Goliath

by Richard Turner

Charlotte

  North Carolina

  Mitchell got out of the polished, jet-black stretch limo, checked himself over one more time in the car’s passenger-side mirror and, a bouquet of flowers in hand, headed up the short flight of stairs to the front door of a two-story brick building that dated back to the turn of the last century. Mitchell rang the doorbell and waited. Might be cool and damp, but it’s not too uncomfortable for a late-December evening, thought Mitchell, as he waited patiently for someone to answer the door.

  Tammy Spencer had outdone herself. From arranging his flights, to finding him a tux, to hiring him a limo, Mitchell had only to meet the timings laid down by Spencer and the date, he hoped, would go perfectly. Tammy finished by reminding him that this was how it should be done, and if a woman wanted it done right, then she had to do it herself. He made a mental note to buy her a dozen roses when he got back to New York.

  On the other side of the glass door, a light switched on. A small dog started yelping and digging furiously at the door. Mitchell heard a female voice shoo away the pet. A moment later, the door slowly opened.

  A thin, black woman in her late fifties, dressed in a stylish blue pantsuit, stood there, looking Mitchell over.

  With survival instincts honed on the battlefield, Mitchell smiled and handed over the flowers to the curious woman.

  “These are for you, Mrs. March,” said Mitchell, hoping that she would fall for the ruse.

  Mrs. March smiled at the flowers, and looked past Mitchell at the waiting limo. “Please, do come in, Mister Mitchell. Jennifer will be down shortly,” she said as she took the gift and inhaled the fragrance of the freshly cut blooms. “Thank you very much. It’s been an awfully long time since anyone has bought me such lovely flowers.”

  “I’m glad you like them, ma’am,” said Mitchell, as he stepped inside the warm hallway. The corridor was adorned with several generations of family photos, and a number of knick-knacks.

  “Mister Mitchell, I understand that you work for a private security company, and that you had a hand in saving my daughter last month in the Philippines.”

  “I did my part, ma’am.”

  “Oh please, do stop with all of this ma’am nonsense. You’re making me feel old. Please call me Corrine.” She extended her hand to Mitchell.

  “Sorry, Corrine, a strict upbringing from my mother followed by ten years in the army will make anyone overly polite,” replied Mitchell as he gently shook her warm hand.

  “Jen, your date is here,” Mrs. March called down the hallway.

  “Coming, Mom. I’ll be down in a minute,” said a distant voice.

  “I wouldn’t call it a date,” said Mitchell, skirting around the issue. “It’s more like I’m accompanying your daughter to a charity auction.”

  “Mister Mitchell. You brought me flowers, you look extremely handsome in that stylish, form-fitting tuxedo of yours, and you have rented a limousine. In my day, that would be some special date,” said Mrs. March with a mischievous wink.

  Mitchell’s face flushed. For the first time in a long time, he was tongue-tied and genuinely embarrassed.

  The sound of movement in the hall caught Ryan’s ear. “Mister Mitchell, I believe you already know my daughter, Jennifer,” said Mrs. March with pride.

  Mitchell turned and was captivated at the sight of the beautiful woman standing there. Jennifer March hardly looked like the disheveled and grime-covered woman he had last seen a month ago in the Philippines. She stood there wearing a pair of open-toed, high-heeled shoes with a long, black sleeveless dress that hugged her lithe physique. She wore a pearl necklace with matching earrings that accented her warm brown skin. Her hair was a radiant caramel color, cut stylishly short around the ears.

  “Good evening, Ryan, long time no see,” said Jennifer, as she extended her hand in greeting.

  Mitchell stood there for a moment before he realized that he was still staring. “Oh yes, of course. Good evening, Jen,” stammered Mitchell as he took her hand.

  Jennifer lightly took his hand and smiled. “Is it cold out?” she asked, as she dug inside her evening bag for her lipstick.

  “You should be okay tonight, dear. Mister Mitchell has a limo waiting to take you on your date,” said Mrs. March, clearly enjoying the moment.

  “It’s not a real date, Mother,” replied Jen, before Mitchell had the chance to. “We have to get going. Don’t stay up too late. The auction should end around one, so I should be home by two, or three at the latest,” said Jen, as she gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Mitchell opened the front door for Jen. The driver, seeing them coming, got out and opened the side door of the waiting limo. Once Jen and Mitchell were comfortable, the limo driver edged out into traffic, and headed for the Charter House in Downtown Charlotte.

  “This is quite nice. Not what I had been expecting at all,” said Jen as she looked around the limo. “After meeting you in the Philippines, I half-expected you to pull up in a rusty old Jeep, wearing blue jeans and a down-filled jacket.”

  “Funny you should say that, but I received a bit of a surprise holiday bonus this year, so I could afford to rent this limo,” said Mitchell.

  “A Jeep would have been fine with me, as well.”

  “Well, when you come up to New York, I’ll have to take you for a ride with the top off. Now, Jen, would you like a drink?” asked Mitchell as he eyed the well-stocked mini-bar.

  “Yes, a gin and tonic would be nice.”

  Mitchell poured them both a drink, and sat back to enjoy the ride. The traffic was not bad, considering the hour. They made good time as they drove down West Boulevard.

  “The flowers for my mother were a nice touch. A little over the top, but nice nonetheless,” said Jen as she sipped her drink.

  Mitchell chuckled. “I actually bought them for you, but once I saw your mother giving me the eye as if I were a raw recruit, I instantly panicked and changed my plan. I thought she might be easier on me if I gave them to her instead. Sorry.”

  Jen broke out laughing, almost spilling her drink in the process.

  “Glad you think it was funny.”

  “My mom, bless her heart, is a little overprotective of me these days. You must have made quite the impression. She’s never that nice to any of my gentlemen callers; not that there have been that many, recently.”

  Mitchell looked deep into Jen’s beautiful eyes and said, “I find it hard to believe that someone as stunning as you doesn’t get many dates.”

  Jen turned away. “Please, Ryan, you’re making me blush.”

  “Sorry, that wasn’t my intention,” said Mitchell. “I honestly find it hard to believe that you cannot get a date.”

  “I was seeing someone,” said Jen, looking uncomfortable, “but that all fell apart in the spring. Being a historian isn’t the most glamorous of professions and, besides, most of the men I work with are already married.”

  “Well tonight, I, for one, am glad for that,” said Mitchell as he toasted Jen with his glass.

  “But enough about me, Ryan Mitchell. Why isn’t a handsome man like yourself married?” asked Jen as she took another sip of her drink.

  “Who says I’m not?”

  Jen playfully slapped Mitchell on the arm. “Don’t even joke like that! It’s not the slightest bit funny.”

  “Sorry. Like yourself, in my line of work, it’s hard to find someone to spend time with, let alone settle down. I was engaged once, but that was a while ago.”

  “Oh, dear. What happened?” asked Jen.

  “When I was on my first tour of duty in Afghanistan, the supposed love of my life ran off and eloped with my older brother.”

  Jen sat there, speechless for a moment, and then hit Mitchell’s arm again. “You’re awful. Quit toying with me.”

  Mitchell downed his drink in one gulp. “I’m not. It’s all true,” he responded, a slightly sour look on his face.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” said Jen as she took his ha
nd.

  “Family dynamics will never be the same. Christmas is always awkward at my parents’ house, but it turns out that I dodged the proverbial bullet on that one, as she has become, shall we say, high maintenance for my poor brother.”

  “Damn,” said Jen as she finished her drink.

  “All true; Scout’s honor,” replied Mitchell with a flash of the two-fingered Scouting salute.

  Jen giggled and changed the topic. “So, please, tell me about your work and the people you work with. The ones I met in the Philippines seemed like quite an eclectic group.”

  Mitchell grinned at Jen’s use of eclectic. He’d never heard his friends referred to like that before. Scoundrels, yes, but never eclectic. “Well, we all work for an organization known as Polaris Operations.”

  “Polaris; that seems like an odd name.”

  “Not really if you knew our boss, Major-General Jack O’Reilly. Polaris is the North Star. The general chose it because it has both a modern and historical context. If you know where the North Star is, you can find your way home. The Underground Railway taught it to escaping slaves, to help guide them to freedom in the north. We may not be as noble, but I find it an apt name in today’s environment.”

  “And your friends?”

  Mitchell collected his thoughts. “Well, as you know, Nate and I met in the army. We were both Army Rangers working together in a combined NATO Special Operations Task Force assigned to track down and eliminate HVTs.”

  Jen scrunched up her face. “HVT. What is that?”

  “Sorry, army-speak. It means a high-value target. It could be anything from a key Al Qaeda or Taliban leader, to a command and control node, or perhaps even an IED factory, all of which needed dealing with to ensure that they were no longer able to influence the fight.”

  Jen did not need to be told that Mitchell was talking about killing terrorists. “Sounds really dangerous.”

  “Yes, it can be, if you don’t take the time to plan and resource it properly.”

  “You did okay rescuing me on short notice,” said Jen with a warm smile on her lips.

  “That was a case of blind luck more than anything else. Not the best way to conduct business, if you want to stay alive long enough to retire and enjoy your grandchildren.”

  “And your other teammates?” asked Jen.

  “Sam was a medic in the 82nd Airborne attached to the organization and Cardinal was from a Canadian sniper team that supported many of our operations. The only one not from our time in Afghanistan is Yuri. He’s a Russian black marketer, who sort of fell into our laps a while back. His contacts throughout the world are invaluable to a team like ours.”

  “Fascinating,” said Jen. “Truly fascinating. It all sounds far more exciting than being a simple old professor of history.”

  “It sounds glamorous, but I live out of a duffle bag, and can’t remember the last home-cooked meal I ate,” said Mitchell.

  “Well, I’ll have to have you over for dinner. My mom would love the company, and she cooks a mean meatloaf.”

  Mitchell smiled. He found himself relaxing in Jen’s warmth and easygoing manner. “Sounds like a date.”

  Looking at his watch and then over at Jen, Mitchell said, “The traffic is starting to slow down. We’re not going to be late, are we?”

  “No, these things always start with a few cocktails, followed by some overly pretentious and boring people talking art and other such foolishness, as if they were all experts on such things. The charade usually runs a good hour before the auction actually begins. As long as we get there by nine, we should be okay.”

  Mitchell thought about it for a moment. Even with a small delay, they would still arrive with plenty of time to spare. He shimmied over to the bar. “Since we have time to kill, can I offer you another drink? And from here on out, I promise that the conversation will be neither pretentious nor boring,” said Mitchell as he waved his empty glass.

  Jen beamed a smile back at him. “Sure, why not?”

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