Avalon: The Retreat (13 page)

Mike stood in front of Roger, Sam, and Danny. When he spoke, it was loud enough for everyone who had gathered to see them off to hear.

“We all know if it was any of us out there, someone would come to help out. It’s part of what this group is all about and part of the reason we all signed on. We take care of our own!”

There was certain finality in what he said and there would be no discussion about his words, just action. Each of them knew they had the same type of commitment to the group and that was strengthened by the fact that most of them had known each other for at least five years. It wasn’t a matter of if they were going to help, simply when.

Sam half raised a finger, signaling he had a question, and Mike nodded to him.

“Has there been any radio contact at all?”

“None.” Mike gave a slight pause before continuing. “Does everyone have plenty of ammo, water, and food? Who has the First Aid kit?”

Roger stuck an arm up in acknowledgment, which was logical given that he was a Paramedic and had served as a Medic in the Army during Desert Storm. At about five eight and two hundred pounds, he wasn’t fat; he just had a short and stocky build.

He and Mike worked out at the same gym and both of them were pumping iron regularly. There was a friendly little competition between the two of them and Mike always said that if they could lift their own body weight plus a little more, it would be no problem getting up a rope or a tree or anything else without breaking a sweat. Both of them were bench pressing right at two forty.

They both believed in being able to run a very long way, if need be. Double-timing it could be that one element necessary to save a life or even the entire group. As a result, both of them did five hundred pound squats and ran up and down the beach on a regular basis. They were both pushing for a ten-mile steady run, but neither had done it yet because every time they began, someone’s cell went off and they had to terminate it. Five mile runs were most often the case.

A natural blonde like Caroline, except darker, Roger Tully always wore his hair in a fifties style flattop. He was tanned, quiet-spoken, and not much for idle conversation. But when he did speak, he always had something constructive and pertinent to say. Everybody liked Roger. He was pushing forty-two and married to one of the women at the retreat who was standing there with the others, watching from the huge porch. The look on her face was tense and when he smiled at her, she turned and walked into the big building. She was obviously worried sick and couldn’t watch him leave.

Next to Roger and ready to go was Sam Wolchak. He was tall, with a deep voice and looked and talked just like Sam Elliot, the movie star… so he capitalized on it and cultivated the persona. His thick, wide mustache made him look like an 1880’s cowboy and on the phone, if he was ever inclined to tell someone he was, in fact, the actual Sam Elliot, they would be hard pressed to not believe it.

Topping out at six feet four inches and weighing in at about two twenty, he played to his size and wore cowboy boots that put him up there at six-six. He was rarely found without the triple X Stetson he dearly loved and when he had it on, which was all the time, he appeared taller yet. His hair was nearly white because of his age of sixty-four and he wore it long and sticking out from under that hat.

Sam’s hero was William F. “Buffalo Bill” Cody and his look was a tip of the hat to him, as well. He was a no-nonsense kind of guy when it came to business, but was very magnanimous in all that he did. His interactions with others were always kind, particularly with those of the opposite gender.

After a four year enlistment with the Marines, he joined the Army for sixteen years as a Green Beret before retiring as a Sergeant First Class. While in “Group,” a term for “Special Forces Group,” he had become “Q” qualified, which was another way of saying that he wasn’t the type of guy a fellow would want to tangle with. Most of his Army pension was currently diverted to an ex-wife who lived somewhere in Virginia and his only real passion, besides his job as a first class machinist and mechanic, was women.

The simple fact of the matter was that he dearly loved each and every one of them. Someone once heard him say, “I don’t care if a woman is skinny or fat, tall or short, ugly or pretty; God knows I love ‘em all the same. I guess you could sum it up by saying, I just love women.”

He did, too, and they loved him.

That said, there was no better man to cover someone’s back when it was needed, which is how he and Mike met originally. He had clothes-lined a guy in a bar who was getting ready to take Mike down with a pool cue from behind, and the would-be assailant ended up being carried away by paramedics. To say he was tough was an understatement and yet it gave him a quiet, reserved confidence that drew others to him. Everyone loved him like an older brother and the kids in the group adored him.

The third member of their small rescue party was Danny Croft. At only thirty, he was junior to most but he had served six years in the Marine Corps and was trained as a Scout Sniper… and then some. If there was a school on how to kill or survive, or do both simultaneously, he had graduated from it, every time at the top of his class. In high school, he had been an all-star football player, a wide receiver who was fast and could take the hits.

Danny was one of the few people who, because of his unique skill set, deviated from the standard .308/7.62 NATO battle rifle. Instead, he sported a converted Mossberg bolt action fifty caliber single shot with a fifty power variable scope, custom made and designed specifically to his own preferred specs and a sterile Mac-11, 9mm alley sweeper. He also favored the U.S. Army pre-1970, Colt Automatic .45 Model 1911 and wore two of them in special custom shoulder holsters that looked a lot like Mike’s own version.

At close to five foot ten inches and weighing in at one eighty, his brown hair always seemed to fall past his forehead and into his eyes. He had thick eyelashes the girls loved and a certain boyish charm highlighted by his shyness. Caroline liked to say, “He’s just cuter than a button!” But the comment clearly affected him to the point that even she didn’t say it in front of him very often.

Now a gunsmith by trade, he did most of the reloading for the group. There were few things he wasn’t good at when he decided to do them. For the most part he kept to himself, but there was one particular woman in the group who was obviously trying to get him to notice her, and he kept his distance. Like most snipers, he stayed to himself and remained quiet most of the time.

He had confided in Mike that quite a few years ago he had been madly in love with a girl he often referred to as his high school sweetheart, but she had sent him a “Dear John” letter while he was away at Boot Camp. The entire ordeal made him wary of women, in general, and the only apparent thing he seemed to be afraid of was having his heart broken again.

The final member of their rescue party was Mike Reynolds, one of the original founders and planners of the group and the person who was ultimately in charge of security and defense. It was for that reason this operation was his responsibility. He knew he could have assembled a team and sent them out under the guise of needing to finish securing the retreat, but that wasn’t like him. He was a hands-on kind of guy and cared about those who hadn’t shown as much as anyone. Leaning over a bit, he lubed his chain and offered the tube to anyone who wanted to use it; Sam accepted.

A former Navy SEAL, Mike had been on the fast track to twenty but found that even though he was good at what he did, he wanted to try something else. He got out as a Lieutenant Commander after a ten-year stint as Platoon Leader Gold. SEAL Teams were divided into two teams, Silver and Gold, each with an Officer and/or a leading Chief Petty Officer in charge. The Executive Officer, or XO, was the second-in-command of a Team and the next in line to become the Commanding Officer. Mike had been the XO of SEAL Team Six and was primed to be promoted to full Commander before he decided to get out.

As an Annapolis graduate, his career had been assured and he left with extensive combat experience. SEAL Team Six was the Navy’s version of Delta Force; a Counter-Terrorist military unit often dispatched all over the world to “put out little fires.” As a result, he had seen clandestine action all over the globe and attended many of the finest specialty schools offered only to members of the elite. It was at one such school that he met a young rising star by the name of Danny Croft who earned Mike’s respect to the point of tracking him down a few years later to invite him into the group.

When Mike initially got out, he went to work at an American Embassy as a security consultant but quit after only one year. It bored him to tears and the pecking order was vicious and full of ring knockers, the Masonic kind. He didn’t care for that sort of fraternal action. He wore his Annapolis class ring and that was sufficient for him. It was more prestigious because of the honor and loyalty that was instilled on him during four years “together by the Bay” with his Shipmates.

His next year as a Deputy Sheriff left him dissatisfied, as well, and he wondered if it was a mistake to get out of the Navy. That’s when the offer came to run a security school to train executives and their bodyguards on how to conduct themselves when they were sent on overseas contracts. It was a good job, held his interest, and made him feel he was finally doing something positive. The money was excellent and that helped keep him equipped with the goodies he wanted to have. In short order, he became the Executive Manager in charge of training. Not many people knew he was a licensed Mechanical Engineer, primarily because he never made use of his chosen profession due to the circumstances in which he always found himself.

Mike was five foot ten with a square jaw and a slight dimple at the base of his chin, and when he smiled, more dimples appeared on both cheeks. His hair was coal black, and he wore it long and combed straight back. He grew a mustache about a year ago and liked it, so it stayed put. At two hundred twenty pounds, he was in peak of condition because of his daily workouts. He could run further and faster now than when he was a SEAL. He did a lot of shooting on the course where the bodyguards trained, and he was a dead shot. It would be hard to find a better tactics and operations planner, which is why he became the principal security man and trainer of the Avalon group.

Mike turned thirty-five the previous August and had been married once but she left him because of the Navy. Every time there was a mission, his beeper went off and away he went. He couldn’t tell her where he was going, what he was going to do, or when he would be back. After a few years, she became fed up by her own insecurities and he came home one day to find her and everything in the house gone.

He moved on base in the Bachelor Officer Quarters, which turned out to be more convenient in a lot of ways. He was served divorce papers that he signed without contest. She was a corporate lawyer with an annual six-figure income and was being considered for partner at her firm. There were no kids, so there was nothing to be disbursed in terms of money; she simply went her way while he went his. She got everything; Mike got his freedom.

There were a few women here and there after that, but nothing he considered worth hanging onto… until he met Caroline. Most women liked him because he was good looking, had a good physique, was smart, articulate, and though his buddies referred to him as “a smooth swordsman,” was always a gentleman. Caroline was the first woman to make him feel like a relationship might be worth the trouble.

They were ready. Dan Crowley, Mike’s first partner at Avalon and his only equal in the retreat in terms of shares and influence, came forward and wished them luck. Dan was a Medical Doctor… a General Practitioner and surgeon. He was a serious man who depended on Mike for his take on certain situations and he didn’t want anything to happen to him, especially now.

“You be careful and if you need any extra help, you be sure and let us know. May the Saints protect you, Michael.”

He and Caroline were the only two who called him Michael. It reminded him of his late mother when she was angry about something he had done.

“Not to worry. Look for us in a couple of days and nights. If we have to, we’ll back track as far as town and each individual’s home, but I’m hoping that won’t be necessary.”

With that, he looked over his shoulder and said to the others, “Let’s do this!”

They rolled on the power and away they went toward the dirt road in the big firs. Dust whipped up and smoke jetted out from behind the bikes. Next stop, only God knew!

Getting down the mountain was much quicker than when they had headed toward Avalon the day before. The ancient dirt road, painstakingly carved out of the middle of these magnificent trees so many years ago by Eli to move his cattle to the new railhead, was ample in its width and ran for a good fifteen miles through the fir trees straight as an arrow.