The Noble Mercenary

by Patrick John Donahoe

  If the Baron tried to do an extensive background search there would not be much to find. Flawlessly maintaining a false ID took a great deal of skill, and ‘heads up ball.’ One slipup could, under the right circumstances, prove fatal. Any clues he provided to the Baron about his life prior to, and during, his time in the Legion, would have to be discoverable, and verifiable, by the Baron’s security force, plus any facts Jacques made up on the fly would at least have to correlate. If he was to infiltrate the Baron’s inner circle, every fact had to check out, plus the facts had to appeal to the Baron.

  Prior to joining the Legion, at twenty years of age, he had been Roland Jacques Armand from the town of Toulon. It was useful to use his own first name as his middle name, so his response to being called either Jacques, or Roland, would be reflex free and natural. Having his origin be Toulon, a town with which he was very familiar, would help him with facts about his origin if questioned. Toulon was a small city, which was better than a small village where everyone knew everyone one else, but was large enough, so it was easier to not be known.

  He had attended almost two years of college. He had to drop out of college because he got into a fight with another student over a girl, and accidentally killed him in a tussle when the student fell and hit his head on a stone. The dossier claimed the records were sealed due to his voluntarily enlisting in the Legion. There were details enough to satisfy most curiosity seekers. His mother was deceased, and father unknown. Serena, Desiree and the Colonel were always very thorough in their creation of identities.

  Jacques missed the days long past, before computer records of births, marriages, deaths, the internet, worldwide digital records, electronic passports, etc., when he could tell someone a few made up facts about his past and no one would be the wiser. One wrong fact, one missing detail, could prove fatal today. On the bright side, electronic records could be easily created, and with the tools at their disposal through the NSA, the CIA, the Mossad and other shadow organizations, fake records could be inserted into most data bases. How much capability the Baron had to break into worldwide data bases, he didn’t know.

  If the Baron could break into the Legion’s data base, he would find a soldier with an aptitude for flying, who had flown every type of aircraft the Legion operated, plus had been assigned to the French Air Force for a year and had learned how to fly cargo planes. He had been discharged at the rank of Captain, quite an accomplishment for one so young. One of the challenges with creating Jacques’ Legion persona was that Jacques had served in the Legion many years earlier, with Beauchene, so the Colonel had to modify Jacques’ earlier service records, for example his photograph, to avoid having an avid researcher discover both sets of records, the real and the fake.

  “Well, what do you think?” the Colonel asked.

  “Between you, Desiree, and Serena, you’ve produced an excellent ID for me, again.”

  “This may be the last time I’m able to assist. The new General is leery of our collaborations. He may force me to go home permanently to enjoy my quote, unquote, twilight years.” The Colonel emphasized the word ‘permanently.’ “I only wish I could join you in your adventures.”

  “Maybe you can sir, maybe you can.” Jacques placed the passport and other material back in the envelope, approached the old man, and gave him a hug. “Thank you again, for everything. I will stay in touch.”

  “You’d better.” The Colonel wiped the start of a tear from his right eye. “Be safe. If you need me, call me.”

  “I will.” Jacques left his old friend, maybe for the last time.

  Twenty

  Mr. rickard schultz led the prospective buyers through the Baron’s drone manufacturing plant. Jacques made it a point to ask every question he could think of about the machines not answered in the slick paper brochures. Most of the questions were answered by Schultz, the tour guide with, “That information is company privileged and not provided to the general public.”

  At the end of the tour, Mr. Schultz escorted the group to a large meeting room with a conference table and enough chairs to seat eighteen attendees.

  “Please be seated, Marguerite will serve whatever drinks you would like,” said Schultz, pointing to the tall leggy blonde at the bar at the far end of the room. “I’ll bring the president of our company, Mr. von Hapsburg, or as he likes to be addressed, the Baron, back in a few minutes.”

  Jacques took a chair on the right hand side of the table closest to the head chair and beckoned for Marguerite.

  She strode over to his side with a model’s posture.

  “Could I have a cold Amsdel, please?”

  She smiled at Jacques, a cool expression on her flawless blonde Alfred Hitchcock ingénue face. “Why, yes sir.”

  Jacques studied her while she took drink orders, without writing anything down, from each of the prospective buyers. Jacques heard two men walking down the corridor toward the conference room. Schultz was probably briefing the Baron on how the tour went.

  Mr. von Hapsburg entered the room, without Schultz, and said, “Welcome friends, I hope you were impressed with our products and intend to purchase a goodly number of them. Does anyone have any questions?”

  Jacques raised his hand.

  “Ah yes, Mr. Armand, Mr. Schultz told me you asked about all of the performance specifications. We normally only release those to our actual buyers. Are you an actual buyer?”

  “Yes, sir. I just like to know everything about a product before I can seriously consider a purchase.”

  “As it should be. Ask away.”

  “You have a very impressive suite of remotely piloted air vehicles, and your prices are very competitive. You have more than enough accessories: cameras, weapons and sensors to accomplish all the missions my organization, the French Foreign Legion, would need to accomplish. I will work out a menu of sizes, capabilities and accessories to recommend to my superiors over the next two days and give you a copy, so you can provide cost estimates for a variety of packages.”

  “My assistant, Rickard Schultz, will provide you with any technical data you require, and I will be anxious to see your requirements.”

  “Thank you, but I have one question specifically for you.”

  “Anything.”

  Jacques stepped closer to the Baron, and whispered, “Do you have any stealth technology?”

  The Baron usually not at loss for words, considered Jacques’ question for a minute. and finally replied, “Why do you ask?”

  Jacques replied in a whisper, “Not all missions can be conducted in the light of day.”

  “I see. Let’s hold on to this question for a few minutes.” The Baron turned to those who remained in the conference room, fielded a few more questions and closed the sales presentation.

  The last of the buyers, except Jacques, left the room with Schultz.

  The Baron fetched two cold beers from the wet bar, popped the caps, and sat down next to Jacques. He offered one beer to Jacques, and took a long swallow of his own.

  Jacques did the same.

  The Baron said, “These presentations dry me out.” Looking Jacques in the eyes, he asked, “How much longer do you have to serve in the Legion?”

  “Actually, this is my last assignment for the Legion.”

  “What are your plans when you are released from the Legion?”

  “I plan to vacation for a month on the island of Aruba in the Caribbean, scuba diving wrecks and relaxing, and then find a new job.”

  “I might have a place for you in my employ. Do you mind getting your hands dirty?”

  “Not as long as some judge doesn’t sentence me to another five-year hitch in the Foreign Legion to earn another new identity,” Jacques answered with his favorite devil may care grin.

  “Join me for dinner and drinks at the Luftwaffe bar in the Café Gaston tonight at 6 P.M. It’s not far from here and any taxi driver can take you there. My treat.”

  “Since I don’t have any plans for this evening I’ll be there. Thank
you, sir.”

  “Very good.”

  Jacques walked up to the hostess in the Café Gaston.

  “May I help you, sir?” The hostess inquired.

  “I’m meeting a gentleman. Mr. von Hapsburg.”

  “The Baron, yes, he’s already seated. Follow me.” The hostess dressed in an extremely short tight fitting little black dress, led the way, her hips swaying like a Hawaiian palm in a tropical breeze.

  The Baron spotted Jacques approaching, partially stood, and shook Jacques’ hand. “Welcome my boy. I’ve already started with a stein of Beck’s to whet my appetite.”

  The waitress approached the table as the hostess left.

  “Tell the lady what you would like. My treat,” the Baron said, and sat back down.

  “I’ll have a Beck’s Gold, also. Thank you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A man after my own heart,” said the Baron and tilted his stein at Jacques, then took a long swallow. He addressed the waitress who had not been dismissed. “We’ll give you our food order after we’ve had a few minutes.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll return with the Beck’s. Would you like another, Baron?”

  “With my food please.” The Baron waved his hand to send her away.

  “Very good, sir,” the waitress replied, and left them alone.

  “All the food is delicious. I can tolerate the fancy dishes they prepare here, but I favor the German peasant dishes. You probably prefer exotic French cuisine.”

  “Having spent five years in the Legion, I actually prefer simple food myself. Rich foods don’t suit my digestion.”

  The waitress returned with Jacques’ stein of beer and a gilt edged menu. Jacques accepted both, set the menu down, quaffed the foam from the top of his tap beer, and wiped his lips. “Delicious.”

  The Baron leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner, and said, “I had your background checked extensively. You don’t seem to exist prior to your enlistment in the Legion.”

  “Good, then the Legion did their job. I’m not supposed to exist, except for some simple semi-manufactured data, date and place of birth and so forth,” Jacques said and took a long swallow of his beer. He set down the stein, and said, “Let’s just say there’s nothing in my past that should worry you. I was wrongly accused of murdering a man. My only error was accidentally killing a man, foolishly over a girl. She was infatuated with me, not him, and his pride was crushed. My part in the incident was self-defense, whereas he fully intended to kill me.”

  “I see,” said the Baron. “Any more I should know?”

  “I had a challenging upbringing in Toulon. My mother told me my father was killed by criminals, or he might have been a criminal himself. My mother died young and impoverished, and I became involved with some bad people. The Legion allows young men, who would otherwise spend their youth in prison, to serve France and start over. End of story.”

  “Commendable. And with your experience, what do you think of all the trouble in the world today?”

  The waitress arrived to take their food order, giving Jacques time to formulate the answer he knew the Baron wanted to hear. “May I take your order now, sir?” she asked.

  “Yes, I would like the Schweinsbraten, with a side of Kartoffelsalat and a side of sauerkraut,” the Baron replied.

  “And you, sir?” addressing Jacques.

  “I would like the same, please.”

  “Very good. I’ll bring another stein for you, Baron. And for you, sir?”

  “Yes, another please.” The waitress left, and Jacques turned his attention to the Baron. “You were asking about the trouble in the world. I could write a book about what I think.”

  “Well, go on.” The Baron’s eyes pierced Jacques to the back of his skull.

  Jacques leaned forward, and in his best conspiratorial voice, said, “I shouldn’t say this to a fine man of the world like yourself, but we would be better off, that is the world would be better off, if we could rid ourselves of the polluters, the fanatics, the criminals and the baser peoples of the world. The future of the earth needs to be put in the hands of people who have the world’s best interests at heart. I’m sorry, it’s just what I think. I probably should have kept my opinions to myself.”

  The Baron continued his steady gaze into Jacques’ eyes, as though probing Jacques’ mind like a human lie detector. The quiet pause between the two men weighed heavy on Jacques, until the Baron leaned forward, and said, “I could use a man like you on my team especially with your piloting skills.”

  Jacques replied, “I’m honored. We must pursue the options.”

  The Baron dug into his food and between bites told some of his favorite bragging rights stories through dinner and the first after dinner drink.

  Jacques listened intently. The more the Baron told of his exploits, the less Jacques had to say, and the more insight he gained into the Baron’s twisted sensibility.

  Finally, at meal’s end, the Baron said, “Here is a card for Herman Grumman. Meet him tomorrow morning at the address on the card, promptly at 8 A.M. He and Louise, his coworker, will administer some tests to see if my intuition about you is correct.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for the employment consideration and for the meal.”

  “You’re welcome my boy.”

  Twenty One

  Jacques arrived at the Baron’s test flight facility employee entrance gate five minutes before 8 A.M. He didn’t look up at, or away from, the security camera like a self-conscious, or guilt ridden amateur. He knew he was being observed and ignored the intrusion. He showed the guard at the gate the temporary badge he had been issued at reception.

  The guard read the badge through his card reader, compared the photo ID on the screen to Jacques’ face, and satisfied, pointed at Hangar 5, and let him pass through the gate. “You’re only authorized to enter Hanger 5 with an escort.”

  Jacques followed the path to Hangar 5 and was subjected to another security check. The guard called for Grumman on a handset. In a few minutes, a large, be-speckled man dressed in a white lab coat approached Jacques at the guard station and offered his hand. “Welcome, my name is Herman Grumman. I’m your escort.”

  Jacques gave Herman a manly handshake. “And I am Roland Armand, but of course you know that.”

  “Yes, Mr. Armand, but at the end of the day, I will know so much more. Follow me.”

  Herman ran both his and Jacques’ badges through a card reader next to the hangar’s personnel entrance and entered his cypher code. He led Jacques into the huge hangar filled with aircraft and aircraft maintenance equipment, and up a flight of stairs to a sectioned off area used as a command center.

  The command center provided a birds-eye view of the hangar floor. Jacques was impressed with the numbers and types of drones arranged with Teutonic neatness in the hangar. The command center was filled with aircraft cockpit-like work stations, sporting large 3D monitors, and operators dressed in pilot jumpsuits and helmets. Some operators appeared to be flying aircraft with control yokes, and others with center, or side sticks. Jacques noted a variety of cockpit arrangements from fighter aircraft to helicopters. In addition to the individual work station video monitors, there were several huge video monitors on the walls, the center one displayed a geographical map with air traffic control symbols moving about, probably for the air traffic controllers on the front consoles.

  There seemed to be a higher ambient noise level in the hangar than Jacques would have expected. Most of the operators were having conversations through small microphones jutting from the front of their helmets. The geo-display indicated some aircraft were operating hundreds, or thousands, of miles away. Jacques wondered who the operators were talking to, certainly not the drones, but perhaps other pilots, air traffic controllers, and maybe even military command posts.

  Herman walked up to one of the operators who was so focused on her efforts that she did not look up at them.

  Herman said, “Louise.”

  She did no
t respond.

  “Louise.”

  The woman looked up and glared at Herman with one of those ‘don’t bother me now, can’t you see I’m busy’ glares.

  Jacques waved his hand at her in greeting.

  She gave Jacques a quick once over assessment, her expression softened and her lips parted into an inviting perfect teeth smile. She pressed a red button on her console, which was configured like a fighter aircraft cockpit, specifically like a P-51, except she was wearing some kind of wired gloves and her hands had been resting on two track balls. She removed her helmet, and long flowing locks of luxurious blonde hair fell down onto her shoulders.

  “Louise, this is your latest test subject, Mr. Roland Armand.”

  Louise stood up and Jacques leaned in to shake her hand. She had a firm handshake, almost like a man, but more like a woman with high self-esteem.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Armand. I’m almost ready. Please give me ten more minutes.” She replaced her helmet, and returned back to her console.

  Herman beckoned Jacques to follow him to a small conference table at the rear of the work space. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Herman inspected and selected the two cleanest cups from a variety sitting on the table. He poured two cups of steaming coffee from the pot sitting on a hot plate in the center of the table. “Sugar or cream?”

  “No thanks, I prefer mine black.”

  Herman handed Jacques one of the steaming cups, and said, “I’ll give you a rundown of what to expect today.”

  “I’m all yours.” Jacques sipped at the too hot brew.

  “Good. I hope you planned on spending the day with us.” Herman gulped down two swallows of coffee, oblivious to the temperature.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “Very good, you’re already ahead of the game.” Herman set his half empty cup on the table. “Louise will conduct a practical test flight. If you pass the flight test, we, or I mean I, will administer an expertise, the A, or most difficult flight knowledge exam. If you pass the expertise exam, I will administer a psychological profile, or Number 1, exam, which the Baron requested. I can administer it, but am not authorized to grade it. Only people the Baron is interested in bringing into his inner circle are given the Number 1 Psychological Personality test. You must be very special.”