Deadly Ambitions

by Alvin Wander

Overview

David Korman is a man with a reputation. In his day, he has risked his life in service to both the United States and Israel more times than he can count. By the time he reaches retirement, he knows that the chaos and danger of his life will never be a thing of the past. There are some jobs you can never really leave behind. When a new terror appears, David must answer the call.

His challenge is to neutralize not one but two enemies of the state: the first, a powerful group working to defraud the US government out of billions, and the second, a terrorist group with a major port city in its sights. He must rely on a lifetime of instinct and intelligence in order to stop the plans to obliterate the port, prevent the murder millions of American citizens with radioactive agents, and foil the plot to steal the country's money. The hunt is on for predators who won't think twice about threatening Korman's family in order to safeguard their real efforts.

Korman's quest takes him around the planet in pursuit of the truth-and the people responsible for terror.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781491700549
Publisher:	iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date:	08/20/2013
Pages:	266
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.56(d)

Read an Excerpt

Deadly Ambitions

A Novel

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By Alvin Wander

iUniverse LLC

Copyright © 2012 Alvin Wander
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4917-0054-9

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CHAPTER 1

Just before Christmas on a late Saturday afternoon, after snow had fallen most of last week, the bright winter sun masked a blistering Arctic wind that was blowing unfrozen icy residue like a summer dust storm. Phillip Courtney had worked all day at corporate headquarters, located a distance from the northern suburbs of Detroit. In stark contrast to the modern glass and burnished steel structure dotting the landscape that has been his home for the past fifteen years, neighborhoods just north of the city of Detroit sit in decay; trash littered boulevards, shuttered stores and empty homes in desperate disrepair sit in silence. Once thriving factories up and down busy streets in this white, middle-class community hummed with the blurring sound of machines turning out parts for most of the automobile makers; all day and into the night the smokestacks belched out smoke-filled fumes.

During the 1940s when the country required the construction of massive quantities of war-related machinery and equipment to fight World War II, the factory assembly lines were refitted to manufacture truck, tank, and cargo parts for the war effort. That was a time when men and women, tired from long hours and backbreaking shifts, exited in the early morning or in late afternoon and into the middle of night, heading to the local joints up and down the factory strip to drown their bored and weary spirits. That was a time when smoke-filled union halls once stood, filled with men and women talking about too many hours or too few hours, too little pay and too much work. But that was then.

Now, few of them still work for their companies. The closed factories stand like tall angry ghosts; the parking lots appear like huge empty football fields with weeds springing life between cracks in the pavement; graveyards, they seem.

From Phillip Courtney's top-floor window, he could make out in the distance the solemn streets and closed storefronts that littered like old, shabby safes crammed with the tarnished valuables of a bankrupt middleclass.

Empty factories and homes sat where lamps once burned day and night, under the shadows of facades and dirty plaster frontages that lay embossed with aging scrollwork. The nearly all-white suburban community abutted the city line of Detroit, and inside these imaginary lines, the population immediately changed to black.

Eight Mile Road, the dividing line between the city of Detroit and the burbs, was more than a street. It divided the city, blacks from whites, poverty from a decayed middle class.

It had been an emblem of the hostility and social ills that long ago beset the city and still lingered along much of the wide and hemorrhaged artery. Deep inside Eight Mile Road, abandoned warehouses, fire-gutted businesses, and crime-ridden neighborhoods teeming with broken homes ruled the city.

Once you crossed the boundary out of Detroit, you entered a different world. However, much of suburbia just north of the line was no longer infused with middle class. Many of the neighborhoods along the border had suffered the same fate that plagued Detroit. Crime and poverty festered in these neighborhoods close to the empty, rusted factories that once were part of the fabric of middle-class America. Once poverty ruled inside Eight Mile Road; now the empty factories to the north suffered the technological backlash, and its citizens suffered along with it.

But as one moved farther north, new neighborhoods with gleaming monolithic structures dotted the landscape. Among the outer edges of this blight stood corporations that moved in from the war-torn city after riots chased even the bold and built their monuments. Here among the monuments stood the corporate headquarters of Black Technologies, producing cutting-edge hardware, principally for the Department of Defense, and specifically the U.S. military.

When Phillip Courtney, fifteen years ago, made his first trip to corporate headquarters, the sight of the structure sent chills to his already excited gut. Passing the dreariness of the nearby empty lots and shuttered homes did not lessen his verve. Today, as he stepped into the glass-enclosed entry, suspicious looks from the office crew rattled him a bit, but once the formalities and intros were done, he settled comfortably into his corner office.

Phillip contained his emotions until his office door closed, then put his size twelve Doc Martins up on the fine wooden desk with his hands clasped behind his head, and said, "I made it. This is what I always wanted." He closed his eyes and enjoyed the intensity of the mood that overtook him.

Moments later, Phillip was startled by the sounds of an ambulance and two fire trucks racing to a tragedy that was occurring near the city. As he watched the event unfolding, his thoughts turned from the ebullience of the moment, with its promise of success, to a city, dead now, filled with tragedies, desolation, and emptiness. This stayed with him as he started his journey.

CHAPTER 2

In late December of his first Christmas, as was traditional at Black Tech, the top corporate executives and the members of the Board of Directors and influential corporate insiders received an invitation to a holiday black tie gala. It was typical of a company festivity--waiters passing champagne and hors d'oeuvres, a discreet corner bar for those interested in getting slammed quickly, a huge tree emblazoned perfectly with balls and gold and silver strands, and, of course, the corporate wives. Not a single gray hair or un-manicured finger or toenail was in evidence, and all were attired in gowns and dresses with enough cleavage to prove that there was ample substance beneath.

The men all dressed like penguins, told droll tales of politics, football, and the latest bit of gossip. Phillip clearly was ill at ease in these surroundings. He just wanted to stop in to his new favorite tavern in Greektown, kick off his shoes, and down a schooner and a few gyros.

As he daydreamed, a skill acquired during his less interesting college courses, he noticed a woman his age standing with a group of older women; she clearly seemed out of place. She was tall and had a great body. Her blonde, streaked hair was shoulder length and was combed perfectly framing her oval face. She wore a fabulous gown, cut low exposing most of her back down to the waist and with a side slit exposing some thigh. Her shoes were black straps, high and open for her darkly painted toenails to peek out. He found himself staring at her during the early part of the evening and she smiled and returned the glances. When Phillip could no longer stand the boredom, he introduced himself.

She was Emma Kovacs, a design consultant frequently used by the corporation. This was Phillip's first social interaction since he relocated to Michigan. Emma was single; it was cocktails, a sumptuous buffet dinner, and off the two flew for an amorous evening of drinks and talks followed by the excitement of first sex. Weeks later, after several dinners, a few movies, and some pleasant sex, Emma was developing a continuing interest in Phillip, but it was just a casual interlude for him.

After time, Phillip's social life moved into high gear, consisting of discrete, short-term relationships, often with women in the company. Though this new social life appealed to Phillip, he still realized that his dedicated focus must be on his work at Black Tech, and he would allow nothing to get in the way.

CHAPTER 3

Manuel Korman was a senior associate with a large law firm headquartered in downtown San Francisco. As a child, he was abandoned by his mother, who became a member of the vast homeless, drug-infested population in Los Angeles. He never knew his father: he was left to fend for himself and at ten was picked from the street while fruitlessly searching for his mother. An organization in Los Angeles called "The Center Against Violence to Children," headed by a man named Victor Vasquez, took him to a shelter temporarily where he underwent a complete evaluation.

During the time that the shelter staff spent with the tall, intense, painfully thin Manuel, they noticed his remarkable reading aptitude that included books far beyond his age level. In total amazement, the staff recognized that he was able to intelligently discuss what he had read with clarity and an almost complete recall of the material. After testing, they concluded that despite the social problems that he faced, Manuel was an extremely intelligent child with great potential.

Vasquez and his subordinates deliberated long and hard about the direction to take Manuel. He needed a home, and they made a concerted but futile effort to place him. One day when Vasquez was at lunch with a friend, he was introduced to a businessman named David Korman. Korman became interested in the wonderful work done by Vasquez, and when he was invited to visit the facility, he agreed. During the visit where he saw children who had been discarded as society's refuse, David was told about this strange little Hispanic boy they found in the streets and who had such enormous potential. When David met Manuel, something of another world occurred. The childless David, who had spent almost his entire life without parents or siblings, immediately felt an attachment that stayed with him.

David continued to visit Manuel, and they began to spend increasing amounts of time together. He realized that Manuel needed a home, and Korman badly needed and wanted to provide that to him. After several months of bonding with Manuel and forming an attachment that David believed would never diminish, he went through a financial evaluation and was given temporary custody; from that time on they were never separated.

David financed the boy's education at schools that specialized in children with advanced learning capabilities, and later at college, and finally at Stanford Law School, where Manny graduated near the top of his class. He then joined a prominent law firm in the San Francisco area where he continued to head towards partnership.

The circumstances behind the adopted children, including Manuel, were another part of the extraordinary life of David Korman. He grew up with no parents and no place that he could call home beyond the orphanage. Although the concept of family was foreign to him, living in a kibbutz and seeing the dynamics of Israeli families there, he believed that somehow he would be able to have a family of his own, and he did by adopting three children.

Years before, his lunch with Vasquez led to the eventual adoption of Manuel. Several years later, Vasquez once more invited David to visit the shelter to meet a pixie-faced ten- or eleven eleven-year year-old Asian child who had extraordinary intellect, far beyond her years. David fell in love with her, and after spending precious time with this waif, David became the proud parent of two gifted children. He enrolled and bankrolled their future in special schools, and Susan, as she wanted to be called, went on to become a physician, first in Los Angeles, and then as a successful internist at Children's Hospital in Boston.

Later, David was told about a pedophile ring operating in the New England area in which boys, aged seven to twelve, had been sodomized and tortured by members of an Internet ring selling photos and advertising for men interested in photo ops with the children. Victor Vasquez told David about one of the homeless children, a seven seven-year year-old boy they named Oliver, who, after some time at the shelter, demonstrated enormous potential and easily read, digested, and memorized advanced classical literature. David initially was initially not tempted by the prospect of adding to his family, but spending time with Oliver convinced him that he could not let this child spend his life in temporary situations with no parents to provide the kind of love that David himself never received.

CHAPTER 4

On a sunny morning in April, when Manuel was in his mid-twenties, he was reviewing a brief prepared by one of the seven attorneys who reported to him at the firm. His assistant buzzed and told him that Jim Jameson was on the line. Jim was a close friend of Manuel's from law school, who was now the senior vice president and house counsel for GEN21, a software development firm. He told Manuel that he had a serious problem and wanted to meet with him as soon as possible.

That evening, Jim began talking even before drinks were served. "Manny, about a month ago, GEN21 interviewed and subsequently hired an individual whose background perfectly suited our style and needs for solid technological control of the projects that we had on the drawing board. Strong design skills and experience with a much larger organization was what we required at this stage in our super-heated growth. We were certain that we found the perfect guy. He joined the company several weeks ago and dug right in with terrific enthusiasm. We knew that his background included run-ins with his CEO, but with that CEO's reputation in the industry, we discounted those issues. Anyone we contacted had high praise for him and he came to us with a positive attitude and fit in beautifully. Manny, it looked like a good fit and he certainly showed it."

"So what's the problem?" Manual asked. "Looks like you guys made the right choice."

"Manny, two days ago, he didn't show up for work, so Ed Morgan, our security guy, tried calling him with no luck. He had someone go over to his apartment but they got no response; with no other recourse, Ed had the police check his place and, Manny.... they found Phillip Courtney dead, hanging from a light fixture in the living room. There was a lot of meds opened and scattered around the bathroom; most were anti-depressants and sleeping pills filled months before from a pharmacy in Detroit. There was a note on his desk talking about how down he had been and how he couldn't see another way out. It was a straight out suicide note. So with all that, the cops called it a suicide. Autopsy prelims surmised that he had taken some pills, stood on a chair, tied the heavy rope around his neck and kicked the chair away, so they closed the case."

Jim continued, "Here's the problem, Manny, it makes no sense at all. Phillip was starting a new part of his life as upbeat as anyone I've seen. Good job, money was OK with him, and the future with us was all positive. Why would he do this? I just don't buy this suicide stuff, but the police feel they have enough to support their position, and since he just started with us and did not seem to have any problems with anyone here in town, there was nowhere else for them to go with it."

Drinks came and there were a few moments of silence. Manny thought for a bit and said, "It sure sounds crazy, Jim. But what can you do about it, and, more importantly, what do you want me to do about it?"

"Manny, I know that your father has spent his life in the military dealing with security issues and later on in a special role with the State of Israel dealing with bad guys around the world. You told me that he has more experience in tracking down these types than most federal intelligence people. I remember that you also told me that he is no longer involved officially in any security matters. But if you asked him, would he take a look at what happened to Courtney? I helped bring the guy out to our company and I think something is not right with his death."

"Hold on, Jim. My dad is sixty-five years old and has spent a lot of years risking his life. I'm not going to ask him to get involved in what could be risky business. That's aside from the fact that my mother would kill me if I asked him to get involved. The last mission he was involved in nearly got him and my mother killed in a rat-hole in Africa. I think he's paid his dues to this country and Israel. They are finally learning how to enjoy life together."

Jim thought for a moment and said, "How about just talking on the phone with him and filling him in on our conversation. Maybe he'd just take a trip and ask some questions. No deep involvement. I would just trust his judgment long before I would a private detective and certainly more than San Francisco's finest." At this, despite his discomfort, Manuel agreed to speak to his father.

The next night, after putting their son Harry to bed, Manny and his wife Cecelia enjoyed a nice Sonoma Valley pinot noir with their dinner. But after husband and wife daily updates, Manuel was visibly disturbed by what he had agreed to do. His wife became upset with his decision and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to ask David to investigate.
(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Deadly Ambitions by Alvin Wander. Copyright © 2012 Alvin Wander. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC.
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