Corps Justice Boxed Set: Books 1-3: Back to War, Council of Patriots, Prime Asset - Military Thrillers

by C. G. Cooper

  Zimmer led the way, still not running into any Japanese personnel.

  “Where did everyone go?” Trent asked.

  “I don’t know. I think…did you hear that?” Zimmer whispered.

  Trent nodded and nudged his way into the lead. They could see a bend just ahead. It sounded like muted footsteps coming their way.

  “Let’s go find out who that is.”

  Zimmer looked at the huge black man, still wearing only a loincloth. “You think that’s a good idea, Top?”

  “Trust me, Congressman. Whoever that is, they’re in for a world of hurt.” Trent cracked his knuckles and sprinted off toward the bend.

  +++

  The assault team hadn’t run into any resistance. While that seemed odd, no man complained. They’d searched most of the lower level. Eventually they came to a section that looked older yet well-maintained. Gaucho looked back at Cal for direction. Cal gave a thumbs-up.

  They moved swiftly down the corridor, checking doors as they went. All were locked and there didn’t seem to be any need to open them yet. They approached a bend as Gaucho signaled the group to stop. Listening carefully, they clearly heard something. Was that bare feet running their way? Weapons readied, the elite team of SSI operators waited calmly for the approaching runner. The sound got closer when all of a sudden, MSgt Willy Trent, resplendent in his stylish loincloth, rounded the corner and skidded to a halt in front of Gaucho.

  “Well I’ll be damned. What’s goin’ on, Gaucho?” Trent asked.

  Muted laughs rose from the normally disciplined men. The relief they all felt was almost palpable. They had their man back. Just as Cal walked up to see Trent, Congressman Zimmer trotted around the bend. Cal looked past his friend and pointed his finger at the politician, “You son of a bitch, I thought I…”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up, Cal,” Trent said calmly as he held his friend back. “If it weren’t for the Congressman, I’d still be locked up in this Japanese dungeon. Lay off, alright?”

  Not easily dissuaded, Cal took a step back. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow the Congressman was responsible for the setbacks they’d suffered.

  Turning away from Zimmer, Cal addressed his men. “Get us the hell out here, Gaucho.”

  The team leader nodded and guided them out without anyone saying another word.

  Chapter 20

  Atlanta, Georgia

  11:49pm EST, September 17th

  Tom Jablonski pulled his rig into the distribution hub. Driving from Las Vegas wasn’t hard. He’d made similar trips for years. It didn’t hurt that he was getting paid a serious bonus for arriving on schedule. He wished every cross-country trek was as lucrative.

  Waving to the security guard, he pulled up to the guard shack. An extra spotlight blazed on and cut through the midnight blackness.

  “Paperwork please,” asked the tired looking, middle-aged sentry.

  The driver handed over the manifest.

  The guard reviewed the documentation and checked his computer to see which terminal to direct the driver to. “Head over to Thirty Seven. Honk once or twice for the loading guys,” the man instructed. The bored security guard handed back the paperwork and waved the semi through.

  Jablonski was familiar with the routine. He’d been to the hub earlier in the month. Pulling into Terminal 37, he honked twice. He knew from experience that the loading crew would take a minute. Working the graveyard shift meant napping when you could.

  After a couple of minutes, three men made a slow exit from the terminal building. Two headed for forklifts and one headed to the truck.

  Jablonski hopped out of the cab and handed off his paperwork. After a second to review, the foreman with sleep in his left eye looked up.

  “Says you got some electronics set for priority shippin’.” Jablonski couldn’t tell from the southern drawl whether it was a question or a statement. Better to be nice and get out of here quickly.

  “Yeah. I think they’re cell phones.”

  Surprisingly, that perked the foreman’s interest. “Hey, they aren’t those new smart phones everyone’s waiting in lines for, are they?”

  “I don’t know, man. They just tell me where to take ‘em,” Jablonski replied.

  “You mind if I take a look? My kid’s been buggin’ me about getting her one of those damned things. I ain’t gonna shell out four hundred bucks for one though!” the man flashed the driver a dirty grin.

  Jablonski had seen this same routine countless times. Oops a pallet fell off the truck and a couple pieces fell out. But Tom was an honest driver. He’d never stolen from his shipments and once scolded his own son when he’d suggested doing so.

  “Hey, man, you think we can just get these things unloaded so I can go? It’s been a long haul.”

  The foreman looked at the truck and finally nodded. “If you can get the back unlocked, I’ll have my boys get ‘er done in a half hour.”

  Tom Jablonski thanked the man and headed to the back of the trailer. Another hour and he’d be in bed, counting his cash bonus.

  Chapter 21

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  11:03pm, September 17th

  The SSI operators made it back to the Bellagio without incident. Along the way Trent and Zimmer relayed the entire story of their capture and the arena battle. Cal wouldn’t admit it, but he was surprised by the Congressman’s decision to go back for Trent. It would’ve been really easy for him to get in the car with Ishi and head back to Vegas. Instead, he’d returned to the lion’s den and saved Cal some precious time.

  Cal, Brian, Neil, Trent and Zimmer were all comfortably seated in Patel’s suite. MSgt Trent looked refreshed after a hot shower and highball of Famous Grouse. He continued his story. “I’ll tell you what, Cal, these are some sick fuckers. Who the hell does that kinda shit anymore?”

  Cal sipped his drink and pondered the same thing. What had they stumbled on? Underground fights to the death, women for hire, a blackmailed politician; the whole thing sounded too farfetched to be true. He still had more questions for Zimmer.

  “Congressman, did you recognize any of the men you met?”

  Zimmer shook his head. “They never gave me any names. I’m thinking these guys may be more behind the scenes.”

  “Any other impressions?”

  The Congressman took a sip of his drink and let the question sink in for a second. “I’m not gonna lie to you. Most of the time, I was scared shitless. I got the feeling that I was some kind of pet to them. They looked at me like…I don’t know how to describe it. They were looking down at me. It felt like…”

  “You were less than nothing,” Trent completed.

  “Yes. Talk about xenophobic. These guys stick with their own kind,” Zimmer finished, still wondering where everything was headed.

  Cal stood up and walked to the window. “From here on out, the Congressman stays with us.”

  “But what about Nakamura’s instructions?” Zimmer asked on the verge of panic. He could only imagine what would hit the media without his cooperation. The bloody videos would quickly destroy his life.

  “Do you really want to go back with those guys?” Cal asked almost angrily. “My job was to find out who these guys are and to keep you safe. I can’t do that unless you stay here. For now, we need to take the chance. Maybe we call their bluff. I have a feeling that you’re an important part of their plan. I don’t think they’ll jump the gun.”

  “How do you know that?” Zimmer blurted. “How do you know they won’t take those videos and plaster them all over the Internet?”

  “I don’t, Congressman. It’s called a calculated risk. Besides, it’ll all be a moot point soon.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because we’re gonna take these motherfuckers down.”

  +++

  After some further planning, the team dispersed to their new rooms. They were all exhausted and they’d have an early morning wakeup call to start executing Cal’s plan.

  In all
the commotion, Cal had completely forgotten to call Daniel Briggs. Despite the late hour, he figured the sniper might still be awake. He swirled the last remnants of his drink as the phone rang on the other end.

  “Cal?”

  “Hey, man. Sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “I wouldn’t really say that, but they’re better than they were a few hours ago.”

  “Anything I can help with?” Daniel offered.

  “I don’t know, man. Tell you what, why don’t you come by my hotel room at eight tomorrow morning. By then we’ll be done with our meetings and I might have some questions about Vegas that I’ll need some insight on.”

  “No problem. I’ll be there fifteen to eight.”

  Cal chuckled. “Once a Marine…”

  “Always a Marine,” finished Briggs. “Every gunny I ever had told me that being on-time was being late.”

  “Me too, Brother.”

  Cal relayed the hotel and room number and they said their goodbyes. What the hell am I gonna to do with the scruffy sniper?

  Next, he placed a call to President Waller. The man was still awake and requested they conference in the other members of the Council of Patriots. After five minutes, everyone was on the line and Cal gave a rundown of everything that had happened.

  “How soon until Neil gets all the way into Ichiban’s network, Cal?” Waller asked.

  “I’m not sure, sir. He’s having some trouble because of the level of sophistication.”

  “Any thoughts on what they’re after?” asked President Kelton.

  “None yet, sir,” answered Stokes. “I’m not getting a good feeling about the convention though. Is there any way we can get it postponed until we know more?”

  Waller answered first, “Can’t do it, Cal. As much as I hate to put so many people at risk, we don’t know if that’s their endgame yet. Just make sure you keep us in the loop and we’ll alert the authorities if needed.”

  There were a couple more questions from the Council, but nothing was really resolved. They were all anxiously waiting to see where the investigation would lead. They’d learned to be patient men during their time in office. It was a trait that Cal didn’t have. The Marine in him wanted to take out the enemy…now.

  Chapter 22

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  6:47am, September 18th

  After a couple hours of sleep, the SSI team met over a mound of room service food. Cal had reluctantly allowed Zimmer in on the meeting. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  “Neil, please tell me you have SOMETHING we can work with,” Cal mumbled through a bite of chocolate croissant.

  Neil looked like he’d been without sleep for a week. His usually impeccable dress was marred with countless wrinkles and more than one food stain. It wasn’t like the computer geek to go this long without cracking into a system.

  Patel yawned and waved away a coffee refill offered by Brian. “Okay. So like we talked about before, Ichiban Gaming’s main source of legitimate income is from consulting. Early this morning, I finally got past their last firewall. You wouldn’t believe how far these guys reach. They’ve got contacts all over the world.”

  “Anything we can use?” asked Trent.

  “I’m not sure. What I can tell you is that in recent months they’ve consolidated a lot of their assets. At first glance it looks almost random, but these guys are pretty methodical. They’ve divested the majority of their American stock and now own a huge portfolio of real estate and commodities like gold and silver.”

  Zimmer chimed in. “That’s nothing new, is it? Haven’t the Japanese had a huge interest in our economy since the eighties?”

  “Yes, but this is one entity. I’m also seeing a lot of dead ends. They’re reporting internal expenditures that are getting spread across hundreds of banks around the globe. A hundred grand here, a few million there… Since they’re a private company, they don’t have to make this stuff public.”

  “Can you see where the money’s going?” Cal asked.

  “Of course, but it would take me weeks to track the end accounts. Most likely they’re wired to an initial banking center then routed again multiple times. It’s a real maze. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had some internal system for tracking their stuff. There’s no way I can access that unless I’m inside their server room.”

  “How hard would it be to get inside that room?” Cal’s mind was already running with possibilities.

  “Almost impossible,” Neil said matter-of-factly. “Besides, I’m sure they probably have some kind of kill switch to destroy all the evidence in case of an investigation.”

  “Either way, I think we need to try. Any other ideas?” Cal looked around the group. No one could think of anything better. It was a classic dilemma. They had one of the smartest computer geniuses on the planet, plus nearly unlimited technology at their disposal, but what they really needed was boots on the ground. The CIA was learning the same lesson the hard way. Human Intelligence (HUMINT) was invaluable.

  “Let’s let this sink in for a couple hours. Meet back here at noon. Don’t worry, lunch is on me,” Cal deadpanned. It was already after 7:30am and he wanted to make a quick call before meeting with Daniel. He excused himself and headed to his new room across the hall.

  He dialed a number and entered the bedroom as he waited for someone to pickup.

  “Andrews.”

  “Andy, it’s Cal.” Capt. Bartholemew Andrews was Cal’s former platoon commander from the fleet. They’d seen a lot of combat together and each had a Navy Cross and wounds to prove it. When they were SSgt Stokes and 1stLt Andrews they had grown close after saving each other from the clutches of death, on more than one occasion. No one ever called Capt. Andrews by his given name. He’d always gone by Andy to his friends.

  “Hey, Cal! What’s going on?”

  The last time they’d been together was during Jessica’s funeral. Being assigned to the Marine Silent Drill Team kept Andy pretty busy.

  “They still have you serving canapés for the Commandant?” The Marine Silent Drill Team was stationed at Eighth and I, the traditional home of the Marine Commandant. Extra duties for assigned officers often included attending cocktail parties with visiting VIPs.

  “All that crap stopped as soon as I went to Silent Drill. Where are you calling from?” Andy was one of the very few people outside of SSI that actually knew what the company did behind the scenes. He’d even been a part of the extract team that had infiltrated Dante West’s tunnel system and rescued Cal a year ago.

  “Me and a couple of the boys are in Vegas doing some work.”

  “No shit!? We’re heading out there tomorrow for the big convention.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Democratic National Convention.”

  “Really? I thought you guys just traveled to do shows at football games.”

  “Usually we do. Apparently, the President pulled a few strings and might’ve threatened to end a couple careers. He wants to look really presidential for his re-election.” Andy’s disgust was obvious.

  “Maybe we can get together. You think you’ll have time?”

  “You kidding? We always make time to get out when we’re on the road. It’s one of the few perks we have.”

  “That’s great. Hey, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

  “You want me to get a signed picture of Chesty for you?” Andy laughed. Chesty was the name given to the Marine Corps mascot, an English bulldog. The name was a tribute to a Marine Corps legend, Gen. Lewis “Chesty” Puller. Every young Marine learned about Chesty in their first days of boot camp.

  “Very funny. No, I was wondering if you could look somebody up for me.”

  One of the advantages of being near Headquarters Marine Corps was the ability to access information about almost any Marine.

  “You actually caught me about to log-off of my work computer. Who do you want me to look up?”

  Cal gave him Danie
l’s name and told him that Briggs was a scout sniper. Using his name and Military Occupational Specialty (MOS), the corresponding record popped up after a couple of clicks.

  “Got it. What do you want to know?”

  “Just wondering what his current status is. Guy told me he got out with PTSD. Wanted to get a better feel for him.”

  Cal waited as the Marine Captain scrolled through the record.

  “Did multiple tours overseas. Wow. He’s got over a hundred confirmed kills. Where’d you meet this guy?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get out here. What else does it say?”

  “Honorable discharge as a sergeant, and…wait a minute,” Andy clicked on a note under the Awards section. “Holy shit.”

  “What?” Cal asked, thinking the worst.

  “He’s nominated for the Medal of Honor.”

  “Really?! For what?”

  Andy skimmed through the citation and read the highlights to Cal. It sounded like the story Briggs had told him. He’d failed to mention that in the firefight he’d probably killed close to fifty insurgents. What was even more impressive was that it was the SEAL Team Commander that put Briggs in for the nation’s highest military award.

  An additional note added that the sniper’s fire was verified by a UAV that had loitered long enough on station to get video of the entire gun battle.

  “Thanks for checking on that, Andy.”

  “No problem. You need anything else?”

  “Nope. Just give me a call when you get in.”

  “Will do.”

  Cal placed his phone on the wet bar. What the hell am I going to do with this guy?

  +++

  Daniel Briggs knocked on Cal’s door precisely at quarter ‘til eight. Cal opened it and invited Briggs inside.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Any more interesting nights on the street?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I wish I could say the same.”