“Old habits, my friend!”
Fresh, hot coffee finished perking in the kitchen, sending aromas of the brew throughout the apartment. Grant sat on the edge of the couch, taking a gulp of Coke from the bottle. He was waiting for a knock on the door or ring of the bell. He was waiting for Scott Mullins.
Another chapter of his life was about to begin, albeit, still as a covert operator, but now as a civilian. All financing for missions would come from four men who came out of nowhere, looking specifically for him. And any minute he’d be meeting his contact. The man who’d handle all future missions for him and his men.
Suddenly, there were two sharp raps on the door. He swallowed the last mouthful of Coke, then carried the bottle to the kitchen. He dropped it in the trash as he walked to the door then opened it.
The appearance of the man standing in front of him caught him off guard. The resemblance was uncanny: Same color brown hair, brown eyes, same build, same 5’10” height. No doubt about it. This was Tony Mullins’ brother.
For an instant Grant felt a sudden twinge of sadness, then he smiled and extended a hand. “Scott!”
Mullins returned Grant’s firm handshake. “Great to meet you, Grant!”
“Come on in!” Grant closed the door. “Still colder than hell out there, huh?”
“Yeah. I’m trying to remember what Tony used to say, something he got from you.”
“You mean ‘colder than a witch’s tit’?”
“That’s it!”
Grant laughed, then said, “Take your coat off. You can hang it on that hook.” He pointed next to the door.
Mullins put a leather briefcase on the floor, then put his gloves in his pocket, unwrapped a scarf then hung up his coat.
“Well, how about some coffee to warm you up? Or I can get you something with more of a ‘kick.’ Or, I can put the ‘kick’ in the coffee!”
“Let’s start with plain old coffee.”
“How do you take it?”
“Straight.”
Grant poured the steaming coffee into two white mugs, handed one to Mullins, then led the way into the living room.
“Have a seat,” Grant said, motioning to the couch. He sat in a chair opposite the couch then sipped the coffee. Staring at the hot brew, he kept his head lowered before saying, “Listen, Scott. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Tony, for what happened. He was a good friend. I’ll never forget him, or forget what he tried… ”
Mullins leaned forward, and put the mug on the table. He rubbed his hands together, as he looked at Grant. “You mean when he tried to save you?”
All Grant could do was nod slowly. “Yeah.”
“Look, Grant, I’ve read the reports. I’ve talked to certain people. I know what happened as if I’d been there.” He stood up and walked to the window. Grant followed him with his eyes.
Mullins turned around, came back to the couch and sat down. “Tony wanted to be there, Grant. His head was as hard as this,” he smiled, as he wrapped his knuckles on the table.
Grant finally relaxed, then grinned. “Harder! Our disagreements were a common occurrence! We came toe-to-toe a couple of times.” There was a brief pause between the two before Grant said, “What say we talk about why you’re here. Maybe we can start with who you’re working for. I’m curious who’ll be signing off on our missions.”
Mullins wrapped his hands around the coffee mug. “I’m part of the State Department’s ‘family tree.’ My boss is Operations Officer, Stan Zigler. He reports directly to the Deputy Director, Galen Porter, who in turn reports to the Director, Colonel James Maclin. Only the four of us within State will be aware of you and your team.” He blew into the mug before taking a sip.
Grant nodded. “And since the missions and equipment aren’t being financed with government funds… ”
“Exactly. No prior approvals will be required.”
“I have a feeling there’re more involved, Scott — and outside of State. I was told everything will be completely legal. So that tells me somebody higher up has to make the decision when my team will be needed, and that somebody has to approve the missions,” Grant said with a raised eyebrow.
“That’ll be up to the man in the White House. He’ll disseminate any information he obtains from briefings with the CIA and FBI. He’ll make his decisions from those briefings then contact the Director.”
“The NSA’s gotta be ‘hiding’ in there somewhere. There’s no way in hell those folks would be left outta the loop.”
Mullins nodded in agreement. “You’re right. Nobody would dare omit them.”
Grant stood then pointed to Mullins’ coffee mug. “Warm-up?” Mullins handed him the mug. As Grant walked into the kitchen, he said over his shoulder, “What about funds? What if we need ‘haul ass’ money?”
“Your benefactors have set up an offshore account. You can make withdrawals from any bank, foreign or domestic.”
Grant came back into the living room and handed Mullins the coffee before commenting, “I guess most of the conversations will be between you and me.”
“That’s right. I’ll give you a mobile number and a special number to a secure phone at my home. I’d like to set up code names, mostly for when you’re in the field.”
Grant sat on the edge of the couch. “Think it’d be a good idea for Joe to have one, too — just as a backup.”
“I assume you mean Joe Adler?”
The right side of Grant’s mouth curved up. “Yeah. I do. Do you have code names in mind?”
“How about you take ‘Panther 1’?”
Grant’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Mullins. “You’re scaring me, Scott. Wait a minute. Tony?”
“Who else?”
“Don’t tell me you’re ‘Mountain Man’?”
“Actually, ‘MM 2.’ Suits me, don’t you think?” Mullins laughed, rubbing a hand over his clean shaven face.
Grant pictured the first time he met Tony Mullins aboard the Bronson. He was sporting straggly hair and beard.
Grant responded, “Not yet. But you’ve got time! Oh, how about we give Joe the code name ‘Mustang’?”
Mullins started writing. “Care to explain?”
“In Navy speak, a ‘mustang’ is an enlisted man who came up through the ranks to officer level. And, well, Joe’s got this hot ’67 red Mustang.”
“Sweet!” Mullins smiled before picking up his coffee mug. “Have you had a chance to look at the vehicles and equipment waiting for you?”
“Didn’t have much time the night I met those gentlemen.” Grant reached into his pants pocket. “They gave me these before I left the property.” He held up a ring of keys. “Joe and I drove out there early this morning.” He sat back, resting his right foot on his left knee. “Christ, Scott! Who are those guys? Where the hell did they get the kind of money to support this? They’ve gotta have endless resources.”
“Don’t know. What I can tell you is you’re one step ahead of me.”
“How so?
“You’ve met them. I haven’t.”
“You’re shittin’ me, right?”
Mullins shook his head. “Phone calls only, and always the same person.”
Grant raised an eyebrow. “And that person didn’t give you a name?”
“When he does call — which isn’t often — the call comes in on a specific line, and only rings on my phone. The identity of those men is need to know. That includes the White House, the Director, Deputy Director, and now… you. In my opinion, the main connection is the White House, and most likely the President. And that remains between you and me.”
“Understood. Do you think they had to sign any type of non-disclosure agreement?”