December's Soldiers

by Marvin Tyson

  “Raymond,” Sis said, “I have found out some things about our ‘Miss Littlefeather’ that concern me a great deal, but I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

  “Yes, I do, Sis,” he retorted, “but I’ve determined not to hold her being born in Colorado against her, and I would appreciate it if you can set your Texas prejudice aside, too.”

  “Damn you, Raymond, you know exactly what I’m talking about, and it’s not about her being from Colorado. I won’t have her living in this house!”

  Raymond had tried to make light of the situation but he was now about as angry at his little sister as he had ever been. “YOU won’t have? YOU WON’T HAVE? What part of this house that I built with my own hands and paid for with my own money do you think you own, little Sister?”

  Sis was not used to her older brother raising his voice at her, and she found herself choking up a little. “Do you remember when you were fifteen and you snuck out of the house to see the Johnson boy down by the lake? Remember that I sent Daddy up River Road to look for you while I came straight to where I knew you were because I knew exactly what was going on? Do you know how differently that would have turned out if it had been Daddy that jerked that car door open that night instead of me?”

  Sis was in full shock mode now, but Raymond didn’t let up; he just got louder. “So the Johnson boy went home with blue balls, a fat lip and a stern warning never to come around again, instead of being shot dead. And you just got a dressing down instead of being beaten to within a half-inch of your life!” Raymond was yelling now.

  Sis was openly crying, and Raymond began to feel for her. “Look, Sis, my point is that we all do things at some point in life that we might not be proud of. Sometimes circumstances dictate the course our lives take, but we shouldn’t have to pay for it the rest of our lives. I’m sure Sheila is just as well aware as anyone of our age difference, and I’m just as sure she wouldn’t want this to go any further than it has. I just want her to be okay, and to feel safe here. And I won’t lie to you. I enjoy her being around more than any other person since Paula died, and she will always be welcome in my house as long as I live. You need to understand that.”

  Sis’ eyes told him that Sheila had walked back out of the house as she heard the commotion. They both turned to face her, not knowing what her reaction would be.

  “Ma’am,” Sheila said, “I don’t really know what to call you now. All I’ve ever called you was Sis because that’s what Raymond calls you, but it doesn’t seem appropriate now. But I do want you to know I understand how you feel, and I might feel the same if we had traded lives at some point.

  “Until you’ve heard your little sister and brother cry themselves to sleep at night from hunger, knowing you can’t do anything about it, or until you have walked holes in your shoes looking for any kind of job in town and not being able to find one because you were young and from the reservation, you won’t know what you would do in those circumstances,” Sheila said.

  She turned her big brown eyes on Sis, then went on, “Did Raymond tell you how we met?” Sheila didn’t wait for an answer, because she was pretty sure Sis didn’t really care and Raymond surely hadn’t told her. “Well, we met face down in the dirt and snow on top of Pike’s Peak, bullets flying all around us. And do you know what his main focus was? To keep his body between me and those bullets! You can’t understand what that means to an Indian hooker to have this tall, good-looking Texas cowboy risk his life to try to protect her. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of men who would do that. I met three of them on top of that mountain, and the cream of that fine crop is looking at me right now!”

  She walked over and placed her hand on Raymond’s arm. “This brother of yours was suffering with altitude sickness that was almost completely debilitating, yet he never let up and he never stopped putting himself between me and danger. I knew before the bullets stopped that day that I would love him forever, and I will!”

  She then turned to Raymond. “Raymond, you are the only man in my life, other than my father and my uncle, who has ever treated me with respect and as a lady. In fact, much more than a lady, you always made me feel like a young Indian princess, and you have never asked me for anything in return, not one thing. I’ll never forget that, no matter what else happens in my life.”

  She continued to gaze up at the tall Texan, her touch still light and undemanding on his arm. “I’ll be leaving in the morning. President Kert told me he would get me a place of safety in Austin if this didn’t work out.”

  Raymond softly said, “Please don’t go, Sheila. Please. You will always have a home here, just like I said.”

  Sis broke in. “Sheila, please forgive me. I’m just an old fool who made a stupid mistake in thinking I needed to look after my brother, but he needs to be looking after me in my ignorance. I’m so sorry.” She wept openly as she said it.

  Sheila smiled as she looked back at Raymond and said, “And don’t you ever try to assume what I might want out of this or how far I might want it to go. I’ll let you know if I ever want it to stop.”

  Chapter 38

  When Raymond and Sheila arrived at Marty’s office, Norma directed them to a large meeting room close to the original governor’s office. They went back down by the stairs instead of waiting on the elevator.

  They were caught off guard when they entered the room. While they had expected to meet with Marty and their mutual old friends, they walked into a room full of folks, half of whom they had never met.

  Sam and J.P. were there, as well as Sammy, De, Marty, Rick and a more pregnant-looking Pat. There was also the economist, Amanda Sanderson, as well as U.S. State Department representative Donald Ferguson, two FBI agents, and CIA operative Joel Garcia who, according to Marty, was usually assigned to the Far East. Conspicuously missing was Bill O’Hare. Marty had sent him on a “special assignment” that would keep him busy in Houston at the Offshore Technology Conference for three days.

  After introductions all around, Marty called the gathering to some semblance of order.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for coming here today on short notice. First off, you need to know that everything said here today must be regarded by everyone in this room as strictly confidential, top secret, need to know only. By staying here, you are agreeing to those terms, is that understood?”

  As they all nodded, Marty went on. “We are living in a perilous time for the U.S., Texas, and the entire world. We are working hard to avert a worldwide economic collapse that could realistically plunge us into a world war. There are forces and people within our own ranks who seem to have that collapse and that war as their ultimate goal. We have to find out who and why, and stop them.”

  Amanda Sanderson asked, “Are you sure about this, sir? I mean, I certainly see the danger of collapse in our structures and governments, but I wasn’t aware of any purposeful effort to hasten or further that decline.”

  “We’re very sure, Amanda, very sure indeed.” Marty made the statement in a firm, confident tone. “We have overwhelming evidence that rogue elements in the Chinese military are working with more than one American to destabilize not only the U.S. and Texas economies, but the global financial infrastructure as well.

  “We’re almost working in the dark here, other than what you all just heard. These people, whoever they are, may not have started this economic slide, but they are certainly seizing on it and exacerbating it to make an already bad situation worse,” Marty added.

  “I still don’t understand how this could help anyone at all,” said Raymond, a bewildered look on his tan face.

  “We’re not sure about that either, Raymond,” Marty replied, “but we think it has to do with global oil supply and demand, so we have our eyes and ears tuned to the markets to see if that leads us anywhere. Meanwhile, we’re working with U.S. intelligence services like the CIA, and Joel Garcia here, to ferret out the perpetrators. Until we are on our own as a nation, and have our own operatives in the field
, we’ll have to rely on our partners, just as they rely on us.”

  Pat, who had been attentive but quiet so far, piped up, “I’ll bet dollars to donut holes that former U.S. President “Stonehead” Jackson is involved. We all know he’s too stupid to be the brains behind this, but he’s almost certainly one of the drones being used by those with the brains.”

  “Now, Pat, we can’t be sure about any of that. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty, right?” Marty grinned, to which the room burst into laughter. Jackson was as well liked in this room as a skunk in a sauna.

  They dealt out assignments, talked strategy, and set up their next meeting, but Pat was almost in tears as they rose to leave. She knew her advanced pregnancy wouldn’t let her do any leg work, but it didn’t stop her from wanting to.

  Then Sheila Littlefeather asked if there was anything she could do. “I don’t want to sit in the closet, wondering whether everyone is okay or not, and I want to feel like I’m earning my keep.”

  “We will need you, Sheila, but only when we know exactly who we’re dealing with and can keep you safe. Until then, we’ll have to keep you under wraps because you’re still a very valuable witness.” Marty put his arm on her shoulder. “Besides, no one around here has seen Raymond smile in years, but you can’t wipe that silly grin off his face with sandpaper nowadays. We can’t let anything happen to you unless we want him to turn back into Grumpy Cat!”

  That got a huge laugh from the team.

  Chapter 39

  In the safety of his D.C. office, Corbin Jackson was trying to formulate a plan to determine who was sniffing his tracks. A sharp knock on the door shocked the former president out of his thoughts. Only AG Smart knew he was coming here, but he would never risk coming here himself. It would be an almost certain loss of any remaining secrecy about his part in the plan, or his cover for his previous affair. Either one would surely end the AG’s career, and likely get them both killed. Another knock, more insistent than the first, left him no choice but to answer.

  He felt the color drain from his face as two men in suits shoved FBI badges in his face and barged into his small office.

  “Mr. Jackson, we need to ask you a few questions,” said the taller of the two men. His voice was gruff, and there was a definite lack of respect on his part. He jerked at his black, thin tie, as if he knew it wasn’t exactly straight.

  “What’s this about?” Jackson snapped, trying to remain calm. The fact that they didn’t address him as “Mr. President” left no doubt that this would be a serious line of questions.

  “We have reason to believe you are connected, or at least know people who are connected, to several dead bodies here in Washington,” said the smaller man, who wore an ill-fitting polyester blend black suit with a black tie identical to his companion’s, “and all these corpses are tied to China in some way. I’m sure you can understand our concerns about your frequent trips to mainland China.”

  “This is ridiculous!” Jackson blurted. “Unless you have a warrant, get out of my office, NOW!”

  “We’ll be back with one, but you would be better served by cooperating with us than by delaying things. That is, if you have nothing to hide,” the small guy said.

  “Get out NOW!” Jackson yelled, shoving them out of his office and slamming the door behind them.

  Jackson was in a state of sheer panic, but he knew he had to get in touch with his Chinese bosses. He just wasn’t sure how to do it without the whole operation blowing up in their faces. If the FBI had already made the connection between him and the Chinese, they surely had tapped any and all of his phone connections, and his e-mail, too. He poured himself a neat whisky and stared at the glass for ten minutes, trying to calm down and come up with a plan, both at the same time, which was very inefficient.

  Finally, he decided to call his old friend, Senator Frank Mitchell, to ask to meet with him “to catch up on what was going on in the Senate.”

  He got through to Senator Mitchell on his cellphone. “Hey, Mitch, you got time for a drink?”

  “Depends. You buying?” the senator asked.

  “I’m buying, but let’s meet in my office,” Jackson said. “Can you do that?”

  “Let me see if I can shake loose for an hour or so,” Mitchell said. “How about I come down around, say, three o’clock?”

  “That sounds good,” Jackson said, and he felt some of the terrible tension flow out of him. He sank into his chair and leaned against the tall back, feeling relieved, although he didn’t believe for a moment the senator would be able to pull him out of this mess.

  True to his word, Frank Mitchell strolled into Jackson’s office at five minutes to three o’clock.

  “Hello, Mitch.” Jackson rose quickly, somewhat refreshed from the power nap he squeezed in right after he spoke with the senator on the phone.

  “We need to go get a drink, Mr. President.”

  Jackson pointed at the well-stocked bar, but caught himself before he said anything. “You pick the place, Mitch,” he said, smiling at his quick grasp of what Mitchell was getting at.

  Collecting his briefcase and a jacket, he followed Mitchell to his silver Lexus, which was parked in a No Parking zone just outside the entrance to Jackson’s office building. They got in.

  “Hi, Clancy,” Jackson said to the chauffeur, whom he’d known for years.

  “Hello, sir,” Clancy said, glancing out his side mirror before easing out into traffic. All three men kept an eye out all around them constantly, checking to see if they were being tailed. They didn’t appear to be, so Mitchell had Clancy stop at a well-known and upscale bar a few blocks away from Jackson’s office.

  Clancy let them out at the door. “Just call me when you’re ready to leave, sir. I’ll find a spot nearby.”

  “Thanks, Clancy,” Mitchell said. “We won’t be long.”

  As Clancy drove off, Mitchell steered Jackson through the broad glass doors and into the semi-dark bar. He led the way to a small round table near the back wall so they could keep an eye on who came and went.

  “We may have a problem…” Jackson started, but Mitchell stopped him as a waiter came over to take their orders. Jackson ordered a Glenfiddich single malt whisky on the rocks; Mitchell ordered a Vesper Martini, channeling his James Bond and Bond girl Vesper Lynd from Casino Royale. They chatted until the waiter returned with the two drinks.

  “Now, then, Corbin, what’s so damned important?” Frank scowled at Jackson, and the former president felt his previous tension start to creep back into his temples. He took a sip of the scotch, then he rested his elbows on the table and started his tale.

  “Two FBI guys came to my office right before I called you. They said they had some questions for me about my time in China. They made it clear they suspect there may be a connection between my travels and the mess back here.”

  Mitchell glared at him. “First of all, they don’t suspect shit; they know!” he half-whispered fiercely. “They’re fishing for evidence now, and you’re just stupid enough to give it to them!”

  “I didn’t tell them anything, Mitch, I swear! I told them to get the hell out of my office unless they had a warrant because I had nothing to say to them!”

  “And just how long do you think it will be until they get one, Jackson?” the senator asked through clenched teeth, his lack of respect and full-blown anger showing as he spat out Jackson’s last name and no title.

  Jackson, whose teeth threatened to chatter, said, “Look, I’ll lay low for a bit, but I need to get word to the Chinese about what happened. I need you to deliver that message.

  Mitchell was ominously quiet for a moment, then he started to smile. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t we just get back in my Lexus and drive it off a bridge into the Potomac? What do you think these Chinese thugs will do when you tell them the FBI is up your butt and knows about your connection with them? You idiot, you won’t live fifteen seconds after you spill your guts to those yellow-faced goons, and the same goes for me if I carr
y that screwball message for you!”

  All the color left Jackson’s face as it began to dawn on him Mitchell was right. The Chinese would never let them live, knowing they could testify about Chinese involvement.

  “What can we do, Mitch?” Jackson was back in the throes of panic.

  Mitchell shook his head and wondered how such an airhead ever got himself elected president of the United States. He also wanted to kick his own ass for becoming involved in a complex scheme with such an imbecile, even if the potential payoff was almost unimaginable wealth.

  “Look, Jackson,” he said sternly, “let’s think through this. The reality is that these guys may have nothing to do with the FBI. The timing’s too convenient. They are likely joined at the hip to the same people that have been all over us for the past few months. If they are FBI, they’ll be back at your office within an hour with a warrant.” He glared at his partner in crime. “And they won’t find anything, right?”

  “Right,” said Jackson, but he didn’t sound too positive about it.

  “Okay. If they aren’t FBI and are on a fishing expedition, we may just have time to do some fishing of our own. Either way, the last people on earth we want in on this are the Chinese. The minute they find this out, you and I are going swimming in concrete shoes. Do you understand?”

  “I do now,” Jackson said, his voice trembling. “Thanks, Mitch.”

  “Don’t do anything but go back to your office and wait,” Mitchell ordered. “Either the FBI will show up with a worthless warrant or I’ll get instructions to you some way. Your office, your car, or your apartment―those are the only places you will be until you hear from me. Is that clear?”

  Jackson nodded that it was, but he had never been so frightened in his life. For the first time in a long time, revenge and money seemed unimportant. All he wanted now was to get out of this alive.