The Clan
The DCM gushed through her obsequious welcome speech as The Ambassador stood nearby preening. At the appropriate time The Ambassador stepped forward to become the center of attention, where she belonged. Her speech was short and void of substance. After the final toast the audience dispersed throughout the garden clustering in small conversational groups.
The military attachés gathered along the rail at the bluff’s edge, looking out over the city, conversing in hushed tones. The Defense Attaché, US Air Force Colonel Joan Saindoux-Fessier, commanded the group with the military precision of a Beverly Hills Brownie troop. She was living proof that cream is not the only thing that rises to the top. Her husband, Ashley Fessier, a flamboyantly enthusiastic fellow, stood ever at her side daintily sipping champagne. Their offspring, Pat, maintained a solitary vigil posted not far away in the corner of the garden. Somewhat of an enigma, no one in the embassy community was sure if the name Pat was short for Patrick or Patricia, and none dared to ask the volatile Defense Attaché. Pat stood in silence staring into space over the rooftops of the city below.
The DATT’s lackey, officially known as the Operations Coordinator, Air Force Chief Master Sergeant Chet Fortune, hovered nearby at the end of the very tight leash held by his overly attentive wife, Deidre. Possessing an odd physique, muscular and sinewy, yet somehow dystrophic, with stoop shoulders, always looking at the ground, shifty eyes darting about, never making contact, he maintained the demeanor of a heroin addict in need of a fix. It was often difficult for the casual observer to determine exactly what official purpose Chet served. He appeared primarily preoccupied with the task of redecorating their apartment to appease Deidre. He was amazed by the fact that he was actually beginning to enjoy it. Normally he hated shopping for anything. Maybe he was getting in touch with his feminine side. Maybe it was because he didn’t have worry about cost. The government provided fully furnished quarters and it was if he had a blank check to spend as he, or in actuality Deidre, pleased.
Completing the group were the Naval Attaché, Commander Dominic Vasquez, and his wife Consuelo. A proud Latino Catholic, and graduate of the US Naval Academy at Annapolis, Dominic was the father of eight children with one on the way. It was if the couple was on a mission to personally supplant the world population of protestant heretics.
“I don’t believe ya’ll have been over to pay your respects to The Ambassador,” Wynette said in her uniquely annoying manner as she intruded upon their conversation. The Colonel grunted with disgust. She despised pandering to the cookie pushing diplomats. The grandeur, prestige, and dignity of the United States were best represented by the military. She was the face of America to Nordeland. The rest of the embassy was simply inconsequential.
The Ambassador was holding court in the center of the garden, seated on a bench on the flagstone patio, surrounded by her courtiers. Short of stature and wide of girth, the Colonel waddled more than walked as she moved toward The Ambassador. Bypassing the line of lesser staffers waiting to pay homage, she approached The Ambassador directly, elbowed the underlings aside, delicately took The Ambassador’s hand and with feigned sincerity said, “It’s a beautiful party, Madam Ambassador. Such a lovely evening. We just wanted to thank you for your gracious hospitality and once again welcome you to Nordeland.”
The Ambassador stared at her with a slightly stunned expression, yet at the same time maintained the ever present superficial smile. Their eyes met. The Colonel spun on her heel and led her troops to the exit.
Regional inSecurity
Raymond Hoffman, the embassy Regional Security Officer, sat in his car partially concealed by the faint shadows of the overhanging tree branches. He was parked at the base of the three hundred foot tall bluff that constituted The Hill, directly under the embassy compound. The wall he faced was almost sheer straight up and down. It might be climbable, but not without some effort. And most assuredly not without someone noticing. But The Ambassador was security conscious. Especially since she lived on compound. She felt the unprotected cliff face provided a welcome point for surreptitious entry. Raymond explained that the embassy maintained a roving guard within the compound at all times. The guards walked the complete length of the cliff top every twenty minutes. The Ambassador promptly informed him that The Residence and its associated grounds were her private residence and she did not appreciate the embassy guards entering her back yard without her prior consent. She considered that an invasion of her privacy and demanded the practice stop immediately. Raymond then recommended raising the height of the wall along the cliff top. That would not do. The Ambassador enjoyed the views. Especially from the courtyard. The presentation the vistas provided was essential for her most important of duties, entertaining. He had consulted his liaison with the Royal Nordelandian Police to see if they could provide a permanent police presence posted at the bottom of the cliff. It was all the man could do to keep from laughing in Raymond’s face. The Nordelandian police already went to great expense indulging the Americans’ concerns. He had no additional manpower to provide. He could ensure that the nighttime roving patrols included the area as a part of their normal routine.
The Ambassador was not happy. She ordered Raymond to provide a plan to improve the security. He didn’t look forward to the task. Original thought was not exactly Raymond’s forte. In the meantime he was to personally inspect the wall daily during hours of darkness. Good thing it was only dark about four hours a night.
He took a sip of his coffee then peered through the night scope at the wall. Nothing. He would stay a few more minutes, make a pass by the front gate to check in, and then head home. Raymond hated getting new ambassadors. There was always such a long breaking in process. And here he was, posted in a safe country, in the city with the lowest crime rate in the world, conducting night patrols to ensure superfly didn’t scale the wall and attack The Ambassador. If he had wanted this he would have stayed on the Miami-Dade Police Department.
Raymond had enlisted in the Marines while he was still in high school. He reported to boot camp immediately upon graduation and served in his Military Occupational Specialty, Postal Clerk. Three years later he re-enlisted and volunteered for the Marine Security Guard program protecting embassies around the world. He quickly learned that embassy life was not bad, even for a lowly watch stander. No perk or benefit was too large or too small to expect the American tax payer to provide. Raymond knew where his career path lay.
Upon his discharge Raymond returned to his home and enrolled at Florida State University. He found the academic challenges of a degree in Criminal Justice to be grueling, but he worked hard and finally graduated. Unfortunately, there was a hiring freeze at the State Department and Raymond found himself unemployed and idle. He considered re-enlisting in the Marines, but he wasn’t that desperate. With no money coming in, he realized he had to do something so he joined the Miami-Dade Police Department. Long nights of patrolling city streets, working innumerable muggings, robberies, domestic disturbances, and every other type of crime imaginable evolved into a suffocating drudgery further fueling his desire to return overseas. Five years, a wife, and two kids later Raymond’s dreams were finally realized.
His first posting was in Asia. Life was easy. A nine-to-five job with an office, blustering authority with little actual responsibility, cheap cost of living, and extra hardship pay which bought the maids, gardeners, amahs, and just about every toy he wanted. Raymond had found a home.
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Also by E.C. Jacobs:
The kidnapping and massacre of the passengers and crew of a pleasure craft trigger a fateful chain of events.
Dive into intrigue and suspense in exotic Southeast Asia. Join Ian McEdwards, a down-on-his-luck American businessman living in Malaysia, as he weathers storms, outwits terrorist, and fights for his business and his life, all while looking for clues to the location of a sunken shipload of gold.
Ian McEdwards is a freelance international business consultant. That is how he earns a living. But his passion is SCUBA diving and the search for the wreck of the legendary treasure ship Sunchaser. Desperate for business, Ian unknowingly takes a client that is in actuality a money-laundering front for Abu Sayyaf, one of the most virulent terrorist organizations in Southeast Asia. Soon, the CIA moves in to investigate and Ian finds himself falling in love with a young, beautiful, covert agent. Caught between terrorists and the Agency, while searching for a fortune in lost gold, Ian is grasping for one LAST CHANCE.
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