by C. G. Cooper
BRIAN: No way.
ANDY: Yeah! So the Cobra pilot gets on the hook and tells me he can see the two insurgents but that he can’t shoot because of the livestock and herders. I told the guy that we suspected the two bad guys were lying in wait so they could trip an IED. The pilot didn’t care. He said the Rules of Engagement were tight. He couldn’t shoot up a bunch of local sheep because some paper pusher in the rear had decided it was bad for local relations. So what do we do? We had to just sit there and wait for the two guys to come out. We’re sitting there watching as the two Cobras are literally hovering overhead. The two guys don’t even shoot at them.
BRIAN: I’ll bet they were pissing their pants.
ANDY: Yeah. We would’ve run over there except we were still waiting for EOD to get there so they could sweep the road for explosives. Well, even when the Cobras floated lower to try and scatter the sheep, the damned things stayed calm and the insurgents stayed with the sheep as they were guided toward the little town. I called everyone I could, but we couldn’t get anyone else in on the ground in time and because of the IED threat. So we had to watch these two guys mosey on into the sunset with their herd of sheep. That’s what I felt like today.
CAL (chuckling): Yeah. Now that I think about it, it’s a pretty good comparison. Let’s get back to The Lodge. I think I’m in need of a couple of fingers of The Famous Grouse.
The friends hopped in their vehicles and made their way to the bar.
Chapter 15
N.O.N. Safe House, Nashville, TN
HIRED GUN: Dante, the boys are all set and we have that van you wanted.
West stared at the hulking messenger, one of the hired guns from New Orleans. He’d especially be glad to have this guy gone soon. West wasn’t afraid of much, but being surrounded by a bunch of bouncers with guns, even vouched bouncers, made him antsy.
DANTE: All right, thanks. Tell your boys we’ll be taking off as soon as it gets dark. I want everyone on the level. No drinking or drugs. Clear heads for this last thing.
HIRED GUN: We ain’t idiots, Dante. We’ll be ready to go.
West nodded and closed the door to his new bedroom. As he looked around yet another dingy room, he dreamed of the day he could live in luxury once again. Just a few more hours. Just a few more hours.
+ + +
MSGT TRENT (raising his full glass): I’m limiting myself to one of these. My ass is draggin’.
CAL: Thanks for all your help today, Top. We wouldn’t have even had a chance to catch West if you hadn’t tracked him down.
Trent drained his glass and looked back at Cal.
MSGT TRENT: We’ll get the guy, Cal. Let’s all get a little shut-eye and we’ll hit the streets again tonight.
CAL: Thanks, Top.
Trent nodded and, with surprising grace considering his size, hopped up from the couch and left the bar.
Brian motioned to the bartender. Cal had told him the guy was a former Marine sergeant major who’d come onboard after losing a leg in the first Gulf War and soon became one of Cal Sr.’s first hires. The bartender nodded back and walked around the bar with a half-full bottle of The Famous Grouse. He gave everyone in the group a healthy splash, finishing with Cal.
CAL: Thanks, Sergeant Major. How’s the new book coming?
BARTENDER: Slowly. Took me a while to get my rusty brain running again. Neil set me up with a laptop behind the bar so I can write while I work. Thanks again for that, Neil.
NEIL (waving nonchalantly): Anything for my warriors, Sergeant Major.
Andy and Brian looked on intrigued. Andy spoke up first.
ANDY: What’s the book about, Sergeant Major?
BARTENDER: It’s the story about my time in the first Gulf War and how I lost my leg.
ANDY: If I can ask, how DID you lose it?
BARTENDER: I was off doing some long-range recon for Cal’s dad and ran into a bunch of bad guys. Me and my spotter were able to take out the guys, but not before one lucky sonofabitch lobbed a grenade our way. I’m lucky that I only lost my leg. Hurt something fierce when my spotter dragged me a couple clicks back to our evac point.
ANDY: So what made you write the story now?
BARTENDER (pointing at Cal): That young man right there. He came back from the sand pit and after a few libations he convinced me that SOMEONE would want to hear my story. No one’s gonna read it.
CAL: As usual, the Sergeant Major is being modest. The book isn’t just about that one incident. What he failed to mention, of course, was that he got a Silver Star out of that one because the bad guys he mentioned were on their way to ambush one of dad’s companies. He and his spotter took out almost the entire enemy party of twenty some guys with a sniper rifle and an M-203. The rest of the book is gonna be about his battle to regain active duty status after losing his leg. His fight to do that will really resonate with wounded guys coming back from war today.
BARTENDER: Yeah, well, I guess that’s where it finally got me. If the book can help even one disabled Marine, how could I say no?
BRIAN: (patting Cal on the back): It’s good to know that I’m not the only one that doesn’t seem to have the ability to say no to our fearless leader here.
BARTENDER: He takes after his father that way. Never could say no to Colonel Stokes either. They must have some voodoo magic in their blood or something.
Cal shook his head and responded to the obvious compliment.
CAL: No, you’ve got it all wrong. I’ve just found that it’s a lot easier to convince you guys to do things when you’ve had a couple of these.
He raised his glass to demonstrate the proper sipping technique for The Famous Grouse.
BARTENDER: Well, be that as it may, I’m still glad you made me do it, Cal. I’ll get you the rough draft in a couple of weeks. You can tell me whether an old salty Marine with only a high school education can actually write.
He turned back to the bar and resumed his duties as the group settled in to finish their drinks. Cal couldn’t let that last comment pass.
CAL: The good Sergeant Major is, of course, being modest again. What he fails to mention is not only did he regain his active duty status as a Gunny, but he went on to be one of the first Marine first sergeants to serve with a line company with a prosthetic leg. Then he went on to become a Sergeant Major while also finding time to earn two masters degrees AND PT his battalion into the dirt. Don’t let him fool you with that fake limp of high school education bit. He puts on his Cheetah prosthesis and he’ll give Marathon Andy a run for his money.
As the gathered crew discussed recent events, Cal’s mind began to wander. He replayed the day’s action over and over. What could they have done differently? What if they’d kept following West and not called the cops? He finally filed it all away for future analysis, knowing that the team had done all that was possible without blowing their cover. It didn’t matter, Cal was convinced that he’d somehow find West again very soon.
+ + +
On the other side of town, West’s crew was finalizing plans for that night’s operation. No one knew the location except for Dante. He’d given clipped instructions to his hired muscle. Although he didn’t think there would be much resistance, his recent failures necessitated extreme caution. Each man only nodded as they listened to his orders.
+ + +
After adjourning from the bar, Brian and Andy headed back to their respective rooms. Neil and Cal headed to Travis’s office to discuss options for continuing the search.
NEIL: So what are you thinking about work-wise after we get this guy, Cal?
Cal shrugged his shoulders, still not clear about where his path might lead.
CAL: I’m not sure. I want to see this thing out first, then who knows? Maybe I’ll go on a long vacation.
Neil glanced at his friend as they walked, perceiving the pain he must be feeling.
NEIL: Have you talked to Higgins yet?
Dr. Alvin Higgins, PhD, was SSI’s resident psychiatrist. He’d been a long-time mem
ber of the CIA’s brain squad for years. He came to SSI after working with the company on a particularly hairy case a few years back. Higgins realized that with SSI, he could continue the work he’d started at the Agency in a different way, and for way more money. He was SSI’s resident expert in all things intellectual, meaning he could either unwrap the mental wiring of criminals and terrorist leaders, conduct interrogations (he’d developed new and non-lethal techniques for the CIA for years), or help SSI employees and family members with any counseling they needed.
A pudgy man barely over five and half feet tall, the affable Dr. Higgins had quickly endeared himself to the employees at SSI. Where some psychiatrists were aloof and borderline condescending, Higgins was the exact opposite. Jolly in a way that reminding you of Santa Claus, Higgins had actually been the reigning Saint Nick every year at company Christmas parties. Not really what you’d expect from a man who’d dedicated most of his adult life to the extraction of information from men’s minds by all means necessary.
CAL: No, I haven’t seen him yet. Come to think of it, he’ll probably be with Trav right now. Trav said he’d gather the inner circle to think this West thing out.
As they entered the headquarters building, the usual bustle of activity seemed like home to Cal. He’d never officially worked at SSI, but he’d practically grown up in these halls. At the same time, he always got the feeling that he was in the middle of a battalion headquarters in the field. Electronic maps and target dossiers were displayed on an impressive array of flat screen panels all along each wall. SSI remained on the tip of the technology curve thanks, in no small part, to Neil and his team of techie geeks.
They headed to Travis’ secure office. In reality, this entire building and any other SSI structure with any sort of information capability was shielded from outside snooping by advanced electronic jamming and masking technology, once again courtesy of Neil’s R&D team. The masking system was now being leased by numerous government facilities and a mobile version was also in development for field headquarters.
Cal entered Travis’ spacious office not really knowing who to expect. He glanced to the eight man conference table in the corner and found the party waiting. Two others accompanied his cousin. The group included the first female employed by SSI: company attorney Marjorie Haines. “The Hammer.” Not only ferocious in court and deposition rooms, she was also an expert martial artist in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and Kung Fu. She’d been known to take down multiple new recruits on the fighting mat after a particularly trying day.
She’d entered SSI shortly after winning a case against the company. Travis and the rest of the executive team had been so impressed with her tenacity that they’d gone after her to fill the role of lead attorney. It didn’t hurt that she could match many of the men in physical discipline and she’d also been a former prosecutor in the Navy JAG Corps and was a diehard patriot. She was, of course, well paid for her efforts at SSI and was considered one of the inner circle members. Today she was standing casually, her typical grey pant suit perfectly tailored to her athletic build. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek pony tail.
Next to Haines was SSI’s head of internal security, Todd Dunn. Dunn was one of Travis’ first hires at SSI and a beast. If there could be a human version of an English bulldog, it would be Dunn. A muscular barrel of a man and former Army Ranger, Dunn rarely cracked a smile but could be absolutely depended upon.
+ + +
Dunn’s background was similar to some of the other SSI employees. He’d been a star in the Rangers, quickly rising through the enlisted ranks. Shortly after re-enlisting, his father had been diagnosed with cancer. Dunn, now separated from his parents by a four hour plane ride, did what he could to help his father. Because the family had little money and poor health insurance, the hospital bills continued to pile up. Dunn got a second job as a bouncer at one of the strip clubs outside Fort Bragg to make some extra money to send home. He was quickly promoted to head of security for his cold calculation and eerie calm during altercations. It didn’t hurt that he could do the books better than the strip club owner. The new position allowed Dunn to make more money by getting a portion of the bartender and stripper tips.
One night on the job, a group of rowdy townies decided to make trouble with some drunken soldiers. The soldiers, obviously half in the cups but harmless, were easy targets for the small group of oversized rednecks. Taunted into brawling, the group of three soldiers was no match for the five rednecks. The one black soldier was apparently the target of a vocal tirade of racial slurs being screamed by the hulking antagonists.
As Dunn approached the group of brawlers with another bouncer, he noticed the butt of a pistol in one of the attackers’ jacket pocket. Shit. I’m gonna have the ass of whoever let that guy in.
What started as a shouting match quickly escalated into a melee of flying fists. Just as he reached the guy with the gun, the man pulled the weapon on Dunn. Acting on instinct and training, Dunn closed the final foot, cupped his hands over his head, and pushed the weapon up over his head while simultaneously bending his knees slightly.
The diverted weapon fired and the loud boom echoed in the enclosed space. Patrons and employees screamed as they ran for the doorways. Dunn wrestled the pistol away from the man and hit him with the pistol butt on his temple. The man fell to the floor unconscious.
Dunn turned to see two of the three bloodied soldiers lying on the ground. The third was being dragged to the door by three of the massive rednecks. The two remaining antagonists turned on Dunn; one with a large buck knife and the other with a pistol matching the one in Dunn’s hand.
Still calm but with pistol aimed at the gun-wielding redneck, Dunn tried to diffuse the situation.
TODD: All right boys, you’ve had your fun. How about you drop your weapons before anyone really gets hurt?
Instead of answering Dunn, the largest of the five attackers and, apparently, the leader of the burly band, yelled to his three companions dragging the soldier out.
REDNECK #1: Bring that nigger over here.
They did as they were told and brought the black soldier, blood pouring from his broken nose, to their leader. As the small group corralled, the remaining club security crew waited anxiously on the sidelines looking to Dunn for direction. Shit, thought Dunn. How am I going to get these hillbillies out of here?
The tough-talking leader grabbed his captive’s shoulder with his hand and positioned the victim between himself and Dunn. Then he put the dazed man in a headlock and pressed the pistol to his left temple.
REDNECK #1: What are you gonna do now, tough guy?
The rest of the man’s cronies laughed evilly as they watched.
TODD: I’ll give you one more chance. Put the guy down along with all your weapons and we’ll make sure the cops treat you fairly.
REDNECK #1 (laughing): Boy, you have no idea who you’re dealing with. Now, I’m gonna give you thirty seconds to get all the money into a bag and give it to me. If not, your black friend here dies along with a couple more of y’all.
He waved his gun menacingly at the group of security guards. They could tell by his fierce look of determination that the man wasn’t lying.
With a clear head, Dunn analyzed the situation. The redneck’s last comment told him that the situation had just gone from bad to worse. What at first glance had seemed like a normal barroom brawl had now escalated into an armed robbery. He knew it would take the local police a few more minutes to get there. Meanwhile, the huge hillbilly was counting down.
Dunn saw bloodlust in the man’s eyes and doubted that many would go unscathed even if they gave in to his demands. To make matters worse, two more of the redneck crew had revealed small pistols that had apparently been taped to their lower backs. They all grinned wickedly as if daring someone to make a move.
REDNECK #1: Twenty-two…twenty-one…twenty…
Dunn looked at the club owner, who seemed to barely have the strength to stand. The rest of the employees were quickl
y gathering cash and wallets to present to the armed robbers. Dunn saw the leader’s eyes flicker and a slight grin played across his mouth. The man was actually daring him to act.
REDNECK #1: …twelve…eleven…ten…nine…
Dunn took one last glance around the room and analyzed everything: the location of the armed men, the position of his security crew, the strippers cowering behind the stage curtain, the hostess squatting behind the club owner and the club owner hiding behind the bar.
