The Maverick Experiment

by Drew Berquist

  Derek pondered his decision on the drive home from the airport. As he pulled his car into the driveway, he tried to imagine how the conversation would go.

  The Stevenses lived in a gorgeous golf and sailing community just minutes from the Atlantic Ocean. His hard work paid off, and Derek had been able to get away from the costs and hassles associated with living in Washington, DC. He could relax without any neighbors making any particular assumptions about his career. In this neighborhood of affluent people, Derek was just an ordinary guy—with an extremely high golf handicap.

  Derek rehearsed his script: “Honey … how would you feel about being able to shop even more than you do now?” No, that's not it … “Umm, honey, we need to talk.” That never starts anything positive … “Honey, I …”

  Derek paused and looked up as Heidi stood outside his car door, waiting for him. He opened the door. “Honey! Hi!”

  “Hey, sweetie. How was your trip?”

  “Fast. I'll tell you all about it. Just let me grab my stuff.”

  Derek grabbed his small carry-on bag from the front passenger seat before getting out and shutting the door. He hugged and kissed Heidi and led her inside.

  Heidi went toward the back door leading to their favorite place, the patio. They would often eat their meals outside on the recently redesigned patio and then chat far into the night as they shared a cocktail or a bottle of wine. On a good night, they could hear each and every wave crash onto the beach, just a few blocks away.

  “You want a drink, honey?” called Derek from the kitchen.

  “Umm, sure. I'll just have whatever you have. Thanks.”

  Derek poured their standby, Johnnie Walker Gold, into two small glasses and headed out back. He had the brief thought that his line of work had moved him from two or three beers an evening to several glasses of scotch. As usual, he shoved this thought back into his mental closet and slammed the door.

  “Hey, babe, shut the door fast so we don't let any bugs in,” Heidi said.

  Derek closed the door behind him and sat down. “Cheers.” He handed her a glass.

  “So what are we cheering? Are you leaving me again?”

  “Yes, but this is a good thing.”

  “So what is it? Why Afghanistan?”

  “Well, the government wants me to go over and help assess some new unit's training. I'm supposed to determine what else they need in order to operate more efficiently.”

  Derek was pleased with his freshly invented answer. He rarely found it wise to make something up on the spot, but in this case, the improvisation had the ring of truth; it would also provide reasonable cover for any potential future trips to other locations. Derek tried to be as vague as possible but still make plenty of sense. It was completely feasible that a skilled operator like himself would perform such an assignment as he had just described—if it in fact existed.

  “Will you provide the training yourself?” she said.

  “It depends. If I am capable of doing so, I'll get them up to speed. If not, I'll make my recommendations and we'll send someone else in to do it.”

  “How long will you be there?”

  “Still not sure. It depends on my assessment, I guess. I don't anticipate much longer than a few weeks, if that long.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “No, honey. I'll be fine. I promise.”

  “Will there be other trips?”

  “I think so, but I don't have any specifics yet. We're trying to roll this program out and see how it goes.”

  “Are there more than just you going?”

  “Yes. A small team.”

  “Do you know any of them?”

  “No, but I know the men in charge now, and I trust them. Everything will be fine.”

  “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Trust them.”

  “Well, as much as I can trust anybody.” In the shadowy intelligence community, trust was a pretty rare commodity—especially for someone with Derek's family experiences. But it probably wouldn't do any good to share that fact with Heidi right now.

  “Does it pay well?”

  “I was waiting for you to get to that part,” laughed Derek. “Yes. It pays very well. How does forty thousand per month sound? And it's forty thousand per month even if I just work one day in the month. If I punch the clock one time in the month, I get paid for it. Good deal, huh?”

  “Yeah. That works.” She smiled, then looked down, her smile fading a little. “I just need you to be safe. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

  “Well, you could start by cashing in on the million-dollar life insurance policy they're giving me.”

  Government employees were usually provided approximately $250,000 in life insurance. Derek knew he and his team were probably getting the million for good reason.

  “Not funny, Derek,” Heidi said. “Just don't be stupid out there. I know you're confident in yourself, but don't be too confident. Besides, it's not you I worry about.”

  “I promise I will be extremely safe. I have too much at stake here.” He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “You are my whole world. And I am doing this for us. We can use the extra money to take some fun trips … and maybe start a college fund for our kids.”

  Heidi perked up and smiled. “Hmm. I like the sound of that. Kids, college fund, travel … all my favorite things.”

  “Hey don't forget me.”

  “Of course not. So when would this whole kid plan start?”

  Derek knew this would come up. Still, he needed to use the kid issue to gain a little slack for the amount of traveling he would be doing. If a deal regarding kids wasn't struck, then the whole deal—work and travel—would be off.

  “Soon. Maybe we can start trying this year. Let's just see how all this goes for a little bit, OK?”

  He leaned in and kissed her again, this time on the lips.

  “I can't wait to have kids with you,” she said, kissing him back.

  “Maybe we should go to the bedroom and practice. What do you think?”

  “I think I like the way you think.”

  Home free. A little talk about kids and the future, and now his revved-up wife wanted sex and still had no idea how bad this might get. He smiled and held out his hand. They stood and walked hand-in-hand toward the house.

  Wednesday, December 30

  Everglades, Florida

  1522 Hrs

  Derek pulled up to the address Jerry Carr had given him. It had taken him nearly seven hours to find his destination, and it had not been easy.

  He had been off highways and main roads for a while now and quickly recognized that the address given was not his final destination. Derek stared at a now-vacant gas station in the middle of nowhere. The old filling station made little, if any, sense in this location, but the address matched up. He waited for five minutes and then exited the vehicle to search the station.

  Derek peered through windows, thinking someone could be waiting inside the old structure, but there was nothing. He returned to his car and waited. Nearly a half hour passed before dust started billowing down one of the adjacent roads. A black Cadillac sedan pulled up to the station, and two men exited the vehicle. They were tough-looking guys, which immediately had Derek assuming this was a survival, evasion, resistance, and escape drill.

  SERE drills were often given to officers involved in extremely dangerous assignments. They involved interrogations, food deprivation, physical abuse, and a ton of mental abuse. For the training to be more realistic, officers never knew it was coming; it just happened. Just as Derek was about to stomp on the gas pedal to get out of there, one of men spoke to him.

  “You Stevens?”

  “I am.”

  One of them stuck his open hand out toward Derek's window. Derek shook hands.

  “Good to meet you. Follow us.”

  They returned to their vehicle and turned back down the same dirt road they had come from.

  A mile or so down th
e road, the Cadillac made an abrupt right turn off the dirt road, through some brush, and onto a hardly traceable track along a marshy area. Derek barely made the turn in time.

  “Oh, this road,” he said to himself. “Don't know how I missed it.”

  The two vehicles traveled for another mile or so down the path before they reached a large open area with a small house in the distance and a long strip of pavement, which Derek figured to be a makeshift runway. A hangar and a few planes sat beyond the runway. Although the private jetliner sitting in the distance looked nice, the three old prop planes caught Derek's attention: two single-prop aircraft and a larger two-prop airplane. Derek was not sure what types they were, but he hated flying on prop planes. He had risked his life in enough ways without going up in a plan that gave him limited backup options.

  “Great. Props,” Derek thought. “Can't someone just shoot at me instead, or try to blow up my car?”

  The cars came to a stop near the house. As Derek exited his vehicle, Carlisle Davenport appeared from the house.

  “Welcome to paradise, Derek.”

  Derek stared around at the place. “Where is it?”

  Carlisle laughed. “Grab your bags and come inside.”

  Derek entered the old house and was surprised to see modern décor within. Flat-screen TVs showing major news channels covered one entire wall. Comfortable leather sofas were lined up to enhance the viewing pleasure. A small control center sat in the farthest corner, with one person staffing what appeared to be some radar screens, a couple of phones, and a computer workstation.

  Carlisle walked into the kitchen. “You need anything? Coffee? Soda?”

  “No, I'm fine for now, thanks.”

  “OK. Well, if you need anything, you know where to find it. I'll show you to your room, and then we can meet in the conference room.”

  “I'm a little surprised to see you here, actually. I thought you just brokered spies.”

  “I do. Along with a few other things. Come with me.”

  Carlisle led Derek down a hallway. At first glance, it appeared there was a string of bedrooms—four, maybe five at the most—a large conference room, some storage rooms, and a large area like a locker room.

  “Here. You can throw your things in here. This will be your room for the next couple of weeks, but don't get too comfortable. We have a few trips to make in the meantime. Get settled, and I'll see you in the conference room down the hall in five.”

  Derek nodded and walked into the room. Trips in the meantime, huh? This just keeps getting more interesting, thought Derek.

  He set his bag down on the bed. The room also had a desk with a TV on it and a fridge full of Gatorade, water, and beer. He opened the wardrobe to find a full complement of new tactical clothing and gear: shirts, pants, hats, jackets, boots, shoes, knives, sunglasses, a new watch, and more. “A late Christmas. I like it.”

  He shut the door and headed to the conference room.

  Inside the room, Carlisle and two other men sat at the conference table. Fox News played in the background on a large TV.

  “Derek. Come on in.”

  Derek stepped in and put his hands on the back of a free chair, looking at the men.

  “Derek, I would like you to meet two of the men who you will be working with. This is Dustin Grimes, your comms and support guy. Anything comms or computer related, he is your man. He will also help with equipping and providing necessary items at your various safe houses.”

  Grimes was a slim but fit individual. He appeared to be in shape but wasn't the hardened-looking type Derek had grown accustomed to working with.

  “Good to meet you, Dustin. Looking forward to working with you.”

  “Yes, it should be interesting.”

  “And this is Randy Keller. He will be assisting you with any operational or planning issues. He was a medic and worked with the US Army Special Forces before coming to us. Additionally, he was trained by the agency in utilizing certain interrogation techniques and substances that you may not have used before. A little bit of brains mixed with more brawn and some heavy medication can go a long way. I think you two will get along well.”

  “Good to meet you, sir.”

  “You too, Randy, and no need to call me sir.”

  Randy had the look more typical of operators Derek knew; he was shorter than Derek had expected but looked tougher than nails. Even the slight beer gut that he had acquired over the years seemed solid. Randy had a large, bushy beard and wore a hat backwards. A full-sleeve tattoo ran down his right arm, rounding out the tough-guy look.

  Derek took note of the tier-one hat that Randy wore: military green with a subdued American flag on it. Wearing one didn't make him tier one by any means, but it was often tier-one elements such as Delta Force and SEAL Team Six who wore them, Derek knew. Most tier-one hats had Velcro patches so the wearer could apply infrared tape or other indicators that would help during night operations.

  Even if Randy wasn't tier one, Derek knew he would be good coming from Special Forces.

  “So now that you three have met, let's get to business. Take a seat, everyone.”

  “One quick question: Where are the other two people?” asked Derek.

  “En route. Everyone should be here by tonight.”

  “Good luck finding this place at night,” Derek said, chuckling.

  Carlisle walked to the front of the room and grabbed the remote control. When he pushed a button, the image on the TV went from Fox News to a schedule.

  “This is what we are looking at. You guys will be cramming training exercises into a short period of time. I understand the fact that skydiving isn't exactly an activity you should cram, but don't worry; we have the best instructors there are, and if we didn't think you were capable, fast learners, then you wouldn't be here. Mac, the head trainer, will get you squared away, no question. Just follow instructions. He was the best of the best and could probably still school all of you guys.”

  “How old is he?” asked Randy.

  “Sixty-four. Any other questions? No? Good.”

  Carlisle focused his attention toward the big screen again. “So, to the schedule. You will learn some essential background information this afternoon, just as soon as I'm finished talking. Then you will learn to pack chutes tonight and go over all that you have discussed. In the morning, you do your first jump. The instructors will jump with you, and if all goes well, you will continue to advance in the difficulty of jumps as the week progresses. The goal is to have you doing HALO jumps by next week …”

  Derek's eyes widened slightly as he listened. HALO jumps started at high altitudes and involved an extremely long free fall and precise timing to open the chute as close to the ground as possible. If it was done right, it was far easier to maintain stealth. If you screwed up, they sent you home in a trash bag.

  “You will have one-on-one instruction, so you should learn this stuff fast.”

  “And what if we don't?” asked Grimes.

  “Then you go home. Any other questions?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Your instructor will be waiting for you out at the hangar. I would start heading there now.”

  “So, are we just going to catch the other guys up when they get here?”

  “There will only be four of you attending tonight's jump class. Carson will not be able to make it, but he's coming with lots of jump experience from his current unit. He'll link up with you in the morning.”

  “Will he jump with us?”

  “Everyone jumps. You are a team now. Miller will join you tonight as well. He needs a refresher, like Randy.”

  “How many times have you jumped, Randy?” asked Derek.

  “HALO? Zero. I went through basic jump school, but since I wasn't on a HALO team, I never actually received HALO training. I was in line for it but never got it.”

  “Gotcha. OK, and what is Miller's story, Carlisle? Who is he?”

  “Miller is your sniper and a very capable operator. He was
an eighteen bravo with Special Forces but never served on a HALO team, either. He and Randy go way back.”

  Derek had no further questions about Miller's qualifications; an 18B was a Green Beret weapons sergeant. Sounded like a good guy to have along.