Kern When We Walked Amongst The Shadows

1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-1-5439-9073-7
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz

E-Book, Englisch, 354 Seiten

A harmless questionnaire at a college seminar unexpectedly propels Austin O'Connor into the world of black ops. Ready or not, life as he knew it, no longer exists. Austin is thrust into a dangerous career with very little training or knowledge on how to navigate this new world. From to smuggling weapons amid the Afghan and Soviet War to a daring rescue in the middle of the Contras and Sandinistas conflict in Nicaragua, Austin continues to exceed expectations. In a short period of time, he manages to excel at all assignments placed on him by his superiors, and he has earned the name Dragon Slayer by his peers. Unbeknownst to Austin, he is a third generation operative, and now one of the C.I.A.'s top assets. His new mission sends him around the globe, risking his life to face deadly foes and his destiny. His job of constantly being in jeopardy could be the end of him, unless his inner demons kill him first. Austin is a fast study and a man who leaves his conscience and his identity at the door. The job comes first, the rest is irrelevant to him.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Kern, Michael

Leseproben

Chapter 2 The Seminar In mid-summer, Austin was struggling to complete his required hours for his first year at college. He was also examining his inner self to try to figure out what he wanted out of life. Austin questioned whether college was the answer he was looking for. He needed some easy hours to complete his first year. Looking for a fast and quick fix, his roommates convinced him to attend a criminal justice seminar for three weeks giving him the required hours needed to move forward to his sophomore year. Most of the scheduled topics revolved around careers in law enforcement, being a parole officer, and other slightly uninteresting subjects. The last week’s lectures were focused on major law enforcement opportunities. They were advanced levels yet still open to the general student body. The auditorium was a standard vanilla crescent arena with uncomfortable chairs and drab wall covering displaying academia posters. The Secret Service included their protective services for dignitaries along with working for the treasury department; the DEA had a speaker; the feds had reserved a block of times; and finally, the CIA would end the days with their smoke and mirrors, along with justifying their need in the world order. At the end of each day, Austin found himself inundated with pamphlets, varied career opportunities, etc. Stacks and stacks of questionnaires were optional to complete. As usual, they found their way into the nearest trash can once he exited the auditorium. He found himself struggling daily to keep awake, much less pay attention. He cursed himself for attending in the first place. Sam Houston State University was known for their criminal justice department with lots of graduates who found themselves pursuing careers in law enforcement. For Austin, this was a career that carried no remote interest to him. He met Dean Pappas and Dan Schultz, his roommates, after class at the Sly Fox, a local college bar where the women were plentiful, and the prices were affordable for college kids. The dimly lit local watering hole reeked of spilt beer and cheap perfume. Tonight was dime night. You could drink any liquor-based drink for a dime. A man could get screwed up for fifty cents. After several drinks and chasing a few sorority girls around, the boys started to feel their bulletproof attitude coming on. Dean, who was prelaw, eyed the big cop next to the door. “I couldn’t just stand there and watch all this ass floating around and a bunch of kids getting wasted for some $15 an hour,” Dean added. Danny nodded in agreement. Austin never verbalized many of his thoughts for public consumption. He believed his opinions were his own and he preferred it that way. Danny asked, “Austin, how’s the criminal justice lectures coming?” Austin paused a second. “I guess alright. Boring for the most part; lots of drab speakers and not very interesting to me. However, tomorrow the CIA has the floor. That ought to be a little more enlightening if possible.” They each spun in the direction of the bartender, a cutie pie, and raised their glasses for one more. The alarm clock went off earlier than Austin had preferred, nevertheless, it was the last day for this shit. Once done, he would have his required hours and he would officially be a sophomore. He hurriedly threw himself together and out the door he flew. He thought to himself, last time I drink with my roommates on a school night. Man, how many times this semester had he made that statement? A smile crossed his face as he drove off to the Criminal Justice Center. Austin barely made the introduction of the speaker, William Wiseman, retired CIA. Austin noticed all the wannabe agents transcribing notes and the mass display of recording devices amongst the full auditorium. Austin couldn’t imagine an agent amongst the crowd of geeks and muscled-up security guards present, along with the dreamers. This time the lecture seemed a bit more interesting than the previous barrage of “go law enforcement” motto. This discussion lasted a little over two hours and seemed entertaining to say the least. So many broad topics yet so little information given. Then came the Q & A period, which I am sure made Officer Wiseman question even why bother. Afterwards, the usual questionnaires were distributed amongst those who managed to hang around. Austin figured he had no plans that afternoon as his roommates had already headed home to Houston for the weekend. As Austin flipped through the questionnaire it seemed this one had a purpose more so than the previous. It appeared more like a psychological exam as opposed to the normal “how would you rate your speaker?” He glanced through the questions and some were of a personal nature, something like, “What your reaction would be to…” or, “How does death affect you?” Austin was intrigued to say the least; he figured he had time on his hands, so what the hell. After about an hour he had completed this long-ass form and handed it in to Officer Wiseman’s assistant. He made his way out of the auditorium and in a fast search of food. As the auditorium cleared, Wiseman glanced at his assistants and instructed them, “Anyone that tests over 150 IQ I want their name and a detailed background check before I call them back in for stage two. However, after the questions I was asked today, I doubt many have the smarts or the stomach for this line of work.” Wiseman grabbed his briefcase and off he went. “See you back at the hotel.” The questionnaires were computerized to be easily scanned for quick results. As normal, most of all the scans revealed low IQs, mental instability, basically nowhere near CIA material. Suddenly an alarm indicated an exception to the normal responses that they had been shredding all afternoon. Connie Johnson, Wiseman’s assistant, top of her class at MIT, standing five feet seven inches with an athletic build and long black hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, walked over to the monitor to see what the machine had found. Connie took a closer look to see the name displayed—Austin O’Connor, freshman, major undetermined, GPA 3.9, estimated IQ 158 based on preliminary results. She wondered what the odds are they may have found a needle in the haystack. No criminal record found. Mother is a secretary for an oil company in Houston and father has no record or file, period. Connie printed the results, made a couple notes, and set the report on Officer Wiseman’s briefcase. The test results ran several more hours yielding no one even close to Austin’s analysis. The main idea was to see if they could get Austin back for further testing and evaluation. The idea was to see what they could determine. If he possibly could meet the criteria for the CIA and in what capacity he would be best suited for. Most qualified applicants ended up inside as analysts. Field assets were not so easily found, trained, and trusted. Time would tell what they had with Mr. O’Connor. Connie picked up the phone to inform Wiseman they may have someone that is of interest or worth a second look. Wiseman came into Connie’s hotel room and immediately picked up the report. He studied it intently for several minutes, making notes. He paused and spoke. “Connie, get me this kid’s class schedule for the rest of the week. Call Langley and have one of the psychologists standing by for a video interview with Austin if we can tempt him. If I am reading this right, this kid has no conscience at all.” “Even better,” she mumbled to herself. On Monday morning at the end of his calculus class, Connie was waiting outside the hall for Austin as he scrambled out with the rest of the students rushing to their next lecture. Connie approached Austin. “Mr. O’Connor, may I have a word with you?” Austin kept pace with his classmates with Connie in tow. “Mr. O’Connor, a word please.” He stopped briefly and glanced at Connie. “I am not buying whatever you’re selling lady.” Austin continued moving forward with the flow of the masses. Connie hurried to keep pace. She literally stopped in front of Austin halting his progress. “Lady, what the hell is your problem? I have five minutes to get across campus.” “I need ten minutes of your time and then you can go,” she snapped insistently. Austin fired back, “Professor Phillips frowns heavily on lateness and I need a good grade in his class. He is an uncompassionate son of a bitch.” Connie spoke, “Let me worry about the professor. I assure you it will be taken care of with no backlash towards you.” The hallway had now cleared of students and Austin folded his arms, amazed at the size of the balls on this lady. “So, tell me why I should believe a word you say to me,” barked Austin. Connie held up her finger motioning him to hang loose one second. Connie extracted a sophisticated communication device from her purse. Secondly, she flipped open her ID, which indicated she was employed by the CIA. “Let professor know...