Amy Lynn: Golden Angel

by Jack July

  He raised his eyebrows. “None?”

  “Nope, kill every damn one of them. President’s own words.”

  “All right then, on my way.”

  “Cody?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Love ya.”

  She could almost hear his eyes roll, “Yeah T, I love you too.”

  The Story of Cody Harrick

  On a steamy hot August day in 1966, Cody Ray Harrick was born to Carl Harrick and his wife Mary Belle way back in the Louisiana swampland. The only witnesses were the gators outside and Cody’s big sister, Marie. His daddy weighed him on a bathroom scale. At nine pounds, he was a big boy, and he just kept growing.

  When he was five, he started to accompany his dad and his mom into the swamps where he learned the family business: gator hunting. Depending on the size, gators would fetch between seventy-five and two hundred dollars each, good money at the time. When Cody was twelve, he and his sister were gifted with their own boat so they could hunt together. Marie was seventeen years old, five foot nine and about one hundred and eighty pounds made mostly of muscle. They came back twice with healthy-sized gators.

  Their third trip alone wasn’t so lucky. A twelve-foot gator leapt from the water. Grabbing Marie’s arm, it started to drag her down. Cody didn’t hesitate. He jumped onto the gator’s back, his Bowie knife already in hand. He stabbed the gator in the head and eyes until it let go of Marie. Wrapping her arm with his shirt to stop the blood, he got the boat to the landing so their parents could run her to the hospital. It didn’t matter. He saved her life, but she still lost her left arm at the elbow.

  Cody’s guilt was awful, but Marie would have none of it. She didn’t even slow down, dragging her brother out to the swamp to hunt gator as soon as the doctor said she was okay. The only concession she made to her missing arm was to swap the rifle she carried for a .357 pistol. There was, she said, no time for blame or feeling sorry for yourself. You took care of family. You got it done and you survived.

  Life would change for Cody when he was fifteen. On the occasion of his mom’s birthday the entire extended family had come to celebrate and as they enjoyed dinner they heard an airboat slicing through the swamp. Six heavily armed individuals climbed over the gunwale onto the riverbank. Carl walked out onto the porch, and suddenly his house looked like a porcupine, with all of the gun barrels sticking out of it.

  After a brief, tense moment, a uniformed woman handed her rifle to her partner and walked across the yard to the porch, hands up and empty except for a 5x8 photograph. Looking closer, Carl could see it was a picture of a blond man cradling a smiling, towheaded toddler in his arms. “I’m Trooper Corrine Follet. This is a picture of my husband and my little boy Kevin. He went deer hunting with a friend somewhere out here two days ago. Please, Mr. Harrick, help us find him. Help me get my son his Daddy back.”

  Carl Harrick was many things, but hardhearted wasn’t one of them. He looked at the woman as her eyes grew misty, then he nodded his head and called for his son Cody. After figuring out what landing they used, he told Cody to find them.

  Cody was gangly, tall and a little clumsy-looking; he very much looked his age. But he already had earned a local reputation as a fine hunter and exceptional tracker. They were lucky: gators didn’t find the men first. About four hours later, just before sunset, Cody returned with the two men. The rescued pair were hungry, cold, tired and shook up, but otherwise none the worse for their experience. Trooper Follet was in tears as she alternately punched and hugged her husband. More importantly for Cody, she took the time to thank him, handing over a business card. “Please,” she said, “write me. I owe you--not as much as my dumbass husband does, but I owe you. Let me know how you’re doing, how you like school, stuff like that. And if there’s ever anything I can do for you, all you have to do is ask.”

  For months, he picked up the card every day, not sure how to begin. At last, his English teacher gave the class a letter writing assignment, so he wrote Corrine. It was the beginning of a lively friendship; they found they liked many of the same things, and they liked each other. The first letter was mostly questions about what she did and what it was like to live in the city. Corrine wrote back, five handwritten pages. It grew past letters. Corrine sent him books, magazines and a T-shirt with a State Trooper logo. Cody sent back stuff his mom had canned and little trinkets he made from gator teeth, snakeskins and other swamp treasures. She gave him a glimpse into the outside world, and he liked what he saw. Eventually, he figured, he’d send himself into the big city and experience some of these things in person.

  But halfway through Cody’s senior year, the letters stopped. After three months of silence, he took some money he had saved, skipped school, went to the bus terminal and bought a round-trip ticket to Baton Rouge.

  Cody had been to Baton Rouge once before on a school field trip, so he had some idea how to get around. He found a taxi and gave the driver Corrine’s address. It led to a plantation home on the outskirts of town. A little nervous, he knocked. A small black woman in a maid’s outfit answered the door. “I don’t suppose I can help you.”

  Cody nodded his head. “Yes ma’am, my name’s Cody Harrick and I’m here to see Corrine Follet.”

  The woman’s face suddenly went solemn, and she looked him up and down. “Come on in, honey.” She led him to what Cody figured was a drawing room or parlor or something. It was decorated with fancy furniture, paintings, and fresh flowers in expensive-looking vases. He wandered around, looking but taking care not to touch. After a few minutes, Charles Follet walked in looking much better than the last time Cody had seen him.

  “Cody.” He looked down as if he were ashamed. “This is an unexpected and welcome surprise. Let’s go to the study where we can talk comfortably.” He turned to the maid, who was hovering outside the door. “Miss Maggie, could we have tea in the study?”

  The study was large and ornate, much more masculine than the drawing room or parlor or whatever. It was spiced with the light scents of wood, leather, bourbon and cherry pipe smoke. Books lined the oak walls, and well-done taxidermy animals decorated the room. After they were settled on the soft leather seats, Charles took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Cody. Corrine was killed in a shootout with a drug gang three months ago.”

  For a moment, Cody had a hard time catching his breath. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Mr. Follett.”

  Charles shook his head. “I’m sorry, Cody. I should have written you, but with the funeral and taking care of Kevin and sorting out the estate, it just slipped my mind. I am so sorry. You were special to her.”

  They sat quietly for a few more minutes, then Charles said, “Come here. You need to see something.”

  He led the way into the foyer, where twin massive spiral staircases took them upstairs to the master bedroom. He stepped through a side door. “This was Cory’s study.”

  Cody looked at all the certificates, pictures and diplomas hanging on the walls. Charles pointed to a curio cabinet in the corner. “Right there, Cody. She called it her swamp cabinet. Everything you ever sent her is in there.” Charles pulled a thick folder out of a drawer at the bottom. “She kept every letter you ever sent. She loved you like a son.”

  Cody nodded and surreptitiously wiped at his eyes. “She was special to me too.”

  Charles chuckled suddenly. “That alligator tooth necklace you made her, do you know she never took it off? We would go to these fundraisers and fancy parties; she would have on a beautiful dress and that necklace. The Junior League ladies made fun of her behind her back. They called her Gator. We were at a party, and one of them slipped and called her that to her face. Cory just laughed and said, ‘I like that.’ She’s wearing that necklace right now.”

  Cody smiled, and Charles smiled back before continuing. “Cory wasn’t from here. She was from Belle Rose. I met her when she was making extra money working s
ecurity at a fundraiser. Her father was a truck driver and her mother a waitress. I couldn’t take my eyes off her--she looked so tough, yet so beautiful. I almost lost the plantation over her. Daddy said that if I married white trash, I could go live like white trash, and the rest of the family agreed except for my Grandmother Follet. She put a stop to all that, said you can’t help who you love. As usual, she was right. And fortunately, she was the one with control of the money. Come on son, let me buy you lunch. There’s someone you may want to meet.”

  The guard at the Country Club of Louisiana waved Charles through the gate as they drove to the clubhouse. State troopers stood guard next to a limo out front. The whole place was graceful and green, as if someone had trapped all the beauty of the swamp and tamed it. There was wealth on display like Cody had never seen. It was old Louisiana money. A tall maître d’ escorted Cody and Charles to a big round table in the back corner of the bar, where a half-dozen men sat laughing and drinking. Cody thought he recognized one of them.

  “Charles, sit your ass down over here, how you doin’ today?” Percival Montagne, Attorney General of the State of Louisiana, had already downed a few drinks. His friends included some of the wealthiest men in the state, moneymen planning to put Percy in the Governor’s Mansion. Suddenly they realized Charles was not alone. Cody certainly did not fit the country club scene. He stood six foot five now, his long black hair and scruffy teenage beard marking him as a swamp rat instead of one of these neat-tailored gentlemen. He did not realize how his size, stoic manner and piercing cobalt eyes made him intimidating to those who did not know him, but he felt them staring at him and was suddenly uncomfortable.

  Charles let them stare for a moment longer. Finally, he said, “Percy, you remember Cody Harrick?”

  “Oh, my--” Percy’s eyes widened, then he sprang from the chair and shook Cody’s hand with a half hug. “I’ll be damned, gentlemen, this is Cody Harrick. I owe this young man my life. Are you ever gonna stop growing, boy?” Cody smiled.

  “Well, you just sit yourself down here, young man. You order whatever you want. I’ll take care of it. Gentlemen, I want to tell you a story. Charles and I went hunting for those big deer in a swamp way outside Baton Rouge. Well, we were a couple of damned fools that day and went somewhere we weren’t familiar with, got lost and for four days we lived off the land…”

  Cody leaned over and whispered to Charles, “It wasn’t even two days.”

  Charles laughed softly and whispered back. “Next time he tells it, it’ll be five days.”

  “That young man hunted us through the most alligator-infested swamps in Louisiana and rescued us from certain death,” Percy said with the panache of a Broadway actor. He turned back to Cody. “You’re still in high school, right?”

  “Yes sir,” said Cody.

  “He’s a senior,” Charles added.

  “What college will you be attending?”

  “No sir. I mean, I, um, can’t afford college. I’ll be going into the family business.”

  “Really? Gator said you wanted a career in law enforcement. You know she talked about you all the time. You make good grades in school?” asked Percy.

  “Yes sir, A’s and B’s.”

  Percy got quiet for a moment. “Well, this just won’t do, won’t do at all. Gator loved you too much. She’d have done you right.” He turned to one of the men at the table. “Mace, do you think this boy looks like a Tiger?”

  Mace Yancy, who Cody later learned was a member of the LSU Board of Regents and a wealthy industrialist, replied, “He sure does.”

  “Well, son, we know you’re tough enough to wrastle a gator and smart enough to find a couple lost fools. You tough enough and smart enough to earn a degree?” Percy smiled.

  Cody looked at Charles, who gave him a nod and an encouraging grin. “Yes sir, I believe I am.”

  “Well then, it’s settled. Cody, get your stuff together for the fall. You’re going to LSU. You best do me proud,” said Percy with a big smile.

  That day, Cody saw something he had never seen before. He was not worldly enough to label it, but he knew it was something special. What he saw was power: the ability to transform a person’s life with no more than a nod. When used with benevolence, it was a beautiful thing. But eventually he would see that it had a dark side, too: when partnered with unspeakable evil, power could be horror beyond imagination.

  Carl and Mary Belle were proud of their son, though more than a bit suspicious of something that seemed like a gift for free. Still, Cody was the first Harrick to attend college. Cody balked at leaving his family; his work helped pay the bills. Even that barrier, however, was easy for Power to bridge: Cody became the first and only recipient of the Trooper Corrine Follet Memorial College fund. He had powerful friends--Mace Yancey even smoothed things over so that his occasional absence during the thirty September days that made up gator hunting season were not a problem for his professors.

  Cody did well. Academics were tough because his small country high school was adequate for a country boy but not for a college student. He wound up taking a couple of remedial classes, but he studied on his own to skip as much as he could. Since his grandmother and grandfather were French Cajuns, he already spoke French fairly well and took that as an easy class. Though it wasn’t quite the same, it was close enough. He spent a lot of time in the library and in study groups and was never afraid to go to his professors for extra help, which they eagerly provided. At last, when he started his classes in criminal justice, he began to shine. It was obvious to everyone he was a natural.

  Chester Tiverton, the dean of the criminal justice school, was very active in his students’ lives. He sat in on classes, talked to professors about their most promising students and kept meticulous records. He was always looking for that special student, one he could recommend to his old friends at the Central Intelligence Agency. During Cody’s junior year, he found one. Raised in the woods and the swamps, Cody feared nothing. He was physically large, strong and formidable. He spoke French, had no criminal record and oozed honor and integrity. When Cody spoke, his words were measured and fair. He was overtly patriotic and had that rarest trait, common sense.

  Cody’s professors and instructors repeatedly told Dean Tiverton, “Just tell him something once and he remembers.” Even when Cody struggled academically in his freshman year, he never ran to his big money and political friends. He never expected special treatment. He worked through problems on his own.

  At the end of Cody’s seventh semester, Dean Tiverton invited Cody to lunch. At the restaurant, a sharply dressed man entered and introduced himself as Tim. Chester moved the conversation toward Cody’s plan to become a Louisiana State Trooper like his friend and hero, Corrine Follet.

  Tim didn’t mince words. “Son, it is an honorable thing to protect and serve the people of Louisiana. But I challenge you to think bigger. How about protecting and serving the people of the free world?”

  “Sir?” Cody replied, clearly confused.

  Dean Tiverton stepped in. “Tim represents the Central Intelligence Agency. You are being recruited, Cody. You are that rare kind of person we, er, they are looking for.”

  Tim watched Cody carefully. Later, Cody understood why: he was observing Cody thinking but not speaking. Most people, when pressured, try to talk and think at the same time. They make mistakes. Not Cody. “I really don’t know anything about the CIA. What would I be doing?”

  Tim looked at his watch, then pulled out a card and a booklet. “Look this over. See what you think. If it’s something you might like to investigate further, let me know. Maybe we’ll take a trip to Langley. I’ll show you around, introduce you to some people. Just give me a call tomorrow.”

  He pushed his chair back and left. Cody sat a little stunned.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just a bit surprised is all, sir. I’m not really sure what to do. I ma
de some promises I need to keep.”

  The dean smiled stood and straitened his jacket. “Well, Mr. Harrick, it’s a hell of an opportunity. But I’m sure whatever decision you make will be the correct one. Let’s get you back to class.”

  Cody didn’t have many people he trusted or could call on for advice. His father was a good man but not very knowledgeable about such things, and the rest of his family was about the same. There was only one other person he trusted that much with that big of a decision, Charles Follet. Charles seemed more excited than surprised when Cody told him what had happened. But Cody had promised to finish school and be a state trooper. Charles smiled at Cody. “Did I ever tell you Cory applied to the FBI twice? They turned her down both times. It all but broke her heart. If you choose the CIA, I promise you she will be proud.” That was all it took.

  Six months later, Cody began his training, first at Langley, then The Farm. As a trainee, he traveled the world, learning his craft from some of the finest agents in the CIA. He quickly discovered his height, size and distinctive appearance made him too conspicuous in cities. However, in the deserts, mountains, forests and jungles of the world, he had few equals.

  He vaulted into the top echelon of operatives with his very first assignment. Posing as a French freelance journalist, he tracked and reported the movements of a former CIA asset gone rogue: General Manuel Noriega. What he discovered set the scene for Operation Just Cause. Cody’s gentle, friendly, calm demeanor put people at ease, drawing them to him. He managed to finagle an interview with Noriega supposedly to write a story for Le Point Magazine. He was so charming he was accepted as a member of Noriega’s entourage, as sort of an informal PR asset. From here, he gathered priceless intel. When Noriega was taken into custody, Cory became a rock star in the closed circles of the CIA.

  Only five years later, he was labeled a traitor and marked for assassination.

  In February of 1995, Cody was sent into the “Safe Area” of Srebrenica in eastern Bosnia. His job was to observe and report, preferably from a distance. He would soon find that the Serbs were setting the stage for the biggest European massacre since WWII. In March 1995, Radovan Karadzic, President of the Republic of Serbia, despite pressure from the international community to end the war and ongoing efforts to negotiate a peace agreement, issued a directive to the Serbian Army, also called the VRS, concerning their long-term strategy. Directive 7 specified that the VRS was to “complete the physical separation of Srebrenica from Žepa (a neighboring town) as soon as possible, preventing even communication between individuals in the two enclaves. By planned and well-thought out combat operations, create an unbearable situation of total insecurity with no hope of further survival or life for the inhabitants of Srebrenica.”