The Awesome

adventures of

STEVE

real and imagined

By Steve and Mal Kaser

 

 

All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2002 Malcolm A. Kaser

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by

Writer’s Club Press

For information, please contact:
iUniverse.com
5220 South 16th Street
Suite 200
Lincoln, NE 68512-1274

ISBN: 0-595-22807

Printed in the United States of America

The jungles

Deep in the African jungle, nature unleashed its wrath. Lightning illuminated the blackness over the tree and vine covered village as the Python slithered its twenty-five feet of slick mass over the treetops and stalked his next meal. Newborns were delightful dinners he had discovered only a fortnight ago.

The women gathered at a grass hut as a pair of babies wailed when they saw light for the first time. So did the dozen natives in attendance…the mother had died during the efforts of childbirth.

The twin sons weighed in at fifteen pounds or so each and the tribe would raise them, as was the custom after events of this nature. The father, a huge hulk of muscle and blubber, was much in demand for siring babies because the males always grew into ferocious warriors. The Python learned this the hard way.

Patiently he waited until the village quieted down from the excitement. Then he moved sinuously down from the tree branches and entered the hut where the infants lay, taking one of them into his open mouth and greedily attempting to get the other at the same time. The babies met death with violent objections; kicking and screaming until the Python decided this ordeal was not worth the battle. He spat out the delicious feast as the warriors arrived to chase him back into his own territory where he would eventually die from wounds inflicted as flight carried him deep into his impenetrable jungle.

During their childhood, the twins were more violent than other youngsters. The brothers were fighting each other constantly. They thrived on drawing blood. Their father, being entrepreneurial, would escort them to other tribal villages and put on an exhibition of sorts for which he was rewarded with charms and trinkets. Over time, the boys grew into very large young men and became proficient in their ability to draw a paying crowd. Eventually they worked their way into metropolitan areas and prospered using their self-taught fighting skills.

One of them, or maybe both because you couldn’t tell them apart, became contenders for heavyweight boxing championships on the African Continent.

Many years later, on a humid summer night, there was not a ripple on Lake Victoria except when a crocodile's snout surfaced for a moment; then starlight glinted sapphire sparks bounced from ripples created by the reptile. On the moon lighted shore, low flying fireflies buzzed and glowed their death dance.

Far back from the beach were the mansions of the wealthy Kenyans...those the Mau Mau terrorists had missed. Windows were ablaze with lights and glimpses of the summer crowd reveling in the night air, cool by contrast with the torrid heat of Zanzibar, proving equatorial Africa is not stagnant, rather it is gleefully alive.

Africa was free at last–the Colonialists had abandoned their control–2000 tribes fought for power–the strong survived at the expense of hundreds of thousands of lives.

Soon there will be changes for the good. A wealthy Black man from the United States would make an investment in one country that would change the lives of every inhabitant. All fifteen million of them.

A land of mountains, rivers, lakes, and abundant natural resources, UGANDA was ripe for development.

Farms would flourish with increased production.

Towns would have running water and sewage disposal systems.

Their mines would benefit from new technology.

Lake Victoria would become a major tourist trap.

The illiteracy rate would decrease from 75% to nearly zero.

The long lines for staple goods will disappear.

The twenty thousand, who lived in luxury because they stole from and exiled those who were in their way, would soon be gone.

The horrible Dictatorship that had massacred and confiscated its way to power was about to be toppled.

Deep in another jungle across the ocean, a mother cried out in the pangs of childbirth. It was 1933. Decision time for Cole Mack as he stood outside the door where the women were helping with the delivery of a seven-pound baby boy. He was having positive thoughts about his role in this scenario. The pretty young girl, Sarah, had taken his fancy over a year ago as he labored at his part time job in the gardens of the mini-estate belonging to the General Motors executive. Sarah’s mother was the cook and housekeeper…she had planted the idea of marriage. Her daughter needed a husband and Cole was big, healthy and hard working. "Got to decide," Cole thought, "the Army or marriage."

He had eagerly waited being old enough to enlist. His father, whom he idolized, was career military. Still and all, he worked his regular job in a foundry making engine castings for automobiles and trucks and earned good wages even though the country was in a great depression.

"We cud call him Stephen," Cole thought, viewing the toddler wrapped in white cloths that enhanced his light Negro skin, "afta ma paw."

He would never know, in his mortal life, how this decision changed the course of history.

thirteen years later…

"Stevie, take Paw his supper–he forgot it again."

"Wish she wouldn’t me call me Stevie, hate that name. I like Mack better...what they call me at school."

He dutifully got on his bike and hit the snow-clogged streets. It was cold–a minus 15 degrees wind chill factor. Mack didn’t mind for he would soon be inside the foundry where he would strip down to a t-shirt.

"Your old man forgot his dinner again?" Was it a statement or a question Mack wondered as he said "yessir" to the man in the guard-shack.

What a contrast to the outside environment. From 15 to 115 degrees. Paw made engine blocks for Fords. Each time he came here, Mack would learn a little more about melting iron ore and the more he learned, the more convinced he was he would never work in a foundry.

On his way home, he also decided he has had enough ice and snow to last him forever.

Later, this young fellow would come to believe someone from the ghetto could get out–all it took was determination to make it happen and some good luck. But most important–God’s will.

Maw had read the Bible to her children every single day of their young lives. This day, one verse was repeating over and over in Mack’s mind.

Jabez was more honorable than his brothers. His mother had named him Jabez, saying, "I gave birth to him in pain." Jabez cried out to the God of Israel, "Oh, that you bless me and enlarge my territory! Let your hand be with me, and keep me from harm so that I will be free from pain." And God granted his request. 1Chronicles 4:9-10 NIV.

He would substitute his own name for Jabez when he repeated this prayer–but often he would use the name of his sister, Luella.

Never in a lifetime, could he have envisioned he would be responsible for changing the lives of millions of black people.

Another nine years found him on his way home after mustering out of the Navy. Mack had only enough cash to buy a bus ticket to Coldwater, a small town halfway between Chicago and Detroit. At the newsstand, he picked up a copy of the Detroit Free Press, the news media of choice for this rural area of farmers and small-business people.

Mack had crossed Chicago Street and was sitting in the park across from the bus station; all dressed up like a Darkie Preacher. About as out of place as a Republican in Congress. Here he met Harold Gates. Harold couldn’t resist.

"Morning! Mind if I sit?" Not waiting for an answer, he moved the newspaper, which was opened to the help wanted ads and sat down.

"Nice day! Live around here?"

"No," Mack said in perfect midwestern brogue, "and don’t worry, I have no intentions. Too many whites in this town. Black people like to live near one another, you know."

Harold responded with a questioning look.

"I’m returning to Detroit from out West. Been working my way back. I need to get a couple days work here so I can buy a ticket home. Been gone over sixteen months. You know of anything? Gardening, cleaning?

Name’s Mack. Stephen Mack."

"Come on out to my farm with me. We’ll find something. Had breakfast? Gloria will fix you up. Then you can help me do some chores. My hired man quit so I went to my office early to get my work done so I could get home. Have a change of clothes? It doesn’t matter; we got plenty of coveralls in the barn. Nice sleeping room there and it’s close to the privy."

Later Harold reminisced.

"What a gentleman Mack was! He talked about his life and adventures rather matter-of-factly. By the time we reached home, I was desperate for more knowledge about this man, but for now, we had work to do and because of my new helper, it was finished very quickly.

I’ve never worked alongside a better helper. We sailed through the chores, and had time to clean up and relax before supper."

Mack showered behind the barn and presented himself for the table in his black suit. A tall, handsome, mulatto. We encouraged him to tell about himself.

"Not much to tell about my youth, school and all, so I’ll start my story when I mustered out of the Navy with my friend Hernando. I usually called him Budo.

We'd finished our four-year hitch and it was time to grab our pay. Hernando befriended me from the start. The ship bullies had to test me and he came to my aid when they ganged up.

Boy could my guy fight. He was 240 pounds of muscle packed into five feet nine inches…a formidable adversary to any would-be opponent.

I was popular in high school, probably because I was good in all the sports. Made letters every year.

In the Navy, I was just another black gob. Budo convinced me during our four years together, that I must visit his homeland. We were already in San Diego; New Mexico was just across the way. So after we were discharged, we headed to his hometown. Man we were reckless; seeking out adventure every step along the way, spending our final pay as if there was no way it would run out.

Then I met Chollie. We were in his bar in Santa Fe. Hernando had looked up an old flame and sent me on to this place, partly owned by his Chinese friend. I introduced myself and we hit it off. He was a graduate of UCLA and I had spent some time at U of M. We reminisced about a Rose Bowl game and how we each had attended the big Parade there.

The bar was a family enterprise. Chollie helped with the books and worked as bartender.

Budo didn't show (surprise, surprise), so Chollie put me in a room upstairs usually reserved for regulars who passed out before making it to the door. Next day, he mothered over me like a hen over chicks. Talking a mile a minute. Guess he needed someone to listen. What stories he told me.

But I was restless. Excitement had been a way of life the last few weeks. I’d overheard some of the regulars talking about a crap game going on in a crummy bar down the street. Being low on cash, I decided to replenish...I always won at craps.

It was in a back room of a decrepit building even the rats avoided. A dark lurid smoke-cloud hung in the air as if it were part of the furnishings. Six men from the pages of a pirate novel kneeled around a circle in a corner. No, they were not praying.

My cash, meager as it was, opened up a spot in the game.

I lost nearly every cent I had left except for enough money to get to Albuquerque. There, I did some odd jobs and bought another bus ticket with the money I earned which got me to Chicago where I repeated the process to get here. Need to get another stake, return to Santa Fe and have another chance to beat those guys."

"You can stay here and work for as long as you like," Harold said. "You seem to have a knack for farm work. Not so sure about your desire to gamble though. That’s devil country. It can be very addictive and lead to all kinds of problems in a person’s life. Think it over carefully, please, before you make some serious mistakes."

After a few days, Mack said goodbye to Harold and Gloria. They had been gracious hosts and employers. Harold shared his knowledge and adventures having been to the southwest many times exploring for oil and securing land leases for the rights. Most of all, they shared their faith in God which brought back memories of his own family who have deep convictions. Mack too is a believer…a born again Christian, but with serious doubts about his sincerity due to his worldly way of life.

It was great being with family again. Mack especially enjoyed his sister. She always seemed to have good-looking friends hanging around and they all had great times together. Maw and Paw were fine, but always very busy. Seems Maw was always at church or with somebody who needed help of some kind. Paw was a workaholic. If he wasn’t at the foundry, you could find him at a neighbor’s house fixing the roof or a kitchen sink or a broken door or a sullen spirit.

Mack grew restless. This was not the life he envisioned for himself. He was anxious to get back to his friends in Santa Fe and pick up where he left off. Saying good-byes had been softened by solemn promises to return soon, not knowing he would soon have to go into hiding in order to avoid a horrible beating at the least, death at the worst.

Return to trouble…

Mack reeled from the impact of the knife reaching bone and igniting a fire in his shoulder. The darkness allowed him to kick a retaliation blow sending his assailant to the floor as he sprung for the back door. Outside now, he saw a light down the back alley to which he ran as fast as his wobbly legs would let him. He ripped the tee shirt off his body and applied it desperately at the wound to control the gushing blood.

Reaching the open door, he grabbed it and pulled it shut, rushing past a stunned man carrying a can of waste. "Got to hide!" Mack said. Chollie pointed, "down there." The pursuers, having followed a trail of blood, were banging on the door that had been slammed shut,

"Go to the front," Chollie ordered the door-bangers as he hurried down the cellar steps to lock the wine cellar door behind Mack.

Quickly returning to the front of the saloon, he was accosted by the one-armed man who looked as if he came from the depths of hell.

"Where is he?" demanded the angry hombre as he grabbed Chollie by the shoulder. The three customers in the bar stood up as if too aid their bartender, but backed off when the other five desperados glared them down. Chollie feigned ignorance in vain.

"Show us the back room!" the leader hollered as he headed for the area behind the bar.

"Where does it go?" said the man with one arm, looking down the basement stairway. "Turn on a light." "No light...doesn’t work," Chollie said. "Hey, there’s a door down here...it’s locked," said the leader of the mob who had felt his way down the darkened stairs. "Give me the key."

"No key," said Chollie.

The Sheriff, having been summoned by one of the bar regulars, demanded, "leave now or go to jail." The men looked at the lone lawman and laughed as one of them said, "you up to taking us all on?"

"If I have too," he said as he drew and fired, knocking the sombrero off of the challenger’s head. They nearly knocked each other over scrambling for the outside.

"What was that all about?" asked the lawman. "Not sure, officer. Seems like they might have been looking for something."

"Or somebody?"

Chollie shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe."

After things had settled down, he closed the bar and went downstairs to check on Mack, taking the first-aid kit with him. "Nasty, nasty...needs to be stitched," Chollie exclaimed. "Losing blood. Got to get you to a Doctor."

A little while before daybreak, Chollie helped Mack out of the basement, having done the best he could for him with his first-aid kit. The area was clear of the bad-men...he had carefully checked. It was only a short way to his humble abode where Chollie carefully tucked Mack into his bed and went after his doctor friend.

"He needs a transfusion or a lot of rest to recuperate," the Doctor said after the patching up. "How soon can I move him, Doc?" "Let him sleep until he regains some strength."

The next day after having served a light lunch, Chollie asked, "ever been to the mountains?" He continued enthusiastically without waiting for a reply, "we'll go early in the morning. Rough country. Have to take the team."

Mack slept the whole day and night. It was still dark when he managed to pry an eye open.

a few hours later…

Mack rested. Needed to regain the expended strength, so he lay down on the hard rock and gazed upward. It was a stone shaped like an egg or football, which captured his attention.

 

"Man what a beauty. Seems perfectly shaped from here. Huge. Fascinating! Can't take my eyes off.it. ..got to get to it."

Somehow, his enthusiasm for the examination of this stone gave him a renewed strength he could not contain. He climbed until he reached the platform that held the rock.

"Whew! Even bigger than it looked from below. Must weigh several tons."

Mack studied the oval shaped rock. It was perfectly balanced on the ledge. It was as tall as he was.

"Looks like it would move if I pushed. No, of course not. Too big…however, if a fellow got just the right purchase on it … placed his shoulder on exactly the right spot and heaved…it just might be possible."

Mack squared himself under the stone and pushed and pushed. Nothing! He could not possibly have pushed any harder. "No man could ever move this," he decided.

As he leaned against it, drops of sweat fell from his brow as evidence of his exertion. They formed little beads as they rolled down" the rock’s surface forming uniform patterns. "Too uniform," he said aloud.

"More like tool cuts."

He studied the rock. "Why is it so perfect? Looks like a sculpture. These look like chisel marks here. Nonsense, why would someone come way up here to make a pretty rock? More chisel marks. Hardly visible unless you look real close."

Then he went to the side where the stone hugged the mountain. The cliff appeared to be of the same rock type as the stone, but without any markings. He went over the oval stone again, but more carefully, methodically.

"There is only one conclusion, this rock has been expertly and carefully chiseled into a perfect oval. But not recently, more like hundreds of years ago." Definitely not a modern job."

He came to this reasoning because the tool marks came from crudely fashioned implements, far different than tools from the last or current century.

Mack had worked on street repair gangs while on school vacation one summer, and was familiar with chipping hammers and other air-powered tools .

In his examination, he noticed a trough the stone seemed to rest in.

"V shaped. The groove has the same chisel marks as the stone. Hand carved, also.

Why? A track? Did the ancient people responsible for this phenomenon perfect a trap to spring on their enemies if they got too close? Not likely. Too much work on this rock to use once just to kill a few warriors." Mack’s musings continued.

 

"Then for what? Think back to the stone covering the entrance to Jesus' tomb, a door! The angels moved it. They can do anything. Man I'm no angel, but Lord if you want me to move this stone, show me how. I will try only once, then go back and get my supper."

He approached the rock and a warm feeling came into his hands, which seemed to be guided towards a certain spot. Carefully he placed his shoulders in a certain position as he followed his hands where they seemed to be going without guidance from his body.

Mack pushed, the stone moved. He pushed again and the rock continued to swing open as sounds emerged from someplace deep- down – like rocks falling into a dry cistern.

Mack reeled backwards from surprise and nearly fell off the ledge. Then he froze. The oval egg-stone was slowly, quietly, gently turning in its trench. Incredulously, the half-turn of the huge football traversed the length of its track. A strong odor enveloped the area. A dank, musty cellars mold stench.

 

There was a hole in the mountain. A black hole from which the foul smell emerged. A road culvert sized hole, large enough for a small man to enter standing up.

Mack approached the cavity carefully, not knowing what lay inside. There was a faint shaft of light coming from somewhere within. The stink was very strong. First Mack checked the stone to see if it might move some more. It didn't quiver a bit, seemed frozen fast. He inched his way toward the opening, expecting something ominous to happen any minute.

"Angel, you must be here. You shoved the door open. Now watch I don't get myself messed up in this hole…please. Thank you Jesus."

Gingerly he placed his head into the gap. Nothing but black. Inkwell blackness. He pulled back looking for something to burn for light, but all he could find on the wind-swept ledge were a few dead and brittle pine needles. He gathered a handful, clutched his unlighted torch and stuck his head back in the hole.

"Man-made hole, I think. Let’s light the torch and go in. Have to get down low. The hole was not made for someone my size. Hey! A tunnel. How far does it go? Hundred feet? Thousand? What’s at the end? Is there an end? Man it smells bad in here." Mack was talking out-loud to himself.

"

The tunnel seems to be getting larger. I think I can stand up. The torch is almost burned out. Gone. No light. Where are those matches? Here they are." A tiny glimmer of light only, so he lit more matches all at once to disclose a huge spongy cavern. "What’s in here?"

The fire in the matches quit, - a dying flash - singeing his hand.

So did Mack quit, too.

"Time for a fish dinner," he shouted, and his echo agreed from across the vastness.

 

Several months later…

 

 

It happened one day at the wharf in Amsterdam. Love at first sight! She was a beauty! Majestic, sleek, long lovely lines– he had to have her.

Whatever it takes to get it for me, do it. Mack was sitting in his banker’s office, having pointed out the potential new love of his life that could be seen from the window.

210 feet of beautiful steel and fine woods, complete with a crew who had been with the ship since its christening ten10 years previously. The engines were recently been replaced and the yacht was completely retrofitted to bring it up to this day’s standards of electronic navigation.

The crew had trained in Italy and the U.S. for worldwide travel. Its cruising range was 6,000 nautical miles and could comfortably accommodate twelve12 passengers in six6 large stateroom suites.

The owner’s suite was on the top of the three decks along with the Captains quarters which were forward next to the pilothouse. There was not a finer yYacht anywhere.

 

On board his new ship, Mack used the ship-to-shore hookup and called his dealer on Canal Street East. He arranged to deliver four more toncratess of his bulk ingots that were still safely locked in the bonded warehouse. The bulliontonnage would be transported directly to the mint,, purified, formed into standard bars and and credited to his account. It would be a simple matter to issue vouchers of exchange to cover his market sales. Just call his agent at the brokerage office, , establish his identity by voice and code words, confirm yesterday's sales and authorize withdrawals from his bank. When one gets into this bracket, you are dealing with governors of world wealth. Millions are handled by gestures; word of mouth is sacred.

 

The Medallion was anchored in deep water where his First Mate and ten trusted mercenaries zealously guarded his beautifully modernized vessel. It was Mack's pride and joy; it was almost idolatrous. He had personally designed the several storage compartments in the deep hold, constructed them exactly in the center, for ballast, for security, for looks.

Quarter inch steel plates formed the walls and ceilings. Then for disguise, he covered the steel with half-inch plywood sheets and painted the exterior with drab battleship gray. Each cell-like compartment was equipped with safety locks. Only Mack and the skipper had the combination. Even with a fortune soon to be on board, he felt safe and secure. His crew was well paid and loyal. They would share in the vast wealth soon to be loaded into the holds , wwhen the ship reached its destination across the ocean.

Francine…

"Wonder how Francine will react to my position as Deputy Prime Minister of Uganda? She certainly reacted wonderfully toward me during my visit. I don’t think she wanted me to leave. I had to of course.

Couldn’t tie up the sultan’s airplane any longer.

We had breakfast on the veranda, same beautiful spot where we had lunch the day before. Then a walk to the Place du Tertre. Francine had waved and spoken to the artists. "I would pose for them," she had said, "and a small group would gather, and some would commission the artists to do their portraits. I guess I was sort of a "shill’ if that is the right American word."

Mack continued to recall: her guided tour.

"Look over there; that is the Sacr’e-Coeur Basilica, a very unique Cathedral. What do you think of it?" "Let’s go take a look," Mack had said,. remembering it as Ssort of a cross between a museum and a Church. "Can we go in?" he had questioned. "Sure. There is some very rare art and artifacts inside. She had taken him by the hand and led him inside. Mack had thought, "wonderful golden medallions, works of outstanding art – like a monument to a cause –Francine had mentioned." "Can’t remember what the cause was," she had mumbled.

Soon they had seen two windmills, two museums, an old cinema and a place called the Boat Wash House. A couple of great artists by the name of Picasso and Braque had studios there at one time. The largest windmill had been converted to a cabaret called the Moulin Rouge. The tune, "Take me to the Cabaret old friend" played through Mack’s head. He continued to recall the wonderful time with Francine.

"Dinner the previous night had beenwas uneventful. Franny, as she had asked me to call her, had been the center of attraction. Everyone adored her. Jacque was obviously smitten with her, hanging on her like a branch of a tree. I met most of her friends, but few took any interest in me. I probably represented a threat to her availability. I had also wondered if she would consent to be a guest on the Medallion? For some reason, I never got up the courage to ask."

It had to happen somewhere along the line, dispensing huge sums of cash for every conceivable expense of re-developing a country, the money was dispensing faster than it was coming in. Mack did not admit this to Zanny, but he did say he’d be gone awhile on business and would spend some time with the folk’s back home. Francine had informed him she would not be available for a visit until a few business trips were finished…didn’t elaborate…just insisted she didn’t want anything to interfere with their time together. Mack wondered if this meant she didn’t want to be with him after all. "God, you are in control here

 

MO MONEY

. If it is your will that I be with her, you will make it so," he prayed.

"Incidentally, if comes to a vote, mark me down for a yes," he added.

Mack was explaining to his banker the need for additional funds.

"The mine is in New Mexico, not far from Santa Fe, in an old mountain. Wild country! Not a living soul for miles. Turkey buzzards, cactus and rocks. Awful lonesome. Spooky. Tough climbing a mountain two or three times a day, s

till feel the aches in my bones when I think about it. My partner and I, Chollie, mined for days andbefore we got stuff ready to take out. My second time, even worse. Did it all by myself! Tons!

That’s what I'm going back for again. More gold."

Mack thought about the previous time he went back to replenish the coffers–"thought he would die before he got the 4x4 filled with product. Finally finished and the truck wouldn’t start, but after some anxious moments and fervent prayer, it condescended to cooperate."Make arangements for selling the mined minerals, and then get it to a market.

"Did it before, now I have to do it again. May Probably take a long time.

You may get awful sorry you ever got mixed up in this deal."

"What? Put a lien on my Medallion? Never! There must be another way," Mack appealed to no avail.

 

"So my beloved ship has a mortgage –... so what." Mack decided to fly to the states and send his ship on to Tampico.

 

 

Mack’s mind was racing all the way home on the airliner. His primary thoughts were how to get in and out of the mine without being caught. "Chollie had found a way out, so there is another entrance somewhere. Still, how do we find it? Those guards were patrolling their areas just yards away from the mine. Even if we did get in, how do we get out with a sufficient quantity of gGold to make it worthwhile?

And who is we? I don’t have a partner in this venture. Or do I? I am forgetting the person who made all this possible in the first place. Okay God. I’m back. Need your help again.

Helloooooo."

Mack drifted into deep sleep. Francine was in his dream as usual. "She is available, as far as I know, to be the bride of this Uganda official. But was she willing?" Awake! Change planes.

Airborne again, Mack was recalling how he transported his ingots to a secure storage on the docks at Tampico. A real challenge! Took every bit of ingenuity he could muster up.

After loading nearly two tons into the 4x4, he had headed for the Mexican border at Juarez. The border guards searched his vehicle and found the hidden compartment. Fortunately, Mack had secured Insurance in El Paso that included cargo coverage for a shipment of lead to Tampico.

Mack explained in his pretty good Spanish, he had put it in the lock-up compartment so it wouldn’t be stolen during his trip. He then inquired if he could hire a guard to accompany him to the coast. This was what they wanted to hear. They loudly exchanged views as to who should have the honors, finally agreeing to send Miguel. The trip, which was the first of several, to the coast wenthad been interrupted three times by inquiring officials and police. It took half of Mack’s cash for bribes and heavy persuasion by the guard to complete the three-day trip to the coast. There were still three more tons of gold in the cave to ship out. "I’ll leave it in the cave to rot before going through this again," an exhausted Mack had decided. Careful planning, however, made the next shipment practically a breeze.

 

 

 

Early, the next morning, Mack picked up wooden crates, canvas duffel bags, packing material and loaded it into the large, rented 4x4 Army surplus truck. Very quietly and carefully, he drove around the backside of the hills, outside of the guards patrolling area. Parking it out of sight, he made his way up the crude steps to the ledge. It was barely out of the guard’s sight at the neighboring mine property.

Once again, he assumed his position, praying; "God, this is your property. If it is your will I use it for your Kingdom, then place my hands in the proper positions and let your power move the stone."

Mack could feel the familiar warmth surge through his body and into his hands as the stone moved with just a slight pressure from his powerful arms. Bending down, he held a kerchief to his face as he shone his lantern into the opening. Moving forward, he directed his light at a familiar pile of artifacts. Right where he left them. A - n assortment he had pulled out of the storeroom to study and admire. Farther over were the mining tools, rope and lanterns. Everything was just as it should be. Start packing. Should not take very long. Grab those bags, slide them down the hill, hoist’em into the truck and be off to the waiting plane.

Just as the last duffel bag was packed, - pain, awful pain. He slipped to his knee and turned slightly to see a large object rushing at his head. Instinct prevented the heavy pipe like thing from reaching its target again. Mack reached out, found the arm at the other end of the weapon and succeeded in grabbing and twisting it away. A cry of anguish.

"You broke my arm!"

The assailant withered to the ground like a coiling snake, crying out, "my arm, my arm is broke."

"How did you find me? Tell me or I will break your other arm."

"Tank told me you were up to something out here. I came out to see. What’s in those sacks?" Help me! I’m in bad pain!

Mack had ripped the belt off his pants and immobilized the man’s legs. "Who else knows you’re here?" "Nobody. I’m alone. Help me to a hospital, please. I’m dying!"

"No you’re not. There’s no blood. I can set your bones and tie a splint. You’ll be okay."

Mack reached for the man’s arm and gave it a hard pull, then letting it find its place back into the socket. "The Boy Scout first aid training pays off," Mack thought.

"Not broke. Just dislocated. We will have to bind it so it can stay where it belongs."

The man had been screaming so loud he didn’t hear a word that was said. Mack had been around cussing before, but never anything like this. Finding an old heavy shirt, he made a combination sling and straight jacket, securing the situation so he could get on with the job at hand, but taking time to stick a rag in the bad guy’s mouth…for obvious reasons.

 

Mack slipped outside to rest. The blow to the head was causing severe pain, but there were only a few drops of blood. "Good thing," he thought, "being a bleeder." He remembered the knife wound. "Took forever to get healed…and the time in high school…taken to the hospital because he couldn’t stop bleeding.

That was from an injury received while playing football…being put into the ambulance and the crowd cheering as he was whisked away.

Time to wrap this up," Mack thought, as he unpacked the bags into the crates, using the sawdust for protection of his treasure.

that were inside the 4x4. After closing up the hole, he carefully moved sand and gravel around the base of the stone and hid the track the stone used to slide open and shut.

Finally, without further incident, the crates in the truck were ready for shipment.

Several more months later...

 

"We are approaching Acapulco. The harbormaster is sending a pilot to meet us and take us to a berth. If you are at the docks around 6:30 PM, we should be tying up." Luigi was on the radiophone and had the situation well in hand, as usual.

Francine and Mack met the Medallion as its engines setteledsettled down and shore power took over. The gangway was lowered, as the final cable was tightened by the wincheswinches tightened the mooring cables. The captain spoke after he and his wife were introduced to Francine.

"We were in the Shah’s palace a couple of times when you were there as a guest. We were hired help so we did not meet. But we did get to hear you sing one time. That was a treat."

 

Mack hung up the phone and turned to Francine.

"My sister will arrive at 3:00 PM. I want to take her shopping for a wardrobe as soon as she feels up to it. Would you care to join us?"

"Shopping? Does a duck quack? Will the sun rise? Course I’ll go shopping. I would be thrown out of the league of shopoholics if I refused."

 

Luella could not believe this was for real. "Has to be a dream," she thought. "Never even been out of Detroit, much less the country." " People are different here," her brother had mentioned. "Slow pace. Smiling."

"No one hardly ever smiles back home less you tell a joke or something," she thought.

She recalled as a younster, Pappy lived in Florida. He had said his brothers and sisters, all ten of them, lived in a windowless shack which sat upon stilts. He told how his neighbors would sit around and tell stories, how the women would sing and teach the young ones how to sew or make things to sell to the whites.

His fondest recollection was that everyone was happy. No stress, no mad desire for material things. There was always food and enough clothing to get by. No stealing, no fighting. The only bad time was when heavy rains came and it would flood beneath the dwellings.

 

Leaving home for the Metro airport had been very traumatic for Luella. First time away from Maw since the terrible beating she had been subjected to. May never get over it. Time and prayer cured the upper body, but the legs need more time and exercise to finish healing. The mental part will heal in due time the doctors told her.

"Your seat is here," the stewardess said checking her ticket for the third time as she helped her into the first class aisle seat. "Can I bring you something to drink?"

"Can’t believe their isn’t some mistake," she thought. Luella had been boarded first because of her walking problem. As the rest of the passengers made their way to their own seats, they stared at the young, non-discript black girl sitting up front.

Self conscious, Luella turned away as if trying to find a place to hide. "I wish I could sit in the very back," she thought.

 

 

"We will start out at the Plaza, and then make our way up the Costera Miguel Alema’n - ...shopping till we drop."

Francine had heard this expression on American television. We will do lunch at Carlos’ n’ Charlies, then continue on with our shopping, pausing at La Perla for dinner, and see the divers do their world famous act. We can complete this expedition at the Princess Hotel Shopping Arcade. Afterward, we should attend the Mexican Fiesta at the International Center. The car is available for us to use, for as long as we need. They were headed downtown after having picked up "Sis" at the airport.

A modest wardrobe had been selected for Luella. Francine picked up a couple of things to wear aboard ship. The excursion had taken two days and Mack had worked in an excuse to be gone long enough to do some shopping himself.

"You are very astute. This three caret gem is flawless and the best buy in all of Mexico."

"And you are the best salesperson in all of Central America. I’ll take it," said Mack as he flashed his American Express card.

Luella was in a trance. "This is all a dream – I soon will wake up in my own bed and be... -"

CRASH!

Their Limousine came to a screeching halt, narrowly missing a Jeep that struck a light pole. Mack was out of the car and over to the crashed vehicle almost immediately. The driver had a gushing cut on his forehead where it struck the steering wheel.

Mack tore the shirt off his body and wrapped it tightly around the victim’s head. The bleeding slowed down as the driver attempted to awaken, uttering a slurred, "wwha hoppen?"

"Too much party time," said Mack as they pulled away. "Fell asleep or passed out. He will be okay after a few stitches. Guess I will need another shirt." "No, leave it off," said the giggling girls.

"Dr. Mack. We are proud of you," said Francine. "Did you know he was a Doctor, Luella?"

"Not a Doctor, a Boy Scout. He was always practicing his bandages and splints on me."

Still dreaming she thought, "this big Limo, beautiful Princess, lunch with wine and dinner with champagne – the wonderful clothes and my brother the prince."

The next day, Luella recalled the previous afternoon.

"The lunch was incredible at Carlos and Charlie’s. American food in Mexico, at a really neat place…the upstairs outside balcony, watching the ‘action’ below in the street, and the dinner at La Perla was outstanding– tried the Mexican dishes – the sampler it was called. Those guys diving off the cliff 130 feet into a narrow place in the rocks. Only a few feet deep Mack had explained. They must time their dive to hit the water as the wave peaked in order to have enough depth to come back up alive. There was no second chance if the timing was off, he had said."

 

Francine and Mack were standing on deck under the pilothouse. Luella had gone below to the gym where she was doing her prescribed workout.

"I want to say goodbye to a very good friend. We could have dinner with him tonight at the Holiday Inn, the tall round building over there." Francine pointed across the bay. "Maybe Rosa and Luigi could join us. Luella too, of course. My treat, or should I say my father’s. I have a charge account there but I never get a bill.

Just sign and dine.""

 

"Later, Francine introduced the well dressed, handsome Mexican gentlemen to her guests. "This is Angel, the maitre-de here."

"Thank you for choosing our restaurant for your final meal before leaving for Africa. I will not be able to dine with you, as I am taking my family to dinner at their favorite restaurant,... McDonalds. Nonetheless,

we have a special treat for you tonight. Hope everyone likes fish. A mangreat chef I have known for several years, comes to our beach cookout shack three or four times a week with his own fuel. It is a special blend of woods and charcoal he will fires up about noon.

He had already been to the docks and picked out the snapper for tonight’s dinner, which are marinating in ice packs. They are kept carefully wrapped – no one knows the secret ingredients he uses.

As he receives orders, he rewraps the fish in palm leaves and places it in the fire. He knows exactly when to bring it out , as he signals his helper to bring the platters and prepare the garnish. That’s all I will tell you, the presentation will speak for itself. It was a pleasure to meet Francine’s friends and traveling companions.

Please hHave a safe journey."

"I was here for a seminar a few months ago," Francine explained. "He took me and a couple of other young girls under his wing and protected us from the evils lurking around each corner of this city. I always figured my father had a guardian ‘"Angel’" handy, wherever I was. I always come here for lunch or dinner when I am in town."

"A glass of wine, a salad, vichyssoise, some cheese and a bread and cracker assortment. Now all we need is a hamburger," joked Louella as she surveyed the array of delightful dishes adorning the candlelit table.

"How about a serenade, instead." said Mack as he raised his hand to signal the strolling troubadours.

When the appetizers and first courses had been consumed, five waiters marched in with flaming platters as the musicians played, "When the Saints go Marching in."

"It’s starring at me!" Louella was becoming the life of the party. Her inhibitions and shyness had been left in the snow up north. The fire had been extinguished and the fish and the garnish lay exposed to the diner’s admiration.

 

"Make him stop looking at me!."

The Red Snapper, with head and tail hanging off the ends of the huge platter, reminded her of the chowder Maw makes out of fish heads.

"There, now look at the apple." She placed one of the garnishments strategically so the eye was hidden. Everyone was having a hard time biting into his or her meal between the outbreaks of llaughters.

***

a few days later…

The sleek megayacht was about eight miles out to sea when a patrol boat sounded out, "stop for inspection." It had flashing lights and a loud speaker, but somehow, looked a little less than authentic.

Luigi and his crew had been well trained. The ship ignored the small boat and headed directly west for the twelve12-mile iinternational boundaries.

Again, "stop for inspection. This is an order. We will shoot if you do not obey." The patrol boat moved closer as the Medallion slowed, apparently to obey.

"Stand by, we are coming aboard." The crew lowered the gangplank and eight armed men, after securing their look-alike patrol boat, clambered up the stairway ignoring the fact the yacht was still under power.

Meanwhile, the three of the ladies had been ushered into the secure cargo area, and eight of the crewmembers stationed themselves at predetermined posts as they had been trained.

"Everyone into the pilot house," commanded the leader. He spoke twice, once in English, then Spanish. "Who is in charge here?" I am in charge, spoke up Herman, speaking English. "I am the captain. What do you wish to inspect?"

"Where is the rest of the crew?"

"We are all here. This is a shakedown cruise. We will pick up additional crew, as needed." Herman spoke with authority, as had been rehearsed for this kind of situation.

"Take us to your cargo hold. We will start our inspection there."

Lugi stayed at the wheel and commanded Mack to stay with him. "Always remember," he had said in a lecturing way, "I am in charge whenever we are at sea., while at sea." This conversation had taken place on their very first meeting, back in Amsterdam. "I have the training and experience to get us through any emergency."

Herman and the first mate conducted the banditos to the hold. In one corner, were boxes of canned goods and staples. In another area, racks with linens and cleaning supplies. The inspectors, however, were drawn to a pile of crates. They began tearing at them with their bare hands, throwing out excelsior as they eagerly sought the contents.

Eureka! Souvenirs. Just as they suspected. Mexican contraband for export. Trinkets made by very poor, but skilled workers, were being smuggled out of their country, to be integrated into a decadent civilization. Quickly they moved to the canned goods boxes and tore them open, one by one.

"Where is the gGold?" Huacas... - donde," the leader demanded.

 

His nephew, a guard at the palace, told him about the inventory which had taken place and assumed the Medallion was loaded with crates of gold treasures.

"Our entire cargo is here. Any gGold would be in those crates of trinkets."

Waving his gun in the first mates face, the leader proclaimed, "tell me where it is, or I will shoot your face off."

"There, over there, under the pile of boxes with the souvenirs."

All eight of the pirates piled into the spot, grabbing at boxes, wanting to be the first to get his hands on the gringo gold. The weapons were laid carelessly aside.

 

The signal was given.

The armed crewmembers took control before the banditos could react. Guns were removed from the scene and the bad guys were ordered to disrobe and move to the main deck.

Their firearms were thrown overboard and the naked men were ordered down the gangway.

The women, having been let out of their safe haven, jeered!

Francine squinted threw half-closed hands covering her eyes.

 

"You will find eight naked men in a boat with lights which flash. They disembarked from the Medallion about fifteen15 miles from land. We are bound for the Panama Canal if there are any questions." Luigi was in contact with the Mexican authorities and had given them his position.

 

 

 

 

"I really should spend more time in prayer." Mack thought.

"Hey Franny – pack up – let’s go – time to pick up Maw."

THE LEGACY

The taxi wound it’s way through the streets lined with old cars, their windows smashed out and stripped of their tires and dignity. Sidewalks were covered with various items of debris and trash. Storefronts were boarded up; the plate glass windows were either broken out or covered with protective iron bars. The weather was cold and damp. Here and there were barrels of fire with dark-skinned shabbily dressed men, standing around them, warming their hands.

"I can’t believe what I am seeing," a shocked Francine said. "This is America?" "This is the part of America that I want to help change," remarked Mack. The cab continued on into a residential neighborhood. Soon the homes took on a neater appearance.

Old, but decent.

Pulling up to a small house in the middle of the block, Mack saw his Maw waiting on the porch. Luella, Francine and Mack were out of the car just as Maw, running, reached the sidewalk. After the hugs and kisses, Mack introduced Francine. "This is my beloved wife. You will get to know and love her while we are on our trip, as Luella and I do. And this is Rebecca, Francines Mother."

"Hmmm – your skin is the same color as mine, yet you look white." Maw addressed Rebecca respectfully.

"She can be quite outspoken, I assure you Mother, she meant that as a compliment.a compliment. We don’t see many true Blacks of royal aristocracy in this neighborhood," said Mack. "Maw, is your bag packed?" "Yes, but I don’t have many clothes." "No matter. We will pick stuff up for you as needed."

Shortly after they were gone, a swarm of workers descended upon the family home and resurrected the Kitchen kitchen and Bath bath to meet the current standards of a modern home.

Soon they were speeding down the runway in the sleek Lear Jet. Maw was hanging on for dear life. "You’ll get used to it," Luella said. "Look back. Say goodbye to Detroit for a while." But, where are we going, why? I have to take care of the house. Got to feed the cats and look after Jake." "It’s all being taken care of. Aunt Sarah will stay in your house and care for Jake and the cats while you are gone," said Mack, patting his mother’s hand across the aisle from him.

"We are on a business trip. I need to see some people in New Mexico and Oklahoma, and we are hoping you will join us afterwards. Luella wants to stay with Francine and I in our new home and we are hoping you will stay with us too." Maw was only catching bits and pieces of what her son was saying. "How can this all be?

Poor black folks riding around in this fancy airplane. My children dressed like rich white people. My son with a beautiful new bride, so soon after the divorce from that poor mixed up child he married first. Paw would never have let me do this – run off and leave our home. Poor Paw. Sure hope God took him to heaven. Can’t imagine such a good man being anywhere else." Tears formed in her eyes as she recalled her beloved husband’s image.

The airport runway got closer and closer as the Jet with the lettering "Republic of Uganda" on it’s fuselage, settled down at Santa Fe. Engines screamed as they reversed to slow the plane on this short landing strip. A waiting Limousine took them swiftly away to the Downtown area.

"Lets go shopping. We need some new outfits to blend into this beautiful land. Hope my plastic works in this country," Francine gleefully exclaimed to the other ladies.

They freshened up at the hotel, and were raring to go. Mack left in a rented car to keep his appointment, leaving early in order to make connections with his best buddy.

"Preacher Mack! Where’s the sermon gonna be; in here? You sure look good in that blue–flannel. Wonderful to see you, good buddy." Hernando was the peacekeeper (he liked that title better than bouncer) in the bar where Mack met Chollie, his partner in the mine. He had no idea of the role his best friend played in the world’s financial circles. "What yaw doing here? Looks like some of that ore you got out of your mine paid off."

"Yes, I’m on my way to see if I can sell my interest in the mine. Glad to see you, buddy. Want to go to work for me?"

"Course! Who do I kill?"

"Hopefully, nobody. I need, I mean we need, a bodyguard. I’m married now. My sister is with me also."

"Congratulations! When do I start?"

"You will have to leave Santa Fe. It‘ll be hard work."

"I need a change, in a rut here. Beginning to hate this bar business. Where do we go?"

"Uganda"

"Uwhatda?"

***

Mack was in the office of the mining company adjacent to Thompson Peak. "My name is Jones. Wayne Jones. I am the General Manager. We are very interested in being involved in your gold claim. However, Mr. Collard didn’t give us much information. We do not have the facilities needed for small operations. What do you have?"

"Gold. Tons! I have no idea of how many. This is an example of what is in the mine." Mack took a large nugget out of the satchel he brought to the meeting.

"Whew! That’s a beauty. Mind if we have it assayed for purity?" He really meant it to be checked for whether it was actual Gold. Mr. Jones had struck a buzzer on his desk. "Have this analyzed right now, Carole. We will wait here. Have a cold drink, Mr. Mack? We have tea."

"Tea would be fine. Straight please. No sugar."

"Please bring us a pitcher, Carole." She glanced around at the handsome dark man, tossing her long blond hair to one side in order to show off her obvious attributes.

Later, the phone buzzed Wayne back to his desk. Mack had explained his lease provisions and how any arrangement would be a sub-lease with royalties to his company and others.

"Your nugget was 99% pure. We are very anxious to be in business with you. Where are your deposits?" By the way, gold is selling at 744 dollars. Do you realize that is over 20 times what it was for many years before we went off the gold standard?" Mack replied, "it seems unbelievable that it occurred during my lifetime, and oh yes, you will be very pleased as to the proximity of our operation."

"I will, of course have to see what we are contracting for. Would you like your nugget returned, or we could issue a check. When would it be convenient to see your property? We normally split 50/50 on the proceeds, course you have the 10% royalty already." Wayne was obviously very excited. "We are always open to other offers."

"There is a cabin, and a shack near the stream that runs through your property. A trail leads towards it. Watch for the huge cactus. Turn in there. I will be waiting." Mack was arranging to have Wayne inspect the mine. It was late in the afternoon. He would wait until dusk, and then take him to the cave.

Wayne pulled up to the meeting spot right on time, having shed his blue serge suit for fatigues and hiking boots.

***

The ladies were enjoying the sights and shopping back in town, not expecting Mack until late in the evening. The area around the Downtown Plaza was ripe with sights and shops that had to be investigated and explored. Rebecca had booked a flight back home to Acapulco.

"You look very familiar to me. Where have I seen you before?" A thirty-something, well-dressed woman had approached Francine as she put aside an outfit she had selected. "I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. This is the first time I’ve been around here, or anywhere in this country, for that matter," said Francine. "Where do you come from," inquired the Lady? "France, Paris, Montmatre to be exact." Francine replied. The very attractive lady said, "I was a buyer for Bergdorf-Goodman before I opened this shop a few years ago. Been to Paris many times for the shows – Versace, Gucci, Blass." "I modeled for all of them at various times," Francine exclaimed.

***

"I am sorry for the blindfold, but I must protect the location until proper security is in place." They made their way to the rugged trail, leading up the mountain. "Be very careful. I will guide your steps. We will go up quite a ways before we reach safe ground." What an ordeal. He practically carried Jones, ("must weigh 200 pounds,") he thought, up to the main ledge before stopping, and opening the cave. "Be careful, low bridge." Mack turned on the lantern and removed the blindfold. "Whew! This is unbelievable. Right under our very noses. Name your deal, Mr. Mack!"

All the parties had executed the contracts. It took less than a day. Jeb Collard, Mack’s banker in Santa Fe, had lined up the proper attorneys and everything fell swiftly into place. The fence was extended from the neighboring mining property, so it encircled the base of the mountain where Montezuma’s mine was located.

A Charitable Foundation with Mack and Chollie as the benefactors had been established as a depository for the proceeds from the contract with the Denver and Santa Fe Mining Co.

"Come on, we’re going for a Jeep ride to the mountains Mack commanded."

"This is my mother and this is my beloved wife, Francine," Mack said as he introduced them to Chollie. This is my favorite sister, Luella." "And your only sister," she saidded.

The family group spent the rest of the afternoon with Chollie in his new home, which Mack carefully inspected. "Kurt and Kent did a good job building this house – making several improvements on their own that I never envisioned," thought Mack

"One thing left to do before leaving here, open the cave for the last time."

***

Mack had reserved three suites at the La Fonda in the Plaza section of Santa Fe, which were occupied by the pilots, Maw and Sis and he and Francine. In a matter of minutes after settling in, the trio of ladies embarked on a mission to outfit themselves with southwest style clothing that would blend in to the local scene. Maw put up a little fuss about getting dressed up, but she soon got caught up in the fun and excitement of trying on clothes. She and her daughter were half-pint size, so selections were at a minimum. But, by visiting all the shops in the area, they soon had an adequate supply of new clothing to show off at the City’s best restaurant.

Juan Garcia, dressed in his pilot’s uniform, stood out in the crowds. He was handsome, of average height, with a dark complexion. Luella would have died before refusing his invitation to go for a stroll before dinner. They hit it off while crossing the Atlantic. Mack spent a lot of time at the controls of the plane, leaving Mr. Garcia time to spend with the family in the main cabin. He was invited to join them for dinner, then afterwards, a walk back to the hotel and a good nights sleep before an early takeoff.

Hernando showed up at the airport as instructed, still not knowing for sure what was going on.

In less time that it took to sip a cup of coffee, the Jet had been cleared for landing in Tulsa. A tour of the campus and medical center convinced Mack that he had chosen the right place to seek a partner for his project.

Mack was making his pitch to a small group of executives from the University and Medical Teaching Hospital. "We want to duplicate exactly what you have here. We have the funds available, but lack the expertise and staff to put it all together. The campus would be in the vicinity of our International airport, which is between Kampala, our capital, and Entebbe, a resort city on Lake Victoria. The students and faculty would be drawn from all over the world, to the finest Christian learning center in the Eastern Hemisphere." He had presented himself over the phone as the deputy Prime Minister of Uganda, seeking help to implement this project.

"I think Oral should be in on this," said one of the listeners, pouring over one of the brochures that Mack had passed out. He continued to describe his vision, and spoke briefly about some of the plans to make his adopted country the most progressive and industrialized in all of Africa.

The rest of the Mack family was enjoying the library. They studied the pictures and story of how Oral Roberts obeyed God to put this complex together. The trials and tribulations he went through. The fund raising part seemed impossible at times, especially when the money ran out and they were forced to stop the building program.

"Next stop, Charlotte," Mack announced from the pilot’s cabin. The plane was headed east and Juan was sitting next to Luella, explaining how his love for flying came about.

Hernando was sitting with Mack’s mother, pumping her for information. "I don’t know, ask Stevie," was the answer he got to nearly every question he asked.

"My first recollection of flying was when I was about four years old. My father was a pilot for Mexicana Airlines and my mother was one of their stewardesses. We traveled a lot as a family, but home was in Mexico, Mexico City as you call it," he said in very broken English. "My entire youth was spent, so it seems, flying toy airplanes in and around our home. I was at the controls of a Jet at 12 years old. Father is a certified instructor, so I soloed at 13 in a Piper cub. I had the good fortune to achieve a lot of hours at the controls of jet aircraft, so I was certified last year. In a couple more years I will qualify as a Captain, if all goes well.

The world traveling group was setting down at the airport in Charlotte, North Carolina. "We are going south near the small town of Fort Sill, to a development called Heritage Village." Mack had rented a Lincoln and asked the pilots to join them and investigate this ambitious religious retreat project.

The first order of business, was a tour of the four square mile facility. The guide pointed out the location of the main street area on the lake where a 500-room hotel and shopping areas are already staked out. Also planned is a 21-story time-share. Several swimming pools will be spotted around the grounds, one of which will be the size of a lake and have a wave making apparatus. Billy Graham’s childhood home is being moved to that site, the guide gestured to the left as we passed by another sign on the right that indicated it will be the site of a replica of London’s Crystal Palace to house the ministry center.

Family groups eager for a Christian vacation are already packing the large camping center.

"We would like to plant a substance abuse recovery program on your grounds. Our program is unique in that recovery is 98% effective. It takes three to six weeks and the cure is considered permanent. We use FDA approved methods, and a registered nurse can supervise the treatment, as heavy-duty drugs are not needed. Our method works best in the type of environment you are creating here."

Pastor Bakker had listened carefully, but seemed more interested in the prospectus explaining the revitalization of Uganda. "Your program makes ours look miniscule in comparison," he said. "Have you thought about making a safe haven for persecuted African Christians in your country," he asked?"

The group returned to Detroit and Maw was left off at her beloved home. No amount of begging had persuaded Mrs. Mack to go a jillion miles away to an unknown world, even though her children were there. Luella had been tempted to stay behind with her mother and all the friends that were very dear, but all her new "stuff" was across the sea in her new home.

"New home! What a contrast," she thought. Her home was a suite of rooms in a huge mansion overlooking a big lake and botanical gardens. Servants were everywhere; anxiously awaiting the slightest request from the little princess, as they called her."

DOMINIC’SDOMINIO’S

"Mr. Mack is here, Mr. Monihanan." "Thank you Barbara. Show him in please."

Mack had been in contact with Tom Monihan Monihan about planting Catholic Churches in remote areas of rural Uganda. A copy of the prospectus for the conversion of the country to a Christian nation had been sent ahead.

"We have a large contingent of Protestant Missionaries and Evangelists spreading the Gospel using the Evangelism Explosion program. We need the Catholics to complete our program, hopefully squeezing out the Muslin influence in the region."

"I am very familiar with the EE program. Many, probably all, of our Evangelical groups use it religiously – no pun intended. So, what about languages? How many will our folks need to learn," Tom asked?

There are four regions in Uganda that each have their own dialects. However, English is the national language and most people understand enough to get by.

"Sounds like the sort of challenge I thrive on. Count me in!" Mr. Monihanihan built a chain of pizza delivery and take-out parlors, and gratefully uses a large share of the proceeds to further his love for the Catholic Church and it’s teachings.

Mack, Francine and Hernando were meeting with a group of leaders from the inner city. Hernando was slowly putting the pieces together of what he had gotten himself into. "This is going to be a lot of fun, he thought."

"We will bring disadvantaged youths to our country, and place them with family groups that will give them love and guidance. Schooling with jobs and incentives will be provided in order to rebuild their lives and become productive citizens. When ready, they can choose to return to this country to impart what they have learned to their peers. We would like to take three or four with us tomorrow."

"Francine and I will take Roseanne to Macys and buy what she will need in her new life. What time do you want us to meet you at Metro," asked Luella?

"Juan, Hernando and I will take Jackson and Albert to a Mall and meet you at 3:00 PM," Mack said.

Pastor Roberts had studied the brochure, sent to his committee, about the new Uganda. He selected and prepared the three young people for a life changing experience. They were from broken homes, already under some gang influence, but eager to better them-selves.

Six feet of bones with a thin layer of dark skin clinging tightly, as if to keep from falling off. Quiet ande, reserved, Albert had been plucked from a gang of career criminals intent on training him to become one of them

He was in the co-pilots seat next to the Captain, getting instructions on how this wonderful machine worked. The controls were in his hands as the Jet left the land behind her. Roberto discovered an aptitude in this young man that intrigued him into seeing just how much he might learn. "Now gently push on the right floor pedal as you turn the wheel slightly to the right and straighten out at 189 degrees. Good! Now set the autopilot and we will go over some more of the instruments."

Mack, Hernando and Juan were with Jackson in the galley dinette discussing his likes and dislikes for food, movies, sports and whatever else came to mind.

Francine and Luella were talking girl-talk to Roseanne the 17-year-old that looked twice that age. Tall, muscular – she took no back seats. Street wise and tough, her face said; "don’t mess with me!"

The Learj Jet 24 was hurtling through space at 6500 miles per hour.

Jackson Smith; or his name could be Jones, Robinson or Johnson. Jack didn’t know. Just used Smith because it was easy. A boy of the streets since he was five years old – the day when he ran away from a bloody beating. His sister got worse. Untold things happened to her.

"I found refuge with men that lived in alleys, in boxes, with the little animals running around. I thought they were ugly, but friendly. Sort of pets."

"You mean rats," Mack asked Jack?

"Yaw. We would eat them if we got real hungry. Usually though, somebody would come around with some food and we would divvy it up."

"How long did you live like that asked," Juan asked?

"I learned quick that hustling dope would make things better for me, but the bigger guys would beat me up if I didn't split with them, so it was several years before I could get away from those alleys. Eventually, I grew big and smart enough to do my own terrorizing. It was quite a life. Had a big street rod Cadillac, three or four girlfriends, a neat pad and money to throw around. But, I grew too big for my britches. I stepped on some toes, made some enemies and nearly got busted.

"But you got out of it. How," Mack asked?

Jackson was trying to stand upright in the cramped quarters of the rear cabin. His 250-pound body struggled to escape the confines of the chair designed for smaller people. The scars of battle from his 19 years in the ghetto showed. The white patch over one eye was evidence of injury.

"I can’t sit this long at a time. Have to move around some, or I‘ll get stiff. Pastor Brown and his people took me into protective custody as they call it, and that’s why I’m here."

"Seems to me we could use you in Jack in our anti-terrorist unit," Mack said.

Francine had pulled out an interest in journalism from Roseanne. Seems she had worked around Television enough to develop some talent in reporting sports. She helped lug equipment around at Tiger Stadium. Even got to know some of the players on a first name basis.

"Hey Rosie – gimme a hand," – one of them TV crew would say – and she would start clapping, her big brown eyes searching for the source of the command. She was a very good worker – loved being around hard-working men.

***

 

CONSTRUCTION PROFESSIONALS

Overseas 6 months = 2 years wages

Lodging, meals, entertainment recreation provided

Minorities preferred

Contact the State unemployment office.

 

This ad ran in major newspapers throughout the entire U.S. It was prompted by an agreement reached with the European division of World Motor Car Company. The essentials in the contract were:

Similar agreements were negotiated with home appliance, farm equipment, clothing, tool, electronic and toy manufacturers. Uganda would be the industrialized nation in Africa.

For several weeks, a 747 carried nearly 2,500 temporary employees to Uganda, where they trained and worked alongside local workers at construction sites.

Hundreds of Christian families had been recruited from neighboring Sudan to escape from their anti-Christian rulers and work with the trainers brought in from the United States.

The first task was to build housing for these people. Modular units were constructed from the lumber being removed from the excavated golf course. HughHuge temporary pole barns had been erected so the building of these components could be done under the very latest manufacturing methods with the finest machinery available.

When completed, the structures were moved to the residential sites. Construction of the planned facility would be nearby. were erected and modular units were constructed inside, from the lumber being removed from the excavated golf course areas. Sewers, water, roads and sidewalks were ready for the planned community

HOME AGAIN

Once again the travelers were on home turf. The Presidential Limousine whisked the group to the Presidential Palace, where Zanny greeted them, happily. Mack introduced Jackson and Roseanne. Albert had stayed with Roberto, planning to take up residence at the airport with the aviation staff. Francine and Luella retired to their quarters to unpack and relax. Roseanne went with Luella to prepare for their planned visit to the Christian Broadcasting TV center.

"Your trip was a rip-roaring success by the sound of your messages from the United States." Zanny elaborated about the Hospital program and the importing of distressed youths from the ghettos and the establishment of the center for substance abuse in South Carolina.

"We’ve been busy here too. The golf course is in the planning stage and representatives from the World Motor Car Company are here searching finalizing the plans for thea factory site. And by the way, I received a packet from Sotheby’s inviting me to bid on some golden artifacts from the Montezuma dynasty. That’s what’s in those crates we brought form your yacht to the vaults at the Palace, right?"

"Yes," Mack said. "That’s right. The proceeds from the sale of those treasures will provide us with the funds to carry out our plans for years. Better double the guards in case the word gets out as to what’s in that vault."

Sell the gold. Sell all the gold and more.

 

Mack shot upright from his bed. "What’s wrong?" Francine asked, frightened.

"Had an order from Heaven I think. A vision like."

"It’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep," she said.

The next day, Mack had only one thought jumping around in his head. "It must be time to dump the gold into the market," he proclaimed to himself.

"Sell it all Owen. When it’s gone, sell futures. Sell until the market retracts to where it was when we started." "Mack, I don’t think there has ever been this much activity in the gold market. I recommend a cautious approach." You have a history about being right about these things, Owen. You’re the boss. Put the proceeds into the Foundation."

Several days later, on January 21, 1980, gold prices peaked at $850.

 

Six months later, Mohammed Reza Pahlavi passed away at 61 years of age, leaving a mansion in Mexico to one of his daughters, Francine LaTour Mack.***

***

Five years later…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE MILLINIUM

 

 

"jet

"Stevie. Frankie–come here! Your father’s home now."

"Daddy! Daddy! Look what we have."

Mack grabbed his three and four year old sons and held them up as he glanced at the papers the boys had thrust in his face. "My goodness–we have a couple of artists in the family. Who helped you with these? They look like sheep–only with longer necks."

"Granny did. She showed us how. It’s the funny looking thing in your study."

Mack reflected on the gifts God had bestowed on his family. The ease of the pregnancies and births resulting in the beautiful, perfect babies...Franny’s good health and abundant mothers-milk…his mother finally agreeing to live with the rest of her immediate family…Luella singing in Paris and Italy– already dozens of successful concerts under her belt.

"We are finally ready." The big man in the medal encrusted uniform spoke in his native tongue. "You all have perfected your duties in practice, so lets go do it!" Twenty heavily armed men in jungle fatigues moved quickly to the military vehicles.

Stevie and Frankie were asleep in their room. Francine was reading while waiting for her husband to finish his work at the computer. She was fighting drowsiness–it was very late.

Mack was sleepy–maybe if he just put his head down for a minute, the sleepiness would go away. Hernando was in the kitchen enjoying a late night snack. The cook who usually came in everyday had sent a replacement. She was urging him to have a glass of warm milk from a pitcher she had prepared for Mr. and Mrs. Mack.

The military convoy disbursed in several directions as it neared the city of Kampala. Each M3841 Jeep carried a mounted heavy caliber machine gun and five commandos.

Far outside the city, a helicopter crew waited in a clearing with their heavily armed flying machine, listened to closed circuit radio contacts with the guerilla force that entered the city from four different areas. The rotor blades turned slowly, anticipating the rush of fuel to the engine that would turn them rapidly causing a hurricane force rush of air against the ground.

"Number one–are you in position–report."

"Affirmative."

"Number two, three, four?"

"Affirmative," "affirmative," "affirmative."

The attack forces were in position around the walled perimeter of the home. Darts from blowguns had put the outside guards out of commission. Six of the commandos went over the walls and entered the house through an unlocked door. Again the darts with the knockout poison did their jobs quickly and quietly–the inside guards went into a deep sleep.

"Something’s wrong!" Hernando instinctively alerted to a problem. "Why was the new person in the house so insistent on his having some of that milk? Better check the study," he thought.

"Mack! Buddy–wake up!" He caught a figure dressed in black out of the corner of his eye, and as he turned, a dart struck him in his neck.

Francine came too with a start. Something had come out of her pool. Just as she screamed, a cloth saturated with chloroform covered her mouth and nose.

The main gated entrance to the home was opened to admit the military vehicles. The children, their mother and grandmother, all in a deep sleep, were brought out of the house to the garage area.

It took three of the desperados to carry Hernando outside. He was trying to fight off the drug from the dart and the enemy at the same time. Another of them came to the fray with chloroform and ended the struggle.

It was over in minutes. No alarm had sounded. The Jeeps had slipped away with their captives and were speeding off to their rendezvous in the jungle. The long blades strained to lift the giant aircraft off the ground as the prisoners were loaded aboard. In seconds it was high in the air with its cargo. The war vehicles silently sped away, the last one in line dragging an old bedspring to obliterate the tracks.

Shaking his head, Mack struggled to come to life. "What happened?" Looking around the room with blurred eyes, all he could see was the empty milk glass. "Must have been something in it! Drugged? Had he been drugged?" Half crawling his way out of his office to the hallway, he saw one of the guards lying on the floor, partway into the family room.

"Franny," he shouted as he made his way to the fallen man. Noting he had a strong pulse, Mack continued on his way the best he could, down the hall as he called out in utter despair to his beloved wife. Finally reaching the bedroom, he had the presence of mind to sound the alarm for the security people. He frantically searched the sleeping quarters for his family. Even Hernando was missing.

"Do you know who I am?" A big man speaking broken English was in the cell with Hernando. "You are Amin, I don’t know which one."

"You mean am I the dead one?" he laughed. "Me to know. Only me!"

"Why am I here?"

"You and your friends are my hostages–prisoners until they return my presidency to me."

"My friends? Who else is here?"

"The family you guard, ha–ha. They are here. You can protect them from this cell, ha–ha." I may even let you out. Escape would be suicide. We are deep in the jungle. Only my people can get in and out–and then by foot. There are no roads or trails. All of our needs are here in this village where we grow our food. Meat is close by–too close sometimes–pets, dogs, don’t live long here. Come. I will take you to your friends."

The children and their granny were on the other side of the building being entertained by three youngsters doing some sort of a tribal dance while a couple of other, older youths were making sounds on native musical instruments.

"What will become of us? Where are we?" Francine asked tearfully. "Are you okay Hernando? Why are we here? Are we prisoners or kidnapped or what?"

Mack was in deep shock. His mind would not allow him to dwell on his loss. His thoughts turned to the first love of his life.

Dolly Mae had been in his thoughts and desires since the first time he saw her in high school, but she was beyond his reach. Her parents were wealthy doctors and his Maw a washerwoman and Paw a foundryman. Little did he know then, she felt the same way about him.

Of course, after he looked prosperous, it was a different tune. She was ready and available. Too ready as it turned out. A badly spoiled princess type. Unreasonable in her demands to be catered to in her every whim. Nothing or nobody could please her as it turned out. Mack tried and tried…but she found her solace in alcohol. He could not compete with her addiction.

What a difference with Franny. Nothing he did was ever wrong in her eyes. She supported him with every breath she took. Now she was missing. His wonderful children, also. And his best friend. All gone. He could not take it any more.

"God, my God–why have you forsaken me," he cried out, recalling the words of his beloved Jesus as he died on the cross.

More years later…

One morning about 13:00 AM as they were leaving a discotheque, a gang of five drunken young men decided to take on Steve and Frank. "Two against five – is that fair," asked Frank? Actually, both Mack boys were larger by height and weight than any of them.

"Don’t matter,"" said the apparent leader, - squaring off for battle.

Hernando, out of sight to everyone, said to himself, "now lets see what these kids are made of."

The first assailant rushed at Frank who neatly stepped aside, but left one foot in the way causing the drunk to lose his balance. Steve grabbed him and pushed him roughly at the others who were rushing headlong into the freyfray. Only one of them missed the bumping and falling over each other, but Frank caught him by the arm and spun him into the others, who were trying to recover their balance.

Hernando was ready to step into the action, but held back to see what would happen next.

The antagonists regrouped, muttering to each other about regaining their dignity as adversaries which was being challenged. Now they charged more carefully, with due respect for the prey.

This time, Steve and Frank stood back to back as they fended off their attackers. The drunks could not land a single blow as our guys blocked and ducked everything that came their way. Their Kung Fu training was paying off.

Hernando had to laugh – it was funny – but a pleasure to see his kids make fools out of those thugs. He stepped into sight, still laughing, as the action slowed to a halt.

"Stay out of this man – unless you want some of this too!"

"Some of what?" asked Hernando between laughs – "a bunch of drunks that couldn’t hurt a fly? Why don’t you go home to your mammas." That was all they needed – charging him as fast as they could -... but Hernando grabbed two and gently banged their heads together, - then threwough them at the others.

Three of them started to come back for more, but Steve grabbed one in a bear hug as Frank threw a body block at the other two. Hernando was still laughing – "I told you to go home to your mothers, so git before we decide to play rough."

"You guys were great – didn’t take advantage of those drunks just because there were only five of them – nice going."

"Yeah? Where were you? Chickening out somewhere huh! Look they’re gone. You’re safe now." The boys chided their friend and bodyguard.

Terrorists strike…

The news could have been worse–but not much. Steve had been airlifted, along with other Navy personnel to the Naval Hospital in Portsmouth, Virginia. The surgeons had patched up the wounded the best they could before rushing them back to the states.

An act of terrorism had nearly destroyed the USS Cole. Only by the crew’s sheer determination had she been kept afloat.

All that could be done for Steve was finished. Now it was time to allow the healing process to set in.

"They do not think I will ever be able to walk." He exclaimed. His father, mother, brother, grandmother and aunt had met him at the Hospital to take him home. "But of course, they do not know it isn’t part of God’s plan for my life to be crippled."

"Lets get you home so we can concentrate on whatever needs to be done next." Mack and his family already knew what was next. They had all been to the healing temple in the mountain and saw first hand how God’s power could work miracles.

The capture...

They met in one of those little places that made you think you were watching a movie with Humphrey Bogart. The Afghan, satisfied he had real money in his possession, revealed the location of the terrorist headquarters. Mack, in his spirit, followed the directions into the depths of the country while they were being laid out. It was like watching a video. He was able to ask questions of the informer about the camouflage that kept the camp hidden from its enemies. By the time they were finished talking, Mack had a map fixed in his mind and was able to finish formulating the plan.

Hurrying back to Kampala, the men found their own plane ready and waiting with a full load of fuel. The plane had been equipped with laser navigating devices for the canisters that were attached to a bomb rack on the underside of the airplane.

Arriving high over the mountains of Southern Afghanistan just before dark, the high-powered surveillance gear quickly pinpointed the camp from thirty-five thousand feet. Mack had been to a briefing on the use of the bombsight–now it was put to the test. "Lord," he said, "if it is your will that this mission be successful, guide these non-lethal weapons to their targets."

The bomb-like capsules, loaded with knockout gas, hurtled toward the ground guided by laser beams. Within minutes, the men were close enough to ascertain the surprise assault had worked and there was no visible opposition to the raid. Bringing the hovering machine over bin Laden’s quarters, the raiders donned their gas masks and lowered themselves on powered cables while the plane was on autopilot.

Authors note: I have attempted to give the reader random excerpts from the book that would peak interest and prompt him/her to buy it. It is intended to be inspirational reading for all audiences – young or old.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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