Stratagems

  STRATAGEMS

  A Novel

  Richard McAlpin

  To my family –

  Rita, Alyssa, April & Malakai.

  With all my love.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by

  Philip Eckenroth

  One of the smartest, talented and most caring individuals I know.

  Edited by

  Betty Romero Walker

  A brilliant and gifted editor who improved this book tremendously.

  Stratagems, Copyright © 2019 by Richard McAlpin, All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  stratagem

  /stra-de-jem/ (noun)

  A strategy, ruse, ploy to overcome or outwit an opponent or enemy

  Subterfuge, scam or con against an adversary

  A trick or deception to achieve a goal

  stratagems

  /stra-de-jemz/ (noun, plural)

  Multiple strategies to accomplish an end or objective

  Deceptions working against one another leading to preferred outcome or chaos

  CHAPTER ONE

  Summer 1988

  Drew Meyers' eyes fluttered open as the unfamiliar noises woke him from a shallow sleep. At first, he thought he was dreaming, hearing faint voices rising softly from the first floor. He craned his neck, glancing up at the clock sitting on the nightstand. The bright red LEDs glowed 2:03am. He lay there in the quiet darkness, listening intently, still caught in the wake of a fading dream. One of the voices was his mother (that much he knew), but the others were unfamiliar. Male voices, certainly. Two of them, he thought. Other than his father, he was the only other man in the house, although he was only 12 and considered by his parents to just be a young man, and even that esteemed title was a stretch at times. Aside from him and his father, who was away more than home, there was his mother, Sarah, and his five sisters.

  The footfalls came next. Not just one set, but several, ascending slowly up the stairs. He knew soon his mother would be at the door, flipping on the light. Something must have happened. He lay there for a second longer, his breathing starting to become heavy as reality pierced through his consciousness. The footfalls and voices stopped at once, a new voice joining the chorus. It was Susan, Drew's older sister, and she was much louder than the others. At first it was low conversation, undistinguishable from where Drew lay in bed. Sounds of a sleep that had been suddenly interrupted, soon replaced with muffled crying. It was Susan. The echo of her door closing hit Drew's ears as the footsteps drew close to his own door, stopping next at Cindy’s room. She was going down the hall, opening each door as she went, delivering some news that couldn’t wait until morning. He knew it had to be about his father, mostly because his father wasn't home and they didn't really know anyone else. There was no family, no close friends, no one that would personally come to the house with bad news instead of using the telephone. It had happened before, and not too long ago, at a time when his name wasn't Drew Meyers and he had friends and family and a life that he longed to have once again.

  They were at his door.

  The knob turned and the light ripped through the darkness as his mother stepped in, flipping the wall switch. Drew sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to bring the images into focus. His mother stood at the door, the trail of tears down her cheeks still evident. Two men dressed in black suits lingered silently in the outer the hall.

  "Get up, honey. We gotta go."

  "What do you mean?" Drew said, a yawn escaping as the last word trailed off.

  His mother sat on the bed, her hand reaching for his cheek, caressing it gently. "Daddy's had an accident. We need to go."

  "Dad? Where's dad?"

  His mother remained silent for a moment, words seeming to be caught in her throat. "I'll tell you later, just get dressed. Hurry, sweetie."

  She rose quickly and hurried back into the hall, closing the door behind her. Drew sat for a moment, tears starting to form near the corners of his eyes. He knew it was bad, even worse than before. The last time had been years ago, when he was eight, but at that time it had been the afternoon, not two o'clock in the morning. The men had come then as well, dressed in dark suits and even darker glasses, escorting his father into the house like staunch bodyguards. They told the family to pack only two suitcases each, and then they all climbed into dark sedans and drove away. It had been winter and the snow in upstate New York had fallen steadily that day, stopping only occasionally for the sun to peek through the clouds, reminding them there was something above the gloom, only to return to drop a few more inches. It had been the longest winter he could remember, and the memory of moving from their home and leaving everyone and everything behind had stayed with him. Now, sitting alone in his room, the same feeling was returning. They were about to move again.

  He threw his legs over the side of the bed and slipped on the faded jeans draped over the chair, his eyes still adjusting to the light as he fumbled for the tee-shirt that had fallen to the floor.

  His mother returned carrying two suitcases that she set on the bed, flipping both open and looking over at Drew. "You need to start packing. This time, make sure you get everything that's important to you."

  Drew sat on the edge of the bed, dazed and confused, sleep still holding on. "Where's Dad?"

  His mother sat next to him, slowly reaching her arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. "I'm not sure, honey. They said there was an accident, and Dad didn't...he didn't make it."

  "Didn't make it?" Drew repeated in a whisper.

  Tears choked back the words his mother was trying to utter. "He's...he's gone, honey. They said a gunshot, but didn’t say much more."

  Tears started falling down Drew's cheeks. He now knew how bad it really was. The last time they had left their home so suddenly it had been the result of a failed attempt not only on his dad's life, but the entire family’s, which caused them to move and assume new identities.

  "I need you to be strong right now," his mother said. "You need to pack quickly, okay?"

  Drew nodded sleepily, his mother once again leaving the room to tend to his sisters. He could hear more sobs coming from behind his door, knowing there was little time to get things together. He took one suitcase and threw in the essentials – a few changes of clothes, family photos that were scattered around the room in cheap dollar-store frames, a few stuffed animals he had collected as presents since the last time they moved and a few books he had been reading. One was a school library book, but at this point he didn't care. If they wanted it bad enough, they could just try and find him in witness relocation, but he knew his name wouldn’t be Drew after tomorrow. Of course, it didn’t matter. He never liked the name anyway.

  The second suitcase was a bit smaller, making it difficult to stuff with the other things in life he loved. A portable cassette player and a few of his favorite cassettes, a set of headphones, a photo album Susan had given to him last Christmas, a pad of paper, pens, coloring book, crayons and more odds and ends that took up every inch of space. Even so, he was leaving so much behind once more. Then he thought of his father, and knew this time it was different. Dad wouldn’t be there, and the men in the suits would probably move them farther away, perhaps even off the East Coast entirely.

  He rose with both suitcases in hand, looking around one last time. A sick feeling started to g
row in the pit of his stomach. As he stepped into the hall, he knew it was going to be a very long day. His sisters were still in their rooms, and his mother was nowhere in sight. She was probably helping Jenny, the youngest in the family, and the news would be especially hard for her. She was dad's favorite, although he never let on to the others; she was his sweet little one, as he always called her. When she was just four years old, she called him at work late one night and left a two-minute voice mail asking if he was coming home or sleeping at work, then recited the names of all her sisters, saying they each loved him and to please come home. She stretched it out for a full two minutes and her dad loved it so much he saved it on a cassette tape and listened to it when he was feeling low.

  Drew descended the stairs to the foyer below. The two men, surely FBI, were sitting on the couch in the living room. One was casually thumbing through a magazine with his feet propped on the coffee table while the other sat quietly, staring blankly until Drew stepped into the room. The one without the magazine rose. "Are you ready?"

  Drew shook his head. "No," he said softly, setting his bags near the front door. "Not yet."

  Drew walked toward the kitchen, leaving the two strangers alone once again. He went to the sink, looking out the window toward the backyard, feeling stunned and suddenly alone. The garden lighting his dad installed last summer lit the backyard with a surreal ambient glow. His dad kept the lights burning all night because he wanted to be able to see his pride and joy at any time. It was fitting since his father would arrive home at all hours of the night or even the wee hours of the morning. The yard was large, the largest Drew could ever remember, with massive trees, rolling grass and lots of shrubs. Gardening had been the one thing his dad cherished nearly as much as his family. Drew was certain the garden would die without the care of his father, and it wouldn’t be long before it would all be gone. Much like his father was now. Living with that reality would be difficult, especially for his mother. Drew was the only man in the house, and he didn't want to be.

  He took one last glance out the window and headed for the refrigerator. The light spilled across the floor as he opened the door, illuminating the entire kitchen. He reached in and grabbed the last four of a six-pack of Coke, all dangling by the plastic rings, and headed for the living room. The agents were still sitting in their places, waiting for the family to come down with their worldly possessions stuffed into suitcases.

  Drew peeled off a Coke and handed the rest to the agent holding the magazine. "Want one?"

  The agent looked up and shook his head, returning to the pages of some obscure article on hand guns, as if Drew had never interrupted him. Drew turned to the other agent, offering the Coke but not saying a word. This agent was different. Friendlier. He reached over and pulled one off, saying thanks, and even managed a faint smile. Drew took the chair near the foot of the couch, popped the tab and took a long sip. He wasn't accustomed to drinking Coke at two in the morning, but it felt nice and cold going down, and something told him he would need the caffeine.

  "What happened to my father?" Drew asked no one in particular.

  The agents glanced at one another, an uneasy pause passing between them, then the one with the magazine looked over at Drew. "Sorry. We're not at liberty to say."

  They sat in silence for a few anxious moments until his mother and sisters finally came down the stairs, quiet sobs accompanying them. Each carried a suitcase, setting them near the door next to Drew’s. He got up, finished off his Coke and went back up the stairs, bringing the rest of the luggage down. By the time he retrieved the last bag, the agents were already outside, moving the suitcases to one of three black SUVs parked on the street with their engines idling. There were three more agents stationed outside, one at each corner of the yard near the street and the third keeping watch by the trucks, a lit cigarette casually dangling from the corner of his mouth.

  Drew stepped into the darkness. Even though it was summer, the early Virginia morning chill seeped through his clothes as he lugged the cases to the farthest SUV, fitting them in the back seat that was already stuffed with their baggage. There were over a dozen assorted bags already, two each for himself and his five sisters, and probably more that his mother had packed. He knew his mother kept a large duffel bag of her most precious items packed away since the last time. Somehow, she knew it would happen again, at least she told him that when they first moved. He shoved the last case onto the floorboard of the back seat and managed to close the door with one final shove.

  Drew turned around and took one last look at the house. He would miss this home most of all. It had been the first one that felt like a real home, that had an actual yard with grass and trees and the adjoining buildings didn't rise far into the sky like their apartment in New York. But that remained a distant memory, one he hardly recalled, but a few photos still lingered even though his mother had been told to get rid of all traces from their past life. She never did. She kept the duffel bag tucked away in a far corner of her closet, from time to time pulling it out and reminiscing how life had been; a time when the kids were still young and growing up happy; a time of innocence. A time that was no more.

  Drew leaned against the SUV and watched as his mother and sisters slowly emerged from the house, the two FBI agents trailing behind them and locking up. His family huddled close together as they made their way toward him, the other agents converging as well.

  The agent who had been reading the magazine spoke first. "We will have to split you up, three in one and four in the other."

  "I'll go in the first SUV," Drew said.

  Susan chimed in. "Me too."

  Jenny said she would go with them as well.

  No more was said as they split up and climbed in the vehicles. The warm in of the car hit Drew suddenly as he scooted across the seat behind the driver's side, Jenny sliding in next to him and Susan climbing in last and closing the door. The magazine agent got behind the wheel. The other one, the one who had been smoking, took his place in the front passenger seat, the odor of stale smoke following him inside the cab.

  They pulled away from the curb in a small procession. Drew glanced out the window, trying to make out the houses in his neighborhood. The dark tint prevented him from seeing much, but he could still distinguish familiar shadows as they made their way down the street. People were still in their beds, fast asleep without a care. They would wake in the morning and not notice right away that their neighbors had left in the dead of night. In fact, it could be two, or perhaps three days before they would catch on that something was different. A team of agents would descend upon their home, dressed as movers, bringing with them an eighteen-wheeler to cart away everything that had been left behind. Drew knew they would never see any of it again. Their belongings would vanish into the abyss, wiped from the face of the earth, much like what was about to happen to them.

  Everyone was quiet as they moved through the night. The lights of the suburbs finally vanished as they headed out of the city, a faint line of trees visible from the splash of the headlights. Drew wasn't sure anymore where they were or even which direction they were headed, but he knew it had to be some government complex. There were hundreds of them scattered throughout Virginia.

  Jenny leaned over, her lips close to his ear, and whispered, "It's stuffy in here. I can hardly breath."

  Drew pressed the button and the window went down a few inches, the cool night air flooding into the cab.

  The agent sitting in the passenger seat, the one who had been smoking in his yard, turned around suddenly. "Shut that window."

  Drew glared at him. "We just want it open for a second."

  The agent leaned closer. "I said shut that damn window. Now!"

  "It's stuffy in here," Drew said, leaving the window where it was. "In fact, the whole car smells like a dirty ashtray."

  The agent froze, his eyes forming into thin slits, their gaze fixed on Drew. "Shut it, you little shit! Right now!"

  "It's okay, Drew," Jenny whi
spered into his ear. "Close it. I'm okay."

  Drew looked at Jenny, then to the agent. "No."

  Jenny's face went pale. Drew stood his ground, staring at the agent, not moving, not giving any sign of fear or intimidation. A lesson his father had taught him. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the driver, the magazine agent, glancing at his partner in the passenger seat but staying out of the argument.

  The agent moved his hand behind his back, returning with his pistol drawn, the barrel pointed just to the side of Drew. "Now, for the last time, shut that damn window."

  "Shut it, Drew," Jenny pleaded. "Just shut it."

  Drew sat silent for a second, his eyes fixed on the agent’s, neither budging as the cool air rushed through the small crack. The moment seemed frozen in time.

  The driver turned to the agent. "Gary, put the gun away." Suddenly, Drew's window went up as the driver craned his neck back, trying to catch a glimpse of Drew out of the corner of his eye. "That's enough air for tonight. Okay?"

  Drew didn't say a word as Gary turned around, the gun disappearing to his side.

  Gary turned to the driver. "Dammit, Sims! Why didn't you do that in the first place?"

  There was a brief silence before he answered. "Where's the fun in that?" Sims slowly glanced over at Gary, a smile across his face that even Drew could see.

  "Stupid, son-of-a…" Gary muttered, slamming his fist on the dash, muffling obscenities under his breath.

  Jenny leaned closer to Drew, resting her head against his shoulder. He glanced down. More tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks, but she didn't make a sound. He looked over to Susan who was just staring out the window, not saying a word, not moving a muscle. Drew figured she was still in shock. She was in marching band and played the trumpet. Even though their father was gone a lot, he would almost always make her performances, video recorder clutched firmly in his hands as she marched proudly on the field. The times he didn’t make it, Drew would record her so his dad could watch later with Susan snuggled against him. Truth was, looking at her now, he figured Susan was also his dad’s favorite as much as Jenny. Of all the daughters, both of them were definitely closest to their dad. Both were also very attached to Drew, and the reality that he was now officially the man of the house hit home, and an uneasy feeling settled over him. He loved his sisters, but he didn't want the responsibility. It had been bad enough when his dad wasn't home that much, gone for days at a time, and now…