Deadly Frost

To revenge is no valour, but to bear.

ACT III. SCENE V. TIMON of Athens.  The Oxford Shakespeare

Chapter 1

Fall 1991... Fate

AIR FORCE CAPTAIN TALUS Frost, call sign Frosty, was enjoying the drive home in his Chevy S-10 4x4 pickup after a week on alert waiting to play air-to-air tag with the Soviets.  He was mostly tired because there was only one scramble. Sitting and waiting wore him down worse than flying north over the Arctic.  And as often happened, the scramble was only a tease to make the crews think they were going to play Million Dollar Tag with the Soviets, (well - really the Russians now since the shake-up). All they ended up doing was turning 80,000 pounds of JP-4 jet fuel into noise. The good news was the USSR seemed to be in the process of self-destructing.  The world’s premier spy organization, KGB, just announced they had officially stopped operations due to the ongoing break-up of the Soviet Union. The bad news was it had been replaced by the SVR.  Frost believed the USSR would quit spying like he believed in the tooth fairy and Santa. 

But what made his trip home especially enjoyable was that it was Wednesday evening at dusk and tomorrow was Thanksgiving.  It's even better if you're stationed in Alaska on Elmendorf Air Force Base assigned to the 962 AWACS. Alaska is one of the most beautiful spots on earth and well away from the insanity in the Lower 48. 

Frost watched kids playing in their yards in family housing while a light snow fell. There was no viable reason for him to think about anything but turkey, stuffing, parades, and football games for the next four days.  At thirty-nine years old, Frost was widowed and remarried and the father of two boys. At six foot and one hundred ninety pounds he was heavily muscled, but always had to watch his weight to keep the AF admin weenies off his butt; which he was not planning to do for the next few days. 

His wife Wendy always joked that he looked like an over the hill retired linebacker; which was silly, he’d played defensive end. He was too small and too slow to play big college ball, but he still had the quick coordinated hands of a professional boxer.  His hair was black with the first strands of white starting to appear on the temples and sides and was kept short to military standards which was fine with him.  Friends and family called him Frost or Frosty – period.  Even his wife normally called him Frost unless he was in deep trouble.  Only his Dad called him TD for Talus Drake Frost thanks to his dad’s interest in all things historical. Nobody called him Tal.   

The only thing on Frost’s mind was Blue Öyster Cult’s classic (Don't Fear) The Reaper which he cranked up to max Dbs on the radio.  He was heading to the commissary before he left base for a few items Wendy said they needed.  He also planned to swing by the class six liquor store for a few bottles of the Spatlese wine they’d got hooked on in Germany. Enough to share with friends coming over for dinner.  He really didn't mind stopping even though it was out of his way.  He always liked leaving base by way of Fort Richardson, the Army base that adjoined Elmendorf, because it reminded him of how lucky he was to be in the Air Force flying above clouds instead of running up hills. 

As Frost came out of the commissary and walked towards the class six for the wine, he noticed a large man, at least six foot five, with a big upper body, on the far side of the lot in a BDU jacket struggling to get a large bundle into his trunk.  The car was parked in shadows outside the parking lot lighting.  Since Frost wasn't really in a hurry, he walked towards the man to give him a hand.  In the late dusk Frost couldn't make out what the problem was until he got right behind the man.  The light in the trunk was out, but Frost could clearly see two feet sticking out from inside the trunk.

Frost had trained other people on what to do in case of for over ten years.  He still taught on-base classes in sexual assault awareness and street defense for free.  He was a WTF certified Black Belt instructor for Tae Kwon Do but had quit full contact competition when he moved to Alaska.  He stressed to his students whenever possible the right answer was to run and get help.  Now it was his turn to have to scramble for the right answer; because his running away was not the right answer for whoever was in that trunk.  

FROST STEPPED TO THE blind side of the large man and asked Hey – need some help?

The man slammed his trunk and spun around to face Frost.  Mind your own business Captain, I'm going home for supper.

Frost stepped to block the large man and realized he was huge.  He was a muscle freak.  He looked like he ate steroids like a ten-year-old with a two-pound bag of M&Ms. 

Frost blocked him with his own body but kept maneuvering distance between them. Hey – so what’d you just put in that trunk? Hey - don't ignore me; so what’s inside the trunk?

The man snapped a gargantuan left arm out quickly to knock Frost away; but Frost had already stepped back out of range. 

The dark giant kept his right arm concealed to the side of his body and growled.  Who the fuck do you think you are - I don't think so.

The next thing Frost knew he was dropping his bag and ducking a crowbar.  Years of Tae Kwon Do and wrestling had conditioned him to respond without thinking about the swinging bar.  His next move was a simple straight jab to the groin with all the strength he could throw from an off-balance position.  The blow didn't stop his attacker, but it knocked him backwards and made him wary. Frost realized this was someone who was not sparring or playing a game.  This giant-sized asshole tried to kill him.  If there really was somebody in that trunk, he had to kill Frost to get rid of a witness. 

Books and movies about people in a life or death struggle normally spout witty repartee. Not in real life. All Frost could hear was how raspy his breathing became due to of his exertion and the flood of adrenalin.  The look on the dark hulk's face was not fear.  It looked like joy. The behemoth was dark haired, and obviously pumped up on roid juice as well as rage. He definitely was a free weights gym jockey and just as obviously could shake off pain.  That was no knock-out punch, but it would have definitely hurt and backed-off an average guy.  This dude looked like he enjoyed it.

The smirking hulk began to circle and kept moving the crowbar side to side and low out in front of him.  He knew how to use it as a weapon like he'd done this before.  He took a quick step inside, faked a thrust at Frost’s stomach and swung low at his right knee.  Frost's quick back-step saved his kneecap but caused him to bounce off the car and almost lose his footing.  This guy was way too fast for someone his size.  Frost decided it was time to fight back instead of responding before the guy put the bar though a body part.   

Frost knew rule one in self-defense is never fight a weapon with open hands unless you have no other options.  Rule 1A at this point would have been to turn and run.  But someone was in that trunk and he couldn't risk letting this crazy go.  Frost worked his way around to the opposite side of the car to get some space to maneuver and look for a weapon.  The only weapon for defense he could find was a can of pumpkin pie filling he’d dropped. It lay between his feet, and he picked it up quickly as the dark man closed from the rear of the car. 

As the giant stepped forward to attack again, Frost threw the can at his face.  When the dark man ducked, Frost did a hard, fast round kick low into the side of the big man’s left knee collapsing the leg.  As his attacker fell to one knee, Frost did a quick cross over step to get behind him and did a sharp side kick directly into his kidneys.  The huge man dropped the crowbar and fell to both knees. Frost followed up by smashing an axe kick with the heel of his right flight boot chopping down between the hulk’s right shoulder and neck dislocating the shoulder and ripping muscle and tendons.  The dark man screamed in rage and again started to get up by pushing off with his good arm.  Frost knew this boy had to go down now and as the dark man looked up, Frost snapped an ugly ridge hand from clear behind the shoulder, sinking it deep into the dark man's throat.  The huge man fell forward like a two hundred sixty-five pound log, bounced once, and struggled to breathe.  As the camo clad behemoth bounced a young airman ran up.  He thought he’d seen the tail end of a nasty cock fight in a parking lot, not realizing it was life or death.

Frost saw the Airman and yelled. Airman, run in and call the SPs now, and get me some help out here!  This man was trying to kill me - go! ..... And call an ambulance, there's somebody in that trunk!  Frost stood tall and waved both hands at a pick-up driving by. Help - hey I need some help over here!  Stop - I need some help!

BY THEN FROST HAD GONE from shocked and adrenalin stoked to dangerously pissed off.  He picked up the crowbar and started to angrily pry at the trunk lid.  Two older Sergeants in the pickup on their way to the nearby class six liquor store parked with their headlights focused on the downed man and the car’s trunk then stepped out.

Hey, you guys need some help here Captain?  Looks like you got in a pretty heavy-duty brawl with that sergeant.  You guys been drinking?

Frost snapped around from the trunk:  "Well that sergeant just tried to kill me with this crowbar and there's somebody in his trunk.  You think you two could help me out till the Air Cops get here?  You got anything to tie him up with?  I think we’ve got a real problem here."

TSgt Hawkins, the younger of the two men looked over at the man on the ground.  Hey, I recognize this guy.  He's an SP.  He gave me a ticket a couple of weeks ago for not turning my lights off soon enough when I drove in the gate.  I remember him because it was a chicken shit ticket and because he was abusive as hell as he was writing it.  I got the distinct impression he didn’t like my darker skin tone or my being able to drive on ‘his’ base.  Gave me a ration of shit like he was getting off on it.

MSgt Brinks found the keys where the Sergeant left them in the ignition.  As he walked around the car the lanky and pepper haired TSgt Hawkins took the crowbar from Frost and held it over the attacker. Frost realized the big Sergeant had prepared for a quick get-a-way to have the trunk up and the keys in the ignition at the same time.  When Sergeant Brinks popped the trunk, the bundle moaned and two small feet twitched. The victim was barely moving, but she was one seriously lucky woman.

The ambulance and the SPs pulled up at almost the same time in a glare of high beams, flashing lights, and screaming engines.  Frost was coming down and getting a case of weak-kneed rubber legs from the after effects of the adrenalin rush, so he leaned against the car.

The first stupid thing Sgt Kent said the first time Frost saw him set the tone for their relationship:  Okay - what the hell's going on here?  Hey what's Daz doing on the ground and who the fuck are you?  Get your hands up and face the car Captain.  That's an SP you just assaulted. Daz, you OK?

MSgt Brinks looked at Sgt Kent and shook his head:  You know, every time I meet somebody like you in my Air Force, I always wonder if the SPs really do get the pick of everybody in service with an IQ smaller than their dick size.  Are you fucking brain dead?  Why don't you pretend you have some professional training and look around to see what's going on before you say something really stupid?  Hell, if you get lucky and really concentrate you might figure out who to arrest.

TSgt Hawkins tapped Sgt Kent on the shoulder:  Hey dipstick, think you could get your foot out of your mouth long enough to let the EMTs try to save the woman your buddy tried to kill.  And I strongly suggest you call for a supervisor because you are in way over your head.

EMT to Sgt Kent:  Look buddy, I don't know what's going on.  But I do know this woman has lost a lot of blood - and if she doesn’t get to the hospital quick you will be explaining getting in my way.  Now move aside!

Sgt Kent:  Sgt Zane, are you all right?  What's going on? You're a shift supervisor; who do you want me to call?

Sgt Zane struggled to breathe and talk, What's going on?  I was walking out to my car and I found this guy closing my trunk.  When I tried to stop him, he hit me in the side of the throat with something; I never even saw it coming.

Sgt Kent put his hand on his weapon and pulled his cuffs:  Yea, I knew it had to be something like that.  You, Captain, put your hands on top of your head and spread your legs.  And don't try anything. 

Frost starred at Kent in disbelief:  Excuse me Sergeant, but you may be suffering from the worst case of cranial rectitus I have ever seen in person.  Enough is enough! Shut the fuck up and get your supervisor over here now and put this man under arrest.  He tried to kill me, and he was kidnapping that woman.  Or do you really think I kidnapped a woman, stole his keys, and found his car to put her in?  Nobody can be that stupid.

Daz realized his alibi would only stick for a few more seconds. An SP supervisor should arrive any second, and he knew he hadn’t hurt the woman enough that she couldn’t identify him.  It was now or never.  Sgt Kent, arrest that Captain now! Zane yelled.

Sgt Kent turned to cuff Frost who, pissed off already, spun under the young sergeant’s arm and twisted the arm with the cuffs up tight against his back, grabbed his coat collar and jerked backwards while gently kicking into the back of his right knee.  This had the simultaneous effect of dropping Sgt. Kent to his knees, embarrassing him and making Frost an enemy for life. 

Daz, seeing his opportunity, pushed up quickly off his left arm and ran.  As he ran, an SP car cut him off as it pulled into the lot.  Daz then felt a sharp pain in the back of his leg as it buckled.  TSgt Hawkins really hadn't forgotten his ticket or treatment from earlier and was waiting with no doubt in his mind what was going to happen.  He patiently waited for Daz to run, just so he could have an excuse to whip the crowbar into the back of Daz’s knee.  As he told the story many times later, it was one of the few times he was really happy to help out an officer in his free time. 

Chapter 2

GINGER LUCAS, A PETITE, very attractive, twenty-one-year-old brunette who still looked like the cheerleader she had been a few years earlier, recovered fully within a week from being tied up and bashed (a severe concussion) on the temple with a potato.  She’d been slammed against the floor while knocked out and needed 10 stitches to close-up her chin.  She was married to a young Airman assigned to Elmendorf for only six months.  She got a job working at the class six liquor store on base only a few weeks earlier.  TSgt Zane had been through every few nights buying beer or Jack Daniels.  Several times he tried to talk her into going out for a drink or a ride after work but never when anyone was around.  On the whole, he had been nice and polite, just kind of pushy in the way he flirted. 

The night of her attack Ginger was working alone when Sgt Zane had entered earlier and bought two fifths of Jack Daniels.  He acted weird like he was all pumped up on drugs or something, and he stared at her with an unsettling grin on his face.  He said he was sure she'd have a very special weekend and left.  Twenty minutes later she went into the stockroom and was bent over getting packages of Styrofoam cups to restock out front.  When she stood up, Sgt. Zane was standing in front of her and smacked her on the side of the head with a plastic bag with something hard in it.  She had been out cold but was coming to when he shoved her in the trunk of a car.  She struggled but her mouth was taped shut and her hands were held together with plastic bands, the kind used as disposable handcuffs.  A plastic bag with a smashed potato was found in the trunk of TSgt Zane's 1989 blue Skylark.

A unique assortment of burglary tools, rope, tape, a very sharp fileting knife, an ice pick, a flat edge screw driver and a video camera loaded with a blank tape were also found in the trunk.  It was a pretty standard though extensive rape kit by the looks of it.  Due to the strength of Captain Talus Frost's and Ginger Lucas's statements, and the physical evidence, the Air Force OSI looked into missing person reports and unsolved rapes and murders in and around all of TSgt David Allen Zane's previous assignments.  There was nothing to find.

TSgt David Allen Zane, Daz to his friends, had never shit in his own nest - ever, till now.  All of his special activities had been while he was on leave, at least to another state, and never before near any Air Force base.  He had just this once allowed his hunger for her to screw him up and for once forget his professionalism about his real work.  His special tapes, though he had only a few because he had just started taping a couple of years ago, were well hidden where no one would ever find them.

The Special Police commander, Full Bird Colonel Mitchell, reported TSgt Zane  had worked under his command for almost a year at Elmendorf and six more months at a previous assignment.  He agreed there had been some random complaints of excessive force, but each time the complainant had been drunk and had not been very convincing.  There was a rumor that TSgt Zane had a problem with blacks in the military, especially officers, but no formal complaints had ever been filed.  One black major was cited for a rolling stop after the major left the O' Club and headed to the old MAC terminal nearby for a late sandwich,. The major had gotten into a disagreement about the legality of the stop and he had ended up beaten and hospitalized. But due to the damage received by TSgt Zane, and the fact that the evidence indicated the major was legally drunk, the investigation was dropped. 

There were no indications of this kind of problem before.  TSgt Zane was fastidious, a bit of a loner, a bully, and a braggart about how he treated problem customers as an SP.  He had never been married.  But, since TSgt Zane had been drinking prior to his arrest, the only logical conclusion, according to his commander, was that he did not know what he was doing at the time of the assault.  He was sure that there was an outside pressure that had pushed him over the edge and this was the first time.  No doubt a woman, because as the recently divorced Col Mitchell stated, that's what seems to ruin most good men. 

The Air force Office of Special Investigation (OSI) unit working in conjunction with the Alaskan State police could find no evidence of previous wrong doing since Zane’s arrival in Alaska.  The only suspicious evidence came as a result of their search of his home.  There they found nine necklaces wrapped inside a small black bag inside his closet, taped to a black wall with black tape behind his uniforms.  All were simple gold or silver designs with no distinguishing characteristics.  None of the necklaces in the bag had any fingerprints.  The OSI agent in charge of the case called a buddy in the FBI he had met at a Quantico seminar on Forensic Technology.  He gave the particulars of the case but no info on the perp to Special Agent Clancy in the Behavioral Science Unit and asked for his input. 

SPECIAL AGENT CLANCY's profile couldn’t help in getting a conviction, but it was eye-opening.  He was convinced that this was not this UNSUB's (unknown suspect's) first attack.  He was probably late 20s to mid-30s, current or former military, probably enlisted and would have authority issues, unsuccessful at any long-term relationship with a woman, possibly divorced, loved the outdoors, was very confident and extremely bright.  Clancy was sure that with enough evidence the UNSUB could be tracked back to other attacks and would definitely attack again if given the opportunity.  He believed this attacker while in custody should be given every possible opportunity (even primed or provoked) to brag about his past conquests of women.  He profiled this attacker as extremely organized and very dangerous. When told about the necklaces, he stated only a fool would believe the owners of the necklaces gave them willingly.  He stated unequivocally that the UNSUB had probably already killed, and they were looking at his trophies.  When the case file and TSgt Zane's file were faxed to Clancy later, he strongly encouraged they continue to search for other violent crimes he had committed. But with the current evidence this crime unfortunately did not legally fit into the FBI’s jurisdiction. 

The Elmendorf Base Commander received lots of heat from the Alaskan Air Command and the Air Force PR out of the Pentagon to get this case out of the papers and over with, regardless of what it took. It had already been on CNN for two days since it began. The Air Force did not want a trial so there could be even more media coverage.  The SPs and the OSI were told the case was closed, and they could back-off and close the file because a plea bargain had been reached. The civilian defense attorney for TSgt David Allen Zane was willing to cut a deal for simple assault, receiving a dishonorable discharge, and credit for time served for a first offense. That was a conviction, case closed and no longer an Air Force publicity problem. 

The defense attorney played heavily on the lack of proper police procedure and any evidentiary documentation by Sgt Kent which invalidated everything but eyewitness testimony.  Behind closed doors, he suggested Zane be transferred from Alaska and assigned to Tinker AFB, Oklahoma, only twenty minutes north of where Daz grew up, to be quietly out processed from the Air Force in disgrace.

Chapter 3

Summer 1976... The Beginning

OKLAHOMA IS KNOWN FOR Oklahoma Schooners' football, girls that say y’all, and the knowledge that whatever it takes to win is OK.  At least that's what David Allen Zane grew up believing.  He was a child of the 70's and grew up fast.  If your Dad's favorite past-times were drinkin, fuckin and beatin up pissant no account brats after working all day as a mechanic for all those oil rich Motherfuckers drivin their Mercedes and foreign trash you learned quick when to duck and when to hide.  It also made you tough.  It made you realize at some point the old man was one mean motherfucker, but he still yes sir'd and no sir'd those assholes at work.  No get the fuck out of my way you little bastards there.  Daz realized early on that his pa was really just a small man with his tail between his legs.  But that didn’t stop Al Zane from beating two small boys with whatever was handy to get even for whatever pissed him off in life.

Daz learned a lot of lessons from the old man, but one he never forgot started on an innocent trip to Del City near Tinker Air Base with his Pa to the Sears to replace a Craftsman wrench that had bent (the old bastard was strong as an ox).  Going in they ran into one of the customers whose car Pa worked on.  A tall, thin, wrinkled older black man in a worn-out suit was coming out of Sears with his two teenage daughters and a tall muscular black man in his late 20s as Daz and his old man were going in. 

The older black man spoke in a soft but musical voice as they walked up. Well good morning Mr. Zane and how are you this fine day?

Mr. Zane: Oh I'm doin real good Mr. Ackers and how bout yourself?

Mr. Ackers: Oh I'm in a blessed mood this day.  By the way, this is my oldest daughter Rachel, my little one Sara, and this fine looking young man is my son, Captain Steven Ackers, who just returned home last night on leave from the Air Force.  Steven's been stationed in Germany for the last three years and he just got stationed at Vance Air Force Base up at Enid right here in Oklahoma.  And you're not going to believe it but he even brought him back a German bride!  My but I am feeling blessed today.  And who is this good-looking young gentleman Mr. Zane?

Mr. Zane: Oh this here's my older boy Davey, his little brother Clint couldn't make it, he's home with a flu bug of some kind.

Steven Acker: It sure is an honor to meet you Mr. Zane.  My daddy has told me the only reason he goes to Mr. Frank's garage is because you're the best mechanic in the county.  If you wouldn't mind, maybe I could drop by sometime with a car I bought this morning.  It's a three-year-old Pontiac LeMans.  I’ve got a feeling I'm going be making the trip between Enid and my Dad’s house quite a bit for the next couple of years and want to make sure it’s in mint shape.  My family and I have a lot of catching up to do since I've been gone so long.  And of course, they want to get to know my wife Sofie.  And pretty soon, well - we’re expecting our first little one and so I want the car safe as possible for my family.

Mr. Zane: Well of course, I'll look at your car.  Your Daddy's one of our best customers.  Just bring it round the shop anytime and I'll give her the once over for ya boy.

The large Air Force Captain took a step forward and looked down at Mr. Zane and you could see his facial expression and body tighten up as he spoke quietly. That'd be great Mr. Zane, and I don't want to offend you - but I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me boy.  I kind of have a problem with that.  Guess it was all that Air Force training about being an officer and all.

Mr. Zane took a quick step back. Of course, sure, sure, no hard feelins.  Just a manner a speech, didn't mean nothin by it.  You just bring that car around and I'll look her right over for ya.

In Sears, an embarrassed flush kept Al Zane's face several different shades of red, but his expression was a mask of cold fury.  How dare that nigger talk to him like that - and in front of his own son.  Being corrected - like the nigger had a right to tell a white man what to do cause he was an officer and a college boy.  This was one boy that was goin to get discussed on a very serious level at the next meeting of the local boys.  When the discussion of new business came up and the bottle was going round that was going to become one sorry-assed nigger that he ever corrected a white man, especially in front of his teenage son.  And on top of that it sounded like he brought home a white Nazi wife he’d already knocked up with a half-breed pickaninny.  He and the boys would just have to do something about this.

ON THE RIDE HOME NOT one word was spoken.  Davey thought about his little brother Clint.  Of course, he didn't have the flu.  He just hadn't learned to duck as fast as Davey did yet, that was all.  That, and not to drop an egg on the floor when Pa was home.  Being fourteen also meant he already knew that after what happened at Sears, he was going to take the worst whippin of his life.  How dare that nigger talk to his pa like that. Why, like he thought he was something special.  And now he would get his assed kicked just because of a dumb nigger. 

It didn't take long because his pa was just looking for an excuse to let loose.  After two-thirds