Bishop's Song

by Joe Nobody

  Beckworth awoke to a loud pounding on the RV’s door, the lack of light filtering into his cabin a clear indicator it was early – way too damn early.

  “This had better be good,” he mumbled, just as the obnoxious rap was repeated.

  Throwing on a robe, he had built up a fury by the time he padded to the threshold and flung open the door. “What the hell is…”

  He instantly recognized the man standing next to his security chief, despite the overcoat, fedora, and thick glasses. Not too many men embraced the retro-1960s look, especially around Washington. But it wasn’t the man’s wardrobe that enabled the recall. There was an aura about the visitor - the unforgettable veil of a predator. He had always reminded Beckworth of a shark – a constantly hungry, extremely lethal, and exceedingly crafty shark. The man was a legend in the intelligence community.

  Since the beginning of time, there has been a hierarchy within the ranks of those that prey upon others. Engrained as a core aspect of survival, the Velociraptor no doubt recognized the Tyrannosaurus as the superior killing machine, respecting the larger animal’s position on the food chain or becoming a meal. Beckworth knew he was staring at a very dangerous animal, a beast that could devour him in the blink of an eye.

  “Good morning, Major. I’m sorry to interrupt your beauty rest, but urgent matters of state demand the hour.”

  The ex-officer was stunned. The appearance of a man on his doorstep he hadn’t seen in 15 years caused his mind to experience a rare paralysis. It didn’t help that this was a man he truly feared.

  “Major?” the voice called, a slight hint of impatience creeping into the interrogatory.

  “Sorry… I… the early… come on in Mister… Mister,” Beckworth stumbled.

  “Mr. White.”

  “Of course it would be… Mr. White. Please come in.”

  More like Mr. Great White, he thought.

  The man from Washington didn’t need to present his credentials. Beckworth understood his authority. After entering the RV, the CIA guru scanned his surroundings and asked, “Are we alone?”

  “We are.”

  “Good. I want you to brief me on everything you know about Bishop. Leave no detail out. I’ve already verified with your security personnel that he is still here, at this… this facility. Please proceed.”

  Beckworth had delivered such debriefings a hundred times and knew the drill. He started at the beginning, relaying even the smallest facts.

  Mr. White didn’t comment, take notes or ask for coffee. He didn’t even remove his coat. Taking a seat at the dinette, he sat silently and absorbed all of the major’s words.

  “And that’s all I know,” Beckworth finally finished.

  “Take a piss, make coffee, fry eggs, or whatever your morning routine is, Major. Just keep it quiet. I need to think.”

  The man running the Circus was far too pumped to execute any sort of ritual, yet his visitor projected a need to be alone. Beckworth settled on getting dressed, the informality of his bathrobe causing discomfort.

  When he returned from the rear bedroom, Mr. White was exactly where the major left him, eyes focused on some point in space and time. Unsure of what to do, the ex-officer sat in a nearby recliner and remained silent.

  Mr. White finally came out of his trance, blinking once and then turning toward his host. “I have a very simple, yet delicate task for you. It will only take a few moments of your time, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  Beckworth wasn’t thrilled, to say the least. He’d operated at the higher level of intelligence and black ops enough to know that often a “simple, delicate task,” was neither. Still, he didn’t have much choice. He nodded, signaling his willingness to cooperate.

  “I want you to call in this former subordinate of yours… this Grim fellow. Here is what I want you to say…”

  Bishop awoke to the strange sounds. The thin metal walls of the camper did little to filter the racket associated with preparing for a new day of business at the Circus. As the early morning wore on, the din continued to grow in volume, pulling the Texan out of his half-awake state, and finally away from the relished softness of the berth’s mattress.

  He rose to find himself in a unique situation – there was no place he had to be, no task demanding his attention. It was weird. Back in Alpha with Terri or on the road traveling, he always had a seemingly endless list of jobs that needed to be addressed. Now, while he waited on word from Grim, there was really nothing for him to do, nothing that required his presence. It was like being on vacation.

  Deciding to embrace the holiday theme, Bishop savored another hot shower, skipping the shave. He found his clothing close enough to being dry and proceeded to dress.

  Bored already, he exited the camper and began wandering around the perimeter of the Circus, taking in the hustle and bustle as the employees prepared for the day.

  Breakfast soon became his top priority, and he immediately began a search. Visions of bacon, eggs and perhaps even coffee filled his head. It was not to be. After a careful forage, he had to settle for two slices of thick, bland bread, the doughy white meal salvaged only by the discovery of a vendor selling locally harvested honey.

  The natural sweetness greatly enhanced the flavor of the bread. Coffee was the next order of the day.

  Evidently, the resources available to the Circus weren’t limitless, his favorite morning beverage beyond the reach of the local procurement specialist. He came to this conclusion after asking a man who was clearly a person of authority where he might find a steaming cup of joe.

  “I have no idea,” the man responded. “If you find any, make sure and let me know.”

  All was not lost however, as Bishop decided to take the opportunity and kill two birds with one stone. Exiting the secure walls of the Circus, he made for the parking lot without retrieving his weapon. It was only a short walk; the process of rechecking his rifle didn’t seem worthy of the effort.

  He found the truck exactly where he had left it, the tarp and contents of the cab appearing undisturbed. After quickly rummaging in his pack, he retrieved a small bag of coffee grounds he had brought with him from Texas.

  Reentering the facility was a much more streamlined process than his first passage through security, the treatment now as if he were an honored guest. It bothered Bishop just a bit, but he shrugged it off, thinking the guards were becoming familiar with his face.

  Entry was also expedited by the relatively low number of visitors milling around the entrance. The only people present were those who were trying to barter goods. Bishop spied several horse-drawn wagons, a few people-powered carts, and several folks just carrying boxes of valuables. He paused for a bit, watching the evaluators circulating among the small crowd, inspecting produce, meat and other assorted trade items.

  He made his way back to the camper, heating water on the units of the small electric stove. After finding a cup in the cabinet above the sink, he settled at the small dinette, taking advantage of the great view to do a little people watching. It was relaxing to sit back, enjoy his brew, and observe the various activities occurring outside his window.

  He was halfway through his second cup when he noticed one of the security guards escorting Grim through the throng.

  “We’ll know something soon,” he predicted.

  Grim entered Beckworth’s RV, his nerves on edge. This morning was going to determine if the rest of their odyssey were going to be easy or hard. With his arm still in a sling, he prayed for easy.

  “Good morning, Grim,” the major greeted. “I have good news for you.”

  Those words lifted a portion of the heavy burden from the operator’s shoulders, allowing his stomach to slow its churning. Not trusting the man seated in front of him one bit, he was wary that the other shoe still hadn’t dropped.

  “You and your family are free to go. I decided last night that our friendship outweighs any financial consideration on my part. Perhaps I’ll ask a favor of you one day.”

  G
rim waited, an uncomfortable pause ensuing, finally bumbling out with, “That’s it?”

  “Grim, my old friend, why do you have such thoughts? Of course, that’s it. No strings attached.”

  The operator’s face broke into a huge smile, relief flooding through his expression. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. I owe you one.”

  Waving off the gushing family man’s appreciation, the major waited just a moment before continuing. “Where will you go?”

  “Back to West Texas, I suppose.”

  The ex-intelligence officer played it perfectly, looking over Grim’s shoulder, as if to make sure they were still alone, he lowered his voice. “I would reconsider that option, my friend. I have it on pretty good authority that there is some serious trouble headed that direction. Some very serious trouble indeed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just between us, I recently found out that a few of your old comrades are staging for a mission soon. Word is the president has ordered a covert insertion to take over key facilities, and eliminate some of the leadership. I don’t know all the details, but I do know enough that I would avoid that area if I were you.”

  “What? What the hell are you talking about, Major?”

  “Two teams passed through here a few days ago. I knew a couple of the senior NCOs from the old days. You know the same people, I’m sure…. teams out of Bragg. They were taking a little R & R before heading west. They drank a little too much, ran off at the mouth.”

  “What are they doing? Trying to start a war? That’s crazy,” Grim observed.

  “I know, I know,” the major played on. “I said the same thing. Their justification made sense though. They believed the people out there wouldn’t be so feisty and uncooperative if they didn’t have electricity. The other team was charged with removing the head of the area’s leadership snake.”

  Grim turned away from his host, the move initiated to disguise his emotions as well as to give him time to think. It didn’t take long for it all to soak in. He spun back around, anger painted all over his face.

  Grim took a threatening step toward Beckworth, his fist balled into a tight knot. “Do you know when and where, Major?”

  He’s taken the bait… hook, line and sinker, the major thought. Now to land him.

  “Not specifically,” he lied. “My read on the conversation was in the next three or four days. There are high-level negotiations scheduled soon. I’d be willing to wager a considerable sum the op will go down before then.”

  Grim muttered several curses under his breath. Remembering the original purpose of his visit, he bowed slightly and thanked the major, his thoughts occupied with telling Bishop what he’d learned.

  Before he could leave, Beckworth stopped him. “You and your family are welcome to stay here and work with me,” he started. “I can always use a man with your skills, even with that broken arm. I’ve received nothing but excellent reports concerning your family’s work ethics as well. You should consider it, Grim. West Texas might seem like a nice place to live now, but I have little doubt that is about to change. Do you really want to take your family into a war zone?”

  Nodding, Grim uttered a low, “Thank you again, Major. I’ll talk it over with my wife.”

  “Oh, and one more thing I just remembered. I kept hearing those men talk about a place called Chamber’s Valley. Given the little things I picked up on, I’m pretty sure that is the jump-off point for the operation. If you and your family do decide to return, I would avoid that area, for what it’s worth.”

  Grim exited the RV in a hurry, the major rising to watch him proceed on a direct line to Bishop’s camper. Out of the back room, Mr. White joined Beckworth at the window, tracking the progress of the seed the two men had just planted.

  “Satisfactory?” Beckworth inquired, not taking his gaze away from the window.

  “Yes. Now let’s see if my equations are as balanced as I believe.”

  Bishop knew something was wrong before Grim threw open the camper’s door and stormed inside. He could tell by his friend’s gait as he approached.

  “You’re not going to believe what Beckworth just told me,” Grim opened. “He overhead some conversation about a pending operation against the Alliance.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” Bishop asked, almost spilling his coffee as he rose.

  Grim repeated what he had heard just a few minutes ago, placing special emphasis on that statement about “Cutting off the head of the snake.”

  “Terri,” Bishop stated, the word dripping with concern.

  “Do you know where someplace called Chamber’s Valley is?”

  Bishop had to think for a minute, trying to recall the place. “Yes, yes I do. It’s north of Fort Davidson as I remember. There used to be a rock climbing school that gave lessons up that way. I visited it once. I always wanted to attend, but never found the time.”

  “That’s going to be their jump-off point, or so the major claims.”

  Bishop considered the information for a bit, drawing a mental map of the area. “Makes sense,” he finally announced. “Secluded area, strategically located between Alpha and the electric control station at Fort Stockdale.”

  Bishop began pacing, his mind reeling with the news. A strike, such as the one being described, would make sense. Without electrical power and a few key personalities, the Alliance would crumble in short order.

  He had to fight down the anger and injustice that insisted on invading his thoughts. He needed a cool head – needed to ignore the fact that Terri was one of those who would be a target.

  Grim wasn’t so logical. “You know they’ll go after your wife. Probably her, Diana and Nick at minimum. I hate to say it, but I would if I were them.”

  It didn’t take long for Bishop to reach a conclusion. “We’ve got to get back and warn them. I’ve got to get back and protect Terri.”

  The Texan began hustling about the camper, gathering his belongings. When he noticed Grim wasn’t doing the same, he looked up and prodded, “We’ve got to hurry. Every minute counts.”

  Grim reached out and clutched Bishop’s shoulder with his one good arm. “We would just slow you down. Maggie and Jana aren’t good travelers, and I can’t leave them again. Besides, with this one bum arm, I’m not going to be much help.”

  The concept of traveling back alone stopped Bishop cold. Trying to reason it all out, he asked, “But what will you guys do? Your house burned to the ground.”

  “Beckworth offered me a job here. Said the wife and kid can keep working as well. We’ll figure out a way to go west after everything settles down. You go on. You’ve got that pass, and there’s enough gas and food left in the truck for one guy to make it easy. Drive straight through, and you might get there in time.”

  Bishop nodded, accepting his partner’s logic. “I understand. I mean, after all, you’re talking to a guy who wishes he hadn’t left his wife and child in the first place. If someone else had come along, Deke might not be dead, and you might still have both wings.”

  Grim looked Bishop in the eye, his expression sincere. “No one could have done better, dude. No one. When Deke called you an operator on his death bed, I had to agree. Sometimes we don’t like to admit a guy to the club who hasn’t made the sacrifice, but you’ve earned it. Now go and fight for what you people have built back there… go and protect that good woman who tolerates your sorry ass.”

  Twenty minutes later, after retrieving his checked weapon and giving the truck a good once-over, Bishop was speeding through the Tennessee countryside.

  Concealed nearby, Beckworth and Mr. White watched the Texan race out of the parking lot. Feeling good about his successful role, Beckworth let his curiosity get the best him, venturing a question that he normally wouldn’t have dared. “What is that man going to find waiting for him in Chamber’s Valley?”

  If death had a look, Mr. White mimicked it perfectly. The target of his gaze actually took a step backwards, so hostile was the e
xperience. “Do you really want me to answer that, Major? Do you really want to be on the short list of those who know?”

  “Sorry… I shouldn’t have…”

  Mr. White stepped close to the ex-officer, poking the frightened man in the chest. “Forget everything that happened here today, Major. Erase it from your mind, and seal your lips for eternity. If you don’t, I, or one of my kind will come. We will come in the middle of the night, and you will die badly. We will extract revenge for your indiscretion using methods you can’t even fathom. Your heart will explode from the pain during the final seizures of your brain.”

  And then Mr. White was gone, driving out of the parking lot at a rapid pace, on his way back to the Memphis International Airport and the waiting Air Force shuttle.

  Bishop felt exposed driving in daylight. Were it not for the urgency associated with a threat against his wife, he would never use such a tactic, especially when traveling alone.

  Memphis looked worse by day, the details of decay more visible than when they had passed through in the darkness. Little things drew the Texan’s eye, like the abundance of graffiti painted on every overpass, abutment and countless relic cars. Evidently, spray paint hadn’t been in short supply after the collapse.

  He supposed the liberal use of color was logical. After all, you couldn’t eat it. As he drove closer to downtown, the effect grew more intense. He wondered what physiological motive had inspired the artists. Was it a need to mark territory? Warnings? Directions for lost loved ones? There was no way to tell – maybe all of the above.

  He reached the bridge spanning the Mississippi without incident, finding himself the only person waiting to cross at the army checkpoint. Evidently the other side wasn’t a popular vacation destination. And who wouldn’t want to visit the badlands, he thought.

  Surprised to have a customer, the MP who strolled to the truck was actually talkative and friendly. Bishop handed the man his pass.