The Chameleon Soldier: NOW AS AN ALIEN BLUE HE CANNOT DIE. (11 page)

Killian grinned. “Good. You need someone to settle you down.”

They laughed.

“I believe if you’re working part-time at the ranch, it will be a perfect cover. Director Spencer would never expect it, and I can make casual contact with you whenever necessary.”

“It all makes sense. It’s a good plan. Now tell me more about this new woman in your life.”

U
pon their return
to Washington, D.C., Congressman Kipling Smith called the CIA’s Deputy Director of Plans, William Spencer, and made an appointment to meet with him in three days. Then he and Killian drove down to his grandfather’s ranch in Virginia. When they pulled into the driveway Killian pointed to the wrought iron archway that spelled
ZS RANCH
.

“Zachary Smith, my grandfather,” said Kip.

They pulled up next to the ranch house in time for Kip to catch sight of his grandfather getting out of the long rectangular pool. Zack waved to them as he started to towel off. They got out of the car, and walked over to the pool.

“Hey, Kip, it’s good to see you! Who’s that strong-looking man you’ve got with you?”

“He’s your new trainer.”

Kip’s grandfather shot him a curious look.

“I want you to meet my good friend, whom I’ve often told you about, Killian Kilkenny.”

“Why, sure, good God, Kip’s mentioned you so many times I feel like I’ve already met you.” Zack and Killian shook hands. “You’re darn welcome here, Killian, it’s good to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Smith.”

“Call me Zack, everyone does.”

Killian smiled. “I can do that.”

“Good. I was about to pour a drink. Can I get you boys one?”

“I’ll fix them, Zack. I know what you like.”

Kip stepped over to the poolside bar, and began to mix the drinks. Zack put on a brown terrycloth robe and sat down. “Have a seat, Killian. Make yourself to home.”

Kip handed Zack and Killian their drinks. “That’s why we’re here, Zack. I’d like Killian to live here for a while, and work as one of your horse trainers.”

Zack nodded, “Why not? From what you’ve told me in the past, Killian’s pretty damn good with horses.”

“He’s the best, Zack.”

Kip then told Zack why he wanted Killian working at the ranch. He informed him about his upcoming meeting with Director Spencer, and his hopes of getting Killian working on reconnaissance, and covert operations with the CIA.

Zack frowned. “That Spencer a tough old cob, no offense, Killian, but a person really has to cut the mustard to be one of his men. Being a good horseman, and able to handle a gun won’t be enough for him.”

Kip and Killian shared a smile.

“Zack, I’m the only person who knows what I’m about to tell you. I’ve assured Killian you’re a man who would never divulge a secret that was entrusted to him.”

“You know that to be the honest truth, Kip,” said Zack.

“Grandfather, never in your life have you ever heard a story like the one I’m about to tell you.”

Zack knew it must be serious, as Kip never called him grandfather unless he was talking about a matter of great importance.

Kip then told Zack about the real Killian. It was the first time in Kip’s life that his grandfather didn’t interrupt him during a story. The old man hardly even took a drink as he listened intently to his grandson. When Kip had finished Zack stared at Killian.

“Is it possible, Killian?” he said at last. He was clearly stunned.

“Yes, sir, it is,” Killian answered. Then he stood up and, in front of Zack’s unbelieving eyes, transformed into a black man. “This, sir, is how I enlisted in the 1st Cavalry as a Buffalo Soldier.” Then he transformed back.

“Jesus Christ, I need another drink!” Zack held his glass out to Kip. “And make it a strong one.”

Kip took Zack’s glass as he and Killian laughed at the old man’s reaction. Over the next hour, the three men sat talking and drinking, as Zack had a number of questions.

Zack studied Killian with wonder. “Holy Moses, I’m seventy-one years old and you’re fifty years older than me, isn’t that something? Well, as long as you’re going to be living here, you and I are going to be sitting out here by the pool doing a lot of drinking and talking. I need to hear all about your life. Damn, it’s really got to be something!”

“Oh God Killian, what have I gotten you into?” said Kip, roaring with laughter.

That evening, Kip took Killian next door to meet his parents. Kip’s mother, Jesse, was excited to meet the man her son introduced as his best friend. Kip’s dad, Arthur, mixed them all his favorite welcoming drink, a whiskey Manhattan, while telling Killian it was about time he came to Virginia to visit them.

Three days later,
Kip entered Deputy Director Spencer’s over-sized office. They shook hands.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, director.”

“No problem, Kip… ah, I guess I should call you congressman now.”

“Kip is fine, sir.”

“Yes, that’s more natural for me. I’ve been calling you Kip since you were knee high to a grasshopper,” said the deputy director, chuckling.

“You’ve been a friend of our family for a long time, sir.”

“That I have. How are your parents, and that spirited and spunky grandfather of yours?”

“They’re just fine. Always on the go, as usual.”

“That’s good! Now, on the phone, you said you had something you thought would be of great interest to me.”

“Yes, sir, I do. I’m aware that five years ago a covert wing, called the Office of Policy Coordination, was created by the CIA. I’m also aware of your Special Activities Division, which includes the Special Operations Group. I’m especially interested in the Specialized Skill Officers unit in the SOG group.”

“Kip, how do you know about these groups, and why are you interested in them?”

“For the past few months I’ve been on the Armed Forces committee. One of the things I’ve learned is you have independent agents who either work as individuals or in small groups.”

“That’s supposed to be classified information, Kip.”

“It may be, sir, but like you, I have friends,” said Kip, grinning.

“All right, let’s say we do. Why are you interested?”

“As you know, during the Second World War, I was a captain in the 1st Cavalry. Recently I have been contacted by a soldier, who I’ve known for some time. When I first met him, he was a sergeant working special reconnaissance missions. He now represents a small group, who would like to be involved with the Specialized Skilled Officers unit. They’re skilled in recon, clandestine, and covert operations.”

Director Spencer sat looking at Kip. He didn’t say anything for close to thirty seconds. Then he leaned forward. “Why didn’t they contact us directly?”

“They don’t wish to be commissioned by the CIA. They want to work independently and incognito.”

The director remained silent.

Kip continued. “I know their capabilities. I have personally seen what they can do, as a group or individually. I can guarantee you, sir; you do not have operatives working for you with their attributes.”

“Pretty high praise, especially when I’m sure you’re aware of what some of our agents have achieved.”

“I do know. However, Director Spencer, you need this group I’m offering you.”

“Why? And how many are there in the group?” asked the director.

“The why is, they’ve fought in many of our wars, as Germans in World War II, as South Koreans in the Korean War and as American Indians. I’m not at liberty to say how many there are in the group.”

The director smiled. “That’s quite a group, Americans, Germans, Koreans and Indians. What’s the group called? Do they have a name?”

“They refer to themselves as The Chameleons.”

“The Chameleons, well that’s sort of appropriate under the circumstances,” said the director, with a grin.

Kip waited for his next question.

“Kip, other than your recommendation, and the fact they’re experienced soldiers, what reason would I have to employ them? What are their outstanding qualifications?”

“They meet your qualifications of being intelligent, experienced in recon, camouflage, skilled in all weapons, and in hand-to-hand combat. They have been wounded, and came back strong. And, very important to any mission, combined they fluently speak over twenty languages.”

Director Spencer looked directly at Kip. “Russian?” he asked.

“If one of them was standing in front of your desk, speaking to you in Russian, you’d swear they were born and raised in Russia,” Kip assured him.

“It doesn’t seem possible I haven’t heard about this group before.”

“They’ve just recently assembled, for the purpose we’re now discussing.”

“Where are they now?” asked the director.

“They’re in the U.S., on R and R, sir.”

Spencer smiled. “Well, I guess even your so-called super-group needs rest and recuperation from time to time, Kip.” He sat bouncing his fingertips together. “How do I get in touch with these chameleon soldiers?”

“I will be your contact.”

“I don’t think that will work, Kip.”

“They insist, sir. There’s no other option.”

Director Spencer shook his head in frustration. “I don’t like the idea.”

They sat and regarded each other for a few seconds.

“How about discussing it with Director Mason Waterton?”

“No Kip, I wouldn’t even think of talking this over with Director Waterton. He’d never approve such an arrangement. We don’t work that way. We must deal directly with anyone involved with us.”

“They’ll never do it, sir.”

“I’d like to have soldiers with their qualifications, but unless they change their minds about dealing directly with me, we don’t have anything further to discuss. I’m sorry, Kip.”

Kip sat for a moment, then nodded and stood up. “I understand that you have your policies. I thank you for your time, sir.”

They shook hands and Congressman Kipling Smith left the director’s office.

Later in the afternoon, Kip drove to the ranch. While they were sitting in Zack six-hundred square foot western-decorated living room, he informed Killian and Zack that Director Spencer didn’t go for his plan.

“I had my doubts about it, Kip. I know Spencer, and he’s a secretive, hands-on type of man,” said Zack as he took a drink of his Wild Turkey and water.

“I guess I overestimated myself a bit,” Kip conceded. “I thought he’d jump at the idea once he heard the qualifications of the group I fabricated.”

“Kip, he’s got the pick of the best men in the military.”

“I know, Zack, but…”

“Don’t worry about it, Kip,” interrupted Killian. “I’m sure I’ll find something else to do.”

Kip shrugged, shook his head, and took a drink of his Glenlivet and soda.

Zack cleared his throat. “I’ve heard rumors; the CIA has been overstepping their legal clandestine and covert operations. That might be a good reason why Spencer and Director Waterton don’t want people involved who aren’t handpicked by them.”

“I’ve also heard the talk,” Kip agreed. “However, you never know what’s true or a rumor in Washington.”

“That’s true, but usually if there’s a rumor, there’s some truth to it. ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’”

Kip looked at Killian. “I’ve talked you into leaving your ranch, and now my great plan has backfired. I’m sorry; I’ve kind of left you hanging.”

“As I said, don’t worry about me, Kip.”

“But what’ll you do, Killian?”

“Kip, you were right, I needed to separate from my Texas ranch. Now, if it’s okay with Zack, I’d like to stay here, work with his horses, and do some things I feel I need to do.”

“Hell, Killian,” said Zack. “You can stay here as long as you like, you’re like one of the family.”

Killian grinned and nodded his thanks to Zack.

Kip stood up to fixed three more drinks. He looked at Killian. “What are the things you feel you need to do?”

“I have some unfinished business with Lupan and his followers. No matter where they are I know they’re causing trouble for the U.S. Their hatred for the white man runs deep.”

“That’s the Indian who’s a Blue like you, Killian?” asked Zack.

“Yes. He’s a mean one, and he’ll be helping anyone who’s against our country, or anyone that’s doing harm to the American native.”

“But you’re just one man, do you know how many followers he has with him?” asked Zack.

“No, but not as many as he used to have. Some have died. Others have mellowed and no longer have the taste to kill the white man.”

“That may be, Killian,” Kip reminded him, “but remember I’ve seen these Indians, and I know it’s dangerous for you to seek them out.”

“True, Kip, but we know he’s looking for me. He wants me dead.”

“How will you find him? Where will you start?” asked Zack.

“To start with, by reading newspapers and watching the television for any news about unusual happenings, especially if it involves a problem with the Indians, or white people who are being killed in mysterious circumstance.”

Zack and Kip contemplated their drinks.

“Well, you know best, Killian,” said Kip. “Of course, I’ll help you in any way I can.”

That evening, they had dinner next door, at Kip’s parents’. Early the next morning Kip left for his office in Washington, D.C.