Jackknife 3
Chapter 3: Transitioning
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Marie was delighted, hopeful and yet still worried when Cray called and told her he would be home early with some news. She was teetering between anticipation of something good and worry of something bad. With Cray it could be either.
Cray’s explanation made her happy until he got to the part about no calls. It made no sense to her and he couldn’t make much sense of it himself. She felt herself in opposition already.
Two weeks were dedicated to onboarding, orientation and training, with the qualifier, “as required.” The job itself would span forty-four hours split roughly into eight-hour shifts, weather permitting. Two to three weeks total. For Marie it was somewhere between the blink of an eye and an infernal eternity. It would be the longest they’d been apart since dating.
“I get used to you being around and now you’re going to be gone,” she complained.
Cray remained gentle but firm. They’d have a couple days to sort through it. He would try once more to get an exception. If they decided to pass on the job he’d do it without complaint. But if she felt she could handle it, he really wanted to give the opportunity a shot. The pay was too good to let go. Another chance to make such money would likely never come his way again.
They took a break and Cray called Daryl to work out some kind of exception to the no call rule. He suggested they could monitor if they liked. He promised there would be no mention of location or timing, just that he was alive and well.
Daryl’s voice dropped an octave when he replied. Cray had never heard him sound so serious.
“Cray, I was going to spare you the pressure but it is essential to this company that this deal goes through. I will ask about the exception but, even if the exception is a no-go, you need to get this job done.
“I’m not going to tell you how to handle your business at home, but I do have an opinion on how you handle company business.
“Are we clear?”
“Crystal clear,” replied Cray with the same seriousness on his way to rage, his hackles up. He’d quit jobs for less provocation. Daryl’s Delivery Service wasn’t special enough to get a pass, he thought angrily. The big man had tiptoed the line, that if crossed, Cray would answer with reckless abandonment. It is how he finished high school, the Army, and more than a few jobs. He would have no qualms about adding another.
After the call, Cray was immediately full of regret, self-disgust and near-miss relief. He almost blew his big chance over pride and anger. He needed to get his head right if he was going to get this job landed and done.
Cray decided to keep the new information about Daryl’s Delivery Service getting something out of the job to himself. The blanket of secrecy around Silver Label Logistics was wider than he initially realized.
That evening, dinner with the kids was unusually quiet as both daughters read their mother’s mood. Cray was uncomfortable in his own skin, not knowing what to say or do to reassure the girls. They didn’t have that depth of rapport yet though both girls exchanged empathetic looks with him and the youngest patted his forearm.
The girls were teenagers so he didn’t rush or press them as a father figure. He wasn’t their father and he wasn’t going to pretend to be. The mess he had contributed to with his own daughters made him wary.
After dinner was done, calmed, fed, and relaxed, Cray made the call to his friend Ian for some support, hopeful another piece of the puzzle could be revealed.
Later that night the house was quiet. Marie settled into a sad silence. Cray knew she was fighting the resistance she felt, but was confident she would go along with the plan in the end.
In the wee hours of the morning Marie stirred, waking Cray.
“This job is asking me to trust a lot. Trust a company I don’t know to take care of you and pay you, trust you to stay calm and safe. It is not a small thing.
“I’ve been betrayed by less than this. Lies, silence, broken promises. And now you’re asking me to accept rules that make no sense. How can you ask me to trust so much?
“I’m only asking you to trust me. To trust my love for this family. The rest we’ll face together.”
They cuddled and drifted back to sleep.
By the next morning she was bouncing back, still melancholy but improving. This was going to call for some earnest making of up in the end. Cray was ready for it. The payout would help.
In the last of his thirty-four hour break Marie was almost back to normal, although a little grouchy, as she helped him pack.
Cray checked his messages and had one from Ian. Just in time.
“Hey bro, got some news. Rather tell you directly if there’s time. Call me.”
Cray hit the call button. Ian picked up immediately.
“Hey, we’re cutting it close I imagine. Is this line clear?”
“Hope so,” responded Cray.
“Silver Label Logistics has a definite M.O., you called it, almost total job secrecy, so this is likely the last call, yeah?”
“Yeah, I am afraid that’ll be the case.”
“O.K., they are a known presence, a high security and discrete delivery logistics company. Privately owned. The lottery job payouts are real, but no one knows how they afford them. Maybe billionaire investors shipping pet projects. No one knows why they don’t just hire their own drivers instead of using contractors. Word is just keep your head down, drive and get paid.”
“That plan works for me.”
“Last part, for the lottery, they do multiple deliveries all at once, all on different routes around the U.S., trucks all look the same. Classic MILDEC maneuver on a massive scale.”
“A what?”
“You been out that long? MILDEC, military deception tactic. Multiple vehicles to confuse the enemy, split forces, cause indecision. The same is done for actors and VIP, keeping the paparazzi off their backs.”
“That seems like a stretch. Why would a civilian trucking outfit bother with all that?
“The why is always the sixty-four million dollar question with these guys.”
“What kinda cargo pays that well?”
“The usual suspects, weapons, drugs, technology, cash. Don’t bother trying to find out. Besides, you are probably one of the decoys. You wouldn’t learn anything.”
Decoys. The word struck in Cray’s head sharply. Drive, get paid, keep quiet. Never know if he was really hauling anything or just covering for someone who was delivering the real payload. Just like the blank cartridge for firing squad troops. No one knows for sure who shot the executed.
“Got it. Thanks man. I probably won’t be taking my phone with me. But you can leave messages. I’ll call you when I get back. Pizza night maybe?”
“You’re on.
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