Start Fiction:
Steve looked his watch. Kim was late; she was never late. She had not even been a minute late in the three years he had known her. As he sat in Kim's favorite restaurant, fifteen minutes had passed, two glasses of water had been consumed and an ever loosening tie began to droop underneath his collar. Damn tie anyway. he thought as he lifted his glass, alerting his waiter.
Scenarios filled Steve's mind, nothing positive; not even the innocent thought of her being stuck in traffic. Life had not given him much opportunity to think positive; Steve was a hardcore realist. As he tapped the table, the waiter approached him with a fresh glass of water and a telephone on his serving tray. "Mr. Grayorn?" Steve nodded. "Telephone, sir," he said.
He relaxed for a little since only Kim knew he would be there. Finally. "Hello, Kim?"
"Hello Mr. Grayorn," a muffled, deep voice said. "We have your wife. There is a job we need you to complete and if completed to satisfaction, perhaps you will see your wife again." The Voice was calm, smooth and gave Steve the sense they were in control. The day had arrived. He knew this was bound to happen someday, but never thought it would involve Kim.
"Understood," he replied. "Contact information?" he said, pulling a pen from his jacket pocket, searching for paper.
"We will be in touch, Shooter," the Voice said, ending the call.
Steve became tense, snapping his pen. Only a select few individuals were aware of his military background, and possibly even less knew him as Shooter. A short list imprinted on mind, and Steve was already formulating a plan. There were very few individuals he felt he could ever turn to for help, however there was one person, but locating him could prove difficult.
Steve hung up the phone, gently placing it on the table. He could feel his civilian mind fade, his stanch soldier mind return, taking over. Every sound analyzed, every remotely reflective surface a mirror, six different exit strategies, possible weapon assessment of given tableware. Amidst his process of regression, the waiter tapped him on the shoulder - Steve grabbed his hand, twisted his wrist as he popped out of his chair resulting in the waiter's face slamming against the table. Regression complete.
Steve left the restaurant voluntarily and headed home maintaining a calm state of mind and focus. If the Voice wanted to get him rattled, it just wasn't going to happen. The drive home was beyond his consciousness. His thoughts were elsewhere as his sedan maneuvered itself through the suburbs towards home. Contingency plans and efforts to track down the Colonel developed in Steve's mind.
As he pulled in his driveway, he noticed a figure standing on his front porch, someone military; A Marine. It was Colonel Kevin Leter, the only person he wanted to talk to right now. What were the odds he'd be standing at my door step? Leter walked down the steps to meet Steve, documents under his arm. He could see in the Colonel's eyes this wasn't a social call, saluting accordingly.
"I presume you know why I am here," Leter said.
"Not exactly, but I have a working idea, Sir." Leter handed Steve the documents which were marked Eyes Only, above his security clearance. "Sir?" Steve hesitated.
"You've been cleared, considering," Leter said, servailing the neighborhood.
Steve began to debrief himself, noted that his code name was not used, although referenced indirectly. He quickly learned there were several Eyes Only files that had been compromised of a very select group, his at the top of the list and most violated. Still developing a plan, he added this new information in to the mix trying to piece together what the Voice had in mind with the diverse, highly trained and extremely dangerous half dozen set of elite soldiers.
"Thoughts, Sergeant?"
"Have we determined who accessed these files?"
"No."
Steve raised his head and looked at Leter. "What do you mean, 'No'?" he said. "This Unknown has my wife, Colonel."
"All we can seem to determine is they were accessed, but by who or how is a little fuzzy." His agitation seemed to elevate.
"Explain," Steve said as he returned the files. Leter's mouth opened and closed, several times, but nothing came out. For the first time Steve saw Leter lost, unsure and generally not himself. There was something on the horizon, more than the simple job the Voice had in store for him. "Who's in charge?" he finally asked.
"Templeton," Leter mumbled. Steve stepped away from him as his adrenalin elevated. He couldn't afford to loose his cool, not now, not until Kim was safe. But Templeton was by and far the mos inept soldier Steve ever had to serve with, let alone serve under. He was dangerous due to his stupidity. How he ever got promoted was always a mystery to Steve. This was yet another obstacle Steve had to work into his plan.
"Is there any way to change that? With the respect due his rank is due, Sir, he's detrimental to any mission," Steve said as he gathered himself, refocusing on the bigger picture.
"I wish there were, Steve," Leter said, "but he's the one who came to me and this is strictly a direct line situation. He wouldn't acknowledge you if you tired to contact him, and you shouldn't acknowledge him, either."
Steve understood. Containment at this point was critical, however, Steve also felt like he had so many times before on almost every mission: he was on his own.
End Fiction.
I think I will leave this as a teaser and develop this a bit more, possibly into a novella! I'll let you know when you can read the whole thing!
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