“Wow. That’s incredible.”
“I know,” said Hess with a shrug. “And with the Summit coming up next Sunday, no one—and I mean no one—can stop us now.”
CHAPTER 51
On Monday, His Eminence had another appointment and couldn’t make it to the regular lunch at noon. So, Hess, sitting alone, ruminated about the Camp. He’d been building it, off and on, for five years with the work and muscle of One through Six, and various trainees. It was only finished to his liking within the last year. Located twenty miles from Santa Barbara in a forested canyon of the San Rafael Mountains, east of Santa Ynez Valley, Hess had put the Camp in the middle of the San Rafael Wilderness near the desolate plateau known as Hurricane Deck. It was surrounded by miles of back country seldom visited by campers or hikers. And like the marijuana farms growing in some of the adjacent canyons, it couldn’t be seen from the air—thanks to camouflage netting and thick tree canopies. Most of the foot trails into it were booby-trapped. Some with punji sticks, others with bear claws.
The Camp included a large operations tent, an underground armory for weapons storage, smaller tents for trainees, outdoor tables for seminars, a hidden helicopter pad, a target range for pistols and another for automatic weapons. A mock compound was set up for practice assaults. In addition, Hess had added two obstacle courses, a water-combat training tank, a pool covered by netting, and a man-made underwater-demolition pond. It all mimicked, as closely as Hess could manage, areas used for SEAL training in Coronado, California—training for sea, air, and land combat that many consider the most difficult military training in the world. Hess agreed. That’s why he copied it. Now, he needed someone else to step up and run it.
As if on cue, One hurried into the room. “Herr Hess, sorry to be late.”
“OK, this time. Take a seat. We need to discuss the Camp. Training. You need to look at it as an instructor now, not a trainee. After Sunday’s Summit, I may give you responsibility for future training. I’ll probably have to spend full time coordinating with our allies.”
“Of course, Herr Hess. I stand ready to help how, where, and when I can.”
“Don’t stand ready, sit ready.” Hess motioned to a chair. “Sit the hell down. And listen closely. I want to review the new training program.” One took a seat. Hess continued, “The first lesson is from a former SEAL training manual. You remember ‘drown proofing,’ don’t you?”
One grimaced. “Sure do. In the old pool. Hands tied behind our back. Feet bound. You shoved each of us in turn from the fifteen-foot diving board. Had to swim back and forth at least a hundred and fifty feet. If anyone failed, you fished him out.”
“Right,” said Hess. “But in the future, tell trainees they only get two attempts. If they fail, no more tries. They’re out. Darwinian, right?
“Yes, Herr Hess.”
“For those that make it, I want you to test them, just as we do now, with two daily runs through the mountains for two weeks. Each will continue to carry a thirty-pound pack, and the heavy Mark-43 Squad Automatic Weapons we have. It’s gun of choice for SEALs on patrol, you know.”
One smiled. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“We want world-class commandos. Nothing less. Men worthy of serving the Raven Society and our allies wherever or with whatever is needed. To make that happen, keep using the SEAL training syllabus, but with twists. In the past, as you know, like SEALs, each trainee got only three or four hours of sleep per night during the first two weeks. Make it three weeks in the future. Get rid of the chaff. With new allies, our pool of candidates will double, maybe triple.”
“This is exciting.”
Hess smiled. “Damn right. Now, listen. Those who make it get to advance to the second level. Advanced scuba lessons. Helicopter operations. Ground combat maneuvers. Knife fighting. Martial arts. Sniper training.”
“We got all that.”
“Yes, but in three years, only you and Two through Six completed training successfully. The rest were sold off. And—yeah—five others will join you soon. And perhaps a sixth. The golden boy is excelling in every category. But overall, building security forces has gone too goddamn slowly.”
“All that will change soon, right?”
“Exactly. After Sunday’s Summit, with more candidates and new facilities, we’ll be in much better shape. But we’ll need to intensify their training. It’s simple—we’ll weed out weaker trainees and yet build better forces faster. That job, One, could be yours: Securing the future for the Raven Society. How does ’Director of Training’ sound?”
One sat up even straighter and his smile beamed like a high-intensity flood light. “That sounds…amazing. Thank you, Sir. I won’t disappoint.”
Hess, about to say, ‘Bet your ass,’ heard a sound at the door. “Enter.”
Three stood on the threshold. “Herr Hess, we’ve finished packing for the Camp. When you and One are ready, we can head out.”
“Excellent,” said Hess. “One, we’ll finish training at the Camp today, tomorrow, and Friday. When His Eminence visits on Friday evening, we need to give him a demonstration he won’t forget. Full combat gear. Impress the hell out of him. The graduation ceremonies before the Raven Executive Committee will be Saturday. Then, the culmination of our work. The Sunday Summit. Only five days away. The allegiances formed there will not only magnify our effectiveness, but last lifetimes.”
CHAPTER 52
The weekend away in San Diego had been one of the best things he and Jayne had done in a long while. He still thought about everything going on, trying to figure out the connections and missing pieces, but the getaway gave him a chance to step back and see it with new eyes. By the time Monday evening rolled around, Ridge was almost relaxed. And then, as he was considering his dessert choices at the Oyster Bay Restaurant, his cellphone vibrated. “Damn.” He pulled his phone off his belt holster and looked at the caller ID. Terry.
“I’m going to take this out front,” he told Jayne. “I don’t want to bother anyone.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Terry?” Ridge said, heading for the entrance to the restaurant. “Give me a minute.”
When Ridge returned, he remained standing, cell in hand, slightly shaking. “We have to go.”
“We’re finished here anyway. I don’t need dessert.” She looked up at him, his face was so intense, she took his hand in hers. “Eric. You’re shaking.”
He looked down at his hand as if it didn’t belong to him. “Huh. Yeah. Worst since the Hulk. Doesn’t matter. We’ve gotta go. Now. I took care of the bill.”
She stood immediately. “What’s happened?”
“Kate’s been in a wreck. Really, really bad.”
Jayne nodded once. “I’ll pack. You check out and get the car.”
Tuesday morning, Jayne and Ridge met Terry in the hospital cafeteria at 8:30 a.m. Visitors’ hours started at 9:30. So Terry and Ridge had coffee. Jayne pulled a blue and white “Swiss Miss” packet from her purse and poured the brown powder into a mug of tepid water. Hot chocolate, on demand. As she stirred, Terry explained what he had learned.
“Her left arm and left leg were fractured. She took a hit to the left side of her head, but CT scans showed no skull fractures. The docs say she might develop TBI—traumatic brain injury—but it should be mild at worst.”
Jayne tried to smile. “Guys, I just know she’ll be OK. They don’t come tougher than Kate.”
