Operation (5 page)

So why can’t I let go?

A thought sent a shiver down Reese’s spine. Could that be it? Was tonight an indication of what was yet to come: more isolation and murder?

“No!” he shouted. “I can’t do this anymore! This has to end! All of it! I have to get on with my life.”

He rose from the chair and paced the worn carpet of his living room. The energy that flowed through him now was like a raging torrent of water.

“This—tonight—is the end of it. I wash my hands of it all.”

With adrenaline pumping through his previously muddled thoughts, Reese knew there could only be one solution for him: the one he always resorted to when circumstances such as this dictated. He would dive into his work and reinvent the reality in which he lived. If Dimitri and the others had been behind tonight’s killing because they thought he was somehow thinking about telling the actual story of what happened, he would prove that this assumption was wrong and just focus on his work. With Sarah gone, there would be few distractions; that should be enough to convince them.

And Reese did have work to do. His book, which dealt with myths and legends, had been due months ago, and he had continually stalled the completion of it because he knew that he could not put in the truth. The publisher was irate at the delay, but Reese had used his favorite buzz words to keep them at bay: military commitment. With that option was no longer available, he could finish it, just telling what he could and staying away from the rest.

Besides, if it was in print, then that was the truth, right? Maybe I could even convince myself to believe it. Believe that this whole affair nothing but myth and legend and no “solid” evidence to support any of it. 

He liked the sound of it.

Put it all in the past where it belongs and slam the door shut.

He needed to finish the book anyway for the class he was scheduled to teach. When the publisher put out an early press release about the book and its suggested use as a textbook, he was invited to teach a local university class on myths and legends. It didn’t get any better than that, he had been told by friends and colleagues in the field—and they were right. He knew it would be incredibly stupid to let a chance like that slip away.

So he would finish the book. He would start tomorrow and bury himself in the writing. With any luck, he’d be done in a month or two. Then there’d be the publicity tour. And as soon as that was done, the class would start and he would be wrapped up with that, ensuring that he put it together well so that they would have him repeat it on course offerings each semester.

All these thoughts of work and deadlines made Reese feel somewhat relieved that this would get his life back on track. He wasn’t a fool. He knew that working wouldn’t block everything out of his mind.

“Yeah, but I have to start somewhere,” he said to the empty room. “I know that I had nothing to do with that man’s death. Hell, I’m making the assumption that he was killed by one of them. He could have been killed by someone else altogether. Maybe he was robbed or some gang did it. If it was a threat to me, then why was there no message?”

His reasoning actually made sense, he thought. Maybe it wasn’t his fault that the man had been killed. Rather, the poor guy had been a victim in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still to play safe, he would follow the plan he had devised tonight. If the Navy taught you one thing, it was to have a plan. A plan was important.

But there was something else. The Glock, and its easy way out. His eyes fell upon the small bag sitting on the floor near the door. He walked over to the bag and grasped it by the handles, lifting it off the floor. He walked over to the hall closet and opened the door. The top shelf was empty and Reese had to stretch upward on his toes to place the bag on the shelf.

Out of sight and hopefully out of mind.

He closed the closet door and took one last look back into the living room, feeling as though he had left something there. It wasn’t something he had forgotten, but rather what he wanted to leave behind: all the mental baggage that he hoped had been lost by his cerebral airline and hopefully ended up in outer Mongolia, never to be seen or heard from again.

Feeling that he had been successful at achieving some form of peace, he turned out the lights and headed toward his bedroom. He removed his clothing and slid under the covers. He set his alarm for 6 a.m., knowing he would probably decide to sleep in a little later tomorrow. Reconsidering, he decided he would allow himself some indulgence and picked up the alarm clock for a second time and reset the alarm for 9.

As his head rested on the pillow, he ran through his checklist for the following day. The first thing would be a call to his publisher to confirm that everything was okay and to agree upon a new date for the complete manuscript to be finished. After that, he would hit the books and get to work. Reese realized he was actually really looking forward to it. He had not looked forward to anything in quite some time. A smile lightly danced on his face as he fell asleep.

However, it wasn’t long before he slipped into the dream. The nightmare was there. It was always there, waiting for him. It embraced him, sucking the life from him, as the vampires had sucked the lifeblood from the two innocent women that had been the paramours of Carlos, the drug overlord. The women hadn’t known or comprehended what was about to happen, but Reese did. 

Chapter Two

Naval Base: Norfolk, Virginia

T
HREE
W
EEKS
L
ATER

At midnight, a white Navy van exited the main gate of the Naval Operating Base (NOB), Norfolk and proceeded toward its destination of the Naval Amphibious Base Little Creek, on the border of Norfolk and Virginia Beach. 

“Chief, can you take these God-damned shackles off me?” asked the man who sat in the caged area of the vehicle. His close-cropped hair showed several scars in between the stubble. He was clean-shaven and his facial features were hard: his nose, eyes and chin appeared carved into a face of stone. He wore red clothing, stenciled with large black letters: Naval Brig Prisoner-Norfolk Naval Station.

“Later, Jonsey,” the chief said. “When we get to where we’re going. It won’t be long. Just sit tight and don’t give us any trouble.”

“What’s going on? Where the fuck are we going?” Jonsey asked. “Why am I being taken out tonight? I’m supposed to go to Fort Leavenworth tomorrow. My new home. Well, at least until they decide to fry my ass.”

Along with the chief, there were three guards in the van along with the prisoner. All were wearing standard Navy camouflage dress with traditional Navy rank emblems, which proclaimed they were two second-class petty officers, and one first-class petty officer. In addition, they wore the trident emblems that confirmed that they were Navy SEALs. All carried Glocks with the clip inserted into the weapon.

“I don’t know,” the chief answered. “Just following orders, Jonsey. You remember what that is, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I remember. I sure the fuck do. I did follow my orders. The orders of the President of the United States, which said to defend my country against all enemies foreign and domestic. Just because I killed some dumb ass Navy officer doesn’t mean I forgot what it means to follow orders or to be a SEAL, just like you.”

The chief’s expression turned angry as his lips tightened. “YOU are nothing like me!” he shouted. “I don’t kill people because I get pissed at them, especially those on the same team as I am.”

“But that’s where the worse enemy is, on the same team,” Jonsey said, his voice a mixture of seriousness and lunacy. “The ones that are among us, they’re like leeches: sucking the blood of this country and making it weaker. That’s what the shit for brains Lieutenant was, a bloody leech. He was sucking the blood of every man in our platoon, making them weak and setting them up to die. The problem is you and those like you who just don’t see it. I do. Oh yes, I do, and I took care of it. Just as the President said I should.”

“You sick bastard! How the hell did you ever get in the Navy and become a SEAL?” the chief asked disgustedly. “Tell me that one.”

“Talent,” Jonsey said. “Sheer fucking talent in killing.”

There was no more conversation on the trip until the van pulled into a wooded area. The sign on the side of the road where the road ended and the dirt road began stated that they were now entering a training area with live fire. All visitors were to check in at the guard shack up ahead before proceeding any further.

“What are we doing here?” Jonsey asked.

Nobody answered Jonsey as the van came to a stop at the guard shack and before being directed to another building about fifty yards away. All four guards exited the van and drew their weapons. The chief opened the back door of the van.

“Jonsey, I’m going to explain this once and only once. We are going to escort you into this building, where someone wants to talk with you. If you so much as move a finger, I will shoot your ass. In fact, I hope you do, so I can rid the world of a piece of shit like you instead of wasting good tax payer money on your rehabilitation as you watch television in a cell for the rest of your life.”

“What about scratching my balls? Is that out of bounds as well?” Jonsey said and laughed so hard that saliva dripped from his mouth.

The chief’s eyes narrowed. “Do it and see what happens,” he said and smiled. “Go ahead. Just do it.”

“Screw you!” Jonsey shouted.

“Let’s go, Jonsey, now,” the chief said roughly, shoving him forward and causing him to fall.

Jonsey looked up from the ground, giving the chief a hard look and then quickly changing to a grin as he laughed. “You don’t want me to get loose, Chief, because if I do, I’ll skin your ass and enjoy every single moment of it.”

“Yeah, sure,” the chief answered. He turned to the remaining men. “Get him on his feet and moving, now!”  

The four-man team escorted the shackled prisoner into a room in the small building. They plopped him, rather abruptly, into a steel chair. They removed the shackles but handcuffed him to the chair and left the room. Before Jonsey even had a chance to think about how he could maneuver the chair to get at the handcuffs, the door opened again.

The man that entered the room wore the same camouflage uniform as his guards. His hair was the traditional military high and tight with gray to white in color; perhaps fifty to fifty-five years of age. He showed no excess body fat on his body and looked physically fit. Instead of the Navy enlisted rank on his collar, there were four stars in their place. Jonsey’s lips stretched into a huge smile.

 “Well, General, if you don’t mind me saying, it’s about high fucking time someone came to get me out,” Jonsey said.

“Jonsey,” Morris began. “Things are a little precarious at the moment. Too much press over this. I had to wait until the last minute to get you out.”

“Precarious? Shit, they’re planning to kill me. It doesn’t get any more precarious then that, as far as I’m concerned. After all, I did what you told me to do. I got rid of the traitorous bastard.”

“Yes, you did. I appreciate all your hard work, Jonsey. You’re a true patriot.”

“Patriot. Of course, that’s me,” he beamed. “Just as along as I get to kill people in the process, I’m happy. Hey, that’s kind of catchy. Yeah, call me the patriot killer.”

“Yes,” Morris answered. “Of course, you are, and a very good killer too. How many does that make now?”

“Seventy-five confirmed kills,” Jonsey answered proudly.

“Seventy-five,” the general repeated. “Seventy-five hindrances removed.”

“And not a scratch on me from any op; that’s worthy of what I want, isn’t it? My own gig down south, right?”

“As I promised, we will live up to our end of the bargain.”

“South America? Right?”

“Yes, as General Stone promised you. You will have free reign to attack at will any targets you find. You may act at your own discretion.”

“Kill as many as I want, perfect.” Jonsey smiled and his eyes glazed over as he drifted into thoughts of immense pleasure.

“But before you go, I have one more thing I need for you to do,” the general said.

Jonsey sat up straight in the chair, his earlier look of pleasure vanishing, replaced by an intense look of anxiety.

“Don’t you pull that shit on me,” Jonsey said. “I did what I was told to do. My part of the bargain is done! You don’t want me talking to anyone about my illustrious career, do you, General?”

“Jonsey, come on now. There’s no need for that. But I need your help one last time before you leave. Do this one for me and you’ll be on your way to South America before noon tomorrow.”

Jonsey thought for a few seconds, and then asked, “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Morris repeated.

“What is it you want me to do?” Jonsey asked.

“This is a simple one. We’re running an exercise tonight, standard entry and capture scenario. I have some hot shot SEALs who need a lesson with some humility in it, if you know what I mean.”

“Do you want the lesson to be terminal?” Jonsey asked.

“No, no, nothing like that. Just a little beating to remind them they can’t live on ego alone.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“You are the goal: the target to be captured. All I want you to do is stay in this building and evade. If opportunity presents itself, go on the offensive. If anyone enters the building, they are to be considered hostile and dealt with.”

“Why me?” Jonsey asked. “This is a piddly-shit training op.”

“This team launches on a special mission in a few weeks. A congressional funded mission that is doomed to fail. I don’t want to lose good men because of some bureaucratic hard on. If it fails here, they won’t go and the funding can be re-diverted to more opportune missions.”

“Such as South America?” Jonsey asked, the confident look on his face reflecting that he already knew the answer.

“Precisely. In fact, these men will be yours in South America, so you want to be sure you don’t lose any unnecessarily.”