THE BEGINNING…

“DROP YOUR WEAPONS! Step back and put your hands above your heads. One false move and you’re dead!”

It was Saint Valentine’s Day, 1996, and dusk had arrived by the time Slug Wiseman, mid-40s, returned to his fortified compound in Hillcrest Heights, Maryland. He’d been in town, having dinner with a few friends. Still dressed in his navy blue suit, Slug and the ladies were relaxing around the pool when the loud, threatening command disrupted their conversation.

Then, total silence. Slug could hear a furtive movement. Although he’d paid thirty heavily armed guards to constantly patrol the grounds, someone had obviously invaded his property. He wondered how, and more importantly, why.

Slug’s guards came around the corner en masse. All were armed with Uzi sub-machine guns and had grenades dangling about their upper torsos. They were also equipped with headsets. They wore black T-shirts and black jeans, black belts with knives and pistols, and black leather boots. Although it was difficult to tell one sex from the other, there were 15 muscular, vicious-looking males and 15 equally muscular females.

A rustling noise was heard in nearby shrubbery and the guards stopped, straining to pinpoint the location of the intruders. No one was visible. After another minute or two of silence, the leader gave the all-clear signal and they resumed their patrol. Suddenly another, more distinct sound was heard. The guards halted a second time, alert, with their fingers on the triggers of their Uzis.

“Who’s that?” one whispered. He was sure he’d seen a shadowy figure scaling the high wall surrounding the mansion; however, all efforts to pierce the inky blackness failed. They could see nothing. Lights in the compound were mounted low to the ground to highlight portions of well-manicured lawn. A faint orange glow came from a fountain at one end of a long, narrow garden, illuminating the goldfish swimming in a nearby aquarium. The pale light from a pair of Oriental lanterns outlined a lacquered bench that had been fashioned from Indonesian hardwood. The armrests of its stylish blue, cast-iron frame were shaped like a lion’s head.

“I said drop your weapons!” the voice shouted, more firmly. The confused guards turned, searching for the location of the person who was issuing the command.

The heavy throb-throb of helicopter engines could be heard in the distance. Three Maryland police choppers flew into view. Once they had arrived, they hovered over the premises, their searchlights flashing quickly illuminating Slug Wiseman and his friends.

***

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