Special Forces_Operation Alpha_Shielding Alice
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SHIELDING
Alice
FIFI FLOWERS
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Other Books by Fifi Flowers
About the Author
Chapter One
Colt
“What’s got you in the dumps?” I heard a familiar voice as I sat at the bar of a well-known SEAL hangout. Everyone seemed to gravitate to that particular place when not on duty and often right after returning from a mission. A sort of check-in spot to unwind and talk, pick up women or maybe play a game of pool with fellow SEALs. Alcohol, of course, was a big draw too and they had an excellent selection of beers: domestic, imported, craft. Even retired from active duty, it was the place I felt most comfortable.
“Hey, Wolf.” We shook hands and pulled each other in for a hug, fist patting each other on the back. “Nursing my wounds.”
“I see that, Hawkman,” he said with a slight laugh, grabbing an empty stool next to me and ordering a beer. “Why didn’t you ever get the name Cowboy?” He looked me up and down, shaking his head.
“You know better than anyone that we don’t pick our own nicknames.” I could understand his question. My civilian attire often included: jeans, plaid shirts and old leather cowboy boots...never a hat—unless I was back home in Durango, Colorado.
“So true.” He grabbed his beer, lifted it and clinked the bottom of it with mine before taking a big swig. “Damn that’s good! Nothing compares after landing back home... What’s brought you here...tough assignment?”
“Not really. Not doing bodyguarding detail anymore. Quit. Was so done with that shit. It wasn’t for me. Too fucking hard to keep emotions out of it.” I raised my index finger toward the bartender, looked at Wolf’s almost empty bottle and lifted another finger.
“You protected a lot of people...” He stopped and looked at me as if it finally hit him what was bothering me. “Don’t be so hard on yourself over one person. Shark knows it wasn’t your fault.”
I felt like Wolf was just trying to make me feel better. “It wasn’t the first time I let things get the better of me, but it was the one that was solely on me.”
“Not true. Shark wanted someone else because he was totally second guessing himself. In a way, it happened to me too. I nearly failed Caroline. My guys came to my aid and we were still outsmarted. But, in the end we saved her and she survived... And Maya came out unharmed too.”
“Teamwork is better. We all save each other. Working alone shielding one person is tough...as far as I’m concerned. I liked missions that served to keep peace—even if people had to be eliminated—and rescues that involved getting in and out without being seen.”
Wolf knew exactly what I meant, we had served together on a couple of those kinds of missions where our two teams joined forces. Being a SEAL had been a good thing for me. Not always easy... Ha! It was anything but easy to get into (so many stepping stones to conquer and pass) and missions were tough—but my decision to enlist was right.
After one year in college, not wanting to financially burden my parents, I decided it was time to do as the other men in my family—throughout several generations—had done: Get out, see the world and fight for my country. I enlisted in the Navy—a family-honored tradition, although no one had ever been a SEAL—so I would be able to finish my education once I served. That’s what I did.
“Colt, are you sure about the SEALs?” My father had concern in his voice.
My mother was crying. “You’d be safer on a ship in the ocean.”
My two older sisters—one married and running a hotel in the downtown area of Durango with her husband and the other one who ran away with a cowboy from the dude ranch next to our resort—thought it was a great idea and promised to send treats and write to me. I think they knew that I was the one to take over the family resort and wanted me to have a life before it was my daily routine, forever.
I grew up living on the grounds of a lake resort in Durango. The words “Capkin Sail & Camp” along with a sail were etched into a large rusty-grey metal banner held up high between two square redwood posts to mark the entrance to the property. We only had eight permanent log cabins for lodging along with limited recreational vehicles and tent spaces. Our biggest draw was more about hourly water-sport rentals: sailboats, paddle boards, windsurfing boards, kayaks, and wetsuits because the water—as far as I was concerned—never got warm enough to go without one.
When I was old enough to help out, I worked during summer vacations from school and weekends. I instructed people how to use equipment and even served as a lifeguard once I was able to become certified. One of the other features on the property was an indoor pool that could be made to feel outdoors during warm weather simply by sliding barn doors open on three sides of the structure. Despite the sunshine, we always kept the pool heated to a nice temperature. It could’ve been beneficial to swim in the icy cold lake as well as the comfortable acclimatized pool I realized when water training commenced.
Even having access to a pool all of my life, I wasn’t a dynamic swimmer. I could swim for hours, but I still didn’t have the speed you needed to really compete. That was most likely why I, mainly, did air-infiltration missions and left the swimming to the guys that were far more powerful in the water than me. I think the Navy categorized us rightly, using our strengths. Often, you could tell who the swimmers and airmen were by their nicknames (or so I thought when I heard them): Shark, Fin, Flipper as opposed to Eagle, Bird, Wing...and mine: Hawkman.
“You guys should see him. He’s like a hawk, man. He watches carefully and swoops in on his victim...they never see him coming, he’s so fast and precise.” One of my teammates was referring to a night mission, most of us were using infrared goggles, I happened to spot our target without them. “Hawkman.” It stuck throughout my career and beyond.
When I finished my service eight years later, I stayed in the San Diego area and went back to college. It wasn’t easy to get into the swing of school so I took as many of my courses online to limit my time in classrooms. During that time, bodyguarding jobs worked with my schedule. That profession seemed to employ several ex-military personnel.
My assignments had mainly been local events, including many for a certain Senator. I rarely traveled with him to Sacramento or Washington D.C. Working for him had been my first gut-wrenching experience; getting involved in a private family matter for the Senator tugged on my heartstrings a bit. I hated the feeling—I was trained to shut out any kind of personalization. Never put your private thoughts into a mission. No heart in the line of duty. Stay focused.
Fucking up the Maya assignment was the final straw for me. I nearly caused her to lose her life because of one stupid move. Personal one on one protection was not for me on a daily
basis and I wasn’t ready to go back home to other duties that were eminent, eventually.
That was how I found myself transporting people to safe houses. It sounded like a perfect fit for me. It was quick: Get clients to where they needed to be safely and then get right out—similar to SEAL missions. No chance of emotional involvement.
“So what are you doing now?” Wolf asked.
“Simple transportation of people forced into the witness protection network. I actually need to head out tomorrow with a new one. Just got paged before you walked in... Nice seeing you.” I was standing up after paying my tab, patting Wolf on the back. “Tell your guys hello. Up early.”
Then I was out of there, feeling better and ready for duty.
Chapter Two
Alice
“Where are you going...for how long and why exactly?” I did not have one answer to those questions but I did my best to appease my mother.
“Witness protection is a secret process. No information to other people, even loved ones...or to me, the witness.” I was in the dark about everything, including what I didn’t really witness and it was difficult to explain to my overly-protective and super-proper mother who wrote etiquette books. It was hard enough for her to understand my adventurous nature.
Growing up near the water in the San Diego area, I adored being outdoors and dreamed of one day being a marine biologist. That was until reality set in. Once I started looking into careers in the field, I realized that I much preferred the circle of life where plants were concerned. I, for sure, knew I had no desire to rescue injured wildlife or being out in the middle of the ocean and changed my major to agriculture business management. Another field that allowed me to be the nature girl I was intended to be.
Once I graduated from college, I started working in a beautiful nursery full-time. The park-like garden center was situated on a hillside above the San Diego bay. It had the most amazing view of the bay and Pacific Ocean in the distance. Before being employed there I had worked at the college’s farm store in their plant department during the school year. I couldn’t imagine working anywhere else and was happy that the new—much younger—nursery owner, Basil, kept me on board when he took over. His name fit in perfectly and he did too.
I loved everything about the place. The flowers, the trees, the plants and the insects and creatures that came and went with each season. The man made streams and fish ponds on the property were probably the most appealing elements to our customers—especially the children who screamed and giggled when they were given pellets to feed the fish. They tried to grab the turtles and feed them too, but they were relatively quick to slip out of their little reaches.
Never a dull moment and things forever changed throughout the year and with the new owner who brought a bit more excitement to the nursery.
I loved the new changes Basil had made which included using the back acreage for a public garden area: allowing city folks who wanted to grow their own produce but didn’t have access to enough land. Even a few restaurants rented space to be able to offer home-grown items on their menu to patrons. One of those places, a bistro in town, was where I was when my life turned upside down and I found myself falling down a rabbit hole into hell. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I had never dreamed of being forced into hiding.
The evening started out perfectly: a delicious scampi dinner with three fun girlfriends from college. Wine was flowing, conversation was great, filled with lots of laughter. I absolutely loved the ambience of the place with its rich wood bar that took up one end with a beautiful glass display of alcohol bottles and mirror behind it. Another feature that I found charming, they highlighted different jazz musicians that provided soft sounds of scatting and instrumental music playing in the background. Furnishings were like something seen in a typical Parisian café depicted in a movie: white and black tiled floors, marble tables, cane chairs, and low lacy curtains on a railing covering the lower half of the front windows.
“This café reminds me of our trip to France,” Lennon remarked, gazing around.
“You mean the one where we learned more about the flora and fauna...” My forever elegant friend, Pippa, elbowed me, gently. “Look how I use the right words.” She laughed and continued, “We could all give garden tours with our knowledge.”
“I may have gone a little overboard.” I couldn’t help it. In my college courses my professors drilled every greenery detail into our heads about places all over the world. I was so excited to see it all in person and couldn’t hold back. I spewed the information that was tucked away in my brain, waiting for the precise moment to release it.
“You think?” Harper chimed in with a grin on her cute freckled face.
The giggles about our past faded when terror took over as I stood alone in a small stall in an upstairs bathroom of the bistro. From the open window above my head, raised voices could be heard. Someone seemed to be crying and babbling things that made no sense to me, but I understood “please don’t kill me.” That was when I decided to point my smartphone’s camera out the window. I had no idea what—if anything—I was capturing.
“Explain to me again, why do they need to protect you if you saw nothing?” My mother questioned for the umpteenth time and I still didn’t have a clear-cut answer.
I had no idea what the reason was for putting me into protective custody—witness protection at some safe house. I did understand partially why they needed to take my phone. My whereabouts could be traced and they needed the video on my phone. Besides the tracking part, I figured they could just take the video off, but they wanted full access to everything on it. Did they think I was involved, I wondered at first and then was thankful I didn’t have any so-called wildness on my device.
The burner phone they gave me was archaic but at least I could contact people. “Whatever I captured could have something to do with a big smuggling operation or something. The things they questioned and mentioned, vaguely led me to believe that. I didn’t see anything that made any sense to me... Anyway, I’m supposed to limit my time. I’ll call you when I can. Love you.” She had to be satisfied with what I knew and elated that I told her that I loved her—I couldn’t remember the last time I had said that to her or anyone.
Chapter Three
Colt
Hired to transport a witness to a safe house located in the middle of an orange grove in Ventura, I was looking forward to a nice drive that would put me close enough to the beach. Thoughts of seeing a different part of the Pacific Ocean and enjoying some seafood sounded like the perfect plan once I secured the witness. That was a plus of relocating people: it gave me a chance to see places foreign to me. The extent of my California adventure had been San Diego where I had lived for a few years, Palm Springs and Hollywood for celebrity jobs.
Not something I wanted to think about... “Look at the positive,” I told myself.
I had successfully moved a whole family, two brothers, and a female news correspondent. Most of the time, I had no idea what their complete stories entailed, I just moved them to where they needed to start all over or hide out for a time. The news woman was the only one that I knew about because her controversial involvement with a terrorist group was all over the news. I was one of the only people to know that she had not died in an explosion which had been reported.
Easy jobs with no emotions involved. However, there was something about the fourth assignment that had me feeling a bit off and I hated it. The name of the witness Alice Kelly—most likely a new name—struck a chord in my chest.
Maybe it was time to give in to the family business... Something I never thought would appeal to me was starting to sound better... Maybe it was the name Alice Kelly that had me thinking it was a sign that I needed to head back to my roots sooner than later. It definitely wasn’t seeing a photo of her that had me thinking of the person I knew—with the same name—in the past
One of the duties working at my family’s water-sport resort included stacking kayaks on top of the
roof rack of one our sport utility vehicles and packing people inside to transport them to go ride down the nearby water rapids. Close to the downtown area of Durango, we launched close to where a river rafting company started their raft-riders on down-streaming trips on the Lower Animas River. Familiar with me and my family’s resort, I knew some of the regular workers and met new ones every summer.
Alice Kelly was an employee the summer after I graduated from high school and turned eighteen. She captured my attention immediately. Beautiful with a great body—not too thin, not too curvy—but it was her personality that stood out. She was so friendly and exhibited a warm smile that seemed to be truly genuine when she spoke to people. I never heard a snide remark or huff escape her lips when unnecessary, or far too many questions, were directed at her.
Like her, I dealt with people who tended to inquire about things that had already been explained. In the beginning—a snotty-nosed pre-teen—I had a tendency to lose my temper at times when renters annoyed me. I wanted to yell at them “pay attention!”
Caught by my father as I was being a little pissy, he pulled me aside. “Something to remember: many of these folks have never done this before and many are afraid of the water.” I wanted to say then they shouldn’t be renting, but I listened. “Your job is to make them comfortable. You may even have to go the extra mile and instruct them. Hold their hand so-to-speak...like I did with you when you first started out.” He gently poked my chest. “Don’t let them give up before they’ve even tried.”
The memory of his words had made me wonder if someone had told Alice similar words as I watched her. “You need something, Cowboy?” Her pretty little voice quickly wiped out any thoughts of my father or parents or anybody else.
Like an idiot, I stood awkwardly in place as my body heated and I lost my words until one of my potential kayakers elbowed me in the ribs. “I think she’s talking to you. You’re the one wearing a cowboy hat.” Then he leaned closer and turned his head to the side so only I could hear him. “She’s a pretty little thing. If I was you, I’d tell her that you needed her bad.” He laughed and stepped away.