Curtis Woodman Ch 02

I can never thank enough the people who help me with these stories. Thank you Hal1, you're a star. My thanks as always to those who stand behind me, so that I can take the blame. You all take time out of your lives to help me and for that I really appreciate it. To those of you about to read this, please enjoy. We did our best.

Please note. This is a story.

It came from my head and not from any history books. It is a story.

*******

Yes, I loved my job, my friends, and as I watched those three people walk that trail, my heart missed a beat or two before I realized what had crept up on me. I chased it away; it had no place in my thoughts at the moment. The smile also took a hit as my thoughts turned to the doctor's last words to me.

"You're not getting any younger Curtis, your body was able to find its way back from this and in a way I hope you look on this as a second chance."

I shook his hand and wished him well; he noticed I didn't answer him.

Yes, I love my job... But what else is out there for me...

*******

To use that well-worn phrase, there I was, minding my own business. My life went from a period of mildly pleasant and totally boring, then straight to crap at a rate even I can't put a phrase too.

I was on leave, visiting an old friend when he asked me if I had heard that Doug Marshal had lost his wife. Doug was my mentor, and it was on his recommendation that I took over the Unit. When he handed me the reins, I shook his hand and told him I would do my best.

He smiled and told me that I had better. He then took his wife and left. His wife was half American, on her mother's side, so they headed for one of those quiet little suburbs in the sunshine states since his doctor told him it was the only way he would live past the next five years.

When you find out like I did, through the old boy's network, I phoned Doug and we shot the shit on the phone for a while before I asked when it was and then invited myself to the funeral. Doug blustered for a moment before I told him that someone needed to hold him up, so he didn't fall into the hole. Even though he had just finished telling me that she was being cremated, I heard him laugh for the first time in our entire twenty-minute phone call. He knew he had no choice but to cave, and even I heard the relief in his voice from Four thousand miles away, that I would be there.

No sooner had I wished my friend farewell and that we would see each other soon, I was on the phone to the airline and reserving a seat on the overnight. This was going to be a killer since I was due back from leave in four days. I asked the nice flight attendant not to wake me to see if I needed any drinks or even the meal and then pulled one of those complimentary blindfolds over my eyes and switched off. That alone took a great chunk out of the jetlag that was going to get in the way.

Leaning heavily on the cab driver's knowledge of locations of hotels close to the name of the cemetery I had just given him, got me booked in and showered with still a couple of hours to spare; man wasn't I proud of myself. It was as I was walking the six blocks to the cemetery that everything turned to shit. The screech of tires and bangs of metal meeting metal rapidly followed by an exchange of gunfire told me that today was not going to have a happy ending for someone.

Two women in power suits came running around the corner. One collided with me before picking herself up, grabbing her clutch bag and running after her friend, not even stopping long enough to cuss me out or apologize. My attention was now on what was going on around the corner, more so when I stuck my head around to have a quick look.

A truck had rammed into the front of what was once a real posh limo, the driver of the truck was hanging out of the cab of the truck and clearly dead. The two bodyguards that were trying desperately to protect whoever was in the remnants of the limo were outnumbered and outgunned. It became my business when one of the masked men leaned in through the Limo's shattered window and pulled out a screaming child.

The young child put up a fight, but a seven or maybe eight-year-old is no real match for a grown adult, more so when he slapped her to keep her still. Within seconds my mind had worked out who was where, and what to do about it. My jacket came off and I placed it behind a trash bin, tugged a couple of times on the sleeve until it came away from my shirt and placed it around my head to cover my nose and mouth before tying it tightly. The sunglasses went back on, and with a deep breath and thinking 'here goes nothing', I moved from my position towards the wreck of the truck.

While the last remaining bodyguard was putting up a valiant fight, I got to the driver of the truck and wrenched his Sig from his dead hand, as well as the three mags from his top pocket. I got two of the wanna be kidnappers before they realized that the new threat was now behind them. The remaining bodyguard took the new threat as a blessing and went after the man that had dragged the little girl away.

The third of the kidnappers slowed me down and it took time I couldn't afford to finish him off. I could hear the gunfight going on further down the alleyway and knew that the bodyguard had engaged the kidnapper. Then it all went silent and that made me run just a little faster.

The bodyguard earned his pay that day. He was on his knees with his arm around the little girl as she leaned her head on his shoulder and sobbed her heart out. His life ebbed out of him while pointing his own sidearm at the now-dead kidnapper. Although he watched me approach, he knew he had nothing left in the tank.

"Thank you for your help." I think he knew time was against him. It was confirmed when he pulled the little girl from him and looked into her eyes. "Becky, my sweet brave girl, this man will take you home to momma now."

We both knew he was a dead man; it was pure willpower that got him this far. Looking away from the little girl and towards me, he said. "Thank you, Sir. Please take her to..."

I'd only known this guy for a few minutes, but in those minutes, he had earned my respect. Kneeling down beside him, I placed two fingers on his neck and found what I had expected. My hand then went to his face and I closed his eyes. The little girl simply stood up straight and stared at me. Deciding that I wasn't a threat to her, she turned to the bodyguard and shook his now lifeless body a couple of times and cried as she begged David to wake up.

The girl was in shock, so she offered nothing in the way of resistance when I picked her up and held her close to me. My left arm around her, holding her ever so light form close, I offered what I could in the way of physical comfort. Her cheek rested on my shoulder as I carried her towards the end of the alley and the main road.

The distance between us and the end of the alley couldn't have been more than forty yards. To me they may as well have been forty miles as I placed one foot in front of the other, my Sig pointed forward and at anything that may conceal any danger at all, another kidnapper perhaps.

The crying had stopped, we were on sniffles now. She mumbled something, but when she figured out I hadn't understood her, her head came away from my shoulder so she could look directly at me.

"David is dead, isn't he?"

A year ago, my team and I spent three months on a base in Texas. For the first few days they thought our accent kinda quaint. We thought the same and by the end of our time there, most of my team had perfected a fare to really good ability to talk with a Texas accent. It was right now I was mentally thanking those guys for their patience.

Adding a slight Texas drawl to my words, I said. "He is darling, but you're alive and you're going home to your momma."

The gun battle along the whole length of the alley hadn't stopped traffic and for that I was oh so grateful. I simply walked into the road and pointed the Sig at the cab that came to a screeching stop in front of me. I opened the back door and placed the little girl inside before walking to the front and leaning in to pull the drivers ID from the visor and looked at it, memorizing every detail on the card in front of me.

In my best fake Texas accent, I asked. "Are you a family man John Barrington?"

The driver kept his hands firmly on the wheel, he was sure sweating, and it wasn't because of the weather as he said. "Yeah, I mean yes sir."

"That's good John, a family anchors a man, don't you think?"

This time the cabdriver just nodded his head. He then watched as I dropped three hundred dollars and his ID onto his lap. "The nearest hospital would be best John, but the nearest police station would do if you really think that's better."

The pause was an afterthought, he didn't look the type, but I needed to honor the bodyguards last wishes, so I said to John. "I have faith you will do the honorable thing John. I promise you; we won't be seeing each other again if you do."

The little girl stared back at me, she looked so small in the back of that cab. Her hand came off her lap and I thought she was going to wave, then decided better and placed her hand back on her lap, before looking forward at the driver.

The sirens were faint but getting louder. The cab driver squeaked his tires when he pulled away and I turned and walked back into the alley. I didn't pull my face cover off until I was out of sight of anyone looking into the alley. I picked up a stray piece of cloth from the ground while walking back to my jacket and used the rag to clean the Sig and the mags I had used of any fingerprints. Then dropped the weapon next to one of the dead bodies.

I made it to the funeral of my friend's wife with thirty minutes to spare. I asked a nice lady with a child in her arms if I could pay her for a couple of wet wipes. She looked at the sleeve in my hand and then she dived into her bag and came out with a safety pin as well. I offered to pay her again, but she declined, saying that I seemed to be having a worse day than her.

Those wipes cover a multitude of sins. In my case, clean my hands and remove, or at least, hide the smell of gunpowder from my friend. This was his wife's and his day, and I didn't want to become a distraction in all this. Plus of course, with the aid of the safety pin and my jacket on, it actually looked like I had a whole shirt.

He thanked me for coming, and for the rest of the afternoon, I held my friend up until he could get his own legs back under him. When close friends and family made their excuses and left, I stayed and drank coffee with the man who gave me so much.

I came to the Unit as his second in command, but two years later Doug resigned on health grounds and handed me the reins. I took him out that evening. We both got drunk, and so for the last five years in charge of the Unit, I've either thanked him or cursed him on an almost daily basis.

"What are you going to do now, Doug?"

My friend just shrugged his shoulders and spoke. "She was my life Curtis. I'm staying for now, if nothing else than to close our lives down here and move back home." The sigh from his lips was ever so silent. "I can't live here anymore; the reminders would just be to many."

He looked at me, hoping that I understood, because I doubt he could form words right now to make things any clearer. I nodded and then told him that he was to call me when he came back. He came to the sunshine states to live a little longer. Going back to England, he knew would shorten his life, and in my heart I understood why he was doing it. He would be with friends and also get to be with his wife a lot sooner.

"When you decide what you want to do, then phone me. Remember, the regiment always looks after its own. You may have married a foreigner, but we all forgave you."

Doug smiled and then laughed. I got a cab back to my hotel and finally fell asleep, relying on my alarm to wake me in time for the journey back home. Once packed, and my now useless shirt folded and at the bottom of my bag ready to be burned when I got home, the room phone rang to let me know my cab had arrived. Sitting in the cab to the airport, my mind did wander to the little girl, but I had done everything I could. The two bodyguards and the driver deserved the credit for keeping their charge out of the hands of those four men.

The airport was busy, so I lined up with everyone else and once again drifted into obscurity. Whilst standing in line, my idle thoughts again turned to Doug and how to help him when he returned to England.

I've never been one who watched much television. I didn't even own a radio, so I knew nothing of the news stories coming from the attempted kidnapping, even less so when it happened so many miles away. To me the little girl may need therapy, and she would sure need bodyguards of the caliber that protected her that day. But with the aid of a frightened cab driver and me, she was home with her mother rather than being used as ransom material.

I kept a respectful silence on what happened when I returned to barracks, I had been there for the funeral and to support a friend of mine. When I returned to duty and the rest of my team had returned from their own leave, we set about our usual training regime.

*******

I learned a hard lesson some months later. Never underestimate the smarts of an eight-year-old.

In keeping with my nomad existence, I don't own a home. Some years ago, I was sitting in a dentist's waiting room, reading a well thumbed through, three-year-old magazine article on the English waterways and the growing popularity of canal boats. On my next leave, I went and looked at a few, even rented one out for the weekend and found myself addicted to the lifestyle. I finally decided on one that took my fancy, and the Keyleigh Ortiz has been my home ever since.

In my mind, one of those canal boats would be ideal. If ever I fancied a change of scenery, I could just cast-off and move somewhere else. It seems, of course that when the fates had finished laughing, they reminded me that they had other plans.

When I was having the boat serviced before taking ownership, the owner of the yard and I talked for a while, when he found that I didn't even have a mooring for my new accommodation, he suggested Gil's Boat Club, on the outskirts of town. I went and had a look that day and my boat is still there five years later.

*******

This last week, I've had one nagging feeling, that I was being watched. The feeling got so intense that I even asked Freddy to tail me himself and basically see who's watching me. After two days he told me I'm being over cautious and went home to his family. Feeling that perhaps a ride along the canal may clear my thoughts got me putting my chair away and starting the engine on the boat. Within minutes I was in the middle of the canal and watching the view ahead and the countryside as it passed me by.

I was just over an hour into my cruise along the canal when that nagging feeling of being watched came back to me and just wouldn't go away. Eventually I pulled to the side and moored, cut the engine and sat on the roof of my boat with a bottle of water in my hand, looking at everything with a keener interest and finding absolutely nothing. Then it came to me, the one thing missing from natures true beauty in front of me, no birds were singing their song.

My boat had been here for well over ten minutes now and yet not one bird had entertained me with a song. The whole scene remained so still and so eerily silent, constantly giving off a vibe that something was gravely wrong with this picture. I eased off of my seat on the roof and down the steps. It took a moment or two to remove the back cover from the cabinet inside my boat and pull out what I wanted. My team was at one of the government test sites a year back watching some of their newly built toys in action.

While I was there, I was shown Eric. The man told me it was called Eric because its full name was 'Electronic, re-directional...' I held up my hand and agreed to continue to call it Eric after that. Now Eric is an inoffensive little toy, and when put together, it was only twelve by fourteen inches with a little propeller on each corner. To people like me it looked like any other drone that seems to have entered the marketplace. But Eric had a purpose, it doesn't like any other drones.

I switched Eric on, and its own programming took over; there was no remote control with this toy. Eric was actually designed by a Japanese programmer who liked drones. I took a half step back and watched as Eric climbed to a height of a hundred meters and switched its own scanning device on. I was warned that it was at this point in its flight that I would either get it back, or never see Eric again. Eric would find and then attack any other drone emitting stealth or surveillance electronic waves.

The man told me that it was fast and robust; he smiled when he said that. Then explained that adding defense or attack parts to the drone would slow it down. That would mean slamming into it at speed.

Eric did a complete three-sixty, it then lurched to the left and shot off at an ever-accelerating rate until I heard a small crack in the distance. Some minutes later the birds started singing, although now of course, their song couldn't calm my thoughts. I had used up a valuable asset, but it gave me some answers in return.

Why was I being watched, and why all the high-tech means of doing it? I returned to the boat club, moored up and left for another day at the office, or so I thought. Being God's brother's soldiers, we got some really odd jobs. Once briefed I allowed everyone to get home and kiss the wife, children and pet rabbit goodbye before reporting for duty.

The leader of one of the Arab states had phoned God's Brother. He had become nervous about the constant movement of troops along one region of their boarder. It was not only in dispute but very fragile and prone to the population there running for cover into neighboring states at the first sign of trouble. We were sent as an early warning system, and over the course of our time on the ground, we would often have our host's troops on the ground long before any real build up could begin.

The neighbor seeing that they couldn't win this one, sent their own people back to base and peace once again resumed, at least for the foreseeable future. This one took us all away for three months, so once debriefed, I sent everyone home for a week's R&R.

I was still sitting in the office doing paperwork and stamping "classified" on the file in front of me when my boss wandered in and sat across from me. We talked until our coffees got cold, then he kicked me out and told me to go home. So now changed into street clothes, I headed for the boat. It was late when I got there, and other than the motion sensors turning on the security lights around the club, nothing moved.

I made a coffee, sat around for a while listening to music on the stereo and just deflated. The tension of these past few months soon evaporated. With my eyes finding it harder to focus, I went to bed.

I was on leave, drinking coffee on the canal side while classical music softly emanated from deep within my boat when Gil's wife, Sarah, came by and handed me a sheet of paper. Sarah took on the role of administrator when they started the club, while her husband was the one getting his hands dirty. Sarah was the go-to lady if you had an admin problem. Gil was who you turned to for everything else.

When I read it and looked at her, she smiled and said. "We're not getting any younger, Curtis. With the various committees the people in the club have put together, the club all but runs itself now, and the new owners made us an offer neither of us wanted to refuse."