Corps Justice Boxed Set: Books 1-3: Back to War, Council of Patriots, Prime Asset

by C. G. Cooper

  With the police cruiser fast fading in his rearview mirror, Dante was already finalizing his plans for the operation later that day.

  + + +

  Cal was silent as he listened to the police described the inevitable outcome. The police helicopter was on the other side of town when the call was placed and, by the time it came on station, West had evaded the lagging police cruiser.

  MSGT TRENT: There wasn’t much more that we could’ve done, Cal.

  CAL: I know. It just pisses me off that he was so close and we couldn’t do a damned thing.

  MSGT TRENT: Now you know what the cops deal with every day.

  CAL: Yeah.

  MSGT TRENT: Where to now?

  CAL: Let’s head back down south. Neil, can you radio the rest of the guys and tell them to head home?

  NEIL: No problem.

  + + +

  The teams met briefly outside the campus headquarters building. There wasn’t much to say other than a couple thank-yous from Cal so the crowd quickly dispersed.

  ANDY: I wish we could’ve done more.

  CAL: I know, but it was the right call. Thanks for making it.

  ANDY: No problem. Hey, you know what that reminded me of?

  Cal looked confused for a second and then the light bulb went on.

  CAL (laughing): That patrol we were on with the sheepherders!

  BRIAN: You jarheads wanna tell me what hell you’re talking about?

  Andy turned to Brian and explained.

  ANDY: Our platoon was running one of those crappy patrols on another hot ass Afghan day. Well, all of a sudden, Cal looks to our right and sees two insurgents peeking over a little hill about a hundred yards away. We immediately take cover and call battalion to get some fire support. We get weapons platoon on the hook and tell them what we’ve got. The platoon commander was a buddy of mine and told me that if I wanted to have some big guns there was a pair of Cobra gunships a few clicks away. As you probably know, it’s always fun to watch the Cobras fire some rounds, so my buddy patches me through. Right about the time the gunships get on station, my radio operator taps me on the shoulder and points back to the little hill. I look over there and I’ll be damned if there isn’t a fucking flock of two hundred sheep strolling up to the hill flanked by a couple of herders. The two insurgents decide to take advantage of the distraction. They actually run into the middle of the herd and hunker down with the sheep.

  BRIAN: No way.

  ANDY: Yeah! So the Cobra pilot gets on the hook and tells me he can see the two insurgents but that he can’t shoot because of the livestock and herders. I told the guy that we suspected the two bad guys were lying in wait so they could trip an IED. The pilot didn’t care. He said the Rules of Engagement were tight. He couldn’t shoot up a bunch of local sheep because some paper pusher in the rear had decided it was bad for local relations. So what do we do? We had to just sit there and wait for the two guys to come out. We’re sitting there watching as the two Cobras are literally hovering overhead, the two guys don’t even shoot at them.

  BRIAN: I’ll bet they were pissing their pants.

  ANDY: Yeah. We would’ve run over there except we were still waiting for EOD to get there so they could sweep the road for explosives. Well, even when the Cobras floated lower to try and scatter the sheep, the damned things stayed calm and the insurgents stayed with the sheep as they were guided toward the little town. I called everyone I could, but we couldn’t get anyone else in on the ground in time and because of the IED threat. So we had to watch these two guys mosey on into the sunset with their herd of sheep. That’s what I felt like today.

  CAL (chuckling): Yeah. Now that I think about it, it’s a pretty good comparison. Let’s get back to The Lodge. I think I’m in need of a couple of fingers of The Famous Grouse.

  The friends hopped in their vehicles and made their way to the bar.

  Chapter 15

  N.O.N. Safe House, Nashville, TN

  HIRED GUN: Dante, the boys are all set and we have that van you wanted.

  West stared at the hulking messenger, one of the hired guns from New Orleans. He’d especially be glad to have this guy gone soon. West wasn’t afraid of much, but being surrounded by a bunch of bouncers with guns, even vouched bouncers, made him antsy.

  DANTE: Alright, thanks. Tell your boys that we’ll be taking off as soon as it gets dark. I want everyone on the level. No drinking or drugs. Clear heads for this last thing.

  HIRED GUN: We ain’t idiots, Dante. We’ll be ready to go.

  West nodded and closed the door to his new bedroom. As he looked around yet another dingy room, he dreamed of the day he could live in luxury once again. Just a few more hours. Just a few more hours.

  + + +

  MSGT TRENT (raising his full glass): I’m limiting myself to one of these. My ass is draggin’.

  CAL: Thanks for all your help today, Top. We wouldn’t have even had a chance to catch West if you hadn’t tracked him down.

  Trent drained his glass and looked back at Cal.

  MSGT TRENT: We’ll get the guy, Cal. Let’s all get a little shut-eye and we’ll hit the streets again tonight.

  CAL: Thanks, Top.

  Trent nodded and, with surprising grace considering his size, hopped up from the couch and left the bar.

  Brian motioned to the bartender. Cal had told him the guy was a former Marine sergeant major who’d come onboard after losing a leg in the first Gulf War and soon became one of Cal Sr.’s first hires. The bartender nodded back and walked around the bar with a half-full bottle of The Famous Grouse. He gave everyone in the group a healthy splash finishing with Cal.

  CAL: Thanks, Sergeant Major. How’s the new book coming?

  BARTENDER: Slowly. Took me a while to get my rusty brain running again. Neil set me up with a laptop behind the bar so I can write while I work. Thanks again for that, Neil.

  NEIL (waving nonchalantly): Anything for my warriors, Sergeant Major.

  Andy and Brian looked on intrigued. Andy spoke up first.

  ANDY: What’s the book about, Sergeant Major?

  BARTENDER: It’s the story about my time in the first Gulf War and how I lost my leg.

  ANDY: If I can ask, how DID you lose it?

  BARTENDER: I was off doing some long-range recon for Cal’s dad and ran into a bunch of bad guys. Me and my spotter were able to take out the guys, but not before one lucky sonofabitch lobbed a grenade our way. I’m lucky that I only lost my leg. Hurt something fierce when my spotter dragged me a couple clicks back to our evac point.

  ANDY: So what made you write the story now?

  BARTENDER (pointing at Cal): That young man right there. He came back from the sand pit and, after a few libations he convinced me that SOMEONE would want to hear my story. No one’s gonna read it.

  CAL: As usual, the Sergeant Major is being modest. The book isn’t just about that one incident. What he failed to mention, of course, was that he got a Silver Star out of that one because the bad guys he mentioned were on their way to ambush one of dad’s companies. He and his spotter took out almost the entire enemy party of twenty some guys with a sniper rifle and an M-203. The rest of the book is gonna be about his battle to regain active duty status after losing his leg. His fight to do that will really resonate with wounded guys coming back from war today.

  BARTENDER: Yeah, well, I guess that’s where it finally got me. If the book can help even one disabled Marine, how could I say no?

  BRIAN (patting Cal on the back): It’s good to know that I’m not the only one that doesn’t seem to have the ability to say no to our fearless leader here.

  BARTENDER: He takes after his father that way. Never could say no to Colonel Stokes either. They must have some voodoo magic in their blood or something.

  Cal shook his head and responded to the obvious compliment.

  CAL: No, you’ve got it all wrong. I’ve just found that it’s a lot easier to convince you guys to do things when you’ve had a couple of these.

&nb
sp; He raised his glass to demonstrate the proper sipping technique for The Famous Grouse.

  BARTENDER: Well, be that as it may, I’m still glad you made me do it, Cal. I’ll get you the rough draft in a couple of weeks. You can tell me whether an old salty Marine with only a high school education can actually write.

  He turned back to the bar and resumed his duties as the group settled in to finish their drinks. Cal couldn’t let that last comment pass.

  CAL: The good Sergeant Major is, of course, being modest again. What he fails to mention, is not only did he regain his active duty status as a Gunny, but he went on to be one of the first Marine first sergeants to serve with a line company with a prosthetic leg. Then he went on to become a Sergeant Major while also finding time to earn two masters degrees AND PT his battalion into the dirt. Don’t let him fool you with that fake limp of high school education bit. He puts on his Cheetah prosthesis and he’ll give Marathon Andy a run for his money.

  As the gathered crew discussed recent events, Cal’s mind began to wander. He replayed the day’s action over and over. What could they have done differently? What if they’d kept following West and not called the cops? He finally filed it all away for future analysis, knowing that the team had done all that was possible without blowing their cover. It didn’t matter, Cal was convinced that he’d somehow find West again very soon.

  On the other side of town, West’s crew was finalizing plans for that night’s operation. No one knew the location except for Dante. He’d given clipped instructions to his hired muscle. Although he didn’t think there would be much resistance, his recent failures necessitated extreme caution. Each man only nodded as they listened to his orders.

  + + +

  After adjourning from the bar, Brian and Andy headed back to their respective rooms. Neil and Cal headed to Travis’s office to discuss options for continuing the search.

  NEIL: So what are you thinking about work-wise after we get this guy, Cal?

  Cal shrugged his shoulders still not clear about where his path might lead.

  CAL: I’m not sure. I want to see this thing out first, then who knows? Maybe I’ll go on a long vacation.

  Neil glanced at his friend as they walked, perceiving the pain he must be feeling.

  NEIL: Have you talked to Higgins yet?

  Dr. Alvin Higgins, PhD, was SSI’s resident psychiatrist. He’d been a long-time member of the CIA’s brain squad for years. He came to SSI after working with the company on a particularly hairy case a few years back. Higgins realized that with SSI, he could continue the work he’d started at the Agency in a different way, and for way more money. He was SSI’s resident expert in all things intellectual, meaning he could either unwrap the mental wiring of criminals and terrorist leaders, conduct interrogations (he’d developed new and non-lethal techniques for the CIA for years), or help SSI employees and family members with any counseling they needed.

  A pudgy man barely over five and half feet tall, the affable Dr. Higgins had quickly endeared himself to the employees at SSI. Where some psychiatrists were aloof and borderline condescending, Higgins was the exact opposite. Jolly in a way that reminding you of Santa Claus, Higgins had actually been the reigning Saint Nick every year at company Christmas parties. Not really what you’d expect from a man who’d dedicated most of his adult life to the extraction of information from men’s minds by all means necessary.

  CAL: No, I haven’t seen him yet. Come to think of it, he’ll probably be with Trav right now. Trav said he’d gather the inner circle to think this West thing out.

  As they entered the headquarters building, the usual bustle of activity seemed like home to Cal. He’d never officially worked at SSI, but he’d practically grown up in these halls. At the same time, he always got the feeling that he was in the middle of a battalion headquarters in the field. Electronic maps and target dossiers were displayed on an impressive array of flat screen panels all along each wall. SSI remained on the tip of the technology curve thanks, in no small part, to Neil and his team of techie geeks.

  They headed to Travis’ secure office. In reality, this entire building and any other SSI structure with any sort of information capability, was shielded from outside snooping by advanced electronic jamming and masking technology, once again courtesy of Neil’s R&D team. The masking system was now being leased by numerous government facilities and a mobile version was also in development for field headquarters.

  Cal entered Travis’ spacious office not really knowing who to expect. He glanced to the eight man conference table in the corner and found the party waiting. Two others accompanied his cousin. The group included the first female employed by SSI: company attorney Marjorie Haines. “The Hammer.” Not only ferocious in court and deposition rooms, she was also an expert martial artist in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and Kung Fu. She’d been known to take down multiple new recruits on the fighting mat after a particularly trying day.

  She’d entered SSI shortly after winning a case against the company. Travis and the rest of the executive team had been so impressed with her tenacity that they’d gone after her to fill the role of lead attorney. It didn’t hurt that she could match many of the men in physical discipline and she’d also been a former prosecutor in the Navy JAG Corps and was a diehard patriot. She was, of course, well paid for her efforts at SSI and was considered one of the inner circle members. Today she was standing casually, her typical grey pant suit perfectly tailored to her athletic build. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek pony tail.

  Next to Haines was SSI’s head of internal security, Todd Dunn. Dunn was one of Travis’ first hires at SSI and a beast. If there could be a human version of an English bulldog, it would be Dunn. A muscular barrel of a man and former Army Ranger, Dunn rarely cracked a smile but could be absolutely depended on.

  + + +

  Dunn’s background was similar to some of the other SSI employees. He’d been a star in the Rangers, quickly rising through the enlisted ranks. Shortly after re-enlisting, his father had been diagnosed with cancer. Dunn, now separated from his parents by a four hour plane ride, did what he could to help his father. Because the family had little money and poor health insurance, the hospital bills continued to pile up. Dunn got a second job as a bouncer at one of the strip clubs outside Fort Bragg to make some extra money to send home. He was quickly promoted to head of security for his cold calculation and eerie calm during altercations. It didn’t hurt that he could do the books better than the strip club owner. The new position allowed Dunn to make more money by getting a portion of the bartender and stripper tips.

  One night on the job, a group of rowdy townies decided to make trouble with some drunken soldiers. The soldiers, obviously half in the cups but harmless, were easy targets for the small group of oversized rednecks. Taunted into brawling, the group of three soldiers were no match for the five rednecks. The one black soldier was apparently the target of a vocal tirade of racial slurs being screamed by the hulking antagonists.

  As Dunn approached the group of brawlers with another bouncer, he noticed the butt of a pistol in one of the attackers’ jacket pocket. Shit. I’m gonna have the ass of whoever let that guy in.

  What started as a shouting match quickly escalated into a melee of flying fists. Just as he reached the guy with the gun, the man pulled the weapon on Dunn. Acting on instinct and training, Dunn closed the final foot, cupped his hands over his head, and pushed the weapon up over his head while simultaneously bending his knees slightly.

  The diverted weapon fired and the loud boom echoed in the enclosed space. Patrons and employees screamed as they ran for the doorways. Dunn wrestled the pistol away from the man and hit him with the pistol butt on his temple. The man fell to the floor unconscious.

  Dunn turned to see two of the three bloodied soldiers lying on the ground. The third was being dragged to the door by three of the massive rednecks. The two remaining antagonists turned on Dunn; one with a large buck knife and the other with a pistol matching the one
in Dunn’s hand.

  Still calm but with pistol aimed at the gun-wielding redneck, Dunn tried to diffuse the situation.

  TODD: Alright boys, you’ve had your fun. How about you drop your weapons before anyone really gets hurt?