Op File Treason Read online

  Op File Treason

  Call Sign Warlock

  J. Clifton Slater

  A Galactic Council Realm Novel

  July 2018

  My name is J. Clifton Slater and I write Military Action Adventure both Ancient and Future. Here is a list of my series and books:

  Call Sign Warlock

  Op File RevengeOp File Treason

  Galactic Council Realm

  On StationOn Duty

  On GuardOn Point

  Clay Warrior Stories

  Clay LegionarySpilled Blood

  Bloody WaterReluctant Siege

  Brutal Diplomacy

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The use of medical, chemical, and biological terms is my interpretation from research and should not be taken as medical, professional, or scientific gospel.

  Hollis Jones, my editor, is an angel with a big red pen. She keeps me reined in when I lose focus of the main story and provides inspiration for Warlock’s personality and sense of humor.

  Authors always draw on people they know to create strong characters. In this book, a powerful force of nature and a truly talented lady allowed me use her name and occupation. Much thanks to the amazing Jamie Augenstein, DVM.

  Readers have many choices and I thank you for selecting my book for your reading pleasure.

  J. Clifton Slater

  [email protected]

  Op File Treason

  Chapter – 1 Friend at the Mountain Lake

  The red squirrel nibbled on the acorn, blinked his big eyes, and watched the strange creature. This was the third day it had invaded his territory. On the first day she, at least the squirrel assumed it was a female based on the scent, squatted on the shore of the lake and unpacked a bag. With a chance for scraps, the squirrel ventured from the tree. But she disappointed him by meticulously cleaning up after eating. Then she attempted to climb a tree which caused a shiver to vibrate the squirrel’s long bushy tail. Would she invade his home? Out of fear of a potential predator, he scurried onto the high branches. But the clumsy creature could only manage to elevate its body to shoulder height before lowering down and trying again. She’d raise up and lower, never gaining even a second limb. Realizing such an inept tree climber was no threat, on the third day, the red squirrel pulled an acorn from his stash, cracked the shell, nibbled on the tasty center, and watched the strange creature.

  Retired Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich finished her last set of pullups, flexed her hips and drew her legs up. After threading them through her arms, she hooked the branch with the back of her knees. Letting go with her arms, she stretched downward and reached for a stone laying on the ground.

  “Good morning friend,” Diosa greeted the red squirrel as she picked up the large stone and lifted it to her chest. Then, she began her first set of inverted, weighted sit-ups.

  Five sets later, Diosa dropped the stone, grabbed the limb and flipped her legs over her head. She landed on her feet, smiled and spoke to the squirrel, “I spent over half my life starting the day with physical training. You don’t expect me to slide into scuzzy civilian habits, do you?”

  As if answering, the squirrel peeled off a section of acorn shell and spit it out.

  “Exactly,” Diosa said accepting the squirrel’s action as agreement.

  She walked to a small pack, grabbed a canteen and took a sip of water before squatting down. The rod, reel, tackle box and bucket with ice for her catch of the day, lay unpacked beside her. The first two days, she cast out a line and trolled from the bank, unable to sit and relax. Realizing the idea of idling away the day fishing went against her nature, Diosa began to explore the area around the mountain lake. Finding nothing of interest, she settled for exercising and throwing big rocks out into the water to watch the ripples. This was a different world from her life as a Striker and it wasn’t sitting comfortably with her.

  Sunlight reflected off the calm mountain lake. Diosa lifted the goggle from her right eye to let her sensors take in the stimuli.

  Waves of sound, some ultrasonic and above the capacity of human hearing or infrasound and below an audible level, drifted to Diosa. She clamped her hands over her ears and closed her left eye.

  Far off, a swish as if a brush lightly stroked the bristles of another brush washed over the sensor. Then, the soundwaves increased in frequency and it became a rhythmic swish. Coming from the higher mountain slopes, the rustling started on her right. Opening her left eye, she gazed up at a brown and white bird of prey. Seemingly floating in air, the osprey dipped before powerful flaps of its wings allowed it to rise a little. Her sensor detected the normally inaudible rubbing of the bird’s feathers against each other as they pushed against the air. Then, the osprey flapped once, folded its wings back, and shot like a missile towards the surface of the lake.

  Bad attack angle, thought the retired Marine. At that steep an incline, a combat shuttle or gunship would smash into the landing deck.

  The osprey at two body lengths above the lake, snapped open its wings. With one hundred eighty centimeters of curved feathers, muscles and bones controlling its flight, the bird lowered its tail and extended talons as big as Diosa’s hands. Each as sharp as the blade of a katana, the hooks vanished beneath the surface. With most of its legs underwater, the bird’s flight created twin rooster tails before the wings flapped. The feathers at the tips glancing off the water. Then, the bird of prey’s wings furiously beat the air. Its legs plowed the water for another meter before the osprey gained height. The talons emerged clutching a silver spotted mountain trout. The fish squirmed twice before the talons sank in and the fish lay dead as the bird turned gracefully and flew back towards the mountain.

  Blitzkrieg, thought Diosa, not unlike a Striker Team using concentrated force and rapid speed to overwhelm an enemy and secure a ship’s corridor.

  Deciding, she’d had enough of communing with nature for the day, Diosa Alberich shouldered her pack, picked up the fishing gear and, with a nod to her friend the red squirrel, walked up the bank.

  At the top, she marched through an empty fishing camp. In season according to Spencer Tygo, the lodge’s owner and manager, the camp would be filled with fishermen and guides. Now, it was simply a cleared spot in the forest. On the other side of the camp, she located the trail running adjacent to the mountain stream and headed down the mountain. Picking up her pace, Diosa smiled at the beautiful day. Or was it the steep twenty-four-kilometer trek back to the lodge. She wasn’t sure which brought her the most pleasure.

  ***

  It was exhilarating to jump from rock to rock, stretch out her legs while crossing the high plateau and then race, bobbing and weaving, down the final grade. Under two hours later, Diosa reached the foothills where the stream slowed and pooled. When the mountain stream became a low waterfall into the lodge’s lake, she veered off the trail and cut through the woods.

  While still in the tree line, she noticed a limousine in the guest parking lot. Not wanting to answer questions about the accommodations, although they were nice, or disturb Spencer while he sold a client a hunting or fishing package, Diosa angled to her right and back towards the stream. The woods hugged the lakeshore and the retired Marine worked her way to the front of the lodge. If she approached the porch from the side, she could sneak around, unseen, to the kitchen entrance.

  At the thought of the kitchen, hunger pains reminded her she’d been out all day with only water and a light snack. Deciding to brave the questions and bother Spencer, she started to step onto the path out of the woods. But she stopped and glided back behind a tree beside the trail.

  A man in a suit stood on the porch scanning the surrounding woods and the outbuildings. The bulge on
his hip could only be from a heavy pistol. His bearing screamed military and the sunglasses hid his eyes as he scanned for targets. Even standing still, there was controlled tension about him. It caused her to pause. Although Warlock didn’t know the man, she recognized the type.

  Wealthy people traveled with bodyguards for protection from assaults or to prevent kidnappings. Why shouldn’t the visitor with the limousine be one of them?

  Except, the man on the porch wasn’t simply there for personal protection. Not his variety, he was a rabid dog on a thin leash straining to be set loose. Retired Master Sergeant Alberich recognized the type because, until recently, she had been an attack dog for the Galactic Council Marine Corps. A Strike Kill Team Leader willing and able to race into harms way and kill anyone in her sights. The man on the porch might not have been a Striker, but he carried violence not far beneath the surface of his finely tailored suit.

  Fading back into the woods, Diosa sat down and waited for the engine to spool up. Once the limousine was red taillights on the access road, she took the path to the Tygo Family Hunting and Fishing Lodge.

  Chapter – 2 Tygo Family Lodge

  Diosa shoved through the lodge’s main door and strolled across the polished wooden floor. One side of the great room had animal heads mounted on the walls along with antique hunting rifles. Safes in a separate room held the working weapons and the ammunition. The other side of the room displayed trophy fish mounted on the walls. Between the game fish, upright rods were as numerous as strings on a harp. Below the rods, shelves lined with reels, offered the fishermen an assortment of equipment. Halfway across the room, Diosa caught a glimpse of Spencer in his office slumped over cradling his forehead in his hands.

  Three days ago, when Diosa checked in, she went directly from the front door to her room then to the kitchen for a meal. Being off season and her the only guest, made for an informal reception. She’d never had an opportunity to enter the manager’s office. After placing the rod and reel in their proper locations, she dropped the pack, tackle box and the catch bucket on a table.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Tygo,” Diosa requested from the doorway to the large office. Then she lifted her goggle before asking. “Do you want some company? You look like you could use a friend.”

  She could sense the ammonia in his sweat and the concentration of carbon dioxide in the air from his heavy breathing. The manager was troubled.

  “Ah, Miss Alberich. It’s nothing to be concerned about,” the manager assured her. “How was the fishing?”

  Diosa for a heartbeat almost corrected the man. Then, she remembered her title now was Miss, or according to the young clerk at the spaceport shop ma’am, which also jarred the former Master Sergeant. Peering around the office, she noted a wall mounted display case. Although the late afternoon sunlight reflected off the glass blurring the content, she could make out military ribbons and documents.

  “What are those?” Diosa inquired as she crossed the room and stood in front of the case.

  “In a twisted sort of way, that’s how the lodge came about,” Spencer replied as he came from around his desk. “Those medals and commendations are Frank’s, Earl’s and Rufus’. The three brothers and my ancestors who founded the lodge.”

  “I sense a story,” ventured Diosa.

  Before Spencer could reply, the lodge’s cook appeared in the doorway holding a tray.

  “Spencer. I’ve fixed plates for you and Miss Alberich,” the heavy-set woman explained as she lumbered into the office. She placed the tray on the corner of the desk. “I told Charlie I’d get home early tonight. There’s a live band in town and you know how much I enjoy dancing.”

  “That’s fine Ethel,” Spencer said as he lifted the cover from a plate of ham, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans and a biscuit fresh from the oven. He started to hand the plate to Diosa.

  “No Spencer, that one is yours,” Ethel scolded the owner of the lodge. “Miss Alberich’s is the other dish.”

  “What’s the difference?” Spencer inquired as he began lifting the lid from the second plate.

  “Our Master Sergeant has dietary requirements,” answered Ethel.

  On the second plate, the serving of potatoes was half the size with barely a dab of gravy. The ham on the other hand was twice the generous portion of Spencer’s. They had about the same quantity of green beans.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Diosa commented as she took the plate offered by Spencer.

  “My Charlie was a Marine,” replied the cook. “He told me the only thing that kept him going during the rough times was the thought of my cooking. When he got home, I fixed that man a meal with all the fixings. Then, I dragged him away from the table and took him dancing. And that’s where I’m going now. Good night.”

  “Good night, Ethel,” Spencer called out. “I’ll see you for lunch.”

  “It’s nice of you to let her have the mornings off,” Diosa said as she cut into a juicy slice of ham.

  “Only during the off season,” Spencer explained. “During hunting and fishing seasons, she and I work long hours. Off season, I’m on my own for breakfast as you’ve noticed.”

  “Tell me about the brothers,” encouraged Diosa while pointing at the display case filled with military paraphernalia.

  “Earl, my great, great grandfather and his brothers Frank and Rufus served in the Galactic Council military during the Great Schism,” Spencer replied. “After the war, they came home to rebuild their lives. Frank Tygo started an insurance firm and Earl went back to construction. The lodge, according to the stories, started because of Rufus.”

  “This was his dream?” inquired Diosa looking up at the beams spanning the high ceiling and the rich wood paneling. “It is like something out of a fairytale.”

  Spencer laughed and shook his head.

  “More like something out of a nightmare,” he stated. “Or from mental health therapy.”

  “Please explain how this grand building is anything except the dream of a person seeking a place in the wilderness,” requested Diosa.

  ***

  “Frank Tygo served as an intelligence officer during the war. When he returned, he started an insurance firm and married a socialite. They never had children but spent their lives as patrons of the arts. The firm struggled at first despite Frank’s contacts among veterans,” related Spencer. “At the same time, Earl took his training from the Navy and became a top construction superintendent. Lucky for me, he married and had four children.”

  “What about Rufus Tygo?” inquired Diosa when Spencer paused and stared at the military display for a long time.

  “Most of the medals and letters of commendation in the case were earned by Sergeant Rufus Tygo,” Spencer replied. “He was a Marine and participated in four major theaters of operation. At each, he received medals for bravery. Amazingly, he never suffered more than a scratch in combat. But the war left deep scars on his mind and soul. At one point the military pulled him out of his unit and put him on a morale tour. During the tour, he received standing ovations for his moving descriptions of the plight of the front-line troops. Three weeks into the tour, he demanded to be sent back to the front. After the war, Rufus returned home with a chest full of medals and no plans. Frank had seen one of his brother’s performances and suggested Rufus become a public speaker. He did. For a year, Rufus gave popular speeches at veteran’s groups. Then he disappeared.”

  Spencer took a bite of his dinner and chewed slowly.

  “Frank and Earl went looking for him. They searched hospitals and hotels to no avail,” continued Spencer after swallowing. “It was a fellow veteran who reported seeing Rufus in a rundown section of town. They found Rufus drunk and living in a shared flea-bitten motel room. The brothers convinced him to accompany them and they took him to Earl’s house.”

  “Earl was a hunter and that weekend the brothers took Rufus to the mountains and they camped out and discussed the future. Seems Rufus had nightmares and used drink to help him sleep. Plus, he hat
ed the crowds in the city,” explained Spencer. “Remember, Frank’s business wasn’t doing well and he begged Rufus to do speeches on behalf of the insurance firm. Rufus said he would, if the three brothers pitched in and bought some rural land. Rufus explained that a speaking tour for him was like combat. Attack, face the enemy, then rotate off the line. His issue was, he had no way to escape the crowds.”

  “They were camped out on this mountain?” guessed Diosa.

  “According to the legend, the very spot where the lodge sits,” confirmed Spencer. “Earl Tygo acted as foreman building the lodge and after completion, he lived on the property and managed the hunting and fishing business. His son took over as manager and his descendants have managed the lodge ever since. Hopefully my daughter, after she gets out of the Marine Corps, will manage the business.”

  “But you said the lodge was Rufus’ idea,” commented Diosa. “Didn’t he stay here?”

  “He donated his military bonus and the Pesetas earned from speaking to veteran’s groups and insurance customers to fund the lodge,” Spencer explained. “Under his instructions, the brothers bought far more land than they had originally planned. But Rufus didn’t stay at the lodge between speaking tours. He lived in the mountains. He’d come down for new clothing and a hot meal every once in a while. Years later, as the story is told, he didn’t return. It’s whispered that Sergeant Rufus Tygo still haunts the mountains as his body has never been recovered.”

  “What do you suppose happened to him?” inquired Diosa.

  “He was an old man the last time anyone saw him. Probably a heart attack and food for wolves,” Spencer replied. “We had a lot of wolves on the mountains in years past. Then, my recent visitor built an estate west of here and began organizing hunting parties. He claimed to love deer and the wolves were predators. His hunters devastated the packs and now the deer are overrunning everything.”