Penthesilea's Wish [Vol.1]

Chapter One

Daniela Collins rode at a full gallop, skirting the lush forest north of San Francisco. She and her roan gilding entered an open meadow following a full hour of hard switchback trails on the lower slopes of Mount Tamalpais. Long behind her now was the Waverly Riding Club, on the outskirts of Mill Valley, with its sweeping polo grounds and designated riding trails, crisscrossing the green countryside of Marin County. She and her horse, Baylor, were both sweating from the sustained run through the foothills and their pronounced breathing produced an infused cadence, almost harmonic in the still air.

The presence of this sound signaled a foreign element to the pristine clearing as Daniela brought Baylor to an abrupt stop. A bevy of Californian mountain quail took flight from beneath the underbrush and fluttered into the deep green perimeter of the meadow. Daniela was twenty-four years of age, of slim build, but with the subtle curvaceous physique of a female athlete. She wore English riding pants, glistening leather boots the color of Baylor, and a loose, beige fisherman's sweater. Her hair was the color of mountain honey and it flowed about her shoulders sensuously, tangled and damp from the foggy Northern Californian climate.

Horse and rider remained paused in this idyllic setting as time seemed to stop. The afternoon light, which had been elusive through the mist, was now fading completely at dusk. Daniela had never been this far off the club's trails and the solitude of the place was unsettling. But it was also strangely alluring. She noted its intoxicating effects with a smile of self-conscious amusement. She certainly did not want to return to the riding center nor face the long drive back across the Golden Gate Bridge to the City just yet. It was there that her uneventful life, her prosaic job, the dour collective of city dwellers, would all be waiting for her.

It was exactly that life which conspired to eventually swallow her back up into the routine which had, since her graduation from college, become a world only from which to escape with every opportunity. Only Daniela's thoughts of Nicasio, her fiancée, and their plans for that evening gave her any encouragement to begin the lengthy journey back before dark. She patted Baylor vigorously on his warm neck and he loudly exhaled in response, dropping his head in recognition of her affection. Daniela nudged her heels into the animal's flanks and she pulled his bridle hard to the right, positioning him for the frenetic, homeward run.

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That very morning, some two-hundred kilometers to the south, a Monterey County Sheriff's Department helicopter hovered low over the coast, just off Pebble Beach. It descended over Carmel-by-the-Sea, cruising at top speed toward the Big Sur Coastline. There was a conversation between the pilot and the narcotics division supervisor, known generically to his men as "Chef" for his unabashed love of cooking. They presently were cruising at 220 mph over the craggy, pine-covered pinnacles of Point Lobos.

"Beautiful spot," the middle-aged, portly supervisor said into the microphone. He was in electronic communication with the younger, military-looking pilot to his left. There were four heavily armed DEA personnel riding in the back of the chopper, calmly trying to enjoy the journey as they continued to speed low over the turquoise and dark blue water.

"So what do you think the first Europeans thought when they came into these waters for the first time?" Chef asked.

The pilot looked down at the majestic pine green and black rock peninsula of the state reserve, rising up out of the sea like its nickname 'the dragon's tail.'

"Must have blown their minds," was the distant response as the pilot checked his GPS target locater. "But we got about four minutes to strikesville, Chef . . . it's just on the inland side of Bixby Creek. Pretty close to the bridge. Are your guys on the ground positioned?"