Anne Fox - Camp Chaos

She had a thousand questions and none, not knowing much about the head-first dive she’d just made and therefore not quite knowing what to ask to begin with. One step at a time. Ask your questions as they arise. She looked out the oval window and saw the green of Virginia rising up to her. Sure as hell isn’t Albuquerque.

The plane touched down smoothly and taxied in to a ramp, guided by a “Follow Me” vehicle. Hearing the engines shut down, the man unbuckled and held his hand out to help her from her seat. Out of courtesy, she took it and stood.

“Welcome to Quantico.”

“Like coming home,” she said.

“Not quite. You’re not going anywhere near any FBI facilities. We’ll be going straight to our base.”

They made their way down the airstair to a waiting van with two men sitting in the front. As she climbed into the van with the man following her, she noticed Doug put her suitcase in the back. He then climbed into the van as well, grinning at her as he took a seat. A few minutes later the two pilots also climbed in, grinning as well.

“Ok, guys, hand ’em over,” Doug said.

The three other men who had been aboard the aircraft with her all began to collect tiny earpieces from an ear, handing them over to Doug. Doug pulled his own out and added it to the small storage case in his lap. The man she’d been conversing with aboard the plane took off his tie clasp and pulled a small transmitter from behind his tie and handed it over to Doug. The two men in the van handed over earpieces as well. “Thank you, gentlemen,” Doug said, closing everything in the case.

“I’m betting your name’s not Doug,” she said. He grinned and replied, “Not even close.”

“Well, guys, you all heard everything. What’s your verdict?” asked the man she’d sat with. They all reached out and tapped on the window of the van closest to them. He turned to her and said, “You just passed your first hurdle.” Tapping on the shoulder of the man in the driver’s seat, he said, “Home, Charles.”

“My name’s not Charles, either,” the driver said over his shoulder, making the rest of the men laugh.

“Let me make the introductions,” the man who’d sat with her on the flight began. “Up front, we call your driver Edge. And next to him is Turtle. Which reminds me, Turtle, she says your binoculars reflect too much light and to get better coatings on the lenses.”

“Crap. I wondered how she knew which direction to flip that bird.” The other guys all laughed at this as well.

“Your flight attendant goes by Voice. As you might guess from the hardware he collected, he’s our tech guy.”

“At your service,” Voice said with a little bow.

“Your pilots,” the man continued, pointing to each of them, “are Crow and Cloud.”

“Hope you enjoyed the ride as much as we enjoyed flying it,” Crow said.

“And I am your humble host, Spud.”

“What cutesie names,” she said.

“You’ll get one, too,” Spud said. “Because five days from now, Katheryn Hanko is going to die.”

Kat was a bit shocked by the news that she was going to die in five days. What the fuck? Is my part of this special assignment to be the sacrificial lamb?

“I know you’ve got questions about that last bit of news, Kat. We’ll get that answered just as soon as we get inside.”

The van had stopped outside an ordinary bachelor enlisted quarters on the base, one of several in the same area. Turtle jumped out and slid the door of the van open. He reached his hand out to help Kat down, but she ignored it and simply jumped out.

Turtle led the way up to the BEQ and unlocked the door. It had all the appearance of a typical enlisted men’s quarters, until Turtle walked up to a short section of wall, that is. When he did, it slid open to reveal a passageway down a flight of stairs.

“Some kind of magic?” she asked.

“Bum ticker,” he replied with a grin, indicating she should go ahead of him down the stairs. “You’ll get one, too.” Behind them, she heard the other group members chuckle.

“You have a phone in your shoe as well?”

Turtle laughed. “Nope, but as you see we sometimes have bugs in our ears.”

“I’m surprised you know about the phone in the shoe stuff,” she said.

“We’re not all work and no play. We’ve got a pretty extensive video collection, which includes the entire “Get Smart” series from back in the ‘60s. It’s hilarious, Agent 99.”

The rest of the group had come through the upper door, which automatically slid shut.

Following me like a bunch of ducklings.

“First door on the right.”

She looked to her right and saw an office with a desk in it, occupied by a woman.

“Meet Clara,” Spud said. “She’s our legal assistant. Have a seat, Kat. She’s going to help you with your will.” Kat noted that Clara was dressed in Marine Corps CUUs and looked more like a Charles than a Clara.

“What the fuck did I sign up for?” Kat demanded.

Spud looked at her, puzzled. Then he got a surprised look on his face. “You think we’re actually going to kill you!”

“ You’re the one who said I was going to die in five days, and now you’re telling me I need to get a will done.”

“Not you ,” Spud said. “I thought I told you we aren’t into spy versus spy shit. Just your name is going to die. Everyone outside this group is going to think you’re dead, but trust me◦– you will be very much alive. You just won’t be Katheryn Hanko anymore.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “We conduct a very nice ceremony to go along with it, too.” He turned and looked at Edge. “How’s she going out, Edge?”

“Training exercise. Fall from a chopper while attempting a rappel to the ground. Sorry it has to be so messy, Kat. But we need your funeral to be a closed casket affair.” With a throw of his thumb over his shoulder to the others, Edge continued down the hall followed by everyone but Spud.

“There’s going to be a funeral? ”

“How do you think we explain that you’re not coming back and no one will hear from you anymore?” Spud asked. “Yeah, there’s going to be a funeral. That’s part of why I asked how much you weigh, though they’ll check that during the medical as well. We’ve got to know how much weight to put in the casket.”

She stared at him.

“Kat, did you ever hear about the Special Agent who was killed in a car crash in West Virginia up in the Appalachians while chasing a suspect about ten years ago? Hit some ice and went into a ravine? Died in the crash, body burned beyond recognition?”

“Jesus. They talk about him in driving class.”

“Well, we didn’t call him Jesus, we called him Falcon. He’s living the good life somewhere. Even we don’t get to know where. You’re his replacement.”

“Agent Dunbarton is alive?”

“No, Agent Dunbarton died about ten years ago in a car crash. But the body that his name was attached to prior to the car crash is very much alive and as far as any of us knows, enjoying his retirement.” He indicated a chair at the table where Clara sat. “So, you need to let us know who gets your stuff.”

“Oh, fuck you! I’ve got to give somebody my guns?”

“Oh, we have ways of making sure your loved ones get back to you when you retire,” Spud said. “Simply bequeath them to David J. Garino, along with anything else you’re really fond of. David will pick them up, and they’ll go into storage here. Only catch is, you don’t get to use them while you’re with the unit. We can’t risk having a gun dropped at a scene get traced back to a dead person. Which brings me to the subject of your Kimber. Before you decide that’s the gun you really want as your sidearm, have a talk with our gunsmith. He can do a sweet build that will be optimized just for you and will be untraceable, given he makes them himself. One of a kind. If you don’t like his build, then your Kimber will need to have the serial numbers routed out and the spot will have to have a plug of metal welded in place. Can’t risk having a forensics lab raise the numbers, either.”