Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1) (7 page)

Wednesday, March 12
^th
– 1800 hours

Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

Parks pulled his
truck into the parking lot of the base bachelor officers’ quarters. His home
was nothing special, just four walls and a roof. Maybe if he were an Air Force
officer he’d have gotten the “cream of the crop” housing. But a
Marine
Officer made do with what they had, or so it seemed.

The Ford’s
diesel engine was the only thing that had kept Parks’ nerves in check during
the drive home. He loved that sound. It was so peaceful and restful. Most
people thought he was crazy for thinking that, but he liked it. That was one of
the big reasons he’d bought the truck.

Parks put his
truck in park and then shut it off. He took a minute to grab all his papers and
other paraphernalia before getting out and going into the BOQ. The building was
old and seemed almost haunted. He couldn’t put his finger on why it felt like
that; it just seemed like some evil thing was looming there, and it petrified
him at times. He wondered what may have happened there to cause that eerie
ambience, but when he asked the housing manager, all the man could say was he
hadn’t the slightest clue. It had gotten to the point where Parks had considered
just renting or buying a house off base, but he literally had to force himself
not to. Parks had to have the TV or the radio running 24/7 to make him feel a
little better. Every time he went in that “haunted” building, he just felt
uncomfortable. The feeling had improved over time, but it was still there,
ready to greet him after a hard day’s work.

He unlocked the quarters’
door and stepped inside. There it was; the spookiness greeted him immediately.
Parks took a deep breath, angered that such a stupid feeling was getting the
better of him, and walked further inside, pulling the door closed behind him.
The phone rang the instant he walked into the kitchen. He threw his belongings onto
the counter and yanked the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he
answered.

“Hey son.” It
was his dad. “How you doin’?”

Parks was in no
mood or position to talk at the moment. “Dad, can I call you back later? Now’s
not a good time, I just walked through the door and I need to grab something to
eat and get changed.”

“Oh that’s fine.
And you don’t have to call if you don’t want to.”

Parks knew that
his dad would be crushed if he didn’t call back, so he scribbled on a nearby
piece of paper to call his dad back so he wouldn’t forget. “No I want to. Just
give me about an hour or so. Okay?”

“Sounds good.
Bye son.”

“Sure, bye.”
Parks slammed the phone back onto the holder, and headed to his room to change
into some casual clothes, stopping only to turn on the TV to
Fox News
and crank up the volume. What a habit. Religiously every time he came home,
he’d go through the same exact drill. Put down his stuff, run to the TV, turn
it to some news channel, run to the room, get changed, slap a sandwich together,
and chill out. That was his ritual, and today was going to be no different.

Parks jumped
into a pair of
Wrangler
blue jeans and pulled on a light blue
Nike
collared T-shirt while he hung his uniform on a hanger in the closet. As he
walked down the hall, he turned up the heating unit. It was cold indoors for a
mid-March spring day, especially since it was so warm outside this afternoon.
He peeked out the window and saw large black thunderheads rolling ominously
toward him. Rain, and lots of it from the looks of things. Camp Lejeune could use some moisture. It had been an extremely dry winter and an even drier
spring so the grass was not even beginning to grow yet.

As he was
looking out the window, something on the news caught his ear. He ran over and
stood right in front of the TV, soaking up the information. “President Winnfield
addressed the Nation this afternoon concerning the recent terror attacks,” the
female correspondent said. “And he still vows to track down the source of the
terrorists and destroy them. However, no forward motion, or any motion for that
matter, has been conducted to back up his vow. Stay tuned for more on that
story. We’ll be right back, in just a minute.”

As far as the
media was concerned, the President was doing nothing about the recent suicide
bombings, but Parks didn’t believe that. He knew that Winnfield was a strong,
conservative American that was not afraid to retaliate against anyone when his
country was threatened. Parks knew that someday, somehow, he would strike back
at the terrorists. The President was just looking for the right target. Parks
was an anti-terrorism expert, and he knew how to deal with terrorists. He knew
that they were sly in what they did, and were excellent at twisting things so
that innocent parties looked guilty. Nothing with terrorists was really ever
obvious. Information had to be dug for with painstaking effort. But how could
Parks expect the media to know that?

Sliding into the
kitchen, he thoroughly washed his hands and opened the refrigerator door. He
was running low on food; it was time to make a grocery trip soon. He decided to
make a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then wash it down with a Dr. Pepper
before calling his dad. He really hated eating peanut butter because it always
stuck in his throat, and he could never seem to choke it down. It always stayed
in his mouth for a long time, no matter how many times he swallowed. But he
didn’t have much to choose from, so he’d have to live with the peanut butter.

“Four days,”
Parks told the refrigerator as he bit into his slapped-together sandwich. “And
it just keeps getting closer with every second. Pretty soon it’ll be tomorrow.”
He had to let off some steam somehow because his head was about to explode with
stress.

He threw the
half-eaten sandwich down the disposal and walked over to the coat closet where
he grabbed a light jacket. He then snatched his truck keys from the counter.
Maybe
that’s the thing to do
, he thought to himself,
go for a long drive
.
That was the only thing Parks could think of that might decrease his stress
level. Right now he just couldn’t relax. He had to go somewhere, anywhere, and
try and forget about what would happen in four days.

The white Ford started
again, flew out of the parking lot, and sped down the neighborhood road. Parks
hadn’t the slightest idea where he was going, but he was going, and that’s all
that mattered to him. As he was driving, he glanced down at his cell phone. He
wished he’d accidentally forgotten it because he wanted an excuse for not
calling his dad. Parks loved his parents more than anything, but he knew that
during their next conversation the inevitable question of, “Did you find out
where you’re getting stationed?” would be asked. Right now he just didn’t feel
like talking to anyone about his PCS orders. He had to sort out this problem in
his mind, and he had to do it by himself. Then he thought,
What problem?
There really is no problem to solve. What is so bad about
going to
the Nation’s capital?
Actually, it was an honor
I would have
loved when I was a kid, so why not now?
He couldn’t answer his own
question. But whether he wanted to or not, he was going to go to D.C., so why
not be happy about it? Yes. He decided he would be happy about it. Tomorrow.
For now, he just couldn’t get out of his “pity party,” as his parents would
call it.

Parks looked at
the dashboard clock. It was already 1830. Almost time to call his parents. He
had the time right now, he just hadn’t the desire. But he promised his dad he’d
call when he had the chance, so grudgingly, he picked up the phone, speed
dialed his parents, and counted the rings.
One, two, three, four, five
.
Maybe his folks weren’t home. Or maybe they were busy. The answering machine
went off, and he left a quick message. “Hello Mom and Dad, it’s me. Just
returning your call like I–”

“
Hi Keith,
”
his mom interrupted the message loudly.

“Oh,” he said in
surprise, “hi Mom. How’re you doing?”

“Great son. How’s
the new major?”

Parks was in no
mood for a celebration, but he also didn’t want to explain why he was upset. So
he answered, “Fine, just fine. I’m going for a little drive right now.”

“And how did the
promotion go? By the way, congratulations. We’re so proud of you son.”

His mom’s tone
suggested she had detected a hint of sadness in his voice. After eighteen years
of living with him, homeschooling him, and spending most of the day with him,
she could read him like radar. But Parks still tried to skirt around telling
her about his problem.

“It went fine,”
he told her at last.

“And how’d your
day go?”

He gripped hard
on the steering wheel and then tried to avoid that question by returning it. “How’d
your
day go?”

“My day was
rather hectic, thank you.”

It was a leading
statement, and he knew she wanted him to follow the lead, so he consented.
“Why? Is everyone okay?”

“Of course,
everyone’s fine. We just were very busy and I was in a million different
directions today.”

“How come?” he
asked again, not really interested in what the answer might be.

Mrs. Parks
sighed. “Well, if you really want to know, it’ll take a few minutes for me to
tell you about it. It was really a bad day.”

Parks winced. He
didn’t have a
few
minutes, in fact he didn’t even have
one
minute. He needed all the time he could get to just be alone and at peace. But
to be a good, loving son, he acted interested. “Go ahead Mom.”

Mrs. Parks went
through an entire speech on how her bad day unfolded. She told Parks about how
she spilled milk all over the floor during breakfast, how she tipped the
shopping cart at Wal-Mart, and how she’d bid way too much for an item on Ebay.
Had it been any other day, Parks really would have been interested. He wasn’t
the type to shove his parents into a corner and forget about them. He loved
them very much. But today he just really didn’t feel in the mood to confer with
anyone.

“And finally,
did you hear what happened on the news tonight?” Mrs. Parks asked.

“No, what?”

“The President
has vowed to get revenge on the guys responsible for all those bombings, right?
Well, he is really doing nothing about them. He’s just sitting back in Washington, doing nothing. Can you believe that?”

Parks wanted to fire
off how the President
was
doing something, and that the public just
didn’t know what yet. Instead, he chose a nicer way of putting it. “Mom, you
can’t always believe what you hear on the news. Sometimes the media guys are
just trying to get a story. Some of the stuff’s true, but not all of it. I
guess it really depends on who you listen to.”

“CBS said this.
All of the major news programs have had similar stories. How can you say it’s
not true?”

“Did Glenn Beck
or Rush Limbaugh say that? Did any of the conservative talk shows say what they
did?”

“Well, no Keith.
I don’t listen to Beck or Limbaugh much, you know that.”

“I know Mom, but
I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions until I heard both sides of the story. And I
can tell you, President Winnfield is going to do something, he’s just looking
at the board right now.”

Mrs. Parks had
heard all she needed to hear though, and she was clinging to it as gospel.
“It’s been two months already, and what has he done? Nothing. That’s what.”

Parks knew when
his mom was like this he couldn’t talk sense into her. She could be very
stubborn at times, and now was one of those times. “Okay Mom,” he said, trying
to change the subject.

“Did you get
orders for your next duty station?” Mrs. Parks questioned.

“Well...” Parks
furiously looked for something to say that would divert his mom’s question.
“Um, you know...” He coughed and hoped his mom would get off that subject
because he really didn’t feel like discussing anything about himself right now.

“What was that?”

“Uh, one of my
platoon sergeants got stationed to Beijing, China. He’ll be doing Marine
Security Guard duty at the embassy.”

“Oh.”

“How’s the
weather holding up over there?” he asked.

Parks could hear
his mom laugh. “Two inches of snow last night. And we thought Nevada would have
warmer winters and springs.”

“Have fun
sledding.”

Parks drove on
for several more minutes as his mom talked about the recent happenings around
their place. It was getting late and he knew he’d better start heading home
soon.

“I guess I’d
better let you go,” Mrs. Parks concluded.

“All right,” he
declared joyously, relieved that he had successfully skirted around the PCS
subject.

“Have a good
night, son, and congratulations again on the promotion. Love you.”

“I love you too,
Mom.”

“Bye.”

“Yup, bye.”

Parks snapped
his phone shut and one-handed the wheel down a neighborhood road. He decided
he’d drive for a few minutes longer and then head back. He still had to set
aside the things he’d need for his trip, and the first few days in D.C., so the
movers wouldn’t pack them. Supposedly, the moving crew would arrive tomorrow
evening and begin packing his household belongings.

Parks let out a
long breath. These upcoming days definitely were going to be chaotic.

Wednesday, March 12
^th
– 1930 hours

Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

Parks drove his
truck back into the BOQ parking lot. He pulled into a space and turned off the
engine. It was now pouring rain, and the temperature had plunged into the mid-thirties.
Once again, he sat in his vehicle for a minute, just thinking of how unfortunate
he’d been to get this assignment. Was it really bad luck? Or was it something
that had been planned for his life by some Heavenly power? Parks had no idea,
but he knew he didn’t believe in luck and he also didn’t believe in Heavenly
powers. But it was a wonder how one minute all could be going fine, and the
next, everything could turn out badly. Parks knew that just at the snap of a
finger, at the blink of an eye, he could be healthy, and then he could wind up
in a hospital. It was all so crazy; there was no rhyme or reason to the
happenings of life. But then again, maybe there was. Maybe everything happened
at an appointed time and someone or something was in control.

Parks couldn’t
understand it. He couldn’t understand his brother’s death either. His brother
had called from Kuwait the day before he was killed, and he was telling his
family how he was going to be able to come home in a week. Everyone had been so
excited. Plans were being made for a homecoming, presents were being bought,
and then the family received word that he’d been killed by a grenade explosion.
It was so hard to believe. Keith had talked to his brother the day before his
death, and his brother had told him that he’d bring him a present from the Middle East. Keith was so excited he couldn’t sleep at night. He was just being a kid,
waiting for his big brother to come home with a present, and then his world turned
upside down. How’d it happen so fast? No one knew. Parks had barely even been
able to attend the funeral he was so devastated. He had forced himself to go.
When he saw his brother’s white face in the open casket, it had literally made
him throw up. He became so sick that he had to be sent home. He had begged his
dad and mom to let him stay, but his mean uncle had just thrown him in a car
and driven him home. His parents had been in no condition to argue. However,
sick or not, Keith repeatedly – between barfs – told his uncle he hated him,
but all his uncle would do was laugh and say he felt the same way about Keith.

He had lost all
respect for his uncle and his uncle’s family, and the hatred he carried for the
man bled into his teenage years. He could remember one time when he was about
fifteen years old, his uncle had cursed his dead brother while the Parkses were
visiting him. Keith became so mad he had thrown a punch and hit his aging uncle
in the jaw. The act had stunned the entire family, who were in the living room,
watching the whole incident. Keith’s uncle was as mad as a hornet when he
regained his balance. But Keith was not done punishing his uncle. He grabbed a
nearby chair and slung it over his uncle’s head, just like in the
Rawhide
western movies he used to watch as a young kid. That was it. Uncle Vincent was
out cold, and Keith had to face the punishment. He could remember how he
couldn’t sit down for a week, his dad had spanked him so hard. Keith didn’t
think he deserved it though. But his dad didn’t agree. He said that Keith was just
harboring bitterness towards his uncle and he needed to keep himself in check.
Deep down inside he knew his dad was right.

All that was a
long time ago. His uncle was now dead and gone, but Parks still carried the hatred
for him. It was one of those things that never went away.

Parks grabbed the keys, stepped out of his truck, and went inside his
quarters.

*          *          *

The alarm clock
rang at 0600 sharp. Parks quickly rolled out of bed and silenced it.
Is it
really morning already?
he thought. Last night he had fallen asleep the
instant his head hit the pillow, despite his stressful day and full mind.

He shaved, jumped
into the shower, and dressed in his uniform. Today was the day. After three
years with the Anti-Terrorism Battalion, he was finally leaving. His heart was
heavy. He liked the Marines here. Come to think of it, he liked Marines
anywhere. He really just hated to leave a base. But it had to happen, and today
was the day of departure.

Parks shut off
the television, which he had accidentally left running all night, and stepped
into the kitchen. He pulled the pantry door open, to reveal merely a box of
cereal. Still half asleep, he poured a bowl full and threw the empty box away.
Then he grabbed a jug of milk and covered the cereal with it. Now, that too was
empty, so he pitched it in the trash. He looked at the digital clock on the
oven – 0630. He’d better hurry things up. He didn’t want to be late for work on
his last day. Just then, the home phone rang and Parks let his answering
machine record it. It turned out to be a telemarketer, trying to sell some new
kind of deal on insurance. They had been after him on that deal for weeks. When
were they going to get the picture that he didn’t want anything from them? They
were definitely persistent, he’d give them that.

After he finished
breakfast, Parks strolled over to the computer to check out gold’s price for
the day. He still had about ten pounds of gold left. He was just saving it for
a rainy day, just in case.

The price was
down to only $930 an ounce. He was glad he’d sold his ninety pounds last month.
What a deal he’d made. That was most of the reason he had money to burn these
days.

Parks again
checked the time: 0650; time to get going. He walked to the door where he pulled
on his boots and put on his uniform cover. He then locked the door behind him
as he walked out. Today things were all bright and cheery outside. Most of the
standing rain from last night had evaporated already, and the sky was blue
without a visible cloud. The air was crisp and cool, which in Parks’ opinion was
the best part of a classic spring day. On days like this, he wished he had an
outside job, where he could enjoy this beautiful weather. Come to think of it,
he was going to be outside today for his change of command ceremony. Last night
he’d been a grouch about the whole new assignment deal. Today, he had a better
outlook on it. And he felt much better about life now that he’d just accepted
what had to happen.

As Parks drove
out of the neighborhood, he thought of the words that were printed on a bridge
back at Fort Bliss. “It’s a great day to be a soldier,” it said. Whenever Parks
used to drive by that he would always say, “It’s an even greater day to be a Marine.”
It most certainly was one of those “greater days” today.

Parks stopped at
a stop sign and turned on the radio, but only commercials were playing. He’d
had enough of people marketing their items, so he turned it off, rolled down
his window, and enjoyed the cool morning breeze. The office was only about five
minutes down the road.

His mind wandered as he splashed through a remaining puddle of rain. He
wondered what his new job in Washington was going to be like. He wondered where
exactly he’d work. Probably in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, he assumed. The biggest question he had was what he was going to have to do everyday.
He didn’t have any answers for that question, but he figured he’d better not
worry about it. Answers would come in just a couple of days.

*          *          *

Parks entered
his office at exactly 0700. He began to gather his gear and put it in boxes, which
were provided by one of his Marines. It took a long time to take down his
belongings and pack them up, but at about 0945, he had almost the entire office
stripped bare. It looked so desolate and plain now, and as Parks began to tear
down the last of his posters and other items, Zhou stopped by.

“Sir, it looks
bare in here,” he stated with his ever-so-slight Asian accent.

“I know it,”
Parks replied, rolling up a poster. “I don’t know why I put so much junk in
here.”

“Huh. I understand
what you’re trying to say, sir. I know because my garage is the same way.”

“Mine isn’t,
because all the stuff I’d put in the garage I put right in here.”

Zhou chuckled. “Are
you ready for this afternoon, sir?”

“Yes and no.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m ready for
what happens at the ceremony, but I’m not so ready for the D.C. assignment.”

Parks cast his
eyes to the floor as an unexpected sense of nervousness about his new
assignment came over him. He then realized that he was indeed nervous about
going to D.C. and reporting to the National Security Advisor. He was nervous
about the unknown elements of his soon-to-be job, and what it would mean for
him. There was a lot that could happen with this new assignment that could make
him very miserable.

“Sir, you’ve
been a commander of Marines here for what…six years?” Zhou suddenly asked.

“Not in a row,
but yes. I was definitely blessed to have had the privilege of coming here on
two separate tours.”

“Very
impressive, sir.” Zhou leaned against the bulkhead. “Do you think you’ll like
your new job at D.C.? I mean, you must be doing something important if you have
to report to the National Security Advisor and all. What do you think, sir?”

“I really don’t
know how to answer you,” Parks confessed. “But I’ll tell you, I’m going to like
it eventually, even if I have to force myself to.”

Parks nodded for
added assurance as he rubbed
Germ-X
onto his hands yet again for the
fifth time in five minutes. He was slightly paranoid about germs, and he was
very conscious about keeping his hands clean. He just hated “germy” things. For
instance, he wouldn’t eat his hamburger if it touched the table, he wouldn’t
use silverware or straws that a restaurant provided, he would simply bring his
own plastic utensils, and he would
never
eat a meal with unwashed hands.
The soldiers he worked with at Fort Bliss had nicknamed him “Extra
Germ-X
,”
a step above his favorite hand sanitizer,
Germ-X
. Parks didn’t think he
was quite that bad. Sure, maybe he liked to be germ free, but what was so wrong
with that?

“Anyway,” Parks
began again, “what’s up with you, Gunny?”

“Absolutely
nothing, sir. I was just checking in with you to say hi.”

“Okay. Got it.”

Zhou looked over
his shoulder out into the hallway and said, “I’d better get going and let you
finish here. I’ll see you later, sir.”

“Sure thing.”
Parks watched his best platoon sergeant turn and exit the office. He’d sure
miss Zhou. What a guy he was. He’d been passed over for promotion five times in
a row, and he could still smile and be happy. “Promotion isn’t everything,”
he’d always told Parks. His actions certainly proved that statement.