Ahern The Carnation Street Life Estate

1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-1-6678-2911-1
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 652 Seiten

Reihe: The Carnation Street Life Estate

John T. Ahern's award- winning debut novel 'The Carnation Street Life Estate' is a suspenseful thrill ride that readers of Christian fiction will love. In this story, unintended consequences derailed Marge McAllistar's gift to Frank Wilson. The life estate she bequeathed in her Will and Trust was supposed to make his life better. The rest of her estate was supposed to make her lone heir, Bethany's life better too. But Marge could not predict how her life estate gift would lead to multiple murders. A multi-layers conspiracy is unveiled, and Frank finds himself desperately asking the Lord for forgiveness.

'The Carnation Street Life Estate' is John T. Ahern's first book. His experiences as a student at the University of California, Irvine along with living in Newport Beach helped provide the setting for this book. While attending UCI, John met his future bride, Lynn. They have been married for over forty years and are now enjoying their grandsons together. After John's retirement from his thirty-five year teaching career, his life was suddenly at risk. Lurking in his house were his recliner, television and the worst of all his refrigerator. He had to escape their clutches. So, he took a part time job delivering packages for a company very similar to the one in his book. Physically, he recovered but mentally he was still at risk. Hence his first literary project. He found it to be much more labor intensive than his two articles published in The Coaches Alliance. Articles related to his cross country and track coaching career. Yes, he was a teacher/coach. But as mentioned by one of his administrators he was one of the few that was also a Teacher of the Year. During his classroom career, John repeated the oft shared advice that they should write about what they know. Now to be clear, 'The Carnation Street Life Estate' is not a memoir. John is not Frank. Instead John drew upon his time as a teacher, coach and delivery driver. He also became quite familiar with life estates over the last ten years. The combination of these experiences contributed to the suspense of his first literary venture. But this venture was not merely about suspense. One needs to refer back to UCI, while competing collegiately John's spiritual awakening happened. A Christian organization called Athletes in Action trained at the school. During John's freshman year he was invited to a Bible study. Like many Catholic boys, John had been trained up but not in scripture. The Word of God was eye opening, and John accepted Christ as his savior fifty years ago. John and Lynn have been attending Calvary Church in Santa Ana for nearly forty of those years. He would be remiss not to mention his adult fellowship brothers and sisters, the Homebuilders. Hence the Christian beliefs shared by Frank mirror John's beliefs. The retirement death traps still lay in wait around John's house. But with the support of the Lord, Lynn, family, and friends he keeps physically and mentally dodging those traps.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Ahern, John

Leseproben

Prologue The well-trained hooked trigger finger peels the shirt sleeve away from the restless man’s wrist. This seventeenth view of his watch only serves to exacerbate his annoyance. “He always makes me wait; I hate it when he disrespects me this way.” As his displeasure swells, Kevin hears the distinct sound of wood hitting wood. The inadvertent distancing of his leather padded armchair from the enormous oak conference room table has reached its end. There is nowhere else to go, Kevin’s back is against the wall. The recently completed mission had problems and combined with his handler’s rude power trip has his patience razor thin. “Where the hell is he?” The eighteenth glance at his watch proves futile as the conference room door remains closed. Kevin resolves, “Time to break one of their cardinal rules to never let them sleep. If I pretend to be sleeping, I bet someone walks through that door.” In the stillness of his plan and his head resting on the table, Kevin’s mind detours to how he joined this company, “My buddy, Dill, is to blame for all this shit. He raved about all the money we could make as private contractors just before we were discharged back in ‘85, ‘Hell, the military trained us for just this type of work, Kevin. What do we have to lose? Let’s sign the contracts and work for these guys.’ Well, Dill, we had one hell of a lot to lose, this place devours your soul a little more on each murkier and darker mission. I’m supposed to be eliminating threats to America. But now, I’m not so sure that’s what I’m doing.” As Kevin’s head continues resting upon the conference table, he flashes on another memory. This one is of Mr. Jim, one of his many foster parents. He repeatedly warned a teenage Kevin about taking questionable opportunities to make quick cash, “If the money is too good to be true, it is too good to be true.” No one interrupts Kevin’s counterfeit sleep; his plan fails. Frustrated, Kevin moves to another chair. His slightly over six-foot frame immediately scooches it back away from the table. His on-edge temperament refuses to allow him to stay seated long. The chair and now the wood paneled conference room are too confining and the exit beckons, “I’ll just leave. If they ask, I’ll say I had to use the head. Damnit, it’s been over thirty minutes!” Just as he reaches for the doorknob, he stops, “Where am I going to go?” Kevin reverses direction and plops down in a different chair. His last mission unsettles and haunts him. He and his spotter were sent to Nicaragua to eliminate a local village leader. This revolutionary was deemed a threat to America. But while setting up the operation, Kevin and his spotter, Emile Resendez, found the man busting his ass rebuilding a local Catholic church. What revolutionary rebuilds churches. Not to mention that he was evidently a well-loved leader in his small community. The night before the scheduled shooting, they argued over whether they should risk breaking standard operating procedures and contact their handler. After a long, frustrating, and fruitless debate, they decided to sleep on it until the next morning. Unexpectedly, the next morning, Emile was hardline about not questioning the mission. Kevin can still hear his voice declaring, “Far more intelligent assets than either of us vetted this mission. We have a job to do.” Alone and without his partner to back up any move to question their orders, Kevin reluctantly agreed to complete the operation. Emile won’t be at this after-action debrief. Like always each mission team member is interviewed separately. But Kevin’s biggest concern is not Emile; it is his own after-action torment, “I just don’t understand how it was determined that our target was a threat to the United States? I need to see the intelligence reports that labeled him a revolutionary, drug smuggler, or whatever!” He once more glances at his wristwatch. Kevin’s head bangs against the wall, just as the door to his left opens. Colonel Hafemor enters with his aide, “Morning, Mr. Leland. Please pull your chair up to the table, so we can begin the mission debrief.” Dragging his chair with one hand and checking for a bump on the back of his head with the other, Kevin answers, “Yes, sir.” “Major Young, would you please lead us through Mr. Leland’s operation.” The Colonel instructs as he sits across the table in his Brooks Brothers navy flannel suit. For an older man, with salt more than pepper in his hair, the Colonel is quite fit and an imposing presence in the room. His reputation as an American hero is the underlying reason why Kevin accepted his firm’s offer of employment. But now, as Kevin looks across the table at his hero, he wonders, “What the hell have I gotten myself into, here?” Closer to Kevin sits the Colonel’s aide Major Young, who does not remotely measure up to the Colonel, but few men do. The Major does not help his cause by his lack of fitness or sense of style. Poor-fitting plaid polyester sport coats are no match for well-tailored suits. Besides his physical appearance, Major Young’s inept leadership skills offend many of Kevin’s fellow company assets. “Why does the Colonel still keep the Major around? Surely, he could find a better aide-de-camp?” After acknowledging Colonel Hafemor’s order, Major Young opens a rather cumbersome manila folder and begins reading every mission detail. His sleep-inducing monotone voice drones in the background to Kevin’s kill shot memory. “The conditions were perfect. The Sun was behind my right shoulder as I made my final adjustments from one click out from the target. My one shot was true and entered his right eye’s orbital socket. Emile verified that the target was down, and a second shot was unnecessary; it was time to police my brass and move. But I didn’t. It was the crowd that made me stay. Instead of running for cover, they were drawn to his body. They grieved over it. This man was loved by so many. Emile pulled me away, but I still hear that crowd’s cries of anguish haunting my sleep…” “Mr. Leland, is this report accurate to the best of your knowledge?” Major Young asks, “And if so, please sign the after-action report.” Shaken out of his thoughts, Kevin responds, “Sir, before I sign, may I ask a question?” This request causes Colonel Hafemor to sit up and become more engaged in the briefing. His steely blue eyes bore across the table into Kevin’s as he interjects, “You have a question, son?” Clearing his throat first, Kevin answers, “Yes, sir.” “You may ask it,” The Colonel decrees with a strong message of his unquestionable authority. “Thank you, sir. Sir, I just wonder about the intelligence gathered prior to this mission. How was it determined that the target was a threat to our country?” Major Young’s lips tighten to a barely noticeable pink line. After Mr. Resendez’s morning after-action report, he already knows about Leland’s doubts seeping and infecting the mission. Resendez mentioned that Leland questioned its veracity, and worse became reluctant about completing it. Now it’s clear that Leland is a problem, “Mr. Leland, as a soldier are you not trained to follow orders?” Not waiting for an answer to his first question, he lashes out his second, “You were ordered to eliminate a threat to this country, were you not?” “Yes, sir, I was given an order. One that I obeyed, sir. My question is about the intelligence gathered before that order, sir?” From across the table, Colonel Hafemor holds up his hand to calm the Major, and explains, “I suppose you saw a man who by all appearances did not seem a threat to our country. But what you did not see is how this man was an insidious menace. I am not at liberty to share any of the intelligence operation details. But, rest assured, I personally saw the intelligence gathered and sleep easier knowing that this threat has been neutralized. What you need to remember is that our company maintains the highest standards and serves the United States of America. If you are a true patriot, and I believe you still are, you should be proud that your actions made our country safer.” Kevin swallows and attempts to conceal his anxiety, “Oh, shit! Hafemor just used the true patriot tag in his not-so-subtle dressing down. I need to shut up.” Before he yields, “Yes, sir, I meant no disrespect, sir.” “None taken, son,” Colonel Hafemor says, with a subtle tone of insincerity, before returning to his previous hands-off position at the table. Contrary to his words, Kevin feels the Colonel’s eyes burning through him as he signs the after-action report. Major Young retrieves the signed document before commanding, “Mr. Leland, you need to report to Doctor Nagvwab. After you finish there, grab something to eat before reporting to my office at fourteen hundred hours.” “Yes, sir,” Kevin answers before rising out of his seat. His shirt creates a sticky damp release away from the leather as he leans forward to rise. He hopes it goes unnoticed to both the Colonel and...