Boyd had stopped, waved his arms around, and taken a few breaths. “I need to know I have someone I can count on to do whatever it takes to protect me, knowing I’m working to protect our way of life. I need someone I can count on to do the things that nobody likes to talk about.” Congressman Boyd convinced Brandon Hull to take the job.
They contracted through the Lt. Colonel, and Hull worked for a few others, too. But over the years, he worked mostly for Boyd. It was one of those jobs in which Hull was paid a retainer. Every single month money showed up coming through off-shore accounts. Hull would file his taxes like he was doing normal contracting work. Like he was an ordinary consultant with a government contract.
The Lt. Colonel would sometimes send him to do other chores, private and off-the-record business for other politicians, but Boyd was the only person he worked with directly. Boyd was the only one he knew by name. In time, they became like friends.
The work Hull did was always on the edge of criminality, sometimes across it, but always because America needed the best men in Washington. No soft liberals were going to protect America from terrorists. Not from the kind of terrorism that she faced today. Not from these radicals who killed innocent people, chopped off heads, and burned people to death. It took a special resilience to stop these kinds of enemies.
Hull felt no regret that Brad Novak was killed. It was part of the job. He washed his hands of it the next day. He moved on to the next task. He believed with all his heart and soul that stopping Genaplat’s research program would hurt America.
“What’s the status?” Boyd asked. His voice was coming out of the speakers in the rental car through the Bluetooth on Hull’s phone.
“I’m driving up a goddamn mountain,” Hull answered. “I might lose you. Cell service is sketchy up here.”
“And?”
“And I don’t have anything new to report. You’ll have to relax and trust me on this.”
“I do trust you. But this is getting out of hand.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I am done confronting them.”
“Try not to…” He paused. “Be level-headed on this. Please. We don’t need anyone else going missing. It’s too much to contain.”
“I have my responsibilities, sir. I’ll handle it.”
“Don’t hurt her.”
“Quit thinking with your dick, Sir. I’ll do my job. It’s what I do. We should have destroyed that fucking drive. If they’ve sent out those files already it won’t matter. We’ll gain nothing by any more mayhem. So relax. I’ll do what I can do. I’ll do what I have to do. Some of this might be out of our control no matter what I do. I’ll call you when I know more.” Hull ended the call. Fucking politicians. Never do they learn.
Vietnam. Go kill. Go destroy. Stop the enemy. They are a threat to America. No, don’t kill. Stop destroying. Come home. Sit on your hands. Don’t take Baghdad. Leave Saddam in power. No, we made a mistake. Now, go fucking get him. Now that we’ve left him there years longer to fuck shit up worse, now go back. Kill. Don’t kill. Do this. Don’t do this.
Hull didn’t smoke more than a couple cigarettes a day. He knew it wasn’t a healthy habit, but nobody lived forever. He rolled down the window and felt the cold mountain air on his face. He turned up the heater so he wouldn’t freeze and lit a cigarette. The big drag he took caused him to cough a little, but then, once he’d smoked another half inch, he felt a sense of relaxation descend upon him. Arguing with the Congressman had worn him out. When he drove past Fallen Oaks Trailer Park he looked out the window and thought to himself how he’d rather end up in a fire fight with a hundred trained killers.
He drove on. A sign read “Welcome to Glenley” and another “Please Slow Down.” A third sign read “Visit the Broken Yolk Coffee Shoppe, Fresh Coffee Always Available.” He looked at his notes and verified he’d committed Drew’s license plate number to memory. He didn’t expect to find too many dark green Camaro convertibles up there, but he’d seen plenty of weird coincidences over the years, so it was smart to double check everything.
Hull drove into town and started making a mental grid of the layout. He’d learned a long time ago that the best way to sweep an area was to always be methodical, always use the same method. Use it for setting up fields of fire, sweeping for booby traps and trip wires, looking for targets down range, whatever he was doing, even looking for the best place to grab a cup of coffee.
He drove all the way through Glenley and then turned around once he was sure he’d left the city limits. He drove back to the other end of town and parked on the right side next to the first building which had been to his left when he’d first entered town. It was a few degrees from six o’clock and on the southeastern edge of town.
He put on a broad-rimmed hat, dark sunglasses, and a windbreaker. He walked down the southern side of the main highway, heading west. He didn’t expect Drew or the photographer to be looking out for him. They had no idea he was here and certainly no idea what he looked like. But they might suspect someone was looking for them, so Hull acted accordingly.
He knew he couldn’t miss Drew if he saw her. The photographer, Marc Chase, didn’t have any selfies on his website, so Hull was stuck with a shitty picture he’d found searching social networks. The photographer was tall, appeared to be good looking, and had shortish brown hair. Hull knew he’d spot the girl eventually. She stuck out in a crowd.
As he walked west, he scanned left to right, searching. About a quarter mile later, he saw the Camaro. Dark green, correct plate number. She was here. The car was parked in front of the Broken Yolk Coffee Shoppe.
He wasn’t sure if he’d missed it driving by the first time because there were several RVs parked in the lot. They might have also just shown up while he was cruising through town.
In any case, it was time to grab a cup of coffee. He wanted to get a booth close to them and eavesdrop. He moved his car across the street. He’d be close enough to follow them when they left, but not so close to cause suspicion.
Game time.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Wars come and go; politics endure.
~ Jacqueline Carey
If I quit today, Boyd would have me replaced by next week. Maybe sooner.
~ Brandon Hull
Brandon Hull walked into the coffee shop. He looked around like tourists do when they are confused about local customs. He approached the register and scanned the restaurant for any sign of a beautiful blonde, but he saw none.
“Sit anywhere, hon,” said the woman behind the counter. “Coffee?”
“Black. Where’s the restroom?” He scanned again for Drew.
The woman pointed towards the back and Hull headed that way. He casually glanced around to see if he recognized anybody and saw a young man working on his computer. Could be Marc, but it was impossible to tell for sure. He didn’t want to be caught staring, so he moved quickly to the men’s room. When he exited, he slowly opened the door. He glanced out to be sure he wasn’t going to run into Drew leaving the women’s room. Stranger things had happened.
Hull felt twenty years younger being in the field and actively hunting. It was going to be a good day. There was no sign of a young blonde, so he walked back through the restaurant and sat at the counter.
“Black coffee, hon. Anything to eat?”
“Four scrambled eggs, cottage cheese, no toast, no potatoes, bacon well-done.”
Hull ate in silence. He was too far away from a man who might be Marc to hear any of his phone conversations. The place was too empty for Hull to sit right next to him, and for all he knew, he wasn’t the right guy. Hull kept an eye on the Camaro. It was Drew’s car, so she’d have to show up sooner or later. If Marc was driving it, he’d lead him to her.
One important lesson Hull learned very early in his career was patience. The military never rushed anything. It was a slow, methodical beast preferring erosion over a flash flood. He would wait until something changed. Hull asked for a newspaper and got a u
sed copy someone had left behind. He scanned for stories about the Congressman and then settled in and waited. An hour passed.
The man got up, paid his bill, and left the restaurant. He walked across the street and into the market. After fifteen minutes, he exited. He crossed the street again carrying a grocery sack and flowers. He got into Drew’s Camaro.
Hull moved. He left a twenty on the counter and sprinted towards the door. As the Camaro pulled onto the highway, Hull was already in his rental car and turning on the ignition. He pulled out onto the highway and headed down the mountain, trailing the Camaro and losing ground.
“Fuck. He has to pretend he’s a race car driver,” Hull said to himself.
Hull wanted to keep his targets isolated. That was standard procedure. Interrogate witnesses apart. Find out where their stories clash, or match too perfectly, as if rehearsed. It was safer to keep them apart. It created a more controllable environment.
Hull sped up. It made the most sense to race ahead and pass Marc. Worst case scenario would be if he didn’t actually turn at the Fallen Oaks Trailer Park. If Marc Chase, assuming that was who was driving Drew’s car, was headed back to Bristol, Hull would have time to catch up. The Camaro’s driver was speeding, but Hull had experience in defensive and tactical driving, and it wasn’t more than a few minutes before he flew past his target.
Hull was well past the Camaro when he braked hard to make the turn into the Fallen Oaks Trailer Park. He slowed and scanned the area. None of these homes would be called a cabin, not by any stretch of the imagination, so he kept driving towards the mountains. Once he had gone for awhile without seeing any other dwellings, he started looking for a good place to set up an ambush. He felt his heart race. This was more like the old days, much better than doing paperwork or sitting at a stake-out with a camera.
When Hull made it to the narrow wooden bridge, he knew he had the perfect spot. He drove two-thirds of the way across the bridge and stopped. If the Camaro didn’t show up in the next few minutes, he could double back. It was an easy car to spot. Hull was confident that the cabin was higher up. Marc’s aunt had described something more remote than a trailer park.
It took less than five minutes for his prey to show up at the beginning of the bridge. The car stopped, and after waiting for a minute, the driver slowly proceeded across.
“Hi. You lost?” Marc Chase asked as he got out of his car.
“No, not at all.”
“Oh. Okay then. Can you let me pass?”
“No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“I fucking mean no.” Hull stared directly into Marc’s eyes. Marc blinked. Hull could see that he was confused and pondering the situation.
Marc turned and took a step towards his car. Hull swept his leg out and knocked Marc down onto the wooden planks of the bridge and then jumped on top of him. Marc panicked and started kicking, struggling, and wildly swinging his arms, but despite his age, Hull was in excellent shape. He was also trained to fight. Hull took a cupped hand and slammed it into Marc’s ear. Marc was stunned. Hull knew that besides pain and shock, that hit produced confusion in its victim.
“Stop struggling, or I’ll really hurt you.”
Marc froze. “What do you want? The car?”
Hull laughed. “Yes, I came all the way up here to steal a fucking car. Where’s Drew? And don’t fucking lie.”
Marc panicked again when he heard Drew’s name, and Hull kneed him in the ribs and grabbed his throat.
“Yes, I’m here about this bullshit because your little friend took something she shouldn’t have.”
Marc went limp and when Hull released his throat he asked, “What do you want?”
“For starters, I want to know who you’ve talked to. I want to know who you have given those fucking files to, and finally, I want to know what the fuck do you two idiots think you’re doing with national security secrets?”
Marc started talking. He told Hull he’d tell him everything if he promised to leave Drew alone.
“I promise,” Hull said.
“How can I trust you? How can I trust that you’ll leave her alone?”
“You can’t, you little fuckhead, you can’t. But I’ll sure as fuck promise you this: if you don’t tell me everything, and I mean if I think you are lying or holding back, I swear to God I’ll fuck you up. If you don’t tell me everything, I’m going to promise you that I’ll fucking bring a world of pain to that snotty fucking cunt whore who brought all this shit on you and herself when she decided to be a fucking snoop.”
Hull watched Marc. He could tell he was thinking about his options and that he knew he didn’t have many. Hull was confident that Marc was scared. Marc was a civilian, untrained for war, terror, and threats.
“I have the thumb drive in my bag. It’s in the back seat with my computer. All the files are there. Take them.”
“Where else have these files been sent?” He rapped Marc on the head and stared.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
We read to know we're not alone.
~ William Nicholson
Heaven would be a comfortable chair, a library, Diet Coke, and an occasional cheese pizza. Sex once in a while. No talking.
~ Drew Stirling
Drew Stirling put another log on the fire. It wasn’t that cold, but it gave her something to do. She needed a break from reading.
She opened another Diet Coke and then poked at the fire. She used the bellows, and soon the fire blazed again as if it was alive and here to keep her company. Fire was beautiful, dangerous, and unpredictable like how she saw herself. She felt the heat on her face. Kisses. Love. She smiled and thought of Marc Chase.
She wondered if she could love a man like him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet.
~ Oliver North
I know the saying, “He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword.” Well, I’m still alive so whoever said that isn’t very reliable. I suspect I’ll die quietly in front of a television, watching reruns, and probably drooling on myself.
~ Brandon Hull
Marc Chase formulated a lie. He hoped he could sell it. “I haven’t sent the files anywhere. I haven’t shared them, and I haven’t told anyone what’s on them.” Marc watched the eyes of the monster who was pinning him down.
The man spoke. “Don’t move.” The man went to the car.
Marc remained still. He knew trying to run or fight was hopeless. He wasn’t weak, but this guy was strong, quick, and he seemed ruthless.
The man came back and held up the computer, the thumb drive, and Marc’s cell phone. He opened Marc’s MacBook and asked him for the password to unlock it. Marc told him and watched as he verified that he’d given him the correct password. He asked him for the code to access the phone. Marc told him, and the man verified that as well. “I have your word that these devices are the only place you have copies of my files?”
“Yes.” Marc hoped his lie wasn’t detectable. He hoped that the man would take the computer, the thumb drive, his cell, and go away. He hoped.
Marc watched him pacing. He watched him walk up to his car and place the all the devices onto the passenger seat.
“Tell me,” the man asked, “why haven’t you sent these files to anyone?”
Marc had already calculated this lie. “Because we were trying to find someone to buy them. We wanted to auction the files to the highest bidder. You see? We knew someone would pay for this story, so that’s all. We were just greedy. Nobody knows what’s on them, I swear.”
“Okay. You know what? I’m going to believe you. It’s your lucky day. Get up, get your car out of my way, and let’s call it a day. I’ll take your electronics, sound fair?”
“Sure, yes. Thank you.” Marc sat up. His body hurt. But this was over. He stood up and started walking to his car.
Marc felt an arm go around his neck at the same ti
me he felt a knee in his lower back. He started to scream out in pain, but his airway was cut off. He couldn’t breathe. He knew it was almost impossible to get out of a chokehold, and he started to struggle with all the energy he had left. His muscles were quickly depleted of oxygen, and he became light-headed.
Marc dropped to his knees. Everything in his body was screaming for oxygen. He started seeing stars. His vision blurred, and his eyes filled with water. He was dragged backwards, and he helplessly moved his own feet to try and regain balance. He was lifted over the railing.
Marc hit the water. The monster, the killer that had him in a chokehold, had pulled him over the railing of the bridge. Now they were both under water. He couldn’t see. The shock of the cold water jolted his brain awake. It was screaming at him. Get oxygen now!
Marc felt the pressure release from the chokehold. Oxygen. Air. He gulped as deep as he could, his muscles acting on their own. His diaphragm operated on pure instinct. He was going to get air. He was going to live.
Only there was no air, not here, not underwater. The ice cold water filled his throat and was pulled into his lungs. His mind screamed. He had been tricked. There was nothing he could do now except feel the last of the pain his short life had to offer.
An image of Drew flashed before him. This last thought died with him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
If it's wrong when they do it, it's wrong when we do it.
~ Noam Chomsky
Brandon Hull has never done anything illegal for me. I’ve never asked him to, and if I had, he’d have quit on the spot. He’s a true hero, an American Marine.
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