Beyond Top Secret: A Zach Taylor Adventure

by Brian Anderson

  “Yes, but call me Phil.”

  Thinking this was almost cheating, Zach added him as number three in the correct column. Phil was comfortable with who he was and had no intention of changing that. Slightly older than the rest of the group his salt and pepper hair jutted from beneath a baseball cap. Wearing overalls, and work boots, a toothpick protruded from between his lips. As their conversation picked up, Zach was in a state of total awe. Along with being exceedingly bright this man was extremely attentive. Phil hardly spoke and when he did it was usually a question in response to what he just heard. Zach saw this as a rare character trait. Most people barely listen to what you are telling them because they are too busy thinking about what they plan on saying. Phil had the qualities you would want in a leader, and Zach felt he would be more than willing to listen to his directions, if and when it came time for that.

  Zach decided to put an end to his little mental game. Next up he met Ray, who could easily have been Chris’s older brother. Minus the face-distorting glasses, Ray had similar facial features, the same slight build and maybe a whole inch or two taller. The fact he was also a computer genius came as no surprise, the difference being his background was not as sketchy. Ray was a networking expert that had created some of the most extensive computer networks for global conglomerates. Not being talkative must be a trait of computer types, Zach thought.

  Down to the last man, Zach introduced himself to Shawn. Here was a rugged man, over six feet tall with calloused hands and a large scar running down his cheekbone, Shawn could have played a hit man in an old mobster movie. A gruff man with a vocabulary that sometimes relied on profanity to complete a sentence. Shawn came out of the oil field business, where he was a foreman that always made sure rigs were built on time no matter what it took. Zach took an instant liking to the man, thinking he would not only be reliable but also entertaining with his overwhelming compulsion to spin tales in a colorful manner.

  With the introductions complete, Zach stood as an observer watching the interactions between the rest of the group. He was not alone, unbeknownst to all these men the lounge had cameras and microphones everywhere. In the control room, Tom and Joe recorded everything taking place in the room. Tom turned to Joe and said, “What was Jake thinking? He expects us to turn this group into the new Zebra team?”

  “All we can do is try, and remember Tom there’s to be no mention of the prior Zebra team. There’s nothing to be gained from them knowing why they were recruited.” Joe’s tone gave the impression he was the superior of the two.

  All smiles the two men re-entered the lounge. Joe said, “Now that you all have had a chance to meet, enjoy the food and accommodations while you can. Once we arrive at the training facility that will all change.”

  Chapter 8

  Amazon Rain Forest – 2002 CE

  Carved out of the unforgiving rainforest they landed at an isolated airstrip. The monitors inside the plane had not switched over to display the arrival. Anxiously waiting to depart, Zach had no idea what to expect, since they had no clue of their destination. Joe’s voice came over the speaker, “Grab your stuff, and let’s get off this tin can.”

  After breathing the dry air aboard the plane, when the door opened, the wave of moisture filled Zach’s lungs and caused a coughing fit that mimicked a drowning swimmer gasping for air. Thankfully, for Zach, the cough was only temporary and swiftly calmed down. When he recovered from the oppressive humidity, the assault on his senses turned to his eyes. Through the brightness, his vision was abducted by the color green. For as far as Zach could see; the only thing that registered was a sea of green in every imaginable hue. It was as if he was looking at a painters wheel that only displayed shades of a single color. As his eyes adjusted, the wheel changed into an abstract painting with streaks of browns interrupting the solid green canvas.

  “Welcome to the rainforest,” Tom shouted into the cabin. Zach began his descent of the stairs. Stumbling as he worked to free his eyes from the green onslaught he tried to focus solely on each step below his feet. Finally reaching the bottom, he exhaled a sigh of relief and attempted to take-in his surroundings. The metamorphosis from an abstract art canvas to trees and vines bursting with lush green leaves appeared before his eyes. Zach looked at Tom and said, “So this is the rainforest, is this our final destination?”

  Tom looked over nodded and said, “Expect to be here for at least six months.”

  Zach moved off to the side and waited as the rest of the group made their way down. Joe was the last to come down and stopped a step short of the ground. Joe used the elevated level to address the group.

  “Gentlemen the rainforest will be your home for the next six months. The camp’s five miles down that path to the right of the runway. There are backpacks for each of you, in addition to your belongings, there’s a lot of gear we need to take with us to the camp. We will divide the supplies between you, so everyone carries an equal load. There are three permanent structures at the camp, our quarters, the support team’s quarters, and the mess hall. The mess hall makes delicious food, for those times when you have a chance to enjoy it. You will be erecting four tents and want to make sure you are diligent in securing the mosquito netting; malaria, yellow fever, and dengue fever are all spread by the little buggers. How you go about picking roommates is up to you, but we need four pairs identified by the time we reach camp. As a heads up, there’s abundant wildlife out here that’s not your friend. Jaguars, snakes, and even frogs are just a few examples of what to watch for. Are there any questions before we head to camp?”

  Zach said, “I thought the training was a year, not six months?”

  “It is, this is just the first stop. Alright, if there are no more questions, let’s get the gear together.”

  The men moved to the rear of the plane where the gear had already been laid out. There had to be a ground crew, how else could the stairs appear, how could the equipment have been unloaded, a very stealth crew, Zach thought. Examining the baggage the men saw weight tags on each piece. After dividing up the gear they all lifted their backpacks, Chris and Ray struggled under the weight. Zach motioned to Barry, Shawn, and Clay and the four men huddled for a moment as Zach said, “We need to lighten their load a little,” pointing at Chris and Ray, “do you all agree?”

  Clay and Shawn nodded, Barry looked at the three and said “Why should we? Aren’t they supposed to carry their fair share of the weight.”

  Phil joined the group saying, “Gentlemen I know what your discussing and count me in, oh and for the record, just because I may be a few years older than the rest of you doesn’t mean I can’t help.”

  With a sideways glance at Barry by the group of three, Phil picked up on the cue and said, “We are a team, whatever the two of them lack in physical strength is irrelevant, they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t possess skills this team needs.”

  With a huff, Barry said, “Fine, let’s get this done.”

  Walking back over to the two, they silently extracted items from Chris and Ray’s packs and added it to their own. After they redistributed the gear, everyone had a load they could manage. As expected, Clay had added more weight to his pack than the rest of the team. Zach hoped Clay wouldn’t take this the wrong way, looked at him and said, “You are a mule.” The comment didn’t seem to bother Clay, as he broke into a big grin.

  Finally ready, the men fitted the packs onto their backs and headed for the path, Tom leading and carrying a machete. It didn’t take long for Zach to ascertain this was not a footpath. Wide enough for a vehicle with the corresponding ruts confirmed his observation. To Zach, a road between the runway and the camp meant carrying the gear was no more than their first training exercise. The trek was no different from walking through a damp cave lit only by a series of nightlights. The vegetative canopy blocked the sun’s rays from illuminating the road. Upon closer inspection the canopy was not natural, the trees and vines had been coerced to grow in a specific direction by man’s manipulation. Zach s
urmised the road would be invisible from above, obliterating any connection between the runway and the camp.

  The trek was not eventful just a slight incline that was barely noticeable. Even Chris and Ray seemed to be managing, thanks to their lightened loads. They walked in silence, the only sounds heard were the occasional whack from Tom’s machete followed by the angry response of startled birds. The necessity to cut away at overgrown vegetation told Zach either the road had not been used in a long time or plants and trees grow fast here. He guessed the latter.

  Eventually, they found themselves standing at the edge of a large clearing also hidden from view by a combination of camouflage netting and vines encroaching on the net. Zach wondered if they also had a way to conceal the runway. If so this entire operation would leave no aerial evidence of its existence. A quick scan of the camp showed piles of canvas and netting, overly thick saplings and the three permanent structures appeared to have electrical wiring running between them. Did they have electricity and where was the source? With no signs of a generator, Zach was perplexed. The last item Zach saw was a Jeep sitting between two buildings. Finished with his assessment Zach looked over at Clay and said, “Shall we get started on the tent?”

  “No time like the present,” replied Clay.

  From behind them, they could hear Tom explaining the best way to erect the tents. Not even slowing down to listen, they reached the pile of canvases and grabbed what they thought they would need along with several of the saplings. Zach noticed there was also a pile of rope, which he missed initially, so he took several coils. With all the pieces laid out in front of them, they stood fixated on their supplies with blank looks on their faces, no different than a deer caught in the headlights. Breaking the contemplative silence, Zach asked, “Do you ever read directions?”

  “Nope, do you?”

  “Only as a last resort.”

  Laughing, they both were thinking the same thing. Maybe they should have stuck around and listened to what Tom was explaining to the others.

  What ensued would win an award for best slapstick movie. Fumbling around; Zach and Clay would set saplings where they thought they should go, tied ropes using the same logic, and would try and raise a side of the tent. Invariably the canvas would collapse on top of one or the other or both. They tried one man inside and one out, even switching roles to see if that made a difference. Both men inside, both men outside, nothing was working. Absorbed in their efforts and determined to figure this out, they were completely unaware of what Phil and Shawn had accomplished. Phil showed up and asked, “Need any help?”

  Looking over and seeing a fully erect tent, Zach said, “What the hell.”

  Phil said, “It helps when you follow directions. I noticed you didn’t stick around to listen. So how’s that working out?”

  Dejected, Zach replied, “Not too well.”

  Phil said, “Can I give you a piece of advice? That was rhetorical. I’m going to tell you what I’m thinking regardless. Out here, especially with unknown dangers, you may want to listen a little more.”

  Both Clay and Zach understood, nodded, and listened as Phil described how to put the tent up. Like a wilting flower coming back to life after an ample watering, the structure effortlessly reached for the sky and was completed in no time. Thanking Phil, they went about securing the mosquito netting. They managed this task without problems and felt they had at least accomplished something on their own. A clanging sound rang out, and they both looked for the source. An old triangular bell hung out front of the mess hall, the cook pounded on the triangle with the back of a giant spoon and shouted lunchtime.

  With all the tents erected, the group of men made their way to the mess hall. Everyone took a seat, and Zach and Clay became the target of endless jokes and stunts. Falling out of his chair, Justin said, “Dang, I thought that was sturdy.”

  Chris said,“What do you call someone that is clueless? A Clayzach.”

  “Don’t be so hard on them Chris, when they heard, sleeping in a tent, they thought that meant in the canvas,” Ray added.

  “It was fun to watch. Those two didn’t have a fucking clue what they were doing,” was Shawn’s colorful contribution.

  Putting an end to the onslaught, Joe said, “Okay men, I think they get the point, at least I hope so.”

  Joe climbed on top of his chair and addressed the group for the second time that day.

  “This is your last free afternoon if you want to go exploring, please take a partner and one of our GPS units. Don’t forget the GPS, it’s easy to get lost in the jungle, and it will get you back here, possibly saving your life. For those that want to hang out around camp and relax, the mess hall will have cold beer available all afternoon, and we have a limited assortment of sports equipment and books to read. Dinner will be at eighteen hundred hours, make sure you eat as much as you can and get plenty of sleep tonight. Tomorrow things change, you will no longer have free time. Imagine trying to cram four years of college into a single year, because that’s what we will be doing. I don’t want to scare you, but you will experience the toughest year of your life. The good news is at the end of the year you will have a broad skill set only a tiny fraction of people have ever obtained. That’s all I have. Oh, for lunch the cook has made you stew, not wanting to sound like a broken record but eat as much as you can, you will need the nutrition. Good luck men, and enjoy your afternoon,” Joe started to leave the mess hall and stopped to add, looking at Chris and Ray, “you may want to reconsider partners since there will be times a little extra muscle can be extremely helpful,” and left on that note.

  Chris thought about Joe’s parting words, and said, “Clay, Zach, would you two be willing to split up?”

  Without a word between them, knowing it was the right thing to do, Zach responded, “Great idea, Clay will be with you Chris, and I’ll partner with Ray.”

  Joe’s words had a stunning effect on all eight men. The silence was deafening as the men sat there speechless. The appearance of eight mannequins posing as the ‘Thinking Man’ would have greeted any onlooker. An eerie despondency shrouded the men, equivalent to learning of your best friends death. Untold time passed, their pose never changed as the hands of time stopped to grant them this reflection. Bam, the crash of a kitchen tray reverberated throughout the hall and transformed the mannequins into eight sullen men. Looking around at each other, it’s certain they were all asking themselves the same question. What had I gotten myself into?

  Chapter 9

  Amazon Rain Forest

  With the blare of the zero six hundred hours alarm, the jungle symphony began its morning performance. The melodramatic composition quickly reached a fevered pitch; big cats were screaming, howler monkeys yelling, small birds chirping, large birds squawking, the deep rumblings of frogs and toads, the buzz from millions of insects. Stumbling from their tents the men cupped their hands over their ears as the amplitude exceeded levels heard from a frenzied crowd at a football game.

  Puffed cheeks collapsing and re-forming told the men Tom was blowing the whistle, but the sound did not reach them over the din of the jungle orchestra. Along with the rest of the men Zach moved towards Tom, wondering how he would hear him over the noise. When Tom pointed to the mess hall, Zach extrapolated the whistle was used for the gesture, not the sound.

  When the men entered the mess hall, there was a significant reduction in the noise level, a welcome reprieve. As the men took their seats, Tom said, “Good morning. Don’t worry it’s not this loud all day, only when the horn wakes everything up. You will start your day with another bowl of native stew.”

  “Boo,” said all.

  “By now I’m sure you’re aware it’s made entirely from what the jungle provides. Anyway, let’s get down to business. In case anyone missed it, there are numbers on each tent. Starting with tent-one, and rotating daily, you will be responsible for hauling that day’s water supply. The Amazon’s a quarter mile away, and we sit seventy feet above it, making for an easy
walk. You need to haul a hundred gallons of water back from the river each day. We are extremely conservative with our water use and expect the same from you. The rest of you will do calisthenics until the water is collected. Now go enjoy some jungle stew.”

  Jungle stew was a weird and somewhat palatable combination of fish, plantains, some other berries and green matter. The cook had assured Zach that in addition to being satiating it contained several medicinal plants that provided numerous health benefits. Eating the concoction was not the most pleasurable, but Zach knew he needed the sustenance to make it through the morning. Being somewhat sweet, he could imagine himself eating melted ice cream with fish parts added. The expressions on his teammate’s faces told him everyone was having a similar reaction.

  With breakfast finished, Chris and Clay knew they had water duty since they were in tent-one. After getting instructions, they headed behind the mess hall to get the water jugs. What they found were two stands, about five feet apart, with cradles mounted on top. A pole was resting in the cradles reaching across the span between the two. There were a set of straps hanging from the pole with latching hooks attached to the end of each strap. At each end of the pole, there was what looked like half a football players shoulder pad. Opposite the stands and against the rear of the mess hall was a large stainless steel tank reflecting the men's images so perfectly, it rivaled the most polished mirror. Laying on the ground next to the tank was a collection of jugs in a haphazard pile of two different sizes. One container was marked ten gallons the other marked twenty.

  Staring at the jugs, Chris spoke-up, "Considering water weighs about eight pounds per gallon, I suggest we attach two twenty-gallon jugs and one ten-gallon jug to the pole."

  “Okay, and your reason being?” Clay asked.

  “Simple logic and self-awareness. I know even with the pole contraption and a shared load there is no way I can haul eight hundred pounds. I think I can handle three hundred and twenty pounds, if not I’m confident I can handle two hundred and forty.”