Galloway said, “Well, you are back for good. You are richer in experience, but you are short one foot. Twenty years ago, that would have been a severe limitation. Now, with the amazing prosthetics they’ve developed, missing part of a leg below the knee is more of an inconvenience than it is a measure of abilities.
Jack was mildly entertained by Galloway’s cavalier dismissal of the importance of his missing body part.
Shooter continued, “Jack, you’ve got a college degree. You have more money than you will ever need, and you are a decorated war veteran. So only one important question remains to be answered.”
Tim figured that he knew what was coming and he responded almost angrily because, despite good intentions and hours of thought, he could not come up with a vocation he thought he could enjoy for most of his life.
“I haven’t decided what I want to do.”
Shooter rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about how you will waste your time, Carlisle. I’m referring to how you want to be called from now on.
“What?”
“You don’t care? Oh, I know you, Timmy-Boy. Every time someone local calls you Tim, you twitch because you have gotten used to Jack, and you sort of like the Blackwater stuff.
“On the other hand, you scowl at me every time I say Blackwater Jack, so that I won’t suspect that you answer best to that nickname.
“You shouldn’t live your entire existence being an obvious phony, so decide and announce which nickname you prefer right now.”
Galloway smirked, more to himself than to Tim. “I’ll keep calling you whatever I want anyway, but I can tip others toward what you like best.”
Tim chose to punt. “Let’s just allow everybody to choose which name they like best, Shooter. I don’t see why you have to make a big deal out of it.”
“Not good enough, Blackwater. If you don’t choose, right now, I am going to run a contest in the Perry County Times asking which name readers like best for our wounded hero, and they can also guess, in print, which one you just can’t stand. Hey, it’ll be fun for all, even if being the town clown won’t appeal to you all that much.”
Tim didn’t waste his glare on Galloway’s impervious hide. Locals called him both names a lot, and that suited him, but Shooter was out for blood. So, which name would he prefer?
He smiled inside. Knowing Perry Countian’s often obstinate insistence on doing exactly what they pleased, about half the people would ignore what he liked anyway. He could consider the rest of the world, but that somehow-increasing crowd mostly called him Blackwater Jack. Geez, what a dumb nickname!
He told Galloway, “I’ve been called Jack or Blackwater for two years, and I am stuck with that whether I like it or not. I think I will officially go by that nickname, but you don’t have to go announcing it from the courthouse steps. I like Tim just fine, and I would prefer that you just stayed out of it.”
Shooter pitched him a curve.
“Well, you have been hinting around that you would like to join up with my team, and I’ve got to consider what the rest might think of having a ‘Timmy’ around. We don’t want to lose respect, you know. But, since you’ve decided on Jack, Jack it will be, Tim.”
“Hold it, Galloway. Just because I have wondered what you do for a living doesn’t mean I want to enlist. If Jacque hadn’t agreed to marry you, I would suspect you made money illegally, but having her in the picture proves you must have some redeeming values.
“Anyway, thanks for considering me, but I leaped into the Army because of you. That means that I have learned important lessons. One of which is that I only have one more foot to risk in one of your schemes.”
Shooter switched their subject. “Since you brought up your foot, yet again, I have something to report.
“Former Colonel Frank Saltz is out of the Army. No, they didn’t get him convicted. He resigned a few months ago under honorable conditions.
“I suppose Uncle Sam believed a trial (or maybe a lot of trials) would prove expensive and embarrassing. Saltz had become bad news, and the Army wanted as much distance as they could get. So they just let him go. Permanently.”
Tim’s sense of injustice ballooned.
“They didn’t nail him for anything? They didn’t charge him for the deaths of Lieutenant Gold and Sergeant Swartz and my foot for that matter?”
“Jack, those charges were so far down the Judge Advocate’s list that they never came up. Saltz is deep into really big-time crime. Narcotics, among other dealings.”
Galloway scratched at his head. “That seems trite, doesn’t it? You’d think a full Colonel could get into something classy to make money and not be just another dope pusher. Although he may be a really big one.
“I’m not in a position to dig into what Saltz did and is doing, but the word is that he spent his active duty military time setting up a machine that would move opium from Middle East fields, through European processing, and on into the United States. Whether that means coming up from Central America or directly across the water to us, I haven’t a clue, nor apparently, does military intelligence, the CIA, or Interpol.” Galloway ran out of titles.
“Saltz, your old Battalion Commander, never goes near the stuff he controls. That’s why, despite various three-letter agencies looking close at him, he got off Scot-free.”
“But how did he make Bird Colonel only months before resigning? He must have been on every shit-list around, wasn’t he?”
“I have no idea how his promotion was managed, Jack, but remember that money always speaks loudly, and Saltz was loaded with it. There is always the old saw about promoting a man right out of a job. That could be part of it.
“Saltz was a Military Police Officer, don’t forget. He always had influence. He just got too hot to keep on. Now we’ve got him back in Pennsylvania, still living big, and already becoming socially prominent.
“How he launders his money must be damned good, or he would have been jailed for that alone.
“Saltz doesn’t even draw a salary and never did, other than his military pay. No one seems to know how he got control, but he has all his expenses paid by a charity, tax-free organization. They just pay for everything he wants. He has a business title, I suppose, and I’ve heard that his credit cards belong to the charity, and they issue him spending money in the name of the charity’s expenses. It’s enough to make Al Capone roll over in envy.”
“And Shooter, that means, he was probably busily setting up his organization when the three of us suckers got blown up. Maybe his missing box is part of that.”
“How could we doubt it? Makes you wonder all the more what was in that wooden box, doesn’t it, Blackwater?”
“I couldn’t wonder more. That box hasn’t left my mind since I woke up following the blast. It must have important stuff inside.”
They sat silently, watching a pair of large trucks turn in at Fred Thebes’s former business site.
Galloway said, “I thought Fred was out of business.”
“Fred Thebes will never be out of anything, but what he is up to at the moment hasn’t been announced.”
Galloway returned to their subject.
“You are an educated man, Jack. So, I wonder about your sentence structure when you say, ‘It must have important stuff inside.’
“Shouldn’t that have been, ‘It must have HAD important stuff inside?’
“The box got burned up, along with all of the guns. Didn’t it, Jack?”
They again sat silently until Shooter asked, “Do you know something that I ought to be brought in on, Blackwater?”
Jack scowled at his friend. “You too, Brutus? I wasn’t working on my language, Shooter. I was just mentioning how I felt about it. You sound like Saltz or one of his helpers.”
Galloway leaped in with both feet.
“You, know, Timmy, I have known you for a very long time. I’ve read your official report of all that happened when your Humvee was blown up, but I can’t help comparing your handsome description to
what I think I know about you.
“For example,” Galloway paused to see if Tim was listening, but there were no revealing signs, so he re-started.
“For example, when those Kentucky hillbillies ran you off the road, you went in and picked a fight with them, even though you were pretty battered and didn’t hardly have a ride out of town. That showed that you had more than a little gumption.
“That ah … awareness, encouraged me to develop another scenario.
“Because I have known you all of your life, more or less, I could imagine you heaving Lieutenant Gold’s body aside (using that muscle you spent years developing), taking a careful look at the wreck, and realizing that if it didn’t burn completely, the bad guys would salvage a lot of weaponry and other good stuff, and, they would probably take a long and careful look around to see if anyone had walked away from the wreck.
“That made me consider that, being a thinking man, you might have helped the fire along with the extra fuel, so the Afghans wouldn’t find anything useful, and the smoke and flames would make your survival and escape less prominent. You would have grabbed what you could carry, the sniper rifle for sure, and maybe a couple of canteens.
“Then, in my made-up scenario, you would have headed for cover.
“If it had been me, I would not have gone too far because I would have been hurting like hell, and I would want to be handy when rescue came. And, you know, Jack, if it could have been managed, I would like to have seen who and how many Afghans came to the bombing scene.
“Rescue was sure to arrive because no one, not even a Colonel, could have gotten away with not sending a relief team as fast as one could travel.
“I would have stayed hidden, like you did, using whatever medical supplies you had brought along until the Blackhawks arrived.”
Jack had leaned back with his eyes closed, but Shooter knew his friend was still listening, so he continued.
“That all made sense to me, but you not bringing the rifle back out sort of killed the idea— until?
“Until I wondered, if being a lot braver and a more solid guy than you sometimes try to portray, you didn’t also salvage the Colonel’s box?
“Interesting imagining, don’t you think?
“And if all of that was right, you didn’t dare bring out the rifle and leave the box hidden.”
There was no response from Blackwater.
Galloway continued, “Accepting that you saved nothing might pass and it did, but, that you were able to save the rifle but not the mysterious box that the mission was all about would be a lot harder to accept.
“Unopened or thoroughly examined? One could wonder.
“And, Blackwater, either way, you wouldn’t want to give the box back to the A-hole that got your foot blown off, now would you?
“The only thing is, what good would it do to leave the secret of the box rotting up on a mountain?
“That ending to my speculating left me unhappily crowding a square peg into a round hole.
“Unless, unless there is more to this that I don’t know about.
“Is there more, pardner? Because, if there is, I ought to be in on it.”
Jack studied his best friend as if he were some sort of invasive bug. “Didn’t they throw you out of the Army because of a probably never-healing brain injury, Galloway?
“Yeah that was it, I remember now. A bullet went through your helmet and into your thick skull. Everybody said you were a lot worse than you admitted. Now it sounds as if they were right.”
Jack waved toward his footless leg before continuing. “I could use another Mountain Dew, if you wouldn’t mind digging one out of my refrigerator. We one-footed guys get tired of hopping up and down when you double-footed fellas are handy to help out.”
Galloway went for the soft drinks. He handed one to Jack and sat down with his own. Then there was silence.
Finally Jack said, “Look, Shooter, if I think of something important, or if I develop a plan to get even with Saltz, I’ll let you know.
“I won’t hold out on you with anything a second longer than necessary, but sitting around speculating about how something might have happened bores me. Everyone I’ve talked to since the Humvee blew up has his own idea as to where that box went.
“I haven’t got it. I don’t know what is in it. I am here, not in Afghanistan, so let’s talk about your need to hire a good man like me for whatever it is you do, OK?
“I’ve been waiting for years to find out. Now would be a good time to get it all out in the open. An informed soldier is always a better soldier. Remember that, Major Galloway? Enlighten me.
“And Shooter, don’t forget that I had a Secret Clearance.”
Shooter sagged in his own beaten out chair.
“You had a Secret Clearance? Good God, Jack, that clearance allows you to pick up the mail, and that is about all. Before you could work for us you would have to go through a background check that you wouldn’t believe. Hell, half of the FBI’s Special Agents wouldn’t make it through.”
“And, Jack, don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t really answer my box reasoning. You bobbed and weaved like a politician. Shameful, is all I will say at the moment.”
“But, you are right. We should talk about my profession and discover if you would have genuine interest in what I do and to discover if you have what it takes to do the work.”
Jack said, “Wait until I get my foot on. We can walk through the field and swing over by the military school while we are talking. My schedule calls for at least another mile wearing my new foot.”
“How does it feel, anyway, pardner? Any pain, much awkwardness? Can you spin or run or dodge around at all?”
“I can do all of the above, but not as well as I will three or four months from now. My stump is still hardening and getting used to the pads. Of course, there is no feeling in the foot, but it is surprising how natural it is getting to be.”
“You still going down to Harrisburg for therapy?”
“Nope, I’m going to the Hershey Medical Center Rehab Clinic. I like their program. They push me harder, and I want to get strength, agility and endurance back. I’ve got plans, Buster.”
“You mean going to work with me?”
“Maybe. That and more. I’m not retiring to sit on this porch, you know.”
Galloway began to speak, but a long and black car turning into the drive caught his attention.
Shooter said, “You’ve got company, Jack. Important people, judging by the vehicle. A new looking Mercedes Benz no less. Who do you know that drives a machine like that?”
“Nobody, except undertakers and FBI. They are probably coming to arrest you, Galloway. Anything you want to tell me before they perp march you away?”
Three men stepped out. Jack looked closely before he said, “Holy Hell, Shooter.” Then he added, “Are you armed?”
“Of course, but who are they? Are they law enforcement? Damn it, Jack, tell me something.”
Jack saw Galloway’s hand settle inside his right vest pocket. He immediately felt safer. That was where Shooter carried a revolver.
The visitors were close so he hurried his answer.
“I know two of them. They were with Saltz. One is, or was, a Lieutenant. The other a Buck Sergeant, I think. Don’t know the third guy.”
Galloway muttered darkly. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a gun close by do you … victim?”
No, he didn’t, and he felt like a complete ass for not having a pistol ready. It was a Perry County tradition to have loaded guns at hand, but here he was being accosted on his own ground by men who would not be his friends.
The civilians dressed in typical jeans and polo shirts also wore denim biker kind of vests—the kind that could disguise the presence of high-ride pistol holsters.
They approached the steps leading to Jack’s creaky porch.
Jack moved to the front edge of his porch so that the visitors had no room to step up.
Then, powerfully
aware of Shooter Galloway’s supportive presence he waited.
The Lieutenant asked, “Do you remember me, Corporal Jack? I’m former first Lieutenant Billy Kalvin. I was part of your rescue over in Afghanistan a year or so ago, although we didn’t meet at the time.”
He got no answer, so he went on. “This is former Sergeant Tom Groves. Tom was in our outfit over there, maybe you remember him?”
No answer.
“We’re out now, but we still work for Colonel Saltz. He’s out, too, you probably know that anyway.”
Kalvin turned toward the third visitor. “This is Tony Polombo. He’s from Philadelphia, but he works for the Colonel just like we do.”
Jack heard Galloway sigh behind him, as if in resignation, Jack thought.
He decided he had waited long enough. “I remember you, Kalvin, and I remember Meyers trying to pump information from me that I didn’t have when I was gut-sick with a burned up foot.
“So what do you want up here? Do you figure I’ve discovered something about that damned box since I got my foot cut off? As best I can recall from back then, that mysterious box was all any of you ever showed any interest in.”
Kalvin’s jaw firmed, but Jack guessed that he had not come to stage a fight. This would be a sort of look-around visit. There would be other times, they might figure.
Kalvin said, “Well, it’s plain you aren’t seeing us as comrades just come to visit, but the fact is, the Colonel would like to speak more with you about that wreck in the mountains. He sort of figures you might have been holding back a little when you were so badly hurt, but now, with it all so far behind, you would most likely be willing to explain anything overlooked.”
The man’s smile was knowing. “If you could help us in any way toward finding that box, we would make it well worth your time.”
The man looked around, taking in Jack’s upgraded chicken house accommodation. “It doesn’t appear as if you are doing all that well out here in civilian life. If you can help us, even a little, the Colonel would like making your life a lot more comfortable. That’s all we are here for, Blackwater.”
Jack said, “Well, Kalvin, I’ve got your message, and I have one for you to take back to Saltz. Tell him I haven’t forgotten that it was his stupidity that got Gold and Swartz killed and me crippled for life.
The Making of Blackwater Jack Page 14