The Acronym - Chapter 1

The following material is subject to copyright. This is a slightly edited and preliminary version of 'The Acronym'.

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The Acronym
by Rebecca Lerwill ©

Chapter 1

Utah

The distant mountains to the east were still snow covered. But 2 p.m. in the Great Salt Lake Desert in the middle of June meant temperatures already into the upper nineties. The hot, never-ending wind blew tumble weed the size of small trees effortlessly from west to east. The night would be colder, much colder, but as long as the sun stood high in the south it mercilessly broiled the bone-dry region.

Bordering on the U.S. Army’s Dugway Proving Ground, the terrain was unfriendly and very rugged. The ten-foot fence was reinforced by razor wire on top. Even though the government had approved the ongoing operation for the second year in a row, the watchful, cold eyes of security cameras were hard to miss.

Men fought their way through the dusty heat in full combat gear, including gas masks and rifles. Twenty-two teams consisting of six men each conquered individual exercises simulating all kinds of different combat situations and task force drills. The design of the obstacle course was more demanding than the previous years. The shooting range was very sophisticated with a brand new, cutting edge, target retrieving system. Half way through the competition, the dominant unit seemed to be the one from Texas.

Four hundred yards out the Acronym’s agent, Douglas Farland, and his partner, Brian Secona, sat in a black Rover with dark tinted windows. They watched as SWAT teams from all over the United States, Canada, and Europe competed for the much sought after winning title of the SWAT World Challenge. This annual competition offered an opportunity for the top international SWAT teams to gather and prove who truly was the best of the best in law enforcement’s elite branch of special weapons and tactics.

The two men had been following the competition all morning without saying much. Finally Douglas lowered his binoculars and let out a sigh, getting his partner’s attention. Brian looked over to him and noticed the somber look on Douglas’s face. Brian asked, “What’s the matter, Doug. Having a hard time sitting still? You want to go play with the young and spry?”
Douglas turned his head, looked at his partner and made a face. His position with the Acronym offered him plenty of physical challenges, but the recovery time of his still very athletic body was not as fast as it used to be. “Well, watching these young guns, don’t you want to be twenty again?” Douglas asked.
“Hell, no!” Secona didn’t even have to think twice about it. He had had his fair share of rigorous physical and mental training, countless hours of target practice, and most of all, just like his partner, pain. Together, they had survived extreme situations in the Middle East, even though it seemed like a century ago.

Brian lifted a hand as big as a bear’s paw to his face, wiping the sweat off his dark skin. The Rover’s engine was running, but the air conditioner wasn’t doing the job. He continued to rub his hand through his coarse salt and pepper hair and asked, “What’s wrong with aging gracefully?” Douglas grinned and shook his head.
“Nothing, brother. You see, you too have aged, just not gracefully.” He focused his binoculars back on a member of the NYPD SWAT team who seemed to be mastering the tough course of the Three Gun Challenge with ease.

They continued to watch the event from just inside the barrier. The Acronym had provided them with proper ID to visit the venue. Their security clearances said Ocean City P.D., but they were fake. Douglas changed his focus from the competing men to an area with several camouflaged tents where vendors offered everything from Ghillie suits to tactical armor.
A blond, medium build man caught his attention. Standing by a small group of spectators, he was not wearing camouflage and field boots like most of the others. He was dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt and tennis shoes. He looked their way.

“I got a visual on our new friend,” Douglas said as he zoomed in on the man’s face. It displayed determination as he seemed to stare right at Douglas and Brian sitting in their vehicle. After a moment the man shouldered an olive green duffel bag which had seen better days. He separated himself from the group and began to walk toward the Rover.
The climb up the sandy hill, over-grown by knee deep sage brush, did not take him much effort. The steep incline did not slow him down; his walk was long-strided and powerful. As he approached the Rover, the determined look on his face didn’t soften. He knew who they were and why they were here. They were here because of him.
When the man was just fifteen feet away from the vehicle, Douglas let down the passenger side window. His eyes scanned the man’s body language for a moment and Douglas was instantly reminded of himself.

“You are the guys Ocean City sent,” the man stated. His German accent was distinct. He looked stronger now from up close. Not quite as tall and broad as Douglas, but about six foot, athletic and a few years younger.
“Hirsch,” Douglas called the man by his last name, “Step in the vehicle.” Uwe Hirsch ducked into the back of the Rover. The truck rocked slightly as he took a seat and shut the door. “Secona, Farland,” Douglas introduced his partner and himself briskly, gesturing with one hand between Brian and himself. Brian didn’t say anything, his face was expressionless but his dark eyes spied the German through the rear view mirror.

Douglas took a green folder off the dashboard and opened it. He knew its contents by heart, but he took his time so they could study the German’s demeanor. There were several eight-by-ten photographs of Hirsch along with some other documents. Hirsch stole a glance over Douglas’s shoulder and recognized himself in his black SWAT uniform during an exercise about eight years ago when he still lived overseas. In the photo, Hirsch wasn’t wearing a mask to conceal his face and was easily identifiable.
“Confidential doesn’t mean anything anymore, does it?” Hirsch said dryly. He wondered how in the hell these guys got the pictures. The undisclosed identity of his unit was, until today, crucial for the effectiveness of the team and the safety of its members. Even though he did not work for the German government anymore, he still felt uneasy and responsible as it occurred to him they all could be effortlessly exposed.

“Confidential? You ain’t kidding,” Brian commented dryly. He eyed the German for a while longer through the mirror, than he turned his wide upper body around in his driver’s seat as far as he could. His gaze intensified as he finally asked, “Why us? Why did you choose to work for us?” Hirsch withstood Brian’s probing eyes and leaned back in his seat. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and returned the question. “Why me? Your people came to me.” There was a sudden change in the man’s body language; he set his jaw and stared with narrowed eyes at Brian.

Secona ignored the hostility and asked, “I know, but why did you accept? You must understand what’s involved.” Hirsch relaxed and shrugged. His eyes shifted between Brian and Douglas as he explained, “Sure do. It sounded like a good offer at the time.” “At the time? What about now?” Brian was quick to ask, quizzing the man some more. Only if this guy was absolutely certain could they proceed further.

Hirsch’s focus left Brian as he gazed straight out the windshield. This black man was reflecting a bad-ass attitude. He seemed like he’d already made up his mind about him, and it clearly wasn’t in Hirsch’s favor. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the distance. Hirsch asked, “You see the team which is up next for the Scott Entry?”
“Yes, I see them.” Brian had followed Hirsch’s view and so had Douglas. The German set his timer on his wrist-watch as the team was getting ready to storm through doors and secure a room provisionally framed with four-by-four lumber. The room’s interior was visible from all four sides. Two judges on each side of the premises observed closely to judge the team’s efficiency, technique and time during the exercise.
“Do you gentlemen care to bet? I’ll go with a minute twenty.” Hirsch offered.
“No way!” Brian exclaimed in disbelief. He still wanted an answer to his question, but this guy woke his ambition.

Wordlessly the three men watched until a faint beep came from Hirsch’s watch as he stopped the timer the very same second the German team finished the task. Checking his watch, he smiled, “1:18:35, not even a minute twenty. I believe they were the last team in this event. Fastest time; they should take the over-all lead with this.” Hirsch was obviously satisfied and couldn’t suppress a strong note of pride in his voice. He leaned back again and looked at the two men in the front of the Rover with a challenging grin.

Douglas hadn’t said anything. He focused back on Hirsch. “So, why us?” He repeated Brian’s question from earlier. Now Douglas was the one who turned around to Hirsch and studied him with eagle eyes, not letting him off the hook quite yet.
“You’ve just seen their capability. As you both know, I used to be one of them. After I left the federal police in Germany and came to the States,” Hirsch paused and tapped himself on the chest, “I still wanted to be part of the best.” That statement pretty much said it all but Douglas continued his questioning, “What do you know about us?”
The German was aware that they knew every detail about his previous conversation with their superiors in Maryland. He was beginning to get annoyed and wasn’t sure how long he’d put up with this nonsense, but he understood why they quizzed him personally. He wasn’t trustworthy yet. Not to them, anyway, and that was fine with him. He had nothing to hide and thought about the question Farland had just asked him. He recalled what they had explained to him in Maryland.

“The Acronym is a top secret configuration of carefully selected former members of the FBI, CIA and military. It was established by the government several years back, but now it is a private organization. Since the privatization, certain agencies from overseas have joined the force as well. Interpol in France, the British SIS, the German federal police and so on.
They haven’t offered any insight into why and how it came to be private, but as far as I understand it the Acronym is financially independent and you guys get all the fun toys from the military. If it’s a joint case, the Acronym has the full support of the government and has seniority over other agencies. Your main focus is espionage and counter terrorism within the States, but you also support operations abroad. I believe that included a few major drug and weapons busts just last year.”

He paused, scratching the stubble on his square jaw, and smiled as he added. “I certainly like the idea of a private, and to the public, unknown, task force. I imagine that not being restricted by a federal agency’s protocol means you guys are able to push the rules a little, without having some fucking reporter watch what you do and bother your unit with under-qualified comments and uncomfortable questions.”
Douglas raised his eyebrows. He liked this guy. And so did Brian; he could feel it. But his partner did not show any sign of approval yet. Instead, his facial expression remained unimpressed and he had more questions.

“Why do you think you will fit in?” Hirsch shrugged again. He was rather humble and didn’t like talking about himself much. But he knew he had to convince these two men, regardless of headquarters in Maryland already having consented.
“You guys seem to know as much about my past as I do myself. You understand that my training has been….” “That’s not what counts, Hirsch!” Brian interrupted harshly, “I’m sure you’re very good with the rifle and you know how to negotiate situations in a tight spot, but that has nothing to do with getting friendly with some scumbag and putting a tab on him while you’re anticipating his next move. You could be eye to eye with the worst thugs imaginable and have to smile at them.”

Brian pointed his right index finger at him and said, with great emphasis, “Our operations are often up close and personal. You understand that your commitment to us would be indefinite. No contracts, no benefits for your family, no rescue mission if you’d get captured and especially, no fame!” Brian paused to see if the German showed any sign of concern, but he just looked back into Brian’s challenging black eyes.
Hirsch kept his calm and steady demeanor as Brian continued, “I want to know what really makes you think you’ll fit in. And don’t give me some bullshit story about pride and honor and your love for this country!”
Hirsch’s intelligent eyes narrowed. What did this guy want to hear? Instead of coming up with a sales rep line, he took a long moment to dig deep down inside. “I guess you can call it purpose,” he replied simply.