The Mud Room

By Robert Cook

After a failed government sanctioned mission in Tanzania, Chase Memphis heads back to Washington D.C. to his job as the disgraced project leader. The sole analyst works for an off-book department, known as the Mud Room, because of the messy cases that are assigned.  Feeling the responsibility and faced with the guilt of losing 27 s

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zalika Productions
• Release date: Feb 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987451229

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The Mud Room

Robert Cook

Copyright © 2022 Robert Cook. 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below. 

ISBN: 979-8-9874512-0-5 (Paperback)

ISBN: 979-8-9874512-1-2 (Hardcover) 

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022923478

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination. 

First printing edition 2023. 

Zalika Productions LLC 

2614 Tamiami Trail 

Naples, Fl 34103 

www.trackingthedevil.com

For Scott, who loves stories.

For my parents, who listen to my stories.

And for my lifesaving inspiration, Kathy.

Give me a place to stand and I will move the world 

—Archimedes

Chapter 1: The Hill

Chapter 2: The Encounter

Chapter 3: The Auction

Chapter 4: The Truth

Chapter 5: The Lost Cause

Chapter 6: The Journey Begins

Chapter 7: The Artist’s Message

Chapter 8: The Island

Chapter 9: The Sea Voyage

Chapter 10: The Ambush

Chapter 11: The Goodbye

Chapter 12: The Bar and the Boat

Chapter 13: The Standoff

Chapter 14: Portal Home

Epilogue: The Redemption

About the Author

Coming Soon

Chapter 1:

The Hill

The convoy advanced swiftly over the rough terrain. From the front passenger seat of a military light utility vehicle, Chase Memphis gazed out the dusty window as the driver sped past unfamiliar shrubs in the early evening light. Any nearby animals on the wild plains of Tanzania were out of sight, resting before nightfall. The soldiers in the back were quiet, preparing for the impending operation.

A few minutes later, one of them leaned forward and tapped Chase on his shoulder. When Chase turned around, the man said, I hope you’re right about this, Boss. We’ve been driving a long time.

Chase returned his attention to the notebook in his lap. He flipped through several pages until he found a crudely drawn map and followed the lines on the illustration with his pen. We must be close now, he thought. He usually had an unfailing grasp on his purpose, but this time differed—he knew where he and these men were going but not why they were going or what they would find upon arrival. A government tracker shouldn’t ever have to ask those kinds of questions, he thought, noticing that his palms were sweating. He wiped them on his pants and set his trembling jaw.

Another half-mile down the rutted plain, Chase spotted the hill. This is it, he told the driver, pointing at the hump rising against the purpling sky.

Are you sure? the driver asked.

Chase looked again. I’m sure. At least, I hope so. He drew a circle around the spot on his map. Pull over.

The driver obliged, and the four other military vehicles behind him followed suit. Thirty soldiers wearing desert fatigues hopped out, their commander lumbering out last. Heavyset, with a wiry silver crew cut and a radio clipped to his vest, he waited as his men hurried into open order. He walked the lines between them before stopping. Horizon is a routine search-and-rescue mission. In and out, nothing fancy, no bloodshed. We don’t need any heroes today. Understood?

Sir, yes, sir, the men boomed in unison.

Chase leaned against his truck, ten feet away, as the commander gave orders. Upon release, the men dispersed, McCloskey and Singh remaining in the vehicles and the others moving out. The commander then pulled a tablet out of his pack and turned on a flashlight to study it.

Chase watched the soldiers trek silently through the brush in defensive formation and approach a wide, dense stand of trees several hundred yards below them. When he felt his chest constrict, he realized he had been holding his breath. He exhaled, and the commander waved the flashlight in his eyes. Problem?

Chase squinted. No, sir. We’ve done everything we can do.

The commander grunted and turned the light back to his tablet. This is a cakewalk, practically a day off for guys like these. He clapped Chase on the back. At ease, Memphis.

Yessir, Chase said, but he had to remind himself to inhale as he watched the last of the soldiers disappear into the trees.

Seconds later, a crackling on the commander’s radio made him jump. Johnson’s low voice came through the speaker. We’re all in, sir. All quiet so far. Over.

The commander held the radio to his lips. Ten-four. Do the thing. Over.

Okay. Over and out.

Each second achingly dragged by as Chase and the commander stood silently. The wind had stopped blowing; not even the slightest rustle came from the surrounding vegetation. No footsteps pattered in the distance. In the unnatural quiet, Chase’s heart, hammering inside his rib cage, felt thunderous.

Someone shouted below them, then another man, and another. The commander grabbed his radio. Johnson. Do you copy? A faint crackle but no response. The trees were too thick to reveal any movement. The commander held up an arm to summon McCloskey and Singh, who jumped out of their trucks and ran over. Something’s not right. We need to—

A sonic boom reverberated throughout the plain, and the sky turned yellowish-orange in the air above the trees. Chase and the other men fell to the ground on their stomachs, covering their ears against the deafening roar, but just as quickly scrambled back to their feet and sprinted down the hill. Johnson! Johnson! Copy! the commander screamed into his radio, waving his flashlight from side to side as he crashed through the underbrush.

As they neared the trees, the commander held out an arm to stop Chase, then summoned McCloskey and Singh to follow him into the maze of trees. As the men removed their guns from their backs and marched in, Chase listened to the fading screams of the few soldiers who remained alive in the darkness just beyond his sight line.

How could my insight have malfunctioned so badly? He clenched his fists at his sides. I led them here. I told them this was the right place. I know this is the right place. But twenty-seven men are gone now. How can I explain that to anyone?

Chase dropped to his knees and slammed his hands on the ground, digging his fingers into the dirt. Tremors coursed through his body. He wanted to call for the commander and the others, but what if he were to have drawn the attention of whatever had attacked the soldiers?

A rustling noise some twenty feet away drew him upright. He crouched on the balls of his feet, ready to run away or to fight—he wasn’t sure which. A familiar growl echoed through the trees, one he hadn’t heard since his youth. A large silhouette emerged. Chase made out the shape of a mighty head and four legs. The creature moved forward a few paces until it was no more than fifteen feet away.

A lion. At least ten feet long, pure muscle. Burnished mane against burning sky. It stared right at him, blinking its amber eyes. The shakes in Chase’s arms and legs stopped as he waited for this creature to decide his fate. But it slunk past him and sprinted up the hill.

***

At 7:57, two mornings later, Chase climbed the narrow wooden stairs of an old red-brick building in Georgetown, past pale-yellow walls covered with decades-old scuff marks, to the second floor. He pushed open the door to his office and stepped inside.

Good morning, said Helen. She glanced up from her computer at reception, and her eyes locked on his jaw. He knew she was scrutinizing his six-day buildup of facial hair. You look awful.

Gee, thanks, Chase said, gazing down at the collar of his ill-fitting green flannel shirt, which was tucked under itself. You know, I was hoping someone would say that to me today.

Well, I’m glad someone did. Should I grab the usual?

Yes, please, Chase said.

Helen nodded and stood up. She came around her desk and squeezed his shoulder lightly before heading toward the office’s tiny kitchenette. Chase followed, nearly jogging to keep up with her brisk clip. She wore an impeccably tailored knee-length purple wool dress with pearls around her throat. At the kitchen door, she turned. Go, sit down. Relax.

Chase walked into the room across the short hallway, leaving the door open. He set his worn canvas messenger bag on his desk, sat down in his creaky chair, and sighed. From the unknown African plains and back to the Mud Room in less than forty-eight hours—it was almost inconceivable, except that he always seemed to end up back here.

He gripped the armrests of his chair. Thoughts of the day prior’s events were enough to make his pulse increase. He fought to keep his eyes open, his eyes glancing over the artwork on the walls. Then he remembered why he found comfort in the Mud Room. When it got slow, he could thumb through the stacks of paintings lined up against the wall or test his knowledge with one of the art books on the shelves.

His heart rate slowed, but studying the artwork could only help so much. He had to be honest with himself. How many days will I spend in this windowless space, staring at the grooves in my battered wooden desktop, replaying the events of the past forty-eight hours, while I wait for a call about my next assignment?

Still, this was what he had signed up for when he was only twenty-nine years old. They had told him he would be a government subcontractor, a floater between various agencies as they tried to preempt dangerous acts against the United States: terrorism, treason, chemical warfare. Anything they might fear, Chase was meant to sniff it out before it even happened. They would never make him an official CIA agent or the like—his methods were too abstract, his appearance too disheveled, his schedule too erratic. He didn’t even use the Internet with any regularity. He would have been laughed right out of a seat at the Pentagon. He knew the staff there joked about his disregard for protocol and his dingy office, called the Mud Room for its beige walls and ancient brown carpet. But after seven years, during which his unorthodox abilities had resulted in numerous averted crises, they knew they needed him more than he needed them.

It was part of the reason the feds had given Chase some rope for this most recent mission, which was bigger than anything he had ever worked on. It had started, as all his journeys did, with a hunch, but this one had grabbed hold of him so tightly that he had scarcely thought about anything else since the vision of the location had first appeared in his mind nine and a half months earlier. The image had been so clear to him he hadn’t even considered its potential for fallibility. He had never been wrong before, so why, especially as he had begun to draw the maps in his notebook and the landscape had taken on greater and greater detail, would he have thought any differently about this time? Until two days earlier, when everything had blown up, literally and figuratively.

But it’s not over. Not even after all those men are presumed dead. Not until I figure out exactly what I was looking for and why it went wrong.

The clicking of Helen’s heels broke him from his thoughts. She appeared in the doorway. Your tea’s ready.

He brushed his greasy hair out of his eyes. Oh, great. Come in.

She approached him and placed a ceramic mug along with two shortbread cookies on his desk, stubbing the point of her black leather heel against a box at the foot of the drawer. Her eyes flicked down, and she smoothed her gray hair back into the neat bun at the base of her neck. Think you’ll open that thing sometime soon?

Chase’s contacts at the FBI had insisted upon giving him the computer two years earlier, despite his equal insistence that they were wasting their money. If only they gifted him with notebooks instead, he would appreciate the gesture much more. Isn’t that why I’m blessed with you, Helen? Chase said.

She clicked her tongue. Just because you’re jet lagged doesn’t mean you get to be sly with me. I mean, how else are you ever going to keep up with the latest pop-culture gossip?

Chase chuckled. When has that ever helped me solve a mission? What I do need, however, is for you to have lunch at The Willard at twelve thirty.

She didn’t ask why right away, instead pulling out a small compact mirror and reapplying her red lipstick. You know I love a nice table for one, she said as she blotted her mouth with a tissue that materialized from seemingly nowhere. What am I bringing back?

Two men will be sitting in the back corner of the restaurant and speaking German. I want you to listen. I’ve reserved a booth right by them for you.

Helen nodded, snapping the mirror shut. I’ll let you know what I find out.

Chase thanked her for the tea, and as she turned on the heel of one shiny pump and left the room, he knew she would return with something valuable. In another lifetime, she had been a professional translator for the Department of Defense. Not only did she speak eleven languages—and Chase suspected she was proficient in many more—but also was her hearing as sharp as a bat’s, and gossip was her caffeine. Chase frequently sent her off to eavesdrop on conversations that might help him with his assignments. It helped that she was polished and could blend in at any of D.C.’s finest restaurants without raising anyone’s suspicion. In fact, she knew half the maître d’s in town. Meanwhile, Chase lacked the finesse to simply transition into a populated area unnoticed. Even as Helen neared retirement, she could have had any number of more sophisticated jobs, but Chase thought she liked watching over him. God only knew no one else was.

His government-issued phone rang