Serve and Protect

by Douglas Varnell

  For once the two of them were pretty evenly matched. He really knew how to ride a snowmobile and even raced them several winters and he knew every bump and turn through the nearby mountain passes. It was a beautiful place, not as pretty as Verron, but Amber decided God really does do good work. It was noon by the time they returned and almost two before they got everything put away at the chalet and headed for Colorado Springs. Robert loved driving his new Audi Quattro and they made good time on the winding road leading home. Amber decided not to distract him on the icy snow covered roads and pulled the new Calculus book from her backpack. Robert looked over and laughed, saying, “Am I so boring that you find a Calculus book better company than me?” Amber kissed him gently on the cheek and informed him, “I promised the Professor I would proof his new test book for him. He doesn’t want to teach the wrong thing for four more years.” Robert looked at her and asked, “You can actually read that entire calculus book in the time it takes me to drive home?” Amber patted his big hand and answered, “Of course not. I can read and memorize the entire book before we reach Breckenridge if I’m not distracted. Then I’ll be all yours for the rest of the trip.” Robert implicated zipping his lips and drove on. She put the book back into her backpack just as they exited Interstate 70 and headed south toward Breckenridge. Robert gave her a questioning look and asked, “Well?” Amber shook her head and answered, “I feel like such a geek. There are two mistakes; one on page 456 and one on 461. They are both dealing with the same topic. Whoever wrote it, just didn’t understand what he was doing. There is also a really bad explanation of a calculation on page 298. If you don’t understand what the author is trying to say, then it will mess you up for the next 120 pages. I’ll explain it to the Prof in the morning before class?” Robert shook his head, and asked, “Think you could explain it to me?” Amber once again patted his hand and replied, “No chance; no way. But you’ll always have me around to handle the really hard stuff.”

  It was a slow drive home and nearly midnight by the time they pulled up in front of Amber’s apartment. Robert helped her carry her stuff up to her place and gave her a hug and kiss goodnight, never wanting to let her go. Amber knew he was deep in thought and understood what was going on. She backed up and saluted him, saying, “It’s business as usual in a few hours Colonel, but just remember you were only following orders this weekend. If anyone says anything about us, tell them to take it up with General Dorsey.” After one more lingering kiss, Robert left. Amber went to bed wishing he were by her side and hoped that one day he would be. Amber was definitely in love.

  Chapter 5

  When it was time to head for CIA training Hunter decided to take Ursula up on her offer of taking her car for himself. She argued that he did after-all buy her an entire company and she had no use for her BMW M6 parked in New York when she was already closing on a new townhouse in Paris. Hunter decided to stop by New York to see his Grandma and Donald before driving the M6 to Williamsburg, VA, where Camp Peary, AKA: The Farm was located. It was a pleasant 350 mile drive down Interstate 95 through Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, DC and Richmond, then Interstate 64 down to Williamsburg. As he left Williamsburg and headed east toward the York River he felt like he was headed into a swamp. He now understood why the place had also been given the name Camp Swampy. It was the middle of the afternoon when he pulled up to the gate with the red brick security building and a green metal roof. There was no shortage of signs posted to make it clear that you better not be there if you had no business there. The security officer at the gate gave this blond-headed 23 year-old driving a $120,000 BMW M6 Grande Coupe some very questionable looks. When he presented his Verron passport and asked for Director of Operations, Agent Kent Oswald then added “He’s expecting me” one of them snidely remarked, “Sure he is kid, just wait right here while I check this out.” While Hunter waited in the comfort of the lush vehicle, the two men working the gate stayed in the shelter of the control room. It was cold, damp and cloudy; Camp Peary was not a very inviting place. About the time Hunter was growing impatient a car approached from the Camp itself and pulled up to the security building. The officers both immediately exited the warmth of the building to greet Kent Oswald. He ignored the two officers and headed directly to Hunter’s vehicle. He turned to the officers and said, “See that the SUV gets back to the garage, I’ll ride with Mr. Hall.”

  As they pulled away, Agent Oswald looked around the soft leather compartment and said, with a chuckle, “I guess I should have expected nothing less. I’m sure glad you decided not to draw too much attention to yourself.” Hunter smiled and told him, “I was actually thinking about having one of the spaceships drop me off at your airport. Believe it or not this is a gift from a super-model I went out with a few times in New York.” Oswald asked jokingly, “You must be the most expensive gigolo in history.” Hunter laughed, as he replied, “Not really. I guess this car actually cost me a few billion dollars.” He then explained his business relationship with Ursula and the new Paris based corporation. After he finished, Oswald patted him on the shoulder and told him, “I’m not sure if I should envy you or pity you. You buy a multi-billion dollar company for this girl and you get her old car. I hope you’re a better spy than you are a businessman.” They both had a good laugh at what sounded like a ridiculous arrangement, but Hunter knew that Michael had already reviewed the entire packaged purchased in Hunter’s name and it had some tremendous potential. He didn’t have the heart to tell the man that he actually owned the company and the M6.

  As they approached a small apartment looking building, Agent Oswald informed Hunter, “As I told you before, we are currently in a training session, so you will have some catching up to do. Those here come from a variety of backgrounds, law enforcement, military and civilian and range in age from 23, which is you, to 46. Several of them are married couples, which has been a strong trend in the clandestine service for a while now. The Special Activities Division (SAD) will post these people all over the world at various embassies and other locations. They will be very junior and report to a local chief of operations; operating as clerks or a business attaché and various other positions to give them legitimacy. You are a bit of an anomaly, so don’t be surprised if the others here don’t accept you right away. Friendships have already been made and you’re replacing someone they liked a lot. His accident was unfortunate, but his situation gave us the immediate opening we needed for you.” Pointing to an empty spot, he continued, “Park over there. Sorry we have no garage. I’d really like to hide this thing from everyone else.” The two of them climbed out of the car as Hunter popped the trunk and grabbed his small duffle bag and threw it over his shoulder. Oswald looked at it and Hunter replied, “You said travel light, this all I brought. I assumed you’d be providing clothes while I’m here. I can always go get some more.”

  They entered the housing complex and the activity going on in the common area ceased as everyone there got nervous with the presence of Agent Oswald. Then their eyes turned to the young man with him. Oswald immediately began, “I’d like to introduce you all to Hunter Hall. I decided not to waste a valuable training slot by leaving it empty for six more months. Hunter will assume any team position that was held by Grearson. I expect each of you to help him get caught up on what he’s already missed. As far as I know, he has had some training and field experience already, but now I want him to learn how to do it the CIA way. He turned to a man that looked almost Arabic and asked, “Martinez, will you show Mr. Hall to his room and get him settled. I plan to break him in right. He will do the same six-month PT test and weapons proficiency tests on the urban assault range that you and the others are scheduled for this week. I can assure you, that if he can’t pass both, he will be out of the program just like any of the rest of you. I don’t have time to hold anyone else back. He will have to keep up or go home, and that goes for every aspect of the training. I hope you will show him the ropes, because he will be your partner Martinez.”

  With
that, he turned and headed for the door, saying, “The boy needs to make it as a spy, he’ll never make it as businessman.” Then he turned, and said, “Keys please, no one goes anywhere without my permission.” Hunter tossed him the keys and a few minutes later smiled as he heard the roar of the M6 duel exhaust. He turned to see a dozen questioning looks from the others in the room. Finally, an attractive brunette lady sitting on the sofa with her husband spoke, saying, “You can call yourself Hunter Hall if you like, but we all know who you are sweetie, so don’t for one minute think that you’re fooling any of us here. Your grandfather may be able to pull the strings to get you in here, but he can’t keep you here. After tomorrow, you’ll probably set the record for the shortest stay at The Farm. We trained for years before we got here and all of us struggle to do everything that is required, the PT test is a real killer.” Hunter smiled at the lady and replied, “Thanks for the warning. I have no doubt with the tremendous moral support I will receive from you that I will be motivated to succeed.” He then turned in the direction Antonio Martinez was headed down the hall.

  Martinez knocked on his door about 6:00 PM to inform him that supper was on and he needed to eat now or forever hold his peace. He followed him to the dining hall to be greeted by the 19 strangers he would be spending the next six months with. Most gave him a cordial greeting, but he could tell that few were glad to see him. He and Martinez sat down at a table with two more men that were obviously military. The conversation was mostly guy talk about their military background, where they were from and telling Hunter how he was never going to make it. Martinez, he discovered was a Navy Seal, the two black men at the table were both U.S. Army Special Forces. It was pretty obvious as Hunter looked around the room that the CIA was trying to recruit individuals that could blend in with middle-eastern or African cultures. With his smooth tan skin and long blond hair and blue eyes, he always did well in Europe, but knew he would stick out in a crowd in most other parts of the world. There were several Chinese in the group and everyone was older than him. The food wasn’t bad. It was prepared by civilian cooks and was on a par to a lot of restaurants.

  When Hunter was about to leave, he was approached by a man about his height who looked to be about 240 pounds. He extended his hand and introduced himself, saying, “My names Jack Bentley. I ran into King Verron in Iraq a few years ago when he pulled one of his hostage rescues. He saved not only the hostages but my entire unit. Tell him I said thanks.” He turned to the others at the table and added, “If this kid can do half of what his grandpa did, he’ll have no problem here.” The three men at the table turned to Hunter when Bentley left and asked, “Oswald said you had received some training and been on a few missions. Want to tell us about it?” Hunter really didn’t want to tell them about it, but he replied, “I was trained by a former KGB Colonel and ex-Spetsnaz. So far I’ve been on a half dozen missions of various types, but I know I still have a lot to learn.” He then wiped his mouth with his napkin and left the table.

  That evening, Hunter didn’t bother to come out of his room and be sociable. He put away the few clothes he brought with him and hung up the two commando gray uniforms he had in his duffle. He then neatly hung up the clothes he was wearing; knowing that he probably would not be wearing them for a while. He had on his Nike gym shorts getting ready to head for the shower, when a knock came on his door. He didn’t open it, but simply said, “Yea, what do you want.” Martinez was a man of few words and spoke, “Got you sweats for in the morning. We all wear the same.” Hunter opened the door standing shirtless in his Nikes. At six foot three inches tall and the appearance of a solid 185 pounds, you could literally see muscles that most people didn’t even know they had, all ripped with striations and veins pushing through the thin tight skin. Martinez actually stared for a moment, handed him the blue sweats and turned to leave, saying, “We may have had you wrong, it might be us struggling to keep up with you tomorrow.”

  As soon as he left the shower, he headed back for his room. Halfway down the hall he was greeted in the hall by another couple he had not met before. He wondered if they just timed their appearance to witness what Martinez had just seen or they did in fact have a reason to be waiting by his door. The short muscular woman with hair much shorter than his introduced the two as Jill and Randall Avery. They shook hands and Randall quickly told Hunter, “The competition here is intense. They work hard at pitting one person or group against another, and rate us all on who comes out on top, in everything we do. Grearson was the best team player we had and he would do things to help others rather than go out of his way to make us all look bad, like so many others here do. Oswald is no one’s friend. He will do everything in his power to make you fail. In all honesty, you’ll be own your own. No one here is going to help you; we’re all too busy looking out for ourselves. I know it sounds cold and indifferent, but Clandestine Operations is a cold and indifferent business. Everything here is about winning.” Jill handed him a thick book, saying, “Here, you may want to start looking over this. It’s a training guide we were each given when we got here. We were told to memorize it as if it was our Bible. It’s not everything you ever wanted to know about the CIA but were afraid to ask, but will give you good insight about what we are expected to learn and how this camp is run.” The two them told Hunter, “Good Luck” and headed back down the hall. An hour later, Hunter finished reading and memorizing the entire training manual, turned out his light and fell asleep, thinking “Welcome to The Farm.”

  He woke early and made his way to the dining hall to grab some breakfast. He got some strange looks from the others who were eating light, knowing in a short while they were going to be on a five mile run. While others in the room drank coffee or juice and ate a bagel, English muffin or fruit, Hunter ate four eggs, sausage, two biscuits and washed it down with a big glass of fresh squeezed O.J., thinking, “I wonder if I can find a Diet Coke around here.” He had just finished his breakfast as everyone else gathered around ready to head out the door for the events of the day. When they exited the building it was just 48 degrees, cold, foggy, overcast and damp. He could barely see across the parking lot in front of the building, until he adjusted his imaging system. With his thermal imaging he could see four people coming down the walkway toward them. He couldn’t resist saying, “looks like its show time,” just before everyone else could make out the distorted images approaching them through the fog. The 20 CIA Trainees fell into a quick formation and prepared for the morning routine. A big burly man who was former FBI HRT was now head of physical training for the camp. He let them know how worthless they were and how he couldn’t wait to send some of them home after today, since he was tired of listening to them whine about how tough it was. He then told them, “When my staff and I first saw this fog, we thought that we might need to put off the five-mile run until later in the day, but I decided that in the real world you can’t wait around for the fog to lift. You know the course. It’s well marked. Hopefully you won’t run into any trees and kill yourself.” He turned to Hunter and said, “I’ll be watching you close kid. Try not to trip over any of the others on the course.”

  It had stormed the night before and as they marched across the grounds to the beginning of the cross-country course, they knew that they were going to be in for a muddy run through the woods. Hunter could see standing water standing knee deep in some places, fallen branches and a few fallen trees. It was a mile or so to their objective and they came to a halt facing the thick woods that filled Camp Peary. Just before they were ready to begin, Major Bentley leaned over and whispered to Hunter, “Watch out for snakes and wild boars. The woods are full of them.” Hunter immediately thought of the Snake Canyon back on Verron. He laughed and asked, “Do we get extra points for killing the snakes as we run?” Bentley shook his head and quickly replied, “Just don’t step on one of the damn things. It’ll ruin your day.”

  Agent Smith blew his whistle and the race was on. Hunter decided to follow along close behind the leaders,
rather than take off and make a spectacle of his self. Martinez and Bentley surprised him with how fast they were for big men, but the real surprise was Jill Avery. She was probably only 5 foot 4 inches tall and was easily running side-by-side with the much taller and stronger men. She saw Hunter looking and informed him, “Nittany Lions Cross-country, four years NCAA women’s champion.” Hunter was impressed, but not intimidated. Soon the Penn State track star pulled ahead of Martinez and Bentley. She reminded him of Amber; very light on her feet and loved to run. He decided to stay with her and let Martinez and Bentley fight it out with each other. He still stayed just a few steps behind her as they wound their way through the dense woods on the narrow trail and splashed through mud-hole after mud-hole. Hunter had a clear view of the trail ahead and knew she was running by instinct and familiarity of the trail. She didn’t see the limb lying across her path just in front of her and Hunter didn’t want to see her injured. He telepathically tossed the limb aside, clearing the narrow path before she got there. They had run across a swollen creek bed and headed for the last quarter mile stretch when Jill met-up with a four-foot long Cotton-Mouth. Now a Cotton-Mouth is generally somewhere underground sleeping this time of year in Virginia. However, the fierce storm the night before had uprooted the large dead tree that the snake and a few close friends called home. He was not a happy snake. Jill was fast but the snake was faster and sank its long fangs deep into her right calf muscle before she had a chance to dodge out of the way. Hunter quickly killed the snake and grabbed Jill in his arms and took off at a speed no human should be able to travel. He slowed his pace slightly as he exited the woods into the clearing at the finish line. He was still maintaining an unrealistic speed when he began to shout, “Snake bite! Snake Bite!”