“Perhaps, we’ll have to wait and see.”
A few minutes later, Jen had to go. With another kiss blown at the screen, Jen ended the call. Sitting back in his chair, Mitchell picked up his phone and re-read the text message, trying to see if there was more to it than met the eye. He fought the urge to give Ortiz a quick call. Mitchell tossed the phone down on the table, stood and looked about his cluttered apartment, looking for some clean or reasonably clean-enough clothes to wear.
5
Mitchell parked his jeep in his usual spot, leaving his old, worn sunglasses on the dash. He took a quick look around and smiled when he saw a family of deer slowly making their way across the grassy field in front of the main complex. Security on site was supposed to be first-rate with sensors and cameras covering every inch of the site, but somehow every day the same family of deer found a way back onto the grounds where they happily grazed on the manicured lawns.
The Polaris Operations complex with its administrative buildings and extensive training grounds was spread out over three-hundred acres in the woods north of Albany. The creation of Major-General Jack O’Reilly US Special Forces (retired), Polaris Operations was a very discreet, private organization that specialized in military, police, and civilian training, along with consulting services that could deploy anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice. Although it looked more like a dark gray storage warehouse than an office complex, the main building housed the offices of the key personnel who ran the operation, twenty-four-seven.
Dressed in a pair of khaki slacks, dark brown shoes, and a freshly pressed dark green polo shirt, Mitchell stepped inside the complex, handed over his 9mm SIG Sauer P220 pistol to the security guard, and then casually walked through the metal detector as he had hundreds of times before. Once cleared and electronically signed in, Mitchell thanked the guard, a former soldier who had lost an eye to an IED while serving in Afghanistan. Unlike many other security organizations, O’Reilly insisted on giving injured military and police vets a chance to apply for work at Polaris.
Mitchell’s team had been moved to active reserve status after returning from Colombia just over two months ago. He and his team had been confined to training duties at Polaris, until told otherwise. O’Reilly had told him — in no uncertain terms — that it was for his own good, but Mitchell still resented being placed upon a shelf even if, deep down, he agreed with his mentor.
He made his way upstairs and was greeted at the entrance to General O’Reilly’s office by the general’s personal assistant, Tammy Spencer, who smiled when Mitchell stepped inside. “Long time, no see,” said Spencer with a wink. “I was beginning to think you had found someone else to spend your time with.” She was dressed in a black blouse and a mid-length gray skirt. Spencer rarely wore jewelry other than brilliant white pearl earrings, which stood out against her warm brown skin.
“Hardly, my dear, there is only one Tammy Spencer in the world, and I have missed you too,” replied Mitchell with a smile on his face. Their banter was nothing more than two friends innocently toying with one another. Tammy Spencer had recently married a NYPD sergeant and had just returned from her honeymoon in Jamaica.
“As much as I would love to chat with you, you had best go. The general is already waiting for you,” said Spencer, pointing down the carpeted hallway with her finger.
“Anyone with him?”
“Not yet, but I was asked to page your better half a few minutes ago.”
“I thought that Nate had the day off today.”
“Well, he’s at work, and you are going to be late if you don’t get a move on, mister,” said Spencer, tapping her pencil on her desk, telling him that the conversation was over.
Mitchell walked down the hall until he came to O’Reilly’s office. As was his habit, General O’Reilly’s door was wide open. Gently knocking on the door, Mitchell waited for O’Reilly to finish his work.
O’Reilly looked up and smiled. “Don’t just stand there, Ryan, please come on in and take a seat,” said the general, pointing to a chair in front of his polished mahogany desk. A highly decorated officer within the U.S. Army, O’Reilly had spent the majority of his time in the U.S. Special Operations Command and had a reputation that was still widely respected in the Pentagon, and worldwide in the Special Forces fraternity. A fitness fanatic, O’Reilly could still outrun and outlift most men half his age.
Mitchell sat and waited for O’Reilly to speak.
“So, how’s the shoulder treating you?” asked O’Reilly.
“Not too bad. It’s still a little stiff, but it’s getting better by the day,” said Mitchell as he stretched out his right arm. “Also, the doc said I suffered some nerve damage when Rover chomped down on my left arm, but aside from that, I’ve never been better.”
“Well, that’s good news. Luis and I had a chat yesterday, and he is more than impressed with you and your team’s training of the Kosovar police.”
“Thanks, I’ll pass that on to the team. It’s easy to teach when the folks you are training are well-motivated to learn.”
“How are things going at home?” said O’Reilly, looking deep into Mitchell’s blue-gray eyes, studying them, looking for any hint of hesitation.
“Fine, Jen’s all moved in… not that you would know it. We have stuff all over the apartment. I spoke with her last night, and she seems to be enjoying herself over in Tokyo. Aside from that, there’s really nothing new or exciting to report from the home front,” said Mitchell with a slight shrug.
“That’s excellent news.” Standing up from behind his desk, O’Reilly reached over to a silver carafe on a side table, poured himself and Mitchell a couple of cups of freshly brewed coffee. If there was one thing you could always count on in O’Reilly’s office it was an inexhaustible supply of fresh coffee.
“Sir, is there something on your mind?” asked Mitchell as he accepted the coffee.
O’Reilly walked over to his door and then closed it. Taking a seat behind his desk, he clasped his hands together on the desk and then took a deep breath. “Ryan, I know everything may seem to be all right on the surface between you and Jen, but you were deep undercover for several months and that can affect a man, even one as grounded as yourself.”
Mitchell sat there quietly for a moment, not entirely sure what to say. Clearing his throat, he said, “Sir, I can assure you that I feel fine.”
“I have no doubt that you do, Ryan, but this organization is very much like the military. We are in the people business. You and your people’s health and welfare are my responsibility. I have read the report from the psychologist, and he agrees with you. He feels that you are doing fine. He doesn’t see any long-term mental health issues from your recent assignment, which of course is good news,” O’Reilly said with a smile. “All he asked is that you visit him again in one month’s time to see how things are doing.”
“Sounds fair,” said Mitchell, barely able to control his growing excitement. It was exactly the news he had been hoping for.
“So, as of now, Ryan, you and your team are immediately placed back on active duty,” said O’Reilly. Walking over, he grasped Mitchell’s hand and firmly shook it.
“Thanks, sir, that’s great news. I don’t mind telling you that I was going squirrelly waiting to be cleared by the doc.”
“Good, now let’s talk about your future.”
There was a knock at the door. Tammy Spencer slowly opened the door and then stepped aside as Nate Jackson, dressed in a camouflage uniform, entered the office.
O’Reilly said, “Nate, take a seat and Tammy please leave my door open.”