Killing Sanford (Gary Cannon Book 1)

by Mike Kershner

  LJ and Gary had been through a brutal year together. They had both been bruised, they had both suffered broken toes and fingers, and they had both chipped teeth and been cold, hungry, hot, and tired. Most importantly they had been tested.

  They had survived the first year, more than survived, they had excelled. Gary had benefited from LJ’s time in combat units, as he had helped him adjust to the training and the routine. LJ however, had not considered much of his time a benefit, there were opportunities where his time with Gary had proven to be helpful, and above all he was being challenged. The pace that Gary set was difficult to maintain.

  Despite his feelings of jealousy toward Gary, he and Gary had become close, not that they had much of a choice. It was a year that they had shared much, they had become like brothers. Gary had heard about LJ’s family all of the aunts and uncles, the cousins and all of the time they spent together. Gary looked up to LJ, at seven years his elder, LJ fit the older brother mold quite perfectly for Gary. They had spoken some of how Gary came to be at the El Comienzo facility. The way that he had come to be there was so shocking to LJ that he could not help but feel pity on the young man.

  With their first year complete some of their training was about to move off site, and the two would spend more time in the air than some pilots. First they headed to Panama, to link up with LJ’s old unit for jungle warfare training.

  LJ was accustomed to this type of environment, but this was virgin territory for Gary. On one reconnaissance operation he gave away their position because of his slapping biting insects. A crusty First Sergeant relayed to Gary with the utmost clarity that had this not been a training mission they might all be dead. He then continued to say that if they had all made it out alive only Gary would be dead.

  Gary took this failure as he should have, it was a point of criticism yes, but he now had begun to understand just how critical every movement, every motion was in the field. Gary was learning how to be a deliberate man, not to make any wasted movements. Every step he took must be measured, and careful. With his mental capacity for detail and some practice these things became second nature, soon he excelled.

  Some of the Green Berets at Gulick had made rotations through Vietnam they had passed on little tips like dangling bootlaces or thin grass from the muzzles of their weapons to help detect trip wires. They packed any canned food inside of their socks to help prevent them from banging together and making noise.

  They drilled day and night in all conditions, they did infiltration and exfiltration with helicopters, boats, parachutes and on foot. It was a maddening pace even compared to what they were used to, for Gary it was a rough start, as every step was new to him. For LJ it was like a trip home and he enjoyed showing the kid up for a couple of weeks.

  By the end of the twelve weeks Gary had further proven just how fast he could learn, his ability to observe and repeat with startling accuracy. What most did not see was the adjustments he was making to everything, he was able to make corrections to problems the teams often never knew they had. Many times the remark was made about his tactical intuition.

  Many in the group had worked with Sanford operatives in the past, and while they were always happy to help out those who were not necessarily bound to the same rules they were, they initially looked at Gary with suspicion. Teaching a kid to set ambushes, and assault encampments had seemed like a questionable practice. Once they had seen how quickly he learned what they were teaching and how humbly he wore his success they all looked for the chance to work with him.

  On Christmas Day 1966 they shipped out to Indian Head Naval Station where they were to learn explosives. They would be training where the Naval EOD techs trained. However most of the regular services were not quite as familiar with Sanford personnel as the soldiers from the special operations groups. So Gary and LJ would only be trained on the weekends in special classes when the regular groups were not in session. While at Indian Head they learned the history of explosives, timed fuses, shape charges, breaching charges, and tactical demolitions. Most of the charges they would work with would be on a small scale, they were not going to be taking out buildings, or bridges, they were to be scalpels not wrecking balls.

  On Sunday evenings they would board a transport and fly to California, for tactical driving school at Laguna Seca on Monday and Tuesday, they would board a small jet from the Monterey Airport and fly to Coronado. Wednesday, Thursday and then Friday morning, they would learn how to operate underwater with an ever changing group of SEAL’s before heading back to Indian Head. This was another twelve week stint, during which Gary especially enjoyed the driving as much as he had anything so far. What teenaged boy would not enjoy the opportunity to drive as fast as they could push a vehicle, and then learn to purposely put it into a slide and recover? Add in shooting at targets from a moving vehicle and it was a recipe for an entirely new kind of fun.

  ***

  March 14, 1967

  One afternoon in California the pair was told to load into the back of a DC-6 and that they would get instruction when they touched down. Not knowing where they were headed or what awaited them.

  LJ and Gary lounged in the cargo bay of a DC 6, the roar of the four piston driven propellers had made all communication futile. They had both learned to grab rest whenever possible as they had discovered they might never know when the next opportunity might come along so they both slept. They had not yet started their descent for landing when they were awakened by the co-pilot telling them it was best if they strapped in as they were going to be flying through a growing storm just before landing.

  The approach had been bumpy and the plane had been tossed around for thirty minutes before emerging to blue sky just in time to line up and land.

  On the ground they were met with the sharp bite of a winter wind, and Quinn in khaki pants, button down shirt, ball cap, and a thick parka. “Evening ladies.”

  LJ replied, “Hello, Mr. Quinn. Funny to see you in boots.”

  “You two, grab a parka, this wind tonight is colder than a well digger’s ass. Grab your gear and head for that Olds.”

  Gary and LJ did not need much encouragement as the breeze whipping into the cargo bay was all they needed to dig out something with insulation. They hurried to the car running on the runway. Inside the car it was warm and they found Billy behind the wheel.

  “Hey there Billy.” Gary said unzipping his parka.

  Billy nodded not looking back, “Cannon.”

  Gary looked at LJ, LJ only shrugged and shook his head. Quinn was still talking to the flight crew and then he walked to the car. Even in the cold wind, Quinn looked just as relaxed and comfortable as Gary had ever seen him.

  Quinn piled into the front passenger seat, “Alright you two shitbirds you ready to do some work?”

  In the back seat they were both only faintly lit by the light from the dashboard, but it was enough light that they could each see the confusion. They rode on in silence for a bit and Quinn turned around, “Just in case your ears are still ringing from that goddamned plane ride, are you ready to do some work?”

  “Are we talking about an actual job?” LJ asked.

  “That's what I’m talking about, the boys in Dallas decided it was time to throw you two a bone.”

  The pair looked at each other, each catching a glimpse of excited amazement. Gary looked around at the landscape out his window, “Mr. Quinn, where we are?”

  “Boys, this is Richmond Virginia.”

  “Wait, we’re still in the US?” LJ asked.

  “That's right, we don't often get into politics but in the next week we are going to stick our toes in the water.”

  They rode on for a while longer and Gary asked, “How soon do we start?”

  “We already have.”

  ***

  July 5, 1976

  After working south out of Kansas City, Gary was winding his way through eastern Kansas the sun was high in the sky by now. Gary was working on just a few hours of sleep now, but as the
pressure stacked up he felt more and more at home. So many missions in the past years he had operated with no rest often for days, but he could feel now the fatigue wearing on him, and no matter how at home he felt, he was going to have to stay sharp, there were still a lot of roadblocks in his path.

  He had left his Ford on the street at Finch’s to be taken care of by someone Neil was calling. Finch had a garage just a few blocks away that was full of burner cars with clean titles. He had picked a ‘68 Chevy in a dull green color, he was really surprised that despite its look it ran quite well.

  Gary was keeping just at the speed limit knowing he had a lot of miles to go and his face had been on the news for several hours at this point. He was hoping to do without the complications of dealing with some local law enforcement as he made his way to Mexico.

  ***

  Most of the day had passed and Gary had made it through Kansas and Oklahoma. Shortly after passing the Texas border but before he arrived in Canadian, he slowed and pulled into a driveway leading to a pasture. He left the car running and went to the swinging gate, inspected the padlock and walked to the post with the hinges. Gary worked at the top of the post and slid it off, removed a key that he unlocked the gate with and replaced it.

  He rolled along through the short grass pasture, over some shallow hills and passed over a shallow stream before coming upon a windmill with a cattle tank, the remnants of an old homestead to the north.

  Gary pulled to a stop, shut off the car and got out. Though late in the day it was still hot, but the breeze blowing against his sweat dampened shirt was enough to help cool him. Gary stood there for a moment enjoying the reprieve from the heat.

  Gary walked into the old homestead, it was just as he had remembered and nothing looked as it had been disturbed. The north wall had been dug into the earth and that was the wall he concentrated on. Specifically he focused on the small closet in the wall, with the door frame hanging away from the wall slightly.

  He waved some of the spider webs out of the way and stepped inside. The room smelt damp, and felt cooler.

  In the dark he ran his hand along the top of the back of the door frame, until he came upon a switch. There was a mechanical clunk behind him and a door opened inward, a cool draft of air rushed out and he stepped inside.

  The door closed and sealed behind him as he stood on a small landing, a keypad and a door in front of him. He entered the code and the door popped open and he was at the top of a stairwell.

  Lights flickered on lighting the way and he began his descent. At the bottom he found another keypad, he thought carefully and ran though the numbers once. He would get only one chance for this one, get it right and an elevator came up from the lower level and he was fine, miss a button and one hundred fifty pounds of block TNT would detonate below his feet.

  He punched in the code, heard the mechanical whir of a DC motor slightly above his head and he waited for the elevator. When the doors opened he stepped inside, pressed the down button and traveled further into the earth below Texas.

  When the doors opened again Gary stepped out into the place he had built as his home, the place he escaped to when he was in the States. It had become his soft spot to land.

  On the far wall he saw his matchbox cars on a shelf, hand painted models on the same shelf, a collection of records and a phonograph below the records. He walked over to the wall and from his pocket he pulled the small car he had removed from Garcia’s garage. Gary gently placed the Corvette next to an orange panel van. He looked at it for a moment and then turned around.

  Off to the right his beanbags, twenty of them piled in a corner, a television on the floor of the wall opposite.

  The bags looked so inviting, but he wanted to look at the rest of the place. He felt the need to make sure everything was functioning properly.

  A cabinet on the wall housed the control switches, he checked the battery voltage, and the generators condition. There were six windmills on the property all feeding into a bank of industrial batteries which powered the complex.

  Sump pumps were green and he checked the log, their hour meters only had five hours on them since his last visit.

  The two wells and their pressure tanks were showing all was good on the water front.

  The air filter pressure differentials were still fine and there had been no alarms or tampering with any of the security on any of the panels.

  Satisfied, he closed the cabinet and went off to use the toilet. Washed his hands, face and grabbed a clean shirt from a small closet.

  After his brief efforts at personal hygiene, he made a check of the supply cabinet and pulled a chocolate bar from the shelf and ate it with a slow satisfaction. Past the stack of Spider-Man and Superman comics on a table he saw a lone picture on a bookshelf.

  The pain of working inside the United States border became ever more apparent and rose to the surface. He flopped down into the bean bags, thinking of his first work.

  Gary remembered the son of a senator from Virginia, his first target. The Senator was outspoken against the war in Vietnam, he was asking for investigations into the use of contractors, Sanford was mentioned in reports. Gary and LJ had been sent to Richmond, the message they sent to the Senator was delivered from a .308 Winchester cartridge.

  Gary’s first kill was the son of a U.S. Senator, a young man in a college sweatshirt, struck down on a street corner by a shooter 500 yards off shooting through a small hole cut in the back door of a delivery van.

  At the time he had thought the feeling of that day would last forever. It was the most exciting and the most shocking experience he had ever known, and it hooked him.

  LJ was shocked also, but it was not the exhilaration that took him. They had killed a citizen of a country he had sworn to protect, someone with no involvement in the conflict they were participating in.

  Gary thought of that evening, as LJ confessed his disgust, touted how wrong they were how they were acting outside of the boundaries of war. LJ pleaded with Gary to see the errors, but Gary could see none of it, he had tasted his victory. The next morning LJ was gone, Gary did not tell Quinn about his conversation with LJ the night before, he knew LJ would blow the lid off, he knew they were all in danger.

  Later that week Gary pushed a knife into LJ’s heart. Even in the end LJ had pleaded with Gary. He had not pleaded for his life but for Gary to see just how wrong it had been for them to have killed that young man. Gary felt only that the person closest to a brother he had ever known had betrayed him, and betrayed his purpose in life.

  Gary had kept the picture of the two of them clad in firesuits, setting on the windowsills of a pair of Impalas. He kept it deep in the earth here in his retreat, it was a memory of his friend he always cherished, the best time of his training.

  They had enjoyed the driving they had done at Laguna Seca so much, the thought made him smile even now. He looked at his Omega, and felt the softness of the bean bags. He thought for a moment, and decided that four hours would do him more benefit than harm. Flockstein would wait an extra four hours. Gary napped.

  ***

  March 20, 1967

  In six days Gary had killed two men, they were his first and his second. The first had been at distance. The after effects beyond the adrenaline spike and excitement, the aftereffects of the kill had been not much more than when he had punched holes in paper targets. The second however had not only been his friend, it had been up close and personal. Gary had snuck up on a man he trained with, a man he lived with, a man who was a trained killer and he had left with that man’s blood on his hands.

  LJ was headed to Washington D.C., his intent was to meet with Senator Dade, father of the young man they had killed. LJ had done a good job covering his tracks, but Gary knew him too well, and he knew his patterns. In the darkness in a hotel room, exhausted, LJ had been forced to try to sleep before trying to make contact with Dade.

  Gary had tracked him into Baltimore two days after LJ had left him in Richmond. He waited know
ing LJ had not always been good with sleep deprivation and Gary knew he would want to gather his thoughts before he approached Dade.

  Through a window had been the best entry, there was no doubt the door would be barricaded. The window had been tricky on the second story but Gary had managed without incident. In the room he sat, listened to his friend breathing, deep asleep.

  Gary was armed with a seven inch Ka-Bar, he held it in a gloved hand unsheathed and point down on his knee, contemplating what was about to happen. As he thought, and the longer he sat he knew he needed to get on with what was to come. He moved to the bed, knowing LJ would have his pistol near his left hand. Gary looked for the outline of the hand, slid his hand under the sheet and removed the 1911 and tossed it over to the chair. He then sat at the edge of the bed, the movement was enough to wake LJ and the fear in his eyes was undeniable when he saw Gary looking down at him.

  “Hello LJ.”

  “Gary.”

  “The look in your eyes tells me you know why I am here.”

  “Gary please think about what we have done, that kid was a bystander in some dick measuring contest, we weren't on a battlefield, he wasn't a combatant, and we have to make that right.”

  “We’re not soldiers LJ, we’ve been trained as assassins, and you know that I shouldn't even be having this conversation with you, that I should have killed you in your sleep.”

  “We may not be soldiers but we are still men, and we are Americans, don't you see we killed a young man? He was in his prime, and we killed because his father is looking to question our money stream.”

  “Yes. I see it. I killed him. I sent a message, and I hope his father gets it but if he doesn't I will be happy to deliver more messages, this is the legacy I have been given. A threat to Sanford is an attack on my family.”

  “I hope years from this night you’ll see how wrong you are, and if not God help you.”