Brother's Keeper. Joaquin De Torres
wrong, to put it bluntly.” Rivers opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when Marrion calmly raised his palm. “Slow down, Scott. There’s nothing wrong with your overall tactical analysis. Your points are clear and understandably conservative; but it seems you fail to see the premise of why I wanted you to head this particular project.”
“Admiral-”
“Bob, goddamn it,” Marrion blurted with light-hearted frustration. “How many times do I have to remind you? I know you still have your uniform pressed in your closet, but you’re a civilian now.” He snickered while Rivers nodded dismissively.
“Bob, you’ve trusted me all these years.”
“Twenty-five, actually,” Marrion added abruptly. “From the day we first met at the Academy.” Marrion smiled with pride, warmly displaying his deep sense of loyalty towards their friendship.
“Well then, why won’t you let this project go? I don’t support it; and even if I did, it’s such a long shot that it will work, to speak of nothing of the cost and risks involved.”
Marrion nodded with understanding.
“Relax, Scott. Drink your coffee.” Rivers put the cup to his lips and took a long sip. Marrion looked away from his laptop and pressed his hands together as if to pray. “Scott, do you believe in second chances?” This question seemed to catch Rivers off guard.
“What?”
“Second chances,” the admiral repeated. “Do you believe in them?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. Sometimes thirds, depending on the situation.”
“Good, because I do very much believe in giving second chances,” Marrion said in a very low and committed tone. “You now have the authority to grant second chances to two individuals, maybe even three.”
“How?” Scott asked completely baffled.
“Commander Rudy Miller, the man you replaced.”
“But I’ve never met him.”
“That’s because he left a few months before I called you. He was picked up for Captain, but refused it.” Marrion’s face registered regret. “He couldn’t live with himself and abruptly retired. That’s why you received all your pass-down from me personally.” Rivers simply stared at him, not making any connections. Marrion realized this and nodded. “I just sent you a detailed e-mail attachment with all the facts about the case. You will understand more when you read it.”
“Why don’t you just tell me, Bob?”
“Because we both know you are too cerebral. You need time to mull things over, and I want you to have all the facts of this project on paper so you can integrate it. It’s what you do best, better than anyone I know.” He leaned forward across his desk. “It’s what I’m counting on.”
“I take it that this project is going forward despite my reservations?”
“Affirmative. This matter has one of the highest priorities for the Pentagon and I’m to report to Admiral Espinoza directly at regular intervals, not to mention those above me in the DSC circle.”
“How much time do I have?”
“We have everything you need, and have arranged all the particulars from paperwork, locations, to the logistics. If your initial contact is successful, we’re expecting you to be ready to go in six months. After that, we may have run out of time; which also translates to the world running out of time.”
Rivers mulled over the timeframe and the situation silently. He looked at Marrion whose eyes were almost pleading.
“Bob, it’s such a-”
“Long shot, we know this. But the situation is so dire, so important to our national security, that we’ve got to try.” He took a deep breath. “We’ve got to try.”
Rivers looked deep into Marrion’s eyes and saw the concern and fear that shackled him. This was indeed a massive undertaking, perhaps an impossible one; but if Bob Marrion asked him to do it, who was he to deny him? Who was he to ignore 25 years of close friendship? He nodded his head affirmatively, albeit reluctantly.
“Thank you, Scott.” Marrion handed him a sheet of paper. “This is your e-ticket for your flight to San Francisco. You leave tonight. Melinda has money and documents for you, plus two return reservations. If it doesn’t work out, let us know and we’ll cancel the other reservation.”
“I understand. Then I guess I’d better get packing.” Marrion stood up and offered his hand, which Scott took without hesitation.
“I know this is completely out of your job description, Scott; but as far as I’m concerned, if there’s anyone who can make this work, it’s you. Don’t worry, if you can’t, just come back. We’ll find another way.” Rivers nodded, still clutching Marrion’s hand.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Admiral.” He let go and proceeded towards the door.
“It’s Bob, goddamn it!”
Rivers smiled, suddenly a bit more comforted that no matter what happened, he’d still have his impenetrable friendship with Bob Marrion.
More than 20 hours later, he would find himself in a room at the Concord Sheraton Hotel, just a few miles from where his new mission would begin.
Chapter 2
A House in Order
2458 Olivera Villa Apartments
Concord, California
Jason sat at his small dining room table and looked about the room. Everything was in perfect order. His personal and household belongings were already neatly packed in boxes and awaiting transport to the closest Goodwill or dumpster. He knew Mr. Sebastiani would pick through them first, pulling out his electronics to keep for himself or his kids. Jason didn’t give a shit. The rooms were cleaned, and the kitchen and bathroom scrubbed down.
He looked at the kitchen bar counter where a stack of envelopes sat crisply. All his utility, cell phone, Internet and cable bills were paid up to the end of the month, and he would drop them in the outgoing slot when he checked his mailbox one last time. He was expecting a letter and hoped it would arrive before he departed. Next to that stack of bills was a manila office envelope with his landlord’s name on it. Within was the final month’s rent, in cash, with an extra thousand dollars for the clean up to come. A small note was tucked inside.
Mr. Sebastiani, I’m sorry for the mess I’ve left you. Use my deposit and this extra cash to cover the new paint and carpet. I really enjoyed staying here. Jason.
His eyes moved further down the counter to another small group of items that the police would need when his body was discovered. His driver’s license, social security card, an official copy of his birth certificate, and his passport sat on a small piece of parchment:
Dear Concord Police Department: I have no living relatives. Please simply cremate my remains. After that, I really don’t care.
Earlier, he decided that he would leave the front door cracked open slightly so a fellow tenant, or Mr. Sebastiani himself could easily gain entry once they heard the bang. For the first time in his life, he considered with dark satisfaction that his house was in order. He turned to the table and surveyed what was in front of him: a take-out menu for Szechuan Village Chinese restaurant; a newly opened bottle of Hennessy XO with shot glass; his cell phone, the TV remote and his Glock. He had called in his order for food 20 minutes ago, so being lunch hour, he expected it to come late. He poured himself a shot while he turned on the TV for the last time.
What the hell, he reasoned; the food won’t be here for another half-hour anyway. He went straight to his favorite program, the History Channel, and was instantly pleased to see a part of his life that he had left behind. “Wings Of Tomorrow,” his favorite military documentary series