Judgment Day: Get Jack Swing

Chapter One

Woo! Woo, woo, roared the Red Ball Express. Racing through the Canadian Rocky Mountains was a sleek, streamlined, gas-turbine, locomotive train. The Red Ball scrambled through the mountain at a speed of 70 miles per hour. Its contents were untaxed Canadian liquor.

Flying high above the Canadian Rockies, in the rear section of a Stealth Bomber, was INTERPOL secret service agent, Jack Swing. The Stealth tracked the train’s movement by way of heat sonar.

"Sir, We have spotted our target and we are over the Yukon Territory. What are our instructions?" Asked the pilot.

"Let me off here. I have a train to catch," answered Jack Swing.

"Yes sir," answered the pilot.

The Red Ball increased its speed by an additional 20 miles per hour. It slithered through the mountains like a centipede on a hunt.

Jack Swing donned his parachute, zipped up his flight suit and fastened his boots.

"Open the hatch," he ordered the pilot.

As the hatch door opened, the cool, Canadian, springtime air rushed into the rear section of the bomber. Jack Swing reviewed his situation, took a deep breath, and cleared the hatch with a leap into the darkness.

Swing’s falling speed was too rapid. In parachuting, air resistance is proportional to the ground surface below; thus an object with a small landing surface gains greater velocity in falling. The surface below Jack Swing was mountainous, bushy and dangerous.

Below, the luxuriant scenery, fashioned by the rocks and trees of the canyon, was both nostalgic and spellbinding. Creature features of large beaver damns, self-guided nature trails and an occasional herd of big horn moose, dotted the landscape below.

Jack Swing was startled by an unexpected energy of lights. Draped in the evening sky were the multicolored lights of an aurora. Shapeless glows of pink, red, purple, and blue billowed like sheets in the wind.

Woo. Woo, woo, roared the Red Ball.

At three thousand feet before touch down, Jack Swing pulled the rip cord. As the parachute attempted its release, the shroud lines incorrectly tangled themselves with the sleeve lines. Jack jerked down on the shroud lines several times but it was to no avail.

He was now one thousand feet before landing. The surface below was steep, angular, and snowy. Surviving such a mishap was impossible.

Jack thought quickly. To decrease the speed of his fall, he withdrew a wide-blade, snow surf board from within his back pack. He fastened both boots to the surf board. Like a true champion sky diving surfer, Jack surfed the gusting tail winds high above the sharp, mountainous peaks. Suddenly, the shroud line quickly freed themselves. The parachute completed its formation.

He was now five hundred feet away from impact. His falling speed was still too rapid for a safe landing. As he approached the snowy mountain peak, he maintained a firm footing position within his ski board. He braced for a landing.

Jack Swing made the perfect ski landing. He hit the ground at full speed. In a continued motion, he freed himself from the parachute. At 40 miles per hour, he began his surf board journey down the snowy mountain.

Below, on a snow-covered road, was a slow-moving, sport utility vehicle. As Jack zoomed down the mountain, he performed a somersault flip over the cliff over the mini van. He continued on his fast-moving journey down hill.

Separating Jack from the Red Ball was a large crater lake. On the western tier of the lake was a mountain tunnel. Jack raced the Red Ball toward the tunnel’s opening. As he approached the top of the tunnel, he brought his ski to a halt and waited for the train to approach.

With the Red Ball now rumbling at an unyielding speed of 90 miles per hour, Jack’s leap had to be precise. He waited for the Red Ball’s hay-filled freight car section to pass beneath. He timed his jump and landed, as plan, into the hay-filled freight car. With 40 miles per hour winds pressing against his body, he slowly crawled his way toward the liquor-stored freight car section.

Within the liquor-filled freight car was an ostentatious group of laborers. Killer music jams, dense tobacco fumes and the stench of old alcoholic beverages filled the freight car.

Jack Swing slid down the side of the freight car and quickly slid open its heavy metal door. He then released his P-57 Laser automatic by way of his quick release sleeve mechanism and said to the freight workers, "Freeze! Don’t move."

"What is this?" Asked one of the freight workers.

"It’s a derailment."

"Really?" Asked the freight worker.

"Really," answered Jack Swing.

One of the freight workers made a move toward a weapon. Jack Swing shot a laser beam, via his P-57 Laser, in the worker’s direction.

"Don’t play with me, pal. I’m not the one." Jack moved slowly toward the crates of boxed-up, alcoholic beverages. He kicked the crates over onto the floor. He then inspected the substance.

"You’ve got a lot of nerve, dude," said one of the freight workers.

"So do you," responded Jack Swing. "This rot-gut stuff has not been inspected for biological contaminants. Gentlemen, the ride is over. Out!"

"What do you mean, out?" Asked another worker.

"It’s time to take a flying leap. Out!"

"You are kidding me? This train is moving at a speed close to 100 miles per hour."

"Sorry, not my problem. Out!" Demanded Jack Swing

"What if we don’t leave?" Asked a worker.

Jack Swing withdrew a large electronic bomb from his back pack and placed it next to the large liquor crates.

"Now, here is the play," said Jack Swing. "I know how much time is on the timer. Three seconds prior to detonation, I plan to jump. You now have 20 seconds of safety remaining."

The workers scrambled to the freight car opening and dove out of the train. The last worker stood in the doorway and asked, "Whom should I say is responsible for this derailment?"

"One bad actor," answered Jack Swing.

"I like your style," said the remaining worker. He then winked at Jack Swing and dove from the train.

Jack Swing activated the bomb and rushed over toward the freight car’s opening.

The Red Ball Express was now on a bridge that stretched over the Yukon River. A low-lying, marshy field was the terrain below. Jack had five seconds remaining. He took a deep breath and dove from the freight car, into the river.

Bang, boom, boom, bang exploded the train.

Jack Swing landed in the deep section of the river. He swam toward a marshy shore and watch the train derail from the bridge as it blazed up in smoke.

Chapter Two

A Trilogy of Events

Cocoons of unabashed luxury villas lined the shoreline of Lake Como. The villa d’Este, first own by the Sultan of Morocco and then by an aristocratic sugar daddy and his young, female hot pepper, the ballerina, Vittoria Peluso, was now the crown jewel of Lombardy. Channels of cascading water and towering cypress trees takes one back to the glorious casting of the region.

A witness to the casting of Lake Como was a 500-year-old plane tree. The tree stretched its long branches over an acre of land. Its stoutly round bark protected the tree from the perils of storms, sun and modern construction.

Seated beneath the tree, which overlooked Lake Como, was Dr. Alexander Vaughn, vice president in charge of bio-development for Bio-Nuke, an international nuclear medicine corporation. He was wining and dining with a young chaperone from the region.

"Shall I order you a night cap for the evening, Dr. Vaughn?" Asked his chaperone.

"No, I fine. Thank you," he answered.

"Oh come on. The party has just begun." She gently rubbed his left, inner thigh.

"You’ve convinced me." He then kissed her gently on the cheek.

The chaperone signaled for the wine steward.

"Yes madam," answered the wine steward.

"Two more drink for the road, please. One for the doctor and one for myself," she said.

"Yes madam, and you drinks were?"

"Sangria," she answered.

"Yes madam." He then made a beeline for the bar.

"Did you know that Sangria means blood in Spanish?" The chaperone asked Dr. Vaughn.

"No, I didn’t, but thanks for the tidbit."

The wine stewart returned with their drinks. Dr. Vaughn tipped the stewart generously and offered his chaperone a toast.

"To an explosive evening," said the chaperone.

"To an explosive evening," Dr. Vaughn said in return. He emptied his glass. He then sat back with a devilish smile and asked, "Now what?"

Abruptly, his face turned red. His forehead perspired repeatedly and his body began to smoke. He patted his forehead with his table napkin.

"My it’s hot," he said.

"Al, are you okay?" The chaperone nervously asked.

"I don’t know. I’m burning up inside." He untied his neck tie and unfastened his shirt. He quickly grabbed his throat in an effort to breathe.

Suddenly, his entire body exploded and burst into flames. Flamed human debris landed on the table tops of others. It also landed within the upper branches of the 500-year-old tree.

The collection of flamed human debris ended what was scheduled to be, and was, one explosive evening.

The flight into Shanghai, via an Air China jumbo jet, was a pleasant one for Intel-med’s chief financial officer, Rodney Srneczs. The jet’s cabin resembled a Las Vegas-style presidential suite. Swivel leather seats, large game tables, an Omni max viewing screen and a futuristic bar, all depicted an unrestrained level of comfort.

Rodney Srneczs, a stoutly built, middle-aged individual, sat peacefully in his cabin reviewing his write-ups and loan calculations for an important presentation. There came a knock at his cabin door.

"Come in," he answered.

"Can I help?" Asked his female assistant. "I brought you some coffee." She placed the coffee next to his laptop computer.

"Thank you. I’m almost done with the what-if calculations. The foreign tax treaties and the offshore licensing agreements are going to make this project a cake walk to sell. I believe I can do it." He took a sip of his coffee.

"Call me if you need me," said his assistant. She exited the cabin.

Srneczs finished off his coffee. Moments later, he began to perspire profusely but continued to work. His breathing became heavy. He undonned his shirt and still he continued to work. Feeling faint and looking beet-red, he staggered to his cabin door. He opened it and stood before a crowd of partying fellow executives.

"Hey Rod, come on out and show us how to fire it on up," shouted a partying executive.

Srneczs’ body exploded and burst into flames. Flamed human debris slammed hard against the walls, windows and jet’s cabin doors. A hush fell over the cabin.

"Damn. I was only joking when I asked him to fire it on up," said the partying executive.

Madrid, Spain was four hundred miles from the Mediterranean sea. It was cut off from Europe by a hoard of valleys and mountain ranges. It was also home of the Picador bullfighters. Bullfighting in Spain was extremely popular to the Madrilenos. Tickets were hard to come by and the big fights were sacredly followed on television.

Seated in the choice seats above the bull ring was Felix Carlos, DNA specialist for HealthPak. Health Pak was a large molecular science corporation in southern Europe. His specialty was plant fermentation.

As the bullfighter made his way into the bull ring, the crowd chanted, "De Madrid al cielo." This meant after Madrid, heaven.

Felix Carlos was one of the loud chanters. The crowd was rocking, the music was pumping and the atmosphere was zestful. Champagne flowed continuously within the mix. A spectator handed Carlos an unopened bottle of champagne. He opened it and took a large gulp. He then poured part of the remainder over his head.

"De Madrid al cielo. De Madrid al cielo," chanted the crowd.

Carlos began to feel faint. Smoke crept through his clothing. He took another gulp of champagne. He turned red all over. In an attempt to balance himself, he grabbed hold to a spectator’s shoulder. The spectator reacted from the heat of Carlos’ touch.

"Ouch! You burnt me."

Carlos’ body exploded and burst into flames. Human debris was scattered over his seating section and landed in the bull ring.

Panic and chaos spread. Frightful citizens scrambled to escape the flamed human debris.

Quietly walking away from the scene was the individual who handed Carlos the bottle of champagne. He said to himself, "I guess Carlos will see heaven after Madrid."

The Monstrous music jams were kicking at Jack Swing’s favorite nightclub, Nipples, in West Palm Beach, Florida. The party was the result of the third annual Peebles-fest, hosted by Jack Swing’s best friend, Joey Peebles. Women in thong bikinis and high heel pumps, and beefed-up, shirtless men rocked the Atlantic coast.

There was dancing in the streets, dancing on table tops, and dancing on torch-lit beaches. Party animals of every style, nationality and class rocked to an 8.2 on the Richter scale.

Casing the club out was Dean Monet, Interpol’s chief intelligence officer. He was joined by two men in dull looking suits. Feeling out of place and slightly intimidated, they quietly slipped through the dancing crowd. They made their way to Jack Swing’s table.

Jack Swing wore a pair of white cotton, baggy pants, leather sandals and a shirtless vest. Seated with him, in the club’s courtyard, were two attractive women. In a shadowy manner, Dean Monet quietly took a seat at Swing’s table.

"Jack, how are you?"

"Busy at the moment. What’s up?"

"Spontaneous human combustion," answered Dean Monet. "Within the last twenty four hours, three international executives have flamed up and exploded."

"Talk about bad combustion and heartburn. Ladies, excuse us please. I’ll catch up with you later."

"This is beyond heartburn, Jack. This is serious business. Moreover, there is a bigger problem. We believe you have been target for termination."

"Oh? What’s the connection?"

"Interpol believes that this is in response to Dr. Bernardo Salazar’s supposed death," answered Dean Monet. "Salazar’s body was never recovered."

"Yes, I know. I watched his boat burn. There was not enough time for him to escape."

"I don’t know, Jack. Could your boy have jumped at the last second?" Asked Dean Monet.

"I’d like to think not. The flames were really intense. I did dive to escape the explosion."

"Well, if he’s still alive, we’ve got to find him. The man is notoriously dangerous. The three exploded individuals were once financially connected to Salazar. They’ve turned as witnesses against him to avoid sentencing."

"So goes the nation."

"Jack, we are dealing with competing visions of what one world government ought to be. I know you will respond in a manner that reflects your fairness and intelligence. The world government does not want occupational troops involved in this. We don’t want to negatively impact foreign relations, and we don’t want a misreading on common defense. Can I count on you to start the investigation right away? We need you, Jack." Concluded Dean Monet.

"Sure."

"Great." Dean Monet then watched a group of beach bunnies, in thong bikinis, walk by.

"Watch it. Don’t let the smooth taste fool you," said Jack Swing.

Dean Monet leaned toward Jack Swing and said, "Now that’s what I call bad combustion!"

Scattered across the Indian Ocean, off the eastern coast of Africa, are some of the most beautiful islands in the world. Situated in the Indian Ocean, between the island of Madagascar and the African mainland, are the islands of Comoros. The Comoros were equally as unspoiled, if not more, than the Caribbean Islands. Sugar white sand, striped with black lava flows, covered much of the islands.

Jack Swing docked at one such tropical paradise, Grande Comore Island. By way of motorized rubber raft, he made his way onto the Moroni shoreline, formally the old Arab quarters.

Strolling along the shoreline was a woman of angelic imagery. Assisting the woman with her stroll was her perfectly groomed, pet Afghan, Sugar. The woman wore a revealing swim suit, sandals and a sheer wrap around cover-up. Physically, she was one healthy hammer.

"Hello," Jack Swing said as he secured his raft to the beach.

"Hello," returned the woman.

"I take it that you’re my contact?" He asked.

"I sure am."

"Jack Swing is my name. I’m on the Interpol Secret Service." He extended his hand for a hand shake.

"Nice to meet you, Jack Swing. I am Radar Love and this is my dog, Sugar."

"Radar Love. Now that’s an interesting name. Do you always find what you are looking for?"

"If it exist, I’ll find it. I have a great sense of smell," she answered. She took him by the arm and escorted him through the landscaped garden to the elegant patio of the old Arab quarters. She then took a deep breath and asked, "Can you smell the aroma from the ylang-ylang trees? Ylang-ylang is used in French perfume. This place is nickname Perfumed Island."

"It reminds me of Hawaii," said Jack Swing. "There are volcanos, coralline sand, and sandy coves. This is an interesting place. Why are we here?"

"We are in search of the Kelum plant."

"Why?"

"Tissue samples from the three flamed individuals were inspected for foreign substances. The Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Biology in Germany and the Marine Biological Laboratory at Naples have discovered one foreign existence, the acidic properties of the Kelum plant."

"What is the Kelum plant?" He asked.

"Kelum was once used as an alcoholic sweetener. Its sweet savor had an unpredictable behavior and at times caused serious illness. High levels of chemical viscosity, thermal and electrical conductivity cause many to suffer from heat stroke. For the past seventy years, it has been banned from human consumption."

"Where does this plant grow?" He asked.

"Only in the native soil of the volcanic peaks of the Comoros. The plant looks like a sugarcane. Afterward, its flowery herbage turns into a large, dark berry. Mixed with certain ingredients, the plants have been known to turn toxic. Its physicochemical process, as it relates to the human body, can become both elastic and explosive."

"Well, just when you think you’ve heard it all. Where do we begin our fist escapade?"

"The huge volcanic crater of Karthala. I must warn you, it’s a two-day climb and the volcano is still active," she said. "Remember, the Kelum plant is a dark berry with a sweat, savoring aroma."

"I guess it’s true what they say, the darker the berry, the sweater the juice."

She was momentarily mesmerized by Jack Swing’s bedroom eyes. She broke from her stare and said, "Jack Swing, you have a great deal of charm and charisma. You be careful. There is something dangerous about the taste of brown sugar."

"Mercy!"

Towering peaks of granite, choked by dark, windy forestry, formed the cloud-piercing peaks of Mount Karthala. Below the clouds, the volcano was divided into a succession of monoliths. Alongside of the monoliths were aged lava flows that dribbled from the mouth of the volcano.

Jack Swing and Radar Love climbed their way to a freezing midway post. It was two thousand feet above the ground surface. Together, they climbed along the rocky northern cliffs of the volcano. Fasten to their back packs, they were equipped with several oxygen canisters, a hand-held pick ax, several mountain screws that secured a climber to steep walls of rock, a harness and a 12 mm lightweight rope.

At the edge of the mountain volcano’s upper most tree line was a clusters of environmentally-control greenhouses. The greenhouses housed patches of Kelum plants. The patches were segregated in different stages of growth and development. Laboratory workers nursed the sugarcane-like plants and chemically treated its leaves.

Jack Swing and Radar Love took shelter within the frozen bush segment behind the tree line. Jack unpacked a pair of binoculars and took aim at the greenhouses.

"Are those the Kelum plants?" He asked Radar Love. He handed her his binoculars.

"Bingo. Those are the ones."

"Are these people licensed to be here?" He asked her.

"No. We had no knowledge that these facilities even existed."

"I’m going in."

The greenhouse facilities were surrounded by an electrically charge, eight-foot fence. The fence was topped with several biting, barbed-wire coils.

Jack Swing scaled a large tree, climbed to the outer branch, and leaped over the fence. He crept toward the rear entrance of the main greenhouse. He then pulled out a Global Positioning Receiver and dialed in his location to Interpol headquarters.

Unaware to Jack Swing, the perimeter’s silent alarm was activated. Four armed guards quietly rushed out of the underground fall-out section of the greenhouse. They slithered along the outside wall toward the rear entrance.

With his quick-release sleeve mechanism, Jack Swing released his P-57 Laser Automatics. He aimed and melted the door lock. In a clandestine manner, he made his way into the environmentally control greenhouse. He immediately took cover underneath the plant incubation tables. He reached up, pulled one of the sugarcane-like plants out of its’ potting soil, and stored it inside of his one-piece, spy suit. He then headed toward the exit.

The four armed guards waited in ambush behind the exit door. As Jack Swing step outside of the greenhouse, the tallest of the four reached for Jack Swing’s throat. Jack intercepted the strangle hold and slammed the intruding guard into the wall. A second guard reached for Jack. Jack intercepted his punch and shoved him into an approaching guard. The fourth guard grabbed Jack Swing from behind. Jack planted both feet against the door and shoved the fourth guard into a previously rushing guard. Jack broke free and scrambled to his feet. He made an immediate dash toward his entrance into the perimeter.

"Stop him! Stop him!" Shouted the tallest guard.

All four guards made it to their feet and chased after Jack Swing. Jack leaped for the outer tree branch and attempted to pulled himself over the electrically charged fence. His efforts were intercepted by a daring guard. The guard made a mid-air leap and caught Jack’s left ankle. Both men fell against the electrically-charged fence. Flanking toward his right were the rapidly approaching guards. Due to poor visibility and heavy cloud formation, the guards wondered aimlessly about in the cold.

Without hesitation, Jack Swing went into immediate action. Upon impact with the fence, both Jack and the guard’s body went into an electrical frenzy. Their bodies shook violently as hundreds of volts of electricity zoomed throughout. They tried to jerk away from the fence. They could not. They tried once more and once more, they could not.

Their bodies were now hotter than ever. Jack Swing was well aware of the theory of atomic matter. He knew that a positive charge and a negative charge would attract one another. He had to somehow interrupt the attraction long enough to break his adhesive grip with the electrically-charged fence.

Jack Swing activated his quick release sleeve mechanism. He placed a piece of the Kelum plant into the mechanism and shoved it into the fence. The explosive released was so great, it tossed Jack Swing and the guard over the fence.

Both men landed in the snow. Radar Love rushed to Jack Swing.

"Jack, I was told that you were dangerous but a lot of fun. Are you alright?"

"I’m a little steamed but I can hang."

"Good. We need to beat it. More trouble is on the way." She withdrew a sleeping air mattress from her back pack and press the inflate button. She pulled Jack Swing by the shoulders and said, "Wrap your legs and arms around me. We are taking a sleigh ride." Together, they mounted the air mattress and began their sleigh ride down the snow covered volcano. Radar was the steering pilot.

Dozens of armed guerilla rushed out of the main greenhouse. They quickly mounted their motorized sleds and set out on hot pursuit after Jack Swing and Radar Love.

The ride down the snow-covered volcano was an eventful one for Jack Swing and Radar Love. Faced with blowing snow and face-biting winds, their downhill speed was well over sixty miles per hour. With the grimace of acute turns and jagged ice sickles, Radar handle the course with exceptional proficiency.

The pursuing guerillas were extraordinarily talented with their sleds. Graceful as a panther, they leaped over fallen obstacles with well-trained dexterity. Midway down the volcano, they split in their formation and disappeared behind Jack Swing and Radar Love..

"Do you think we’ve lost them?" Radar Love shouted to Jack Swing.

"I doubt it. They’re up to something. Trust me."

Moments later, the guerillas were alongside Jack and Radar. Only two hundred yards of snow remained. They were clear of the clouds and their sled was about to come to an abrupt stop.

"Hold on. We are going for a swim," shouted Radar Love.

Radar shifted the direction of their sled and headed for the north corner of the snow drifts. Directly ahead of them was a volcano cliff that dropped into the Indian Ocean. It was a ten-story drop.

The guerillas brought their vehicles to a skidding stop and watched with amazement as Jack Swing and Radar Love jettisoned over the cliffs.

"Sorry boys; some guys have all the luck!" Jack Swing shouted to the guerillas as he and Radar plunged over the cliffs.

They couple splashed safely in the ocean.

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