by C. G. Cooper
As Cal drove the rest of the way back to the hotel, Daniel sent the requested information to Neil Patel.
At almost the same moment Steve Stricklin was sending a similar request to FBI headquarters regarding Calvin Stokes, Jr. and Daniel Briggs.
+++
“What do you mean I can’t have the files?” Stricklin asked angrily into the phone.
“They’re tagged above your access level, sir,” responded the after-hours FBI dispatcher.
Stricklin had tried unsuccessfully to access anything about Cal or Daniel. After hitting a wall, he’d called the Hoover Building. Something wasn’t right with the situation. He’d never been denied access to records. Well, except for that one time he’d tried to dig into an old supervisor’s personal file. He’d received a verbal warning for that.
“Let me see who I can get on the line. I’ll call you back.”
Stricklin killed the call. What was Stokes up to?
+++
Neil had all the information Cal needed by the time he and Daniel walked into their shared room with a bag of half-eaten fast food. They had SSI’s tech genius on speaker phone.
“You’re not gonna believe this, Cal. This guy tried accessing both of your records.”
Cal glared at the phone. “Did he get in?”
“Who do you think I am?” came Neil’s exasperated voice. “Of course he didn’t get in. I wrapped them up tight.”
“I thought you’d already taken care of that,” said Cal.
There was moment’s silence. It wasn’t often that someone got around Neil’s tricks.
“I hadn’t really taken into account that someone from their Internal Affairs Division might want to see our files. IA agents get more access. What’s this guy got against you anyway?”
“It’s a long story. Did you find out why he’s down here?”
“Yeah. Looks like it’s just dumb luck. He volunteered to augment the Bureau’s pre-event investigation staff. He left Birmingham last night after a couple days hammering the local agents about some whistleblower claim.”
“Why do you think he volunteered?” Daniel asked.
“I’ll send you his personnel record, but I think it’s to be around VIPs, or maybe just to chill at the beach. From what I was able to scan of his profile assessment, this Stricklin guy is a real piece of work. You should see the things the FBI psychologist called him. Bet you a million bucks he wanted to pick up chicks at the beach and stand next to the first lady.”
“That sounds like Stricklin,” growled Cal. “Any way you can get this guy reassigned?”
“When’s the event?”
“Ten tomorrow morning.”
“If I had a little more time, maybe. I could drop a note to a couple of our contacts…”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to waste your time on this guy,” said Cal. “We’ll take care of him if he becomes a problem.”
“You’re not thinking about…” Neil started.
“I’m not that stupid, Neil. We’ll just avoid the guy.”
“Oh. Okay.” Neil sounded relieved. He was one of a small cadre within SSI that knew what Cal and Daniel had been doing over the preceding months, namely killing people quietly.
“Did you send over Stricklin’s file?” asked Cal.
“I did. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Cal asked about the progress of what Neil had dubbed Operation Pest Control. The two Marines listened to Neil’s report, thanked him, and ended the call.
“You need me?” Daniel asked.
“No. Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll scan through this stuff on Stricklin. I won’t be up long.”
“Wake you at zero five?”
“Yeah.”
As Daniel got ready for bed, Cal read Stricklin’s file. Memories came rushing back from his time in the Marine Corps. To those uneducated in Marine lingo and performance review, Stricklin’s record would seem satisfactory, if not above average. There were, however, indirect ways for reviewing officers to insert traits like ‘indecisive’ and comments like ‘more training suggested in X area,’ or the absence of a ‘recommended for promotion’ that were red flags to those in the know. Cal wasn’t surprised to see Stricklin’s fitness reports peppered with such subtle verbiage. To someone like Cal, Stricklin’s entire Marine Corps personnel file, minus the mind-boggling recommendation from some major, screamed “SHITTY OFFICER.”
Cal wasn’t as familiar with the FBI ranking system, and yet he saw similar currents of politically correct wording used to describe Special Agent Steve Stricklin’s performance. If he hadn’t been so annoyed at Stricklin’s appearance, Cal might have laughed at the private evaluation by the FBI shrink that Stricklin had never been given access to. It included words like conniving, self-aggrandizing, calculating and sub-par.
If he’d had time, he would have sent the evals to SSI’s resident head examiner Dr. Higgins for advice on how to handle the FBI agent. A former lead CIA interrogator and psychiatrist, the portly doctor was the best Cal had ever met. That was saying a lot considering Cal’s usual distrust for ‘non-medical’ doctors.
Finished with his perusal, Cal stowed his laptop and hurried to get ready for bed. He was sure that one way or another, the next day would be interesting.
Chapter 12
Orange Beach, Alabama
6:03am, December 18th
“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll be fine. Yes, Jerry says everything’s taken care of.” The first lady paused to listen to her husband’s third protest and nodded to the head of her protection detail. “I told you, I’m not going to let these murderers stop me from helping the American people. Aren’t you the one always saying that we should continue living our lives despite attacks?” She smiled at the president’s reply.
“I love you too. Don’t worry, I’ll get you and the girls a couple autographs. We’ll call after the event. Bye, honey.”
The first lady put down the secure phone and looked up at her security detail. There were four male and one female Secret Service agents waiting patiently.
“Everything okay, ma’am?” Jerry Laskin, the head of her detail, asked. He’d been with her for three years and they’d developed a good working relationship.
“Just fine, Jerry. You know the president, always worried about me.”
“I think this time he has reason to be worried,” said Jerry, pointing down at the hot pink bandage on the first lady’s leg.
“For the last time, I’m fine.” The slightest hint of annoyance crossed her face, but was instantaneously covered by her signature smile. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve got the extra teams doing another sweep and the supplemental x-ray machines just arrived. I’m about to run over and take a look at them.”
“What about the crowd? Is there a line yet?”
“Around the block. The local PD has the sidewalks roped off.”
“Good. I don’t want anyone getting run over. Please do everything you can to ensure the event runs smoothly.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
The first lady walked back into the hotel bedroom to finish getting ready.
“You two stay here,” Laskin said to the bald male agent and the gruff female agent. “I’ll be back before she leaves.” He pointed to where the first lady had disappeared.
As the eighteen-year Secret Service veteran left the room, he said a silent prayer that the concert go off without a hitch. He’d been off-duty the day of the attack at the Air and Space Museum. He wasn’t going to be farther than ten feet from the first lady anytime she stepped in public for as long as he was in charge.
+++
6:00am
Cal and Daniel left the hotel in a cab, not wanting to have the hassle of finding parking. Worst case they could walk back. It was something they’d done plenty of times in the Corps.
The driver dropped them off two blocks from the amphitheater. Four minutes later they checked in with the Secret Service agent man
ning a side gate. It didn’t hurt that they were on the list. After putting on their lanyards holding their all-access security badges, the two Marines entered the venue and began their inspection.
+++
6:51am
“You ready, Mikey?” The man in a fluorescent blue tank top with a sailfish on the front asked his companion.
“Yeah.” The other man, wearing a pair of board shorts and a white t-shirt that said, ‘Redneck & Proud,’ rubbed his stomach like it was bothering him. “Let me take another shit before we start walkin’.”
“Fuck. That’s yer third one this mornin’. What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t know. I’ll be right back.”
After a fair bit of groaning, and another flush, Mikey emerged.
“You light a match?”
“Shut up. Let’s go.” The man’s face was drawn and pale. Sweat beaded heavily on his brow.
“You don’t look so good.”
“I said shut up.”
The sick man’s cohort grunted and led the way out.
+++
8:00am
The amphitheater opened its doors to the swarm of patrons. A steady stream of concert-goers passed through one of many metal detectors or x-ray machines. Some were chosen at random for more invasive searches. Most were somber and respectful, aware of the heightened presence of security personnel after the attack that injured the first lady and killed the vice president.
Much of the crowd looked to be from out of town, which wasn’t uncommon for the occasion. The typical fans for the artists performing were more left-leaning than right. The citizenry of Orange Beach was comprised of mostly southern conservatives, a group not known for their adoration of the first lady and her Hollywood friends.
There were, of course, exceptions. Some came merely to see the first lady and her entourage of celebrities. Others came because of curiosity. It helped that the event was heavily subsidized and most tickets could be purchased for as little as fifteen dollars.
Cal and Daniel watched the mass as they meandered in and found their seats. They’d talked to most of the security team and agreed that the location was as secure as it was going to get. There was always added danger in an open air event, but the prior attack in D.C. proved that it could happen anywhere.
“You getting that tingly vibe of yours?” asked Cal.
Daniel had a sixth sense for danger. He could sniff it out like he had a direct line to a higher power. It often elicited a friendly ribbing from the other SSI operators because they all knew of his quiet, yet strong, religious faith.
Daniel shook his head. “I can’t believe the president is letting her do this. They’re just asking for trouble.”
Cal shrugged. He’d tried to dissuade the president as recently as the night before, but it wasn’t to be. Despite his reservations, the president had deferred to his wife and her security team. “She’s in good hands, Cal,” he’d said. “Besides, won’t you be looking out for her too?”
It wasn’t Cal’s job to look out for the first lady, but like any good Marine, he took his marching orders with a dutiful, “Yes, sir.”
As was their manner, the Marines silently observed the growing throng, ready for anything.
+++
9:10am
Mikey had perked up during the walk to the concert, likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol consumed from the tiny bottles of liquor his partner had stashed in every conceivable place on his person.
Both men were sporting soothing buzzes as they passed through the metal detectors. The shot-sized bottles of booze had all been consumed and thrown away prior to hitting the checkpoint. Neither man set off the alarm and the agents inspecting didn’t see the need for additional screening.
+++
9:28am
The Secret Service suburban pulled up to the curb. Agents arranged themselves around the vehicle and along the path leading into the amphitheater’s holding area. The first lady, looking elegant yet modern in a form-fitting knee length linen periwinkle dress, stepped out the SUV and smiled at the large agent offering her his hand.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she smiled warmly, gingerly lowering herself onto the pavement. Her recent wounds were still raw, but the painkillers had helped.
“Right this way, ma’am.” The first lady followed, encircled by her detail.
+++
9:31am
Daniel nudged Cal. “Here she comes.”
They watched as the first lady took in the open air arena, pointing and waving to fans as she moved slowly across the stage.
+++
9:32am
Mikey watched as the first lady made her pre-event rounds. He even waved and forced a smile despite the aching pain in his stomach.
+++
10:00am
The crowd roared as the first lady stepped out with four of the country’s biggest stars, who smiled and waved, deferring to their host as she stepped up to the microphone.
“Good morning, everyone!” The masses roared back in glee. “I’m so glad you could make it today. As you can see,” the hostess pointed to her leg with a wince, “I’m on the mend, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Another excited roar. “In case you don’t recognize my friends here, let me introduce you to…”
+++
10:04am
Special Agent Stricklin finagled a last minute entrance to the event by flashing his FBI badge and threatening a lowly security guard with an investigation. He’d somehow made it to the far side of the venue, wanting to get a clear view of the place.
Stokes wasn’t making any attempt to stay hidden. He was clearly visible from Stricklin’s position. “What is he up to?” Stricklin asked.
“What’s that?” a scantily clad coed yelled back to him, batting her eyes.
Scowling, Stricklin pulled out his badge and shoved it in the poor girl’s face. She paled and turned to get closer to the stage.
+++
10:07am
The first act, a popular soul singer, was just winding up on stage. Soothing melodies wafted over the crowd, hushing their cheers and enducing a hypnotic swaying.
Cal ignored the singer. His eyes continued to scan the crowd, looking for anything unusual.
“See anything?”
“No.” The sniper’s eyes swept the throng with practiced precision. If anyone could find an attacker, it was Daniel.
“Keep looking.”
+++
10:10am
Mikey did his best to move with the crowd. They’d been inching closer and closer to stage. Most people let them pass, but scowled disapprovingly when they saw who was moving through.
The nausea returned and Mikey grabbed his friend’s arm to steady himself.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Just got bumped is all.”
“I still can’t believe you wanted to come to this thing. You in love with the president’s wife or something?”
Mikey flashed a weak grin. “Naw. Just wanted to see if you were turning into a liberal Nancy.”
His friend laughed and turned back to the stage. Mikey grimaced and and fell forward.
+++
10:12am
Burly security guards hopped over the short barricade and moved to the man lying on the ground. “Are you okay, sir?” one of the guards yelled over the music.
Mikey was writhing on the ground, his friend kneeling down to see what he could do.
“Go get my medicine,” Mikey said so only his companion could hear.
“Right now? Where is it?”
“Back in our room,” he motioned for his buddy to come closer. “Stay there until after.” Mikey’s eyes burned with intensity. His friend nodded and backed away, turning to the guards, who were having a hard time holding the curious crowd back. “I, uh, have to run and get his medicine.”
The head guard reached down to start moving the sick man. “We’ll take him to the first aid station. You can pick him up there.”
; Mikey’s friend moved off to find the nearest exit. His friend looked bad. He hoped the medicine would help.
+++
10:15am
Cal had watched the scene from afar. It looked like someone had had too much to drink. The troop of security guards had finally loaded the prostrate man onto a yellow stretcher and were easing their way through the crowd. He’d seen the friend leave moments earlier and had ordered a reluctant Daniel to follow him.
Now alone, Cal watched as the guards moved, keeping his eyes glued to the passage.
+++
10:16am
“Shit.” The man observing the medical extraction from half a mile away put down his telescopic lens and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. The redneck had passed out early. A number flashed onto the screen. He pressed DIAL.
Three seconds later, a BOOM sounded from the arena. The man calmly palmed the phone, threw it into the waterway below, made his way to the ground floor of the rented home and slid into the waiting car.
Episode 3
Chapter 13
Orange Beach, Alabama
10:18am, December 18th
The semi-retiree looked up from his newspaper. The man with a neatly trimmed grey hair and goatee sat nursing a coffee and mild hangover looking forward to a day of cruising the deserted coast on his black 2002 Fatboy Harley Davidson. He’d polished his baby up the night before.
The explosion was close. He knew the area well. He’d lived in Orange Beach for years and had either ridden or stumbled through most of its roadways and byways. The amphitheater was ten blocks from his one bedroom condo.
He’d heard about the first lady’s visit, as had anyone who read or watched the news in the off-season beach town. Not that he cared other than to grumble about the increased traffic on the normally barren streets. A familiar prickle flitted up his neck. It had never failed to warn him of danger.
More curious than concerned, Maynor slipped on his black leather riding vest with Leathernecks U.S.M.C and an eagle, globe and anchor emblazened in Marine Corps red and yellow on the back, pocketed his Colt 1911 and slipped the sheathed Kabar into the back of his waistband.