Chapter 4

Camp Pendleton, Ca

As the weeks built into months, the four Marines conducted their private, and ad-hoc, counter-espionage operation in plain sight. O’Brien’s growing respect for his boss, and his friendships with Carlton and Pistochini, was the binder and was seen by the platoon as a natural development and continuation of the profoundly competent leadership they had enjoyed in southwest Asia and in Africa.

What the platoon did not see was the increasing impedance mismatch between the battalion command and their group. The platoon’s ignorance of hidden command problems enabled the S-2 Marines to continue to train hard, reveling in field time, mostly with a line companys, but often operating alone, practicing their unique brand of tactics. O’Brien kept his Marines well centered with his ‘mind’ and surfing sessions, which tamped down any concerns arising from the various legal proceedings running their course through H&S company.

Ostensibly to surf, Carlton, O’Brien, Pistochini, and Garza met north of Red Beach.

“This is what we know. There are some Marines on Pendleton that are part of this organization. My source has been unable to identify them, and cannot even determine the number involved. It could be up to fifty, and some may be members of the battalion. Everyone in the platoon knows that there is an unusual level of political influence on this investigation.”

Carlton paused to set down her surf board, then pointed to the S-2 alpha officer.

“For now, I cannot say this is part of some larger conspiracy; do not have anything to support that. But we should proceed as if we have an organized conspiracy. There is no complete set of information or any specific knowledge available, other than Opie’s source and this immediate group, and I believe it should stay this way - we need to stay compartmentalized; as in, we do not inform the command. I do not know when it would be appropriate to kick this up the chain of command. That is for the LT to decide.”

What was carefully not said, was the identification of O’Brien’s ‘Source’. Pistochini, having seen Jake Carlton frequent the comm building, and hang out with the S-2 sensor people, and the numerous tete a tetes with O’Brien, had concluded that the ‘source’ was none other than the scary-smart and the indefatigable Staff Sergeant Carlton.

Lt Garza placed himself at the front of the other three Marines.

“Opie, do not underestimate anyone, on either side. We may well be in over our collective heads. And, for what its worth, I do believe that we are witnessing some elements of a political power grab, so perhaps Captain Olsen needs to be brought up to speed on this. He is more than book smart. He is powerfully analytical and can draw valid conclusions even when very little data is available. And because, at this point, whoever this group is, can be considered to be treasonous, this should be considered to be an organized conspiracy. Which leads us to the fact that we are, ultimately, dealing with a national security issue that may be controlled at high levels within the executive branch.”

O’Brien replied with a level of concern, very much noticed by other members of the group.

“I dunno know, sir. I’d rather not have to worry about our captain. I do not believe that he has it in his personality to be both paranoid and brutal without falling off into the fuckin dark-side. For now, we need to protect Captain Olsen. Sir, what about your contacts from intel officers school?”

“They have become an ‘unknown known’ to me. One has since transferred from the DIA to the DNI’s staff at Fort Meade, and the other is in the CIA, where position and status is always an unknown. We can escalate it to federal intel level, but they would probably use us as bait and canon fodder in the pursuit of the members of this group.”

Pistol stood up and appeared to stretch, which was actually a ruse for doing an area scan. He sat back down and asked, “Opie, sooner or later we have to bring in someone outside of S-2. What about the Gunner? He is a smart old fucker, tough as a bull, and probably has many useful contacts.”

Jake was first to answer.

“I agree that the Gunner would be a good choice for the first outsider, but complexities of security and relationships within a group grows geometrically with member count. Unless the LT and Opie have a good reason, we should not change this group. We need to be flexible and to move quickly. We can only do that with less, not more.”

After O’Brien and Garza agreed to no changes, the next grenade was, metaphorically, lobbed by O’Brien.

“Security. Weapons status? I have a personal rifle in the armory, but it is a 30-30 lever action. Obviously not suitable for carry. I have three loaded M9 magazines and three loaded 5.56 magazines not locked in the armory, but it does not look like they’re going to let SSP do much more field ops. So we have no reasonable access to weapons, which means we got a physical security problem.”

Pistol was next.

“I have a Glock 23 and 21, and a Remington 700, but they’re locked up in the armory. But the Glock mags are not legal in California, so a risk when off the base if I am carrying. I am going to start carring the 23 and hope I can avoid the brig.”

Carlton added, with a smile, pointed at O’Brien, “I see his influence, I also have a 23, and three mags. And two 9mm issue mags that are loaded, all at my apartment.

Lt Garza added his weapons status.

“Have a Ruger .22 and SR45 and Mini-14 at home. Have previously thought about carrying the 45, or at least hiding something in my office.”

“Sir, please re-consider the SR45, too many problems. Unless you have put several hundred rounds through the tube with no problems and it has been looked at by a smith, that pistol cannot be considered a reliable weapon.”

Pistol thought for a moment, “Sir, agree with Opie. Wanna use my Glock 21?”

“Thanks Pistol, I’ll think about it. And you are generally correct about that model, Opie. But I do have over 300 rounds through it with no problems.

Pistochini sighed, he knew the introduction of the next subject may be his undoing.

“Armageddon mode. Mutually Assured Destruction. Which is our platoon’s golden rule of ‘do unto others before they do unto you’.”

The group looked at him with confusion, except O’Brien. He had wondered if Pistochini would eventually suggest this. It will probably save him from introducing the idea, and sounding truly paranoically deluded.

“Right now, they are targeting Opie, for whatever reason, and seem to think that the rest of us are harmless. Let them think that. We now have a complete background for the Blues Brothers. We know where they live. We know their political and professional contacts. If Opie goes down, we take them down, only harder and physically and out in the open. We do it in a way that clearly shows our methods were not random, but a fucking professional elimination. We make their disappearance obvious.”

Before anyone could jump on his ‘insanity’, Pistochini quickly continued.

“Better yet, if Opie’s source indicates that they are about to drop the hammer, we simply take them down, preemptive type shit, and force them to come up with another investigative team. Then we take the next group of assholes down. Once their people start disappearing, they either have to show their hand, or the have to go away. For what its worth, a guy in S-6 gave me some tracking devices. I want to put them on the blues brothers vehicles. We can choose where and how we to isolate and eliminate these fuckers.”

For several seconds, there was only the sound of the waves rolling onto the beach and a single sea-gull squawk. Pistochini decided to put his remaining ‘crazy’ card on the table.

“Finally, as part of removing the threat, we also extract intel. We do more than isolate and eliminate; we fucking interrogate those assholes. Zimmerman and McElroy have no military background. Those fuckers can’t possibly imagine what we can do to them. They would not be difficult nuts to crack...”

Lt Garza caught the others with an unexpected reply.

“Well, damn. Talk about falling into the dark side ... I knew this may come up. This does put us on the road to sociopathy. But for this situation, it is not an unreasonable problem; we need to have a plan for possibility. I’ve seen a situation like this once before and, unfortunately, it worked well.”

O’Brien decided to back up his sergeant.

“Sir, I fully understand what is being said here. This is well within the realm of Pistol’s and my experience. For that reason and many more, any implementation of these scenarios must be limited to myself and Pistol ... Pistol, I need to understand the capabilities and limits of those tracking devices. We need to get this shit on their vehicles within the next few days ... So ya people wanna fuckin surf?”

While the surf was barely a meter, it was a consistent 19 to 20 seconds, with swells out of the southwest. Not great, but relaxing. After Garza and Pistochini quit to return to their duties and preparations, Carlton and O’Brien continued to surf. Even on their short boards, it soothed their troubled souls.

Paddling a little further to be past the surf zone, O’Brien waited for Carlton.

“One more, then I gotta get that last lesson plan finished and sent to Quantico. The master guns is gonna freak when he sees my last two classes on patrolling. Wish I could be there when that old fucker reads it.”

“Opie, don’t know why you insist on rattling his cage.”

“Well, Cooker did it, and did it damn well. Someones gotta carry on the tradition.”

For the first time since Cooker’s death, he saw Jake cry. He knew this would come eventually. It had been a tough month for her. O’Brien had felt like crying several times himself, but was unable. O’Brien paddled next to Carlton with their boards facing opposite directions. He reached for her left hand and pulled it across her body, keeping his friend close. He did not let go and continued to hold both of her hands.

Through her tears, Carlton was able to talk.

“Can you forgive Cooker? Of all the people that had really bad shit dropped on them over there, I never thought he would be one of those ... How could I not know how bad it was for him?”

“Nothing to forgive, Jake. I loved him and still do. And I have seen it happen to too many of my Marines. Some people, no matter how smart or strong can never accept the level of really bad shit that humans do to each other. I learned early, on my first pump, as a 19 year old lance, to live with it ... I dunno, maybe Cooker believed that he was protecting ya from himself. Maybe he didn’t understand how strong you are, I just dunno ... just hang on Jake, you are one of my best friends. I don’t have much else.”

Jake grabbed Opie with her other hand and pulled herself closer to him. Her realization was, that right now, neither did she, truly have anyone else other than Opie. The revelation hit her hard. She continued to cry while they slowly bobbed in the late twilight, just outside of the surf zone.

Oceanside, Ca

As he unloaded the two boards into her garage space, Carlton stopped, and turned around to look at her friend for a few seconds.

“Close the garage and come up. Still have a few root beers in the frig.”

O’Brien headed directly to the refrigerator, grabbed two root beers, popped the tops, handed one to Carlton, then plopped down on her couch. Looking at the shelf above the TV, he noticed that the two pics of Jake and Cooker, together in Iraq and together on the rifle range in Hawaii, had been removed. O’Brien wondered why the fuck she had done that. O’Brien knew that they had been damn good for each other. O’Brien was wondering if she is the one that has not forgiven Cooker.

O’Brien wanted to bellow a scream, questioning the universe and Odin on the rationale for all of the pain of worldly shit. He saw no good reason that one of his few remaining friends had to be the widow. O’Brien’s refusal to grant the uncaring universe its due fueled his low tolerance for confusion stemming from problems of the human condition. He wanted to call Jesus and Odin and Mohammed out for being total dick-heads, for allowing this shit to happen.

Staring at the spots where the framed pictures once were, Opie noticed a glint of a reflection of a dark shiny surface, flashing a short shimmer when Jake turned on the hall-way light on the way to her bedroom. O’Brien’s subconscious started to clang warning bells demanding attention from his conscious.

The part of O’Brien’s brain that had developed a keen sense of situational awareness was kicking in. O’Brien got up to look through the sliding glass door that accessed the balcony. When Carlton returned, she turned on the main light to the living room, which decreased Opie’s ability to see outside. Watching Jake via the her reflection on the glass door, he noticed a pronounced and raised area in the plaster board in the wall just above the TV. His situational awareness changed from a dull droning sound to a blaring claxon within his brain. Opie retrieved a writing pad from the kitchen.

“Jake, lets sit outside.”

Jake recognized the strange tone of his voice.

“Ok, let me get my root beer.”

As she sat down on the balcony, O’Brien scribbled, ‘bugs in living room above TV’. Carlton wrote back, ‘audio or video?’, with a questioning look. Opie drew a quick sketch of what he saw. Looking back through the sliding glass door, he looked for other signs of devices, but found none. He wrote ‘kitchen and bedroom?’. Jake nodded her head and they walked into the kitchen making fake conversation. Finding nothing obvious in the kitchen, Jake posed a faux question.

“Since I’ve got you here, need help changing bed and dresser positions.”

“Ok, show me what you want to do.”

Carlton and O’Brien did an improvisational ballet of moving stuff around and talking while searching the room. Again, nothing was found. Jake pulled a pad out of a nightstand drawer and wrote ‘tell LT and Pistol ASAP’. Opie responded by writing ‘tomorrow AM’.

Walking into the kitchen, O’Brien whispered, “You okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

O’Brien pulled Carlton close and kissed her forehead. Carlton responded by wrapping her arms around her friend. They held each other tight for several minutes, then O’Brien kissed her forehead again and left.

For the first and only time, Sean O’Brien gained an insight into deep friendship and the effects of the emotions brought forth by empathy.

1/5 Battalion HQ, San Mateo, Camp Pendleton

After morning formation, O’Brien was reading and responding to messages from the SOIs and Quantico. The master gunnery sergeant of the Quantico weapons training battalion had decided to lock-step the syllabus for all three sites and to re-vamp the Sniper’s Leaders course, promising to send a marked-up review of O’Brien’s submittals. A Lejuene platoon commander was requesting that there be a big meeting of all S/S platoon commanders and chief snipers. O’Brien rolled his eyes and wondered why some idiots think having meetings means that you are getting shit done.

As O’Brien was about to reply to the message, Special Agent Zimmerman walked into the S-2 outer office.

“Staff Sergeant O’Brien, I need to talk to Captain Olsen.”

“The captain is where he has always been. Right through that door, sir. Ya might wanna knock first...”

Zimmerman tapped once on the door and walked into the office. O’Brien could not make out the exchange through the closed hatch, but it was about a dB or two louder than typical and sounded to be rather unpleasant in tone. The S-2 Chief was called into the office, and more loud conversation ensued. The top stepped out, “O’Brien, the captain needs you now...”

“Aye, top.”

O’Brien immediately got up, knocked on the door jamb twice and waited for the captain to shout ‘enter’. O’Brien stood at attention in front of Olsen’s desk, noting Zimmerman standing off to the side, whom did not appear to be happy. Before he could report, Captain Olsen started.

“Staff Sergeant, I cannot order you to an interview or any form of questioning that could be used in an article 32 hearing, or anything associated with NJP or any judicial proceedings, for that matter. But I can order you to be in the same room as Agent Zimmerman, at least for a while. Top has reserved the small conference room next to S-1 for one hour. Please go into the room with Agent Zimmerman, at least until you feel that you need advice from legal counsel.

“Understood, sir. Shall I go to the conference room now?”

The bizarre political bent of the ‘conversation’ was being carefully analyzed by O’Brien in real-time. He was beginning to understand the goals of whatever organization was behind this messy, conspiratorial, and almost comical fuck-story.

“You need to understand that you are being manipulated to think that this current government is important to the security of our nation. Your training has conditioned you to react to people with certain beliefs in personal freedom as reactionary and as a threat to the nation. You shot a person that was only involved in a political protest, because the military is being conditioned to think that way...”

This went on for another 30 minutes. O’Brien had no reaction and maintained a neutral face during the ‘conversation’. Zimmerman was nearing a belief, based on O’Brien’s blank face and lack of any reaction, that this was a very stupid jarhead that just did not understand the nuances of what was being said. Zimmerman considered that the man was simply not the smart person that they claimed, and concluded that O’Brien was but a skilled trigger-man that reacted capably to tactical situations, and was unable to understand the powers within of Justice Department and the FBI’s impunity per their unchecked use.

Agent Zimmerman, now thinking that he was dealing with a simpleton, took a different route.

“We know you really like the Marines. If we choose to prosecute you, the Marine Corps will discharge you and you will not get to be a Marine any more. If you want to stay here, you need to think about saying certain things when we reveal your name to the public.”

O’Brien almost laughed, but determined that he might as well take his bait, which could provide an opening into their organization.

“I certainly would not want to leave the corps, Mr. Zimmerman. As long as it is not against Marine Corps regulations, what should I talk about? And why would anyone care about who I am? Why bother telling everyone my name?”

Zimmerman smiled at his self-perception of cleverness. He was further convinced that O’Brien was a fool.

Zimmerman started to talk about the major points that should be discussed when O’Brien interrupted, “Excuse me, sir. but I cannot remember all of that. What would help me to remember, is a list of subjects, you know, ideas you want me to talk about, specific things that you want me to say, and other background stuff to help me understand all of this that is being said.”

“Fine, we’ll have talking points and additional information for you in a few days.”

O’Brien departed the room as the FBI agent pulled his phone out to make the call.

“Yes, sir. We have him. It may be easier than we thought ... no sir, first we’ll have to write some dialogue for him to help him make some convincing public statements ... No, sir don’t think so by end of the week ... yes, sir.”

O’Brien returned to his small work-table, to the side of Carlton’s desk, with an evil grin on his face. O’Brien interrupted Carlton as she was pounding away on her keyboard.

“Hey, POG, wanna get chow at In-N-Out? Ask the ‘others’?”

Carlton immediately knew something was up.

“Sure, why the fuck not, you stupid grunt. It would feature one less meal at the 62 area chow hall, and one less chance for colon cancer.”

O’Brien never failed to be amused at Carlton’s mess facility comments.

Zimmerman heard the exchange and believed his assessments of the Marine’s mental capabilities had been correct.

Oceanside, Ca

Climbing into his truck, O’Brien cautioned her with a signal to be quiet. They talked about nothing of import as he traveled the length of I-5 that goes through Pendleton.

Taking their orders to an outside table, O’Brien started as they sat.

“We found bugs in her apartment. There may be something in my truck because I noticed a wire hanging below my dash this morning. I do not know if there are other, unknown members, that this group has watching, but for now, we all need to assume we are bugged. Doubt that my space in the barracks is bugged, as I always keep an indicator tab on the hatch and on top of any sliding glass in the windows ... Pistol, need that tracking shit installed ASAP.”

“You got it, boss. Here’s a print-out of the non-class specs. The S-6 nerds are setting up a seperate IP address, they gave some techno-babble about DNS shit and spoofing, and for us to stream data to various computers.”

“Spoofing?”

Carlton resigned herself to explaining to the plebiscite.

“They’re going to fuck with the DNS cache to redirect shit to another computer.”

O’Brien did not acknowledge Carlton’s geek expansion.

“The timing will be good. The ‘Blues Brothers’ are at battalion almost every morning just after formation and fuck around with the staff for one or two hours, then go elsewhere. So that’s your window for installing your super-secret squirrel stuff. What about other bugs?”

Carlton replied, “Unless they did something weird like drugging the duty to get at the key locker, we can assume that the S-2 space is not bugged. But we still do not know if this group has other eyes in the battalion, so be aware of surroundings and personnel when we talk or do stuff...”

O’Brien remembered another issue.

“Y’all are not gonna believe this shit. The Blues Brothers want me to make a bunch of anti-government statements in exchange for no prosecution for whatever bogus charges are being concocted. Zimmerman is convinced that I am a drooling idiot so is putting all of this stuff on paper for me to study and read. He is convinced that I will make a public statement.”

Jake wryly commented, “Well, you are a drooling idiot. In any case, Lieutenant Garza does need to look around his place without being obvious. Pistol, do you have a bunkie?”

‘Nope, not for a while. The wing of that deck belongs to the platoon, so all NCOs have their own space, except Crammer and Jammer. They still are bunkys and have not bothered to move into separate rooms. The only people outside the platoon on the deck have been the duty and the OD. We normally lock the deck down when we go to the field. But I’ll ask around and look at duty logs to see if any maintenance or other people have been around.”

O’Brien had ordered his usual ‘animal-style’ so was eating carefully and slowly to avoid trashing his charlies, and to enjoy the meal. The others had ordered the conventional burger and fries, while O’Brien always did a double-double - mostly because it reminded him of Whataburger. Jake had two napkins stuffed into her collar and some more on her lap. She demolished her burger in five minutes.

Opie quipped, “she’s a growing girl, want some of my fries, Jake?”

“No way. What the fuck is on your fries?”

“Geez, get away from your desk sometimes, it’s called ‘animal-style’.”

Garza and Pistochini returned to S-2 as they actually had some assignments on the training schedule. O’Brien and Carlton no longer had any tasks assigned by battalion. So they were free to enjoy the afternoon. They were talking quietly when they heard a group of young PFCs and lance corporals at the next table.

“Anyone know who that is? I am fucking telling you people, that is the ‘Assassin of Fallujah’. Fucking pinned down a company-sized bunch of jihadists. Killed about half of them until they finally got shit on station. I know a guy in their Two-shop that talked about him all the time.”

“You talking about Burlington? He’s a shit-bird; got caught with drugs and shit. I would not ask that fucker for the time of day...”

A lance corporal approached the two staff NCOs. “Afternoon, staff sergeant. Excuse me, are you with the MEU’s scout/sniper team?”

Aside from wondering why these junior troops are away from their unit during the mid-day, O’Brien gave a smirk to the young marine prior to his troll.

“What?!? I’m with S4, I work in supply.”

O’Brien was happy that he put on a charlie shirt without ribbons.

“They have some dickhead, I think it’s a Staff Sergeant O’Brien, running the platoon. He’s a real jerk. If you are ever at area 62, stay away from the battalions, he likes to smoke a snuffy just for the fuck of it.”

“Okay, thanks, staff sergeant...”

Jake Carlton was almost shaking from holding in laughter, then suddenly ended her mirth, taking on a grave expression. Carlton waited for the disappointed junior troops to walk away.

“Opie, I think I know who one of their ‘spies’ is, or was. Lance Corporal, now Private Burlington that currently resides in the brig; probably on his way to a BCD. He’s a real case. A wannabe. Talks a lot of government conspiracies, goes on and on about weapons, tactics, whatever. And because he’s a line-company reject, we were using him as a non-class clerk until NCIS led him away in cuffs. I think that this is our first link outside of the feds. I’ll run his info tonight and see what connections can be found. If we find something, it may be time to see the captain and run this up the flagpole. Or, maybe send it to your lawyer back in Texas for his connections...”

“I guess we can wait until later to bring this up with the LT? Good to go to his office for a closed-door session?”

“Yeah, do it Opie, I’ll probably join you if going through TOR does not slow it down too much. Maybe I can get a faster series of VPNs to bounce it around a few times before I run that background check. My S-6 nerd says that they are getting watched by the base security contractors. So may have to do some other shit to avoid their attempt to finger-print my computer by bandwidth usage and sub-netting and other shit.”

“Jake, wanna stop by range 117 on the way back? The SOI is running another initial qual?”

Jake was openly laughing at the invite.

“To the sniper range? This is probably what you think of as a hot date.”

O’Brien turned red.

“Uh, ... no Jake, just thought you would like to see this stuff in slow motion. Once they get past this qual, everything speeds up. So it can be difficult to see how they adjust for unknown ranges and work with the spotter. It is actually interesting stuff.”

O’Brien chastised himself and hoped that she did not think he was hitting on her. He felt like an ignorant jerk. He could never do that to one of his best friends.

Jake did not catch his inner conflict and responded.

“Yeah, yeah, lets go, Opie. The gods know you get anxiety from being away from the range for too long...”

1/5 HQ, San Mateo, Camp Pendleton

Lt Garza did not seem surprised.

“Well he does fit the mold - the disaffected loners and poor performers and other such incompetents are easily recruited and radicalized ... Opie, you going to run this up to your sources?”

“Yes, sir. It is being looked into very soon, perhaps now.”

“Oh, the S-2 from 7th Marines was out at the SOI; said you were at the range this afternoon. What did you think of their current DM class?”

“They had two that I would trade your soul for, sir. One of them is this outstanding kid that had never touched a firearm until boot camp. His parents are from Jamaica, and he grew up in the Puerto Rican mountains and jungles. Captain DeLoach said that they could not get him to settle down for the first few days at the stumps - the kid had never seen desert. If he stays around, they’re going to send him back to SOI for more schools. They had the guy shooting at 800 with an M14 and doing better than almost the S/S people shootin M40s.”

Carlton knocked and entered. “Did you tell the LT? Comments and suggestions, sir?

“Yes, in fact I do have a suggestion. Look at S-4. It seems that half of their people are rather unhappy. Some may fit the same mold as Burlington. And speaking of, having a drug dealer in our midst for a few months will cost us too much time and money - NCIS suggested to Division to double the rate of random piss tests for H&S. So how do you two feel doing a few hours a week of watching people piss in a bottle?”

O’Brien grimaced at the thought and shook his head, “Sounds like a job for the S-1 and comm platoon and supply staff NCOs, sir.”

Carlton shrugged, “does not bother me nearly as much as it bothers the women that I have to watch piss.”

As O’Brien and Carlton left the S-2A’s office, she gave him a pointed look and he gave her an affirmative nod. Looking at his watch, he walked to the young corporal’s duty analyst desk in the inner office.

“Corporal, log out of the computer and sign out your duty log to me and take an hour for chow. I need a secure computer for writing a report to Quantico.”