Julian

Copyright © 2007 by Rosylan McCallum.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

EPILOGUE

About the Author

To my children, Stacey, Tyrone and Russell for their continued faith in me.

CHAPTER 1

Known only to those who exist within the true ranks of power, is a private institution named the Wothington Foundation. Its sole purpose is to insure financial support to selected scientific projects. First considered are the projects that would benefit the United States and then in second place are the projects that benefit the rest of the world. The foundation’s headquarters is generally believed to be located in the Washington DC area. However, no address or telephone number has ever been obtained by normal methods. Correspondence is only through congressional or diplomatic means.

Each year the foundation’s board receives a finite number of projects for review. Their mandate is to identify the ones that will have the most impact on improving man’s existence. They limit their selection to three projects per year. Among the few who are aware of the importance of being even considered for a grant, competition is formidable. Foreign nations covet the receipt of the grant. They believe that it boosts their importance within the U.S. government and the rest of the world. The foundation’s security rests in the knowledge that very few are aware of its existence or the existence of any of its funded projects.

The names of the members of the board of directors and the CEO of the foundation change every five years. The pool from which lifetime members are selected remains small and elite. The process to fill vacancies is simple. A letter is received indicating a date and an address. If the recipient is available, he or she will appear at the address on the date indicated to be sworn to secrecy. It is a very prestigious assignment and no one had ever failed to appear. Once taking the oath, members can be called on to serve multiple terms, as needed. For years this attention to complete secrecy had successfully eliminated unwanted influence.

APRIL 1975

In a small town in the northern section of Virginia, just south of the Maryland border, fear for the future was on the minds of the remaining area residents. Their town was going through a depression, at a time when prosperity was at normal levels in the rest of the nation. It seemed over night their economy fell to an all time low and remained there. More and more small businesses were unable to meet their operating expenses. Unable to obtain help from the town banks they were forced to close. With the lost of local jobs, unemployment rose. The town’s three banks were aware of the crisis, yet had raised refinancing interest rates on home loans to ridiculously high levels. Homeowners unable to get loans couldn’t meet their mortgages. The resale market was non-existent. The banks were forced to process home foreclosures. The young people single or with small families, faced with no choice, were leaving to find better opportunities. It was all very puzzling because none could say what had caused the collapse. Those who remained had exhausted all viable options to turn things around. They now feared the inevitable. The town was dying.

Miraculously out of nowhere came the answer to the town fathers’ prayers. A group of business attorneys arrived and sought out the office of the Mayor. They asked about a specific track of land that they were interested in purchasing. Once they were told that it was available, the only other information they required was the purchasing cost and the cost of the permits needed for a project entailing the construction of a research center and housing complex.

Order! Order! shouted the mayor. Jack, please sit down, said Mayor Potts. Jack Hennings flushed red and looked around and nodded towards the mayor and sat down. Voices ceased and all eyes turned towards the mayor.

Potts continued, All right now, this emergency meeting was convened to discuss and vote on an issue, which will have a direct impact on our town. You all know about the arrival today of several strangers. They came to my office this afternoon to present an interesting proposal. As your mayor, I am now bringing it before the town council for discussion and a vote. The gentleman to my left is a representative of that group, Dr Miles Lombard. He is here to address all of our questions and concerns.

Eyes turned toward the distinguished looking Dr. Lombard as he emptied his briefcase and sorted his papers. Lombard at age 43 was average height with a rapidly receding hairline. Among his many accomplishments was a respected career among the scientific community in the field of genetic research and microbiology. In addition he had a legal background in business law, which he used to establish powerful contacts in D.C., his home base of choice. He was among the select few, who were in the know about the Wothington Foundation. He, as few could, was able to use his contacts to get the Wothington Foundation to provide the funding for what he wanted to build, a research center. His one compromise in the deal was the name, the Wothington Research Center. His objection to the name was removed as an obstacle once he was assured that should he agree to the name, the monetary funding he desired, would be guaranteed.

Seated at the table, he was very pleased with himself. He looked around at those attending this meeting. He took another moment to look down at his papers to hide a small smile because everything had run smoothly and in accordance with his plans. He was well aware of the downward economic spiral that the town was currently going through. It was the first step in a well-orchestrated strategy. It had taken time and expert maneuvering with the local banks and his DC contacts to create the town’s situation. It was all very simple. He needed the land. He had decided after seeing it that it would perfectly meet his needs. Now it was time for the next step. He needed the loyalty of the town’s residents. He looked up and smiled only when the mayor was finally getting to the crux of the matter.

 . . . We have before us an offer of a very generous sum to purchase a track of land, which I might add is, east of our town and vacant. The group’s proposal is to build a private research center. It will be comprised of three five-story buildings enclosed by an electrified eleven-foot wire fence. They will also build a housing complex for the center’s employees. Security will be needed and they intend to hire locally to fill their needs. We need to vote if this proposal is in the best interest of our township. Personally, I can’t say strongly enough that development of this land will bring in a much-needed boost to our economy. The mayor turned to the man seated on his right, Dr. Lombard, did I correctly state the proposal?

Dr. Lombard stood up and looked around smiling. Yes, you have done well in presenting the basics of the proposal. I would only add that we would offer assistance in the future possibility of the building of a shopping center. It may be needed since the number of residents in the surrounding area will significantly increase. If there arises a need to build additional schools to accommodate the new families, we will out of mutual necessity remain monetarily supportive towards those goals.

A communal gasp was heard and there were many smiles and nods of approval. Each member at this meeting breathed a sigh of relief. As a group they were hardly able to contain themselves and envisioned a revival of their town. The council had no questions and thanked Dr. Lombard for his additional comments. He was asked to leave so that they could put the proposal to a vote. Yes, they all thought, research for what? But, the answer to that question could be too costly. They did not want to bring up any negative issues that would discourage him and his group and caused the project to be moved to another site.

As Lombard gathered his papers, put them into his briefcase and proceeded to the door, he heard snatches of comments. They leaned favorably towards total acceptance of the proposal. The town council voted unanimously to accept the proposal. The next day and for a number of days following the meeting, small groups could be seen about town. The topic of discussion was the unbelievable good fortune that had arrived out of nowhere and saved the day.

Construction began within a week following the receipt of payment for the land. As opportunities for jobs opened up, people stopped their exodus and a large number of those who had recently left, gladly returned. Renovation could be seen around the town on houses that had previously sat vacant. Two years later as the construction neared its completion the town began to fill with the arrival of staff for the center. These influxes created new business and resurrected and infused old ones. With the increase in population, a shopping mall was added as part of the construction boon and in what seemed like overnight, the township of Clearview, Virginia grew into quite a thriving community.

Those who had always lived in the area marveled at the amount of increased revenues that were created by the center. Center staff that was relocating with their families, purchased houses in the surrounding area. The prices being asked were met with little or no negotiation. As the remaining balance of staff arrived, they moved into the nearby housing complex. The tax revenue alone left the mayor and the town council grinning all the way to the bank. They regarded the center as their very own fairy godfather. The town council members quickly learned to discourage any interest concerning the activities or purpose of the center. The people of Clearview accepted this same attitude, as the way of things. From the very beginning it was made clear that they were to guard against any who made any negative comments concerning the existence of the center and what was being done there.

The town’s firm belief was that the center and its staff had saved them as a community. The town’s appreciation came in the attitude that whatever the center’s business was, as long as no harm spilled over into the town, the center would be protected at all cost from any harmful actions or talk. When they observed military helicopters landing or taking off, they turned a blind eye to the events. As large trucks or vans displaying no identifiable logos, drove day or night through their town, to and from the center, no comments were made or questions asked.

As the years passed a whisper of the existence of the Wothington Research Center circulated into the general public. The general thought was that it was engaged in important research projects dealing with AIDS, cancer and gene spicing, but this could not be corroborated. Dr. Miles Lombard, as the senior researcher and Director, had been able to put together a select group of scientists to operate as his staff. He periodically screened new applicants to work as assistants in the center to replace those who chose to move on in their careers. This was a rare occurrence, at best. Only those who graduated in the top five percent, from the most prestigious universities, were interviewed. It was not unheard of for him to accept applicants from foreign countries. Whenever necessary, he incorporated into the center’s busy schedule, secret Military projects. This was because of an agreement made with his Washington contacts. It was the price for D.C.’s help in getting the Wothington Foundation to issue Lombard the money necessary to realize his pet project.

Lombard lost no sleep over this. He saw no conflicting interest in this secret arrangement with the government. His goal was obtaining the means to be able to follow his own agenda. That he was instrumental in using his fellow researchers on various military projects without their consent, or awareness had no impact on him. It was all in a days work. He was in a position of absolute authority and as such squashed, quietly and efficiently, any concerns voiced over questionable projects. He had a reputation for being very good at persuading staff to get projects completed in the allotted time. No one crossed him. As prestige grew concerning the center and the success of its many projects, less and less grumbling was heard regarding the growing cost of its day to day operations.

MAY 9, 1985

Alarms sounded and a dark colored sedan raced away from the entrance of the main building towards the security gate. At the gate an armed guard picked up the telephone with a direct line to the center. Twice before, on his shift, the alarms had gone off due to shorts in the circuits. He was in the process of inquiring about the alarms when he heard and saw the car break through the barrier. He turned with gaping mouth, as he watched the car. It sped wildly down the access lane towards the main roadway. It slowed only enough to safely turn onto the roadway in the direction going north. It was obviously headed for Clearview.

Clayton Walker, 26 years old, thought it was cool to wear his hair cut very close to his head military style. He was behind the wheel of the black sports car headed for Clearview. Clayton had the appearance of someone who enjoyed fast food. He was just five feet eight, stout with a gut from too much beer. He was a recent arrival in the town of Clearview. An ambitious young man, he was itching to put his name on top as an investigative reporter. He had by chance ferreted out information in D.C. regarding the Wothington Foundation. This piece of information concerned a link to the even more mysterious Wothington Research Center, which led him to the town of Clearview.

He had been in Clearview for two weeks. He hung out at the local bistro with the intent to get friendly with staff from the center. He thought that this would be his best source to gain information. Though he found that people were friendly and open to talk, the talk just never could be guided towards the topic of the center. In short time, to his dismay, he could not get anyone associated with the center, to talk about it. He would bring up the center and they would always direct the conversation in another direction. Even the use of his smooth talk and personality tricks, could not draw out one bit of information that concerned the center. It was as if to them it did not exist. Though he was discouraged at the constant setbacks, he still was not one to simply give up.

He did not waste his daytime. He took to either standing outside of his hotel or walking around, hoping to spot unusual traffic movement through the town. Unknown to him, alerted to his stay, the center ceased all questionable day deliveries or shipping. They were rescheduled to occur once it was confirmed that he was in his room, bedded down for the night. Unfortunately shipments were backing up. Clayton kept late hours. By the time he turned in, there were only a few hours before dawn.

This particular evening he entered the bistro expecting to spend another wasted few hours talking and drinking with people who avoided any lucrative discussion about the center. He was looking for a likely target when the bartender, who was new, waved him over and said, You must be the new guy that’s been hanging out here each night.

Yeah. What’s it to you, responded Clayton as he leaned on the bar?

Oh, I’ve been on vacation these last two weeks and I was told about you.

Surprised Clayton responded. Told about me? I didn’t know there was any interest. So, what are people saying?

Oh don’t get bent out of shape. It’s all good, just that you like talking and seem to be interested in the center outside of town. Clayton looked the bartender over. He was in his early thirties, slim and just under six feet, near Clayton’s own height. He had a full head of dark brown hair and wore a wedding band on his left ring finger. This was the first person to even acknowledge the center’s existence. Clayton smiled and extended his hand for a shake. The bartender shook Clayton’s hand and smiled.

See that guy over there. He pointed out a man standing at the end of the bar. Clayton looked over at the man. The man’s ID badge is that of a worker in the maintenance department at the center. Clayton nodded and ordered a beer.

The bartender added that he was not a regular. I’m surprised he is in the bistro. Our prices are high and usually keeps his kind out. Interested, Clayton watched as the man paid for his beer and took it to the nearest vacant table. Clayton decided to make his move. He picked up his beer and walked past the man’s chair. As he passed, he accidentally bumped into it. The man looked up. For an apology Clayton offered to buy him a drink. As the night wore on, the man drank as much as Clayton was willing to buy.

When closing time came he needed help getting up. Clayton lifted the man’s identification badge when he helped the bartender walk him to the door of the bistro. Once outside, the man seemed to revive and was able to walk on his own. Clayton told the bartender goodnight and whistled into the night as he headed towards his room. He was happy and more confident than he had been in days. The following night, using the man’s ID badge, Clayton gained entry into the center. It took Clayton just over an hour to get what he needed.

As Clayton pulled up in front of his hotel he smiled to himself. He couldn’t believe how simple it had been to get pass security and gain access into the center. Once inside he had been able to blend in and get his pictures. His only bad moment came when he was attempting to exit the center. He had started to sweat as he approached the inspection guard. He was almost in the clear and his nerves were on edge. The guard seemed to take a longer than normal look at his ID. But then he handed it back to Clayton. Clayton snatched it and walked quickly out of the building. He had just gotten to where he had parked his car when the alarms sounded.

He got quickly into the car. He fumbled with the key, attempting to quickly put it into the ignition lock. He finally got it in and started the car. He stepped on the gas and roared out of the parking lot, just as armed guards emerged from the building. At the entrance gate he saw the guard on duty with the phone in hand. There was nothing to do but burst through the barrier, in order to escape. There was a moment of concern for the damage done to his new car but then after the payoff that would be fixed. He wondered how quickly the authorities would learn that he was involved but then he planned to check out as soon as he could pack. His intent was to be gone before anyone was the wiser.

He parked knowing he had just pulled off the story coup of the century. He got out of the car carrying his camera, his proof. He reached into his coat pocket for the key to his room and thought, let me think, just how humble will I act, as I accept the Pulitzer Prize for journalism.

He entered his room and was startled to sense that he was not alone. Before he could turn on the lights he was grabbed from behind and the door was slammed shut and the lights turned on. There were two men in the room with him. The one holding him spoke, Boy, just who did you think you were dealing with, some dumb two bit local, said a harsh voice? To Clayton’s surprise, it was the voice of the maintenance man whose identification card he had so easily stolen.

No talking. Just hold him while I get his camera and go through his pockets for any information he may have taken or written down, said the unknown man who faced Clayton.

Satisfied with having searched and found all information that Clayton had concealed on his person, the man walked over to the bed. He reached into a black bag. Clayton, who had continued to struggle to get free, helplessly watched, as the man seemed to find what he was looking for. He turned to face Clayton and in his hand was a hypodermic needle.

Hold him still, said the man, as he approached the reporter.

Hey! shouted Clayton, as sweat poured off of him. What’s this all about? We can talk about it. Maybe come to some financial agreement.

When his arm was twisted further back he said, Hey that hurts. OK . . . so I got into the center using your ID. I am sorry pal that I took it from you. I was only trying to do my job. What real harm has been done? You have the pictures and my notes. Without them I have no proof and I am no longer a threat. It’s my word against yours.

Huh, what’s in the needle? Why are you doing this? Can we at least talk about it? Please! Give me a break. It’s my job to uncover stories. It’s what I do. Clayton’s words and struggles were to no avail.

The man, Miles Lombard said, as he injected Clayton, The time for talk passed the moment you illegally entered the center. Your job, as you so proudly acknowledge is what has gotten you into this predicament.

Clayton could feel the substance as it slowly entered his body. His arms were released and he staggered over to the one chair in the room. He sat down and slowly the room began to fade. The last thing he heard was that one of the men was going to change the record regarding Clayton’s stay at the hotel while the other got rid of the car that he was driving. He sluggishly thought . . . oh . . . no . . . this . . . couldn’t . . . be . . . happening . . . not . . . to . . . me . . . I . . . just . . . got . . . it . . . the . . . car . . . of . . . my . . . dreams . . .

Clayton Walker had learned the hard way, as had others before him, the lengths that those concerned, would go to protect the center from undue exposure. His arrival in town had been noted. The questions that he been asking had been recorded. His name was a lead to where he came from and what he did for a living. That he was a freelance investigative reporter had been noted. His movements had been duly observed. The only thing left was to wait for him to make his move against the center. Once he committed himself by driving onto the center grounds, he had unknowingly provided the one justification needed for his termination. Everyone knew the procedure, which had been carried out several times before. All records of Clayton Walker being in Clearview were destroyed. Clayton Walker became another name on a long list of missing people.

FEBRUARY 12, 1997

The silence was like a stimulant to Julian Porter as he walked down the hall on his way to Lab 12. Julian stood six feet tall with a medium trim build that was natural. He kept in top condition from workouts, three days a week in the research center’s gym. Those who knew him could attest to the fact that he carried him self in a confident manner, always sure of where he was going and what he wanted. He took most situations in stride and was rarely moved to rush anywhere. Tonight was unique. He was in a hurry to get to his destination. As he moved through the halls he remembered to remove his reading glasses and for want of a better place put them on top of his head. Still in his white lab coat, which covered his stylish jeans and shirt, Julian glanced at his watch. He noted the time was 8:50 pm. He had ten minutes to get to the lab. He smiled as he listened to the silence, interrupted only by the beat of his footsteps as they echoed down the hallway. This sound could not have been heard four hours earlier. It would have been drowned out by the symphony made by the center’s staff as they went about their daily tasks and routines.

Julian was thoughtful as he made his way to the lab. His thoughtfulness centered on the reasoning behind the summons. He had been at the center for six months. There had been no face-to-face contact with the center’s director. Until now, Dr. Miles Lombard had kept himself aloof and had chosen not to personally acknowledge Julian’s presence at the center. Lombard’s lab assistant had approached him earlier in the day, just as he was returning from lunch. The assistant handed him the note written and signed by Lombard, which was a request to attend a 9:00 pm meeting in Lab 12.

As far as Julian knew, none at the center were aware that there was a personal history between him and the renowned senior researcher. Julian did not think it was necessary for his peers to know that he had not been selected to work at the center through the normal channels. No one especially needed to know that because of his being the godson of the center’s director, he was guaranteed the prestigious appointment as a research assistant at Wothington. The guarantee however did not in any way cover up a problem with the validity of Julian’s qualifications. His credentials made him a natural for the position. He, at twenty-four, had a doctorate with honors in molecular genetics from Columbia University, and was second in his graduation class.

His father Jonathan Porter, MD approached him after graduation and surprised him with the offer. Son, you will be pleased to know that you have been given a position to work at the Wothington Research Center. The letter arrived two days ago and I thought I would wait and tell you today. It was sent to me. You are expected to report as soon as possible. Jonathan handed the letter over to Julian.

His beaming mother, Dr. May Porter Esq. could hold it in no longer, Julian you do know that this is an honor. It comes from our long time family friend and your godfather, Miles Lombard. Few know of the center and even fewer people are asked to work there. Miles takes only the best and only on an as needed basis. May did wonder if Julian had other prospects lined up. Her son had always been a loner and as he grew older had mastered the ability to keep most of what he thought and planned, to him self. With him, she thought, one never knew . . .

Julian looked tolerantly at his mother and replied, Mother, let me put your mind at ease. Of course I will be accepting the job. Had he not offered it, I was going to apply by approaching him personally.

He had studied and was impressed with some of the recent work attributed to Lombard. He also knew that it was a coveted position. This was whispered information among the elite at his university. He had of course made himself a member of that group. The prestige, salary and housing arrangements that were attached to the position of junior staff at the center, as a start for him, fit perfectly into the lifestyle that he had always envisioned.

A week after graduation Julian drove through the entrance gate. He had some concern as to whether Lombard, as his godfather, would attempt to pave the way for him. That could prove embarrassing and put him in an awkward standing among the staff. However, to his consternation, Lombard was nowhere to be found when he arrived at the center. He was processed the same way as any new staff. He was stopped at the gate. He was asked to present identification. He gave the guard his driver’s license. A list was checked. He was then given directions as to where he could park his car. Once there he was met and escorted to the personnel office. His picture, thumbprint and eye print were taken. Within twenty minutes he was given his ID badge, the lab team that he would be working with and assigned accommodations in the junior staff residential area of the nearby housing complex.

When he left the personnel office a security guard, Amos Smith, was waiting to show him the grounds and assist him with getting settled. Amos drove with him to the junior staff residence where Julian was able to deposit his gear. They then returned to the main building to continue a walk thru. It was Amos’ job to insure that Julian became familiar with the center’s layout. Julian was shown the cafeteria, the lounge area, and an exercise room with the latest equipment. Off from the exercise room was the gym, which lead to the enclosed Olympic size pool and sauna rooms. There was a library and music room. Julian noted that Amos was friendly and efficient and he hoped it was reflective of the type of staff working at the center. Amos ended the walk-thru with Julian, at the cafeteria where they had started. Not wanting to eat alone, Julian invited Amos to have lunch with him.

Julian had no problem fitting in, as it was what he wanted. The team that he was assigned to and the work that they were involved with, he found interesting right from the start. As for Lombard, Julian saw nothing of him and for the most part Julian was kept so busy that he had little free time to give it much thought. At least that was how it was until the afternoon the message was delivered.

As he walked he realized he was somewhat relieved to know that his godfather had not been so unaware of him after all. He reached the end of the hall and turned the corner and in front of him was the security officer on duty, who looked up from what he was reading. It was his friend Amos Smith. Good evening, Dr. Porter. I didn’t expect to see you working after hours tonight. It’s been my experience that when new staff get early release, after pulling long hours for twelve weeks, that they are out of here like a bat out of hell.

Evening, Amos. said Julian with a friendly smile, Impossible as it may seem I have a nine o’clock meeting with Dr. Lombard in his lab tonight. Is he in there?

Amos looked down at his logbook, hoping Julian didn’t see the change that came over him. Gone was the open friendliness. It was replaced by a mood of sad reserve and acceptance. Julian had not missed noting the sudden change in attitude.

Amos, it seems as if something is bothering you. Maybe I can help. What’s wrong? Julian knew that Amos had been the first to make him feel welcomed at the center. They had struck it off immediately and they had laughed and told jokes during the infrequent free times that they shared. Julian did not make friends easily. So in an odd way, though they were not social equals, he still considered Amos a friend.

Wrong Dr. Porter? responded Amos, Oh nothing really. It’s this working overtime. The evening man Ben Johnson had a special delivery run, which he had to make out by Bethesda. So, I have to pull a double shift. While Amos talked he reviewed his log and saw that neither Lombard, nor the others had signed out.

My wife doesn’t care for me not coming in at my regular time. Says it causes more work for her. She has to keep meals hot or cancel appointments she had because I’m not there to sit with the kids.

Amos buzzed Julian through and said, However, when the extra money arrives in the paycheck, neither of us remember the small inconveniences.

Julian smiled and nodded his understanding as he continued on down the hall towards the lab. Had he turned back he would have seen Amos shake his head sadly as he watched Julian. Amos thought to himself that he genuinely did liked Julian. Amos knew there were times when he did not like his job or the fact that he had a very special relationship with Lombard. It was the nature of this special relationship, which sometimes made it necessary for him to be the one on duty, to cover Lombard’s back. This evening, Amos realized, was turning out to be one of those times when he did not like his job and he was sorry to discover that it involved someone he knew and liked.

Julian! Wait up. called a familiar female voice, that of Sandra, a fellow junior researcher from another team. I think, she said, we are headed in the same direction.

Julian stopped in stunned surprise. Coming towards him from the north-building’s connecting corridor were Sandra Benton and Llaura Halls. These two female assistants held captive the admiration and attention of all the single male staff at the center. They were secretly referred to as the BB twins, brilliant and beautiful. The twins label was added because they were always together when not working with their teams. According to the local gossip among Julian’s friends, the two met here at the center and though their fields of research differ, somehow they became inseparable friends. The guys readily accredited them with being tops in their individual fields. They also informed Julian that the BB twins were known to hold to a firm belief in discouraging personal entanglements at the center. They did in fact enjoy social male contact, as was witnessed whenever there was free time. They hung out with the locals in the trendy social clubs in town.

Sandra Benton was a graduate of Stanford University and stood 5 feet five inches. She grew up in southern California and was a true representative of the so-called California girl. She was blond, had hazel eyes and a natural light bronze complexion, which gave truth to her mixed Mexican heritage. Llaura Hall hailed from New Orleans, Louisiana and was an honor graduate of Tulane University. She stood a stately five feet eight inches, had light brown eyes, shoulder length wavy dark brown hair, a nut-brown complexion, which bespoke her black and Cajun ancestry.

Julian was confounded for two reasons. First, he was surprise at the use