by Frank Perry
thought about moving into the brush, but almost immediately, there was another radio call, “This is Agent 1101 in proximity of Juliet, will provide assistance.” Randy was relieved to hear Senior Agent Juan Morales’ voice.
Morales was senior to Firth by four years, having joined the Border Patrol after graduating from San Diego State University. He was raised on the U.S. side of Nogales, New Mexico, and was culturally adept at handling immigrants. He’d been decorated many times for actions against drug smugglers and for apprehending other law breakers.
Randy was nervous, but thankful that Juan would be there quickly. Together, they would have a better chance if this was an ambush. He was unable to use the camera from his location at the front of the truck, but listened carefully. He could hear the sound of Juan’s truck moving cautiously along the dirt road near him without using headlights.
The support team arrived ten minutes later. Eight Agents in two vehicles dispersed into the area near the two Patrol trucks parked close together. The camera monitor still glowed from one of them. Agents pushed through the brush cautiously, calling for Firth and Morales to respond. There was no answer.
After several minutes, the team regrouped near the surveillance truck using Firth’s camera to scan the area, detecting one warm spot twenty yards away in the brush. With weapons drawn, several Agents approached through the growth, announcing “US Border Patrol” in English and Spanish. They found Randy Firth’s mutilated body, still warm. Numerous large cuts soaked his dark green uniform, and he had been beheaded.
The murder investigation, led by the El Paso County Sheriff’s Office, lasted for ten hours. Helicopters and dogs attempted to locate the killers and Morales. The greatest fear of an agent was being taken hostage, more than dying in the line of duty.
Routine
Major Peter Shields arrived at his office at the National Guard Bureau in Washington before seven in the morning. As a bachelor living alone, he didn’t eat breakfast in his apartment. It was normal for him to be at work early, a habit retained from years of active duty. He generally brought one or two pieces of fruit from his apartment and made coffee in the office. He kept a loaf of bread for toast in the community refrigerator. There were rarely other people there this early.
He’d been at headquarters in Arlington, Virginia, for nine months. His military service had begun thirteen years earlier, right out of high school. It hadn’t taken long for him to decide to be a career soldier. He excelled and became an Army Ranger, which kept him busy and often engaged in special operations against radical enemies. His shift to the Army National Guard resulted from a chain of circumstances, beginning when he lost a squad of men in a counter terror raid in Southern Syria. It wasn’t his fault. They were ambushed and the Army commander of his relief force was too cowardly to help. His notion of camaraderie and mutual support was shattered by the incident and he resigned his commission.
Months later, working as an obscure laborer to clear his mind, the Army asked him to return to service against a terrorist, acting inside the United States. He accepted, and was reactivated in the Illinois National Guard. During this operation, he was nearly killed along with a Defense Department civilian he’d fallen in love with. They both survived and his engagement to Rachael Aston had lasted briefly after his move to Washington--until he carelessly risked his life on an operation inside Iran. She had broken it off because she didn’t want to marry someone, living in constant fear because of his selfish unnecessary risks.
Now, most mornings, he thought about Rachael in her office a few miles away at the Department of Defense (DoD), G2 Directorate, where he knew she also arrived early. From a career perspective, Peter had everything going for him: top promotions, military honors, choice assignments, intelligence, good looks and highest-level recognition. He also had the scars to show for it, both physical and mental. From a personal standpoint, he was a disaster. He had only fallen in love once in his life, and only himself to blame for ending it.
He was in a new position at Headquarters as Deputy Director for Counter Terrorism. It was something created for him by the Director, a Lieutenant General. Peter had led the successful operation to stop a nuclear attack in Chicago and later stopped a treasonous conspiracy between a top official in the CIA and an Iranian. With national attention, he was appointed to help the Guard be prepared to support civilian authorities against terror attacks inside the US. It was a position he felt strongly about, but more of a desk job than he liked.
During his first months, he outlined a training program and curriculum for emergency responders in the State ARNG (Army Reserve/National Guard) that provides detection and logistics support against weapons of mass destruction (WMDs). Peter was an operator and didn’t like office work, but he respected the function and excelled.
Rachael was never out of his thoughts. He’d only allowed himself to fall in love once in his life, and she dominated every thought. She’d broken their engagement after he’d volunteered for another special ops mission. She wasn’t a camp follower -- and he was a career soldier.
They still communicated often and they’d seen each other socially for months after the breakup, but the passion was gone, at least for her. He would think about the brief time they’d spent living together at her townhouse in Georgetown when he first moved to Washington. He knew he made mistakes. Regret dominated most of his days and he was becoming mellow again when his cellphone rang. The display read “Rachael.” He answered cautiously, “Hello.”
Her voice melted him, “Hey, how about lunch today? I’ve got some news.”
“Sure, where and when?”
“How about Morton’s in Crystal City?”
He felt a knot form with fear that she might be leaving Washington. The Capitol region is a transient environment with constant changes in administration, military transfers, foreign delegates and the masses of people seeking to influence the processes of Government. Rachael was a lawyer from Connecticut. Her father was a well-to-do New York attorney who could influence many opportunities for her if she came back home. She had gone to Georgetown University for her law degree, and initially taken a local job with the Defense Department, without any plan to stay long. After working with Peter in Illinois, she was promoted, and her career was accelerating. But, Peter understood that Washington would never offer her the same chances that she would have back home. He feared, since breaking their engagement, that she would leave Government to lengthen the distance between them. He said, “Wow, this must be something big!”
“I won’t tell you until I see you.”
“Okay, what time?”
“Let’s do 11:30, I want a good table and not to hurry.”
“Great! See you there.”
After hanging up, his apprehension deepened. Would he see her even less? Rachael was from different strata than Peter. She had had a privileged upbringing and a distinguished education at Georgetown, whereas he was a coalminer’s son, educated in the Army. They couldn’t have been more different in cultural background. The rest of the morning was wasted as he shuffled things around, nervous about her “big news.” She was a favorite of the Administration and could set her star anywhere in Government, but she could also parlay her experience to greater value in civilian practice. He was destined to remain a product of the military, regardless of past exploits.
But then he had another sickening thought. Maybe she had a new man in her life. Maybe she was engaged. She wanted time to explain. What could be worse? Whatever simmering embers of hope that he still cherished would be drowned forever. Oh, Rachael, please, not that. I’ve never given up hope, please don’t kill the dream.
When he arrived at the restaurant on time, she was already seated at an intimate table near a window overlooking Crystal Drive in the upscale steak house. He was almost too nervous to approach. She looked radiant in a designer business suit, while he was wearing his utility uniform. To anyone observing, they made a beautiful young “Washing
ton” couple. Both were about the same age, tall and in perfect physical condition. People watching them assumed they were married or at least engaged. Only Peter could recognize the invisible wall between them.
She saw him coming and stood, “Hi, there.”
Peter was perfectly poised to kiss her cheek, which she accepted. She always looked beautiful. They sat and were immediately besieged by a waiter asking to take their drink orders. Rachael had water with lemon and Peter ordered a Diet Coke, which he realized was out of character in this setting, but it was normal fare for him. He asked awkwardly, “Okay, I can’t wait to hear what this is about?” He wasn’t being completely honest as his leg muscles tensed.
She was animated, without recognizing his anticipation, “Well, my boss has recommended me for a job at an Associate Deputy Director level in the CIA. It’s at least a two-step promotion! There’s a reshuffling going on since the Will Lawrence incident. They want some new blood, and General Simmons recommended me. He wants me to move before he transfers to run NSA. I’m excited and apprehensive at the same time.”
Peter let out a silent sigh of relief, and stared at her for a moment, trying to compose himself. This was actually good