Silent Magic: The Adventures, Romance and Enlightenment of Clay St. Clair

By John Dennis Viviano

Afghanistan war hero, former Army Ranger, brilliant mathematician and part-time FBI Contractor Clay St. Clair is drawn into an international thriller by his former commanding officer and corrupt CIA operative Rush Mackinaw. Along with his beautiful, smart and athletic girlfriend Nancy Picararo, he uncovers Rush’s plan to financially blackmail the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483507224

Book preview

Squared

Crocodiles

The pair of Crocodiles flew in low over the platoon of Afghan Army regulars which were lead by two US Army Rangers. From the briefing that he had received three days ago, Clay St. Clair knew that the MI-24’s, also known as crocodiles, were old attack and troop transport helicopters that the Russians had first brought into production during the Vietnam War. A few years earlier, six of them had been donated to the NATO war effort by the Czech Republic and they were now flown by an Afghan Air Force forward operations extraction unit.

You take your guys and jump onto the first bird. Me and my guys will use the other one. Rush Mackinaw yelled to Clay over the noise of the copters.

Rush was a big, burly guy. He could have easily played linebacker for a professional football team. He had jet black hair, and despite army rules, shaved only on a sporadic basis. His dark five-o'clock shadow, combined with a general surliness, made him look like an unkempt Russian mafia boss.

Acknowledged Clay signaled with a thumbs-up hand movement.

Clay was the total opposite of Rush. He was six foot tall, lean and muscular, and looked like he could be an Olympic swimmer or world class gymnast. His light brown hair was a bit long by conventional Army standards. By the standards of those who operated on the front lines of the Afghan conflict, he could have been a poster boy for an Army recruiting campaign.

Clay and Rush were both First Lieutenants in the Army Special Forces and had been tasked to prevent enemy infiltration in their sector. They both went about it in very different ways.

Clay’s technique was to find the power centers, make friends with the local strongmen, and then bring them onto his side by setting mutually-beneficial goals. He scratched their backs with schools and hospitals. They scratched his with intelligence on enemy troop movements and munition stashes.

Rush’s main technique was to find the meanest looking guy in the neighborhood, goon-squad him to a secret location, then squeeze as much information from him as possible using lies, torture, or whatever else it took. As long as his informant was providing him with usable information, Rush was his best friend. After the informant was sucked dry of his dirty secrets, Rush made him unceremoniously disappear.

I’ve got a stop to make before returning to the base. Rush yelled again as Clay and his men boarded their copter.

Our orders are to return to base immediately. Clay yelled back. Major Alpena was very specific at the briefing.

What Major Alpena doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, or me. Rush replied with a mischievous smirk. All you have to do is follow my lead and stay out of the way.

Clay didn’t like the plan but agreed. Army protocol called for the whole unit to return to base together. Clay was an expert in adaptability if the situation called for it but there was no immediate threat that made Rush’s detour necessary. He was also a team player and where Rush went, he was required to go as back up.

The two copters took to the sky, with Rush and his men in the lead bird. The terrain turned from rocky outcroppings to flat farmland. Twelve miles down range from their extraction point, Clay’s earphones crackled.

This is it. He heard Rush’s static filled voice say. As I mentioned, you just lay back, no matter what happens.

Clay’s bird hovered high over the scene as Rush’s copter swept in low. As it neared the small village of old farm huts, two unarmed men came running out of one of the buildings waving their arms. It appeared to Clay that they were signaling the copters not to land.

That’s Armagan. Clay spoke into his radio headset to Rush. I’ve been working with him for three months now to run a school for girls in this area.

Rush did not answer back as his copter made a sharp left turn and headed towards the two men. When they were a football field’s length away, it opened fire with the twin-barreled GSh-23L cannon that were affixed to the landing skid. When the copter was half a football field away, it let loose two of the six rockets that were located on the underside of the craft.

Five buildings burst into flames. As the copter came in for a second pass, another two rockets were let loose and the rest of the village exploded.

"Rush, what’s going on? Clay screamed into his headset.

Just cleaning up some unfinished business with the bad guys. Rush miked back.

That’s Armagan. He’s on our side. Clay screamed back.

Jobs done. Rush replied. We can now head back to base. Saying this, Rush turned his copter and headed it in the direction of the airfield.

Clay knew that standard operating procedure dictated that the two helicopters should stay together. He could not just watch as the village burned and its residents fled into the fields. He knew many of the villagers personally and could not believe that any of them would do anything to support the terrorists that Clay and Rush were fighting.

I’m going down. He miked to Rush. Come with me.

No way, buddy. They got what they deserved. I’m going home. Come if you want or explain to Major Alpena why you chose to break up the unit.

As Rush’s copter headed in the direction of the airfield, Clay directed his pilot to land in a grassy field that was thirty yards from the village. The copters skids hit the ground and he and his men jumped out and ran to the burning village. As they inspected the buildings for survivors, one of Clay’s men signaled for him to join him in a small hut. Clay crossed the threshold of the small dwelling and immediately smelled burning flesh. Upon entering a back bedroom, he saw the source of the smell. Lying on a simple straw pallet was a young Afghan mother and her two infants. All three were burned beyond recognition.

As Clay absorbed what had happened to the young family, one of his Afghan translators came in and motioned for Clay to follow. Lying on the ground next to the village’s well, was Armagan. Blood oozed from at least half a dozen wounds in his body. His hair had been blackened from the flames that had burned most of the clothes from his body. But, he was still managing to take one uneasy breath after another.

Armagan, Rush told me that he did this to your village because you deserved it. Why have you double crossed us?

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Armagan replied to Clay through the translator. Clay, you are my friend. I have never done anything to hurt you or your people. And, I would never have done anything.

Do you have any idea why Rush did this to your village?

Yes Armagan slowly replied, gasping for breath as he did so. Last week, Rush came to our village and spoke with our council of elders. He gave us an ultimatum. Either work with some of his friends who were running drugs or pay the consequences. We are a simple, peaceful people who strictly follow our Muslim faith. We felt that it was not right to do as Rush requested and asked him to leave. My guess is that this was his way of not taking no for an answer.

Are you willing to come with me and tell your story to my commander? Clay asked

Clay, you are my friend. After you built that school for my daughters, I would do anything for you. Now, I am afraid I cannot honor your request.

Saying these words, Armagan closed his eyes, took a final deep breath and allowed his spirit to be taken by the angels to the heavenly gardens of Allah.

Rush Forward

It was now three year since Clay and Rush had both lead a platoon of Army Rangers in the same sector in Afghanistan. By Clay’s reckoning, three years was not nearly enough time between meetings. Clay was eventually field promoted to company commander. Rush went into black operations. More than once, Clay’s goals conflicted with Rush’s questionable tactics. Clay was decorated again and again for his field achievements, especially the low injury and mortality rates of his troops. Rush was eventually ushered out of the army under a cloud of suspicion, most of which was true, if not completely proven. Clay was proud of his service to his country. It was later found out that, while in the service to his country, Rush got rich by selling black operation intelligence to heroin dealers.

Clay! Rush yelled across the crowded street. Hold up! he yelled again as he weaved through traffic to get to Clay’s side of the street. Long time no see.

Yes Clay responded softly, thinking to himself that it was not long enough.

What are you up to these days? asked Rush.

Back to school, playing some sports and just living life as it comes. said Clay.

School. Now that is a way to learn a bunch of stuff that you will never use. It is also a good way to go into debt. Wouldn’t you rather be making money, and I mean big money, instead of filling your head with those strings of numbers you used to play with on those long stakeouts we used to endure in the war?

Making some money would be good but it will probably have to wait until after I get my Ph.D. Clay said.

Clay, you are already smart enough and I can get you plenty of money now. How would you like to work for me? persuaded Rush.

Doing what? Clay asked, knowing already that he would probably not like the answer.

Doing whatever I ask you to do, replied Rush. I need someone with brains to bring order to my operations. I would be the boss. You would be my second in command. I cut the deals with the clients and you make sure the contracts get fulfilled.

And what business are you in? asked Clay.

I’m in the magic business. Rush replied coyly. My clients ask me to magically move their goods from one place to the other without undue attention and I magically make it happen. We also specialize in human resource problems. Our clients ask us to make quick changes to their organizational chart and are not too picky about how we get the job done. I can guarantee half a million in your pocket in the first year. The sky’s the limit after that. You interested?

Clay thought back to the days when he made five dollars an hour selling coffee to grey-haired ladies at bingo. He would have had to sell a lot of coffee to make half a million dollars. He felt his senses go into high alert. Clay realized that the needle of his knowing meter was on wrong and pointing squarely at Rush.

Thanks for asking, Rush. I think I’ll pass.

Pass, pass, pass. repeated Rush. People don’t pass up my offers. I am offering you a golden opportunity and you need to take it. One way or another, you are going to be involved with my business. You might as well take the half million for your efforts.

I appreciate your persistence but the job is not right for me. I’m out. concluded Clay as he started to walk away.

After turning his back to Rush and taking two steps away, he started to feel a spot just below his left shoulder blade heat up. As he turned his head to see what might be generating such heat at such a close range, he saw Rush staring pointedly at his shoulder. On his right index finger was a device that seemed to be generating some type of soundless radiation. It wasn’t a gun, or at least not any type of gun that Clay had ever seen. It was more like a ring, a ring with a large black stone in the center. The stone was glowing and seemed to be sending pulsating waves at Clay’s shoulder.

Instinctively, Clay’s Ranger training kicked in. His body swung around and his right foot struck Rush’s hand. As this happened, Rush’s ring finger was knocked to the side and his concentration was broken.

That was not cool! Rush blurted out in anger.

Neither was the burning of my shoulder that you caused with that ring. retorted Clay.

I told you I was in the magic business, Clay, and I just wanted to show you how powerful my magic is.

I have no interest in your magic or your business. Clay said firmly. I know how you operate and I want nothing to do with your clients, operations or money. Just back off and forget that we ever ran into each other.

As I said earlier. warned Rush, I don’t easily take no for an answer. Think about my offer and we will talk again. It was now Rush’s turn to walk away.

Forming Clay

Clay. Actually, Clay St. Clair is my full name, he replied, as he nervously ran his right hand through his thick brown hair. It was now medium length. He knew that he should have probably got it cut before his job interview, but he liked the feel of it as it blew in the wind when he rode his maroon Kawasaki KZ 1000 motorcycle to the interviews.

Thanks for coming down, the manager of the Za Shop said. I’ll call you if something opens up for a pizza maker.

Clay was getting tired of filling out job applications but knew that he had to keep at it. Funds were low. If he didn’t get a job soon, he would have to transfer from Notre Dame to South Lake. Notre Dame was a private, college prep high school that was located in the city of Harper Woods, a suburb on the east side of Detroit. The teachers were tough and the home work was never ending but Clay knew that he was getting a top notch education. South Lake, the local public high school, was also a good school but not nearly as academically challenging. The Dominican nuns that were his grade school teachers at St. Peters kind of did him a favor. When Clay graduated from eighth grade, they arranged a half-year’s scholarship for him at Notre Dame. His parents were thrilled. With seven kids and the family living on blue collar, lower middle class wages, they were not able to pay for the balance of the upper middle class tuition that the school charged. As a result, Clay was always working at two or three jobs.

He remembered his first real job. He had lied to get it. The Macomb Daily newspaper required a boy to be at least eleven years old to work for them. Clay was only ten and a half, but he turned out to be an excellent paper boy. He constantly acquired new customers and his manager regularly told him that no customer complaints were ever received about his route.

In addition to his paper route, Clay regularly shoveled snow, cut grass and performed almost any other odd chore for which one of his neighbors was willing to pay him. The going rate for these services was about two dollars per hour. After all, a guy had to start somewhere.

As Clay got a few years older, he took on greater responsibilities: painting garages; passing out leaflets at polling places for politicians; washing dishes at restaurants. And, Clay was the only boy he knew that attended every record hop at his school, yet did not dance one dance. Why? Because he was always behind the concession stand selling popcorn and drinks to the real dancers.

Clay’s teenage work career reached a pinnacle when he obtained a job selling candy bars and coffee to the elderly, grey-haired ladies who attended the endlessly popular bingo nights at his high school every Wednesday. The Marist priest who ran the bingo paid him big wages - three dollars per hour - plus a candy bar at the end of the night if he did a good job!

At seventeen, Clay took another leap forward in his working life. His father got him a job as a warehouseman for a company who made office supplies. It was a very good job. All day long, Clay unloaded trucks filled with fifty pound boxes of paper products. It didn't take long before his biceps were bulging, and he had a six pack of rippled muscles for a stomach. It paid six dollars and twenty-five cents per hour. This was more than twice what he was making working at bingo! The company gave him lots of hours so he was able to pay for the remainder of his high school education without himself or his family going into debt.

College was more expensive than even his private boys’ high school. So Clay increased his work hours. He was now working almost full time as a warehouseman and going to college full time studying mathematics and physics. The upside was that he now had a well-muscled physique capable of easily pressing one hundred pound boxes. The down side was that Clay had less time to play the sports that he loved.

Between classes, Clay would participate in the touch football pickup games that were always going on in the college common area. Baseball was another game that he had always loved. He learned the basics from his father and further polished his skills playing little league. He had even made the Little League All-Star Team. Unfortunately, his work and school schedule prevented him from playing on any school teams, although the coaches regularly asked him to do so. At home, Clay’s family had a ping-pong table in the basement, and the local parish priest would come over to play. For the first year, Father Oullette would mercilessly crush him at the table. As time went on though, Clay got pretty good and eventually never lost - even to Father Oullette.

Although Clay was able to keep his grades up, by the end of his sophomore year of college, the fatigue from his full time school and full time work schedules were taking their toll. Even though he was working full time, his bank account was empty and tuition payments were coming due.

Clay felt like his world was crumbling around him. So, when he got a call from the local Army recruiter offering him a large signing bonus plus the money to finish his college education, he jumped at it.

Teen Rush

Keep your hands off me Rush Mackinaw. the busty red head squealed for the fifth time.

What a prude, Heather Burkowski. Rush replied. If you don’t give it to me, your friend Brenda will. He bargained.

Brenda is a whore. I’m not. Heather retorted. Just going out with you might get me into trouble. My father overheard our conversation the other night. He told me that you are the boy with the worst reputation in Brighton Beach, and maybe the whole of Brooklyn, and maybe the whole of the State of New York. He said that if I ever went out with you, he would ground me for a month.

Fine Rush retorted as he opened the passenger door from his seat behind the wheel. Have it your way. He then shoved her out the door and onto the ground.

As the red head sat sprawled on the sidewalk, Rush put his father’s new Porsche 911 into gear, squealed the tires and shot off down the street. He could have almost any girl that he wanted. He didn’t need the red head, he rationalized. He was the star running back for his high school team and his father was rich. At seventeen, he was six foot, three inches tall and had muscles that even a gay magazine model would envy. He may not be the brightest student to ever attend Abraham Lincoln High School but he was pretty sure that he was the best looking.

……

Rush’s father agreed with the assessment of Mr. Burkowski. He hated to admit it but his son was a jerk when it came to girls. Mr. Burkowski had just called to tell him that his son had ditched Heather in one of the worse neighborhoods in Brooklyn. Many other fathers had called Alexander Mackinaw with similar complaints over the past few years. They all had asked that Rush be punish severely.

Alexander Mackinaw was not sure what he should do. He had to admit that after his wife had died, when Rush was just eight