Mark Midway Box Set: Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and Mark Four

by John Hindmarsh

  “Ma’am, we’re used to dealing with this type of situation. Please allow me—”

  MayAnn reluctantly moved, permitting the soldier access to check Schmidt. The shot fired by Buchanan had creased his helmet. The general had no obvious wound and according to the soldier, both his breathing and pulse seemed normal.

  “I think he’s just knocked out, ma’am,” said the soldier. “We’ll get him to the Craig Medical Center at Bagram and they can check that he’s OK.” He looked at his commanding officer. “Sir, we can evac the general back to base?”

  “Yes, do that. Half the team can return, as well,” agreed Major Morris. “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble now. We’ll stay and help arrest Jamieson and his team when he returns. They’re not due until midday.”

  After another minute, Schmidt stirred and tried to sit up. “That packed quite a thump,” he muttered.

  “Sir, don’t move,” said the soldier, holding him down. “You could have concussion. We’re waiting for a stretcher—we’re going to take you to Craig. It’s best to check.”

  MayAnn knelt down beside him. “Don’t move. They’ll check you’re okay in the hospital.”

  “Damn,” said Schmidt. “I didn’t think Buchanan’d try something as stupid as that.”

  Schmidt, accompanied by half the Special Forces complement, was quickly loaded onto one of the Chinooks for their return to Bagram. MayAnn was torn between accompanying Schmidt and remaining to supervise the investigations with Colonel Thurle. At Schmidt’s urging she decided to stay.

  “You need to interview possible accomplices of the colonel. In addition, someone has to be here when General Jamieson returns,” he reminded. “You have an FBI warrant for his arrest; the Special Forces and Colonel Thurle will support you. Besides, the hospital checkup won’t take long. I should be back in two or three hours.”

  Dempsey supported Schmidt’s argument. “I’m confident I have the company under control,” he said to MayAnn. “Buchanan’s death has subdued everyone. We can start to carry out preliminary interviews. I’ll work with you to arrest Jamieson. Schmidt’s head is far too hard to damage, anyway.”

  MayAnn decided she would stay and complete her assignment. “Phone me,” she urged Schmidt. “Let me know what the medics say. Oh, and I’ll keep your helmet so you’ll have a souvenir.”

  ~~~

  The arrest of General Jamieson was an anti-climax. Special Agent Freewell, accompanied by the Special Forces soldiers, Major Morris, and Major Thurle, diverted the general’s convoy of six Humvees to a staging area just inside the entrance of Camp Zebra. The diversion of vehicles allowed the Special Forces to block entry into and exit from the area, and twenty armed Special Forces soldiers provided sufficient warning to the small unit that any resistance would be unsuccessful.

  Major Thurle explained to the men after they exited their vehicles, “You will surrender your weapons to Major Morris and his unit. That includes you, General. There will be no exceptions.”

  Before General Jamieson could comment, MayAnn stepped up to him. “I have a warrant for your arrest, General. The civilian charges include murder, kidnapping and assault. The Army has a number of charges that we’ll communicate to you when we return to D.C.”

  The general was shocked; his world had suddenly come to an end. He tried to speak; however, his mouth was too dry to allow him to form any words.

  Major Morris approached MayAnn, “I think you should see this, Special Agent.” He led MayAnn to the rear of one of the Humvees where he had opened a packing case. It was full of packs of US currency, all one hundred dollar notes.

  “What do you think—200 pounds weight?” MayAnn asked.

  “Yes, the crate is marked with—guess what—200 pounds.”

  “So, ten million dollars. How many crates?”

  “Three. So thirty million in total. A nice bonus for the general and his men, if he had succeeded in getting it back to the US.”

  “The Treasury will be interested in how General Jamieson acquired this currency—there’ve been stories of missing crates. You’ll need to help Major Thurle move these to Bagram.”

  “I’ll be relieved when the general and his loot are on their way to Quantico.”

  MayAnn returned to where General Jamieson was standing. “General, we’ll add theft and probably other currency offenses related to the three crates in your vehicles. Major Thurle, please handcuff the general and his men.”

  At last General Jamieson regained his voice and protested to MayAnn, “Special Agent, I’m on a confidential mission, authorized by SECARMY. I have orders issued for this purpose. You therefore have no right to arrest me.”

  “Well, General, my instructions come from the President. You can explain your orders and activities to the civilian court when we get you to Quantico. I understand the Army wants to charge you with a number of crimes, probably including treason, murder, and conspiracy to murder, in addition to the civil charges. If you can convince a jury of your innocence, and we release you, I’m sure the Army will want to discuss those matters with you. The Treasury will be interested to hear how you obtained those crates of currency and whether you’ve had involvement in other currency crimes here. Finally, details of your involvement with Cerberus will keep all of us entertained for a lengthy period. I suspect your sentences are going to be long and arduous. I’ll read you your rights and then Major Thurle will take over—he’ll be responsible for your detention and transfer to Quantico, with your accomplices.”

  Schmidt arrived by road as Major Morris was preparing to load the Chinook with the three crates of currency that his men were assiduously guarding. Schmidt looked disappointed that the excitement was over.

  “You arrested Jamieson? Any problems?”

  “No, none at all. Our general claims he has orders authorizing whatever he was doing. Oh, we found thirty million dollars in his Humvees.”

  Schmidt stopped. “What? I must have concussion, after all. I thought you said—”

  “Thirty million dollars? Yes, I did. It seems our general found some spare crates of currency, retrieved them from storage with AKB, and was planning on taking them back to D.C. For his personal account, I suspect, not the Army’s.”

  ***

  Chapter 21

  It was late Wednesday afternoon when one of the older children brushed against him. Mark felt the hard edge of a cell phone as it was slipped into his hand. He dropped the phone into his pocket without faltering. No words were exchanged, no signals made. One moment a child brushed against him, the next moment he was gone. One of the other children, an older boy—his name tag read Erikk—winked at him as he walked past. Mark headed to his room; he needed to make a call.

  “Schmidt?”

  “Mark—where are you?”

  “Schmidt, I need to be quick. Cerberus has an old commercial building in D.C., in the Pebble Creek Industrial Park. It’s just off the intersection of 95 with the Beltway. The building is old, four stories, painted black, fenced, and has guard dogs. It’s the largest building in the industrial park. The buildings are numbered; this one is number 25. I’m here with fifteen children, ages ranging from five or six to almost eighteen years. We’re all prisoners. I have a favor to ask. Can you arrange to move us, all of us, either to your training complex in New York State, or to somewhere else, secure? We need a bus, plus an escort, just in case of problems.”

  “You don’t give me easy tasks, do you? I’m in Afghanistan with MayAnn, at the moment. We leave shortly, returning to Washington via Germany—we’re going the long way. I’ll make some phone calls. Can I get back to you on this number?”

  “No, we borrowed this phone from one of the guards. When he finds it missing, either they’ll search all of us or he’ll cancel this chip.”

  “When will you need transport?”

  “About 2 a.m. this Sunday morning. We can overcome the guards. There’s a small window of opportunity for us to do this.”

  “Very well. I’ll arrange tra
nsport. The escort will be led by Gross Brown.”

  “Yes, that’s good. I’ll expect him with transport for fifteen people. There’ll be a handful of guards to arrest.”

  “You can handle them?”

  “The children will take great delight in taking them out. So will I.”

  “MayAnn and I will meet you and your collection of children as soon as we can get there. I want to hear this story.”

  “Oh, I forgot to mention: we need to find and free another fifteen, they’re younger.”

  Mark was almost deafened by Schmidt’s burst of laughter.

  ~~~

  Schmidt weighed his phone as he turned to MayAnn. They were waiting for their charter flight to Dubai. “You’re going to be a mother.”

  MayAnn was very perplexed. “But we’re not even married,” she said. “I think the blow to your head has affected you more than we thought.”

  Schmidt laughed. “Mark has found fifteen Cerberus children and is organizing a rescue party this weekend. We have to arrange for Gross to take them to the training center; you know, the property on Lake Champlain, where you and Mark did the training course, unless we can find something larger.”

  “Fifteen children? That’s not too many for your place?”

  “Well, no, but he said there’s another fifteen we need to rescue as well.”

  They both burst into laughter. There was a slight edge of relief in their humor; they had survived a challenging week. Schmidt then called Special Agent Brown. “Gross, it’s Schmidt. I’ve got a chore for you. Midway has found fifteen Cerberus children and he’s planning to break them out on Sunday morning, at about 2 a.m. I promised him you’d be there with transport and you’d take them—Mark and these children—to a property in New York State. Yes, the one where MayAnn and Midway did the LEO course.” He provided the Cerberus address and description supplied by Mark. “I suggest three escort vehicles, eight or nine agents, plus drivers. There’ll be a handful of people to detain, security guards of some kind, the night shift. You should be able to pick up the day shift when they report, as well. Can you lead the effort?” He listened. “Yes, use agents from your hostage rescue team; it will help that they know Midway. I’m with MayAnn and we’ll call Oliver to get his authorization. However, I am mandating this task with authority from the President. If we can find better accommodation, I’ll let you know. Keep me and MayAnn informed. Very good. Thanks.” He disconnected and handed the phone to MayAnn. “Do you want to talk with your boss?”

  MayAnn made the call. A weary voice answered. “Do you realize what the time is?”

  “Oliver, good morning. We’re waiting for our flight out. A quick update: mission accomplished. Unfortunately, Buchanan didn’t surrender and was killed, shot after he fired at Schmidt. Schmidt? Oh, he survived. His head is far too hard. Jamieson is under arrest, with his accomplices—yes, they’re a mix of hard cases. The general and this team, some kind of inner circle, were escorting three packing cases full of US currency that the general had stored at AKB, in Kabul. No, we haven’t counted it, yet. We think it’s probably thirty million. The remainder of the 145th are under caution, and will be further investigated when we get them back to D.C. next week. Major Dempsey is now in command of the battalion. That’s all for now. I’ll hand over to Schmidt.”

  Schmidt took the phone and said, “Oliver, sorry about the early call. We’ve about ten minutes before we need to board our flight. We’ve another situation, as follows.” He recounted Mark’s call and continued. “I assume the children have tailored DNA, courtesy of Cerberus. I almost shudder at the thought of another fifteen, all like Midway, and similar to the Cerberus-sourced soldiers in the Alpha Company. This genie is well out of the bottle. Oh, and Midway said they will need to rescue another fifteen children once he gets the first group settled.” He listened to Oliver’s reply.

  Schmidt said, “Indeed. I told MayAnn she was about to become a mother. She was not impressed. I suspect these children represent the tip of an iceberg. No, I haven’t reported yet to the President; I’m sure he’s heard the good news by now. The Bagram Provost Marshall is writing up a detailed report that he’ll send to his boss and a copy will get to everyone while we’re in transit. Both MayAnn and I will produce ours, once we return to Quantico. I agree, it ended as well as can be expected. Only one fatality, and no injuries except for some bruises. We’ll update you in detail, once we get to D.C.”

  Their boarding announcement coincided with completion of the phone call. Schmidt stood with a groan. “I’m getting far too old for this rushing around.”

  “I think fitness is the issue, not age,” commented MayAnn. “Although after due consideration, I think it could be a combination.”

  Schmidt’s reply was prevented by the arrival of a small group of Army personnel led by a major.

  “General Schmidt, I’m Symmonds, Mike Symmonds,” said the major as he saluted. He was tall, over six feet, his uniform impeccable. By contrast, Schmidt looked as though he had slept in his uniform for the last week. The major offered Schmidt a folder of papers as he continued his introductions. “Here is a copy of our orders. We’re your support staff. We’ve been trying to catch up with you for the last three days.”

  “Support staff?” Schmidt was taken aback; he was surrounded by men, soldiers whom he did not know, very formally saluting. From the corner of his eye he could see MayAnn trying to stifle a giggle.

  “Yes, sir. Orders from INSCOM. I was informed that SECDEF decided your activities should be conducted under Intelligence and Security. We’ll organize the remainder of your support team when we return to the Pentagon. I’ve arranged vehicles and drivers; they’ll be waiting for us when we land at BWI.”

  Schmidt decided to stall for a moment, to catch his thoughts. “Gentlemen, this is FBI Special Agent Freewell.” MayAnn and Schmidt’s new support team exchanged greetings. Schmidt leafed quickly through the folder presented by the major. Schmidt noted his support team contained Army, Air Force and Navy personnel, the latter including the lieutenant and the Marine corporals; a typical INSCOM approach, he thought. Based on his rapid review of the folder contents, his new team was institutional, not operational, except for the two corporals. He sighed. The green machine had well and truly snared him.

  “Major,” Schmidt said. “Don’t go too far down the path of building up a team. I’m more accustomed to working with a very small support organization.”

  “Sir, of course not. We are here to do whatever you need.” Major Symmonds signaled and the two junior members of the team moved to collect MayAnn and Schmidt’s carry-on luggage.

  Schmidt reacted. “Men, at ease. Let me be clear: I can carry my own gear. Yes, you can assist Special Agent Freewell, as she requires. MayAnn?”

  “I’ll carry my briefcase. My laptop needs to be in my possession. Otherwise, thank you.”

  “One thing, Major,” said Schmidt as they walked to the waiting aircraft.

  “Yes, General?”

  “We’re going to Quantico. I need to work closely with the FBI. You’ll all be based there for the foreseeable.” Schmidt rubbed the side of his skull. “A second item to be aware of: if you work for me, you’re likely to be shot at.” His head still ached.

  “Yes, sir.”

  ~~~

  Maeve Donnelly was waiting for Schmidt and MayAnn when they arrived at Quantico on Sunday morning. They were both seriously jet-lagged although they had managed to get a few hours sleep on the series of flights. After their arrival, they had each headed to their homes to shower and change before going to the FBI offices. Schmidt was pleased to see Maeve was now located in the same Quantico building, with two of her analysts; the others were working remotely.

  “It seemed more efficient,” explained Maeve.

  “Building an empire?” questioned MayAnn, sotto voce.

  Maeve heard the comment and said, “I heard our new General also has a driver, a limo, and an ever-expanding support team. I arranged for the major and his
followers to occupy offices at the end of the corridor. They should be close enough and still out of the way. The best I could do, I’m afraid.”

  “I need to contact—someone. This isn’t going to work,” muttered Schmidt. “Maeve, you’ve got results?”

  “Yes. While you were vacationing in the desert, my team was working very hard. They identified three of the people in the video you retrieved from Tortola.”

  “And?”

  “Probability is 100 percent that they’re all dead. At least, according to records we’ve accessed, they were killed in separate accidents six or so years ago. The accidents each were mini-disasters—with the remains unidentifiable—burned beyond any possibility of identification. In two instances, the wife or partner was also in the accident. Two were auto accidents, one was a small aircraft.”

  MayAnn said, “That’s impossible, that video was a recent take.”

  “Yes, my team agrees. We discovered the identity of the vessel. We approached manufacturers with details of the meeting room that we could see in the video. It is called the Hammer, a motor yacht, registered in Bermuda. We have details of the steward who was serving the meal, and who retrieved the camera. He was killed in a bar fight three months ago, in Ft. Lauderdale. His attacker has not been arrested; there were no witnesses, at least none came forward.”

  “Aaah. So we’ve a Cerberus management team, the members of which no longer exist. Undoubtedly they were given new identities, easy enough to do, as we’ve discovered. Cerberus has the reach to remove any trace of them from airport cameras; we must assume they’ve got people in the DHS. It’s easy enough to stay out of other image databases,” mused Schmidt.