December's Soldiers

by Marvin Tyson

  “Miss Littlefeather,” started Raymond, who was beginning to recover from his bout with altitude sickness.

  She held her hand palm out to silence him. “I think we’ve been through enough together to call each other by first names, don’t you? Besides, I’m the youngest one here by far and you know almost everything about me. Sheila. It’s Sheila.”

  “All right, Sheila,” Raymond said, a little smile on his face after she finished her speech, “tell us what you can about this mess, and why these guys are so anxious to keep you quiet.”

  “I can tell you what I saw and heard, but it’ll be up to you to figure out why they think it’s important enough to hurt and kill people over.”

  “Okay,” Raymond said, “tell us what you know and we’ll take it from there.”

  “You guys must know what I do in Washington,” she said.

  They nodded.

  “I have an ad in one of the entertainment weeklies that float around all the big cities. This one is called ‘EROS.’ I get a lot of calls from politicians and lobbyists, you know. I got a call from this guy named Mitchell.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “He asked me to meet him in the lounge at Three Forks Lodge, Middle Fork Lounge, if I recall, and to dress ‘conservatively.’ I was to enter and tell the bartender who I was looking for. The bartender pointed me in the right direction, and I walked into a little anteroom on the north end of the lounge.

  “When I got there, I recognized the man. He was a senator, and had been on TV that afternoon touting some bill he had pushed through that day. It would have been hard not to recognize the name, Mitchell, or the face. Two other men were in the room, and I turned to leave. Senator Mitchell pointed at a chair, so I sat down to wait.

  “Soft music was playing in the background but I could hear the conversation going on between them. One of the other guys mentioned that former President Jackson was spending too much time in China, that he thought something was up but he wasn’t sure what. The third man chimed in and said that it must be high stakes, whatever it was, because the Chinese had a regular army of security everywhere Jackson went in the country.”

  “The senator snapped at him and said, ‘That’s it? That’s all you heard? That’s nothing to set them off on you.’”

  Sheila paused, then added, “That was all I heard there, Raymond. The senator took me out to his car, and when we got to what I assume was his place, he asked me if I had overheard the conversation and I said no, that I was listening to the music. Then he told me to get comfortable, pointed to a little bar in the corner by the kitchen, and I helped myself to a bourbon and Seven-Up.

  “He said he had to make a call and stepped into the bedroom. It seemed like it took a long time for the other party to pick up, and he didn’t give them time to say much. He was obviously agitated and angry, and he wanted them to know it. ‘Things are going downhill fast here. Jackson better get a handle on this or we’re all going to take a long walk off a short pier. The Texans have people snooping around the Hill and the professional busybodies in the Senate know something is up. You tell Jackson, if this blows up in our faces, the Chinese side will make sure he never opens his mouth again. And, if he does get home, the folks here will do away with all of us!’ I heard him walking around, and I stuck my iPhone earplugs in before he got back to the room so he would assume I heard nothing.”

  Sammy asked, “So you just left then?”

  She shook her head, and her hair swung with the movement. “It would have looked too suspicious. Besides, I had no money, not even gas to get home on, so I had no choice but to stay. Early, very early the next morning, the doorbell rang and I hustled to get dressed. When the senator opened the door, I walked out. A man in a messy suit walked in. He looked shocked to see me and I heard him say, ‘How long has she been here?’ in an upset tone. The senator said not to worry, that I hadn’t heard anything, but their voices were getting louder as I got on the elevator. I didn’t even go back to my apartment. I knew I was in over my head.”

  Raymond asked if she could fly back to Austin with them. It would be safer for both her and her family, and they needed to talk to her some more. She agreed.

  The flight to Austin was uneventful, but Raymond and Sheila Littlefeather kept up an almost continuous banter and laughter all the way back.

  Chapter 34

  The young Marine captain strode into the office of the Under Secretary of Defense for Intelligence, Mark Sumrall.

  “Captain, I’m sure you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have something new, something of importance to bring me up to speed on,” Sumrall said, getting up and coming around his desk.

  “Yes, sir, although I certainly don’t have all the information and evidence that we would like, I can tell you for certain that we are dealing with operatives on the orders of high-level Chinese Army officers,” the captain told him. “It seems to be primarily a military effort. By that, I mean that military officials seem to be working outside the civilian government for some reason. We can’t find any connection to any civilian officials above middle-grade politicians, and we’re still not sure exactly what they intend to gain, but we’re now sure they’re behind President Jackson’s troublemaking.” The captain still stood.

  “It makes no sense to me that the former president would involve himself with the Chinese military in covert operations, even for huge sums of money,” Sumrall said, indicating that the captain should sit. “He’s well off in that department; both his family and that of his wife have been wealthy for generations.”

  The captain kept what he knew about the Swiss bank accounts in Jackson’s name to himself.

  “So, if he’s really in on this with them,” the Under Secretary continued, “they must have something really bad on him. But, other than that, he has no ‘inside,’ no information source within the current administration to call on. Where would he get the information he needs to know what buttons to push and when?”

  “I believe I know the answer to that, sir,” the captain stated. “It appears that a young American woman of Chinese ancestry, working in Shanghai, has a source here. I did some digging into the woman, and found records of a DNA test done on her young daughter. Attorney General Ralph Smart is the father. The girl was apparently conceived during an affair while the young lady was assigned here three years ago.”

  “Wow! And, since the current president of the United States is the AG’s father-in-law, I can see how that bit of information would provide a source for blackmail.”

  “Yes, sir,” the captain agreed. “Of course, I can’t divulge any of this without sabotaging the rest of our operation. We need to find out what their goal is. Until we do, we’ll have to help the AG keep his little secret. I’m afraid telling President Barker would be problematic right now.”

  “Yes, I agree. We don’t want to put him in the position of having to bite his lip when he knocks his son-in-law on his ass,” Sumrall said.

  The young officer rose.

  “Good work, Captain.” The Under Secretary held out his hand to shake the captain’s, and said, “Keep me informed of your progress.”

  “I will, sir.” The captain turned and left.

  Chapter 35

  As the private plane carrying the team landed at Austin-Bergstrom International, a limo waited and Jake Lambert stood ready to help with the luggage. After he got it stowed in the roomy back, he opened the doors for his passengers.

  The team and Sheila Littlefeather disembarked from the plane and walked over to the limo. Sheila had changed into a pair of khaki pants with a tan bomber jacket over a long-sleeved green turtleneck. She wore brown hiking boots, and her long, raven hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail.

  Raymond helped her into the left back seat and settled in beside her, while Sammy and De took the other seats and stretched their still sore, battered bodies out for the ride.

  Less than fifteen minutes after landing, the team was on its way to the capitol. Marty met them in the hallway outside his offic
e and ushered them all inside like a teacher herding students.

  It was obvious to all of them that Marty was distraught about something, and they soon found out what it was.

  “We have some serious problems, guys. I just got a call from the Austin office of the FBI. They’re still here cleaning out desks and making arrangements for files and equipment to finish their move out of Texas, and it seems that Colorado authorities have enlisted their help in determining what happened out there between you guys and the bad guys who were after Sheila Littlefeather. The Colorado authorities have asked the FBI to arrest the four of you and bring you back out there until they are satisfied you acted in self-defense,” he said.

  “A Colorado trooper was with us the whole time,” Sammy protested. “Is he under arrest, too? He was directly in the line of fire when those guys opened up on us as we were headed back to the cars for the trip back down that damned mountain. I’m not sure whether I was more scared of the rounds flying by or the trip back down that icy mountain road, but he certainly knew we had no option other than the one we took. What were we supposed to do, wait on reinforcements to reach the top of the mountain?”

  A scowl passed across Marty’s face as he listened to Sammy’s account. Sammy added, “In fact, the trooper was driving the vehicle when it all went down, and he said he would wrap it all up.”

  Marty frowned, his face stern. “As long as we are a transitional government of a transitional state, the FBI can really scramble this. We need to get them out of it quickly. I’ll see if I can convince President Barker to call off the dogs, or at least keep them on a very short leash.”

  He reached for his cellphone and dialed President Barker’s direct line.

  “Hello, Marty. What can I do for you?” the president answered.

  “Mr. President,” Marty said, “we have a situation here in Austin in which two of your FBI field agents are attempting to arrest members of my staff over something that happened in Colorado. We are not opposed to any investigation by the FBI or anyone else, but we have to establish some parameters to keep this within a normal course of action. We can’t allow officials from another state to arrest Texas citizens without going through Texas law enforcement, don’t you agree?”

  “Marty, I’m only now being made aware of this as we speak. In fact, I have the Colorado attorney general on the other line right now. What do I need to do to diffuse this?” Barker asked.

  “All we need is for you to have the FBI stand down for now. You have my word that we will work closely with Colorado officials to help them carry out the remainder of their investigation unimpeded.” Marty paused. “We just feel that sending these people back out there ‘in irons,’ so to speak, will accomplish nothing. My people were accompanied by a Colorado state trooper during the time in question, and we believe the idea of arresting them is more a result of ill feelings about our leaving than any broken laws. And,” he reiterated, “you have my personal word that, if a law was broken, it will be dealt with appropriately, including sending them back into Colorado jurisdiction if necessary.”

  “I trust that you will do exactly as you say, Marty,” Barker stated. “I’ll tell the Colorado AG what you said, and I’ll call the FBI and tell them to stand down on this.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome, Marty, but let’s clean this up sooner rather than later, okay?”

  “Yes, sir, we will.”

  Marty couldn’t shake the idea, a certainty really, that someone in his own office was the catalyst behind this push by Colorado officials to get the FBI involved. If what Raymond had told him was true, and he had no reason to doubt it, this should have been an open-and-shut case of self-defense, and Colorado authorities would have no reason to believe otherwise. Someone who knew why his team was there and what their plans were would have to have convinced the Colorado authorities that this was something it wasn’t.

  As he thought about the people who knew of the trip to Colorado―Pat, the three who actually went, Bill O’Hare, and himself―his suspicions began to center on one person.

  Chapter 36

  As former President Jackson entered the limo waiting for him after he landed in Berlin, he noticed three black Ford Expeditions pull in behind them on the road to Berlin’s Tegel Airport. He had expected the Americans to start tailing him at some point, but assumed he would have a few more days before they got this serious. He heard his driver talking to his security detail, and then the car suddenly sped up.

  “Those guys are not Americans, sir!” his driver shouted back to him.

  Just ahead of them, a large fuel truck hit the brakes hard and slid to a halt, blocking the entire road. There was nowhere to go as the first of the dark SUVs pulled by on the left. The window of the SUV had its right side windows rolled down, and Johnson was petrified to see it contained what appeared to be Chinese secret police, four of them. They drove by slowly with their windows down, followed by the other two cars doing the same thing.

  Jackson’s driver waited for the fuel truck to get going again, and sighed with relief as it drove away. Jackson took it all for a clear warning that even a slight screw-up on his part would get him killed, along with a lot of other people.

  He needed some information that only the U.S. attorney general could give him, but to contact AG Smart from Europe, or even from the plane on the way home, might compromise the whole operation. Jackson wasn’t about to blow his chances at getting even with the people who had ruined his legacy, or the chance to restore his family fortune that had disappeared with too many unfortunate bounces of roulette balls, finicky cards and dice that refused to land his way.

  He had too much time to think about his problems during the flight and, by the time they reached Washington, he was frustrated, his nerves shot. How had he managed to let his life slip away from him? He’d been president of the United States, damn it, and now he was running around kowtowing to a bunch of people, American and Chinese, who didn’t respect him and couldn’t care less if he lived or died, as long as he delivered on his promises.

  As soon as he scrambled off the plane, although he would have liked to have headed for the nearest bar, he instead had a cab take him to a prearranged meeting with the AG and the crew chief of his Chinese contacts in the U.S. He wanted names and anything else he could find on the people who seemed to know more about him and this operation than he did. When he got to the meeting place, he went on the offensive.

  “Smart, I want to know who these people are who seem to be one step ahead of us at every turn,” he blustered. “At least ten of our people are dead, including our highest ranking guy on this side of the planet, and the one woman who holds all the cards is in their hands!”

  “Of course, you’re talking about Mr. Zhang, the Chinese Embassy attaché, and Ms. Littlefeather, sir,” said AG Smart. “But we don’t have that info yet. We know these guys, and at least one woman, are top-notch operatives. We believe the woman is a former CIA covert operative named Pat Saunders Thomas. She’s married to a very good friend of President Kert of Texas. We have people on the way to their ranch now; if we can grab her husband, that might throw a wrench in the gears for them. As for Miss Littlefeather, we really don’t have any idea what she knows, if anything.”

  “Good Lord, you are stupid, man! Didn’t you just tell me how good these people are? Do you think they will change course over one man? Any man?” Jackson screamed. “Don’t touch the husband! And you better pray he doesn’t spot our people watching him, do you understand? We don’t need to dig this hole any deeper, you idiot!”

  He stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  AG Smart just stared after him, wondering what had set Jackson off. He picked up his cellphone to call off the operation to grab Rick Thomas.

  Chapter 37

  It had been several weeks since the team had gotten back from Colorado, and they all determined that Sheila would be safest at the home of Raymond Ramos, outside of the small town of Bur
net. It was surrounded by game-proof fence, had the best guard dogs in Texas (according to Raymond), and had a home for his trusted housekeeper and her gardener husband who “woke up at the sound of a gnat farting in Llano,” to hear Raymond tell it.

  “At least some of the heat is probably off by now,” Raymond told Sheila as he drove up the drive to his home. “Those crooks have to know that you’ve told us everything you knew by now.” And she had. Still, Raymond didn’t allow her to walk around outside alone, and he always drove her when she wanted to get out for a while.

  He didn’t mind at all; he enjoyed her company a great deal. Regardless of more than twenty years’ difference in their age, the two of them seemed to have a great deal in common. She was the first female he had spent this much time with since his wife died eighteen years earlier. He found he just liked the sound of her voice when she talked or sang silly little songs he had never heard.

  Sheila had provided a videotaped, formal deposition, and had remembered a few things that had slipped her mind before. Nothing earth-shattering, although she was able to pick out the visitor who walked into her senator friend’s apartment as she was leaving from a line-up. He turned out to be a well-known lobbyist with a manufacturing group. His name was Craig Beck, but they couldn’t make out his connection to all this―yet.

  Raymond’s little sister, whom he called Sis, seemed a little put out with this young woman always being at his house on her rare visits, but she hadn’t really said anything, although Raymond knew it was coming.

  Sure enough, Sis was waiting when they got back from a trip to a home improvement store in Austin.

  “Raymond, I want to talk to you,” she said. “Sheila, can you please excuse us?”

  Sheila Littlefeather said nothing. She turned to walk into the house, looking slightly dejected.