Shooter Galloway

by Roy F. Chandler

  “On that subject, I expect each incident is thoroughly covered in law enforcement files—to which, I suspect, you have ready access.”

  Barner nodded agreement. “Well put, Shooter, and exactly right.”

  McMillin said, “We have been concerned with more than secrets, Shooter. We spoke with everyone we could find that knows or claims to know you. Except for one individual, everything we heard was exemplary. People like you, and that is important to us.”

  Galloway barely dared to ask, “Who was the one individual? Not from around here, I hope.”

  Barner’s features stayed neutral, but his eyes sharpened—probably with special interest, Galloway suspected.

  Barner did not have to check his notes. “The dissenter was Roy Elder, now from Eugene, Oregon.”

  Shooter nodded understanding.

  “That would figure, but I am surprised that you dug him out. Roy Elder has been gone from here for years, and I try to forget about him. As you have certainly discovered, I beat the hell out of one Elder who jumped me in a restaurant, and I managed to shoot two that ambushed me on my own land.

  “The Elders liked to believe that I killed their brother and their father back when I was a boy—not much older than Shawn, in fact. No one else considers such foolishness, and except for Roy Elder and me, I doubt that few even remember.”

  Galloway pretended to ponder.

  “Roy Elder isn’t planning on coming back here, is he? I would like to have warning if that were likely. The Elders were dangerous people, and I would hate to have to start watching my back again.”

  “As far as we know, Roy Elder is in Oregon to stay. Our investigator barely met with him, but Elder is a mean-speaking man, and I would not forget he is out there.” Barner was clear enough.

  Bob McMillin pushed the folder toward Galloway.

  “This copy is for you. You can judge any danger yourself, and you will be able to evaluate our Galloway portfolio. We think it is very complete, but we are willing to add more.”

  Shooter accepted the dossier and set it aside. Now, he figured, would come the pitch.

  Bob McMillin scrubbed at his short and silver mane, as if collecting his thoughts.

  “All of this is difficult to cover in a few pithy paragraphs, but here is the meat of it.

  “First, my name is not McMillin, nor is my son Shawn’s. We use that name and identification in certain circumstances, particularly here in the United States, because there are people who could profit from knowing where my son is located. Bad, mean and lethal people, I wish to add. We take a small risk even disclosing this tiny part of our planning, but we have to begin somewhere. I hope that you will be circumspect in repeating any of this information.

  “My legal name is Robert Robinson. I am very rich and I have many enemies. For those reasons I have a number of identities that my family and I use in various parts of the world.

  “Most of my professional work lies outside the United States, and I attempt to keep an extremely low profile here at home.

  “Carson Long is a small and little known academy. It is a good but obscure school. It is inexpensive to attend and therefore an unlikely educational institution for the child of a wealthy family. Shawn can attend, and I can appear without particular comment and miniscule probability of recognition. In this manner, Shawn can expect to grow up as a normal American boy.

  “If Shawn’s real name became known in certain circles, I would have to remove him from school and place him within tight security until we could again manage his disappearance.”

  Shooter said, “Shawn must understand all of this, of course. He knows his real name and he must be aware of the need to disguise his family background.”

  “He does, and he has never faltered. I gather that he has never revealed any of this to you, Major Galloway?”

  “Not a whisper, except that he has often said that I would end up working for you.”

  Bob laughed, “Shawn is perceptive, and works his wiles on all of us, Shooter. So, it is time that we got to that part of it.” Robert Robinson, looked directly at Ted Barner and received an approving nod.

  “Ted has been with me since I was younger than you are, Shooter. He has been my indispensable right hand. He has saved my life more than once, and he is friend and family, in every sense of the words. We have adventured together through some outstanding times.

  “In August, Shawn, Ted, and I, will travel in the west. I am able to devote only that single month to Shawn, and I am rarely able to appear for holidays because there are people who would like to know what I do and where I go on such vacations. So, we make our time together best quality, and I try to include the exciting and rare things a boy wishes to do.”

  Robinson hesitated before going on. “My wife has been dead for some years, Mister Galloway. She died in a car wreck that has never been adequately explained. That mystery haunts me more than a little.

  “I have a grown daughter that I see more or less regularly, and I provide professional security for her. To date, that has worked out, but there is danger there, and we try to remain alert and ahead of any planning against us.”

  Bob Robinson paused to sip at his drink, and Shooter had time to think about what he had been told. It was an astonishing tale of intrigue and life on an edge he had not known existed. How did he figure in? Security for the daughter? That kind of assignment would not prove interesting, Galloway believed, no matter how well it paid.

  Bob Robinson returned to business.

  “Our problem is that Ted, here, wishes to retire. He is old enough, and he deserves it, but replacing Ted Barner has proven hard beyond belief.

  “Ted and I have examined and sometimes interviewed a small host of probables. All have come up short because my requirements are difficult and demanding.

  “What is required, Shooter is a man that I can like and trust. I want a man like Ted. A man who can blend into whatever society I am moving in.

  “This man must also be an experienced fighter. By that I mean that his record must show successes under drastic conditions. I am not seeking simply a team player, so most Green Beret, Ranger, Special Ops types do not automatically qualify because they have rarely proven themselves as stand-alone warriors.

  “There is a unique qualification that I value as highly as any weaponry or martial arts skills. This new man must be liked and preferably admired by my son. He must be a man who can teach Shawn important things of life. He must be a tutor willing and able to camp, to hike, to climb, to shoot, to adventure, to ride, to hunt, to fish—to be there at Shawn’s and my side until his own, far in the future, retirement arrives.

  “This is not a few years contract we are discussing, Major. It is a career commitment. Of course, there would be a mutually agreed upon trial or adjustment period for both parties to be certain.”

  Robinson smiled grimly, Galloway thought.

  “Until you appeared, none of our prospects made the grade with Shawn.”

  Robinson held up a placating hand, “Now, Shooter, I am aware of the dangers of placing too much value on a child’s opinions or perceptions, but I try to listen and since then, I began determining what we could about this teacher who so delighted my son.”

  Shooter shook his head almost in disbelief.

  Ted Barner said, “Do not think that we are telling you all of this based on some paper work and our few moments together, Shooter. I have had men on your trail off and on for most of this year—until you went overseas, of course.

  “You are an engaging and effective teacher. We liked what you did with your MP platoon, and we reviewed with approval your actions when you became S3. You were efficient, very direct, and you knew what you wanted and how to get there.

  “We got a lot of testimony from your fellow soldiers, sometimes through casual meeting in bars or at ball games, on other occasions in churches. We had a WWII veteran hanging out at your local VFW listening to what some of your fellow teachers had to say. All good, I should add.
/>
  “Unable to make personal approaches, we have relied on experts known to us, but time has run on, and we thought we might have lost you when your wounds were declared so serious.”

  Barner smiled at Galloway’s snarl. “We are pleased that you pursued the matter and had it straightened out.”

  Barner chuckled, “We were unsure about Miss Hannah York, but from our standpoint that also turned out well.”

  Barner hastily added, “Do not misunderstand. We have no objection to marriage. I am married with an understanding wife, but right now would not be the best of time. If you come with Mister Robinson, you will find your schedule heavy with almost constant travel. Not so good for a newlywed, we figure.”

  Robinson resumed his explanation.

  “We can discuss the many details of what we have done and what we will continue to do, but in a nutshell, I wish to offer you a position as personal security for me and my family with emphasis on myself and my son.

  “Our plan will call for you to attend a series of courses on various security subjects so that your knowledge is truly cutting edge. That will consume months. Thereafter, you would work beside Ted learning our ways of operating and our style of security.

  “An exception to the schooling will occur this summer in the middle of August when you would replace Ted on a rafting trip on the Snake River, and . . .” Robinson’s mouth quirked in expectation, “A bit of climbing and photographing in Montana with one Mop Galloway as guide.”

  Barner laughed at Galloway’s obvious surprise.

  Shooter said, “With Uncle Mop? You know Mop?” Although utterly astonished, Galloway had to admit Mop was a good choice. Mop was affable, his campfire stories were stimulating and Mop knew the mountains around Teton Peak as well as anyone living. Whether he worked for Bob Robinson or not, Shooter would like to be included on that trip.

  Robinson answered, “Yes we know your Uncle Mop. We are going on that adventure whether you are along or not, but I hope that climbing with your uncle will be an added inducement for you to seriously consider my offer.”

  Shooter said, “I am glad that you don’t need an answer today, Mister Robinson. You have caught me standing on one foot. I need to consider all that you have said.” He gestured with the folder. “And I want to read all that is in here to see if you really have the man you think you have.”

  Shooter said, “I believe I need to know what you do for work, Bob. I cannot be part of anything nefarious.” Galloway’s grin was infectious and took any sting from his request.

  “What I do, Shooter, is buy, sell, trade, protect and deal in precious commodities. Often I handle jewels. I am regularly involved with almost priceless antiquities, and gold, silver, and platinum in stunning quantities are common.

  “That kind of trade draws evil and opportunistic people in droves. We regularly carry kings’ ransoms on our persons or in our hand luggage. We are, at times, responsible for national treasures. We have transported millions of dollars’ worth of bearer bonds and suitcase-size bundles of American one hundred dollar bills—often within truly dangerous areas of the world.

  “Equally often, we provide security for individuals transporting such valuables or who are subject to some special danger.

  “When such treasures require moving or protecting, we are the company to contact. We do not advertise. We prosper on referrals. We guarantee our performance and,” Robinson clearly paused for effect, “we must never fail. Insurance bonds us, but only success allows us to stay in business.

  “I can guarantee, Shooter, that all that we do is legal. I have always been wealthy, but my employees are well rewarded for their loyalty and their risk. It can be an interesting life, Major Galloway, and I hope that you will consider it.”

  Ted Barner provided the last explanations.

  “A word of warning, Shooter. This work is sometimes violent. It is also captivating. I am not sure whether it is the immense sums we transport, the explosiveness of occasional incidents, or the closeness of our small band of brothers. You have not heard about them yet, but trust an old Marine on this.

  “If you believe in the camaraderie of military warriors, you will feel truly at home with Mister Robinson and his team.

  “Departing that closeness, that empathy, if you will, has kept me on longer than has been wise. My hand has slowed and my mental agility has aged. If it had not, I would stay on.”

  +++

  Returning to their Main Street bed and breakfast, Ted Barner asked, “Well, Bob, what do you think?”

  “Unless something unexpected develops, I think he is our man, Ted. I like Shooter Galloway, and I think he has the heart and skill needed to fill your boots. How do you see it?”

  “He looks and sounds good to me. Do you think he is really interested?”

  “He sounded interested. You want my guess? I think that, whether he has realized it or not, Gabriel Galloway misses the challenges of battle. He has tasted the tensions and surges of a ferociously physical life, and deep down inside, where it counts—he likes it.

  “I believe he will give us a try, and if he does, I think he will drop into place as if standing in your shoes was something he had always done. We know he is a natural with weapons, and his war record shows that he can and will fight like hell when he needs to.

  “We’ll know in a month, but I’m not looking at anyone else between now and then. Galloway is our man, and I think, as you do, that I am really going to like him.”

  They drove through the square and Barner asked, “Do you think he shot those two Elders, Bob, way back when he was just a boy?”

  Robinson said, “No way to know, but Shooter Galloway is tough, and I wouldn’t bet against it. Whew, at eleven or twelve years old?”

  Barner said, “You know what? I hope he did. From what we’ve read those bastards deserved it, and beyond that, I don’t give a rat’s ass. How about you, Bob?”

  Bob Robinson’s lips thinned. “I don’t even care about the rat’s ass part, Ted. Galloway is straight-arrow, and that is what counts with us.”

  Shooter Galloway drove home to The Notch with his mind working. What an opportunity to flee life’s routines—if he really wanted to. It also sounded as if he could make serious money— assuming he lived long enough.

  Shooter laughed off that part. Ted Barner was here, wasn’t he? After more than twenty-five years, Barner still liked the job. That alone was solid evidence of employment worth having.

  The idea of uncommon schooling interested Galloway. What meaty subjects would there be? Hard physical stuff, he expected.

  What about devoting his years to watching over the Robinsons? Galloway had a little trouble with the name change and decided to keep McMillin in his mind.

  He thought he would enjoy helping and watching Shawn grow up. Shooter wondered if the boy’s admiration for him might dim over the summers. Probably it would, but Shooter believed a more mature respect would develop between them.

  Shooter had most of June and all of July to decide. How about leaving teaching at Carson Long? How about the new house planned for The Notch? How about the quiet life in the rural countryside? All matters to be considered, but at first consideration, the Robinson offer had a lot of appeal.

  Galloway thought he might at least give it a shot. Ted Barner obviously set high standards. What if he could not measure up? That question presented a challenge and, at least for the moment, made the Robinson offer even more appealing.

  Mop was coming east again for Bloomfield’s big Fourth of July Firemen’s Carnival. If they could, everybody came home for that. Shooter had things to tell Mop, serious things, and he could add the Robinson job offer to his increasingly long list.

  Shooter found a long and heavy U.S. Mail package leaning inside his back door. A quick check showed that Emma had signed for it before going into town with her cousin.

  Of course, Shooter knew what it was. The return address was an Army Overseas Address. Galloway opened the shapeless bundle, cut through a q
uarter-inch of duct tape wrapping, and removed a full inch of bubble wrap that looked as if it had been repeatedly reused.

  The Rock rifle appeared a bit worse for wear. The silencer was gone, and Galloway supposed that he would never recover that expensive piece. Over the months of hard use, the stock had been battered, and the barrel was gouged and had its finish scraped away here and there from being carried in the field and tossed around in rough and tough military vehicles. Damn, the scope tube had a hell of a dent in it.

  Galloway examined the bore. The rifling looked decent, and he saw no roughness at the crown. The Colonel built his weapons tough. Maybe the Rock rifle would still shoot. Galloway would immediately find out, but no matter how tight the groups, he would UPS the battered piece to Colonel Rock’s armory in Jacksonville and have the rifle rebuilt.