by Gavin Reese
Rural Training Compound. Niobrara County, Wyoming.
Michael and the other trainees crowded the narrow stairs and ran to comply with John’s directive. They followed him back out the front door, across the small clearing in front of the house, and to a large stable about fifty yards to the north. Two large bay doors met in the center of the structure, and, based on their width, Michael estimated its interior corridor would easily allow three vehicles to park side-by-side.
John walked through a pedestrian entrance just to the right of the bay doors and led Michael and his fellow trainees inside. Once through the doorway, Michael smelled straw, old leather, damp earth, and dung. Eau de horse stable. Its open, rectangular center had a concrete floor and was bordered by four horse stalls on the east and west, the corridor’s two long sides. Near the north end, four propane space heaters stood around a collection of white, plastic banquet tables and chairs. The tables were placed in two rows, each with six matching folding chairs oriented toward the back, north wall and a long, white dry erase board that hung there. That wall, just like the south, was also comprised of two long sliding doors, but those north two were sealed shut. Probably a futile effort to keep the wind out. There were no animals inside, but Michael knew the stalls hadn’t been empty for all that long. The unique aroma’s still too prominent.
John turned to face the group and pointed toward the north end of the building, the apparent front of the room. “Sit.”
Michael stepped toward the tables, well aware the back row would be highly sought-after real estate. As he approached, he gratefully realized the heaters were on. While trying not to appear selfish, he hurried to claim the seat nearest the back, right heater. Michael pulled that chair out from beneath the plastic banquet table and sat down. Hope we don’t spend long stretches of time in here. These cheap, flimsy chairs are the reason Protestants keep their weddings so short. As he sat in the relative warmth, Michael glanced around and saw Sergio had taken the far-left seat in the front row. Couldn’t get us farther apart.
Michael further surveyed the room and noticed brand-new canvas draped over two large rectangles on the stall doors to his left. Those could be more dry-erase boards, or large posters, hell, they could be Transylvania mirrors for all I know right now. What would they wanna keep so obviously hidden from us, though? Michael further pondered the possibilities, but soon decided it was wasted effort. Probably just more psycho-babble shenanigans about what we’re entitled to, what we’ve earned, and what we can be trusted with. This looks and feels more like the academy all the time. Michael risked another glance at Sergio. Wonder how the start of this thing compares to his boot camp experience? Hope I get to ask him someday.
John walked up to the front of the converted classroom space, finally took his sunglasses off, and set his coffee mug on the front banquet table. He was actually less intimidating when I couldn’t see his eyes, Michael thought.
“You can expect that I’ll generally refer to you as ‘shitheads,’” John announced. “You can take offense, if you have to, but I mean it as a term of endearment. I reserve that for my students, and despite everything you’re likely to hear about our expectations and confidence in you and your skills over the next few months, I do understand that very few men ever get the chance to sit in your seats and attempt to negotiate my training course. Y’all oughta give yourselves a quick pat on the back for that, cause it wasn’t easy gettin’ here, and my primary job is to make it a damned sight harder to get the hell oughta here, at least to make it to graduation.
“It’s easy as pie to get oughta here, though,” John continued, and slowly paced about as he spoke. “If you wanna leave, all you gotta do is ask. No one’s obligated to be here, and I really don’t want men who wanna be someplace else. There is nothin’ so great as the heart of a volunteer, and nothin’ so destructive as the malice of the obligated. So, if you ever decide that whatever this is isn’t for you, we’ll get you back to your bishop and they’ll take it from there, get you on to your next assignment. There won’t be any hard feelings, either. I’m happy to do it, in fact. I’ll also happily send home all the non-hackers that can’t carry the water of being here. If you don’t have the intestinal fortitude to admit you’re a goddamned quitter, all you gotta do is fail a course or skills test. ‘Failures’ and ‘quitters’ get the same gratitude and the same ticket home. I’d rather wash all of you pukes than to graduate a single one that’s not up to snuff. Sending unprepared and incapable men out into the world endangers lives. Not on my watch.”
John momentarily stopped pacing and held his hands up in a ‘stop’ motion. “To answer the next question before y’all ask it, I can’t tell you exactly what we’re trainin’ ya for. Buncha reasons for that. Like I said on the bus, there’s a number of specialized postings that my graduates fill, none of which got anything to do with parish assignments.
“On that note,” John offered and again slowly paced the front of the room, “y’all mighta noticed we’re flying Old Glory right beside the Holy See out front. Just like every other official Roman Catholic site, the flag of the host nation flies at the same height as ours. As the world’s smallest theocracy, the Pope is the official, elected leader of both the nation-state of the Holy See and the Roman Catholic Church. The Holy See came into existence on 7 June, 19-and-29, when His Holiness Pope Pius XI signed a treaty with the Italian government. The name ‘Holy See’ just means ‘Holy Seat’ and denotes its source of divine understanding, not a damned table chair.
“Vatican City, often confused with its nation-state, is located inside the Holy See and flies near-identical flags of both the city and the country. Each part of the Holy See flag’s got significance, and you need to understand a few critical symbols in it. Unlike most, our flag’s square. The half that’s on the hoist side is a vertical yellow rectangle, and the outer half is white. Those colors symbolize the Pope’s authority in both heaven and earth. The seal of the Holy See is in the center of the white band, and is made up of a central cross, for obvious reasons. The papal tiara over the top of the cross symbolizes our confidence and faith in Saint Peter’s church, as well as the spiritual and worldly power entrusted to His Holiness, who’s, of course, Saint Peter’s divine successor. There’s a sword and an olive branch on either side of the cross because carrots and sticks just ain’t that poetic. The design that encircles all the other objects is the divine Word of God, a shield that’s used to protect ourselves and our neighbors from evil.
“And, just in case one-a y’all’s from somewhere else, ‘Old Glory’ is one of the revered nicknames we got for the U-S flag. Fifty white stars, one for each state, on a navy-blue field that symbolizes vigilance, perseverance, and justice. Next to that, we got thirteen stripes, one for each of the original colonies. Seven red stripes honor the blood that our patriots have lost creating and defending this nation and the valor of their actions. Six white stripes honor the purity of their sacrifices.
“We try to serve both nations. If conflict arises between them, we’re called to serve God first and our birth nation second. Thankfully, praise the Lord, I ain’t seen too much of that kinda trouble in my life.” John scanned the room and smirked at the men seated before him. “Speaking of conflict, that oughta well describe your life in my training program.” He paused long enough to retrieve a can of Copenhagen chewing tobacco from his back pocket and deposit a fresh dip between his cheek and gums. He replaced the tobacco can and spit onto the concrete floor before resuming his monologue.
“Most every day here will start out the same. You can rest assured that God is gonna provide us with some kinda wind. It keeps the snow off the grass, they say. You’ll run every day. Sometimes for long miles and endurance, sometimes sprint work, sometimes an agility course. Most of the time, you’ll be runnin’ alone. We got nearly thirty miles of trails crisscrossin’ the property here, and all but one of ‘em connect with each other. The one exception is that five-mile trail y’all ran earlier, called ‘Mother Mary.’ You�
��ll get plenty of time to know her every curve, bend, and undulation.
“Each day you’re not runnin’ Mother Mary, you’ll get a personal map of the trails you are runnin’. We ain’t got enough time to work on individual skills here, so I’ve gotta find creative ways to train and evaluate several at once. For that reason, every run will test your ability to read maps and navigate over land. Everyone gets their own route, so you can’t rely on your partners for help. In addition to your designated path, it’ll show the time you have to beat. If you fail to meet that deadline, you start over and run it until you win. If you go off-course, you start over. If, God forbid, you lose that map, you will run all over hell and damnation until you find it. I don’t care if it blew into the next county, you don’t come home empty-handed. Every workout will demand you demonstrate you got the skills and gumption to be here that day.
“After the run,” John explained, “we’ll usually have breakfast in the main house and then meet in here at 0-730 hours for your class work. Each day you’re here, you’ll be tested by the physical regiment, learn new disciplines in the classroom, and prove your mastery of each skill.
“In short, shitheads, this is a high-speed, low-drag course with no rest, no reprieve, and no time for bullshit. I’ll weed every non-hacker from my field, even if that sacrifices the whole crop. All my instructors have extensive, personal experience in everything they train. If they tell you how to do somethin’, rest assured that’s what’s worked for them out in the field, and probably under fire. You can also assume that other methods have failed them and their friends. We don’t train to fail here.
“If I were in your shoes,” John offered to the group, “I’d sure as hell wanna know who was standin’ in mine. Like I said earlier, all you’re ever gonna know me by is ‘John.’ All you get to know about me at this point is that I started workin’ intelligence, antiterrorism, and counter-surveillance operations before most of you learned to use a toilet. The only detail y’all need to understand is that the folks I work for, our bosses, have placed me in charge of this training program and gave me complete discretion and latitude to run it. What I say goes, and if I say ‘you go,’ you’ll be packed and shipped that day. No questions asked, no second chances, no appeals process. I am the cops, jury, and judge out here.”
John’s pace changed, either by intent or subconscious causation. Instead of his prior mindless wander, he now purposefully strode before the trainees like a caged predator that knew he’d soon be on the other side of the lock. “On the topic of discipline, there’s lots of ways to fuck up and get yourself in trouble out here. Every one of ‘em’s rooted in a few infractions: failed efforts, integrity issues, operational security problems, and betrayal.
“Failed efforts might get you smoked out on the grinder, but it probably won’t cost you much more’n ‘at, least not the first time.
“Integrity issues will get you dismissed immediately. Can’t tell you what the bishops do about it later, never gave a shit to follow-up.
“Operational security issues are a big deal. They jeopardize you and everyone involved and entrusted to your care. The punishment for givin’ up secrets starts at ‘severe’ and gets worse from there.
“Betrayal. Only ever had this once. This will always be the one unforgivable sin in my program. If you think that hell hath no fury like the woman scorned, then you’ve never seen what people in my line of work do to traitors. God’s gotta have mercy on you, cause I sure as hell won't.”
John looked around the room as though to gauge their reception to his assertions, and Michael did the same. Yep, academy ‘Day One’ lecture, just with greater consequence and thinly veiled threats of actual physical violence. John clearly doesn’t answer to an H-R department. If he weren’t flying the Holy See flag out front at the same height as the stars-and-stripes, I’d doubt his actual affiliation with the Church.
“Y’all already saw how serious I am about all this. ‘The Objector’ stayed on the bus this mornin’ because I knew what he was and the danger he posed to all of us. The mission-a this program is of far greater importance than any one of you shitheads, even more important than me. The tie does not go to the runner here, and I’d rather dismiss everyone in error than to graduate just one mistake. To put it another way, understand that I will burn down every last individual tree if that’s what’s required to protect my forest. Please let that sink in.” He stopped and glared at the trainees for several silent seconds.
“Now, with all that said,” John explained in a softer and slightly more personal tone, “I don’t enjoy being the asshole, but it doesn’t bother me, neither. I will treat every one of you with all the respect you earn through effort and demonstrated proficiency. No points for being the nice guy. Any pressing questions you gotta get out right now?” Hearing only the silent, adult-speak for “no,” he continued on.
“The next thing I gotta cover is Operational Security, commonly referred to as ‘op-sec.’ Op-sec is just a fancy, clandestine-sounding word for ‘common fucking sense.’ Most-a you all grew up in homes with your own op-sec. You locked the doors at night, maybe even during the day. You looked both ways before crossin’ the street, didn’t talk to strangers, and never wore anything with your name on it so ‘the bad man’ couldn’t pretend to know you. We’re gonna expand on those same principles a bit.
“First, like I’ve already made clear, no real names. That dead horse is sufficiently beat. Next, you can take all the notes you want in class, but they never leave this room. I’ll supply all the notebooks you wanna fill, but it all stays in here. I’m gonna assign each of you a plastic milk crate to hold all your new school supplies. The good news is that means no homework. Once you walk out that back door, you’re done for the day.”
John cleared his throat. “Because of the threat that documents present, I will consider it a betrayal if your materials leave this room. No other reason for ‘em to grow legs, shitheads. None-a you gets to keep the notes you think’ll corroborate that tell-all book you wanna write in five or ten years. Try to get yourself on all the talk shows to brag about how great you are and how lucky everyone else is that you were there to save the day a couple times.” He disdainfully spit tobacco juice on the concrete floor. “Worse yet, one of you gets heartburn about being shit-canned. Remember what I said early about fury and traitors.”
John retrieved his coffee mug from the front table and heartily gulped from it. Replacing the mug, he resumed a slow, wandering pace. “Next part-a op-sec is compartmentalization, and it’s simple. You only get intel and info that you got both a need and a right to know. You will only ever know the information that’s necessary for your work. That’s it. Not who I work for, not what I do with my time, or where in the world the men sittin’ next to you at the tables are gonna be working someday. One important part of this’s your clothes. Only normal civilian attire out here. Nothin’ that identifies you as a priest. You’ll get to shower and change in a bit, so just pack all that clerical shit away while you’re in there. You won’t need any of it. In short,” John summarized, “mind your own goddamned business and make sure everyone else does the same.”
Afraid of being disappointed, Michael struggled to rationally understand John’s assertions without getting his hopes up. I had to worry about op-sec a little bit as a cop, but his concerns go way beyond confidentiality and privacy rights. He’s talking about the foundation of undercover, clandestine operations! What the hell is this place? He scanned the room and saw that most everyone smiled and expectedly nodded along in agreement. No one looks surprised to hear any of this! These guys all look like they know about this shit! Cautious optimism slowly replaced the fear of looming consequence that had dominated Michael’s last few hours.
The blonde-haired inquisitor from the bus raised his hand. “Doesn’t the flag of the Holy See already give us away?”
Thomas, Michael remembered, I think his name is Thomas, and he sounds like he wants to be the teacher’s pet.
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��We don’t accept visitors, Thomas,” John curtly replied. He stopped near the center of the front table, crossed his arms, and stood to face his trainees. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, we aim to turn out dangerous men to do the most demanding of God’s work, and that requires us to train you all to do whatever’s necessary to keep the forces of evil at bay all over the world. So, it doesn’t matter how harshly I punish failures here, reality is a damned sight tougher than I’ll ever be. Mistakes here create learning opportunities, what the former president might call ‘teachable moments.’ Out in the world, that shit’ll take your life or physical independence. You like walkin’? Don’t fuck up. Like breathin’ on your own? Seein’ with both eyes? Eatin’ without a damned feedin’ tube? Takin’ a shit that don’t go into a plastic bag? Don’t, fuck, up. The real world doesn’t grant second chances, not for anyone. You mess up your op-sec out there, where there’s for-real consequence, and you’ll end up D-R-T. Anybody know that one?”
Michael lied and lightly shook his head. He just lectured us about giving up personal intel. Only a few people kinds of people know that acronym.
“D-R-T,” John explained, “is dead right there, right where you made your very last mistake.” The domineering trainer made direct and deliberate eye contact with Michael. “Ain’t that right, Andrew?”
SIXTEEN
Training Day 2, 0734 hours.
Rural Compound. Niobrara County, Wyoming.
While John began leading a morning-long theoretical discussion on moral violence, Michael slowly squirmed in his flimsy plastic chair to find the least uncomfortable position. Every major muscle group hurts from the workouts these last two days. I can jog forever, but I haven’t done much sprinting since I stopped chasing people. Guess I’m not as fit as I thought I was, and this damned chair’s doing its best to drive that point home.
