Page 7 of PSYCHOlogical

Chapter Three

Briggs

Lt. Colonel Martin was the director of the New Dawn Program and oversaw all operations. He was a realist and an easy man to communicate with. He treated his subordinates as if they were equals. In return, he was respected and admired.

The six Marines assigned to the program would eagerly offer their lives to save his on any occasion that presented itself.

Assistant Director Wallace was a civilian who I doubted could get a job as a security guard at a shopping mall. His placement amidst combat Marines made zero sense to me. He didn’t have the guts to get into a food fight, let alone a firefight.

His ability to obtain and compile accurate data regarding our assignments was his alleged strength. Nevertheless, the intelligence sheets for my missions often contained inaccurate information and missing details, many of which were crucial. If presented an opportunity to push him in front of a moving truck, I’d do the world a favor and take advantage of the situation.

I took long strides down the corridor, hoping to pass his office without speaking to him. Two steps past his open door, the sound of his voice caused me to cringe.

“Briggs!” Wallace shouted. “Get your ass in here!”

I gazed at the exit.

“God damn it, Briggs!” he bellowed.

With reluctance, I turned around and peered into his office. Dressed in wash-and-wear navy-colored slacks, an un-ironed white dress shirt, and a loosened black tie decorated with little red Tabasco bottles, he looked like a drunken day trader.

“Come in.” He gestured toward the opposite side of his desk. “Shut the door.”

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

“What in the fuck happened, Briggs?” He mussed his hair and then shook his head in disbelief. “You ended up in jail?”

I stopped a few feet short of his desk and crossed my arms. “I exited the residence through the rear door, as per protocol. Upon doing so, I was challenged by an armed civilian from approximately seven meters away. He’d already called the police and advised me of such. Sirens could be heard in the distance. My only option was to allow myself to be apprehended.”

He looked me over, scoffed and shook his head. “You’re a Special Forces Marine. Force Recon, or whatever, right?”

I sharpened my gaze. “Yes, Sir.”

“So much for all that training,” he said. “Fat bit of good it did you on that fucking assignment.”

My blood began to boil. The assignment’s intelligence sheet said nothing about a neighbor with US Special Forces training. Martin’s inability to plan a mission led to my arrest.

“With all due respect, Sir,” I said in the most condescending manner I could muster. “It would have been valuable to know the neighbor was a former Army Ranger. Encountering US military trained resistance on a mission isn’t typical. My options were to be shot or be placed under arrest. I chose the latter of the two.”

He lifted his tie and looked at it as if checking for a food stain. “Wise choice, I suppose.”

His failure to acknowledge excluding the neighbor’s military history frustrated me. It came as no surprise. Wallace, like detective Boyle, was sloppy. From the way he dressed to the way he planned a mission, his efforts were lackluster, at best.

I glanced at the mountain of paperwork littered about his desk and then looked at him. I wondered if he was going to make a point, or if belittling me about my field tactics was enough to satisfy him for the day.

“Was that all, Sir?” I asked.

“No. I’ve got a serious question.” He gestured toward an empty chair, and then sat down. “Have a seat.”

“I’ll stand.”

He gave me a serious look. “Between you and me, what do you know about Shephard? His mental health? What he doesn’t tell the shrink. Is he stable?”

Regardless of what I may or may not know about the men, I wouldn’t divulge any information to Wallace, be it opinion or fact. He was nothing more than a cog in the program’s machine. Arming him with anything that could be used against one of my brothers was contrary to my belief system. Giving him information about Shep was a different story altogether.

“He’s a good operator, Sir,” I assured him.

“Are you sure?”