Riley Stokes brought up the rear, “I always go last,” he announced, “Sort of like the captain being last to leave a sinking ship.” He grinned, “Or, in the case of the movie ‘Titanic’ going down with the ship.”
Both women laughed, the chaplain smiled, the four trainers gave an assortment of laughs and comments. To the chaplain the group of people all seemed nice, almost like a family, except for no mother figure. He then wondered where Riley’s wife was.
“So, where you sit for meals we assume is called the captain’s table?” asked the chaplain, surprising everybody, especially Nicole.
“That’s correct, Radford.” Riley said, and gave a good-natured-appearing grin.
“You’re a good captain, Riley!” said the older man in the front of the line, now leaving with a heaped plate, “Always leading the charge, too.”
Behind the counter in the very clean-appearing kitchen stood two more men, one obviously the cook, both wearing a white apron and a chef’s hat. “Everybody takes a turn at mess-cooking,” Riley said, “That’s Sheldon back there now—“ the shorter of the two men waved, but remained almost angrily sober “—so he’ll be rejoining the trainers tomorrow, and little Sadie will take over mess-cooking duties.”
That brought a quick look back and a quick grin from Sadie, but not a smile.
The meal passed quietly. Everybody, evidently, was hungry and tired, because, when people finished eating, they quickly left.
Sadie was first to leave the captain’s table. “Goodnight, everybody,” she said, “See you later, Nicole.”
Riley had finished eating earlier but then returned to the table with a cup of coffee. He then sipped his coffee and waited quietly as the Chaplain and Nicole finished eating. When they finished they both took their plates and utensils to the counter, then returned to the table.
“So, what do you folks think so far?” Riley asked.
“That mess-cook kind of scares me,” Nicole said quietly, then glanced toward the kitchen area.
“Sheldon? Oh, he’s harmless,” Riley said, “He just doesn’t smile much. In fact, Nicole, he will be your main trainer tomorrow and for the rest of the week…will you be okay with that?”
Nicole’s mouth kind of fell open as she released a breath, then glanced at the chaplain before answering, “Yes, of course.”
“I hope so, because Sheldon is our best in the martial arts, so there will be some physical contact.” Riley turned his attention to the chaplain, “How about you, Radford? Will you be okay with Nicole working with Sheldon?”
The chaplain first glanced at Nicole, now sober. She tightened her lips and nodded positively. “Yes,” he said, “Nicole handles herself fine.” He returned attention to Riley.
“You maybe have wondered about my wife. She doesn’t always eat with us, and right now she’s visiting our son down in Yuma. Our daughter is back east at Harvard. Eventually we’ll have our own attorney right here at the ranch.”
The chaplain was glad to hear about the other family members, and finally asked, “What will I be doing tomorrow?”
“You’ll work with Tucker, the older guy first in line tonight. We’ll start you out with the .45 caliber semiautomatic pistol. Have you worked with guns at all?”
“Not much, sir.”
“Well, when you two leave here you will both be experts.”
“How long…will we be here?” the chaplain asked.
“That’s up to you, Radford. I recommend six to ten months at least, with vacations of course.”
“Rad,” Nicole exclaimed, “Can we afford that much?”
“Not to worry,” Riley said, “You can work for your stay.”
“’Work?’”
“Yes. We—all of us—do certain jobs for the government, for rich people, even for poor people—and for free—at times, and that’s all I will tell you right now. I said six to ten months, but a year is better, two years better still. You’re both young people. Two years is nothing, and when you leave here I will guarantee you’ll have no trouble obtaining a private detective’s license.”
So Riley, Tucker and Sheldon would be their trainers the next day. What of the other two men? The chaplain wondered but didn’t ask.
So ended their first indoctrination into the art of survival.
Chapter 14 Murder
Several months passed. On October 18, Les Paul reached his second birthday.
For a late season vacation his foster family drove from their home in Nebraska to the Grand Canyon National Park. As they walked along a narrow path with a full view of the nearby colossal gorge, Les Paul couldn’t get enough of looking out and seeing the vast distance, especially the vast distance down, which he couldn’t really see at all, and he kept pulling at his foster mother’s hand, trying to see down.
In his growing little mind he kept wanting to see something fall. But his foster mother of three months kept his left hand clutched tightly in hers. But he wanted to see something fall! He stopped and reached for a rock that would fit his hand.
“Come on, son—“ his new foster mother had followed the unofficial tradition of not naming him, but refused to call him Baby Boy-Doe9, so simply called him ‘son,’ “—Don’t be dallying.” She pulled him back upright, then looked down and smiled, “We’ll get to the lookout spot soon.”
This family had, of course, parents, a boy nine and a girl seven. As usual, the boy of the family was the member Les Paul allowed to see his other side, but he never did anything really bad enough for his new foster brother to report him. And he certainly didn’t know what the word ‘dally’ meant, so he kept pulling back on his foster mother’s hand and reaching for a rock when he saw one the right size.
“Son, now I mean it!” His foster mother sounded a bit mad at him. When she pulled him up she kind of jerked, which didn’t make her any positive points with her new foster son, as when he got straight again he let fly with a kick to her shin. Les Paul was growing fast, and weighed more and stood taller than an average two-year-old, so the kick hurt. She stopped and knelt down, “Son, now that hurt me.” She grasped both his upper arms. He figured she would hug him. She didn’t. Instead she tightened her grip on his arms and very lightly shook him, “Now I want you to follow along like a good boy.” She gave him that light shake a second time, “Okay, son?”
“Okay.” Les Paul wasn’t using many words yet, but he was learning quite a few. He knew what ‘okay’ meant, and he spoke the word to give him time. Yes, he would now follow along and not try to pick up any more rocks, but his little mind kept seeing something falling, and he wanted to see something really fall...and he did begin seeing something falling, and that something began to look a lot like his foster mother.
But, since he knew what ‘okay’ meant, like a good little boy, he began to follow along, and his foster mother’s grip on his hand began to loosen. Up ahead—he had no idea how far—but he saw a fence of some sort, and a few other people standing, looking, pointing.
His little mind kept seeing that something—his foster mother—falling, and his free right hand began moving on its own, opening and closing. Just as his hands had carried out the murder of his twin brother while still in the womb, his hands now began to ready themselves for another murder. That voice that sometimes entered his head said, She should have let you throw at least one rock. She brought this on herself.
The family reached the lookout point and somehow the mother and Les Paul got separated from the others. The fence was not high. His foster mother released his hand, and stepped close to the fence. The fronts of her knees nearly touched it. The huge gap of open air beyond the fence, and the short distance to the drop-off, brought an involuntary inhale from Les Paul. Once more he saw that something falling. He didn’t know why he would glance at the other people, but he did. Nobody was looking his way. He stepped to behind his foster mother, placed his little hands behind her knees, pushed, then quickly brought his hands to just below her buttocks and pushed again, violently.
> She screamed and went over the fence. Les Paul exalted in what he had done. His face grinned ferociously, but he stayed quiet as he listened to his foster mother continue screaming and watched as she rolled and fell and grasped at the earth but kept falling, over and over and over…till the drop-off.
Her screaming continued…for two or three more seconds then he heard no more.
“Baby Boy!” His foster father reached him and pulled him into his arms and hugged him closely, “Son! Are you all right? What happened?”
“Okay! I okay.”
His foster father stood but held onto Les Paul, “Tyler! Chloe! Come here!
The brother and sister hurried over. The father didn’t see the look on Tyler’s face. Les Paul did. Chloe just rushed to her little foster brother, picked him up and hugged him close.
“Did either of you see what happened?”
“No, daddy!” Chloe said, beginning to cry, “Where’s mom?”
“No,” Tyler said, but he continued looking at his foster brother.
Les Paul looked right back, but made sure that neither the father nor the daughter saw the look he was sending to his foster brother. The voice came to him again, You can’t trust that boy, you might have to dispatch him too.
Les Paul, of course, did not know the meaning of ‘dispatch’ but his conspiring little hands understood perfectly. In the meantime he enjoyed the warm arms of Chloe.
Chapter 15 Training
During their training sessions the chaplain and Nicole often watched each other. Today it was Nicole’s turn.
“Loosen up your knees, Radford” Tucker said, “You went to army basic, right? Didn’t they tell you not to lock your knees? That you could pass out if you did?”
The chaplain shook his head, “Yes, they did,” and glanced toward Tucker, “I fired a pistol like this just one time. Chaplains didn’t get a lot of training…least I didn’t.”
“Well, you won’t pass out here,” Tucker said, “But firing a big gun like that with your knees locked, could knock you over. I let you shoot as you wanted that first day so long ago, and you did fine with the rifles, the shotguns, even the M16, but now we’re back to the pistol, the Colt .45 semi-auto, so just bend your knees slightly and put your whole magazine into that target.”
The chaplain bent his knees and held the gun out straight and stiff.
“Too much on the knees and loosen your arms, just a bit.”
Nearby, Nicole was watching the chaplain closely. She felt somewhat amazed that a man his age—well, she didn’t know his age but he had white hair, didn’t he? But his face didn’t look old, and his skin was fine. Several times she had caught herself wanting to touch him, feelings that she always dismissed as soon as she realized what she was thinking, and more so feeling. She did allow herself to continue admiring him, though, like how he was holding that .45 caliber pistol.
He shot once, then started squeezing the trigger every couple seconds. The empties flew out the side and very quickly the slide opened and stayed open, she knew meaning the last bullet had been fired. The chaplain bent his elbows and raised the gun to the sky, then waited.
Tucker quickly walked to the target, a fairly small circle, at only sixty feet, yes, but, still, it was a pistol. “Good job, Radford!” Tucker called back, “Three bulls-eyes and the rest at least in the target.”
The chaplain glanced at Nicole and grinned. She smiled back. Her own training was coming along fine, too, and often—well, she never actually caught him watching her—and admiring—but she could feel it, and she didn’t mind.
****
The chaplain also watched closely his partner’s growing abilities, especially the martial arts. She worked daily with Sheldon, who at first she had not liked. But his attitude and abilities—and the fact he never hit on her—soon impressed her, and also impressed the chaplain. Even though neither he nor Nicole had claimed the other to anyone, the men at the training facility stayed away from Nicole except for the training.
Nicole, after just a month of training, was getting so good at Taekwondo—her yells and screams, and kicks and punches—that there likely wouldn’t ever be any more threats by three young men while they were eating, or even four. Five maybe would be pushing it. Luckily, the chaplain was pretty sure she would never use her new-found skills on him.
As for taking on three or four men, surprise, of course, would be part of it. They wouldn’t be expecting a babe like Nicole to know anything about self-defense. Most guys appreciated how the chicks on television and the movies could kick their way through a half dozen bad guys, but, hey, that was the movies. Chicks and babes weren’t so tough in real life. But with Nicole, likely all three of those guys bugging her that night at the restaurant would have been on the floor looking up before they even realized what had happened. Then things maybe would have changed a bit, but still, she would have hurt at least two of them before—through sheer numbers and male strength—they hurt her.
He often caught himself using the word ‘babe’ when he watched her, or thought of her, and he wondered what she would think if she knew. But hell, she was a babe. So he admired her. Big deal.
He wondered about Les Paul too. The child would be over two years old now. Certainly a two-year-old wouldn’t be able to cause much harm anywhere, would he?
Chapter 16 Still Alone
On October 18, Cassandra also became two years old, but her foster family was not experiencing the so-called ‘terrible twos,’ as at least one member of Les Paul’s family was. She yet had not said a word, and crying simply never happened. She was just a good and quiet little girl who gave nobody problems…she…existed. But nobody came to hold her, to quiet her nonexistent cries and fears, or talk to her, or give her love, so, Cassandra also did not give love.
Her foster mother stood over her crib one day, just looking at the child lying there, wondering…she sees but does she hear? Is she deaf? Is that why she doesn’t ever speak, doesn’t ever make even a sound?
Deaf and dumb? The thought horrified the woman. She wanted a bright child, one she could speak to, and dress cutely, and take places. She wanted a child she could be proud of. She had thought taking on a young foster child would be the easy route to adoption.
How wrong she was. “Cassandra, can you hear me?”
Yes, Cassandra heard her, but did not move her eyes to look at this woman, this woman looking down on her. She didn’t like this woman; she didn’t know what like meant, of course, but her brain knew, and knew this woman should never be encouraged. This woman would never give her true love. No warmth existed in her voice and none in her arms the rare times she was held or carried, and when this woman fed her, it was just the spoon to the food to her mouth. No ooohhhs and ahhhs, not ever, no comforting words or sounds.
Cassandra wouldn’t immediately comprehend ooohhhs and ahhhs anyway, but had the woman ever made the sounds Cassandra would have heard them, would then have instinctively recognized the sounds and the smiling face and the warm hands and arms as a good thing, and, eventually, would have begun giving back everything she received.
But none of those things happened.
“Cassandra,” the woman said, “If you don’t start doing something, and soon, I’m going to take you back to family services….” She hesitated, and said lower, “I don’t think I want you.” Then she added even lower, “I don’t think I even like you.”
Cassandra blinked. She hadn’t meant to, and continued not looking at the woman.
“In fact,” the woman said, while turning away, “I’ll ask my husband tonight. Maybe we’ll take you back right away…tomorrow.” The woman stopped at the door and looked back at the crib where the child lay silently. The child didn’t move. Nothing, “Humpff…” The woman said, then stepped into the hall and closed the door.
Chapter 17 For Graduation
A total of eight months had passed at the training facility.
Even though all seven men showed utmost professionalism, still it also felt t
o the chaplain that what went on there was absolutely just inside the law. Riley of course had told him that they sometimes did jobs for certain people. But still the chaplain wondered where, exactly, two or three of the men went at times, and what, exactly, they did while away from the facility. But he never asked.
Nicole wondered too. They took their breaks together and that was the main time they even got to see each other, that and meals, where Sadie often took a lot of Nicole’s attention. That didn’t bother the chaplain, though, He was glad Nicole had somebody, besides himself.
He also asked about everybody’s history. Riley Stokes was ex-navy SEAL. Tucker was ex-Underwater Demolition Team or UDT, “A navy special forces unit developed during WWII and re-designated around 1983,” Tucker explained, “It wasn’t the same anymore. And then of course the SEALs came along back during Vietnam.” He then grinned toward Stokes.
The other men were all ex-military, all services represented except the Coast Guard, “In fact,” Riley said at one of their end-of-day meals, “If you ever do run into any Coast Guard personnel, give’em my phone number.”
With training in the shooting and cleaning of several kinds of guns, self-defense including both Taekwondo and Judo, both felt nearly ready to get back to the tracking of Les Paul. The chaplain had drawn the line on explosives, but Nicole would have liked it but then agreed: They probably would never have need to blow anybody up. The months of training, though, had left both the chaplain and Nicole with unsettling and confusing feelings. All that to track a child approaching three years old? But of course he wouldn’t always be only three. Still, their training sometimes seemed somewhat unnecessary.
The Light at the End of the Tunnel Page 6
