by Brian Parker
“Thank you, sir,” Jake replied. Out of his class of almost two hundred infantry officers at IOBC, less than half of them volunteered to go to Ranger School, so he understood when the colonel said there weren’t very many tabbed lieutenants in his future battalion.
“The most important thing to being an officer in the Ready First Brigade is to have a good work-life balance. Understand, Jake?” He nodded dutifully. “You are an Army officer first and foremost, so be the best goddamn officer you can be—but don’t let your job define who you are. Get a hobby if you don’t have one, or volunteer. Play sports, whatever you need to do in order to unwind at the end of the day without drowning yourself in alcohol.”
The colonel shifted slightly and adjusted his hips against the fender. “The two things that will ruin a career faster than you can blink are sex and money, and a lot of times those two are linked to alcohol abuse. Don’t fraternize with your enlisted troops. You can go to dinner with your crew or with your platoon sergeant, but make that clear delineation from day one. It’s just easier, believe me. Listen to your NCO’s. They’ve been in the Army for ten or more years. Yes, you outrank them, but they have a breadth of knowledge and experience that you will simply never be able to have because you’ll be tasked in a hundred different directions, whereas they’ve had the time to focus and master their skills.
“And last thing I’ll leave you with, Jake, is that the Army that I grew up in is gone. It’s okay to ask questions when you don’t understand something. It’s okay to think outside the box. When someone’s answer to your question is, ‘Because that’s the way we’ve always done it,’ then it’s time to take a long, hard look at those processes and look at refining them. Understand?”
The colonel glanced at his watch. “Shit. I’ve gotta go meet with the new division commander to offer up candidates for his aide.” He held up a manila folder as he said it. “I’ve got a couple of real solid candidates that I think General Bhagat may choose.”
He reached out and shook Jake’s hand once more. When he released the Old Man’s grip, Jake saluted. Colonel Albrecht returned it and walked around the front of his truck to the driver’s door. “Good luck, Lieutenant Murphy. I’m sure you’ll fit right in here at the Ready First Brigade.” He got in his truck and started the engine so Jake walked quickly behind his car to allow the vehicle to pass.
When the colonel was gone, Jake opened his car door and grabbed his backpack with all of his paperwork. He already knew that he’d like the brigade. The commander seemed down to earth and very approachable. He shook his head. The colonel had given a welcome speech, off the cuff in the parking lot. He didn’t think he’d ever be that good, but the impromptu meeting with Colonel Albrecht had inspired Jake. He wanted to live up to the man’s expectations of him. He wanted to be the officer that the colonel requested for the hard tasks.
Jake knew that he could do well. Now he just had to go meet his platoon.
NINE
* * *
WASHINGTON, DC
TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE OUTBREAK
Grady stepped out of the taxi and paid the fare on his cell phone app. “Thanks,” he murmured as he looked up at the corporate offices of The Havoc Group. It was an unassuming four-story gray concrete building. In fact, it looked like they poured the parking garage and then just kept on going, pouring more of the bare concrete until a building materialized.
A small, twelve-inch company logo on each of the double glass doors were the only indication that Havoc was there. If a passerby wasn’t specifically looking for it, they would probably walk right by, thinking it was just another DC apartment building. Grady regarded the skull and crossed K-BARs logo, wondering if he would see it again if he was successful in the mission and earned that large paycheck.
It certainly wasn’t obvious what The Havoc Group did or what services they offered, but they were well known and respected in the private security corporation world. “Wild” Bill Kizer and Thom Banks had founded the Group after two tours together in Vietnam. Initially, they provided personal security for visiting celebrities and dignitaries, similar to the job Grady had failed Friday night. Then, they expanded during the heady Soldiers of Fortune days in the 1980s, providing expertise and training to the DoD when it established the Special Operations Command after the Goldwater-Nichols Act.
From there, The Havoc Group became the go-to private security corporation for the Central Intelligence Agency. They were typically offered a contract to perform off-the-book missions first as a way to skirt the juggernaut of governmental bureaucracy and strike quickly, while still maintaining plenty of on-the-books training and advisory missions across the globe. They’d taken part in most of the world’s conflicts in some way over the past twenty-five years and had grown into a billion dollar company, thriving on what some called “disaster capitalism.”
As time wore on, other companies stood up, following Havoc’s business model of hiring retired and separated Special Operations personnel who could train militaries, police forces, and small militias. Several of them had gotten into trouble during Iraqi Freedom, causing all private security corporations to be labeled infamously by the media as cowboys who were above the law. Throughout the Congressional hearings and the resultant media shit storm that blamed all of the problems with the Iraq War on Rumsfeld and Cheney’s privatization of core military functions, The Havoc Group continued to operate as the premiere competent and successful private security corporation. They’d never blown an assignment—until two days ago.
Grady pulled the doors open with a heavy sigh. This place may have had a lot of good memories, but it was also filled with the ghosts of the past. In homage to the CIA’s Memorial Wall, Bill Kizer had a similar memorial placed in the lobby of The Havoc Group’s building. Havoc’s memorial wall used light gray granite, the stars were carved in the nautical star pattern, and the operator’s name was carved underneath. Then the lines were painted a deep red. Forty-two stars were on the wall, more than half of them from Iraq and Afghanistan, and most of them friends whom Grady had said goodbye to.
“Good morning, Mr. Harper,” Olivia, the brunette company receptionist, said. She sat at a desk in the lobby, alone except for the two, armed security guards who manned a metal detector thirty feet away.
“Morning, Olivia,” he responded.
“Mr. Thompson told me about the company decision,” she stated.
“Decision?”
“I’m supposed to collect your access badge and issue you a visitor badge so you can collect your things.”
“Are you—” Grady stopped himself. It wasn’t Olivia’s fault that the company was doing this legal dick dance. He dug into his coat pocket and handed his badge to her. “Here you go.”
“Thank you for not making a fuss,” she said, seemingly relieved.
“The others didn’t take it well?”
“Most of them did. Mr. Knasovich did not like having to switch out his badge,” she replied with a frown. “Luckily, my ears aren’t virgins anymore.”
Grady’s lips formed a thin line. The sniper had a notorious anger problem and was generally a dick to everyone, but he was by far the best marksman they had at distances beyond fifteen hundred meters. He had an uncanny ability to put the bullet exactly where he wanted to, seemingly at any distance.
“I’m sorry that Alex was so rude, Olivia. You don’t deserve that.”
She smiled. It was the practiced smile of a beauty pageant contestant, fake but still enough to make a man do crazy things just to see it again “Thank you, Mr. Harper. I didn’t take it personally. I know that you all are under a lot of stress, with the layoffs and all.” She’s practically whispered the last part of the sentence.
He nodded his chin. Layoffs. So they didn’t tell anyone in the company what this was all about, which would add to the legitimacy of the company’s claims that they fired everyone involved if something went wrong.
“Times are tough,” Grady replied, accepting the purple visitors’
badge she offered him. “Thank you.”
“You’re supposed to go to room 326 to get read off of the SCI programs before you go to the lockers to turn in your weapons.”
“Thought of everything, didn’t they?”
She frowned, obviously not happy with being Pete’s messenger. “I’m sorry about all of this. I couldn’t believe it when I heard that you were being let go. You’re the go-to guy around here.” She paused, then added, “You’re like a stud—I mean, you get all the important contracts and get to meet with celebrities and politicians. If your job wasn’t safe, how are any of ours?”
“Thanks,” Grady chuckled. “I think you’re safe. This place will always need you. You’re smart, poised under pressure, and enthusiastic about your job. You’re irreplaceable.”
Another stunning smile lit up her face. “Have a good day, Mr. Harper. I’ll see you later.” Her smile was infectious and Grady smiled back, tapping the side of his visitor badge softly on her desktop a couple of times.
“Hopefully,” he replied. He walked toward the metal detector and a thought occurred to him. Let this blow up in Kizer and Skipper’s faces, he thought and spun on his heel. He walked confidently back toward Olivia’s desk.
“Something else I can help you with, Mr. Harper?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Now that I’m no longer an employee of The Havoc Group, would you like to go out for dinner or drinks tomorrow night?”
She grinned and Grady decided that he liked her natural smile more than the practiced one. “I have a parent-teacher conference at my son’s school tomorrow night.” Grady’s confidence wavered. He’d forgotten that Olivia had a kid, what, eight, nine years ago?
“But I’m free on Friday night,” she offered.
Grady’s lips twisted downward. “I’m going to Japan early Saturday morning. Maybe next—”
“I can get a sitter for tonight,” she answered quickly.
“What time?” he asked, grinning anew.
“6:30? I have the company phone roster so I’ve got your number. I’ll text you my address.”
“Sounds great,” he replied. “Something good is coming out of this after all.”
Grady went upstairs to room 326, as Olivia had directed. When he walked in, there were eight people in the room. The five members of his new team sat around a conference table, while Pete and two men in suits and ties stood off to the side. Apparently, the suits didn’t get the memo that everything at Havoc was casual.
“There he is,” Pete said, raising both arms wide as if he could hug Grady from across the room.
“Sorry I’m late, Skipper,” he replied. “I got fired and couldn’t get into the building.”
“Shit happens, Harper.”
“Yeah…” He trailed off as he looked at the faces of his team. All of them looked confused as to why they were there.
“Hey, Skipper,” Grady said, still standing in the doorway, “Did you tell anyone why they’re here?”
“Nope. That’s not my call.”
Grady walked into the room and shook the two men’s hands, introducing himself.
“Jerry Sands, UFAC chief analyst,” the older of the two men said. Grady knew that UFAC was short for the Defense Intelligence Agency’s Underground Facilities Activities Center, an organization that tracked the building and use of manmade tunnel networks worldwide.
“Todd McShay.”
“Can you gentlemen give me two or three minutes to talk to my team?”
“Sure, go ahead,” Jerry said, turning back to the conference room’s laptop.
“Without you guys in the room,” Grady clarified.
“Oh. Of course,” the intel analyst replied.
“Something you need to get off your chest?” Pete asked.
Grady shrugged. “We’ve got to decide what to get you for Christmas next year and don’t want you to know about it.”
Pete dipped his chin. “Let’s go to the breakroom next door,” he said to the two DIA men.
When they were gone, Grady sat heavily across from his team. He sighed and placed his open hands on the table, palms down and his fingers spread wide. “Okay. This is the long and short of it. We are going after an extremely high-value target. So high-value that Havoc decided they needed to distance themselves from us completely. Hence the terminations. We will be infiltrating an enemy state, destroying a secret facility, and possibly killing everyone we come across.” He waited for the gasps of surprise or outbursts of damnation. None came. “The payout is stupid big, five million for the full contract, split seven ways, after Havoc’s cut.”
“Seven?” Carmike asked as he looked around the room. “Shit, is Pete goin’ with us? That old coot can’t run and gun anymore.”
Grady smiled. “No. We’re picking up an interpreter.” He looked each of them in the eye before saying the next part. “That’s about five hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars each—all of it off the books and tax free since this is to be top secret-restricted. Meaning once we do this thing, nobody will ever discuss it again. Fuck, those two intel douches probably don’t even know why they’re here to give us their briefing. Upon the successful completion of the mission, everyone has the opportunity to be rehired by Havoc after a couple of month’s cool-off time.”
He looked at each of them in turn. “Right now, you don’t know what you’re signing up for, but you will by the time this briefing is done. This mission is beyond top secret, it’s one of those ‘take the information to your grave’ type missions, so before you get any details, I need to know if you’re in or if you’re out. Standard non-disclosure agreements have been drawn up by the Agency, they’re just waiting on your signature before we start the briefing. The Skipper has already said that if you decide not to go, then your termination will be cancelled and you’ll be brought back into the Havoc fold, no questions asked. What’ll it be?”
“I’m in,” Rob Carmike said immediately. He was a former Special Forces Communications Sergeant that’d been barred from reenlistment after recording his SF team in Afghanistan lip-synching and gyrating shirtless to a pop song a few years ago. His video made it to several morning talk shows and was a massive online viral hit, but the administration at the time didn’t approve of it. So he, and most of his team, were out on the street within a year or two of releasing the video. Any time he could stick it to the Man and avoid paying taxes, he was all about it.
“Count me in,” Hannah Dunn replied next. Grady suppressed a grin. As a new hire, he wasn’t sure if she’d be willing to commit to such a big job, but he felt that they absolutely needed her skills with both rotary and fixed wing if they got into a bind. She’d be a good addition to the team.
“If I do take the mission—and the money—does that mean I’m done with The Havoc Group, forever?” Akram Bazan, the demolitions expert asked. He’d been a member of Carmike’s SF team that was booted, even though he was a fluent Arabic speaker and one of only a handful of natural-born Iraqis who’d made it through the SOF pipeline to become Green Berets.
“You’ll have to read the fine print of your termination notice,” Grady replied. “Mine says I’m eligible for employment after eight weeks. I assume they’re cookie cutter, but I can’t tell you that for certain, Baz.”
The man stroked his beard while he thought about it for a moment. “Okay. I’ll go on this fools’ errand.”
Grady nodded his head and looked at Alex Knasovich and Chris McCormick, the final two, to answer. Both of the men were from Kentucky, but that’s where the similarities ended. Knasovich was a thin, white guy with hard, ropelike muscles who’d been honorably discharged from the Marine Corps after two enlistments when he couldn’t get promoted to staff sergeant, even after two assignments to MARSOC. He was the best sniper at Havoc and he knew it, which added to his swagger. On top of that, he had the pleasant personality trait of being a complete asshole. All the time.
McCormick, on the other hand, was a giant bear of a black man, with bowling ball shoulders and
a barrel chest that made it impossible for him to work on vehicles that weren’t at least raised up on jacks. He’d been in the Army, but hadn’t been through any specialized training besides Airborne School, and he was never assigned to any of the cool-guy units. He was a genius as a mechanic, though, and Grady knew that his skillset would be the most needed in the coming days.
“I’m in,” McCormick stated. “Lord knows I can use the money. My rugrats are both starting football this year and every time I turn around, the team is asking for more money. It’s out of control.”
That only left the sniper. “What about you, Alex? I hear you terrorized Olivia when she asked you to turn over your building pass this morning.” He noted the confused look on the man’s face. “She’s the receptionist in the lobby.”
“Ah. That fine split tail with the big rack?”
“You’re a disgusting ass,” Hannah stated.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Alex agreed. “Yeah. As long as I get to shoot somebody, then I’m in.”
Grady looked around the table once more. “So it’s agreed, we’re all in?” Several of them nodded their heads, while one or two simply glared back at him. He passed out the non-disclosures and waited until everyone signed them. Then he glanced at the closed door to the breakroom. The UFAC guys were here to give briefings on all the underground facilities in North Korea, they didn’t know anything beyond that, so he didn’t want to risk them hearing.
“The British government wants revenge for the assassination of Ambassador Kellogg, so they’ve hired us to send a clear message to the North Koreans.” He paused, letting that part sink in. “Our government wants us to assess the validity of Kellogg’s claims of human experimentation. We’re supposed to infiltrate North Korea and collect information, while simultaneously destroying as much infrastructure as possible on behalf of the Brits.”
“Fuck me,” Carmike mumbled.
“Yeah, fuck us, right?” Grady agreed.
