Combat

One The secluded community just outside of Valparaiso, Chile, slumbered on behind the high walls and steel-reinforced gates that surrounded it Other than the lazy swaying of branches stirred by a gentle offshore breeze, the only sound or movement disturbing the early-morning darkness was that created by the rhythmic footfalls on the pavement of a pair of security guards patrolling the empty streets of the well-manicured community. The two armed men did not live in any of the homes they were charged with protecting. Even if either one of them had been fortunate enough to possess the small fortune that ownership of property in the tiny village required, neither had the social credentials that would permit him to purchase even the smallest plot of ground within these walls. If they harbored any resentment over this fact, they dared not show it The pay was too good and the work too easy to jeopardize. Their parents had taught them well. Only fools take risks when times were good and circumstances didn't require it Still, the guards were only human. On occasion a comment that betrayed their true feelings would slip out during the casual conversation that they engaged in during the long night. Upon turning a corner, one of the security guards took note of a flickering of light in a second-story window of one of the oversize homes. Slowing his pace, the hired guardian studied the window in an effort to determine if something was out of kilter. Belatedly, his partner took note of his concern. With a chuckle, the second guard dismissed the concerns of the first "There is nothing going on up there that we need to bother ourselves with." "And how would you know that?" the first asked as he kept one eye on the window. "My sister, the one who is a cleaning woman, chatters incessantly about what she sees in each of these houses. That room, for example, is off-limits to her." Rather than mollify his suspicions, these comments only piqued the first guard's interest "And why is that? Is it the personal office of the owner?" Letting out a loud laugh, the second guard shook his head. "Not hardly. It is the bedroom of a teenage boy." Seeing the joke, the first guard let out a nervous chuckle. "What" he asked, "makes the bedroom of a teenage boy so important?" "The boy is a computer rat" came the answer. "My sister says he has just about every sort of computer equipment imaginable cluttering the place." "What does your sister know about computers?" the first asked incredulously. Offended, his partner glared. "We are poor, not ignorant." Realizing that he had unintentionally insulted his comrade, the first guard lowered his head. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to..." "But you did," the offended guard snapped. "What goes on in those rooms is not our concern anyway. We are paid to guard against criminals and terrorists, not speculate about what our employers do within the confines of their own homes." With that, he pivoted about and marched off, followed a few seconds later by his partner. Neither man, of course, realized that the only terrorist within miles was already inside the walls of the quiet little community. In fact, they had been watching him, or more correctly, his shadow as he went about waging an undeclared war against the United States of America. Alone in his room, Angelo Castalano sat hunched over the keyboard of his computer, staring at the screen. As he did night after night, young Angelo ignored the pile of schoolbooks that lay strewn across the floor of his small room and turned, instead, his full attention to solving a far more interesting problem. ICoonts, Stephen is the author of 'Combat' with ISBN 9780812576177 and ISBN 0812576179.