Unintentional Consequences: A Novel

Contents

Author’s Comments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Analyzing the Book

About the Author

Author’s Comments

All novels have themes, even if the author does not intend to have a theme. That’s just how it is with writing. The theme is what connects the characters, the plot and subplots, the locations, the mood and so on to each other. It is the glue that keeps everything together. Without a recognized, focused, clear, and well thought-out theme, the author finds his writing to be more difficult and laborious than it otherwise could be. Further, the writing project slowly sneaks into something much larger than originally planned … one of the writer’s worse enemies … scope-creep. And the author is not the only one who suffers … the reader finds the story confusing and uninteresting.

All authors, somehow and someway, write about themselves, intentionally or unintentionally. Issues that were part of the author’s past, are now part of what the author is experiencing, or what the author believes might be part of his future somehow find its way in the character (s) he creates. This novel has an intentional theme and there are features of me that are found in a few of the characters.

The theme of this novel is identified by the title, Unintentional Consequences. At the very basic level, an unintentional consequence is when the result of one’s actions does not have the effect that is intended. The unanticipated result is either positive or negative. Unintentional consequences occur all the time.

A positive effect might be thought of as a windfall such as the positive side effect of a drug. For instance, while aspirin is primarily a pain reliever, it is also helpful in preventing heart attacks.

A negative effect might be the opposite of what is expected or it might make the situation worse. A relevant example might be when an attempt to censor a piece of information such as a photo actually creates such a buzz that the information is more widely sought after and then distributed to a much wider audience than anticipated.

While an important part of all of this is to be able to take the edge off the negative effects, sometimes you do everything you can at the moment but there still is an unintentional negative outcome. It is not your fault, it just happens because you cannot possibly know everything that influences your decisions and your behavior, and therefore, the outcomes of those decisions and behaviors.

Consequences, whether intentional or unintentional, positive or negative, always have a cause. There is at least one reason behind every effect. We may not know the reason, not understand the reason, not care about the reason, or not be concerned there is a reason … but there is at least one cause (reason) for each effect. Nothing in this world just happens.

While there are many causes of unintentional consequences that many of us experience in real life, this novel features several.

After you read Unintentional Consequences, you might consider analyzing the story by answering a few questions at the end, Analyzing the Story. I include 20 questions in no particular order to facilitate the analysis.

Thank you, and enjoy.

Antonio F. Vianna

Chapter 1

RAND BAUGE SLICES THROUGH the mid-day traffic like a razor cutting a thin piece of paper. He does not follow anyone, just tries to avoid colliding with other vehicles. Desperation is full blown on his face. He is intent not to let anything get in the way, to reach his destination. While not especially warm this time of day his body is hot, sweat drips down his face, drops cling against his roughed skin like icicles that form from water freezing. There is no time to flip on the air conditioning to let the cool recycled air lower his body temperature, no thought to close the car windows to keep the outside muggy air away, no time for much of anything other than to get home as fast as he can. It seems like forever to get across town, to return to his home, to find out what is going on. She sounded so desperate, so much in need of him by her side. He wipes his face as dry as possible with the cuff of his sleeve, and then returns both hands to secure the steering wheel. He swerves in the nick of time to avoid scraping the side of a slower moving vehicle. Get the hell out of my way! Can’t you see I’m in a hurry? His eyes are almost ready to pop out of their sockets.

There was something in Molly’s voice that troubled him, more than a touch of worry, but rather real fear that something dreadful would happen if he didn’t hurry.

Move out of my way! The scream mostly serves to lessen his tension than having any effect on the driver of the other vehicle.

It is hard to break old habits, giving orders to others who dutiful obey and pushing around people who are intimidated.

That was then. When he spoke, people listened. He was top-notch, both feared and respected. He loved it, in fact addicted to everything about it. It did not take him long to accept that role as long as he remembered he was in service to protect the lives and liberties of United States citizens from harmful threats outside the borders. He could write books about those experiences, but would probably have to change names of people and places for security and liability reasons. Maybe one day he will put pen to paper, maybe not. Those times gave him an emotional rush he had never experienced before. He would give almost anything to feel it again. His wife knew a little of what he did, but to keep her safe, he told her very little. That relationship seemed to be acceptable to both of them. However, there were times when he desperately wanted to tell her everything, to let her know what he was going through, to get a little sympathy and understanding. Yet, he kept to his promise to both her and himself … silence … no need to worry her about something she could not change.

Things are different now. Today his business card identifies him as a Crisis Management Consultant, a far cry from the international engagements he enjoyed being a part of for such a long time. He is a retired civil servant, more than twenty years serving his Government in various top secret capacities around the world, usually in dangerous and life-threatening situations.

It was not his idea to step aside. He figured he had at least another five years before he would call it quits but someone else made that decision for him. He assumed he had obviously done something to seriously upset someone in high places, but who that person might be is still a big mystery. He has a likely list of suspects who probably wanted him to get out of their hair. Maybe even one or two would have even wanted him dead. He embarrassed more than one high ranking State official within several countries. Sometimes only one is too many.

Rand steps on the brake in the nick of time to avoid running a red light. Damn it! He pounds the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. Let’s get going! Inner tension builds. He glances at the passenger seat where his cell phone rests, the device that started it all, got him all worked up. For a split second he looks up at a sign pasted on a store front window … Buy One and Get Another For Five Cents. He frowns not sure what is for sale, but a good gimmick none-the-less. His stare continues without much further thought. He is tempted to grab for the cell phone to give Molly a call, to ask a few more questions about what is going on, but he resists.

She made it quite clear that he needed to get home pronto … there was an emergency and he was the only one who could solve it. That was all it took for him to change his plans for the day.

He hears a sound. Honk! Honk!

Rand jumps, shaken out of a temporary trance, looks in the rearview mirror, then at the red light now turned green. I’m ready to play! He presses on the accelerator. Now bound and determined to make up for lost time, he speeds through the next intersection just missing a messenger service guy on a bike. Out of my way! He speeds though a few more traffic crossroads after that. I’m in a hurry!

Up ahead he spots road construction, vehicles now in one lane, moving slower than snails. There’s a city worker who wears an orange vest; his safety helmet tilts to one side; he holds a sign … Slow. The guy looks bored. Rand shakes his head in disgust, projects his frustration on the man who is simply doing his job. He quickly thinks of an alternative route to by-pass the predicament but concludes rather soon there is no other way around it. So, he settles into the straight and narrow line of vehicles. His emotions, however, are far from relaxed. His stomach growls a little so he reaches into his shirt pocket for a few pink tablets to pop into his mouth. His teeth grind them to small pebbles that he easily swallows.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots someone walking on the sidewalk. Is it someone he recognizes? He isn’t sure. Now squinting, he stares at her, and then blinks. Something about her appearance makes him think he knows her. The frown on his face emphasizes the puzzlement. His eyes carefully follow her movements. The woman stops at the corner of the street, looks both ways, steps off the curb, and walks to the other side of the street. He is now convinced he knows her but for the life of him he cannot figure it out. Then, a blue-flash blazes directly at him. He blinks twice. He tells himself he must be hallucinating because she passed away a few years back. It can’t be her! The growling sounds from his stomach returns as he tastes acid slowly move up his esophagus. So much for the pink tablets … they’ve stopped working. A little moisture appears at the corners of his eyes. He wants to shout out to her, but cannot. His voice fails to cooperate. Then, the woman blends into a crowd of people, vanished from view. He remains motionless behind the steering wheel until a driver behind him honks his horn to persuade him to move on. Initially he resists, he wants to follow the mysterious woman. Then, without further delay, he presses the accelerator pedal. He’s got to get home as fast as possible.

The vehicle creeps slowly forward, a sort of start and stop process that infuriates Rand. The flow of the line of traffic pauses again. Seconds pass, his head now tilts towards the car’s dashboard looking at nothing in particular. Then, for some reason, he turns his head to the left, looking through the opened driver’s side window. He sees an intense pair of eyes staring at him, jaw set in place in a frozen-like condition that neither smiles nor frowns. Both men continue looking intently at one another, silence, no words or further actions necessary, like a game to see who blinks first. Something the man outside the car holds persuades Rand to change direction of his eyes. He spots a cardboard sign. Money for Food is awkwardly inscribed in black lettering. For a split second Rand thinks how unpredictable life is … it is not so farfetched to consider that he and the man outside the car could have wound up in opposite positions. A little adjustment here and there could have made all the difference in the world. He dips his hand into his front pocket to pull out a few dollars, hands over three one-dollar bills.

God bless you, the man holding the cardboard sign says, and then walks away to the next car in line without changing his facial expression.

Fifteen very slow and agonizing minutes pass before Rand is out of traffic, moving faster but not fast enough. He has to get home. His heart races faster than the speed of his car.

He never considered himself a hired gun to service the needs of his employer when he worked for the U. S. Government, although there were enough times when his actions spoke louder than his words. Often he had been assigned work where he dealt with uncompromising fanatical people who wanted things done, but had no interest in the means that were used. While the intense training he received helped, most of the time he improvised. Rarely were there any questions asked. No reason. He was that good. His Government did not question the tools he used, just the results he obtained. He and his boss saw eye to eye on that relationship. It worked well for a good long time.

The road is now only a one-way lane each way. Up ahead is a slow moving car, dark blue, domestic looking. Rand decides to sweep by. He presses hard on the pedal, passing the vehicle in a matter of seconds. He seems a little more settled down, no longer feeling as if he is swimming upstream. Even the smell of the outside air and surrounding sounds appeal to his senses. His cautions lower a notch, unaware another vehicle has been following him once he got the call from his wife. He should have been more alert. Things would have turned out differently.

He checks his watch, hoping it to tell him only a few minutes have passed since he heard Molly’s voice begging him to hurry home. He is disappointed.

She said something was up, not much more. Yet, it was obvious to him that she was in some sort of trouble. It was all in the sound of her voice. He did not take the time to ask. Maybe he should have. He gives a quick look at the cell phone resting on the passenger seat.

Too late now. He does not intend to let anything happen to her, his second wife. He doesn’t think he could go through another broken heart.

There still is grieving deep inside him over the loss of Amanda, his first love, the woman who he was married to for nearly eleven years, who mothered their only child, Lil. Call it a guilty conscience, shame, or something else; he blames himself for being away from both of them during Amanda’s final several months of ill health. He now acknowledges his values were all screwed up … work came first followed by family. Not anymore, no way, not anymore. He is determined to make this relationship work out. As he sees it, there is more at stake.

He shifts his body slightly so that his left hand touches something around his left calf … a .38 Smith & Wesson 2 inch barrel revolver that is hidden yet provides adequate protection should he need it. While prior training conditioned him to be prepared for any occasion, he relies on his instincts to give him greater guidance. They’ve worked in the past and will work now. He’s convinced of that.

He slowly blows out some air and lets out a slight sigh of relief. Next, he angles his head in a few different directions to relieve some built up tension. Bones crack in his neck as he feels pressure drain away. It has always been that way for him, even as a kid. He remembers his parents yelling at him, warning he would snap his head off his neck if he continued. He knew better, so did they, so the threat didn’t work. Now it might be more of a ritual than a real solution. He is not sure and really does not care. It seems to work.

Rand notices he is closer to his home, surroundings are more familiar. He nervously twists in the car seat.

Minutes later he parks a few houses away from his home, figures the decision not to get too close makes sense. Quickly he makes his way on foot to his house, legs and arms pumping in rhythm, previous physical conditioning kicking in without much conscious thought. All the while, two men in the black car who were following him pull up behind an older model white van containing one man who has been watching the house for a while. Both vehicles go unnoticed. One of the men from the black car pulls out high powered binoculars to track Rand’s moves.

◊◊◊◊◊◊

Rand faces the front door, takes in a deep breath, turns the door handle, and walks in. He weakly tells himself there is always a chance the situation is less severe than expected. However, not this time. His mouth wants to greet her with a smile, but not now.

Molly is strapped to a chair, ankles tied to each of the two front legs and arms securely fastened to each armrest. She is gagged. Her eyes are frightened. Is she trying to signal him? He rushes to her side but does not reach her. An unexpected blow to his head hurls him to the hardwood floor. Then slowly, he tries to lift his body but another blow comes quickly, this time to his back that shoves him flat on his face. Another whack comes quickly, this time a kick to the right part of his body that feels like a javelin tossed into his side. For a short few seconds his mind goes blank. Then he hears an unfamiliar voice in a strange language that he does not understand. Someone rolls him over on his back.

Rand looks up. He rises to one knee. He sees two people with black hoods covering their faces, only two small slits to see and another slit to speak. He scans their bodies hoping to identify something of importance that could be used to identify them later on. He cannot make out anything unusual. Then he tries again to come up with something, anything that is unique looking to the two strangers. Again he comes up empty handed. Before he can do much of anything else, such as grabbing for the Smith & Wesson around his calf, it is too late.

A third person who had obviously stayed hidden smacks him on the head.

Rand’s eyes squeeze shut as he spins around. He hears his own body hit the floor, knee first; his chest and shoulders follow. His breath is knocked out of him for a short time as he tries to roll to one side, tries to get a second breath feeling like he is submerged underwater. Noticeable sounds go blank for a split second, an eerie sensation. For a short time he is not sure where he is. Somehow he manages to force himself to lift his body again, ever so slightly that he is on one knee, albeit wobbly. His unstable condition is a perfect time for another whack on the head.

Rand hits the floor for a third time. His body remains flat and motionless for a few seconds yet he hears an undistinguishable noise from someplace close by. With as much will and might left in his mind and body he lifts his body onto the same knee once again, this time concentrating on making a quicker move to get the upper hand. For a split second he sees a silhouette of a man standing over him. He desperately reaches to grab the man’s leg to pull him closer. However, his balance is not sure, his arm does not find its mark; he falls again to the floor. He rolls on his back close to being unconscious.

He feels his hands pulled together behind his back, forcing some sort of handcuffs around both wrists. As hard as he tries to resist the confinement he fails to overcome the constraints. He wiggles like mad to free himself. Then he feels a kick to his side that ends all resistance for the time being.

Everything goes dark as a bag is placed over his head. Someone pulls him up. Now standing he figures this is his last chance to free himself. He quickly raises a leg to kick the place where he thinks someone stands. The direction of the kick misses its mark, sends him spinning away; he returns backward to the floor for a fourth time.

Without much oomph left in his energy tank he stumbles to get up another time. However, before he completes the move he is interrupted with a final strike on his head. He flops to the floor so hard that he turns unconscious.

Molly, still tightly secured to the chair, witnesses everything. She does not have the means to interfere with her husband’s abduction. She sees two masked people put Rand into a large bag while the third makes a cell call. Within a few minutes she hears the sound of a vehicle pull into the driveway, an older model white van. Rand’s limp body is hoisted into the van. She hears the sound of the vehicle’s engine fade away. Now alone, her breathing