Secondary Targets

by Sandra Edwards

  Eric removed the locker’s contents—two briefcases—and nothing or no one interfered. They may not have had company, however unwanted, but there was plenty of anxiety to go around as he handed one of the attaché cases to Marcus.

  The trepidation stayed with Eric and accompanied him outside, where he and Marcus strolled to the parking garage across the street. Although dressed in a casual manner, anyone taking notice of either of them would have assumed they were simply two entrepreneurial businessmen returning from or arriving on a business trip.

  “This was too easy,” Eric said, slipping into the parking garage’s elevator.

  “I know what you mean.” Marcus gave the parking interior one last sweep before stepping into the elevator with Eric.

  Eric hit button number three and the doors closed. The compartment began its ascension and his heart pounded with a terrible foreboding that things were somehow going to get worse.

  The elevator opened at level three, and a comforting feeling bundled around Eric when he laid eyes on the rental car just a few paces away. He paused at the driver’s door long enough for a quick sweeping analysis of the garage before he got into the car.

  “This is really unbelievable.” Baffled confusion shook Eric. Had they really walked into Grand Central Station and confiscated the briefcases with absolutely no resistance at all? Finally, hopefully, at least, the mystery would be solved.

  “I expected an army of opposition to be waiting for us here,” Marcus said, and Eric felt better knowing they were on the same page.

  “So did I.” Eric started the engine and shifted the car into gear. “That’s why I didn’t want Grace tagging along,” he added, backing out of the parking space.

  “She’s safe with Cher.” There was certainty in Marcus’s voice. He believed his words, and that offered Eric a measure of encouragement.

  He wasn’t sure about much of anything else, but he was confident the General’s briefcases would tell the tale. In fact, he was counting on it. Eric cruised to the exit.

  “What’s in the briefcases?” he asked, merging into the traffic on 42nd Street.

  Marcus opened one of the attaché’s and it was filled with stacks of money and a cluster of passports. Eric spotted the goods in his peripheral vision. He stole a quick look for confirmation.

  Yep. The case contained a ton of cash and several travel permits.

  Eric snatched up one of the passports and expertly maneuvered the steering wheel and inspected the pamphlet at the same time. It contained a much younger photo of Eric, but with a new name.

  He tossed the passport back into the case and grabbed a couple more. Another of him, the photograph just as old as the other, but with a different name. He tossed it aside and inspected another. This time, one of Grace and just as Eric expected, she too had a different name.

  “What the hell...?” Eric’s confusion mounted as Marcus riffled through the briefcase, finding several birth certificates and numerous drivers licenses from various states for both Eric and Grace—all with a variety of names.

  The items fell from Marcus’s hands as he looked at Eric. If he was trying to hide his bewilderment, he’d done a poor job of it. “There are identities here for you and Grace. Lots of them.” Confusion creased his brow and lit his face with uncertainty. “There’s a ton of cash. Swiss bank account numbers. You name it, it’s here.”

  The briefcase drew Marcus back and he came out with an envelope addressed to Grace and Eric.

  The mystery clouding Eric’s mind thickened instead of clearing. “What’s that?”

  “I think it’s from the General,” Marcus said. “Maybe it’s an explanation.”

  “And maybe it’s just a plea for Grace’s forgiveness,” Eric countered. The General loved his daughter. Her forgiveness would be of the utmost importance to him—right next to her safety.

  “So, you want to wait and let her open it?” Marcus asked.

  Yes, Eric nodded.

  Marcus only had the opportunity to go through the one case by the time they’d arrived back at the safe house, and by now Eric was consumed with anxiety. He didn’t know how he knew, he just knew—something was wrong. If only he knew what.

  He guided the car into the garage and a storm of chaos campaigned effortlessly inside his head.

  “Let’s bring the cases into the house.” Eric had barely shifted into park before he blew out of the car, briefcase in hand, and rushed toward the door leading into the house.

  That sinking feeling intensified. He entered the house through the kitchen, calling her name. “Grace...?”

  Nothing.

  He heard nothing but the sound of Marcus’s footsteps following close behind.

  His heart clamored against his chest as he passed through the kitchen and they laid the briefcases onto the counter before moving into the living room. The turmoil squatting in his thoughts finally gave credence to the tension invading his soul from the moment he’d left Grace earlier.

  It looked like a cyclone had hit the house. Furniture lay askew, ripped apart. Tables were overturned. Drawers had been rummaged through. Lamps broken. Eric’s heart slammed to the floor at the thought of the struggle that had undoubtedly taken place.

  They set about canvassing the place, hoping against hope that they’d find Grace and Cherilyn hiding in some corner, scared out of their wits.

  Eric’s fear manifested from the depths of his soul and consumed him. Just please, God, don’t let her be dead.

  Room by room, floor by floor, they found the house was empty. Anger and a bit of self-condemnation were Eric’s invading emotions as he slowly began to accept that Grace was no longer in the house.

  “I am such a freaking idiot!” Eric’s frustration escaped. “Why didn’t I see this coming?”

  His raked his hand over his Marine Corps buzz haircut. He trotted down the stairs and stilled in the living room briefly before he began pacing the length of the overturned couch.

  Marcus stopped near the stairs and propped his hands on his hips.

  “You looked in all the closets?” Eric asked. “I mean, they could be hiding,” he added, more hopeful than anything.

  Marcus shook his head. Cherilyn would never be found cowering in some corner. Only one of three scenarios was plausible in this case. She’d either, one, killed them, which wasn’t likely since neither she nor Grace was there. Two, she and Grace had been killed. Or three, at best, she and Grace had been taken hostage.

  If Cherilyn was still alive, there was a good chance he could save her. Marcus had to hold onto that notion.

  “Look, we can’t lose our cool now,” Marcus said, secretly hoping he could follow his own advice. “We have to remain calm so we can figure out where they’ve taken them.”

  Finding Cherilyn and Grace was their one and only option.

  The telephone rang. Eric and Marcus looked at each other.

  “Answer it,” he said to Eric. The feeling of dread washed over Marcus. This couldn’t be good.

  Eric picked up the phone. “Yes...” Nerves cracked his voice.

  “Bring the General’s things to the Bremerson and Tichner warehouse.” A technically altered and unidentifiable voice ordered. “It’s on the docks along the East River, near the Brooklyn Bridge. Bremerson and Tichner’s warehouse. And no funny business, Wayne. You’ve got an hour or the little lady gets it.”

  The line went dead.

  “We have an hour to get to Bremerson and Tichner’s warehouse.” Eric repeated the gist of the instructions to Marcus. He paused, catching his breath and then said, “Let’s go.” He didn’t wait for Marcus’s response, just headed for the door.

  Eric charged through the kitchen and nabbed a briefcase on his way out into the garage. Marcus followed, hot on his trail with the second case.

  Car doors slammed, seatbelts buckled, and Eric started the engine. Fuel, thick smoke, and the smell of burning rubber filled the garage as Eric threw the car in reverse and stomped on the gas, barreling out into the
driveway.

  Eric didn’t have the slightest clue as to where he was going. He was about as familiar with New York as the Middle East was with democracy. But he wasn’t going to let a little thing like that keep him down. He just needed to figure out which he wanted Marcus to do first—open the envelope or figure out where the warehouse was located.

  If he was going to stand the slightest chance of saving Grace, he had to know what was in that envelope. He glanced at Marcus. “Read me that letter.”

  Eric guided his attention back to the street. Sorry, Gracie.

  CHAPTER 37

  The Story of Michael Hendricks

  HE hadn’t always been Michael Hendricks. But what’s in a name, really. It’s just semantics. This one was merely one of many identities he’d invented for himself in his service for an organization that had no name and technically didn’t exist. At least not on paper. And most certainly not on any verifiable level.

  But to say that he was in the employ of this group would not be entirely correct. It was more accurate to say that he was one of the organization’s co-founders.

  The sixties, the decade of free love and experimentation was quietly giving way to the seventies, the decade of passivism. This was all fine and well except that a few choice individuals felt the United States was in big trouble. One of these individuals was a man the Marine Corps would later come to know as Michael Hendricks.

  Certain the country was headed for a major meltdown, he and others were convinced they had to step in and put a stop to the decline of western freedom and all it afforded.

  It started as mostly a trial and error venture, and later thrived due to the brilliant mastermind of Hendricks. He had a knack for knowing, within hours, when he’d implemented a plan that couldn’t possibly work. And he was also adept at figuring out, just as quickly, how to fix the problem.

  It didn’t take a lot of effort to realize they needed the element of anonymity for the organization to thrive and prosper. More than anything else, Hendricks and his colleagues knew they had to protect the identity of their recruits.

  The organization was all about covert operations. It’s what they did best and they prided themselves on their capabilities. They did things the United States Military couldn’t do legally. They took what they needed, whether it be economical, tactical, or monetary. If Hendricks, or any of the other founding members thought they needed something—didn’t matter what it was—someone was given the orders to make it happen. And if need be, elimination by assassination was not out of the question.

  Since confidentiality was of the utmost importance, the decision was made early on that each member would immediately begin utilizing various identities once joining the organization.

  For the most part, he’d gotten stuck in the identity of Michael Hendricks because that’s the one he was using when he met Caroline Chambers. He was in his mid-thirties back then and a couple of years into the elusive organization. Caroline was a beautiful young girl just out of college with dreams of becoming a doctor.

  Michael and Caroline lived together for several years. It was easier to hide his various identities from her that way. The specially created identity of Michael Hendricks was an officer in the United States Marine Corps. So Caroline wasn’t surprised when he was frequently called out into the field for some sort of training or another. And while she thought he was out on some military exercise, Michael was actually carrying out some covert operation that he and his associates had deemed necessary.

  Michael and his colleagues weren’t prejudiced against one type of recruit over another. However, most of them did come from the United States military. Not all of them, but the majority did.

  Since they were picking up recruits from the military, they swiftly learned that it was crucial to expunge the military records of their members. They figured out just as fast that new records had to be invented, for at least one of the identities the recruits were going to use. Not all their identities were military. In fact, it became evident rather quickly that no more than one or two should serve in any branch of the military. More than that, and they were risking their covers being blown.

  But there had to be some trail of some sort, no matter how phony or illusory the identity was. It had to be military. At least one identity needed to have access to various military institutions throughout the world and without repercussions.

  Michael and his colleagues were not above placing themselves in strategic situations, such as prominent positions in various departments of the United States Government, which ultimately offered up carte blanche, a convenient advantage when it came to getting what they wanted.

  In the beginning, back when there was only a handful of agents, it wasn’t hard to keep up with all the duplicity.

  For the most part, Michael Hendricks was a happy man, enjoying his adventures as a field agent for the elusively secret organization, which he prided himself on being a large factor in the creation of. But he also took pleasure in returning home. To Caroline.

  His direction changed one bright spring day when he returned home to his beautiful companion and the most pleasant of surprises. She was pregnant.

  At that point, the whole world changed for Colonel Michael Hendricks. He was getting on in years, for a field agent. On the verge of forty in a couple of years, he decided to restructure the organization to suit and accommodate his decision to marry the mother of his child.

  As time passed and the organization grew, it had become clear that they needed to establish a central position for someone to fabricate military records for the members.

  This notion went against every principle they’d founded their organization upon. The person who held this position would know all the inter-workings of the organization because they’d know all its members. Nevertheless, it had to be done. But this was a position the founding members weren’t willing to turn over to just anyone. So Michael took the job himself. He felt better about the whole thing this way. He wasn’t keen on the idea of a recruit knowing more about the organization than him.

  In essence, he permanently became Michael Hendricks. For the most part, he came in out of the field and took a permanent full-time position in the United States Marine Corps. Michael Hendricks had a most impressive military career—at least on paper.

  Initially, he gave himself the grade of Captain. His rise up the ranks came without fanfare as orders came down periodically from Washington in a usual and common manner. No one ever questioned the orders, not even when Michael Hendricks was promoted up to the rank of Brigadier General and eventually named the commanding officer of MCAS Cherry Point in North Carolina.

  Michael settled into a quiet life with his new wife, Caroline Chambers Hendricks. He liked it this way, too. He was able to be home with Caroline quite often and eventually their baby girl, Grace.

  As Grace grew, Michael’s missions for the organization became fewer and fewer. It seemed that he was now content with the job of simply creating the false records for the recruits.

  Of course the walls came crashing down around Hendricks a few years later when his wife was killed tragically in an automobile accident. It was then that he made the decision to retire from the field completely. He was able to do this only because he was one of the members in charge. A simple recruit would never have been allowed to make such a decision.

  To the outward appearance, Michael was merely a high-ranking official at Cherry Point, while in reality he was inventing records for select individuals.

  Years passed, uneventfully, until Grace graduated from high school and continued her education at the local university. She was barely nineteen when Captain Eric Wayne entered her life. Smitten with each other, they formed a bond quickly.

  Michael was extremely pleased with Grace’s choice in men. He saw something in Eric, something he couldn’t put his finger on. But he was certain Eric loved Grace and he would always take care of her.

  Unfortunately, Hendricks’s colleagues saw something in Eric, too.
The decision was made quickly, and the task fell to him to recruit his daughter’s new beau.

  When Hendricks inferred that Eric Wayne wasn’t recruit material, the response was…if he’s good enough for your daughter, he’s good enough for us.

  Once Michael accepted the realization of the situation and the position he’d placed Eric, and therefore his own daughter, in, he began making plans to save them from the mess he’d created.

  It wasn’t like he could tell his colleagues that Eric had declined. At that point Eric would have been framed for some heinous crime and sent to Leavenworth for far longer than Michael even dared to venture a guess.

  Stalling, under the pretense that he was preparing for the recruitment, Michael paved the way for Eric and Grace’s disappearance.

  Knowing the end was coming sooner or later Michael hid clues in his V.A. file. Clues that only Grace could find. He showed Eric the secret compartment hidden inside his desk while it was still empty. Later he put the key to locker thirty-six at Grand Central Station inside the stall.

  He felt confident that he had all the bases covered since it would take both Eric and Grace to find the locker and its contents.

  Maybe it was an elaborate plan but he had to make sure no one else got their hands on the explosive information. That was the only way to keep Grace and Eric alive.

  And his main goal was his daughter Grace’s safety. He’d gladly trade his own life to secure her health and happiness.

  CHAPTER 38

  The Letter

  My Dearest Gracie, and Eric:

  If you’re reading this, you’re together and you’re both alive. And as happy as that makes me—unfortunately it also means that I’m dead. And since you’ve found this letter, it means you’ve found out a lot of other things, as well. Many things that are going to confuse you.

  Gracie, after reviewing the contents of both briefcases it may appear to you that everything you know to be true is a lie. But the love that your mother and I felt for one another is not a lie. And the love we shared for our only child, you, is not a lie, either.