Mirrored Man: The Rob Tyler Chronicles Book 1 (4 page)

When Benny accepted the assignment, he was
handed a list of likely candidates from among the uniformed
services, and the bar had been raised as high as it could go. Two
of the men he had served with personally and a few he knew by
reputation, but many he didn’t know at all. Their jackets indicated
they were all highly qualified and capable. They were members of
Air Force Special Operations Command, Delta Force, Marine Force
Recon, and Navy SEALs units.

Preliminary evaluations eliminated most of
the men even before face-to-face interviews were conducted. For
some, it was through attrition since they were assigned to other
special operations. After all, in these perilous times warfighters
like these were in high demand. But most failed to make the cut
because of their psychological profiles. The program required a
certain amount of combat experience, preferably covert and
high-risk, and some men, once exposed to that type of combat, were
changed forever. The list, which once contained dozens of names,
had been narrowed down to two. There was a certain amount of pride
for Benny in knowing that these two remaining candidates were the
men he had served with. In fact, they would have been his top
choices regardless of how he felt personally about the undertaking.
But there was another, far more important quality these men shared,
at least as far as Benny was concerned. Both of them were men of
strong conviction, one Catholic, and the other Protestant. For
these men, their Christian faith guided their lives. It was more
than family tradition or church membership. Benny was confident
that once they were told the nature of the experiment, they would
each, according to their convictions, choose not to participate.
The entire endeavor would then grind to a halt.

Benny slowed his pace a bit, nearing the
first of his two destinations for the morning and hearing a
familiar voice coming from a short distance behind him down the
corridor.

“Captain? Captain Walsh, sir?”

Benny didn't turn to acknowledge the young
officer's approach, but he stopped beside the solid black metal
door bearing the nameplate he sought: Lt. Cmdr Daniel M. Carter,
PhD.

He glanced over his shoulder and winced
internally as he saw the young lieutenant Bill Murphy weaving his
way around the other pedestrians. Bill was a good man, but he
tended to take things a bit too seriously for Benny's taste. Only
three years out of the academy, he was eager to please but still
wet behind the ears. And it wasn’t seawater.

Trotting the last few steps, the lieutenant
snapped to attention. At six foot four, the blond-haired,
green-eyed eager young man towered over the captain. Oddly, this
gave the lieutenant a bit of an inferiority complex. He kept his
eyes fixed on the bulkhead behind Benny, not wanting to look down
at his commanding officer.

“Sorry, sir. I wasn't sure exactly where you
were, sir.”

“As it should be, Lieutenant.” Benny stated
matter-of-factly.

Bill frowned. Since his posting to the
captain’s staff, most of his time was spent tracking the man down.
Benny was notorious for not carrying his phone with him. “The
senator’s aide phoned and confirmed your lunch date … um,
appointment … with the senator … Senator Kingsley … Mrs. Kingsley,
sir.”

“Senator is appropriate, Bill.”

“Yes, sir. I called but you left your phone
on your desk. I heard it ringing and I—”

“Are you ready, Bill?”

Bill gave the captain a confused look.
“Ready, sir?”

“For our lunch
date.
”

“Um … well … I … I didn't … I didn't know …”
All the blood drained from Bill's face as he pulled a small
notebook from his breast pocket. Furiously, he began flipping
pages, trying desperately to find anything even hinting that he
would be accompanying the captain to lunch with the senator.

Benny smiled slightly in an attempt to calm
the junior officer. “Relax, Bill. It was a joke.”

Bill forced an unconvincing laugh.

“Anything else, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir.” Bill closed his
eyes tightly.

Folding his arms over his chest, Benny's
smile dimmed a bit. “Well, which is it?”

“Yes, sir. There is something else,
sir.”

Benny waited for a moment, but the young man
simply stood there. “Bill?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I want you to take a deep breath,” Benny
instructed, attempting to coach the lieutenant through his next
remark.

“Yes, sir.” Bill inhaled deeply, held it for
just a moment and then slowly exhaled.

“Relaxed?” Benny asked, sincerely hoping to
coax out what Bill was trying to say.

“Yes, sir,” he lied.

“Well?” Benny asked, his growing impatience
visible.

“Oh, I'm sorry, sir. Your wife called and
said her car is ready.”

Benny's eyes narrowed.
I'm gonna have to
square this young man away, and soon
. “Anything else,
Lieutenant?”

“No sir.”

“That'll be all.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Bill turned on
his heels and marched back down the corridor. Benny was sure he
heard the word “stupid” muttered several times as Bill disappeared
around a corner.

Inside the office, the yeoman seated behind
the desk stood immediately and snapped to attention. “Captain on
deck.”

The young brunette had her hair pulled back
in a bun and she wore no make-up, an obvious attempt to detract
from her striking good looks. The nameplate on her desk read
“Kimberly A. Mosley, Yeoman Second Class.”

“As you were, Yeoman.”

“Good morning, sir. The commander is
expecting you,” she said with a smile. Benny nodded, signaling her
to return to her work as he walked through the open door.

Danny Carter was standing at attention
behind his neatly appointed desk. “Good morning, Captain.”

“At ease, Danny,” Benny said as he offered
his hand.

Danny was only in his early thirties, but he
had the reputation of being very good at his job. The six foot
former Naval Academy shortstop certainly looked the part of an
officer. His lean frame was well maintained, and he wore his light
brown hair closely cropped. “It's good to see you, sir,” he said
with a smile. His sea-green eyes flashed as he firmly grasped the
captain's hand, affirming his words.

Benny settled himself into an overstuffed
couch and took a moment to look around. The walls were lined floor
to ceiling with bookshelves, stuffed with tomes of every sort,
partially obscuring the view out of the ordinary mullioned window.
There was no surface in the office, apart from the floor, not
covered with books. Except for the highly polished desk, which was
devoid of even a computer. There were only Danny's nameplate, a
green-shaded brass lamp, a single brown file folder, and a Dunkin'
Donuts Styrofoam cup.

“The last time I saw you was at the
admiral’s New Year’s Eve party, right?”

“I think so, sir. How's Mrs. Walsh?”

“She's well. She had a little fender bender
last week, but no one was hurt.”

“Sorry, I hadn't heard,” Danny said, genuine
concern showing in his eyes.

Benny waved him off. “And how's Carla?”

Danny smiled. The captain had a reputation
for remembering the details. “She's well. Thanks for asking.”

Benny painted on a serious look. “Did you
know that there is no marble in this building?”

Danny was puzzled by the out-of-left-field
question. “Really? No, I didn't.”

Benny wasn’t usually one for small talk, but
he was stalling. “That's right. None at all. Well, maybe some
plaque or statue somebody brought in here, but none was used in the
original construction.”

Danny smiled slightly. Reading people was
his job, and he could tell that the captain was uncomfortable.
“Hmm,” was all he said.

“Know why?”

Danny shook his head.

“Because of the war. World War II. They
broke ground on the Pentagon on September 11, 1941. Exactly sixty
years to the day before Flight 77. Isn't
that
something?”
Benny paused for a moment as if he just realized the irony himself.
“And at that time, just about all of the high-quality marble on the
planet came from Italy.”

“I didn't know that.”

“Yup, we were enemies. That's why they
didn't use any marble in the Pentagon's construction.”

Danny gave the captain a sideways look and
acknowledged his acceptance of the marble fact by changing the
subject. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Benny offered a half smile. He appreciated
Danny for wanting to get right to the point, and it really didn't
make sense for him to drag this out any longer. After all, he had
to have another conversation with another psychologist immediately
after this one. “How's business lately?”

Danny had returned from Germany a year ago.
There, he had dealt almost exclusively with the needs of men and
women suffering from PTSD. “Not too bad. Since I got back, it's
been pretty mundane. Divorce, parenthood, depression, that sort of
thing.”

“How long has it been since you took Carla
on a vacation?”

“Vacation? As a matter of fact, we just
returned from Grand Cayman Island three weeks ago. Did some sailing
and scuba diving.”

“Well, this will be more of an extended
working holiday.”

Danny leaned back in his chair. “Working
holiday? What did you have in mind, sir?”

Looking out the window at the blue sky
beyond, Benny noticed some dark clouds gathering in the southwest.
He wondered, not for the first time, if he should wait until after
his meeting with the senator to assign Danny and his wife, another
Navy psychologist, to the task he had prepared for them. But he
knew his meeting with the senator would require an update of his
progress, and she would expect him to present his final selections.
Brushing those thoughts aside, he turned his attention back to the
Danny. “I was thinking South Carolina.”

THE SOFT BLUE
LIGHT
from the
clock of Sergeant Kelly Mueller’s patrol car was muted next to the
myriad of other instruments vying for his attention. 5:47 a.m. Just
over an hour until the end of his shift. Through the driver’s side
mirror, he glanced at the welcome sight of light peeking over the
horizon as he drove the loneliest section of Highway 96 in Houston
County, Georgia. It had been a quiet night for the twelve-year
veteran of the local sheriff's department. He occupied his thoughts
by resuming the list of things that needed to be accomplished
before his head could finally hit the pillow.

“Time fer some coffee,” he said, unaware he
had uttered the words out loud.

Kelly could already see the lights of the
convenience store ahead, just across the railroad tracks. He had
witnessed every stage of the new store's construction during his
patrols and had looked forward to its opening more than six months
ago. It was nice to have the place in this remote area for snacks,
bathroom breaks, and some light conversation.

As he pulled into the large, well-lit lot
and snaked his way through the gas pump islands, he took note of
the Mayflower moving van parked on the side of the building. It had
been there all night, which wasn't at all unusual. Even before the
store first opened for business, there had always been a truck of
some kind parked in that spot. It seemed odd to him at first, so he
had asked Cindy, the manager, about it. She’d set his mind at ease,
saying she had encouraged several of her truck driver friends to
park there. She felt safer with the extra layer of security it
provided. Still, it took a few months for that
I'm-just-not-sure-about-this feeling that all cops have to pass
into the recesses of his mind.

If it weren't for the Mayflower truck and a
Budweiser delivery truck parked along the opposite side of the
building, the lot would have been empty. After finishing his usual
slow circle of the property, he parked in front of the store where
he could see Jackie and Stan, the night shift employees, finishing
up their housekeeping.

I’m glad they stay open all night, but
they sure don’t do any business until after daylight
.

As he stepped from the car, Kelly was not an
imposing figure, standing just five foot nine. But under his
uniform he was a solid 180 pounds with the biceps to prove his
mettle. His closely cropped light brown hair betrayed his military
pedigree. Inquisitive piercing green eyes completed the cop
package. As he closed the door, he couldn't help but notice the
pearl-colored Cadillac as it wheeled into the lot, disappearing
behind the Mayflower truck.

“I've told her and told her not to park back
there when it's this early,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Out
here in the middle of nowhere. Anybody could be hidin’ in them
woods.” It had been a sweltering night, with the Georgia humidity
already beginning to settle in for the summer. Kelly absently wiped
a bead of sweat from his forehead as he walked slowly around the
corner and waited to cast a disapproving eye on the Cadillac's
driver. He slid his thumbs into his utility belt, drummed his
fingers impatiently on the patent leather, and stood next to the
Mayflower truck as the car nimbly slipped into a slot next to two
others in the back. For the first time, he noticed how dark the
area was in contrast to the rest of the lot. The lamp in the corner
over the cars flickered eerily as a petite black woman wearing
casual clothes and the signature red Lightning Quik Mart vest
stepped out of the Cadillac.
If she can afford that car, then
I’m in the wrong line of work
.

“What's it gonna take fer you to start
listenin’ to me, Cindy?” he shouted over the truck's engine.

“What?” she asked, screwing her face up in
an uncomprehending frown as she walked toward him.