Moral Imperative (2 page)

Chapter 3

Charlottesville, Virginia

7:27pm, August 10
th

It was two-dollar pitcher night at The Biltmore, and Diane Mayer needed it. She’d gotten a thorough ass-chewing from Capt. Rollins after the reception.  Maybe a couple drinks would lessen the sting.

That’s why she was walking into the bar, alone. She wanted to be amongst the normal college students and forget about ROTC. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do seeing as how PT was at 6am the next day, but Diane needed to blow off some steam. It had been a long day.

There were plenty of familiar faces that nodded to her or waved as she made her way upstairs. It was packed. Unusual for the summer. She wanted to go to the farthest bar and find a spot where she could drink and sulk.

Making her way around a clump of giggling sorority sisters, she bumped into a guy just taking a seat at the bar.

“Sorry,” she murmured, still moving.

“Well, look who it is.”

Diane turned, not really in the mood to be hit on from some drunk meathead. She was prepared to give the guy her best disarming smile, the one that said thanks but no thanks, but that never happened. Standing in front of her with a mischievous grin on his face was Cal Stokes.

“Oh, hi,” she managed to say.

“Oh hi to you too. Hey guys, this is the midshipman I was telling you about,” he said to his friends.

One, a massive black guy with a perfect flat top, stepped up with an easy smile. “I’ve gotta shake the hand of the girl that made Cal Stokes speechless.”

Diane shook his hand shyly, not really knowing what to say. She noticed Stokes giving his friend a dirty look.

“The name’s Trent. Willy Trent.”

“Diane Mayer, Mr. Trent.”

“Please call me Willy. Cal you already know. This pint-sized Mexican is Gaucho,” Diane shook hands with the short Latino who had an interesting dual strand of braided beard hanging off his chin, “and this guy over here is Daniel.” Diane only got a soft smile and a nod from the guy with the blond ponytail.

“Mr. Stokes, I’d like to once again apologize for—”

“Are we back to the mister business? Come on. We’re in civvies. Call me Cal.”

Diane could feel her heart thumping faster. She wasn’t used to being unnerved. “Can I buy you a drink as a peace offering…Cal?”

Cal’s eyebrow rose. “Are you old enough?”

She almost turned on her heal and stomped off but resisted the urge. “I’m twenty-eight.”

His faced scrunched in confusion. “Really? How’d that happen?” asked Cal.

“Easy. I was born and then I had twenty-eight birthdays.” Diane smiled sweetly as Cal’s friends lost it, Willy most of all, his bellowing laugh making half the room turn.

“Ask a stupid question, get a smart ass answer,” said Willy, one hand slapping Cal on the back, knocking him into the bar.

To Diane’s surprise, Cal colored. Was he angry or just embarrassed?

“Now I’m the one who’s sorry. How about I buy you a drink, Miss Mayer?” asked Cal. Something in his brown eyes…

“My name’s Diane.”

Cal nodded and made room for her at the bar.

+++

At first Diane reminded Cal of his now-deceased fiancée Jessica. But as they talked, the old memories faded a bit more. Whether it was the flow of alcohol or the company around him, Cal felt himself relax. It was the first time in a while.

Diane fit right in with Cal’s friends. She wasn’t afraid. Eventually he found out that she was the youngest of four children, the only girl. Her brothers had all served in the military, and surprisingly, so had she. That explained the age.

She’d spent five years in the Navy, but she was vague on what she’d done other than mounds of paperwork. Despite his initial reservations, Cal felt himself being drawn to her. There had been other girls since Jessica, but none that intrigued him the way Diane Mayer did. He liked to keep it casual. Too much work to do, and there was always the lingering pain of Jess’s death.

Diane’s intelligence was evident, and her self-confidence sealed the deal. Even though he tried not to, he kept stealing glances at her, often catching her doing the same. Part of him felt ashamed, like he was cheating on Jess. His friends didn’t seem to care, and even the quiet Marine Sniper, Daniel Briggs, joined in on the conversation.

Before he knew it, Daniel announced that it was midnight and said he was heading out. Trent and Gaucho said their goodbyes too, Trent giving Diane a massive bear hug, lifting her off the ground, and then leaving with others.

They were sitting on barstools, their thighs touching, suddenly unable to talk. “I guess I better get going soon too. PT in the morning,” said Diane, swirling her beer mug in circles on the wet bar.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta go out of town for a couple days.”

Her hand found his and she looked into his eyes.

“I’m really glad I came out tonight, Cal.”

“Me too.”

+++

Cal’s internal alarm clock told him it was 5:30am. He moved his hand slowly off of Diane’s hand and crept to the bathroom. By the time he came back, he was surprised, and more than a little disappointed, that she was up and getting dressed.

She smiled at him as she slipped on her shorts. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

He felt like a kid again. He didn’t know what to say. Diane didn’t seem to have that problem. She didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed.

“I’ve gotta head out, but I’ll be done around eight. Do you have time to grab breakfast?” she asked, slipping on a pair of running shoes.

He admired her muscular legs and finally looked away, trying to remember where his shirt was.

“I’ll be leaving town before that. Rain check?”

She looked disappointed, but then flashed him that beautiful smile. “You’ve got my number.”

Pulling her hair back in a ponytail, she walked over and stood in front of him. Cal put his arms around her, kissing her softly at first, and then more urgently. It felt like she was melting against him.

She pulled back. “I really have to go. I’m in enough trouble as it is.”

She gave him a peck on the cheek and ran out the door.

+++

No one said a word when he strolled back into their new home on the corner of Rugby Road and Preston Avenue. Months earlier, after leaving Stokes Security International (SSI), the company his father had founded, Cal was tasked by the president to form a new entity that would continue the covert missions he’d conducted at SSI. It was just too much of a risk under the SSI name.

So Cal had chosen Charlottesville, Virginia, both for nostalgic reasons (Cal went to U.Va and SSI’s second headquarters, Camp Cavalier was minutes away) and because of its close proximity to the nation’s capital and the president. With the money and face of Jonas Layton, the tech billionaire the world knew as ‘The Fortuneteller’ for his prognosticative powers, Cal formed
The Jefferson Group
.

He’d brought along some of his SSI colleagues, including Marine Master Sergeant Willy Trent, former Delta operator Gaucho and Marine sniper Daniel “Snake Eyes” Briggs. Not only had Gaucho’s 11-man team volunteered to come along, so had tech genius Neil Patel and former CIA interrogator Dr. Alvin Higgins.

Their cover was simple. Jonas was in high demand by companies around the world and owned multiple businesses to help him fulfill his clients’ needs. The Jefferson Group would be a sort of hybrid consultancy on the surface, providing services to the federal government, corporations and friendly foreign powers. It gave The Jefferson Group’s employees a cover to travel wherever they needed.

Away from the public eye they had a different mission altogether. The president had tasked Cal with rooting out threats before they became a problem. Simply put, Cal and the rest of The Jefferson Group team were the president’s silent eyes and ears, accountable only to him. Highly secret and extremely deadly, the team had already notched several high profile takedowns, cementing their position in the president’s back pocket.

“Have a good night?” asked MSgt Trent, who was in the process of pouring himself a cup of coffee from the commercial grade machine mounted to the tiled backsplash. Gaucho was sitting at the table with Daniel, each reading newspapers.

“Yeah,” said Cal, going for his own cup of caffeine.

When it was obvious that Cal wasn’t going to say anything else, Trent said, “For what it’s worth, Cal, Diane seems like a great gal.”

Cal nodded, not really knowing what to say. Part of him still felt guilty, almost like he was forsaking the memory of his dead fiancée. He changed the subject.

“What time are we leaving?”

“Whenever you’re ready, boss,” answered Gaucho, not taking his eyes from his paper.

“Good. I’ll take a shower and we can get breakfast on the way.”

Cal was looking forward to talking to the president. They had a lot to discuss.

Chapter 4

En route to Washington, D.C.

8:27am, August 11
th

Cal stared out the window as Daniel drove. Gaucho and Trent were in the back laughing about something. They always were. He was supposed to be thinking about their meeting with the president, but he couldn’t stop replaying his night with Diane.

He knew what the other guys thought, that he’d slept with her. Not that they would’ve thought less of him, but that’s probably what they assumed. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to, but something held him back. Instead of making the beast with two backs, they’d spent all night talking, except for the time it took for a quick hour nap. Okay, and maybe fooling around a little.

It was the first time he’d totally relaxed around a woman since Jess. Despite the periodic sessions with Dr. Higgins, Cal had found it very hard to loosen up. Sometimes he felt like he was wound up so tight he might snap from the strain. Not only had he lost his fiancée a couple years before, he’d also lost his parents on 9/11, he’d lost half of his team in Wyoming, he’d lost…so much.

Aside from his high operational tempo, loss was the only thing Cal knew. Luckily he had guys like Daniel and Trent around who’d kept him grounded and called him out when he was being too much of a hard ass. Life was tough enough. It was even harder when you were a bitter prick. He’d been guilty of it on more than one occasion.

He wondered if things could really change, if he could change. He sighed. Only time would tell.

+++

The White House

The president was waiting in the Oval Office when they arrived. Travis Haden, Cal’s cousin, was with him, as was Gen. McMillan, the Marine chairman of the joint chiefs. Outside of the president, McMillan was one of a handful of people who knew what Cal and his team did for a living.

Everyone said their hellos and took a seat. First, Cal gave the president an overview of the latest from Charlottesville and their ongoing operations. They’d been busy, but not too busy. Mostly they’d spent time getting established, following up on leads, and doing the odd guest appearance at the university.

“Good to hear you guys are settling in down there. From what Travis has told me, you’ve built a pretty nice bachelor pad. When do I get an invite?” asked the president.

Cal shrugged. “We’ve gotta take care of the boys, Mr. President.” And they had. Between him and Jonas, they’d given the men the chance to take classes and finally enjoy some time to themselves. Most of them had been with SSI for years and had the battle scars to prove it. Even the hardest warriors needed a break sometimes.

Once the president was satisfied that things were going well with his newest covert project, he got down to business.

“I don’t have much time, but I wanted to bring you all up to speed on how we’re handling ISIS in Iraq. General, why don’t you give them a quick rundown,” said the president.

McMillan nodded. “As you’ve seen in the news, and I’m sure the president gave you a heads-up before, we’re in the process of getting humanitarian aid to the Iraqis who’ve been displaced by ISIS. We’ve also conducted limited air strikes in support of Iraqi troops and Kurdish Peshmerga forces.”

“What about boots on the ground, General?” asked Cal, glad that the U.S. was finally doing something, but realistic enough to know that it was far from what was needed. He’d been pestering the president since April, trying to get the authorization to do something to help, but Zimmer kept putting him off. He’d been reluctant to go back on his predecessor’s promise of a full troop withdrawal, and he wanted to give the Iraqi government time to work out its own problems.

But the bickering in Baghdad hadn’t stopped, and the violence escalated, now bolstered by a steady stream of ISIS recruits from across the region. ISIS wasn’t going away and the Iraqis couldn’t fend them off alone.

McMillan continued. “We’ve increased our troop strength at the embassy and we’re going over proposals to send in advisors.”

“How many people are you thinking?”

The president answered. “That’s one of the things we wanted to talk to you about, Cal.”

“Oh?”

“General McMillan has some friends he’d like you to meet.”

“Can’t you just tell me—”

“Trust me. Take a ride with the general and all your questions will be answered.”

Cal didn’t like suspense, even from the president, but he willed his temper away, hoping this might finally be the first step to taking down ISIS.

+++

Cal was surprised they weren’t driving toward the Pentagon, assuming they’d go to McMillan’s office. Soon they pulled up to a familiar gate. They were at the Marine Barracks at 8
th
and I, the home of the Marine Commandant and the Marine Corps Silent Drill Team. Cal suddenly remembered a random bit of knowledge from boot camp as the driver pulled up to the curb. The Corps’ oldest post was founded by President Thomas Jefferson and the second Marine commandant, Lt. Col. Burrows.

How fitting that a group of former Marines now calling themselves The Jefferson Group was getting a chance to come home.

Gen. McMillan winked at Cal. “No safer place, right?”

Cal nodded. He hadn’t spent much time at 8
th
and I. It wasn’t really the place of a lowly staff sergeant to hang out at one of the most sacred places in all of the Marine Corps. He’d been to an Evening Parade with his dad, but hadn’t stepped foot inside since.

They were ushered in quickly, snappy salutes all around, and a full bird colonel escorted them down the path to the perfectly manicured lawn where the Silent Drill Team put on their world-renowned performances. Some of the silent drill guys were practicing in a far corner, wearing PT gear and white gloves, rifles twirling in the air with ease. Cal had tried it once and almost cracked his head open with a spinning Garand.

“Are we going to meet the Commandant, General?” MSgt Trent asked, his eyes wide with wonder as he looked around. No Marine could step inside 8
th
and I without a little sense of awe. History oozed from the bricks and pavestones.

“The outgoing commandant has already moved his things out. General Winfield, his replacement, will be moving in soon. They’re just letting us use the place for the day.”

“Then who are we meeting?” asked Cal.

“You’ll see.”

They entered the home of the commandant and made their way to the dining room, nothing in disarray despite the change in leadership. There was a motley collection of characters mingling around the large polished wood table. They all turned as Gen. McMillan walked into the room. Interestingly enough, no one called, “Attention on deck.”

McMillan motioned Cal forward and said, “Everyone, I’d like for you to meet the man who is not only a personal friend of mine, but also a close friend of the president. Gentlemen, this is Cal Stokes.”