The Fourteenth Protocol

Chapter 6

6

It was midafternoon and across town, Cade’s father, Cal Williams, was pulling out of Dobbins Air Force Base in Marietta. The retired Navy pilot had a lot of friends still in active service at NAS Atlanta, the naval air station, which was located smack-dab in the middle of Dobbins. Since the base was primarily for reservists, much of it only came to life on the weekends. But, with all the activity in Iraq, Afghanistan, and North Korea, there weren’t many pilots left on maneuvers inside US airspace.

Cal always found an excuse to make his way over to the naval air station. He may have been retired, but he liked staying in touch with the guys. Cade had heard him say on more than one occasion that the only time he really felt alive was when he was being flung off the deck of a carrier and headed into harm’s way. Strange to hear that from the same man who had also told Cade how glad he was to have never killed a man, not directly anyway.

Cal’s job as an Electronic Countermeasures Officer, known as ECMOs, was to run the electronic gear that jammed enemy radar and produced false radar trails, making the enemy think there were US planes in a spot where they weren’t.

Cal always had the radio in his SUV tuned to WBS, so he could hear the news.

“. . . more reports coming in to the news desk now. The death toll in that Tucson bombing has risen again. Skyrocketed, in fact . . .” There was a short period of silence. It was as if the newscaster, Mike Slayden, had dropped his script or something.

“Ah, hellooooooo,” said Cal towards the radio with a little smile, wondering why Slayden had stopped mid-sentence while on the air.

There was a shuffling, echoey noise. Slayden was speaking but was turned away from the microphone.

“. . . what do you mean? But . . . but he was fine, I just talked to him thirty minutes ago,” Slayden continued. Cal’s expression turned serious. Something was dreadfully wrong. He’d never heard anything like this out of WBS radio before. Mike Slayden was a consummate professional and had been on the air there as long as Cal could remember.

“Mike, we’re on the air,” boomed a voice from the background.

A sound reminiscent of an office chair overturning, rushed footsteps, then Slayden’s voice trailed off as it moved farther out of range of the microphone.

“He can’t be! He can’t be! It was just a flesh wound. I talked to Stephen not thirty minutes ago! The shrapnel passed right through. They gave him twelve stitches and released him. The only thing he said was bothering him was the ringing in his ears from the blast . . .”

The voice was gone. More shuffling sounds were audible, then dead air space.

After a protracted silence, a voice came on the radio and said, “Folks, if you can bear with us for a minute here, ah, we’ve had some events here, right now we’re going to go to a station break. You’re listening to Newstalk 780, WBS Radio.”

A commercial began playing, and Cal sat baffled. He reached Cobb Parkway and turned left. Atlanta traffic was a royal pain in the ass most of the time but was light at this time of day. Cal continued north and passed the Big Chicken, a 1950s-style Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant built into the shape of an enormous chicken—a true Atlanta landmark. The Big Chicken always caused Cal to grin when he drove past the thing. It was the most well-known landmark in this part of the city—in this part of the state, for that matter.

A few minutes later, the commercials ended, and Cal turned up the volume.

“WBS. News, weather, traffic. Always on at 780AM. John Carden here, sitting in for Mike Slayden. The death toll at that deadly bombing in Tucson, Arizona, has risen from the earlier confirmed number of four, to twenty-nine.”

Cal’s eyes darted to the car stereo, his mouth hanging open.

“Earlier reports indicated four had died in the initial blast at a Little League baseball park in the Sabino Canyon area, a suburb of Tucson, Arizona. Another twenty-five were treated and released with minor injuries. Now, emergency officials at the Tucson Sheriff’s Department are confirming that every one of the twenty-five minor injuries have resulted in fatality. No explanation for the sudden spike in loss of life has been given at this time. We’ll have more on this developing story as it unfolds. Now, in other news . . .”

Cal turned the volume down, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know anyone from Tucson, but Mike Slayden sure must have. He couldn’t imagine a Little League baseball field being the scene of such a tragedy. Cal thought back to those days when Cade was a Little Leaguer. Cal had been an assistant coach for the first half of one season when his unit had been abruptly deployed. He missed the rest of the season. Cal remembered how upset Cade had been at his leaving. That was 1994. Cade was just six years old at the time.

The first George Bush was in office, and Cal’s unit was deployed to enforce the no-fly zone over Iraq. Serving your country was very important to Cal, but serving his son . . . well, that was a big deal too. Early on, Cal knew much of his son’s life would be spent without his dad around. It wasn’t exactly what Cal had intended. In fact, he never thought he’d qualify for jets in the first place.

But, he’d wanted to fly for as long as he could remember. And it’s not as if he was even married at the time, much less married with kids. One thing led to another, and the next thing he knew, he had qualified for a jet. He never told any of his Navy friends, but the truth of the matter was he struggled terribly in those early days of flight school. After he made it past the first few rounds of cuts, he knew most of these jobs with small jets involved killing people. Actually being the guy who was given the order to put his finger on a firing device and deploy a deadly weapon was something he wanted to avoid. Cal knew he’d do it. He knew if ordered he’d pull the trigger, but that he’d have hell to pay later. His conscience was different than the typical fighter jock. Those guys are warriors. They may not walk across a battlefield wearing armor, but they are warriors in their souls. Cal wanted to have a clear conscience later in life and to find a seat flying into a warzone where you didn’t have to pull the trigger was a dream come true.