A Thirteenth Hour, page 8
Their, he and Archie’s, first two weeks off had been nice. He and Archie had rested and recreated in the usual manly manner: booze, indoor movies, and junk-food. They made a trip to the office where both of them had been presented, quietly, with their first medal of valor. That had sort of reminded him of the “other time.”
Jeremy was shown to the doctors’ office by the L.P.N. As she was walking away he knocked on the door to the doctor’s office. He heard the familiar voice of the doctor, who had seen him the previous day, say “come in!” He opened the door, and was surprised to see sitting in a chair, next to the doctors’ desk; a Lt. Commander in “whites” facing him. The doctor sat behind his desk; a smile on his face. The Lt. Commander smiled but he had an expression of sleepy attention highlighted with droopy eyes. He knew that kind of expression. He checked the officers’ uniform for a special operations insignia; but he didn’t find anything but standard naval insignia and his medals. He did notice a lone silver star with his other medals. Jeremy took that in, in a glance.
He thought about saluting but realized, gratefully, that he was retired and no longer wore a service uniform; instead he said, in a respectful voice: “I can wait if you’re seeing some-one in your office,” he added “sir!”
Jeremy thought that the doctor was going to laugh but instead the Lueitueinant Commander smiled and answered for the doctor, “No please sit down,” he motioned to a chair: “this conversation is being recorded.”
Jeremy Skea sat down sat down in the chair nearest to the doctor, but it still faced the other two chairs: the doctors’ behind the desk and the Lt. Commanders’ chair strictly horizontal to the doctors, chair.
As soon as Jeremy was seated; the Lueitueinant Commander Said “don’t worry you’re not in any trouble. I’m here in an official capacity to make you an offer, and explain what that offer consists of.
He was concerned. He should have realized that some-thing strange was going on. In the past twenty-five years no military doctor had spent more than twenty to thirty minutes on a physical exam for him. Yesterday, his exam had taken just over an hour and a half: “what kind of offer sirs??”
The Lt. Commander pointed at the doctor. On cue the doctor said “yesterday I gave you a written fifty minute, test to fill-out.”
Jeremy asked a little befuddled: “the memory exam?”
The doctor seemed oblivious to Jeremy’s’ interruption: “that’s what I called it. It really is a new form science of focusing on previously unquantified areas of human intelligence, or a novel I.Q. test. It also uses new forms of probability analyses. In research the military has made great head-way in determining what genius really means. There are creative and biological factors at work that we knew nothing about two years ago. In the past year we have found ways of testing to “reach out “to the boundaries of human intelligence and creative curves. We have found that determining human intelligence, like our brain; is very complex. We are sure that we can locate various ‘factors’ and test for them. We know statistically how to weight these ‘factors’, in regard-to locating persons with unique I.Q.s’, within 7.5% accuracy. In other-words we know the category and relative importance in some of our abilities compared to the previous tests.”
The doctor unnecessarily put his hand up; as if to ward off interruption. “You have taken three I.Q. tests during your naval career. We added all three test scores and divided by three. You are perhaps genius-minus according to the average conglomeration of your previous standardized test scores. The test I gave you yesterday shows you to be, with regard to your previous tests, a genius-plus.” He again unnecessarily raised a halting hand. “In short you’re the smartest man in the room. Neither the Lt. Commander or I is below genius level. In fact I was a pioneer of the new testing.” He said “Any questions?”
Very quickly the seeming impossibility and, at the same time, the truth of the matter was filling his brain. Jeremy started to say “just how reliable-?”_
The Lt. Commander cut in- “It’s extremely reliable! We tested and retested. Truthfully a 7.5% reliability margin is very high; especially since our margin of what is not reliable is weighted at more than 6% of our margin towards underrating instead of overrating a person’s intelligence. I’ll tell you this,” he continued seriously and energetically: “scientists and high ranking generals were eager to put their, respective, careers and reputations ‘on the line’ to back our program. Politicians are excited and we have held over forty meetings with them and various government scientists outside of our program. Every one of those meetings confirm our findings as accurate. There are other aspects to the research that have borne fruit in other ways; like, motivational veritudes and genetics, learning, and environment. The math and science no longer worries the politicians; however, for security reasons, this will be the last time we discuss the bare bones research, for a while, concerning your test. The program will become part of the body of the corps we are forming.”
Jeremy’s eyes rose at the importance of the information The Lt. Commander had “thrown” at him. He had never really contemplated that a program like the Lt. Commander had mentioned might exist. The Lt. Commander persisted seriously while looking Jeremy directly in the eyes: “no mission I ever undertook is more classified than what we have discussed here in this office.”
Jeremy “took stock” of what the Lt. Commander had said to him and asked a question: “S.E.A.L (SEa, Air and Land), sir?”
He, the Lt. Commander, broke into a warm smile. The doctor nodded in Jeremy’s’ direction and the Lt. Commander seemed to take that as an o.k. signal. Jeremy realized that the Lt. Commander was not wearing a name tag. The doctors’ name tag was a printed “Dr. Wisen.”
The Lt. Commander said “This is the offer: we’ve put together a military and civilian group under the D.O.D. (Department of Defense) to handle special, or in other words problem investigations. We, as a very special fact, are responsible for tagging case priorities of our investigations and we aid in prioritizing other group and/or sections investigations and missions. In terms that we can understand, metaphorically, it is like a group of very intelligent seamen and officers instructing Captains and admirals from the top down on their priorities.” He took three colored files from a briefcase, Jeremy hadn’t realized, that the Lt. Commander had kept behind the doctors’ desk.
He, the Lt. Commander, went on “These are a white, blue and green folders.” He showed Jeremy that all three folders were empty. “The white folders contain case information with only the facts in them: no names, places or identifying information of the agencies involved in the investigation or mission. These we rate, and, without group identification of ourselves; we offer advice and occasional instruction with a simple priority level.”
“The blue folder holds all facts about the case investigation or mission. We do the same thing as with the white folders with a higher authority to designate priority, urgency and more emphasis on instruction.”
“The green folders are our cases, investigations or missions, and we rate their importance; and establish a team or teams to work our case file. Also, we try to develop and search out links between the files of the same or different colored files. If the green file or files are determined to be of a low level of importance we send it anonymously to another agency with a recommendation as to which section and the priority level that agency will regard it as. Agency in this case means military or para military group. An example of a paramilitary group is the F.B.I. A section of the F.B.I. might be a unit dealing with American corporate counter-intelligence. Are you with me,” The Lt. Commander looked searchingly into Jeremy’s’ eyes.
“I’m not sure,” Jeremy responded truthfully- something that had sometimes worked while he had been career Navy. “I’m not sure that this is what I want to do?”
The Lt. Commander nodded with what seemed like a soldiers’ respect for another soldier. The Lt. Commander slid his chair two-and-a-half feet towards where Jeremy was sitting; he said in a voice only Jeremy could hear: “what is it did the Navy leave a bad taste in your mouth?”
Jeremy nodded a definite No!! “I work as a data and machine analyst at an electronics plant. It’s fun, real fun, and I make more than twice what I earned in the Navy. I sleep at home all year round and I-.” He collected himself. My wife loves civilian life. All the animals in the neighborhood think she’s their sister or mother or something. It would break her heart to move.”
The Lt. Commander waited while Jeremy finished. After a slightly pregnant five second pause the Lt. Commander had drank in what Jeremy had said. He replied to the obvious and normal concerns that Jeremy had voiced. “I could ask you to leave your concerns with me and trust me?” He thought about his question and said “No! I’ll make sure you get a straight answer!” The Lt. Commander scratched his head as though frustrated.
“The money is no problem. Their “bumping” me up two grades to Captain. I see no reason why you wouldn’t make a good Naval Lt. Commander; which is quite a change from being Enlisted Personnel. We also get danger pay. That would be, all together, slightly more than you are making now. The danger pay is universal to our new corps due to the secrecy involved. Depending on your duties, and I control that: you’ll sleep at home nine nights out of ten.”
“The strays in your neighborhood would be found good homes. We’ll also funnel to the pets, stray or well-kept 10K to make their homes happy.” He paused and scratched the bottom of his right ear; “this time, I’ll go a step further: “it didn’t occur to me but a few people with animal skills might be a good addition to our group.” He, the Lt. Commander laughed/said “if she’s happy with it I’ll keep her to feed and care for the animals.” Seemingly, in mid thought he transitioned: “physical therapist isn’t she?”
Jeremy was getting good “vibes” from the conversation. He said “yes, she works part time for an assisted living facility and also part time privately.”
“I’ll for darn sure make sure that she has a civilian position with us. The money with us,” he included Jeremy’s’ wife and by extension Jeremy, “is bound to be twice as much as otherwise, Do you think that perhaps the Countries appreciation might sway her as well as you?”
All that Jeremy could think of was why he was so important? Genius was rare, sure, but they had a choice between colleges educated Dr.’s of impressive universities. People with research and consulting experience. He, very politely and gently because he was moved by the very human and kindly interest of the Lt. Commander, voiced his misgivings.
The doctor, realizing this was their domain of mutual understanding and commitment that career combat arms of the military understood in a palpable and serious ways, asked the Lt. Commander “should I leave?” The Lt. Commander motioned the doctor to stay seated. “Jeremy I’m in a tight spot. The good doctor and I have been putting this together with only that L.P.N. and us. I’ve requested two people as administrative assistants. They’re respectively at the Antarctic Circle on a ship and another is a placed Special Forces agent (read green-beret) located in India. I was hoping you could start today.” He unbuttoned a top button on his blouse. “I’m going to tell you a little more about your test. These tests indicate, amongst other things, three upward progressive levels of intelligence: one is upward ‘spikes’ of intelligence as you progress in age, an upward spike with relational educational experience another is a potential upward spike when you realize your intelligence quotient is much higher than you had known. Even, with those three factors aside we have found you to have what we refer to generally as a genius- plus I.Q.” He continued speaking, “a military officer is not always above throwing a guilt trip your way. I don’t want to do that. I need your loyal, mature, and enthusiastic presence with us. I know about your silver star on the Hornet. He meant the aircraft carrier the USS Hornet. The Filling in for your burned buddy with his paddles to get jets and helicopters in, but I need you to, somehow, want to be with us.”
He was moved. He diverted his mind by focusing on the ribbons on the Lt. Commanders’ chest. “I bet you’ve got more than one Silver Star on a ribbon somewhere else”
The Lt. Commander seemed to be taken by surprise, but he smiled and said “I got the ‘big one’ (Medal of Honor) ten months ago. I have a DSC (Distinguished Service Cross) that goes with my other ribbons. I find it difficult to look pathetic; so? Does that mean yes”
Jeremy thought that very probably, and self-professed, both of these men were behind the proverbial eight-ball; and every-one, including him, wants a chance at the “big leagues.” He tried a tentative question: “who ‘vettes’ our files?”
The Lt. Commander smiled, he had recognized that Jeremy had used a plural adjective when he used the word “our.” “Two groups of very secure secretaries and administrators. The grey files have all the facts and I and a few people under me see those; aside from some politicos and very senior general officers.”
Frances Cobbishii was the son of an Amway catholic woman and an Italian/Greek immigrant father. His father was also a many generational catholic. His father had been a very successful wholesaler of large, even project level, business mechanical tools. He would repair or refurbish old tools, people or companies would have discarded, for credit towards the new tools he sold. He would rent his refurbished tools to budget consciences project and large manufacturing concerns and sometimes give the tools away to good customers.
A real project is expensive. It is anywhere from two to five years from conception to finished prototype with the ability to construct a finished product. They can be high risk propositions with large payoff potential. A really good team might generate three or four patents that could pay for a project with years of extra royalties above the project’s cost.
A well run and “lucky” project could produce a prototype that could earn over the products lifespan several kings-ransoms. That would be when the finished or upgraded copies of the prototype were produced.
Frances Cobbishii had graduated from M.I.T. with a Master’s degree in Industrial engineering. That was where and when, after gaining his degrees he had entered Air Force R.O.T.C. (Air Force Reserve Officer Training Core).
He compacted his first two years of A.F.R.O.T.C. classes into one year; by the end of the end of his ‘third’ year in R.O.T.C. he had completed his matching Master’s Degree in Management Science and he could take some interesting criminal law classes; while working on his doctorate for engineering. His Doctorial premise had been accepted along with two-thirds of his paper which he had completed. He decided that during his year off he would finish his doctorate. He stepped out of the bathtub. Lt. Detective Cobbishii felt clean; extremely clean. He had taken a hot shower for an hour and then he ran the bathwater after that and spent a little over an hour in the tub.
His mother and father were well to do. She had “come from money” and his father had earned his own wealth. At twenty-seven they had provided him with an upwardly indexed inflation proof annuity and a trust with a bi-annual pay-out. He had never used either, but he was grateful for the peace of mind they brought to the materialistic part of his being. He knew the annuity had another five years until maturity; and he looked at the trust as being in its growth phase. He took pride in the fact that he never lorded his financial independence over others. He expected to do well, though, anyway. He had several ideas for patents that he kept rough notes on, but he had never pulled them together in finished form. Some were him working on personal points of interest and some were developed as “Grad School” projects.
The official day that his resignation took place, his father had somberly given him a copy of all the paper-work (his trust and annuity) and had thanked his son for his service to his country. He was twenty-seven years old. The “other thing” was that he had been presented, privately by the President of the United States of America, six months before: The Medal of Honor.
The fact was he had walked into a Pakistani hotel; where his back-up agent/and contact had been killed while placing himself into a support position. Cobbishii had a sawed-off shotgun and a fifty caliber Glock automatic side-arm; both well hidden. He killed five men and secured a wounded sixth man as his prisoner.
With the wounded man still in custody he stole a taxi to evacuate himself and the wounded captive to a less “hot” location. He submerged the taxi in a river and acquired a new car within an hour of exiting the Pakistani hotel. While treating the wounded man for a day he crosses two borders and on the thirty-second hour from liberating a taxi he arrived at an American Consulate and its corresponding safety. The researcher/agent he had captured provided a lot of crucial intelligence concerning weapons of mass destruction. Including documents and locations of cached mass destruction material. The intelligence was regionally and globally important. Several large underground organizations with ties to extremist actions and the blackest arms and narcotics dealers now no longer exist. They had called him ace, due to his five kills, for a while. The general directly above him received another star. Air Force Intelligence took the case up to Capitol Hill for political reasons; there had been three months of very high security dinner parties he had attended.
He had been grateful to make it through that hellish night and following day, but guilt over a lost friend coupled with the captured agents/scientist’s fear for himself and his family was a continual distraction/worry during that time. When they told him about the death of the agent/scientist’s two very young sisters; he collapsed.
Cobbishii had been offered hospitalization and two years at law school to study law for a JAG (Judge Advocate Generals Division) position with the Air Force. After considering his options he decided to retire.
The General Officer (his boss) made sure it was a medical retirement with a jump in grade to Lt. Colonel before his separation date. Many people, including his empathetic General; told him if he ever changed his mind he would be welcomed back.
