of tequila and a few drunk cowboys will do that, ya know? You mind telling me more than twenty words? You want my help; you're going to have to explain this to me. If people are dying, who is killing them?"
Commander Jacobs looked at LT for a moment, and then succumbed to the man's plea. "It's complicated. That's why I was brought in. I deal with . . . certain strange occurrences that matter to our government. Things that even the feds back away from. You see, there are local legends in Jack County. Always have been. Stories about paranormal activity, especially in some of the smaller, more remote locations."
"Paranormal? As in, ghosts?" LT asked.
"Negative. Ghosts don't mess people up like this. They're demons."
LT shook his head, letting out a hearty laugh.
"Fuck me!" he said in utter disbelief. Looking back to the Commander, he replied, saying, "Sir, with all due respect, I think you've found the wrong guy. Why don't you do me a favor and just let me on out of here."
"Can't let that happen."
"Fine, so be it. I understand," LT said, looking back to the bed covered in stains inside the cell.
"Leave me alone, then. Let me go back to sleep and you can go back to your X-files basement office and do whatever you do. I'm hung over and worse yet, I think you're being serious."
"Indeed, I am serious. And you may choose not to help. That is your will. And I'm sure your stay here won't be unbearable, given your . . . resume. However, before I go, let me say: If you don't help me, more people are going to die. As I understood it, you've been team leader for many years. Your actions have saved countless lives in the past. I guess you don't care anymore. . ." his words trailed off. Then, Jacobs turned to leave.
Quickly, LT spoke up. "Sir, I don't mean to be an ass. If I thought I could help I would. But you're saying demons and I . . . I can't wrap my head around this, sir. For the record: Demons are killing people in Jack County, right?"
"That's correct."
"And you want my help, right?"
"That's right."
"How?" LT asked.
But the Commander ignored his question at first. Instead, he explained the situation more. He knew he needed to, despite being a man of few words, unless he was yelling.
"They're targeting a small population," Jacobs began. "The majority are Mexican immigrants. Down there, in deep Texas, some missing illegals aren’t news. Besides, it's been near impossible to even verify many of these deaths. They are undocumented people, killed in the middle of nowhere. This isn't on the major news networks because so few know there's a problem. And the ones who do know are either scared out of their minds, or work for us."
"Is it contained, or is it spreading?" LT asked.
"Contained. Always has been."
"Then why not leave it alone?" LT asked.
"It's on American soil."
"Fair enough," LT nodded. He knew they had to do something. "So what's the mission objective, exactly?"
" Mike Oscar is Infiltration. Go in clandestine. There will be no cover, no support, no backup. You'll be alone with a small team. Some will join you; others will assist from farther away. This job is black—get caught and they deny knowledge and all that."
"Been there before," LT said. "Who else knows?"
"Few at Langley. The Pentagon, of course. FBI and Department of Homeland Security know something is up, but we have a cover story working at the moment. Eventually, they'll know better, but that won't matter. We'll tell them to mind their own business and they will."
"Sure about that?" LT asked. "With the recent failures, the feds will want another chance to redeem themselves."
"Tough. They'll back down whether they like it or not. This comes from the top."
LT remained quiet a few minutes. He thought it all over. He weighed his options, wondering if he was ready for such a mission. He could stay here, probably a few more days. He could face charges, hire a lawyer, and hope for the best. Maybe he'd get probation, maybe a few months in county
Commander Jacobs looked at LT for a moment, and then succumbed to the man's plea. "It's complicated. That's why I was brought in. I deal with . . . certain strange occurrences that matter to our government. Things that even the feds back away from. You see, there are local legends in Jack County. Always have been. Stories about paranormal activity, especially in some of the smaller, more remote locations."
"Paranormal? As in, ghosts?" LT asked.
"Negative. Ghosts don't mess people up like this. They're demons."
LT shook his head, letting out a hearty laugh.
"Fuck me!" he said in utter disbelief. Looking back to the Commander, he replied, saying, "Sir, with all due respect, I think you've found the wrong guy. Why don't you do me a favor and just let me on out of here."
"Can't let that happen."
"Fine, so be it. I understand," LT said, looking back to the bed covered in stains inside the cell.
"Leave me alone, then. Let me go back to sleep and you can go back to your X-files basement office and do whatever you do. I'm hung over and worse yet, I think you're being serious."
"Indeed, I am serious. And you may choose not to help. That is your will. And I'm sure your stay here won't be unbearable, given your . . . resume. However, before I go, let me say: If you don't help me, more people are going to die. As I understood it, you've been team leader for many years. Your actions have saved countless lives in the past. I guess you don't care anymore. . ." his words trailed off. Then, Jacobs turned to leave.
Quickly, LT spoke up. "Sir, I don't mean to be an ass. If I thought I could help I would. But you're saying demons and I . . . I can't wrap my head around this, sir. For the record: Demons are killing people in Jack County, right?"
"That's correct."
"And you want my help, right?"
"That's right."
"How?" LT asked.
But the Commander ignored his question at first. Instead, he explained the situation more. He knew he needed to, despite being a man of few words, unless he was yelling.
"They're targeting a small population," Jacobs began. "The majority are Mexican immigrants. Down there, in deep Texas, some missing illegals aren’t news. Besides, it's been near impossible to even verify many of these deaths. They are undocumented people, killed in the middle of nowhere. This isn't on the major news networks because so few know there's a problem. And the ones who do know are either scared out of their minds, or work for us."
"Is it contained, or is it spreading?" LT asked.
"Contained. Always has been."
"Then why not leave it alone?" LT asked.
"It's on American soil."
"Fair enough," LT nodded. He knew they had to do something. "So what's the mission objective, exactly?"
" Mike Oscar is Infiltration. Go in clandestine. There will be no cover, no support, no backup. You'll be alone with a small team. Some will join you; others will assist from farther away. This job is black—get caught and they deny knowledge and all that."
"Been there before," LT said. "Who else knows?"
"Few at Langley. The Pentagon, of course. FBI and Department of Homeland Security know something is up, but we have a cover story working at the moment. Eventually, they'll know better, but that won't matter. We'll tell them to mind their own business and they will."
"Sure about that?" LT asked. "With the recent failures, the feds will want another chance to redeem themselves."
"Tough. They'll back down whether they like it or not. This comes from the top."
LT remained quiet a few minutes. He thought it all over. He weighed his options, wondering if he was ready for such a mission. He could stay here, probably a few more days. He could face charges, hire a lawyer, and hope for the best. Maybe he'd get probation, maybe a few months in county
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