National Burden
Authors: C. G. Cooper
“National Burden”
(The Complete Novel
: Includes Episodes 1 - 6)
Book 5 of the Corps Justice Series
Copyright © 2014 Corps Justice. All Rights Reserved
Author: C. G. Cooper
Editor: Karen Rought
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations and events are all products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual events or real persons are completely coincidental.
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Warning:
This story is intended for mature audiences and contains profanity and violence.
Dedications
A huge thanks to my Beta Readers. You guys are amazing!
To our amazing troops serving all over the world, thank you for your bravery and service.
Semper Fidelis
Table Of Contents
Episode 1
Episode 2
Episode 3
Episode 4
Episode 5
Episode 6
San Pedro Plantation Resort, Riviera Maya
1:30 p.m., February 15
th
The resort was new. In fact, it wasn’t even open to the public yet. Mexican laborers could still be heard pounding away, rushing to finish before the hoped-for Spring Break rush.
He was staying with an old friend, a buddy who’d recently taken a cruel turn, constantly hounding him, concocting new schemes, pushing him further than before. Their stay was a favor from a new contact, a wealthy donor who happened to be a developer that owned properties all over coastal Mexico and wanted to attract high-end clientele from the States. They wouldn’t be bothered in the elegantly appointed private penthouse on the edge of the resort.
It was probably only seventy degrees, but to the man sitting in the white plastic chair, the kind that were supposed to be high-end but felt like they would break with slightest movement, the temperature felt stifling. His senses were on edge, catching the whir of the air conditioning, the flip of the overhead fan, the light step of his captor.
“You failed.”
Santos Lockwood squirmed in his seat, the fabric of his patterned board shorts suddenly clinging to his legs. “It’s not my fault. I tried to keep my job and do what you planned.”
The man at the window turned, casting a shadow across his perfectly tanned face. “I can understand how the last president’s departure was not your fault, but I can’t understand why you couldn’t make yourself useful to Zimmer.”
Lockwood looked up at his old friend, the annoyingly good-looking, always coifed Republican congressman from Florida Antonio McKnight. “Come on, Tony. It happens every time a new administration comes in. Out with the old, in with the new. It was bound to happen sometime.” He added a nervous chuckle, hoping his friend would lighten up.
Tony McKnight put a hand on his trim stomach and closed his eyes. “Yes, that happens when there’s a normal turnover, but Zimmer took over abruptly when your old boss abdicated the throne. From what I hear, Zimmer hasn’t cleaned house, so don’t feed me your line of bullshit. I’ve bailed you out more than once, Santos.” McKnight’s steel blue eyes flared open. It felt to Lockwood like they were burning a hole in his forehead. “I got you that fucking job! You’ve always been a fuckup, even in college. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have made it out of Florida State with a diploma.” As quickly as his temper burst, it melted away with the tropical air, blown by the seventy degree breeze whirring the scent of the newly constructed condo. “Now, tell me why I should even listen to you.”
Lockwood gritted his crooked teeth. He’d always played second fiddle to his playboy friend, but he wasn’t without his worth. Lockwood thought back to the nights spent tracking down his freshman roommate, finally finding him stumbling home from yet another girl’s dorm room as the sun peaked over the horizon. Nursing him back to health. Dragging him to class. He’d been the one to ensure McKnight’s diploma, not the other way around.
McKnight’s moves and cunning improved with age. He was always hungry and it eventually landed him a republican congressional seat in Miami. Lockwood was the liberal, but their half Hispanic heritage, and their history, always pulled them together.
“I don’t know what to say. I…tell me what you want me to say.”
Congressman McKnight shook his head. “Wrong answer, Santos.” A shrill whistle from McKnight’s lips caused a side door to open. Two deeply tanned Mexicans entered the room, faces placidly menacing, almost bored. “You remember my cousins, Felix and Miguel.”
The blood drained from Lockwood’s face. “What are they doing here?”
Antonio McKnight flashed the brilliant smile that had captured many a young girl’s heart and now captivated much of conservative America. Like a diamond expertly crafted by an aged jeweler, Tony looked confident, composed, and powerful with his perfectly tailored clothes and talk. Half white and half Hispanic, a man trapped between both worlds, plagued by his past yet using it to propel him forward. Rather than wallowing in his history, McKnight used it to feed his increasing hunger for power. Insatiable.
He’d seen the stare from the unmarried congressman before. Predatory. To Lockwood it looked more like a wolf preparing to strike, stalking its prey. McKnight nodded to the two men, supposedly his cousins, but Santos Lockwood knew differently. Hired thugs. Murderers.
Before he could react, they had his arms pinned to the glass table. “Let me go!” he yelled, panicking, a trickle of pee turning into a stream running down his leg.
Neither man flinched, faces remaining expressionless. McKnight moved to the wet bar. “Now, the way I see it, normally there’s a time for forgiveness and a time for lessons. This may be a time for both.”
Sweat poured from Lockwood’s gray forehead. “Please, Tony. Please don’t kill me.” He knew what his old pal was capable of. The friendly facade that the public knew masked a ruthless personality, chiseled and hammered into a vessel of power. His twisted youth had turned him into a duplicitous monster, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
McKnight laughed, turning back to the trio, now holding a long filet knife in his right hand. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.” He admired the blade, caressing its length with his index finger. “You had a very simple job. Stay close to the President. Did you do that? No.”
“But--”
“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to give you one last shot, and only because I love you like a brother and your mom was always nice to me. But if you fail me this time, if you once again forget everything I’ve done for you and for your family…” The wicked grin on McKnight’s face left little doubt in Santos Lockwood’s mind. What had happened to the affable kid he’d met that first sunny day of school in Tallahassee?
Lockwood’s shoulders slumped and his chin dropped to his chest. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“I’ll tell you that later,” Lockwood’s head snapped up at the feel of another grip on his hand. It was McKnight’s. “Right now, I need to give you an excuse and a lesson.”
Without warning, the razor sharp knife bit into Lockwood’s fingers, sawing with excruciating accuracy. The smile never left the congressman’s face. Even as his friend screamed, he sliced away, one finger gone already, blood spraying unceremoniously across the table, accompanied by the wild cackle of his friend.
Stokes Security International (SSI) Headquarters, Camp Spartan, Arrington, TN
9:29 a.m., February 27
th
The majority owner of Stokes Security International, Calvin Stokes, Jr., adjusted himself in the leather desk chair, realizing his butt had gone numb. He’d been at it since 4:30 a.m., all thanks to the grief his cousin Travis Haden, SSI’s CEO and a former SEAL, had given him a week before for not staying on top of his administrative duties.
Cal hated anything that had the word
admin
in it. The Marine infantryman in him wanted to be out at the range, or in the live fire house, honing his skills. He felt those skills melting away as he perused yet another profit & loss statement.
He knew it was pointless thinking about it. February had been one of the coldest in Tennessee history, and SSI had closed all non-essential facilities for three days running. Being cooped up in an office grated on his every nerve as he sat behind his father’s old desk.
Cal glanced at the picture of him and his father, both wearing matching orange University of Virginia shirts. It was taken on Cal’s first day at U.Va right after they’d unpacked everything in his new Humphrey’s Dorm room. He loved the picture for many reasons, but mostly because of how his father had been that day. The former Marine colonel wasn’t known for being overly emotional, but on that day, Calvin Stokes, Sr. had cried, more out of pride than of sorrow, for his son’s accomplishments.
If he looked closely at the photo, Cal could see the tinge of red in his father’s eyes. He missed his parents deeply and kept their memory close at hand.
“Don’t tell me
you
liked all this paperwork, Dad.”
His father, though an officer, was a grunt as well, leading Marines for almost twenty years. There wasn’t much the former Marine Staff Sergeant wouldn’t have done to see his father one more time.
As he reached for another folder, his office door opened. Former Marine Master Sergeant Willy Trent, a beast of a man just shy of a hulking seven feet, poked his head in. “You decent?”
Cal smiled. “Come on in, Top. I was getting ready to take a break.”
Trent stepped into the office and whistled when he saw the thick stacks of reports on his friend’s desk. “What’s all this?”
“Some stuff Trav wants me to get familiar with. I guess I’ve been putting it off long enough.”
MSgt Trent’s laugh came straight from his belly. He pointed a finger at Cal. “They finally got you, Cal. They’re turning you into a rear echelon motherfucker.”
Cal’s eyes narrowed as he gave his friend the finger. “Fuck you, Top.” He said it with a smile, and stood up from his desk.
“You wanna get a couple rounds in? I’ll tie one arm behind my back,” asked Trent.
Cal Stokes could take down most men in hand-to-hand combat, but he’d never bested Trent on the mats. They sparred regularly, always with the same outcome: the black Marine with the NFL lineman’s physique won.
“Why not? This stuff can wait.”
An hour and five submissions later, Cal was dripping in sweat. He’d almost locked Trent in an arm bar once, but the crafty Marine had slipped out of it with practiced ease. “I’m spent. Wanna grab an early lunch?”
MSgt Trent wiped his obsidian brow with a towel. “Yeah. How about we call up a couple of the boys and have them join us?”