Council of Patriots (The Corps Justice Series Marine Corps Fiction)

by C. G. Cooper

  All vestiges of Kazuo Nakamura’s calm façade disappeared. “What else has he done?!”

  “Our contact also alerted me to the fact that there might be additional SSI personnel coming to Las Vegas to conduct surveillance. He was only able to provide a brief profile of one man, a Calvin Stokes, Jr. Mr. Stokes is the heir to the company’s founder; his deceased father.”

  Kazuo stroked his beard, thinking. “Did he provide a physical description?”

  “He provided a picture from his military record. Calvin Stokes is a former Marine.”

  “Provide the photograph to the security staff at each of our hotels. If this Calvin Stokes sets foot in one of them I want him followed and apprehended…quietly.”

  “Should I use one of our teams?”

  “No. Use our Russian friends. They know how to be discreet.”

  “Yes, Father. I will take care of it.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No, Father.”

  “Our time is coming, my Son. Do well and our family will soon attain new heights within the empire.”

  Chapter 15

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  7:40pm, September 16th

  Dusk was falling as the young man prepared. He splashed cold water on his face and looked into the bathroom mirror. His strong chiseled jaw was now covered with a shaggy beard. His blonde hair, once cut to military precision, hung to his shoulders. I look more like a mountain man these days, he thought. He finished in the bathroom and walked into the bedroom to collect his clothes and his weapons. Maybe tonight God would answer his call.

  +++

  Brian and Cal hadn’t found anything of interest at the Congressman’s hotel. There were some exclusive gambling rooms filled with foreign high-dollar players and two swanky Japanese restaurants, but nothing that stood out. At least now they had a better idea of the lay of the land.

  Cal did not want to be in the hotel when Trent and the Congressman arrived. They’d already arranged a separate meeting outside of enemy territory for the next day.

  The darkening sky found the duo walking the strip, meandering with the crowds. There wasn’t any work to do tonight so they’d decided to see the sights.

  “You want to hit that new club over by Caesar’s? I think it’s free before ten.”

  “Which one is that?” Cal asked as he swerved to avoid one of the thousands of leaflet purveyors trying to get the attention of wandering tourists.

  “Motown Moscow. It’s some kind of fusion of Jazz and Communism. Rumor has it that an ex-KGB agent runs the place.”

  “Motown Moscow? I don’t know, Doc. I’m not a huge fan of jazz.”

  “Come on, Cal. Where’s your sense of adventure? Maybe they’ll have one of those crazy, frozen vodka bars with Miles Davis playing on top!”

  “Okay, okay. But if I get hit on by some seven foot tall Russian troll…”

  “Don’t worry, man. It’ll be fun. I promise to get you home before midnight.”

  Brian led the way after quickly glancing at his smart phone’s mapping app.

  +++

  “You’re sure it was him?” Ishi asked into his mobile phone. He listened for the response. “Good. Have the Russians follow and get rid of them.”

  A pre-emptive strike would impress his father. If things were coming as close to fruition as his father thought, now was the time to take action.

  +++

  “Are you sure we’re going the right way? I think we’re too far off The Strip, Doc.”

  “Hold on. Let me check again.”

  As Brian checked his phone, Cal got the nagging feeling that they were being watched. He casually glanced around, taking in the crowd. Nothing jumped out. Maybe he was tired. Just as he turned back to his friend, he caught someone’s eye. The man’s gaze lingered a breath too long. Something about the bearded man set off alarm bells in Cal’s brain.

  “We need to move, now.”

  Brian looked up from his phone. “Huh?”

  “Don’t look around. Just act casual. We’ve got a tail. Bearded giant about forty yards back.”

  Brian took Cal’s cue and followed. They weaved in and out of the packed sidewalk. Let’s see how persistent this guy is, Cal thought as he quickly turned down a small side street.

  As soon as they entered the street, Cal knew he’d made a mistake. What he’d thought was a street was just one of the many service entrances to a casino. No exits unless the back door happened to be open.

  “Shit,” Cal whispered.

  “This is a dead end, Cal.”

  “I know. Just keep going.”

  “Why do you think this guy’s following us?”

  Cal had no idea. Money? Random thuggery?

  He stole a quick look back. The bearded giant had materialized with two enormous companions. Maybe it’s time to find out what these guys want.

  Cal nudged Brian and said loudly, “Dude, this isn’t the right way!”

  Brian took the cue. “Crap! Sorry. I think we turned one street too early.”

  They swung around and saw that the three giants had quickly closed the gap. Twenty yards separated the two parties.

  “Hey, fellas! You guys know how to find Motown Moscow?” Cal asked cheerfully. Maybe the whole thing was a fluke.

  Instead of answering, the three men kept walking forward. Their wide frames moved in unison. They fanned out to surround Cal and Brian. As they stepped closer, a van screeched to a halt at the opening of the service alley. The side door banged open and two more men jumped out.

  “I guess these guys don’t want to talk,” Cal mused.

  “Yeah. Any ideas?”

  “Hey diddle diddle?” It was a private joke. Marines were fond of saying ‘Hey diddle diddle, straight up the middle’, to explain a full-frontal assault.

  Brian nodded and put his hands in his pockets. He gripped his weapons casually. “You sure we can’t talk about this guys?”

  The bearded giant spoke for the first time in a heavy Russian accent. “No talk. Now we crush you.”

  “Whatever you say, Ivan Drago. I think…” the words stuck in Cal’s throat as he noticed a figure climb over their attackers’ van and jump down on the two men waiting for their companions. As he fell, the shaggy stranger pointed two tasers at the backs of his targets. Their muted screams and Cal’s gaze drew the attention of the three hulking men. They turned their heads. Cal and Brian took advantage of the distraction and attacked.

  Cal unsheathed his knife and dropped into a squat, simultaneously slicing a clean line through the man’s left knee. The man screamed in surprise and bent to grab his injured leg. As he did, Cal sprang up pulling the man’s head down as he drove his knee up into the Russian’s nose. The man collapsed unconscious.

  Meanwhile, Brian went to work on the giant on the far right. As a combat veteran, Brian knew there was rarely such thing as a fair fight. Use any advantage you can. Instead of trying to reach a swing at the man’s head, Ramirez directed his uppercut at his groin. The man quickly joined his companion on the ground.

  The bearded giant was the only one who had a chance to retaliate. As Cal turned back to the last attacker, the wild looking stranger sprang on the larger man and landed a brutal blow to the man’s temple with what looked like a short billy club. Game over.

  “We need to get out of here,” said the longhaired newcomer. Cal noticed that the man was barely breathing heavy. His posture looked almost animalistic in its grace.

  Not wanting to wait around for the authorities, Cal agreed. “You lead the way…”

  “Daniel.”

  “You lead the way, Daniel.”

  The three men rushed to the end of the alley, replacing their weapons as they ran. Once they got to the van, they squeezed around back and disappeared into the moving crowds.

  +++

  After silently following Daniel for fifteen minutes, the trio approached an old apartment complex. Daniel walked up the only flight of stairs and opened the third door.
<
br />   He ushered his guests inside and turned on the lights.

  The apartment was small but spotless. It was sparingly appointed. No pictures, just a small kitchenette, bathroom, an old bed and some books on a shelf. It looked much newer than the exterior.

  Daniel took off his trench coat and placed it on the bed neatly. As he did Cal noticed the large tattoo on the man’s left arm. It was the trademark skull and arrowhead of Marine sniper units with the motto: ‘Swift, silent, deadly.’

  “You’re a Marine?” Cal asked.

  “I was,” Daniel answered quietly as he moved to the kitchen sink and washed his hands.

  “Me too.”

  Daniel didn’t respond except with a silent nod.

  Cal thought of what to say as he studied the other Marine. The young man looked fit and muscular. He probably stood just over six feet with dirty blonde hair and beard. Cal guessed that the guy couldn’t be more than thirty years old. Where’d this guy come from?

  Daniel turned back from the kitchen and spoke. “How’d you get involved with the Russians? Gambling debts?”

  Cal was totally confused. “You know those guys?”

  “I know WHO they are. They’re hired thugs. They split their time between security duty and breaking knee caps,” Daniel explained.

  “Let’s back up a minute, man. First off, I’m Cal and this is my buddy Brian. He was a corpsman so we all call him Doc.”

  The three men shook hands. “I’m Daniel Briggs.”

  “I guess we forgot to say thanks, Daniel,” Brian added. “How’d you happen to be nearby anyways?”

  Daniel took a second to respond. How had he known? How did he ever know where danger was? Some might call it a gift. To Daniel it often felt like a curse. He didn’t know how to explain but he tried.

  “You guys spend any time over in Iraq or Afghanistan?” he asked.

  Both men nodded.

  “You ever have a hard time sleeping?”

  “I don’t, but I have plenty of friends that do,” Cal offered.

  “Same here,” Brian added.

  Daniel paused again, praying that he was doing the right thing in telling these strangers about some of his darkest secrets.

  “Well, I’m one of the ones that couldn’t sleep. Tried alcohol for while. Didn’t take. Neither did the prescriptions. Then I found God. Now I help other people.”

  Brian and Cal looked at each other. Who was this guy? He’d obviously had some post-traumatic issues. They both knew that a lot of returning veterans had PTSD symptoms. Some of the most successful found healing through counseling and religion.

  “So what are you doing on the streets of Las Vegas?” Cal asked.

  “Long story short, I felt led here. I’m from Florida. Hopped on a bus one day. Vegas was where my bus ticket ran out. I’ve spent the last few months doing odd jobs during the day and walking the streets at night. I make sure tourists aren’t getting taken advantage of. The thieves and con artists are pretty easy to spot if you know what you’re looking for. I’ve just been waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?” Cal and Brian asked at the same time.

  “Something else. I know God will tell me when it’s time to move on.”

  Cal respected the man’s conviction. “So what about those guys tonight? How’d you know they were coming after us?”

  “Vegas is actually a pretty small town. Once you’ve been here for a spell, you start to know the characters. I’ve seen these guys on collecting duty before. They work for that Japanese-themed hotel behind the Bellagio. Usually it’s just two of them. When I saw them tonight, they looked like they were on a mission. I decided to follow. You know the rest,” Daniel finished.

  Cal and Brian stood silent for a second. So they’d been detected at Zimmer’s hotel. But what was the motive? Questions started rolling around in Cal’s head. How’d they pick out Cal and Brian? Why come after them now? Who told them? Cal had a sneaking suspicion that Congressman Brandon Zimmer had opened his big fucking mouth. He’d have to have a little talk with the arrogant prick.

  Cal filed away his thoughts for later. Back to Daniel Briggs. What do you say to a guy that looks like a crazy mountain man and spends most nights playing hero on the streets of Sin City?

  Both friends were obviously curious about the man’s past.

  “So you were a scout sniper in the Corps?”

  “Yeah. I’d never picked up a rifle before boot camp. My drill instructors said I was a natural,” Daniel explained without a hint of arrogance. “Once I finished up the School of Infantry in Lejeune, I got picked up to go to sniper school.”

  “How many tours did you do?” asked Brian.

  “Iraq once and three times to Afghanistan. Spent some time with MARSOC too.”

  So this guy had been around the block a few times. Cal would have to find out some more details from his contact at Headquarters Marine Corps.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what was your PTSD trigger?” Brian asked.

  It didn’t look like Daniel minded the question. If he’d already admitted to having sleeping issues, Brian figured he’d probably open up about the rest. It didn’t hurt that Cal and Brian had similar backgrounds: brothers-in-arms.

  “It wasn’t the killing. I never had a problem with that.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “The guys we took down were bad dudes. Most were insurgents from across the border. Some of the best shooting I ever did was over-watch for battalion. I knew I was saving Marines’ lives. It was my last tour when things went to shit. Some of our teams were getting attached to special ops groups. They wanted to double the number of snipers they were taking into the zone. So we’re on this op in the middle of shitland Afghanistan. Real nasty urban area. Full of Taliban and Al Qaeda fighters. We’d just inserted with a team of four SEALs. As soon as we fast roped to the ground and the helo banks left, insurgents took it out with a couple of RPGs. The SEALs told us to find some high ground to get a better vantage point, and they took off for the insurgent position. We tried to get indirect fire or close air support, but higher wouldn’t allow it because of the large civilian population. Me and my spotter got into one of the compounds and found the best view we could. We watched as those SEALs leapfrogged all the way to the enemy pos. It was pitch black, but we could see that two of the guys were already wounded. Those brave sons-a-bitches kept assaulting and cussing out higher over the radio. I’d just setup my Barrett .50 cal as I watched all four SEALs get mowed down by a truck-mounted machine gun. I started unloading on the fuckers. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. They kept streaming out, trying to get the bodies of our SEALs.”

  “Pretty soon they realized where our shots were coming from. They turned their fire on us. I have no idea how long I was shooting. My spotter, Grant, got hit in the shoulder almost right away. He kept calling out shots though. Finally some fucker gets smart and they start lobbing mortar rounds at us. We started pulling back into one of the only two story buildings in the area. Grant was wounded but still doing okay. Then he got hit with an AK round in the leg. Went right through his femur. Blood everywhere. I lugged my .50 cal on one shoulder and dragged Grant under the other arm. We get in the bottom floor of this building and all hell broke loose. It sounded like two or three mortar tubes thumping rounds onto us. We somehow got to the lowest part of the building before it collapsed.”

  “I don’t know how I didn’t get crushed. Grant did though. His other leg was completely smashed under the rubble. Grant tried not to scream as his leg pumped more and more blood onto the dirt floor. I applied a quick tourniquet and tried to make him comfortable. I remember telling him that someone would be there soon. Man, was I wrong.”

  “For the next two days we listened quietly as the insurgents searched the rubble pile. I don’t know how they didn’t get to us. I could even hear the fuckers cheering. Found out later that they’d mutilated the SEALs’ bodies and hung ‘em up outside where we were trapped.”

  “Our radio got lost in the explosion,
so we were shit out of luck there. I kept telling Grant that we just had to stay quiet and some of our boys would be there soon. He was delirious with pain for a day. I tried to keep him awake but he finally passed out. A day later, I couldn’t find a pulse.”

  “He died in my arms. We’d been friends since boot camp. I was the best man at his wedding. I barely had a scratch on me. A day later, I heard a lot of firing and then troops talking English. I screamed and screamed until they pinpointed where I was. They brought in the engineers and got us out. I found out later that the enemy had been waiting for us. Apparently some American politician had opened his mouth and word got to the right people on the other side. We didn’t have a chance.”

  “I spent a lot of time afterwards wondering why. I’d drink my way into a dark tunnel and wonder: why not me instead of Grant? Why did he have to leave his wife and kid? Why do politicians leak secrets? The answer I found was simple: It’s not up to me. The Man upstairs has some kind of plan. Maybe he was saving me for something. All I can do now is try my best and live up to the second chance.”

  Cal and Brian stood quietly, digesting the story.

  “So how do you sleep now?” asked Cal.

  “Like a baby most nights. I still have bad dreams every once in a while. Mostly they’re memories of Grant slowly dying in my arms, repeating his wife’s name over and over. He looks more like an angel in my dreams now.”

  “I appreciate you telling us. We’ve been in the shit a few times, too. How about you come have a drink with us so we can thank you properly?” asked Cal.

  “I don’t drink alcohol anymore, but sure. How about tomorrow night?”

  They exchanged contact information and Cal promised to call Daniel the next day to confirm. Cal and Brian said their goodbyes and walked outside.

  “You think we should change our hotel room now?” Brian asked sarcastically.

  Chapter 16

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  9:30pm, September 16th

  The large bearded Russian stood almost at attention. Ishi Nakamura paced back and forth in front of the giant.