by D. B. Silvis
Killian pursed his lips.
“So, what do you think, Killian?”
“I think we need to spend a lot more time talking about it. But right now, I don’t want to think about those things. How about we do the town tonight?”
Kip chuckled. “You’re right. You need to relax and enjoy yourself.”
Over the following three days Killian became a tourist. He visited the Lincoln Memorial, the White House, the Smithsonian, Arlington Cemetery, and the Washington Monument, which at five hundred and fifty-five feet is the world’s tallest stone structure.
Killian thoroughly enjoyed his few days of sightseeing leisure. In the evenings, he and Kip went to fine restaurants for dinner, attended plays or hit the popular night clubs in town. They had one heck of a good time.
On the fifth morning, Killian and Kip were having breakfast at the hotel restaurant.
“Kip, I’ve been thinking over what you said about my needing to separate my ties to the KF Dude Ranch. I agree with you. The situation is too dangerous for me. Sooner or later, someone is going to get wise to me, or one of the younger Freeman children will tell someone about their uncle Killian, who never ages.”
“I’m glad you agree, Killian.”
“However, I’d like to go back one more time. I want to see Peter, Tillie, Jacob and Rosita. They’re now in their late seventies. If I wait a few years I may never see them again. Plus, I’d like to see the ranch, and spend a day riding the trails.”
“I understand,” said Kip.
“And, Kip, I’d like you to go with me.”
Kip thought about it, “Why not? It’ll be good for me to get away from the city, and politics for a few days.”
The next morning they were on a plane to El Paso, Texas. During the flight they discussed the things Killian needed to do while in El Paso. First, he needed to set up a financial plan for the ranch, and decide what to do with the profits on his fifty-one per cent ownership. Secondly, he needed to inform the Freemans that he was going on a special mission, and would be out of the country for a few years.
Upon landing, they rented a car, and drove over to Crossland and Sons accounting firm. Years ago, when Killian had decided to give the Freeman family forty-nine per cent ownership of the ranch, he had hired Gary Crossland, a CPA, to handle the ranch’s yearly taxes, and other related matters. Now Killian had decided to make some changes in the way his profits were to be distributed.
When they pulled up in front of the ranch’s hotel, the Freemans assumed they were new customers. The younger Freemans, who took their bags from the car, didn’t recognize them. But, when they entered the lobby the faces of the older Freemans beamed, and there were delighted screams and laughter. They surrounded Kip and Killian, shook their hands and hugged them. The word spread, and more and more of the Freeman family showed up. The lobby became almost like a party. That evening there was a special barbecue, with music, singing and dancing.
The following day Killian and Kip took a long ride along the miles of trails that crisscrossed the ranch. Killian wallowed in the beautiful landscape he knew so well. His mind wandered back to when he was a boy, working their small plot of land with his father. He thought of his mother, and when he had first hired Chester Freeman. He thought of the day they had bought the horses from the 1st Cavalry at Fort Bliss, and when the soldiers, like Kip, had come back from the war to reclaim their old mounts.
They stopped by a small pond, dismounted to stretch their legs, and let the horses drink the cool water. Killian stood and silently looked around him.
Kip noticed sadness in his friend. “You’re going to miss the ranch, aren’t you?”
“Yes. In the past, every time I left, I knew I’d be returning, but not this time.”
“It’s not forever, Killian. Some day you will return.”
“What makes you say that? We’ve agreed I shouldn’t return.”
“No, not in the near future, but you’re going to live for a long time. It’s sad that the older Freemans will die, and you’ll never see them again. However, years from now you could return, maybe pretending to be your own son, the heir to your ranch.”
Killian thought about it. “That’s a strange scenario, Kip. I’m not sure I like it.”
“I’m sorry, but it could happen.”
“It would be weird, my friend.”
“But you don’t have to give up your ranch; you just can’t live here all the time.”
“Many people wish they could live forever, Kip. But, in a way, it’s a curse.”
They mounted their horses, and rode back to the ranch. In the evening after dinner, and when the small Freeman children were put to bed, Kip, Killian and the Freeman adults sat outside on the large verandah.
“It’s been wonderful coming back and seeing all of you,” Killian told them. “I’ve missed you very much. I’m glad to see you’re all so happy and doing well. I wish we could stay longer, but Kip and I must leave in the morning.”
“Oh, not so soon, Killian, you just got here,” said Tillie.
“It’s important that we leave. I only came to see you, and take care of some business. When we arrived we went to see Mr. Crossland, the ranch’s CPA. I made changes to what’s to happen to the profits of my fifty-one per cent ownership of the ranch. Starting next month, one third of my profit will be put in a reserve fund for the ranch. It will be used for emergencies, to help keep the ranch in good repair. Then one third will be donated to the NCAI, which is the National Congress of American Indians. Kip and I both want to help the Indian nation. We’re very disturbed with their plight, especially over what has happened at the government’s boarding schools. The last third of my profits will put in a savings account for me by the Crossland firm.”
“Killian, you have always been a generous man. It’s good of you to give money to the Indians and to put funds in reserve for the preservation of the ranch, but we’ll be sad to see you leave,” said Peter.
He and other members of the family stood up, came over to Killian and hugged him. There were tears in everyone’s eyes.
Early the next morning, after breakfast, Killian handed Peter the title to his 1940 Chevy pickup.
“Take good care of my truck, Peter. It’s been good to me over the years.”
Kip and Killian left for the airport.
A short time later, they were onboard a plane heading for Washington, D.C. As they sipped on cocktails, they discussed the possibility of Killian getting involved with the CIA’s Special Operations Group.
“Killian, are you one hundred per cent sure you want me to meet with the CIA’s Deputy Director of Plans, William Spencer, who’s the head of the Specialized Skilled Officers unit?”
“Kip, it seems to fit what I’m best at doing. You know I want to serve my country.”
Kip didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds. “There is something we haven’t discussed.”
Killian turned in his seat and faced his friend. “What?”
“Once I’ve talked to Director Spencer and discussed with him the possibility of his engaging the group we’ve fabricated, and he agrees to do so, then our present friendship, to a large degree, will be curtailed.”
“Why?”
“Because, Killian, as soon as I strike an agreement with them on your behalf I will be under constant surveillance. Remember, part of our deal with them is that they won’t have any contact with you. Their only contact will be through me. I know them. They’re going to try to find out who I’m dealing with.”
“You’re right. I hadn’t thought about that. They’re going to be watching you like a hawk.”
“That’s for damn sure. They’ll bug my phone, office, apartment, car and anything else that might lead them to you, or I should say the group we’ve invented.”
For a short time they lapsed into silence.
“So have you come up with a way for us to communicate?” asked Killian.
“Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I may have the
answer.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“Well, Director Spencer is friends with my parents and my grandfather. He’d never suspect either of them of helping me to conceal your identity. You need a place to live, and you’re very good with horses. You’ll live at my grandfather’s ranch in Virginia, and be a part-time trainer for his racehorses. The old man will get a kick out of being involved in the security of our mission. I go home to Virginia quite often, now more than ever, since I met a woman who’s the daughter of one of our neighbors.”
Killian looked at him. They both smiled.
“You didn’t tell me about her, Kip. Is it serious?”
“It’s leaning that way.”
Killian grinned. “Good. You need someone to settle you down.”
They laughed.
“I believe if you’re working part-time at the ranch, it will be a perfect cover. Director Spencer would never expect it, and I can make casual contact with you whenever necessary.”
“It all makes sense. It’s a good plan. Now tell me more about this new woman in your life.”
CHAPTER 8
Upon their return to Washington, D.C., Congressman Kipling Smith called the CIA’s Deputy Director of Plans, William Spencer, and made an appointment to meet with him in three days. Then he and Killian drove down to his grandfather’s ranch in Virginia. When they pulled into the driveway Killian pointed to the wrought iron archway that spelled ZS RANCH.
“Zachary Smith, my grandfather,” said Kip.
They pulled up next to the ranch house in time for Kip to catch sight of his grandfather getting out of the long rectangular pool. Zack waved to them as he started to towel off. They got out of the car, and walked over to the pool.
“Hey, Kip, it’s good to see you! Who’s that strong-looking man you’ve got with you?”
“He’s your new trainer.”
Kip’s grandfather shot him a curious look.
“I want you to meet my good friend, whom I’ve often told you about, Killian Kilkenny.”
“Why, sure, good God, Kip’s mentioned you so many times I feel like I’ve already met you.” Zack and Killian shook hands. “You’re darn welcome here, Killian, it’s good to finally meet you.”
“Likewise, Mr. Smith.”
“Call me Zack, everyone does.”
Killian smiled. “I can do that.”
“Good. I was about to pour a drink. Can I get you boys one?”
“I’ll fix them, Zack. I know what you like.”
Kip stepped over to the poolside bar, and began to mix the drinks. Zack put on a brown terrycloth robe and sat down. “Have a seat, Killian. Make yourself to home.”
Kip handed Zack and Killian their drinks. “That’s why we’re here, Zack. I’d like Killian to live here for a while, and work as one of your horse trainers.”
Zack nodded, “Why not? From what you’ve told me in the past, Killian’s pretty damn good with horses.”
“He’s the best, Zack.”
Kip then told Zack why he wanted Killian working at the ranch. He informed him about his upcoming meeting with Director Spencer, and his hopes of getting Killian working on reconnaissance, and covert operations with the CIA.
Zack frowned. “That Spencer a tough old cob, no offense, Killian, but a person really has to cut the mustard to be one of his men. Being a good horseman, and able to handle a gun won’t be enough for him.”
Kip and Killian shared a smile.
“Zack, I’m the only person who knows what I’m about to tell you. I’ve assured Killian you’re a man who would never divulge a secret that was entrusted to him.”
“You know that to be the honest truth, Kip,” said Zack.
“Grandfather, never in your life have you ever heard a story like the one I’m about to tell you.”
Zack knew it must be serious, as Kip never called him grandfather unless he was talking about a matter of great importance.
Kip then told Zack about the real Killian. It was the first time in Kip’s life that his grandfather didn’t interrupt him during a story. The old man hardly even took a drink as he listened intently to his grandson. When Kip had finished Zack stared at Killian.
“Is it possible, Killian?” he said at last. He was clearly stunned.
“Yes, sir, it is,” Killian answered. Then he stood up and, in front of Zack’s unbelieving eyes, transformed into a black man. “This, sir, is how I enlisted in the 1st Cavalry as a Buffalo Soldier.” Then he transformed back.
“Jesus Christ, I need another drink!” Zack held his glass out to Kip. “And make it a strong one.”
Kip took Zack’s glass as he and Killian laughed at the old man’s reaction. Over the next hour, the three men sat talking and drinking, as Zack had a number of questions.
Zack studied Killian with wonder. “Holy Moses, I’m seventy-one years old and you’re fifty years older than me, isn’t that something? Well, as long as you’re going to be living here, you and I are going to be sitting out here by the pool doing a lot of drinking and talking. I need to hear all about your life. Damn, it’s really got to be something!”
“Oh God Killian, what have I gotten you into?” said Kip, roaring with laughter.
That evening, Kip took Killian next door to meet his parents. Kip’s mother, Jesse, was excited to meet the man her son introduced as his best friend. Kip’s dad, Arthur, mixed them all his favorite welcoming drink, a whiskey Manhattan, while telling Killian it was about time he came to Virginia to visit them.
Three days later, Kip entered Deputy Director Spencer’s over-sized office. They shook hands.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, director.”
“No problem, Kip… ah, I guess I should call you congressman now.”
“Kip is fine, sir.”
“Yes, that’s more natural for me. I’ve been calling you Kip since you were knee high to a grasshopper,” said the deputy director, chuckling.
“You’ve been a friend of our family for a long time, sir.”
“That I have. How are your parents, and that spirited and spunky grandfather of yours?”
“They’re just fine. Always on the go, as usual.”
“That’s good! Now, on the phone, you said you had something you thought would be of great interest to me.”
“Yes, sir, I do. I’m aware that five years ago a covert wing, called the Office of Policy Coordination, was created by the CIA. I’m also aware of your Special Activities Division, which includes the Special Operations Group. I’m especially interested in the Specialized Skill Officers unit in the SOG group.”
“Kip, how do you know about these groups, and why are you interested in them?”
“For the past few months I’ve been on the Armed Forces committee. One of the things I’ve learned is you have independent agents who either work as individuals or in small groups.”
“That’s supposed to be classified information, Kip.”
“It may be, sir, but like you, I have friends,” said Kip, grinning.
“All right, let’s say we do. Why are you interested?”
“As you know, during the Second World War, I was a captain in the 1st Cavalry. Recently I have been contacted by a soldier, who I’ve known for some time. When I first met him, he was a sergeant working special reconnaissance missions. He now represents a small group, who would like to be involved with the Specialized Skilled Officers unit. They’re skilled in recon, clandestine, and covert operations.”
Director Spencer sat looking at Kip. He didn’t say anything for close to thirty seconds. Then he leaned forward. “Why didn’t they contact us directly?”
“They don’t wish to be commissioned by the CIA. They want to work independently and incognito.”
The director remained silent.
Kip continued. “I know their capabilities. I have personally seen what they can do, as a group or individually. I can guarantee you, sir; you do not have operatives working for you with their attributes.”
“Pretty high praise, especially when I’m sure you’re aware of what some of our agents have achieved.”
“I do know. However, Director Spencer, you need this group I’m offering you.”
“Why? And how many are there in the group?” asked the director.
“The why is, they’ve fought in many of our wars, as Germans in World War II, as South Koreans in the Korean War and as American Indians. I’m not at liberty to say how many there are in the group.”
The director smiled. “That’s quite a group, Americans, Germans, Koreans and Indians. What’s the group called? Do they have a name?”
“They refer to themselves as The Chameleons.”
“The Chameleons, well that’s sort of appropriate under the circumstances,” said the director, with a grin.
Kip waited for his next question.
“Kip, other than your recommendation, and the fact they’re experienced soldiers, what reason would I have to employ them? What are their outstanding qualifications?”
“They meet your qualifications of being intelligent, experienced in recon, camouflage, skilled in all weapons, and in hand-to-hand combat. They have been wounded, and came back strong. And, very important to any mission, combined they fluently speak over twenty languages.”
Director Spencer looked directly at Kip. “Russian?” he asked.
“If one of them was standing in front of your desk, speaking to you in Russian, you’d swear they were born and raised in Russia,” Kip assured him.
“It doesn’t seem possible I haven’t heard about this group before.”
“They’ve just recently assembled, for the purpose we’re now discussing.”
“Where are they now?” asked the director.
“They’re in the U.S., on R and R, sir.”
Spencer smiled. “Well, I guess even your so-called super-group needs rest and recuperation from time to time, Kip.” He sat bouncing his fingertips together. “How do I get in touch with these chameleon soldiers?”