Manipulation - D.K. Wilde

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pointer.

      Wade sat and listened as Crystal detailed her father’s life story. He noticed how she spoke about him with such respect and love. He watched her expressions go from extreme happiness to great loss and sadness and then back to cheerfulness.

      They arrived at the typical American Neo Classical style house in the upper middle class neighbourhood of Clarksville, Maryland. The house was two storey with a portico to the front and a large verandah on the first floor. An enormous set of steps leading up to the front patio. A predominately painted white external façade with the stars and stripes flying in the front yard. The gardens and lawns were well manicured with the elms were losing the last of their leaves as the winter approached. Wade noticed the beat up Ford F250 pickup in the driveway and the shotgun across its back window.

      Leaving the car Crystal lead the way and had just crested the top step when the door flew open and a man wearing a baseball cap, burst out, closely followed by an extremely excited brown and white pointer.

      Wade was surprised how fit and healthy this middle aged man appeared but he was more delighted to have finally returned Crystal to her Dad.

      After much hugging and kissing Crystal looked from her Dad to Wade as she said, “Dad, I want you to meet Wade. The man I’ve been telling you so much about.”

      “Hello Wade, it’s wonderful to finally meet you. Thank you for looking after her and bringing my little princess home in one piece,” Trent responded, as they shook hands.

      After a lifetime of either being in the military or associated with military personnel, Trent Carters considered he had a fairly good understanding of the many different types he would expect to meet. He knew the guy standing in front of him, who shook hands not gripping tightly or loosely, who stood with the poise and stance of a jungle cat; was definitely a soldier to be taken seriously.

      “Please to meet you too, Mister Carters.”

      “Please, Trent … come in,” he said as he looked toward their car, “What about your friends?”

      “CIA. They will want to stay in the car,” replied Crystal as she hooked her arms through the arms of her two favourite men and led them inside.

      The afternoon and evening flowed on with a beautiful meal and the three talked until midnight. During the evening Trent had organised food for the drivers as they took turns at guard duty on his patio.

      The next morning, they arranged to visit Crystal’s mothers’ grave. As they approached the gravestone Wade noticed how Crystal had grabbed her father’s arm and seemed transfixed on the headstone. Stepping back and allowing the Carter’s their due respect he watched as she placed flowers and silently mouthed words to her mother.

      Wade, the eternal soldier, was watching with his peripheral vision and constantly scanning the cemetery. Not really expecting any problems, he thought he caught a glimpse of a man carrying an Uzi submachine gun, duck behind a large marble plaque.

      Without changing his focus, he slowly dropped further back keeping his head directed toward the Carters. The large marble mausoleum appeared off to his left. Steeping behind the wall he dropped to his knees and scanned back across the cemetery. Headstones, standing like mini soldiers at attention, covered the beautifully maintained grass. Low cloud dulled the surroundings but made observation easier. Wade had crawled to the opposite end of the monument when he picked up the second barrel. The shooter was lying along the length of a low crypt with the barrel, and its silencer, protruding fifteen metres from the first.

      Shouting to Trent and Crystal to get down, as the first silenced shot whistled above their heads, Wade had already started a flanking movement on the two shooters. Moving on all fours and using the marble tombstones as cover he skirted the area to the high side of the shooters. Affording himself a glimpse of what Trent and Crystal were up to, he noticed they had found cover behind Susanne Carters gravestone. The single fired shots were coming in rapid succession as the shooters took turns emptying their magazines.

      Wade had spent many years learning the art of rapid, silent, undetected movement. His mind was in overdrive as the multitude of options flashed across. The closer he got the more the options increased. Would he use his knife or would close quarter hand to hand be more effective? Should he use his pistol but not having a silencer would than alert authorities or attract others scattered throughout the complex? Was a silent approach more what the situation required or was speed and the offensive the best way forward? All the options keep appearing and changing as he came up behind the first shooter hoping Crystal and Trent would stay protected enabling him to finish this quickly and efficiently. The first shooter was now only five metres to his front. He had swapped the Uzi for a scoped M15 semi-automatic rifle and was about to attempt to take out his targets in sniper profile.

      Waiting until the shooter was transfixed on his target; Wade leapt forward. He covered the distance in two steps and at the same time pulled the wire garrotte from his side pocket. The wire was around the shooters neck and his throat sliced open before he had a chance to turn his head or utter a sound.

      Dropping the now limp body to the ground Wade scooped up the M15 and took aim at the second shooter. An expert marksman he fired off a standard Special Forces double tap technique of a shot to the body and one to the head. Before the blood and gore had hit the wall he had started searching for others.

      When certain there were only two and having searched their bodies he made his way back to Trent and Crystal.

      Giving a quick summation of events to the startled agents, who had raced from their car once the shooting had stopped, he stepped around the headstone and saw Crystal had her head buried in her father’s chest.

      “It’s okay. You can get up now,” said Wade.

      “Who were they?” asked a frightened Crystal as she stood and put her arms around Wade’s neck.

      Wade explained that they were definitely affiliated with the same group that had tried to take him out back in the desert. He showed how each shooter had a photo of Crystal, and it had been taken at the Darwin Marina same time as the previous shooters’ photos of him.

      Having exhausted their desire to stay at the cemetery they headed back to Trent’s house. The agents had already sent a report to Langley and were advised a clean up team were on there way. They had been in the car ten minutes when Forest called on the in-car secure phone.

      “Wade, I have just heard what happened. I think it would be a good idea for you and Crystal to get back here,” he said with an unusual level of concern in his voice.

      The phone was on speaker and all in the vehicle had heard what the chief of the CIA had just said but they had also heard that it was a request, not an order. With all eyes locked on Wade, he calmly replied, “Why do you think that, General?”

      After a slight pause the General said, “I realise that you, more than anyone else, could probably find who these shooters are and what they’re up to, but I feel we need a collaborative approach. Also I have some information you might find interesting.”

      “Okay, we’ll drop Crystal’s father off at his home. We should be there in about two and a half hours,” replied Wade.

      “No need. I have a chopper on route. It’ll pick you up on the outskirts. I’ll organise a detail for round the clock coverage of Crystal’s father’s house and I’ll meet you at the Warehouse,” exclaimed the General as the line went dead.

      Washington DC

      The Lakota helicopter landed on the deserted cargo hardstand in the derelict industrial area of West Washington. The blades had only just started to slow their revolutions as the four occupants leapt from the rear cabin area. With their heads lowered all four raced across to the waiting CIA issue black Suburban.

      Wade, Crystal and the two agents had not said a word since they had climbed aboard the helicopter. The Suburban skirted two graffiti riddled sheds, raced across a large, open, pocked concrete hardstand that would have once been used for the storage of containers. A few burnt out, twisted containers and a mangled

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