Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Shanks moved quickly toward the very end of the second corridor, and Mac noted how there were no prison guards watching this area. Instead, two large black prisoners stood in the middle of the corridor, clearly put there to prevent any other prisoners from walking past.

  Shanks nodded to both of them and stuck a thumb toward Mac.

  “Professor wants to talk to this white boy. He’s a newbie.”

  Neither of the two other black men indicated they heard Shanks’ words. The taller of them, a man with a prominent, full afro and clean shaven face, placed his right hand against Mac’s chest and pushed back slightly.

  “You the one kick the shit out of Manny, huh? Singing that cotton pickin’ bullshit song after you done it? That you?”

  Mac smiled up at the man and winked.

  “You asking for a repeat performance?”

  Shanks placed his own hand onto the bigger man’s chest and gently pushed him back from Mac.

  “You make me late to the meeting with the professor and I’m putting the blame on you Sampson. That what you want?”

  The man Shanks addressed as Sampson glared down at Mac for a moment and then glanced over to Shanks.

  “Yeah – you take him on down to the professor then. Maybe he don’t like this white boy so much, and lets me give him a little lesson in manners. Make you my bitch white boy.”

  Mac ‘s eyes widened in mock shock as he looked at Shanks.

  “Did he just propose to me Shanks? Now if that’s what just happened, well color me humbled. Not three days inside here and I’m already being proposed to! Who says prison ain’t a friendly place! And such a big, handsome man to boot!”

  Sampson stepped back from Mac, his mouth curled downward in disgust.

  “This dude crazy Shanks. Talking all gay and shit.”

  Mac placed both hands on his hips and then raised his right hand to shake an angry finger toward Sampson.

  “Young man, that is not politically correct. Shame on you!”

  The shorter of the two black men standing guard began to laugh.

  “He got all up inside your head Sampson! Got you all messed up!”

  Sampson turned to the other man and pushed him hard in the chest.

  “Shut up Skittles!”

  It was Mac’s turn to laugh.

  “Hold on now! Your name is…Skittles? As in a rainbow of flavor?”

  Skittles glowered at Mac, his laughter coming to an abrupt halt.

  “Don’t go talking to me white boy. I mess your shit up right here, right now.”

  Mac placed his right hand onto his chest and shook his head.

  “Oh my, here I was thinking a man named Skittles would surely understand how using the term gay with negative connotations is simply unacceptable in this new world of ours! Rainbow of flavors and all.”

  Shanks grabbed onto Mac’s left arm and pushed him forward away from Sampson and Skittles.

  “Shut your damn mouth boy – get us both killed!”

  Mac rested his head on Shanks’ right shoulder and let out a long, satisfied sigh.

  “Oh Shanks, you like me! You really-really like me!”

  Shanks shook off Mac’s head, his grip tightening on the former Navy SEAL’s arm.

  “You best stop this nonsense Walker! Professor not known for his sense of humor. Get your shit right.”

  Mac clapped Shanks on the back as they approached the entrance to Cell 410 – the prison home of the man who went by the name of the professor.

  “Hey – this was your idea Shanks, not mine.”

  XXIII.

  “I said you have done well Nigel.”

  Nigel was momentarily panicked, at that moment realizing there must be some kind of visual transmission device hidden in Dasha’s apartment. The adviser had watched him kill Dasha and the others.

  “Thank you. So…you were watching?”

  The adviser paused, though Nigel could hear her breathing softly.

  “Yes. Impressive work. Most impressive. I hope to use your skills again Nigel, very soon. There is still the matter of two loose ends I would like to have silenced. Two men who Dasha failed to satisfactorily deal with. Can I count on you to take care of that for us Nigel?”

  Nigel nodded his head, his eyes looking down at the dead but still beautiful form of Dasha’s body as it lay on the bed.

  “I will take care of it. Can you get me into the prison?”

  The adviser’s laughter was oddly shrill, almost inhuman sounding.

  “Of course Nigel – I can give you whatever you need. You know that. As you know, those who are with us will be rewarded. Those who have been against us…will be no more. Take care of the other one first, and then we can get you inside the facility to dispatch of Walker.”

  Nigel’s mind focused enough for him to make a much needed request.

  “The bodies will need to be taken care of, as well as my own involvement.”

  Again the adviser’s shrill laughter knifed through Nigel’s phone.

  “Already done Nigel! Make your way to Walker’s friend. I want him gone within forty eight hours. Can we count on you to take care of that for us?”

  Nigel nodded, realizing the adviser was likely watching him do so.

  “Yes – two days. I’ll notify you when it’s completed.”

  The adviser ended the call, leaving Nigel alone in Dasha’s apartment, surrounded by the dead he had made so.

  An hour later, Nigel was driving south toward Memphis, Tennessee, home of Benjamin Williams. Nigel already knew of the protection being given Williams and his family by a Florida attorney who in turn was being financed by a Wall Street billionaire. It was Nigel’s intention to kill Benjamin Williams, Mac Walker, as well as the attorney and billionaire, to secure favor with the newly emerging global power that was to be the New United Nations.

  In her second floor West Wing office of the White House, the adviser looked across her desk at the man Mac Walker had earlier been introduced to as Mr. X.

  “It appears you are pleased with our progress, yes?”

  The adviser looked back coolly at Mr. X, silently admiring his perfectly tailored black suit and pink tie. She knew well the man’s considerable influence within the now quickly emerging New United Nations. His connections to both the Saudi Royal Family, as well as the International Monetary Fund.

  Mr. X was a man to be respected, if not entirely trusted. The adviser had thought him very close to Dasha Al Marri, and yet, when the time came, he seemed to find her death an inconsequential matter.

  “You trust Dasha’s man, this Nigel, will be up to the task of silencing the Benghazi witnesses?”

  Mr. X nodded, his white teeth momentarily flashing from within his dark skinned face.

  “I do. And…I am already aware you have dispatched orders for others already within the prison to deal with Mr. Walker. Perhaps Nigel’s services to us in that regard won’t even be required.”

  The adviser folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her White House issued leather bound chair.

  ‘Maybe – maybe not. This Walker seems to have a rather annoying penchant for staying alive.”

  Mr. X gave a short laugh, his right hand rubbing his neck – the neck Mac Walker had almost crushed between his legs while strapped down onto a military hospital bed not two weeks ago.

  “Indeed he does. A rather remarkable man. Pity he will not be used to our own ends.”

  The adviser looked into Mr. X’s eyes, conveying her simmering anger over Dasha’s so recent failure in that regard.

  “Dasha thought to use him. Now she is dead, and this Mr. Walker remains alive – for now.”

  Mr. X leaned forward in his chair slightly.

  “And the president…he is one hundred percent on board with the mandates? The official launch of the New United Nations?”

  The adviser waved a dismissive hand at Mr. X, annoyed he had bothered to ask the question.

  “The president supports whatever I tell him to suppo
rt. You know that. He will be granted a position within the New United Nations that will afford him ample opportunity to live in his own expanding shadow – that is all he cares about. That’s all he’s ever cared about. The rest of it is mine, as it’s always been.”

  Mr. X persisted with yet another question.

  “And the deal between your Iranians and the Saudis, I hear conflicting reports on that.”

  The adviser knew Mr. X was lying – he knew the deal was already completed, had been for some months. What she didn’t know was why he was testing her.

  “Stop pretending questions you already know. And don’t test me. The Muslim Brotherhood has taken care of it, as I promised they would. Your job is to repay this effort with the territories. The immigration effort into Canada in particular. You gave your word that would be done soon.”

  Mr. X smiled again as he nodded his head.

  “Of course! It is proceeding beautifully! Every major urban center is now being dominated by the Muslim populations. Within another year, perhaps two, it will be done, just as it is being done throughout Europe. The chaos that will ensue will have the world begging for order, and the old rights will easily give way to the new government – to the mandates. And all future oil contracts will be given over to the House of Saud, who in turn will share those spoils with us.”

  The adviser couldn’t help but feel excited over Mr. X’s words. They truly were on the brink of a global transformation. A new age. It had always been her destiny.

  “What of the senators who persist in attempting to halt our progress? And their benefactor – the New York billionaire? Shall we move against them yet?”

  The adviser felt a very brief moment of uncertainty pass over her. There did remain a handful within Congress working to halt the progress of the New United Nations. Their billionaire friend had left them though, fled to some far off place in Alaska if the reports given to her were accurate. So with his absence, their power would be greatly diminished. And how they would pay for their insolence. She had warned them – she had warned them all.

  Those who were against us will be punished…

  “The senators will be brought to heel soon enough. As for the billionaire, he has abandoned them, living out his days in some remote, god forsaken part of Alaska.”

  Mr. X’s eyes widened – he had not already known that bit of information.

  “Alaska! Fascinating! Not exactly the place one would expect a New York Jew to run off to! And shall we follow him?”

  The adviser shook her head.

  “Not now – he’s no threat to us. He’ll be visited by the drones soon enough though, after we deal with these senators, and Mr. Walker and his friend.”

  Mr. X stood up from his chair as his eyes moved about the surprisingly small and humble confines of the adviser’s office.

  So much power, and yet the first impression given is so little to show for it. She is smart, this one. Smart – and deadly dangerous.

  XXIV.

  “Hello to you Mr. Walker! I am the one they call the professor. Please, come in and sit down. I wish to speak with you.”

  Mac looked back at the shockingly thin black man with the uncertain accent who extended a bony fingered left hand toward a steel folding chair that sat across from a small plastic patio desk placed in the center of his prison cell. The man’s eyes were sunken holes peering out from a withered, mummified looking face, the dark skin sagging loosely about the lower jaw and neck.

  His head and face were devoid of all hair, with not even a trace of eyebrows.

  “Ah – you note my appearance Mr. Walker. It is the treatment that so often kills you they say. The damn poison they inject in one’s veins to keep the cancer death at bay. One poison for another – not much of a choice.”

  The cell was immaculate, two beds across from one another, the same matching white toilet and sink as all the other cells had, but this one had a beautiful oriental rug laid out upon the floor. Mac marveled at how just a simple bit of color could alter the otherwise perpetually grey and cold interior that was the Allenwood Federal Prison.

  “You like the rug there? A token of my long ago academic days. I was a political science professor at Princeton. Twenty two years I spent there. Twenty of them were wonderful years indeed. The last two…not so much. Ah, but we are not here to talk of me Mr. Walker – we are here to learn more about YOU!”

  Mac seated himself opposite the professor but remained silent. Whatever position the dying man held inside C Block, it was one of some influence. That could prove beneficial to Mac – or dangerous.

  “You are sizing me up, Mr. Walker. I imagine that comes instinctively for you. That’s good – those skills can help you inside a place such as this. But if you are to survive with your mind and body intact, you will need friends here Mr. Walker. I am offering you the potential for that friendship and the protection it might afford you.”

  Mac’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked back at the professor.

  “Why? I don’t know you – and you don’t know me. Why make an offer like that? What do you want out of it?”

  The professor nodded back at Mac, his white toothed smile seeming too large inside of his bald head and too thin face.

  “Yes – nothing in here is given freely, or at least very little. Perhaps if I tell you a little of my story you might understand. I watched your trial you know, heard your words and those of that judge. It might surprise you to hear me say I agreed with you. The depravity that America has become, I know it all too well. So perhaps I should talk of me just a bit, before we get to you.”

  Mac sat silent, unmoving, his face unreadable.

  “As I told you, Mr. Walker, I was a professor of political science at one of the most prestigious institutions of higher learning in the entire world. I enjoyed a comfortable living, the respect of my peers, and the other intangibles that accompany the life of an academic. That is, until I published my last book.

  You are familiar with the global warming movement are you not, Mr. Walker?”

  Mac nodded once.

  “Yeah – never paid it much mind though. More government, another tax – whatever.”

  The skin where the professor’s eye brows should have been rose above his eyes as he tilted his head slightly to the right, a slight sigh escaping him as he did so.

  “Ah, that is the very attitude the globalists were hoping for you know. Distractions and more distractions all while manipulating the data points, the projections, to form a perfect union between the radicalized environmental movement, and the even more radicalized political movement – one was the perfect companion to the other.”

  Mac Walker held up his hands, palms outward, in front of him.

  “You’re totally losing me here. Like I said, never paid any of that much mind.”

  The professor’s mouth smiled again, though his eyes held not even the slightest warmth or humor in them.

  “Of course, Mr. Walker – of course. Are you aware of the connection between your own trial for the murder of that black man, and the global warming movement?”

  Mac’s face finally broke out into open emotion – surprise.

  “Uh…no. That hadn’t crossed my mind. I’m open to suggestions that my trial and global warming are both a big crock of bullshit though.”

  The professor wagged a bony pointer finger back at the former Navy SEAL.

  “And you would be right about that! Deadly dangerous too though! You see Mr. Walker, the global warming movement, and your trial based upon charges of racism, and the use of a banned weapon, are for the most part, being financed by the very same groups, with a shared agenda. The destruction of the United States and other sovereign nations, to be replaced by a global central authority overseen by a very select and powerful political class.”

  Mac couldn’t help be reminded of his former, and now dead, team member, Jack Thompson. Jack had harbored similar thoughts regarding powerful forces working to destroy the United States both from outs
ide and within. The same Jack Thompson Mac watched die on a road just outside the Benina Airport in Benghazi, Libya.

  “Is that what your book was about?”

  The professor nodded again, pleased with how quickly Mac was following his story.

  “Yes it was, Mr. Walker, though the book detailed very specific connections through interviews, flight records, currency exchange agreements…it was very thorough, and the end result was what I determined to be an indisputable roadmap of where this organization intended to take us. All of us, Mr. Walker.”