Bishop's Song (32 page)

It wasn’t unusual for the Colonel or General Owens to be called to the president’s quarters at such a late hour. As a matter of fact, given the state of the union, it was quite common.

Other than serving their country, the two men didn’t share much of a background.
Owens had come up through the ranks, making a decision to join the Independents before Moreland had become Commander in Chief. His performance during the brief, but intense, civil war had earned him a promotion and secured a role advising the chief executive.

The Colonel had achieved his position as advisor via an entirely different path. He had long ago rejected Washington’s politics as well as her military.
Instead, he chose to enter the corporate world, where he had managed a life of partisan seclusion until things had fallen apart.

Desperate for
knowledgeable, trusted advisors, the former president had pulled the Colonel back into the political machine, playing on the man’s patriotism and sense of duty.

The Colonel had rejec
ted joining the Independents, instead advising negotiations and a joint effort to save the nation. “You all can fight it out with the voters after the country has healed,” he’d recommended. “For now, we need to make sure there is something left to fight over.”

Despite the different routes taken,
the Colonel and General Owens found themselves allies, sharing a similar philosophy as well as being kindred spirits in what they believed was best for the nation. Both men knew they were in the minority, especially when it came to dealing with West Texas.

Walking together after being summ
oned by the president, Owens quickly informed his friend of Bishop’s presence in Tennessee, and what little else was known.

“I wonder what the hell he is doing there,” the Colonel pondered.

“I have no idea, but I’ve got a bad feeling about all this. The president accepted our plan because there wasn’t any other valid option. When I informed him of Bishop’s presence, his eyes changed. I think your friend’s travels have opened a door, and I don’t like what’s on the other side.”

The two men entered the conference room unsure of what to expect. They found the president seated with another man they didn’t know.

“I’m sorry to call you in at such a late hour, gentlemen, but new facts have come to my attention. I wanted to revisit our current operation concerning West Texas… to make sure we’re still taking the right steps.”

Motioning for his two subordinates to be seated, the
president continued. “As I’m sure you are aware, Colonel, Bishop has been spotted outside of Memphis. We still don’t know what he’s doing there. I wanted to call you in and get your impressions.”

Moreland then switched his attention to General Owen
s. “I’ve asked you to join us, general, because I’m concerned there might be a tactical reason why one of the leaders of their little group has ventured so far away from home. To be frank, I have concerns that our friends might be plotting some sort of strike against us and wanted to include your expertise.”

The Colonel had to admit he had similar thoughts after hearing of Bishop’s location. He wouldn’t put it past his old employee to attempt a preemptive action – to take the fight to the enemy.

Owens disagreed, “I’ve already done a quick analysis of that, Mr. President. There’s nothing critical in that immediate area. If they were after nuclear facilities, there are far more lucrative locations. If they wanted to sabotage our infrastructure, I can think of 50 different targets that would cause us more harm. Memphis is very low on the list of critical assets.”

The Colonel added, “Besides, sir, It wouldn’t make any sense to start a fight. They’ve agreed to our offer. All reports indicate they’ve already began making preparations to meet the terms. Why start a war now?”

The stranger sitting with the president finally spoke. “It could be they accepted our proposal in order to buy time. Perhaps there’s been a change in leadership on their side? Maybe the new authority doesn’t like the deal made by the old regime. Our estimation of their leadership was shaky at best. You gentlemen underestimated them once, we feel it would be a mistake to do so again.”

The Colonel couldn’t hide his expression,
an intense storm brewing behind his eyes. It broke. “And just who the fuck might
you
be? The only underestimation that has occurred concerning this matter is how little you believe I’ll kick your ass, right here in front of the Commander in Chief, God and General Owens. We advised the president to negotiate with the Alliance, advice that was contradicted.”

The stranger bristled at the statement, partially because of the threating tone, mostly due to the vulgarity.
Still, he remained unapologetic.

“Oh come now, Colonel. I know you are an educated man. Surely you understand the calculus involved in these types of decisions. We are negotiating with a woman who used to be a bank teller for God’s sake. The key figures running this so-called alliance read like a
Who’s Who of Failures. There’s not a doctorate in the mix, captain being the highest military rank achieved by any of them. Their actions are as predictable as common street criminals.”

The Colonel grunted,
staring down and shaking his head. “Calculus? Regime? Estimations? You answered my question, even if indirectly. How are things over at the CIA these days?”

The
president spoke before the exchange could continue any further. “Gentlemen, may I remind you we’re dealing with the future of our country, not ancient inter-agency feuds. I asked Mr. White to join our little skull session because he is a specialist in counter-insurgency. You’ll all do well to respect each other’s positions and work together. No more spitballs. That’s an order.”

Despite the words from his boss,
the Colonel was through. “Sir,” he began, looking the chief executive right in the eye, “my recommendation is to treat this new information as merely a footnote. There could be a thousand reasons why Bishop is in Memphis, 999 of them completely unassociated with our agreement or future relations with the Alliance. We should ignore this sideshow unless some incriminating facts are discovered.”

General Owen
s nodded, “I agree, sir. Our people are going to be moving into place in two days. I say we keep an eye on Bishop’s activities, but make no changes other than that.”

The President looked back and forth between his two advisors, remembering his dismay at not following their advice the first time. Nodding, he signaled his agreement. “All right gentlemen, I’ll stay the course. Thank you, and good night.”

Mr. White intentionally lagged behind, waiting until he was alone with his boss. “Sir, I believe we have an opportunity here – that circumstances have presented us with an opening that could end this little rebellion and advance your plans significantly.”

“Go on.”

The CIA man cleared his throat, “I wasn’t overstating my impression of the rebel’s leadership. They are single dimensional, unsophisticated, and suffer from overconfidence. Yet, they are very popular with the people of the region – a fact that would be unwise to ignore, both now, and in the future.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“If we could expose the true nature of those leading the rebels – make them publically display their inner weaknesses for all to see, the reintegration of that territory would go much smoother.”

“I’ve already made my decision. You heard it – we are going to honor our agreement and proceed as planned.”

Mr. White was not deterred. “Sir, I’m not suggesting anything to the contrary. I believe we can accomplish both.”

“What? Are you suggesting we take out their leaders? Assassinate them... or some other illegal act?”

“No, sir. All I want to do is cast a little bait – see if any sharks come to bite. If they do, we will have won this little contest before it even gets started. Your legacy might be as potent as Lincoln’s, at least when it comes to preserving the union.”

The president’s head snapped up, the comparison
peaking his attention. “So what is this plan, Mr. White?”

“To begin with, sir, I need to travel to Memphis, right away.” the mysterious man began.

Ninety minutes later, an armed military escort pulled into Andrews Air Force, its sudden appearance at such an early hour surprising the sleepy guards.

Millington, Tennesee

July 11, 2016

Bishop went first, sharing his story of the evening’s events. Grim smiled after reading the documents Bishop had obtained. “Good,” the operator said, “Damn good job.”

“And you? How did your dinner go? I’m ready to go home – I miss my wife and kid.”

“I think he’ll let my family go tomorrow. He’s setting us up a place for this evening, arranging for a reunion. He’s going to give you someplace to crash as well.”

“Me? Why me?”

Grim thought about his response, not wanting to speculate. “He was aware you and I were working together. Our dinner was interrupted by your antics with the pickpocket. After that, I felt like the evening was more about you than me.”

Bishop didn’t know the
major. Had never seen the man before in his life. It all didn’t make sense.

Before the two rescuers could dissect the strange events further, Grim noticed
Beckworth’s head of security striding toward their table, behind him were Maggie and Jana.

Both of the women were absolutely shocked to see him. Hugs, kisses, half questions and partial answers dominated the next few minutes.

“I hate to break up such a joyous occasion,” interrupted the security man, “but I need to show you folks to your quarters and get back to work.”

They were lead through a maze of campers, tents and other portable outbuildings that comprised what was essentially a small city. Eventually arriving at a small camping trailer, the Circus employee indicated it was Bishop’s home for the evening.

The Texan had to smile as he watched Grim and his family stroll off, all three of them excited about the latest turn of events. He maintained his vigil as they were being shown to a larger unit parked nearby. Bishop grunted, hoping it was equipped with a little privacy for Grim and his wife.

Bishop entered the small motorhome, the facilities more than acceptable. The camper had electrical power, which meant hot water, and the thought of a long, hot shower put him in a better frame of mind.

As he prepared to bathe, Bishop couldn’t help but peek out the thin blinds. He didn’t trust the environment, nor their host.

Regardless of his nagging suspicions, the Texan wasted no time in filling the sink with hot water and soap, dousing his filthy clothing repeatedly in the
cleaning fluid. Padding around the camper stark naked, he hung his wardrobe on numerous, available knobs and handles, sure the makeshift clothesline would provide him with dry clothing in the morning.

The bathroom was equipped with
shampoo, body soap, and a razor. After enjoying a shave enhanced by actually being able to use a mirror, he then proceeded to relish in the hot shower flowing over his head and shoulders, lathering up time and again until the small heater ran out of the refreshing liquid.

The fluffy towel was appreciated as much as the
water.

The hot soak, clean skin and busy day all combined to help Bishop into REM
sleep in record time.

Perhaps it was the excitement of finding his wife and daughter safe and
unharmed, or maybe he had just grown used to getting very little rest. Whatever the reason, Grim couldn’t get out.

With his wife sharing his
bed for the first time in months, the contractor lay as still as possible, trying to remain quiet so his bride could rest. His mind was racing at 100 mph, the words of his ex-CO circulating through his thoughts.

Something had changed in the middle of his dinner with
Beckworth, the transition occurring immediately after the security guy had barged in.

Afterwards, the conversation had focused more on West Texas and Bishop than his attempt to free his family.

Grim had no doubt his ex-CO was connected. The scale of the operation surrounding him was evidence of that. The major’s role, back in the day, had been as a liaison between the intelligence apparatus of the US government and the military. Beckworth ran with the spooks from the CIA, DEA and other government agencies.

How many of those relationships had the man n
urtured? How many did he still retain? Grim knew he would never get any answers to those questions, at least not tonight.

Since the
day the rescue mission had been approved by the council, Grim had looked forward to holding his wife and child in his arms. That special moment had been a motivator, making the pain, risk and broken arm all a reasonable price to pay for keeping his loved ones safe.

Now, he dreaded the morning
, unsure of what it would bring for his family and for the people of West Texas.

Beckworth
awoke to a loud pounding on the RV’s door, the lack of light filtering into his cabin a clear indicator it was early – way too damn early.

“This had better be good,” he mumbled, just as the obnoxious rap was repeated.

Throwing on a robe, he had built up a fury by the time he padded to the threshold and flung open the door. “What the hell is…”

He instantly recognized the man standing next to his security chief, despite the overcoat, fedora
, and thick glasses. Not too many men embraced the retro-1960s look, especially around Washington. But it wasn’t the man’s wardrobe that enabled the recall. There was an aura about the visitor - the unforgettable veil of a predator. He had always reminded Beckworth of a shark – a constantly hungry, extremely lethal, and exceedingly crafty shark. The man was a legend in the intelligence community.

Since the beginning of time, there has been a hierarchy within the ranks of those that prey upon others.
Engrained as a core aspect of survival, the Velociraptor no doubt recognized the Tyrannosaurus as the superior killing machine, respecting the larger animal’s position on the food chain or becoming a meal. Beckworth knew he was staring at a very dangerous animal, a beast that could devour him in the blink of an eye.

“Good morning, Major. I’m sorry to interrupt your beauty
rest, but urgent matters of state demand the hour.”

The ex-officer was stunned
. The appearance of a man on his doorstep he hadn’t seen in 15 years caused his mind to experience a rare paralysis. It didn’t help that this was a man he truly feared.

“Major?”
the voice called, a slight hint of impatience creeping into the interrogatory.

“Sorry… I… the early… come on in Mister… Mister,”
Beckworth stumbled.

“Mr
. White.”

“
Of course it would be… Mr. White. Please come in.”

More like Mr. Great White
, he thought.

The man from Washington didn’t need to present his credentials
. Beckworth understood his authority. After entering the RV, the CIA guru scanned his surroundings and asked, “Are we alone?”

“We are.”

“Good. I want you to brief me on everything you know about Bishop. Leave no detail out. I’ve already verified with your security personnel that he is still here, at this… this facility. Please proceed.”

Beckworth
had delivered such debriefings a hundred times and knew the drill. He started at the beginning, relaying even the smallest facts.

Mr.
White didn’t comment, take notes or ask for coffee. He didn’t even remove his coat. Taking a seat at the dinette, he sat silently and absorbed all of the major’s words.

“And that’s all I know,”
Beckworth finally finished.

“Take a piss, make coffee, fry eggs
, or whatever your morning routine is, Major. Just keep it quiet. I need to think.”

The man running the Circus was far too pumped to execute any sort of ritual, yet his visitor projected a need to be alone.
Beckworth settled on getting dressed, the informality of his bathrobe causing discomfort.

When he returned from the rear bedroom, Mr.
White was exactly where the major left him, eyes focused on some point in space and time. Unsure of what to do, the ex-officer sat in a nearby recliner and remained silent.

Mr.
White finally came out of his trance, blinking once and then turning toward his host. “I have a very simple, yet delicate task for you. It will only take a few moments of your time, and then I’ll be on my way.”

Beckworth
wasn’t thrilled, to say the least. He’d operated at the higher level of intelligence and black ops enough to know that often a “simple, delicate task,” was neither. Still, he didn’t have much choice. He nodded, signaling his willingness to cooperate.

“I want you to call in this former subordinate of yours… this
Grim fellow. Here is what I want you to say…”

Bishop awoke to the stran
ge sounds. The thin metal walls of the camper did little to filter the racket associated with preparing for a new day of business at the Circus. As the early morning wore on, the din continued to grow in volume, pulling the Texan out of his half-awake state, and finally away from the relished softness of the berth’s mattress.

He
rose to find himself in a unique situation – there was no place he had to be, no task demanding his attention. It was weird. Back in Alpha with Terri or on the road traveling, he always had a seemingly endless list of jobs that needed to be addressed. Now, while he waited on word from Grim, there was really nothing for him to do, nothing that required his presence. It was like being on vacation.

Deciding to embrace the holiday theme, Bishop savored another
hot shower, skipping the shave. He found his clothing close enough to being dry and proceeded to dress.

Bored already, he
exited the camper and began wandering around the perimeter of the Circus, taking in the hustle and bustle as the employees prepared for the day.

Breakfast soon became his top priority
, and he immediately began a search. Visions of bacon, eggs and perhaps even coffee filled his head. It was not to be. After a careful forage, he had to settle for two slices of thick, bland bread, the doughy white meal salvaged only by the discovery of a vendor selling locally harvested honey.

The n
atural sweetness greatly enhanced the flavor of the bread. Coffee was the next order of the day.

Evidently
, the resources available to the Circus weren’t limitless, his favorite morning beverage beyond the reach of the local procurement specialist. He came to this conclusion after asking a man who was clearly a person of authority where he might find a steaming cup of joe.