NOTES: Well, lucky you. I woke up this morning with this scene in my head, and I couldn't get it out. I had to draft it so I can enjoy the last of today before the week really starts. I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas. I ate WAAAAY too much, but had a great time with the family and enjoyed your comments from Chapter 8. More tomorrow, but for now, enjoy the show... (CAUTION: The following contains unedited material that may be unsuitable for the grammatically inclined. Keep in mind that I don’t review what I write until after the first draft of the whole novel is done, so please keep your spelling and grammar fixes until the Beta Reader rounds.) Chapter 9 Lake Buena Vista, Florida 6:02am, December 6th Special Agent Robbie Barrett had a pounding headache and it had nothing to do with overindulging the night before. Although he lived well and liked to enjoy the finer things in life, he maintained certain peculiarities in with his work. One of his steadfast rules was that he never touched alcohol while he was on a high-profile case. The death of the Assistant Commandant of the Marine Corps was a tragedy, but it was also an opportunity for Robbie Barrett. He’d spent the evening before with a young woman his mother had introduced him to at a family event at the Barrett home in Orlando. She was cute enough and plenty smart, but his mind couldn’t focus on the conversation. He could tell that she thought he was off cue for not even taking a sip of the eighty-dollar bottle of wine he’d ordered, but she didn’t say anything. He’d deposited her back at her brand new apartment, and barely gave her a peck on cheek before he was speeding away back to his home office. And there he’d stayed until well past three in the morning. The case was as plain as he’d seen. A guy has a shitty day, or maybe even a shitty life, and he decides to end it all. Nothing new in Barrett’s world. He’d investigated possible murders and countless suicides in military barracks, run-down motels and even the one time he’d had to pick through a pile of stinking red snapper to get to the body covered underneath. As he walked another loop around the scene of the Gen. Ellwood’s ultimate demise, Barrett wondered if he was looking because there was actually something there or because he wanted something to be there. If there was another angle, some conspiracy that the Marine general had wriggled his way into, that could mean lots of media exposure. That could thrust him into the spotlight, a proposition that made him more than a little excited. Maybe if his mother and father finally saw that he was doing something important, something that could garner the attention of the public, then maybe, just maybe, they’d stop pestering him about using his law degree for something useful. They hadn’t understood his decision to leave his father’s firm and enlist with NCIS. That’s what they’d called it: “enlisting”. As if either of them had the faintest idea what military service meant. He hadn’t know much when he’d started, but he learned quickly, busted his ass to prove that he belonged amidst the ranks of former-military. So while his parents schmoozed their friends and whispered their hopes that someday Robbie would “get over his service and come back to the family”, he spent his days doing what he could to rise through the ranks at NCIS. He knew that the other NCIS agents called him names behind his back, Pretty Boy, College Boy, Trust Fund…but he ignored it all. The Barrett family’s fuel was success, and Robbie Barrett had stuffed handfuls of it in his pockets as his colleagues watched, mouths watering. They could say whatever they wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that he was fast becoming the face of the NCIS in Florida. Only half paying attention to his surrounding, he backpedaled to get a better look at the crime scene. His heel caught on a something hard and Barrett felt his momentum propelling him back, arms already moving to stop the fall. Before he hit the ground, something grabbed him, arresting the wipeout. “Gotcha,” came a voice. Much less gracefully than he would’ve liked, Barrett regained his footing and whipped around, his hand searching for his firearm. He stopped when we recognized the man standing in front of him, blonde hair pulled tight in a ponytail. If he was amused, he didn’t show it. Daniel Briggs stood with a look that bordered somewhere between curiosity and determination. Barrett could feel the man’s eyes taking him in, as if he were assessing NCIS agent’s worth. “What are you doing here?” Barrett asked, a bit of quiver in his voice that he tried to cover with a quick cough. “I thought I’d take a look around,” said Briggs, bending down to look at something on the ground. “Where’s Stokes?” If Barrett was being honest with himself, he would have admitted that the two Marines unnerved him. It wasn’t the fact that they’d been sent by the Commandant, or even that they were treading on his turf (he dealt with Washington outsider on a too-frequent basis). It was the way they carried themselves, especially this Briggs character. He had the look of a man who’d seen things, done things. Like a poet who’d finally found his harmony with the world, Daniel Briggs exuded something that Barrett wished for daily: tranquility. “Cal’s seeing what he can do to help Mrs. Ellwood and the family,” said Daniel, not looking up as he moved to another spot a few feet away. “You know we’ve been over the area a hundred times,” said Barrett, seeking to regain the upper hand. “I know. Not trying to step on any toes. Just thought I’d soak it in without anyone being here.” At that moment Barrett realized that the Marine had probably been there much longer than he had. What had he seen? What was he looking for? But rather than snap a reply, Barrett’s mind wondered if his hunch had been right, if there was something more to the case than a run-of-the-mill suicide. “You have much experience with this?” he asked, following Briggs’s path. “You mean crime scenes?” “Suicide.” Briggs looked up. “Yeah.” “Personally or professionally?” “Both.” There was something in the comment and the tone that subtly told Barrett to back off. “You don’t say much, do you?” Briggs shrugged on continued his inspection of the area. “How far out did your teams look?” Briggs asked. “A couple hundred yards. Figured there wasn’t much need considering the circumstances. Briggs nodded. “Hey, if there’s something I need to know, it sure as hell would be helpful to know it before I file my initial report,” said Barrett, matching Briggs’s pace as he moved farther into the brush. “I want to show you something.” Open space turned to tangle, and then back again. While Barrett swatted away branches, Briggs seemed to melt in and out of the landscape. His footsteps were light, his gaze moving constantly. They reached a small rise and climbed it, the pines needles under their feet still wet from the morning dew. Briggs turned around when they’d reached the top. “Look,” he said, pointing back the way they’d come. Barrett did as he was told, squinting, and then taking off his suddenly fogged sunglasses to see what Briggs was seeing. It took him a moment, then his eyes went wide. They were probably half a mile away, but there, clear as day, was the yellow taped crime scene, his Escalade parked just where he’d left it. “How did you know this was here?” asked Barrett, the possibilities already tumbling around in his head. “I had a hunch.” Briggs walked over to a clump of trees, his eyes taking in the area. He went to his knees, and then down to his hands. Barrett watched as he maneuvered around the small copse that looked more like a nest on the ground, probably big enough to be home to a deer. It dawned on the special agent what he was seeing. This wasn’t a private refuge for animals, it was… The loud crack of splintering wood overhead made him look up on confusion. He saw the shattered remains of the tree branch not a foot above his head. It took a split second for him to realize what it was. Just as he did, the wind was knocked from his chest as Daniel Briggs tackled him and the pair rolled down the backside of the hillock. Over and over they went, pitching over prickly palmettos and narrowly missing saplings as they went. They finally came to rest with a splash in a knee high body of water. Briggs had a pistol out. He put his index finger to his lips and motioned for Barrett to follow. Embarrassed by his slow reactions, Barrett slid his own sopping wet weapon out of its holster and tried to pretend that he knew what was going on. He’d never been shot at before. He’d never pulled his service pistol in the line of duty. “What happening?” he whispered, trying to calm his breathing. Another crack overhead. This time Barrett realized it was high-caliber round, a rifle most likely. He ducked involuntarily, but Briggs just kept moving. If he was worried, he didn’t show it. “Who knew you were out here?” asked Briggs, his voice dead calm. “What? I…I don’t know. Why?” stuttered Barrett, the edge of panic in his brain creeped down his arms. Briggs shook his head. “Nevermind. How well can you swim?” “What?” “How well can you swim?” It was then that Barrett noticed that they were up to their chests in the murky water. “I can take care of myself.” Briggs nodded and pulled off his shirt with a swift tug. “Strip down if you need to. We’re going that way.” He pointed deeper into the gloom when trees hung over the waterway with their drooping tendrils, roots visible and they formed skeletal cages against the banks. Barrett debated kicking off his shoes but thought better of it. As he gulped the thought of crocodiles and whatever else was lurking under the surface, he followed Briggs, hoping they’d make it out before a bullet found them and left them for the swamps. Please support this project by leaving an honest review for Disavowed >>HERE <<
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NOTES: Another quick reminder about grammar as we progress with the storyline. I know it's hard (for some of you it's REALLY hard) to ignore my grammar scuffs and typos, but that's part of this process. Remember, I am not reviewing what I'm writing. Doing so adds an hour or more to each day's process. This is stream of thought. I'm vomiting on the page. Lucky you! So, if you can't take the errors, you may want to wait for Chain of Command to be published. Don't worry, I won't be offended. Also, I don't want you to waste your time if I can't make your changes on the first draft. But, if you can ignore them for the ride, you'll get the chance to skewer my grammar as a Beta Reader. Hope that's cool because even if you submit changes, I am not going back to fix anything right now. CHRISTMAS: The good news is that Christmas is two days away, or as my kids like to say, "One day and a wake up, Daddy!" With Christmas so close, this week will be interesting as far as writing goes. I'm still going to try to write, but I won't promise which days I will. If I don't talk to you before then, have a happy and safe Christmas. Now, back to the show... (CAUTION: The following contains unedited material that may be unsuitable for the grammatically inclined. Keep in mind that I don’t review what I write until after the first draft of the whole novel is done, so please keep your spelling and grammar fixes until the Beta Reader rounds.) Chapter 8 Dulles, Virginia 10:47pm, December 5th The two men dressed as the building’s security guards were down the stairs and out the front door exactly three minutes and fifteen seconds before the FBI investigators descended. Warrants were waved and badges flashed as the on-site security team tried to figure out what the agents wanted. “This federal warrant gives us immediate access to suite four-oh-nine,” stated the lead FBI agent, conveniently attired in a Bureau windbreakers over his winter coat. “Sir, I’ll have to call the building manager first,” replied the forty-year-old night watchman. He’d been an employee at the same complex for almost six-years, ever since he’d taken an early retirement from the Navy. This was the first time he’d personally encountered the FBI. He’d heard stories, but none of them lived up to what was facing him now. The special agents just kept coming through the front doors, some with boxes, other with cameras, and still more with laptop bags slung over their shoulders. “I could get in a lot of trouble if —“ “You’ll be in federal prison if you don’t escort us up to suite four-oh-nine. Now, would you rather get stuffed in the back of one of our vans or show us the way?” The security guard tried, but couldn’t match the FBI agent’s glare. “Okay,” he replied, already making his way toward the bank of elevators. The FBI agent snapped his fingers and was instantly followed by his entourage. Twelve of them squeezed into the elevator with the sweating guard. He kept his eyes on the doors, watching the intense reflections of his fellow passengers. He’s already told them that no one was in the office. He’d even offered to give them the tenant’s contact information so that maybe they could come in themselves. But the FBI had its own plan. They wanted in now. The doors slid open and the security guard was greeted by black clad troops with rifles. He almost pulled out his own weapon, but the large agent stepped around him and said, “They’re with us.” How had they gained access without him knowing? His sweat turned to cold as he imagined the inevitable conversation he was going to have with his boss. He gulped once and fumbled in his pocket for the key card. After a quick swipe of the card, the door unlocked and he was pushed aside by the armed raid force. He stepped back and watched as the FBI team swarmed in. No one paid any more attention to him and that was fine with him. He realized he had to go to the bathroom so he walked to the fourth floor restroom, passing the sign for Suite 409, with its Marine Corps emblazoned sign that read USMC F-35 Liaison and Procurement. He’d met the Marine colonel who commanded the Marine and civilian staff in the office. The guy didn’t say much, but to a former squid, the Marine seemed wound pretty tight. That was saying something for a Marine. The security guard wondered what the colonel was going to do when he came to work and found the FBI waiting. He didn’t really care. After taking a leak, it was just another night on an otherwise boring shift. +++ Washington, D.C. 11:30pm The Chairman of the House Armed Services Subcommittee on Seapower and Projection Forces stifled another sneeze. He was coming down with something, probably from one of the grandkids. They been up to visit from Chesapeake the week before, and two of the three hadn’t stopped with their runny noses and incessant coughs. Rep. Wade Yates (R-Virginia), blew his nose into another tissue and added it to the growing pile in the waste basket sitting next to him. “Gentlemen and ladies, we’ve been at it for most of the night, and I’m sure you’d like to get home. May I suggest we adjourn until tomorrow?” There were no disagreements from the other nineteen members of the subcommittee that provided oversight for Navy and Marine Corps procurement and research and development. Some yawned as they gathered their belonging and said farewell to their peers. Congressman Yates couldn’t remember another December that had been so plagued by budget squabbles and deadlock. Despite President Zimmer’s attempts to bring the two sides together, it was the same old story in Washington. Left versus Right with no end in sight. Yates shook his head as he stuffed the last file into his brief case. There was still much to discuss, but at least the bulk of what they were finalized was actually cemented in the budget. The F-35 Joint Strike Fighter program had been a particular bear, but they’d gotten through it. With cost increased and delays from the manufacturer, the U.S. government was increasingly in the hole on the expensive program. Various news outlets had done their best to paint the program as another example of government waste, but Rep. Yates and his colleagues believed in the program. They didn’t disagree on revamping the process and holding the manufacturer accountable, but they were steadfast in their insistence that the F-35 was a must-have for the future of the American armed forces. He’d said as much two days before in an interview on 60-Minutes. They hadn’t aired it yet, but he was hoping they’d include the meat of what he’d described. He was the last out the door when his cell phone rang. He debated not answering the call, but saw that it was one of his assistants. Yates answered the call. “Shouldn’t you be asleep by now? We’ve got another long day tomorrow.” “Sir, I’m sorry to bother you.” The tone of his staffer’s voice wiped the grin off Yates’s face. “It’s okay. I was just leaving the subcommittee meeting.” He wondered what could be so urgent at this hour. “What’s the matter?” “Sir, I just got a call from the FBI.” Yates stopped walking. “What did they want?” He scoured his mind for any ongoing investigation that maybe he should’ve remembered. His brain was foggy from the cold, or maybe it was the flu. “They just raided the Marine’s F-35 liaison offices in Dulles, and they’ve taken Colonel Pearce into custody.” Please support this project by submitting your honest review of Disavowed HERE
NOTES: I hope you all had a great weekend. Thanks to everyone who bought a copy of Disavowed. Didn't quite crack the Top 100, but we were close. I'm sure we'll hit it next time. Our time is short this week, so I'll keep it quick. This chapter was part of the reason I wanted to write this book. I not only want to tell the story of servicemen and women, but I also want to tell the stories of their families. I hope I can do them justice. Tell me what you think... (CAUTION: The following contains unedited material that may be unsuitable for the grammatically inclined. Keep in mind that I don’t review what I write until after the first draft of the whole novel is done.) Chapter 7 Disney Yacht Club Resort Lake Buena Vista, Florida 5:29pm, December 5th Mrs. Ellwood was waiting for them in the lobby. Cal recognized her from the photo Special Agent Barrett had shown him and Daniel. She was beautiful in the old southern way. Distinguished and almost regal, her silver hair pulled back in a bun. When she turned, Cal caught of glimpse of the sorrow in her eyes. The look was replaced by the cordial gaze of a professional military wife, a general’s wife. “I’m Cal Stokes, Mrs. Ellwood, and this is Daniel Briggs.” Cassidy Ellwood shook their hands and said, “I’ve reserved a room where we can talk in private. My family is still in our suite.” They followed General Ellwood’s wife down the long nautical themed hallway. When they reached their destination, Mrs. Ellwood touched the pink band on her wrist to the electronic locked. It flickered green and the three entered. Mrs. Ellwood flipped on the lights and took the first chair she found in the small sitting area. She motioned for Cal and Daniel to do the same. Nothing in her appearance, other than the hint of puffiness around her eyes, suggested that she was in mourning. That didn’t surprise Cal. Being a Marine wife for as long as she had, surely she’d dealt with her fair share of grief over the past thirty-some years. Cal began. “I’d first like to say how sorry we are for —“ “For my loss? For the fact that my husband blew his brains out? You can save your words Mr. Stokes. I’m a big girl. I’ve seen too many Marines take their lives. I was one of the ones that had to help pick up the pieces for the grieving wives, the widows forced to care for their fatherless children. So spare me the song and dance. What does the Commandant want with me?” Cal nodded. He hadn’t expected the meeting to be easy, but the level of animosity made him pause. “General Winfield wanted me to come down and let you know that he is at your disposal. Anything you need we will help take care of it.” “What about the Marine Corps? They already sent their delegation.” “This is in addition to that, Ma’am.” Mrs. Ellwood cocked her head to the side taking the two men in. “Who are you, Mr. Stokes? Are you a Marine?” “Former Marine, yes, Ma’am” Mrs. Ellwood snorted. “Didn’t you hear the last Commandant? There are no former Marines. Once a Marine, always a Marine.” She spat the words out like they’d burned her mouth with some vile taste. “Yes, Ma’am. I don’t like to confuse people, especially without a regulation hair cut. Daniel and I are no longer on active duty,” Cal explained. “Then what are you doing for Scotty Winfield?” She seemed intrigued now, her anger just below the surface. “That’s a little hard to explain, Mrs. Ellwood.” “Try me. I’ve been around the block a few times, Marine.” She sounded like a general. Patiently tolerant. Cal couldn’t tell her the whole truth, so the Commandant had told him to use his discretion on what he said to Mrs. Ellwood. “We’ve been directed to help in the investigation of General Ellwood’s death.” “I would think it’s pretty cut and dry, gentlemen. My husband told us he would meet us in an hour. Instead he returned to our room, pocketed the pistol my Daddy gave him, and walked into the woods to take his own life.” He could see that she was trying to stay strong, but her lips were quivering. Cal made his decision. “Mrs. Ellwood, we believe, that is, myself and General Winfield, believe that there might be more to your husband’s death.” Mrs. Ellwood’s eyes went wide. “You’re telling me that the Marine Corps not only took my husband away for me for years, but now you’re saying that it might have had something to do with his death?” Tears were now streaming from her eyes. She didn’t seem to notice. “God damn the Marine Corps! Honor, courage and commitment? What happened to family?! We tell our young Marines and their wives to take care of one another, to be there for their children. But that’s all a lie! My children never had the benefit of their father’s love. He wasn’t home. He was supposed to be the example, but Doug was always working. Now my grandchildren will never know their grandfather.” She paused to grab the tissue Daniel had extended for her. Mrs. Ellwood dabbed her eyes and continued. “I’ll tell you something that isn’t in your filed, Mr. Stokes. We came on this trip because of me, because I demanded it of my husband. I really thought he understood. He took the time with our boys, with their kids. We made love and for a moment I thought I had my Doug back. We were kids again. I loved him very much, Mr. Stokes. I love him…” Her voice trailed off as she sobbed quietly. Cal stood up from his chair and knelt in front of her, taking her free hand. “I understand,” he said simply. Mrs. Ellwood’s eyes flashed. “How could you?!” “My fiancé was murdered in front of me, and my parents were both killed on nine-eleven.” Her eyes softened and she covered his hand with hers. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s okay. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Ellwood.” She nodded, wiping her tears away with the tissue. “My husband was a good man, an honest man, Mr. Stokes. He worked hard and did his best. There wasn’t a lying bone in his body. But he was a Marine through and through. It was in his blood, I know that.” “He was a Marine’s Marine, Ma’am.” Mrs. Elwood nodded absently. “You were saying…are you telling me that there may have been a reason that Doug did what he did?” Cal didn’t see the harm in telling her something. “Yes, Ma’am.” She smiled. “For some reason that makes me feel better. Doug wasn’t a man who could fall into self-pity. I…I didn’t believe it when they told me.” Her eyes met Cal’s again. “Can you promise me something, Mr. Stokes?” “If I can, I will.” “If there was someone behind my husband’s death, if they did something to force Doug’s hand… Find them, Mr. Stokes. Find them.” For some reason, despite the odds stacked against them and the enemy still lurking in the shadows, Cal said the first thing that came from his heart, “We’ll take care of it, Ma’am.” Comments? Questions? Concerns? Tell me in the COMMENTS section below.
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