The Warren Files 04: Jim and Lisa

The Warren Files 04: Jim and Lisa

This story is a spin-off of my "Revenge in Advance: A Sequel" series, made up of "Revenge in Advance, A Sequel," in which Oscar escapes his wife's plot and gets his own revenge, followed up by "Revenge in Advance, Derby's Dose," a tale of what happened when one wife's revenge went too far, "Revenge in Advance - Pat," in which Oscar arrests and confronts the woman who started his odyssey and continued with "Revenge in Advance: Mona," in which the Task Force finally takes down the top conspirators.

The final story in that series (so far) is "Revenge in Advance: The Briefing," in which Oscar and the Task Force stop a plot against the president. There may be more stories in the series as time goes on.

The last two stories alluded to memoirs written by Oscar about his service in the Task Force. This is the fourth entry in those memoirs, and is written from his perspective and in his voice. Chronologically, the events of this story take place about five months after "Revenge in Advance - Pat" and about six months before "Revenge in Advance: Mona," however, the story (as presented by Oscar) was written after his retirement from the Force.

Each entry in this series can be read as a separate story, however, you may also want to read the previous entries in Oscar's memoirs, as some of the events in those stories are referenced here.

Many thanks to edrider73 for giving me permission to write this sequel and any others that may come from his original story, "Revenge in Advance."

I would also suggest reading Colinthedog's story, "Retreat," in which Oscar plays a role.

The camp in this story is the one referred to in my series, "The Camp," and the incursion mentioned here was first referred to in "The Camp Ch. 04: Gunny Rob." For those who have not read this series, the exploding chastity devices were part of "The Warren Files 02," and Frank gave the cabin to Oscar in "The Warren Files 03." Acme was first mentioned in "Justice Ch. 02."

And finally, many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (And yes, I DO moderate comments). And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

Prologue:

My name is Oscar Warren. I served with the HomeFront Security Task Force for 35 years, and retired after serving as the organization's first Cabinet-level officer in the White House. My personal story has already been told by others so I won't rehash that here. Simply put, I was once a normal American husband who loved my wife and was targeted by a vicious organization that irrevocably changed my marriage and ultimately, my life.

Under the advise of my counselor, I decided to write my memoirs -- my recollections, if you will -- of just some of the many interventions where I have been personally involved.

The following story has been culled from my own recollection, case files and notes. Where applicable, the names of the innocent have been changed. All the information presented here has been cleared for release by appropriate authorities.

HFSTF Case File #A00237851, Adams, Jim and Lisa:

It had been about five months since the death of Pat Witherspoon, the MMAS operative who turned my first wife, Renee, against me. After her death, I spent a month with my two children traveling the country, starting at Disneyland. I spent the next three months after that undergoing advanced training in everything from marksmanship to martial arts with agencies whose existence was kept secret from the American public.

For the benefit of those not familiar with the situation at the time this took place, please bear with me as I give a brief explanation.

MMAS, or the Mutual Marital Assurance Society, was a secretive company set up by a lawyer named Mona Larsen that manipulated gullible wives into spending $1,600 for "insurance" ostensibly designed to keep their marriages intact and their spouses faithful. Mona's desire for revenge on cheating husbands, however, morphed into a quest for political power.

In short, she now wanted to remake society to fit her female-dominant worldview and was willing to do literally anything to make that happen. For Mona and others like her, men were second-class beings to women, and existed only to serve the female of the species.

After Pat's death, the top tier of the organization went "dark," but spouses who had purchased their services were still filing claims. That meant trouble, and it was our job to try and intercede before those claims could be fulfilled. The organization also continued its undercover operations and projects.

Although Pat was dead, the Task Force had a gold mine of information, thanks to the computers we confiscated when she was taken into custody. Our techs and analysts had spent the last few months deciphering and correlating the information we gathered while performing interventions to protect the husbands who had been targeted.

I was just getting myself organized one Monday morning when Bill Jackson, my friend, boss and mentor, tapped on the door to my office. He popped his head in and smiled when he saw me look up at him.

"Got a minute or two?" he asked.

"Sure, boss, come on in," I said. "Care for a cup of coffee?" He hated my coffee and always ribbed me about it, but I liked it strong.

"Oh, what the hell," he said. "Sure, I'll take a cup if you have it." I poured him a cup and handed it to him. He took a sip and screwed up his eyes. "Damn, how do you drink that stuff?" he asked. I laughed as he sat the cup down. He pulled out a folder and handed it to me. "I got a case I need your help with," he added.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Are you familiar with Camp Rollins?" he asked. I shook my head.

"Sorry," I said. "Never heard of it."

"It's a camp for men up in North Idaho," Bill told me. "In fact, it's not too far from that pile of sticks Frank called a cabin. You know, the one he gave to you in his will." Of course, I remembered it. It sat on a piece of property overlooking Lake Pend O'Reille in north Idaho. I had been there a couple times to check the place out and was thinking about rebuilding it and turning it into my retirement home.

"Of course, I remember," I told him. Frank Michaels was the agent who worked with me after I first graduated from the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center. He died in the line of duty, but his last words never left me: "Get the motherfuckers, Oscar." I promised him I would. I still got a bit emotional when I thought about him.

"The camp is operated by an outfit called Rollins Enterprises," Bill told me. "They specialize in working with men. The camp is part of their program to help those who have been cuckolded and abused."

"So, what does that have to do with us?" I asked.

"One of their students claims he was targeted by MMAS," Bill said. "Pretty much the same scenario as you. Wife went to a spa retreat, blah, blah, blah. You know the rest."

"Sounds like a pretty standard intervention," I said. "No offense, but why send me?"

"Well, this particular case could have national security implications and I want my best man on it," Bill said. "You ever hear of G&S Laboratories?"

"Can't say that I have," I told him.

"It's a subsidiary of Acme Enterprises," Bill said. "You've heard of them, right?" Of course I did. Acme was a huge multinational company with their hands in damn near everything. "Most of what G&S does involves bio-chem research," Bill said. "And most of it's for the military. All hush-hush kind of stuff. Of course they say it's intended for defensive purposes, but you know how that stuff goes. Anyway, this kid is one of their top researchers. A real brainiac from what I've been told."

"I see," I said.

"There's more," Bill said. Of course, I thought. There always is. "You remember that case here a while back with the remote-controlled exploding cock cages?"

"Of course," I said. It hadn't even been a month since that intervention took place.

"Well, this appears to be another one of MMAS' pet projects," Bill said. Fuck, I thought. What now? "I've got the analysts working overtime to decipher Pat's notes. If they're involved in a scheme to unleash some kind of chemical or biological agent, we need to know and we need to know fast."

"Of course," I said.

"You'll be taking a company jet straight to Coeur d'Alene for this," Bill said. "An Idaho state trooper will meet you there and shadow you for as long as you're in the area. You may want to take a change of clothes just in case you end up staying overnight." He looked at his watch. "Wheels up in about 90 minutes, so you have just about enough time to pack and square things away with the kids." I nodded my head. "You can review the case on the way."

"You know I'll have to speak with his employer, find out what he was working on," I said.

"We're efforting that as we speak," Bill said. "Right now, I need you to get your ass up to Idaho and talk to this guy, find out everything you can."

"Okay," I said, placing the folder in my briefcase. After Bill left, I grabbed my things and made my way back to the small apartment I shared with the two children. I hated leaving them overnight, but they had become used to it by now and I knew someone would be staying with them. I made the arrangements for Marie Bergman, the woman who doubled as their part-time nanny and counselor, to stay with them and stopped by the school to let the children know.

I got to the airfield at the edge of the base and went to the small Lear jet that would take me to Coeur d'Alene. The pilot welcomed me and escorted me into the cabin, where I made myself comfortable. After the plane took off, I grabbed a bottle of ice tea and opened the case file.

Husband: Adams, James (Jim), age 32, occupation: researcher, employer: G&S Laboratories

Wife: Adams, Lisa, age 30, occupation: real estate agent

Children: None

According to the synopsis in the file, husband Jim responded to the MMAS "billing" statement and spoke to a representative in Denver. According to Jim, his wife, Lisa, along with the assistance of the local MMAS operative, demanded he provide information regarding a project he was working on. Failure to do so by a certain deadline would result in his "punishment," which was to increase in intensity the longer he held out.

Jim reported this to his supervisors. They eventually arranged for Jim to take a paid three-month leave of absence to attend the camp. Apparently, the benefit package Acme and G&S provided paid for the whole thing.

There wasn't much else in the case file, however, Bill had included an information packet on Camp Rollins. According to the packet, the camp worked with weak, cuckolded men who had been victimized and abused by their spouses. The program included intense physical training and psychological counseling. As an added bonus, legal services were provided to the men along with a 24/7 support line they could call if they needed assistance.

There was nothing in the case file to suggest Jim had been cheated on, and there was no information to indicate the type or intensity of the "punishment" MMAS and his wife would use against him. Nevertheless, I prepared myself for the worse-case scenario. I had seen first-hand what MMAS was capable of doing.

Finally, the plane began its descent to Coeur d'Alene's small airfield, named after Pappy Boyington, a famous Marine World War II squadron commander, located a few miles north of town. After the plane stopped, I grabbed my bags and headed to the terminal building, where I saw a black police cruiser sitting. I saw the lettering that indicated it belonged to the Idaho State Police, and headed toward it.

A uniformed officer exited the vehicle and stepped toward me, extending his hand. I met him by the front of his vehicle and shook his hand.

"Officer Warren?" he asked. I nodded my head as I showed him my identification.

"Yes," I said. "Please, call me Oscar."

"Cliff Jones, ISP. Good to meet you, Oscar," he said. He took my bags and placed them in the back seat, then opened the front passenger door for me. We got inside and he took off for the camp.

"Welcome to north Idaho," he said as we made our way. "First time here?" I shook my head.

"No," I said. "My third. Brought my kids up here a few months ago."

"It's a good place to bring kids up," he said. "You have a place in these parts?"

"Yeah," I said. "I inherited some property from a colleague here a while back. Looking to build my retirement home there some day."

"Well, this is the place to do it," he said. "How long you planning to be here?"

"Not sure," I said. "Depends on how everything goes. I may be here a couple days. Will that work for you?"

"No problem," he said. "I'll just need to let my wife know if you're staying overnight." We engaged in small talk the rest of the trip and he pointed out some things to me he thought I might find interesting -- mostly good spots for hunting or fishing. About 45 minutes later, we found ourselves at the main gate of the camp, where a man in camouflage waved us through after seeing Cliff's uniform and badge.

He pulled up in front of the main administration building and we both got out of the vehicle. I was impressed with what I saw. The place was laid out like a standard military camp and was immaculate, with well-tended lawns in front of the wooden buildings.

An attractive blonde receptionist in a professional-length skirt greeted us as we entered. Cliff and I introduced ourselves, showing our identification. She examined our credentials before picking up her telephone. After speaking for a few seconds, she looked back up at us.

"Commandant Sykes is expecting you," she said. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Yes, please. That sounds great," I said. "Black, if that's okay."

"Certainly," she said with a wide smile that showed off her dimples. Cliff and I entered the office to find a well-built man wearing a khaki uniform sporting a set of silver oak leaves, the insignia for a Lieutenant Colonel. He stood to shake our hands as we entered. With him was a barrel-chested black man wearing the same khaki uniform, except that he wore the rank insignia of a Sergeant Major. His name tag simply read, "Johnson."

"Please come in," the Commandant said. "I'm John Sykes, commandant of Camp Rollins, and this is our senior instructor, Dale Johnson." He directed us to chairs in front of his desk as the receptionist brought our coffee. I took a sip and nodded my thanks. It was strong, just the way I liked it.

"I understand you're here to speak with one of my students," John said.

"Yes, I am," I told him.

"Well, I'd like to know a little more if you don't mind," he said. "I've never heard of the federal HomeFront Security Task Force. What is that, exactly?"

"It's a combined public-private effort to combat an organization that specifically targets men," I told him. "There's a bit more to it than that, but that's the basic definition of who we are. This organization, by the way, has been responsible for a number of deaths and is run by a person hell-bent on forcing her views on society, by any means necessary. This particular case, by the way, could have national security implications."

"Damn," John said. "How much more fucked up can things get? Well, of course, we'll cooperate in any way we can. Mr. Adams' group is undergoing their normally-scheduled session right now, so Dale here will take you on over and sit in, if that's okay."

"Of course," I said.

"I understand you may be here overnight, is that correct?" John asked.

"Quite possibly," I said. "I'll need to go over the information he provides, and it's possible I may need more background to get to the bottom of his case."

"Okay," he said. "We'll get you and Cliff here set up in the VIP quarters just in case. Welcome to Camp Rollins." With that, the meeting was over and Dale escorted Cliff and I to another building where Jim's class was undergoing a group session. Before we went inside, Dale stopped us.

"Just so you know, Officer," he said in a deep baritone voice. "All of these men have been through a lot. Some of them are pretty fucked up by what's been done to them. You may hear some pretty strange shit in there. Whatever you do, don't react -- we're here to help these men, not add to their problems." I nodded my head in understanding. I appreciated what he was telling me.

"Don't worry, Dale," I told him. "There's nothing they can say that would shock me. I've seen some pretty shocking things in my line of work."

"Good," he said. "After you," he added, opening the door. We walked in and I saw a group of 15 men sitting in a semi-circle in front of a female counselor. One of the men was telling his story to the group. I listened as he talked about how his wife cuckolded and abused him in his marital bed after she embarrassed him on a night out. I felt for the man.

When he finished, Dale stood up and called for Jim to follow him. He motioned for one of the other instructors, Cliff and I to join him. We went through a door behind the counselor and I took a quick inventory of the group. Something niggled in the back of my mind as I watched the reaction and the body language from the rest of the group, but I couldn't quite place my finger on what it was, exactly. I expected the others to look at Jim as he walked out, but there was something in the reaction from one of the other students...

I entered the room and took a seat behind the table. I motioned for Jim to sit across from me and introduced my self to Jim and the other instructor, who wore the same khaki Dale did, but with Sergeant chevrons on his collar. Dale, Cliff and the other instructor, Mike, sat in three other chairs. I opened my briefcase and pulled out my folder and a digital recorder.

"You don't mind if I record this, do you?" I asked Jim. He shook his head.

"No, sir," he said quietly.

"Good," I said. I started the recording, noting the date, time and the names of all those present. I looked at the file photograph of Jim and compared it to the man who sat across from me. The man sitting on the other side of the table looked a bit more mature and more buff than the skinny man in the photograph. I chalked that up to the physical training and moved on.

"Mr. Adams," I said. "May I call you Jim?"

"Yes, sir," he said.

"Thank you," I said. "Just so you know, you're not in any trouble. I'm here to get your story so I can deal with your situation. But I need your help. How long have you been here?"

"A little more than two months now," he said.

"I'd like to start with what brought you here," I said. "Can you tell us a little bit about that?"

"Yes, I can," he told me. "Not quite six months ago, my wife, Lisa, went on what she called a spa retreat with three other women. When she came back, she seemed different. Not exactly rested or what you might expect from a spa, just, different. A couple weeks or so after that, we started getting mail from something called the Mutual Marital Assurance Society. They looked like bills, but I had never heard of this outfit. I asked my wife about them, but she said it was something I had to take care of myself. I let it go for a month or so, but when the second bill came in, I started getting upset. So I called the number on the bill and was given an appointment to see one of their counselors." I pulled a photo of Pat out of my briefcase and set it down on the table.