Jason & Alicia

By Paco Jones

The story of Robert Lane and Sandra Thomas has its roots in Jason Croft and Alicia Barrett. This is that story.

Jason Croft and Alicia Barrett were the most elite team of operatives in Special Operations. They accepted and successfully completed many missions that others said were impossible. Neither believed in impossible, so they relished each opportunity to complete the missions that couldn't be done.

Jason always said, "Nothing is impossible. It may be difficult or it may be highly improbable, but it is never impossible."

He also was known to say, "If you don't try you can't fail and there are many successes in failure."

In "Craft Faire Love" and "The View Beyond" you were introduced to Bob Lane and Sandy Thomas. This is the story of their origins and how they got here. It is mentioned in those two stories, but here are the fine details ... the secret revealed.

The secret? Who they are and what they did in their "past life" to warrant their present situation. They were in permanent mission mode keeping the new life on an even keel.

Not everything worked out as planned. Their "Mission from Hell" ended their careers in SO and their lives moved on to "Craft Faire Love" and "The View Beyond". This is more a prequel than a sequel, but you can read it first or last ... they all fit together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paco Jones
• Release date: Feb 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463902141

Paco Jones

Dr. Paco Jones is an aging Hippie. One of his favorite sayings is: "I will always be a Hippie. It's not a changeable condition." Born in Los Angeles and raised in the San Francisco Bay area he is a true product of the 60's and is a firm subscriber to the cliché "If you can remember the 60's you weren't there." He served in the United States Navy doing a tour in Vietnam in 1969 and 1970.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Disclaimer

Acknowledgement

Preface

Prologue

Chapter 1 -- Jason's First Years

Chapter 2 -- Rookie Mission

Chapter 3 -- Measured Success

Chapter 4 -- More of the Same

Chapter 5 -- Submarines

Chapter 6 -- Bambi's Revelation

Chapter 7 -- Recon

Chapter 8 -- Sims, Plans, and the Andrews Girl

Chapter 9 -- The New Bambi

Chapter 10 -- Coup d'État - Wounds Will Heal

Chapter 11 -- After Coup Recuperation

Chapter 12 - Alicia Barrett

Chapter 13 - A Partnership

Chapter 14 - Intimacy

Chapter 15 - Alicia's Acceptance

Chapter 16 - Alicia's First Foray

Chapter 17 - The Little Black Book

Chapter 18 - World Bank Treachery

Chapter 19 -- All the Banks are Falling Down

Chapter 20 - Wright Patterson Air Force Base

Chapter 21 - EBE's

Chapter 22 - Recover the Bird

Chapter 23 - Diplomatic Harassment

Chapter 24 - Diplomatic Rescue

Chapter 25 - Mission from Hell

Chapter 26 - Recovery

Chapter 27 - Disappearing Act

Chapter Last - The Beat Goes On

Epilogue

Afterword

About the Author

Books by Paco Jones

Acknowledgment

Any author will tell you that an effort such as this is not a solitary endeavor. I'm a storyteller, but not an expert in English grammar ... hey I'm working on it. What writing has taught me is how little attention I paid to English classes in school. If it's going to be anywhere near readable, it takes a team and I am extremely thankful for my team. I can write it, but without them, you probably wouldn't really want to read it.

I am humbly indebted to the proofreading skills of my friend PawWriter. He added much readability to the original manuscript. He also saved Sandy's life, but that's another story.

A quiet thank you goes out to Orblover and Strickland83 for their kind words of encouragement and when I ask for it, encouragement has always come from my friend Robert Lubrican.

These gentlemen's kind words of advice have kept me on the straight and narrow. Okay, as straight and narrow as I get...

There are others out there in ether land that I owe a debt of thanks to as well. I'm afraid to start a list for fear I'll forget someone, but you know whom you are!

I also have to send a heartfelt thank you to you, the reader. Without you, none of this would be worth the effort.

Thank you

pj 2019!

Preface

I've been working on the other series for so long, I'd forgotten I wanted to do something else about Bob, Sandy, and the girls, but as it turns out, it's only Bob and Sandy. The girls will come along in due time, but those stories have already been written, Craft Faire Love and The Tahoe Files.

This is the story about the two exiled Special Operations operatives performing their assigned missions. A couple of these were glossed over in The Tahoe Files, but there is so much more to tell.

The solo missions that Jason worked have not been written anywhere so strap in and hold on. The Jason and Alicia connection is only half the story, but Jason would tell you it's the better half.

I hope to lead you through some of the training sequences that each candidate has to go through. Jason Croft is the instructor of the class with Alicia Barrett in attendance, so the training has extra meaning and though there was desire on all parts, the rules didn't provide for any kind of personal contact.

After graduation, the intimacy between the two begins in earnest. It will be a relationship that will last for many adventures and if you read Craft Faire Love, and The Tahoe Files you'll get a feel for that relationship as it evolved over the time following this story ... the time of their exile.

You will also note that this work is actually a prequel of sorts to Craft Faire Love because this story covers the experiences that caused Jason Croft and Alicia Barrett to become Robert Lane and Sandra Thomas and the ending of this story leads directly into Craft Faire Love. If you have already read it, this will give you a bit more insight into Bob and Sandy's relationship and their past life related to the timeframe of that story.

It was always a question in the other books and though somewhat explained, the explanation is extremely superficial. Those stories weren't about special operations, they were about their lives in exile. This book gives you the true story of why they were forced into exile. The secret revealed.

The mission from hell that ended their SO careers is in a lot more detail here as are some of the other missions they went on. This should give you a sense of the kinds of things that are happening all over the world even today, but you will never hear about them. All of this goes on in the shadows while we live our normal lives ... whatever normal is.

I hope you enjoy this dive into Navy Special Operation with Jason Croft and Alicia Barrett.

pj 2018/20

*** This work contains explicit adult content ***

Prologue

It was time to tell the story, but where to begin?

Bob looked at Sandy and with a heavy sigh, said, I guess the best place to start is at the beginning.

Are you going to tell it? asked Sandy, taking a sip of her drink.

Oh hell no. We both spent weeks telling it to him and his bloody recording machine, so I’m going to let him tell it ... he's the storyteller, not me. We'll review it for accuracy, but it's all on tape, so he has the details. I'm going to lay some groundwork up to the time I went to SO training, but that's it, said Bob, looking at me.

How much did you say on the tape? she asked.

All of it, sweetheart ... every fucking painful detail. Shit, he's got at least fifty or sixty hours to digest, probably more.

Yeah, from me too. I'm sure he'll get the picture, but I want to read it before it goes anywhere, Sandy said seriously.

Being the storyteller, all I could do was stare at them, but I was ready. At least I thought I was.

I started the tape for this session.

-----

It all started at the Navy recruiter's office in a tiny town in Massachusetts, Bob started. "Which small town doesn't matter, only that it is typical of any New England small town with all its monotony, gossip, and general bullshit. I couldn't get out of there fast enough after graduation.

"I sat talking with the Chief at the front desk, listening to his spiel. Chief had seen it a thousand times before, so he always started the paperwork during the initial contact. There would soon be a manila folder in the office filing cabinet with the name Jason Croft neatly printed on the tab.

"The folder would contain all of the paperwork the Chief created along with the pages that he'd had me fill out for the record. It would contain my test scores and the answer sheets that would classify me for a rate, as it is referred to in the Navy ... it's called an MOS in the other services. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, some of that paperwork would follow me for the rest of my life.

Well, I guess I should say Jason Croft's life, he said casually.

With a chuckle, Bob continued, "Now, one thing to remember about military recruiting operations ... and all the services use the same basic technique ... these men and women are trained and paid to be liars. They have numbers to make and they'll tell a prospective recruit anything they think the youngster wants to hear to get that signature on the dotted line.

"They're trained to listen for clues from you so they know what it is you want to hear. There are only three or four base motivations for joining the military service, so they only have to concentrate on a few. They'll make you promises there is no way in hell they can keep. They don't care because it's not up to them to keep the promise and it only takes a stubbed toenail to invalidate any promises that were made by a recruiter. Morally and ethically, it's unscrupulous, but that's how they operate. That was a whole bunch of years ago and I've heard it's changed, but I have no direct experience with that. Those kinds of changes are not all that common in the military because change can be painful ... especially to the higher ups, and the last thing the higher ups want is pain. What they want is lips pressed to their asses.

Also, he continued, "remember that once they get your signature, they're finished with you. They don't have to care anymore because they got you. With a smile, they'll nudge you aside, and figuratively say, 'next' to the guy or gal behind you. Chances are that if they're still there, they won't even remember your name when you visit after boot camp and you will visit after boot camp. You provided a tick mark on the tally sheet, so the necessary interaction with you is complete.

"Are there exceptions? Of course there are, especially the small offices where they may get one or two recruits a month. I knew the game going in, so I expected to be an exception. I had my sights set on a target and nothing was going to dissuade me from trying.

"Chief always glossed the high points and avoided the low points, so always provided a rosy picture of life aboard ship. It wasn't going to be anything close to the advertisements or recruiting posters, but recruits didn't find that out until later and by then it was far too late.

In the end, Bob said, "I signed up and after a few weeks of waiting, headed off to Boot Camp. Now, you would think that the Great Lakes training center outside Chicago was a whole lot closer to Massachusetts than San Diego, but my orders were for Recruit Training Center in San Diego, California. It was as if the Navy already had plans for me, but in reality, it was just an example of the military's less than efficient use of their personnel's true skills. They didn't care ... you were a warm body, so they'd just have to train you. It didn't matter that you're a journeyman electrician; they'll send you to cook school. To them it was no more than a numbers game where allocations had to be met or as they say in the Navy, 'billets needed to be filled'.

"I laughed at the whole thing because there was a recruit in my boot camp company who had a Masters Degree in Business Administration and true to form, instead of sending him to Yeoman training or some other similar rate where business acumen would be desirable, the Navy sent him to radar school. I'm sure he turned out to be a very good Radarman, but he figured one reason they did him like that was he pissed off the Navy when he refused Officers Candidate School and just wanted to do his four years and move on.

"You learn very quickly, or you should, that whatever service you have signed up with has you by the short hairs and they're not going to let them go until your contracted time is up. Believe me when I say they will nearly twist your arm off in hopes they can con you into staying for another six years, but in the end, the choice is yours.

"Just settle in and do your time ... or as I always say, 'Just play their silly assed game and you'll get along perfectly. It's mostly a mindless exercise of conformity, but it doesn't mean you can't fuck with their heads while you're playing'. If you play it right, most of them aren't smart enough to figure out that you're fucking with them.

Something I quickly learned about playing the game was there were many ways to play and some were far more entertaining than others. You just had to be smart about it and use some common sense, but then you soon realize there is a critical shortage of just that commodity in the military. Common sense is not in the military way. Or put another way, common sense and the military are very close to a classic oxymoron ... just like military intelligence.

-----

After a short break, Bob continued, "I spent my eight weeks of boot camp learning to be a sailor and you can bet there were more than a few times when I wondered to myself, 'What the fuck have I done? I sure hope it's the right thing'.

"Anyone who has ever attended a military boot camp has asked the same question of themselves numerous times. It just goes with the territory. For most eighteen or nineteen-year-old kids, boot is a rude awakening. Even Navy boot camp.

"Through all of the testing and evaluating that is done in boot camp, I had further orders to Radioman 'A' school right there in San Diego, but first was graduation and boot liberty. The whole of boot camp seems as if it were nothing more than practicing for graduation. In a relatively short time, it was graduation day, but if you ask any recruit, he or she will tell you it was the longest 8 weeks of their lives.

After graduation, he laughed, I headed back to Massachusetts for a week. Boot leave could be as long as 30 days, but one of the reasons that I'd joined the Navy was to get out of Tiny Town, USA". My sisters seemed content to stay close to home, but I couldn't wait to get out of that place.

I spent the week seeing old friends and finding old girlfriends to see about one last tumble. For being extremely shy, I had no shortage of old girlfriends, so it was a busy week. Some were disappointed that I didn't see them, but I only had so much time allocated.

With a huge smile, Bob claimed, "I saw all of the girls I wanted to see before heading back to San Diego and the relative unknown of Navy life.

"Boot camp was one of the few times I had ever gone more than 4 weeks without flying since I was a junior in High School. I had learned to fly a helicopter and already had close to 750 hours in the log. Why fly helicopters? It's a whole lot harder to do than flying an airplane, so it was the challenge that made me go that route. If it was easy, I wasn't interested because it meant anyone could do it. I mean, there are about a hundred and fifty million people plus or minus in the country and there are only fifty-five to sixty thousand helicopter pilots.

"One of the things high on my list was to check the local airports for helicopter rentals so I can keep my hours current. I wasn't sure how I was going to afford to keep flying on Navy pay, but I'd manage. I had some financial stash, but it wasn't an infinite supply. The only things replenishing those accounts were interest on investments ... it certainly wasn't Navy pay.

When I got back to San Diego, he continued, "after spending the afternoon and night with one of the stewardesses who worked my flight to the west coast, I learned the first non-boot camp Navy way of doing things. When I arrived at the Naval Training Center on Sunday evening, I was quickly assigned to the transit barracks to await assignment. What a wild ride that turned out to be ... where everyone was either coming or going at all times of the day or night. The Yeoman said they would let me know when and where to start class.

"It wouldn't be the last time I found myself in the transit area of a base, but sometimes transit can be the same as a black hole. Taking the Yeoman at his word, I hung out waiting for word on when the classes would start, but by the end of that first week, I wondered why nobody had said anything, so I took a hike to the Radioman training office to ask when my class was going to begin. Like any classes at Naval Training Center, a class started nearly every Monday and even though it is a Friday, there was no time like the present, so I found myself behind a typewriter with about thirty other sailors.

Typing was only step one, Bob laughed. "The first requirement to begin a class was thirty-five words per minute with five or less errors. I was thankful that I had taken a typing class in high school because without it, I'd have been lost for a couple weeks. After a day of trying to figure out what was going on and how these archaic manual typewriters really worked, I easily passed on through to the next phase, which was Morse code. The entry was five words per minute, but the school completion test was at thirteen.

"I couldn't believe how they were teaching it, but it appeared to be effective, so who am I to criticize? They started out with what they referred to as double-basic. They would send a character and the student would type the character, and shout 'dit-dah, Alpha', or whatever the character was, then type it again. I was in double basic for about an hour because I already knew the characters and could demonstrate it.

Code wasn't something that was a mystery to me because I am already an amateur radio operator and could do well over 25 words per minute already. The problem that I had in the class was they weren't using what's called the Farnsworth method of code practice, so the code they used for the testing runs, was way too slow and I ended up copying individual dits and dahs instead of whole characters.

After thinking for a moment, Bob explained, As an example, the code for the letter 'U' is dit dit dah, or dot dot dash if that's the way you learned it. At the speed it was on the test tape, I was writing it down as E E T" because it sounded like three separate characters to me. A single dit for the letter 'E' and a single dah for the letter 'T' so the faster you go, the less you hear individual dits and dahs and the more you hear entire characters/letters and when you go faster still, you'll hear entire words. The brain is an amazing thing.

"Using the Farnsworth method, the characters are sent at a higher speed ... say just above thirteen words per minute needed for class requirements or better yet, twenty words per minute to stimulate higher speed graduates. The characters are sent at fifteen or twenty, but they are spaced at five words per minute until that level was passed. Then the space between characters is decreased. For my brain, the space between characters at five words per minute was enough time to have a meal and a cigarette.

"After nearly a week of frustration, trying to slow my brain down, I went up to the lead code instructor and asked to have the speed increased for my station to at least twenty words per minute. Instructors don't like doing that because many times it was just a ploy. I took my copy sheets to him and he could see what was happening right away. He laughed, and agreed to raise the speed on my station. When the run was finished, I'd passed without any errors.

"Once past the typing and the code entry requirements, the actual class started the following Monday. That's when I found out what the typing and Morse code was all about.

Nearly all communications was on teletype machines, so typing was one of the major items in a Radioman's repertoire. Once again, I wondered if I'd made the right choice by joining because it didn't sound as though being a radio operator, using the Navy model, was going to be a real cerebral exercise. It isn't.

He chuckled and continued, "The military is unique in training and I can really only speak for the Navy way, but it is geared to turn anyone into anything they need. They can take a bumpkin right off the farm and in less than six months they are a very competent radar operator, or radio operator, or any number of rates. If they need a cook, you're going to be a cook.

"From a purely academic viewpoint it could be considered a joke, but you can't argue with their successes over the decades. They teach you a valuable skill that you can probably use for the rest of your life without forcing you to take a multitude of bullshit courses that have no bearing on anything other than making the college more money.

"Oh, excuse me ... they make you a more well rounded human being. Bullshit! Look at the crap that colleges tend to turn out these days. Got a piece of paper but don't know shit from Shinola.

'You want fries with that mister?' asks the guy behind the counter who has an MBA, laughed Bob.

-----

After another quick break, Bob continued, "I was evaluated as being extremely gifted when I was younger which helped my coping with ADD, though at the time, the ADD was undiagnosed. It was also learned that at a young age I had a near photographic memory. My intellect would have been better challenged in college, but the only way I was going to afford college was to work on getting the GI bill. All of the military services were advertising really hard that they were giving sign up bonuses that could cover a lot of schooling. Unlike today, in those days, $50K went a long way towards a degree.

That situation changed shortly before I joined the Navy, but it was no reason to change my direction at that point. Investments are like gambling, so don't put in more than you can afford to lose, and I'd just made an absolute killing. My broker got me reallocated just in time and this was the start of a very long and profitable relationship ... for both of us. Unfortunately, that relationship had to end when Jason died, so I had to go find a new broker and somehow, I managed to find another gem. My sisters also inherited Jason's assets, so they were well set for life. Between my brokerage accounts and life insurance monies, both girls inherited low to mid eight figure accounts. It has taken some time, but I've rebuilt the accounts to high nine figure level, so I'm not unhappy."

Then he added, "I may not mention David again because he has nothing to do with the story and only appears in a few minutes of the recordings, so it'll depend on the storyteller.

"As I said, along with the gift came ADD, which as a kid had always held me back a little, but only because of a lack of focus. Even to this day, I'm very easily bored and sidetracked, so I'm ready to move on to the next challenge at the drop of a hat. Once I've figured out what makes it tick, it's no longer interesting, so it's on to the next mystery or challenge. It may be why I have always been so good at devising processes to deal with problems. Problems are nothing more than challenges needing to be met.

By the time my radio training was nearly complete, he said with a sigh, "I knew that the work was not going to be very satisfying, so I began looking into alternatives that I could take advantage of after 'A' school.

"There were all kinds of options, but the one I found the most intriguing was 'Special Operations'. The descriptions were pretty vague, but it did say that there would be a lot of travel and adventure, so to me, it sounded like just what the doctor ordered.

"When it came time to fill out my dream sheet, Special Operations was at the top of the list in both categories. A sailor is supposed to fill out three different shore duty stations and the three different sea duty stations they would prefer, and the Navy would try to slide you into one of the six based on their needs and your test scores. The only thing that I had on my dream sheet was Special Operations.

"Like SEALs and many other hazardous specialties, SO was 100% volunteer. There were no assignments, only volunteers, and according to the office, there was no shortage of volunteers though there was a severe shortage of candidates who actually passed the classes. Our graduation rate wasn't any better than it was for the SEAL program.

"Once again, I was faced with a new battery of tests, only this time they were serious tests ... not the trivial bullshit they gave us in A-school and boot camp.

Rolling his eyes, he said, "There were written tests, physical tests, mental tests, and tests for tests about tests. It was a long two-month ordeal with over sixty other candidates, all of us knowing there were only ten open slots in the next class.

"When all was said and done, and the scores added up, I had the highest scores in the entire group, so was number one on the list of accepted candidates. With the other nine prospects, the grueling twenty-six-week school would start the following Monday morning ... early.

I still wasn't sure I was doing the right thing, he said with a smile, "but this new challenge was just the kind of thing I was looking for. All I have to do is survive the training.

"Easier said than done.

"I'm sure that 'what the fuck have I done?' is a very common question, but it fades with time.

When I read my orders, Bob said with a grin, "it was to Special Operations Training on Coronado Island in the San Diego Bay ... it's really a peninsula, but we won't split hairs. That took me aback because Coronado is where the SEAL's go through BUDS (Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL) training and I wasn't looking to be a SEAL. It took a very special kind of insanity to take that path, and yeah, I'm known to be a few bricks short of a load, but to do SEAL training, you have to have lost the entire pallet. That said, there is a reason they are the very best of the best. We go for twenty-six weeks, SEAL training never ends. Well, ours really didn't either, but there are degrees of training, and much of ours was on the job.

"It turns out that the first six weeks of SO training is parallel with SEAL PT workouts so though we didn't go through the entire regimen, the SO recruits still went through hellish physical and psychological training. It was designed to weed out those who were not really capable or fully committed and by the second week, my SO class was down to seven.

"The twenty-six weeks of training seemed like the longest stretch of time in my life. After the physical parts of the training, there were the multitudes of classes teaching insurgency, counter insurgency, and tradecraft, to name a few. I was a pig in shit. It didn't seem as if there was anything mundane in Special Operations and that's exactly what I wanted.

"It was all very cerebral which was right in my wheelhouse, but I still felt completely drained after every session. By this time, there were only two of us left and as usual, I was at the top of the heap in all aspects of the training.

Not bragging, just a fact, he said, looking at Sandy with a small grin.

You were a fucking slave driver, I'll give you that, she said with a laugh.

It was my job, Bob replied quickly. You didn't seem to suffer a whole lot.

Then looking at me with a smile, he said, She kicked my ass on occasion and it really pissed me off, but it's one reason I wanted to partner with her.

I earned every point, she said somewhat defensively. You would die before you let me win.

That is very true. You earned every point. It pissed me off when you beat me, but I was also proud that you were doing so well. You were a natural, which is another reason I wanted you as a partner, he said finally.

-----

Okay, that's it, said Bob with a smile. I'm done, so the rest is up to you, storyteller. Let us know if you need any additional information or clarifications ... you know where to find us.

With that, he and Sandy got up and left, leaving me with a large pile of notes and tape recordings of the story. It's kind of a daunting task, so I hope I do it justice for them. They know I'll do my best because if they had doubts, they wouldn't have agreed to let me do the story in the first place.

As we said at first, the best place to start is at the beginning.

Chapter 1 - Jason's First Years

After what seemed to him to be an eternity, Jason Croft finished the twenty-six-week marathon they referred to as Special Operations Training. Well, it wasn't called by that name anywhere outside the organization. Officially, it was the 'Naval Advanced Survival School'.

Jason wondered if there was some sort of irony in calling it a survival school because from day one, the school was a true exercise in survival.

He was one of two that made the entire twenty-six-week trip. The other eight had dropped at various points along the training. Most left in the first six weeks when they were doing the SEAL morning and afternoon PT routine. At the beginning of week seven, there were four of them left.

Once out of school, the Navy assigned him to Washington DC, where Special Operations headquarters is located. He was told not to rush, so it took a few weeks to clean and lease his house in San Diego before he actually made it to the headquarters building.

The back-story here is that when he was cleaning out the place to lease it, he swore that if he ever had to come back to Coronado, he would get a house on the island. Driving the bridge every morning from La Jolla was a nightmare.

No, he didn't buy a house in La Jolla on Navy pay and I'll just leave it there for now. Jason and David had a good thing going and for the moment, the market was popping.

On his first day at headquarters, a whole list of things needed to be taken care of before his day could even start.

First item on the list was Security.

When the driver dropped him at the underground rear door, he began his grand adventure. At the security desk, he presented his orders and all of his identification, which was checked and crosschecked with the list of new recruits they were expecting. Being near the top of the list, he was escorted into the security office for pictures and security processing for a badge, which would end up following him into the next life, but that's at the end of another story.

Much of the paperwork was already filled out, only requiring reading and a signature to complete. Every sheet would find its way into his personnel file and like everything else, would follow him for the rest of his days. There's an ironic caveat to that, but we'll get to it nearer to the end of this saga.

Sitting in the chair for his badge photo he quipped, Another mug shot for the record?

With a chuckle the security rep said, We try to get them a bit better than that. This isn't the DMV, so we have real cameras, and I've actually been trained on how to use them to get the best image. When you come to the back door, the guard holds up the badge in the window and if you don't match the photo, you'll be in here to have another photo taken and a new badge made. Add a beard or mustache and you'll be here for another round of bright flashing photo lights.

Jason looked at him and muttered, Wow. That's intense.

Mr. Croft, security is taken double seriously in this building. Things go on in here that would cause untold political scandals, both here and abroad, so nothing is taken for granted or overlooked.

Jason nodded and tried to keep a straight face for the camera and after the fourth attempt got an acceptable photo. It would not be the only time Jason had his picture taken in the security entrance. Somehow, it was to become a regular exercise and at times, he would make it into a game.

After sitting for another fifteen minutes, he was given his security badge on a lanyard, which he quickly strung around his neck. Grabbing the badge, he gave it a once over to make sure things were right. On the back, he noticed a broken fluorescent pink strip of tape with a solid fluorescent green stripe along the side.

What's with the colored stripes, he asked?

That's your security clearance designation. Different patterns and colors designate your level of security access. When you come to a secure door, you place your card face up on the reader surface and if it reads the appropriate clearance information off the back and you are on the access list, it will unlock the door for you.

Looking at Jason's file, the agent said, You don't have anything to worry about. You can go anywhere in the building you like. Shit, not even the president has this level of security clearance.

Then with a chuckle, he said, You must be a really important someone.

Jason just smiled and began to exit the room, which as it turns out, was just on the inside of the exterior security post. That is where he would leave his badge when he left for the day. Because they contained security clearance information encoded in them, the badges never left the premises and old ones are immediately shredded then eventually burned.

He took the short walk to the sally port, flashed his badge into the reader, and heard the click of the lock on the door in front of him. Stepping through and closing the door behind him, he found himself in a large glass fishbowl of a room. Above the path and to one side there was a small staff of security agents observing anything passing through from behind another window. From the outside, or even from the inside for that matter, it wasn't obvious that the glass was quite thick, and he guessed it was bombproof.

Looking around as if to be memorizing what he was seeing, he walked slowly to the interior door of the sally port and after flashing his badge again, the door slid open. He was sure to look at the door so he could see the thickness of the glass. What surprised him the most was that there was at least 10" of laminated glass, Lexan, and acrylic, but there was no distortion. Everything appeared as if the glass were a quarter inch thick.

Because of the training he'd just finished, Jason was committing everything he was seeing to the data bank in his head. It was now so ingrained in him he couldn't help it..

It was not common for someone so young to be in the organization. Jason wasn't quite nineteen yet and yes, though thoroughly trained, still quite wet behind the ears.

While he was passing through the final doorway and walking into the open room, Stanley Weller was sizing up his new charge. He'd seen the record and wanted to work with this new operative ... and yes, he was well aware of Jason's age. Special Operations hadn't seen a candidate with scores like Jason's in many years. Yeah, he's young and many others had declined to take him on, but somehow, Stanley knew this one would be special.

Approaching each other and making eye contact, Stanley put out his hand and asked, Jason Croft?

Seeing Jason nod, he finished, Stanley Weller. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.

Same here, Stanley, I look forward to getting to work, Jason excitedly replied.

Whoa there ... slow your roll, cowboy.

Chuckling at his lame attempt at humor, Stanley continued, You have some logistical things to take care of before we start working you, Jason. When you head out today, make a stop at the business office, and find yourself a realtor and go find yourself a nice house. I understand you leased your property in San Diego, so that should grease the skids for any kind of new mortgage you may want though I know you could very easily pay cash. You can buy four houses here for the price of one in California, but if you run into any speed bumps be sure to let me know so I can see if there is anything we can do to assist.

With a kind of evil twinkle in his eyes, Stan finished, We can be very persuasive if we need to be.

Nodding, Jason asked, So I find a house ... then what?

Move in, chill, get settled, and we'll talk about doing some research.

Research? What's that about?

We'll talk about it after you secure housing and get moved in. We expect this to be a permanent assignment, Jason, so though you'll still be officially in the Navy on paper, you will not be answerable to them in any way. It can be an important part of your cover at some point, so just keep it in the back of your mind.

I thought this was all part of the Navy, Jason observed. Naval Special Operations.

Yes, it is, but ... We'll talk about it later.

An awful lot of shit to talk about later, Stanley, he said, giving his handler a questioning look.

There's no rush to jumble your brain with operational mumbo-jumbo until you're settled. Just trust me, Jason. I may look young, but you're far from my first rodeo.

I understand nobody wanted me, Jason chuckled. Mr. Popularity before I even arrive.

They're concerned about your age because historically, nineteen year old males are notoriously lacking in maturity. A lack of maturity is not an asset in our business.

Why did you pick me up?

I'm not concerned about your age or maturity, for one. I do the impossible shit they come up with and with your scores all the way around, I think you are capable of handling the impossible.

Chuckling, Stanley finished, Not really, though we do get a majority of our missions after everyone else has deemed them too risky or impossible.

Risk comes with the territory, but I don't believe in impossible, Stan, never have. Highly improbable, maybe ... but impossible? Never.

Yes, that's one of the things I saw in your records. You just hold on to that attitude, youngster.

Youngster? You don't look much older than I am, Jason laughed.

I'm not, Stanley said in quick reply.

Jason laughed as they began to walk through the maze to find Stanley's office. He was shocked at the appearance of the building. Everything was a dingy baby-shit green color. The walls, the ceiling, even the doors were the same basic green in varying hues. The only variation he saw was the floor. The linoleum varied in color as if it had been installed years apart. Some looked kind of new, but it was hard to tell. A bunch of it looked antique and as far as Jason knew, from the looks of the rest of the place, it could have been very antique.

How do you find anything in this place? he asked as they continued down corridor after corridor, each seemingly identical. Everything looks the same.

Yeah, it's pretty ugly isn't it? They do it on purpose in case someone manages to get past security, they have no idea what office is where, and the projected confusion is supposed to delay them long enough for security to get back into the game. It's never happened, but that's the line of bullshit they give us, Stanley said with a grin.

That almost sounds like a challenge of sorts, Jason chuckled.

Dude, don't even think about it. I prefer you in your present configuration.

Having gone through a myriad of twists and turns, Stanley finally stopped in front of a nondescript door and with his badge, opened the door to his office. Once inside, Jason took a seat in front of the desk, while Stanley went around to his chair, sat, and began to shuffle through a file folder.

Picking out one page and scanning it briefly, he looked up and with a smile said, I'm glad you are here, Jason. I have to tell you again, I get some of the weirdest shit that SO does coming through here because I have people like you on my list. I won't be handling anyone except you for the time being, but I have my list. I also have hundreds of operatives all over the world at my disposal, so it's not like we do this in a vacuum.

Weird stuff and weird people? laughed Jason.

Well, to give you an idea, we're referred to as 'The Goof Troop' in the hallways. That should just about say it all, and for now you're a troop of one, he said with a growing grin.

Don't worry, big guy, you'll fit right in. Your record is impeccable, and you've shown a great talent for improvisation. That is a good thing because, and I'll be up front with you, not all the mission plans come out the way you initially draw them up, so when the shit hits the fan and things are going off the rails, you need to be quick on your feet and know how to fake it.

Then with a laugh, Stanley told him, We may be the fucking Goof Troop, Jason, but there's nobody in SO that has our record of success and that's probably what gets their panties in a wad.

We need to make up a Goof Troop department pin to wear while we're in headquarters, Stanley. Hearing you, I would wear it proudly.

Laughing, Stanley replied, That's a good idea, Jason, but I have zero artistic abilities, so we'll have to farm it out.

Hey, I'm a Hippie artist, let me see what I can come up with, Jason said with a chuckle.

If you come up with a good design, I'll send it out to have it made, Stan told him. Shit, since there are only two of us I'll have it done in gold.

We're in McLean, aren't we? What's relatively close?

Nodding, Stanley said, Yeah. If you're wondering, a good place to get a house is somewhere outside of Falls Church. There are some decent homes outside the town itself. Try to find something in the unincorporated area because then you won't have the same idiotic assessments as those who live in city limits have to deal with.

After an hour or two of chitchat getting to know each other, Jason headed for the back door and the parking lot where he'd find his driver. His only problem was that everything looked the same. Where have we heard that before?

He wandered the halls for about ten minutes before Stanley hunted him down. He hadn't made it to the sally port, so Stan knew Jason was lost somewhere in the bowels of the building.

When he spotted Stanley, Jason asked, How the fuck do you ever find anything around here. You need to have movie house green exit arrows. Maybe some kind of color-coded dots barely noticeable unless you know where to look. It's not difficult to etch tiny lines in the floor tiles to make arrows and rub some kind of paint or ink in them so they can barely be seen.

With a huge grin, he finished, You people need to use your fucking imaginations before you drive your operatives batshit crazy trying to navigate through a mouse maze.

Laughing, Stanley walked Jason to the rear entrance and he suggested that Jason put the idea into one of the suggestion boxes seen in just about every corridor.

If the powers that be like the idea, and use it, they will give you $10,000.00.

Jason picked is jaw up off the floor, asking, Ten thousand bucks just for a little idea?

Then more or less under his breath, No wonder the fucking government is broke.

Stan laughed, but nodded and explained, "Incentives make the world go 'round, Jason. They may get three or four hundred suggestions in a year and some years don't do any of them. I don't think they've ever done more than one or two in a year, so the payout isn't that bad.

Hell, they'll spend more on an office party than $10,000.00, so a suggestion box payout is small peanuts, laughed Stanley. They don't care. It's not their money.

Don't get me started, Stanley. I may be young, but I am educated, Jason said laughing. Whether they like it or not, it IS their money.

Laughing right along with him, Stan said, I hear you.

Then seriously, he added, I noticed in your file that you fly helicopters. Are you current?

Nodding, Jason confirmed, Yeah, I try to fly every chance I get, but it can be cost prohibitive on military pay. Interest on investments pays for most of my flight hours these days.

I want you to start flying every day if you can, Stanley said seriously. We can probably use that skill somewhere down the road, and if you are doing it at my direction, you can expense off any costs as being work related education.

Making a detour, Stanley told Jason, Better yet, let's head over to finance for a short visit. We'll get you out of here one of these hours.

"One of these hours? No shit. It could take hours to find the goddamned door.

Hell, Stanley, you don't need to worry about any security breaches. Someone gets into this place, they'll never find their way out, and so you have a captive audience. All you have to do is find them before they die of starvation, and I would hope you have security cameras in each corridor that cross reference to a map.

Continuing through the green maze, Stanley stopped and opened a door ... a door that looked like every other door in the hallway. When they went inside, there was a young woman sitting at the counter and looking up with a smile, greeted them, Well, hello Stanley. I haven't seen you in a long while. What, you don't use money anymore?

Laughing, Stan retorted, I installed my own printing press in the office, Sherl. The only thing I need from here anymore is plastic.

Oh, and you think I'm going to give you a credit card?

Then with a huge smile, and a loud cackle, she said, Surely, you jest?

No Shirley, not me, my new operator here. He's going to need to expense off things that are a bit more expensive than a standard account can handle. He'll mostly be using it for flying.

Flying? What's with that?

Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, Sherl. You know I can't talk about business.

Both Jason and Stanley noticed that Shirley was giving Jason a very detailed once over. Stanley chuckled to himself thinking, This is only the first one. This guy will have no shortage of pussy as long as he's around HQ. The girls will fall all over him, every one of them a cougar.

He could tell Shirley was already plotting to get our young Mr. Croft into a bedroom, and then firmly into her panties. She won't play after he actually starts working. It's a policy and she has no issue with it, so she gets what she can, while she can, then moves on to the next victim.

Jason had noticed as well, so when she handed him a business card, he wrote his room number on the backside then gave it back to her. Everyone stayed at the Hilton and she already had that number on a well used card in her Rolodex.

She pulled a sheet of paper out of a cubbyhole on her desk and standing at the counter asked Jason to fill out the top half which was basically nothing more than name, rank, serial number, and the department number to charge the bill to.

In about ten minutes, Jason had in his hot little hand, a bright and shiny American Express Black Card. The agency issued their own cards and sent the information to American Express so they could route the charges directly to SO instead of through the normal Amex channel. The agency just paid one huge bill every quarter.

This card is for an unlimited amount up to and including a hundred million dollars if you need it, but you better have a bulletproof reason. Well, realistically, there needs to be a valid reason for all the charges. Stanley will get the bill, so he'll review it and sign it. Then we will pay it.

With wide eyes, Jason said, Good gawd, I hope I never need a hundred million. I think I would have to be in some seriously deep shit to pull out the card for that amount.

Just know it's there, noted Stanley.

Thanks, Sherl. I appreciate it as usual.

No worries, Stan, always happy to assist. Jason, I hope to see you later, she offered, blushing slightly.

Jason gave her a huge smile and an almost imperceptible nod meant for her, but it didn't escape Stanley's notice. Very little escaped Stanley Weller and he mentally filed every bit of it. Jason would come to know that Stanley Weller was very good at his job.

Use the card to pay for your flight time and if you haven't already started, get your CFI at a minimum ... CFII if you have the time.

Holy shit, Stanley, there's actually something you don't already know about me?

I'm sure there are quite a few things, Jason. I mean, we don't sneak around in your bedroom.

Laughing loudly while putting the card into his wallet, he countered, I would hope not. Depending, that could be a bit awkward all the way around.

They finally made their way to the rear sally port, where Jason would leave Stan and head outside to find his driver.

The two shook hands and Stanley told him, Take your time, and find the right place. There is no rush to begin work. If something becomes a rush for some reason, trust me, Jason, I'll track you down and let you know.

Okay thanks, Stan. You have my number and I have yours, so we'll be in touch. We'll see how the next few days go.

With that, Jason stepped into the sally port and waited for the door to close and lock before flashing his badge once more, causing the rear door to be opened. He walked the twenty feet to the security post where he gave his badge to the guard in the booth. Once the guard had put his badge into its assigned slot, he reached under the counter and Jason heard the door lock click, so he knew it was time to push it open and get the hell out of Dodge for now.

Walking towards the parking lot, he spotted his driver and made his way to the car. The chauffeur opened the door so that he could get in and they promptly left the facility on the way to the Hilton. He'd have to call a realtor from there and see what he could set up. He wished the company shipping his car would hurry up. It would be two more days before his pure white Porsche 911 RSR was dropped off at the Hilton and he could start cruising around.

The car was a pussy magnet and though quite shy, Jason was an eighteen-year-old, testosterone laden, very good looking young man, driving through college housing in ... well, a racing car. The RSR was a racing machine, but his had been modified and meticulously set up for the street. The street setup was shocks, tires, interior accoutrements, insanely comfortable Recaro seats, and a street chip in the EMS to replace the race chip. He could still switch in some race parameters into the engine management system, but it was very benign in comparison to the race setups. The body and drive train were still full race.

Yes, Jason put in the race chip on occasion, but normally only when he took the car to the track for some PCA fun.

-----

Jason was ecstatic when he finally got the keys and could roam around freely. Well, more freely than the rental he had.

When his car finally got there, he noticed a note on the front seat from his west coast maintenance crew letting him know that the maintenance was up to date. It also gave him the information to contact the Porsche USA rep in Arlington. They had already talked with him so he'd hook Jason up with a professional performance maintenance crew like the one he had in Southern California.

One concern put to rest. There would be more.

He'd spent the past two days putzing around the Falls Church area to find a house. He preferred having a little property along with it, so it limited his options a little. There were still some very nice properties available and he was trying to decide if he'd seen the right one yet.

After looking at many opportunities, Jason fixed on a large four bedroom, three bath, ranch style, log home, with a triple car garage and a barn/shop on 3.5 acres in the hills outside Falls Church. The house was quite a find because it was a west coast design and build, so it was rare to find one in the east and it was obvious this place had been built by someone from the west. He really fell in love with it the first time he saw it, but spent two more days looking at other places. It was well within his budget and close enough to McLean he could bicycle to headquarters if he wanted.

During this home hunting time, he was also looking for airports that could support his helicopter habit. There were a couple small airports in the area, but they didn't have helicopter operations, so he had an interesting choice.

Because of Falls Church and McLean's proximity to the Capitol, all the airspace around the area is tightly controlled. You didn’t even fly a small drone in that airspace without authorization.

He could fly either at Ronald Reagan International or at Dulles International airport. He also had Andrews Air Force Base and realistically that should be the most logical being a member of the military.

The week Jason was working on housing, he flew 8 hours, so if he could keep that rate going it would be easy to stay current and while he was at Dulles he found and hired an instructor to work with him to finish his Certified Flight Instructor endorsement. He'd worry about the Certified Flight Instructor, Instructor, later.

Stanley knew what Jason was up to and he was going to ship him out to a quick and dirty mission in a few weeks, but he needed more complete data to know what it was they really wanted to accomplish. It wasn't one of the usual whacked out offerings that usually slid across his desk, so it would probably be a good first foray for our young Mr. Croft.

By the end of the third week, Jason was ready to move into the new place and had the few things from the San Diego house in a shipping container delivered. When he got the keys and made his way to the house, the shipping container was in the driveway next to the house. They had placed it perfectly for him to be able to unload with the least hassle.

After making the shipping container empty, he decided he would hire people to unpack the container next time. He was wasted, but moved in.

-----

Jason, Stan. You have some time to come into the office? he heard in the phone.

Of course, Stanley, what's up?

We'll talk when you get here.

Okay, give me an hour to shower and head on down the road. I'm still trying to find stuff here. It is nuts, man. I packed the shit, but I'm damned if I can find some of it.

Laughing heartily, Stan finished, See you in an hour.

Click. Dial tone comin' to ya.

Jason chuckled and walking back into the bedroom, said to Shirley, Guess I finally have some work. I need to hit the shower and be at headquarters in an hour.

She smiled, saying, Stanley strikes again. I'm sure he knows exactly what's going on.

Maybe... muttered Jason, "but I've been chomping at the bit to get started.

Care to join me?

Yeah, I will. I certainly need to get cleaned up as well.

Making their way into the shower, they initiated a good game of grope and grabass and continued the festivities while washing each other gently. Maneuvering around a little, he lifted her slightly and as she moved her legs around him to catch her balance, he slid his hard cock into her very wet, well fucked, vagina. She put her arms around him, and in continuation of the game they played overnight, they began a slow rhythmic dance, which brought her to the peak in a short time and when she went over the edge, she pulled him with her.

Even with the games, the shower wasn't extended because Jason needed to get a move on, and Shirley needed to check in at the office.

She had nothing on the calendar, so just posted a sign that she'd be late, figuring they would continue the main event into the morning. It had worked out well for both of them.

After dressing, they made their way out to the driveway where Shirley left her car the evening before. Leaning up and giving him a quick kiss, she climbed into her Land Cruiser and made her way down Jason's long drive.

Watching her disappear on down the roadway, Jason wandered over to the garage and opening the double doors, climbed into his pure white 911. After starting the engine and backing out of the garage, he made his way down the drive and on to headquarters. He hoped it was for a mission briefing because though he enjoyed flying every day, he was getting extremely bored with all this domestic shit.

-----

Stanley met him at the sally port so he didn't