A Cult in Paradise; Episode 34, Meeting Me'Ached

This is episode thirty-four of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

Meeting Me'Ached

From the opening on the right-hand side of the stage, a short man in a white robe trimmed in gold entered. The young man stepped back and aside.

“Me’Ached!” the young man proclaimed.

Me’Ached slowly stepped to the middle of the stage in front of the lectern. He carefully studied Trace, Coyote, and Sage. He lifted his head upward and spread out his arms and turned his palms up. His lips moved without making a sound. He stopped at times as if having a conversation. This lasted for a couple of minutes.

Finally, he stopped and looked at them. “I heard why you came here and who you are. Tell me who hired you?”

“A guy named Franks,” Trace said.

“Tell me more about him,” Me’Ached said disdainfully.

“He’s in prison and you had his son and his son’s girlfriend,” Trace said. “He got some sort of message they were held here against their will.”

“Franks,” Me’Ached said.

“He owned a casino in Suva,” Trace said. “He got jammed up with the law and doing his time. He still has plenty of clout.”

“How did you get here?” Me’Ached asked, “And, please, Mr. Wingate in the center, will you answer?”

“Sure,” Coyote said, “and ifin you don’t mind, call me Coyote. Mr. Wingate makes me feel uncomfortable.”

“Coyote,” Me’Ached said, “how did you get here?”

“A seaplane splashed down not far from here,” Coyote said. “We climbed out of it and into our rubber boats. And you know the rest.”

Me’Ached looked at Sage. 

“Coyote’s my dad,” Sage said, “and I feel the same as he does; call me Sage.”

“Sage, who flew the plane?” Me’Ached asked.

“I don’t think he gave us a name,” Sage said and looked at the others. “Did you guys catch a name?”

“Barney,” Coyote said.

“Sounded like Barney,” Sage said, “but I think it was Carney.”

“You mean like a carnival worker?” Coyote said.

“Yeah,” Trace said, “I bet he gave airplane rides at carnivals.”

“Nah, it was Barney,” Coyote insisted. “I got good ears and they don’t have airplane rides at carnivals anymore. They stopped doing that when I was a kid.”

“Just two years ago they had one,” Sage said. “I was there.”

“Stop!” Me’Ached eemanded. “This will not work.”

“What?” Trace said.

“Stalling!” Me’Ached said sharply.

“You call it stalling,” Trace said, “I call it being precise. We don’t want to mislead you. You, above all, ought to know that when a man is under pressure, like we are, it’s hard to think straight.”

“Do you men have any idea what trouble you have caused?” Me’Ached’s lip quivered.

“We want to calm the situation here,” Coyote said. “This was just a job to us, The job is over.”

“That’s right,” Trace said. 

“And we weren’t to get paid until the job was done,” Sage said.

“We should have got the money upfront,” Coyote said. 

“How were you supposed to get off the island?” Me’Ached asked.

“That’s the kicker,” Trace said. “They left me. Coyote and Sage were supposed to go out in their rubber boat and meet up with the seaplane. I bet they were gonna leave them out there floating around just like they left me on the island.”

“We found no rubber boat,” Me’Ached said.

“Really?” Coyote said. “Then if I was you, I’d start counting noses. You might have some more missing besides the guy and the girl.”

“I don’t believe a word you are telling me,” Me’Ached said.

“Wait a minute,” Coyote said, “if you got a Bible or some other holy book around here, I ‘ll swear on it.”

“In fact,” Sage said, “we all will.”

Me’Ached smirked. “No one is as openly confused and naive as you three. You’re good. I know this entire charade is not rehearsed. That’s what makes it so good and—amusing.”

 “Folks do like my stories,” Coyote said. “Even the true ones, but I’ve never had anybody say they were amused. They just say, ‘Is that so?’”

“I don’t think anybody has used the word amused where we’re from,” Sage said. “But we’ve used the word charlatan.”

“Careful, my amusing friend,” Me’Ached said with a slight grin and added with a feigned Texas accent, “Around these parts that there teeters on the edge of blasphemy.” 

“Understood,” Sage replied.

“It looks as though you men accomplished what was intended,” Me’Ached said. “But you have been double-crossed, hung out to dry, stabbed in the back. I could use you in some well-planned and devious way to get back at those who have escaped and those who financed and recruited you poor souls. What would you think?”

“I think if I spoke up in favor of that right away, you would doubt my commitment,” Trace said.

“Yeah,” Coyote said, “that would take some chewin’.”

“We took a couple of days to think this one over,” Sage said, “and we still got it wrong.”

“Wrong!” Me’Ached said. “Your plan was perfect and well executed. You couldn’t have possibly foreseen the betrayal.”

“Do you foresee betrayal?” Trace said.

“Better than most,” Me’Ached said.

“One thing I do foresee,” Me’Ached continued. “Trace, you are the leader, the man in charge. Am I right?”

“I guess you could say that,” Trace said.

“If he’s in charge does that mean me and my son can go?” Coyote said.

“And you two,” Me’Ached, smiled, “you are trying to come off as crude and unsophisticated, but you are not. You’re trying to deceive me.”

“The jigs up,” Sage said. “We’re all working on our doctorate. We are intellectuals.”

“You just can’t give it up can you,” MeAched shook his head in disbelief. “Under less dire circumstances, I might be amused, but I’m not. The whole island is observing. My ability to lead may be called into question if I don’t act decisively.”

“It’s all about image, isn’t it?” Trace said. “I will give you one eternal truth.”

“Let’s hear it,” MeAched said.

“The great man you want to be,” Trace said, “they never die old. They die before reaching the apex of their imagined greatness.”

“That’s it?” Me’Ached said.

“I have one more,” Trace said, “your day is coming.”

Me’Ached smirked. He gave the impression that such a statement was like a shot to his ego; as if he felt stronger. 

Trace saw beyond the facade. He thought, ‘He’s on the defensive. He thinks I know something he doesn’t. His next move will be to speak with me privately. He’s brimming with curiosity and he wants to push me back on my heels.’

“Trace,” Me’Ached smiled politely, “follow me to my sanctuary.” He called to the back of the auditorium, “Take these two men back to the Reform.”

Coyote twisted his face. “The Reform? Here all along we been calling it a stockade.” 

“Yes,” Me’Ached said. “Allow the name speak for itself.”

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 33, Purity of Thought

This is episode thirty-three of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

Purity of Thought

The door to the stockade opened. A burst of sunlight lit the room much brighter than the light that was cast through the cell windows. A stern-faced captain unlocked the cell doors.

He stepped out of the stockade and waved for Trace, Sage, and Coyote to come out. “Come on you guys. Everybody out.”

A heart-stopping thought flashed through Trace’s mind. ‘I’ve never been searched once. What if they decide to pat me down? Zero.’ He relaxed. ‘This is really a slipshod outfit. I bet they don’t even cinch their saddle before heading out to check on their herd.’

He made sure his shirt hung loose, so it would be hard to detect the pistol tucked away under his shirt.

They walked out of the stockade. The captain looked at them as if he never wanted to forget their faces. “Funny,” he said, “you looked a lot more dangerous in the night.”

“There’s lots of ladies who look prettier at night,” Coyote smiled. “Then ya get ‘em out into the sunlight. No offense, but they kinda look like you.”

The guard held his lips straight. 

“I’m sorry,” Coyote said. “This is a religious community, and I thought it was a little funny. I just wanted to break the ice and find some common ground. You know, women. That is of course—never mind. I’m just getting myself in deeper.”

“You are going to meet Me’Ached,” the guard said. “Your thoughts should be pure.”

“Oh they are,” Coyote assured. “I’m Baptists. We can change on a dime.”

The guard held his stoic face. “Follow me.”

They walked to a building that seemed out of place with the rest of the buildings. It had two concrete steps leading to a stone porch held by four Roman columns. In the middle, double doors stood wide open. 

As they approached the door, the guard told them to remove their shoes. They did so and sat them aside. The guard did the same. 

“Only Me'Ached may enter with shoes on,” the guard said. 

They walked into a large room. It had a cathedral ceiling, perhaps forty feet high. The carpet, walls, and ceiling were white. A center aisle divided two rows of dark wooden pews trimmed in gold. Two full-width steps led to a stage. A white lectern trimmed in gold stood in the middle of the stage. To the right, a white leather high-back chair sat against the white stage wall. 

The guard led them down the aisle between the pews. He pointed to a space short of the steps to the stage. “Stand there,” he said. “Me’Ached will give you time to purify your thoughts.”

“Can you give us a suggestion on how to do that?” Trace asked.

“Think of the most beautiful scene you have ever looked upon,” the guard suggested.

“What if it’s a blue-eyed blonde?” Sage asked.

The man glowered at him. 

“She’s got clothes on and there’s no cleavage,” Sage said.

The guard responded as if the odor of a dead animal had passed under his nose.

“Geez,” Coyote said, “I was thinking’ about a herd of cattle settled in that green pasture in that little dip of land to the north of Perro Creek. Now I got that Betty Jean waitress at the truck stop in my head.”

Trace noticed the displeasing expression on the guard’s face. “Look,” Trace said, “we’re all a bit nervous. My friends don’t mean any disrespect. I think they’re just trying to calm their nerves with humor.”

“This is not a time for humor,” the guard said.

“You might have to give us some time,” Sage said.

“Yeah,” Coyote said, “I’m a married man and the thing with Betty Jean is her eyes—well she looks pretty good otherwise too.”

The guard slowly closed his eyes as if trying not to see the words Coyote spoke.

“Man,” Coyote said, “I’m sorry. Sometimes I don’t know when to shut up. But really, those cattle in that pasture puts you in a place hard to put into words. When you hear the wind and the sound of a redwing blackbird, in a good way, tears come to your eyes. Then you make a slight adjustment in the saddle. Have you ever heard the sound of leather when it’s rubbed against? It ain’t strings from heaven to most, but to me it is. Then there’s the smell of the meadow. It’s like the high note of a song and you tilt your head down and catch the smell of the leather saddle. Not a new saddle, but a saddle that has experienced a few summers of sun-blistering heat, blistering cold, blistering sand storms, and a blistered backside.” 

Coyote stared into the guard’s eyes. “Have you ever seen that or felt that?”

The guard’s face appeared as if a Roman statue.

“I hate to say this to ya, my friend,” Coyote said, “if you can’t see or feel that, you’ve never seen God. This place, these islands are beautiful but they don’t touch my soul. I bet your soul has never been touched.”

“I’ll leave you men alone,” the guard said. “You may sit and reflect if you wish.”

The guard walked away.

“I know that place you were describing,” Trace said. 

“You ought to,” Coyote said. “Your dad owns it. He lets me graze there. He says it’s his gift to me. I tried to buy it. He said if he sold it to me, it would no longer be a gift. Only me and him understand that.”

“That Betty Jean you were talking about, is that the Hopkins’ girl?” Trace asked.

“That’s the one,” Sage said.

“She’s even too young for us,” Trace said.

“Well, look at it this way,” Sage said, “when we’re forty, she’ll be twenty-eight. With each passing year, it gets better.”

“If Me’Ached comes out now and reads your thoughts, we’ll all be beheaded,” Trace said, 

“Do they do that?” Coyote said.

“No,” Trace said. “Least none has been reported.” 

“Ya know something,” Sage said, “I don’t think that Me’Ached is waiting for our thoughts to be purified; he’s making us sweat a little.”

“I’m sitting,” Coyote said. “He said it was okay.”

They sat together in the front pew.

“Churches sort of make me feel uncomfortable,” Sage said.

“This isn’t a church,” Trace said. “But it’s still made to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Coyote squinted at the symbol on the wall behind the lectern. “Is that some sort of new-age symbol?”

“It’s called a decagram,” Sage said, “a ten-pointed star.”

“What does it mean?” Coyote said. 

“Didn’t you read any of the literature in the box?” Sage said.

“Yes,” Coyote said. “It means unity of opposites, divine wisdom, and Me’Ached has one that was given to him by some guy who visited him from a distance galaxy.”

“If you knew that, why did you ask?” Sage asked.

“Just testing you,” Coyote said. “And I wanted something to talk about too.” 

Trace rapped his fingers on the seat of the pew and whispered without moving his lips. “In the middle of the star is a camera. There is a wire running beneath us. They’re watching and listening.”

“Will you stop that, Trace,” Sage said. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Yeah,” Coyote said, “it’s annoying. How can we think pure thoughts when all I can think about is bustin’ your knuckles.”

“Sorry,” Trace said, “just nervous, that’s all.”

“During the whole thing, have you ever wondered,” Coyote asked, “what if they are right?”

“I think it would be closed-minded of us if the thought didn’t at least cross our minds,” Adam said.

“You ever think that maybe we did them a favor by getting those two off the island?” Sage said. “If they were still here, they’d just be malcontents and might poison others. It’s only a thought.”

“That reminds me that there was this Catholic priest on ole South 32,” Sage said. “Had a flat tire and no spare. I took the tire off for him and drove him to the nearest service station. They repaired it. I drove him back and put the tire on for him. He tried to give me money. I refused, but he gave me a blessing.”

“So you think we are going to get a blessing?” Trace said.

“Maybe so,” Coyote said. “Expect a miracle.”

A few more minutes passed with nothing said. 

The guard returned. “You have had plenty of time to purify your thoughts. Stand.”

They stood.

“When I was in the fifth grade, I was in the principal’s office,” Coyote said. “They told me to think for a while about what I did wrong. The principal came back with a paddle and gave me a spankin’. Is that what’s about to happen here?”

The guard remained stoic. “Return to where you stood.,” he ordered.

They returned to standing in front of the steps. Trace stood on the right, Sage on the left, and Coyote in the middle.

“Maybe we should stand according to height,” Coyote said.

“Which way?” Trace asked.

“Now that’s getting complicated,” Sage said. “I think we’re fine.” 

A young man with blonde hair in a white robe trimmed in black walked through an opening on the left side of the stage. He stationed himself in front of Trace, Coyote, and Sage. “Me’Ached has arrived!”

Maybe It's Just Me, Bike Lanes Are Annoying

  Maybe it's just me, and usually it is, but bike lanes on streets are a waste. 

  It's not like they are used that often. I go days without seeing a bike on them. Has anybody ever done a cost/benefit analysis? Why aren't they licensed, and the fee used to pay for bike lanes themselves? 

  Do they have to obey traffic laws? I see no evidence that they do. They can run through traffic lights and stop signs, and whiz by me in school zones. 

  And what about those bikes that have a motor attached? The people who ride them shouldn't be trusted with a gallon of gasoline and a two-stroke engine. They're like a suicide bomber on a mission.

  I live in Boise, Idaho. It is a city that is as obsessed with bicycle lanes as it is with the Boise State Broncos.  

  Several years ago, there were three automobile/bicycle collisions within a few weeks of each other. The automobile always wins. A local TV station displayed the pictures of the three cyclists (none sustained life-ending injuries). Here's the strange coincidence: they were all photographed in competitive cycling attire with numbers. My take is that because they were "skilled" cyclists, they thought they owned the road. Indeed, it was discovered later they were at fault, but because they were cyclist, they were portrayed as the victims. 

  Near the same period of time, I personally witnessed an automobile/bicycle collision. A cyclist was speeding on the sidewalk. He had his racing helmet and tights on. He was slumped forward like he was heading for the finish in the Tour de France. With a bike lane available, he chose the sidewalk. He didn't bother checking for traffic because, after all, this was the Tour de France. An automobile, having the light and about a three-thousand-pound advantage, collided with the bike. I'm grateful the cyclist was not killed. 

  The bicyclists and the lanes are a menace and should be changed into something useful. I don't know what, but I do know when something is useless; it's when seldom used. 

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 32, Secret Weapon

This is episode thirty-two of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

Secret Weapon

Coyote broke into a restless snoring pattern. Sage breathed heavily. Sleep finally came to Trace.

Trace woke to a hint of sunlight piercing through Coyote’s cell window. He mentally speculated what might be next. Would there be some sort of interrogation, a trial, punishment, or worse? One thing was certain, in his mind, he had to be near the pickup point when Adam and Pete would be there in a rubber boat. He had a plan, but some things had to fall into place. And he read enough about Demeter, or Me’Achad, that he was certain of the successful completion of his plane. Unknowns could not be accounted for, other than they might occur. What shape they take, who knew? And they will have to be dealt with then. ‘Plan for what is known,’ he thought.

The door opened and a guard walked in holding a tray. On the tray were three bowls, three spoons, and three cups.

The guard slid the bowls, the spoons, and the cups on the floor through the bars. “Oatmeal and tea,” he said.

Trace, Sage, and Coyote ate and made disparaging remarks about the quality of food. They spoke quietly. They were afraid that complaining about the food would leave them unfed.

Soon after they finished, the guard returned for the bowls, spoons, and cups. They thanked the guard and he said nothing in return. 

“Have either of you ever been in jail?” Trace asked.

“Nah,” Sage said. 

“A couple of times,” Coyote said, “two days someplace in the Oklahoma panhandle. They charged me with speeding in Oklahoma while being from Texas. I didn’t have the money on me to pay the fine. It was a mayor’s court. The mayor let me go for my belt buckle. Then there was the mistaken identity, It was Adam they was lookin’ for.”

“What about you, Trace?” Sage said. 

“A few months back, I was held in a shack,” Trace said. “Remember, I told you about the coup.”

“That’s right,” Sage said.

“This is the most secure,” Coyote said. “The other places they didn’t even bother to close the cell doors. It was almost like they was hopin’ I’d leave. It would just save them the cost of keepin’ me and the paperwork. Those small towns, they really don’t like to keep anybody overnight. They have to pay overtime to watch you.”

“What do you think will happen next?” Sage asked.

“I think we’ll be seeing Demeter before long,” Trace said. “This is a serious intrusion. He won’t trust anybody but himself to question us. I don’t think he’ll ask a lot of questions. Especially if there are others there. You see, the more questions he might ask, the more we talk. And he doesn’t want anybody to hear us and possibly relate to us. Whoever talks, controls the floor; Demeter can’t allow that to happen. He can’t give up the floor. In everything I read about him, the conversations were always one-sided with no rebuttal, no challenges. It’s as if his words are the words of god.”

They lowered their voices.

“Why did you allow yourself the get captured?” Sage asked Trace.

“I figured it was the only way I could get close to you two,” Trace said.

“What good is that going to do?” Coyote said.

“Don’t worry,” Trace said, “I have a plan.”

“What is it?” Sage said.

“I surrendered so willingly, they didn’t bother to pat me down,” Trace said. “I have a pistol tucked behind me. As soon as the opportunity comes along, I’ll use it to get us out of here.”

“One pistol against all of them,” Coyote said bewildered. “I hope ya have a good plan. What is it?”

Trace paused, then said, “It’s a work in process. It’s very complicated in its simplicity.”

“That means, you ain’t got no plan,” Coyote said.

“But he has a gun,” Sage said. “And guns go bang.”

“Well, at least, that gives us options,” Coyote said.

“Indeed,” Trace said, “Sometime tonight, we get the guard to come in here with the keys. We pull the gun on him, take the keys.”

“And?” Sage said. 

“And I have weapons, hidden, not far from here,” Trace said, “And then we make it to where you hid the rubber boat. Adam and Pete are coming for us. They’ll be there.”

“What if we become separated?” Sage asked.

“If somehow we become separated,” Trace said, “at the northeast edge of the compound there is a path encircling it. There is a palm tree so close the the path that the path goes around it. Five steps straight in from the path is a heap of underbrush. It hides a cache of a couple of weapons, rations, and maybe even a grenade.”

“You know,” Coyote said, “if I get back home, I ain’t gonna say a thing about this or that other escapade we went on. Folks have a hard enough time believin’ me as it is. This stuff will ruin what little credibility I have.”

“You said, ‘if’ you get back home,’” Trace said. “It’s ‘when.’ We’re going to succeed.”