The Quiet Professional

by Michael Byars Lewis

  “What’s up?” Jimmy said.

  Jason scanned the area around them. There were a couple of tourists in the corner with some girls, and a few folks sitting at the bar.

  He leaned into the group and said softly, "Okay, gang, pull in closer. It's not very secure down here, but here are our marching orders. As of now, we are on alert and in crew rest."

  “How long?” Lon said.

  "Unknown. It could be a few days, could be a few hours. We will have a mission to fly, and I don't want to hear any gripes about not having the right amount of crew rest, or somebody called you during your window. This is the real deal, folks."

  The look on their faces showed they understood how serious this was.

  “What are we going to do?” Jimmy asked what everyone else knew not to.

  “You’ll find out when it’s time, but I sure as hell won’t talk about it down here. Oh, and from this point on—no more booze. We’ve got to be ready to go at any time.”

  Jason, Chris, and Jimmy took the elevator upstairs to the “operations” floor of the hotel, as it was now called. The hotel management successfully got all the SOF personnel moved to the same floor, along with a few other folks assigned to them from PACAF.

  McClendon ordered Jason to go to the nurse. She was part of the medical team from PACAF sent to augment the SOF forces in advance of the president's arrival. The flight surgeon wouldn't arrive for two more days, too late for what they needed.

  “Remember,” Chris said, leading the way off the elevator, “I said it first. This is one trip to the doctor you’re gonna like.”

  “Yeah,” Jason said, “I’ll hold you to it.” He looked at Jimmy. “Is that why you’re tagging along?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m here to take notes. I want to see a master at work. She’s hot.”

  Jason chuckled while Chris knocked on the door. When it opened, he realized they were both right. The woman standing before him was beaming. She was short yet athletic, with large green eyes and sandy brown hair like his. They were right. She was hot.

  “Hi guys,” she said. “Come on in.” She glanced at the nametags on their flight suits briefly. “Ah, Jason Conrad. I was told you’d be coming by for a check-up. And what about you two?”

  Chris and Jimmy gave each other a quick glance, then turned back to her. Jimmy chimed in first.

  “Oh, we’re not sick. We’re here to support our pilot.”

  “Ooohhh, you’re a pilot,” her girlish voice tickled his ears as she batted her eyelids. She stopped, then gave Chris and Jimmy a deadpan face. “He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. You two can wait outside.”

  She pushed them out the door, and one of the medical technicians came out from the back with a couple of boxes. Jason surveyed the hotel room. It had been turned in to an ad-hoc examination room.

  “Come on over here, Captain,” she said. “Step out of your flight suit and hop up on this table.”

  “Okay, Captain. We can make this easier. My name’s Jason.”

  She smiled. It was one of those infectious smiles like when a high-school senior realizes they just earned a full-ride-to-college smile.

  “Carol,” she said. “I’m from Hickam. Been here TDY for two days. I understand you’ve had quite the adventure.”

  Jason finished untying his boots and stepped out of his flight suit. He sat on the table for the exam wearing only a t-shirt, his black nylon shorts, and socks.

  She turned to him.

  “Ranger panties?” she said, referring to the black nylon shorts.

  “Yeah. I started wearing these last year when I was here TDY. We’d be so hot and sweaty after flying all day, we’d stop at the pool on the way in, strip down, and jump right in. They’re great. Even has a little pocket to hold my challenge coin.”

  “Challenge coin,” she said, shaking her head. “You SOF guys are like little kids.”

  “Not so much. It’s a tradition. That’s important. Tradition is a dying thing in the Air Force these days.”

  Carol nodded. “Take your shirt off please.”

  Jason slipped the shirt over his head, and she gasped when he exposed his mid-section.

  “Damn,” she said. “What happened to you?”

  “I was held prisoner for a few days. Beaten, starved, and hung by my wrists. Standard stuff.”

  “The colonel wants you to have a complete physical to make sure you can fly. Normally, it’s the flight doc’s job. Since we don’t have one, I have the authority to do it while I’m here.”

  His torso was bruised significantly, and the doctor at the mansion said he suspected bruised ribs. She checked him over thoroughly and had him bend and twist repeatedly to check his mobility.

  Jason winced as he complied. He still had difficulty moving. His muscles didn’t just ache; they hurt like hell. She covered everything, checking his heart rate, eyes, ears, and yes, a hernia. The medical technician drew blood and collected a urine sample while Carol filled out some paperwork. Jason dressed, then sat on the table and watched them, his suspicions building.

  Carol walked back over to him when she finished the paperwork.

  “You need to sign this. You’re going to be DNIF for a week,” she said, handing him the paperwork. “You’re pretty beat up, and you need to rest.”

  Jason’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

  "No, I'm not kidding. You need to rest."

  “So, nothing is broken? No internal damage? Nothing that will impact my seeing, hearing, or communicating? Nothing that could prevent me from flying an airplane?”

  “Well—no.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Nurse Carol . . . we—and I mean the special operations component here—have bigger fish to fry. I appreciate the effort in checking on my health, but I’m not going to sign this piece of paper.”

  Jason took the paper and ripped it in half. Her eyes bulged, and her mouth fell open. Surely, she’d never had someone do that following an examination.

  "Carol, you seem very nice, and on any other occasion, I'd be in here working on getting your phone number, but we've got a job to do here. You can take it up with the colonel, but I recommend you don't."

  “And why is that?” The confidence in her voice was evident. He could tell she liked a challenge.

  "He's a little busy right now. If you hit him up with this, you'll find he agrees with me, and you'll be on the next plane to Hawaii with a LOR in your pocket." Jason knew she wouldn't receive a LOR, but she would most likely be sent home. He didn't have time to mess around with a lieutenant on a power trip.

  As he walked out the door, she touched his arm. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m taking your advice. I’m going to get some rest.”

  54

  October 16, 2003

  The large briefing room at the airport had been transformed into an ad hoc isolation facility. Cots lined the edges of the room, each with its owner’s gear stored next to it. A projector was set toward the front, and two rows of chairs, sixteen in all, faced the projection screen.

  Remi and his SEAL team constructed a ROC Drill, or rehearsal of concept, inside a shallow box with dirt and small plants with various items like rocks, bottle caps, empty raisin boxes, and small blank pieces of paper. The rock drill is how special ops forces plan their operations in the field. They built a simulation of the target area, using different items to represent real objects. The rocks represented buildings, the bottle caps Tangos—or bad guys—and so on. Covering the operation in detail ensured that every team member knew his role.

  The benefit of such an exercise was its simplicity. If the planning was compromised, they could simply erase the target area by upending the box.

  Intel provided them with more imagery, and they got a firm grasp on the terrorist camp. The biggest problem they had was the jungle canopy. There was no way to get an accurate count of terrorists.

  An airman walked up and handed Remi the latest transcripts of the phone chatter intercepted by the comm
personnel.

  “Hey, guys, let’s muster,” Remi said.

  His team stopped whatever they were working on and met Remi in the middle of the room.

  “We’ve got the latest imagery and intercepts of the camp. What Intel has identified, and I concur, are six specific terrorists visible in the imagery. Due to the canopy coverage, we should expect more.”

  “About twenty-four to thirty,” Hilts said.

  “Yep. So, we need to plan accordingly. Also, the chatter they’ve tracked indicates the missiles are, indeed, at this site and will be moved into Bangkok tomorrow night.”

  “We’ve got to work fast,” Bill said. Bill Carver was the team’s radioman.

  “Yep. The chatter also reveals that part of the terrorist network is already established in Bangkok, awaiting the missiles. We don’t know the number of terrorists in the camp. My recommendation to SOCPAC is for us to hit the camp and retrieve the missiles. We’ll let the Secret Service, Thai National Police CT unit, and local cops deal with things in Bangkok.”

  Remi's team nodded at the recommendation. He covered the location of the items in the Rock Drill, explaining the mission until everyone understood the target area description. He then picked up a larger photograph and laid it on the end of the table.

  “We’ll insert via HALO,” he said, referring to the high-altitude, low-opening parachute insertion. They would jump out of the MC-130P at about twenty thousand feet and open their parachutes at around three thousand feet. “Here’s the DZ,” he added, pointing to the anticipated drop zone on the satellite image.

  “It’s three klicks from the target area. Judging from the vegetation between the two, it could take as much as three hours to hump from the DZ to the camp.”

  “I agree,” Bill said.

  “Me, too,” Hilts said.

  “Okay,” Remi said. “Here’s what we’ll do.” His team moved closer as he discussed their initial actions.

  Lieutenant Colonel McClendon sipped his coffee as he watched the computer screen in the makeshift office. His comm team had done an excellent job supplying a variety of jamming devices to inhibit, or at least interrupt, anyone attempting to listen in to the top-secret discussion. McClendon and his intel officer wore headsets for the teleconference.

  On the other end of the video screen was the leadership of SOCPAC. McClendon’s video monitor was centered on the two-star sitting at the end of a table, with numerous senior officers on each side.

  He had just finished briefing the general on the situation, the assets on hand, and more importantly, the timeline. Both ends had their microphones off while they talked back and forth, dissecting the information he had passed them. After about five minutes, SOCPAC checked in on the microphone.

  The two-star at SOCPAC leaned forward. "We've discussed our options, and we agree with your tentative plan. There will be some tweaking before execution, but we want you to lean forward. We ran it up the chain, and SOCOM agrees. "We've got some issues to work out before you launch. The JAG is doing his initial run-through, and we've got to talk to JUSMAGTHAI. A real-world op on their soil, against their citizens, is a tricky one, but we have the leverage.

  “In the meantime, send us all your intel and COA’s. We don’t want to interfere unless it looks like something is too . . . unsettling.”

  McClendon chuckled to himself. The COAs, or courses of action, he proposed were straightforward. He didn’t have time to make the pretty PowerPoint briefing to show to the desks filled with generals. The mission was simple: launch the team tonight, so they could position themselves to take out the missiles before they were moved to Bangkok tomorrow night.

  “Colonel McClendon, you folks keep leaning forward,” SOCPAC said. “We’ll contact the SECDEF, who will confer with the NCA. The president is currently enroute to Asia. He needs to be made aware of the threat. Ultimately, it’s the president’s decision to execute the mission. He’ll either say yes or cancel his trip. I’m quite confident he’ll give us the green light, given the importance of this meeting.”

  55

  October 16, 2003

  Jason stirred in his bed and glanced at his clock. Sunlight pushed its way around the edges of the curtain, creating an intense outline, making the digital readout difficult to see. Quarter after five in the afternoon. He had returned to his room after putting his team into crew rest and immediately fell asleep. That was a couple hours ago. Something had woken him up, but he couldn’t recall what. Then he heard the rap on the door again.

  Could this be their notification? Surely, they would call, wouldn’t they? Jason climbed out of bed and headed to the door. He checked the peephole and exhaled.

  When he opened the door, Lawan entered, carrying a tray of food, the steam rising out of the hole in the silver cover. The scent of it stirred the hunger in his belly.

  “I thought you might be hungry,” she said. “I brought you dinner from the restaurant.”

  Jason rubbed the sleep from his eyes while she set the food on the ottoman by the window. He shuffled to her, and she handed him a beer from the tray. A beer would be nice right now, he thought. He took it, walked to the fridge, and placed it inside, pulling out a bottle of water instead.

  “Thank you, but I’m in crew rest.”

  She looked at him as if she were unsure of what he meant.

  “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to fly my airplane soon, so I can’t drink alcohol.”

  “You’re leaving?” Her face appeared drawn with disappointment.

  “No, not leaving. Just going to fly. We’ll come back here after.”

  She smiled. “Please sit and eat. You need your strength.”

  “You’re right about that. I’m starving.” Jason sat in the chair and slid the tray on the ottoman closer to him. The smell made his stomach growl. He did not realize how hungry he was. Lifting the silver lid from the tray, she revealed a large plate of Thai chicken and rice. His favorite. “This is perfect.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” She sat on the end of the bed and watched him.

  “Where’s Preeda?”

  “She’s in our room napping.” Lawan brushed the hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Thank you for taking care of us.”

  “Thank you for taking care of me.” Jason dug the oversized spoon into the rice, causing steam to rise from the center. He blew gently across the rice on the spoon, hesitating before shoving it in his mouth.

  “Preeda said not to make it too spicy.”

  Jason chuckled. “Tell her I appreciate it. She had a good laugh at my expense watching me eat Thai hot.”

  The two talked while Jason ate his dinner. She filled him in on her past relationship with Maison Andrepont, her pregnancy and subsequent exile from the mansion, and her marriage to Deng Suttirat.

  “He was a friend of my father’s,” she said. “Ours was a marriage of convenience. It became more awkward when Maison approached him about the gold.”

  “Really?”

  “Maison lingered at first, always watching me from a distance. And Preeda. Deng was suspicious, I believe, but I don’t think he ever knew about our previous relationship. His suspicion evolved into jealousy, and he tried to use that as an excuse for our lack of relations.”

  Jason stared blankly at the wall, and his eyes gradually shifted back to her.

  “Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not a happy-ending massage girl. I’m a woman and a mother. But I have my needs, too. I—I’m sorry for taking advantage of you the other night.”

  Jason set his hand on her knee, patting gently. He rose and sat by her on the edge of the bed. “Don’t be sorry. It happened. I’m not sorry.”

  Their eyes met, and Jason saw her clearly. Lawan leaned forward and kissed him. He responded. The kiss, hot and passionate, lasted for a couple of minutes while their hands explored each other’s body.

  Suddenly, Lawan stopped and stood, her hands held in front of her body. The confusion on his face must have been evident.


  “I don’t want to fool myself into thinking this is something it is not. I know you will be leaving soon. Most likely, I will never see you again after you leave.”

  Jason sighed. She was right. He was wrong for letting her take advantage of him at the mansion. And he was wrong for what he was thinking now.

  “I understand. I don’t regret what happened in the tub, but I don’t want to lead you on. And the last thing I want to do is to hurt Preeda. I’m sorry if things got complicated.”

  Gathering the tray from the ottoman, he walked to the door and set it on the floor outside. When he came back in the room, Lawan finished unbuttoning her blouse. Her skirt lay on the floor.

  His jaw loosened, and he started to say something as she dropped her blouse to the floor and climbed into bed.

  “Things aren’t complicated as long as we understand each other,” she said.

  He awoke to the beeper buzzing and vibrating on the nightstand; he must have dozed off. Looking next to him, he noticed Lawan was gone. Back in her room most likely, taking care of Preeda. A quick glance at the clock told him it was eight thirty at night. He turned off the buzzing beeper and confirmed they had been alerted. Report ASAP.

  Jason leaped out of bed, put on his black shorts, t-shirt, and socks, and slid into his flight suit. No sooner did he put on his boots, when someone knocked on his door. He cracked it slightly. Jimmy.

  “Come on in,” Jason said. “You get ready fast.”

  “I’m a light sleeper. Anyway, I was already in my flight suit.”

  Jason shot him a skeptical look.

  “What can I say?” Jimmy said, “I’m excited. This is my first combat mission.”

  “It’s not a combat mission.”

  “Okay, my first ‘real-world’ mission. Who gives a shit what they call it? It’s cool.”

  Jason appreciated the young lieutenant's enthusiasm but figured it would be much "cooler" than the lieutenant expected. He gathered his flight gear, and the two walked into the hallway. The rest of the crew waited for them. He did a quick headcount. Short one nav, Thomas, who was back in Okinawa. They were also short one loadmaster, Lacey, still in the hospital.