“What’s it like to kill someone?”
Momentarily, he was stunned. “Boy, talk about a change of subject,” he said, trying to make light of the very question he would rather die than answer.
Anita leaned into him, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Scott gently touched her face as he thought about how to answer her question. “No, it’s okay. I understand why you ask. It’s just that most of the time, the Marines who haven’t seen combat ask that question as if it’s a point of entertainment. ‘So how many guys you kill, Sarge?’ Like I’m going to break into a song and dance for them.” He looked at her and tilted his head. “But I know you don’t mean it that way. Still, it’s a damned question.”
Scott stepped away from her and inched closer to the edge of the sandy beach. This ocean at my feet is the answer to her question. The water is unpredictable and chaotic, changing constantly, capable of both creation and destruction. It just depends on the circumstance.
The dark splashing waves slapped themselves into a white foam that quickly faded back to black as the next ushered in. Anita wrapped her arms around him from behind.
“I’m so sorry. I never should have asked you that. It’s probably something I don’t want to know anyway, and I don’t want to bring up painful memories.”
“No, it’s okay.” Scott stood still and drew in a long deep breath. “There’s just not an easy answer, is all.” The smell of the sea air intermingled with her perfume and gave him comfort, comfort enough to share with her something far more intimate than any sexual encounter. He trusted this woman with all things, and so he would trust her with the battering ram of emotions he felt whenever he was placed in a position to kill.
“Someone far wiser than me once told me I have to talk to someone I trusted about this. I have to share my sin.”
“Sin? But you’re fighting a war and in combat.”
“Yes, that’s true, but bear with me. This man told me I should share my sin with another whom I trust or it would consume me a little at a time.” He turned and embraced her, then lightly kissed her on the forehead.
Scott knew that the evening had to end because Anita needed to return home in order to take over the duties of watching Sweetie from her mother. The process of introducing Scott into their lives would not be difficult, but it had to be done properly. The party had been a wonderful distraction where Anita was able to ease Sweetie into the relationship without directly placing Scott into her life.
Sweetie would probably be fast asleep when Anita got home because she spent most of the day running and playing in the yard with the other young children her age. She was such a wonderful sight to see, young and happy in a knee-high cotton sundress and her long flowing yellow hair trailing behind her as she gleefully ran from tree to tree and person-to-person. Her wide inviting smile glowed of honesty and wonder. The entire time Sweetie was there she was distracted by all the different people and the vigilant eye of her mother and grandmother. For all she knew it was just a nice party down the street where she could run and play with her friends. Scott was willing to take it slow and be patient because he intended to be a part of their lives forever.
“Come on,” he said as he walked toward the picnic table in the center of the yard. The wind was blowing just enough to keep down the mosquitoes. He led Anita to the old wooden table, stained with years of use from rain, barbecue sauce, and the occasional overturned drink. Shades of gray and dark brown kept it camouflaged, even with a hint of the porch light casting out like yellow rays. He sat down on the bay side, resting his back on the tabletop, and stretched his arms wide along the top. Anita sat to his left and swung her legs up and across his lap. She then snuggled into him, curling her arms around his neck. Scott kissed the top of her head.
“It’s like a piece of your soul has been shredded, and the remnants of your damaged emotions hang like fragile drapes, like in the old abandoned houses on Portsmouth Island. Do you remember how tattered and torn they were?” he asked. “They just hung there stoically for years, constantly blocking out the relentless rays of the sun magnified by the old glass frames.”
Anita gently nodded.
“They were so delicate that the slightest tug on the fabric would cause them to fall apart like dust. Same with the memories of war, of killing someone. Your senses become so raw that the slightest hint of that horrible memory singes your nerve endings, threatening to disintegrate your soul. After a while you learn to deal with it, to push it away, but it never really goes away, that threat of annihilation of who you are as a man. You just get good at hiding the outward signs of the raging horror inside you. Most of the time, you’re hiding in the shadows, hiding from the memories. It’s never a good place and it never ceases to be a part of you.” He inhaled deeply, his breath quivering slightly, then exhaled. “That’s what it’s like.”
“My God,” Anita whispered. She squeezed him closer to her. “I understand.”
Scott paused as he allowed a tear to escape and tumble down his cheek and throat. He sniffed. “Nah, you don’t understand, no one does. How can you possibly? I wouldn’t want you to. Only those who’ve experienced it understand, and even then, the reaction is different for each person. A personalized horror story, tailored to each of us who’ve killed another.”
A whippoorwill let out its quick call at the wood line, and Scott stopped speaking long enough to enjoy its serenade. He quietly wiped away his tears.
“Things are going to be a little different now,” he said with a hint of anger in his voice, just hidden behind his words. “I will have to talk about this eventually. There’s going to be times when I desperately need to speak to someone. I . . . I will need someone to listen to me. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
Anita nodded her head again. He could feel it moving on his chest, her hair mussed up against his shirt.
The night had fully arrived, the sky dark above them, tranquil and void of clouds so as not to mask the twinkling stars revealing the full beauty of the Milky Way. Millions of stars in every direction made their way out onto the evening stage, joining the moon to watch over the enchanted sands of the Outer Banks.
CHAPTER TWELVE
August 2006
A few days later, Briggs was on his hands and knees cleaning the interior of his boat.
“How are you, old man?” a voice boomed behind him.
Briggs stood and turned toward the man standing on the dock.
“I’ll be damned. Lieutenant Check!” Briggs hopped onto the dock and extended his hand. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, that’s a long story, which I’ll explain to you when you take me fishing tomorrow.”
“You bet. Errr . . . did you get out or something?” Briggs asked, pointing at the moustache on Check’s face.
“Or something,” Check replied laughing. “I’m still a Marine, just working in a different department. That’s why I can get away with the longer hair and a fairly decent moustache. Oh, and I’m a full bird colonel now too.”
“That’s awesome, sir.”
“Listen. I have to be somewhere right now,” Check said, looking at his watch, “but let’s talk more tomorrow, say around ten?”
“You said you wanted to go fishing?”
“That I do.”
“Better make it 0600. The fish bite better at that hour.”
Check paused, and Briggs could see he was going through a checklist of things to do in his head. “You got it, Scott. See you at 0600.”
Check waved good-bye and walked back across the yard toward his car. Briggs watched him from the dock, confused. It had been more than a year since they’d last seen each other. Why had Check shown up at his home? Why had Check called him by his first name?
Briggs shrugged and went back to cleaning his boat, but he had a strong sense that Colonel Check hadn’t stopped by for a casual visit. Something was up. Great, he thought. I won’t sleep a win
k wondering what the hell tomorrow is going to bring.
The morning sun gently rose over Core Banks—barrier islands that were a part of the Outer Banks—just bright enough to outshine the lighthouse lamp at Cape Lookout. The changing of the guard from the lighthouse lamp to the sun was completed once again as it had been done for over a hundred years. One sentry relieved the other to stand guard over the shimmering sands of the Outer Banks.
Briggs was enjoying the view as Check stomped onto the long pier, carrying a small cooler.
“Right on time,” Briggs called out from his boat. “What you got there?” He shielded his eyes from the glare as Check stood at the edge of the pier with the bright morning light behind him.
“Sandwiches and a little liquid motivation.”
“I was hoping you would say that.” Scott took the cooler from Check and secured it under the seat of his twenty-one-foot Carolina skiff. It was a small center-console, flat-bottom boat capable of navigating the shallow waters behind the banks and marshes—and carrying two former comrades-in-arms for a day of fishing pleasure.
“So where to?” Check settled into his seat.
“You like trout?”
Check nodded with a wide grin. “I was hoping you would say that.” Briggs pushed the throttle forward and raced into the rising sun of the new day.
They sat adrift not too far from a shallow marsh and put their lines over the side with live shrimp on short leaders dangling beneath large orange bobbers. They sat in amicable silence for a while.
“Son, a very powerful man is going to contact you shortly.” Check broke the silence and looked up from reloading his hook. He had Scott’s full attention. “This guy, his name is Shelby Trust. He’s a Texas billionaire whose father and grandfather made it big drilling for oil in Texas, Oklahoma, and California.”
“Should I know him?”
“Not directly. He’s Jeff Blake’s uncle.”
Scott squinted his eyes, looking out over the waters. Finally, his gaze returned to Check.
“The Trust name is synonymous with power and wealth. They’ve had their fingers in foreign and offshore markets, and manipulated local governments to take away landowners’ rights in order to obtain resources. When the government started looking too closely into the Trust fortune, the family turned their attention to third-world countries with uneducated labor and built a foundation that claimed to help those in need. They were actually taking advantage of people who would work for a basket of food, people who lived in constant fear that thugs would uproot them from their homes if they did not perform for the bosses. They hide behind the Trust Foundation that builds new schools in South America and Africa, but it’s a rouse in order to manipulate futures on the world market. Believe me, these are not nice people.”
“Okay” was all Brigg’s could think to say. He wasn’t sure where this was leading.
“Okay then.” Check was silent for a few moments then returned his gaze to Briggs. “I now work for a special unit in the military, and we’re quite certain that Shelby Trust will contact you, and we want you to go along with his requests, whatever they may be. Most importantly, we want you to give us anything he may give you so we can inspect it. At no time should you act suspicious or question Mr. Trust too much, but you should give off the impression of having a natural curiosity about him. Nothing more. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He raised an eyebrow at Scott.
Briggs touched his fishing line as he tried to gather his thoughts around why Trust would want to contact him and exactly what Check was asking of him. “Are you saying you want me to be a spy?”
Check’s expression became even more serious. “Shelby Trust is not only wealthy; he is friendly, likeable even. He will use his manner and his money to win you over, make you feel as if he’s taken you under his wing. Don’t be fooled by all that. As is typically the case with Trust, his goal is to gain leverage and control over any person or situation to benefit his end goal.”
“What exactly does he want from me?”
“I can’t go into details. It’s just paramount that you play along with whatever game Trust asks you to play. Allow him to manipulate you, so to speak.”
Scott winced. He was a man who liked being in control of his own life. Agreeing to be manipulated didn’t feel right.
“If Trust has confidence in you, he will make you a part of his network of trusted people,” Check added. “And he pays well.”
“So how rich is this guy?” Briggs slowly turned the handle on his fishing reel. “And why would he pay me? What will I be expected to do?”
Check drew a long breath and squinted as he faced the sun, now in full view above Core Banks. “We think his worth is in the fifteen-billion ballpark. As to why he’ll pay you—it has to do with some special favors he’ll be asking you to do.”
“Fifteen-billion ballpark?” Briggs didn’t even hear the rest of what Check said as he tried to comprehend that kind of wealth.
“Ballpark. It’s hard to tell because of the way he has his assets arranged. But Scott, this is the thing you need to know. Money is not his motivation. It is power and ownership. Money is the means to the end—what he uses to motivate so he can dominate.”
“Okay.” Brigg’s mind buzzed as he tried to make sense of what Check was saying. “You want me to let him lead me, but to stay aware of his ulterior motives. And to share everything with you.”
“Right,” Check confirmed. “Let him impress you with his wealth. Hell, he’ll probably take you fishing.”
They both let out a slight laugh, just enough to vent some of the tension that was building as they stepped into a different relationship—that of spy and handler. Briggs gazed out over the beautiful emerald green water that stretched out from the end of the marsh and meandered its way into the sun.
It sure sounded as though Check wanted him to be a spy and maybe eventually a spook, someone who worked on the fringes of the government payroll. A disposable hero, never recognized, always in the shadows, fairly expendable. A whipping boy for the government’s secret army who received money from line items on obscure bills passed quietly through Congress.
Briggs set his fishing pole in a rod holder, leaned his elbows on his knees, and looked Check straight in the eye.
“I’m going to take a wild guess here. If I say no, it’s all over for me. No more Corps. I don’t go back to Iraq and our fishing trip is over. Don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred bucks.”
Check held his gaze. “Yes, that’s pretty much it. Once I initiated this conversation, your future was placed in one of two directions. If you say no, you’ll receive an honorable discharge at the rank of staff sergeant, effective immediately. In return for your silence, we keep up your benefits. Your discharge will be based on your medical disabilities due to your past combat wounds. You will live pretty well, as long as you don’t speak a word about this conversation to anyone. Ever.”
“Or?”
“Or you can say yes and help me catch a very powerful bad guy.”
Briggs looked away and chewed his lip, deep in thought.
After a few moments of silence, Check said, “I want to be clear: my job is to catch this guy. This will be a long mission, Briggs. Victory will not happen overnight. I want you to understand that you’ll be under for a long time, as it will be completely determined by Shelby Trust’s timing. You will be well compensated for your services. I got you cleared up to a GS-10 pay, equivalent to a captain’s pay. We’ll have to be careful how we get you your paychecks.”
Briggs twisted in his seat, feeling trapped by the conversation. He desperately wanted to stand up and walk around so that he could find a space where he could think. He felt as if he were trapped in the van with his family on the way back from boot camp when the topic of Anita was brought up, or beneath the rubble of the building with the dead Jordanian. Shit, he thought, and then with all the talents of an actor, he mustered an expression of total control.
Briggs leaned over the e
dge of the gunwale and looked out over the short trees and brush clinging to the seemingly endless banks of sand. “This explains the generous amount of leave for my convalescence.”
“Yes, it does. We are on Trust’s time now, so you stay here until he shows up,” Check said matter-of-factly.
“What if he doesn’t show?” Briggs asked.
“Oh, he’ll show all right, but either way you decide, we are still finishing up our fishing trip. God, this place is beautiful.” He turned his face into the slight morning breeze and filled his chest with the salty air.
Briggs chuckled, then did the same. “You know, there was a time when I couldn’t wait to get out of this place. All I dreamed of was something better, bigger, something more. I just wanted to get away and find my future . . . away from here.”
Check opened the cooler, handed a beer to Scott, and took one for himself. He nodded, but didn’t say a word.
Briggs continued. “I was fourteen when my dad died, and I knew I wanted to be a Marine. That was my whole focus and motivation. It was the only reason I graduated high school. I would have just run away and gotten a crummy job, but my recruiter said I couldn’t join if I didn’t graduate. I even played my hold card by telling him my father had won the Congressional Medal of Honor. Of course, he already knew that. Told me it wouldn’t help get me enlisted in boot camp if I didn’t have a high school diploma. God, I dreaded school. But I stuck it out. I graduated. You know the rest.”
Check nodded again, sipped his beer. Briggs opened his can and took a big gulp. He held it up to the light. “Courage,” Briggs said.
Check raised his beer in salute.
Briggs smiled. “After all I have done and seen as a Marine, all I wanted to do was get back to this place and fish. I finally understand the security in my father’s dream to live on these waters—the future I had been trying to avoid. And I have found my future, Colonel. It’s here, on the leathery backs of the sea turtles that surface next to my boat in the early dawn.”
“Eloquent,” Check said with a smirk.
Shadows at War Page 11