Enter the Headhunters Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Three weeks had passed since the Headman’s first meeting with the CEO of Bacro Industries, and phase one of his operations was going according to plan. The drug lord’s second in command leaned up against a large metal canister on the docks. He was casually smoking a cigarette as two out of uniform Headhunters saw to other affairs on the pier.  As a Homeland security agent, his responsibilities included regular inspections of cargo ships at the pier.  Today, however, was a special day because the Headman’s long-awaited shipment was scheduled to arrive. Gristle had been instructed to meet the ship as it pulled into port, but as it now stood, the cargo carrier was two hours behind schedule. 

It had been three months since their last delivery and most of that product had been depleted due to the demand of their clients.  The illegal substances in this shipment were necessary in order for the Headman to carry out his plan for full control of the illegal drug trade in the northeastern part of the United States. Once secured, the organization could move onto to phase two of their plan.

The shipment was essential but the solitude and the waiting gave Gristle some time to partake in one of his favorite pastimes, Three Stooges Movies.  He loved the Stooges and their crazy antics always made him smile. He watched Malice in the Palace, one of their shorts recently restored in full color, on his cell phone screen and wondered aloud.

“How can Larry and Shemp be so stupid?  They have to know that no matter what they do, Moe is going to let them have it.” 

Sure enough, there were two more slaps to the face eventually followed by two thumbs in the eyes, and a couple of clunks over the head.  He laughed heartily before turning his attention to the flashing red lights appearing in the fog. The approaching cargo ship had passed through the Narrows and Kill Man Kull and would soon be docking.  He glanced at the time on his cell.

“A little late, but here nonetheless.  I’ll take it!” 

He paused the video and sent a cryptic text to his boss. The message, composed using their unique personal code, appeared to be nothing more than gibberish, reading: Demon smoke on the water, the eggs are hatching as the cow jumps over the moon!

It took a few moments, but the expected reply soon flashed across the screen. The itsy bitsy spider goes up the waterspout.  He returned the cellular device to his inside jacket pocket and made his way towards the end of the Newark pier to greet the crew as the seafaring vessel docked.

Gristle wore an official Homeland Security uniform with the appropriate patches and badge. He carried a clipboard containing U.S. Customs forms detailed with shipping schedules and vendors under his arm.  No one had ever questioned his credentials, and if they ever did, they would easily check out.  It was hard to believe the drug dealer held down a part-time job in the agency established to keep contraband from entering the country, but The Headman’s influence reached far and wide and included inside informants in just about every major government agency, as well as all branches of the military.  The only place they had not yet infiltrated was the elite G.I.Joe team, but Gristle knew that it would only be a matter of time before their influence spread there as well. 

The Headman’s motto was simple, “Everyone had a price. No matter how good they tried to appear on the surface, everyone and anyone could eventually be bought.” 

He lit up a second cigarette as he walked and eagerly polluted his lungs with the noxious fumes.  He greatly enjoyed not only the feeling that his specially-formulated cancer sticks gave him, but he also liked attempting to create the perfect smoke rings while exhaling.  The air around him was thick as the opposing temperatures of the water and the air created a minor fog.  It was the perfect environment for trapping the plumes of smoke and holding them suspended in midair.  The cloud spiraled in slow motion around his head as the low drone of the approaching freighter’s fog horn tore him from his smoke-induced trance.  The ship would soon be secured to the dock and ready for his inspection.  He covered the remaining thirty or so yards between him and the massive freighter. As he reached the bow, the crew was already beginning to lower the boarding ramp onto the pier. 

The S.S. Chameleon was no stranger to the Newark piers as she had been sailing the high seas for close to a decade now.  The current crew kept her in ship shape so to speak, ensuring that her hull was free of rust and barnacles.  The cargo carrier had recently been painted and three state-of-the-art, clean-burning diesel engines were installed to replace her previously outdated ones.  The business had to be booming in order for improvements like that to be made.

“Ahoy me mateys!  I trust your time on the high seas was a pleasant one.”  He greatly enjoyed having the opportunity to talk like a pirate.

 “Ahoy yourself you, landlubber!” 

The voice was familiar to him and belonged to none other than Captain Morgan “Zanzibar” Teach.  Captain Teach was an eccentric character, who took his title of pirate a little bit too literally. Gristle often wondered if his name was even real, thinking it a combination of his favorite drink and the infamous Blackbeard.  He was a tall scraggly man with long black hair pulled back into a well-kept ponytail, which protruded oddly from the top of his head.  He wore his eyepatch over his right eye today, but it was not uncommon to see him wearing it over his left eye as well. His facial hair consisted of a greasy handlebar mustache and a five o’clock shadow.  Two medium-sized gold earrings adorned his ears, and a shiny and ornate bronze cutlass hung from his left hip.  The rest of his garments were unremarkable except for his boots, which seemed a bit too biker-ish to belong to a pirate or anyone manning a seafaring vessel. 

“Will you be coming aboard then Mr. Gristle, you salty sea dog? Or do you yet to have your sea legs?” 

Danimal looked up at the man with a scowl.  He really did not like the scalawag and knew he could not be trusted.  Having dealt with him many times before, he really wished someone else was in charge of his boss’s prize shipment today.  As he made his way up the gangplank, he nonchalantly checked to make sure his gun was still safely holstered under his left arm.  He could never be too safe with the likes of the men who worked these vessels. 

“Aye, you know the drill captain.  I need to see the ship’s manifesto and to check the canisters for contraband.  Once that’s done, you be free to unload. Then you and your men can either come ashore or shove off.”

His tone was professional and stern, but he still kept a bit of his pirate accent going.  As far as the captain was concerned, this man was an official employee of Homeland Security and needed to be watched.

“Of course, yer not for telling me anything I don’t already know. Just make it quick, as I got me a certain special lady awaiting my arrival. If you catch my drift.”

With that, Captain Teach flipped up his eye patch and gave him a disturbing wink. The thought of any woman wanting to be with the likes of that man nearly made him hurl. 

“I won’t keep you too long captain. Besides, absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Forget the heart, my loins are about ready to explode from being out at sea with this mob of cretans for the past two months!”

As the words left his mouth, he thrust his hips forward a few times imitating a sex-crazed humping dog.  Gristle threw up a little in his mouth due to the pirate’s obscene gesture, and instead began to climb the ladder to the upper deck. As he turned each corner, he was met by the uncomfortable glares of the crew members.  He tried to smile and be cordial as he passed them, but he knew full well that they were hiding illegal activities on this boat, just like the controlled substances being smuggled in by the Headman. This scourge would just as soon slit his throat and toss his body out at sea if they felt he was interfering with their livelihood.  He tried to make his inspection as legitimate as possible, marking each canister with a chalk X as he passed and conveniently skipping over the contents of any  canisters marked by a rather conspicuous symbol that resembled a flaming, horned skull with a knife stabbed through it; and quite honestly, he didn’t want anything to do with the organization that owned them. 

In return, Captain Teach would unload his boss’s personal containers, and pay him in the form of a bribe for looking the other way.  In the end, it all worked out.  Zanzibar delivered what his boss needed, he secured the shipments his boss requested, and he made a little extra cash on the side.  It was a win-win for all parties involved because both sides were making private deals with outside organizations.  This particular time though, he was a bit concerned by the excessive number a skull marked containers.  It was nearly four times the normal shipment, and he wondered if the Captain’s employer was possibly formulating a plan to take over the Headman’s urban empire. He did his best to conceal the concerned look on his face as he passed the contraband and came upon the three, sixty-foot steel containers bearing his employer’s sigil, a skull on top of a black diamond with the number nine emblazoned at the top.  He found it amazing that the death-like symbols used by multiple shippers did not raise the eyebrows of any of the other shipping authorities worldwide.  No one gave it a second thought in a world where “skulls and crossbones” had become synonymous with various everyday companies like Harley Davidson and Day of the Dead clothing. 

People today possessed such an admiration for the macabre, not like it used to be when he was a kid.  Halloween has grown in popularity so much, that it seems destined to overtake Christmas as the number one commercial holiday. He retrieved a ring of keys from inside his left coat pocket and began to undo the locks.  As he stepped inside, the interior of the first crate was lined with hundreds of innocent-looking, unlabeled, uniform-sized, brown cardboard boxes.  He removed the top four boxes and took his pocket knife to the tape on the lid of the fifth one down.  Inside, there was a red plastic bag bearing the same symbol as the one painted on the outside of the canister.  He immediately put on a pair of latex gloves and a white respirator mask.  After opening this bag, he inserted an electronic device that he had carried in his inside coat pocket and pressed the power button.  A few seconds later, the number eighty-five appeared on the LCD display.

Satisfied with the test result, he sealed up the box and walked to the opposite side of the container and removed a box from a similar position.  The contents of this box he sampled using his index finger.  It was odorless and tasteless at first, but within seconds it started to numb the tip of his tongue.  He smiled as his boss’s suppliers had once again not disappointed.  He rearranged the boxes, then closed and resecured the first container.  After checking the other two, he would circle back, do a cursory examination of the other fifty or so containers, sign off on the ship’s manifesto, and collect his bribe. 

His inspection was moving along without incident.  The second cargo canister, as well as the third, checked out, but as he turned around to exit and lock the third shipping crate, he was greeted by the ship’s scraggly captain. 

“Is everything to your approval Mr. Gristle?”  The ship’s first in command was eyeing him up quite oddly. “I’m starting to think that you’re not really who you say you are.  These three cargo crates are chock full of drugs. . . but I take it you already knew that.  You’re either unscrupulous and devoid of morals, or someone is paying you an awful lot of loot to make sure their precious opiates make it to shore.  So, which is it?” With his final statement, he unsheathed his cutlass and pointed it in the direction of Homeland Security Agent’s neck.

Danimal thought to ventilate him on the spot, but quickly rethought the situation, and instead slowly reached into his pants pocket to retrieve his cell phone.

“I was actually just about to call in and report this to the Narcs, these and those others with the flaming skulls painted on them.”

He narrowed his eyes and let the last syllables of his statement sink in.

  “Whoah, whoah now! There’s no need to be hasty.  I’m sure we can come to some sort of equally-profitable arrangement here.  My employer is very wealthy and very well connected.”

“Well, here’s the thing. If I call in this contraband, then I have to call in all the others as well. Once the DEA gets here, they’re going to tear this vessel apart.  Chances are really good that you, and your crew, will be getting locked up for a very long time. Your loins will then have to settle for someone named Bubba.”

He smirked at his last comment and this time, he winked at the captain.

“So what’s it going to be? I’m sure your employer would hate to lose everything on this ship to the feds.  I’m thinking that he just might let you and your crew rot in a federal prison for that without any chance of extradition.”

The pirate slowly sheathed his sword and began to shift uncomfortably under the steely gaze of the Homeland Security agent, who showed no signs of backing down.

“Lovely weather we’re having this night Mr. Gristle sir.  Would do me some good to get these bones some exercise.”

With that, he spun around and headed back out into the night.  Danimal breathed a sigh of relief and was happy that the old sea dog had not called his bluff.  Zanzibar could very easily have scuttled him and left his lifeless corpse several fathoms below, but ultimately that would not be good for business on either side.  So why the confrontation? What did Zanzibar stand to gain from it?   This was something he would have to tell his boss, but not until the cargo was safe and secure in their warehouse on the pier.  He locked the third container and then finished his rounds, marking the remainder of the canisters with a small white X.  Before disembarking, he made his way back to the nave and the captain’s quarters.  He politely knocked before entering.  Zanzibar sat behind a sturdy oak desk and did not rise as the HSI official entered with a signed ship’s manifesto in hand.  He approached the desk and handed the documents over.  Captain Teach skipped to the last page where Danimal Gristle’s initials indicated that the ship, her crew and her cargo had all passed inspection.  He then reached into the top drawer and produced a small manila envelope stuffed to the point of bursting with Australian money.  He kept a firm grip on it even as Danimal grabbed to retrieve it. Then he leaned forward rather sinisterly.

“Know that Zartan and the Dreadnoks will be watching you Mr. Gristle, and you might do well to inform your employer because mine does not take such threats idly.”

The drug dealer in disguise did not flinch as he easily yanked the envelope free from his grip. 

“There was no threat made against you, or your benefactor Captain Teach, just simply a fair statement.  As far as a boss, I answer to the United States Government. This job requires that I work with many people, from many walks of life.  It’s nothing personal, but if I am forced to rat on one client, then all the others will have to suffer as well. Especially, if they’re the ones drawing the suspicion.  I try to keep all parties happy with minimal complaints and unnecessary paperwork.  I’ll expect your cargo to be unloaded by midday tomorrow and then back to the open seas with you.” He made a mocking salute and turned to leave the captain’s quarters. “Good day to you captain!”

 As he walked confidently back down the gangplank and onto the pier, he could feel the contempt-filled gazes of over a dozen crew members burning into the back of his skull. He fully expected to be assaulted, or possibly shot as a result of his most recent interaction with the captain. But, as his feet once more crossed the threshold and planted firmly onto the pier, there were no further incidents. He pulled out his pack of special cigarettes and placed one to his lips.  In his other hand, he used a lighter to ignite it and took a long relaxing drag. Not wanting to dawdle, he walked off in the direction of a second freighter that was already secured to the other side of the main dock.  This ship, according to his official documents, was carrying merchandise from China and South Korea in the form of textiles, shoes and children’s toys.  It was not on his list for inspection, but in order to further distance himself from the Chameleon, he walked over and loudly called up to the crew.

“Ahoy! Me Mateys! Permission to come aboard?”

“Permission granted you, landlubber.” 

It never got old.

Enter the Headhunters Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Only three days after his mysterious meeting with the “Headman in Charge,” Doctor D’Alleva’s private secretary buzzed his intercom in order to inform him that security had allowed three, rather well-dressed men from various government agencies, into the building.  They were currently waiting for an audience with him in the downstairs lobby.

 “I have one of them on the on the lobby extension right now, and they are requesting a meeting with you, doctor, as soon as possible.  The gentleman said he was here on behalf of the FDA and was extremely apologetic for his lack of prior notification.”

 The good doctor’s heart climbed up into his throat.  Were they here to finally shut his corporation down for good? Or, had the mysterious man in the fedora and purple suit actually followed through with what he said he could do?   He wanted to create the illusion that he was extremely busy so he could properly prepare for his guests.

“I need you to stall them, Vivian.  For at least an hour.”  

Vivian audibly paused but knew better than to question her boss.  He had always been good to her and had kept her on the payroll even when the company was in dire financial distress.  She was a widowed, single mother of three young children, who really needed the paycheck and the medical insurance that working for Bacro Industries provided.  And since Vivian had been with him since the company’s inception, Vincent had promised that he would keep her employed even if that meant she was the only employee on the payroll.

“Umm--O.K. sir, I will have security send them up and provide them with some coffee and pastries. I’ll tell them that you are currently indisposed due to the morning shareholders meeting.  That should buy you at least an hour sir.  I might add that the man on the phone didn’t seem too anxious or angry, so I think that alone, is a positive thing.” 

Vincent considered her last words, nodded to himself and turned in the direction of his private bathroom.

“Make it so Vivian.”

The intercom disconnected and he walked across the office entering the bathroom. After closing and locking the door behind him, he stared at his reflection in the full-length wall mirror.  It had been many days, possibly even a week, since the scientist had tended to his personal hygiene.  His facial hair was quite overgrown, and he didn’t smell all that fresh.  He knew that he couldn’t possibly meet with government officials given his current state.  He pulled out some shaving gel and a fresh razor and began to shave his face.  His ex-wife had always liked how he looked cleanly shaven, and he almost stopped, as the thoughts of her leaving him once again flooded in.

“No! She will no longer influence me!” He continued passing the razor over his face until it was once again as smooth as a newborn baby’s bottom. After disrobing, he turned on the hot water and entered the shower.  It was refreshing and invigorating and he stood there for a few minutes allowing the warm water to wash over him. 

He emerged a short time later feeling renewed.  After toweling off, he applied his best cologne, some deodorant, then he slipped into one of the last clean and freshly pressed suits in his wardrobe.  It had been months since he actually dressed the part of the CEO.  He needed to show his visitors that Bacro Industries was still thriving.  He opened an electronic safe on the wall and retrieved his old, gold Rolex, some cufflinks, and an emerald ring.  These were some of the only items he had left that were not pawned to pay the bills. Securing his best silk tie around his neck, he then donned his suit jacket and finally a pair of shiny, black leather loafers.  He stared momentarily at his transformed reflection, then exited the bathroom and made his way back into his private office.  The clock on his desk indicated that the whole affair had taken roughly twenty-five minutes.  Feeling satisfied and better prepared, he rearranged some of the room furniture to accommodate his guests. He took a deep breath then pressed the intercom on his desk.

“Vivian, would you please escort our guests in?” 

There was a slight pause on the other end.

“Right away Doctor D’Alleva.”

The door opened a few moments later as his secretary showed the three men in.  Doctor D’Alleva stood up and extended his hand in order to greet each of them.  The men graciously shook his hand and he motioned for them to each take a seat in the comfortable, leather, chairs assembled on the opposite side of his desk.

 “I am sorry for the wait gentlemen, but I couldn’t forego the monthly shareholders meeting. You know how investors are.” 

He chuckled at his proclamation which elicited a knowing nod and smirks from the three men.

“I trust my secretary has been more than accommodating to your needs?” The CEO’s blue eyes easily masked his worry, and his voice indicated only sincerity. 

“Of course Doctor D’Alleva.  We completely understand and are happy that you could meet with us so soon and on such short notice.  I am Mr. Ferguson, the gentleman to my right is Mr. Ruiz and this is Mr. Waller.  We are here on behalf of the EPA and the FDA and have some wonderful news!”

Vincent successfully hid his relief at the man’s statement, and simply leaned forward in his comfortable chair to better hear them.

“Is that so? Well, what is it?”

After some careful review and retesting, we have discovered a severe clerical error in our records regarding your previously patented plant food.  It appears that someone put the decimal point in the wrong spot and that in fact, your company’s product is well within the acceptable range of the TSCA, or Toxic Substance Control Act.  Therefore, we are here to refund your past fines, with interest, of course, lift the sanctions that were imposed on your company, and to inform you that we will be placing your product back on store shelves with a fresh, new name, free of charge.  We apologize for any and all problems that this error has caused you, and hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive us without filing for any further legal action.”

The scientist wanted to berate them for the error.  He wanted to literally scream at them.  Did they know the level of hardship they had caused him? Did they have any clue how close he had been just the other day to ending it all? He refrained from doing so as he recalled the words of his newly found benefactor, and knew that this was his work, not a clerical error on the part of the government, but a newly negotiated trade agreement made possible by the powerful distributor of street narcotics. 

He smiled at the man then reached down to unlock the lower left drawer of his desk.  From it, he produced four tumblers and a bottle of twelve-year-old scotch.

“Gentlemen please, let’s not dwell on past mistakes. Let bygones be bygones. Please--- join me in a celebratory drink.”

The three men at first started to wave off the offer, but upon seeing the black and gold label of the bottle, decisively reconsidered. 

“We would be glad to.  Our lawyers will be by later today for a couple signatures on the settlement papers, and also to cut you a check in the amount of your previous fines with 10% interest for your troubles.”

“Oh that will be splendid, but there really is no rush.” He lied of course but wanted to continue presenting an air of confidence. “I will contact my lawyers and then we can schedule a time for them to collectively review the paperwork that is convenient for both of us.”

“Doctor D’Alleva with all due respect, we would like to have this all buttoned up by the close of business today.  Our ah... superiors have insisted upon it.” He could now clearly see the urgency in the men’s eyes.

“Very well then, Cheers! Drink up! I will have Vivian deliver the message to my lawyers and have them here no later than 2pm.” With that, the four men clinked their glasses and downed their libations. 

Mr. Ferguson was the first to rise from his seat.  “Well Vincent, may I call you Vincent?”

“But of course. We’re all friends here.” The aging scientist smiled and once again raised his glass. 

“Mr. Waller, Mr. Ruiz and I really must be going in order to get the corporation lawyers back here in time.”

“Not a problem gentleman.  I completely understand.”

They shook hands once more and the doctor showed his visitors to the door.  Upon wishing them a good day, he looked to Vivian, who was completely unsure of what had just transpired. 

“Vivian darling, be a peach and get Marty and Luis on the phone.  I will need them here at 1:45pm to go over some rather important documents.”

“I will get right on it sir.”  As the door closed behind the government representatives, Vivian once again addressed her boss.

 “I’m confused. What just happened?”  Vincent smiled.

“Our prayers have been answered.  We’re back in business!” 

Vivian could hardly believe her ears.  She stood up to hug her boss and surprisingly, he accepted her embrace.  As she stepped back, she reminded him of one tiny matter.

“Your lawyers will expect immediate payment and back payments, sir.  Are we in a position to provide that?”   The doctor smiled once more.

“Tell them if they’re prompt, I can provide that, and much more. I believe I owe them a Christmas bonus or two. Now, Vivian, I need to prepare for the lawyer’s arrival.  Please make sure I am not disturbed until then.” 

He turned and walked confidently back into his private office.  As the door closed behind him, he could overhear his trusted secretary placing the call to his previously employed law firm. 

Enter the Headhunters Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Things had been pretty quiet on the international front in regards to the recent Cobra threat.  The G.I.Joe team had good reason to believe that they had temporarily thwarted the terrorist group’s plans in Kenya, and there had been no new activity reported elsewhere that could be linked to the elusive King Snake.  There were, however, other problems that lingered within the confines of the United States. There had been a noticeable uptick in drug abuse as of late, with the drug of choice once again being heroin.  It was really quite a shock, as the heroin epidemic had seemed to be something that was abandoned in the late 80s and early 90s, but drug experimentation is once again on the rise, and the pushers and the users, are both enjoying the type of high that the opiates produce.

The dealers find them to be very lucrative, and if their users are careful, they can continue to enjoy the extraordinary effects from the injections without the risk of death. Fentanyl, another highly addictive opioid derivative, usually prescribed to treat breakthrough pain associated with chemotherapy, chronic pain, and fibromyalgia, has become a huge problem as dealers are now adding it to their cocaine and heroin in order to create a more addictive high.  The combination of the recreational and illicit use of heroin has made it a nationwide epidemic.  Thousands of people, in all walks of life, are becoming addicted throughout the United States. Abuse and lack of regulation have caused overdoses to be at an all-time high, and something needs to be done to address this rapidly evolving threat.  The influx of illegal narcotics flooding the United States has created a daunting task for Homeland Security, the Border Patrol, DEA, and ATF.

I had spent the last six months getting used to being an actual member of the G.I.Joe team.  Training to be a Marine was grueling, but it was nothing compared to the vetting process used to become a Joe team operative.  Not surprisingly, I passed the physical fitness examination and the psychological assessment, but there was much more that went into being a G.I.Joe.  I spent two months of basic training under the tutelage of Beach Head and Sergeant Slaughter.  There was much to learn about this covert task force, and I spent numerous hours reading and reviewing things like the history of the team, combat maneuvers, and their silent hand signaling language. 

Since we operated mostly off of the radar, members of the Joe team could spend months or possibly even years without seeing friends and family.  It was a huge commitment, and one had to be willing to give up everything, and everyone to be a full-time member.  Oh, there were reservists, but most of them had already served the team as full-time specialists prior to their current positions. The full-time members of G.I.Joe were still granted leave time, but it wasn’t as regular as in the other branches of the armed forces, and it was not unheard of to be called back for an active assignment while on leave.

  Both during and after Joe basic training, I spent a lot of time and energy training my newest companion, a now seventy-five pound, ball of taut muscle and fur, Dangerous, my rescued African cheetah cub. My cheetah cub had grown both in size and intellect.  He was capable of understanding two dozen verbal commands as well as, a dozen or so silent hand signals. In addition, I had successfully trained him to recognize his collar or vest as his working clothes, much like a service dog or pony.  So once hooked into either, he switched from a playful to a professional demeanor.

Dangerous and I came to meet as a result of him losing his parents to the Dreadnok poacher, a disgusting mange of a man, known as Gnawgahyde.  I had prevented the animal trapper from procuring him and most likely selling him on the black market to an illegal zoo or exotic pet collector.  He and his overgrown wild boar, Bacon, had murdered the cub’s mother and inadvertently killed his other sibling making him an orphan.  Me, being an animal lover, I challenged the grisly man and managed to overpower him.  Gnawgahyde reluctantly fled the kill zone and has remained off of the Joe’s radar for the past six months, but eventually, his smelly hide will turn up again, and he will surely be back to his old tricks. 

Dangerous has grown up quickly and was no longer the mere cub he had been when I first found him.  His diet has progressed from two small cans of cat food daily, into twenty pounds of raw meat a day.  He no longer fits in my rucksack but is still very loving and playful.  I have since trained him to follow me, attack, retrieve and seek.  An easy task if he was a dog, not as easy a task when training a cheetah.  Much like a domesticated cat, Dangerous is opinionated and temperamental. He still doesn’t always do what he is asked to do when commanded, but over time, his defiance has lessened and his obedience has grown. Today, he is as loyal to me and the team as a family dog.  Other team members have their animal partners, and Dangerous was destined to be mine. 

My friendships with the Joe team have also strengthened over the course of this time.  I share a special bond with Mainframe and Pathfinder, who were there for me during my captivity in Kenya.  Pathfinder has been experiencing migraines more and more frequently since this last undercover assignment and I often worry about his well-being.

Clutch, a  gear-head like myself, Footloose and Hollow Point are some of my daily acquaintances, as well as my off-day bar buddies, who join me regularly for wings and karaoke at the Pit Pub.  Everyone I have met on the team has been very welcoming to me, but there are still many Joe operatives that I have not yet met.  Whenever possible, I take the opportunity to learn whatever my other team members have to offer.  Alpine has taught me about rappelling and mountain climbing.  Shortfuse has introduced and trained me to use some of the newer, high-tech, laser weaponry. While Outback and Ambush have taught me some very useful extreme survival techniques.

 I was slowly building upon my skills and padding my resume to better assist the Joe team on training missions and assignments.  I was still a probationary member of the team due to the fact that I had not officially been selected for a specific subteam or operation.  This is something I hope will soon change.  I would like nothing more than to continue serving Uncle Sam and this great nation of ours as a G.I.Joe specialist.

It was Monday and General Hawk strode confidently down the halls of the Pit with a new visitor.  The narcotics officer at his side, easily identifiable by the DEA emblem on the back of his jacket, was a tall, middle-aged African American man. He had been sent by POTUS in order to recruit some of the Joe team in order to populate a new task force aimed at dealing with the growing drug epidemic on the streets of America.  We had all been informed of the visitation and that he would be conducting observations of the team over the next few days.

On Thursday, we were all summoned to the briefing room for a mandatory meeting around noon.  I was excited because there would be so many other Joes in attendance. The room was abuzz with conversations when General Hawk and our government visitor entered the room and walked across the dais. 

“Attention!”

The room immediately came to order and everyone saluted the two ranking soldiers at the front of the room.  “At ease G.I.Joes, you may sit.” We all took our seats quickly and turned our attention back to the general and his guest.  “I have called you all together today in order to address a very serious threat to the citizens of the United States.  This threat does not take the form of Cobra, or terrorist bombings, nuclear warheads, or illegal guns. It is, however,  just as real, and possibly deadlier than all those aforementioned.”

As the general spoke, some of the assembled Joe team began to question the purpose of the assembly.  Clearly, some of them had not paid attention to the email sent earlier.  General Hawk stopped speaking, and all in the room once again became silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the G.I.Joe team, I am speaking to you today about drugs and their effect on the unsuspecting, good men and women of this great nation.” The room once again began to stir with conversations. “Alright everyone, settle down.” The general lifted his hands and waited only a few seconds before the attendees once again came to order. “So without further ado, I introduce to you, Major Earl Bulletproof Morris.  He is a specialist and a bit of a veteran when it comes to the war on opiates.  I ask you to listen to what he has to say and decide accordingly if what he is asking of you is something you can deliver.  Major Morris?” 

The commanding officer of the Joe team turned to regard the major and stepped back from the microphone. A tall, somewhat unassuming, black man in his mid to late forties stepped forward to take his place in front of the microphone.  He was wearing a white shirt with a black tie, a long khaki-colored trench coat, and a pair of black rimmed glasses.

“Thank you, General Hawk, and thank you esteemed members of G.I.Joe for allowing me to speak with you today about this very important matter.  Allow me a moment to first give you some information about myself.  As General Hawk stated, my name is Major Earl Morris and I grew up on the tough streets of Chicago, Illinois.  For the past fifteen years, I’ve been an active member of the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration and a federal marshal serving in such places as Central America, the Golden Triangle, and the Caribbean. Some of you might remember hearing about ‘Operation Snowcap.’ I was there, and after two years of fighting the war on drugs in Bolivia, Uncle Sam felt obliged to reactivate my status in the reserves.  But no matter where the service has taken me, my mission has always been the same:  To get illegal drugs off of the streets. To limit the distribution of illicit narcotics available on the black market from everyday pharmaceutical corporations, and to ensure that the victims of drug addiction get the assistance they need in order to get better.”

He paused momentarily to make sure that his message was being heard.

“Lately, my job has become increasingly more difficult as it’s becoming easier and easier for everyday people to become addicts.  In addition, the people who are already addicted don’t stand a chance against the dangerous drug cocktails being sold on the streets today. Over 50,000 Americans died from drug-related overdoses last year with new casualties happening every day. My current team just doesn’t have the resources and manpower to effectively fight the good fight.  So---that leads me to the reason I am standing here before you today.”

 His tone was stern and indicated the gravity of his current situation. 

“I am here with the permission and the blessing of the President of the United States to recruit volunteers from the Joe team in order to form a new and improved task force devoted solely to this mission.  This team will be granted jurisdiction to operate above and beyond the power of the Coast Guard, Border Patrol, FBI, DEA, and all other established government agencies in order to wage an all-out war on drugs and the organizations that create and supply them.  This new team will be referred to as the D.E.F., or Drug Elimination Force!” 

He placed added emphasis on every syllable of the new task force’s initials and name.

“Allow me to reiterate once more. This task force will be responsible for apprehending and shutting down the biggest and baddest drug cartels in the world, eliminating the sale of illegal narcotics and prescriptions drugs on the streets, and finally, for getting the victims of opioid addiction the help they need to achieve recovery.”

The tall African American man paused dramatically. 

“But---I can’t do this alone. Each of you in this room is a specialist in your own right.  I ask you today, who amongst you is willing to take on the challenges of this mission and as a result, aid in eradicating the threat that illegal drugs pose?  Who here would be willing to fight the good fight and save countless lives?”

Close to two dozen hands immediately went up indicating their interest. General Hawk scanned the room.  He noticed the hands of Tracker, Bombstrike, Cutter, Shipwreck, Mutt, Muskrat, Stretcher and one of the newest recruits, Armed.  Each of them could provide the DEF with a plethora of valuable skills 

 “Excellent! I’m happy to see that so many share in my passion for this important cause.  Your commanding officers have been forthcoming in allowing me the privilege of conducting interviews over the next several days, and I relish this opportunity to speak with all interested applicants.  However, I must also tell you, that I will not be able to enlist everyone, as the United State’s government has requested that I limit this elite team to only a dozen active members who will then be working in close collaboration with the members of various government agencies. ” 

This proclamation elicited some grumbles from amongst the Joe team members, but I was still willing to take my shot at joining this newly formed task force.  Nine months had passed since we had foiled Cobra’s latest plot in Africa, and some members of the team had grown antsy for some action.

 “Please, I do not wish to upset any of you, but I would be remiss if I led you to believe that all applicants would be accepted, or even worse, that some of you would simply be assigned to this group.”

General Hawk once again stepped forward.

“Simmer down soldiers!” He waited a few moments for the room to be silent. “I will be accepting applications in my office up until 1500 hours tomorrow. After that time, I will personally be reviewing each and every one of them before submitting my recommendations to Major Morris, who will be in charge of selecting the candidates most qualified for an interview.  If you are currently an active member of Tiger Force or Night Force, I ask you not to apply unless you are willing to be relegated to reservist status for that team.  Are there any questions?” General Hawk once again scanned the room, but there appeared to be no questions.  “There are some requirements for submitting your resume.  All interested applicants are asked to apply using their actual name, rank, and branch of the military. Please do not include your code name anywhere in your resume or cover letter.” 

When the General finished, Bulletproof took the opportunity to address the room once more.

“I thank all of you in advance for your interest and I look forward to meeting with some of you very soon.” He turned back to the general who would have the final words in the room.

“Thank you for your attention. You are dismissed.”

The room promptly saluted and the members of the Joe team began to file out. The general and the major exited together through a side door located at the front of the room.

“I thank you again, General Hawk, for allowing me the opportunity to garner some of the talent found on your team, but, if you don’t mind Sir, I need to excuse myself in order to complete some necessary paperwork and to make a few phone calls.”

The Joe commander nodded in agreement.

“I will have a courier deliver the best applications to you before the end of business tomorrow.” Bulletproof once again thanked the general, then saluted.  General Hawk returned the show of respect, then turned on his heels and returned to his private office.

As the 1500 hours deadline approached, the pile of applications reached roughly thirty-seven candidates.  General Hawk began the daunting task of narrowing these down to just eighteen. The names on the applications were at times foreign, as General Hawk knew most of the members of his team by their respective codenames.  Some of their birth names were unknown to him and some, like the identity of Snake Eyes were classified. Several applicant names stood out as odd or amusing to him: Skip A. Stone, Coastguard. Seriously, is this his real name or is someone playing a trick on me?  Stanley Perlmutter? This guy sounds like he could be a dog.

 Other names elicited no response from the ranking officer as he simply critiqued their overall qualifications.

Ultimately, Bulletproof would be in charge of making the final decisions.  He just needed to put forth his team’s most qualified candidates.  By the end of the following day, he felt he had compiled a respectable list.  Each of the candidates selected by the general would be sent an official email with specific interview guidelines should they be asked to appear before the committee for an official interview. The email read as follows:

Congratulations! Your application has been selected for further review by the interview committee.  Should you be chosen, you are asked to appear in your branch of the military’s dress uniform, not your everyday attire.  In addition, please be reminded that you will be called into the interview by your actual name and rank, code names should at no time be disclosed.  Thank you for your attention to this matter, and you will receive further notification as it becomes available.

General Hawk wanted the selection process to be free of any bias that code names might create.  After sending of the emails, he called for his courier, Lieutenant Melissa Davers, to deliver the parcel of selected resumes to the chief DEF officer.  Should the Major wish to narrow down the applicants any further, that would be up to his discretion, and he would ultimately be responsible for notifying his selected applicants with their assigned interview slots.

Around 1900 hours, there was a firm knock at the door of Bulletproof’s quarters. The veteran drug enforcement agent opened the door of his room in order to greet the courier.  She was a rather unremarkable individual dressed in standard issue military fatigues.  She appeared to be no older than twenty and smiled at the detective as she saluted and announced the nature of the parcel.

“This is a complete list of the General’s hand-selected applicants for the new Drug Elimination Force.  General Hawk has made the war room available for interviews on Monday starting at 0800 hours.  General Hawk has provided you with the dossiers of eighteen highly qualified candidates. Each of them has already been informed of their consideration for the D.E.F.  Please take some time to review their qualifications and resumes and when you are ready, contact me at extension 582 letting me know if you intend to interview all the candidates or only a few. I can then send a follow-up email through the general’s office assigning them a thirty-minute interview window on Monday.  If you have any questions or need anything else the general has asked that you contact him immediately.  Have a good night sir.”

She handed him the parcel and a personalized business card with her personal contact information. The lieutenant then saluted, turned and walked back down the hallway.  

“Well, one thing is definite about the G.I.Joe team. They sure are efficient.” He looked down at the thick parcel in his hands.  It was going to be a late night. Earl knew the importance of the team he had been sent to create.  The United States military fought wars every day in foreign countries against men and women wielding weapons of mass destruction, but this war was different.  This war was taking place much closer to home.  The weapons didn’t always involve bullets, but they were no less deadly.  He closed and locked his door, walked over to his desk and began to peruse the applications.  They had been arranged in alphabetical order for him but did not include any pictures.  General Hawk had made no additional notes or marks on their resumes; he had only included one formal note. 

Bulletproof read the note aloud.

“After speaking with you over the past few days, I have taken the liberty of narrowing down the list of qualified Joe members to just eighteen candidates from the original thirty-seven applicants.  This was by no means an easy task, as each and every applicant possessed many of the characteristics I feel would be of extreme value to the nature of this task force.  My personal office referred to as the War Room will be available as early as 0800 hours for interviews on Monday. I look forward to being a part of this process, but ultimately the Joes selected we be your decision to make, and I am confident that whomever you decide upon, will reflect the professionalism and expertise that the G.I.Joe team has come to exemplify.

Sincerely,

General Clayton Abernathy

G.I.Joe Chief Field Commander”

As Major Morris began the overwhelming task of reading through each and every resume in detail, he started to see just what General Hawk meant.  Each candidate was just as qualified as the previous one, and he felt that one of the chief deciding factors in the selection process would simply be based on compatibility and overall chemistry.  He would need to evaluate the social skills of each individual and their personality in order to determine if they would be able to work with him.

The major knew that he was not an easy individual to get along with.  Many partners over the years had asked for transfers, while others had flat out refused to work alongside him, and it wasn’t because he was obnoxious or arrogant.  It was because he was a straight shooter and brutally honest about everything and everyone.  If you said that you were going to do something and didn’t follow through, Earl would be the first to call you out on it.  He was a man who took his job very seriously and expected anyone working with him to do exactly the same thing. His had an impeccable work ethic like few others. Fighting the war on drugs as a cop and later as a federal marshal had hardened him, but instead of making him numb to the casualties of this conflict, he had become more passionate about being on the front lines in order to do everything in his power to prevent it from claiming any additional innocent lives. 

As the hours of the night began to wane, he managed to narrow down the list of applicants to only twelve.  Not that the resumes of the other six didn’t impress him, but these twelve stood out just slightly more.  He opened his email server and contemplated waiting until the morning to send off his selections but instead, he sent off his formal list to the general’s courier.  A few moments later, he received an official email confirming receipt of his selections. Each applicant would later receive a second notification with an assigned interview time.

He closed the files, clicked off the desk light, changed his clothes and finally headed to bed. He had made his selections before 2300 hours and as he laid in bed, he began to formulate some of the questions he would be asking them.  He reached for his phone and sent a Good night, I love you text to his wife and then attempted to decompress his mind enough to actually sleep.