The Boy in the Ravine

The Boy in the Ravine

A novel by

Don Stoddard

Smashwords Edition

Copyright, April, 2012 Don Stoddard

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Table of Contents:

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgements:

I owe a debt of gratitude to Diane Gregg, Thomas Stoddard, and Kevin McArthur for their tireless efforts in reviewing, revising, and editing this work. Applying their expertise they have significantly improved the book’s continuity, and readability, while significantly reducing the number of grammatical spelling and syntactical errors that are the bane of all authors. Their effort and encouragement are deeply appreciated.

Special thanks go to Ian Gregg as the cover model and to Diane Gregg for the cover photograph.

Prologue

It was a perfect night for a burglary. The brightly shining celestial orb seen earlier was now masked by a thick layer of impenetrable gray-black clouds that drifted slowly across the early evening sky. The sidewalks and streets were covered with a glistening slick of misty rain that continued to drift earthward as the skies darkened. The only constant source of illumination in this area of broad lawns and palatial homes emanated from tall street lamps that gleamed high above the sidewalk fronting the mansions. The thin slivers of light that shone from the lamps barely reached the darkening sidewalk, and thus failed to penetrate the shadows near the tall, spiked iron-railed fence surrounding the estate.

Hugging the shadow of the fence two ghostly figures shrouded in black, with faces hidden by closely drawn hoods, crept slowly toward the entrance to the grounds of one such mansion. The pair hastily crouched and pressed themselves against the fence as the occasional automobile’s headlights swept past them. After each such occasion they stood still for long moments, and then cautiously moved through the drizzle and down the street. The smaller of the ghostly duo carried a large canvas sack and a small battered notebook, while the other carried a large unlit flashlight. On reaching the locked pedestrian gate adjacent to the vehicle entrance, the two hunched together. The one with the flashlight flicked it to life. The lens was covered by a stretched woolen sock so only a muted imitation of a light beam appeared.

The duo stood unmoving for several long moments while the smaller of the two carefully studied the little book under the faint glow of the hooded flashlight. Ah ha, I got it, whispered the small one jubilantly.

Well it’s about time, growled the larger of the two. Why in the hell didn’t you memorize the numbers like the boss told you? He’ll be real mad if he finds out you brought the book with you.

Shut up! The only way he’ll find out is if you tell him; and dumb as you might be you know better than to do that.

Yeah, I won’t tell him, but I ain’t dumb either…so let’s get moving. I’m getting soggier by the minute.

Like I said before; just shut up! Now shine that light on the keypad.

The faint glow emitted by the stocking covered light shone on a ten-digit keypad adjacent to the gate door. The smaller sneak, with gloved hands carefully pushed a sequence of five digits into the numbered pad. Several metallic clicks sounded, then after a short pause, the door opened a few inches. The larger shadowy figure leaned forward and strained against the door. The seldom used gate did not open easily, but with more grunting and whispered curses the gate finally scraped open enough to allow entry.

They each squeezed through the breach, placed a rock from the path to hold it open, then hunkered down for a moment looking around and then scrambled quickly up the cobblestone driveway toward a very large house. They climbed the short wide marble stairs to the broad wooden porch that fronted the building and moved rapidly toward a huge black oak door.

The two thieves scrunched into the shadows beside the oaken door and began the same ritual they had followed at the fence. The short thief quickly located the ten-digit security pad next to the door and again began leafing through the battered notebook, while the larger of the two groaned and cursed as the fuzzy light shown on the scribbled pages in the book. The searcher found the page he was looking for and immediately punched the required sequence of digits into the pad. The effect was the same as had occurred at the gate door; following several metallic clicks the door opened slightly.

The doorway opened onto a wide carpeted entryway that led into a large well-furnished living room. Adjacent to the living room, an immense mirrored hallway stretched toward the back of the house. A long-winding and highly polished wooden staircase led off the hall to an upper floor. The small sneak walked quickly over to the staircase, flicked open the notebook once again, and leafed through the pages. A small lamp on a table next to the foot of the stairs gave off a dim glow, obviating the need for the muted flashlight. Holding the notebook close to the lamp the smaller sneak was able to make out the scribbling.

"Okay I got the page. Now I remember; it says the stuff we want is in the master bedroom on the second floor; in a wall safe behind a framed print of Whistler’s Mother.

I didn’t know this guy’s name was Whistler, said the bigger sneak.

It ain’t, you idiot. That’s the name of a famous painting of an old lady sitting in a chair.

Well, as long as you know what we’re looking for, let’s do it.

The two slowly made their way up the staircase.

Be sure to stay close to the wall so the stairs don’t creak, said the smaller of the two.

Why the hell should we do that? There ain’t nobody home.

Damn it, just do it.

The staircase led to a wide hallway with doors on either side. The two climbed the stairs and then slowly moved down the hall, opening every door and peering into each room until they finally came to a door that opened into a huge room. From the faint glow of the driveway lights they saw that one side was devoted to a coffee table, a small couch, two easy chairs, and a large flat screen T.V. On the other side was a canopied king-plus sized mahogany bedstead, two sets of dresser drawers, and doors that led to clothes closets and a large bathroom.

This is it, said the smaller man. Now look around for the picture.

Okay, mumbled his partner.

The two scanned the walls looking for the picture of an old lady sitting in a chair. Finally near the drape at the head of the bed the big sneak spotted it and called his partner over.

That is one ugly picture, the big man said as they examined a reproduction of one of the most famous paintings in the world.

Great paintings don’t have to be pretty, said his little partner. If enough snooty, artsy types say it’s great art, then it’s great art. Now reach up and move it off the hook so we can get to the safe, while I check for the combination.

They easily removed the picture from its hanger exposing a small steel wall safe with a ten-inch spoke like wheel on the front. Once the combination was correctly entered by way of a small dial in the center of the wheel, the wheel could be turned and the safe opened.

The smaller thief placed the notebook on the bed and grabbed the muted flashlight out of the hands of his fellow culprit, leaned over the bed and pressed the muted beam close to the notebook. Flipping quickly through the pages, the diminutive sneak desperately searched for the combination to the safe. Damn! he exclaimed to no one in particular. I should have written the numbers down when the light was good. I know it’s in here someplace.

Don’t get excited, offered his partner. We got all night. They ain’t supposed to be back ‘til Monday.

I know, but I always get a little spooked on a job, the little one responded as he continued to leaf through the book. Less than ten seconds later he yelped. Here it is! Hold the light next to the safe so I can see to put the numbers in. That’s good. Now it says here three complete turns to the right and stop on eight, then one complete turn to the left and stop on five, then last go back to seven, and the safe should open.

After entering the combination, Shorty spun the spoked wheel and the safe opened. He grabbed the flashlight, pulled the sock off and directed its beam into the narrow iron cave and yelled at the taller thief, Holy mackerel look at all that loot! Sure enough, the safe contained numerous stacks of banded hundred-dollar bills.

Quick give me the sack. I’m going to harvest this lettuce. With both hands he jammed the currency into the canvas bag. When all the money was safely in the sack he began a careful examination of the remaining contents. He had been told to take only cash and bearer bonds. Whatever the hell they are, he whispered to himself. His boss had said cash and bearer bonds can’t be traced and this kind of bond was easy to redeem. Though he wasn’t real sure about the bonds, he did what he was told, and carefully examined each certificate and, if it had the word bearer on it, he stuffed it into the bag. The other material he dumped onto the bed.

While the little thief was doing this the bigger one wandered about the room rifling through dresser drawers. Finding nothing in the dim light but clothes he examined the contents of a large ornate jewelry box on top of one of the dressers. He found some currency in the box which he put in his pocket and lots of expensive looking pieces of jewelry, but following orders he left the jewelry where he found it. He also noticed a gift box in the back of the jewelry case which he opened and inside was a really neat man’s wristwatch with diamonds set in the place of numbers around the face. He had never seen one like it and was sorely tempted to take it, but as much as he liked it, he feared his boss more. After some intense consideration, he decided not to pinch it.

After a time, weary from the long walk, sneaking into the house and searching the room, the big guy slowly walked back over to the side of the room away from his partner and sat in an easy chair opposite the T.V. He leaned back, stretched his legs out and almost immediately began to drift off to sleep while his partner sifted through the many documents in the safe.

Ah, it sure feels good after all that sneaking around. He had just begun to really settle in when he was startled awake by a light flashing on the ceiling of the bedroom. He scrambled out of the chair fully alert and raced to the window. Looking out toward the street in front of the mansion he saw a car with its lights slanted slightly upward waiting for the ponderous iron-barred gate to creak open.

The car’s headlights shone toward the house and because the roadway slanted upward as it crossed the sidewalk, the lights reflected into the bedroom window. The bigger thief raced over and grabbed his startled partner by the arm, pointed at the ceiling and hissed, Somebody’s coming, let’s get out of here!

The smaller man quickly grabbed the bag of filched cash and bearer bonds and raced out of the bedroom door with the big thief close behind. Before the big man made it through the door he stopped, spun around, and ran back and grabbed the box with the watch then raced after his partner.

They stumbled down the stairs nearly falling, and then scrambled down the hall to the door which they had fortunately left ajar, and raced out onto the porch. They rolled over the porch railing just as the car moved up the driveway. Hiding in the shrubbery that bordered the porch the two waited until the car turned toward the row of garage doors at the side of the building. As soon at the car turned toward the garage, they sprang from hiding and sprinted down the driveway to the gate.

The car stopped short of the garages and a man and a woman hurriedly got out and strode toward the side stairs that led up to the porch. The man towered over the woman as he roughly prodded her up the stairs in front of him.

If you hadn’t been so stupid and forgotten the package we could have been there by now, he said. He continued to hurl what sounded to the fleeing burglars like a barrage of insults sprinkled liberally with profanity while he followed the cowering women across the porch.

The two thieves quickly squeezed through the gate door which they had fortuitously blocked open and began to run down the sidewalk while trying to remain in the shadow of the fence. They had run about a half a block when they heard a woman’s scream followed by a man’s primal roar.

Well I guess they found the open door, gasped the larger of the two.

Shut up and keep running! said the smaller thief.

The two continued down the sidewalk, but more slowly as their lousy physical condition began to manifest itself. Finally after two blocks they were down to a slow walk.

Why’d you have to park the car so damned far away? gasped the larger miscreant as he stumbled breathlessly down the rain slick sidewalk.

Ah shut up! It’s only a little further.

A few hundred stumbling steps later the gasping duo halted beside a weathered and battered old Ford parked at the curb. The short one limped around to the driver’s side, pulled a key from his pocket and after several shaky attempts found the slot and inserted the key into the door. No interior light flashed as the door opened; the little thief was, for once, glad the damned light didn’t work. He dragged his weary body into the auto and reached across and pulled the door latch up on the passenger’s side.

His puffing partner yanked the door open, threw the canvas sack into the backseat, and awkwardly climbed into the car. He sucked in a large gulp of air and slammed the door shut.

While the big man was getting in, his little partner succeeded, after several attempts, in starting the engine and they began to move slowly away from the curb. He made a ragged but successful U-turn, then straightened the car out and cruised slowly down the street through the misty rain as a police car with lights flashing and siren blaring rounded the corner heading for the now, fully illuminated house.

Chapter I

The nondescript urban location was not a place one would expect to find the offices of a prestigious international security firm. However, in this instance one would be wrong. A small brass sign on the door of the narrow red brick row-house, third from the corner in a long row of identical such houses, gave lie to one’s expectations.

The neighborhood while less than ten miles south of the center of the city, was in a decidedly less than prestigious part of town, and to the casual observer, there were no outward signs that there was anything in the area other than the obvious non-descript low-income family residences. If one looked carefully, however, one would notice a small shiny bronze sign on one of the doors that read: Biss, Inc.; which, in fact, were the initials of an active and prosperous privately owned international security firm.

This modest location was where the company’s small but highly trained technical and investigative staff met as needed to manage and support the company’s extensive and far-flung operations. If a particular client expected or needed the comfort of opulence, the company maintained a more pretentious location on the tenth-floor of the distinguished Herman Towers building in the city’s financial district. Chances were good that no client or potential client would ever know or need to know of the row-house.

A prominent bronze sign read: Blackwell International Security Services, Inc., and directed interested parties to suite number 1007. Several well-appointed offices on the tenth floor were occupied by BISS. The suite of rooms, in addition to housing the officers of the company, included several client interview rooms and a small well-appointed reception area. But the heart of the company’s real operations was in the row-house in south Baltimore.

A battered and rusty, once-blue pickup truck moved slowly down the dirty, trash littered street, while it’s nearly bald tires threw spiraling dust devils into the unusually calm and dry late-spring morning air. The vehicle zigzagged to avoid the street’s numerous bumps and potholes before turning into what appeared to be a vacant lot. The lot, dotted with weeds, had been created by razing two row-houses directly across the street from the office. The crude but convenient parking lot lent itself to the overall appearance of the neighborhood.

The brick walls of the still-standing and still-occupied houses on either side of the lot formed the sides while a high brick wall closed off the back. As shabby as the site appeared neither the vehicle nor the man who parked seemed out of place here on this spring morning.

The driver carefully parked the truck and got out, then leaned back inside and picked up a battered old gym bag from the passenger’s seat. Then out of habit, he carefully eyed the dozen or so other cars scattered haphazardly on the lot. Seeing nothing amiss, he slammed the door of the battered ’86 Ford with such force that it rattled the car’s spider-cracked windows. Experience had taught him that smashing the door into its frame was the only way to get the rusty mechanism to latch shut. Hearing the latch engage he smiled broadly, turned, and walked casually across the street to the row-house with the sign on the door.

He was not a tall man, straining to reach five-and-a-half feet in height. To a casual observer his stocky physique and short height gave him the appearance of being significantly overweight. Upon a closer look, one would notice that his stomach did not protrude and his face had an angular instead of pudgy appearance. His attire consisted of a well-worn faded baseball warm-up jacket, which stretched across his inordinately broad shoulders while the sleeves strained to encircle his thick muscular arms. A light colored polo shirt was visible beneath the jacket. Faded well-worn jeans and jogging shoes completed his less than natty attire.

His close-cropped black hair was liberally sprinkled with white strands, as was the three-day growth of beard that bristled unevenly across his face. His skin, what could be seen of it through the growth of the salt and pepper face foliage, was unmarked and had the reddish brown hue of a late summer tan.

His ample nose that at one time had been straight and true, was now bent and a little off center. His slate gray eyes were bright and the laugh lines around his eye sockets gave evidence of someone who smiled easily and often. To the untrained observer he appeared to be a rather innocuous, pleasant looking man in his early-forties who needed to lose a few, or maybe more than a few, pounds. Despite the apparent excess poundage his movements were smooth and coordinated like a well-trained athlete; which in fact, he was.

He quickly climbed the gleaming white steps to the marked row-house door and rang the bell. The door immediately swung open outwardly. He quickly stepped back to avoid the threatening door and then moved through the opening. When his body crossed the sill, the door slammed shut behind him with an audibly solid ‘thunk’. The room he stepped into was small, less than six feet square. The space was dimly lit when he first entered, but as soon as the door closed behind him, bright lights flashed from recessed sockets hidden in the paneled walls causing him to jump back and reflexively cover his eyes. Damn, no matter how often I come here those lights always get me, he said with a grin.

The walls were battleship gray and were barren of even the slightest decorative adornment. Removing his hands from his face he looked