The instructor, p.23
The Instructor, page 23
The men move, albeit slowly, as they continue to joke and change places.
After another iteration and critique, Derek and Marshal climb down the ladder from the platform and fall in with them. The group moves down the path, giving one another shit as they progress back to camp.
Derek walks at the rear with Marshal.
“I gotta tell you, Derek, the men are looking fantastic. Just fantastic. What you’ve been able to do with them in so brief a time is nothing short of remarkable. The Lord truly blessed us with such a guardian. Our security won’t be questioned again, that’s for sure.”
“They are doing well, you’re right in that.” Derek throws a sideways glance at the old man. “Speaking of security, no reports of those probes or movements in the last few weeks. Any idea why they may have suddenly stopped coming around?”
The old man chuckles. “Probably because of the few thousand rounds being fired off this side of the mountain. Would you go walking into that?” he replies, not skipping a beat.
“No. No, I don’t suppose I would.” The charisma and charm are almost impenetrable. Marshal has an answer and counter for practically everything. Derek is content to walk the rest of the way in silence. His mind drifts to the pieces of the puzzle that are still obscured, and he hopes that reuniting with Sarah will help to clear them up.
Going back into the camp, Derek is greeted with a warm welcome. Ever since the morning after Bobby’s accident, he has been viewed with different eyes. They crowd around, hugging and shaking hands, as if saving Bobby’s life has made him fully accepted into their community. That kind of belonging could be leveraged if need be.
At the same time, he recognizes the sincerity in their words and actions. It isn’t lost on him that many, maybe even most of the community, are more than likely oblivious to the machinations of Marshal and the plans for his security team. For those not involved, they have truly bought into this way of life and truly accepted Derek as part of that. He knows the inevitable conclusion of his actions will be another heartbreak for people already racked with suffering.
Bobby’s parents embrace him tightly, begging him to come by their cabin and see the boy as soon as he can. Derek assures them that he will, having to shake hands with the kid’s father no fewer than four times. His mind quickly flies south, a silent hope that dinner trays and profanity aren’t being hurled about in his own father’s room. Derek knows how much stabler the man is when he’s around, which is ironic in its own right. Growing up, the man could barely stand to be in the same room with him unless they were talking about their next hunting or fishing trip.
As the welcome begins to break up, he catches sight of Sarah standing at the edge of the celebration, arms crossed tightly under her breasts. The chow bell rings, calling everyone in camp to their evening meal. He stops Gil as the man goes to walk by him.
“Turn in the weapons and gear, then head to chow.”
“I think I know the routine by now, D.”
“Yeah, I know you do. But I’m making an adjustment. Tell the men to take their time and enjoy their dinner. They have the rest of the night off. And no PT in the morning. Let them sleep in. They deserve it.”
Gil’s eyes narrow for the briefest of moments, but then soften. “Whatever you say, D.” He heads toward the armory, where the rest of the group has already started stowing their gear.
Stalking over, Sarah plants herself in front of him. “Are you hard of hearing or just plain dumb?”
The men standing at the armory twist their heads around. Smiles and laughs abound until Derek looks over her shoulder and they turn away. “Jesus, lady, can I even get my shit off before you jump down my throat?”
“No, you can’t. How many times do we have to talk about the ammo you’re—”
Rolling his eyes, Derek turns and walks away from her.
“Oh, you son of a bitch. You don’t get to walk away from me!” Sarah yells while storming after him.
Once they are inside his cabin, Derek closes the door and secures his lock. Sarah continues the charade for a few more moments while he grounds his gear. Once finished, he sits down on a cot and takes her in. Another time and place, Derek would have been hard-pressed not to entertain pursuing a more social engagement with her. The thought immediately conjures an image of Kim, and with it guilt for having considered Sarah in the same way. She lets her ranting lecture trail off.
“Anything?” he says softly.
Her face goes solemn. “I think so. You remember the night you started all your commotion up on the hill? When you came and got me?”
“You were working with the ledger,” Derek replies.
“Exactly. Large portions of the ledger are straight accounting, but intermixed in it are swaths of figures that don’t add up. There’s nothing to support the transactions and expenditures.”
“So … what exactly? Money laundering on top of arms sales? The two of those usually go hand in hand. Not exactly earth-shattering news.”
She shakes her head. “That’s what I thought too at first, but I think it’s deeper than that. I think I found a cipher within those sections. Even more so, since I’ve been working with it for a while now, I think I’ve figured out the code. Or portions of it, at least.”
After a few moments of silence, Derek finally asks, “What does it say?”
“If I’m right, it’s a list of their first shipment. Armament nomenclatures plus the number of units ordered for each. Accompanying ammunition. Ancillary equipment. But beyond that, I think I’ve found something else. The preliminary logistics of an operations order. Possibly coordinates or at the very least some compass headings. As well as a date.”
“When?”
Sarah hesitates slightly before answering, “If I’m right, a week after you’re gone.”
Derek lowers his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m training them. I’m training them for an op.”
“There’s more,” Sarah says softly. When he doesn’t lift his head right away, she raises her voice slightly. “Derek.”
He lifts his eyes, hand held out to the side of his face. “What, Sarah? What is it already?”
She takes a deep breath. “Don’t freak out on me, okay? Elsewhere in the ledger. There are names thrown in almost at random with other entries. Sometimes tied to a business or an address. Several of them are synonymous with other groups the ATF is watching.”
His skin prickles with sweat. “Jesus,” he whispers.
Her eyes lock with his. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you got caught up in this.”
“You can keep your apologies,” he says, scooping up his rucksack. He starts packing up the items scattered about on the neighboring cot. “I’m out of here. Tonight. You may not be able to leave, but I’m not messing around with this shit show any longer. You tell me who I need to talk to and I’ll see that they pull you out, but I’m not about to be responsible for the next Mumbai. I’m stopping this thing before it goes any further.” He reaches for his assault pack, but she blocks him.
“Will you stop and think for a minute?” Her voice is ragged. “I don’t care what your background is. You really think you can just walk into the ATF and drop this shit? By the time my people sort everything out and validate your story, these bastards will be long gone. We won’t have the shipment; we won’t have the source of the arms. We need to go about this the right way or else we risk losing the inside track.”
Derek clenches his jaw. “Goddamn it. What do you suggest we do, then?”
“We keep going—”
Derek hisses.
“Listen to me. We keep going. I get that we need to move on it. I’m with you on that. But I need a little more time. Just buy me enough to make copies of what I need out of the ledger. It’ll coincide with the end of your training, and then we can get out. The most important part of this is making sure I have a full transcription so that we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“I can’t do it, Sarah. I was barely able to hold it together around these people before. Now you want me to keep training them at this level knowing full well they might supply a bloodbath?”
She nods. “Yes. That’s exactly what I want you to do. It’s the only way to keep our cover intact. Don’t let up at all. In the meantime, I’ll keep digging. I just need you to stick it out a little longer.”
Letting the rucksack drop, Derek walks over to the window and peers out. “I’ve dragged my feet as much as I can. If I take them back into the field, I have to teach them formations. Man traps. Things that could get a SWAT team killed or at least make their job considerably more dangerous.”
“Come on now. You, the master instructor?” she says, arching an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you can’t string out some basic-level shit for a few more days?”
Crossing back to his cot, Derek drops onto it and rubs his face with his hands. “I just … I don’t know if I can.”
“Please, Derek. That list? It had things on it like M240s, .50 calibers, claymore mines. Mass-casualty-type equipment, okay? We need to know where it’s coming from, and we can’t let it get to where it’s supposed to go. There is something larger at hand here. Something that goes beyond just gunrunning. The ledger might be the key to that. The revenue being used to support something else. This is no time to lose our nerve, Marine. With your skill set and my cover, we can take these bastards down. I know it, but I … I need your help.”
“I’m here one more week, Sarah. A week. And then I’m out.”
“Okay, then. One week. Now listen, there’s one final thing to this. I’m locked in here. I was only able to sneak away the other night because of what was going on. Marshal won’t let me go to town for an hour like this arrangement he made for you. I swear the man was desperate for a Special Operations guy.”
“He does enjoy watching the training.”
“Of course he does. He’s a sick, demented old man, Derek.” She sits down across from him. “You’re due for a run into Saranac Lake, right?”
“Now that we’re back, yeah.”
“Okay. I need you to get this info out. If something should happen to either of us, my people at least need to have an idea of where we left off and what they’re walking into. But we can’t risk it going through normal channels. If there is a leak anywhere along the chain of command, we could both find ourselves in a ditch.”
“Fuck!” Derek says at one more problem laid at his feet. “Now you tell me your department could be compromised?”
“Will you keep your voice down? I have nothing to support it, obviously—I’ve been out in the middle of the wilderness this whole time—but let’s face facts. There’s got to be government involvement here at some point. Fort Drum is two hours away. It could be a general or a DoD contractor for all we know. My point being, people of influence are making this happen. The same type of people that could silence a whole region. You think they couldn’t have a set of eyes and ears in the agencies?”
Standing up, Derek paces across the cabin. The angle is plausible, but Derek sees another. Ambition. Sarah knows that this is a career-making bust, one that she’s working to safeguard so that others won’t swoop in and steal the glory. It’s yet another wrinkle that starts turning his dread to anger.
“This shit just keeps getting better and better.”
“Do you have anyone you trust that we can turn to with this?” Sarah says, cutting to the chase. “Anyone that we could get this info to through a back channel? I’m thinking if they can take it up their chain of command high enough, they might be able to leapfrog into the upper echelons and avoid wherever a compromise could be.”
Derek stares into her eyes. Resolve. Determination. Fire. Still, despite all of that, he hadn’t had a chance to hear back from Kelly yet. “Nothing. I sort of … cut loose from that life. Isolated myself. Severed the connection. It was the only way to cope.” Though not entirely true, the words still sting with a semblance of reality. It adds another layer of guilt onto an already hefty burden.
“Damn. All right. Well, try to think of someone. We’re gonna want that insurance policy.” She stands up and heads for the door, stopping just before it and turning back to him. “You good, cowboy?”
“Good as I can be.”
Sarah gives him a smile. “Okay, then.” Pulling the lock free, she rips open the door and starts yelling again. “I’m not gonna have this conversation again, you understand?” Sarah lets the door slam shut, adding an emphatic “Meathead” as she crosses to the chow tent.
Every part of Derek wants to run. Right now. He could be in the woods in minutes and they’d never find him. A part of him, probably the logical part, wonders why he isn’t doing just that. The other part, though, however illogical, drowns it out.
This isn’t his fight. It’s not what he had signed up for. Sure, they anticipated things being dangerous, but nothing on this level. There’s his son to think about. Kim. His father, sitting in assisted living. This group knows all about him. Why is he still here?
You know why. Twenty-two years of service, that’s why. Two plus decades of protecting this country to … what? Turn your back on it now when faced with another threat? That’s not how we operate. What is it the guys at the clinic say? You can take off the uniform, but you never stop serving. Service is for life if your country needs you.
Staring at his rifle and then his bags, a final singular thought blasts through his mind like a freight train. Unending. The cars just keep rolling by on the tracks. What am I gonna do?
23
The following morning, Derek riffles through the stacks of money in the safe-deposit box. He flips through each one, searching for what he hopes will be a reply from Kelly. When making his drops, Derek has been putting the notes close to the front and buried two stacks down. It seems like the agent in the bank has taken much greater precaution. With his search taking this long, Derek begins to wonder if there is any response at all.
After breakfast, he gave the QRF their schedule for the day. The men were to spend the morning cleaning their weapons and resetting their supplies and gear. Come early afternoon, Derek would give an introductory class on squad tactics, the foundation for which the next week of training would be focused on. Afterward, Gil and Brian could do layouts and inspections of their men’s equipment. Once done, the rest of the time was theirs to spend with their families and friends. A day of reset and regeneration for the team to take a quick breather before their final iteration.
It also gave Derek an opening to get to the bank. With everything he and Sarah had discussed the night before, he needed to receive word as well as send his own. Finally, he finds the slip in the seventh stack of cash and hurriedly pulls it free and unfolds the paper.
Working on confirmation of credentials.
Provided names check out with histories gathered.
Tie in with agent for now, but be cautious.
Will get back to you ASAP. Call if able.
Had the wall in front of him not been lined with metal doors, Derek would have put his fist through it. The anger comes over him so suddenly that the only thing halting his reaction is a semiconscious realization that the punch will break his shooting hand. A week. He had given Kelly a week’s lead time on this. No shit, be cautious. Just a pretty monumental detail, confirming whether or not I’m in the middle of an ATF operation. You think you could get an answer on that?
As he seethes and tries to bring himself back down, the sensible side of him works hard to push explanations to the forefront of his mind. Kelly would have to proceed lightly. It’s not exactly like the FBI and ATF go out together on Friday nights. Compounding the issue is the fact that his friend is essentially running him outside of agency guidelines. Granted, Derek is classified as a CI, but still. That’s a pretty thin justification if your career is on the line.
Derek pulls himself together. He’s with a new escort today. Hunter, another one of the lookouts. The man hadn’t made the trip with Derek before and seemed antsy the way Brady was their first time out. Derek had already spent crucial minutes looking for the slip. Without further delay, he rips up the note and pops the scraps into his mouth. While chewing on the paper, Derek goes to the desk and hastily scrawls out a reply.
Potential attack in development.
Exfil in 1 week. Be ready to move.
The rest will have to wait until Derek is on the go, with or without Sarah. He’s already over what would be a reasonable amount of time to count money and put it away. Packing up as fast as he can, Derek leaves the room. Hunter ambles around nearby. Hearing the door shut, the man turns.
“Ready?” he asks.
Derek nods. “Let’s go. I’ve got classes to teach this afternoon.”
* * *
Brady crosses the clearing, the sun starting to dip in the west behind him. Near the chow tent, the security team is gathered in front of Derek’s cabin as he gives a class on something about which Brady can’t be bothered. He’s happy to sit in his perch and all, but screwing around with sticks and scraping rocks together? Hard pass.
Striding past the armory, he makes for the vehicle clearing. Within a half hour, he exits the logging roads and, a little over an hour after leaving the woods, pulls into Saranac Lake. Guiding the truck around the back roads of the summer town, he arrives at the apartment that they had rented. Brady jumps out of the pickup and into the shower. The smell acquired during extended periods of time spent in the forest did little to support a civilian lifestyle.
Toweling off, he goes through the closet, selecting an outfit for the evening. Of all nights in particular, tonight, he has to be sure that he blends in. Although they aren’t exactly the clothes he used to wear—in truth, back then, he wouldn’t have been caught dead in the cargo pants and flannel shirts worn ad nauseam up here—it still feels strange to be wearing anything other than camouflage.
Seven years ago, the furthest political action he had ever taken was protesting with his college buddies. Rallying in Zuccotti Park with hundreds of others during Occupy Wall Street. It was only after meeting Marshal that he saw the truth. No matter how many rallies the masses held, the rich would continue to get richer while the poor withered and died at the wealthy’s expense.
