Anne Fox - Camp Chaos

“Good attitude. I like it.” He took a big bite of his sandwich and sat chewing it, watching her.

For some reason, his constant observation of her while she ate didn’t bother her. She picked up a chunk of cheese, popped it in her mouth, and decided to return the favor.

“If you like what you see, you can see a lot more of it.” Her eyes narrowed, and he realized his gaff. “That came out all wrong. What I meant to say is you could see it a lot more often. All you need to do is sign on the line.”

She sat and thought, looking him directly in the eyes.

“I know you’re interested, Kat. You want to sign. Just give in to it◦– you won’t be sorry. No one ever is.” He crunched on a couple of chips. “It’s the most exciting job you’ll ever have. Trust me, you won’t regret it. Not one minute of it.”

“And the Bureau knows about this?”

“They’re the ones who recommended you.”

“Should I be asking things like, ‘What’s the pay like?’ and all that shit?”

He smiled. “If that’s important to you, I can tell you that it will be better than what you’re getting now.”

“Shit,” she said through some cheese. “It isn’t important to me at all.”

He grinned a huge grin and signaled to Doug in the back, tracing a rectangle with his fingers in the air. Doug came forward, bringing a large manila envelope with him. The man took a pen from his pocket and put it on the table between them. “Tell me you’re going to need this,” he said.

She chomped on a grape and stared at the pen. Looked him back in the face and popped another grape in her mouth. Stared at the pen again. Then she shoved the plate of fruit and cheese aside and grabbed the pen. “Ok. Let’s have it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, the man saw Doug in the back rock back on his heels and give two thumbs up before sitting down. He slid the first sheet of paper out of the envelope. “Read this carefully,” he said. “It’s the only one you won’t have to sign. If you can’t get past this one, we’ll land to take on some fuel and get you back to Albuquerque.”

Reading over the document, she learned that the group was an elite, multi-agency unit that dealt with domestic terrorism threats. Acceptance to the unit would require a thorough physical evaluation as well as psychological assessment, to be followed by rigorous physical training, skills training in a variety of areas, and finally the approval of the members of the unit. If at any point she failed to meet the unit’s requirements, she would be mustered out under the conditions spelled out in the legal documents she would sign. She read it over twice, weighing if any of what she saw would give her heartburn later on. She grabbed another strawberry off her plate, chewed it, slid the paper to her left, and twiddled the pen in her fingers. “Next.”

Once again, the man caught Doug doing a fist pump out of the corner of his eye.

“I knew I liked you,” he said. “This is the nondisclosure agreement. We need this before we can get to anything else.”

She read it over. It basically said in legalese what he’d told her earlier: she could not disclose any information regarding the unit, its operations, or its members to anyone. She could not let anyone outside of the unit know her whereabouts or the whereabouts of other members of the unit, including any knowledge she might gain regarding the whereabouts of past unit members. She could not discuss with anyone outside of the unit any information regarding any action the unit participated in previously. Why don’t they just say, ‘I agree to keep my mouth shut?’ She shrugged, signing her name to it where the “Sign Here” sticker was placed.

In the back, Doug did a slam dunk.

He took the signed document, signed it himself as the witness, and set it aside. She tried to get a look at the signature, but it was impossible for her to make it out, being one of those swirly kind where every letter seemed to overwrite all of the others.

“Records release,” he said, sliding another paper in front of her. This one, she noted, allowed the unit access to her past criminal records (if any), background checks, and security clearances. She snorted when she read “criminal records” and signed.

“Medical records release,” he said, sliding another paper in her direction. She signed it without even reading through it, knowing they wouldn’t find much other than routine physical exams.

“Release of your duty history with the Bureau.” She thought about that one a bit, not quite sure of what her superiors and academy instructors might have said about her. He seemed to know what she was thinking. “From what I’ve gathered, they all thought you were a fine candidate and a fine agent.” She signed.

“You’ll have some other documents you’ll need to complete once we get to our base in Quantico,” he said, shoving the signed papers back in the envelope. “For now, enjoy your lunch. We should be landing in about an hour and a half.” He stood up and stripped off the suit jacket. “I never take the monkey suit off until the papers are signed,” he said. “How ‘bout you?”

She was glad of the invitation to get rid of her own jacket, and slipped out of it, draping it on a seat across the aisle.

He took note of her handgun secured in a shoulder holster. “You’re a gal after my own heart,” he said. “Mr. Browning had a winning formula when he came up with the 1911. You like that sidearm?”

“Like you said, Browning got it right.”

“Mind if I have a peek?”

“It’s not very often you’ll find a Special Agent willing to let someone they don’t know handle their sidearm,” she noted.

“Yes, but as of this moment, I’m thinking you’re not going to be a Special Agent much longer. If you can’t trust me now, will you trust me later when we make our final offer?”

She unholstered her weapon, dropped the magazine, and cupping her hand over the slide, racked out the round in the chamber into her hand. Engaging the slide lock, she then passed it to him.

He looked it over. “You keep ’er in good shape,” he observed. “You like the Springfield?”

“It’s standard issue for the Hostage and Rescue Team. I like it better than the Glock or the Sig, so they let me carry it. My fav, though, is a Kimber Ultra Match II that I bought for myself. I managed to get a good one. It’s got a three-quarter-inch group at twenty-five yards off a Ransom rest using factory loads, and it would have been a lot less than that except for one outlier.”

“Want us to get it for you? In the unit, you can carry anything you like.”

“You can do that?”

“Sure. You’re going to hand over all your keys.”

“I don’t get to go to Albuquerque and pack up some of my stuff?”

“You don’t get to go back to Albuquerque, period.”

The cabin intercom sounded a tone followed by an announcement from the cockpit. “Fifteen minutes out from landing.”

“We made better time than I thought we would,” he said, standing up and putting his jacket back on. “We must have caught a good tailwind. Make sure you have everything, Kat. Unfortunately, once we deplane we don’t get to get back on, and anything you leave gets destroyed.” He handed her back her weapon, and she reloaded it, putting one in the chamber and ensuring the safety was engaged before holstering it and putting on her own jacket. “You’ll get your chance to ask any questions you want once we’re on the ground, but a head up: we’ve got a few more things we need to tidy up paperwork-wise, so you might want to just take notes on things you want to ask about until we’re done with all of that.” He reached out and shook her hand, then sat and buckled up for the landing. “Welcome aboard.”