by C. G. Cooper
CAL: Thanks for your help, Doc. I appreciate your insight.
DR. HIGGINS: Not at all, Calvin. I’ll continue my analysis and let you all know if I find anything new.
With that, Higgins waved farewell and left the room. Cal and the others had no doubt that SSI’s resident mind specialist would spend many sleepless nights analyzing and reanalyzing West’s file. Once on the trail, Dr. Higgins was a true bloodhound. He wouldn’t stop until his quarry was found.
Cal turned back to the others.
CAL: Any other thoughts?
TODD: I’ll do some digging too. Maybe my contacts within the police department and FBI can help. Couldn’t hurt.
HAINES: I’ll run some checks through my court contacts. See if we can’t run down some of his associates and squeeze some intel out of them.
TRAVIS: I’ll reach out to some of my contacts too. Let’s all remember to be discreet about this. The last thing we need is that reporter catching wind of this.
The small group dispersed and Travis followed Cal out.
TRAVIS: Hey, Cal. Got a minute?
Cal nodded and led the way to his father’s office two doors down. Even though it’d been years since his parents’ deaths, the office was still in the same state that Cal Sr. had left it in 2001. The office was cleaned daily by a crusty old Marine who’d served with Cal Sr. in the early 1970’s. Although now technically retired, the old Marine came in every weekday to reverently dust and vacuum “The Colonel’s Office.”
Chapter 16
Camp Spartan, Arrington, TN
Cal remembered first meeting the man years ago. He’d left the Marine Corps after serving in Vietnam. Totally coincidentally, he’d been a machine gunner in (then) Capt. Stokes’s company. Back in those days, the military wasn’t given the same place of honor as in the post-9/11 days. The proud Marine returned home to find protesters spitting at him and calling him names. Worst of all upon returning to his family he found that his twin sister (the two had been inseparable from birth) now dressed in hippy garb and spewing the same propaganda he’d heard debarking the airplane ride home. Even after repeated attempts to make peace with his sister, he finally gave up.
Unable to reacclimatize or even find a job, he learned to cope through drugs and alcohol. Instead of dealing with the pain and emotional grief, he internalized his pain and went into a quick downward spiral. Within a year, the poor man was living on the streets begging for money so he could buy a hit or swig. He spent the rest of the 1970’s and 1980’s bouncing from shelter to shelter and bottle to bottle.
In the mid-90’s the man had somehow wandered to the Nashville area. By that time, the Stokes family was back in Nashville and Cal Sr. was reestablishing his roots and expanding his business. One weekend as father and son were volunteering at a local shelter handing out food, Cal Sr. spied the man in the line. Now hunched, his body ravaged and aged by years of abuse, he shuffled forward in his oversized winter coat. On his left arm he’d sewn on an old tattered Marine Corps emblem. Cal Sr. liked to chat with the people they volunteered to help and used the patch as his introduction.
CALVIN SR: Nice patch you got there. Were you in the Corps?
CRUSTY MARINE (suspiciously): Yeah. So what?
CALVIN SR (smiling): I was in the Marine Corps too.
The man paused and tried to concentrate his gaze on his fellow Marine. Without thinking he blurted:
CRUSTY MARINE: I was in Vietnam.
CALVIN SR: Me too. Those were different times, weren’t they?
Finally, the man’s smile cracked. Cal could see his filthy teeth inside but also noticed the sudden gleam of remembrance in the man’s eyes.
CRUSTY MARINE: They sure were. Different times.
Over subsequent visits, Cal Sr. made it a point to find the man and checkup on him. Cal remembered asking his father why.
CALVIN SR: Because he will always be a Marine. That makes us family. If he wants help, I’ll give it to him.
The two Marines had quickly made the miraculous discovery that the homeless man had once served under Cal Sr.’s command. Not surprisingly, Cal’s father put great effort into helping “his Marine.” Over time, the man agreed to enter a rehabilitation program paid for by the charitable arm of Stokes Security International.
After getting cleaned up and reunited with his family, he was offered a position in the newly built SSI complex just south of Nashville. After years of substance abuse, the man’s mental capacity was now vastly diminished. He was, however, extremely grateful for the chance to help maintain the grounds for SSI. Over the next few years, the man became one of the company’s most loyal employees. Refusing, even after numerous offers from Cal’s father, to call Cal Sr. anything but Colonel, the man was once again home among his fellow warriors. He ate in the chow hall and shopped in the small PX. He was home.
Upon Cal Sr.’s death, the man wept openly as he demanded from Travis that he be allowed to maintain the Colonel’s office as a sort of shrine. Travis had quickly relented and, even after officially retiring, the man was given a comfortable living space in one of the campus’ small homes.
+ + +
Needless to say, the office was spotless as Cal and Travis walked in. Cal often came to the office to sit and stare at the countless photographs all around the office. There were pictures of the family and of his time in the Corps. Anyone visiting the office could see that Cal Sr. had somehow found a way to merge his two families into one through the birth of SSI It was his legacy and would serve as a home for warriors for years to come.
Cal still remembered what the place had looked like during construction. His father always enjoyed nature and had his office designed so that it appeared to be part of the outdoors. The office itself actually jutted outside the main structure of the building and close to the surrounding woods. It afforded the office a 180 degree view of the surrounding area. You could sit in the office early in the morning and watch the deer and turkey grazing below.
Cal walked around the large desk and sat in the cushy swivel chair. Travis took the seat in front of the desk. He always deferred to his younger cousin when visiting the office together.
TRAVIS: So what do you think, Cal?
CAL: I’m thinking that I’m about tired of waiting. We got all geared up for that trip north only to have it fizzle out on us. It’s just a little frustrating.
Cal answered while mindlessly opening drawers and peering in just as he had done as a teenager. He’d always been curious about what his father kept close at hand.
TRAVIS: I understand how you feel, but you’ve got to realize that this is the real world. Middle America. We can’t just go around guns blazing shooting up the bad guys.
CAL: I’m not an idiot, Trav. I’m just disappointed.
TRAVIS: I know, man. But listen, if nothing else, this is good experience for you for later on. If you decide to be an active part of SSI you need to learn about the rules. You might as well learn them now.
CAL: Alright I’m game. Hit me with the high points.
TRAVIS: OK. Like I told you before, these types of operations started a few years ago. We saw the need and we attacked it. Also, we were approached by certain entities that needed work done on the sly. We’ve always been really careful with whom we work with. We are not vigilantes for hire. We are also not a tool for corrupt politicians or criminals. The work we do here in the states beneath the law is strictly regulated and kept under the radar for obvious reasons.
CAL: So who approves these missions?
TRAVIS: Right now, me. Back in the day, it was your dad. There are only five of us within SSI that are actually involved in decision making for these ops. Todd Dunn and The Hammer are two of the five. Dr. Higgins is obviously in the loop. Last, but not least, is Neil. Between the five of us, we make the call whether to use company assets or not.
CAL: What about the teams you send out to do the dirty work?
TRAVIS: They are never, and I repeat never, in contact with any individual or gro
up that initiates the mission. That’s my job. I think I mentioned before that some of the people that tip us off are highly placed government officials. It is absolutely necessary that they maintain their anonymity.
CAL: Trav, I hate to say this, but you’re starting to sound like you’re running some kind of secret society. Do I have to learn the secret handshake too?
TRAVIS (suddenly serious): I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt because of who you are, but this shit is serious. Now do you want to hear this or not?
Cal threw up his hands in surrender.
CAL: Sorry. Sorry. Go ahead, Grand Master.
A small grin spread on Travis’s face. He was a man that rarely displayed anger, but Cal’s comment had obviously hit a nerve. It was hard not to give his cousin a little ribbing every once in a while. Tough habit to break.
TRAVIS: Like I was saying, our sources are really funny about their involvement. We’ve obviously vetted everyone but we’ve always gotta be careful. That’s why each mission is always reviewed by the five of us before we decide to make a move. Every angle has to be explored and the good and bad always have to be weighed. As a result, we don’t green-light every mission. Sometimes we decide not to act and our sources understand that. We can’t be everything for everyone.
CAL: So how do you decide which mission you do green-light?
TRAVIS: There’s no real formula. It really comes down to a couple of things. One: do we think we can get away with it without being exposed? Two: does the result of a successful mission, and its positive effect on this country, outweigh the possibility of failure AND exposure Three: does the mission live up to the standards of Corps Justice? If any one of those things can’t be answered definitively, we don’t move forward. Sometimes we’ll go back to our sources and tell them thanks but no thanks and give them a recommendation on who should handle the problem.
CAL: Can you give me an example of a mission you didn’t do?
TRAVIS: Yeah. Three years ago one of our sources came to us with an interesting dilemma. Apparently, one of the big Mexican cartels was hiring American engineers to dig these elaborate tunnels under the border. The problem was that law enforcement didn’t have the manpower to track down the leads and exploit the intel, so they came to us. We looked at the intel and asked what they wanted done. Basically, they wanted us to shut down the operation. We ended up not taking on the mission, although we did provide them with some of Neil’s toys because we didn’t see the direct result it was having on American security. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not all about the cartels bringing their drugs into our country, but we just didn’t feel like it was a worthwhile operation for the amount of effort we’d be putting in.
CAL: So what if the cartels were running terrorists through those tunnels and not just drugs?
TRAVIS: That would’ve been another story. We hate terrorists around here; especially the ones that try to sneak into the country. But you need to understand that we get A LOT of requests and we’re only one company. As much as it sucks sometimes, we can’t say yes to everyone.
CAL: I think I’ve got a better picture now. So tell me how you think I’d fit into the equation.
TRAVIS: Honestly, I just don’t have the time to run it anymore. It’s not that we run a lot of ops, it’s just dealing with our sources and going through the thought process. As CEO, it’s probably best that I don’t run it anyway. Too much visibility. I’ll still be involved but I think you’ve got the brains and experience to run it.
CAL: Trav, I’m a Marine Staff Sergeant. You’re talking about running a covert arm of this company. I’m not sure I’m really qualified to do that.
TRAVIS: You’ll have help. Dunn, Haines, Patel and Higgins to start. And don’t forget that I’m not going anywhere either. Don’t worry, we’re not just gonna throw you to the wolves on day one. We’ll ease you into it.
CAL (skeptically): That sounds like what my company gunny said before I took over as platoon sergeant.
TRAVIS: This ain’t the Marine Corps, cuz. SSI is a well-oiled machine. Besides, not to pump up your ego too much, but you’ve got a lot of your dad’s talents. The guys around here already respect you and think you’re part of the team. Anyone gives you grief, I’ll deal with them. Plus, is there anyone else in this world that we could trust more to run our covert ops? I think not.
Cal mulled it over. Is this really what he wanted to do? He’d always respected his father’s company and the men in it, but running what was essentially a division within a multi-billion dollar corporation at his age was almost too much to fathom.
The sun had already set as he thought about what else to ask his cousin. Cal obviously didn’t need the money. He’d considered going back to school, maybe heading back to U.Va to finally finish his degree. He couldn’t go back in the Marine Corps. It was still entrenched in two wars and he’d already gotten funny looks from those who knew about the Navy Cross. He loved the Corps but that chapter was finished. He couldn’t go back.
Besides, this might give him the opportunity to actually do some good without being bogged down by rules of engagement or meddling by higher headquarters. He could think of a lot worse options out there.
CAL: So you’re saying that at some point I’d have final say in any operation we take on?
TRAVIS: Yep.
CAL: Do we have a name for this quote, unquote division?
TRAVIS: Not really. I call our inner circle the Fantastic Five but no one thinks that’s very funny. I guess if you want to name it, you can. I wouldn’t recommend going out and getting business cards though.
Cal nodded. The idea was starting to grow on him.
Chapter 17
N.O.N. Safe House, Nashville, TN
Dante looked around at his underlings. All were armed and ready. They’d taken the remainder of the afternoon to inventory their gear and finalize plans.
DANTE: Any last minute questions?
The gathered men shook their heads. They knew the plan. It wasn’t a complicated one.
DANTE: Alright. Let’s get going.
West led the way to the back of the house and out the door. Their vehicles were waiting and fully gassed. They’d all been serviced earlier in the week per West’s instructions. He was not about to let a low oil light or a faulty transmission screw up this night’s action.
The assault crew piled into their respective vehicles and cautiously pulled out of the driveway. After the episode with the police earlier everyone was on edge.
The caravan made its way out of town and onto the interstate. It would be a short twenty-minute ride to their destination. West was almost giddy with anticipation. He calmed his nerves as he always did: by imagining a mental picture of a dead Cal Stokes.
+ + +
Cal and Travis talked until the sun had fully set. There were still a lot of details to be ironed out once the former Marine had made his final decision, but Travis was confident that Cal would come around.
TRAVIS: So like I said, Cal, sleep on it and we’ll talk about it again over the next couple of days. Right now, your focus needs to be tracking down West.
CAL: OK. Give me a day and I’ll give you a decision one way or another. How about we…
Cal felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the caller ID.
CAL: I’d better take this, it’s Frank. You wanna wait or see you tomorrow?
TRAVIS: I’ll catch you in the morning. Give Frank my best.
Travis got up out of his chair and turned to leave. Cal picked up the call.
CAL: Hey, Frank.
There was a pause on the other end.
DANTE: Frank can’t come to the phone right now, if you’d like to leave a message please wait until the sound of the gun shot.
Cal’s blood froze. He knew the voice well. He had heard it over and over in his brain since waking up in the hospital. Dr. Higgins had it right: Dante West had made his play.
Travis turned to wave goodbye and noticed the pale exp
ression on his cousin’s face. He quickly walked back into the room and shut the door.