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  SOVRANO

  N O T I C E

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright @ Michael Powers 2016

  Sovrano: Italian word meaning totally self-sufficient; an independent entity.

  SOVRANO

  CHAPTER 1

  An autumn chill sliced through the light usher’s blazer, so the teen quickened his pace. Nearly midnight, the neighborhood slept peacefully. Crossing the street, he spotted the single living room light his mother left on for him when he worked late at the theater. Then he noticed his father’s car parked at an odd angle in the driveway. Sometimes the old man slept in his car when he was too drunk to unlock the front door. A brisk wind rearranged leaves on the front lawn as the teen peered inside the car, hoping to find his father sound asleep. The car was empty, but the boy discovered something else. He bent low, rubbing the newly twisted front fender. His stomach churned, knowing there would be trouble inside his home. For a moment, he considered leaving. But where could he go? Mid-week after midnight in a small town everything was closed and all his friends were already in bed.

  As he entered the house, a single sweeping glance told him things were worse than usual. His siblings formed the familiar circle on the living room carpet, protecting their mother, while their father mixed himself another cocktail in the kitchen. Broken lamps and smashed figurines littered the battlefield. New casualties in an old war. His older brother’s right eye was swollen. Blood oozed from his sister’s mouth. It was his mother’s condition which alarmed him most. Nearly naked, she lay sobbing on the floor, clutching what was left of her slip. When she spotted her sixteen-year-old son, she held out her arms. “Help me!” she croaked. “He’ll kill me this time for sure!”

  The boy took his mother’s hands in his own. Forcing back his tears, he promised her everything would be all right. Sadness was overpowered by anger, then both emotions were swept away. In a moment of clarity, he knew exactly what to do. Pulse racing, he slipped into the hallway connecting the bedrooms with the living room and kitchen. He grabbed a double-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun and two shells from the hallway closet, then loaded both chambers. Switching the safety off, he repeatedly yelled, “Dad, come here!” until he heard the shuffling of his father’s heavy work boots on the kitchen linoleum.

  When his father rounded the kitchen corner and entered the hallway, he found himself staring down the business end of a shotgun. “What the hell ya doing?” he growled at his son.

  The boy’s heart pounded faster than it had after any track meet. Every sound was amplified. Each smell more distinct. A thin layer of sweat formed under his clothing. Gripping the shotgun tightly to mask his trembling, he hissed, “I’m gonna blow your brains out unless you leave right now and never come back!”

  Father and son glared at each other. “Probably not even loaded,” the father sneered.

  The boy pointed the shotgun at the ceiling, braced for the kick, fired, and then aimed at his father’s head with lightning speed. “Sorry you made me take that gun training class, Dad?” he taunted his father. “You know I can handle a shotgun. Second barrel’s for you!”

  The older man brushed ceiling plaster from his face and T-shirt. Sobering quickly, his initial surprise became anger, then contempt. “Ya haven’t got the guts, boy. Gimme that gun!”

  As his father moved toward him, the boy pulled back the hammer of the second barrel and fingered the trigger. “I’m mad and scared and shaking, so this thing might go off whether I want it to or not. You ready to die, old man?”

  CHAPTER 2

  Minot, North Dakota

  Eric presented himself to the wing commander twenty-four hours after his arrival at Minot Air Force Base. Custom required officers to report to their new commander, but it seldom meant more than checking in with a secretary and signing a logbook. When the Colonel’s secretary politely instructed him to have a seat while she buzzed the Colonel, Eric’s pulse quickened.

  Moments after Eric sat, a man with silver glasses and matching hair emerged from the Colonel’s office. He ambled over to Eric, smiled at the young lieutenant, and extended his hand. “Welcome to Minot, Eric,” Colonel Jeffries drawled paternally. “Why don’t we head into my office where we can chat a bit?”

  Eric rose quickly and pumped Colonel Jeffries’ right arm far too earnestly, grateful he was not the spit-and-polish type.

  Colonel Jeffries closed the door behind Eric so they could talk privately. “Sit anywhere, son. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?”

  Eric sat stiffly in a gunmetal chair facing his commander. “Yes, sir. Black, thank you.”

  The Colonel chuckled. “I like my coffee plenty strong,” he warned Eric. “I won’t be offended if you need to doctor it up with some cream and sugar once you've tasted it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Eric grinned. The Colonel’s playful nature was a welcome relief. Eric had expected the commander of one-sixth of America’s nuclear arsenal to be tough, stern, and nasty to newborn lieutenants.

  While Eric was sizing up Colonel Jeffries, he was being carefully scrutinized as well. The Jeffries’ good-ole-boy facade belied a keenly analytical mind. When Aaron Jeffries first spotted Eric in his outer office, he saw a neatly packaged man, purposely designed not to attract undue attention. Eric’s compact body was of average size. The trim haircut was well within the military’s strict parameters. No mustache. No glasses. No scars, moles, or skin discoloration. His ears didn't stick out. In fact, there was nothing wrong with the young man who sat patiently waiting for his coffee. Colonel Jeffries realized far more quickly than most people what made him feel slightly uncomfortable. Lt. Eric Price was alarmingly flawless from his shoeshine to his haircut.

  “Try that,” Colonel Jeffries suggested as he handed Eric a steaming white mug emblazoned with the missile wing’s emblem.

  “Just the way I like it,” Eric lied, barely managing to hold down the first swallow.

  “Good,” the Colonel smiled with satisfaction. Nobody liked Aaron Jeffries’ coffee, yet it was exactly what Aaron expected from Eric. Anyone who presented such an innocuous front to the world was not going to complain about some old duffer’s coffee.

  “How was Officer's Training, Eric?”

  “Difficult, sir, but I survived,” Eric grinned.

  “Have a good time during your two weeks leave after OTS?” Colonel Jeffries chuckled. “Chase some women and have a few drinks?”

  “I had a very enjoyable time, sir. Now I’m ready to work.”

  “Good. Good. That’s just fine, Eric. I asked my secretary to let me know when you arrived. We get several hundred new officers in here each year and I usually don’t greet each of them personally. Got any idea why I asked to see you?”

  The question sent both Eric’s mind and pulse racing. He wondered if something had turned up during the background investigation the Air Force conducted on everyone requiring a Top Secret security clearance. “No idea, sir.”

  Eric’s temporary loss of color did not go unnoticed, but Aaron dismissed it as natural anxiety. “I asked the base personnel office to send me your file.” As if to prove his point, Colonel Jeffries tapped a stack of papers on his desk. He thumbed through the pages which had accumulated during Eric’s four-year military career.

  Peering over his glasses at Eric, Colonel Jeffries remarked dryly, “You’ve been busy, Eric. Decorated several
times for bravery and outstanding service. Graduated at the top of your college class. Number one at OTS. Those mediocre pre-enlistment aptitude scores certainly wouldn’t lead one to believe you’d do so well academically, would they?”

  “Late bloomer, sir,” Eric blushed. His slight smile smacked both of smugness and embarrassment. Colonel Jeffries chose to believe it was the latter.

  “You haven’t been nearly so fortunate in the health department, Eric. Medical report from your OTS physical shows some changes since your induction physical. Severe allergies, weight gain, higher blood pressure. Must be the result of so much heroics and academic pressure,” the Colonel prodded, hoping for more than a simple acknowledgment from Eric.

  Eric’s smile reappeared. “I’ll be a wreck by the time I’m thirty at this rate, won’t I, Colonel?”

  “Well, you’re still young,” Colonel Jeffries chuckled. “Hit the gym between alerts. Maybe lay off the sweets for a while and you’ll be fine.”

  “Good advice, sir,” Eric nodded. “I’ll remember that.”

  “Eric, I received a letter from our mutual friend, General Hansen. He told me you were his enlisted aide and a damn fine one, too. He gave me a little background material, then asked a favor. He didn’t ask me to give you any special treatment because he explained you were bright enough to figure out the system. Fact is, he guaranteed me you’d be the best missile officer in my command. He said you’d stand head and shoulders above your peers in any competition.”

  Eric’s eyes glazed over, wishing he could thank General Hansen. He could almost hear the gruff old man say, “Just don’t let me down. That’s thanks enough. Nothing I hate worse than being proven a fool or a liar.”

  “What was the favor, sir?” Eric asked.

  Colonel Jeffries’ face clouded. “That’s what puzzles me, Eric. He asked me to protect your privacy, particularly your personal life prior to your enlistment. I find it quite interesting when a four-star general personally signs a second lieutenant’s top-secret security clearance, then mails it directly to that officer’s wing commander. How does that strike you, Eric?”

  Eric’s composure had returned by the time Colonel Jeffries posed his question. “It seems odd, sir. General Hansen never mentioned any of this to me.”

  “No? That doesn’t surprise me. He assured me you were just a kid with a past best forgotten. He asked me to make myself available if you need help. I want you to know you can come to me if you have any problem. I’ll do what I can to help, just as I would for any of the people in my command. I promised the General there’d be no snooping into your past, though I asked for some clarification in a letter. As you probably know, Paul Hansen died of a heart attack a month ago, before he had a chance to reply to my letter.”

  Eric met his commander’s gaze, but remained silent.

  “So, that’s the long and the short of it, Eric. I made a promise to my old commander and I’ll honor it. He was a fine officer and a true gentleman. I can’t think of anyone I’ve ever respected more. As far as I’m concerned, the file on your past is closed. Feel free to talk to me whenever you need to. Is there anything you want to ask or tell me now?”

  “No, sir, but I do appreciate everything you’ve said,” Eric replied.

  Aaron sensed Lt. Price was not the type to ask for help. Then again, he didn’t strike Aaron as a man who needed much help. Even though curious why General Hansen believed Eric needed a senior officer’s protection, Aaron resolved not to make the slightest effort to find out Eric's secrets.

  “Will that be all, sir?” Eric asked politely.

  “Yes, that’s all for now,” Aaron smiled.

  Eric rose, stood erect before his commander, and saluted stiffly. Colonel Jeffries returned Eric’s salute casually, and Eric marched briskly out of the office.

  After notifying his new squadron of his arrival, Eric spent the rest of the day driving around Minot to get a feel for the city. He toured the business district, college campus, and Dakota Square Mall. By mid-afternoon, Eric knew where he wanted to live and signed a lease for a furnished apartment.

  Eric chose to live in the city of Minot rather than accept the free on-base housing the Air Force provided. He avoided the large apartment complexes favored by GIs and students. Instead, his apartment building appeared modest from the street, but was quite luxurious inside. Tastefully decorated with neutral colors to accent the blond wood trim, Eric’s unit had leather furniture, glass and chrome fixtures, a stone fireplace in the living room, and a balcony off the master bedroom. The rent was high, but affordable, and fit Eric’s needs perfectly.

  Eric traded in his three-year-old sedan for a new Porsche 911. He was easy to spot in his silver jewel, complete with dark aviator glasses, and golden hair blowing in the breeze. For the first time in years, Eric began to feel good about himself. He even began to think of himself as attractive.

  Eric left for missile training in California in July, returning in August. He settled into a comfortable routine consisting of five 3-day alerts in the missile field each month, a few training sessions on base, and eight days of classes each month at the local university. Eric never dated and seldom socialized.

  As Eric rushed out of the Business College one afternoon, he passed a couple of other missile officers. They signaled their recognition as Eric approached, expecting him to stop and join their conversation. Eric merely smiled and nodded as he passed, jumped into his Porsche, revved the engine several times and squealed out of the parking lot.

  Perry and Frank watched Eric’s car disappear around a corner.

  “Whatdya make of that guy?” Perry asked.

  “Damned if I know,” Frank drawled. “He’s a strange dude.”

  “The missile instructors say he’s brilliant,” Perry continued. “He’s already earned three Highly Qualified pins which is damn near impossible! Gets straight A’s here, too. Seems strange he’s so anti-social.”

  Frank nodded. “Yeah, it doesn’t make sense. The guys who’ve pulled alerts with him say he’s pleasant enough out in the field, but never wants to grab a drink back on base. He lives alone in town. Apparently he doesn’t want to socialize with us military types.”

  In a hushed tone, Perry confided one of the many rumors floating around about Eric. “Some of the senior officers say he’s got an uncle wearing four stars at the Pentagon. He’s either too good for the rest of us or figures it’s not worth the effort to make friends with people he’ll never deal with once he leaves Minot.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard those rumors, too,” Frank replied skeptically, “but until I hear a name it’s just gossip. He’s hiding something. I think he’s scared, too.”

  “Eric scared?” Perry scoffed. “He’s one of the most self-assured guys I’ve ever seen! Did you see the way he tongue-tied fat old Dr. Johannsen in our Corporate Finance class last week? He had that pompous ass running around in circles, puffing so hard I thought he was gonna keel over. Eric peppered him with questions he already knew the answers to. He’s got brains, good looks, more money than any lieutenant I know, and does his job flawlessly. What’s he got to worry about?”

  Frank stared off into the distance even though Eric’s car was long gone. “Maybe his daddy’s Mafioso. Who knows? He’s hiding something, but we’ll probably never know what the hell it is.”

  A rich diet and too little exercise led Eric to put on twenty pounds his first six months in Minot. When the crotch in his favorite pair of jeans ripped, he decided it was time for a change. He dieted rigorously, jogged daily, lifted weights, and began riding a bike. His program was structured to fit his lifestyle: flexible and solitary. He began to work out at the base gym. Fearing he might get an erection around so many naked men, Eric found that masturbating before an exhausting workout virtually guaranteed he could not get physically aroused in the locker room.

  After returning from the missile field one morning, Eric drove to the base gym for a workout. It was twenty below zero and a stiff wind was furiously churn
ing the powdery snow. The weather pleased Eric since it meant few people would be using the gym.

  He changed into his workout clothes, ran five miles around the indoor track, lifting weights between laps. Two civilian staffers were the only other people Eric noticed during his workout. Exhausted, Eric stripped off his clothes during the return trip to his locker. He used a tanning bed several times a week and stopped to inspect his body in a full-length mirror. He was 25 years old, five-feet-ten, and weighed a respectable 150 pounds. He had powerful, muscular legs covered with blond hair, a 29-inch waist, and a well-developed upper torso. The powerful legs and wavy golden hair were his proudest assets.

  Rubbing his face, Eric considered growing facial hair for the thousandth time. Well-meaning friends had urged Eric to grow a beard or mustache for years. They insisted Eric’s clean-shaven face made him look like a teen. He had stopped shaving for a week in college and grew a respectable beard. Although eliminating shaving from his daily grooming saved time, he didn’t like the way his beard felt. He doubted facial hair would make him look significantly older. He wasn’t running for office, applying for jobs, or seeking a lover, so what difference did it make how old he looked?

  Concerned someone might catch him admiring his reflection, Eric gave himself a final check and headed for the showers, pleased with his appearance. He rinsed himself lightly and stepped into the steam room, gasping momentarily as his body adjusted to the heavy air. Eric was certain neither of the staff would enter the steam room since they were fully clothed. He leaned against the tiled wall, then closed his eyes and began stroking his penis slowly. Blood rushed in, and it began to harden as Eric filled his mind with images of naked men.

  When another pair of hands began stroking him, Eric flinched, shocked to find someone else in the steam room. Moist flesh surrounded Eric’s penis and began massaging it. The sensation was more incredible than anything Eric had ever imagined. Moments later Eric had the greatest orgasm of his life. His physical euphoria was followed by a deep sense of shame and guilt, so he pulled away. Immensely curious, Eric leaned down until he recognized the face of his first sex partner through the thick steam.