Savages, like wild animals, prey on the unsuspecting. It's been almost fourteen years since Ian Christian served his country during the Vietnam War and he's now living a tranquil life with a newfound love. He is working as a successful advertising executive when he receives a disturbing phone call from the widow of an old friend. Apparently, his friend, Roland The Snake" Cummings has died under suspicious circumstances, thrusting Ian into a fight for survival. The more he investigates, the more he comes to believe Roland was killed by an old enemy-an enemy they have in common. After a murderous three-week spree, this assassin surfaces in Ian's hometown of Minneapolis, where he plans to kill the ex-army sergeant. Ian is one step ahead, though; he wins the first duel of wits, but he's nowhere near safe yet. He'll need the assistance of FBI Agent Ralph Yorkshire to stop this killer for good. Ian and Ralph lure the assassin to a small-town farm in Iowa, where they set a trap. It appears their trap has worked, but maybe not. Someone is still hunting Ian - someone who wants to see him dead. In this prequel to File 871, Ian finds himself moving closer and closer to the truth. A deadly game of cat and mouse begins-and only time will tell who is the hunter and who is the hunted"

A Rendezvous with Death

By deMichael Myer

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 deMichael Myer
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-4691-8

Chapter One

Friday, October 2, Minneapolis, MN

A tall, rugged-looking blond-haired man was standing motionless and beleaguered, completely absorbed in thought as he gazed out the window of his sunny office on the tenth floor of the IDS Center. As he leaned against the glass, he looked down and saw people scampering about on Eighth Street in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. He watched intently as the swirling wind caught several unsuspecting women as they rushed from one store to the next, trying vainly to hold their skirts from lifting up and exposing themselves to the elements. It was on days like these that the man wished he had an office on the bottom floor, so he could have an up close and personal view of the sidewalk entertainment.

The man was Ian Christian, an army veteran who served in Vietnam from October 1968 to the same month in 1969. He had been an infantry sergeant with the Fourth Division in the Pleiku Highlands and was now working as an account executive for the Williams Agency.

As Ian stood there, he thought back to the phone message he had received a day earlier. It was troublesome. The message was from Benita Cummings, the wife of an old Vietnam buddy of his. Her husband, Roland "The Snake" Cummings, along with Paul Fisher and Ian, had been the lone survivors of an ambush at Fu Pin, a small hamlet on the Cambodian border back in late spring of '69. The rest of his platoon had been killed by the Vietcong. That wasn't totally accurate. Actually, Ian had shot and killed James Wilson that very same day as he ran from the hamlet. At the time it had seemed the right thing to do because Wilson was a coward and he didn't deserve to live. Wilson could have stood his ground and fought his way out of the village; instead he turned and ran, so Ian had no choice but to put three nicely placed bullets in his back. Getting out of the ambush alive had been pure magic; one that would have even challenged the great Houdini. After Fish and Ian fought their way out, Ian picked up a wounded Corporal Cummings and carried him to safety. Shortly after that, Roland was discharged from the army with a very pronounced limp caused by a bullet from a Vietcong, whom Ian also sent to the hereafter. And Roland had been grateful to him ever since.

The lengthy message had been about Roland. Apparently, Roland had taken a header off of an office building in downtown Atlanta, causing his brains to splatter all over Peachtree Boulevard. Roland had been a night security guard at the Hawthorn Building, and for some reason, he went to the rooftop and took his life. Benita said his death was far too suspicious, as the two of them were living a great life together. They had recently made plans to visit Las Vegas and to stop at the Grand Canyon on their way. They'd even planned a vacation to Hawaii in the following year. So killing himself didn't make any sense. The police said it looked like a suicide, as they found no evidence that would lead them to think otherwise. Still, Benita couldn't fathom why a happy man, with no known vices, would up and kill himself.

Ian could tell by her message that Benita was still shaken by the incident and was desperately seeking answers. He couldn't think of a single reason why Roland would kill himself. The two of them spoke often, and Ian had never gotten the impression Roland was depressed or unhappy. To the contrary, Roland was elated to be alive, and he said he owed it all to Ian. So why did he do it? No one would probably ever know, but Ian thought it would be appropriate to place a call to Benita to see if he could help her with her grief.

On a brighter note, Ian was excited because he was going to meet up with his brother Eugene this evening. The two of them were getting together after work to have some drinks at Duffy's, which was located within walking distance of his office. It was on the corner of Eighth Street and La Salle. Ian hadn't seen his brother for almost a year and he was looking forward to hearing what was happening in his life.

* * *

Judy, a lovely young assistant who worked for Jack Evans, chose the moment to step into my office and interrupt the wonderful images I was having of Eugene and his family. She informed me there was a four thirty meeting in the conference room to discuss the Gustafson account, which would only take fifteen to twenty minutes. That was total bullshit, I thought. No meeting with the CFO and Jack Evans would ever take that short of time. I made a mental note to call my brother and delay our rendezvous until six thirty this evening.

An impending afternoon meeting meant only one thing ... it was time to quit fucking around and get to work on a strategy for my business cohorts. The two men were typical Hugo Boss types: uptight, white shirt and plain tie, stick-up-the-ass kind of dicks with a boring sense of fashion. Never once had I seen them wear a colored shirt or even a tie with some kind of abstract print ... just gray, black, or blue pin-striped suits. That was the extent of their wardrobe.

After wasting the first hour of the morning daydreaming, I decided to retreat to the confines of my desk to ponder what the two men wanted. I tossed a variety of ideas around in my head, but I just couldn't get my hands around anything. Nothing was clicking, so I decided to place a call to Judy to find out if she could give me a little insight as to what the two men wanted. She couldn't tell me squat, just said they were in the final planning stage of something very important for the agency.

Williams was a huge agricultural agency with many medium to large-size accounts. I had several; one being Gustafson, Inc. of Dallas, Texas, of which my brother Eugene happened to be the president and CEO. John Deere, Northrup-King, Monsanto, Land-O-Lakes and General Mills were among the rest, as well as a number of smaller implement, seed, and chemical companies.

I spent the rest of the day in my office reviewing notes on Gustafson, the newest of all the accounts I managed. Being an account executive was a steppingstone to bigger and better things within the agency. I eventually wanted to run the place, but who in their right mind wouldn't. That would mean big-time cash, luxury items, and a lifestyle that was only a dream, coming from my meager background. I was on the fast track to upper management, but if I was to make it to the top, I had to bide my time, put in the hours, and kiss ass with guys like CFO Jeff Barnes and the president of the agency. And kissing ass and following rules were two things I didn't do well.

Four thirty eventually came around faster than I had anticipated, so I gathered my file and took the stairs down to the meeting room on the ninth floor where I found Jeff Barnes and Jack Evans seated at a conference table in the middle of the room. Spreadsheets were out in front of them and a small timeline chart was just to their left. Speaking about stick-up-the-ass dicks, these two were still in their suits; neither of them had even loosened their collars. They were talking quietly, then stopped and kind of gazed at me with half-open mouths as I stood in the doorway. I was out of my sports coat, wearing a bright, purple-striped shirt and a tie with a Tasmanian devil at full rage. Needless to say, it wasn't the attire of an up and coming executive.

I exhaled slightly and entered the room. The two men greeted me from their chairs, urging me to have a seat between them where we could talk without interruption. They had some good news they wanted to share with me. They knew I'd been working with Gustafson on a promotional campaign, in this particular case it was a corporate video, some sales brochures, four or five direct mail pieces, and an island trade show display. It was a large portfolio of work that would consume much of my time for the next half year. The video was to be shot at three locations; two in the United States and one in Brazil. I had worked long and hard trying to sell this package and it seemed my efforts had finally paid off. It meant huge dollars for the agency and a large bonus for me. Jeff and Jack had worked out the cost projections, and they brought me here to tell me it was a go to get the project rolling. I was informed I had six months to put together a script and have Gustafson sign off on it. During that time I would need to get a camera crew together, as well as coordinate all the other details right on down to hotel and airline tickets. Wow! That was all I could say. I was so excited to be a major player in this game. I only hoped, when the project was completed, that I got full recognition for its plan and execution. But then again, who knows, I wouldn't bet against Jack Evans taking all the accolades for the finished product. He was a sneaky asshole whom other colleagues had warned me about.

We spent the better part of an hour going over the numbers to make sure they worked. The Williams Agency hadn't been one of the top agencies in the country for nothing. They were a stickler for having all the projections down to a gnat's ass. They asked my thoughts for the writing, art, and filming team, and that was it. It was a short meeting that lasted over the allotted time, but I wasn't a bit upset when the day ended like this.

When the meeting concluded, I went back to my office to check for messages and collect my things. There had been no calls from anyone, so I left to go meet up with Eugene. It was going to be a fantastic evening, one that would be filled with lots of vodka and tequila, and an expensive cab ride home.

I emerged from my office with coat in hand and took the elevator to the bottom floor of the IDS. Before leaving, I buttoned up my coat to keep the chilly Minnesota wind from causing my dick to disappear faster than money on a craps table. The half-block walk to the bar was an invigorating one to say the least. I was still congratulating myself as I walked through the front door at Duffy's.

Once inside, I looked right and came face-to-face with a seventies rock band called Frank Kohler and the Allies. The rather buff-looking lead singer, whom I assumed was Frank, had a Hendrix-looking Afro and was sporting a T-shirt that read: The Wet Spots are Coming. I believed the reference to be both a sexual aspiration and an aspersion toward women in general, but by the way he was screaming - Big Ten Inch - by Aerosmith, it might just have been more of wishful thinking than anything else. The band's loud music was drowning out this side of the bar, which meant Eugene wouldn't be in this section of the establishment. He hated loud music; thought it was unnecessary. So I walked around the actual bar and found him in a smaller room out back. As I approached, I saw Eugene and Dan Liberty, an old friend of his, sitting as bookends to a gorgeous woman I knew from my distant childhood. Her name was Kate Anderson, Kate Rutan or Kate Peterson ... it was Kate something, that I knew for sure. I wasn't certain of which last name she was going by these days. The one thing I did know was that her face and body were as beautiful as the last time I'd seen her, which was when I was thirteen years old. Kate had coal-black hair, a rather long nose that had an ever-so-slight bend to the left, and a wicked smile that was inviting me to the party.

The three of them were nowhere near being sober. They were all major friends during their high school days and at least five years older than me. And there was Kate; licking her moist, red lips like a lioness does when she's anticipating her prey. I remember my brother telling me once that every guy in high school made a run at her with little to no success. She wound up dating a point guard on the basketball team her senior year and married him shortly after they graduated. That was the Anderson guy, I was sure of that. She then married another guy, and then another guy and, well, was divorced for the third time at age thirty-nine. And she was sitting right in front of me with those hungry eyes. Believe me; I had no plans on being husband number four.

It dawned on me at that moment as to why my brother was in town. He was here with friends to celebrate sealing the Gustafson deal. A was a great surprise, with some delicious cake for dessert. I really loved dessert, especially when it came in the form of voluptuous breasts that were stuffed into a size-two dress.

I shivered a little with delight at the sight of Kate and said, "So, you people started without me?"

"That's right," replied Eugene. "We've been here for a couple of rounds at happy hour."

I said, "Bullshit! It looks to me like you've been here for more than a couple of drinks."

Eugene blew that off and said, "I'll bet you never guessed why I was coming to town? I told the boys at Williams not to say a word about anything until the end of the day. I didn't want them to spoil the surprise. You know Dan Liberty, and do you remember who this beautiful young lady is?"

Eugene didn't have to introduce Kate: I knew her from all the wet dreams I'd had had of her up until the time I was sixteen years old. I hadn't stopped staring at her or her at me since I came into the bar. Those large, brown eyes were alive with anticipation and they were fixed on me. It was as if Eugene and Dan didn't exist.

Then Kate spoke. "Ian, it has been ages since we last met. If my recollection is correct, I believe it was at a party in your parents' basement. You probably won't believe this, but I always thought you were the cutest little brother of all of my friends. You were so inquisitive, always wanting to come down to the party and see what was going on. I remember your brother running you off on a couple of occasions. All the girls wanted you to stay, but your brother had other ideas."

"What's not to believe? I was always cute," I said with a grin. But not so little anymore as Big Ian was telling me at this very moment. "You know, I think it was pure inquisitiveness that brought me to the basement in those days." No it was the desire to see you naked. "So brother, do you plan on running me off again tonight?"

That brought laughter from everyone as I ordered the first of many cocktails for the evening. The four of us spent the next couple of hours catching up on old times. Eugene told me Kate worked in the same building as I did down in the Crystal Court, so they went over and invited her to the party. I could sense the two men still had hard-ons for her after all these years. I assumed they would have liked to be with her if they could. But I, on the other hand, could tell she wanted to be with me, as all of her conversations gravitated in my direction. She wanted to know what I'd been up to all these years. I told her I had gone to Vietnam and graduated from St. Cloud State University after I returned from the war. I had a couple of failed marriages, a four-year-old daughter named Alisa and a great job at the agency. And I still liked playing hockey on occasions and was thinking about coaching a bantam team if time allowed.

She informed me she had three kids under the age of twelve and said she was happy, but lonely. I doubted that. A woman as beautiful as her would never be lonely unless she wanted it that way. She continued by saying her second husband, who was an FBI or CIA agent, had been killed in a car accident. That I knew had been a lie; her second husband had been brain damaged in some kind of accident and she divorced him. I think that was the Peterson guy. Anyway, she was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and I could see where this conversation was leading.

Eugene spoke again and said to me, "I want to congratulate you on the great job you've been doing with the company project. I spoke to Ted Nevins before I left the office, and he confirmed that you did a super job on selling the whole package. I think our in-house agency in Dallas thought I approved this project because you were my brother, but they soon learned you were a very capable project manager. Ted seemed impressed with your proposals and timelines, so it's a go. I'm proud of you and the folks will be too."

"Thanks," I beamed. "I spent many hours making sure everything was correct. I didn't want to embarrass you or the agency. I believe this is a good fit for both of us, that being Gustafson and Williams. Let's drink!"

So we drank and drank some more. It wasn't long before I saw Dan make a pass at Kate out of the corner of my eye, as well as overhearing his suggestion that she go home with him after the party was over. Kate made light of the innuendo, suggesting maybe he'd had a little too much to drink. Dan assured her he was fine; in fact, good enough to drive her home and give her the big red weasel. That was Dan's way of saying he wanted to fuck her. He had the worst pick-up lines in the world. Plus he had names for body parts that were nonexistent and sexual activities that were downright repugnant. After several more drinks, Dan decided it was finally time to leave. We said our good-byes and moved the party from our table to the bar. I ordered a couple of tequila shots for me and Eugene, and that was it for my brother.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from A Rendezvous with Deathby deMichael Myer Copyright © 2012 by deMichael Myer. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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