Execute

A day ago, Jim McCalister stood in the offices at work and accepted his current assignment. He went home and told his girlfriend of two years he would be gone for a couple of days. She didn't like it but understood. Jim McCallister was one of the best cyber security specialists in the country, or so she thought.

What Jim did for work was seedier than cyber security. Jim was an expert at recon and surveillance techniques. He was an infiltrator.

Jim McCalister could get into any place, at any time, and under any circumstances. He possessed a gift that made him perfect for infiltrating businesses, organizations, military groups, militias, and local news agencies. It served him so well in the military that, four years into his career, Jim was recruited by Clandestine Services.

What made Jim so gifted at such a skill? Jim was a very non-descript type of guy. He was one of those people that fit into a crowd. He had medium hair and was of medium height, and he was medium complected and weighed about average. Combining that with a degree of cunning, an above-average I.Q., and gifts Jim called proprietary meant nobody could stop him.

Jim stared out of the sixth-floor window of his hotel room. As much as Jim could invade even the most secure places, this mission was about recon. They would only infiltrate the militia group if they failed to eliminate its reclusive leader. Since elimination was the primary objective, Jim was awaiting a partner.

Standing there, letting the sun wash over him as he sipped an iced whiskey, a knock at the door broke his relaxed stance. He stared at the hotel room door, locking his eyes on the entrance as he breathed deeply. Nobody knew he was there except for his handler. He hadn't called anyone, and even Kyla remained in the dark.

"Knock, knock, knock," sounded the door.

Jim walked over to the coffee table in the center of his suite, setting down his drink before pulling out a small silver pistol. He walked to the door, one arm tucked in slightly behind him, asking who was there.

"Room service," said a voice from the outer hall. "You're lobster order."

Clandestine services had a practice of using code words. The knock at the door and saying it was the lobster order was part of the code.

"Is that the Maine lobster?"

"No sir, it's locally sourced," responded the person in the hall.

Jim opened the door slowly. He had a description of his assigned partner, a dark and swarthy, well-built man in his early thirties, answering to the name Raymond. As he opened the door, staring Raymond in the eyes, he motioned for him to enter.

"It's a pleasure, Colonel McCalister," said Raymond.

That was the second confirmation. After leaving the military as a lieutenant, Jim McCalister would be a Colonel or higher by now if he'd remained in the service. Only his handler and he ever joked about that.

"Jim's fine," he told Raymond, "or Mac, everybody calls me Mac."

"Glad to be working with you, Mac. Friends call me Ray," said Raymond, shaking Jim's hand.

The two men had time before they had to trek into the forest. The meeting was at one of the long-rumored camps along the Rock River. The government signed off on selling the camp and the infrastructure, creating a paper trail that they didn't own it, and naming it as a defunct FEMA storage facility. It was a convenient way to offload the conspiracy theorist's dream find and push the well-monied extremists into one place.

It was probably a year or longer ago that Jim took an assignment. This marked his first outing with a guy in over a year. He invited Ray to the hotel bar for a drink. It would be a good place for the two to bond. Tomorrow, Ray was to be the only backup around if the mission failed and he was forced to go in.

Jim looked at the bartender and then at the waitress. He preferred the waitress. He pointed out a booth by the windows. As the two men took a seat, the waitress wandered over with a smile on her twenty-one-year-old face.

She wore a tight top that accentuated her more than ample bosom. Her jeans were comfortably fit and accentuated her curves in a way that men liked. Her name badge said, Heidi.

"What can I get you?" she gleefully asked.

Ray looked at Jim, slightly nodding. When Jim didn't go for it, Ray smiled brightly at the good-looking young waitress.

"I'll take a scotch," he told her.

Heidi smiled, "A man of good taste, and what about you, sir."

Jim ordered a scotch on the rocks. Heidi wrote it down on her pad and promised the guys she'd get them to them right away. Moments later, the two were sipping a top-shelf scotch, and commenting on being away from home.

"Where's home?" Jim asked.

Ray looked up, hesitatingly admitting he was originally from Chicago. "What about you?"

"Rock Island. So, we're both Illinois boys. I guess that's why they teamed us up."

Jim sipped his drink and the two talked. Ray hadn't been to Chicago in years. Jim and his girlfriend lived together north of the cities, along the river. He looked at the water outside, slightly homesick.

"How long have you been with her?"

"It's been a couple of years."

Ray smiled, "Wow, in this lifestyle, you've made it two years. That's impressive."

The two laughed together and wound up ordering another drink and some food. They listened to the music playing and talked about their travels as Clandestine Service Officers. Ray had worked everywhere from Paris through Europe, into Africa, South America, and Australia. Jim worked in most of those places but had worked in Afghanistan, Pakistan, China, and Russia as well.

"Russia," sighed Ray. "What's that like?"

Jim hesitated, trying to describe the six months he was in Russia. Moscow was a beautiful city, but in the winter, it was colder than the cold war. The vodka was the best in the world, but he detested much of the food.

"It sucked. My Russian wasn't good enough to pass so I was assigned as an American Embassy employee. In Russia, American Embassy staff are followed everywhere. It made it tough to move about," explained Jim.

Heidi walked over to their table and asked Ray if he would like to dance.

"I just finished my shift," she said, smiling and flirting with the well-built stranger at her booth.

"You good?" Ray asked Jim.

"I'm good. You enjoy yourself, just remember we've got that meeting with the clients at nine in the morning," he told Ray.

"Gotcha, boss. I won't be out too late," Ray promised, taking Heidi's hand as she lead him to the dance floor.

The next morning, Jim heard a knock at the door at 6:30. Looking through the peephole, he saw Ray standing there with coffee and donuts. He opened the door and motioned for Ray to come inside.

"I guess I shouldn't have worried," he admitted.

"I was up at five, hit the gym, and picked these up on my way back," laughed Ray.

Jim knew how Ray kept in such shape. He was a gym rat. In the military, Jim knew guys like Ray. They were cocky, arrogant, and good at their jobs. They were perfectionists.

"Let's get cracking," said Ray.

Grabbing their gear, they took the Land Rover and headed toward the location of the militia gathering. There was a clearing four miles from the old Rex 84 site. From there, the two men hiked the four miles to the perimeter of the old government facility.

"What the hell was this place?"

Jim looked at his partner. "It was part of a FEMA operation that was prepped for during the Reagan administration. Conspiracy theory nut jobs love these places. It's like finding the pot at the end of the rainbow, presuming they live to tell about their adventure."

"So, does that mean they're not nuts?" asked Ray.

Jim didn't ask. He simply took the orders and fulfilled his missions. Anything in 1984 didn't concern him, other than that was the year he met his first girlfriend. What else from being fourteen was he supposed to care about?

The two found their spot and began to crawl through the bush. They found the perfect spot to site the shot and eliminate the leader of the Mississippi Arms Militia.

"Shit, she's early."

Jim looked at Ray. What did he mean by she? He asked him what he was talking about.

"The leader, they call her mother. Nobody's even gotten eyes on her in probably three years. Her ride just pulled up, the white SUV with the chase truck next to it," described Ray.

While Ray readied his rifle, Jim stared at the old camp through binoculars. He could make out a woman in the rear passenger side of the first vehicle. She was riding with two bodyguards and two more in the truck.

"Get ready," he told Ray.

As Ray crawled back into position, the barrel of his rifle sticking slightly through the bush line, Jim continued to watch as two of the militia exited the front of the building. Ray was scoping out the scene, still questioning what the place was.

"This was government sanctioned? It looks like an internment camp," said Ray.

"I don't know," promised Jim. "Stay focused."

The lead man coming out opened the rear door as the bodyguards stepped out of their vehicle. A woman with light brown hair stepped out, turning to shake hands with the gentleman in the black beret. As she turned, Jim's heart skipped a beat, and his stomach felt like someone punched him in the gut. He rolled on his back, gritting his teeth.

Ray saw what Jim saw. He looked at Jim and wondered what was going down.

"Are you with me?" demanded Ray. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Mother...you said they call her mother. Nobody's gotten close to her in three years," mumbled Jim.

"What about it?"

"Ray, it's Kyla..."

Ray hesitated, realizing what Jim just learned had completely destroyed him. He hadn't known Jim long, but as they bonded, he knew Jim was carrying an engagement ring in his pocket. Now, he was grappling with the woman he was intent on marrying being the same person that was planning an attack on a major target.

"Jesus, they're starting to head inside. What do we do?" asked Ray. "Do we take her now?"

Jim's heart was broken. His reason for living felt as if it was slipping between his fingers. The world above him was spinning, and he knew he couldn't do it, no matter how much parts of him wanted to.

"Jesus, Jim, make the call!" yelled Ray.

"Execute."

With a whisper in the wind, their mission was over. Ray helped Jim to his feet, telling him it was done. He told him he wouldn't look back if he was him.

Jim pulled out the photo he kept of the two of them. He pulled the ring out with it, and with a last thought, left them both on the ground.