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

A Rendezvous with Death

By deMichael Myer

iUniverse, Inc.

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

Chapter One

Friday, October 2, Minneapolis, MN

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

I exhaled slightly and entered the room. The two men greeted me from their chairs, urging me to have a seat between them where we could talk without interruption. They had some good news they...