Code Name: Camelot (Noah Wolf #1)(21)
“I told you, the food here is great. Wait ‘til you taste the bacon, I’ve never been able to find any out in the world that was half as good.”
Noah took another sip of coffee, then set the cup on the table. “So what’s on the agenda for me today?”
“Well, this morning you’ve got to go see Doc Parker. He’s the shrink that decides where to place all the new recruits who come in. He’ll decide whether you’re actually an assassin, or if you belong in a support team. He’ll keep you busy until lunchtime, and we’ll come back here for that, then you’ve got two hours of PT. After that, you get a half-hour break so you can grab a shower, then they got you scheduled for weapons class. You’ll like that one, it’s pretty cool. You learn to use every kind of weapon you can imagine, and probably a thousand things you’d never think of on your own. Our boss lady works on the philosophy that absolutely anything can be used as a weapon, and she likes to make sure we all understand what that means.”
“So, even the support teams go through this training?”
“Well, at least some of it,” Marco said. “Let’s face it, there’s always the possibility that you and your team could be out on a mission, and something happens to you. That doesn’t necessarily mean the mission is over, and there’s a good possibility that your support team will be ordered to complete it. They need to know how to use the weapons, too.”
Noah shrugged. “I guess that makes sense,” he said. The waitress brought their plates, and the two men enjoyed their breakfast, chatting about inconsequential things as they ate.
When breakfast was over, they went back to the motel, and Noah stepped into his room. “I’m going to go grab a shower, myself,” Marco said, “and I’ll be back over here as soon as I’m done. You’re supposed to be at Doc Parker’s office by ten, so we got a little over an hour. See you in a bit.”
Noah waved. He started rummaging through the dresser of the closet to find some clean clothes to put on after his shower, then turned on the water. A quick glance around the bathroom showed his own favorite brands of soap, shampoo, shaving cream and even razors, and he had to grin. He thought for a moment about climbing into the jacuzzi, but then decided to just settle for a shower.
Twenty minutes later, he stepped out of the bathroom feeling more refreshed and alive than he could remember feeling in several months. The dresser held clean socks and underwear, and he found jeans and polo shirts in other drawers. There were nicer clothes hanging in the closet, including a couple of business suits, but no one had told him to get dressed up, so he decided to go casual.
He peeked out the door but saw no sign of Marco, so he lay back on the bed and picked up the TV remote. He clicked the TV on, and started flipping through channels, mostly just curious about what kind of programming would be available in a place like this, but then he stumbled across a news program and saw an announcer talking right next to a photograph of his own face. He turned up the volume to listen.
The announcer was talking about how Sergeant Noah Foster, who had recently been convicted of multiple murders in Iraq, had committed suicide in his cell at Leavenworth. Apparently, Sergeant Foster had left behind a suicide note in which he recanted his earlier claims that he had been innocent.
Reporters had interviewed the sergeant’s family, who declined to appear on camera, but said that he had always been a troubled young man. His grandfather was quoted as saying that he hoped Noah had made peace with God before he hung himself.
Noah shook his head. He wasn’t a bit surprised that his grandparents wanted to distance themselves from him, and a part of him understood and respected their feelings.
The reporter also interviewed his attorney, Lieutenant Mathers. She was shown on camera, loudly insisting that there was something fishy about his death. “Let me tell you something,” she said to the reporter. “We were preparing an appeal, an appeal that had a very good chance of overturning Sergeant Foster’s conviction, and there is no way, let me repeat that, there is no way that I will ever believe that man took his own life.”
The reporter went back to talking about the suicide note, and Noah turned off the TV. He wished there were a way he could let Lieutenant Mathers know that things had worked out for him, but there wasn’t. He was allowed no contact with anyone from the past, and that would include her. Hopefully, she would figure out that there was no way she could win before it destroyed her completely.
There was a tap on the door, and Noah called out, “Come in.” Marco stuck his head in.
“Ready to go?” Marco asked, and Noah rose from the bed, clicking off the TV as he did so.
“All set,” he said, and stepped outside, locking the door behind him. He followed Marco to a fairly new Ford Mustang, and climbed into the passenger seat as Marco got behind the wheel.
“Okay, we’re off to see the wizard, a.k.a. Doc Parker,” Marco said. “When we get there, I’m going to let you go on inside, and I’ll just wait out here in the car.” He held up a paperback novel. “Brought my own entertainment with me, so don’t worry about trying to hurry things along. I’ll be sitting outside when you get done.”
“No problem,” Noah said.
SEVEN
Doc Parker was a small man who appeared to be in his late 70s, maybe even early 80s. He had an office that sat in a little building all by itself, and he had been waiting for Noah when he arrived.