Honorable Assassin

Honorable
Assassin

Book One of

The MacMaster
Chronicles

a novel by

~~~

Jason Lord Case

Published by Red Petal Press at
Smashwords.

Copyright ©2010 Jason Lord Case

All rights reserved. Without limiting the
rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication
may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,
or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the
prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above
publisher of this book.All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal
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other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If
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of this author.

ISBN: 978-0-9825616-2-1

eISBN: 978-0-9825616-5-2

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and
incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

~~~

For my dear wife Sylvia,

who still believes in me.

I would like to thank my parents,

David and Mary Case, who raised me to
read,

and my sister Mardou Case without whom
this

series would never have reached the
press.

~~~

Chapter One: Sydney

Terry woke with needles in his arms and
tubes running up his nose and his penis. He was groggy and weak.
Sensors were attached to his chest and head, and there were bags of
saline and other unknown liquids dripping into his veins. He had
difficulty swallowing with the tube running down his throat; it
gagged him. His eyelids felt like sandpaper and his skull throbbed
with waves of pain and nausea. He did not recognize the room he was
in, or the emaciated, corpse-like body in the bed next to his. He
was terrified and started to cry, a reasonable reaction for an
eight-year-old boy waking from a coma.

His sobbing caused Terry to gag again on the
tube in his throat and he reached up, grabbed the tube running up
his nose, and pulled. The feeding tube slid up his esophagus and
out through his sinuses. He needed to reset his grip twice to pull
the entire length out. He almost vomited as he felt it slithering
out of his stomach but did not, and was able to take a deep breath
once it was clear.

The tears stopped flowing as Terry’s
memories began to return. He had no idea how he had gotten where he
found himself. He remembered the long and boring ride to Sydney
Harbor. He remembered his father checking the systems on his yacht
before sailing from Berry’s Bay. His mother was stowing the
supplies for the day and talking to somebody unknown on her huge
mobile phone. He remembered how her golden hair shone in the midday
sun, how she smiled at him and it lit up his world. There was the
memory of his mother pointing out Elton John’s Sydney mansion. He
did not know who Elton John was and thought she had said the name
backward. Then they passed the Prime Minister’s house situated
right after Neutral Bay.

The beach at Shark Bay had been crowded with
beautiful, suntanned bodies and Terry remembered thinking he would
rather have been on the beach than on the boat but he had not said
so. They had passed the red and white spike of the Hornby
Lighthouse. He had always liked seeing the lighthouse; it let him
know the day was over on the way back in, and that the land was
behind them on the passage out. North Head was less visible on the
other side of the harbor’s mouth.

About 130 kilometers south was Comerong Bay,
where they had sailed in and docked at Greenwell Point where
Terry’s father had walked into the town to visit what he said was
an old friend. Terry and his mother ate some lunch in the park
right off the docks.

The sensors on Terry’s chest began to itch
as he lay in the hospital bed and he reached up and pulled them
off. Suddenly, an alarm went off, a single, unwavering tone from
the machine next to his bed. Panic began to set into Terry’s young
mind and he thought about how much trouble he would be in for
pulling the sensors off. His first thought was that he needed to
get out of there. He pulled the needles out of the inside of his
elbow and the back of his hand, throwing them on the floor and then
tried to pull the catheter out of his penis. It would not come. He
grabbed his penis with his left hand and the tube with his right
and pulled as hard as he could but to no avail. The catheter would
not budge. His struggles stopped as nurses began to run into the
room in a state of disorder. They were all telling him to do, or
not do, all sorts of different things. Terry released his hold on
the tube and began crying again.

The tests they put the young man through
seemed interminable. Two days of CAT scans, PET scans EEGs, EKGs,
sonograms, blood tests, urine tests, (Terry was very glad they had
removed the catheter while he slept) reaction tests, vision tests,
hearing tests and psychological exams. The boy began to get upset
that nobody would tell him how he had gotten there, or where his
parents were.

“Do you know what year it is, Terry?” The
psychologist was a beautiful young woman named Doctor Sherry Cherry
who could disarm almost any man, short of a total sociopath. She
was warm, friendly and beautiful, inviting confidences not easily
shared.

“Yes, it’s 1987. October of 1987.”

“Close, dear. It’s actually November 3rd.
The hospital staff did not know when you would wake up, that’s why
we have you on the long term convalescent floor. We are all so
happy to have you back.” Sherry’s lovely smile was genuine. She had
not been in the field long enough to become jaded.

“So, I was sleeping for a month?”

“Technically, dear, you were in a coma. You
came to us unconscious and stayed that way for 10 days. Do you
remember what happened?”

“I was sailing with Daddy and Mummy, down
the coast. We stopped so Daddy could see someone.”

“Do you know who you were stopping to
see?”

“Oh no. I didn’t see him. I ate lunch with
Mummy in the park. She always liked that park. Me too.”

“Do you remember the name of the park?”

“Greenwell, Greenwell Point. I like that
park because there is a hollow tree with a big place to hide. At
least it used to be big. I couldn’t fit in it this time. Mummy said
it’s because I am getting big.”

“Indeed, you are a fine young lad, tall and
strong.”

Terry blushed at the praise. He was another
of a hundred patients at Sydney’s Saint Vincent Public Hospital who
was on the verge of falling in love with Sherry Cherry.

“Do you remember what you did after
lunch?”

“No. That is, I think I took a nap. Daddy
was visiting someone. Can I see Mummy?”

“I’m afraid that will not be possible,
Terry.”

“They’re dead, aren’t they?”

“What makes you say that, dear?”

“If they were alive they would be here, with
me.”

“I’m sure they loved you very much.”

“They are dead, aren’t they?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I hope not. We don’t know
where they are. We found you floating in the ocean near Cunjurong
Point.”

“Cunjurong Point? That’s all the way down by
Mollymook. That’s a hundred kilometers from Comerong Bay. Greenwell
Point is in Comerong Bay at the junction of the Shoalhaven and
Crookhaven Rivers.”

“My goodness. You certainly know your
geography. I’ll bet one in a thousand grown men couldn’t have told
me that.”

“Daddy always insisted it is important to
know where you are. If you don’t know where you are, how do you
know where you are going?”

“And do you know where you were going?”

“No. Daddy didn’t tell me.”

“Do you remember leaving Greenwell?”

“No. I was eating lunch with Mummy and then
I woke up. I was here. Can you call my house and see if they are
home?” Terry’s eyes were beginning to well up with tears.

“Of course I will. I called yesterday. I’ll
call again today. I think we’ve talked enough today. We’ll have
another little talk tomorrow, ok?” Sherry Cherry flashed him a
dazzling smile and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. It did not
bring a smile to Terry’s face but it stopped the tears.

There were two plainclothes policemen in the
hallway. A nurse escorted Terry back to his room and Ms. Cherry
went to speak with the Inspectors. Within half an hour, Terry was
asleep.

The following day there was a
kindly-looking, older gentleman in the room with Sherry Cherry. He
introduced himself as Inspector Barlow. He wore a nice suit and his
haircut was perfect. Though his hair was mostly grey, he was not
going bald. His face was clean shaven. He asked most of the
questions.

“Do you mind if I call you Terry?” he
asked.

“No, that’s my name.”

“All right, Terry. We have hundreds of men
looking for your parents, but we have not found them yet. I need to
ask you some questions about them so you can help us find them. You
do wish to help us find them, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s a good boy. I must say you’re very
mature for your age.”

“Thank you, sir. Daddy always said it’s
manners that separate the classes.”

“A wise man. Tell me more about your
father.”

“Well, Inspector Barlow, my daddy is two
meters tall and blond. He wears glasses for reading and smokes a
pipe but only in the evening with his drink. He likes to have a
drink of brandy on the veranda at the end of the day, when the sun
goes down. He calls it his little vice.”

“I see. He doesn’t drink a lot then?”

“No, sir, he says more than one will mean he
is a drunk. He doesn’t want to be a drunk.”

“Very good, then. Tell me about the people
who come to visit him. You know, his friends.”

“Daddy doesn’t have a lot of friends. He
plays golf with them, but they don’t come to the house much.”

“So you don’t see many of his friends.”

“No. Sometimes his brother will drop over
from Molong.”

“What is your uncle’s name?”

“Uncle Ginger.”

“And does Uncle Ginger look like your
father?”

“How could he look like my father?”

“What I mean is does he look like he is your
father’s brother.”

“Well, I guess… I mean he is my father’s
brother so who else could he look like?”

“Could you describe him to us?”

“He is a little shorter than Daddy, but he’s
wider. He lost his hair on top, but he has a big red beard and his
teeth are bad and his breath smells.”

“I see. Is Ginger a nickname or is it his
given name?”

“I don’t know. He’s Uncle Ginger.”

“Does Uncle Ginger have a nice place?”

“He lives on a farm. He raises chickens and
sheep and he has some grape fields. He grows his own feed for the
sheep. I stayed with him for a couple of weeks last summer.”

“Did you like staying there?”

“No. Uncle Ginger made me work every day and
he doesn’t have a telly. He doesn’t even have a telephone.”

“Are there any other relatives?”

“My mummy had a sister, but she’s crazy.
They wouldn’t let her come over any more.”

“I see. Terry, do you know what your father
does for a living?”

“Insurance.”

“And he goes to work every day, does
he?”

“Some days. He says he has other people
working for him so he doesn’t need to go to the office every
day.”

“Very good, then. I’m still confident we
will find your parents alive and well. I want you to keep your chin
up. You are very mature for 10 years old, and I must say you handle
yourself very well.”

“Eight. I’m eight,” Terry said, beaming with
pride.

“Only eight? Well, bless me. You are quite a
little gentleman for eight years old. I’m going to leave now. I’m
going to go looking for your father.”

“If you find him, will you tell him I love
him?”

“Of course I will. Or perhaps we can bring
him here and you can tell him yourself. Sherry, take good care of
this boy, he is really quite special.”

“I will, Inspector, he is one of my very
favorite patients.” The smile was back on Sherry’s face as she
began to ask questions about what he could remember.

“I had a dream. I was on the grass in the
park in Greenwell Point with Mummy. Daddy wasn’t there and then he
was there. He was running and there was a monster chasing him.”