Storm Clouds Rising: A Chuck McCain Novel

by David Spell

This was one of Guerra’s most successful brothels with a steady flow of clients throughout the day. It was definitely not his preferred safe house, but it was the closest one to the shooting scene and Sanchez and Salazar needed medical attention immediately. The town home had three bedrooms so three girls lived and worked there, hoping to eventually buy their freedom from the hell that their lives had become. Damian and Marcos were each placed in a room and Juan had ordered the women to make them comfortable, bandage their wounds, and to do what they could to stop the bleeding.

  The house manager and security was a Mexican midget named Tito, and while he might not look very imposing, the little guy had killed two men, one with a blade, the other with his stainless steel 9mm Colt Officer’s Model. Guerra had ordered Tito to tell the whorehouse’s customers that they were closed for a few days. One of the girls had contracted the flu and had shared it with the others. It was a plausible story and would buy them some time.

  After Salazar died, Guzmán and Rodriguez had wrapped the body in a blanket, loading it into the back of the van at 2:00 Tuesday morning. They had dumped the dead gangster in a wooded area several miles away. The police would have no trouble identifying Marcos once they took the corpse’s fingerprints. He had a long criminal history, letting the FBI know that they were dealing with a Mexican gang. At this point, Guerra didn’t care. He was not about to keep the bloody corpse in the house.

  Juan knew what he needed to do and made up his mind, turning to look back into the bedroom. He ordered the women to get Damian ready to travel. Sanchez was a tough man, Guerra conceded. He had sustained multiple gunshot wounds and had lost a lot of blood. One of the girls had had some first-aid training in Mexico and appeared to have the soldier’s injuries under control, for the moment at least. Two of the prostitutes would make the trip in the back of the van, taking turns looking after Damian. Of course, he needed a doctor as soon as possible to remove the bullets and repair the damage, but the gangster was hoping that the sicario would survive the long drive to Texas. They would be on the road in the next fifteen minutes.

  CIA Headquarters, Friday, 1030 hours

  The young man placed the last of his personal items in a cardboard box. The desk was small so it didn’t take long. His office was connected to the Director of Operations’ much larger office so that he could quickly be there when he was needed.

  Shaun was still in shock from how fast things had transpired. Colonel Clark had ordered Taylor to take the rest of the week off. The FBI was still investigating the shooting and Kevin understood the strain that Shaun was under. A few days to clear his head would go a long way in helping the young man process all that had transpired so he could get back to normal.

  On Wednesday, however, Taylor had gotten the message that Director Dunning would be retiring and that Clark and McCain had been asked to resign. Shaun was told that he needed to be in the office on Friday morning to meet with the new Ops Director. Vijay Sable had been one of the assistant directors in the Directorate of Science and Technology.

  “Mr. Taylor,” Sable had begun, his English containing a hint of a British accent, “Director Sterling asked me to convey his appreciation for how you fought for and protected Director Dunning during the attack on her life. Your actions represented the highest level of courage and dedication to duty. A letter will be placed in your file recognizing you for the bravery that you demonstrated.

  “With Ms. Dunning’s serious injuries, she has decided to retire and I have been selected to take her place. I will be bringing several people from Science and Technology, including my own administrative aide. The good news is that we have found you a comparable position in the Support Directorate. You will be serving as the administrative aide to the Director of Personnel Resources. You will report for your new assignment on Monday.”

  The Indian-American slid a piece of paper across the desk to Shaun.

  “Here’s a copy of your new assignment. Do you have any questions?”

  “Personnel Resources?” Taylor repeated, trying not to sound angry. “I didn’t join the CIA to work in personnel. Why am I being transferred? You said yourself that Director Sterling appreciated how I handled myself during the attack on Director Dunning.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Sable answered, not making eye contact with Shaun, “but the Director also feels that a change of scenery will be good for you. And, to be quite frank, there is no place here for you now. I’m going to put my own staff together and operations will be going in a new direction. In fact, there will be a lot of changes in the near future.”

  In an instant, Taylor understood how good he’d had it for the last seven years. He had served Admiral Williams for five years and Ms. Dunning for almost two. They had both warned him that, at any point, winds of political change could blow through, altering everything. Nothing that the young man said would change his situation, but he also knew that he wasn’t going to work in the Support Directorate.

  Shaun forced a smile on his face and stood. “Good luck, Director Sable. I’ll go and pack up my office.”

  The new director seemed surprised that Taylor had not pushed back more but nodded at him.

  “Yes, and good luck to you.”

  Twenty minutes later, Shaun stepped back into the new Ops director’s office, holding a single sheet of paper. He laid it in front of Sable, standing in front of the desk while he read it. Vijay’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise.

  “You’re resigning, Mr. Taylor?” disbelief in his voice.

  “Yes, sir. I think this is a good time for me to move on. I appreciate the offer of a lateral transfer but I just don’t think that’s for me.”

  Taylor left Sable staring at the letter in front of him. He knew that there would be forms to sign but he still needed to pack up his desk. A minute later, Vijay rushed out of his office holding the administrative aide’s resignation. Shaun figured he was going to ask someone what to do next.

  “Hey, Shaun, what’s with the box?”

  Startled, he spun around to see Jennifer Hughes standing in his doorway, hands in her pockets, looking at him questioningly.

  “Oh, hi, Jennifer. Uh, well, I just turned in my letter of resignation.”

  “What? Why would you do that?” She quickly crossed the small room, standing directly in front of Shaun, looking up into his eyes. “Are you feeling guilty about Director Dunning? I heard that you were only reason she’s still alive. That’s actually why I’m here. I just wanted to stop by to see how you were doing.”

  Taylor really had been planning on asking Hughes out, maybe even this week, back before the assassination attempt. He suppressed a smile, knowing that the pretty young woman probably wouldn’t want to go out with a former CIA colleague.

  “No, I’m not feeling guilty about the boss. Well, maybe a little, but that’s not why I resigned. I met the new director, a guy named Vijay Sable from Science and Technology. He told me that he’s bringing his own staff over and that my services would no longer be needed. I was being transferred to Support Services. Personnel. He also told me that there were going to be changes in operations but didn’t elaborate.”

  “Shouldn’t you wait a few weeks before you quit?” Jennifer asked, concern in her voice. “I don’t want to sound like I’m telling you what to do, but making such a big decision after going through what you went through seems a little extreme. Do you have any plans?”

  “That’s the big question,” he shrugged. “I’ve got some money in savings so I’ll probably take a couple of weeks or a month and sort it out. Maybe I’ll see if the FBI is hiring. After all they’ve been through, I know there are plenty of openings.”

  The young woman continued to stare at him, making him feel uncomfortable. There was something in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I hate to see you go, Shaun. You’ve been the one who’s kept this office running so smoothly. Everybody knows that they can depend on you for all the admin stuff, but it�
��s more than that. You’ve been that steady presence in the background looking after us.”

  Wow, she’s actually getting emotional. Maybe I should just go for it, he thought.

  “Thanks, Jen, that’s really nice of you to say. It’s been a lot of fun working with you guys. I’ve got a confession to make, though.”

  “A confession? What kind of confession?”

  Shaun laughed. “I was planning on asking you out this week. I even told Tim and Tom about it right before we picked up Ms. Dunning on Monday.”

  At the mention of his two friends, his laugh disappeared, a sense of sadness sweeping over him. Jennifer saw his expression change. Without thinking about it, she stepped in and embraced him.

  “I’m really sorry about Tim and Tom. I know you guys were good friends,” she said, softly. “I’m sure that they would be very proud of how you saved Ms. Dunning’s life.”

  At this, Shaun lost it. He started crying, sobbing into the pretty girl’s shoulder. She didn’t say anything else, but held him tightly. After a few minutes, he regained his composure and pulled away, wiping his face.

  “I’m sorry, Jen. I…”

  “Don’t apologize. That’s what friends are for. Is the offer still open?”

  “The offer? Oh, the offer,” he stammered, embarrassed, but managing to smile through his tears. “Of course. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

  “You’re not messing around, are you?” she grinned. “I’d love to have dinner with you and tomorrow night is fine. I’ll text you my address. I need to get back to work. See you tomorrow.”

  She gave him a sweet smile and was out the door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  RESTON, VIRGINIA, FRIDAY, 1415 hours

  Chuck and Kevin sat at McCain’s kitchen table sipping mugs of coffee.

  “I thought Maxwell was gonna to start jumping up and down when you walked out,” Clark chuckled. “He definitely needs to work on his anger management.”

  “Yeah, probably not my smartest move,” McCain acknowledged, “but what a slimy little bastard he is. I just hope all the guys and girls are going to be okay. I called my key folks and team leader to tell them what had happened. They were all pissed off but I told them to just lay low and see how it plays out.”

  Clark nodded. “That’s right. I spoke to my people, too. They’re all the cream of the crop and will excel under anyone. Although, there are already some changes in the air.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah, Walker called me yesterday and said that Sterling ordered our guys out of the hospital and said that since this is the FBI’s investigation, they could handle the security in conjunction with the local cops. And, he overheard one of the G-Men telling another that they were to make sure that Clark guy and his buddy McCain didn’t get anywhere near Director Dunning.”

  “What?” Chuck felt his anger rising again.

  Kevin shrugged. “Like you said, Maxwell is a slimy little bastard. I’d also throw vindictive into that mix. And, I got a call from Jen Hughes on the way over here. Shaun resigned this morning. The new Ops director is some guy from Science and Technology and told him he was being transferred to work for the personnel director. Taylor told him, ‘No, thank you,’ and quit. Jen thanked me for everything and asked me to pass her regards on to you.”

  “That’s too bad about Shaun,” McCain commented, shaking his head. “He’s a sharp kid.”

  “Yeah, but the question now is, what about me and you? What are you going to do now that you’re no longer employed?”

  McCain stared into his coffee mug. “I’ve actually been thinking about retiring again. I really don’t like being away from Elizabeth and Ray for weeks at a time.”

  “I understand that, but I don’t think you’re quite ready to hang it up yet.”

  “No? What makes you say that?”

  “Chuck, you and I are wired too much alike. You’d be OK for a week or two but then you’d start going stir crazy. That was why I took that commission in the National Guard after I retired from the regular Army. I just wasn’t ready to plant my ass in a rocking chair.”

  The two men sat in silence for a few minutes as Chuck pondered his friend’s words.

  “Have you got something in mind?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I do,” the former Ranger answered with a grin. “What would you think about getting into consulting and training? You’ve got what, twenty years of local law enforcement under your belt, mostly as a SWAT officer. I’ve got a little over that as an Airborne Ranger. Plus, you had your time with the CDC Enforcement Unit and we’ve had the last couple of years with the CIA, although we can’t talk about any of that.

  “With your law enforcement experience and my time in the Army, I know we could provide some quality training for SWAT teams or small-unit stuff in the military. What do you think?”

  “I’d be interested.” Chuck conceded. “But, I’ll be honest with you, Kevin, I’ve never run a business and wouldn’t have any idea where to start as far as putting something like this together.”

  Clark smiled. “Me neither, but I think that two smart guys like us can figure it out. Why don’t we think about it for a week, maybe we each put some ideas down on paper and meet again next Friday?”

  “That sounds like a plan, Colonel,” McCain replied, extending his hand.

  Winchester, Virginia, the following Wednesday, 1230 hours

  The hour and a half ride from Reston did not answer many of their questions. Chuck hadn’t even heard of the man they were going to meet. Kevin had recognized the name and conducted some research over the last two days. On Monday, they had each received an evite to lunch with Major General Wallace Perkins, United States Army, Retired. The email was followed by a phone call from someone identifying himself as General Perkins’ aide.

  “Here’s what I found out,” Clark said, as McCain drove. “Perkins was a Vietnam era Ranger and then wore the green beanie. He did a couple of tours in ‘Nam before he started getting promoted. He got his ticket punched all the way up the line but was always considered a soldier’s soldier.

  “My contacts said that he’s maintained a low-profile since retiring. He’s got a horse farm and evidently inherited some money from his parents. But, they also said that the general is still well-respected in the intelligence and military community, and up until the zombie virus crisis, was brought in periodically as a consultant. Since then, he’s just been chilling on his farm and riding his horses.”

  Chuck shook his head and laughed. “And now, for some unknown reason, out of the blue, the good general wants to have lunch with two guys who just got fired from the CIA?”

  “Yeah, it does seem a little fishy,” Kevin agreed with a grin.

  The sign indicated that they had arrived at the Stonewall Acres. An electric gate blocked the entrance, a video camera focused on the passenger compartment of the vehicle. The barrier slid open when Chuck announced their presence on the intercom. The half mile long driveway wound through a scenic wooded tract of land, which opened up to reveal a beautiful brick home, surrounded by open fields, two barns, and several other outbuildings.

  As they exited McCain’s Silverado, a tall, smiling African-American man with short, silver hair stepped out onto the front porch. A middle-aged white guy with a crew cut followed him out, standing back and watching the visitors closely. Chuck guessed that the black man was in his mid-to-late seventies, but his bearing was erect as he quickly moved down the steps to greet his guests.

  “Gentleman,” his deep voice boomed, “thank you for accepting my invitation. I’m Wallace Perkins and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Colonel Clark and you, Mr. McCain.”

  The general’s grip was strong as he shook both of their hands. Kevin reflexively popped to attention. Even though the retired officer spoke with the voice of authority, it was tempered by a cultivated southern accent.

  “Please, Colonel, at ease. My wife has prepared a wonderful lunch so I hope you’re hungry.”

&n
bsp; With that, the older man led his guests into the house. The general pointed at the other man. “This is my aide, retired Master Sergeant Sam Mercer. He’s the one you spoke with on the phone.”

  Mercer nodded at the newcomers, following them into the house. The master sergeant was physically fit, his biceps bulging under the dark blazer. McCain saw the imprint of a pistol on his right side, indicating that Sam was more than just an aide to the retired general.

  Chuck and Kevin made eye contact, the question still lingering in their minds. What was this all about?

  The general had told the truth. Mrs. Perkins was the perfect Virginian hostess. They enjoyed a hearty meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, fresh vegetables, and hot biscuits that had just come out of the oven. Sweet iced tea was the perfect beverage to wash down the bounty. Mercer had disappeared, but Chuck assumed that he was nearby if Perkins needed him.

  The conversation was interesting, McCain thought. The general assured them he would tell them the reason for their invitation after lunch. In the meantime, Mrs. Perkins asked the men about their families. She was clearly smitten when Chuck showed her pictures of Ray and of his granddaughter, Ashley. The spry elderly woman clearly had questions about how McCain had both an almost one-year-old son and an almost two-year-old granddaughter but she kept them to herself.

  “Wallace, would y’all like your dessert now? I’ve got a fresh apple pie.”

  “Oh, Mabel, you do spoil me. I’m stuffed at the moment, and these two gentlemen look like they could use a sip of something a little stronger than iced tea.”

  “Well, if y’all want to head on into the study, I’ll get the table cleared and you can let me know when you’d like your pie.”

  “That was an incredible lunch, ma’am,” McCain said. “Thank you.”