Black wind

stood holding the pair of giant scissors, a look of stunned confusion on his face. A sharp pain suddenly pierced his neck, jolting his senses. Instinctively rubbing the ache with his fingers, he was shocked to feel a small barbed steel ball the size of a BB lodged in his skin. As he extracted the tiny pellet with a trickle of blood, a nearby woman screamed and ran by him, a large sliver of fallen window glass protruding from her shoulder. A couple of terrified assistants quickly grabbed Gavin and led him toward the limo, shielding him from a nosy photographer eager to snap an embarrassing shot of the corporate mogul in front of his burning building.
    As he was whisked to the limo, Gavin’s legs suddenly turned to rubber. He turned toward one of his assistants to speak but no words came from his lips. As the car door was opened, he sprawled forward into the car, falling chest first onto the carpeted floor. A confused aide rolled him over and was horrified to find that the CEO was not breathing. A panicked attempt at CPR was performed as the limo screeched off to a nearby hospital, but it was to no avail. The mercurial self-centered leader of the global company was dead.
    Few people had paid any attention to the bald man with dark eyes and droopy mustache who had crowded up close to the speaker’s platform. Wearing a blue lab coat and plastic identification badge, he looked like any other SemCon employee. Fewer still noticed that he carried a plastic drinking cup with an odd bamboo straw sticking out
    the top. And in the confusion of the explosions, not a single person had noticed as he pulled out the straw, placed it to his lips, and fired a poisoned bead at the head of the giant corporation.
    Casually losing himself in the crowd, the bald assassin made his way to the edge of the property’s grounds, where he tossed his cup and lab coat into a streetside trash can. Hopping onto a bicycle, he paused briefly as a clanging fire truck roared down the street toward the engulfed building. Then, without looking back, he casually pedaled away.
    A dinging bell echoed in Dahlgren’s mind like some distant train at a railroad crossing. The feverish hope that the sound was part of a dream fell away as his consciousness took hold and told him it was a ringing telephone. Groping for the receiver on his nightstand, he yawned a weary “Hullo.”
    “Jack, you still sawing logs?” Dirk’s voice laughed over the line.
    “Yeah, thanks for the wake-up call,” he replied groggily.
    “I thought bankers didn’t like to stay up late.”
    “This one does. And likes to drink vodka, too. I think a dinosaur crapped in my mouth during the night,” Dahlgren said with a belch.
    “Sorry to hear. Say, I’m thinking of taking a drive to Portland to stretch out my sea legs and take in a car show. Care to ride shotgun?”
    “No thanks. I’m supposed to take the teller kayaking today. That is, if I can still stand up.”
    “Okay. I’ll send over a Bombay martini to get you started.”
    “Roger that,” Dahlgren replied with a grimace.
    Dirk headed south from Seattle on Interstate 5 in the NUMA jeep, enjoying the sights of the lush forested region of western Washington. He found cross-country drives relaxing, as they allowed his
    mind to roam freely with the open countryside. Finding himself making good time, he decided to detour west along the coast, taking a side road to Willapa Bay before continuing south along the Pacific waters of the large bay. Soon he reached the wide blue mouth of the Columbia River, and cruised the same shores upon which Lewis and Clark had triumphantly set foot back in 1805.
    Crossing the mighty river over the four-mile-long Astoria-Megler Bridge, Dirk exited at the historic fishing port of Astoria. As he stopped at a red light on the bridge off ramp, a road sign caught his eye. In white letters on a green field, warrenton 8 mi. was preceded by an arrow pointing west. Prodded by curiosity, he followed the sign right, away from Portland, and quickly traversed the few miles to Warrenton.
    The small town at Oregon’s northwest tip, originally built on a tidal marsh as a fishing and sport boat passage to the Pacific, supported some four thousand residents. It took Dirk only a few minutes of driving about the town before he found what he was looking for on Main Street. Parking his jeep next to a white Clatsop County official vehicle, he strolled up a concrete walkway to the front door of the Warrenton Community