Being a Trained Killer makes me a Better Dad

I’m a trained killer – an Intelligence professional and highly skilled; the US Government spent five years and countless taxpayer dollars to train me how to kill with both my bare hands and with a myriad of weapons.

I’m an expert, according to Uncle Sam, with most of them.

I was trained to jump out of planes in both the darkness of night and when the sun is at its Zenith – fast roping from helicopters or rappelling the sheer side of a cliff is what I do, too.

I’ve seen men die in horrible places.  I’ve operated covertly on my own, and have conducted missions with platoon sized forces.  Jungles, deserts, oceans, and mountains: it doesn’t matter.

I spent many months at the Army Intelligence Center fine-tuning my craft in Interrogation, and was cross-trained in Counter-Intelligence.  Two different languages, Military Intelligence ordered me to learn.

But those days are over; civilian life and writing thrillers suits me just fine now – it’s much safer.

Now, whether it’s under cover of darkness, or during a frantic, disorganized day, I have a new target to chase; a new set of operation orders to complete – my mission is the most complicated that I’ve seen, and I’ve see a lot.

Her name is Sonia; she’s eight months old; faster than a rattler, slicker than a wet eel; she operates independently of any organized structure, and changes her demeanor at even the slightest of whims.  She’s wiry, wily, evasive, and unpredictable.

She’s the toughest challenge I’ve faced – the following is a true story, it happened earlier today:

Prologue:

I furrowed my brow at the mission at hand.  It was going to be a tough one.

Chapter One:

With the same focus I used when firing a round at a target during the twilight hours and nearly one kilometer away, I inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly – it was at this point, when the breath has escaped my lungs completely; when the body is most relaxed, that I would pull the trigger – today, however, it is when I gently place my half-asleep child into her crib for her afternoon nap. 

My breath is exhaled at its apex; the tension in my muscles has escaped.  Into the crib she is lowered – but her eyes are only half-closed.  Is she awake?  Is she asleep?  I can’t tell; I gamble.  My mission is close to failure; I can sense it, but onward I push.

On the mattress, I lay her; slowly I remove my arms from underneath her head.  My breath is held, I know not to inhale; not to exhale.  When I was behind the cross-hairs of a rifle, that breath would make my bullet stray.  Now, it would wake a sleeping baby.

She stirred.

I froze.

Chapter Two:

My eyes narrowed and I waited.

I’m careful to not let the new tension cascade from my brow and down my arms.  She would feel it; this I’ve learned.

I continued.

My arms are freed; she still sleeps.

Downstairs, I made my way; I’ve my next book in the Sterling Novels to complete.  This is a rare moment of idle Father-time that I desperately need.

I sat at my desk and prepared to begin, but, first, I had a phone call to make to a buddy from my Special Ops day; it had been some time since we last spoke and the opportunity was at hand.  I reached for my cell phone, but my hand grabbed nothing.

Eyeing the place it should be, there was only empty space.  I searched for it mentally: where did I put it?  Where the hell was it last?

It didn’t take long to remember.

I looked upward, and through the ceiling I imagined my daughter’s nursery above – in it, my cell phone sat on her dresser.

I sighed heavily and shook my head.  By now, I should have learned.  My mission suddenly became clear; my objective known.  Inside my mind, I ran through my Operation Orders: 1) Infiltrate, 2) Use stealth, 3) Secure and retrieve the package, 4) Do not be seen, 5) Do not get caught, and, 6) Do not fail.

Chapter Three:

I ran through a mental check-down of my plan; and then I did it again.  It had to be executed perfectly.  This is how I was trained.

The stairs were my first obstacle: wooden and full of unknown creaks.  I made my way – heel to toe; careful to distribute my weight evenly over each piece of dried wood – up them.  At the top, I kicked off my shoes; they were dead weight; they made too much noise – a potential hazard.  I checked for any loose clothing, something that might get caught on the door handle; I tugged at my pockets inspecting for loose change - I can't risk even the slightest noise.  Like dropping from a Huey into the midnight-colored waters of the Mediterranean, everything I carried and didn't carry was purposeful. 

Behind me the shoes stayed.  No coins in the pocket; all loose clothing tucked tightly away.  Forward, I tiptoed one painstakingly slow step at a time.  This was not time to be impetuous; to rush.  I controlled my breath and my movements, I edged forward.  At the frame of the door I peered into her room one eyeball at a time; a flash of fear ripped through me!

I snapped my head back, hoping that my position hadn’t been compromised.

Her eyes had briefly met mine – did she see me?

My breath was held; every muscle frozen – I waited.

Nothing.  Not a peep.

I dropped to a crouch not making the same mistake twice; inward I peered again.  I was undercover of the crib’s bumper; she hadn’t the skills yet to pull herself up and over.  I wasn’t in her line of sight.  I reconnoitered the objective; I watched for movement.  I analyzed the terrain.  I sought out the unseen dangers.

Ahead of me was a small, red & yellow plastic ball – it made noises when it was rolled.  It had to be avoided.  Near it was a toy snake – I knew this one well.  Seemingly innocuous, this was the furthest from the truth: like the venom of a cobra that attacks the nervous system, get too close to this one, and a myriad of tunes like “itsy-bitsy spider,” or “humpty-dumpty” would spew forth from its belly; it was an IED - an Improvised Ear-Splitting Device.

I had to be careful – there were booby-traps everywhere.

I shot a careful glance at the dresser; I could see the Package - the corner which was hanging slightly over the dresser’s edge: my objective was at-hand.

Chapter Four:

I dropped to my back and melted into the floor.  Taking one final breath, I let it out even more slowly than the last.  This was it.  It was now or never.  It was not going to be without pain, this I knew.  My elbows ground deeply into the Berber carpet, every passing inch rubbed more of them raw.

I inched myself backward, my face stared into the ceiling.  I made no noise.  Inside my head, I scoured over the mental-map of the room, and booby-traps I had identified on the floor.  I slithered slowly past them, my path was by no means straight.

The minutes rolled by; the sweat started to bead.  One lone drop trickled down my forehead and into my eye.  The salt stung, but I ignored it; this was no time to succumb to pain; to be weak.  My mission was foremost and I was only half-way there.  Onward, I pressed stopping momentarily to listen.  I tuned into the rhythms of her breathing, counting each breath against the seconds.  They were slow and methodical – they were the signs of deep, infant-sleep.

At the base of the dresser, I reached up for the phone; victory was so close.

The damn thing rang!  Who the hell was calling me now!  Don't they know it's naptime - friggin' single friends!

Sonia started to scream!

I jumped to my feet!  Stealth would no longer be my approach.  I was compromised; a new tactic would have to take place!

I snatched the phone but across the room it flew and against the wall it smacked!

Sonia screamed louder; my mission was still clear in my mind; my objective clearer – Do not fail!

I grabbed the nook; plugged the hole.  The screams escalated behind the rubber of the nook; I refused to give up-my focus never wavered.  I sensed it; the screams turned to cries; and the cries soon to whimpers.  I sang, I rocked, and I caressed her face.  One lone tear trickled down the side of her cheek; I wiped it gently away.

Two big, round eyes stared back at mine; from behind the nook, a long smile stretched followed by a yet to be discerned one-syllable consonant.

And then her eyes closed.

Epilogue:

Adapt.  Improvise.  Overcome.

Sterling Novel: Book 1

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