Free American Terrorist (The Rayna Tan Action Thrillers Book 1) by Wesley Robert Lowe Page A

want and you are going to do as much as you can to provide it.”
    “What if I don’t accept?”
    “I can take you back to Dallas.”
    “You don’t give me much choice.”
    “Glad you see it my way. Where I am taking you is where you will live for the rest of your life. You will never leave the premises. That way you will have ultimate protection.”
    Julio breathed a sigh of relief—he’d be safe. “Okay.”
    Julio’s captor removed his mask. “Nice to meet you, Julio. My name is Barry Rogers.”
    When Dallas authorities made it to the prison transport van five minutes later, they were absolutely shocked. All the transport security force was unconscious but alive. Their assailants had fired dummy bullets, enough to momentarily stun, after which the guards were chloroformed. No injuries at all.
    Barry orchestrated and led the attack to spring Julio. He knew what everyone else knew—Julio’s abilities to code and hack websites, then hide traces of his activities, were rivaled by very few, if any, others in the world. He knew he wanted someone just like Julio for Fidelitas.
    He also was pretty sure Julio would not refuse. Why? Because guys like Julio were not motivated by money. As Barry explained the vision of Fidelitas, Julio grew more and more excited. This was a cause, not a job. More than that, it gave him a real reason to live—the truth was, Julio had no intention of firing the nuclear bombs. He had performed the feat for the same reason people have affairs or climb dangerous mountain peaks or wrestle crocodiles: life is boring and they want to challenge its limits.
    Julio turned over his entire fortune to Barry for the design and construction of the Resort. With a twinkle in his eye, he told his boss, “Any time you need more, just let me know.”
    Barry declined, but he knew that wouldn’t mean anything to Julio. Every year since Julio’s coming onboard, ten million dollars was added to Fidelitas’ secret operating account from an unknown source.  
    A text message signaled Julio. “Lunch is ready,” he told Rayna.

    ***

    Pandemonium reigned in the small twelve-seat sushi restaurant that was part of the Resort’s dining area. Helena was there with the kids already and they were running around being chased by Hirito, an eighty-year-old sushi master wearing a white Japanese Hapi coat and a hachimaki , the white cotton headband with the red Japanese sun flanked by two Japanese characters. Seeing the arrival of Julio and Rayna, Hirito stopped for a moment and bowed. “Welcome.”
    Then the madness resumed. The sight was totally unlike the Zen-like serenity of many respected sushi restaurants.
    “I get you, Nali,” yelled Hirito. “You must eat!” He picked up the little girl and brought her behind the counter with him—another definite no no. There was a bowlful of live shrimp jumping around.
    “AA!” squealed Nali.
    “You eat!” Hairdo took one of the squirming crustaceans out of its shell. He deftly removed the head and shell and stuck it into the two-year-old’s mouth.
    Nali’s face lit up with glee and she opened her mouth. “More, Hirito. More.”
    Hirito obeyed with a smile. He turned to Barry. “It so nice to see someone who love food.”
    Unlike the staid, high-end sushi places in New York that Rayna used to go to with Tanner, Hirito ran an informal shop. Or at least it was for today.
    Sea urchin was scooped alive from its purple prickly shell. Bluefin otoro sashimi tuna from Japan was the most exquisite melt-in-your-mouth delight Rayna ever experienced. And all the little touches that separated the excellent and the sublime were just a matter of course. The soya sauce was made by Hirito himself in small batches.  
    While Julio, Helena and the children got plastic plates and chopsticks, Rayna and Barry received a special treat. The plates, cups and bowls, made by master craftsmen in Japanese ceramic towns, were personally picked by Hirito; even the chopsticks were handcrafted by