, or the entire east coast for that matter. He had no known first name or last name, by all official and unofficial reports. Everyone knew him only as Sigma. He was elusive, to say the least, both physically and legally. He brought in enough drug money from the most vulnerable along the eastern seaboard to keep a slick lawyer in his employ full time.
Benjamin Borglowski had a law degree. That was all he had in Bertha's opinion, from what she could read in the newspapers about him. He had no moral code. From his perspective, however, he was simply representing people in the complex legal system who could not represent themselves. His job was to protect Sigma, and he was rather good at it. He kept Sigma sufficiently distant from the original sources of his money through a variety of shell companies and associated 'business dealings' that effectively made Sigma's considerable income look like it had either spent a month in Clorox and boiling water, or came from a bevy of secret admirers and business deals. Sigma was on the hit list of criminals in the metropolitan Baltimore-Washington area, the list of people the police wanted behind bars, or dead.
Earlier that day, Detective Anthony D'Anatoli was having a late lunch at his favorite corner table at the Red Baron Bar and Grill before he went on duty for the evening. A disheveled old woman with straggly hair under a bandana and a flimsy brown dress that looked like it came from a homeless shelter was watching the street outside, because she knew D'Anatoli's routine. She saw him get out of his unmarked police car in front of the club and go inside. She waited for several minutes to be sure he was staying inside for his usual meal and not coming right back out to go somewhere else. She walked into the bar and looked around for any possible threatening people or situations. Then she saw him in the corner to her right after waiting for several moments to let her eyes adjust to the dark veneer wood and low light inside. She hobbled over to D'Anatoli's table and dropped a note on it with the subtle quickness of a street magician, turned, and then limped out of the club with speed uncommon among typical older 'injured' people. D'Anatoli had a virtual Ph.D. in 'street smarts.' He knew that was not a 'little old lady,' and he knew it would be pointless to pursue 'her.' 'She' was doing no harm to him or to anyone else and he had no immediate cause to detain 'her,' so he turned his attention to the note. The information was credible, interesting, and worth his time. It had the earmarks of a possible drug war about to heat up.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Fresno Incidentby Philip L. Rettew Copyright © 2012 by Philip L. Rettew. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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