The Spirit Survives Read online

  It is usually nice to be in the record books; however, it was not an honor to hold the record for the largest number of tornados to ever hit a state in history. The state of Wisconsin still holds this horrible record.

  A surface low pressure system had located over extreme southeast Minnesota early in the afternoon on Thursday, August 18, 2005. A warm front extended east southeast from the low and had dew points pooling in the lower 70s along it. The surface low moved east into east central Wisconsin by 10 p.m. that evening. Favorable wind shears associated with the warm front had combined with the strong instability supplied by the heat and humidity that resulted in a record outbreak of 27 tornadoes across Wisconsin in the late afternoon and evening. The previous record of 24 tornadoes was set on May 8, 1988.

  The Storm Prediction Center issued the first tornado watch at 2:51 p.m. for the counties of Marquette, Green Lake, Sauk, Columbia, Iowa, Dane, Lafayette, Green Bay and the Lookout Mountain area. A second tornado watch was issued at 5:51 p.m. for the remainder of South Central and Southeast Wisconsin. The first tornado touched down in the Lookout Mountain warning area at 2:58 p.m.

  There were sixteen confirmed tornadoes in the Milwaukee/Sullivan County warning area, five confirmed tornadoes in the Green Bay County warning area and six confirmed tornadoes in the La Crosse County warning area.

  It was the first tornado that touched down in the Lookout Mountain area which drove Ben into that cave.

  Chapter 4

  Leah was working on a legal matter for the Chairman of the Board at Shopko when Brenda, her assistant, came into her office and told her that she needed to watch what was happening on TV. They went to the employee lounge together. It was about 3 p.m. and the breaking news on CNN was reporting on extreme weather news in Wisconsin. A record number of tornados were forming around the state. The first one had already touched down in the Lookout Mountain area just north of Green Bay.

  “My God, that’s where Ben is!” Leah exclaimed.

  “You better call him now,” Brenda said. Leah rushed out of the employee lounge and ran to her office. She grabbed her cell phone from the desk and punched in Ben’s cell number. Brenda followed her into the office.

  A recorded voice came on the line, “The party you are calling is out of the Sprint calling area. Please try your call later.”

  Leah tried calling three more times, only to get the same response.

  “How could this be happening?” Leah’s voice shook.

  “I’m sure he’s okay. Don’t worry until you know something for sure,” Brenda reassured her.

  Leah couldn’t continue her work until she knew that Ben was safe. He had given up so much of his life to move with her to Green Bay. She grabbed her briefcase and walked briskly out of her office. As she was leaving, she told Brenda to explain to management that she had to leave to try to find out if Ben was all right. Her first stop would be the Green Bay police department.

  Leah hurried to her silver Infinity SUV and drove the short distance to the police department. She parked in the visitor’s lot and rushed inside.

  A uniformed grey-haired man in his fifties at the desk to the right of the doorway noticed Leah’s panicked entrance and got up from the desk and approached her. “What’s the problem?”

  “I heard on the news that a tornado touched down at Lookout Mountain. My finance is there and I need to know if you have any reports of injuries. His name is Ben Harris.”

  “Please have a seat,” the officer replied. “We are aware that a tornado touched down at Lookout Mountain and a rescue team has been dispatched from the Tomahawk police department. We’re keeping track of all the tornados in the area and as of now there haven’t been any reports of injuries. It’s just too soon for detailed information to be available. If you give me your name and contact information I’ll call you with any news about Mr. Harris.”

  Leah gave him the contact information and left the police department. She was far from satisfied. As soon as she got to her SUV, she picked up her cell phone and called information to get the number of the Tomahawk, Wisconsin police department. She wrote down the number and immediately dialed it.

  “Tomahawk police department, Officer Terrell speaking,” a professional female voice answered.

  Leah hurriedly told her the story that she had given to the Green Bay police. To her dismay, she received the same answer. A rescue team had been dispatched, but no information was available. Leah provided her contact information and hung up.

  In her panicked mind, there was only one thing to do: go to Lookout Mountain herself. She entered Lookout Mountain into her navigation system. The map showed that it was about 132 miles from Green Bay. She proceeded to Highway 29. After about 90 miles, she merged into US 51 North. Three more turns and 40 miles later, she turned right on County Road B and made a slight left on Hillside Drive. On the left, she saw a sign that read Lookout Mountain.

  She had arrived, but didn’t have a clue what to do next.

  Chapter 5

  My head felt as if it were splitting open. I was dizzy and, for a moment, unsure of my surroundings. Even in the dimness, I could see that my hand that had touched my hair was covered with blood. I forced myself to focus on my police and Navy Seal training. My life might depend on those recollections.

  The last thing I recalled was diving into a cave to escape the tornado and a ponytailed man who was pursuing me. After seeing him and another man rape and kill a young girl, I was lucky they hadn’t killed me.

  I looked around. The scant bit of light filtering through a four-foot-wide hole about twenty to thirty feet above me, showed that the entrance to the cave had vanished.

  My thoughts were interrupted by what sounded like a groan. Looking toward the sound, I noticed a large object that resembled a body. When I tried to stand, sharp pain in my head forced me to a sitting position. Aware of the weight on my back, I realized my backpack was still strapped around my shoulders, so I slid it off.

  I unzipped the top pocket and took out the first aid kit. Gritting my teeth, I applied alcohol-saturated gauze to my head. Despite almost passing out from the alcohol scorching my scalp, I managed to apply steady pressure to my wound. When the bleeding appeared to have stopped, I threw the bloody gauze aside, covered the wound with clean gauze, and stretched tape across the fresh pad and under my chin. After swallowing three aspirins, I began feeling somewhat better.

  Reaching into the backpack a second time, my fingers closed around my small flashlight. Its beam revealed a man lying face down about twenty feet in front of me. His ponytail was visible, and his left leg was buried in rocks up to his knee. He must have dived into the cave as the entrance was collapsing from the force of the tornado. Blood encrusted his head and his injured leg, and he wasn’t moving. I tried to walk toward him, but dizziness forced me to my knees.

  The groan that cracked the silence a second time hadn’t been made by the man trapped in the cave with me. Pointing my flashlight toward the sound, I saw eyes shining in the corner about thirty feet to my left.

  Oh shit! The sound I’d heard wasn’t a groan. It was a damn growl. My unconscious companion and I were sharing the cave with a timber wolf.

  Chapter 6

  Cherokee Alverez and Bo Lopez, both independent operators before joining forces, had been partners for three years. Cherokee worked for anyone with the money to pay him, but Bo was more specialized. He worked primarily for two of Mexico’s largest drug cartels as their principal operator in the USA. He understood that, if the two cartels ever started a war with each other, he would have to choose a side and the value of his life would be substantially reduced.

  Bo was fifty-four years old and had short gray hair, a muscular build, and at six- foot-nine, he stood out in any crowd. He looked menacing, regardless of his size, with green eyes and a mean smile which looked more like a snarl. He would make a person not accustomed to dealing with his sort wince. He was the one in command in this partnership.

  Cherokee was thirty-six ye
ars old and had coal black hair, which he wore in a ponytail. He considered himself a lady’s man, and in fact he was quite successful with women who needed to be dominated. His dark brown eyes were covered with sunglasses most of the time. He had a tattoo of an angel on his neck. He had awakened with his prize tattoo after a drunken spree with two women in Mexico. He didn’t know where or exactly when he got the tattoo. Cherokee thought it was some sort of blessing bestowed upon him.

  Alverez and Lopez were contract killers.

  On August 10, 2005, Bo accepted a contract from Elezar Fernandez, his contact with the Salazar cartel. The hit was for a nineteen year-old girl named Veronika Ivanova. Bo was not told why Salazar wanted this girl killed and didn’t care anyway. He was getting paid $50,000 plus expenses for the hit, and he offered Cherokee a thirty percent split. Cherokee quickly agreed on condition, that he could “play” with the girl if she was good looking. Cherokee was always horny.

  Fernandez supplied Bo with an address for the girl, an art major at the University of Wisconsin at Green Bay. She had an apartment off campus in nearby Appleton, Wisconsin.

  Bo and Cherokee’s base of operations was Chicago, and the Salazar Cartel was based in Houston. Bo had been to Houston many times to meet with Fernandez and discuss jobs, and he was expected to go anywhere in the USA or Mexico to fulfill his contracts.

  He was paid well for his efforts, but a female college student should be an easy hit and so the amount of money seemed especially generous. He grinned when he thought of his promise to Cherokee to let him “play” with her if she was good looking. Hell, this might be fun. Everyone should enjoy their job,” he thought.

  At the airport in Green Bay they rented a Ford Excursion and then drove to the Radisson Hotel. After a steak and lobster dinner and two bottles of good red wine at the Radisson, they hit the blackjack tables at the Oneida Casino. Bo played for about three hours, winning four-hundred-fifty dollars before he decided to call it a night. At his age, he couldn’t keep up with Cherokee.

  Cherokee lost a couple of hundred dollars at blackjack and moved to the craps table, where he hit a lucky streak. A few hours later he was up about four thousand dollars. He would have continued to play, but he met Marge. When it was apparent he was winning, she stayed by his side, encouraging him and casually rubbing her ample breasts against his arm. Marge was in her twenties and heavily made-up, and she was built, as they say, like a brick shit-house. She was just the type of woman that Cherokee liked. The five Jack Daniels and waters he had consumed made her look even better.

  At about 2 a.m. she leaned over, brushing her lips against his ear, and whispered, “Why don’t we go to your room?”

  Cherokee replied in a husky voice, “Hell yes!” He cashed in his chips, put his cash in his pocket, and they moved to his room.

  As soon as the door was closed Cherokee began fondling her. She unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants. He kicked them out of the way and took off his shirt. She was still fully clothed, and he reached out to take care of that problem when he realized that he had to piss. Those Jack and waters needed to be deposited in the john, and then he would get on with the sex.

  Cherokee took pleasure in slapping girls around while he was making it. Some liked it and some didn’t. Cherokee didn’t give a shit whether they liked it or not. It turned him on, and that was what he planned when he came back from the can.

  Cherokee took plenty of time relieving himself. He splashed on some shaving lotion, took off his shorts and reentered the bedroom. He was ready to finish off the night in style.

  He swaggered back into the bedroom. The room was empty. “Shit!” Cherokee darted around to the other side of the bed and picked up his trousers. He searched his pockets. Empty. The bitch had stolen his four thousand dollars in winnings. He checked his wallet. She had cleaned it out, too. He ran to the door and threw it open. The hall was empty. He seethed. He was a professional. No amateur could do this to him.

  He hurriedly dressed. She couldn’t have gotten far. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to go back to the casino. She would stay out of sight. Eventually, she would have to leave, so his best chance was to stake out the parking lot. There was an outside chance that she was staying in the hotel; however, that would increase her chances of being caught by guys she conned. Odds were that she drove here and would have a car in the parking lot. He raced to the stairs because the elevator would be too slow and scrambled down the stairs two at the time. His room was on the second level, so he was at the exit leading to the parking area in seconds. There were very few cars in the casino parking lot at this hour of the morning. Cherokee located himself on the corner beside the building. He could watch the entire lot from this position. He was very familiar with stake-outs and was patient.

  After forty-five minutes, only two people had come out of the casino. Cherokee waited patiently. At 3:15 a.m. his restraint paid off. Marge and a husky young man exited the hotel side and walked toward the casino parking lot. They looked around several times as they quickly made their way toward a red Toyota van in the back right corner of the lot with no other vehicles around it.

  Cherokee was always prepared for a fight and he carried brass knuckles to give him the edge. He made his way from car to car staying out of sight. When they were about fifteen feet from the van, he caught up with them. He grinned and said, “Well Marge, what happened to you? I’m so damn sorry you left.”

  The husky young guy, who thought that he was tough, tried to tackle Cherokee. Cherokee just side-stepped him and landed a solid punch with the brass knuckles to the side of the guy’s head. Blood spurted and he went down.

  Marge was in a panic as she scrambled in her purse for her keys. Cherokee went straight for her and grabbed her by the hair. He put his other hand around her throat and hissed, “Scream, and I’ll kill you.”

  Tightening his grip on her throat, he whispered in her ear, “Baby you really picked the wrong guy to steal from.” He tightened his grip on her throat. A gasp of breath leaked from her throat as her oxygen was cut off. Cherokee squeezed until she passed out. He didn’t want to kill her as that would cause too much attention to the area and Bo would be furious. He let her drop to the ground, picked up her handbag and found the keys to the van. He unlocked the van and put her unconscious body in the back seat and then went back to the young man’s limp body and dragged it to the van. Cherokee put his body in the front seat. He removed the guy’s belt and secured his hands to the steering wheel. He removed the guy’s wallet and took out all the cash and threw the wallet as far as he could across the parking lot. He opened Marge’s purse. His $4000 was neatly rolled in a ball with a rubber band around it. He placed the money in his pocket. Marge must have conned another man because there was an additional two-thousand in her purse. Cherokee smiled at his luck. This night had really paid off for him, except, he was still horny. He could handle that problem tomorrow; tonight he made money.

  He locked the van and laid the keys on the pavement beside the door. Cherokee knew that they couldn’t call the police when they regained consciousness.

  He calmly left the parking lot and went back to his room. He wouldn’t tell Bo what happened. Bo was careful and didn’t want anything interfering with his contract. Cherokee finally went to bed at 4 a.m. He was still horny as hell.

  Chapter 7

  There was a loud bang on the door on the morning of August 18, 2005. Cherokee had only been sleeping for about three hours. He heard the irritated voice of Bo yelling, “Get your ass out of bed and open the door!”

  Cherokee grunted a loud, “Okay,” and rolled out of bed. He went to the door and opened it.

  Bo didn’t enter the room, he just glared at Cherokee. “You look like hell. Get your clothes on and let’s get moving. We need to be at that damn girl’s apartment before she leaves for class. I’ll wait on you in the car.”

  Cherokee could have used several cups of black coffee and some breakfast, but, he knew better than to argue with Bo when he was angry.
He quickly got dressed, called the desk for express checkout, threw his things into his bag and left the room. He had only kept Bo waiting for ten minutes when he got to the SUV. There was a large cup of steaming black coffee in the cup holder on his side. Bo grunted, “Drink that, Shitface. We got important work to do today.”

  There was little conversation on the thirty-minute drive to Appleton. Bo followed the directions that had been given to him and easily found the apartment building where Veronika lived. Being the seasoned professional, he’d done his research and knew that the girl drove a red BMW convertible. He drove around the parking lot and eventually spotted her car. He parked two rows over from the BMW.

  Bo and Cherokee parked two rows from the red BMW. There was a lot of activity in the parking lot with people going to work and to school.

  “Listen,” Bo said, “We’re not going to take her here. There’s too much activity and we may be seen. We’ll just follow her and pick our spot.”

  Cherokee nodded his throbbing head.

  After just fifteen minutes, they noticed a tall blonde girl walking toward the BMW. She walked right by their car and didn’t look at them, carrying a satchel and walking briskly. Her curly blonde hair fell just below her shoulders. She wore sunglasses, but surely the eyes must have been blue. She walked with the swagger of a model.

  Cherokee exclaimed, “Shit, she is a knockout!”

  Bo just shook his head and continued to watch as she opened the door to the BMW and got in. Veronika Ivanova started the BMW and turned right out of the parking lot with the Ford SUV following her. Bo was experienced in pursuing people without being noticed, so he let another car get between him and his hit.

  She predictably turned right at the entrance of the University of Wisconsin on Nicolet Drive. Veronika Ivanova proceeded to the fine arts building, still unaware of the Ford SUV now directly behind her. She pulled into the parking lot just to the right of the building. There were about ten students arriving at the same time. Cherokee and Bo watched as she got out of her car, reached into the back to retrieve her satchel, and walk toward the building. When she entered the building, Bo parked the SUV in the vacant parking space beside her car.