Sedona AZ (May 13, 2015) – The following has been taken from Collins Rhōg’s private journal, and reproduced exactly as it was written, by his own hand. The date has been omitted, at his request, but Collins view is always captivatingly honest, full of depth and color, heart and perseverance in times of struggle. Collins spills his soul and captures his feelings with vivid imagery and heart felt emotion that oozes from the pages of this historic text.

The following is but a portholes view, from across the room of “The Life and Times of Collins Rhōg“:

If you are new to the story, it all begins at this link (click here). In previous weeks, our readers were introduced to Rhōg’s story as written in his journal. Join us as we return to the Life and Times of Collins Rhōg, now 38, while he surveys the gates of Hell:

– Cambire, The Story Part 20 –

Saying nothing, I closed my eyes, opened my mouth and let my head fall back. “Three days?” I repeated to the ceiling after a few moments.

The loudspeaker popped and crunched as Oz spoke too close to the microphone yet again, “Three days.”

“Pretty deadly shit,” I mumbled, feeling the back of my head almost touch my spine, eyes still closed.

“You’ve been infected with a Soviet era weapon that was reportedly smuggled out and sold on the black market when the country fell. We believe that it actually never left what became the Russian Federation. How did you know about the ships?”

“We’re done talking.”

“Oh no, we’re not even close to being done talking, Collins.”

“Where’s my lawyer?” I asked defiantly.

“I’m leaving to call my wife, to let her know that I’ll be home late tonight. Then I’m going to grab a bite to eat,” Monko advised. “When I return, you’re going to tell me everything.”

“Oh I am, am I?” I spoke to the ceiling.

“Yes, you are…because if you don’t, we’ll let you die in an isolation cell. We won’t intervene with the hit that’s been put out on your girlfriend and we’ll lock up your pals, Russell Phillip Meyers and Gregory Arron Hostetler, forever. Either way, you and your girlfriend will be reunited shortly.”

Tilting my head down, I opened my eyes. The great OZ was leaning in, close to the observation mirror and staring at me. I knew that he had me and, unfortunately, he knew that I knew it. Nodding, the agent turned as the lights in the interrogation room re-energized and the lights in the observation room fell dark, leaving me to look at myself in the observation mirror. The door opened and Monko came in and set a thin stack of blank paper and a pen on the table.

“So you can write down your thoughts while I’m gone, particularly the things I need to know.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be ringing up your wife? How about uncuffing me from the table?”

“Not a chance, Rhōg. Not a chance.” He turned and left.

The thought haunted me that there was a hit out on Reegan. Maybe Monko was bluffing, but not this time. I knew in my heart of hearts that he was shooting me solid. What did I have to lose? Forever in prison. But with even a chance that Reegan’s life was on the line, I had to protect her at all costs. It was her association with me that put her in harms way. I was going to play ball, no holds barred. Closing my eyes, my mind drifted beneath the weight of the moment and remembered bombing through the desert with Reegan some years earlier.

The lines on the road passed and blended into a rapid cadence as I opened up the Acura NSX cramming more air and fuel down its throat until I was clipping along at triple digits plus thirty five. Heat waves were resonating off the roadway, there wasn’t another car in sight. I had ten miles visibility ahead of me. Pushing down the accelerator I challenged the car to let loose.

One hundred forty, the needle climbed, one hundred forty five, my hands tightened on the wheel as my senses became keenly aware of every bump and noise within its cockpit. One hundred and fifty, she kept climbing, one hundred fifty five, I was liking this, cautiously aware that a blown tire, debris or an animal on the roadway would have catastrophic consequences. I pushed the NSX up with the engines roar, looked down at my foot pressed to the floor, the needle rising to kiss 160, then felt Reegan’s fingers thread into mine, atop the shift knob.

“Faster!” she cried out gripping my hand.

I let the car climb to a buck seventy.

“169?” she called out from the passenger seat.

“171,” I corrected her noticing that the nose of the car didn’t feel light at all.

“The year you were born..1971,” she laughed and then asked, “Are you going to get me killed, Collins?”

Just then a field of tumbleweeds skirted into the road roughly fifty yards in front of us. I smashed the brakes and turned on the headlights which rose to grab some air, the bow of the car dived giving more traction to the front tires as we descended upon the tumbleweeds like a hawk diving onto a rabbit. The noise was terrifying as the car parted the weeds.

Snapping to attention, the pen and paper lay in front of me. With cuffed hands, I began to doodle, feeling the fatigue and hurt in my body.

I surmised a half cocked plan to negotiate with Monko and get a note to Russ. I couldn’t write a pad code, too obvious. Time was of the essence so I scribbled away doodling. Pulling a fresh sheet a few from the top, I wrote a note to Russ and returned to doodling. It wasn’t long before Monko returned.

“How was your meal?” I asked, not wanting to roll over the minute he entered the room. “So you’re safe with me? Three days you said, until I’m contagious?”

“I appreciate your concern, but trust me I’m safe. Now your girlfriend, that’s another story.” Monko pulled out the other steel grey chair, spun it around and sat down across from me, straddling the chair back.

He had me. “Alright, I’ll dance,” I said staring at him. The agent said nothing. He just looked at me.

“You’ll dance?” He crossed his arms atop the chair back.

“I’ll fill you in and help get the bad guys. I want one hundred per cent amnesty for myself, for Russ and for Greg. I want you guys to protect Reegan, and I want you to get this note to Russ…oh, and I want that cure.”

“That’s a long list. I don’t think I can do that.”

“I’ll bet you can if you set your mind to it.”

“This note?” Monko asked, picking up the paper with Russ’s name and reading it. He looked at me, furled his forehead in dismay, then pulled a mechanical pencil from his shirt pocket.

“Really, Collins?” The agent set the note on the table and scribbled the pencil’s lead over the bottom of my note.

“We have a heart, that’s ‘LOVE’, we have two triangles with arms, that’s ‘FEMALE’, next we have this spiral thingy….” He paused and looked at me, “That’s ‘LIFE’ and this acorn thing, that’s a ‘CAULDRON’ followed by a war ax that’s ‘PROTECTION’…” The agent paused. I said nothing.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice? LOVE, FEMALE, LIFE, CAULDRON, PROTECTION, you are trying to let Russ know that there’s a hit out on Reegan. I thought you were good, not grammar school.” He put the note back on the table.

I knew I’d just made myself look really stupid in the Fed’s eyes.

“I can offer D.R.A.C.O. to cure you and we’ll protect Reegan, but that’s all you get,” Monko said, tapping his fingers atop the paper.

“Forget it. Get me a lawyer,” I retorted.

“We have time, you don’t.” Raising his eyebrows, Monko added, “These guys CVs include several high profile assassinations, the bombing in Argentina that killed 85 people and the murder of two of our guys posing as Norwegian cruise line workers. How do you think it’ll shake out for Reegan?”

Monko’s question hovered in the air.

“I know something you don’t, oh powerful Oz, and you’re wrong, you really don’t have any time. Actually, you should have made a deal already.” I looked back at him, raising my eyebrows to mimic his expression.

The truth is I had no idea what they knew and what they didn’t know. I was impressed at their intel though, bloody hell there wasn’t much that slipped by the U.S. government. I believed that Monko was telling the truth and that they did have a cure, naming D.R.A.C.O. was a bit dramatic. I surmised that the Feds probably didn’t have an adequate supply on hand to protect the masses.

“I have a D.R.A.C.O. inoculation waiting for you, right now, and we’re already watching Reegan. You’ll be working for us from here on out. If…” he raised his finger in the air for emphasis, “and, only if, we recover all of the weapon and all of the players involved will you and your friends get amnesty.”

The injection was non eventful, but the next few weeks found me sick in their infirmary. I told the Feds everything, they recovered the weapon from the graveyard, stormed the compound in Idaho, rounded up several of Hooky Miller’s men, and shared the identity of the men I’d killed. Monko also kept me posted as to Reegan’s safety, letting me know that Shugo was with her. She and the pooch had made a good recovery and she was even planning to race, against her doctors wishes, in Portland.

The great and powerful OZ even arranged to have me dropped off at the Oregon raceway, so I could reunite with Reegan the day she was racing.

– Collins Rhōg

Cambire, The Story continues in the SedonaEye.com. Some SedonaEye.com scenes have been edited due to content, however, be advised that some language may be considered offensive or inappropriate. Look for the unedited Cambire, The Story, available at booksellers and retailers in the fall 2015 to be published as Change of Allegiance.

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