Still Alive Pt. 03

"Shall we?" Wright asked, gesturing toward an easeled sign indicating the location of the cloakroom.

She wordlessly nodded and stepped in the direction shown. He had removed his cover the moment he entered the building. He gave it to an attendant. Ashley checked her umbrella but chose to keep her stylish clutch with her. Mark tucked the stubs they received in his pocket. The clerk at the desk directed them to escalators ascending to the ballroom on the fifth floor. Ashley kept her hand comfortably tucked in the crook of Mark's elbow. He felt her fingertips subtly stroking his arm.

The couple took their assigned seats mere minutes before the opening ceremony began.

"Happy birthday, Marines! Semper Fi !"

"Oorah !" was the cacophonous response from a thousand uniformed men and women.

"On behalf of Robert Weller, the 37th Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, I bid you and your guests a welcome to the 240th Marine Corps Birthday Ball. Please rise as the Quantico Marine Corps Band plays the anthem of the greatest nation on this planet, as well as the Marine Corps Hymn."

Those who could, stood to their feet. Those who couldn't, squared themselves in their seats for the national anthem. "From the Halls of Montezuma" was then sung. Commandant Weller's opening address followed. Two slices of the enormous cake were cut with a Mameluke ceremonial sword and served to the oldest and youngest Marines present: a ninety-three-year-old retired sergeant major and a private who was nineteen. Dinner was then served to the more than two thousand people in attendance.

"The tenderloin was delicious. Better than most hotel food," Ashley said during a dance. "You said you've only donned this uniform twice before?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Quit it, Mark. Please. It's making me feel … old."

"Sorry. Yeah."

"When?"

"The first time was the graduation gala after my class's commissioning. The second was six years ago at President Brandy Mesa's inaugural ball at the White House. I wore my Mameluke, the officer's ceremonial sword, on both occasions."

"Were you able to meet her?"

"No. I never even saw her, unlike the first gentleman, who looked terrified. Doctor Lands has PhDs in both electrical and mechanical engineering. He's from the world of high tech and probably would've been more comfortable if there were whiteboards along a wall of the East Room where he could scribble schematics or write snippets of code. It might've been the first time he wore a custom-made tuxedo for all I know. Have you read any of his books?"

She shook her head.

"Unless someone ghostwrites for him, he's a gifted writer who delves into deep technical detail almost conversationally. His works have given me a number of … useful ideas."

She leaned back from his easy clutch to look into his eyes. She could see the implication behind his guarded words. Her subtle nod preceded a soft reply.

"I doubt he would want to know that."

"It'd probably ruin them both," he whispered.

She placed a knowing, acknowledging kiss to his neck with the corner of her mouth, just below his ear. It sent gooseflesh soaring down to his calves.

As they danced to a slow jazz ballad played by the band, Mark placed a palm slightly above the swell of her bottom. She wondered if he would notice an absent undergarment.

"Would it be improper if we were to leave now?" she asked, her cheek resting on his shoulder as they swayed.

"The ball ends at one o'clock, but I think leaving at twelve would be appropriate. Fifteen more minutes?"

"I don't mind. Tonight has been a nice respite, and a lot of fun."

They held each other close for the rest of the set then made their way back to their seats. Mark pulled Ashley's from the table.

"I'd like to visit the ladies' room," she said.

"The restrooms are in the corridor. I'll show you."

"I know where they are," said a tablemate who'd overheard. The woman rose uncomfortably with a groan followed by a rueful chuckle. "I've been there a few times already. You can come with me if you like."

"I will. Thank you, Captain," Ashley responded, turning to follow the pregnant woman.

"Not so fast, ma'am," a man spoke. "Wright. On my six. General Ernesto Gonzales wants a few words. With the both of you."

Mark quickly glanced at his guest. The wordless message she conveyed was obvious: I told you we needed to talk .

He turned to face the man who'd interrupted the ladies' departure. He didn't need to look toward the hips of the two sergeants flanking him. As they were wearing their covers indoors, he knew they were armed.

"What's going on, Colonel?" he asked.

"Follow me."

Mark bristled at his lack of an answer. Knowing the two sergeants would trail them, he placed his hand to the small of his guest's back, tacitly indicating his wish to stay between her and the unknown men on his tail.

The pace of Colonel Getz's steps as they left the grand ballroom caught Major Wright by mild surprise. They approached the elevators briskly. One of the two men behind him peeled away to call one.

As he did, Ashley said, "Give me a minute."

The only woman in the group of five quickly strode toward the vestibule of the restrooms. The other sergeant sprinted to catch up to her and stopped just as she passed through the door to the ladies' room. He turned on his heels, looking at the colonel for guidance on whether or not to follow her inside.

I'll snap your fucking neck if you do, dumbass, Mark thought.

The colonel held up a palm. The NCO obediently withdrew four steps away from the door looking decidedly and deservedly embarrassed.

Though Wright was lower in rank by two grades, he'd known Getz since they both attended Officer Candidate School. Mark considered him a friend, but only at arm's length.

"Stop screwing around with me. What's going on?"

Getz sidled up to him and quietly spoke. "Not in front of the kids, honey." He nodded subtly toward the elevator bay and the man standing four meters away near the vestibule.

"Cut the crap and give me the gouge," Wright said as quietly.

"I'm not sure. General Gonzales was happy as balls all night up until an hour ago when his aide pulled him out of the ballroom. Twenty minutes after that, he's telling me to find the sergeant at arms and to bring you and your date to a conference room downstairs."

"She's not my date. She's my plus-one."

"Bullshit, Major. I saw you coming pretty close to grabbing her ass on the dance floor when I was looking for the sergeant. Can't say I blame you, because it's a nice ass."

"Mind your manners."

"And that dress?" He whistled softly. "Woof  ."

"Knock it off before I shove my shoe so far up your tailpipe you'll be tasting your own turds. She⁠—"

"Isn't your date?" he said with his brows arched.

"She deserves more respect than you're giving her. So do I."

The colonel stared silently at the other officer.

"You're right, Mark. My apologies. That was inappropriate," he said as Ashley passed through the door from the restroom to rejoin them. "Here she comes."

A short while later, they were shown to a small conference room. Colonel Getz stepped two paces inside then stood at attention as did the major.

"As you were," said the two-star general seated at the head of the table. "Take a seat."

Mark and Ashley sat in chairs he'd gestured toward. Getz chose one at the opposite end.

"Sergeants, mind the hatch. Gunny, see if you can find me something better than this piss-poor coffee," he said, tapping a large disposable cup in front of him. "I've had a little too much wine and this swill isn't cutting it."

His aide removed the half-full cup and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Did you come directly from the ballroom?" he asked Wright.

"Yes⁠—"

"Ms. Martel stopped at the head," Getz interrupted.

"Why?" General Gonzales asked her.

She furrowed her brows. "To um … use it?"

"Don't play coy with me, Ashley. I'm not in the mood."

Mark was barely able to contain a recoil at how the general addressed her.

"Sometimes, a woman needs to pee, Ernie."

She'd used his common name which caused him to glare at her for at least five seconds. Not once had he been addressed as such by anyone in the presence of service members, except, perhaps, by his wife of thirty years.

What the hell? They know each other personally? Mark wondered.

"Sir, what is all this about?"

The senior officer leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He collected his thoughts to form his approach. When the general's gaze broke, he looked down at the large envelope resting on the table. From it, he removed a single legal-sized document and placed it in front of Wright.

NAME: Wright, Mark
RANK: O4-Maj
PMOS: 0588
FUTURE MCC: NA/TBD
ESTIMATED DATE OF DEPARTURE: WIE
ESTIMATED DATE OF ARRIVAL: WIE
ISSUED DATE: 12 Nov 2015 000001Z

On or before designated date, direct and transfer personnel to proceed and report to continental United States for further transfer to 2nd MSL BN 2nd Marine Division, Pentagon. Monitored Command Code (MCC) TBD per commanding officer. Current editions of Marine Orders P1300.8, 4650.30, 5512.4, P1000.6 et. al. may do not apply. May be authorized 45 0 days leave by commander in conjunction with permanent change of station.

"Sir, permission to speak freely?"

Gonzales nodded. "Granted."

"What the hell is this?"

"Your PCS."

"That much I know. WIE? I've never seen the designation."

"With immediate effect."

"With zero relo time and a total exclusion of assignment policy's exemptions? Who has the authority to strike them?"

"I do, and I have. You're already CONUS and sitting right here, son, so consider yourself transferred to my division as of now. You can contact logistics tomorrow and arrange for your personal belongings to be shipped stateside."

The men stared at each other for several wordless moments. Ashley carefully placed her hand atop Wright's thigh and gave it a gentle grasp, conveying to him that she was aware of facts he wasn't. He sensed her unspoken, "Trust me." He considered placing his hand atop hers to acknowledge her message, but hoped a quick flexing of his quadricep would suffice.

"I prefer not being called 'son,' Major General. It appears you and Ms. Martel know each other. Would you explain why she's in this room?"

"I won't call you 'son' if you won't call me an idiot like you just did. I'm sure you know full well why she's here."

Ashley's grip on Mark's leg strengthened. She caught his attention, and he turned to look at her. She cast her eyes down to the tabletop, and he followed their line to see her hand subtly forming the shape of the letter L. Her other hand met the tip of her thumb with its palm. He notched a brow, and she blinked an eye. In that instant, he caught the subtext and turned toward the two-star.

"Major General, this is so far beyond the policy⁠—"

"Read this," he interrupted, extracting another document.

On 21 July, 2015, 1500Z, a 767-type Boeing Business Jet crashed at an air base on the Al Bahbijn peninsula in Joint NATO theater under suspicious circumstance. Forward intelligence unable to determine cause. FDR and VCR were not sent to Boeing for data extraction so unable to intercept.

FLIR drone sent in response noted unknown individual extricated from vicinity near before following dawn. Method of concealment common training for MARSOC.

All MARSOC personnel accounted for during such time.

No sanctioned exercises or operations during such time. Suspect actions of someone similarly trained.

Correlation of all personnel assigned in area identifies ten potential actors.

Nine names were redacted. One was not.

Wright, Mark. Major, JONATO Doha, Qatar. approved leave 14 July, 2015 ⁠– 22 July 2015. Inactive pending medical clearance reenstatement currently on hold.

Five individuals are known first-degree read-ins to initial object contract with Wolfram Resources:

CinC/POTUS
VPOTUS
SecDef Dwight Runnels
LtGen Andrew Stanton
MajGen Ernesto Ruiz Gonzales

It is this command's strongest recommendation that charges be immediately brought against listed individuals on the following allegations and volition of the UCMJ.

Numerous dotted numbers of sections, subsections, and paragraphs followed.

"The Judge Advocate General will have you dead to rights, son. You're facing a court-martial," Gonzales warned as Wright read the list.

Mark's blood chilled. He was staring not only at the end of his career, but a likely incarceration in a military prison. He read the document once again, but slower and more carefully. The second pass allowed warmth to return.

"What is it?" Ashley softly spoke, gesturing at the papers.

He cleared his throat and placed the document face down on the table. "Classified."

The men stared at each other for several moments. The senior officer twiddled his thumbs idly.

"Sir, this doesn't make any sense. Why go through the rigmarole of having me reassigned to your command and MCC with something like this hanging over my head?" Wright asked and tapped the back of the papers. "You've deliberately signed up for a storm."

"I'm hoping that's not going to be the case. I transferred you into my division because I seriously doubt your previous CO would allow you to exit the service."

Mark needed a beat to parse the words he wasn't expecting to hear.

"I don't think the JAG would give a rat's ass if I did. I'd be recalled."

"Perhaps not," he countered.

Again, Wright felt Ashley's hand on his thigh. She didn't grasp or squeeze it. She softly and gently caressed it. Mark knew she was encouraging him to follow the lead, to travel the road.

"Major General, are you suggesting I resign my commission?"

"I'm suggesting no such thing, Major," he cautiously said. "How many years have you served?"

"Five months ago marked twenty-two."

"And commissioned for more than ten."

"Yes, sir."

"Ten years, four months, and three days, to be precise," the general added, then checked his watch. "Now four, and you've become one hell of a liability. The report in front of you serves as proof."

Mark remained silent and still.

"Resignation of commission sounds … defeatist. You're eligible, so retirement sounds more fitting, don't you agree?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your world isn't ending, son."

"After serving for more than twenty years with another two decades possible? My career … over ? With all due respect, sir, shove your laconism."

The general laughed. "Big word."

"It means⁠—"

"Solving crosswords is a pastime. I know what it means," he replied, laughing even harder. "Lighten your mood, son. You're barely forty years old. Sign these."

The general slid several more documents across the table.

Ashley again softly stroked Mark's leg. He caught another subtle wink.

Among the forms was an End of Active Service application lacking only his own signature. A TRS waiver was also pre-approved. Mark, letting his guard down a little, chuckled at the latter. Most active-duty personnel leaving the Corps were required to attend a Transition Readiness Seminar intended to reacclimate members to civilian life. The waiver was yet another signal that his detachment was telling.

The other forms were similar in nature: expedited and approved.

"You're serious, aren't you," Mark rhetorically stated.

The superior officer didn't reply with anything but a subtle nod.

The major signed the presented documents.

After a cursory review, the general tucked them back into the envelope.

"Getz, hand-deliver this to division headquarters ASAP. Lieutenant Colonel Jordan is expecting them."

"Aye, sir. I'll have them there in twenty minutes," he said, rapidly departing the room.

"Apologies for the delay, General," his aide, Dempsey, said. He stepped to the table and placed a carafe and a small nested stack of styrofoam cups next to his commanding officer.

"Thank you, Gunny. That'll be all."

The NCO nodded and departed.

"You were saying?" the general prompted, offering coffee to him and Ms. Martel. Both declined.

"This is all too convenient." Mark again felt Ashley stroke his leg, but more softly. "Intel didn't write that brief. I've seen their reports. Despite their own lack of it, intelligence at least knows how to use spellcheck."

"I discovered in recent weeks that you are an observant, calculating man. I don't understand why you're not a full-bird colonel like your friend Getz. If you'd've applied your skills differently … well, I might have screwed myself by accepting and approving your EAS application. Only time will tell."

"Then why did you?"

"That, Major Wright, can keep for now." He rose from his chair. "If you'll excuse me, my wife is already angry enough."

"At least give me something. I think I deserve it."

The man deeply sighed, looked at Ms. Martel for several moments, then turned his attention back to the major. "I suppose you do. Your skills and expertise could potentially take you … with discretion … in a new direction.

"And … by the way, the tickets and town car were on me," Gonzales said as he departed with the sergeants in trail.

"Midnight was thirty minutes ago," Ashley said after checking the display on her phone. "Good to go now?"

Mark nodded. "I'm tempted to shed my uni and walk out of here without it."

She laughed. "In your birthday suit?"

"Fair point."

Mark summoned their driver with a text message as the pair walked to the cloakroom to claim his hat and her umbrella.

"Where to first, Mr. Wright?" the man asked a short time later in the porte cochere.

"Ms. Martel's residence."

"Certainly, sir," he said as Mark entered the vehicle after Ashley.

The driver pulled into traffic and began driving north. The silence was conspicuous.

"What's going through your mind?" Ashley asked, breaking it.

Mark only shrugged his shoulders and continued watching the traffic. She noticed him rubbing the tips of a thumb and forefinger against each other in rapid circles. She'd observed how stoically guarded Mark's carriage had been during the encounter with Major General Gonzales and Colonel Getz, and concluded he, by displaying a tic, had lowered his guard to her at least a little.

"Hey," she whispered softly. "Talk to me. I'm not blind. I can tell you're⁠—"

"Processing. I'm … yeah. I'm processing."

She nodded understandingly. Hoping to offer some solace, she linked her little finger around his. He acknowledged her gesture by taking her hand, cradling it gently, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin.

"I know you wanted to talk earlier this evening. Were you planning on telling me you knew what was about to happen?" he asked.

"No. It wasn't that. I didn't know Gonzales was at the gala. I'll tell you later," she quietly said. That time, she was the one to gesture toward the driver by subtly pointing at the back of his seat. "It's safe to say I wasn't particularly surprised by what happened, but it was faster and in a different manner than I anticipated."

He arched his brows in curiosity, then, squeezing her hand again, the discussion ceased.

Ten additional minutes elapsed until the car stopped along the curb of Ashley's residence.