by C. G. Cooper
“I thought Isnard was coming,” said Andy.
“I insisted on doing this myself. He was my responsibility,” said Coles, readjusting his shirt like he’d just finished up in the men’s room. “Have you considered my offer?”
Andy nodded.
“And have you made a decision?” Coles took a step back to avoid the blood that was spreading from Farrago’s wounds.
“I have.”
“And?”
“I accept.”
“Good. Have you decided where you’d like to start? Back to the Middle East, or perhaps a position with Mr. Isnard?”
Andy shook his head. “I’d like to come work for you.”
Cole’s eyebrow rose followed by an amused smile, the first Andy had seen. “And why would you assume that I’m hiring?”
Andy pointed at the body on the floor.
Coles nodded. “Very well. Take the weekend. You start on Monday.”
“Thank you.”
“You may not be thanking me in a week. One last question. I’ve heard that you don’t like being called by your given name. I don’t do nicknames, so what should I call you?”
No hesitation. “Mr. Andrews.”
Coles blinked. “Very well, Mr. Andrews. Here’s the number of the man who will take care of Mr. Farrago’s body. He should have things cleaned up by the time you get back from dinner.” Coles set a card on the bed, looked down at the body one last time, and left the room.
After he heard the front door close, Andy looked at himself in the full length mirror and said, “What have you gotten yourself into now, Mr. Andrews?”
Epilogue
Marine Barracks Eighth & I Street
Washington, D.C.
9:11pm, November 10th
True to form, the Marine Corps Birthday Ball at 8th & I was an extravagant event. Marines in dress blues mingled with guests in tuxedos and danced with dates in elegant gowns. The booze flowed freely, and the camaraderie created an electric hum in the room, accompanied by the thumping bass coming from the oversized speakers.
The cake was cut and served to the youngest and oldest Marines present, and the commandant’s message was played even though the commandant was in attendance, a last minute change.
Cal hadn’t been to the Ball since leaving the Marine Corps. He was one of the men wearing a tailored tux instead of his blues. Diane Mayer had come as his date and dazzled the room in her sapphire dress that twirled as MSgt Trent spun her on the dance floor. Cal laughed as the huge Marine dipped her almost to the floor, then guided her up like Fred Astaire. No doubt about it, Top had some moves.
The Marines of The Jefferson Group had come as guests of General McMillan, USMC, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He wasn’t there to overshadow the event, but he’d explained to Cal that he wanted to support his old friend, Gen. Winfield, USMC, who’d just taken over the helm of the Marine Corps.
While Cal had first declined the invitation, the incessant prodding from MSgt Trent changed his mind. It was good to be back with real Marines. The feeling spread as he watched his friends enjoy themselves. Even Daniel was dancing.
Cal felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find a Marine captain standing with his hands behind his back. He wore the golden ropes of a general’s aide-de-camp. Cal could never remember how many meant what, but he did know that more ropes signified a higher rank of general. This guy had a bunch.
“Sir, can you follow me please?”
“Are you sure you’ve got the right guy?” asked Cal, glancing over his shoulder to where Diane was jumping up and down with the rest of the crowd to MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This”.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Stokes.”
Cal drained the rest of his whiskey and followed the Marine out of the ballroom and down a long hallway. A lance corporal and his date were making out in a shallow alcove, lipstick smeared all over the Marine’s face.
Some things never change, thought Cal.
They went up a flight of stairs and came to a closed door.
“They’re waiting for you in there, sir.”
“Who?”
The captain had already done an about-face and was marching back the way they’d come.
Cal shook his head and opened the door.
It looked like a smoking lounge in a swanky country club, dim light coming from bronze sconces on the walls. Cushy leather armchairs here and there. No fire in the fireplace. Two of the seats were occupied. The men rose from their seats when Cal entered the room.
“Thanks for coming, Cal,” said Gen. McMillan. He was holding a water glass that was three quarters full of some dark liquid.
“Not a problem, general,” said Cal.
“Have you met General Winfield?” said McMillan, pointing with his glass at the Commandant of the Marine Corps.
“I have not had the pleasure.” Cal stuck out his hand. “General, my name is…”
“Staff Sergeant Calvin Stokes, Junior,” finished the Commandant. His grip was firm. He held Cal’s hand for a long moment. “You look like your dad.”
It wasn’t uncommon for Marines to know his father. At the time he’d left the Corps, Colonel Calvin Stokes was destined to be a general. There’d been talk that he’d pick up three, maybe even four stars one day. He’d given it all up for his family, for Cal.
“That’s what they tell me, sir.”
“He was a good man. I worked for him. He was my first company commander. Kept me out of trouble as I tried to figure out how to lead Marines.” Winfield let go of Cal’s hand and motioned to one of the leather armchairs. “Can I get you anything?” he asked, pointing to a row of bottles on a rolling cart.
“Whatever you’re having is fine, thanks.”
Cal took his seat while Gen. Winfield dropped ice cubes in a tall glass and then filled it halfway. Cal wondered how many of those the two generals had had together.
The commandant handed the glass to Cal and took his seat.
Gen. Winfield raised his own glass and said, “To the Corps.”
Cal and Gen. McMillan repeated the toast and took respectful sips from their glasses.
“I hear the president’s been keeping you busy,” said Winfield.
Cal eyes snapped over to McMillan.
“The president gave me the okay, Cal,” said McMillan.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, son. Maybe me and Mac have had a couple too many. Wouldn’t be the first time, eh, Mac?”
Gen. McMillan tipped his glass then took a healthy swallow in reply. Cal amended his previous thought. These two weren’t tipsy, they were hammered. What the hell was that all about? Maybe it was just the celebration.
“It’s okay, general. Yes, I have a certain…arrangement with the president.”
McMillan chuckled and took another swallow of his drink.
Gen. Winfield set his glass down and put his hands together, palm to palm. His face sagged and he suddenly looked tired, older than when Cal had walked in the door.
Cal waited.
Winfield’s eyes refocused on Cal. “Do you think, if the situation warranted it, do you think that the president would be okay with you helping me with a little…problem?”
“I don’t see why not. I take it that this is something you want to keep out of normal channels?”
“It is.”
“And your staff or the investigative services like NCIS couldn’t help?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then why me, general? I’m just a dumb grunt with a small team. I’m sure there are a lot of people that are way more qualified to do whatever you need. Besides, you don’t even know me.”
Gen. Winfield sat up, his eyes now boring into Cal’s. “I need a Marine who can get things done. I need a Marine who remembers where we came from. I need a Marine who still believes in honor, courage and commitment. From what Mac tells me, you’re that Marine.”
Gen. McMillan nodded and drained the rest of his glass. He rose to refill it. “We’ve been through ou
r options, Cal, and you’re it.”
What the hell were they talking about? Here were the Commandant of the Marine Corps and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and with all their resources they were left with him?
“I’m sorry gentlemen, maybe you can explain the situation,” said Cal.
“Tell him, Scotty,” said McMillan.
Gen. Winfield nodded. “I don’t know how to put this, and you’ll probably think I’m crazy…but I think—”
“We think,” interrupted McMillan.
“We think there’s an ongoing operation to discredit the Marine Corps.”
“For what purpose?” asked Cal.
Another look passed between the two generals. He’d seen that look plenty of times before, two Marines getting ready to take on an overwhelming enemy force, one or both likely to get killed.
Gen. Winfield said, “We believe that come this time next year, there will no longer be a United States Marine Corps.”
+++++
I hope you’ve enjoyed this story.
If you did, please take a moment to write an honest review. Your reviews fuel this book’s success and are much appreciated.
TO GET A FREE COPY OF ANY CORPS JUSTICE NOVEL AND HEAR ABOUT NEW RELEASES:
http://CorpsJustice.com
TO SEE ALL BOOKS IN THE CORPS JUSTICE SERIES:
http://CorpsJustice.com
DID YOU FIND AN ERROR? REPORT IT TO THE GRAMMAR POLICE!
http://www.corpsjustice.com/grammar-police.html
Thanks to my Beta Readers:
Sue, Cheryl, Susan, Mike, Marc, Don, Doug, Robert, Duane, CaryLory, Nancy, Glenda, David, Kathy and Jim. You guys are awesome. Thanks for keeping me humble.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue