Tales of Yankee Power (The Logan Connor Thriller Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  Tales of a Yankee Power

  Micheal Maxwell

  Contents

  ©

  Other books by Michael Maxwell

  Please consider…

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from When in Rohm

  A FREE BOOK

  About the Author

  ©

  Copyright © 2021 Micheal Maxwell

  First Edition 2021

  EPUB Edition

  “This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Micheal Maxwell.”

  Excerpt from Micheal Maxwell’s “When in Rohm.”

  Other books by Michael Maxwell

  THE COLE SAGE SERIES

  Diamonds and Cole

  Cellar of Cole

  Helix of Cole

  Cole Dust

  Cole Shoot

  Cole Fire

  Heart of Cole

  Cole Mine

  Soul of Cole

  Cole Cuts

  THE ADAM DUPREE QUADRILOGY

  Dupree’s Rebirth

  Dupree’s Reward

  Dupree’s Resolve

  Dupree’s Reckoning

  FLYNT & STEELE MYSTERY SERIES WITH WARREN KEITH

  Dead Beat

  Dead Duck

  Dead on Arrival

  Dead Hand

  Dead Ringer

  THE TIME PEDALER SERIES

  The Time Pedaler

  The Time Pedaler: Day Tripper

  The Time Pedaler: Time Has Come Today

  The Time Pedaler: Time Won’t Let Me

  The Time Pedaler – The Time of the Season

  Coming Soon – The Time Pedaler Books 6-8

  THE LOGAN CONNOR TRILOGY

  Clean Cut Kid

  East of Jordan

  Tales of the Yankee Power

  THE MAX HARMON MYSTERY SERIES

  When in Rohm

  Coming Soon … Rohm Around the Dial

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  1

  Senator Marshall Kirkpatrick was a rare creature. The junior senator was the only independent Ohio ever elected to the Senate, and more than that, he was a true independent. He liked to call himself a “Pagoda Palace pragmatist” after the Chinese restaurant near the Capitol building that allowed customers to pick an item from column A and column B.

  He routinely said he was picking “a little from column Democrat and a little from column Republican.” His position on the US Senate Judiciary Committee and his actual bipartisanship made him a power broker in the District of Columbia. Both parties considered him a “gettable” vote. In a close Senate, he could be the deciding vote on big issues, making him one of the most influential people in DC and the country.

  There was someplace, though, that the senator held very little power. Kirkpatrick was the low man on the organizational chart at home.

  His daughter, Lilian, went to Yale two years ago. He tried convincing her to stay in her dorm on the weekends, call home every Sunday, and avoid drinking.

  On this particular Sunday night, she finally obtained a fake driver’s license from the student who made them on the fifth floor. That was the thing about Yale rich kids: they all had connections. This student’s dad worked at the State Department, and he dated someone who gained access to a hi-tech printer to process convincing fake IDs. They were so good that the barcodes on the back even worked.

  Lily Kirkpatrick walked into the bar a little before 10 p.m. Yale Gribble’s was within walking distance of the campus and was popular with the students for a few reasons. For one, it was a King of the Hill-themed bar, so most of the drinks were named for cartoon characters or for some stereotypical aspect of Texas life. Also, the bouncer was about eighty years old and smoked skinny marijuana joints to ease his glaucoma. The bar was probably about half-filled with underaged drinkers.

  Lily’s State Department fake ID was overkill. She could have entered with something she printed at the library. She and her friends breezed into the building, heading straight for the bartender, where Lily ordered a Longhorn Island Iced Tea made with whiskey instead of rum.

  Two of her sorority sisters joined her on either side. They carried fake IDs from the same State Department employee’s son’s boyfriend or whoever exactly he was. One of them ordered a whiskey and soda. The other asked for a beer. They eyed the loud bar and found an empty table, pulling over a third chair so they all could sit.

  They were almost finished when a waitress set more cocktails in front of them, shouting over the thumping country-western music. “They’re from those guys!”

  She pointed at the corner, where two guys in jeans and cowboy boots with pearl snap-button down shirts nodded their hats, looking every bit the part of a country boy. Lily waved and smiled at them.

  After a few minutes, the cowboys headed her way, beers in hand. Lily elbowed her friend, Amy, with a giggle. “Oh gee, they’re coming over.”

  Amy groaned, “Why’d you wave? Now we’re going to have to deal with them all night.”

  Before Lily could answer, the men arrived at the end of the table with expectant stares. One was tall and thin, while the other was a massive, hulking guy with broad shoulders and a full black beard.

  “Hey there, I’m Rafael.” The skinny one waved before jabbing a thumb at the hulk. “This here’s my friend, Ernesto.”

  Ernesto grinned, slipping his hat from his head with a nod before placing it back.

  Once Lily, Amy, and Rachel introduced themselves, Lily scooted over so they could sit down. Rafael sat next to her while Ernesto reached for a fourth chair, slid it over, and managed to squeeze his bulk into it.

  They chatted for a while, and the boys turned out to be pretty good company. They played soccer at Southern Connecticut State University, which was also in New Haven. Rafael was a midfielder, and Ernesto played goalkeeper. They must have had pretty good side jobs because they paid for multiple rounds of drinks.

  Ernesto seemed to be generally interested in a conversation with the group as a whole, while Rafael’s focus was squarely on Lily. When the other girls talked, Rafael sipped his drink, bored, until Lily spoke. That was when he listened intently, even laughing at her bad jokes. When he chimed in with a bit of his own humor, Lily would giggle and touch his arm. Meanwhile, Rachel and Amy shot each other knowing looks, noticing the body language between the pair.

  Lily sipped on her drink and joked, “Oh my, I should keep you around. I have a D in Spanish 130 right now.”

  Rafael grinned. “Podría ser tu tutor. Te puedo enseñar muchas cosas.”

  Lily threw up her hands, laughing. “See? I have no idea what you just said.”

  Rafael blinked, looking at her from under his thick lashes. “I woul
d love to teach you.”

  Amy and Rachel rolled their eyes. It wasn’t a particularly good line, but Lily seemed to eat it up.

  Rafael reached for her hand. “What’s your major?”

  Lily took a sip, nodding. “African-American Studies. My dad is so mad.”

  “Por que?” Rafael cocked his head and reiterated in English, “Why?”

  “He wanted me to do political studies because he’s like a big-time politician,” Lily said. “But, I mean, we’re black, too. That should count.”

  Rafael groaned. “A politician? What kind?”

  Amy leaned forward. “You don’t know who she is? She’s Lily Kirkpatrick. Her dad is a senator. He’s Mr. Independent.”

  Rafael shrugged. “I don’t watch a lot of CNN.”

  Lily lifted a fist. “Good.”

  Ernesto chimed in, looking at the other girls. “Are your parents politicians?”

  Amy shook her head. “My dad is an accountant. My mom is a nurse.”

  Rachel gave him a look that said no way. “My dad runs a furniture store. My mom writes travel books. She’s never around.”

  Ernesto laughed, cutting his eyes at his friend. “So, no one would even notice if you disappeared?”

  The girls all laughed as Amy said, “No, I guess not.”

  Eventually, the bartender announced the last call. Lily looked at her phone. “Wow, it’s already one in the morning. We need to get back.”

  Rafael tapped her arm with a charming smile. “Come out with us. We’re going to a party at our buddy’s. No last call there.”

  Rachel stood with a shake of her head. “We really should leave. I have class tomorrow.”

  Ernesto shrugged and pushed his chair back to stand, nodding to her phone. “Call an Uber. We can wait with you.”

  Amy reached for Lily’s arm. “No, we really shouldn’t. We should stick together.”

  Lily waved her away, her hand swaying through the air as she almost lost her balance. “I’m fine. I’m only going to go for like one drink, and then I’ll Uber home too.”

  Amy rolled in her lips with a wince before saying, “I don’t know.”

  Lily waved her off again. “Trust me. I’m fine.”

  Outside, they waited for two separate Uber drivers to arrive. The first car pulled up for Amy and Rachel. When the girls hugged Lilly goodbye, Amy said, “Text me when you get home.”

  Lily nodded, and her friends got in the car before it drove away.

  When the second one pulled up, Lily noticed an El Salvador flag hanging from the rearview mirror, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Uber drivers were as diverse as any other industry. Rafael, Ernesto, and Lily entered the car as soon as it stopped, with Lily pinned between both men.

  They rolled through downtown New Haven with the driver not saying much.

  Rafael kept the conversation going. “So, what does your dad do in the Senate?”

  Lily shook her head, her speech slurred. “I don’t know. He’s always talking about gangs. Some group called M.G. or MSG or something.”

  Ernesto offered, “MS-13?”

  Lily slapped him on the arm. “That’s it! MS-13. He says they’re terrible guys.”

  Rafael shook his head. “I hate those guys. Truly evil.” When Lily nodded along, he asked, “Does he ever talk about the 1833 Rebels?”

  Lily wrinkled her nose. “Who?”

  Ernesto sent Rafael a knowing look. “The 1865 Movement. They call themselves ESR-32.”

  Lily shook her head.

  “Really?” Rafael arched both brows. “It’s Spanish for ‘southerners.’ They say they’re even worse than MS-13.”

  Lily rested her head on Rafael’s shoulder, closing her eyes as the world spun. “Wow. There are some really bad dudes out there.”

  Rafael nodded. “I’m surprised your dad hasn’t mentioned them. There’s a Senate subcommittee that’s been really messing with their operations.”

  Lily shrugged. “That’s what he does or whatever. You know, like, his passion. He’s really into it.”

  Ernesto said, “Well, you got to be careful. A senator’s daughter might attract some bad dudes. You know how to spot an ESR-32, right?”

  Lily opened her eyes as Ernesto lifted his shirt to reveal a tattoo resembling the El Salvadoran flag. Except instead of the official crest in the middle, there was a circle of twelve stars.

  “They have tattoos like this.” Ernesto’s eyes darkened.

  Rafael then pulled open his shirt and twisted, showing her his back. The date 1832 was written in block letters across his shoulder blades. “Or like this.”

  Lily swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as her brain clicked into high gear, sobering up instantly. “If these ESR-32 have these tattoos, then why do you guys have them?”

  The driver, who had been silent this whole time, locked the doors.

  Lily tried to scream, but the bag was already over her head.

  Senator Marshall Kirkpatrick was never the first person to arrive at the office. No matter how early he got there, his Chief of Staff Ellen Klein was at her desk when he entered. The senator smiled as the smell of coffee circulated, and the sounds of freshly brewed heaven were a few feet away.

  When Ellen smiled and waved, the senator returned the sentiment on his way to his office. “Morning, Ellen. Do you have the briefing on–”

  “The ESR-32 Gang? Already on your desk.”

  Kirkpatrick didn’t even slow down. “I think they call themselves the 1865 Movement. You know, these guys always think too highly of themselves. Bring me a cup of that when it’s done, will you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Senator Kirkpatrick swept into his office, but he left the door open and picked up a binder from his desk. The report was already delivered to his tablet on his classified email, but he liked hard copies. He could flip through the pages more efficiently and could highlight, writing notes in the margins. There was nothing like the experience of actual paper.

  As he flipped through the pages, he found it was primarily data he already knew. On December 25, 1831, an estimated 60,000 of the 300,000 slaves in the Jamaican British Colonies rose against their masters. The uprising was led by Samuel Sharpe, a black Baptist preacher.

  Initially, an estimated 200 slaves and fourteen whites were killed. The rebellion was quickly suppressed by British forces. The Jamaican government’s reaction and reprisals of plantation owners were far more brutal. Some 500 slaves were murdered, with 207 of them killed outright during the revolt. After the rebellion, an estimated 310 to 340 slaves were victims of judicial executions.

  The rebels set fire to more than 100 properties, destroying over forty sugar works and the houses of nearly 100 planters. During the chaos, some 160 slaves boarded and commandeered the British ship Triumphant. The Marine force assigned to it was tasked with putting down the uprising, leaving only sixteen sailors on board. Most of them were either thrown overboard, or they abandoned ship. One junior officer was killed when he foolishly tried to fight the rebels, and another was taken as a hostage.

  With little sailing experience, the rebels relied on the British hostage to navigate and instruct them on the finer points of sailing. With no desire to be killed or thrown overboard, the sailor William Henchpin did his best to guide the ship to a safe harbor.

  Due to inclement weather and William’s inexperience at reading charts, the ship wandered around the Caribbean for nearly three months. During that time, a dozen of the rebels fell ill and died. Finally, on March 11, 1833, the ship ran aground a hundred miles north of Puerto Cabezas on the Nicaraguan coast.

  The ship was then stripped and burned. The rebels headed inland and set up a small settlement with the help of local natives. The majority of the rebels were happy to enjoy their freedom. They set about building shelter, raising crops, hunting, and marrying Indian women. On rare occasions, Spanish settlers were visited by the rebels, who now called themselves the Freemen of the Village of Liberty. These men arranged to ex
change labor for cows, oxen, and a horse or two.

  The village prospered, their numbers grew, and they found peace in their newfound freedom.

  As with any society, some wished for an easier way. A group of about forty men, led by a drunkard and troublemaker, who called himself El Nuevo Voz, The New Voice, or Voz for short, were dissatisfied with a life of toil, free or not. The group broke loose from the settlers and began raiding Indian and Spanish encampments alike, stealing and murdering.

  When the Nicaraguan government set about to crush the gang, they fled into nearby Honduras. This was when they began referring to themselves as Escapó Durante la Revuelta de Esclavos 1832 or Escaped during the Slave Revolt 1832.

  In early 1834, the group tired of Voz’s spiral into drunken madness, and they murdered him in his bed.

  Over the next several decades, they became more organized, disciplined, and supported themselves and their ever-growing families by cattle rustling and various criminal activities. The Honduran government was afraid of them, and it’s believed higher-ups were bribed to look the other way.

  During the Nicaraguan Civil War of the 1920s, ESR-32 was paid handsomely by the U.S. Government for jobs considered too dirty or bloodthirsty for Americans. This ushered in the drug trade.

  During the 1970s, ESR-32 became a significant player in the international drug trade. Over the next forty years, they expanded their reach into other Latin American countries, Mexico, and eventually into The United States.