The cloudburst explosion was the result of TNT mixed with explosive "D" and activated by Jack Swing with a hand-held pentolite booster charge. The explosive shock waves were so intense that they had caused pieces of the ceiling to fall from several of the city's largest homes.

As Jack sprinted toward the trench he dug to get into the illegal arms warehouse, mean-spirited Doberman Pinschers chased after him in fury. Several jeeps, with rapid firing machine guns located in their cargo beds, also chased after Jack Swing.

A second TNT detonator was activated. The explosion had caused the leading man-hunting jeep to tumble into the air and crash heavily into a gasoline pump. Jack dove flat onto the concrete pavement as free-flying brick, glass and other flying debris took to the air. He covered his head with both arms as the rain shower of debris fell onto the surface pavement. Hidden deep inside of his jacket was a pair of military specification night vision binoculars. The binoculars had a built-in LED infrared light source and a detection system that identified body movement by way of body heat. Once the debris had settled, Jack donned the binoculars around his head, jumped to his feet and continued on his escape out of the Turkish shipping yard.

A diabolical mixture of motor oil and gasoline began to filter over the concrete parking lot. As the tires of the new leading jeep met with the wet, slick substance, the driver foolishly slammed on his brakes. The violent braking action on the treacherous surface caused the jeep to skid sideways and perform four airborne somersaults. It then crashed heavily into a guard tower that had overlooked the premises. The sixty-foot guard tower fell hard and fast onto the pavement, setting the highly flammable liquid substance on fire.

As the fire spread rapidly over the warehouse parking lot, Jack tried desperately to outrun the flames. The heat had become so intense that it had caused the hair on the back of his neck to creep upward.

Swing's journey was interrupted by a swiftly moving Doberman pinscher. The Doberman bravely charged through the flames and leaped onto Jack's back. Swing then withdrew a 9-ounce can of Alaskan Pepper Spray from his utility belt and gave the dog several blasts. The dog withdrew his attack and retreated in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, out of the flames zoomed a large, fast-moving Apache Helicopter. The helicopter roared through the flames at a speed of sixty miles per hour. It flew over both demolished jeeps and also over the blazing guard tower. The helicopter immediately introduced itself with a spray of rapid gunfire.

Jack quickly dove flat onto the surface pavement. The live ammunition had cut the electrical barbed-wire fence in half. He then began crawling, on his stomach, toward the trench underneath the fence. As he crawled, his one-piece suit became soaked with gasoline. This caused him to show concern about the tail-whipping flames that had encompassed him.

Within a few seconds the Apache helicopter was directly behind him. Jack immediately jumped to his feet and tried to out run the helicopter. He then heard the cranking of the main gun. As the cranking became louder, his foot steps became faster. The gunner set its laser gyroscopic stabilizer directly on Jack's back. Swing now had twenty yards remaining before he would be free from the exploding warehouse and the fast-moving helicopter.

Just as the cranking stopped, the helicopter's main gun released a loud, jet-screaming shell. Jack Swing immediately became airborne and dove over the remains of the sizzling, electrical, barbed-wire fence. As the shell exploded over his head, he splashed into the cloudy, moonlit waters of the Bosporus.

The helicopter flew over the fence and hovered above the cliffs of the Bosporus. It moved its large gun into position and aimed it at the water. Just as the cranking stopped, Jack resurfaced from the water, with an optically sighted bazooka, and shot a shell into the bottom of the helicopter, introducing the chopper and its crew to the element of surprise.

Chapter Two

Be Like Jack

Belleville, commonly called the Brooklyn of Paris, has been a haven for immigrants since the mid nineteenth century. Many innovative artists, architects and writers have chosen to make this Parisian community a place of both study and expression.

The streets of Belleville are lined with exotic restaurants from all over the world. Connoisseurs have menu choices of Jewish Eastern European lamb chops to mildly spice Vietnamese goulash. Resembling toys in a landscape, the neon-lit wine bars and bistros reflect an ambiance of pure excitement.

At the corner of rues Denoyez and Ramponneau, Chez Francois specializes in home-style Tunisian cooking. His guest for the evening, seated in the mid-section, was Dean Monet, Chief Intelligence Officer for Interpol. He was approached by his waiter.

"Bon jour, Monsieur. Will you be dining alone this evening?" asked his waiter.

"No, I'll be joined by a very special friend and co-worker," answered Dean Monet.

"Oui, Monsieur. Are there any special instructions that you would like for me to follow?"

"No. The service here is always excellent."

The drive into Paris, via Paris' most elegant boulevard, Avenue des Champs-Elysees, was a familiar one for Jack Swing and his Ferrari Testarosa, the Jolly Roger. He had made the drive from Saint Cloud, France to Paris on several occasions, mainly to his tailor, Franco Gucci.

On this particular summer's evening, there was very little rainfall. The fair weather climate was particularly breezy and somewhat comforting.

As Jack sped past the Arc de Triomphe, a distant view of the eternal city had become visible. Also, becoming visible was the congested traffic on Avenue des Champs-Elysees. Along this busy street were many upscale shops, cafes, and hotels.

After twenty minutes of grid-locked traffic, Jack made his way onto the Boulevard de Belleville and then onto to the corner of rues Denoyez and Ramponneau. After he parked his Testarosa in front of Chez Francois, he was greeted by a group of North African youths from Algiers.

"New Jack Swing, what's happening, my brother?" Both men embraced.

"Raheem, long time no see. Have you been staying out of trouble lately?"

"Got to! When I grow up, I want to be like Jack."

"I'm a tough act to follow. Good luck," Jack said as he made his way into the crowded restaurant.

Swing was immediately recognized by Dean Monet. Over the crowd of happy diners, Dean Monet signaled to Jack Swing by a wave of his hand.

"Jack, how in the world are you?" Dean Monet asked with a broad smile.

"I am fine, and yourself?" He asked as he returned his hand shake.

"I'm fine. Thank you."

"Good. So what's up? Who are we investigating this week?" Jack asked.

Both men sat adjacently to one another.

"Well for starters, let me fill you in on the latest policies and developments of the United Nations," said Dean Monet. "As you know, many of the developing nations and oil producing nations are demanding a balance in world power via the courts of international trade. These governments have plenty of cash, oil, and legal resources to support their demands. With the absence of the cold war and no new threat of a major terrorist attack, the new world order, via the international courts, is to maintain peace worldwide and to protect the civil liberties of all human beings everywhere."

"Regardless of race, color, religion and political preferences?"

"Regardless, and we are not to be idealistic about it," answered Dean Monet. "Furthermore, we are not to be afraid to look beneath the surface and tell the whole truth, regardless of who is responsible."

"Great! And in order to investigate these certain individuals we must file a petition with the U.N. and the international courts concerning the nature of the warrants?"

"To avoid any big-money law suits and another major war, by all means, yes," answered Dean Monet. "Will you join me for dinner? I'd be honored to have you as my guest."

"No. I promised my sons I would take them to the movies. I'll join you next time," answered Jack Swing.

"Okay. Your loss." Dean Monet then signaled for his waiter.

"Oui, Monsieur?" Asked the waiter.

"What's good on the menu today?" Asked Dean Monet.

"Everything is good, Monsieur, but today, I highly recommend your favorite, the fish couscous."

"You must try the fish couscous sometimes. It is the best," Dean Monet said to Jack. "One fish couscous, please."

"Oui, Monsieur. Will there be anything to drink?" Asked the waiter.

"Yes. Have your wine steward bring me a bottle of your best chilled white wine," said Dean Monet.

"Oui, Monsieur." The waiter then made a beeline toward the kitchen area.

"So who is this week's villain?" Asked Jack Swing.

"This man," Dean Monet said as he handed Jack a photograph and a file. "His name is Vinnie Spinoza."

"Dirty Red!"

"Dirty Red! That sounds like a disease rather than a name. Why is he called that?" asked Dean Monet.

"Because he has flaming red hair and he's meaner than a junkyard dog."

"Well, we need to find your boy, Dirty Red. Allow me to read," said Dean Monet. He began to read from his file.

"At 4:19 a.m., a week ago, 1 August, radar operators at a U.S. military base on the Kwajelein atoll, in the South Pacific, identified a fast-moving, unidentified object rising above the horizon. The army officer in charge, Brigadier General Henry Somerset, was ordered to attack. He immediately unleashed a killer rocket, a Minuteman missile equipped with a sophisticated, heat-seeking sensor device. Within forty minutes, the missile found its target and closed in. Seconds later, the minuteman missile was destroyed." He then slid his file to Jack. "We believe a large, biological dirty bomb is presently hovering, in an apogee, somewhere over the globe, and the World Health Organization is in a frenzy about it."

"I can imagine so, but why would Dirty Red, who is an international heroin dealer, be participating in an international war threat?" Jack asked.

"Money can be a good incentive. Our informants have advised us that if we can locate Spinoza, we'll find out who is behind the bomb situation. As you already know, mutant viruses, bacteria and fungi have become one of the biggest problems facing us today. Many forms of bacteria are becoming resistant to the once popular medicines."

"Such as penicillin, methicillin and vancomycin."

"Exactly," answered Dean Monet. "These new strains are mutating much faster than they used to and they have become unbreakable. Tuberculosis, for example, was once curable, but now it has developed a new strain so deadly that people infected with the disease are quarantined for life. They call it MDR-TB."

"Well, this no doubt warrants a thorough investigation," said Jack Swing.

"MDR-TB is such a bad actor that those infected with the disease are quarantined until they die because they're so contagious. Their friends and relatives can't even visit them on their deathbed. Swing, we must stop this bomb. The world can't afford another health disaster like the deadly flu of 1918."

"Where was Dirty Red last seen?"

"His local water hole was once the Yacht Club, Costa Smeralda, on the Italian island of Sardinia," answered Dean Monet. "We have a contact waiting to meet you on the island at Porto Rotondo. She goes by the name Firefox. Everything is in the file."

"Are all the warrants in the file and do I have written governmental permission to enter into these territories?" Jack asked him.

"Yes. Most of the enclosed countries have a blanket entry agreement with us. Only a few countries have filed an objection to freewill entry," answered Dean Monet.

"I'll do what's necessary to maintain clarity and avoid thin and gray areas on this case. How soon do I leave?"

"As soon as possible," answered Dean Monet. "I hate to do that to your sons."

"That’ll understand. I'll see you in two weeks."

"Swing, when I grow up, I, too, want to be like Jack," Dean Monet said with a smile.

Sardinia's Costa Smeralda is one hundred and fifty miles southwest of Rome, Italy. Porto Rotonda, still a hot spot for big money mariners, is built around an oval marina. Its’ only accessed is through a small opening between stone jetties.

As Jack made his way to the Yacht Club Smeralda, via his Testarosa, the Jolly Roger, he couldn't help admiring the seemingly endless rows of sleekly designed yachts along the city's coast line. Also, along the coast line were miles and miles of pool-side resorts. Hovering majestically behind the resorts were the jagged edges of the Sardinian mountains.

After he parked his Testarosa, Jack casually made his way along the yacht club's boardwalk. Sashaying slowly behind him was a woman of astonishing beauty. This bronze beauty covered her shapely anatomy with an Italian-designed leather, leopard and lace sun dress. Also, of Italian design was her straight-brim sombrero. Dangling freely around the brim's circumference were several small fabric balls. The woman's body had more curves than a San Francisco road map. Protecting her meticulously groomed feet were a pair of loosely fitting sandals.

Jack Swing noticed the woman stalking him. He purposely stopped and gazed outward toward the sunset. She stood next to him and said as she leaned on the railing:

"It's beautiful; isn't it?"

"Indeed it is."

"Do you come here often?" she asked.

"No. This is my first time."

"Are you alone?"

"That's not a politically correct question to ask a stranger," he answered.

"What makes you think my intentions are politically correct?"

Jack stood back and gazed at the woman from head to toe. He then said, "You know, they say she who plays with fire stands a very good chance of getting burned."

She took him by the arm and said, "What a lovely way to burn. Hello, I’m the Firefox."

"I'm Jack Swing. It is a pleasure to meet you," he said as he began escorting her along the boardwalk.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Swing."

"Call me Jack."

"All right, Jack." She then carefully examined him. "My, they didn't lie when they said you were extremely good looking."

"Are you always this flattering?" he asked.

"Only with men of uncommon abilities. Your talents, Jack Swing, make you uncommon by definition. I've done my homework on you. You graduated, with a masters degree, from the University of California at Los Angeles. You majored in international affairs."

"What are you drinking?" he asked her as they approached the bar.

"A Bellini."

"Which is?"

"A mixture of champagne and peach juice, with a sliced strawberry."

"Two Bellinis, please," he said to the bartender.

"After you graduated from UCLA, you joined the U.S. Navy and flew with the Pensacola Blue Angels. From there, you joined Interpol."

"Enough about me," he said. "Tell me, what do you know about this assignment and Vinnie Spinoza."

The bartender handed them their drinks. Jack thanked him, tipped him nicely and together he and Firefox, took a seat that overlooked the Mediterranean Sea.

"Spinoza, as the report states, is a gun-for-hire," she said. "He spends a lot of time at a Blues Bar called Jelly's Jam."

"Do they have great music?"

"The music is kicking. The house is packed every night," she answered.

"Good. I feel like hearing some rhythm and blues music tonight. How about yourself?"

"Sure, but am I dressed appropriately?"

After a sip of his Bellini and a wink of his eye he said to her, "Firefox, you are simply irresistible."