Project 642: A Reese Porter Novel

by Mark Pogeler

Overview

Christmas Eve, ten year old Reese Porter decides to surprise Santa, but instead he finds himself as prey, hunted by seasoned mercenaries. His father, Marine Major James Porter has a past that puts his son directly in the sights of a ruthless killer, and the diabolical woman that hired him. Now Reese is being targeted, his family is in peril, and his life as he knew it is over. His only chance at survival lies at the hands of a few select Marines, the San Diego P.D., and his own will to survive.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781468556483
Publisher:	AuthorHouse
Publication date:	03/30/2012
Pages:	286
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.64(d)

Read an Excerpt

Project 642

A Reese Porter Novel

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By Mark Pogeler

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Mark Pogeler
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-5648-3

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Chapter One

August 28th, the day I got my first gun.

It had been a good summer. The swords had been a success. Yeah, I used the plural. My dad had helped me to make them. He asked me what they should look like, and I turned on TMNT to show him. If you somehow don't know, that stands for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and of course I wanted my sword to look like Leonardo's one. My dad was quick to point out that he had two, so I had two. We made them out of wood, PVC, foam and duct tape, and I know my mom would smack me for saying it, but they were fucking bad ass.

I vanquished many of my enemies, and slayed numerous foes. I saved a few villages, solved a couple of crimes, and even took on a sadistic group of corrupt samurais that were trying to overthrow the emperor. They died by my swords. I also managed to get yelled at by mom for ruining my sister's slumber party, but their loud dancing and singing was interfering with a mission. I was also successful in getting banned from my brother's room for life, but I was certain that he and his warlord Keith were planning an uprising. That one caused me to lose my sword privileges for a week, and mom had even confiscated and hid the swords. But that was yesterday, and today dad said he had a surprise.

We got into his black Eddie Bauer Bronco and headed out. His radio was blasting Lynyrd Skynyrd, and even though I didn't know who that guy was, I thought that he had a pretty cool name. The Lynyrd guy was singing about a Saturday night special and it made me hope we could stop and get a happy meal. At the time I didn't realize the irony of the song but I think my dad chose it on purpose. We headed east towards Lake Hodges and ended up at a Bass Pro fishing shop. I was confused and asked dad if we were going fishing, he just laughed and told me to wait and see.

We walked into a foreign world. Dead fish hung from the wall, there were a few deer heads too. We made a straight line to the back of the store, ignoring all the fishing supplies, and headed straight for the gun display case. I stood staring confused at the guns, wondering what we were doing. My dad had this huge expectant smile on his face, looking at me and waiting for me to speak. He had to break the silence.

"Well, what do you think? You excited or what? We're here to get you your first BB gun!"

I stood there pondering and all I could manage to say was, "Dad, ninjas don't need guns."

The grizzly looking bearded fat man in the caterpillar trucker hat and my father stood looking at each other with blank stares for a moment and then erupted in laughter. I hadn't realized what I said was funny, but they were lucky that I didn't have my swords. After the laughter had subsided and the men calmed down my dad looked at me with a serious face and said, "Reese, ninjas would need guns if they were fighting me and my Marines. But even then it would be suicidal for them to try."

Silence. Followed by laughter. I needed in on this joke. My dad looked at me again and said, "Trust me on this one son, you're gonna love this gun. Why don't you go ahead and pick one out."

I did trust my dad, so I started looking, and started getting excited. The pistols looked ok, but my eyes were drawn to the rifles. I didn't actually know a whole lot about guns, what ten year old would? So, I was really just trying to pick out the coolest looking one. My eyes fell on a Daisy 880 Powerline BB gun. Wooden stock, metal barrel, and this one had a scope mounted on top. I pointed to it and the grizzly bear impersonator behind the counter took it out of the display case, handing it to me and saying, "Good eye boy, that's a damn fine gun right there. Got my son one just like it."

I held the gun, feeling its weight, took in the small details. Where to load it, the white triangle on the stock, looked through the scope and just said, "cooool", like the little kid in the awe that I was. I didn't realize it, but I was falling in love immediately, already pretending to shoot bad guys in the distance. My dad watched and smiled. He looked down at me and asked. "So is that the one you want?"

"Hell yeah it's the one I Want!"

Again with the laughter.

As we drove home I tore into the box and examined my new tool of the trade. Ninjas could use guns I told myself. But I was quickly forgetting about my sword and nunchucks. We had gotten a bag of 1000 BBs, a carrying case, shooting goggles, a 10x power scope, and of course, the Daisy 880 Powerline air pump rifle. As we drove my dad explained some safety tips, how I had to learn to shoot without the scope first, never point it at people, don't shoot animals, blah, blah, blah. I was too excited to listen. But my ears did perk up when he started telling me about the can pyramid we were going to build. How you start with the top can and work down, and how I was going to get a dollar for each can I shot. How many cans would there be?! The Bronco hadn't even come to a stop in our drive way when I was out the door, through the fence, and in the back yard loading my new gun.

Chapter Two

Major Porter walked through the gate on the west side of his house, and stopped to grab a bag of recycling out a trash can. It was mainly soda cans, sprinkled with a few random Coors Lights. His daughter Zelda loved grape soda, his son Quentin was pretty much addicted to Dr. Pepper, and his youngest Reese, he was all about Pepsi. His wife Gabby constantly berated him for indulging their children's unhealthy habits, always talking about teeth rotting and sugar highs. But, he found it very hard to say no to his kids, especially when it came to making them happy. That's very much the reason why he had just bought a ten year old a BB gun, and as he rounded the corner of his house and saw his son Reese engrossed in loading that gun, more focused than he'd ever seen him, he didn't regret it for a second.

He walked up to the picnic table on his porch that sat beneath the balcony of their two story home. Their backyard overlooked the San Elijo Lagoon, an ecological preserve that served as a natural barrier between his hometown of Solana Beach and the small surf town of Cardiff to the north. It ran east to west and ended at two of his favorite surf breaks, Seaside and Cardiff reef. He could look out from his balcony and backyard and see them both, and that was pretty much the entire reason he bought that house.

But right now he was more interested in teaching his youngest son to shoot. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but Reese was his favorite. He told his son to put down the gun and come help him stack the cans. They carefully built their pyramid, stacking the cans on the edge of a red brick sandbox that was almost never used now. He had considered turning it into an open flame grill, but he had too many memories of watching his three children play and grow up in that small brick square and couldn't bring himself to change it. They built their aluminum Giza with a base of ten cans. It went up, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two ,one, fifty-five cans in all. He'd promised his son a dollar for every can he shot. If he himself shot twenty, thirty-five bucks was still a lot of money for a ten year old. But what the hell, let's see what the kid can do.

They sat down on the wooden picnic bench. It was like what you would see in a camp ground, and it was one of the family's favorite places to have dinner. It always reminded James of the first meal he'd had with his wife in Costa Rica at her family's restaurant all those years ago. She'd caught three fat tunas that day as he and his friends surfed, as well as four pink snappers, in only four hours. Not bad for a seventeen year old girl. When they had sat down at the restaurant later and met her family though, her catch was less surprising. Her father was an amazing man, and James had respected him immediately. He often hoped he could be as good of a father and man as Enrico Montoya was.

He thought about this as he taught his son how to shoot.

"You have to hold the gun as steady as you can. Line up the center ridge on the front of the barrel in between the back two. You see that red dot on the front? Put it right below what you want to shoot. Now aim at the can at the top, the Dr. Pepper one. Once you have your target breathe slowly, in and out. Concentrate on the target and try to breathe slow. Put pressure on the trigger and pull back slowly until it starts to release. When you feel it starting to give take a deep breath, and as you breathe out just let your finger pull back. Don't think about, just focus on the target and let your finger pull back."

He watched his son and noticed the concentration on his face. His furrowed brow and squinting eye. His jaw slightly clenched and the bead of sweat on his forehead dripping down from his dirty blonde brown hair. It was a hot sunny August day, and his son was pulling the trigger for the first time. He knew he would probably miss, and was ready to tell him to not worry about it and try again. That's when the Dr. Pepper can disappeared from the pyramid with a clean metallic ping.

"I hit it! Did you see that?! Ha! That's one dollar! Hope you brought your wallet dad."

The major looked down at his son's smiling face and couldn't help but be surprised. That sand box the cans were on was at least twenty yards away and he'd nailed it on the first shot. He sat there silently, proud but taken aback. That was a good shot.

"Beginners luck. Take out that Pepsi can on the left and I might be impressed."

Reese refocused, adjusting his aim and looking down the sights. It was a solid thirty seconds before he released the trigger for the second time. This time the Grape soda can on the right flew off, landing in the sandbox behind it. Reese smiled and said, "That's two dollars you owe me!"

His dad stared ahead and told him, "Nope. That Pepsi can is still there. I owe you one dollar."

"What? That's not fair! You said a dollar for every can!" Reese yelled, proud of himself for hitting two targets in a row. He hadn't missed, and his dad had said a dollar for each can. He thought he'd earned that dollar.

"Sorry son, but you've got to hit the right target. I said Pepsi. You hit the grape. Don't worry though. You've got fifty-three more chances. Now just take your time and we'll see about those dollars."

Reese didn't argue. He just put the stock back into his shoulder and looked back down the barrel. He thought about what his dad said. Breathe slowly. Focus on the target. Pull back, breathe out, and release. The Pepsi can was the next fatality. After that they started dropping like flies. Before too long the sandbox was full of dead cans. Reese was concentrating more than he ever had. He tallied it up. Fifteen cans remained, bringing his profit to forty-one dollars. He'd never liked or done well in math class, but he added that up in the five seconds it took him to re-aim and make it forty-two dollars. He sat back and pumped the gun for his next shot. He'd been pumping it ten times, that was what his dad had told him to do. He was aiming at a can of Coors Light, the last one on the second row, when something to his left caught his eye. He looked, moved, and reacted. His dad sat on his right and watched what his son did. That's when he began to realize.

Chapter Three

My first kill

I was having the best time of my life. My dad had just bought me my first BB gun and I'd already hit forty-two cans, meaning that I'd earned forty- two dollars. I was aiming at the Coors Light can on top of a Dr. Pepper and a Grape soda. I'd played ninja all summer and killed all kinds of enemies. But this was real. When I pulled that trigger, I felt the air release from the barrel. I could watch the BB fly and hit the target. I could hear the ping as the BB went straight through the can and sent it flying into the air. This was fun. It was all I wanted to do. I was concentrating on that can, my breathing, and pulling the trigger when I saw a flash to my left.

Without thinking or even knowing what I was doing I stood up from the bench. I'd been using the table to steady my aim, the gun had been heavy in my hands, but right now I couldn't even tell it was there. A black flash shot into my vision and slowed down, I focused very clearly on a bird flying through a bright blue sky. I could tell immediately that it was just a normal blackbird, and watched each flap of its wings. I saw its eye registering me and my dad, aware we were there. My finger pulled back, I don't know if I was breathing. The BB left the gun, its flight very apparent and seemingly too slow. The bird saw it but couldn't react in time. I watched in slow motion as the bird's eye disintegrated and its lifeless body fell out of the air and onto our bright green lawn.

I stood in shock. The gun was still in my hands and the bird was lying dead on the ground. Three seconds ago I was aiming at the Coors Light can. Dad had said, "Don't shoot any animals", and I could hear those words now. The shot had been unintentional, and I really didn't know what had happened. He was going to yell at me soon. That was a guarantee. He never yelled, but I knew that I'd just fucked up. So when I heard his voice I automatically cringed, but was also surprised.

"That was fucking amazing. Did you do that on purpose?"

I stood silently rooted to the ground. I'd gotten in trouble plenty, but I felt like I had really messed up. My dad had bought me the gun only two hours ago, and I heard his rules. But I hadn't meant to do it. It just happened and I couldn't explain why. I still thought he was angry when he spoke again.

"Reese, I asked you a question. Did you kill that bird on purpose?" His voice had a hard edge to it that I rarely heard. He only used it when he was mad.

I couldn't get the words out, stammered like a drunken idiot. "I.. I.. I don't know. I just saw it and....."

"Did you mean to shoot it? It's ok son, I'm not angry. You're not in trouble. But you need to tell me, did you know that you were shooting that bird?"

The answer was ambiguous. My father looked down at me. His eyes had an intensity that his Marines must have seen on a regular basis, but for me it was a very rare occurrence. I was scared and didn't know how to answer the question. I had known what I was doing but couldn't stop it. It was a reflex. A reflex that I never knew I had. I looked at him and his eyes softened a little. I think he could sense my fear. When I spoke it was a very soft and fragile voice. "Yes. I'm sorry sir. It was an accident." That was the first time I'd ever addressed my dad as sir.

He looked down at me with a strange expression on his face. It wasn't so much as anger or disappointment, but more like a realization. And for some reason, I think he felt a little guilt. But when he spoke again, he had an optimism to his voice that he hadn't had a minute ago.

"Go hide the gun in your room, and hide it well. We don't need your mom knowing about this. I'll clean up the cans and get rid of the bird."

He began walking away as I grabbed the bag of BBs and the scope that we hadn't even used yet when I heard him say, "And Reese, that was a nice fucking shot."

Chapter Four

Major James porter was lying in bed next to his beautiful wife. They'd had a good day and he was trying to relax and fall asleep. Her gentle breathing usually helped him disappear into slumber land but there was something keeping him wide awake. He knew that Reese was a little different from his other two, and it had never bothered him in the least. But that shot he made today. He couldn't get it out of his mind. It was a damn near impossible shot, especially for a ten year old holding a gun for the first time.

He'd been told twelve years ago that this was a possibility. He'd been told that they didn't know the results of the testing and modifications. He was the first one. The genetic and metabolic alterations could have unknown effects, it might even alter his DNA. If that was even possible. But he was assured that he and especially his family would be taken care of. That he was doing a service to the country that could never be fully repaid, but that he was truly a hero. He believed them, and in a way, they were very much right. He also knew that Colonel Schaeffer hadn't lied to him. He'd tried to talk him out of it actually.

The Colonel had taught James everything he knew about combat, as well as a shitload of what he knew about life. He'd been his C.O. after he'd joined the core, right after he'd married Gabriella. Tim Schaeffer had taken to James immediately. And he beat him to the ground and treated him like shit every chance he got. It's what most people refer to as tough love. Major Porter knew damn well that if it wasn't for the Colonel and his persistency in moving James up through the ranks, that he'd never have become the man he was today. He would never stop being grateful to the man.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Project 642 by Mark Pogeler Copyright © 2012 by Mark Pogeler. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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